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thewickedjazzy · 19 days

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𓇢𓆸𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𓂃 ִֶָ𐀔

➵𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: beast dazai x f! reader x beast chuuya

➵𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: beastzai is intensely toxic and manipulative towards you, treating you as his puppet. despite his twisted behaviour and control, you unexpectedly start developing feelings for chuuya.

➵𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : sfw, 11.3k of pure angst, hurt/no comfort? slight fluff, abuse, toxic relationship, dark themes, unaware relationship, falling out of love, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, intense themes, dark romance, psychological trauma, death mentioned, guns, mafia themes..*lord have mercy*

➵𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: hi hi! I spent a whole month working on this fic, and it was really tough trying to come up with fresh ideas that didn’t feel like my other stories. But I decided to try something different this time—totally unexpected! Just a heads-up, it's super emotional, so you might want to have some tissues nearby because it even made me tear up, I swear!

The ink had barely dried when you realized you had sold your soul.

You felt your pulse in your throat, even muffling your ears as the contract lay between you, the elegant script of your name stark against the cold, white paper. It was supposed to be a testament to your love, an act of devotion that was meant to bind you both in a bond unbreakable until death parted you. You had signed it with trembling hands, convinced that this was the key to a future you had always dreamed of—a future by his side, where you would be cherished, protected, and loved.

But love was never part of the deal.

The first few months felt like a dream. His touch was warm, his words like honey that poured into the empty spaces of your heart, filling them with sweet illusions. He had promised you the world, and you had believed him. You had wanted so desperately to believe that this contract was a symbol of your bond, that it meant he saw you as an equal, a partner.

But as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, the honey began to taste bitter.

His warmth turned cold, his touch became a chain, and the promises—oh, the promises—revealed themselves as lies dressed in silver and silk. You were no partner, no equal. You were a possession, a carefully crafted doll that danced to the tune of his commands, your strings pulled tighter with each passing day.

And now, with you on your knees in the dim lit room, the truth finally sank in. The contract wasn’t a bond of love; it was a cage, a cruel joke that only he was in on. You had signed away your freedom, your life, to a cunning man who had never intended to let you go.

The ink had barely dried, but your heart had already started to bleed.

In the lavish confines of Dazai’s private quarters, shadows stretched long and sinister across the opulent velvet drapes and intricate furnishings. The room, a testament to decadence with its flowing silks and priceless relics, exuded an atmosphere of icy desolation and stifling tension, where every corner seemed to whisper of unspoken dominance, a reminder of the dark authority that presided over this space.

His hand gripped your hair with a cruel twist, yanking your head back forcing you to look at him. His eyes, piercing and cold, drilled into yours with an expression of bitter disappointment. The smirk that curved his lips was devoid of warmth, a chilling mask of control and disdain.

You knelt before him, every muscle in your body straining to maintain a rigid posture despite the tremors that coursed through you. The hem of your burgundy silk robe had slipped off your shoulder with each harsh jolt of his grip, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His fingers, entwined cruelly in your hair, wrenched your head back further, forcing you to lock eyes with his merciless gaze.

“Do you think this is some sort of game, darling?” He hissed, moving his face closer to yours. “Did you actually believe you could act against my orders and escape unscathed?”

"Every time you go against my commands, you only prove how little you understand your place." He tugged at your hair, a harsh reminder of his control, his eyes never leaving yours. "I could have shown you mercy, but you seem to believe that you’re entitled to something more than the role I’ve given you. You’re nothing more than a toy to me, and toys that malfunction need to be fixed."

The chill in his voice was palpable, made your mouth go dry. "If you dare to disobey me again, I won’t just deal with you harshly. I’ll make sure you remember your place with every fiber of your being. This is your last warning. Test me again, and I’ll enjoy watching you break."

He released his grip on your hair, the finality in his gesture echoing through the room. His gaze lingered, a final reminder of the cruel power he wielded over you, as he turned away, leaving you alone with the sting of his words and the weight of your broken dreams.

You took a ragged breath swallowing heavily and trying your best to hold back your tears. You replayed the scene in your mind. Dazai had called a critical meeting, standing in the middle of the meeting room as he outlined the plan to dismantle the rising organization that threatened their dominance in elaborate detail. You, seated at the long mahogany table, had grown increasingly restless, the grandiose vision he painted beginning to grate on your nerves.

As Dazai spoke, your patience wore thin. The more he elaborated on the intricacies of his plan, the more it seemed like a house of cards built on shaky ground. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you let out a scoff, a sound that cut through the room's uneasy silence.

“Seriously, Dazai?” you had said with a tone dripping with derision. “You really think this convoluted plan is the best way to handle this? It sounds like you’re trying to win a chess game against an opponent who’s only playing checkers.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The members, who had been intently listening, now turned their eyes to you, their expressions a mix of shock and disapproval. Dazai’s gaze, which had been focused on the plan, snapped towards you with a chilling intensity. His eyes, normally so unreadable, burned with a cold fury and with the bandage that covered his left eye made his eyes more unreasonable. Chuuya, seated across from you, cast a sharp, warning glare in your direction. His expression was a silent but unmistakable message: you had overstepped, and you were about to pay the price.

His lips curved into a predatory smile, though it was devoid of warmth. “Is that so?” His voice was eerily calm, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the surface and you knew it, you knew whats about to come. “And pray tell, what do you suggest we do instead? I’m all ears.”

The meeting continued and you couldn't voice any thoughts, but you could feel the change in the atmosphere, a very noticable shift as if the walls themselves were closing in around you. Every word from him seemed to carry a weight of barely concealed menace, like he was waiting patiently for you to overstep the boundaries once again. The laughter and whispers that had once followed his speeches had turned into a deafening silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of a pen or the shuffling of papers.

As the meeting drew to a close and the room buzzed with the murmurs of dismissal, you rose from your seat, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere without getting noticed. But just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the noise with an icy edge.

“Not so fast,” he clicked his tongue. “Go to my quarters,” The command in his voice made you freeze, “Wait for me there.” Your hand gripping the back of the chair as you turned slowly to face him.

Chuuya, who had been observing the exchange with a deepening frown, cast a final, concerned glance at the unfolding scene. His brows knitted in worry. Despite his desire to act, the circumstances of the situation and his own status kept him paralyzed.

You nodded silently and turned to leave, each step felt like a descent into a personal hell. The cold, opulent halls of the mafia headquarters seemed to stretch endlessly, each corner echoing with the oppressive weight of what was to come.

And there you are, in his private quarters, the aftermath of that meeting lingered like a dark cloud. You were acutely aware of the weight of the contract you had signed, its promise of a future that now seemed like a cruel joke.

You had thought that by challenging his plan, you were asserting your own intelligence and capabilities. Instead, you had laid bare the depth of your disillusionment, sparking a fury that only served to reinforce his dominance.

You rose from the floor, your hands trembling as you rubbed at your neck, the marks left by Dazai’s grip still stinging and visible in the mirror's harsh light. Each trace of his touch seemed to burn with a reminder of your entrapment, and the sight made you nauseous. The reflection staring back at you was a cruel parody of the confidence you had once worn so easily.

An hour had passed in a blur of anguish, your mascara-streaked face a testament to the emotional storm that had ravaged you. You had cried until your tears ran dry, your sobs echoing off the cold, opulent walls of his quarters. Now, with your back against the tall windows, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across the room, you waited in tense silence.

You were trapped, not just within these walls, but within the labyrinth of your own emotions. Love and hate twisted together in a grotesque dance, each feeding off the other, until you could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began. Dazai was your captor and your saviour, your tormentor and your solace. You hated him with every fiber of your being, yet you couldn’t imagine life without him. The cruel paradox of your existence, a twisted love that both sustained and destroyed you.

The soft click of the door opening jolted you from your thoughts. Dazai entered the room with a quiet grace, his presence filling the space with an oppressive authority. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he held all the power, who knew you were his and his alone. As he settled into a nearby chair, his gaze fell upon you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

"Have you had time to think about your little outburst?" His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. His eyes were fixed on you as if waiting for your reckless response.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "I just wanted to provide my input, to help…"

A scoff escaped him, and though his expression remained unreadable, the shadow of a smirk remained the same on his lips. "Embarrass me? In front of my subordinates? Do you think that’s something I take lightly?"

You flinched, his words sinking deep into your chest. "I didn’t mean to—"

Dazai sighed, the sound heavy with a weariness that wasn’t lost on you. His hand lifted, a silent command for you to come closer.

Your heart kept pounding in your chest as you slowly pushed yourself away from the window, your legs trembling with each step. You fell to your knees before him, the cold floor biting into your skin as you looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. His gaze was surprisingly gentle now, his eyes softening as they met yours. He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands. The warmth of his touch was unlike the earlier brutality. How could he be so cruel yet so gentle at times? You'd never know.

“Look at you, darlin’,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against the traces of mascara that had smudged your face, “you look much better when you’re obedient, hmm?”

His eyes drifted to the marks on your neck, and a sigh of regret escaped him. Did he even feel remorse? "I’m sorry," he whispered, though the apology felt like a mere formality, a concession to the damage he had inflicted. “I didn’t mean for it to get so rough,”

Before you could fully process his change in demeanor, he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. You found yourself cradled in his arms, the sudden shift from cold distance to warmth disorienting always confused you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he carried you toward the bathroom, the opulence of the room giving way to the sterile, clean environment.

In the bathroom, he set you down by the sink and you stood there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, the sight of your broken self almost too much to bear. You were never like this—never so vulnerable, never this fragile.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression unreadable as he gently grabbed a damp washcloth and wiped the smudged mascara from your face. The tenderness in his touch was a jarring hypocrisy compared to the cold cruelty he had shown you earlier, and it made your heart ache with a confusion you couldn’t untangle. meticulous, as he tended to your appearance.

“Darlin’,” he said, his tone lighter, "I expect a lot from you. I always have. But I also need you to remember you're not just a toy. I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You mean a lot to me, even if I don't always show it the way you need."

You loved him. God, how you loved him. Despite everything, despite the pain and the humiliation, you were obsessed with him. He was your world, the center of your universe, the one person who could make or break you with a single glance. But that love was a double-edged sword, cutting you deeper with each passing day. The same hands that caressed you with such care were the ones that left bruises on your skin. The same voice that whispered sweet nothings in your ear was the one that tore you apart with venomous words.

"I hate you," you thought bitterly, even as your heart cried out for him. "I hate you for what you’ve done to me, for making me love you like this."

But the truth was, you hated yourself more. For being so weak, for letting him break you, for still wanting him even when every part of you screamed to run away. You were trapped, bound to him by invisible chains, a prisoner of your own twisted desires.

He finished cleaning your face, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before he set the washcloth aside. He turned you to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you with an expression that was almost...tender.

"Don’t make me hurt you again, my love," he said softly. Was it a threat or a plea? Again, you could never tell. "I don’t want to break you... but I will if I have to."

You nodded numbly, the words sticking in your throat as you tried to find your voice. "I won’t," you whispered finally, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You didn’t know if you could keep that promise, didn’t know if you could resist the urge to push back, to fight against the suffocating control he had over you.

But for now, you would pretend. You would play the part of the obedient porcelain doll, the perfect little puppet that danced to his tune. Because despite everything, you still craved his approval, still wanted his love, even if it was nothing more than a cruel illusion.

And that was the worst part of all.

He took a step back, his eyes scanning your now-clean face, as if searching for something. Perhaps he was looking for the woman he had first fallen for, the one who had signed away her soul in the name of love. Or perhaps he was looking for a sign that you were still his, still willing to endure whatever torment he decided to inflict, just for the chance to be by his side.

“I know you hate me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, you can’t help but love me too, can you?”

You didn’t respond because there was nothing to say. He knew the truth as well as you did. The love was there, intertwined with the hate, a poisonous cocktail that you drank willingly every day.

His hand reached out, his fingers tracing your cheekbones before settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “You’ll always be mine,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “No matter how much you hate it, no matter how much you love it. You belong to me.”

And you did. You hated him for it, but you loved him even more for it. It was a twisted, toxic love, one that had consumed you whole. But it was the only love you knew, and so you clung to it, even as it tore you apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m so sorry.”

His lips curved into a smile, one that was equal parts gentle and cruel. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s put this behind us, shall we?”

You were his, for better or worse, until the end. And you would endure, because that’s all you could do.

But deep down, you knew—one day, the weight of that contract, of your love, would crush you completely.

And when that day came, you wondered if Dazai would even notice.

Dazai’s arm was draped over your waist, his warmth enveloping you in the stillness of the night. His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in your own body, a restlessness that wouldn’t let you surrender to sleep. You stared at the ceiling, your mind restless, unable to quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

The memories of the day replayed themselves, his harsh words and the sting of his hand still fresh. Yet, for all the pain, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more—something you had long since buried under layers of survival.

Carefully, you began to slip out from under his arm, moving slowly to avoid waking him. You had become an expert at this over time—perfecting the art of leaving unnoticed. You dressed quickly in a plain outfit, something that would allow you to move quietly through the mansion.

Just as your hand touched the door, Dazai stirred, his hand reaching out to the empty space where you had been. His fingers brushed the sheets, searching for your warmth.

“Darlin’...where are you going?” His voice was soft, laced with sleep but edged with that familiar sharpness. Even half-awake, Dazai’s awareness was something to be reckoned with.

You turned back to him, keeping your voice calm and steady. “I can’t sleep, Osamu.” you murmured, brushing a hand through your hair. “I’m going to the studio. Just need to clear my head and paint for a bit.”

He blinked at you, still half-asleep, and nodded slowly. “Alright darlin’,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he sank back into the pillows. “Don’t stay up too late.”

You offered a faint smile that he wouldn’t see in the darkness, even though doubt lingered in your heart. He trusted you, not because he was careless, but because this was routine—something you’d done many times before. Painting in the middle of the night was your escape, the one place where he let you be without question. Maybe because he knew you needed it. Or maybe because he thought there was nothing to worry about.

You watched him for a moment longer, ensuring his eyes were closed again before you quietly slipped out of the room. The door closed with a soft click, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The penthouse was silent as you made your way through it, the city lights filtering through the large windows. Your art studio wasn’t far—just a few blocks away from Dazai’s penthouse, nestled in a quieter part of the city where you could find peace.

The streets were quiet at this hour, the city’s usual bustle replaced by a serene stillness. You breathed in the cool night air as you walked, the distance from the penthouse helping to clear your mind. The studio had become your sanctuary, a place where you could escape from everything, even if just for a little while.

When you arrived, the studio was just as you’d left it, an oasis of creativity nestled in the heart of the city. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the scent of paint and canvas greeting you like an old friend. It was a small space, cozy and cluttered with half-finished projects, but it was yours. Here, you could breathe—here, you could forget.

You turned on a single lamp, the soft light illuminating the canvas that awaited you. It was an abstract piece full of dark swirls and sharp lines, a reflection of the turmoil inside you. The brush felt natural in your hand as you began to paint, your strokes quick and deliberate, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Yet, despite the comfort of the studio, a weight lingered in your chest—a heaviness that had nothing to do with the late hour or the paint fumes. It was Dazai.

Your thoughts kept drifting, your concentration wavering as you replayed the events of the past months. Dazai had always been a mystery—a man who treated you like a prized possession, something to be admired, controlled, but never truly acted like he loved you. He had his moments, of course—moments of gentleness, fleeting glimpses of a man who could care, who could be kind. But those moments were always followed by something darker—a harsh word with a bruising grip.

You weren’t sure if what you had with him was even a relationship. The lines between affection and possession had blurred long ago.

And yet, despite everything, you had stayed. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. But now, with each passing day, with each secret meeting at the studio, you felt your resolve wavering. There was someone else who occupied your thoughts more and more—someone who had never hurt you, who had only ever offered you kindness, warmth.

Your hand faltered on the canvas as your thoughts drifted to Chuuya. Over the past six months, your late-night meetings had become the one thing you looked forward to, the one thing that felt real. Chuuya was different—gentle in ways Dazai could never be, caring in a way that wasn’t calculated or fleeting. He never asked questions about the dark bags under yours that you tried your absolute best to hide with your concealer, never pressed you for answers. He was simply there, offering a quiet comfort that had slowly begun to fill the cracks in your heart.

You dipped your brush in a deep crimson, the colour bleeding onto the canvas in a sharp, harsh shade. It was the shade of blood—Dazai's hands, his clothes, stained night after night. But with a gentle shift, you softened the stroke, blending the red into the backdrop until it faded, becoming something warmer—something closer to the warmth you found with Chuuya.

But as you worked, you became aware of another presence in the room. It was subtle at first—the faint echo of footsteps, a soft rustling that barely disturbed the silence. You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you turned towards the secret passage that led to the back of the studio.

And then he was there, stepping out from the shadows like a memory made flesh. The mafia executive who had effortlessly stolen your heart.

His ginger locks caught the dim light, and he offered you a small, knowing smile. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I couldn't, It’s not finished yet,” you murmured, though even you could see how close it was to completion. The image on the canvas was abstract but familiar—an echo of your life, your feelings, laid bare in strokes of colour and shadow.

Chuuya crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hands finding your shoulders, gloved fingers gently massaged your tense muscles as he looked you over, his gaze lingering on the faint bruise peeking out from under your sleeve...he didn’t say anything—he never did—but the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened, told you enough.

You knew he noticed, with a soft sigh you reached up, placing your hand over his. “It’s fine,” you lied, though you both knew the truth.

He shook his head slightly, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing a path that was both tender and protective. “You shouldn’t have to say that,” he murmured, his voice carried a sadness he rarely allowed himself to show.

There was so much more you wanted to say in that moment—words that lingered on the tip of your tongue, feelings that you had tried so hard to bury. But instead, you simply leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his presence, in the safety he offered without ever needing to say it.

The two of you drank some wine as the night deepened, a bottle that Chuuya had brought with him, a quiet indulgence in a world that offered so few. You picked up your brush again, continuing the painting you had started, the colors flowing more freely now, less restrained.

Chuuya watched you as he always did, with a quiet admiration that never failed to make your heart flutter. How could someone like him exist in this world? So gentle, so pure, so loving? You never told him how you felt. There was no need to. Chuuya was perceptive, far more than he let on. He knew. And as much as he cared for you—more than he probably should have—he never acted on it. He knew the consequences, knew that you were Dazai’s. And yet, here you were, night after night, finding solace in his presence.

But tonight, the wine loosened your inhibitions, the brushstrokes on the canvas becoming bolder, more expressive. You could feel Chuuya’s eyes on you as you painted, a silent observer to the emotions you were pouring out onto the canvas.

When you finally stepped back, you studied the painting with a critical eye. It was abstract, filled with swirling colours and dark, chaotic strokes. But there, in the centre, was a figure—a man with fiery ginger hair, his back turned, and beside him, a woman, her features obscured but unmistakably you.

Chuuya approached, his eyes tracing the lines of the painting, his breath catching as he realized what you had done. You could see it in the way he tensed, in the way his eyes softened with something that looked like pain.

“Is that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to. The realization was there, hanging in the air between you.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile.“It is,” you replied simply, the words hanging between you like a quiet confession. Instead, he slipped off his glove, revealing the bare skin of his right hand, and gently reached out. His fingers ghosted across your cheek, a delicate touch, hesitant, as if you might vanish beneath his fingertips.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Chuuya’s gaze flickered between you and the painting, his heart fluttering with a confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to say so much to ask why, to tell you how much this meant to him. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I…” he started, but the words trailed off. What could he say? That he was touched beyond measure? That he didn’t know how to handle the feelings you stirred in him?

You placed your hand over his, leaning into his touch. “It’s okay, Chuuya,” you murmured. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Chuuya's hand lingered against your cheek for a bit longer, his touch as soft as the brushstrokes you had just painted. His thumb traced the outline of your face, so delicate, velvety even it almost felt like a whisper, like he was afraid you might shatter under his touch. But you didn’t. With him, you never did.

There was a warmth in Chuuya that didn’t demand, didn’t seize more than you could offer. Instead, his gentleness defied everything you had been taught to expect, everything you had come to accept as inevitable. It was a tenderness that stood in defiance of everything you had known with Dazai. Where Dazai’s hands were icy, sharp with toxic edge of possession, Chuuya’s were a haven—soft, steady, and sure, grounding you even as the shadows of your past threatened to consume you.

His fingers, calloused from years of battle, should’ve been rough, yet the way they caressed your skin was anything but. It was a tenderness that made your breath hitch, your heart fluttering as his presence filled the cracks of your heart. The weight that had clung to your chest moments ago seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something that made the air between you feel light as a feather.

"You're always too good to me," you whispered, barely audible, afraid that if you spoke too loudly, the moment would shatter. But he heard you, and you noticed how his gaze started softening even more as his fingers curled slightly against your skin.

"You deserve someone to be good to you," he murmured in return, his raspy voice made your stomach sink "I will forever protect you, won't let anyone take from you what you truly deserve."

"You don’t need to protect me, Chuuya," you sigh softly, “I’m a woman who’s been through too much to need protecting. I can handle myself.”

His gaze sharpened as he shook his head firmly. “No, I will protect you,” he replied, his voice brooking no argument. “Not because you need saving, not because you're a woman, but because you’re ‘my woman,’ and no one—not even Dazai—will take from you what you truly deserve.”

“Your… woman?” You stuttered, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. The idea felt foreign, surreal even.

The dim light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, and the flame-red strands of hair that framed his features like something out of a dream. You found yourself captivated, as you always were, by how someone so dangerous could be so gentle with you.

And then, his eyes—those deep, stormy blue eyes—locked with yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You knew what he wanted to ask, what he had been holding back for months, and you answered before he could even speak. Your hand, still resting over his, gave a small squeeze, your own heart pounding in your chest.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade until there was nothing but him. The ginger leaned in slowly, hesitantly, as if giving you a chance to pull away—but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time stopped. The kiss was soft, tentative, and filled with a sweetness that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t thought possible. His lips moved against yours like he was afraid of breaking you, but there was a passion simmering just beneath the surface, one that spoke of everything he had kept buried for so long.

With Dazai, kisses had always been possessive, demanding, like he was trying to stake a claim, to remind you that you were his and his alone. There was never any softness in them, only a dark, consuming hunger that left you feeling hollow. But with Chuuya—oh, with Chuuya, it was different. His kiss was tender, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make you feel wanted, cherished, safe.

You melted into him, your hand slipping up to tangle in his hair, tossing his hat aside and pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, grounding you in the moment. The world outside ceased to matter, the chaos of your life fading into the background until there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you shared with him.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. Chuuya’s eyes searched yours, his breath warm against your lips, and you could see the question there again—an unspoken plea, asking if this was real, if it was okay to want this, to want you.

“It’s okay, Chuuya,” you whispered, echoing the words you had said earlier, but this time, there was more behind them. There was a promise. A promise that, with him, you didn’t need to be afraid.

Chuuya's hand slid to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse. “You don’t have to stay with him,” he said quietly, his voice shaking with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “You deserve more than what he gives you.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing against the lump in your throat. He was right. You knew it, had known it for a long time. But leaving Dazai wasn’t as simple as walking away. There were consequences—ones that could ripple far beyond just you.

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into him, finding solace in the steady beat of his heart against your chest. “But it’s not that easy.”

Chuuya didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Instead, he held you close, his arms wrapping around you as if shielding you from the world, from the pain that had become all too familiar.

You gentely pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the desperation building inside you. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, but there was something heavier pressing against your chest—something you could no longer ignore.

“We could leave,” you whispered suddenly, your voice barely audible but heavy with the weight of your plea. “We could run away from all of this. Together. Far away. Somewhere Dazai can’t reach us.”

The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker in Chuuya’s eyes—hope, maybe, or the brief illusion of escape. But then, just as quickly, the reality of the situation settled over him like a dark cloud. He sighed, his hand sliding down to rest on your arm.

“You know we can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Dazai won’t take it lightly. He’s... not someone we can just leave behind.”

You knew he was right. You knew it the moment the words left your mouth, but still, the thought of staying in the suffocating grip of Dazai’s control was unbearable. You couldn’t live like this anymore—not with the strings he had wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like you were choking. You had been his puppet for too long, forced to dance on command, every move dictated by his whims, every decision manipulated to suit his goals.

“I can’t do it anymore, Chuuya,” you choked out, your voice trembling as the words tumbled from your lips. “I can’t stay with him, a slave to whatever sick game he’s playing. He’s made me do things—things I can’t even live with anymore. I’m not... I’m not myself anymore. I’m just another one of his puppets.”

“I know,” he sighed, eyes frowning. “I know what he’s done to you. And I swear, if I could—” He cut himself off, his hands trembling slightly as he reined in the fury threatening to spill over. “But we can’t just run. Dazai... He’s too smart. He’d know. He’d find us, no matter where we went.”

But of course again you knew Dazai, he was no ordinary man. He was calculated, methodical, and always one step ahead of everyone around him. He weaponized his false incompetence, using it to manipulate people into underestimating him. It was a clever façade, one that hid the dark and twisted brilliance beneath. He knew exactly how to pull the strings, to twist every situation in his favour. Running from him wasn’t just difficult—it was impossible.

“He’d hunt us down,” Chuuya continued, his voice a strained whisper. “No matter where we went, no matter how far we ran, Dazai would find us. And when he does...”

Chuuya didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You both knew what Dazai was capable of. There were no limits to how far he’d go to maintain control, to remind you that you were his, body and soul.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness of your situation sank in. You bit your lip, trying to steady the storm brewing inside you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Dazai had this much control over your life, that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break free. But staying wasn’t an option anymore. Not after everything you had been through. Not when you had finally allowed yourself to feel something for someone else—someone who treated you like a person, not a pawn.

“We have to try,” you whispered, your voice pleading. “Even if it’s dangerous, even if he hunts us down, we have to at least try. I can’t keep living like this, Chuuya. I can’t be his toy anymore.”

Chuuya stared at you, his expression softening as he saw the desperation in your eyes. He knew you were serious. He knew how much you had suffered under Dazai’s thumb. And though every instinct in him screamed that running was a death sentence, he also knew that staying would break you in ways even he couldn’t fix.

“Alright,” he said quietly,“We’ll try. But we have to be smart about it. He's not someone you can just escape from without a plan.”

You nodded, relief washing over you as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’ll plan it,” you said, your mind already racing with possibilities. “We’ll find a way. Somewhere, he won’t think to look. Somewhere safe.”

The night ended peacefully, the two of you spending the remaining hours in quiet companionship. Chuuya left the studio with a lingering look as if he was trying to commit the memory of this moment to heart. You watched him go, your heart heavy yet light all at once, knowing that you would return to the embrace of the man who tore you apart.

When you slipped into bed later that night, Dazai was already there, his presence was unlike the warmth you had felt with Chuuya. He hummed softly as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“Did you drink tonight?” he asked slowly with a low and deceptively gentle voice.

“I needed to relax,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. Dazai’s lips moved to your forehead, where he placed a soft kiss, a gesture so tender it almost made you believe in the facade he presented.

Your mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, urging you to be more cautious. How did you even end up here in the first place? What were you thinking—did you really believe he’d love you? You scoffed bitterly at your past self.

How do you make this vicious cycle end? Convinced yourself to like the bed you shared with him while crying, going numb and lying bare. You did it all for him and more, with all your body getting sore.

How could you be so brutal to yourself?

Finally, after what felt like hours, you drifted off to sleep, knowing that tomorrow the cycle would begin again—Dazai’s cruelty followed by hollow apologies, his grip on you tightening with each passing day But in the quiet of the night, your thoughts drifted to Chuuya, and your heart fluttered with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. It had been months, yet the excitement you felt was just as strong as the first time.

The next evening, you slipped into a cami top and jeans, your movements careful and deliberate. When you approached the door, you saw Dazai at his desk, yawning and eyeing you with his empty, hollow gaze. The bandage over his left eye only heightened your simmering anxiety, but you forced yourself to remain calm as he asked, “Are you going to the studio to paint? Darlin’,”

You nodded, hoping your nervousness didn’t show. Dazai got up from his desk and walked over to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll come with you then,” he suggested, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent that made your heart race in fear.

This is bad—so, so bad!

As Dazai moved to slip on his coat, you seized the moment, your fingers moving swiftly over your phone's keyboard. The message to Chuuya was short, urgent: "Mission 006." It was the code you had agreed upon, a signal that he should stay away from the studio tonight.

You hit send just as Dazai turned back to you, "Ready?" he asked. There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral as you followed him out the door. The walk to the studio was silent, the usual chatter between you two absent. Dazai’s presence was as suffocating as ever, but tonight, there was something more—an intensity that made your skin crawl. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew if he had somehow pieced together the secret you and Chuuya had been carefully guarding.

When you arrived at the studio, the familiar scent of paint and canvas did little to ease your nerves. You unlocked the door, and the two of you stepped inside. Dazai paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the small space as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"It's cozy," he remarked, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real interest. He wandered further in, his steps slow, as if he was taking stock of every detail.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the cold sweat forming at the back of your neck. "It’s my little sanctuary," you said, forcing a lightness into your voice that you didn’t feel.

Dazai walked over to the easel where your unfinished painting stood, his head tilting slightly as he studied it. You could feel his gaze on the canvas, lingering on the dark swirls and sharp lines. His silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, he spoke.

"What were you trying to express here?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to decipher your painting.

You hesitated, your mind racing to come up with a safe answer. "Just… emotions," you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor. "I paint what I feel."

Dazai didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, his fingers tracing the lines of the painting with an almost careless touch. "It’s dark," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Like a storm brewing."

You forced yourself to nod, though your throat felt tight. "It’s been a… difficult time," you said, the understatement almost laughable.

Dazai finally turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss. As he pulled back slightly, his gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You know," he murmured, "sometimes I wonder what goes on in that pretty little head of yours."

The words were light, almost teasing, but you knew better than to believe that façade. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your expression neutral. "Nothing special," you lied, offering a small, strained smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before he let out a low hum, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced but didn’t feel like pressing the matter further. "Well, let’s see what you can create tonight," he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the canvas with a casual wave.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to pick up the brush with steady hands. As you dipped it into the paint, you could feel his piercing eyes on you, watching your every move with a calculated gaze that made your skin prickle.

The brushstrokes felt heavy, each one a struggle as you tried to focus on anything other than the man standing behind you. But all you could think about was Chuuya, hoping against hope that he had gotten your message in time, that he would stay away, that tonight wouldn’t end in disaster.

Just as you began to settle into a rhythm, the soft buzz of your phone vibrating in your pocket broke your concentration. Your heart leapt into your throat as you hesitated, knowing it could only be Chuuya. Dazai’s eyes flicked towards you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he noticed your sudden tension.

"You should get that," he said, his tone almost too kind.

With shaky hands, you pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Chuuya: "Understood. Be safe."

You breathed out a sigh of relief, quickly typing back a short reply before slipping the phone back into your pocket. "Just Chuuya making sure I received the files earlier from today," you lied, hoping to deflect any suspicion.

Dazai didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t entirely fooled. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You have such a pretty face," he murmured, his fingers against your cheek lingering a bit too long. "It would be a shame if anything happened to it."

You stiffened at the veiled threat, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced yourself to stay still, to not flinch under his touch. "I’ll be careful," you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Dazai smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Good," he said, his hand dropping back to his side. "Now, continue your magic darlin’."

You turned back to the canvas, struggling to concentrate as your thoughts swirled in disarray. The weight of the evening pressed down on you, with tonight promising its own set of trials.

Just then, Dazai's phone rang, the sharp sound breaking through the quiet. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to one of urgent concern.

"I'm sorry, darlin’," he said, "I have to go. There's an emergency I need to handle."

He stepped closer, cupping your face gently in his hands. His lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss—tender and bittersweet at first, but slowly growing more possessive, as if he were kissing you for the last time. As he pulled away, he offered a reassuring smile.

"I will wait for you at my penthouse" he promised, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he turned and walked toward the door. With a final glance back, he slipped out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the dim light of the studio.

Once Dazai had left, you quickly grabbed your phone from your pocket, and typed a message to Chuuya: "Mission 006 is complete. Head to the HQ now."

You quickly gathered your things, taking one last look around the studio to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything—a gun, your favorite painting, and a few clothes for emergencies. With a deep breath, you slung your backpack over your shoulders, stepped out the door, and made your way to the headquarters.

The streets were eerily quiet as you walked, your mind racing with what you were about to do. When you reached the mafia headquarters, you slipped inside through a side entrance that you had memorized for emergencies like this.

The headquarters was still, the usual hustle and bustle of the mafia's operations eerily absent. You made your way to the main floor, your heart pounding in your chest. you approached the central hub where most of the mafia members were stationed.

With trembling hands, you took a deep breath and activated your ability—the one you had kept hidden for years. Phantom mists, a memory fog that could cloud the minds of everyone around you, except for Dazai. It wasn’t going to be effective against him, but against the mafia? It would create the perfect chaos. The pendant around your neck warmed as you focused, pouring your energy into the ability.

A swirling mist began to spread from your fingertips, a soft fog that permeated the air. You could feel the tendrils of your ability seeping into the minds of everyone in the vicinity. The effect was immediate—confusion and disorientation began to take hold.

Voices started to rise in panic, shouts echoing through the hallways. "What’s happening? I can’t remember..." one mafioso cried out.

You could imagine it clearly—the mafia’s best, their subordinates and leaders alike, suddenly unable to remember who they were supposed to trust, who their allies were. They wouldn’t even remember Dazai was their boss.

You slipped into the dimly lit maze beneath the headquarters, the fog of your ability still working its magic above. The soft echo of your footsteps against the cold stone ground was the only sound as you navigated the narrow tunnel that led to the next step in your escape. Your pulse raced with adrenaline, knowing the chaos you had unleashed would buy you just enough time.

As you approached the end of the tunnel, your beloved mafia executive appeared from the shadows, waiting by the ladder leading to the manhole cover above. His familiar silhouette, though tense, brought you an unexpected sense of relief. He glanced up at you, his sharp eyes softening the moment they met yours.

"About damn time," he muttered, but his tone lacked any real bite. You knew him well enough to recognize the relief in his voice.

You gave him a quick nod, stepping forward as he reached out, placing a steadying hand around you. For a moment all that mattered was Chuuya Nakahara just 'him' with his short temper and rough edges, he had always been there for you. It was a truth neither of you had ever said aloud, but it didn’t need to be.

"Are you okay, hun?" His voice was so velvety gentle. He didn’t meet your eyes, his attention seemingly fixed on the ladder. But his hand remained at the small of your back, his thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle against your clothed skin.

You nodded, trying to control your breath. "I’m fine," you whispered, though your heart was still racing. "It’s done. We have a window."

He exhaled, finally letting his shoulders relax. "Good, we need to move fast," he said as he positioned himself beneath the manhole cover. "This will take us closer to the station."

With a grunt, the mafioso climbed up the ladder and pushed the heavy metal cover aside, the cold night air rushing down to meet you both. He climbed up first, then reached down to help you out, his fingers gripping yours tightly as he pulled you up onto the street. The city was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

You glanced around, quickly regaining your bearings. "The train station is close, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, already starting to walk, picking up his pace. "I arranged a train to Kyoto. It'll give us enough distance, at least for a little while."

After a few minutes of fast walking, you approached the station, the faint glow of the train's headlights illuminated the platform in the distance. Chuuya glanced at you, his hand briefly finding your wrist, pulling you back for a second. His captivating azure eyes met yours, filled with something deeper than his usual intensity.

"You did good tonight," he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. "But… you know he’s not going to let this go. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."

"I know," you murmured, stepping closer. "I have everything planned."

He just gave a small nod and released your wrist, his hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with yours in a fleeting gesture of reassurance.

"Come on, we don’t have time," he said, his tone regaining its usual bite as he pulled you toward the station.

The two of you boarded the train, slipping into one of the empty compartments as the doors slid shut behind you with a soft hiss. The train rumbled to life, and the gentle sway lulled you into a momentary sense of peace, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

The mafia executive sat across from you, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he leaned back. He tried to act casual, like everything was under control, but you could see the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers drummed restlessly against his knee.

"Are you going to pretend you're not worried about me?" you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Chuuya huffs dramatically. "Shut up," he muttered, though his lips twitched slightly with amusement. "You’re not as helpless as you look. Who would have guessed you had such a powerful ability hidden up your sleeve?"

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere," you joked, watching the man beside you shift in his seat.

The man in question leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost as if the empty train could somehow betray his words. "I mean it, though. No matter what happens… I’ll keep you safe." He parts his lips slightly as if he was hesitant. "He’s not laying a hand on you again."

You knew the moment of peace was fleeting, a temporary respite in the chaos that would inevitably catch up to you both. He’d find you—of course, he always did—but this soon? You weren’t expecting that. Still, you had a plan, a counter to his twisted, manipulative games. After all, you knew his mind, how he bent and twisted reality to his will. So, you played dirty, just like him.

The sudden jolt of the train hitting something, the screech of metal twisting and crashing, sent a shockwave through the entire train. Chuuya’s arm wrapped around you, his ability immediately activated shielding you from the impact. Through the dizzying haze, your vision blurred, but you saw him—a familiar silhouette in a dark coat, red scarf flowing behind him like a warning. He was walking toward you, his figure growing clearer as the dust settled.

There’s no time left. You had to move now, or it would be too late.

Your heart raced as you saw him clap his hands, the sound mocking in its slow, deliberate rhythm. He was amused. Of course, he was. The familiar twisted smile, painting the corners of his lips as he spoke, his voice sounded like something that could’ve been approval—or maybe it was just a new layer of threat. "Good job," Dazai drawled, eyes gleaming with that familiar, unnerving intelligence. Was he proud of you for finally releasing your ability for blanketing the entire mafia headquarters with the dense, confusing memory fog? Or was this his way of saying you’d only managed to amuse him, that your effort was nothing more than a brief diversion in his grand scheme?

He always knew, somehow. It was as if he could sense it every time. The thought gnawed at you as the devil in question stepped closer. Of course, Dazai had known about you and Chuuya all along. No matter how careful you were, how meticulously you avoided suspicion, he had always been one step ahead. Because he's the cunning devil himself, he's Osamu Dazai, the demon prodigy that was never left in the dark—not where you were concerned.

And now, you were trapped in his web again.

You saw him as he moved with the same old unsettling calm, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence as he found a seat among the debris, settling down as if he were nothing more than a bored spectator to the carnage.

A crooked smile curled on his lips, his eyes gleaming with that disgustingly cold amusement. "Finally," he let out a breathless chuckle. "You’ve let your ability take control. I was beginning to wonder how long you'd hide it." His gaze flickered toward you, sharp as a blade. "I must say, I enjoy it just a little bit. Tell me darlin’, does that make me insane?"

Chuuya, of course, wasn’t about to sit idle. The moment Dazai’s words slithered into the air, he shot up, standing between you and Dazai, "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you have all of us under your command?" he growled, "You’re wrong, Dazai. I don’t give a damn about your twisted games or the Port Mafia. If it means keeping her safe, I’d watch it all burn."

The mafia boss's lips curled into a cruel smile, "Ah, Chuuya," he mused, tilting his head with a condescending air. "How touching. Such devotion. You’re so willing to throw away your morals, your loyalty—everything you’ve stood for—just for her. And here I thought you were just a pawn, but it seems I’ve underestimated you."

"You want to talk about misplaced loyalty? How about you look at her. Look at how you’ve torn her apart. Do you think you’re protecting her? Loving her? It's not an act of love if you force her, " Chuuya spat, shaking his head with disgust. How could he act like he didn't destroy you, tore you apart?

Dazai leaned back, unperturbed." Chuuya, you misunderstood everything, ehh? Everything I did was to protect her, to train her to conquer her fears and take control of her life. And look at her now—she’s in control, free from her own constraints. I’d say I’ve succeeded."

He leaned in closer, smiling like a maniac that he is, "If you think your misguided sense of protection is better than what I’ve done, then perhaps you should reconsider your own humanity. After all, it seems you’re more concerned with playing the hero than understanding what real strength and freedom look like."

You cut through the tension, drawing the gun that was placed in your backpack and aiming it at Dazai. "Enough." Your voice was steady, but your heart was not. "You’re right about one thing—this is my plan. I know you’re not as unfeeling as you pretend. I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done."

Dazai scoffed, his eyes dismissive. "You can’t muster the courage to kill me, darlin’."

You clenched your teeth, the gun steady in your hand. "It’s not about killing you. It’s about making you feel the pain you’ve inflicted. Two years of this twisted mess, of apologies from my tongue but never yours, just endless torment."

You stepped closer, your voice trembling with rage and exhaustion. "Tell me, Dazai, if we had a daughter? I'd watch and could not save her. The emotional torture? from the head of your high table... she'd do what you taught her. She'd meet the same cruel fate.

"So now I've gotta run, so I can undo this mistake... At least, I've gotta try" your breath hitched in your throat.

For the first time in your life you saw Dazai's expression stripped of its usual layers of detachment. It was almost readable—though, in truth, it had always been so readable, you were just too hurt to see it..he seemed genuinely vulnerable, a rare sight for someone who usually masked their feelings so well.

"Do you really believe that, after everything," he voice dripping with a sadness he could no longer hide. He knew he had inflicted profound pain that his actions had not succeeded as he had claimed. He saw the woman he cherished, distancing herself from him, and it shattered him in ways he couldn't admit.

You fought to keep your tears in check, swallowing the rising tide of anguish.

The mafia boss, now a broken man, rose from his seat and moved closer with the same pained expression on his face that was too unfamiliar to you. For the first time, you didn’t flinch as he approached. Maybe your plan had worked—maybe now, he was the one truly hurt.

He gently took your hands, still gripping the gun so desperately, and aimed it at his heart as you stood there unshaken. You had emptied the gun, knowing that the real weapon was your words, not a filled barrel. You were fearless, no longer afraid of what Dazai might do, because the true pain was already inflicted.

"Go on, my love," he demanded, “Shoot me,” He pressed lightly against your finger on the trigger. Still, you didn’t move, you remained utterly still.

Time seemed to stretch, seconds dragging as Chuuya stood by, his eyes widening in shock. 'Is he out of his mind???' This can’t be happening!!!

Chuuya began to step forward, his ability ready to activate. But his shout was too late. “NO! THIS ISN'T YOUR GUN!!!”

You felt the pressure on your finger intensify, bewildered by the urgency in Chuuya’s voice. He knew the gun was empty—why was he stopping you? What does he mean this is not your gun?

Your confusion wavering as the trigger pressed down with an inexplicable force. Time seemed to distort, the moment stretching into a surreal blur. A bullet, as if conjured from the void, shot forth with a chilling precision, piercing the veil of reality and leaving you numb, detached from the gravity of what was happening.

As the bullet pierced Dazai’s chest, everything around you felt unreal, a dreamscape where the laws of cause and effect seemed suspended. The sound of the gunshot echoed in your ears, dissonant...distant, like a harsh reminder from another world.

Your eyes widened in horror. You were sure you had emptied the gun. How could this happen? Your heart raced as you screamed in agony. “NO, OSAMU!!!”

You reached out, your hands trembling as you tried to grasp the enormity of what had just transpired. Dazai's body fell forward against yours, a warm, crimson stain spreading through your clothes.

You collapsed to the ground in a haze, disbelief clouding your mind. This can’t be real… it feels like a cruel illusion. His shallow breaths brushed weakly against your skin, barely there but enough to hold onto.

Chuuya rushed forward, gently cradling Dazai's head beside you, his eyes betraying a depth of sorrow that he struggled so hard to contain. The train car, once a mere backdrop to your confrontation, now felt like a tragic stage for this final act.

Dazai's breath was shallow, as he slowly tilted his head, his eyes locked with yours, a fading smile painted his now blood stained lips.

“Finally, my love,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re free from my grip… free from my control.”

His gaze shifted to Chuuya, and he managed a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

His heartbeat faltered, the rhythm of life slowing to a stop. With a final, shuddering breath, Dazai’s eyes closed, and the warmth faded from his body.

You could not control your sobs, the anguish tearing through you like a relentless storm. You had hated him, yes, but never wanted this. Never wanted to see him die, to feel this unbearable void where his presence had been.

Chuuya, his face etched with profound sorrow, held back his own tears as he watched his boss and former partner slip away. “You were always such an idiot, Dazai.” He managed a sad smile through his tears, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities of their shared history. He knew now, all too late, what Dazai had truly intended and the extent of the manipulation that had led to this tragic end.

The wrecked train car felt like a distorted realm, every sound and motion warped by the intense grief that filled it. Your loud sobs echoed eerily through the wreckage, the sound reverberating in a way that made time seem to stretch and slow. Each cry was a jarring note in a symphony of desolation, creating a haunting melody that seemed to hang in the air.

A day had passed since Dazai's tragic end, whether it was death or a calculated suicide. The weight of his absence still lingered in the room.

The sun cast a dim, melancholic light through the window as you sat next to Chuuya on the couch in your room, holding a burgundy envelope. its edges slightly crumpled from the many times you had picked it up and set it aside. The elegant cursive writing on the front, "𝑇𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 :D" the absurdity of the smiley face—silly and oddly incongruent—making you hesitate even more.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m here,” Chuuya whispered, placing his gloved hand on your thigh and rubbing circles to sooth you down.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and carefully peeled open the envelope.

"𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠,

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝐴ℎ, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠.

𝐵𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤, 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛.

𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐼? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒—𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛—𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑗𝑜𝑦. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑦.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠: 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠𝑘.

𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.

𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑. 𝐼𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐼 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝐼𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡—𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒. 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒, ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑡.

𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒,

𝒪𝓈𝒶𝓂𝓊 𝒟𝒶𝓏𝒶𝒾,

𝑃.𝑆: 𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑢𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ—𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜."

As you finished reading, your sobs erupted uncontrollably, the grief of his words and the weight of his absence overwhelming you. Chuuya encircled you with his arms, drawing you close and planting gentle kisses on your temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered repeatedly, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

As your cries began to subside, the room remained shrouded in a mournful silence. The letter had left a new reality for you both to face.

The ink had indeed dried, but it was not your ink that marked the paper; it was Dazai's.

A/N: If you’re still with me, high five! You’re just as wonderfully tormented as I am, haha. Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! *KISSES*

-Heavily inspired by the songs "Labour" by Paris Paloma and "Will I Ever Love?" by Anya Nami

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

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faustiantales · 1 month

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𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

Dark Descent: Osamu Dazai X fem/afab!Reader

Twisted Truths: incest, beast universe, osamu is overprotective and possessive, dubcon, fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, pet names

Synopsis: As the boss of Port Mafia, Osamu isn't alien to a life of crime and cruelty. He is a man bathed in the tainted world… a man who is destined to die alone, without any meaningful connections with others. Yet, the only one who was always by his side was none other than his beloved little sister — his life, his anchor, his entire world.

Shadows Lengthen: 1.9k words

"Is it good when I touch you here?" The boss's fingers caressed her smooth inner thighs, the sensation sending an unwelcome shiver up her spine. A subtle smirk emerged on his lips, watching as the girl's expression contorted into pure pleasure when he inched closer to her throbbing heat... until finally, he inserted a finger into her wet entrance. "Or maybe here?"

"Ngh! Niisama..." she breathed, forcing her lids open to look at her beloved brother. "...feels... so good..."

Osamu chuckled, his expression softening. With his free hand, he brushed a stray strand of [h/c] hair away from her beautiful face, relishing the softness of her skin and admiring her flushed-out expression. He continued fingering her slick cunt, his digits moving in a deliberate pattern that he knew would drive her wild.

Dazai Osamu, the current boss of the Port Mafia, is a man of cruelty and cunning. He became the leader of this crime organization at such a young age, expanded his influence, and made enemies in the process. He is logical and calculating, and has no remorse for any misdeeds he has done. Many respected him. Many feared him. Many despised him.

Yet, despite his grim and inhuman personality, the man can shift his entire personality just for a single person, [Y/n]. In front of his younger sister, he is a gentle and loving brother, one who could not bring himself to harm a fly if it meant she'd be sad. Dazai [Y/n], a young teen who's four years younger than him, was his entire world. She is the only light in this dark and bleak world. She is the untainted soul amidst the brutality of the underworld.

The man knew that this life that he led was a stark contrast to the life he wanted his sister to live. Yet, he couldn't possibly let her go and explore the real world alone, could he? No, no. That's absolutely unacceptable. If she were to be left alone without the protection and guidance of her older brother, who knew what would happen to her? He'd seen the worst in humanity, and he wasn't about to let his sister become a part of it.

That's why Osamu decided to have her stay close—to ensure she's safe where he can see her. They were together when they were young and will stay together until the bitter end. The man will ensure that his sister's purity and innocence will not be tainted by the darkness that he is wading in. He will ensure to keep her safe, to spoil her lots and let her feel loved, and to teach her all the things she needed to know by himself. He couldn't let a random stranger corrupt his sister's mind, could he? Absolutely not.

"Be a good girl for Niisama, hm?" He purred, leaning down gently onto her naked body to plant kisses along her face, neck, and collarbone. His touch, usually reserved for pain and punishment, is tender and intimate as he explores her body. Every spot he touched was like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. "I love you, sweetie."

"I love you too, Niisama," she mumbled, the words like a sacred promise slipping out of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as she gave in to the feeling of his touch.

Osamu's expression was bittersweet, a complex cocktail of love, possessiveness, and guilt. He knew this was wrong, but he couldn't resist the allure of her innocence, her purity. He had to keep her close, keep her safe, keep her his. His thumb found her clit, and he began to circle it, feeling her body tense and shiver beneath his touch. He had been her protector, her provider, her teacher, and now, in this twisted reality, her lover too.

"Niisama!" She gasped, her body instinctively arching back from her brother's ministration. Her hands found leverage on his shoulder, her nails digging into his black coat as a way to ground herself.

[Y/n] mewled out his title again and again, like a chant being performed in a holy ritual. She squirmed beneath him as the older Dazai continued his gentle yet fast fingering into her squelching cunt, his mouth finding solace against her soft lips in a passionate and desperate kiss.

It didn't take long for the young girl to feel her impending release, and Osamu hastened his pace, knowing full well what his little sister needed. He consumed her moans — his mouth latched itself onto her lips without a hint of letting go, only barely pulling back for a gasp of air before he explored her cavern once more. His other hand trailed along the side of her body, each path leaving a burning sensation against her skin. His touch, although as light as a feather, felt like it was branding her with his ownership, and she found it thrilling.

Her legs quivered, a silent plea for more, as his fingers plunged deeper into her warmth. The sound of their kisses, of her wetness, filled the quiet room. The room was theirs, a sanctuary of twisted love amidst the chaos of the mafia world. Osamu's thumb circled her clit with firm pressure, and she couldn't help but let out a whimper. He knew her body so well, knew every button to push to make her moan aloud.

"Cum, sweetie. Don't hold back. Let it all out. Niisama's got you," he encouraged, voice as soft and gentle as possible.

His thumb increased its pace, pressing harder against her sensitive nub. [Y/n]'s breath grew ragged, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body quivered as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her walls tightening around his invading fingers. Osamu felt her clench around him, and he knew she was close. He withdrew his hand, leaving her panting and desperate. He didn't miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes as she opened them, only to be met with his smoldering gaze.

"Not yet," he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We have all night, and Niisama isn't done with you."

Osamu sat up, his eyes never leaving hers as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and hard with desire for her. One by one, his remaining garments were discarded on the floor. The boss's body was lean, yet muscular, a testament to the brutal life he led. [Y/n] stared, her eyes raking over the familiar naked body of her older brother. Then, her gaze traveled down between his legs, gulping as she took in his massive, throbbing cock.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she nodded silently, eyes still glued to his manhood. He took that as an invitation and shifted his body over hers, aligning his cock with her wet pussy. The head of his cock nudged against her opening, sending a jolt of anticipation through her body. She felt a twinge of fear, knowing the size of him would stretch her more than she ever had been, but she bit her lip and trusted him.

With a gentle push, Osamu entered her, observing her expression for any signs of pain. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, but she didn't protest. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. He took his time, inch by inch, filling her until she was completely sheathed around him. He leaned down to kiss her again, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he began to thrust.

Her nails dug into his back as he moved, his strokes slow and deliberate. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last as long as he could. He felt her walls tighten around him, and he knew she was close again. He reached between them, finding her clit with his thumb and resuming his earlier motion. Her moans grew louder, echoing off the walls of the room, mixing with his grunts of pleasure.

The room was filled with the sweet scent of their love, the gentle sounds of their shared breaths, and the rhythmic rustling of their bodies moving in harmony. The brunette felt his heart swell with affection as he listened to her moan his endeared title in the throes of passion. He knew he was crossing a line that many would consider taboo, but in his twisted world, this was the purest form of love he could offer her.

"Niisama... more..." she begged, and he was more than happy to oblige.

He quickened his pace, driving into her with more force, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through her body. He felt her getting closer, her breaths hitching, her body trembling. He knew she was going to cum, and he wanted to be the one to push her over the edge.

"Cum for me, sweetie," he murmured, his voice strained with his desire. "Cum for Niisama."

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her and leaving her breathless. Her body spasmed around him, tightening and releasing in rapid succession. Osamu groaned, the sensation of her climax pushing him closer to his own. He kissed her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his lips, and increased his speed, driving them both to the brink.

With one final, powerful thrust, Osamu released his load inside her, filling her with his warmth. He collapsed onto her, panting and sweaty, feeling her heart hammering against his chest. He held her close, whispering words of love and reassurance as they both rode out the aftershocks of their shared pleasure.

"I love you, [Y/n]," the man proclaimed, his voice a silent promise. His expression contained a rare vulnerability and fragile hope that seemed out of place in the cold, hardened mafia boss's repertoire. "Now and always."

"I love you too... Niisama," she murmured, her voice a sweet melody that resonated within him. Her eyes searched his, looking for any trace of doubt or malice, but found only an ocean of genuine affection and protectiveness.

Dazai Osamu, the feared mafia boss, had shown her a side of himself that no one else had ever seen. A side that was gentle, loving, and fiercely devoted to her. His lips curved once more into a minuscule smile, his dark, lifeless, brown orbs welling up with unspoken tears.

He leaned down, his lips pressed against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt his love, his need, his everything. The way his tongue danced with hers was a silent promise of eternal protection and care. It was a dance of love and dominance, a declaration of his unwavering dedication to her.

Their love was wrong in the eyes of the world, but in their twisted reality, it was the only thing that made sense. They were two halves of a whole, bound by blood and by this forbidden desire that burned within them. And as they lay there, Osamu knew that he would never let anyone else touch her, never let anyone else claim her as their own. She was his, and he would protect her with every fiber of his being.

📜— Return to the Shadowed Archive

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kodea34 · 9 days

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CW: Suggestive I struggled way longer than I should've to put the gif on the image

Original

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buckys-wintersoldier · 2 months

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Warming Heart | B.B

Coldness and hate, followed by nightmares — he never chooses to be like that but the people made him to be like that. People made him be the beast but maybe there will be one who can melt the grumpy man’s heart.

//Pairing// Beast!Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

//Wordcount// 4.727 Words

//Warnings// grumpy x sunshine, Bucky being hated, “beast”!Bucky, grumpy!Bucky, hurt/comfort kinda, nightmare, fluff

//Authors Note// I want to thank @holylulusworld for listening to all my ramblings about the idea and helping me with details. Also for proofreading, all mistakes are still mine (so don’t steal them from me!)

// Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist //

Surrounded by darkness and hate — without a chance to make amends because no one even gives him just the smallest of a chance to let him try to be like them or at least explain himself. They hate him like no one else, like he is the worst thing you could be around and that’s the way they would act around him.

So the man decided years ago to hide in his small house in the middle of the forest, he doesn’t care what the people say about him, about his house. At least he doesn’t care anymore, if someone had asked him a few years back he would have tried to explain himself with tears in his eyes and a broken voice.

The man he was and the man he is now is a huge difference because he is different now. It wasn’t him who changed himself, it was the people who changed him into the “beast” he is now.

James Barnes doesn’t mind the coldness and darkness around him, he even appreciates it. He hates everyone who is close to his house and luckily there are rarely people who walk that deep into the forest, especially after they heard the stories about him, about the monster — the winter soldier.

The winter soldier is known as the most dangerous assassin with a metal arm. There are stories of why he lost his arm and now has a metal arm. From ‘he got hurt during a mission’ to ‘he ripped off his arm to make himself more dangerous’. But the truth? No one asks what the truth is, no one cares because they have their own stories, their imaginations about the man.

You’re new to the village, living in a small house at the edge of it. The people living there only look at you with suspicious eyes because you’re different. That’s what you think because you haven’t even introduced yourself to them but they don’t even talk to you.

Maybe it’s your style or the fact that you’re living in a way more modern way than they do. You’re working from home, with your laptop. You have meetings and organize everything for the company you’re working for. Maybe they think you plan to turn their small village into a hotel resort or whatever — but there is one thing you know: the people living in that village are judgeful and need a while to warm up with other people.

Today you decided to go for a walk, you always loved the forests and the one next to the village always smells so good like fir and spruce. So when it wasn’t too warm and most people were busy with their stuff, you sneaked out of the house and through the village into the forest.

The first step you take into it lets you forget about all the annoying and judging people you’re around all day. You inhale deeply, muscles relaxing immediately when the fresh breeze mixed with the smell of the trees hits your face.

You’re not sure why those people don’t like the forest, always mumbling about it, staring into it when it gets dark or when the rain comes — like there's a monster hidden that comes out by night or storms. You mostly laughed about their behavior, shaking your head and asking yourself who is the different one — you or the other village members.

With slow steps and your eyes everywhere at the same time in the forest you walk along the small path. You’re really not sure why none of the others go into the forest, it’s pretty, smells good, and is so quiet that you can only hear the birds and the moving leaves of the trees.

Bucky is out of his house, enjoying the loneliness the forest brings with it. He doesn’t miss the judging people, the intense stare, or the obvious whispers. He is happy when he is as happy as you can be with yourself in a forest. But the brown-haired man isn’t completely alone, he has a golden retriever named Stevie, who is his best friend and always with Bucky.

A low sound leaves the dog when the two of them hear a crack nearby. Bucky narrows his eyes, growling. He doesn’t like people, especially not near to his house. It’s his house, he has to keep it safe and no one is allowed to be close to it or else it wouldn’t be as safe as it used to be.

The man places his metal hand at the back of his dog's collar, holding him back as they slowly make their way through the forest to find out where the cracking comes from. And as they surround a tree not far away from their house a squirrel is running through the leaves on the ground and up a tree.

Bucky exhales deeply, he loves the animals in the forest, they are afraid of him but they don’t judge him, they don’t get into his house and they don’t talk to him. That kind of neighbor is his favorite.

A low growl echoes through the forest, the dark suddenly darker than before, and suddenly the rain is pouring down, wetting the big man completely in no time. With an annoyed huff, he leads Steve back to their shared house, he should have paid more attention to the dark clouds in the sky but he was too deep in his thoughts, in his own doing, and then too busy with the squirrel to notice before it started to rain.

He lets Steve off his hand and turns on the fire in the fireplace to let his dog dry in front of it while Bucky himself takes a shower and changes into dry and more comfortable clothes. Bucky likes rain, at least when it doesn’t pour down on him, but when the drops roll down his windows, the steady sound of them falling against the window and the quiet crackling sound of the fire is the only sound that echoes through his house.

The rain surprises you just as much as it surprised Bucky, but instead of him, your house is around half an hour's walk away from you. Your clothes are soaked and you start to freeze with every following blow of the wind through the forest. Arms already wrapped around yourself you walk further into the forest, hoping for a small hut or something. Little do you know that you’re going to find a house just a few more minutes walk away from you.

Thunder and lightning join the rain when you see a small house in the distance. You smile to yourself as you notice it, it looks dark but at least it could help you to warm up a bit maybe.

The front door is locked, so you look around, maybe there is a window you can climb through to get into the house? Or you have to throw something into it to get in there, whatever option you choose it has to be fast because you aren’t feeling your fingers or toes anymore. After walking a bit more around the house you find a door that looks similar to the front door just at the back which leads into a small garden. The garden is surprisingly clean for a house that looks so empty but you’re too deep in your thoughts to notice that.

You stomp through the dust, your shoes and legs completely one with the dirt, and a few leaves stuck to your shoes as well. When you try to open the door that leads into the house you’re successful. You easily slip into the floor of the house, closing the door behind you and sighing deeply.

As you trim around your eyes wander through a kitchen, someone is living in that house, it’s all cleaned and you wonder who could live there. Maybe a nice or mean witch? You have seen a lot of movies with them, sometimes they are nice so you hope that whichever witch's house that is, is one of the nice ones.

Since the house is perfectly clean and someone obviously lives here, you don’t want to disturb them further with all the dirt under your shoes, so you take them off and leave them at the door when you walk through the kitchen.

“H-hello, someone at home? I-uhm- I was out for a walk and it started raining, I’m sorry for just coming in but it is freezing outside,” you say, ignoring the fact that you could talk to yourself in case there is no one at home right now.

It’s still cold, your wet clothes cling to your skin and you shiver lightly. There is no noise except the noise of the wetness falling from your clothes and the steady sound of rain against the windows. It’s almost completely dark but you can still see everything around you.

For a moment you feel like someone is staring at you, like there are a pair of blue eyes in the darkness but as you blink it’s suddenly away and you shake your head. A soft warm yellow is visible underneath a door that leads from the floor into another room, maybe someone is there? Or at least something you can warm yourself up with?

Slowly with almost quiet steps, you walk through the dark floor, there is still that feeling of someone behind you, a pair of eyes that watches you carefully but whenever you turn around there is no one. You’re brave but it still scares you a bit, no one would go into another person's house but it’s an exception, isn’t it?

As you open the door where the light is visible you smile softly, there is a fireplace with a couch in front of it and you immediately move into it, closing the door — not completely because it’s too heavy. Whoever lives here has to be strong and big because everything looks just so big.

A low growl comes from behind the door once you sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, warming your hands. Your head shoots to the side, the door is now completely open again, and in the doorframe is a broad man, almost as thick as the doorframe itself.

“What are you doing here, girl?” He asks, staring at you. His eyes are ocean blue and he frowns, his teeth gritted and jaw clenched. Your eyes wander lower to his broad chest and widen slightly the moment you notice the glistening metal arm he has. But he is still handsome.

“I-uhm it rains really bad outside and uhm— the thunderstorm probably gets worse so I thought I—“ he interrupts you with a snarl. Shaking his head, he growls once again.

“And you think you could come into MY house,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. The wind blows through the floor and he notices the way your body starts trembling because of the cold. He takes a step inside the room, ready to close the door as a dog runs into the room and directly toward you.

Before you get the chance to answer him the golden retriever jumps on top of you, causing you to fall backwardand land on the floor. The dog immediately licks all over your face, causing you to giggle in the softest way Bucky has ever heard.

He doesn’t know why but the sound of your giggles warm his inside a bit, his heart flutters and there is almost a soft smile across his lips but he gets his facade back before the smile breaks through it, closing the door. He then faces you once more, snapping at his dog who whines before moving away and taking a seat next to you.

Bucky still doesn’t trust you and you have to be out of his house as far as possible. His eyes roam over you, through the room, and to the window. The forest is covered in a deep dark, he can’t even see the trees that are close to the house and he knows he can’t send you out like that, especially not with the thunderstorm and even less with your still dripping clothes.

“Stay there,” he says, his voice rough and dark. Bucky stomps through the living room, looking through a drawer to fish out a towel with a pair of pants and a thick hoodie of his. With that he walks closer to you again, placing them on the couch behind you before taking a step backward. “Second door, right side. Take a shower, can’t make you ill because of your wet clothes.”

You nod, smiling softly at him. Even though he looks at you with narrowed eyes and a grumpy expression you smile at him all the time, trying to lighten up his mood with yours.

“Thank you, I’m y/n!” You say, getting off the floor and grabbing the clothes with the towel to take a warm shower. The golden retriever gets up with you as well, his tail swinging from one side to the other as he follows you through the door.

“Bucky.” The man grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He takes a seat on the couch, his eyes always following you. “Stevie, sit! And no sneaking around!”

You nod, giggling about his still harsh tone, and then you make your way to the bathroom to take a warm shower. Before you’re ready to change into his comfortable clothes.

Meanwhile, Bucky growls a bit more under his breath. His thick, long fingers scratch over Steve’s head and his ears, causing the dog to snuggle into Bucky. The big man smirks softly, just a tiny bit when he sees his dog so happy and comfortable.

“Do ya like her, you do, don’t you?” He asks his dog, not wanting an answer, Bucky just likes talking to his dog. He is his friend, his own company so he is used to talking to him about everything. “You’re also just a boy, getting weak when it comes to women.”

Steve snuggles more against Bucky, his long tongue gliding over the man’s hand until he has to wipe it on his pants to dry it. “Yeah, good boy. You need to protect us, don’t be weak when a woman walks into our home, Stevie.”

After returning to the living room Bucky offered you warm tea, he doesn’t want you to get sick because of the cold. It would be his fault — and as much as he hates people he doesn’t want you to feel bad. So he makes tea for the two of you, looking for some snacks he can offer as well and some for Steve.

Bucky feels slightly betrayed by his best friend as he walks back into the living room. Steve is cuddled up into you, his head resting on your lap while you sit wrapped into a warm blanket on the couch. Your fingers slide through the golden retriever's fur, causing him to relax.

“Looks like he likes you… he usually doesn’t like other people,” Bucky's deep voice comes from behind you. You shiver lightly the moment the rough sound of his voice echoes through the room.

“He’s like you, isn’t he?” You ask with the softest smile tugging at your lips. Your cheeks are slightly pink when you turn to face Bucky, who places the snacks next to you on the couch and hands you a cup of tea.

Bucky takes a seat next to you, growling and you notice that he likes to growl about everything. He then nods, sipping at his cup and staring into the fire in the fireplace.

The silence makes you nervous and there are a few — a lot of — questions you want to get off your chest. You clear your throat, getting his attention but he still doesn’t look at you. You actually have his attention the whole time, Bucky is looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Why are you living here in the forest so far away from the village?” You ask, turning your head while playing with your hands in your lap. You twirl Steve’s fur around your digits before letting them go. Bucky doesn’t answer, only turning his hands into fists, gripping the fabric of his pants tightly.

The knuckles of his flesh hand turn already white and you shift in your seat. “I- uhm, sorry. I understand that the people there can be really— they are you know, need a long time to get used to other people,” you mumble, being grateful when Steve gets off your lap and walks through the room, picking a toy of his up to bring it to you.

You giggle sweetly, grasping one side while the dog holds the other side between his teeth. He pulls on it, trying to get it out of your hand but your grip is too strong so you hold it tightly. Soft chuckles and giggles leave your lips now and then, you praise the dog for being such an adorable dog, that he is a good boy.

Even Bucky has to try his best to not let a soft chuckle slip past his lips. The corners of his mouth twitch but he manages to not smile completely, just a tiny bit, hoping you don’t notice.

The moment he smirks, Steve turns and stands in front of the taller man, casting your eyes on Bucky and you see the smile tugging at his lips. It makes your heart flutter, Bucky’s blue eyes light up, and his nose scrunches.

Bucky doesn’t talk much to you all evening, only to ask you if you want more tea or some snacks. He tells you to sleep on the couch, offering you some more blankets and a pillow, bringing it to you. Steve stays with you in the living room which makes Bucky grumble as he walks into his bedroom.

He hasn’t slept without his dog in a long time, actually never since he adopted Steve. But now his best friend prefers the girl that stays at their house. With a grumpy expression, Bucky gets into his bed, curls himself tight into his blanket, and grasps a pillow to hold on to something in his sleep while Steve has his place for the night next to you on the couch.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, you’re warmed by the dog and the massive blankets. And you couldn’t feel saver, of course, Bucky hasn’t talked much about himself and was grumpy most of the time but you have seen his soft smile when you giggled.

Your sleep is interrupted by a scream, followed by another loud noise that echoes through the house. You immediately sit on the couch, looking at the dog who is still cuddled up next to you, only his head is up to look at you with his big eyes.

Another sound comes from the floor or somewhere in the house, it sounds like someone slams against a wall or the floor. You shiver, it’s only Bucky who is next to you and Steve in the house and Steve is next to you, so it can only be Bucky or a monster?

You notice a groan that sounds pretty much like Bucky but it sounds slightly different to the growls he answers you with all day. This one right now sounds like he is hurt, but why could he be hurt? Maybe he fell out of the bed?

“Get up, Stevie, let’s find out what’s going on in your dad's room, yeah?” You ask, and even though you’re not sure if the golden retriever understands you, he gets up, waiting in front of the couch for you to get up as well.

With the blanket wrapped around you and Steve walking next to you slowly, and quietly through the room, to the floor until you reach Bucky’s bedroom. Behind the closed door, you can hear muffled screams, heavy moans which could also be groans, and now and then a punch against either the bed or the wall.

You open the door, finding Bucky still in his bed but his blanket is wrapped around his legs and arms. The brown-haired man looks like he is trying to fight against the fabric like it’s someone who holds him, and whatever he tries he can’t get out of their grip.

With another step into the room and Steve whimpering next to you, you notice the sweat running down Bucky’s face. The sheets underneath him almost wrapped around him instead of the mattress. Bucky’s metal arm is glistening in the light shine of the moon when he lifts it and throws it against the wall behind his bed.

“Bucky? Hey, Bucky, wake up, you’re oke?” You ask, doubting that he is going to wake up when you talk to him. He growls once again, punching around him before he moans painfully and stays still for a brief moment. “Bucky?”

When he lies there, moving less than before you sit down next to him, hoping you won’t scare him. You place your hand on his flesh arm, stroking your thumb over his sweaty skin. He immediately relaxes a bit, still trying to get out of the grip of the blanket but less than before.

“Bucky, it’s oke. You’re having a nightmare, no one’s gonna hurt you. Stevie’s here too,” you say, patting the place next to you on the bed and the dog jumps onto it, leaning over Bucky to lick across his face, waking the big man up as soon as Steve’s wet tongue touches Bucky’s skin.

“Stevie,” Bucky breathes out heavily, his eyes shooting open as he notices the touch on his arm. Wide, blue eyes staring at you, there is nothing left of the cold gaze he had when you walked into his house earlier. His eyes only show terror, his whole expression shows you that, even though he isn’t dreaming anymore. “F—“

“It’s oke, s-sorry, I didn’t want to scare you,” you mumble and this time his eyes widen in surprise. You’re scared that you scared him? He is the one who is punching around himself, who is like a wild beast haunted by his nightmares. But you, you don’t want to scare him?

“I-uhm you scare me? I’m the one who scares everyone,” the man mumbles, sitting up and resting against the headboard of his bed with his back. “Why aren’t you scared?”

You giggle, earning a soft smile from Bucky as well. You’re really adorable, giggling all day like nothing could ever hurt you and you’re the first one in ages who isn’t afraid of him, who doesn’t mind his presence and even helps him.

“Why should I? Because you’re a grumpy man, ohhh, you’re way nicer even as the grump you are than the people in the village,” you smirk, turning a bit to face him better, your fingers sliding up and down his arm. You then let them glide to his legs, helping him to free his legs from the blanket. “The blanket isn’t your enemy, it’s your friend, you know?”

He chuckles, nodding his head. Bucky runs his fingers over his face, through his hair before he sighs deeply. “I know, but the stories they tell about me, exist because parts of them are true but no one knows the story behind it, and while I dream my blanket turns into my worst enemy when it’s wrapped tightly around me. When Steve is here it’s better, but this boy prefers girls when he gets to see one.”

“Stories? I never heard about a Bucky in a story, are you famous?”

“Not in a good way, but kind of. Have you ever heard about the winter soldier?” Bucky asks, shivering when the name slips past his lips. You nod, you have heard of him, once but you thought it was just a scary story to stop the kids from running into the forest. “It was— the winter soldier, it was me. That’s why they hate me in the village, why they are scared of me.”

Your mouth drops open as you nod. The metal arm, the soldier was described with one. But Bucky is everything but scary, maybe a bit grumpy — which doesn’t surprise you when one is living all by himself.

“Do you want me to go back into the living room? I mean I can also stay here if you want. But Steve will be there now so,” you ask, drawing circles on Bucky’s thighs. He follows your fingers, his expression softens and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. You’re really not scared of him, not even now when you know about him as the winter soldier.

“I- uhm would you- I mean, I would love it if you would stay here, I- I can change the sheets because they are sweaty,” he mumbles.

“How about you give me the sheets and I will change them while you take a shower,” you suggest, Bucky nods.

The two — three — of you are cuddled up in the bed around forty minutes later. Bucky has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, caressing the skin while your head is placed on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“I understand that you don’t want to be in the village if you can be here — it’s quieter, more natural, and beautiful — but you know, you’re not him anymore. You’re Bucky and not the person they think you are,” you mumble into his chest.

He sighs, nodding. He knows that but you’re the only person next to him who thinks like that. At least he thinks that sometimes about himself, as long as no one is looking at him with a judging gaze.

“I try to believe it,” he says, sliding his fingers further to your hair, twirling them around his fingers. He had told you about him as the Winter Soldier and the things he did when they brainwashed and forced him to work for them. “But it helps that Steve loves me and that you stumbled into my house.”

You giggle, pulling the blanket over the two of you, and nuzzle more into Bucky. Steve is cuddled up between your and Bucky’s legs, already snoring quietly.

“I’m also glad I stumbled into your house, grumpy boy,” you smirk, looking up at him. His eyes light up and he smiles, and he looks adorable when he smiles, especially the slight scrunch of his nose.

“I guess I want to keep you here forever, and Stevie would help me, I’m sure,” Bucky chuckles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“I wouldn’t mind staying here with you. I’m so proud of you, you have built your own house with everything, and you’re so much stronger than you think. I would love to spend the rest of my life with you to make sure you know you can be and will be loved — by me.”

No one has told him that they are proud of him or love him in ages, but when you say it — it sounds just perfect. The two of you know that those words have a deep meaning and that it’s more like a promise than a joke. Who knew the ice around the man’s heart could melt with the help of you when you stumble not just into his house but also into his small world and light up the darkness? You’re his everything and he will make sure you have everything you need with him, who needs judging people in the village when you have one another — plus Bucky has now two loves who take care that his blanket doesn’t wrap around him and keep him in bed — because that’s your task from now on, or Bucky’s so he has an excuse for whatever he planned to do the day that includes work.

With you, he found everything he was ever asking for, someone who loves him for the person he is, someone who isn’t afraid of him. But he never thought you would like his metal arm and help him love himself as the one he is.

//Taglist// @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @loki-laufeyson68 @winterschildren8 @bxtchboy69 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77 @nervouseden @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel @mrs-katelyn-barnes @sasha-writing @blackhawkfanatic @fanfictionreaderfan @multiversefanfics @angelbabyyy99 @looking1016 @aphrodite-xoxo @im-alestan @lives-in-midgard

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iztea · 5 months

Note

uhm, hear me out. What if what if what if, beast! Fem skk

i hear you

#ask iztea #iztea draws #bsd #fem skk #skk #dazai bsd #chuuya bsd #femzai #fem chuuya #bsd beast #im not sorry #bungou stray dogs #skk comic #soukouku #fem soukoku

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poisonlove · 7 months

Text

Beauty and the Beast | w.a

Pairing: wednesday addams x reader

Words: 15k

Warning: reader unsure about her appearance

I felt lonely, so lonely.

But I couldn't risk anyone being scared by my appearance, I couldn't risk receiving mockery and laughter for what I hide beneath the mask. I had to protect myself and others from the horrible monster that I am.

Not even Eugenie, one of my few friends, knew my true face, and I don't think he'll find out anytime soon. Enid tried a couple of times, but after my umpteenth No she gave up, which I'm grateful for.

Why did it have to happen to me? Why do I have to feel scrutinized because of the mask I wear? Damn it, there are vampires, mermaids, and even people without mouths, and yet I'm the only strange one in Nevermore?

"Y/n, have you heard that a new student has arrived?" Eugenie smiles with all thirty-two teeth as he walks beside me, his eyes gleaming with happiness at the news. "Is it really important?" I ask timidly, biting my lower lip amused by his reaction.

"An extra girl is always welcome," he sighs dreamily. "Maybe she'll even like bees, don't you think?" He asks hopefully.

I tilt my head to the side and watch Eugenie smile widely, hope in his eyes. "I…" I start, feeling a pressure in my chest from his enthusiasm, "I guess so?" I say, chuckling timidly, not wanting to spoil my friend's good mood.

"I mean, I adore you, really," Eugenie says, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, "but having one more girl in our group would be cool!" He says, analyzing me carefully.

"It's just the two of us… We're not even a trio, and you're talking about a group?" I roll my eyes at his comment, and Eugenie gives me a friendly elbow on the side.

"There's no use rolling your eyes, you know I can see you, right? I mean… besides your mouth, and the other thing that can be seen under the mask," he says sing-song, looking at my mask reluctantly.

"And anyway! We're three!" The boy pouts adorably.

"Really?" I ask in surprise, and Eugenie nods. "Enid," he says, smiling in love at the mention of the blonde werewolf.

I open my mouth ready to retort, but I just ended up sighing loudly.

"Y/n," I turn towards the sound of the voice and see Enid gesturing for me to come closer to her. I raise an eyebrow with confusion and look at Eugenie shrugging indifferently. "Go on, I'll go check on my bees," he says, giving me a pat on the shoulder and walking towards his target, humming a tune.

I approach Enid, who smiles excitedly. "Hi Enid, everything okay?" I ask with a small smile on my lips.

"Y/n! I finally found you!" Enid exclaims, "I have some great news to tell you. You see, the new student is named Wednesday Addams and she'll be my new roommate!"

I feel a knot in my stomach at the thought of facing a new acquaintance, but I try to remain calm. "Wednesday Addams?" I repeat, trying to hide the anxiety that begins to creep up inside me.

"Exactly!" Enid confirms enthusiastically, "It would be fantastic if you two could become friends. I know you're a bit reserved, but I'm sure you'll get along well together!" The blonde smiled widely, her blue eyes looking at me attentively.

I try to mask my discomfort in front of Enid's enthusiasm, but inside, I feel a growing sense of unease. It's not fear, it's just a deep reluctance to interact with new people, especially when I have to hide my true identity behind a mask.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" I ask uncertainly, the memory of Yoko staring at me strangely still vivid in my mind, sending shivers down my spine. I look at Enid curiously, seeking reassurance.

"With Yoko, it was just a small mishap," Enid replies, laughing nervously, able to read what I was thinking during my silence. "It's not your fault if you're so different."

"Right," I mumble to myself, still troubled by the memory of the episode with Yoko.

"I think it'll be different," continues Enid, placing her hand on my arm and starting to walk towards our dorms, "Wednesday has a… special character. You might like her," she adds with a broad smile.

"Are you telling me she's strange?" I ask, feeling offended by her description. Enid looks at me sideways, trying to reassure me.

"No, I didn't mean that," Enid clarifies, "just that she's also shy, and I think you two could get along," she concludes, smiling happily.

"But do we have to go now?" I ask with a worried tone, feeling the need to mentally prepare for the impending meeting. "Of course! I talked about you when she arrived, I think she's writing now," Enid babbles thoughtfully.

"She's writing?" I ask incredulously, a small smile threatening to spread across my lips. The thought of someone actually writing seems surreal to me.

"You see? You haven't even met yet and you already have something in common," Enid says, smiling kindly and looking at me with eyes overflowing with happiness.

As we head towards Ophelia Hall, nervousness grows inside me and my hands start to sweat. My heart beats faster and faster as the moment of meeting Wednesday approaches. I don't know what to expect, and the uncertainty makes me even more agitated.

Enid opens the door and my eyes immediately fall on the room divided in half by a black ribbon, separating two opposite worlds. Enid's side, bright and colorful, contrasts sharply with the darkness of the opposite side.

"The room is… Different," I say timidly, blinking in disbelief.

"Yeah, I was mad the first time too," Enid says with a reluctant sigh, evidently annoyed by the division of the room.

"Wednesday! I want to introduce you to someone," Enid announces, turning her gaze to her roommate on the other side of the ribbon.

Wednesday, focused on the typewriter, emits a small grunt before turning towards us with a rigid and impenetrable posture.

Her dark hair is braided into two impeccable braids that fall on her shoulders with precision and order. Her face is pale, almost ethereal, but her eyes are intense, deep, and penetrating. Her posture is rigid, but she exudes a silent confidence, as if she is aware of her inner power. The air around her seems filled with mystery and fascination, and even though her gaze is cold and distant, there is something about her that attracts and fascinates. It's as if she's enveloped in an aura of darkness, yet at the same time of strength and determination.

Her black eyes scan my figure, and I feel the warmth rising to my cheeks with embarrassment. Thank goodness Wednesday can't see it. I breathe deeply, relieved.

"What is she?" Wednesday asks with sharp curiosity, analyzing me with her gaze.

"Wednesday! You need to be more polite," Enid scolds her, but Wednesday ignores her with indifference.

My heart begins to beat faster as Wednesday approaches me, nervousness growing with each step she takes. Her presence, even silent, seems to envelop me in an atmosphere of mystery and tension, making me feel as if I'm under her scrutinizing gaze.

"You're not a vampire, a werewolf… not even a mermaid…" she mutters softly, her eyes scrutinizing mine intensely.

Her gaze is piercing, full of determination and fascination. "What are you?" she repeats, her voice neutral but curiosity palpable in the air.

I feel cornered, a knot forming in my throat, tightening.

Spontaneously, Wednesday reaches out and places her hands on my face, the tips of her fingers delicately touching my mask.

"Don't," I say in a low but sharp voice, trying to dissuade her.

Wednesday tilts her head slightly, ignoring my request, and brushes her fingers against the mask, exploring its texture with curiosity. Her hand wraps around my mask, and the contact sends shivers down my spine.

My breath becomes irregular as Wednesday continues to examine my mask with care, as if she wants to unveil the secret hidden beneath it. The touch of her fingers on my skin makes me feel vulnerable, exposed to her penetrating gaze.

"Please, stop," I whisper again, trying to control the agitation in my voice.

Wednesday doesn't seem at all disturbed by my request, continuing to explore the mask with an almost scientific curiosity. Her impassive face betrays no emotion, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I feel increasingly exposed in front of her.

"Wednesday, stop," says Enid firmly but gently, approaching us. "Y/n has her reasons for wearing that mask, and it's not right for you to force her to reveal it if she doesn't want to."

Wednesday turns to Enid, her cold and distant gaze piercing through her. "I'm not forcing anything," she replies calmly, "I'm just trying to understand."

Enid stands between me and Wednesday, shielding me with her body. "I understand, Wednesday, but there are better ways to get the answers you seek," she retorts, trying to defuse the situation.

I feel relieved by Enid's support, but at the same time anxious about how the situation will unfold.

After a moment of tense silence, Wednesday turns her back and walks away, heading towards the desk with measured steps. A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I sink into a nearby chair.

"What an embarrassing moment," I say with a nervous smile, trying to break the ice.

Enid approaches and places a hand on my shoulder with an expression of solidarity. "Don't worry, Y/n. Wednesday can be a bit… intense at times," she comments with a half-smile.

"You said it," I reply with a small smile, grateful for Enid's support.

On the other side of the room, the incessant ticking of Wednesday's typewriter continues unabated, creating a constant background to our conversation. Her silent presence seems to have added a new dimension to the room, making it even more charged with mystery and tension.

"What do you say we go for a walk outside?" Enid suggests, trying to distract my mind from tumultuous thoughts.

"That sounds like a good idea," I respond with a grateful smile, happy to escape from that tense atmosphere. We rise and leave the room, leaving behind the constant ticking of Wednesday's typewriter.

She seems like an interesting girl I thought to myself

but she really doesn't give up

(…)

Weeks have passed since that first tense encounter with Wednesday, yet her obsession with uncovering what lay beneath my mask showed no signs of abating. Occasionally, during classes or in moments of break, I catch her staring at me with her piercing gaze, as if she wanted to pierce through the fabric of my mask and read my deepest thoughts.

Wednesday doesn't give up easily. She made various attempts: sending anonymous messages, appearing out of nowhere at the most unexpected times, sending Things, and even trying to remove my mask with a sudden gesture. Her questions become more frequent and casual, as if she wanted to uncover my secret through the most mundane conversation.

Flashback

During a break between classes, while I was sitting alone in a corner of the cafeteria, I felt a presence approaching. I looked up and saw Wednesday with her mysterious and aloof demeanor.

"May I sit here?" she asked calmly, indicating the seat across from me.

"Of course, go ahead," I replied, surprised by her sudden company.

Wednesday sat down with a fluid and silent movement, and for a moment we simply looked at each other, without saying a word. Then, without a smile or a greeting nod, she said, "How are you?"

"Quite well, thank you," I replied, trying to hide my surprise at finding her there.

That brief conversation remained imprinted in my mind for days, like an unsolved riddle. Yet, despite her seemingly insatiable interest in my mask, Wednesday did not seem at all frightened or disgusted by me. She was just… curious.

Flashback end

But then, without any warning, Wednesday stops altogether circling around me. She no longer approaches me with her questions or scrutinizing looks. I was left to wonder:

was I boring? Rude? Was I just being paranoid?

"It seems like she's gotten tired of you," Enid jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe she's finally realized that beneath that mask, it's just you, and nothing so terrifying."

Enid's joke made me smile, but it didn't completely dissipate the tension that had built up inside me. I was nervous about the various conjectures swirling in my head, and I literally asked myself too many questions that had no answer.

"Thank goodness you found something to laugh about," I remarked, trying to conceal my mood.

Enid looked at me with a sympathetic expression. "You know, Y/n, I think you're reading too much into things. Maybe Wednesday has just found something else to focus on, or maybe she's decided she doesn't want to make you uncomfortable."

I wanted to believe Enid's words, but doubt continued to nag at me. "Maybe you're right," I replied, trying to convince myself.

"I promise that if there's anything to worry about, I'll let you know," Enid said sincerely, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I felt somewhat relieved by her promise, but I knew that until I had answers to my questions, my mind would continue to race incessantly. It was frustrating not knowing what was going through Wednesday's mind, but I had to find a way to stop tormenting myself with suppositions and hypotheses.

That afternoon, I found myself in Enid's room, determined to clear things up with Wednesday. The tension in the air was palpable as I tried to gather the courage to confront the situation.

"Wednesday, can I talk to you?" I asked, trying to stay calm despite my pounding heart.

The girl looked up from the book she was reading and glanced at me with detachment. "Sure," she replied simply, showing no sign of interest. Her eyes returned to the pages of the book she was reading.

"Why aren't you talking to me anymore?" I asked, feeling my voice tremble slightly with emotion.

Wednesday didn't even look up from her book. "I can't be friends with a girl who doesn't show her face," she said coldly, as if it were obvious.

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut. "You can't really think like that," I replied, trying to control my growing frustration. "I'm not just my mask, Wednesday. There's much more beneath it."

Wednesday remained impassive, and her indifference deeply hurt me. "You don't even listen to me," I whispered, feeling my heart breaking.

The girl didn't respond, continuing to read as if I were invisible. Frustration and anger welled up inside me, but in the end, I gave up.

With a sigh, I realized I had to accept the situation for what it was. "Maybe you're right," I admitted softly. "But you can't judge without knowing the truth." Wednesday looked up from her book, looking at me with a certain curiosity. "And what would the truth be?" she asked, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"The truth… I'm afraid," I replied, feeling a lump in my throat as my hands trembled slightly. With determination, I placed them on the mask, ready to reveal what I had hidden for so long.

Damn feelings I developed for you, persistent Goth I thought bitterly.

Wednesday watched carefully, her black eyes scrutinizing my face with intense curiosity. My heart pounded in my chest, silently praying that she would accept what she was about to see.

With a deep breath, I slowly removed the mask, revealing my true face. Behind it, a hideous scar extended from my eyebrow to my cheek, thankfully sparing my eye. It was a wound I had carried for years, a witness to a painful past that I had never shared with anyone.

Wednesday remained still, her eyes fixed on my scar. Her expression was inscrutable, but I could see surprise in her eyes.

The scar was large and deep, and I couldn't help but feel vulnerable as Wednesday examined it. But there was no more room to hide the truth, and I had to accept her judgment, whatever it may be.

Wednesday closed the book and approached me slowly, her gaze still fixed on the scar adorning my face. Her expression was a mixture of curiosity and shyness, as if she were unsure of what to do or say.

"Can I touch it?" she asked in a barely audible voice, and I nodded weakly, feeling my cheeks flush at her question.

With cautious movements, Wednesday came even closer, her fingers delicately touching my scarred skin. A shiver ran down my spine at the contact, but it wasn't disgust or fear. It was a feeling of calm and acceptance, as if that gesture meant something deeper than just physical contact.

I looked at her face as she examined the scar. Her eyes were full of empathy and understanding, and I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. It was as if I had finally found someone who truly understood me, without judging or condemning.

It was hard to believe that all this had happened because I had fallen in love with her. But now, looking at her up close like this, I realized that maybe it was worth risking my heart for someone who made me feel so alive and accepted.

"How did you get it?" Wednesday asked timidly, slightly clenching her jaw as she continued to observe the scar on my face.

My voice trembled slightly. "It was done by my father," I confessed, feeling the lump in my throat tighten. "He was drunk and one night he lost control."

My voice broke slightly as I remembered those painful moments, the fear and despair I had felt. But I knew I had to share the truth with Wednesday, even if it hurt to revisit those memories.

Wednesday gently caressed my cheek, the touch of her fingers on my scarred skin sending a slight shiver down my spine. "Why did you keep it hidden?" she asked with curiosity, her gaze still full of compassion.

"It's horrible…" I replied softly, feeling the weight of my words. "When everyone looked at me strangely or laughed, I decided to cover it up."

Wednesday's finger brushed against the scar on my eyebrow and a shiver ran down my spine. It was as if that simple gesture was breaking down the barriers I had built around me for years.

"It makes you strong," said Wednesday, tilting her head to the side as she looked at me intently. "And you're… Beautiful all the same."

Her words struck me deeply, and I felt my cheeks blush slightly at her unexpected compliment. It was hard to believe that someone could find beauty in that ugly scar, but with Wednesday beside me, I began to see myself with different eyes.

"Thank you," I replied sincerely, my heart filled with gratitude for her kindness. It was a moment of intimacy and sharing that I would never forget.

"Does Enid know?" Wednesday asked with curiosity, and I shook my head.

"No," I replied, feeling a shiver of nervousness run through my body.

"Are you afraid of her reaction?" she asked timidly, and I nodded slowly.

"If she says something, I'll kill her," said Wednesday with a serious tone, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling for the first time confident and beautiful for myself.

And beautiful for Wednesday.

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