#now let akutagawa find out before dazai is all i ask- [shot on sight]

[strayslost]

also i didn't post it at the time of the chapter's release but like what if everyone in bsd had a past life. during bram's era specifically. what if everyone is a reincarnation. i'm thinking this specifically because of bram's flashback of his daughter who looked exactly like aya but like WHAT IF-

[chuuyqs]

A Little Party Never Killed Nobody (Dazai x Reader)

You’re swept off your feet by a peculiar man at your cousin Kunikida’s party.

pairing: dazai x reader

word count: 1,039

song: lost in the rhythm - jamie berry 

a/n: this is just a short one shot i wrote in like an hour lol enjoy!

You were ditched. And not to mention, sick and tired of the pitying looks everyone was sending your way. You were sure Kunikida had told the entirety of his friend group, in hopes that pity of all things would do you some good. It had not. 

You were currently fuming in the corner, after your boyfriend of six months had revealed at the last minute he couldn’t make it. You’d been growing to suspect that he just wasn’t as interested in the relationship, and this event really did it in for you. It was embarrassing, being one of the only ones without a ‘plus-one’.

Kunikida’s family throws a party at the beginning of each new year in order to “start the new year off right”, or whatever that meant. The parties had always been fun and full of memories in the past. But now, the only memories to be associated with this party were bad ones. 

You leaned back against the darkened wall of Kunikida’s ballroom, turning your phone on and off again. You still held on to the little bit of hope that your boyfriend would suddenly show up and whisk you out onto the floor. However, your phone was barren of any sign of him. 

You sigh, lowering your phone to watch Atsushi whisk Akutagawa off onto the dancefloor in a flurry of limbs. A soft smile adorns your face, at least they’re having fun. 

Your vision of the party is suddenly obscured as a man leans down into your line of sight. You startle, pressing back against the wall as the man’s lips quirk up into a teasing smile. 

“What’s a cutie like you doing here all alone?” 

The man is rather handsome, you can’t help but admit. Chocolate waves fall down into his face, framing two deep brown eyes that are alight with mischief. His face is angular, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut. His eyes are soft, however, and they make you want to trust him. 

You glare at him, “I’m surprised Kunikida hasn’t blabbed to you.”

The man giggles, “He has, actually. I’m just wondering why you haven’t found some other man to trifle with to get back at the bastard.”

“You have no idea how women work, do you?” You ask flatly, to which the man shakes his head.

“Unfortunately no,” He smiles, “But that’s not important right now. This is a perfect chance to get back at him, and you’re letting it all go to waste.”

You huff, “I just feel stupid. I’m the only one without a plus one.”

The man extends his hand, straightening to full height. He’s rather tall, and your nose sits just above the slope of his shoulder. 

“Not anymore.” He says, with a small wink.

You’d probably send a douche like this packing had the situation been any different. But this man is offering you a chance to do just what you wanted to do, and not to mention, he’s pretty. You take his hand, albeit hesitantly, and allow yourself to be tugged onto the floor. 

The song is a fast-paced swing song, and pairs move effortlessly around you. You pride yourself on your somewhat adequate dancing skills, but you feel unsure with a new partner. As you reach the middle of the floor, the man spins you around, dipping you low. 

“Aren’t I lucky?” His breath hits the expanse of skin just below your ear, causing you to shiver. 

He lifts you up, and the two of you fall effortlessly into a series of quick steps. The man looks positively elated, holding your gaze with his teasing one. You’ve noticed that the dancefloor has cleared out a bit, only to find that many of the guests are watching you and the man from the sidelines. You can spot a few of your friends with their cameras out, further fueling you to put on the performance of your life. You hope it ends up somewhere that your boyfriend can see it. 

The man lifts you suddenly, and you allow yourself to be twisted into a flip. The crowd roars, and you can hear Atsushi yell something unintelligible. The man is grinning now, and you’re sure you are too. A laugh bubbles its way up your throat as you navigate through a sequence of complicated steps.

“Y’know,” The man starts, his breathing heavy, “I never got your name.”

“Y/n,” you manage to utter out as the man spins you out toward your friends. He pulls you in close, flush against him, and one of his hands runs down the length of your back to your hip.

“What a lovely name,” He says, his voice saccharine.

“It’s good manners to say your name back,” You counter, despite the fact that your heart is running a mile a minute at the proximity.

“Dazai,” he manages to say as the music picks up again, “Dazai Osamu.”

There’s another series of steps before Dazai’s spinning you out again. He pulls you back in again, in repeat of the earlier move, but this time he dips you as the music comes to a close. The cheers around the two of you are thunderous, and you can hardly hear them past the rushing of blood in your ears.

You freeze as Dazai runs a thumb over the length of your bottom lip, before lifting you back to your feet. 

“Your boyfriend has no idea what he missed out on,” He says, turning his back to adjust himself.

“Thank you,” you say softly, and Dazai tuts condescendingly.

“You think I was going to let you off that easy?” He tugs a phone out of his pocket, “You owe me a favor now.”

Your face grows hot, the thought of your asshole boyfriend long gone. You take the phone out of his grasp shyly, quickly typing your number into the already open contacts page. 

“You’ll be hearing from me,” Dazai winks once again, and you feel the urge to roll your eyes at the action.

“I guess it’s only fair.”

“I suppose it is,” He agrees, and is soon interrupted by Atsushi tackling you into a hug.

You suppose that you prefer this type of irritating over the ditching-asshole kind. 

[fifteenleads]

a i r p l a n e

They say folding a thousand paper cranes grants good luck, or even a special wish.

Osamu's heart breaks into a thousand pieces when Chuuya reveals he’s moving abroad. His mother is asking for him, he pleads Osamu to understand. “Wait for me,” he says with busted lips and an earnest fervor he thought he wasn’t capable of, because love drives and pushes and breaks all limits. And Osamu says yes, bandaged knuckles caressing black eyes and bruised cheeks, because love stays and grows and endures for all seasons.

The first weeks hurt the most— getting out of bed is a drag, feeding himself is a chore, and going to school is more than the furthest thing on his mind. Osamu finds himself wishing they never lived near the runway, where the sight of airplanes remind him of open green meadows and the possibilities that he can never have now.

His broken knuckles heal by the second month, and he is able to hold a pen again. “Dear Chuuya,” Osamu writes, but never finishes, as tears mar the rest of the space and distort the ruled lines. The crumpled paper joins the rest of the others on the floor, gathering dust until he is forced to clean it up after two weeks.

Kunikida hands him a pack of stationery on Christmas Day. “From the whole class,” he says matter-of-factly. “Come to the party later; everyone’s worried.” Osamu lets out a smile at this; must class representatives always be this meddlesome?

The idea to fold a thousand cranes comes from Higuchi, of all people. “You seriously don’t know how?” she asks incredulously, and Osamu laughs at how her eyeballs seem to nearly fall out of their sockets, because she isn’t normally this expressive unless Akutagawa from freshman year is concerned. Maybe this had something to do with the boy at some point.

‘Nothing to lose by trying, I guess,’ Osamu muses later as he seats himself before the origami book, following the steps with dotted plain paper. That doesn’t work out, of course, because all he and Chuuya had folded in grade school were paper planes, and he doesn’t have any muscle memory for anything else.

A strong draft of wind from the open window sends the stack of colored paper onto a haphazard pile on the floor, and Osamu hears the tail-end of a rumbling plane engine as it finally takes off. His motivation is also shot, so he decides to call it quits for now and goes to bed.

He dreams of Chuuya again that night, like all other nights. He is laughing at some joke they had shared in the past. Osamu hates how everything sounds distorted; he just wants to hear Chuuya’s voice one more time. It’s been so long— 

“— why not just fold a thousand paper planes? You’re just complicating things, you know.”

… Ah yes, that did happen, didn’t it.

The next morning, Osamu writes that down on a post-it and pins it beside a faded polaroid of Chuuya on his corkboard. He grins for the first time in five months; his face hurts, but it feels really good.

He folds five planes a day at first, wanting to make sure the creases are perfectly-aligned. At the two-hundred mark, his speed is doubled, and he is able to fold ten a day. ‘What muscle memory,’ Osamu scoffs with amusement, ‘everything in the world is physical pain and then some.’

Osamu writes on some of the planes when he has time— “Dear Chuuya” turns to “Chuuya,” until the header disappears altogether after some time. He writes about everything under the sun, from happy stories to bitter words of longing, to heartfelt declarations of love that he knows will never be read. It is enough, for now, and he is all right, for now.

On graduation day, one thousand five hundred paper planes fill three large plastic bags, and Osamu brings them to the open meadow, uniform, diploma and all. It is a windy day, perfect for flying large kites.

He brings out a bright red one and aims it, straight and true. The downwind suddenly shifts direction, however, and the red plane is blown away from his hand, along with the other planes from the open bag. Osamu leaves his spot to catch the one that had flown away. “No, not that one, please; that one’s—”

“Oww, my eye, dammit!” someone screams at him from behind. Osamu turns to the direction of the voice to apologize—

And Chuuya is there, clutching at his right eye, as dumbstruck as he is, and still as beautiful as ever. The longer hair, very generous tan, and black fedora suit him really well. Some of the paper planes float around Chuuya before falling to the ground, and Osamu forgets to  breathe .

“... Well, I’ll be. What shit are you up to this time?” Chuuya is the first to recover between them, picking up the red plane that had fallen by his feet. And, really, Osamu should have taken Chuuya’s idle amusement as a sign to take it back before he unfolds it, but his legs are like lead, and the moment passes him by.

“Dear Chuuya,” he reads out loud, “I love you. I always have—” And Chuuya’s voice trails into silence, just like that, eyes widened in shock, and a myriad of emotions running through them as incoherent attempts at words die on his throat.

Osamu opens his arms wide, feigning a gesture of nonchalance, because he no longer has anything to hide. “Now you know,” he says with aplomb, “won’t you come here and give your old friend a hug?”

Chuuya’s mouth doesn’t remain hanging open for long. Sighing, he folds the plane again and aims for Osamu's forehead. There is no impact at all, and the plane falls after lightly hitting his lips. Osamu remains unmoving as Chuuya stomps his way over, dodging all the airplanes littered in his path.

Chuuya looks up into his eyes for three seconds before grabbing him by his uniform shirt collar. “You forget, Dazai,” he reminds with amusement, “that I told you that first, before you gave me that horrible black-eye. It still hurts whenever I see your face.”

“Does it, now,” Osamu tuts back, gleaming brown eyes staring into deep, purple ones, also filled with longing. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“Just shut up and do it already,” Chuuya orders, and Osamu happily complies. The upwind returns once more, and paper planes dance around their still forms, celebrating rekindled friendships, and something much more.

.

bubblegum playlist, 5/5

[shinsoukokuvalentine]

Heavenbound (7)

(You knew this wasn’t going to end well, didn’t you?)

Read the entire work on Ao3

241/365: Hallelujah

-

There was always a contingency plan. There had to be. He wouldn’t have survived this long if he hadn’t had plans. When life caught up with him, he tore it down and started anew.

So the Zelda had been littered with bombs from the very beginning.

Scrambling out the main door, Fitzgerald irritably presses every button on the remote in his hand, more explosions ringing in his ears with every push. Just because he had a plan doesn’t mean he ever wanted to use it. Behind him, his once beautiful ship lurches to the side with a mighty groan. Its lights flicker, and he can still hear the screams of the men he left trapped inside, inside with the tiger.

He frowns. Necessary casualties. He’ll find new ones, ones less careless, less volatile. A new Steinbeck, a new Twain, a new Akutagawa. He can always start over.

A sharp screech bursts from the other end of the pier. Fitzgerald whips his head up to stare into headlights, headlights which barrel towards him with a roar.

He jumps out of the way, staring at the black limo for just a moment before me makes a break for it. He runs, ignoring the sound of doors slamming open, bolting down the pier.

He hears the gunshot a split second before he feels it.

With a sharp cry, Fitzgerald grips his stomach and falls forward. Shaking, staring at his blood as it drips onto the pier, horror begins to dawn on him. Not like this , he thinks, shaking. It could end like this. It can’t end like this.

“Please,” he whispers, shocked at the quibbling sound of his own voice as barely manages to turn his crouched body around, staring up at whoever shot him. Illuminated by the limo’s headlights behind him, he stands mostly in silhouette, casually walking towards Fitzgerald, swinging his gun at his side.

“Please what?” The man asks, his casual tone sounding unlike a man who has just shot to kill. As he grows closer, Fitzgerald can make out his features more clearly; dark, wavy hair, tight jeans and a black jacket with a feathered collar. Like a black hole, his eyes seem to absorb all light.

“Please,” Fitzgerald murmurs again, the stranger only somewhat blocking the harsh light from the limo. Fitzgerald has to blink and squint to see because of it. “Don’t do this. I can give you anything.”

The man tilts his head. “Anything?” He asks inquisitively, and despite his pain, Fitzgerald feels his old smile work its way back onto his lips.

“Anything,” he says. “Money. Status. Power. At my right hand, everything could be yours.”

He expects this man to agree. He expects this man to be as gullible as every other man who heard that promise, blindly accepting his offer as grandiose, when truly, Fitzgerald could give away that much money in his sleep.

But to his shock and horror, the man doesn’t accept.

Instead, he begins laughing, and it’s a laugh Fitzgerald knows. It’s cold, the laugh of a man who has killed many times before and would easily do it again.

“Excuse me, sir,” the man scoffs, blowing a stray strand of dark hair out of his face with one last chuckle, “I don’t even know who you are.”

The last thing Fitzgerald feels is terror. The last thing he hears is the gunshot. The last thing he sees is his killer’s grinning face.

He wore that grin, once.

-

Ryuu coughs and groans as he wakes again, prying his eyes open, smoke filling his vision and lungs.

“Atsushi,” he rasps, struggling to his feet, looking around frantically. The balcony has crumbled into the casino, which has to burst into flames around them, pieces of the ceiling and equipment littered across the floor, smoke obscuring everything.

“Atsushi,” Ryuu calls again before vicious coughs overtake him, causing him to fall to his knees, entire body shaking with every cough. He reaches into his shirt and pulls out his watch, checking to make sure it hasn’t been crushed, but between his coughs and the sounds of the burning ship, he has to hold it to his ear to hear it tick.

“... Akutagawa.”

Ryuu’s eyes snap upward. Through the smoke, he can barely see him. Eyes fluttering open and closed, crushed beneath a beam, he can see him.

“Atsushi!” Cries Ryuu, crawling forward, dragging himself towards him. He’s human again; small, strong, gentle, ferocious Atsushi, who can only lets out a soft groan, eyes squeezed shut.

Filled with panic, Ryuu grabs onto the beam on top of Atsushi, trying frantically to pry it upward. Above them, he can hear another support beam begin to groan.

Ryuu looks up just in time to see it fall.

It crashes. The floor breaks apart beneath them. Ryuu cries Atsushi’s name, and they plummet down, down into the flooded engine room.

They land in cold water. Boilers have already combusted, littering the water around them with shrapnel. Ryuu struggles to the surface as soon as his limbs stop shaking enough for him to do so, but he’s suddenly stopped. Something pulls at his neck, trapping him to broken metal, his watch chain looped around it.

Despite the salt in the water, Ryuu’s eyes widen. His watch.

He grabs at the chain, pulling on it desperately. He doesn’t think about what he’s doing, think about his actions, or think about their consequences. He only pulls.

With an echoing snap, he’s flung backwards. With an echoing snap, the chain breaks. In the light of the flames, the golden watch glitters, sinking downward like a stone.

Ryuu’s heart drops to his feet. Frantic, pressure building in his ears, he swims downward, far slower than the watch’s descent. He can no longer see its shine.

Instead, something else glimmers to is side. Ryuu turns instinctively, still searching, but he freezes. Flowing almost gently in the cold water, Atsushi’s silver hair catches the fire’s golden light as he sinks downward. Eyes closed, he doesn’t swim, doesn’t struggle, and without thinking, Ryuu darts towards him.

Pieces of the Zelda crash into the water around them as Ryuu grabs Atsushi’s hand, running out of air as he struggles to pull him upward. With a gasp, he breaks the surface, pulling Atsushi up by his arms, who coughs as Ryuu frantically looks around for somewhere safe to put him.

All he finds is the broken remains of a table and a whole in the ship’s hull, leading out to open ocean.

Ryuu’s body moves before his head knows what he’s doing. Mustering every ounce of his strength, he shoves Atsushi onto the floating table, paddling it towards the door.

A sudden jolt of pain draws a cry from Ryuu’s lips. His eyes widen when he puts his hand on his chest instinctively and feels his watch’s absence.

Frantic now, Ryuu pushes Atsushi forward, to the rapidly shrinking hole in the hull as the ship sinks.

“You can make it, Atsushi!” Ryuu shouts, shoving Atsushi through the gap, watching as he drifts on the table into open water. “You can make it!”

Sharp pain cuts through his body again, and Ryuu casts one final look at Atsushi before he takes a deep breath and dives back under the surface.

More pain shoots through his body with every passing second. With every tick, the sound of his watch grows louder in his ears, despite its distance, its second hand growing slower and slower. He can’t see it.

The water silences Ryuu’s scream. He screams in frustration, in pain, in helplessness, bubbles pouring out of his mouth.

And then, every sound stops.

The watch doesn’t tick again.

-

“DAZAI!” Chuuya practically screams from his place in the car, leaning out the door as far as he can without falling forward onto the pier. “We have to get in there!”

Walking back to the car casually, Dazai glances up at the Zelda, the flames breaking out across its helm beginning to reflect on the ocean, only to extinguish as it sinks, painfully slowly.

“I don’t know about you,” Dazai says with a sigh, “but burning to death isn’t one of my favorite ways to die.”

“But Ryuunosuke’s in there!” Chuuya cries, and he struggles to move forward, but Dazai swiftly catches him.

“And we’re not,” he snaps. Barely able to be heard over the roar of flames, the creak of the ship’s hull, Dazai stares sharply into Chuuya’s face. “Neither of us will last a minute in there. Especially not you.”

Chuuya barely listens. Eyes wide, reaching out around Dazai, he frantically tries to push past him, even though he knows he won’t get far.

“You promised!” He screams, punching Dazai in the shoulder. “You promised you’d save him!”

Dazai says nothing. He simply lets go, allowing Chuuya to crawl out onto the pier, trying to pull himself forward. The gangplank burns and crumbles, impassable, but still he goes forward, shouting Ryuunosuke’s name.

He doesn’t notice Dazai until he runs past him, throwing his jacket behind him as he suddenly jumps off the pier. Eyes wide, Chuuya stumbles forward, barely able to make two steps on his own.

“Dazai!” he calls, grunting with the effort it takes to stay standing. “What is it? Is it Ryuunosuke? Did you find him?! Is he okay?!” His questions devolve into frantic cries as he staggers to the pier’s edge.

By the time he makes his way there, Dazai has begun to climb the flimsy metal ladder leading from the ocean up to the pier, hauling something, or someone, over his shoulder. Chuuya feels hope grow in his chest at the sight of a familiar small body, white shirt, and black slacks.

But silver hair catches the flames’ eerie light, and Chuuya’s hope withers as quickly as it bloomed.

Dazai practically throws Atsushi onto the pier when he nears the top of the ladder, grunting with effort. The weretiger quivers, unconscious, dripping wet but breathing, coughing water out of his lungs. Chuuya’s eyes dart frantically between him and Dazai.

“... Ryuunosuke?” He asks with a single word. Dazai takes a few deep breaths, not meeting Chuuya’s eyes for a moment, water dripping off his bangs and onto the pier, mouth hanging open.

But when he finally looks at Chuuya, he doesn’t look away. He meets his gaze solemnly, unwaveringly, and shakes his head once. Chuuya stiffens.

“No,” he murmurs.

He screams at Dazai, screams for him to go back, to find him, attempting to jump in the water himself a few times, but Dazai holds him down. The sounds of the ship burning and sinking into the ocean drown out his cries.

-

It feels as if he’s walking through fog. Thick, slimy fog that clings to every one of his limbs and drags him back one step for every two he takes. Traveling forward seems practically impossible, but he has to. That’s his only thought that pierces the thick soup surrounding him.

He has to see him again.

In the distance, something sinister calls his name. He knows it’s waiting for him. He knows it’s reaching out, dark claws stretching towards him, maw open wide and grinning. He can’t run forever.

His actions become slower and slower. Whatever calls to him follows him grows closer and closer, laughing now, unable to contain its glee at the thought of snagging him, of trapping him.

But all Ryuu wants is to see him again.

And with that thought alone, he finds him. He locks onto him, to his very soul, and sees him. Nested in an unfamiliar bed, he rests with the covers pulled tightly over his shoulders.

Still feeling as if he’s swimming, struggling forward, Ryuu reaches towards him. He stretches, straining against the voice and the fog but unable to move any further.

“Atsushi,” he whispers, pleads, intangible body not making a sound, pulling his hand back as the bed stretches further and further away, even though he stands still.

“I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t notice it at first, but in the distance, a light begins to form. It almost seems to sparkle, and when Ryuu finally sees it, he can only stare. It cuts through the fog, slicing through the darkness.

Ryuu’s pursuer snarls at it. He can feel it retreat, slinking back, taking its fog with it. And the light grows.

It nearly absorbs everything before it retreats suddenly, as if it implodes on itself, and immediately the fog is gone, and Ryuu stands in a dark room, Atsushi sleeping on a bed in the corner. He snores softly.

Ryuu stares at him. He looks down at his hands, watching moonlight drift through them.

He feels her presence before he sees it. He turns around, and the light rests in front of the window, slowly taking the form of a woman.

“Ozaki,” Ryuu murmurs. The angel nods, eyes shining softly.

“Akutagawa-san,” she says gently. Her kind smile looks somehow both sad and welcoming. “It’s time to come home.”

Ryuu watches her, brow furrowing. “But you said I could never go back.”

Ozaki gives a small, innocent laugh, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Akutagawa-san,” she smiles, as if sharing a fun secret, “you gave your life for him.”

Ryuu keeps his eyes on her for a moment longer, but as realization dawns on him, he turns to Atsushi once more.

“Come home,” Ozaki says again.

Ryuu takes a deep breath without breathing at all, unable to take his gaze from Atsushi.

“What about Atsushi?” He asks softly. Ozaki gives a quiet, sad sigh, her smile fading out of the corner of Ryuu’s eye.

“Say goodbye, Akutagawa-san,” she says.

Ryuu’s broken pieces break further. Lips pulled taught, he steps forward, moving towards Atsushi.

His intangible body makes no impression in the mattress, and his fingers pass right through Atsushi’s hair when he tries to push it from his face. His lips fall further, and he pulls his hand away, fingers curling together.

But then, Atsushi stirs. Ryuu’s eyes widen as his eyes open, blinking once, twice.

He takes in soft breaths and yawns. Afraid to speak, wondering if he can even see him, Ryuu says nothing, only watches as Atsushi stares forward blearily.

Slowly, his eyes move to look at Ryuu, and a spark of hope shines in them before quickly being extinguished.

“Akutagawa?” He says. Unable to muster words, Ryuu nods, and Atsushi smiles sadly.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” He sighs.

Ryuu frowns. He nearly says no, he nearly tells Atsushi he’s real, he nearly tells him how much simply being by his side is breaking him.

But no, he thinks. He stops. Atsushi won’t be hurt as deeply if what leaves him is merely a dream. So he nods, and Atsushi nods back.

“Thought so,” he says quietly, pulling the covers a bit tighter around his shoulders.

Ryuu can’t stand looking him in the eye any more, so he lets his gaze travel around the room, beginning to see furniture and walls he recognizes.

“This is Oda-san’s place,” he says. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Atsushi nod beside him, but he says nothing else.

Only when Ryuu looks down at him completely does he notice the tears building up in the corners of Atsushi’s eyes. Ryuu stiffens, and Atsushi lets out a quiet sob.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, burying his face in the pillow he holds tight to his chest. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Ryuu watches him with broken eyes. He wants so badly to touch him, to hold him, but he can’t. He can only watch.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says almost harshly, the smallest bit of his frustration seeping into his words. Atsushi shakes his head again, burying it further.

“That’s not true,” he whimpers. “I fell head over heels for you. I clung to you when you offered me the smallest bit of kindness. I thought you could fix everything and that if I just had you everything would be okay, somehow. And if you hadn’t felt obligated to save me, you’d still be alive, wouldn’t you?”

Every one of his words drives knives further in Ryuu’s chest. He had thought himself to be the only one, the only one that gripped his newfound love too tightly, too quickly.

“I never felt obligated,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “I was afraid that you felt that way of me.”

Atsushi almost laughs, but it comes out broken, a hiccup allowing salty tears to spill into his mouth.

“Of course not,” he whispers. “I…”

He pauses, frowns, squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again only to watch Ryuu through tears.

“... I convinced myself that I loved you, Akutagawa.”

Ryuu can’t fight it anymore. Desperately, he reaches for Atsushi’s hand, his fingers passing through his but he holds them there anyway because he wants to, he wants to touch he wants to feel he wants to cry he wants to hold him and tell him not to be sad and that everything will be okay.

But he can’t. Because it won’t be okay. It will hurt. It will hurt until they’re both so tired of hurting that they’ll scream, but they have to let it hurt. They have to feel this. There’s no other way past it than straight through it.

“Atsushi,” Ryuu murmurs to himself as much as Atsushi, no longer looking at him but looking out the window and at the few stars poking through the city lights. “No matter why or how you felt it, everything you felt was real.”

Atsushi sniffles, but his sobs stop. He doesn’t move his hand away from Ryuu’s. For a moment, they sit in silence.

Then Ryuu takes a deep breath, taking in no air at all.

“I want you to promise me a few things,” he says. He turns back to Atsushi in time to see him nod, eyes and nose red and puffy. Ryuu frowns but continues.

“First… I need you to take care of Chuuya.”

Atsushi looks at him a bit oddly, questions obviously on the tip of his tongue, but Ryuu sighs before he says anything.

“He probably blames himself for all of this,” he mumbles. “I need you to watch him, and… Make sure he’s okay. That he doesn’t get into any trouble for my sake.”

Atsushi seems to hesitate, but he soon nods, still not speaking further. Ryuu frowns and pulls his knees up beside him.

“And second,” he looks Atsushi straight in the eye, “I want you to live.”

Once again, Atsushi looks at him with confusion, and Ryuu curses inwardly.

“Atsushi, you know what I mean,” he practically snaps. “I want you to live your best life. I want you to feel cool grass under your feet. I want you to dance in the rain. I want you to smile and laugh and love and be loved and…” He stops, his words stumbling over themselves. He sighs.

“I want you to move on.”

Atsushi’s shoulders bunch together. Looking away from Ryuu’s eyes, he buries the lower half of his face in his pillow once again.

“I… I can’t promise that,” he admits softly. The fingers Ryuu holds through Atsushi’s hand grip together.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know better than anyone.”

Atsushi yawns, stretching a tiny bit. “Hey, Akutagawa?”

Ryuu nods, leaning towards him. He knew how this would end, he knew from the start, but he doesn’t want it to end yet.

But he has to let it.

“Yes, Atsushi?” he says.

For the first time that evening, Atsushi gives a happy, genuine, tiny smile.

“I love you.”

Ryuu opens his mouth to speak, but he can say nothing in return. He can say nothing as the image of the room fades, as Ozaki walks to him, as she puts her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s time to go home,” she says again, but she sounds distant, as if on the other end of a tunnel.

Ryuu stands, and the bed ceases to be. The last thing he sees is Atsushi’s soft face, his eyes closed in sleep, smiling still. Perhaps he’s dreaming, Ryuu thinks.

He hopes they’re good dreams.

[goddamnitdazai]

Like Smoke

[ Chapter 2 ] [ Mafia!Dazai x Reader ]             ******* {Previous Chapters}            ******* [ Words: 1,449 ][ Mature ] [ Canon Divergent - Canon typical violence ] [ Language - Adult situation ]  Between midnight and two am when the rain sprinkles lightly and mixes with the heat of growing summer a thick fog billows through the city. Tapping feather-light over the windows and doors of sleeping inhabitants the rain brings an eerie chill slithering between alleyways. The streets are barren and ink black. Pale amber flickers down from towering streetlamps and glimmer across the wide diner window. The booth feels stiff against your back; the edges of your sleeves feel soggy against your thumb and forefinger. Apparently the dead of night was the perfect time for a decadent hot pot, and a decent way to warm up after being drenched in ice water for nearly eight hours. His eccentric behavior didn’t seem all that strange given his position. Despite the fancy clothes donning each member and boatloads of cash funneling in from all areas of the darkest parts of the city the mentality of hustling didn’t change. Charisma, control, dominance, and manipulation were key to running a crime ring be it small or large, and the kings of the land always kept their cards tight to their chest. Dazai was another prince waiting to be crowned king, and in spite of the airy cheeriness in his voice when he offered a sorry-we-tortured-you meal you weren’t fooled into thinking his kindness didn’t come with a price tag.

“Not that I care much about the car, but you should be more careful when you work,” His lips split into a smile as he talks, cheek cradled in the palm of his hand. “I haven’t seen you before, are you new?” “Sorry boss I’ll be more careful next time,” you retort sharply, “but if I make the same mistake again I’ll get to see your oh so warm and loving subordinate. We had such a lovely time this evening.” Dazai’s eyes spark with amusement. Sarcasm is not something he often deals with (other than from Chuuya) and a rift in the stale ‘senpai’ worship Akutagawa constantly choked him with was something of a cherished gift. Dazai laughs—almost as soft as a school boy—but his eyes remain a swirling ocean of shadows. They flit up and down your face searching for a hint of anything worth triggering his inner alarm but all he sees through the steam is a shiver every now and again. His jacket looks good draped over your shoulders, he thinks to himself, but he’d have to take it back before the sun began to rise. “Did you enjoy the show then, boss?” Dazai’s lips stretch further. Sharp brows rise with the movement of your hands carefully bringing a tender slice of pork belly to your lips. It’s hard to catch up with the way Dazai’s mind works, but a sliver of uncertainty flickers in his eyes before he closes them. A softened hum slips through his lips as his fingers thread themselves with each other and nestle beneath his chin. The pork slides down like a thick ball of sand catching in your throat. His silence is unnerving. Your hand finds the cup of sake—buffering your nerves was better than letting your guard slip.   “What makes you think I was watching? My subordinates aren’t attached to me. I don’t care to keep tabs on them until they do something worth my time.” Dazai sighs, eyes popping open and falling on the empty glass in your hand. “Taste good? This is the best sake they serve here.” “Weren’t you having him guard your car? Or were you just using him as a hood ornament because he pissed you off? I know you were there at some point before I got kicked down to that rancid dungeon.” Dazai’s head cocks to the side revealing an empty row of booths lining the rest of the diner. At some point between the hot pot and sake the small room had become vacant. Music drifts through old speakers hanging behind an old half-polished espresso machine. Idling outside the front door a man with a white apron slung over his round belly puffs out thick smoke into the night air. Every beat of your heart feels heavy. Dazai remains still—colder than before, and damn could that man could hold a gaze longer than you could hope to live. Inhale, exhale—don’t look down. “Boss?” A choked utterance of his title barely cracks his demeanor. The wooden chopsticks between your fingers roll back and forth as you wrack your brain for an answer. Underestimation didn’t seem to happen very often under Dazai’s thick veil of intelligence. Something hidden sparked bright against his dark eyes; no, underestimation of an enemy was too rare of an occurrence to be wasted on you. Rather than display his cards he was waiting to see how many of them you could read with the minuscule amount of detail he’d dropped throughout the day. “I’m just guessing that’s why he was there in the parking lot. Or he just loves you too much to let you out of his sight.” Rolling the dice with tone was like prodding a sleeping bear at this point, but flirting with death was a vice you couldn’t kick. Dazai’s hands move slowly down to the table and begin to tap lightly on the edge. His eyes close once more; your lungs forget how to hold on to a breath. He eases one hand over the untouched pair of chopsticks and languidly dips them to the bowl to pluck a piece of pork belly from the stew. The smile you’d first seen down in that grimy dungeon pops back on his face. His eyes fall to the piece of pork like a child finding a hidden prize before he plops the meat into his mouth. “I didn’t want to force it out of you. You seem so stubborn and I didn’t want to deal with that,” he says between bites, “Akutagawa-kun managed to get enough out to confirm my suspicions. Now can we skip the formalities and jump to the part where you just say yes? I’ve had a loonnggg day.” The bitter tang of bile reaches your teeth. Gnarled up like a dead tree root your stomach attempts to lurch. Dazai blinks and pushes a glass of water towards your hand. His smile is captivating, iniquitous—perfect. Take me home, boss. “Do you want to see it?” Offering compliancy is not a state of submission, it is a state of transparent loyalty. Connections between humans locked away in the shadows of society are the only means of survival. He needed you, and vice versa. Perhaps need was too strong of a word, or maybe it wasn’t strong enough. “What drives you, ____?” Your name on his lips feels like cyanide. A response to a question with another is considered evasive, but he is merely working you in circles. Keeping you dizzy, blind, and guessing which step to take next. He plays with people—he was raised to be a puppeteer, and unfortunately your strings were neon lights waiting to be yanked whichever way he pleased. Did he know? He knew your name, he had to know everything. “Money, what else?” You say, “But do you want to see it?” “Not now, _____. I’d rather keep drinking.” Dazai winks and slides the refilled sake cup your direction. A shot of lightening rolls down your spine. Benevolence returns to him; that smile with brightened cheeks the color of a rose due to the sake running through his veins. Dazai, your boss, the man who looked on as you nearly froze to death solely to watch your ability knock death’s grip away. Dazai, who baited you with an expensive car and an unruly subordinate who lusted for nothing other than blood just to bring you in under his command or someone’s because who the hell knew what he wanted. And you fucking fell for it. His brilliance was nothing to snub. Annoying, however, he could have just fucking asked. “A toast?” You suggest while plopping your chin on your palm. His cologne wavers across the booth, had he always smelled so good? White bandages poke out from his sleeve as he reaches for the carafe and pours you both a decent sized shot. Black cups clink as the sun peaks over the horizon and lights up the world in honey-suckle gold. A spell of exhaustion tugs you at your body. The mixture of alcohol and draining adrenaline renders you with the mobility of a half-dead corpse. Dazai’s hand cups your chin from across the table to keep your head steady. “Ah, not yet ____ ~.” Dazai chimes, “We’ve got one more stop before I take you home.”