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HIII

мI feel a little awkward writing my request because I don't speak English at all... and it's also very strange because this is my dream, but I hope you understand me 😭

the reader is a girl of about 20 (younger than Dazai), who hasn't been working at the agency for very long and is trying to combine studies and work, so she only works during the holidays. Dazai is an asshole who can't say what he feels for her because he's afraid of "spoiling" her, so he treats her like... a little sister?? But at the same time, he's much closer to her in reality and in the end he kisses her

it would be nice if there was a touch of drama too!!! 😋😋😋

ohhhh this is very interesting 👻👻

I liked your idea, but I changed it a little because the original idea reminded me of mental incest?? I hate it

DISCLAIMER

english is not my native language, I try to improve it when I write fanfiction! ; i don't use AI to write my fanfics, to come up with ideas, etc. I only use AI to check spelling and errors in the use of any set expressions (because english is not my native language) (i will repeat this for a very long time)

READER WARNING

mention of blood; mention of wounds; situationship?; a little bit of evil Dazai; deviation from the canon is possible; no y/n; I tried to make it gn?? I'm not really sure I succeeded, but I'm trying and learning from my mistakes!

---

The city was languishing in the lingering July heat. The sticky, humid air felt like it could be cut with a knife; it lodged in your lungs, making it difficult to breathe. The sun mercilessly burned your eyes, turning the asphalt into a melting black river. You could only pray for a thunderstorm to break by evening, bringing long-awaited coolness to the scorching streets of Yokohama.

It was the end of July. For ordinary students, vacation had just begun—a time of wild parties, long trips to the seaside, and the chance to finally get some sleep. But you couldn't afford the luxury of lying in bed all day and eating takeout—you had to work.

Your "job" at the Armed Detective Agency had been going on for a couple of years now. And the quotation marks weren't accidental: combining university studies with protecting the city from criminals was grueling work. You had to hand it to Director Fukuzawa for welcoming you, a talented student, into their "agent family." He allowed you to work a flexible schedule: only during holidays and on days when the university was closed.

When you were first given these terms, a feeling of dread settled within you. It seemed the other employees wouldn't take you seriously, or even despise you. But reality turned out to be far kinder than you had feared: everyone accepted your schedule calmly, and you even managed to become genuine friends with some.

The doorbell chimed melodically, announcing your arrival at the office. You stepped through the door, a little flushed from the heat, but with a smile on your face.

"Hello everyone!" You hung your bag on the coat rack by the entrance with a familiar gesture.

"Good morning. Has vacation started?" Kunikida was the first to look up. "I marked your schedule last year; you weren't supposed to leave until a week later."

"Yes, but I was allowed to leave early because of my activities at the university," you said, sitting down at your empty desk, greeting the others along the way. "Besides, the dean's office knows where I work, so they usually don't have any questions."

Kunikida chuckled knowingly and returned to his monitor, simultaneously telling you the latest Agency news.

After a while, the sound of bells pierced the room again. A mop of brown hair appeared in the doorway, and brown eyes instantly caught your bag on the hanger.

"Is someone's vacation starting?" a clear voice echoed through the office like bullets, but all of them were aimed at only one person—you. "Oh, come on! I thought you'd at least text me ahead of time that school was over... I would have prepared for my encounter with my belladonna!"

This time, his voice was quieter, with that degree of seriousness he only allowed himself with you. Dazai approached the desk and hugged you from behind in a possessive manner—this greeting had become his tradition. It was Dazai who first spoke to you at the Agency, who first invited you out for a walk after work. His warm, if slightly eccentric, attitude gave you confidence.

In fact, having become close to Dazai, you found yourself in an emotional trap, completely losing track of who exactly you were to him.

At first, everything was quite innocent. You thought he saw you as a little sister. Knowing Dazai was single, you easily convinced yourself that this brilliant but lonely guy was simply looking for a piece of family. The age difference was so small, it only heightened the feeling of a sibling bond. He would bring you coffee, steal a pen from your desk to get your attention, or ruffle your hair as he passed. You got used to it.

But then something subtly changed.

The calls by your first name gradually disappeared, replaced by a drawling, low-voiced "Belladonna" or "Beauty." His touch changed, too. Those hugs from behind, which had once been quick and playful, began to linger. He would come up to you while you were filling out reports, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his chin on the top of your head, and stay there for several minutes. You could feel the warmth of his body through your shirt, catch the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the scent of bandages and bitter coffee, and each time, your heart skipped a beat.

The late-night messages started popping up. Sometimes, at two or three in the morning, while you were poring over your notes, your phone screen would light up. Dazai might send you some stupid joke about Kunikida or a philosophical question about the meaning of life, but behind it all, you could always tell one thing: he was awake and thinking about you.

These conflicting signals were driving you crazy. You pushed romantic thoughts away, afraid to ruin everything, until one incident happened.

It was a simple mission—to track down a common con man with no abilities. Dazai volunteered to take you with him. But during the arrest, the criminal panicked, pulled out a knife, and slashed your arm. The wound wasn't deep, just a scratch, but Dazai's reaction turned your world upside down. One second he'd been joking around, the next his face turned to stone. His gaze fixed on the con man became so dark and withering that the criminal dropped the knife, trembling with terror. Dazai stepped toward you, intercepted your wounded arm, and his movements, usually so smooth and lazy, became abrupt and nervous. He treated the cut, his long fingers trembling slightly.

That day, you finally understood: that's not how you look at "little sisters." That's how you look at those you're deathly afraid of losing. After that incident, the dark-haired detective promised never to take you on missions again, so as not to put you in danger. But today, circumstances proved stronger than his promises...

---

"Despite your lateness, Dazai, you're right on time. A play on words, naturally." Kunikida glanced at you and gestured for you to follow him.

You gathered around the whiteboard. Kunikida had pinned several photos to it, and just looking at them made you feel nauseous. The pictures were of young girls—students, similar to you.

"A serial rapist and murderer," Kunikida began dryly, concealing his emotions. "He operates in residential areas. Lures or stalks lonely girls. We know he's an esper, but we don't know the nature of his ability—something to do with capturing. The problem is, he's like a ghost: he leaves no evidence, and he doesn't show up on cameras. The only way to catch him is to catch him red-handed. We need bait. One that perfectly suits his type."

Dazai, who had been leaning casually against the table until now, immediately straightened up. His gaze slid over the photos of the victims, then to you, and a cold, calculating strategist's mind gleamed in his brown eyes. He understood everything faster than the others.

"No," he snapped, his voice clanking like metal. "She won't go alone. I forbid you to use her as bait."

"Dazai, be reasonable," Kunikida frowned. "He won't fall for Yosano. Kyouka's a teenager, not his type. And Naomi won't be able to control herself and will scare him off with panic. She's our only chance."

Dazai stepped forward, shielding you.

"She rarely uses her ability. If that bastard attacks unexpectedly, she won't have time to react. I won't risk her life for..."

"Then we'll add security," Atsushi intervened, seeing the situation escalating. "Kunikida-san and I will secure the perimeter. You'll guard the flank. The three of us can definitely protect her."

A heavy silence fell over the office. You saw Dazai's back tense. As a brilliant detective, he understood Atsushi's plan was perfect. As a man terrified of losing the little light he had in his life, he hated it with every fiber of his being.

"Fine," he finally muttered, not turning to you. "But I'll be on the comms every second. If she makes a single peep, I'll shut down the operation and rip out that maniac's spine."

---

The air in the park was much more pleasant. The tall, old trees created dense shade, softening the July sun's glare somewhat. You walked along the narrow path in your usual summer clothes, trying to appear relaxed. You had an earpiece in your ear, and your phone, broadcasting your geolocation to Dazai, Atsushi, and Kunikida, was in your bag.

"Judging by our recordings, it should be a man in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and most likely carrying something... all the victims had cuts. I don't think he'd just be carrying a knife in his hand, most likely in a bag or some kind of toy," Kunikida's voice sounded even and professional in the earpiece.

You swallowed uncomfortably, feeling your heart begin to beat faster. The shade of the trees, which had previously seemed soothing, now oppressed you. The air here was stale, smelling of rotting leaves and hot dust. The vibration of your phone in your bag made you flinch.

Notification.

*New message from Dazai.*

You didn't even have time to smile at the screen. A huge, sweaty hand clamped roughly over your mouth, forcing your head back, and the other hand dug an iron grip around your waist, lifting you off the ground. The nauseating smell of sour sweat, stale alcohol, and dirty clothes assaulted your nose. A primal, paralyzing terror gripped your body before you could even flinch.

The cold steel of the blade grazed your throat, leaving a searing scratch. A thin trickle of blood ran down your neck.

"Boyfriend texting you?" Wet, vile lips touched your ear, hot breath burning your skin. "Put your phone down, slut, and listen carefully. One wrong move and I'll slit your throat so deep you'll choke on your own blood."

Atsushi was screaming furiously in the earpiece, but his voice was drowned out by the noise of the blood pulsing in your temples. The bastard's hand slid lower, roughly and painfully crushing your thigh, unceremoniously pressing your back against his groin.

"Tell me, do you often follow the news, baby? Why do you walk around alone, knowing that girls your age are being fucked and killed?" The blade pressed into your skin so hard it became difficult to swallow.

"O-often..." A raspy wheeze escaped your throat, a pitiful plea. Your stomach twisted, and nausea rose in your throat.

The phone in your bag vibrated again, bursting with messages. The maniac growled lowly, snatched the bag from your hands, and flung it aside. The phone fell to the pavement with a crunch of shattering glass. The next second, the man threw you hard into the thicket.

You flew several meters, hitting your back hard against a tree trunk. All the air was knocked from your lungs. A terrible pain flared in your knees—the hard ground and sharp, dry branches tore your skin to shreds.

"It's okay! We're close! Don't you dare provoke him!" Kunikida yelled into the earpiece, but his words didn't save you from the shadow looming over you.

The maniac advanced, disgustedly wiping the blade of his knife on his pants.

"Your boy won't make it, pretty girl. I'll tear you apart first," he bared his teeth, and at that moment, his right hand glowed with a sickly green light.

The ground beneath you shook. Thick, misshapen vines pierced the soil like enormous snakes and instantly wrapped themselves around your wounded legs. Thorns the size of nails mercilessly tore through the fabric of your clothes, digging deep into your calves and thighs. You screamed—a piercing, hoarse scream, the pain unbearable. The vines tightened, crushing your skin and pinning you in place. The pervert stepped up close, grabbed you by the hair, forcing your face up, and pressed a knife to your cheek.

A deafening shot shattered your eardrums.

The grip on your hair disappeared. The maniac let out a wild, inhuman shriek. The bullet hadn't just hit him in the leg—it had shattered his kneecap into a bloody mess. He collapsed in the mud, howling and choking on drool, rolling at your feet.

Atsushi and Kunikida burst out from behind the trees like white lightning, knocking the bastard face-first into the ground and twisting his arms so hard his knuckles cracked.

But you weren't looking at them. Dazai was emerging from the shadows of the alley.

There was nothing left in him of the goofy detective you knew. His face was pale as a corpse, and his eyes... His brown irises seemed black, bottomless pits. Such a primal, concentrated darkness swirled within them that just looking at it made you feel colder than a knife blade at your throat. He was a Demon. And he was coming to kill.

Dazai walked up to the screaming maniac and pointed the gun at the back of his head. His finger was already on the trigger. For a second, it seemed like he was about to blow his brains out right before your eyes. But Atsushi said quietly, pleadingly, "Dazai-san... she's watching."

Dazai froze. He swallowed hard. He lowered the gun and was at your side in two steps. As soon as his cold fingers touched the bloody vine, it crumbled into blue dust. The ability was nullified.

You staggered, losing consciousness from the pain, but didn't fall. Dazai scooped you up in his arms. He held you so desperately, as if he were afraid you'd disappear. His long fingers rested on your neck, right over the skin scraped from the tree bark, staining it with your blood. He breathed heavily, nuzzling the top of your head, and a slight tremor ran through his body.

---

The rest of the day passed in a thick fog. As soon as you returned to the Agency, Dazai withdrew into himself. He sat on the couch in the corner of the office, arms crossed over his chest, and remained silent. Such a dark, oppressive aura emanated from him that even Kunikida didn't dare reprimand him for idleness. Dazai wasn't a detective now, but a ghost, still mentally killing that maniac in the park over and over again.

You were immediately taken to the infirmary. Luckily, your wounds weren't fatal, so Yosano didn't have to use her terrifying ability. She limited herself to simple bandages, antiseptic, and soothing tea, carefully treating your bloody knees and the cut on your neck.

When you limped out of the infirmary, Dazai was the first to look at you. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes frighteningly empty. But as soon as he saw you standing on your own two feet, alive and relatively safe, a stunning metamorphosis occurred within him.

You literally saw him take a deep breath, pushing his inner monster into the deepest recesses of his consciousness. The darkness in his eyes cleared, his shoulders relaxed. He jumped up from the couch, instantly plastering his signature wide, carefree smile onto his face, which had taken him a colossal amount of effort just now.

"Oh-oh-oh! My beautiful belladonna has returned from the hands of that merciless doctor!" he exclaimed in a deliberately cheerful voice, flying toward you. "I was so worried I almost tried to hang myself with Kunikida's tie!"

He joked, gesticulating wildly, and chattering about all sorts of nonsense, trying with all his might to erase the nightmare of today from your memory. He convinced Kunikida to let you go early (Kunikida muttered something about how you rarely worked anyway), and, taking you by the elbow, led you out.

The walk home passed in thick, stifling silence. The adrenaline receded, leaving behind a gnawing emptiness and a dull ache in your bandaged knees. The sun slowly set below the horizon, painting the sky orange-pink. Dazai insisted on sharing an ice cream cone, trying to joke about spending his last money on you, but his smile broke before reaching his eyes. He was still somewhere out there, in the park.

"My entrance is on the right..." you said quietly, stopping. Your voice still trembled slightly.

Dazai nodded silently and walked you to the door. When you turned to say goodbye, the smile faded completely from his face. He looked at you hard, scanning your face and remembering how it had looked when he'd approached you.

"Were you that scared?" His voice was muffled, almost hoarse.

"What?"

"That bastard. That he... touched you."

You looked away, feeling the lump and nausea rising in your throat again.

"I... It was disgusting. Not so much scary... more disgusting, that I couldn't even breathe."

Dazai took a step forward. His hands settled on your shoulders—firmly, but so carefully, as if you were made of the finest glass.

"If Atsushi hadn't pulled me back," he muttered, his voice once again icy and bloodcurdling, "I would have blown his brains out. And before that, I would have made him eat his own fingers—the very ones he dared to touch you with. I would have gutted him until he begged for death."

You raised your head, looking at the man in shock. There was no bluff in his eyes. It was pure, undisguised cruelty, terrifying, but... aimed only at protecting you.

"I would have done anything to make sure you were okay, no matter what," his tone suddenly softened, turning into a desperate whisper. His thumbs gently slid over your cheekbones, wiping away a single tear. "And I always will. Do you understand?"

He leaned toward your face. His breath burned your skin. He kissed your cheek, but it wasn't a friendly gesture. His lips lingered on your skin for far too long, hot, demanding. You felt him inhale your scent convulsively, as if trying to burn the stench of that alley from his memory.

"See you tomorrow, beautiful."

He pulled away first, though it took a Herculean effort. He turned and walked quickly down the street, hiding his hands in the pockets of his coat so you wouldn't see them clenched into fists, knuckles white.

His chest ached with a desperate desire to crush his lips against yours, to wipe away every foreign touch, and claim you entirely for himself. But right now, it was impossible. You were too pure, too bright. And he was a broken monster with hands elbow-deep in someone else's blood. More than anything in the world, Dazai feared that one day, his blood would stain you too.

Thanks for reading!

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠkiss u

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