I need a minific of the reader giving dazai a flower. He doesn't look like he receives them ofte.
he definitely doesn't receive flowers nearly as often as he should, considering he hands them out constantly.
A bouquet is sitting neatly on your desk, beautifully arranged, and you didn't necessarily know who exactly was getting them for you, but you had a hunch. It's compiled of luscious petals, fully bloomed and vibrant hues of pinks, yellows, whites, and the deep green of the leaves contrasting expertly against them. You sigh, wistful, seeing these mysterious flowers pop up every now and then, no one bothering to fess up on if they did it - alas, it's a case you don't intend to solve if it meant continuing to be greeted with a fresh bundle to make your day brighter.
"These look lovelier than the last," Kyouka remarks, leaning over to peek at each individual flower. She leans in a bit closer to bury her nose in them, inhaling deeply at the sweet scent, and sighs heavily. "You still haven't found out who is giving them to you?" You shake your head, still wearing your grateful smile, fingers coming out to gingerly mess with the blue ribbon neatly tied around the vase.
"No, but I don't mind. Whoever is gifting them to me must know I love them regardless to keep doing so," you blush slightly, the realization hitting you that you have a secret admirer, and you have never felt more special.
"Oh, wouldn't you look at that," Fukuzawa stops long enough to admire your flowers as well, hands tucked away in his draping sleeves, and he exchanges a friendly smile with you. "Another bouquet? You must be quite loved." He bows his head to both you and Kyouka before stepping away, preparing for a client meeting, and letting that comment settle in your bones. It is the fourth month in a row that you have received these gorgeous gifts two to three times a week, and you haven't been able to figure out who has been doing it - again, you have a theory, but it isn't solid. Baseless, really.
"I wish someone would give me flowers," she pouts, her semi-monotonous voice changing in tone to reflect her envy. While it is said in passing, a mere outward thought, it does spark a bit of an idea for you, a way to try to see if you can find your admirer. As you mull it over, clicking your pen, a candid tune whistles its way into the room, belonging to the agency's troublemaker, hands in his pockets as he strolls in, and his feet automatically carry over to your desk, just as they do every other day.
"Oh, sweetheart, these are stunning!" Dazai sings, taking a longing look at your bouquet, and you watch the side of his face as small smile forms on his lips, and his eyes visibly soften, flickering in your direction. "Someone seems to have a huge crush on you." He chuckles, standing back up straight and leaning against the edge. You gaze up at him, head tilting, the corner of your mouth turning up some.
"Mr. Dazai, you're a good detective," Kyouka turns to face him, garnering his full attention. "Do you think you can help us find out who is gifting the flowers to them?" She gestures to the vase, looking at him expectantly, as if he has all the answers in the world. He hums, eyes sliding toward the soft petals, then back to her, avoiding you entirely.
"I'm sure if I set a trap, I could catch the culprit easy," he entertains, finally locking gazes with you, and something about him seems... lighter lately. His cheeks have more color somehow. "Would you like me to find out for you?" You shake your head.
"No, I worry they'll stop," you murmur, sheepish, smile now shy. "I like them a lot, I'd hate for this to be the last time I receive them." His eyes flash momentarily before closing, bowing his head toward you.
"But of course. I'd hate for that to happen to you too."
The next day comes, and you decide to enact your plan, stopping by the flower shop before work, and getting the prettiest flowers you could lay your eyes on. Upon stepping into the office, you're immediately met with a fresh new bouquet of the deepest shade of freshly cut red roses you have ever seen, and your cheeks flush to match. Suddenly, your peonies are meaningless. Your eyes dart to Ranpo, who is sitting at it his desk occupied by his handheld, leaning back in his chair, and you're well aware it's pointless to try asking if he knew anything - he's in his 'don't bother me' position.
"You brought flowers too?" Kyouka walks up to you, eyes glued to your bouquet, silently admiring how beautiful the blush pink is, itching to ask for one herself. You snap out of it, granting her a friendly grin as you carefully pluck one stem out, handing it to her.
"Yes, here's one for you, Miss Kyouka," you watch her already big eyes grow wider, hand hesitantly coming up to take it from you, before flashing you a grateful beam.
"Thank you so much! I'm gonna show Atsushi!" She takes off in the other direction, rushing up to her colleague's desk, and shows him the flower she has finally been granted. You can't help your gaze flitting off to the striking red bundle in the middle of the room, placed neatly on the corner of your desk, like all the others before; as always, there's no note, just a blue ribbon tied in a delicate bow around the crystal vase, and you wish you knew if this meant what you thought it did.
Again, it would have to wait, since you are on a mission to fluster the gifter as much as they've flustered you. You go around the agency, handing a peony to everyone present, watching all of their reactions closely, but no one is acting nearly to the level as you do every morning you have a new bouquet of flowers. You even ensured to give one to Ranpo and Fukuzawa, who both were pleased to receive such a thoughtful and pretty gift, but you already know it was neither of them - it'd be too suspicious if you excluded them.
Coincidentally, you were left with one flower left, everyone accounted for having one sitting on their desk or in a small vase. All except Dazai. As you do another once over of the room, you realize he isn't there, and your brows furrow at his absence, swearing you had seen him earlier while passing stems out; however, that mysterious enigma of a man is nowhere to be found.
You shuffle off toward the break room, peeking in, only to see a few straggling secretaries talking amongst themselves as they prepare their coffee, and you take that as your cue to continue on. You glance here and there in different rooms, not seeing lingering bodies, definitely not his, until you catch the door leader up the stairs to the roof is propped open at the end of the hall. Your steps quicken involuntarily, climbing the staircase to the top, and see that door is propped open too.
Carefully you push it open, ensuring it stays open, eyes roaming until you spot the familiar trenchcoat draped over his shoulders as his back faces you, seeming to be lost in thought while he sits on an elevated ledge. You quietly walk up to it, the flower behind your back, and peek up at him, seeing the side of his face, and he appears to be elsewhere completely.
"Hey, Dazai," you gently call, but he doesn't react, aside from a smile forming that you catch in real time.
"Hi, sweetheart," he responds, never tearing his eyes away from his view.
"What're you doing up here?"
"Wanted some fresh air, time to think," he finally turns his head to address you, extending his hand out to help you climb up to sit beside him. Once hoisted up, you huff under your breath, plopping down, and he eyes the flower between your fingers.
"I got your roses," you blurt, staring ahead, to make yourself seem as aloof as him. It's not a total shot in the dark, but it isn't a confident guess either.
"Roses?" He plays coy, leaning back on his palms, head falling back to stare up at the sky. "I'd never give you roses. They're overused, cliche. Practically meaningless." He lists off all the reasons why he would never dare to gift you a bouquet of roses, and your brow lifts, head whipping in his direction. "Those, my darling, are carnations." He corrects, tone dropping down to a soft quiet, and his head lulls back to face you. You falter, not expecting him to confess this quickly that he, in fact, has been your secret admirer. You had your doubts, considering he was so good at pretending he had no idea about them, the thought of him coming in early to have them ready before anyone else never crossing your mind since he is always late and meandering about.
"Don't fret, it can stay between us, and I can keep leaving you flowers," he reassures, batting his lashes, and your heart flutters. Your line of sight drops down to the remaining peony, twirling it gingerly between your fingers, and he hums. "And who is that for? Someone else becoming my competition?" He asks so easily, as if anyone could actually compare, let alone compete.
"No," you shake your head, scooting closer to him, snapping some of the length off the stem until it was a short nub. He watches you do this, the pieces being tossed to the side, then is struck dumb when he feels your fingers gently tuck the flower in his ear. He maintains his cool composure, but the blood rushing to his cheeks gives him away. "Perfect." You whisper, framing some pieces of his hair more, hoping to make it secure. "The color makes your eyes pop." You compliment, and his lips part, gearing up to say something corny, arrogant, or even gratitude, but he's at a loss.
"Don't fret if you see everyone else with these peonies," you mimic his turn of phrase, his suddenly bright amber irises scouring every centimeter of your features. "They're all for you. Reminding you of me whenever you see them in someone else's hand." You lightly tap his nose, and he runs short on breathing, the language of flowers turning on him now, you playing him at his own game, and that organ hidden in his chest that he can so easily control is erratic. "You look cute with flowers in your hair, Dazai. Maybe I'll make you a flower crown one day." You giggle, deciding his silence is a good segue to slip back to the ground, scurrying off before you could embarrass yourself or have him say anything too flustering.
His fingers come up to cautiously touch the petals, caught off guard, and he wants to figure out how exactly to preserve this peony to stay in perfect condition forever to keep wearing, just so you can look at him like he is the only thing you'd ever want to pick in field for the rest of his life.
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