↳ flavoured chapstick challenge ft. dazai, ranpo, tecchou, jouno, fyodor
cw// mildly suggestive → making out
DAZAI can never get enough of you. he kisses you like a starved man at any chance presented to him, taking in the taste of your lips whether or not they've been laced with a flavour other than your own. he'll pull you close, lithe fingers busying themselves in your hair while he kisses you deep.
"strawberry," he says in his sickly sweet voice, smiling against your mouth <3
RANPO figured out what you were up to before you even started kissing. immediately noticing the discarded chapstick package in your trash, he already knows the flavour, brand, and store you bought your chapstick from. still, he'll never pass up an opportunity to indulge you, playing dumb until you're satisfied.
"peach," he'll state, the moment you pull away <3
TECCHOU is absolutely obsessed with you. he wouldn't pay much mind to giving you a correct answer; maybe he didn't even notice the soft chocolate flavour lingering on your lips. all he's concerned about is you. taking you in, feeling you close to him; it's all he needs. he loves losing himself in you, maybe just a little too much this time <3
"flavour..? what flavour?"
JOUNO and his heightened senses were more than happy to accept this little challenge from you. although he can't take in your beauty with his vision, he'll let himself sink into every other aspect of you, your scent, the way you feel in his arms, and the delectable flavour lingering on your lips.
"coffee," he'll say without a moment of hesitation, picking up right where he left off <3
FYODOR is a conniving man, brimming with passion. and he was never one to shy away from a challenge. he kisses you like nothing's different, dragging his tongue across your lips as you messily make out. he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls away from you, a shimmery thread of saliva connecting your lips.
"vanilla..." he'll hum. "eos brand, manufactured in china, probably purchased last week," he'll add, before getting back to his unfinished business <3
~ a little something about being invited to see what's under the bandages ~
"Uh oh. Well, this is rather unfortunate for you Isn't it?"
A soft click of the door lock. Dazai's cornered you in the agency's supply closet again, except this time he's dangling a limp bandaged wrist over you like some treat meant for a dog, a smug grin decorating his otherwise unchanging face.
But for you? there's plenty of new faces to make. If only you'd let him.
He lowers his wrist just above your nose and presses a long index finger right onto the tip of it, giving you a soft touch. Your eyes widen, yet your body stays frozen before him like a seraphic statue. He thinks maybe it's time he get on his knees and pray between your legs but he gets rid of that thought as fast as it came. He leans in once more as you back up into a stack of printer paper, his voice a low and enticing whisper.
"... Don't you ever wonder what I'm hiding under all of this?"
You swallow hard, an embarrassingly loud gulp escapes you as he gestures at the parts where his bare skin would show if it werent for the perpetual bandages that cover him.
"You want to show me?"
His entire body pulls back in one motion, mostly for dramatic effect and also because he knows he's hooked you. You look delectable like this it's intoxicating. As soon as you're in frame, he's out of view again. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his messy brown locks at you.
"I suppose I'll consider it... since you followed me in here. Maybe i'll report you to Kunikida~"
You raise a brow and release a huff, sounding a little less confident now.
Dazai notices.
He also notices your face is turning red.
"That's not—you were the one who followed me? I came in for paper and you locked us in here!"
"Mm..." His eyes drift all over the shelves and supplies. "Did I?"
A long quiet washes over and settles between you two in this small closet. It's strangely serene. Just as you're about to say something to break the silence, Dazai reaches past you for a stack of printer paper, his coat sleeve brushing up against your shoulder as he does so.
He motions for you to stick you arms out, knowing you will, and places the stack of paper to fulfill your futile little quest. He smooths the bandages that cover his hands and wrists, absent mindedly slipping his thumb beneath the edge of the bandage and twisting it around.
Your eyes betray you as you follow the movements of his nimble fingers. The way the layer of fabric behaves when he turns it malleable, you begin to wonder about how long it must take him to master the art of wrapping oneself completely... And does he ever get to touch anything else without all of these layers on.
He catches you in deep though, naturally.
"There you go."
Your head immediately shoots up and you clear your throat. You know he knows.
"Dazai, I have to go now. I have work to do."
He tilts his head.
"Ah, an admirable excuse."
"It's clearly not an excuse. You work here too."
He smiles wide. You're so cute when you say stupid things like that only waste time.
"Stay another minute."
He suggests this so casually your head spins. You can't be here much longer with him.
"Why?"
He considers your silly question. He'd consider thousands of them if only you'd ask.
"Because I asked you to."
He takes one step closer, a lot closer than the first time, and motions for you to put the papers down. He takes your soft hand in his, bringing it under his coat sleeve and up to his forearm. Your breathing gets heavy, but you can't break eye contact with him, unable to process that you've instinctively grabbed onto his arm already. You can feel a loose gap between the crook of his inner elbow, revealing the tiniesy bit of skin under the fold of fabric. A curiosity takes over you as well shameful desire. How predictable.
Dazai's cataloguing your every expression. It's priceless and pure, and he wishes to crush you under the weight of all of his coveting of you. It's sick and unfair. You mumble.
"Only if it's okay with you..."
He watches you as you feel around the slightly raised fabric, slowly inching your careful fingers towards it so you can get a feeling of the real human being that resides under this very skin. So he can get a moment of reprieve from his pathetic desire for connection. There's a split second of electricity between you two as your finger reverently slips under the bandage, almost pressing against the warmth you imagine he has...
Nothing is left to separate you...
And suddenly his arm is gone from under you.
He's stepped back, hands effortlessly back in his trench coat pockets like he never took them out. He's whistling a soft tune only a lonely man would know. This moment feels all too smooth and calculated. It hits you like it always should have. You mutter under your breath, embarrassed and a little frustrated.
"You moved. I almost felt you."
He softens his voice when he responds, an unusual tenderness following it.
"Mhm. Almost."
You tilt your head, slightly more composed now as you watch him. He smiles without quite looking at you, placing the stack of papers back onto your practically limp arms. He walks towards the closet door, a soft unlocking click echoes once more as the bright office lights flood the closet, blinding you while he stands at the doorway.
Dazai stands there, paused for a moment with his back to you. He speaks without turning.
"I can't believe you were actually going to look! Tsk, another report for Kunikida."
You let out a quiet scoff, already hearing the smirk in his sardonic voice.
"You offered."
"I did. And for what it's worth... I really enjoyed how morbidly curious you looked for exactly Four seconds."
"... You counted?"
He glances back over his shoulder, smiling with an odd, wistful warmth that never quite reaches the point of confirmation between you and Dazai.
"I count everything."
Then he's gone.
You wonder why he pulled away... Or why for one impossible second you actually expected him not to.
Fated to never meet eye to eye.
Skin to skin.
Nothing.
Everything.
He spends the entire day running his fingers over the crook in his elbow.
Nobody's hiring these days | Bungo Stray Dogs | Dazai x reader
"Honestly at this point I'd take a rejection. I'm begging for a rejection," you groan.
Dazai chuckles, hand moving up to push yours away, the phone that was covering his view of your face toppling to the side. "You wanna be rejected?"
You huff. Of course not. Glancing down, all your irritation melts away as you see your boyfriend's pretty face gazing up at you from your lap. He'd perched up here not long ago, having just gotten home from the agency and quickly raced over to sit beside you on the couch. Which, of course, quickly became lying on the couch and pleading with you to lie down alongside him.
"I just," you sigh, "it's weird to get no responses. I've started applying to part time work as well, places that are seeking help "desperately," and no one will email me back. Is my resume that shitty?" The last question comes out despondently, causing Dazai to frown. He never wants to see you sad.
"Your resume is perfect. It's all about you, after all," he grins.
Not responding to his lip service, your hand that had been holding your phone (and checking your email) just moments ago now runs through his hair. It's serene, being able to just enjoy a moment of peace and quiet with your boyfriend.
The two of you had such hectic jobs before you'd gotten fired from yours, meaning you usually spent time at home preparing for tomorrow. Being able to sit with him, fingers carding through his hair as he purrs like a cat... it's a dream come true.
Dazai's eyes flutter shut. Basking in the warmth of the setting sun's shine through the living room window onto him and your soothing fingers just oozes all the stress of today out of his system. This is all Dazai wanted for today - to spend time with his favorite person. Or maybe one of two, since Kunikida covered his lunch today.
The way things are now... Dazai would hate for them to change. "You could stop applying," he carefully speaks. It's sudden, breaking through the silence and serenity, but quiet and soft as well. "Just stay home. I can pamper you."
Stay home..? "No, that doesn't make sense. I should be out there in the world, making bread and grinding or whatever people say these days— "
"I can help with the grinding— "
"And when I head back out into the work force, they'll wonder why there's such a huge gap in my resume. I need to find work now." You don't even dignify Dazai's interruption with a response.
I mean, yeah, you're right - if you want to be technical with it... The job market is only getting harder to breach everyday and the longer you wait to get back out there, the harder it'll be. But Dazai didn't work his ass off to get you fired from one place just for you to crawl back to another.
"But what if you just didn't go back to work?" Dazai broaches. "Ever, I mean. I can take care of us, be the breadwinner. You used to be so stressed... it's nice seeing you make time for the things you've forgotten."
Sitting up, Dazai maneuvers himself to face you on the couch, resting his knees into the cushions and placing his hands on top of them. "And I like coming home to see you, looking all cute and relaxed, smiling and waiting just for me. It was so sad when I'd come home to nothingness because you were working late."
The brunette is laying it on thick, for sure. But you've never expressed interest in being his cute stay-at-home partner, always emphasizing your want for "financial independence" or whatever. Dazai does look so cute, eyes wide and glistening, lips pouty. "Please consider it. I much prefer this for you," his calloused hands grasp at yours, sincerity in his expression.
Clicking your tongue in faux annoyance, you tug your hand from his. "Fine, for now. Just because no one has been responding to my applications."
Crumbling easily is one reaction to have. Dazai would rather you have remained steadfast, because he knows exactly what to say in response to skew this in his favor. Your quick agreement as you stood to vanish into the kitchen means that this is far from over. In a few days, you'll be back to sending out applications - and Dazai will have to be ready to continue blocking them.
Ugh, how tedious. But it's worth it to keep you at his side.
summary: dazai is not the best boyfriend, but he’s a much (more pathetic) worse ex
notes: wrote this short lil one shot at 2am on my phone so pls don’t expect much
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Dazai Osamu walks a familiar, beaten path towards the glowing frame of a hotel bar. The dim interior lighting bleeds through the large glass panes that make up the entrance, casting soft shadows in the late evening. He brushes a bandaged hand down the lining of his suit, dusting away nonexistent lint, and confidently pushes his way inside.
Smooth jazz rolls over him as he enters the establishment. Servers in buttoned silk stroll around carrying wine glasses, platters of seafood, and decadent desserts. He ignores them and makes his way past the seated tables to the end of the bar top. It is a slow Tuesday night. He finds himself alone.
The bartender eyes Dazai as he settles on a barstool.
“The usual?”
“Please.”
The bartender nods and turns to pull a dimpled glass bottle off the shelves behind him. Dark liquid swishes as he pours it out into a frosty glass. He slides the drink to Dazai.
“[Y/N] is on break.”
“Are you going to kick me out?” Dazai asks.
The other man shakes his head. “No. Not until I’m asked to.”
Dazai smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I see.”
The conversation ends as the bartender excuses himself to work on other orders, leaving Dazai to wait in silence. He is about halfway done with his drink when you emerge from the back of the bar. You freeze in place as your eyes meet his. Dazai smiles again, but with sincerity this time.
“Sweetheart.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be a lot of things,” he replies bemusedly.
Your boss glances between you two before sighing and waving a hand in dismissal.
“Go. We’re on last call anyway. Take an early night.”
You start. “What? No, I can—”
“You heard the man.”
Before you can process anything, Dazai sweeps you up into his arms and carries you outside, much to your embarrassed, irritated protests. He makes it about a block and a half before your flailing becomes too much and he sets you down so as not to risk hurting you.
“Are you serious?!” Your voice echoes down the empty street. It’s well past normal operational hours. There’s not a soul in sight, save for you and the man before you who's trying not to laugh at your indignation. His attitude only manages to irritate you further but you can tell that’s what he wants—to rile you up.
You turn to leave without another word. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.
“Hold on, wait.” Dazai gently grabs your arm to stop you. “Please.”
“And why should I?”
He smiles again. It’s sadder this time. “I just want to talk to you.”
“And I asked for space.”
“Space is wasted between us,” he whispers. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself.
“Dazai…”
He squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way his name sounds in your tone. You are so gentle with every part of him, it makes him ache to return to a time where this softness came from a place of affection and not resignation.
“I messed up.”
You sigh, tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.
“More than just messed up. You showed me exactly why we shouldn’t be together.”
He steps closer to you. You hate yourself for staying in place. His gaze trails the plane of your face, marking its depths and dimensions to envision for later.
“It doesn’t mean we can’t. I made a mess of things. I know that. Let me prove that I can fix it. Let me make it up to you,” he urges.
You shake your head. “How? You never trusted me, Dazai. You never will. It’s like the second I see a crack in the wall, another comes up in its place, taller and stronger than the one before. I can’t be with someone who hides their entire life from me.”
He looks away for a moment, conflicted. You continue.
“And you know the worst part? You don’t even know the actual reason I left. You think it’s because of that girl—that I was jealous. I don’t care about her. I trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t betray me like that. You know what it was?” You pause. He stays silent. You feel your heart in the pit of your stomach. “It was the fact that I had to find out from someone else that you almost died that day. That mission—with her—you think I wouldn’t have found out? That my partner, the man I share my life with, was barely holding on?”
“[Y/N]…” He reaches for you at the sight of your tears.
“No!” You rip yourself from his touch. “I had to sit in our house—our home—alone, while I awaited the news from a complete stranger, of whether the man I loved was dead or alive. She wouldn’t even tell me where you were. Do you know how utterly helpless I felt? I thought I was losing my mind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And then…” You’re shaking. You’re unsure if it’s due to anger or heartbreak. Both likely. “They told me you were the reason why. You told them to keep me in the dark. You told them to not say anything.”
He flinches. He has the nerve to look regretful.
“I wanted to protect you.”
“That isn't protecting me!”
“I see that now.” Dazai holds out his hands in a placating gesture.
“You don’t.”
“Please.” He’s begging now, his careful mask of control slipping.
“I can’t live like that,” you whisper, voice shaky. “I will never understand you. And that is why I will never have you.”
“I will give myself to you.”
“But not fully.”
Those words hang between you two like an iron curtain, dreadful and harsh. The unbearable weight of it sinks into you and makes your chest ache.
Dazai’s jaw clenches in frustration. “I will do… whatever it takes—”
“No,” you interrupt him. The lump in your throat makes it hard to speak, but you work your words out nonetheless. “You don’t get unlimited chances. You can’t.”
“Just once more.”
He approaches you slowly. The determination on his face breaks your heart. You can’t afford one more chance—it’ll ruin you. Dazai won’t accept it though. He kneels down and gently encloses your trembling hands with his warm ones. You don’t move. You don’t dare to breathe. His breath brushes across your knuckles as he speaks again. This time in a whisper—his final plea.
“As wicked and carnaged I am—and it’s quite a lot—I feel like I can be good when I’m with you. Like I am good. I hide that side of myself—that life—because I’m scared it will somehow taint you, and that possibility is more terrifying than anything it has ever done to me. I will do better. I vow it. I just need you to let me.”
His eyes are glassy—much like your own. You can almost hear your heart stuttering in your chest, screaming for reprieve.
“You’ve always had such pretty words for me.” You pull your hands from his. They immediately go cold without his touch. “It’s a pity they’re still only just words. Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
Dazai’s face goes pale and he’s almost shaking as he gets up. The sight hurts. You turn without another word.
“[Y/N].”
You ignore him.
He calls your name again, more desperate this time. You keep walking. You fear that if you stop you’ll give into him just like you always have.
“This can’t end like this.”
Your reply feels like a shot to the chest. “Don’t you get it, Dazai? It already has.”
might be a few mistakes cuz sume did not proofread...
pre-boyfriend!dazai who has never thought that such a unforgivable and sinful person like him could be loved by anybody.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who never thought about love until he met you.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who first met you at the bookstore that recently opened down the street, which you worked at.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who requested philosophical and dark books recommendations, catching you a bit off guard.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who sighed in defeat when you had no idea what to give him because you never read that kind of genre.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who blinks in curiosity when you lead him to a brand new aisle filled with a genre that was completely different than what he asked for.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who bonds with you over your guys mutual interests for books, instantly becoming amused by your calm and kind personality in contrast to his melancholic, yet cheerful one.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who made stupid excuses to keep on coming back to the bookstore after the day you two met.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who gave you subtle hints that's he's interested in you, like brushing his knuckles against you by "accident" when he bought a book, or when he'd lean in to see your pretty face closer.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who gave up on giving your oblivious self hints and (in)directly asked you out on a date with that sly grin spread across his lips.
" you know what would be crazy? going somewhere, maybe a restaurant. you and me, together. alone. "
" are you asking me out on a date? " you asked, raising an eyebrow.
" hm.... I don't know, what do you think?" dazai teased, his voice dripping with amusement.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who takes you out for dinner after saving his money and not recklessly spending it all, or losing it in a river from another suicide attempt.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who walks on the beach with you after dinner, shoulders bumping while fingertips brush against each other.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who stops and takes your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckle before flashing you a charming smile, causing your heart to do multiple flips.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who asks you to be his girlfriend while the sun is setting beautifully in the background.
pre-boyfriend!dazai who feels a pounding in his chest when you agree with the cutest smile. he can't contain his excitement as he cups your chin, bringing you face closer and kisses you gently.
" you mean it? " he asked, eyes lighting up. " you're really saying yes?
" yeah, i am. " you replied with a shy smile.
dazai grinned and pulled you into a tight hug. " wow... i must be dreaming. quick- pinch me so i know this is real. "
you rolled your eyes playfully. " you're ridiculous. "
" ridiculously lucky, maybe. because i'm finally dating the woman of my dreams. "
boyfriend!dazai who isn't afraid to show people that you guys are dating. for example, he would wear those 'i <3 my girlfriend!' shirts if you guys go on a date.
boyfriend!dazai who has his arm wrapped around your waist in public.
boyfriend!dazai who can be possessive in a good way.
boyfriend!dazai who swings your guys arms when holding hands as you guys take a stroll at the beach while watching the sunset.
boyfriend!dazai who believes you're a daydream, a woman too good to be true.
boyfriend!dazai who believes you put him under your spell, and that's why he's so deep into loving you. not that he's complaining, though.
boyfriend!dazai who thinks you get prettier and prettier every day.
boyfriend!dazai who studies your humor to make you laugh in order to see your pretty smile.
" ah! " dazai cries and holds a hand over his eyes.
" what happened? are you okay? " you ask, eyebrows furrowing in a panic as you try and pry dazai's hands away from his face.
" i just got blinded... by your lethal face card! " dazai jokes, peeking at you through his fingers with a grin.
you couldn't help but snort and smile at your goofy boyfriend.
" you're so stupid... "
boyfriend!dazai who rants to his coworkers about you, babbling about anything and everything about you. your hair, your eyes, you personality, the way you sleep at night- dazai just loves everything about you!
boyfriend!dazai who slowly opens up about his past, knowing he can't keep the ugly truth from your any longer.
boyfriend!dazai who, despite his flaws, is astonished you still want to be with him after finding about his past.
boyfriend!dazai who brings you to oda's grave with a proud smile and an arm wrapped around your waist as he introduces you to his old friend.
boyfriend!dazai who wishes oda was still alive to meet you.
boyfriend!dazai who melts whenever he sees your smile ignite, knowing that everything is alright.
boyfriend!dazai who feels safe and at home whenever he's around you.
boyfriend!dazai who has trouble sleeping at night, so he holds you close and watches you sleep at night, finding your peaceful slumber calming.
boyfriend!dazai who loves to be spooned at night, burying his face into your chest and listening to the even beats of your heart.
boyfriend!dazai who knows every little thing about you. from your worst to your best.
boyfriend!dazai who kisses you any chance he gets.
boyfriend!dazai who feels the will to live his life because he has you.
boyfriend!dazai who loves his girl more than anything, and feels so unbelievably lucky to have you in his life. maybe god has never treated him good, but one good thing the lord has given to him is you.
a/n: it has been awhile since i've uploaded, so think of it as a treat! i don't what came over me, but i just had a blast of energy and the will to finally complete this imagine that has been in my drafts for centuries (or 2 months).
content: pre-relationship bed sharing, flirty/mildly sexual implications
It's truly unfortunate that, while on a mission for the Agency, you have to share a bed with DAZAI — or so you think, at least. He doesn't share the sentiment in the slightest, instead smiling as innocently as possible the moment his gaze falls onto the single bed in the hotel room booked for the night. While he pretends to offer you the bed, he'll guilt-trip you about the couch being way too short for his long legs and about his back already aching until, eventually, you give in and share it with him.
Naturally, he gets into your space more than necessary at night, pretending he's asleep while cuddling close to you, given how, then, you can't cuss him out for wrapping an arm around your waist and burying his face in your neck, breath warm against your throat. It's worse that he knows if you won't get any amount of sleep whatsoever, much too busy with fighting off arousal while he's pressed flush against your back.
“Hm? No, it's alright. I don't mind taking the couch. What kind of man would I be if I let you sleep on there? Still, it's just — it's way too short and hard. Couches this uncomfortable shouldn't exist, really. I doubt I'll be able to get even a wink of sleep tonight, what a shame.”
When there turns out to only be one bed in the hotel room you're supposed to stay in for the night, CHŪYA doesn't even hesitate before offering you the bed, immediately going for the couch instead. He won't accept any protests either; no matter whether you're worried about his comfort or just think it's polite to refuse his offer, he won't allow you to spend the night on a sofa. He's not making a huge deal out of it and, if you keep being annoying about it, he gets more and more exhausted by the minute.
Eventually, he might give in to the idea of sharing the bed. He has no trouble keeping to himself — or so he believes, because, once he's actually asleep, softly snoring into your ear, he's moving wildly, one leg eventually thrown over your body, arms stretched out. If you mention it to him in the morning, his cheeks flush soft pink.
“Hm? The fuck you mean, you'll be taking the sofa? Definitely not. I'm already here — and I don't mind. Go lie down and get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow.”
RANPO, the very moment he steps foot into the room, decides he wants the bed to himself. The idea of taking the couch doesn't even cross his mind; instead, he makes his way over to the bed all too quickly, though, when you end up either glaring at him or asking him to share, he just shrugs.
Really, he doesn't make too big of a deal out of sharing a bed, not even seeming a little nervous at the idea of lying down beside you for hours on end. Meanwhile, at night, he cuddles up close to you — actually asleep, unlike a certain someone —, arms wrapped around you, for once completely unaware of you being all flustered because of him. In the morning, it'll be like nothing happened, even though you can't quite stop thinking about
“What are you looking at me like that for? I said we can share. If you're hoping to have it for yourself, tough luck. I was here first, just saying. Just get in or move to the couch already, I'm tired.”
All of FYODOR'S decisions are based on logic; this one is no exception. If the bed is large enough to fit two people, it's large enough for the two of you to share — though, if you feel like taking the couch instead, he won't protest. That's your decision to make, after all.
While actually sharing the bed with him, it's basically like you're alone in there, anyway. He doesn't move when asleep, doesn't make a sound; it's all too easy to imagine he's not even there, even though, occasionally, a dark strand of hair might brush against your face. What you don't know, however, is that he, at night, while you're fast asleep, he takes the time to watch you up close, lilac eyes tracing over every plane of your face.
“I do not mind sharing the bed with you. I hope you feel similarly. We both are adults, are we not? I doubt this will be an issue. Just lie down.”
NIKOLAI is undoubtedly amused by the idea of sharing a bed with you. He doesn't waste a single thought towards either of you taking the sofa instead; nonsense, just why would you do that? There's a perfectly fine bed right there, and surely both of you are mature enough to share one without any issues, right? Wrong.
He makes a point of being as obnoxious as possible, cuddling close to you the very second you lie down. It doesn't help that he's both tall and strong, his arms closed around your waist so you can't even try to get away or up, and he makes a point of whining whenever you attempt to squirm away. It's going to be a long night.
“What's the matter? Why are you moving so much? Stop it, I won't be able to fall asleep this way. Or — ah, are you trying to rile me up on purpose? That's naughty of you, sweetheart.”
SIGMA immediately makes a beeline for the couch the second he notices the dilemma of having a double bed rather than two separate ones booked. He won't even discuss the topic with you; he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable or forced to sleep on a sofa, so he'll do it instead. There's no whining or guilt tripping from his end; he simply accepts his fate for the night. There's worse things to endure.
If you're incredibly serious about convincing him, however, he might just give in, even though his cheeks feel a little warmer than usual when he lies down next to you, making sure there's an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you. If there's anything he doesn't want, it's you thinking he's trying to be creepy after you've decided to trust him — he probably ends up barely getting any sleep, just because he's worried about accidentally getting too close to you.
“Are you sure you're alright with this? I really don't mind spending the night on the sofa instead. ... Well, if you're sure — thank you.”
The red-haired had always admired your strength. Carrying yourself like a quiet fire that seemed impervious to the storms of life, unyielding under the weight of the underworld’s chaos. You were his protégé, the one he poured himself into, the one who embodied everything he once longed to be but couldn’t. His pride. His light. The proof that even in the darkest corners of the world, something radiant could exist. But even the brightest flames can flicker, and it was in the faint tremors of your hands, the tight smiles, and the hollow laugh that he began to notice cracks in the armor you wore so well.
When you were alone, the emptiness gnawed at you. It was a beast you couldn’t tame, one that whispered lies into your ear about control, about worth, about the ugly truths buried in your reflection. Those nights, after the world fell silent and your facade could finally shatter, you found yourself in the kitchen, hands trembling as you pulled open cabinets, rifling through anything you could find. Bread, chips, sweets, anything to fill the void, anything to quiet the roaring need that felt like a punishment and a salvation all at once. You ate until you couldn’t breathe, until your stomach screamed in protest, until shame curdled in your veins like poison. Then came the guilt—a black wave that crashed over you, suffocating, pulling you under. And so, you purged, desperate to rid yourself of the weight, of the regret, of the proof of your failure. It was a ritual of suffering, one you endured in silence, hiding it from the world because no one could ever understand.
Therefore, food had always been the battlefield. Chuuya had no words for how your face tightened whenever a meal was placed in front of you, how your laugh sounded strained when he joked about how little you ate. At first, he thought it was preference, something trivial. But then came the patterns. The way you’d push food around your plate, the careful excuses that masked avoidance, the too-frequent trips to the bathroom after meals. He dismissed it, once, twice, too many times, unwilling to shatter the image he had of you—unbreakable, invincible, beyond fragility.
Until one day, he couldn’t.
Upon a quiet night, after a grueling mission, the two of you were eating together. He had cooked, something rare, almost celebratory. He wanted to see you smile, to hear your laugh ring genuine, unguarded. But the moment was stolen by the slight twitch in your brow, the way you forced yourself through each bite like it was a penance. And then you were gone, chair scraping against the floor as you muttered some excuse about needing the bathroom.
The mafia executive wasn’t sure why he followed. Perhaps it was the gnawing pit in his stomach, the accumulation of every unease he’d ever felt about you but hadn’t wanted to name. Or perhaps it was the way you hadn’t looked at him when you stood, the way your eyes seemed fixed on something far, far away. Whatever it was, it pulled him from his seat, silent, careful, until he stood outside the bathroom door.
A choked sob, raw and jagged, as if your chest was being ripped apart—the sound hit him. Then came the gagging, the frantic, broken attempts to purge what little you’d eaten. His heart clenched at the sound, a violent, suffocating force that left him frozen for a moment too long. When the retching stopped, there was silence, and then another sound—one that would haunt him far longer than any gunfire or scream. You were crying, but it wasn’t the kind of crying he could soothe. It was feral, unrestrained, the sound of someone drowning in their own skin.
He pushed the door open, and the sight gutted him.
You were on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles were white. Tears streaked your face, mixing with the remnants of your futile attempts to purge. Your shoulders shook violently, your breaths ragged and shallow, as if the weight of existence itself was pressing down on you. too lost in whatever storm was tearing you apart from the inside, you didn’t even notice him at first.
As he called your name, his voice broke, soft but weighted, you flinched as though struck. Your head snapped up, eyes wide and wild, filled with a mixture of shame, fear, and something he couldn’t name.
“Don’t—don’t look at me,” you choked out, your voice shattered, hands scrambling to shield yourself from his gaze as though his presence alone was enough to destroy you.
But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. How could he, when the person he cherished most in the world was falling apart in front of him? When the strength he admired so fiercely had been a mask for a torment so profound it left you hollow? His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling—not with anger, but with helplessness. Chuuya Nakahara, the Port Mafia’s finest, a man who had survived horrors most couldn’t fathom, didn’t know how to fix this.
And yet, he moved. Slow, deliberate, he crossed the space between you and knelt down, ignoring the mess, ignoring everything but you. He didn’t speak. What words could possibly touch the depth of what he felt? What comfort could ease the anguish that had been festering in your soul long before he’d ever noticed? Instead, he reached out, his gloved hand trembling as it brushed against yours.
Although you tried to pull away, he held on, firm but gentle, grounding. Your protests were weak, broken, crumbling under the weight of his quiet persistence. Eventually, you stopped fighting, your hand going limp in his as the sobs wracked your body anew. He pulled you into his arms then, holding you like you might shatter, like the world itself would crumble if he let go.
Heavy and suffocating a silence followed. Though in it, there was an unspoken promise. A vow etched not in words but in the way he held you, in the way his gloved fingers gently stroked your hair, in the way his own shoulders shook with the weight of what he’d just realized. You weren’t invincible. You weren’t unbreakable. But you didn’t have to be. Not with him.
Truthfully, chuuya didn’t know what came next. He didn’t know how to help you, how to fix the cracks in your foundation. But he did know one thing: he would never let you face this alone again. You were his pride, his light, the fire he’d chased his entire life. And no matter how fragile that flame might be, he would protect it with everything he had—even from yourself.
,
Dazai had always known how fragile you were, even when you didn’t realize it yourself. It wasn’t just your body, though the sharp lines of your frame had always seemed on the verge of disappearing, as if you weren’t fully of this world. No, it was something deeper—a fragility that resided in the quiet spaces between your laughter, in the way your eyes lingered on the edges of mirrors as though you feared what might look back at you. He had been drawn to it, at first. That strange contradiction of strength and delicacy, the way you carried yourself like a wisp of smoke in a room full of storms.
But even smoke can suffocate.
It began so subtly that Dazai almost missed it. The way you picked at your food with a practiced indifference, your careful avoidance of meals disguised as nonchalance. He watched you fold excuses into your routines like origami, delicate and precise—“I already ate,” “I’m not hungry,” “I’ll grab something later.” Lies so thin they barely held their shape, but he let them pass because he thought he understood you. You were his quiet escape from the chaos, a tether to the normality he so desperately sought. But now, as the days turned into weeks, and your sharp edges grew sharper still, he realized your fragility wasn’t simply a part of you—it was consuming you.
The obsession, your obsession, was was unsettled him the most. The way you clung to control, as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. He saw it in the numbers you counted in your head, the mental calculations that flickered behind your eyes whenever food was near. You moved constantly, restless and relentless, as though standing still would unravel you. And yet, despite your need to escape the shape of your own body, he saw how you lingered in front of mirrors, tracing the lines of your collarbones and ribs with trembling fingers. You hated what you saw, yet in that hatred, you found power. A twisted kind of triumph.
Dazai, for all his sharpness, didn’t know how to confront it. How could he, when you had built your cage so carefully, so intricately, that he feared any wrong move might trap you further? He watched in silence, a ghost hovering at the edges of your pain, his own heart growing heavier with every meal you skipped, every lie you told, every step that carried you further away from him. Naturally, you didn’t know, couldn’t know, how much he had come to love you—not in fragments, not as something fleeting, but entirely. Utterly. You thought you were a passing indulgence, something temporary to fill the void in his life, but you were so much more than that.
Fighting demons, he waited until the night he couldn’t stay silent anymore.
You’d spent the day evading food with a grace that was almost artful, your avoidance so practiced it might have been rehearsed. By the time evening came, you were a shadow of yourself, moving through the room like a ghost. Dazai sat at the edge of your shared space, watching as you ran your hands over your arms, up and down, like you were trying to prove to yourself that you were still there. Your fingers brushed against the sharp jut of your bones, and for the briefest moment, your expression flickered—triumph, control, and then disgust, so fleeting he might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking.
“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, his voice soft but resolute.
Hands lingering in the air before it dropped to your side, you froze “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmured, the lie falling from your lips like ash.
He stood then, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. There was no anger in him, only a sorrow so deep it felt like drowning. “You do,” he said simply. “You’ve known all along. You’ve been counting every bite, every step, every ounce of control, but you can’t see what it’s doing to you.”
While your chest tightened your eyes darted away from his, searching for an escape. “I’m fine,” you whispered, but the words rang hollow, as brittle as your frame.
“No, you’re not.” His hand reached out, but he stopped just short of touching you, as though afraid you might break beneath the weight of his concern. “You think this is control, don’t you? That if you can keep shrinking, you’ll finally be enough. But you’re already disappearing. You’re fading, and I…” Being the first sign of the turmoil raging beneath his calm facade, his voice cracked, “I can’t lose you to this.”
Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, spilling over as the dam finally broke. “I don’t know how to stop,” you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of your admission. “I don’t know how to be enough for you, for anyone, for myself.”
Closing the distance between you then, his arms reached around your trembling frame. You felt impossibly small against him, as though you might dissolve entirely if he held you too tightly. “You’ve always been enough,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low, raw. “I didn’t fall in love with you because of how you look, or because of the shape of your body. I love you because you make me want to live. Don’t you see? You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive, and I can’t lose that—not to this, not to anything.”
Then you collapsed against him, your sobs muffled against his chest as his words sank into the hollow spaces inside you. For the first time, the control you clung to felt less like power and more like a chain, one you weren’t sure you could break alone. But in Dazai’s arms, in the steadiness of his voice, there was a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
And for a moment, in the fragile quiet of that night, you allowed yourself to believe it.
,
When you came back from the hospital, Akutagawa thought you were better. Not whole—he knew better than to believe anyone could walk out of that kind of war unscathed—but better. You were quieter, more restrained than before, but he chalked it up to the aftershocks of what you’d endured. He wasn’t one for excessive concern or sentimentality, so he gave you space, trusting that your resilience would guide you forward.
Working alongside him, just as you always had, you carried out the ruthless tasks of the Mafia with precision and poise. But there was something in your movements that had changed—something more deliberate, almost rigid, as though you were holding yourself together through sheer will alone. At first, he dismissed it as adjustment. You’d been through a storm, after all, and even the strongest took time to rebuild.
What he didn’t see was how the storm had followed you.
In the dead hours of the night, when you were alone in your quarters, the thoughts crept back in—quiet at first, like whispers. You’re too much. You’ll fall apart if you let go. Control is the only way. They slithered into your mind, wrapping themselves around the fragile progress you’d made, and you welcomed them like old friends. You told yourself you’d stop before it went too far, that it was just temporary, just a way to feel steady again. But control was a ravenous thing, never satisfied with half-measures.
Like an old, repeating pattern, you began skipping meals—not all at once, but enough to convince yourself it wasn’t dangerous. A missed breakfast here, a lighter dinner there. You avoided eating in front of Akutagawa whenever possible, claiming you weren’t hungry or were too busy. When you couldn’t avoid it, you picked at your food, calculating every bite, every calorie, with a precision that bordered on obsession.
Of course, you thought you were hiding it well. Learning to wear looser clothing to disguise the weight you were losing, staying late in the training rooms, pushing your body until exhaustion numbed the gnawing hunger, you told yourself this was strength, that the growing sharpness of your cheekbones and the hollows beneath your collarbone were proof of your control. But the truth was, you were spiraling, and you were too afraid to stop.
Akutagawa, on the other hand, didn’t notice at first. He was consumed with his own duties, his own battles, and you were careful to keep your mask intact around him. But as the weeks passed, he began to see the cracks. The way your energy faltered during missions, the unsteady tremor in your hands when you thought no one was watching. He noticed how your voice grew quieter, how your laughter—rare as it was—disappeared altogether. And then there was the weight.
Now you looked fragile, as though a strong wind might shatter you. He told himself it was stress, that you were still recovering, that if it were serious, you would tell him. You had promised him once, after all, that you wouldn’t keep him in the dark again.
But you didn’t tell him.
One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, he caught you lingering in the shadows of the Mafia’s base. You were leaning against the wall, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. He approached silently, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the gauntness of your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes.
“You haven’t been eating,” he said bluntly, his voice low and steady.
Stiffening, you didn’t turn to face him. “I’m fine,” you replied, your tone carefully controlled.
“No, you’re not.”
Heavy and unrelenting, his words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, and for a moment, he saw the truth in your eyes—the fear, the shame, the desperation you’d been trying so hard to hide. But just as quickly, you looked away, your mask snapping back into place.
“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice sharper this time. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”
He stepped closer, his presence as unyielding as his gaze. “This isn’t about need,” he said. “It’s about what I see. And what I see is you killing yourself.”
As your hands clenched at your sides, your nails were digging into your palms. “You don’t understand,” you said, your voice breaking despite your efforts to keep it steady.
“Then make me understand.”
For a moment, the room was filled with silence, heavy and suffocating. And then, like a dam breaking, the words spilled out of you.
“I thought I could handle it,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I thought I was past it, that I could stop whenever I wanted. But it’s always there, Akutagawa. The need to control, the fear of letting go. It’s… it’s like drowning, but I’m the one holding myself underwater.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he reached out, his gloved hand resting gently on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly. “You never have to be.”
You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “But what if I can’t stop? What if it’s too late?”
“It’s not too late,” he said firmly. “And even if it takes everything I have, I’ll make sure you remember that.”
There was no grand gesture, no dramatic declaration. Just the quiet promise of someone who refused to let you fall. And for the first time in weeks, the walls you had built around yourself began to crack.
a/n: i‘d like to leave a few words actually, i got this request around midnight but i wrote it on sitting and got pretty emotional (yikes) i never wrote something like this so it might come off as stiff. i had anorexia myself, and am now still dealing with bulimia. help. i spent all my teenage years counting calories. i still do , sometimes. this disorder leaves you with nothing but despair. i don’t mean to romanticise it so i tried making it realistic — though it probably sucks. well whatever. if anyone is struggling with this, please get help—even if it’s just online, reaching out won’t make it disappear but easier. love you all so much!
THINKING ABOUT... watching the rain patter down with Dazai. listening to the gentle raindrops hit the ground, your eyes closed as you rest against the door frame, the door open, soaking in the sensations. listening to him rant about his day, while you chime in every now and then, occassionally giggling in amusement to his dramatics. letting him launch into a spiel, absorbed in his own misery about how atsushi doesn't do his work for free anymore, as you gaze at him with that certain look in your eyes.
oh, he just looks entrancing — it's lovely to observe him. if you could, you would study him under a microscope to understand every single detail about him.
but for now, you listen to him yap about the trivialities of the day, unaware that he's only carrying on because he loves to see how you look at him secretly when you think he's not watching.
who knows... maybe one day he'll use that to his advantage. to surprise you with that knowledge when you least expect it.
your flustered face is his favorite one, after all. 🖤
