I never wanted you to be my man
I just wanted to see what you do
Yeah
No
You, you, yeah
Hey
I feel it in my heart
When you were there
I never wanted you many times
When I try to set you right
It's just too hard
I never wanted you to be my man
But I really couldn't control myself..
honestly, both songs Nas and Amy Winehouse did were gold. they really made magic together it’s a shame they couldn’t have more time together who knows what else they could have made
holy shit I finally updated. I’m going to try and be consistent and update this story weekly. Finally found my inspiration for this story again.
{Prologue} // {1} // {2}
{ Mafia!Dazai x F!Reader }{ Mature }{ Canon Divergent }{ canon - typical violence }
__________________________
The silence is unexpectedly comfortable. Or maybe the alcohol gliding through your veins was keeping your body relaxed and mind focused on the blurring lights framing the empty road. Dazai had practically force fed you potstickers before scurrying you out of the door with fried dough still partially hanging from your lips. Starless, the night looks like a canvas painted with heavy strokes of flitting navy blue with a half-moon pinned in the corner. He barely gave direction as you drove with nervous fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Dazai whistles with the song on the radio, head leaning against the window.
“This is the only time of night I like,” Dazai muses, “before the next day starts and the night ends. Everything stops.”
“Like limbo.” You say, eyes flickering to the left.
“Limbo it is then.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, which is surprising considering the last encounter you had he’d graced you with a velvet smooth repertoire and a charming smile. Thinking back on that night makes your stomach drop, but maybe it had all been part of the plan. Dazai catches the way your lips turn—agitation, he remembers that look—but he saves the comments for later. The highway eases towards the docks. Water catches the glare of the moonlight in funneling ripples of white gold.
The world, as Dazai said before, has completely stopped. Reticence compresses the two of you in a private universe draped under moonlight and the scent of salt water. Dazai still doesn’t mention where you’re going. Rows of identical warehouses sit on the other side of the road tracing the curve of the water. Instinctively you ease off the gas as the road narrows towards an empty toll booth under a single street lamp.
As barren as the rest of the world the shipyard gives no sign of life, former or current. Two single cargo ships idle one right after the other against the dock. Rows of unmarked orange and white containers big enough to house an elephant cram the deck of the ship completely full. Dazai waves his hand left towards a single unattached warehouse veiled behind the larger ones. His command is wordless but understood. Easing off the gas you pull through the alleyway running along the side of the warehouse just thin enough to fit the car. Metal scrapes on the side mirror causing you to flinch, but Dazai just chuckles under his breath.
“Thought you drove for a living?” He mocks before sliding his arm across your chest and unlatching the door. “I can’t fit between the car door and the wall, and a gentleman always opens the car door for a lady.
Exhaustion keeps your eyes from rolling, but the adrenaline is building up again. Wet grass slips across your ankles and Dazai doesn’t seem entirely too concerned about keeping quiet. A low hum echoes against the heavily leaved trees as he walks, hands shoved in his pockets like he was taking a stroll through the park on a summer day. Dazai pauses and bends forward a little to allow you ahead of him. You catch the slight upturn of his lip as you pass, but there is too much going on to be concerned with another smirk.
Instincts kick in and the area around you is suddenly unrelentingly suspicious. Eerie silence void of city life sets your nerves on fire. The remaining alcohol has been stomped out by adrenaline, but there’s a lingering touch of anxiety gnawing at the back of your mind. Sobriety was complicated, apparently. Every muscle from your head to your toes turns rigid and strains with each movement. The light above the toll booth flickers as you approach with caution. Slender fingers glide down your lower back. Dazai pushes you forward like a mother duck ushering her timid duckling to the water for their first swim.
His hand lingers for a moment, leaving a warm ghost of an imprint when he pulls back. Your eyes waver to the right; Dazai sighs. Both of his hands encircle your ribs to push you forward. Stifling a surprised gasp you wriggle from his touch and send him a glare from behind your shoulder. Irritation is painted over his face despite half of it being covered by bandages.
“The booth is empty. Go”
Dazai’s voice is a knife cutting you down piece by piece; you’d never heard this tone before. It drips Mafioso. Quickly you move past the booth and continue towards the docks, macabre silence following both of you like a shadow. Ebony water ripples between cracks in the dock spraying white foam up at your shoes. Both ships tower over the entire port, cutting through the moonlight and concealing the length of the dock in black. A long plank wavers into view and runs up the side of the second ship. From afar it’s thin, almost like a string tying the ship to the down so it won’t float away. Dazai’s hand tugs a belt loop on the back of your pants. You freeze, awaiting instructions on what the ever loving fuck you’re doing here.
“Think he expects us to come right through the front door?”
“Doesn’t the mafia plan more tactical and ruthless infiltration over just busting someone’s door down?”
“Look at you, already surpassing my expectations.”
There’s no time to feel insulted. Dazai pushes you forward again, forcefully, towards the elongated plank of wood in the distance. Despite his incessant need to shove you rather than let you creep along the side of the ship Dazai’s face reads nothing but excessive boredom. His eyes flit around without taking in a drop of detail.
You notice how certain boards creaked beneath the weight of your foot while others splintered depending on the angle.You notice the faded etching on crates slowly rotting in piles in the center of the dock, and the smell of old fishing nets draped haphazardly over the unused rungs--wet and moldy; you noticed everything.
Polar opposites working towards an unmarked goal; the Port Mafia operated in the strangest of ways.
The makeshift ladder could break at any moment. At least, that’s how weak and feeble it felt beneath your feet as you ascend towards the small opening in side of the ship. A single musty yellow light flickers near the entrance, barely radiating enough glow to highlight the scratched white name wrapped over the entire side of the ship. Dazai follows leisurely behind, moonlight finally breaching the barrier of crates on the deck. He’s still humming low in his throat.
As expected, the deck was entirely void of life. Dazai steps beside you wordlessly, eyes blank and face unchanged from his prior look of indifference. At this point you assumed he’d tell you what you were looking for, or who, or anything.
“This ship sure is strange,” Dazai says, “no organization at all. How peculiar.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Looking for someone who has been causing trouble for us.” Dazai says with a shrug, “I haven’t been on a mission so boring in a while though. This is terrible.”
“I’ll try and be more entertaining the next time you drag me to a fucking rusty cargo ship at three-thirty in the morning after dunking me in ice water.”
“Ah, it’s unhealthy to hold on to grudges for so long ____.”
Your jaw locks; Dazai’s lips crack open enough to show his teeth. A growing headache inches up the back of your skull and Dazai’s sarcastic smirk is only making it worse. With a huff you turn your attention to the endless uneven rows of crates before you. There’s only a lean slab of deck untouched by freights that cuts to the other side of the ship; you’re surrounded. There’s no space to move anywhere but the mismatched walkway made by the stacks, and with the way the metal juts out it’s a miracle whomever placed them like this didn’t break their knees walking back out of the maze.
Maze.
“After you my dear.”
Dazai bows again, head tilted towards the mouth of a dangerously constructed alleyway between the crates. The ship becomes an improvised city far too condensed for your liking the further in you wander. Stacks grow higher and higher. Within a few minutes you’re completely shrouded in darkness for a second time. Slivers of moonlight barely funnel through the spaces between the never-ending towers of metal. Recycled air starts to choke you.
Heat creeps up the back of your neck. Dazai is inches behind you and barely giving you room to breathe. The smell of salt water undulates ahead; the edge of the ship is drawing closer. Your palms shoot outwards to find where the crates curve as the path gets more narrow, but Dazai grips your wrists before the metal comes in contact with your skin. He locks your wrists behind your back, chest flush against you with his lips at your ear.
“Dangerous things hide in the dark.”
His chin rests on your shoulder. There’s a twang to the left, soft enough to blend in with the sound of waves lapping against the side of the ship. Three identical objects catch your attention. Barely inches above your head the grenades twist, catching a pinch of moonlight against their rigid outline. Thin wire splits from the top of the swinging bundle down to both sides of the path and disappears to the floor. One finger on that wire and you’d be a pile of burning ashes. A shudder bolts up your spine; Dazai releases your hands.
There is only so much deck left of the ship. The further you step the more concave the walkway becomes. One foot in front of the other and hands glued to your side is the only plausible way to keep moving. Although, seeing in the dark is proving to be an easier task over keeping your balance. Thick, musky air scratches your lungs with each inhale. Abruptly the pathway forks and the sound of clicking machines fill the small space. Something feels uneasy in the pit of your stomach; Dazai’s breath is no longer brushing down your neck. Your hand reaches back, fingers dancing in the empty space where he once was.
That fucker.
Wanna write the next “Strong we Stand” chapter right now, but I’m really tired and will probably fall asleep as soon as I close my eyes.
What should I do?
a) Catch some good ol’ sleep
b) Scratch sleep. Write.
c) Write and then shamelessly fall asleep on my keyboard. Maybe my cheeks will write something useful for me.
