Not to bother you, but can you do a name only you call me. 2 with Akutagawa and Poe?
───── A NAME ONLY YOU CALL ME part two ˛𑣲 ˚ .
synopsis.: nicknames... such a cute way of showing affection—bsd characters reacting to you calling them a nickname for the first time ♡
ft.: poe, akutagawa, tachihara, and fyodor x gn!reader (seperately)
cw.: sfw, fluff, crack, drabbles, nicknames used: ed, ryuu, michi, fedya (i couldn’t help myself with foyodor’s one, sorry not sorry), suggestive themes in tachihara’s part, slight angst in akutagawa’s part
wc.: 4.2k words in total
۶ৎ note.: ofcc!! here you go, my love ♡˖꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱ i apologize for the long wait. honestly, they’re a bit longer than the ones in my first part, hope you don’t mind. (also, just saying, personally i like foyodor’s part the most~) this is an old request !! my requests remain closed for the time being !! if you like this, you may want to check out the FIRST PART which includes dazai, chuuya, ranpo, and atsushi
poe.:
poe has always been rather fond of his full name. perhaps because it sounds so distinguished, so befitting of an author whose stories deserve to be remembered. “edgar allan poe” carries a certain weight to it, one that has followed him through every manuscript, every story he writes, every whispered discussion surrounding his abilities.
it has become a name people recognize before they recognize the man himself. but being so recognizable, especially now that he is with the guild—an organization that prides itself on being different, more classy if you will—it sometimes feels as though the person behind his own name isn’t even there anymore. like he doesn’t belong.
so, naturally, when you two grow closer and you start using his first name, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. there is something strangely comforting about hearing his given name only. as though, for once, he doesn’t have to live up to every expectation each syllable carries.
and when you take it a notch further one day, calling him “ed” something just as recognizable as his full name yet carrying none of its weight, it makes his heart swell with affection and something he can’t quite name.
it’s such a tiny thing, really. only one syllable less than his given name. yet somehow, it always evokes the same nameless but familiar feeling.
the first time you call him “ed” it lingers in his mind for the whole day, and he finds himself being unusually attentive to you, quietly hoping you’ll say it once more. with you, he isn’t the celebrated mystery novelist, nor the gifted ability user everyone expects to be brilliant beyond measure.
he is simply... ed.
somehow, that feels smaller in the gentlest way possible. more human. more like he’s an ordinary person no one expects anything of. no matter how much poe prides himself on being the most intellectual individual, striving to become a better detective than ranpo, behind all this charade, the constant pressure from other people—and from himself—to perform at anything less than greatness wears him down more than he’d like to admit.
so having you by his side as someone who doesn’t expect anything from him, who simply supports him in anything he does, is sometimes a soothing balm to his depressed state of mind.
he begins catching himself quietly hoping you’ll say it again, even if he’d rather disappear into his own novel than admit something so painfully sentimental.
there is an intimacy hidden within that nickname, one he never expected himself to grow so attached to. and even though he doesn’t necessarily show it, he appreciates you treating him like a regular person more than he lets on, the nickname only strengthening that feeling and making it all seem a little more real.
──────── small drabble here (,,>ヮ<,,)
“karl, come back here!” you call, trying your best not to laugh as the little raccoon scurries across the living room with a handful of wrapped candies clutched tightly in his tiny paws.
the culprit chitters triumphantly, seemingly very proud of the crime he has just committed. “those aren’t even yours!” you whine playfully. still, karl pays you no mind. if anything, he only runs faster, making you let out an exasperated sigh before chasing after him. though, of course, he’s way quicker than you.
“ed,” you call over your shoulder while trying not to lose sight of the mischievous animal, “your son won’t listen to me.”
the scratching of a fountain pen against paper comes to an abrupt halt and poe looks up from his manuscript, blinking at you with an unreadable and slightly perplexed expression.
“…my son?” he asks, his cheeks tinted in a faint blush because if karl is his son and he is the father, that would make you... karl’s mother? god, what nonsense! oh, but he kind of likes the idea of that.
you remain entirely focused on karl, who is now attempting to squeeze himself underneath the sofa with his stolen treasures.
“yes, your son,” you huff, crouching down in front of the couch in a futile attempt to reach him. “i think he stole ranpo’s candy. again.”
“…that does sound like something he would do,” poe says, regarding you with a small chuckle. the idea of ranpo being annoyed that his candy got stolen amuses him.
this also gives him the perfect chance to challenge poe to another battle of wits if they confront each other, making his new story's perfection crucial.
“ed,” you whine once more, turning your head just enough to look at him. “help,” you say, your voice carrying the faintest hint of defeat. no matter how hard you try, karl simply won’t listen to you.
poe quietly closes his notebook before finally standing up from his chair. without so much as a hint of urgency, he walks over to where you’re kneeling and looks beneath the couch.
“…karl,” poe mumbles with a hint of warning in his voice, and the raccoon almost instantly freezes. a second later, he slowly waddles back out, still holding the colorful sweets between his paws.
you snatch the candy out of his paws, noticing the small nibbles on the wrappers of some of the sweets.
“honestly, i know raccoons eat practically anything, but plastic? seriously? that’s not good for you, karl,” you mumble as you reach out to pet him.
karl snuggles into your touch before clawing at your hand, silently begging you for a piece of candy. you let out another sigh and unwrap a small piece of chocolate, feeding it to him.
you look through the candy he stole, noticing a pack of strawberry chocolate-covered pocky sticks. a small grin tugs at your lips as you glance at poe. “hey, ed, wanna play a game?” you ask with a hint of teasing in your tone.
poe looks at you, his already dusty rose-colored cheeks deepening in color at the playful tone in your voice. “ah, sure…” he mumbles.
needless to say, agreeing to play that game turns out to be both the best and worst decision he has made all day. after all, kissing you is always pleasant. enduring the aftermath of his own racing heart, however, is another matter entirely.
akutagawa.:
akutagawa has never been particularly fond of familiarity. perhaps it is because most people only ever know him by his surname. “akutagawa” is the name attached to his reputation, his ability, and his position within the port mafia. it is the name that carries fear, respect, and expectation. the name that reminds others of what he is capable of.
and to him, it is easier that way since he dislikes closeness. a surname creates distance. it is formal, impersonal, and allows him to remain the weapon everyone expects him to be. there is no vulnerability attached to it, no reminder that beneath the sharp words and ruthless actions, there is still a person who longs to be acknowledged.
but his given name is different.
“ryūnosuke” feels far too personal. it belongs to a part of himself he rarely allows anyone to see. a part that existed before the port mafia, before his ability, before everything became a desperate attempt to prove his worth.
so the first time you call him “ryuu” he does not know how to react.
it’s not anger that he feels, not exactly. maybe confusion would be a better word. because nobody has ever shortened his name so casually before. nobody has ever spoken it with such warmth, as if it is something precious rather than something to be said only when necessary.
he almost wants to tell you not to call him that ever again. almost. but the words never leave his mouth. because despite how unfamiliar it feels, there is something strangely comforting about hearing it from you.
you don’t say it with pity. you don’t say it because you think he is fragile or because you want to remind him of his past. you simply say it because, to you, that is who he is.
ryuu.
not akutagawa, the port mafia’s black-fanged hellhound. not the man who constantly struggles to prove himself. not the ability user who everyone either fears or underestimates.
just ryuu.
and perhaps that is what unsettles him the most. because akutagawa has spent years trying to make people, especially dazai, recognize his strength, his worth. yet you are the first person who makes him feel seen without having to prove anything at all.
he would never admit it, of course. admitting that a simple nickname has affected him would be far too humiliating. he would rather endure endless torture than confess that he has grown attached to something so insignificant.
over time, “ryuu” has become something he treasures. something reserved only for you.
he would never allow just anyone to call him that. not that anyone would even dare to address him by his first name, that is.
the nickname has become a stark reminder of the one person who sees the man behind the name. who truly sees him. and perhaps, for someone like akutagawa, that is the closest thing to love he has ever known. something he has always wanted.
──────── small drabble here (,,>ヮ<,,)
the kiss is gentle. something that still feels strangely unfamiliar to akutagawa despite how many times it has happened before. affection has never come naturally to him. neither has allowing someone close enough to see the parts of him he keeps hidden.
but with you, he has slowly learned to stop fighting it. you’re far too stubborn and persistent to keep anything hidden anyway.
your fingers brush lightly against his cheek, and he allows himself to lean into your touch, savoring the warmth of it. until you pull away, leaving him cold again.
it is almost unnoticeable to him at first. the slight change in your breathing and the faint furrow of your brows as the metallic taste of blood lingers on your tongue.
your expression changes immediately, shifting into one of concern. “ryuu?” you say, wanting to grab his attention.
akutagawa suddenly tenses, already knowing what you’re worried about. he sees it in your eyes before you even say anything.
“did you cough up blood again?” you ask softly, the question laced with faint concern as you search his gaze.
for a moment, he says nothing. and to you, that silence is enough of an answer. you let out a quiet sigh as you look at him, gently cupping his face in both of your hands. “ryuu…”
he hates that tone.
not because it annoys him, but because he knows what it means. worry. fear. the kind of emotions he has spent his entire life avoiding from others.
“it is nothing,” he says, almost immediately dismissing your concern.
you stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. it is not nothing, but at the same time, you and he both know that his illness is terminal. so really, what could you possibly even say?
instead, you kiss him once more, wanting to soothe some of the tension in him. the kiss makes something in his expression shift only slightly as he regards you carefully.
because he knows.
he knows that the coughing has become worse. he knows that his body has been struggling more lately. he knows that ignoring it will not make it disappear.
but acknowledging it means admitting there is something he cannot simply overcome through sheer determination. and akutagawa has never been good at accepting weakness. especially his own.
“you should not concern yourself with this,” he says quietly, avoiding your gaze for a split second.
“how am i supposed to not concern myself with you?” you murmur, your expression softening a tinge.
he stays silent, not having an answer to your kind words. they tug at his heartstrings because despite everything he has done, despite every cruel thing he has convinced himself he deserves, you still look at him like he is someone worth caring for.
not a weapon or the port mafia’s black-fanged hellhound. no, you look at him like just that—your lover.
“you are troublesome,” he finally says as he breaks the silence, swallowing audibly in the hope of getting rid of the metallic taste in his mouth before kissing you again.
you smile faintly against his lips, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “yeah, i know. so are you.”
ever so slowly, he leans into your touch, wearing a slightly apologetic expression on his face. he knows how afraid you are of losing him.
he’s not saying he isn’t afraid of dying, of losing you too. but akutagawa has had much time to come to terms with the fact that he will ultimately die and does not have much time left.
he can only hope you’ll get over him quickly. until then, though, he’ll try to make the most of it. because you deserve someone who cares just as much as you care about him.
tachihara.:
tachihara didn’t necessarily mind the first time you called him a nickname. well, he at least took it lighter than you thought he would.
while he outwardly seems like such a tough and rough guy, catch him alone with his beloved, you, and one would see just how gentle he really is. or maybe he simply has a soft spot reserved only for you.
either way, nicknames don’t seem to bother him much. to him, they are a sign of affection. he uses nicknames for you too, quite frequently so. there isn’t really a day where he doesn’t call you “babe” or “baby” “doll face” “sweetheart” or simply “darling”.
somehow, you calling him the designated nickname you came up with just for him, “michi”, makes his heart swell with a strange mix of nostalgia, love, and guilt.
it reminds him of the time his older brother, shunzen, and he used to give each other silly nicknames—back when shunzen hadn’t yet gone off to serve in the great war. contrary to belief, he enjoys remembering the time he had with his brother. even if it was too little, even if his death caused him to abandon his family and end up here. at least he found someone in this shit hellhole to make his life more bearable, that person being you.
to him, you are pure sunlight, illuminating the darkness he so often finds himself trapped in. after all, carrying the burden of a double life on his shoulders and constantly having to lie to you does weigh down on him sometimes.
his life is built on deception, so you reminding him of a version of himself that existed before he had to split his life between loyalties, lies, and undercover identities feels almost addictive. being seen so simply by you becomes one of the safest feelings he knows.
hearing you call him by a nickname made specifically for him pulls him out of his gruesome thoughts and replaces them with pleasant memories instead, grounding him.
occasionally, he has to think of the hunting dogs as well. they are like family to him, just like the black lizard and you are. he balances it all so carefully, and you keep making it possible, acting like the glue that holds all of his personalities together while also being the only constant in his life where he can at least be somewhat himself without thinking twice or thrice.
ah, being a secret spy really is not for the weak. he’s s glad he found someone he can let loose with once in a while. someone who soothes the relentless aching tension in his muscles.
──────── small drabble here (,,>ヮ<,,)
“michi?” you mumble as you look up at him, your head resting on his lap while you both—or rather, tachihara—take a small break in the unofficial lounge of the black lizard.
honestly, it’s just a spacious room they claimed after the port mafia stopped using it. it has a comfortable leather couch—the one both of you are currently resting on—a table with a few chairs, a tv, and a mini bar. you believe the leather couch was actually a piece of furniture hirotsu had smuggled in, but you’re not complaining.
tachihara doesn’t answer at first, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and steady. if you didn’t feel him shift a moment ago, you might have thought he had fallen asleep.
“michi,” you press again, a small frown tugging at your expression.
truthfully, tachihara heard you the first time. he just loves it far too much whenever you call him that stupidly sweet nickname you came up with. in fact, more often than not, he finds excuses just to hear you say it again.
“mhm?” he hums softly, finally lifting his head from the backrest of the couch to glance down at you. one of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, rough skin grazing your smooth one.
you lean into his touch, pouting a little. you know how much work he has and how little time he has to spare, always disappearing somewhere even though mori hasn’t given him any orders. but spending that time simply watching him doze off feels like a waste, if only slightly. after all, you don’t know when you’re going to see him again.
“i’m bored…” you mutter, hiding your true intentions since you don’t want to seem overly clingy.
“bored? with me here?” he repeats, letting out a small chuckle.
“well, we’re not exactly doing anything, are we? you’re not even talking to me. you’re half-asleep,” you say in an almost whiny tone.
tachihara hums thoughtfully in response to your words, knowing you’d much rather do something with him instead of simply dozing off together. he understands why.
there are times when he wonders how long he can keep balancing everything. the port mafia, the hunting dogs, the lies he tells, and the truths he hides. sometimes, it feels like he is constantly splitting himself into different pieces, never fully belonging anywhere.
he’s scared of letting you down, and he knows he should be more grateful for the time he has with you. who knows how long he’ll stay affiliated with the port mafia, or how much longer the hunting dogs will want him to spy for them.
so what’s a little less sleep if he can spend that time with you? perhaps you’ll be the one asking for a nap afterward once he’s done with you.
“well, i guess you’re right. i’m sure there’s something i can do to cure that boredom, though,” he says as he leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
eventually, his other hand glides down your side, his fingertips drumming along your ribcage before moving to grip your thigh.
a faint blush graces your cheeks as you tilt your head, burying it against his abdomen without stopping him. this is what you wanted after all, isn’t it? some long and much-needed quality time with him.
“is that what you had in mind, darlin’?” tachihara asks softly, his lips moving down to graze the outer shell of your ear before nibbling at your earlobe. his hand trails up now, fingers moving between your thighs before he ends up squeezing the plump flesh of your rear through your pants.
“shut up,” you mumble, your voice slightly muffled against his stomach. but really, this is a much better way to waste time in your eyes than simply taking a nap.
fyodor.:
fyodor is a man of strange wonders and cunning ruthlessness, so it is quite surprising he doesn’t punish you on the spot when you first call him “fedya”. he doesn’t even visibly react.
he simply looks at you a little longer than usual, his expression remaining unreadable. however, you notice the quickly vanishing glint of disapproval flash in his eyes, and it makes you wonder if you’ve overstepped.
after all, nobody has ever earned the privilege of shortening his name. well, nobody except nikolai and you, apparently. though, nikolai rarely is on his mind, and he certainly isn’t as close to him as you are.
he is simply a tool to him, someone he deems too useful to get rid of, even when his antics mildly irritate him. especially since he constantly annoys him by disrespecting him so blatantly, no matter what twisted bond he thinks they share—fyodor would rather drink straight-up poison than consider nikolai an ally, a friend, or even something as close as an equal. he isn’t and never will be. so he really doesn’t care what nikolai calls him.
you, on the other hand, are his companion. his lover, perhaps. someone he tolerates unobtrusively and keeps around because the heart-shaped hole in his chest desires so. so, you should know better by now than to test his tolerance. truly, you’re lucky that his patience hasn’t run thin with you yet.
to fyodor, nicknames imply a certain familiarity, a sense of equality, a degree of ownership over someone’s identity, if you will. they’re inherently intimate, but also childish. something that doesn’t come easily with him.
still, he never corrected you whenever you used the nickname, and that seemed like permission enough for you to keep using it.
for someone as calculating and emotionally guarded as fyodor, that’s a remarkably vulnerable and self-endangering thing to allow. it means he sees you as someone he can let his guard down with, if only a little. someone trustworthy, even. undeniably, you are, no matter how dangerous that might be for him.
he doesn’t quite understand why he didn’t reprimand you the first time it slipprd out. though, he’d rather relive every time he’s ever been tortured than tell you this or admit that the nickname rolling off your lips is something he’s grown to crave.
over time, “fedya” has become something strangely sacred between the two of you. he’d tolerate countless insults before he’d tolerate someone else using that nickname. not because he dislikes hearing it, but because it belongs entirely to you. and there are very few things fyodor considers to be solely yours, including him, even if he’ll never let you know that.
──────── small drabble here (,,>ヮ<,,)
“hey, fedya? did you know the romanovs kept pet elephants?” you ask, looking up from your book with an almost childlike sense of excitement.
considering fyodor’s origin, he already knows that fact. of course he does. you’ve barely finished the next sentence before he’s mentally recalling the entire history behind the exotic animals gifted to the imperial court.
and although he knows, he doesn’t interrupt you, instead letting you keep rambling.
“apparently one of them even had its own stable and everything! can you imagine just... walking outside your palace and there’s an elephant?” you continue, completely oblivious to the fact that he isn’t paying nearly as much attention to the information itself as he is to you.
“mhm,” is all he hums in response. truthfully, he’s only half listening. not because you’re boring him with trivial fun facts or because your voice has become background noise. no, quite the opposite, actually.
he simply finds himself enthralled by the way your hands move whenever you become animated or the slight furrow between your brows as you try to recall another detail you had read earlier. and the way your eyes brighten every time you stumble across something you deem worthy of sharing with him. oh, he loves it.
he sees the reflection of himself in them and somehow finds himself somewhat mesmerized by it. the deceptive play of light, with only him reflected in your gaze, his very being consumed by you to the point that even your eyes seem to radiate him, is truly a very intriguing idea.
“...isn’t that fascinating?” you ask with a small smile.
a brief silence follows before fyodor answers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
“yes, quite fascinating indeed,” he says as another pause follows. “although they were not technically the romanovs’ pets,” he adds, your smile slowly fading as a sense of curiosity crosses your face.
“they were diplomatic gifts,” fyodor corrects gently, sounding like he knows far more than he lets on.
you stare at him for a moment, almost wanting to pout since he’s being such a smart-ass right now. “could’ve told me that earlier,” you mutter, shifting slightly on his lap.
“ah, apologies, myshka. you seemed so... enthusiastic,” he says in a playfully mocking tone, though he feels touched that you’ve been reading into russian history for him. after all, who else would you be doing this for?
you roll your eyes at him before leaning closer, the purple hue of his eyes seeming strangely warmer today. it’s rare that the cold sharpness in his gaze is absent, replaced instead with something unusually gentle. but you’re not complaining.
you smile faintly as you press a tender kiss against his lips, the book on russian history now forgotten on the couch beside you as you wrap your arms around his neck.
fyodor returns the kiss, keeping it light but still palpable in its intensity. he adores your kissed-out expression, knowing every mundane thought has faded and your mind is utterly consumed with him.
“i can be very enthusiastic with something else as well~” you whisper against his lips, a clumsy attempt at trying to be flirtatious.
but fyodor is rarely in the mood for something so purely carnal, so he isn’t really entertaining the idea. instead, he only hums in response, studying you with amused curiosity.
note.: i actually don’t know how fast racoons are sooo bear with me on poe’s part please. also this is my first time writing for him, so please tell me how i’d do, guys ('' •᷄ ᴗ •᷅ )
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