obs: reader is flirty asf, has an illusion creating ability (barely relevant) and was captured by the port mafia.
The walls of the holding cell beneath the Port Mafia headquarters were concrete and stained with so much blood you could still smell it in the air. A single flickering light illuminated the small room, the atmosphere heavy and dangerous, frightening to anyone else, but you seemed to be exactly where you wanted to be, comfortable enough that the cell could almost be your own bedroom.
It's been seventy-two hours, at least you thought. After a while, counting the minutes got boring too. Time moves differently when you're waiting for someone interesting to show up, and so far, the Port Mafia's hospitality has been disappointingly dull. People came and went, tortured you for a while, and left without answers to any of their questions. It felt good knowing how infuriating of a guest you were.
You're beginning to think this whole "capture and interrogate the infiltrator" thing is just bad planning on their part. If they wanted information, they should've at least sent someone with a sense of humor. And almost as if your thoughts had been heard, the heavy door groans open, metal scraping against concrete.
"If you're here to offer me the mystery meat again, I'm going to have to pass. I have standards." You don't even bother to look up from where you're sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"How disappointing." The voice is young, male, and edged with something that sounds like amusement. "And here I thought you'd eat anything, considering your... situation." Then you look up.
The man is tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes, beautiful in the most dangerous sort of way. A long black coat rests around his shoulders, bandages wrapped around his neck and arms, almost like a porcelain doll someone has already cracked and glued back together. He can't be much older than eighteen or nineteen, even though his face and authoritative posture make him seem older, like whenever he walks into a room, it belongs to him. You know exactly who it is.
Dazai Osamu. Port Mafia Executive, the youngest in their history. Known for his strategic brilliance, his ability to nullify other abilities on contact, and, most interestingly, his creative approach to interrogation.
"Well, hello, handsome. They finally sent someone worth looking at." You flash him your brightest smile.
"You're awfully cheerful for someone in your position." His voice is still smooth and oh so enticing. "The begging for mercy usually starts much earlier."
"Disappointed?" You counter, voice just as amused, unfolding yourself from the floor in one fluid motion. The chains on your wrists clink softly.
"On the contrary." His voice drops even lower, something flickering in his expression.
He approaches your cell with a calm, confident manner, footsteps echoing through the almost empty room, only stopping when he reaches the gate, resting his hands on the bars. You take a step closer, testing the length of your restraints, your stance far too relaxed for a prisoner.
"So what's the deal, pretty boy? You here to torture me? Threaten me? Make me spill all my deep, dark secrets?" You tease confidently, a smile still present on your face.
"Would any of that work?"
"Probably not." You answer truthfully. "But you could always try." Your voice is sweet, your eyes flickering with interest.
The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close.
"You infiltrated the Port Mafia under the alias 'Akari Matsumoto,' posed as a secretary in our intelligence division for seven months, and successfully transmitted classified information to the Takagi-gumi for approximately six of those months before we caught you." He declares.
You simply shrug with your chained hands. "In my defense, your security was terrible. I mean, really. A secretary with access to executive meeting notes? That's just asking for trouble."
"We've since revised our protocols." He says dryly.
"Happy to be of service. You're welcome."
He slowly opens the gate and steps inside the cell, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You watch him carefully. You're chained, and you could still try to kill him if you wanted to, but why ruin the fun?
He closes the gate behind him and starts to circle you slowly. You turn with him, keeping eye contact. There's something predatory in the way he moves, and that just makes you even more interested.
"The Takagi-gumi claims they don't know who you are," Dazai continues in a conversational tone. "They received information from an anonymous source, paid into a dummy account, untraceable. Which means either they're lying, which is unlikely, we were very thorough, or you were playing both sides."
"Maybe I just like chaos." You suggest, grinning. "Ever think of that?"
"Constantly." He stops directly in front of you, close enough that you can see the subtle patterns in his irises, the way his bandages are slightly frayed at the edges. "Your ability allows you to create illusions, very useful for infiltration. Less useful now that you're in a cell specifically designed to suppress ability users."
"You did your research." You lean your body slowly in his direction. "Gold star for you." You breathe.
"The question..." He continues, ignoring your commentary. "Is why you did it. Money? Revenge?" He leans in slightly, voice lowering. "Boredom?"
You're fully in his personal space by now, but he doesn't seem bothered at all.
"What if you're right?"
He breathes slowly, inclining his head to the side in interest.
"Then I'd say we have something in common."
The air between you feels charged and dangerous, and where most people would've stepped back, you both seem to gravitate toward it even more.
"You're supposed to torture me." You point out, not moving back. "Make me scream, break me down, all that fun stuff. Isn't that your whole thing?" Your voice is almost a whisper now, but it still has that edge that intrigues him more and more.
"It could be." He acknowledges. "But you're much more interesting like this. All that pain would just make you boring." His eyes search yours. "You'd probably just laugh anyway."
"Oh, I like you." You breathe, delighted.
"How unfortunate." He murmurs, but he's almost smiling now. "I was hoping you'd have some self-preservation instincts."
"Self-preservation is for people who want to live forever." You answer without missing a beat.
After a few seconds, he straightens up, putting a professional distance between you again.
"Here's what's going to happen." He declares, his tone turning serious. "You're going to tell me everything you know about the information you leaked, who else you've been in contact with, and what your endgame was."
You watch him open the gate with calm precision, stepping out and closing it again.
"And if I don't?"
"Then we'll keep having these conversations until you do." He heads toward the door, then pauses, looking back over his shoulder. "Fair warning, I'm very patient. And I'm starting to find you entertaining, which means I have no incentive to speed this process along."
You laugh, bright and genuine.
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" You say, and he actually smiles at that, although you can't tell how real it is. "I haven't decided if I like you enough to talk yet. Gotta keep the mystery alive, you know? Relationships are built on tension."
"We don't have a relationship." He points out.
"Not with that attitude, we don't."
For a moment, Dazai just looks at you, this insane, chained infiltrator who's flirting with her captor like it's a game. And maybe it is.
"Same time tomorrow?" He asks, and there's something almost playful in his tone.
"Looking forward to it."
The door closes behind him, and you're alone again with the rust and the flickering light. But now you're smiling, really smiling, because this just got interesting.
I thought it was going to be a normal day. Just one day were I didn't have any missions, a day off of my part-time job, and no family members trying to bother me.
Boy was I wrong.
It started off as me, about to head out to grab grocery's.
Only to find a tall man with black slicked hair and a full suit, with possible blood on it did I realize who it was.
You guessed it right.
"John Wick."
I paused, looking him up and down.
"Need help?"
He gave me a curt nod.
That was my sign to open my door for him, which I did.
"You never get a break, huh?"
"Seems like it."
He sighed while I moved to take off his coat.
I saw him about to move to my office but I snapped my fingers.
"Ay, shoes."
I said, motioning down at the floor.
He chuckled lightly while taking his shoes off and setting them to the side in the mud room.
"You really remind me of my mother."
"I...am not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not."
The first time Dazai visits after your initial meeting, you're hanging upside-down from the bars at the top of your cell, doing crunches. Boredom really did a number on you. To be fair, they didn't give you much else to do.
The cell has a reinforced grate near the ceiling, probably for ventilation or structural support or some other boring practical reason, but you discovered pretty early on that the bars are perfect for hanging from. So that's where you've been spending most of your time: legs hooked over the bars, suspended upside-down, blood rushing to your head in a pleasant, dizzying way.
The door opens.
"Industrious." Dazai observes, stepping inside, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing softly behind him.
You turn your head to look at him, which is awkward from this angle, your hair falling toward the floor, your vision tilting slightly as you grin.
"Oh good, you're back. I was starting to think you forgot about me." Your voice comes out light, a little breathless, but still bright.
"Impossible." He says, resting loosely against the wall, though his eyes are already on you. "You're far too memorable."
You hum, pleased with his answer, then swing yourself forward, unhooking your legs and catching the bars with your hands before dropping down. You land in a crouch, chains pulling taut for a split second before settling again with a quiet rattle. You straighten, rolling your shoulders like you have all the space in the world.
"Memorable good or memorable bad."
"I haven't decided yet." He answers, watching you recover, watching how easily you move. "Though I'm leaning towards interesting."
"You sure know how to make a girl feel special." You press both hands to your chest, tilting your head with exaggerated delight.
"I try." He says, but there's something absent in the way he says it, like the words are just a tool. "So, shall we talk about why you infiltrated the Port Mafia?"
You make a face immediately, dragging out a quiet groan as you drop onto your cot, swinging one leg over the other.
"Mm, boring. We did that yesterday." You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand, eyes flicking up to him. "I'd much rather talk about you."
"I bet you would." He says, almost under his breath, pushing himself off the wall.
He doesn't come closer this time. Instead, he walks slowly along the length of the cell, stopping just short of where your chains would allow you to reach. Not close enough. Not careless. His hands stay in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that doesn't quite match the sharpness in his gaze.
"You’re analyzing me." He says.
You smile wider, like that’s the best thing he could’ve said.
"Ooh?" You clasp your hands together, delighted. "What gave it away?” You inclined your head to the side. “Besides, you're doing the same thing" Your voice lowers slightly as you stand, looking in his direction. “Let's not pretend like this isn't your favorite game.” You whisper.
For a moment, it's quiet, just the faint hum of the building and the distant echo of something far above you. His eyes don't leave yours, and it doesn't feel like he's just looking, it feels like he's waiting.
"You're stalling." He says eventually.
"I'm making conversation." You correct, easy. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"You tell me." You lean back slightly, stretching your arms above your head until the chains pull again, just enough to remind you they're there. "You're the one who came back."
That makes him pause. Not long, just enough to register. Then he shifts, turning fully toward you.
"Money." He says, like he's placing a piece on a board. "That's why you took the job."
You rock your head side to side, considering it, then give a small shrug.
"It's a good motivator." You say, light, careless, like it doesn't matter either way.
"Until we caught you."
“Well, yeah." You admit, the expression on your face resembling that of a child who just got grounded, arms going down in theatrical tantrum fashion. "But that was because someone told you to look! I didn't slip up. Someone sold me out.” He pays attention to that revelation, but it was so fast you could barely register it.
It was all very mysterious, someone knew what they were doing, it was well planned. You were being used, he noticed, by whomever hired you to serve as a catalyst to a conflict, putting you right in the middle of the cross fire.
“You still didn't run, even after realizing you were being set up.”
“I wanted to know who was playing me." You say honestly. "Better to stay, see what happens, maybe find some allies in the process.” Your voice lowers again, but a small smile is forming on your face.
"Allies." He repeats, and there's something amused in his tone. "Is that what we are?”
“Not yet.” You answer. “Maybe soon enough.”
He watches you for a moment longer, like he's deciding something, like he's placing you somewhere new in his mind.
Then, just as easily, the distance comes back.
"I'll be back tomorrow." He announces, already heading towards the door.
"For more gruesome torture I assume!" You called after him teasingly.
"You would like that wouldn't you?" He doesn't wait for your answer, already sure of the smile on your face.
The next day you're sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor, braiding your hair for the seventh time, trying to find something to fill your time when your interrogator isn't present. Dazai hadn't tortured you once. No threats, no show of force, nothing. Just conversation that seemed to be just as entertaining to him as it was to you.
When the sound of the metal door opening hit your ears, a small smile made its way to your face instantly. What will he do today?
"Finally." You said, standing and turning around to face the door in one fluid motion, ready to complain about how long he made you wait. But just as you were about to, you noticed he wasn't alone this time.
They both entered the room with confidence, yet their postures were completely different types of authority. Dazai wore his usual black coat around his shoulders, along with that playful and easy expression, except for his eyes of course, that's where you could always find out more. The other man was shorter, with sharp blue eyes and an angular face that looked irritated by default. He had striking red hair that fell in waves around his face, and he wore the kind of expensive clothes that made a statement, a long black coat draped over a dark vest and crisp white shirt, topped with a black fedora on his head. Even his gloves were black, because of course they were. Everything about him screamed money and violence in equal measure. Where Dazai's danger was quiet and calculating, this man's was loud and immediate, like a loaded gun. He couldn't be much older than Dazai, maybe the same age, but he carried himself with the kind of controlled aggression that suggested he'd already killed more people than he could count and wouldn't hesitate to add you to the list.
Chuuya Nakahara. Port Mafia Executive, the famous gravity manipulator.
"Oh?" You said, voice bright with interest as they stopped just outside your cell. "You brought a friend!" Your eyes sparkled with that unsettling type of excitement you always got whenever danger was close. "Are we having a party?"
Dazai smiled in that same annoyingly beautiful and dangerous way he usually did, stopping directly at the entrance to your cell. So close already. He usually took his time approaching, but today he went straight to the bars.
"Chuuya, meet our guest." He said, gesturing toward you with casual amusement, like he was introducing someone at a social gathering rather than a prisoner.
"She looks insane." Chuuya said flatly, crossing his arms.
"Thank you!" You beamed at him like he'd just given you the highest compliment, pressing your hands together in delight. "I work very hard at it."
Chuuya's eye twitched. He turned his head sharply to look at Dazai. "You told me this was a serious interrogation."
"It is." Dazai said, and you could hear the amusement threading through his voice like silk. "Isn't it serious?" He directed this last part at you, head tilting slightly.
You tapped your chin thoughtfully, scrunching your nose lightly in thought. "I mean, I'm taking it somewhat seriously. Like, sixty percent serious." You paused, reconsidering. "Maybe fifty-five."
"She's been here for days." Chuuya said, and he sounded like he was explaining something to a particularly slow child, enunciating each word carefully. "And you still haven't gotten actionable intelligence out of her."
"Oh, I've been getting lots of intelligence." Dazai countered smoothly, his tone light and conversational. "Just not the kind you mean."
You gasped, pressing both hands to your chest dramatically. "Aww, you think I'm intelligent! That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all week."
"I think you're a nightmare." Dazai corrected, but there was that almost-smile again, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
"An interesting nightmare." You added quickly, pointing at him with one finger for emphasis. "There's a difference. Nightmares can be boring. I'm never boring."
"What the actual fuck is happening right now?" Chuuya looked between the two of you like he was watching something deeply disturbing, his expression caught between disbelief and disgust.
"What's happening." You said, starting to walk toward the gate with deliberate slowness, your chains dragging softly against the concrete. "Is that your partner here has been visiting me every single day, and we've been having delightful conversations."
You reached the bars, close enough now to see Dazai's expression clearly. "He pretends to interrogate me, I pretend to resist, we flirt, it's very productive!" You counted on your fingers, your face shifting with each point, performing each emotion like you were telling a story.
Dazai simply smiled again, that same enigmatic expression that gave nothing away.
"Mori is going to kill both of you." Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice strained with exasperation.
At the mention of the Port Mafia boss, your expression sharpened slightly. Your eyes glinted with genuine interest.
"Oh? And what does the big boss think about little old me?"
"Mori-san has decided you're more valuable alive than dead." Dazai answered, still standing in the same spot as earlier, watching you come closer with that analytical gaze.
"How romantic." You pressed a hand to your heart, batting your eyelashes with exaggerated sweetness.
"Don't let it go to your head." Chuuya muttered darkly. "He thinks you can be useful."
"I am useful!" You said brightly, voice going high with enthusiasm. "I'm great at parties. Excellent at reconnaissance. And I can speak seven languages, pick locks, and—"
"We know what you can do." Chuuya interrupted sharply. "The question is whether you're going to cooperate."
You tilted your head, your smile widening into something more dangerous and sultry. "You know, I've never been interrogated by two executives before." Your voice dropped lower, taking on a breathy quality. "Is this going to be a tag-team situation? Because I've got to tell you, that's kind of hot."
Chuuya's face went bright red, the color creeping up from his neck. "I'm going to throw you through a wall!"
"Promises, promises!" You sang out, voice going sing-song and playful.
"Don't threaten her." Dazai said mildly, his tone almost bored. "She likes it."
"I do like it!" You confirmed enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on your toes. "Threat of violence really does it for me. Must be why I keep ending up in these situations." You shrugged.
"She's insane." Chuuya said to Dazai, his voice flat with certainty.
"Probably." Dazai agreed, still watching you with that careful, analytical gaze that seemed to catalogue every micro-expression. "But she's also sitting on intelligence that could expose half our operations. Mori wants her flipped, not killed."
Ah. There it is.
"Flipped?" Your hands came up to curl around the bars of the gate, gripping the cold metal as you leaned forward slightly. "As in, you want me to work for you?"
"The Boss sees potential." Dazai shrugged, as if it was obvious, but still watching your reaction carefully. "Your ability, your skills, your complete lack of loyalty to anyone. It all makes you an ideal asset." Then his voice dropped just enough to be intentional. "If you can be controlled."
"And if I can't be?" You asked, genuinely curious now, your playfulness dimming just slightly.
"Then you become a liability." Chuuya said flatly, his voice hard as steel. "And liabilities get eliminated."
You tapped your chin with one hand, still holding the bars with the other, making them wait as your expression cycled through several emotions. Consideration, calculation, amusement, before finally settling on playful scheming.
"So let me get this straight." Your voice went high with incredulity. "You want me to give up my insurance policy, hand over all my intel, and become a Port Mafia operative? After I spent seven months stealing from you?"
"Yes." Dazai said simply, his voice quiet and certain.
"And in exchange?"
"You get to live." Chuuya said, crossing his arms tighter. "That's the exchange."
You released the bars and slumped back dramatically, arms dropping to your sides in theatrical disappointment. "Boring." You pouted, pushing your lower lip out like a child. "I need better incentives. How about, and hear me out..." You held up your hands like you were pitching an idea, "I get my own office. With a window. And I want Dazai to take me to dinner at least once." You batted your eyelashes at him. "Somewhere nice. He can even interrogate me over dessert if he wants."
"Absolutely not." Chuuya said immediately, his voice sharp.
"Which part?" You asked innocently, tilting your head.
"All of it."
Dazai, however, was studying you with that intense focus, his eyes never leaving your face. "You're considering it."
It seemed he was getting used to your antics, no matter, you were just as used to his observation.
"Maybe." You admitted, dropping some of the theatrics. "Or maybe I'm just enjoying the show. You two have great chemistry. Very entertaining to watch."
"We're not entertaining." Chuuya said through gritted teeth, his jaw visibly clenching. "We're trying to prevent you from being a massive problem!"
"Can't it be both?" You asked brightly.
Chuuya looked like he wanted to argue, his mouth opening, but Dazai spoke first.
"Chuuya." His voice carried a commanding weight to it. "Give us a minute."
"Excuse me?" Chuuya turned to look at him sharply.
"You heard me. Wait outside."
"Mori sent me here to—"
"To observe. You've observed." Dazai's voice carried that executive authority now, with no trace of his easy going facade. "Now I need to work."
Chuuya looked like he wanted to argue, his expression darkening, but eventually he just swore under his breath and stalked toward the door. Before he left, he pointed at you, his finger jabbing the air. "If you try anything, I'll crush you into paste."
You blew him a kiss, making an exaggerated smooching sound. "You say the sweetest things!"
The door slammed shut with a metallic bang.
Silence settled over the cell, heavier now that it's just the two of you. The air felt different, charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. The feeling you found yourself chasing since that first day, it filled your stomach with excitement.
Dazai didn't move at first, just stood there at the gate, watching you. Then, just like that first day, he reached for the lock.
The gate opened with a low groan.
He stepped inside your cell, closing it behind him with a soft click, and your heart rate picked up immediately. This close. He was this close again.
"You're running out of time." He said quietly, voice barely above a murmur as he took a few steps toward you. "Mori's patience isn't infinite."
"I know." You said, dropping the playfulness almost entirely now, your voice softer. "That's why I'm actually considering this."
He stopped a few feet away, close enough to be intimate but not quite touching. "Why?"
You met his eyes, really met them, and let him see something real for once. "Because I'm tired of running alone. Because whoever set me up is still out there, and I can't take them on solo." You paused, your voice going even quieter. "And because you're the first person in a long time who's actually interesting."
"Interesting." He repeated, the word almost a breath.
"Interesting." You confirmed, taking a small step closer. The chains on your wrists clinked softly. "Smart enough to keep up. Dark enough to understand. And you don't flinch at the chaos." Your voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Everyone else would try to control me, break me down, make me manageable. You just want to see what I'll do next."
"True." He admitted, and there was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it.
You were close enough now that you could see the subtle patterns in his irises again, the slight irregularity in his breathing that suggested you weren't the only one affected by this proximity.
"So?" You asked, your voice barely audible. "Is that a deal you can make?"
He was quiet for a long moment, studying your face like he was memorizing every detail. Then he reached up slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted, and his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up slightly.
"I'll talk to Mori." He said softly, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone. "Make your case."
Your breath caught. "And then?"
"And then you're mine." He said, voice dropping even lower, intimate and possessive. "My responsibility. My asset. My problem."
"Good." You agreed, the word coming out shaky.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Just stood there, his hand on your face, your eyes locked, the air between you heavy with possibility and danger and something neither of you wanted to name.
Then he stepped back, the moment breaking, his hand falling away.
"I'll be back tomorrow." He said, voice returning to normal, though something in his eyes remained intense.
"You always say that." You managed, trying to find your balance again.
He moved to the gate, opened it, stepped out. "And I always mean it."
Before he closed the door to the cell room, he looked back one more time. "Try not to do anything too interesting while I'm gone."
"No promises." You said, still slightly breathless.
The door closed.
You stood there for a moment, heart racing, mind spinning, your face still tingling where he'd touched you. Then you sank down to sit on the floor, touching your own jaw where his fingers had been.
This was dangerous. The best kind of dangerous.
-
notes: reader is inspired by harley quinn if u can't tell, theres probably grammatic mistakes, english isn't my first language sorry! reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <3
flirty agency member reader! x nikolai (slight reader x fyodor)
inspired by: @lemon-tart-bsdwriter
The room was cold and mostly dark, only illuminated by a single small window in the wall. You'd been zip-tied to a chair for about six hours now, and boredom already claimed your mind completely. You had already counted every tile in the ceiling, twice. No one ever mentions how dreadful it is to be captured and not have anything to do but simply wait. Maybe for a rescue, or maybe for your death, either option would be more interesting than this.
In truth, you weren't worried at all. You could try to escape, it wouldn't be hard. You knew there weren't that many people around, and for some reason, only one person was standing guard. Instead of immediately leaving, maybe you could try to have some fun inside. Besides, there was no doubt that your colleagues already had something in mind. And that's when you remembered Dazai, this is probably all part of his plan somehow, so you'll just play along for a bit.
"Got anything to do around here?" You asked the white-haired terrorist who'd been standing guard. "A book? Magazine? Interpretive dance routine?"
Nikolai Gogol turned to you, one green eye and one blue eye bright with interest. "Are you asking me to dance?" He asked with genuine interest.
His voice carried both amusement and coldness somehow, still, it filled the room with something.
"I'm asking you to entertain me before I die of boredom!" You exclaimed, trying and clearly succeeding in getting what you wanted.
"Oh, I like you!" He practically skipped closer, his cape swishing dramatically. "You're demanding entertainment! How delightfully audacious!"
"What can I say? I have standards, even when I'm kidnapped." You gave him your best smile, the one that usually got you what you wanted.
He laughed, sharp and a little manic, and suddenly there was a deck of cards in his hand.
"How about a game then, my captive doll?" He presented the deck of cards with a theatrical manner.
"Only if you loosen this zip-tie. Can't shuffle properly like this." You answered still smiling, raising your hands to show him your restraints.
"And if you try to escape?" He inclined his head slightly in interest.
You leaned forward. "Don't worry, you seem much more interesting than whatever's outside that door."
His grin widened as he loosened the restraint. "Charming and clever! Do you flirt with all your captors?" He exclaimed excitedly.
"Only the pretty ones."
Nikolai actually giggled at that, dealing cards between you with the ease you'd expect a magician to have.
"You know, I could make you disappear right now. Just-" He snapped his fingers. "Gone."
"But you won't." You said with confidence. "You're having too much fun." You looked at your cards without changing your expression even once.
"True! Freedom is doing exactly what one wants, and I want to play cards with the pretty detective who isn't afraid of me!" He said, looking at his own cards with excitement that almost instantly dropped to a pout after a few seconds. How easy.
"Who says I'm not afraid?" You discarded a card, drew another. "Maybe I just hide it really well."
"You don't, though." He studied his cards a bit more. "It's fascinating. What does it take to frighten you, I wonder?" He looked up, locking his gaze with yours for a moment.
"Bad card players, apparently. Are you going to discard or just stare at those all day?"
Three rounds later, Nikolai threw his cards down with a dramatic groan.
"This is impossible! You must be cheating!"
"I'm really not." You gathered the cards, let your fingers brush against his as you did. "You're just terrible at this."
"I am a master of deception!" He stated dramatically.
"In magic, maybe. In poker? You're an open book, gorgeous."
He froze for a second, then his grin stretched even wider.
"Did you just call me gorgeous?" He looked as excited as a puppy.
"I call it like I see it."
"While you're tied to a chair in an enemy base."
"The chair doesn't make you less pretty."
Nikolai laughed again, delighted and chaotic.
"Oh, you're dangerous. Deal again!"
You did, smiling as he immediately started humming to himself, arranging and rearranging his cards. He was ridiculous and unsettling in equal measure, but at least he was entertaining.
"You know what your problem is?" you asked after winning the fourth round.
"My devastating beauty is too distracting?"
"You're too expressive. Every emotion shows on your face." You answered.
"Freedom means never hiding oneself!" He simply said proudly.
"Freedom means losing at cards, apparently."
He gasped in mock offense just as the door opened. You glanced over your shoulder, and felt the temperature almost drop instantly. Fyodor Dostoevsky stood in the doorway, dark eyes moving from Nikolai's scattered cards to you, still sitting there like this was any other day. His gaze then lingered on the loosened zip-tie.
"Nikolai." He said quietly, voice soft and accented. "What is this?" You could never tell if he was pleased or annoyed by that voice.
"Cards!" Nikolai announced cheerfully. "I'm losing. She's winning. It's terrible for my ego but wonderful for my spirit!" He grinned.
You turned in your chair to face Fyodor properly, giving him an easy smile.
"He needed the entertainment as much as I did." You said, looking at Nikolai once again.
"She called me gorgeous," Nikolai added helpfully, in a sing song voice.
Fyodor's expression didn't change as he stepped into the room, closing the door with a soft click. He moved with careful precision, each step measured perfectly, the epitome of uneasiness for anyone who was not familiar with this kind of energy. You however, were not one of those people, already used to Dazai and his antics that could easily swith in a second to something darker. Except Dazai would've already made a joke by now.
"You are remarkably comfortable," Fyodor observed, stopping beside the table.
"Should I be panicking?" You tilted your head, studying him. "Would that be more interesting?"
"Most would."
"Most people are boring." You tapped the deck of cards on the table lightly, still confident. "Want to play? Fair warning, I've been destroying your friend here."
"I let you win the last one!" Nikolai protested.
"You really didn't."
Fyodor's dark eyes fixed on you, and you felt the weight of that analytical, calculating gaze. Like you were a puzzle he was already solving, still, your confidence was not fazed.
"You treat this as a game." He observed out loud.
"You treat everything as a game." You countered. "I'm just being more obvious about it." You set the cards on the middle of the table with a light thud.
Something flickered in his expression, not quite amusement, too controlled for that. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat, movements economical and precise.
"Deal." He said simply.
Nikolai perked up immediately, gathering the cards with unnecessary flourish. You watched Fyodor as he accepted his hand, face revealing absolutely nothing. Where Nikolai was all energy and expression, Fyodor was like still water, deep and impossible to read.
"So..." You said, arranging your cards. "Do you always play games with your prisoners, or am I special?"
"You are unusual," Fyodor replied, tone clinical.
"I'll take that as a compliment." You discarded two, drew two. "You know, you're much harder to read than your friend here."
"Most are easier to read than Nikolai."
"Hey!" Nikolai looked up from his cards. "I am an enigma wrapped in mystery wrapped in-"
"In a losing hand." You finished. "Again."
Fyodor discarded one card, expression unchanged. You couldn't tell if he had a good hand or terrible one, and that was more interesting than you'd expected.
"You're not afraid." he said quietly, still looking at his cards.
"Should I be?"
"Yes."
You met his eyes over your hand. "Maybe I just don't scare easy. Or maybe" You laid down your cards, full house. "I know something you don't."
Nikolai groaned. "How do you keep doing this?"
Fyodor showed his hand, two pair, and for the briefest moment, something crossed his face. Interest, maybe. Or calculation. With him, it was hard to tell.
"Dazai." he said in a cold tone.
"What about him?"
"You have faith he will come for you." He inclined his head lightly towards you, examining you once more.
You shrugged, gathering the cards. "I have faith in a lot of things. Good cards. Bad jokes. The inevitability of Nikolai losing another round."
"I'm right here!"
"I know. Isn't it sad?" You shot Nikolai a grin, and he actually laughed.
Fyodor stood, pushing his chair back with quiet precision. "Your faith is misplaced."
"Maybe." You started shuffling again. "Or maybe you're not as far ahead as you think you are."
He studied you for a long moment, and you held his gaze without flinching. There was no fear in your expression, you weren't giving him anything useful anyway.
"Interesting." he murmured, then turned towards the door.
"Leaving already?" You kept your tone light and playful. "And here I thought I was finally getting you to relax. You should smile more, you know. Does wonders for the whole intimidating aesthetic." You gestured lightly towards him.
Fyodor paused at the door, glancing back.
"You are attempting to charm me." He declared.
"Is it working?"
"No."
"Shame." You winked at him anyway. "Worth a shot."
Something flickered in his eyes before he left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Nikolai immediately leaned forward, eyes bright. "You just flirted with Dos-kun."
"I flirt with everyone." You answered without missing a beat.
"He's a demon."
"Are you jealous?" You dealt another round. "Don't worry, he's not as pretty as you."
Nikolai's grin was sharp and delighted. "You're going to get yourself killed."
You didn't answer it this time, knowing not to give enough information.
"Now, are you going to lose gracefully this time, or do I have to keep embarrassing you?" You picked up your cards.
"Bold words for someone in zip-ties."
"Loose zip-ties." You corrected, wiggling your wrist. "Thanks for that, by the way. You're a gentleman."
"I'm a terrorist." He said cheerfully.
"A gentleman terrorist. Very modern."
He laughed, bright and unhinged, and you settled back into the game. Because what else were you going to do? Worry? Let them see you sweat?
Dazai had this handled. Probably. In any case, you weren't staying for long.
For once, the Armed Detective Agency office found itself in a quiet atmosphere, too quiet one might think. No immediate cases or emergencies, simply paperwork to be done in a normal and very boring day.
You looked around the room trying to find anything else to focus on rather than work. Leaning back on your chair, balancing in on its two back legs, hoping for any reason to do whatever else might be more interesting than the report in front of you at this moment.
Across the room you heard a long, dramatic sigh, coming from your coworker Dazai, who seemed to almost melt into his desk as a sign of how bored he was.
"This is cruel." He muttered. "Truly, a massive misuse of my talents."
"Your talents being... avoiding work?" You said, without even looking at him.
He turned his head in your direction, expression already shifting into one of interest, as though the boredom never existed in the first place.
"Well, if I had something more interesting to focus on.." He said, voice light and teasing. "Maybe I'd be more productive."
That finally made you look at him. There it was, that tone of voice that sounded like trouble no matter what words he was actually saying. Eyes already glistening with mischief.
"Oh?" You asked, a teasing smile already making its way to your face. "And what would be interesting enough to motivate you, Dazai?"
"You." He didn't miss a beat.
From the desk nearby, Atsushi froze mid-motion, very slowly looking towards you two, now actually paying attention to your conversation.
"Careful." You warned lightly. "Don't say things like that, people might think you're serious."
Dazai sat up a little in his chair, resting his chin in his hand, looking more interested in you as time went on.
"Would that be so bad?" He asked in that charming tone. "I think we'd make a charming pair."
You finally allowed your chair to rest back on its four legs with a soft thud, getting up slowly from your seat and walking towards Dazai's desk slowly.
"Hmm" You hummed thoughtfully, now closer to him. "You're a bit too much work for my taste."
His eyes brightened just a bit, almost unnoticeable, like that was exactly the answer he was looking for.
"Yet you keep coming back to me." He grinned.
Atsushi blinked, lifting his hands lightly from the keyboard, trying to make sure he didn't miss hear anything.
"Wait.."
Neither of you acknowledged him. You leaned slightly against Dazai's desk, completely at ease.
"You'd miss me if I didn't."
"Cruel." He sighed. "And here I was, ready to devote myself to you."
"You say that to everyone."
"Not with this level of sincerity."
"You have levels?"
"Of course, you are currently at the top."
Atsushi stoop up from his chair.
"WAIT.." He said, making both of you pause long enough to look at him. "Are you guys... a couple?" He finally asked, eyes darting between the two of you, trying to puzzle it all together.
For a moment there was silence as both of you processed the question, then you glanced at each other, and started laughing.
"No." You finally said after catching your breath, waving your hand dismissively.
"Where did you get that idea?" Asked Dazai, just as amused.
"We just flirt to pass the time." You answered before Atsushi could respond.
The young boy stared with his mouth open, still not fully comprehending the situation at hand.
"...You what?" He asked.
"It helps with the boredom." Dazai explained, as if it were obvious. "I highly recommend it."
"It's either that or actually doing the paperwork." You said, easy smile still on your face.
"Right.." Atsushi glanced at the untouched documents on both your desks.
"This is highly inappropriate!"
Kunikida's stern voice echoed from across the room. Still seated at his chair, working efficiently on all his pending work, as always, he looked up from his computer with a disapproving expression already showing.
"This is not a place for that type of behavior!"
And with that, both you and Dazai ended up hearing a full on lecture for the next twenty minutes about how to properly behave in the work place. After it was done, both of you went out on break, clearly chosing to ignore Kunikida's words and going right back to flirting easily.
obs: self preservation part 3! finally! do not ask for part 4 i have zero ideas LMAO anyways i hope u enjoy ittt
Two guards flank you as you're led through the winding corridors of Port Mafia headquarters. Your wrists are still chained, but the metal feels lighter somehow, or maybe you've just gotten used to the weight of it. The guards kept a careful distance, heads hanging low from lack of interest or disgust, or maybe even fear. You kept the smile on your face, easy as any other day. As you moved out of the lower floors and into the main parts of the Port Mafia building, you took notice of the marble floors that stretch beneath your feet, cold and polished enough to catch fragments of your reflection as you passed. Expensive artwork lined the walls, oil paintings in gilded frames that looked more expensive as you moved towards your destination. All grace and polish, beautiful in every sense of the word, but if you looked close enough, there was a shadow of something that could never quite be scrubbed away looming over your shoulder.
Your footsteps echoed differently in this part of the building, sharper and deliberate. By the time you reach a set of heavy double doors at the end of the corridor, your heart is beating a little faster as your contempt started to show on your face.
Mori's office is exactly what you'd expect from a man who runs a criminal empire like a hospital, elegant, expensive, and vaguely threatening. Dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Yokohama, and medical equipment tucked in the corner. Dazai and Chuuya were already there, standing on either side of the desk. Dazai's posture was relaxed, hands in his pockets, that same easy expression you've come to know on his face. Chuuya was on high alert, even if his body language showed no hesitation whatsoever. Behind the desk, seated with a calm and straight posture, was Mori. An elegant man, dark hair combed back neatly, wearing a very expensive and very well polished suit. He looked more like a kindly physician than the head of Yokohama's most dangerous organization. His smile was warm and pleasant in a way that made your skin prickle.
"Ah." He says, folding his hands on the desk. "Our troublesome guest." His tone of voice reflected exactly what he looked like, and it was almost enough to unsettle you just a bit.
"That's me." You say, matching his pleasant tone with your own bright smile. "I've been told I'm a problem."
"Dazai-kun has spoken quite highly of you." Mori continues. "Your resourcefulness. Your intelligence. Your... unique approach to captivity."
"Aw, he talks about me?." You say sweetly, glancing toward Dazai, who's watching this entire exchange with obvious amusement. "Isn't he just so generous? I like that about him."
"I've also heard concerning things." Mori says, his tone still perfectly calm, still perfectly pleasant. "About your instability. Your unpredictability. The fact that you sold information to the Takagi-gumi while working for us, and then attempted to leverage insurance files against my organization."
"In my defense." You say, holding up your chained hands. "Everyone was trying to use me first. I just decided to use everyone back... Isn't that the way this world works?" You tilted your head slightly to the side, even though you didn't expect an answer to your question.
Something flickered in Mori's eyes, amusement, maybe, though it's hard to tell with him, much harder than Dazai. After a brief silence, he finally spoke again.
"Do you have any loyalty to anyone at all?"
You considered the question for a moment, head tilting. "Not really, no. Loyalty's expensive. I prefer things that are more... transactional."
"Interesting." Mori says, and unlike when Dazai says it, you can't tell if he means it as a compliment or a warning.
He glances toward Dazai and Chuuya, his expression shifting into something more businesslike. "Leave us."
"Boss?!" Chuuya's head snaps up. "With all due respect, she's too dangerous-"
"I'm aware, Chuuya-kun." Mori says smoothly. "I'll be fine."
Dazai finally moved from where he was standing, making sure to walk past you, still wearing that same smile.
"Try not to spoil my fun." He says, directing this at Mori with a casualness that makes you wonder exactly how much authority Mori really has over him. "I'm rather fond of this one."
"Noted." Mori says dryly.
You watch as both of them head toward the door. Dazai glances back at you once, something flickering in his expression. And then it's just you and Mori.
The energy in the room shifts immediately. Whatever performance existed for Dazai and Chuuya's benefit falls away, and Mori's gaze sharpens into something far more calculating. Your playfullness dimmes slightly in response.
"Please." He gestures to the chair across from his desk. "Sit."
You moved slowly, chains clinking softly as you settle into the seat.
"Dazai-kun believes you'd be a valuable asset." Mori says, folding his hands. "He's rarely wrong about these things."
"Smart man doubting a smart man." You say. "I'd doubt him too. He likes me. Terrible judge of character."
"You seem very convinced of that fact."
"I am!" You say. "It's one of my best qualities."
Mori studies you for a long moment. The silence stretches, comfortable for him, less so for you, though you'd never let it show. Then he leans forward slightly.
"Harbor district." He says. "Sensitive cargo. Walk me through it."
You don't hesitate. "Three routes. Two-week rotation. Pier fourteen's your main artery, dressed up as Kurosawa Shipping. Southern docks handle the smaller stuff, fishing vessels, easier to disappear into. And then there's the airfield." You tilt your head. "The one that isn't technically harbor business at all, but somehow always ends up in the same ledgers."
Mori's expression doesn't change. He doesn't ask you to continue. He doesn't need to. You keep going anyway, names, dates, numbers you'd memorized during long nights pretending to organize meeting notes nobody thought a secretary would actually read. You watch him while you talk, for anything that could be remotely noticeable, a flicker or a tell. Something that would confirm you're hitting marks instead of just performing confidence.
He gives you nothing.
"Seven months." He says finally, once you've run dry. Not a question.
"I have a good memory." You say. "Comes in handy."
"What is your line of work, exactly?" His tone is polite, almost idle.
"Infiltration. Information. Chaos, when the job calls for it." You shrug, chains whispering with the movement. "Versatile."
"And your... employer?"
Your expression shifts, the performance dropping away without your permission.
"You must have theories." He affirms, noticing your shift instantly.
"I do." You say, trying, and possibly failing to give more away. "But that's all they are, for now."
Mori doesn't respond to that directly. He picks up a pen, twirling it lightly around his fingertips, unhurried, like the conversation isn't happening at all.
"What are you asking for?"
You drop the last of the performance.
"I work for Dazai, him specifically." You say. "I want autonomy. And I want resources to find whoever did this to me."
"That's considerable trust for someone with your history."
"I'm not asking for trust." You say simply, leaning your body forwards a bit with an actual serious look on your face.
"And if your priorities shift?"
"Then that's Dazai's problem." You say. "He seems confident he can manage me." Then, a small smile came back to you face.
"He's occasionally overconfident." Mori says, and there's something almost fond buried in the words, easy to miss if you weren't listening for it.
"I made this decision before you walked into the room." He declares, voice going back to its pleasant tone as he finally dropped the pen back on the table with a small thud.
You raise an eyebrow. "Then what was all this?"
"Verification." He says simply, and doesn't elaborate further. He just watches you, letting you sit with the ambiguity of it.
"You'll work under Dazai-kun." He continues after a moment. "You'll have resources, within reason. And you'll understand what happens the day you become more trouble than you're worth."
"Fine by me." You answer without hesitation, a bright smile taking over your face once again.
He stands, extending a hand across the desk.
"Welcome to the Port Mafia." His smile returns, warm, pleasant, and entirely unreadable. "Try not to disappoint me."
"No promises." You stand, shaking his hand theatrically, as much as your chains allowed.
"I wouldn't expect any."
When you step out of Mori's office, both Dazai and Chuuya are waiting in the hallway. Chuuya's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression closed off in a way that suggests he's already resigned himself to whatever chaos is about to unfold. He doesn't even look at you directly, just grunts something that might be acknowledgment. Dazai, on the other hand, straightens immediately when he sees you, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his expression in a way that was almost infectious for you by now.
"Well?" He asks, tilting his head, voice light and already sure of the answer.
"I'm officially your problem now." You say, grinning wide.
Something like genuine delight crosses his face. "Wonderful."
"That's the word you're using?" Chuuya mutters. "Wonderful?"
"Terrible, then." Dazai amends, though he doesn't look like he means it at all. "A wonderfully terrible decision."
"Those are my favorite kind!" You say, bouncing slightly on your heels.
"I'm going to have to see you every day now, aren't I." Chuuya says, more statement than question, already sounding exhausted by the concept.
"Every. Single. Day." You confirm, delighted, annunciating each word. "We can braid each other's hair. Trade secrets. I'll teach you my rope technique."
"I don't want your rope technique."
"You say that now."
"Chuuya." Dazai says, mock-serious. "Be nice!"
Chuuya looks between the two of you, something in his expression suggesting he's doing complex math about how much of his life he's about to lose to this exact dynamic. "I need a drink."
"Bring me one too!" You call after him as he pushes off the wall and starts walking, already muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
"Add it to my tab!" You add, grinning.
"You don't have a tab!" He calls back without turning around.
He disappears around the corner, and then it's just you and Dazai in the hallway, the air shifting into something different. Charged, familiar, that same electricity that's been building since day one.
"So." You say, rocking on your heels, chains rattling softly, watching him watch you. "What's first, boss?"
"Don't call me that." He says, though there's no real bite to it, more amusement than annoyance.
"Boss." You repeat, testing the word, tilting your head.
"I heard you the first time."
"Why not, boss?" You ask again, grin sharpening.
"Stop it."
"Make me." You say, voice dropping into something more playful, more dangerous.
His eyes glint. "Careful. I might take that as a challenge."
After everything that had happened in the last few days, a fancy party certainly felt deserved. Although it started off tense, with everyone apologizing to president Fukuzawa for going directly against his orders of fighting the Port Mafia, the atmosphere had settled into one of actual celebration afterwards.
The deck overlooks the water, and the city sprawls beyond it with a beautifully timed sunset that makes everything look even more perfect. You're standing near the edge of the deck, champagne glass dangling from your fingers, watching the way the lights reflect off the water when the music suddenly changes. The shift is subtle at first. The upbeat jazz that had been playing fades out, replaced by something slower. You recognize it immediately, the opening melody wrapping around you like silk.
Your head tilts slightly, a smile already forming as your eyes light up with that particular brand of mischief that Dazai has become intimately familiar with over the time you've worked together.
"Oh!" you breathe, genuine delight coloring your voice. "I love this song!"
Across from you, Dazai glances down, champagne glass paused halfway to his lips. There's already amusement written across his features, along with that insufferable, knowing look that says he knows exactly what's coming next.
You turn to face him fully, setting your glass down on the nearby railing carefully. The city lights catch in your eyes as you hold out your hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled in invitation.
"Dance with me." There's no hesitation in your voice.
He makes a show of considering it, head tilting as he hums thoughtfully, dragging it out just enough to be annoying. But there's a smile tugging at his lips, a rare genuine one that betrays the mask he's always trying to put on for everyone else.
"Well," he says slowly, setting his own glass aside with deliberate care, "When a beautiful woman asks me so sweetly..." He lifts your hand with exaggerated gallantry, bowing slightly as he brushes his lips against your knuckles. "...how could I possibly refuse?" He says, guiding you to the middle of the dancefloor.
You roll your eyes, but there's already a smile showing on your face.
“Just try not to embarrass me.” You say, even though you can already feel the warmth settling in your chest.
"I wouldn't dream of it." he murmurs, stepping a little closer, enough that you can now smell the faint scent of his cologne, and much like all other aspects of him, it was intoxicatingly charming.
Dazai’s hand slides easily to your waist, settling there with a confidence that makes your breath catch for just a brief moment. His other hand takes yours properly, fingers interlacing, with a firm and yet gentle hold, and it makes this feel different from all the casual touches you've traded before.
When he moves, it's effortless, like the two of you dance like this all the time. You’re surprised for a second, but quickly recover, falling into step with him. Your hand fits perfectly in his, your body responding to his lead instinctively, trusting the pressure of his hand at your waist, the subtle guidance of his fingers as he guides you into a slow turn. When you complete the rotation and face him again, you catch the slight softness in his eyes.
Around you, conversations begin to quiet. The shift is gradual, like dominoes falling in slow motion. It looked almost intimate, like a conversation no one else was allowed to participate in.
The music swells, and Dazai spins you once more with fluid motion as his hand releases yours for just a second before catching you again with ease. When you come back to him, you're closer than before, and there's something different in his gaze. He's not performing anymore. He's watching, like he's memorizing every micro-expression, every breath, every tiny tell you've never bothered to hide because this was supposed to be fun, safe, uncomplicated.
"You're full of surprises," he says lightly, but his tone dips just a fraction.
You smirk, letting yourself lean into the next turn, your body impossibly close to his. "Were you expecting less?"
"From you?" He tilts his head, guiding you into another step, and when he pulls you back, you can feel your chest almost brushing his. "Never. I just hadn't decided which kind of dangerous you were yet."
You laugh softly at that, but the sound catches in your throat when you realize he's not laughing with you this time. You trust him enough to catch you in your next turn, knowing he would never let you fall, and that’s when you realise how much that means. How much trust you actually have on him.
The music shifts, building toward something more intense, and he matches it perfectly, leading you through a more complex sequence, a spin, a dip, a rotation that requires absolute trust and perfect timing. There’s no hesitation.
Behind you, somewhere in the crowd of Agency members who have definitely stopped pretending to mingle.
"A-ah, look at them…"
"That's insane! How are they-"
"They're like, actually good."
Atsushi is fully frozen, eyes wide, one hand still holding a half-eaten appetizer that he's forgotten about entirely. Kenji is grinning like he's watching the best festival performance of his life, practically bouncing on his heels. Even Kunikida has paused mid-rant about something or other, his glasses catching the light as he stares in open disbelief. Ranpo, because of course Ranpo figured this out months ago, is eating candy and looking insufferably smug. Yosano leans against the bar, drink in hand, a slow smirk spreading across her face as she watches the two of you move together like you're the only people in the room.
"Oh," she says to no one in particular. "This is dangerous."
Back on the dance floor, you lean in just slightly as the music begins to slow, your lips close enough to his ear that he can feel your breath when you speak.
"People are staring," you murmur, your hand sliding from his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers brushing against the soft hair there.
"Of course they are. I'm devastatingly charming." Dazai's smile is immediate, amusement present in his voice.
You snort softly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "That's definitely what it is." Your voice softens as you say it, and for a second you let the teasing facade drop. What a mistake.
Now you’re staring into his eyes and there seems to be no escape. But something shifts, the performance was fading away, and the safe distance you usually maintain is no longer there. And for the first time, he doesn’t break the silence with a joke or look away immediately, he simply stays there, meeting your gaze without the sparkly facade. It 's honest. And then his grip on your waist tightens, just slightly, almost as if he was trying to ground himself.
"...you make it easy," he says, and his voice is quieter, almost absent, like the words slipped out without his permission.
You blink, your heart doing something complicated in your chest.
"What?"
But he's already catching himself, that practiced smile sliding back into place like a mask that's been worn so many times it's become second nature. The walls go back up, smooth and seamless.
"Careful," he says lightly, spinning you once more with that effortless grace, before pulling you back in. "If we keep this up, people might start thinking we're in love."
It's meant to be a joke, a deflection, a return to the safe territory of playful banter that you've both perfected after working together for so long. Instead of going right back, you raise an eyebrow, completely unfazed, and meet his eyes with that same directness that first caught his attention when you met years ago.
"Let them."
That makes him pause. Fully stop, right there in the middle of the dance floor, the music still playing around you but suddenly feeling very far away. His smile falters, just for a fraction of a second, but you notice it immediately, and for the first time in a long time, Dazai doesn't have a clever response. He just looks at you, at the way the light catches in your eyes, the slight flush in your cheeks from the dancing and the champagne and the proximity, the curve of your smile. The way you're standing here, in his arms, in front of half the city's elite and all your colleagues, and you just said let them like it's the simplest thing in the world, without any fear.
The music swells one final time, and on instinct, he guides you through the final sequence. But somewhere between the familiar comfort of your hand in his and the unfamiliar tightness in his chest, he realizes, quietly, that he might already be in trouble.
obs: finally finished one of my chuuya drafts! this is not proof read btw, if theres any mistakes pls let me know. reblogs are appreciated!
Antiseptic stillness saturated the narrow hospital corridor, heavy with the chemical tang of bleach and the suffocating pressure of impending violence.Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, sterile and indifferent, casting the corridor in a wash of pallid light that made every shadow along the baseboards look sharper than it should.
Down the hallway, the Port Mafia advanced like a slow-moving tide of shadow and steel. At the helm stood Executive Chuuya Nakahara, coat slung over his shoulders, flanked by the lethal presence of both the Black Lizard and Akutagawa. They were all there for one reason, Fukuzawa.
"Wanna do this one by one?" Chuuyas voice echoed through the hall. "Or should we all go at it at once? Doesn't matter to me." His tone carried with it a lethal kind of confidence, that was reinforced by the smirk on his face.
He stared at every Agency member blocking the door, and knew they would do anything to keep him out, but the Mafia was in a similar position. Chuuya kept waiting for an answer, instead, the line of Armed Detective Agency members began to shudder. All at once, it began to snow.
The air warped with a faint, crystalline chime. The solid figures of Kunikida, Atsushi, and Kyouka fractured into a constellation of swirling, iridescent motes, a fleeting, phantom blizzard that dissolved into nothingness against the floor.
When the glowing ash of Junichirō Tanizaki’s Light Snow settled, only two real bodies remained anchored in the hall.
Tanizaki stood with his hands raised, sweat gleaming at his temple. Beside him, leaning against the doorframe with an unbothered, fluid grace, was you.
A collective shift in posture ran through the Mafia line. Guns were raised in synchronized, metallic clicks. Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed into slits of ravenous hostility, searching your face for recognition and finding none. Despite your long-standing tenure with the Agency, predating even Atsushi’s recruitment, you were a ghost to their intelligence files. A wildcard. An unmapped variable whose Ability remained completely shrouded in mystery.
"An ability that creates illusions." Chuuya said.
"Kenji broke through the wall and took the president." Tanizaki spoke.
"Sorry to disappoint you." You finally said, voice a smooth, with a teasing pout in your face as you tilted your head. You completely ignored the array of gun barrels trained on your head, locking your gaze onto Chuuya. "They are long gone by now." The redhead merely scoffed in response.
"You both put your lifes on the line to help the others escape." Akutagawa voice was calm and harsh at the same time.
"Putting our lives on the line? Oh, don't make us sound so dreary." You purred, the cadence of your voice cutting through the sterile hum of the fluorescent lights like silk over broken glass. You took a single, unhurried step forward, resting a hand lightly on your hip. "Besides... Dazai never mentioned his old partner was this easy on the eyes."
Chuuya’s eyebrow twitched beneath the slant of his fedora. The subtle shift in his posture, a tightening around his jaw, didn't escape you.
"Dazai?" Chuuya echoed, a low, rasping growl scraping up his throat. "The hell are you babbling about?"
"I just wonder..." You started, voice lacking any shame. "Does that gravity control come with other advantages? Or are you only heavy-handed when you’re working?" You had your finger on your chin, as if actually contemplating the answer.
Chuuya’s brow twitched. A faint, angry flush crept up his neck. "Are you... are you hitting on me?!" He took a step forward, the floor cracking slightly under the weight of his irritation. "Shut your mouth. You’re in the middle of a hostage situation, not a damn bar! You have any idea who you’re talking to?"
"He talked about you sometimes." You continued. "Said you had a temper and no grace. He left out the part where you actually pull off the hat, though. I admire a man who wears his arrogance so openly." You let your eyes wander over the sharp cut of his vest, the tailored coat draping over his shoulders, and the stubborn tilt of his chin.
"Why you-!" Chuuya snapped, his gloved hand reaching for the brim of his hat, a sign of his mounting frustration. "You’re either completely insane or you’ve got a death wish. I’m not here to play games, brat."
Tanizaki hissed your name, his face pale. "This isn't the time!"
You didn't look at him. Your eyes stayed locked on Chuuya. Then, your expression smoothed out, the playfulness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
"You're right." You said softly. "It isn't."
You glanced at Tanizaki, then back at the gathered Mafia members. "You don’t need two hostages. One is plenty."
Before anyone could move, you raised your hands in a slow, deliberate gesture of surrender.
"Go, Tanizaki."
The boy stiffened beside you, his breath hitching. "What? no! You can't stay here alone with-"
"I'll manage." Your tone left not room to argue. "I might even enjoy the company."
"Neither of you are leaving-" Akutagawa spoke again, but was quickly interrupted.
"Go, now!"
Tanizaki didn't waste the opening. Light Snow flared one last time, green snowflakes blurring his form. Tachihara fired twice into the glare, but the bullets struck empty plaster. By the time the light faded, Tanizaki had slipped through the broken window frame at the end of the hall, vanishing completely.
"Looks like its just me now." You said lightly, the playfulness creeping back into the corners of your mouth.
Chuuya flicked his wrist. At his unspoken command, Hirotsu moved forward, swiftly pulling your arms behind your back and snapping heavy, cold iron restraints around your wrists. You didn't resist. You didn't even flinch. The sensation of the cold steel against your skin was met only with a lazy tilt of your head.
Chuuya walked closer, stopping merely inches away, his physical presence heavy and threatening.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" Chuuya growled, his breath hot against the chill of the hall. "You have no idea what the Mafia does to captives who play games."
You leaned slightly into his personal space, locking your eyes onto his with terrifying, unshakeable clarity.
"Show me then, executive." You whispered, voice carrying clearly through the quiet corridor. "But let's be entirely honest with each other before you march me off." Then, he finally saw fire in your eyes. "If President Fukuzawa dies today..." You said, your words measured, slow, and dripping with absolute conviction. "It will tear our hearts out. We will bleed, and we will mourn. But the Agency will survive. It will stand tomorrow just as strong as it did yesterday."
You took a small step closer, forcing Chuuya back an inch, your face now serious but still as challenging as ever. "Can you honestly say the same about the Port Mafia? That you won't go back to your killing spree days if Mori dies?" You didn't wait for the answer. "That's the difference between the two. Mori built a machine only he knows how to operate."
Silence descended on the hallway like a dropped anvil. Behind Chuuya, Tachihara shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his jaw tightening. Even Akutagawa stood frozen, the black tendrils of his ability stalling in mid-air as the cold, undeniable logic of your words sank into the room. Chuuya’s expression shattered. For a fraction of a second, the fiery rage in his eyes flickered into a raw, defensive void, a violent, internal jolt at the realization of how terrifyingly accurate you were. The Mafia was a delicate engine of terror held together by one man's ruthlessness. Without Mori, the bloody rivalries and chaotic turf wars of the old days lay waiting in the shadows to swallow them whole.
"Shut up." He snapped, voice cracking like a whip. A sudden spike of gravity slammed into the floor around your feet, cracking the tiles beneath your boots, though he deliberately kept the force from crushing your bones. He yanked your arm forward, twisting you around to shove you toward Hirotsu. "Get moving."
He snapped his head away, his breathing heavy, refusal and denial burning in every line of his posture, yet he couldn't utter a single sentence to prove you wrong. You offered him one last, sideways glance over your shoulder as Hirotsu escorted you down the corridor, your smirk returning, subtle and sharp.
"See you in the interrogation room, Chuuya." Your voice came back to its smooth, teasing tone with ease. "Try not to miss me too much on the walk down."
