After writing for long you get so sick of mentioning staring and smiling I CAN ONLY DESCRIBE THESE VERY COMMON GESTURES A FEW WAYS RELEASE MMMEEEEEEEEE
see I grew up on wattpad, I eat up all the cliché romances even now as long as it's interesting enough for me. so ofcourse I'll write clichés too because they are as I said, interesting and make me happy lol.
pls forgive the poorly written action. I can only write this much for a snippet hehe.
— imagine trying to escape from your own wedding to dictatorzai. refusing the proposal of marriage was not a choice from the beginning, he would have your head on a platter if you did that.
so running away half an hour before the wedding is the only option you have. running away earlier would have given them more time to find you and so, despite this being the peak hour where security is the tightest, you will run away now.
having torn your pretty white gown till knee length with the foldable knife you always keep close to you, you take a deep breath.
you have done worse. you can do this with ease.
your eyes search around before they land on the flower vase on the nightstand next to the bed and you walk, grab it and smash it to the ground.
the noise alerts the guards who are standing outside to guard the door and with a quick shared glance, both of them turn to open the door and enter it.
they freeze, seeing you standing there while holding a piece of the broken vase, pointed at them as you stand there as if they are the ones with a weapon disadvantage.
"won't you listen to your commander- ah, ex-commander?" you ask, searching for some kind of familiarity in their eyes yet here dazai's word is absolute. in front of his orders, not even God can make these men do the opposite.
you sigh, dropping the piece of vase on the floor and within the time it takes to fall to the ground and break into smaller pieces, you dash across the room to punch one of them right on the jaw.
the other guard takes his gun out of the hostler. you grab the first guard's cuff, pinching it to maintain grip as you pull him closer and take out his gun, shoving him towards the second guard.
this may not seem that impressive but with the sheer quickness you execute these actions is what makes it overwhelming to the second guard.
that has always been your speciality after all.
pointing the gun at them you shoot two times without moving your arm. first, the bullet hits the first guard and he immediately falls on his knees and the second bullet hits the second guard who gasps, staggering back.
turning, you dash out from there. you can either take the stairs which will be a risk since many guards are stationed down or jump down the windows at the end of the hallway and risk spraining your ankle if you fall in an awkward position which is mostly guaranteed with the heels on your feet.
fuck it, you take the latter risk. it's death one way or the other anyway. the moment you decided to go against dazai, you prepared yourself to be hanged in front of other military and government members as an example of what happens to whoever goes against dazai — even if that person is you, the woman rumoured to always have been dazai's romantic interest.
at the end of the hallway where the two big windows glimmered, taunting you to come closer, stood two guards.
you stop on your feet as soon as their eyes fall on you. you recognise them. they were once men who worked under you, who had been injured in war to be demoted to casual guards.
they raise their guns towards you and once again, you realise, no one is loyal to anyone except to that bandaged man who brings success dripping with blood to this nation.
whatever hardships you have gone through with them, whatever trauma and situations you survived mean nothing.
you raise your gun at them, taking a step forwards, looking around to see the hallway being empty so there are no other items which you can use as a weapon.
“please don't do this. you are asking to be killed." one of them says, calmly. eyes devoid of life yet filled with fear.
like dolls. they don't have souls.
killing dolls is easier than killing humans.
you pull the trigger repeatedly in a clumsy fashion. the bullets pierce through their foreheads, chest, arm, thighs and some even miss and hit the walls, leaving holes in them.
you find yourself thinking for a moment as you watch the two guards who were once your comrades fall to the floor, is it really worth it?
you'll be discovered no matter where you go.
you think of giving up, you really do, but the sound of multiple footsteps storming in unity up the stairs, snaps you out of whatever state you were going in and you run over to the windows to try to open them.
your heart begins to beat fast as they don't open no matter how strongly you pull or push at the handles of the frames. but this doesn't make sense. there are no locks on the frames of the windows, neither are there any nails or chains which would keep it locked.
you pause as you hear the footsteps approach near, narrowing your eyes as you feel like someone played a prank on you. there is super glue between the frames which are keeping the frames attached together.
oh.
dazai must be mocking you, no?
anger fills your body. adrenaline makes you more irrational. you pull your hand back before shooting it forwards to punch the glass, breaking it. the pieces of glass shatter and fly in the air as you continue to use your bare hands to break the glass frame enough for you to jump without injuring yourself further.
"stop right there!" you hear your name being called and you know behind you, almost twenty guards are pointing their guns at you. you don't turn but instead grip the gun — with only maybe one or two bullets left — tightly in your bloody hand, jumping down the two floored villa.
as you had feared, you fall on your knees and scrape them against the concrete road, letting out a strangled cry.
the guards look down at you from the windows, yelling commands to each other.
when you stand up again, ignoring the burn from your knees travelling to your calves and up your spine, the guards finally fall into sync as half of them turn back to run down the stairs and get into cars to chase you while the other half jump down the windows as well, wincing and gasping at the cuts the unsymmetrical pieces of broken glass had caused them.
you stumble for a few steps before you can run normally again, dashing through the empty roads with the guards following you.
you look over your head, slowing down to remove your heels, throwing them at the guards following you with hopes of slowing them down.
blood trickles down your palms to your fingers and down onto the road but this pain isn't anything major in front of your burning knees. you want to give up and sink to the floor and cry because they hurt so much, like your muscles are being burnt at the same time at different spots.
where are you running to? wherever this road leads you to.
the guards holding their guns don't use it for one wound on you will cost them their life.
you curse under your breath, preparing yourself for the pain. then, you take off, using all your might to run faster despite your face heating up in pain and body nearly trembling.
the road ahead of you finally ends to give way to a cliff-like path beyond which you can see the sea and its waves.
you can feel your heart drop to the floor of your stomach, all and any hope leaving you because now you are going to be caught and killed. you stop running, knowing it's a fool’s decision to continue running now.
near the end of the cliff, dangerously near even, a car stops. the black car glimmers as sunlight falls on it and your shoulders slump.
it's over. he's here.
the guards who had stopped behind you immediately bow down when the car door opens and he steps out — a black suit with a maroon shirt underneath — immediately making his way over to you.
you want to close your eyes and look away but you don't because if you are going to die, you will die wearing the brave facade you always wear. how is he going to kill you?
by his mere hands or by a gun?
“why did you take off your heels?” his voice is so soft that it doesn't match with him or the actions he commits.
whoever says the devil is pretty was so damn right because you can't speak, he's just that pretty that it makes you unable to form coherent sentences.
staring at him in awe and at the way the bandages rest on his eye. the way his visible eye is so richly brown, how his eyelashes look so delicate and how he's staring at your now bloody and grim feet with a certain sadness that's almost foreign to be seen on him.
and your heart is filled with a certain sadness for him. you remember the little boy he once was and wonder, how did he turn this way?
maybe this is why you don't say anything when he takes off his shoes, kneels down and helps you wear them instead.
you just let him.
for the sake of whatever familiarity once existed between you two.
“is marrying me that repulsive?” he asks with a lighthearted voice but you can hear the hidden hurt in his words.
he stands up straight, offering his hand to you at which you stare at for some time, snapping out of your daze when you feel the guards behind you sigh or quietly express their frustrations.
you feel bewildered because unlike the guards, he remains patient, hand still extended. might be because he wasn't the one chasing after you all this while but it still is impressive.
“you knew.” you whisper, accepting his hand.
he begins to lead you to the car, telling, “i do. when it comes to you, i always do.”
"I want webcomics where I can change the story" read visual novels
"I want games that focus on the narrative" read visual novels
"I want games that are easy to play" read visual novels
"I want to play shoujo / yaoi / yuri manga" read visual novels
"I want to read really queer stories" read visual novels
fanfic writing culture isn’t “oh dang! I wanted to write about this prompt with this character but someone else already wrote it, so now I can’t”.
fanfic writing culture is always “two cakes is better than one. the more the merrier. there can ever be enough fics of this character with this prompt!”
people who write their fics directly onto archive of our own site do not fear death by the way
in all seriousness, please always keep backups of your works, write them somewhere else (google doc is a good choice) then copy and paste onto ao3 when you're done, because ao3 itself does not automatically save your works for you, meaning you can lose all of your progress
twelfth, again? PM!Dazai X Reader : the first meet — series
A/N: yes. i'm back to writing. not back to my requests, but i promise we'll get there. someday. but this sudden 12:14 AM rush hit me and i had to write this down.
perhaps a continuation might follow? :3
warnings: dazai is being dazai. chuuya is being chuuya.
it was the twelfth time you dreamt of that early evening again.
that day, twilight had just set. blue tones of the sky were setting into a pale yellow, nearly orange near the horizon. like a sunscape painting.
it was quiet. you were in your muted white dress. the casual type. the type that subtly flows down.
not attracting attention, but existing within its own quiet swish when the wind blows.
distant shouting—
ripping your attention from the book you were reading. instinctively raising your head, you spot a flash of orange. just nearby.
"oi! shitty dazai, those mushrooms aren't gonna help you die."
"isn't it worth trying?" came from an amused tone.
"we've got work to do, you asshole—"
"and we've got two hours. calm down, chew-ya."
"and eight people to ki—" the voice dropped, all of a sudden. quiet again, replaced by the low chirp of crickets once more.
suspicious. ki—? kick? kiss? kill?
seemed to be the last one from the silence...
"aaand?" the voices walked ahead, their figures coming into view fully. two boys, seeming to be teens, around your age. one tall, dark brown hair, in a white shirt, and the shorter one, a ginger, in a dark green hoodie. a bandage covered the former's right eye.
successfully ruining the silent solitude of the park. the susurrus of leaves no longer audible.
"where even is that fancy-ass hotel we're supposed to go to?"
"hmm... perhaps in neverland?"
a kick was swung at the brunette's knee, almost hitting him, had he not stepped left last minute.
"you've gotta polish your attacks, chuuya-kun—"
a fist swung at the skull this time. successfully connecting.
"hey! that's against the rules!" the brunette shouted, massaging his head with his right hand. "a dog doesn't attack its own master!"
"oh? want me to test that again?"
"anyways, the hotel!"
the ginger almost seemed murderous. typical of someone with his hair color. "reply to me, mackerel—"
"there's nobody nearby who can help us with the directions..." the brunette—named dazai/asshole/mackerel, judging by the conversation—looked around, shielding his eyes with his hand on his forehead, despite the absence of sunlight.
but you were in plain sight.
"...may i help you?" you got up from the bench, setting aside your book for the time being.
"oh, my, a pretty girl—" the brunette named dazai/asshole/mackerel gasped. "may you help me by giving me your name?"
you looked at him, unimpressed. "[name]."
"such a pretty name," his mouth twisted into a half-smirk, half-smile.
"you'll make me gag, you fucker." chuuya.
he ignored him.
"well... may i have yours?" you asked dazai/asshole/mackerel/you fucker.
"why, it's dazai osamu."
"dazai. the hotel's the second building on the first turn by the main street."
"ooh, were you listening in to our conversation?" he gave a sly smile.
"i couldn't help not to with your loud voices."
"his," said the ginger, rolling his eyes. "his. voice."
"i think yours was louder, honestly," you responded.
dazai clicked his tongue. "that's chuuya. don't mind him. he doesn't know how to talk to pretty girls."
"i'm charmed, dazai, but i think i should—"
"is that crime and punishment you're reading?" his eyes drifted to the book on the bench you'd set aside, taking it in his hand. "that's quite advanced for your age, isn't it?"
"it's... for a school project," you lied.
"is that so? i suppose you're done with reading it. i'd love to borrow it!"
the ginger cringed. "what the actual he—"
"we'll get going, then!" he said before you could react, grabbing the ginger's wrist, starting to walk away.
"but when will you—" you tried to speak, but were cut off.
"soon!"
he didn't look back as he walked away.
you didn't know if you were ever getting it back.
he met you outside the school gates a week later.
"y'know, the annotations gave away your lie by the first page."
"thought so, but i never thought i'd see this book again," you mumbled, inspecting the book. it was partially soaked in orange juice.
that was not the last time you saw him, unlike what you thought.
Ghostface!ADADazai, who calls you all throughout the day, sometimes he's just breathing deeply into the phone as he gets off to the sound of your whimpers and crises of fear.
Ghostface!ADADazai, your trusted, reliable, co-worker who plays the detective and says he's gonna help you catch this guy but you can't tell anyone else because they have enough to worry about and you especially can't tell Ranpo.
Ghostface!ADADazai, who leaves you all kinds of gifts at your front-door and acts surprise when you tell him the "weirdo" left you roses, but he tells not to throw anything because it could be used as evidence, of course, Dazai's a detective and a genius, no one's gonna be able to lift a single print off the glass vase that holds your favorite flowers.
Ghostface!ADADazai, who offers to let you stay at his place for a while just so that he can makes sure you're okay and safe, and you know you're safe with Dazai, he's a trusted detective and all.
OR!!!!
Ghostface!PMDazai, who you've hired in order to catch the "creep" who's been stalking you because the ADA isn't doing anything about it so you've had to turn to the Port Mafia.
Ghostface!PMDazai, who comforts you, pushing your face in his chest as you cry into his jet black suit as he holds the box with one of your friends hearts in it, their body disgustingly disfigured in their apartment. Your brain flashing the image in both of your heads repeatedly.
Ghostface!PMDazai, who keeps you at his apartment which you have no worries being in, given that he's an executive and he has a trigger finger in his highly secured apartment. He assures that you're safe and you believe him, he hasn't given you a reason not to.
Ghostface!PMDazai, who isolates you when all your friends and family are dead and gone. Who fucks your worries away when you have your little crying spouts about your friends and family being gone. When will you understand that he's the only one you'll ever need and now that he's made that physically possible, he needs to make you understand mentally.
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