Hello everyone! My name is Leaf, and welcome to my blog!
I began posting here because I love to write. It's one of my only few hobbies, and I'm happy to have a place I can share it. I live a very mundane life, and writing gives me a chance to control something that I can call mine.
I typically only post fanfics, analyses, opinions, etc. I write a lot of reader inserts. I'll write for almost all characters upon request. I don't write smut.
My current hyperfixation is Bungou Stray Dogs, but I will write for other fandoms too.
My masterlist is here.
Requests are currently closed, I have no motivation to write.
I haven't been active on here too long, so please forgive me if I'm a little out of touch.
if you're still taking request can you do sth with like reader getting hurt during a mission and the bsd mans react?? any of them is fine thankss
I'm begging you, just survive.
TW : violence, gun, gunshot wound, blood, graphic injury, near death experience, emotional distress, implied suicidal thoughts
In order : Osamu Dazai, Nakahara Chuuya
Osamu Dazai
The mission had started well. For several weeks, the Agency had been tracking down a criminal network that was selling weapons. However, it was mainly you and Dazai who were in charge of this case. Your investigation was progressing well, you always worked better together than separately. Dazai used his past as a Mafia member to understand the criminals and give you a whole list of places known to be used by smugglers, while you gathered information, questioned people and broke a few knuckles if they refused to answer your questions. You worked together perfectly.
So how did everything go so wrong?
Your research led you to a warehouse outside the city, isolated and not so abandoned because the criminals used it to store their weapons. But when you arrived, two of them were waiting for you, weapons in hand.
And the bullet that pierced your stomach was only proof that you had poorly prepared for your arrival. The burning sensation came afterwards. First, there was the sharp noise, the dull thud in your flesh, and that strange second when your body continued to obey. Then the pain hit you all at once, hot and deep as if someone had stuck a piece of metal in your stomach and was slowly turning it.
Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers slid down to your abdomen, trembling, incredulous, and when you looked down, you saw dark red blood spreading through the fabric, faster than your mind could comprehend. t was nothing abstract, it was sticky and hot, spreading way too fast and it was burning excruciatingly.
You wanted to back away, to start moving again, because moving meant survival. But your legs gave way and you grabbed hold of a random crate, your shoulder hitting the metal with a stupid, tiny sound compared to the rest. Through your blurred vision, the two criminals were still there, guns raised and you were sure there was going to be a second shot, this one final.
But you didn't have time to say or think anything because Dazai was already moving. The first man didn't even have time to fire a second shot before Dazai's bullets hit him, from the stomach to the head, almost decapitating him on impact. The second man tried to get the upper hand, but he was simply no match for Dazai, who fired two bullets at him and he fell into a pool of blood, his head still attached to his shoulders.
You blinked, unable to follow the sequence of events, unable to tell if you had just seen Dazai kill two men or if your brain was inventing images to fill the void of panic you were into. The floor seemed too close. The walls were spinning slightly. You felt cold in places and burning where you were bleeding.
A moment later, Dazai was in front of you, crouching down. His gaze slid over your wound in a fraction of a second, then to your face, and you saw something pass through his eyes, not surprise or fear, but that dark tension he never really shows, the one that wants to keep control of everything and, for once, isn't succeeding.
"You know." He whispered, in a surprisingly soft voice, "I'm starting to think you're doing this on purpose to remind me that I'm not immortal." It was meant to be a joke. One of his stupid jokes. Except it came out wrong, stuck between his teeth and his jaw that couldn't unclench. His hands had landed on your stomach with firm pressure.
The pain wrenched a humiliating sound from you. You bit your lip hard, but it didn't help, your body was still shaking.
"Dazai-" What did you want to say, exactly ? That he should stop ? That he should be careful ? That he shouldn't look at you like that ? That he should get you out of there ? The words crashed in your throat.
He didn't answer right away. He adjusted his grip, tore off something, a piece of fabric, a strip, whatever, and pressed it against the wound, applying a brutal pressure. His fingers were warm from your blood.
Your fingers clench the fabric of his coat and you cling to it without thinking. You feel the trembling in your hands, the way your arms are losing strength with every passing second, and it makes you panic even more. You try to control your breathing, but it doesn't work. The air comes in too fast, goes out too fast, and every breath pulls at the wound.
Dazai sees it right away.
"Hey, breathe slower." His voice stays low, too calm for the situation. "With me."
You nod, unsure if you can do it. You feel your throat tighten, tears welling up without you asking them to. It's not just the pain, it's the sound of the shot still echoing in your head and the certainty that if it had been a centimetre higher, you might not be looking at him anymore.
"I'm fine..." You say, because that's all you can say, and because you can see him. His gaze fixed on you way too intense, his jaw clenched tight. You make an effort to calm your voice, to give him something stable to hold on to. "I... I'm fine."
Dazai looks up at you, and his expression closes.
"Don't lie. You don't have to do that, not with me." You swallow. You want to answer, to protest, but your voice comes out too weak.
"I just don't want you to..." You can't even finish your sentence. Because you don't want to say "panic". You don't want to say "break down". You don't want to admit that you saw him on the verge of a panic attack.
Dazai tightens his grip on the makeshift bandage a little more, and you let out a small moan of pain. He doesn't apologise. He just adjusts it and puts his other hand behind your back to stop you from sliding completely to the ground.
"I know." He replies simply.
You cling even tighter to his coat. Your knuckles turn white.
"Honey... I'm cold."
He looks at you for another second, his eyes seeming to grow even darker, then he quickly takes off his coat and throws it over your shoulders, without asking if you want it. He covers you as best he can, then immediately returns to your wound, his fingers stained with blood, the pressure still constant.
"Stay with me, okay ?" This time he doesn't try to hide the tremors in his voice, he's terrified.
You nod again. You try to look strong. You try not to shake. You try not to show him that you want to cry like a little girl.
Dazai exhales, forcing himself to restore a semblance of normality to the air.
"Really." He continues. "You could have chosen a less... messy way to ask for a hug and a holiday."
A nervous laugh escapes you, but it immediately breaks into pain. Your face tenses. You tighten your fingers around him and his bloodstained shirt. He's not really smiling, he just said that for you. To keep you there.
"It's not funny..." You whisper.
"I know." He lowers his voice even further. "But stay."
Your eyelids grow heavy, little by little, your body has decided that fighting is pointless. Your head tilts slightly against him, and you immediately sit up, overcome with panic. Dazai grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and gently forces you to keep your head up. His thumb brushes your cheek. You have to stay close to him. You can't leave him.
"Look at me." He insists. "Look at me."
You try. You see his eyes and his concentration and the fatigue in them too, holding you there without being able to fix you himself was draining him.
"Let's get out of here." He says. "I'll take you back to the Agency. Yosano will treat you. And then you'll make a scene because it hurts."
You swallow hard. "It... it already hurts."
"Yes, but you're a fighter, and later you'll wear your scar with pride." He replies, and this time he has a real micro-smile. Very brief. Then it disappears.
Because your hand slips a little.
Your fingers slip just a little and that's enough for the panic to come rushing back. You grip again, but you don't have the strength.
"Dazai..." You whisper, voice is broken. "I think..."
He squeezes your hand immediately. Almost too hard, but you don't care.
"No." He leans closer. "Not now."
You want to say, "I'm here." You want to promise him you won't leave. You want to reassure him, because you can feel he's on the edge, because you know he hates this kind of situation, hates not being in control.
But your body decides for you. Darkness comes quickly.
The last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand refusing to let go, and his voice close by, even lower.
"Stay with me. I beg you, stay..."
---
The light wakes you up first. It's a bit harsh. Your mouth is dry and your throat burns. You try to move but your stomach suddenly reminds you of everything with a dull, sharp pain, different from the one you felt in the warehouse. It pulls and it stings. But you're no longer bleeding out.
You breathe, that's already a huge step.
When you turn your head, you recognise the Agency infirmary. You swallow with difficulty.
"Finally awake." The voice comes from the side.
Dazai is sitting near the bed, slumped in a chair as if he had spent too long pretending to be relaxed. His clothes are rumpled, there are traces of dried blood on his hands despite his quick cleaning, and his eyes... his eyes stare at you without moving.
Then his smile returns, a little too easily.
"You cost me a huge amount of money, you know." He raises his hand slightly. "I bet you'd be stubborn enough to stay conscious at least until the door."
You try to laugh, but it hurts, so it comes out as a breath.
"You're... really stupid."
"Thank you." He replies, relieved to hear you insult him. "Are you alright ?"
The question is way too simple for him, it makes your chest tighten.
You look at him for a few seconds and see what he's trying to hide : the worry, the tension and that he stayed there. He waited for you.
"Yosano...?" You whisper.
"She healed you." He pauses, then adds, more quietly, "You're going to be fine."
You feel your hand move on its own, weakly, towards him. Your fingers search. Dazai takes it immediately. He doesn't say anything for a second. He just holds your hand in his. After a few minutes, he sighs and goes back to his usual tone, but it doesn't quite fit.
"Next time, you wear a bulletproof vest. And if you tell me it bothers you, I'll remind you that a bullet in the stomach is worse."
You gently squeeze his fingers.
"There won't be a next time."
He looks at you, and his smile fades a little.
"Of course there will be." He replies, but his voice is softer. "Except next time, you do what I tell you." Dazai leans his head until it touches your forehead, and you feel his tears running down your face. "I thought you were dead." Weakly, your hand clenches his coat.
"You won't get rid of me that easily." A faint laugh escapes him, he lays his body down next to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist.
"I would have joined you immediately." Your heart sinks, you know he's not lying and you can only hope it'll never get to that point.
Nakahara Chuuya
Mori gave you two tasks : retrieve the weapons and don't get killed. You managed the first one pretty well, but Chuuya threw the second one out of the window.
Initially, however, you had been confident, all your missions with your husband had gone smoothly. You worked as a team, the Mafia’s best agents.
You found yourselves in a warehouse on the waterfront of the city. The criminals were, at heart, nothing but amateurs and should never have taken on the Port Mafia. The smell of water and metal filled your nostrils. The moment the door opened, however, you realised you’d made a mistake, the men were waiting for you.
Chuuya said nothing, but reacted immediately. The air around you grew heavy, making it difficult to breathe and the two men hesitated for a second under the pressure. That should have been enough. But one of them fired anyway.
The shot was fired too quickly for you to see it. You only heard the gunshot echoing through the hangar. The shot was clean and precise, aimed straight at Chuuya. The bloke wasn’t even looking at you.
Chuuya raised his hand almost instinctively.
Gravity caught the bullet mid-flight, abruptly changing its trajectory. Instead of piercing your husband’s chest as intended, it veered off course and was deflected to the side.
For a split second, it seemed as though everything was over. Then you realised that the bullet hadn’t stopped. It was simply continuing its course elsewhere.
Towards you.
You didn’t have time to move. The impact came before your brain could even process what was happening. Something struck your stomach with great force and the wind was knocked out of you instantly. Your legs gave way and your body slammed violently against the ground.
The pain came much faster than expected, your hands rested on the wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.
The two men moved again, probably ready to fire a second time, but Chuuya didn’t even give them a full glance. His arm shot up again in a sharp motion. Gravity came crashing down on them with full force and their bodies were smashed against the floor, the sound of their bones shattering into a thousand pieces echoed throughout the hangar. The concrete cracked under the impact.
He didn’t check to see if they were dead.
He didn’t care.
Chuuya was already closing the gap between you two.
He reached you almost immediately, falling to his knees before your body. His hands gripped your shoulders to lift you slightly before sliding down to your stomach. Blood ran through his fingers, there was far too much of it.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck no…" His voice is panicked as he quickly takes off his gloves and lifts you up to check if the ball has come out. Of course it has, given how fast he deflected it. "Shit ! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry..." He moves your hands away from the injury and replaces them with his own, pressing much more firmly.
You’re shaking so badly that you feel as though your body is about to fall apart, even breathing has become far too difficult. Your hands rest weakly on his.
"Chuuya…" Your voice comes out so faintly, you hate that. You wish you were stronger, that you could reassure him and tell him everything will be alright, even though you know things are looking very bleak.
Chuuya looks up, you can see in his eyes all the panic and stress he’s feeling.
"Keep talking, don’t stop." He commands more than he asks.
You find it hard to swallow. Your throat is dry and you can taste metal in your mouth.
"I’m really cold and hot at the same time." His eyes widen and he hurriedly grabs his phone.
"We're on our way. Gunshot wound to the stomach, the bullet has exited. Prepare an operating room, we’ll be there in five minutes." He hangs up just as quickly. "Hang on, I’m begging you, hang on." He slips one arm under your legs and the other under your back and lifts you without warning. The movement draws a groan of pain from you. "I’m sorry." He says the words quickly. You can see he’s furious with himself, but he’s determined to get you to the doctors as quickly as possible.
Chuuya don’t waste any more time, the ground is giving way beneath his feet and gravity is shifting all around you. Your body feels lighter in his arms as he rises without even slowing down. The hangar vanishes almost instantly behind you.
Every movement sends a jolt of pain through your stomach. You clench your fingers against his jacket, unable to stop the tremors running through your body. The blood continues to flow despite the pressure he’s applying firmly to the wound.
"It’ll be alright." He says, more to himself than to you. "We’re almost there."
His voice is strained. He speaks without really expecting a reply, as if he needs to fill the silence to check that you’re still conscious.
The city lights blur past you in streaks. You try to keep your eyes open, but your vision is already growing hazy. The cold bites into your skin, whilst your stomach still burns just as fiercely.
"Chuuya…" You whisper, your fingers clenching weakly around his collar.
He immediately looks down at you without slowing.
"I’m here. Keep talking." Breathing becomes difficult. Every breath is short and incomplete. You feel your head growing heavy against his shoulder.
"I’m… tired…"
"No." His reply comes instantly. "Not now."
His grip tightens slightly around you, instinctive and protective. He adjusts his hand against your wound, pressing harder despite the blood already soaking his shirt and sleeves.
"Look at me."
You try. You really do. But the lights are growing too bright and distant. The sound of the wind almost drowns out his voice.
Chuuya swears under his breath, picking up the pace again. Gravity twists around him to gain a few more seconds, as if he could force the distance to vanish.
"We’re almost there." He repeats. "Just a little further."
Your fingers slip slightly from his jacket. You don’t really have the strength to grip them any tighter. The world grows strangely quiet, the pain less sharp as if your body has decided to give up the fight.
"Hey." His voice hardens instantly. "No. Stay with me."
You hear the worry this time, clear, impossible to hide. His hand leaves your wound for a second to grab your wrist, check your pulse before immediately returning to press down on your stomach.
The Mafia’s buildings finally come into view.
Chuuya descends abruptly, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. Silhouettes are already rushing towards him, but he doesn’t slow down, he strides through the doors without stopping.
"Move out of the way !"
His voice booms through the hall. No one argues.
---
When you open your eyes again, the first thing you feel is pain.
It’s a dull ache this time, bearable. Nothing like the burning sensation that was tearing at your stomach just a few hours earlier. Your body feels heavy and numb and for a few seconds you don’t quite realise where you are. The smell of disinfectant eventually brings you back to reality.
The Mafia’s medical wing.
Memories come flooding back in fragments. The hangar, the shooting, and Chuuya.
Your gaze drifts slowly around the room, still blurry, until it settles on a figure sitting by the bed.
Chuuya.
He is leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed. His hat lies beside him, abandoned on a table, a sight rare enough for your brain to notice it immediately.
And then you realise.
He’s crying.
Not silently or discreetly, his shoulders are shaking, his hand pressed against his face as if he were trying to stifle the sounds escaping him despite himself. You can hear his ragged breathing and it tightens your chest far more than the pain.
He didn't see you move. He spoke in a low voice, almost to himself.
"I've messed up..." His voice is hoarse. "Shit... I've messed up..." He runs a hand through his hair nervously, then drops his head. His fingers are still trembling. "The shot was meant for me." He whispers. "I changed the trajectory..." There is a moment of silence. "I'm the one who sent it towards you." The words come out slowly and hesitantly, as if he has only just managed to accept them. He shakes his head slightly, unable to bear his own thoughts. "I should have… I should just have stopped it…" His voice breaks completely this time. He takes a sharp breath, trying to pull himself together, but it’s no use. A tear falls onto his hands and he makes no effort to wipe it away. You realise then that he thinks you’re still asleep. That he’s finally allowing himself to break down because no one’s watching.
Because you’re not supposed to hear him.
He stands there, crushed by the weight of what he believes he has done, his fingers clenched so tightly that the knuckles have turned white. "You could have died…" He whispers. "Because of me." You remain motionless for a few more seconds. Your body takes a while to respond, each breath tugs slightly at your stomach and immediately reminds you why you’re here.
Chuuya still hasn’t looked up.
His shoulders are still shaking, his hand clenched against his face. Seeing him like this seems almost unreal. Chuuya doesn’t break, he gets angry, shouts, lashes out, but he never breaks down.
And yet there he is, broken, just a few inches away from you.
You move your hand slightly. The movement is minimal, almost ridiculous, but enough to tug at the drips and rustle the sheets. The pain makes you wince, a gasp escapes you despite yourself.
Chuuya looks up immediately.
His eyes rest on you, bewildered for a split second. Then the realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. He sits up so quickly that his chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
"You’re awake ?" His voice is hoarse. You try to smile, but it looks more like a weary grimace.
"Hi…" The word comes out weakly, almost raspy. He moves towards the bed immediately, one hand hanging in the air, hesitant for once as if he no longer knows whether he’s allowed to touch you. It hurts more than the wound. So you move a little more, slowly, and your hand reaches for his. Your fingers close weakly around his. "Hey…"
He freezes completely. His gaze drops to your hands, his fingers immediately close around yours, but with an unusual caution, almost fragile.
"I’m here." You whisper. His jaw tenses immediately.
"You shouldn’t have been…" He says, his voice low. "I—"
You shake your head very slightly, cutting him off before he can continue. The movement tugs at your wound and you draw a laboured breath, but you carry on anyway.
"Chuuya… You didn’t mean to." He looks away, unable to meet your gaze.
"It doesn’t change anything." His grip tightens despite himself. "The shot was meant for me. If I’d-"
"But you reacted." Your voice remains weak, but firm. You gather what little energy you have to speak clearly. "You did what you always do… you protected me." He laughs without humour.
"I did a great job." Silence falls. You can tell he doesn’t believe it, that he’s replaying the scene in his head, over and over. So you gently pull on his hand to get his attention. When he finally looks up at you, you see the exhaustion, the fear, the guilt still clinging to him.
"I’m alive." You whisper. "Look at me." He does it, for real this time. Your fingers gently brush against his. "You stayed, didn’t you ?" He doesn’t reply straight away. His thumb unconsciously strokes the back of your hand.
"Of course I stayed." He murmurs at last. "I thought I’d lost you."
His voice remains low. He doesn’t look at you straight away, his gaze remains fixed on your hands, on your still-weak fingers clasped in his. You sense he’s waiting for something. Perhaps for you to tell him everything’s alright. Perhaps for you to forgive him.
You breathe in slowly. The pain is there, but bearable.
"But I’m here." You simply whisper.
Chuuya closes his eyes briefly. His shoulders slump slightly, he runs a hand over his face, quickly wiping away the remaining traces of tears without trying to hide anything this time. He no longer needs to pretend. His gaze returns to you, calmer, but still heavy with that guilt he cannot shake off.
"I’ve played it over a hundred times in my head." He admits after a moment. "The angle… the distance…" He clenches his teeth slightly. "If I’d just stopped the bullet instead of deflecting it-"
You gently tighten your grip on his hand. He stops himself immediately.
"Chuuya." He looks up. "If you hadn’t deflected it… you’d be the one lying here."
A silence falls between you two. He doesn’t reply straight away. You can tell he’s still wrestling with the idea, with the calculations he’s making against his will. Then he exhales, deeply. His hand gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a rare gesture for him.
"I don’t like these odds." He mutters.
A faint, weary smile stretches across your lips.
"Me neither." He stays there for a few seconds, simply looking at you. Not to check that you’re breathing, not out of panic but just to make sure you’re really awake, really alive, that this isn’t just another bad scenario in his head.
Then he pulls his chair closer to the bed and sits down properly this time, without letting go of your hand.
"Get some rest." He says finally, calmer. "Work can wait. So can Mori."
You gently close your eyes, exhausted, still feeling the warmth of his palm around yours.
Summary: Osamu Dazai has mastered the art of being a phantom, a man who exists in the spaces between jokes and shadows. He’s terrified that loving you is the ultimate death sentence, but he’s starting to realize that losing you is the only thing he can’t survive.
Word Count: 1.1k+
Warning + Tags: Armed Detective Agency Era | Mission Gone Wrong | Protective Dazai | Hurt/Comfort | Angst to Fluff | Dazai being an emotional coward | Near Death Experience | Established Teasing | Cuddles
The smell of rust and salt air usually didn't bother Dazai.
It reminded him of the Port Mafia, of a life he had discarded like a tattered coat.
But tonight, the scent was laced with the metallic tang of your blood, and it was making his skin crawl.
The mission was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance.
Kunikida had mapped it out with his usual obsessive precision, an illegal shipment of ability-enhancing drugs being moved through Warehouse 4.
But the intel had been a trap.
A set-up by a rogue group that didn't want to arrest the Agency, but to erase it.
You were currently slumped against a stack of wooden crates, your breath hitching in shallow, pained gasps. A jagged shard of metal had caught you across the ribs when the building's support beam gave way under the pressure of a localized explosion.
Dazai stood over you, his trench coat billowing in the drafty warehouse, his usual playful expression wiped clean.
He looked like a statue of a god long forgotten: pale, cold, and terrifyingly still.
"Dazai," you managed to wheeze, clutching the wound that was soaking your Agency vest in a deep, darkening crimson. "Get out... they’re still... coming."
He didn't move.
He didn't even look at the doorway where the sound of heavy boots was echoing against the concrete.
His eyes, those dark, bottomless pools of brown, were fixed entirely on the way your fingers were trembling.
"Don't be silly," he said.
His voice was too quiet. It was the voice that didn't belong in the light of the Agency. "If I left now, who would listen to my complaints about the paperwork tomorrow?"
"Osamu, I'm serious," you coughed, and the sight of blood on your lips caused his hand to twitch.
Suddenly, the doors burst open.
Kunikida and Atsushi slid into the room, the former already shouting commands while the latter transformed his limbs into the white tiger’s claws.
They moved with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, taking down the remaining guards with a flurry of strikes and paper-wrought bullets.
"Dazai! Report!" Kunikida roared, adjusting his glasses while he pinned a man to the floor. "The perimeter is—"
The blond detective stopped mid-sentence when he saw the scene.
He saw Dazai drop to his knees beside you, ignoring the dirt, ignoring the danger, ignoring everything but the way you were slipping away.
Dazai reached out, his fingers hovering over your cheek, hesitant as if his touch would shatter what was left of you.
He was terrified.
For a man who claimed to crave the embrace of death, he was currently looking at it and finding it repulsive because it was trying to take you.
"No," Dazai whispered, so low that only you could hear. "Not you. Anyone but you."
He pulled you into his lap, his bandages unravelling slightly as he pressed his hand firmly against your wound to stanch the flow. He didn't care about the blood staining his clothes.
He didn't care about the fact that he was breaking every rule he had ever set for himself about attachment.
Love, to Dazai, was a death sentence.
It was a curse that had taken Oda, a curse that had left him hollow.
He had spent every day at the Agency keeping you at arm's length with riddles and flirtation, convinced that if he didn't hold you, he couldn't lose you.
But as he felt your heart stuttering against his palm, he realized that he had already lost.
He had loved you since the first day you laughed at one of his terrible jokes instead of rolling your eyes.
"You’re not going to die," he commanded, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "I won't allow it. My ability... it nullifies everything. I’ll nullify the pain. I’ll nullify the dark. Just stay."
"Dazai... you're... being dramatic," you murmured, your hand reaching up to weakly grasp his tie.
Two days later, the Agency was unusually quiet.
Yosano had worked her "magic", a process you preferred to forget and you were now confined to the infirmary bed with strict orders not to move.
The sun was streaming through the windows, making the dust motes dance in the air.
The door creaked open, and instead of the usual bustle of Ranpo demanding snacks or Kenji bringing flowers, it was Dazai.
He wasn't wearing his coat.
He looked smaller in just his vest and shirt, his hair a mess as if he hadn't slept since the warehouse.
He was carrying a single, slightly wilted camellia and a bag of the expensive crab meat he usually hoarded for himself.
He pulled a chair to your bedside, sitting down with none of his usual flair.
He just stared at you, his eyes scanning your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail to ensure you were still real.
"I thought about joining the afterlife while you were asleep," he said, his voice attempting a light tone but failing miserably. "But then I realized they probably don't have this specific brand of crab there, and it seemed like a waste."
You smiled, reaching out to take his hand.
His fingers were cold, and you could feel the slight tremor in them. "Thank you for staying, Osamu."
He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing the line of your knuckles.
The silence stretched, but it wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of the warehouse. It was soft.
It was the sound of a man finally putting down his shield.
He leaned forward, his face inches from yours, the scent of antiseptic and his spicy cologne filling your senses.
He looked terrified, like a boy about to jump off a cliff, but the warmth in his gaze was undeniable.
"I’m a very difficult man," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for any sign of rejection. "I’m a ghost who happened to find a body.
I don't know how to do this properly. I’ve spent my life wanting to end, but when I saw you on that floor... I wanted a hundred years. I wanted a thousand."
He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before his lips finally met yours in a touch that was tentative, sweet, and desperately honest. It wasn't the kiss of a man who wanted to die; it was the kiss of a man who had finally found a reason to breathe.
He pulled away just an inch, his eyes soft and glowing with a light that had been missing for years, and he let out a small, relieved laugh as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.
"If you ever scare me like that again, I’ll be forced to write a very long and very annoying poem about it, and you’ll have to listen to me recite it every morning for the rest of our lives."
i love ur writing so much aAAAAAAAHHH im gonna squeal like a badly written shoujo lead
can i request platonic !! skk and reader hcs? just three idiot besties glued together by a mediator lol
would also love to see how dazai's departure would affect dynamics actually-
The Handler I Dazai Osamu x Platonic! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara (Headcanons)
Summary: you're the mediator friend in a trio of idiots.
A/N: Hey loves!! 💖 Wow, I seriously went overboard writing these headcanons—I had so much fun diving into all the feels and messy friendship dynamics. Tumblr’s being a pain and won’t let me post everything at once, so I’ll be dropping another post soon with the headcanons for after Dazai’s departure. Thank you so much for this request, it's adorable 😭💕I love you all so much aAAAAAAAHHH!! Keep those requests coming!!
TW: Dazai being Dazai (sucidal), use of fem! pronouns.
You all share one collective brain cell that is passed around depending on who’s having a good day. Spoiler: it’s usually not Dazai.
Your dynamic is as follows:
Dazai: stirring shit for fun.
Chuuya: two seconds away from strangling him.
You: holding Chuuya back with one arm and cleaning up Dazai’s mess with the other.
You & Dazai:
He immediately clocks you as “the normal one” and thus someone he must harass.
Dazai’s idea of “harassing” you is sending you ridiculous, cryptic texts at 3 AM just to see if you’ll actually respond.
You usually do — partly because you’re worried he’s up to something dangerous, partly because, well, you’re his “normal one” and he secretly craves your presence.
He has a sixth sense for when you’re just starting to relax — and that’s precisely when he appears with a “fun little favor” that usually involves blood, bribery, and at least one felony.
He absolutely uses you as a human shield during Mafia meetings. Not out of fear — just for the drama.
“See, if they shoot me, they shoot you, and then what would they do without their therapist-slash-logic buffer?”
You found Dazai once, bleeding from a botched mission, clearly trying to downplay how bad it was.
He laughed, joked, and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll just walk it off!”
You looked him dead in the eye and snapped, “Sit your ass down or I’ll knock you out myself.”
He blinked. Sat down. Let you stitch him up in silence. Afterward, he quietly said, “Thanks, Doc.”
He’s never called you that again but after that incident he’ll leave sweets on your desk with goofy notes every so often.
Despite everything, he listens to you. Every time. Especially when your voice drops into that low, deadly calm that means you’ve had enough.
Once, after a brutal mission, he didn’t show up for three days. You found him in a crumbling safehouse, bandaged badly, feverish, too tired to keep up the act. He tried to laugh it off — “Guess I overestimated how immortal I am, huh?”
You didn’t say anything. Just knelt down, took his hand, and said softly, “You don’t have to be okay for me to stay.”
He turned his face away, but his grip on your hand didn’t loosen all night as you helped him back to your place to get properly looked after.
Dazai has nightmares. Rarely, but when they hit, they’re ugly — violent flashes from the past. He once called you by mistake mid-panic attack.
You stayed on the line until he could breathe again. Neither of you acknowledged it the next day, but he brought you coffee — your exact order, with a note: Thanks for picking up.
You & Chuuya:
Protective older brother energy to the max, even if he grumbles about it constantly.
Chuuya’s gruff exterior melts when it comes to you. You might catch him softly brushing dust off your clothes or silently standing guard when near you — actions he denies but doesn’t bother hiding.
Chuuya yells a lot, but you’re one of the few people he never yells at. He grumbles, mutters, and swears—but not at you.
He once tried to give you fighting tips mid-mission because it’s not exactly your strong suit. You responded by knocking someone out with a coffee pot. He hasn’t offered since.
He does mention the coffee pot story every time someone doubts you.
After particularly bad missions, Chuuya gets twitchy. Not from fear but from adrenaline crash and guilt he’ll never talk about.
He always mumbles some flimsy excuse—“Needed to check something,” or “Forgot my tie here”—just so he has an excuse to linger in your apartment.
He hovers near the kitchen, pretending to look for snacks, while you quietly brew a fresh pot of tea.
Without fail, you hand him a steaming cup of chamomile lavender (his favorite, though he’d never say it). You watch as he inhales the scent, closes his eyes for the barest second, and lets his shoulders unclench.
He never says thank you either, but you’ve caught glimpses of him meticulously straightening cushions, wiping down counters, even organizing your books by height. It’s his way of “thank you,” unspoken but unmistakable.
You’re the lone sane presence who makes sure they don’t kill each other or get banned from every coffee shop in Yokohama. But you're also their emotional tether, which neither will ever admit.
Chuuya calls you “Handler” as a joke.
Dazai once said you’re “Our Emotional Support Human” — but when you respond by playfully threatening to charge rent for the emotional labor, both men pause, realizing that you’re absolutely right.
You once tried to assign nicknames based on personalities.
Dazai got “Menace,”
Chuuya got “Napoleon,”
You once made the mistake of saying, “I don’t care what you do, just don’t involve me.”
Dazai immediately made it his life mission to involve you in everything.
You have a group chat. It’s mayhem.
You muted it 12 times but Dazai just messages you directly if you don’t respond fast enough.
Recent message from him:
“Hey, can we use the Port Mafia’s resources to build a moat around my apartment? For reasons.”
Chuuya: “No. What the hell is wrong with you?”
You: “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Dazai: “You get paid???”
You once tried to take a day off. You returned to 63 missed messages, two emergency meetings, and a voicemail from Chuuya that just said, “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU.”
Dazai once dared Chuuya to do karaoke drunk. You watched in horror as he smashed a soulful rendition of “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” by ABBA.
Dazai did film the whole performance, complete with Chuuya dramatically belting into a beer bottle mic, doing impromptu spins that nearly took out a waitress.
Since that day, you set Chuuya’s individual ringtone to “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!”
You haven't changed it.
You caught Chuuya adjusting Dazai’s coat collar once — silently, grumbling, like he hated every second of it. Dazai didn’t even blink. You didn’t say a word, but you secretly took a picture.
Sometimes, one of them will fall asleep on your couch. You’ll drape a blanket over them, knowing they sleep better near you.
You’ve fallen asleep between them, too — Chuuya seated rigidly by your side, pretending not to watch over you; Dazai lying nearby, eyes open in the dark, quietly guarding the silence.
They’ve both been called monsters, weapons, tools. But when they’re with you — just with you — they feel human again.
They never say it. But the way they lean into your touch, the way they show up even when they don’t have to… says everything.
I come back to your inbox humbly asking for an angsty hurt/comfort(?) scenario with Chuuya amd Dazai, basically during a mission or like some agency case an ability user with a mind control ability hijacks Readers body and is basically holding them hostage until Chuuya/Dazai figure out a way to free them(i dont think Dazai can just nullify it by touching reader if we take into account his way of nullifying Q’s ability)
Parasite I Dazai Osamu x Platonic! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara
Summary: Chuuya and Dazai charge in to pull you back from the brink, turning a near-disaster into a reminder that you’re stuck with each other.
A/N: Sorry for taking so long on this one, love! Sometimes life (and stories) don’t move as fast as I want them to. Thanks a ton for hanging in there with me — you’re the best. Hope you enjoy it!❤️
TW: This story includes themes of mind control and possession, physical injury, and psychological distress. There are scenes involving a parasitic invasion, blood, and medical treatment. If any of these topics are difficult for you, please take care while reading.
MASTERLIST
They hadn’t expected things to go this wrong.
It was supposed to be a routine retrieval—intel said the ability user was low-threat, known for petty blackmail and mind games, nothing more. The three of you had split off from the rest of the team to corner him in a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of Yokohama. No signs of resistance. No signs of a trap.
Then the screaming started.
By the time Chuuya and Dazai fought their way into the building, you were already gone. Not physically—you were still on the comms, briefly. Just long enough to tell them to turn back, that something was wrong, before your voice warped into something else entirely.
Then silence.
Now, they were running.
The warehouse was cold—too cold. The concrete walls echoed with nothing but the frantic drag of footsteps and the low, panicked breath of Chuuya Nakahara as he sprinted through the dark corridor.
“She’s in here!” he barked into his comm, boot colliding with the steel door.
Dazai appeared a moment later, his usually unreadable face pulled tight with tension. “We don’t have time. The longer that parasite stays latched, the more damage it’s doing.”
“Then let’s move,” Chuuya snapped, throwing his shoulder against the rusted door.
Inside, they found you.
You stood in the center of the room, still as stone, head tilted at a wrong, unnatural angle. Your eyes—usually warm, so full of fight—were dull. Off. Watching them with the eerie calm of something that wasn’t you.
“Ah,” your voice cooed, laced with something foreign. “The mafia's little dogs have come to fetch their pet.”
Chuuya’s knuckles went white. “Get the hell out of her.”
Dazai held out an arm, cautioning him. “That’s not her talking.”
You smiled, slow and venomous, and stepped forward. There was a twitch in your jaw, a brief flash of resistance that flickered and died just as quickly. It was like watching a puppet trying to chew through its own strings.
“She’s fighting it,” Dazai said quietly. “But not for long.”
The parasite wasn’t like Q’s ability—it wasn’t just about madness or manipulation. This was physical. A parasitic ability, burrowed somewhere inside your body, anchoring itself in your nervous system. Dazai’s nullification could work—but only if they exposed the core of the parasite.
Which meant hurting you.
Dazai pulled something small and black from his coat: a stun-needle Chuuya had stolen off the black market last year. “We don’t have another option.”
“I’m not hurting her,” Chuuya said immediately. “You know I won’t.”
“Then I will,” Dazai said softly. “But you need to hold her down.”
You lunged—too fast, too sharp—and Chuuya caught you mid-sprint, wrapping his arms around your thrashing form, trying not to hear the animal sounds you made as the parasite fought back.
“I’ve got you—I’ve got you, okay?” he whispered, holding on even as your body jerked violently in his arms. “You’re gonna be fine, just hold on—hold on for me, please.”
Dazai moved fast. Ripped open the back of your shirt, fingers pressing around your spine until he felt the heat—an unnatural pulse just beneath your skin. The parasite coiled there, near your shoulder blade, squirming at his touch.
“Here we go,” he murmured.
The blade cut deep. Chuuya flinched as you screamed—your own voice, this time, not the puppetmaster’s. Your head thrashed, your hands clawing at Chuuya’s sleeves, but he didn’t let go.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, choking on the words. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Dazai reached into the wound, fingers blood-slick and surgical. Then-
Got it.
The thing squirmed between his fingers, leech-like and black and twitching.
With a flick of his ability, it crumbled into dust.
You collapsed.
Silence.
You woke to soft light and sterile sheets. Your whole body ached—like fire under your skin—but you were warm, clean, and… safe.
The infirmary smelled like antiseptic and fresh linen. The steady hum of the ventilation above you was oddly comforting.
You blinked up at the ceiling, trying to steady your breath. Every muscle in your body ached, your back especially—an echo of pain radiating from the stitched wound. But compared to what you’d felt before, this was nothing. Just pain. Manageable. Real.
Your fingers twitched under the blanket.
A chair creaked beside you.
“Hey,” Chuuya’s voice was quiet, hoarse from disuse. “You with me?”
You turned your head and saw him slouched next to your bed, one hand buried in his coat pocket, the other clenching his phone like he’d been waiting for hours—for days.
Chuuya stood slowly and leaned over you, brushing a knuckle just barely over your temple, like he wasn’t sure if touching you would hurt.
“You had us scared shitless, y’know that?” he muttered, eyes narrowed but wet at the edges.
You tried to speak, but your throat was raw. All that came out was a rasp. Chuuya immediately reached for the water on your bedside table and helped you drink, steadying the glass with a hand that trembled just slightly.
“I… made it?” you croaked.
“Yeah. You did,” Chuuya said, and the tension in his shoulders dropped just a little.
On the far wall, Dazai looked up from a medical report, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable—but softer than usual.
“You look terrible,” he said lightly, coming over. “Which means you’re going to be fine.”
You tried to sit up and winced. Pain exploded down your spine. Chuuya was at your side in an instant.
“Easy,” he said, gently easing you back down. “You took a blade to the back, remember?”
“I remember,” you whispered. “I remember everything. I couldn’t move. I was trapped inside my own body. I could hear you both, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t answer.”
Dazai leaned forward, expression more serious now. “That’s how the parasite works. Full override. You were lucky to stay conscious at all.”
You swallowed hard, voice cracking. “I tried to fight it. I did. But it felt like it was digging into me. Like it was part of me.”
“You fought harder than anyone else could have,” Chuuya said quietly. “We saw it. You slowed it down. You gave us the opening.”
You turned away slightly, tears slipping past your lashes before you could stop them. “I’m sorry. I—I could’ve hurt you. I wanted to. I wasn’t in control but it was like… part of me was still trying.”
“Don’t do that,” Chuuya said firmly. “Don’t blame yourself for something someone else did to you. You didn’t fail. You made it home.”
You wiped at your eyes, but Dazai’s coat was already tossed over you like a blanket, warm and worn. “We’ve all been there. Mind control, possession, psychological torment—it’s practically a rite of passage in our line of work.”
Chuuya gave him a sharp look. “Maybe don’t say it like that while she’s literally full of stitches, dumbass.”
But you smiled faintly. “Thanks. Both of you.”
Dazai shrugged one shoulder, but he didn’t hide the flicker of relief that crossed his face. “Just don’t make a habit of getting brain-hijacked. It’s bad for morale.”
Chuuya pulled up the blanket around you a bit more. “You’re gonna be out for a while. We’ll be here.”
“You don’t have to stay,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed how much you didn’t want them to leave.
Chuuya scoffed. “Not a damn chance.”
Dazai moved to the empty cot beside yours and flopped down onto it like it was his personal couch. “Wake me up if she tries to dramatically code out again.”
“Real comforting, jackass,” Chuuya muttered, but he didn’t move from your bedside.
There was a long, quiet moment.
Then Chuuya leaned forward, resting his arms on the bed rail, close but not touching you unless you reached first.
“You scared me,” he said, voice almost inaudible. “And I don’t scare easy.”
You blinked at him, startled. He wasn’t looking at you—just watching the blanket rise and fall with your breath.
“I’ve seen a lot of shit,” he continued, “but watching you hurt, knowing you were still in there, trying to get out…” He clenched his jaw. “If we’d been a minute later—”
“But you weren’t,” you said softly.
Chuuya finally looked at you, then down at your hand resting on the blanket.
He covered it gently with his.
“No,” he said. “We weren’t.”
A few days had passed.
Your body was healing, slowly. The pain in your back dulled from white-hot to a deep, manageable ache, and the worst of the muscle spasms had stopped. You could sit up now without help—though Chuuya still hovered like a bodyguard with a nursing license.
He was surprisingly gentle with the bandage changes.
“Try not to flinch,” he muttered as he peeled the gauze away, careful not to tug too fast. “You’ll just reopen the scab if you jerk around.”
“I’m not flinching,” you said, biting your cheek. “I’m wincing. Very different.”
“Tch. Don’t sass your medic.”
“You’re not a medic.”
“I am now.”
Chuuya dabbed antiseptic over the edge of the stitched wound, brows pinched in focus. He looked exhausted, circles under his eyes and a faint scab healing along his neck—your doing, probably. He hadn’t once brought it up.
You glanced past him, across the room.
Dazai was sitting in the windowsill, flipping through a thin paperback he hadn’t turned a page of in ten minutes. His long coat was draped over the back of your chair, his scarf still hanging from one sleeve.
“Why are you still here?” you asked suddenly.
Dazai looked up, surprised. “You trying to get rid of us already?”
“I just…” You hesitated. “You don’t usually stay for cleanup.”
Chuuya snorted, not looking up. “Believe me, I was shocked too.”
Dazai stretched out one leg and tilted his head lazily. “Normally I’d say something flippant—‘I was bored’, or ‘the vending machine here has better snacks’—but…” His gaze met yours. Calm. Honest.
“You’re part of the team,” he said simply. “Even I don’t walk out on that.”
The words settled in your chest like warmth spreading through your ribs. No dramatics, no false cheer. Just truth, the rare kind Dazai only gave when it mattered.
He turned back to his book like it hadn’t meant anything. “Besides, if I left you alone with Chuuya, you’d be bored to death by his micromanaging.”
“You say ‘micromanaging,’ I say ‘doing it right,’” Chuuya grumbled, taping a fresh bandage in place. “There. All done.”
You sat up slowly and let out a shaky breath. “Thanks.”
Chuuya looked at you, really looked—his eyes scanning your face like he still didn’t quite believe you were okay. Then, softly:
“You scared the hell outta me, y’know.”
You opened your mouth, but he shook his head.
“Don’t say sorry again,” he added. “You already did. Just…” He reached out and adjusted your blanket without meeting your eyes. “Don’t do it again.”
You nodded. Quietly. “I’ll try.”
There was a silence. Comfortable, now.
Then Dazai stood, brushing nonexistent lint from his shirt. “Since you’re no longer writhing in agony, I assume it’s safe to bring you real food again.”
Chuuya arched a brow. “You mean instead of smuggling in all those horrible convenience store snacks?”
“I’ll have you know she requested those,” Dazai said airily. “Apparently the hospital miso soup was offensive.”
“It was,” you agreed, grimacing. “I’m still traumatized.”
Dazai smiled faintly and turned toward the door. “I’ll be back in ten. Don’t let her escape.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Chuuya said, nudging your shoulder. “She’s got stitches the size of a freight line.”
“Still faster than you,” you mumbled, and Chuuya let out an incredulous laugh.
When Dazai returned, he brought soup, rice, and some weird sugary drink he claimed would “restore your will to live.”
You sat between them, shoulder brushing Chuuya’s, knees tucked up under the blanket Dazai had thrown over you earlier. No one spoke much, but you didn’t need to.
The worst had passed.
And even though you still ached, even though the memory of that thing inside you made your skin crawl, you felt grounded. Steady. Because they’d pulled you back, piece by piece. And they were still here—not because they had to be, but because they chose to be.
That was something stronger than any parasite. Stronger than fear.
That was family.
The apartment wasn’t big, but it was warm. Lived-in.
Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting soft gold across the low coffee table and the rumpled blanket someone had tossed over the back of the couch. You sat cross-legged on the floor, nursing a mug of tea that had gone lukewarm while you zoned out watching the steam fade.
Your body still ached if you moved too fast. The wound along your back pulled when you bent a certain way, and your sleep was fractured—shadows of the parasite’s control sometimes chasing you into half-lucid dreams. But it was better. Every day a little more of yourself came back.
The TV played something low and mindless. A nature documentary. Chuuya was sprawled sideways on the couch behind you, one arm hanging off the edge, absentmindedly twirling a pen between his fingers.
“You’re staring again,” you said, not turning around.
“I’m not,” he lied smoothly.
“You are. I can feel it.”
“I’m just making sure you’re not about to keel over and smash your head on the table.”
You smirked faintly into your mug. “That would be impressive considering I’ve been sitting perfectly still for the last hour.”
“That’s exactly when people do dumb shit.”
You looked back at him over your shoulder. “You can stop hovering, y’know. I’m not gonna drop dead on your carpet.”
Chuuya gave you a look. “That’s exactly what someone who’s about to drop dead would say.”
You laughed, dry but real. The sound seemed to settle something in him—he shifted down onto the floor beside you, close but not crowding, and took a sip from his own mug. Coffee, probably. Chuuya didn’t do herbal.
“Where’s Dazai?” you asked.
“Out,” Chuuya said, rolling his eyes. “He left a note that said ‘Don’t wait up’ and drew a little octopus with sunglasses.”
You snorted. “Was he… okay? Lately?”
“He’s Dazai,” Chuuya said with a sigh. “Which means yes, and also no, and also probably setting something on fire just to see how long it burns.”
But his tone wasn’t bitter—more resigned. Familiar. Like he knew Dazai’s rhythms better than anyone and didn’t expect them to change, only to cycle.
“I think it shook him,” you said quietly. “What happened. With me.”
Chuuya was quiet for a beat.
“Yeah,” he said. “It did.”
You looked down into your tea. “He hides it better than you.”
“I don’t hide anything,” Chuuya said. “I just swear a lot instead.”
The front door clicked open a moment later.
Speak of the devil.
Dazai stepped in, coat slung over one arm, scarf missing. He looked slightly windblown, one hand holding a plastic bag that he dramatically wiggled in the air.
“I come bearing gifts,” he said. “And by gifts, I mean sugar.”
He set the bag on the table, revealing a lopsided assortment of mochi, cream puffs, and some neon-pink drink that probably shouldn’t be legally ingestible.
Chuuya made a face. “That’s not food. That’s a health hazard.”
“That’s joy, Chuuya. You should try it sometime.”
You smiled tiredly and reached for one of the mochi. “Thanks.”
Dazai sat on the arm of the couch, eyes flicking over you. “How’s your pain today?”
“Manageable. Still sore. Still tired.”
He nodded. “That’s human, at least.”
The three of you sat in the soft quiet that came after shared catastrophe—no urgent mission, no blood in the air, no need to speak just to fill silence. You leaned sideways until your shoulder pressed against Chuuya’s, and he shifted just enough to steady you.
Dazai, surprisingly, didn’t make a joke. Just rested his chin in his hand and watched the light play across the hardwood floor.
“I know I said it already,” you murmured, “but… thanks. For not giving up on me.”
“Please,” Dazai said, voice mild. “Do you know how hard it is to find people who don’t scream when I walk into a room?”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “He means ‘you’re welcome.’”
You grinned.
Outside, a breeze rustled the balcony plants you hadn’t managed to kill yet.
Inside, you sat between two dangerous, complicated men—one a walking contradiction, the other a knife in a velvet glove—and for the first time in weeks, the weight in your chest didn’t feel unbearable.
SUMMARY: dazai doesn't care about stupid holidays, but when he sees everyone but him being gifted chocolates from you, he starts to find himself severely bothered. it's the principle, he tells himself—nothing more, nothing less, just the principle.... right?
(wordcount: 6.9k; fem!reader, sfw, dazai is jealous and silly. unedited.)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY LATE VALENTINE'S DAY, take pmreader and dazai being silly teens in love who refuse to tell each other how they feel in words. i had this posted on valentine's day but then turned into a big baby and deleted </3 i am still a big baby but i am a big baby who is going to leave the post up this time HAHAAH
Dazai doesn’t care about stupid holidays.
In fact, Dazai can count the things he cares about on one hand—he cares about Odasaku and Ango because they’re his friends, he cares about crab because he likes eating crab and he can recite every known fun fact about them off the top of his head, he cares about the arcade a few streets over because his favorite video game is there and he beats Chuuya every time and it’s funny watching him get mad, and he cares about you because you’re also his friend and you gave him a room in your apartment even though he could have his own but is just stubborn about not wanting to be in Mori’s building.
So, he’s not sure why his feet are rooted to the ground in Mori’s office as he stares down at the small round box of chocolates sitting on top of his desk. There’s a note on top of it that’s partially blocked from his line of view, but he can very much see your signature at the bottom of it.
You complain about Mori all the time, so it doesn’t take him long to put together that there must be a reason why you went out of your way to get him chocolates even though he knows you’ve been busy with some conflict happening in Russia. It’s not Mori’s birthday, and Dazai’s mind quickly tracks back to the stands of chocolate he saw set up on the same corner that the arcade is on.
Valentine’s Day, he realizes, eyes narrowing down on the chocolate.
“Such a dear she is. She dropped it off for me this morning,” Mori sighs when he realizes what Dazai is looking at. “Elise-chan hasn’t gotten me chocolates yet.”
“That’s because you don’t deserve chocolates, stupid Rintarou,” Elise’s familiar pitched voice comes from Dazai’s left—he hadn’t even noticed her sitting on the ground coloring because his gaze was pinned to the chocolate the moment he stepped into the room. Elise looks up at Dazai with a smile that’s just a bit too sweet, “Aw, she didn’t get you any? That’s too bad, Dazai-kun.”
Dazai’s jaw twitches at the snide comment, and he looks away from Elise back to Mori, who looks oddly intrigued by Dazai’s reaction, which is enough to let him know that he’s over-reacting, so he’s quick to smooth out his expression, even if the irritation in his chest continues to swell. He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered—he doesn’t care about stupid holidays, and he doesn’t care about chocolate. It’s really not a big deal, but he can’t seem to snuff out the growing annoyance.
“I’m sure she’ll give you one later, Dazai-kun,” Mori says with a placating smile that almost sends Dazai over the edge. “No need to fret.”
“I’m not-” he starts to say, but is cut off quickly by Elise.
“Or, maybe she just doesn’t like him enough to give him any,” Elise says with gleeful giggle. “How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?”
Dazai doesn’t take anything anyone says to him or about him to heart, but he especially knows not to take anything Elise says to heart, considering the girl’s ardent distaste for him. He’s never been sure why she hates him so much, but he figures that it’s because he can make her disappear with his ability, and he’s half-tempted to grab her arm and do just that, but he knows it’ll only make Mori even more interested in why he’s so emotional over this. That’s the last thing he wants considering he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so worked up about it.
But what did Elise even mean? Why would you tell them that he forced his way into your life? If anything, you’re the one who forced yourself into his life when you showed up at his shipping compartment during that winter storm a few months ago. He just… capitalized on it, that’s all. You would’ve kicked him out if you didn't want him hanging around, but you didn’t. And Elise is known for twisting the truth, but then… Why didn’t you give him chocolates? That’s the whole point of the holiday, right? To show appreciation for the people in your life?
It’s not the holiday that’s bothering him, it’s the principle.
Dazai is suddenly ten times more antsy than he was when he first noticed the chocolates. There must be a logical explanation for this—maybe you really are giving him them later, or maybe you’re only giving them to Mori because you have to. Snidely, he notes that the chocolates you gave him looked like they could be bought at a convenience store, so it’s not like you put much effort into it.
“Elise-chan,” Mori chides, although he still sounds terribly amused, violet eyes glittering as he scrutinizes Dazai. “Don’t say such cruel things. I taught our hime to have good manners, Dazai-kun will get chocolates from her, even if they’re just obligatory.”
Obligatory, Dazai has to force himself not to physically blanch at the word. He thinks he would almost prefer not to get chocolates from you. How are you just going to give obligatory chocolates to someone you live with? You guys are friends, aren’t you? He doesn’t know much at all about Valentine’s Day, but he does know that there’s different types of chocolate depending on your relationship with the person, and he thinks he’ll jump off the roof if you give Chuuya nicer chocolates than him.
Chuuya.
“I have to go,” Dazai says abruptly, turning to leave.
“Goodbye, Dazai-kun,” Mori sings, much to Dazai’s surprise. He was half-expecting Mori to tell him to sit back down so they could go over whatever he was called to his office for. He still doesn’t even know why the man called him up here—maybe it was just to flaunt the chocolates he received, Dazai thinks bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”
“I would!” Elise calls after him as he lets the door slam shut behind him, but Dazai doesn’t pay her any mind.
Surely Chuuya wouldn’t have gotten chocolates if he didn’t, right?
———
“Give me those right now.”
Chuuya pauses from where he’s about to pop a round chocolate into his mouth, eyes cutting to the side in irritation when he realizes that Dazai is standing in the doorframe of his office. Dazai is tense and jittery all at the same time—he’s not even looking at Chuuya, he’s staring at the set of chocolates sitting open on his desk and the familiar handwriting on the note next to it. Chuuya’s set is much nicer than Mori’s; they’re his favorite truffles, imported in from Belgium, and there’s a red wine on his desk to go along with it.
It makes Dazai sick.
“The fuck?” Chuuya asks, sitting up a bit straighter and giving Dazai a weird look before pointedly eating the chocolate in his hand. Dazai’s eye twitches. “What’s your problem this time, you freak?”
“I said give me those right now,” Dazai repeats, inhaling deeply as he takes a few steps closer. “Give me them.”
Chuuya looks a bit concerned now, grabbing the chocolates you gave him and dragging them closer to him. Dazai is undeterred, stalking forward and reaching quickly for them. Chuuya reacts faster, snatching them off the table and holding them close to his chest.
“Fuck off,” Chuuya spits, sounding confused and irritated all at the same time. “What the hell is your problem?”
Dazai could think of an excuse—they’ve been tampered with, poisoned, you accidentally gave him the wrong ones and you sent him here to grab them before Chuuya ate them all—but the only thing that escapes his lips is the same demand.
“Give me the chocolates.”
“What?” Chuuya demands. “No, you fucking psycho, get out of my office.”
Dazai’s hand instinctively twitches in the direction of his gun, and Chuuya catches it from the way his eyes shoot open.
“Yo,” Chuuya says loudly, rising to his feet. “What the fuck, Dazai?”
Logically, Dazai knows that whether he gets the chocolates from Chuuya or not, it won’t change anything. It’s the principle of it that’s the issue. Even if he manages to get his hands on the chocolates, you gave them to Chuuya and you didn’t give them to Dazai, but still, the sight of Chuuya with them is setting Dazai off in ways that he just can’t seem to get under wraps.
“Give me-”
Chuuya’s face twists in irritation and he slams the chocolates down on his desk before walking around it in Dazai’s direction. Instead of making a smart decision and running out of his office before he can get a faceful of Chuuya’s fist, he takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the chocolates he put down, throwing them onto the ground and driving his heel right into the box.
“You bastard,” Chuuya shouts, grabbing Dazai by the collar of his jacket hard and throwing him hard into the side of his desk. Dazai barely withholds a wince as the corner of Chuuya’s desk drives deep into his side, crumpling to the ground hard. Chuuya kneels down to see if there’s anything left to salvage of the chocolates you gave him, but finds himself sorely disappointed. “What’s your fucking issue, Dazai?”
Stubbornly, Dazai doesn’t respond, raising his chin and meeting Chuuya’s gaze, trying to pretend that there is no issue and like he isn’t acting deranged over chocolates.
Not chocolates, he reminds himself, the principle.
“I knew you were weird about her but jeez,” Chuuya scoffs, picking up the mess of chocolates on his floor, brows furrowed in irritation. “You can’t even handle her giving someone else chocolates on Valentine’s Day. You need some serious fucking help, man. It’s the whole point of the goddamn day. You gonna go around and take everyone’s chocolates, you possessive freak?”
Dazai cringes and can’t stop himself as he asks quietly, “How many people has she given them too?”
Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake—his voice came out all wrong and Chuuya notices it from the way he squints and frowns. He forces his expression to clear of any possible emotions and rises back to his feet, tilting his head to the side as he dares Chuuya to point out that his voice wavered when he asked the question.
“I don’t fucking know,” Chuuya shrugs, side-eyeing him suspiciously but choosing not to point out the weird tone he asked the question in. “She came in with a ton this morning, figured I was the last since she didn’t have any left with her when she came up here before.”
Oh, Dazai thinks, staring at Chuuya absently. Dazai didn’t anticipate that. At once, both of his theories to explain why you didn’t give him chocolates are disproven, and Dazai falters. If you came in with all of them at once and had none left by the time you got to Chuuya, then all signs pointed to that you’re just not giving Dazai chocolate for Valentine’s Day.
But why? Dazai doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong lately—in fact, he’s barely even had time to talk to you lately because you’ve been busy talking with your informants in Eastern Russia. You spent most days in Tokyo, and by the time you got back to your apartment, Dazai was out on his own missions. He hasn’t had the chance to do anything wrong, unless him just being around you is wrong.
How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?
Elise is known for twisting the truth, she doesn’t usually lie about things—why did you tell them that he forced himself into your life? Do you not want him staying at your apartment? Mori did mention that he taught you to have good manners and he never says anything without there being an ulterior motive behind it. Was he trying to imply that you’re just being polite in letting him stay? Dazai doesn’t know; he’s always struggled to read you, but you’ve always made him feel welcome and wanted more than anyone else. It disconcerted him for a while, but he’s grown used to it in a way that he probably shouldn’t have.
Now, he’s doubting it all.
Chuuya’s eyes suddenly widen, his small brain clearly realizing something it wasn’t meant to. Dazai’s gaze hardens as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever it is he wants to say, but instead of speaking, the slug snorts. His hand flies to his mouth to smother the noise, but he just can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter. Dazai bristles.
“What?” he demands.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chuuya howls, eyes tearing up as he laughs so hard that he wheezes. Dazai stiffens but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and that’s evidently an answer enough for him. “God, shitty Dazai, you’d think you of all people would know better. Get the fuck out of my office.”
Dazai doesn’t want to admit he has no idea what Chuuya’s talking about, but he also isn’t going to let Chuuya order him around, so he stands there stubbornly until Chuuya rises to his feet to grab Dazai by the back of his jacket again. Dazai instinctively drives his elbow hard into Chuuya’s chest, but he’s unbothered by it, shoving Dazai forward through the door of his office.
Chuuya gives him a mocking smile and goads, “How about you go ask her why she didn’t give you chocolates?”
Before Dazai has the chance to shoot back a snide comment, Chuuya slams the door right in his face. It’s not the principle that’s bothering him, Dazai realizes glumly, it’s the implication that maybe he’s been wrong about his friendship with you this whole time.
———
Dazai doesn’t even get out of the main building before he runs into someone else who has chocolates that are definitely gifted by you considering it’s your new partner. Itou Asahi is lounging in the lobby of headquarters with Hirotsu and a few members of the Black Lizards that Dazai doesn’t recognize. Dazai has never particularly liked the man—in fact, Dazai despises him and he despises how you seem to think the world of him—but now, his jaw is tight as he glares at the man from across the lobby.
Itou seems to be able to feel the daggers being shot in his direction. He looks up as he pops a chocolate into his mouth, eyes narrow as he tries to pinpoint who exactly is staring at him so intensely and pauses when he notices Dazai. He nudges Hirotsu, and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that Hirotsu also has a set of chocolates that he hasn’t opened on the couch next to where he’s sitting with a note that Dazai can’t read from the distance but is the same pale pink parchment that Mori’s and Chuuya’s were written on.
Mori. Chuuya. Itou. Hirotsu. Why not him? What did he do?
Dazai sneers in Itou’s direction when the man lifts his hand and awkwardly waves, turning on his feet to leave the building. He had been planning on going to your apartment to sulk to see if you notice that he’s wildly irritated over the fact that he’s not received chocolates from you, but instead, he’s going to go grab a cheap bottle of whiskey from the nearest liquor store and drown himself in his misery back at his shipping container.
He doesn’t know what he did to you, and he thought if he did something wrong, you would’ve said something to him instead of icing him out. Isn’t that what you preach to him? Communication? Yes, Dazai sucks at it and has made no attempts to be better about it, but since you’re the one preaching it, you should at least have the decency to act as you preach.
You’re such a hypocrite, Dazai thinks bitterly, his throat feels clogged and his chest feels tight and his side hurts a shit ton—he doesn’t like any of this, and with each passing second, he’s becoming increasingly more bothered by this situation.
He’s not irritated anymore, he’s just hurt.
———
Dazai doesn’t end up going right to the shipping container. It’s late afternoon on a Friday, so when he’s halfway to the convenience store, he decides to make a pitstop at Bar Lupin to see if Odasaku and Ango are already hanging there. Luckily, one thing can go right for him today, because the two of them are in fact already sitting in their designated stools drinking their alcohol of choice.
Neither of them have said much of anything to him since he’s arrived besides greeting him. He wonders if he interrupted them—very extremely sour, he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case considering he seems to be a burden on just about every single person he thinks is his friend.
“I didn’t have a mission scheduled for today,” Dazai replies flatly, unable to muster the energy to put on an energetic front for the two of them. Usually, he doesn’t need to fake it around them because he does genuinely have a good time with them, but he’s just in such a bad mood because of everything with you and all of the newfound doubts plaguing him that it’s impossible for him to take his mind off of it. “Why would I be busy?”
Odasaku and Ango share a look with one another, Dazai catches the way Ango subtly shakes his head and is instantly suspicious. Odasaku either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be spending it with…”
Odasaku trails off when Ango’s headshakes become more frequent, but Dazai already knows what he was about to say. Stiffly, he asks, “Why would I spend Valentine’s Day with her?”
Ango’s smile is unsure as he shares another look with Odasaku before turning his attention toward Dazai and prodding, “Did something happen?”
“No.” Neither of them respond to his sharp answer, and after a few moments, Dazai blurts out, “She doesn’t want me living at her apartment anymore.”
“What-” Ango begins before seemingly rethinking his question, letting out a sigh. “Did she tell you that?”
“No,” Dazai says after a second, “but I know.”
“How do you know?” Ango presses. “Did you overhear her talking to someone?”
“Well, no,” Dazai responds awkwardly, “but I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she didn’t get me chocolates,” Dazai finally explodes, voicing the words that have been bothering him all day. “She got Mori chocolates. She got the slug chocolates. She got her moron of a partner chocolates. She even got Hirotsu chocolates, but she didn’t get me chocolates. And Elise said that she told her and Mori that I forced my way into her life. Isn’t that rich? She’s the one that forced her way into my life. I don’t need her, I never did. I just liked her stupid apartment. I could get my own if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to put in the work.”
Dazai thought maybe getting all of his complaints out would make him feel better, but he only feels worse, because half of that isn’t even true. He likes being able to bother you at night instead of rotting alone in his shitty shipping container, and he likes when you make him coffee in the morning before heading out to a meeting. He likes Friday night movies and he likes forcing you to play video games just so he could beat you and brag about it. You told him that you were his friend, so shouldn’t you like doing all of that with him too instead of it being a burden?
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Odasaku asks bluntly, never one to mince his words. Dazai slowly turns his head to look at the older man, barely catching the way Ango briefly shuts his eyes in exasperation. “I mean, you don’t even know if she’s not getting you any yet. You’re just assuming. The day isn’t over.”
Odasaku is usually logical, and he’s one of the few people who Dazai will take the advice of without question, but this time, Dazai shakes his head. He knows that’s not the case, you brought all of your chocolates to headquarters, and you handed them all out and didn’t give any to him. You knew he didn’t have a mission today so it’s not like he was busy, and even if he was, you could’ve given them to him this morning before he left. And either way, it’s not like that explains what Elise said.
“You should head back to her apartment,” Odasaku continues. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai says, becoming increasingly more incensed with each passing second. He knew befriending you was a bad idea—nobody actually wants to be Dazai’s friend once they get to know him, it’s been true his whole life, he’s still half-convinced that Odasaku and Ango only humor him because they think he’ll just kill himself. Once people start to see how odd and fucked in the head he really is, they start to distance themselves from him; you can’t distance yourself from him since he’s living with you, so this is just your way of silently telling him you’ve had enough. He knew things would turn out this way, and he hates the way it still makes his chest hurt. He rises to his feet abruptly, “I am going to head back to her apartment—so I can pack my stuff and leave.”
“Dazai,” Ango calls after him, but Dazai doesn’t respond, storming out of Bar Lupin without another word.
He doesn’t need you, he tells himself again, willing the pain in his chest to turn into something more manageable—anger, resentment, but preferably, he just wants to be indifferent. He doesn’t need you and he knew this was going to happen, so it’s time for him to just take the hint and go on his way, back to how things were before you forced yourself into his life.
———
You’re not there when he gets back to your apartment and you’re not there by the time he gets his things together and leaves. He was especially frustrated when he found himself disappointed by that, because he realized he was unintentionally wasting time packing his things because he was hoping you would show up and stop him.
But you didn’t, so Dazai is now back at his shipping container huddled under a blanket because it’s cold. He’s almost done with his first bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the pain in his side and all of the shitty emotions he just can’t seem to rid himself of. It’s been three hours since he moved his stuff back into his shipping container; you should be back at the apartment by now—it’s thirty minutes off when the two of you watch your Friday night movies, and you’re usually back at your apartment getting snacks together with him by now.
You’ve realized he’s gone by now. Dazai hasn’t checked his phone, mostly because he doesn’t want to know if you cared enough to reach out. If he’s right about all of this, you’ll just take it as a blessing and move on, not wanting to risk an opportunity arising where you’d have to be polite and ask him to come back. As if he would. If Odasaku is right though… No, Dazai isn’t even going to go down that route, the last thing he needs is-
He’s startled when he hears three loud bangs on the metal wall of his shipping container. Instantly, his gaze focuses on the door. He knows it can only be one of two people, because you and Chuuya are the only ones shameless enough to come by without warning. Odasaku and Ango would text first and everyone else is too wary of him to come anywhere near the shipping yard, much less bang right on his door.
“Dazai, open up! What the hell?” He hears you shout from the other side of the thin wall. “It’s cold, come on! What are you even doing out here?”
You came looking for him, Dazai realizes, swallowing thickly. Dazai isn’t often wrong about things, so he doesn’t dare get his hopes up and he doesn’t respond to you. The roll up door rattles as you try to pull it up, but Dazai doesn’t budge to help you. It’s locked, so you won’t be able to open it and Dazai just waits for you to leave so he can go back to sulking in peace.
“Dazai, come on,” you complain. “What’s wrong? I was waiting for you back at the apartment, why didn’t you come home?”
Though Dazai intended on just ignoring you until you went away, he can’t help the snide comment that escapes his lips, “Home? You mean your apartment?”
He immediately takes another swig of whiskey, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to take away from the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue. From the way you pause, you seem to realize something is wrong—extra snidely, he wonders when you became as slow as Chuuya.
“Yeah, my apartment, the place you’ve been living at for three months?” you say incredulously and Dazai winces. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” Dazai asks coolly. “Maybe you should be answering that instead. You’re a hypocrite.”
He knows that will set you off—he’s always been good at getting under people’s skin—and he’s noticed how you bristle whenever Mori hits you with “Now, dear, let’s not be hypocritical.” He can almost imagine the way you go stiff and the way your face goes cold, but it doesn’t bring him the malicious satisfaction he expects.
Instead, he only feels heavier.
Unfair, he thinks tightly. You’re always so unfair.
“Can you let me in?” you ask after a few moments of silence. Dazai is even more bothered now that he didn’t get the reaction he expected, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’d prefer not to freeze to death out here.”
This time when you ask, Dazai finds himself rising to his feet. He hasn’t drank enough yet to be unsteady, but he can certainly feel the blood rush to his head as soon as he stands up.
He makes his way over to the door, only fumbling once with the lock. He doesn’t slide it open for you just to be petty, but he doesn’t need to anyway—as soon as you hear the lock click open, you’re pulling open the door and Dazai pointedly turns his back to you before you can step in.
“Seriously?” you ask. Much to Dazai’s pleasure, you do sound a bit irritated now. “Dazai, what the hell? Why are you acting so weird?”
“Me?” Dazai demands, voice shrill at the sheer audacity you have coming to his shipping container and insulting him after what you did. Didn’t do. Same thing. He whips around to face you, a barrage of snide comments about to fall from his lips only to hesitate when he sees a fancy box in your hands. “... What is that?”
Your gaze sharpens and your brows furrow. You move the box out of sight behind your back, but Dazai dances around you to try to get a better look at it. The two of you play a game of swivels and twists for a few moments, but Dazai has to call it quits when the pain in his side gets worse and the alcohol goes right to his head.
You give him a concerned look, but don’t press about the way he winces. Instead, you say, “Tell me what your problem is first. Why are you drinking here alone in the dark?”
“... No,” Dazai says after a second. “What’s in the box?”
Dazai really doesn’t want to get his hopes up, so he chews the inside of his cheek and rocks back and forth from his toes to heels, hands clasped behind his back as he tries to distract himself. You roll your eyes, but your lips curl up into a fond smile that almost eases all of the stress Dazai has felt all day. Almost.
After what feels like an eternity, you pass the box over to him and Dazai immediately darts forward to grab it before you can change your mind. Though he knows what it is before he opens it, he can’t control the relief that floods him when he sees the expensive chocolates sitting inside the box—most of them are shaped in the typical Valentine’s Day heart, but some of them are-
“They’re crabs,” Dazai says gleefully, a genuine smile spreading widely across his lips as he reaches down to pluck one out of the box and pop it into his mouth. The chocolate is soft and creamy, it melts in his mouth the moment it touches his tongue and he lets out a delighted hum. He eats another, and then another after that. “How did you get them crab shaped?”
You don’t answer the question; you stare at the chocolates, conflicted, and Dazai isn’t sure why. You seem to be trying to decide whether or not you want to say something, but you let out a sigh, seemingly deciding against it.
Instead of whatever you were debating on saying, you rest your hand on your hip and ask him, “Why did you take all of your stuff out of your room?”
Your room, Dazai swallows the chocolate in his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to your question. He doesn’t really want to admit that he had a meltdown triggered by the chocolate that you just handed him, and you do seem genuinely put off by the fact that he left. Maybe he was wrong, he thinks, pressing his lips together as he considers the possibility. He’s hardly ever wrong, but he supposes it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve managed to surprise him; since the day he met you, he feels like his mind is dulled when you’re around. He hates it.
So, he throws Elise under the bus.
“Elise said that you told her I forced myself into your life,” he says, voice coming out far more bitter than he intended for it to. He raises his chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t want to keep imposing.”
Your expression flickers momentarily and you look a bit hurt, Dazai immediately swallows another chocolate, hopeful that he’ll swallow the sudden guilt he feels along with it. He doesn’t.
“Mori was trying to get me to convince you to live in the apartment he has set up for you in the main building,” you explain quietly after a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told him that he was better off trying to convince you himself because it was your decision to stay at mine. I didn’t have much of a say in it.”
Dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and because he has no self control, he starts to ask, “But if you did have a say in it…”
Your expression softens in a way that makes Dazai’s stomach turn in on itself and your eyes flicker down to the box he’s holding before you quickly look back up at him. The box of chocolates in his hands suddenly feels a lot heavier, and his grip instinctively tightens around it.
“I… my apartment is a bit too big to live in alone,” you answer, and then add, “I would prefer you stayed.”
Dazai doesn’t respond, but his gaze does dart down to the three bags of clothes he brought back to the shipping container with him, all still packed. It wasn’t all of his stuff, just enough for it to be noticeable to you when you went to his room looking for him. Maybe he had been hoping you would come bring him back.
“I don’t have a movie picked out for tonight, if you want to pick,” you offer when the silence stretches on.
Dazai glances down at the chocolates you gave him again and then he says, “The Discovery channel has a new documentary on -”
“No.”
“What?” Dazai demands. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I am not watching another crab documentary, Dazai.”
“The last one was good.”
“The last one bored me to tears.”
Dazai rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick up one of his bags and you grab the other two after sending a narrowed look to his left side, slinging them over your shoulder as you step outside of the shipping container. Dazai follows you, rolling the door back down before giving you a mocking look.
“So you just want to watch one of those stupid superhero movies again? The only one actually entertained by them is bird-brained Chuuya, anyone with two brain cells knows how it ends just from the first scene,” he says snidely, enjoying the way you immediately scowl at him.
“Just because you know how it’s going to end doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining,” you argue. “You can be entertained by something predictable.”
“Not me,” Dazai sings as he follows you out of the shipping container yard and to the road. Much to Dazai’s displeasure, he realizes that you did not come here alone—your new partner is sitting in the front seat of the car waiting on the side of the road, scrolling through his phone. Distastefully, he demands, “Why is he here?”
“He drove me,” you say like it’s obvious. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”
“Nothing,” Dazai mutters, making sure to give the older boy a dark look as he slides into the back seat.
He expects you to get into the passenger seat, but instead you move to sit in the back with him. Before you do, he stiffens as he remembers his clothes were not the only thing he stole from your apartment. Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you place your hand on your hip.
“What else did you take before leaving?”
Dazai sulks at how easily you figured out what the issue is and lies when he repeats, “Nothing.”
“If we get back home and immediately have to come back out here, I’m going to waterboard you, Dazai,” you say flatly.
“I’ve been waterboarded before,” he says stubbornly.
“Not by me,” you threaten.
Dazai sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest.
“I stole all of the remotes in the apartment,” he admits, shifting to push himself up to walk back over to the shipping container, wincing again when he shifts the wrong way. He pauses when you roll your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him.
“I’ll get them,” you say. “Stay here.”
“Don’t leave me with him,” Dazai complains, but you slam the door in his face.
Instantly, the light and playful expression drops from his face as he turns his attention to the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Itou Asahi. The blonde raises his eyebrows tauntingly, as if he’s daring Dazai to say something to him, and Dazai has half a mind to reach for the gun stuffed in the pocket of his black jacket. He refrains if only because he doesn’t want to piss you off even more.
After a moment, Itou twists in his seat to look at Dazai. Dazai’s eye twitches in irritation, realizing that he’s about to speak to him.
He nods to the box of chocolates. “She spent a month at my place trying to get it right.”
Though Dazai planned on ignoring him, he can’t stop the quiet, “What?” that slips from his mouth.
“The chocolates,” Itou says like Dazai is stupid, which irritates him but he’s still confused so he’s forced to wait for him to explain. “She tried custom ordering the crab shaped ones but had a tantrum because they looked ugly. So she spent a month learning how to make them so she could mold them on her own. She only just finished this batch today—still isn’t satisfied with how they came out, but ran out of time.”
Dazai’s throat swells up as he stares down at the chocolates, an odd warmth spreading through his chest that he can’t snuff out. Scrutinizing them more carefully now, he sees all of the tiny imperfections that wouldn’t be there if you’d store bought them—the hearts aren’t all perfectly even, some of the legs on the crabs are longer than others, there’s an indent on the back of the heart shaped chocolate he’s holding like you’d touched it while it was too soft.
His fingers close around it carefully, lips parting to speak but he can’t find any words. When did you have the time though? You’ve had so many missions lately-
Oh.
“All the missions in Tokyo…”
“Her missions were learning how to fucking make chocolate and they were in my apartment, not Tokyo,” Itou scoffs. “I’m never going to be able to eat chocolate again in my life the amount she’s force fed me. I can hardly stand the smell of it now. I had to send her to Nakahara for him to taste test the last few batches.”
Dazai’s gaze sharpens, obscenely bothered at the thought of Itou Ashi and Nakahara Chuuya being your taste testers and Itou is complaining about it. “You should be grateful you got to try her chocolate,” he snaps immediately.
Itou’s jaw drops and he immediately shakes his head. “You two are so fucking-” he starts to say but cuts himself off when he sees you approaching the car again.
Dazai squints at him, almost wanting to dare him to continue, but his expression lightens when you open the door, remotes in hand and an irritated expression still painted on your face.
He only moves over enough to give you room to sit instead of moving to sit behind the driver’s seat. You squint at him, but Dazai gives you a small smile and says quietly, “My chocolates are much nicer than Chuuya’s.”
Your expression immediately softens and your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze—the telltale sign of you being flustered. Dazai’s lips part to say something else, but no words come out, gaze pinned on the pretty glow the moonlight casts over your face. You look like you want to say something as you look down at the chocolates again, but again, you seem to decide against it.
“How do you even know what Chuuya got?” you ask suddenly, clearing your throat. Dazai freezes. “And what happened to your side? Every time you move you’re wincing.”
“I… stopped by his office and saw them?” he offers, his next smile is too sweet, and you catch it from the way your eyes narrow. Defensively, he says, “The slug didn’t deserve chocolates from you.”
“Oh my god, Dazai,” you complain, burying your face in your hands.
Dazai’s face flames up, and he shoots a dirty look in Itou’s direction when the older boy bursts into laughter.
“I can’t stand you,” you sigh, but when you shift in your seat, you shift so that you’re sitting a little closer to Dazai, shoulder pressed against his and thighs knocking together.
He glances down at the box of chocolates in his lap again, and the chocolate heart resting in his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he passes it over to you. You give him a questioning look, but Dazai pointedly looks away as he wills his cheeks not to reflect his flustered thoughts, waiting for you to take it. His breath catches when your fingers brush his hand as you take it from him.
“Thanks,” you say softly.
Instead of directly responding, Dazai prods, “So, about the crab documentary…”
You let out a heavy sigh as you side eye him. “Fine,” you agree, “but you’re doing the garbage this week.”
“What?!” he demands. “It’s not my turn.”
“The price you pay for forcing me to watch nature documentaries for movie night.”
“It’s not just nature, it’s crabs.”
“Deal or no deal?”
“Fine. Deal.”
“Good,” you say with a saccharine smile that Dazai doesn’t like because he knows you’re thinking something bad. “Deal.”
After a few moments, you add, “I would’ve put it on even if you didn’t agree.”
“I’m going back to my shipping container.”
You laugh loudly, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat at the sound of it. He very much ignores the way Itou shoots an amused look back at them, focusing instead on the way your eyes glitter as your laughs fizzle into soft giggles.
“As if,” you say, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll just drag you back again. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”
His lips curl up into a small smile in response to your words, gaze dropping back down to the chocolates sitting in his lap, and then back to you.
“Will you?” he asks quietly, a bit too seriously.
Your smile softens, and Dazai’s heart lodges right in his throat. “Count on it.”
REQUEST: Yay!! If I may, could I request a love potion prompt with Chuuya? Basically, Chuuya is hit by an ability that makes the affected person become infatuated with the first person in their line of sight. The effects last for 2 days. Chuuya sees the reader and acts flirty and protective. When 2 days pass, Chuuya is still acting flirty and protective.
Eventually, the reader confronted the user and as it turns out, Chuuya was already in love with the reader. I hope this is okay. If you aren't able to do it, I completely understand.
NOTE: I’m currently planning to rewatch all of BSD cause I have not written about any of the characters in FOREVERRRRR but I also love this request especially with Chuuya 🙂↕️reader is gender neutral!
CW: gender neutral reader, no warnings!!
It happened suddenly, you were told.
Chuuya was struck by a foreign ability, getting slammed into the wall and falling unconscious shortly after. You tried to get more information out the men that brought him to you, but they were still shaken. They weren’t used to seeing their boss lose, falling to the enemy— no one was. But you had to steel your nerves and do your job.
You scanned over Chuuya’s body, already checking for any major injuries. No broken bones, no internal bleeding— nothing with the exception of some scrapes. Your main concern was whatever ability he was hit with. It didn’t seem to leave anything physical, but he still hasn’t woken up.
You were a professional, but even your worries were starting to break through.
You checked his breathing for maybe the third time, finishing another brain scan— everything still appearing normal. But you knew that it wasn’t. It’s late, and he was still asleep. Could this ability put him in a coma? Was an ability even powerful enough to do that? Was it set on a timer? Could it be days, months, years before he could wake up? When you report your findings to Koyou, you would have to ask to meet this user—
A shuffle, followed by a groan, filled your ears.
You held your breath when Chuuya opened his eyes, trying his best to sit up. He looked dazed, hissing when he stretched the wrong way.
“Hey hey— take it easy.” You rushed over, gently finishing tugging him up. You could breathe now, knowing that he was finally awake. You’ve already had your stethoscope around your neck— his heartbeat sounded normal, albeit a little quick. It made sense, he went through a lot today and was more than likely confused.
“What…happened?”
“You got hurt on a mission. You’ve been out for a while now. You don’t have any major injuries.” You picked up a flashlight next, ready to check his pupils next. “But you did get hit with an ability. I don’t what the effects are just yet—“
What you noticed made you pause.
You know how Chuuya’s eyes are supposed to look. A deep blue that never hid how he felt. You lost count just how many times he’s caught you staring.
You know how they look.
Never once had they had hearts in them.
Hearts that seemed to pulse with his own beat.
You blinked and it was gone, but you saw them. You saw them. Your eyes couldn’t have been playing tricks on you.
But you didn’t have time to ponder on anything.
Chuuya’s fingers grazed your cheek, traveling down to hold your chin, tilting it up. His face was flushed, eyes lowered and flickering from your own to your lips.
And he was leaning in.
You wanted to sink. You wanted to fall into it— how many times have you pictured this exact moment? Your eyes were starting to flutter close when you remembered his eyes— the heartbeats— and then jolted back. Something was wrong with Chuuya, that much was clear. You couldn’t take advantage of him in this state. You needed to help him first.
Your back almost hit the wall when Chuuya stopped you, holding you concerned. His arms wrapped around your waist felt both comforting and burning.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”
“No I just—“ You took a breath, thoughts all over the place. “Chuuya this isn’t right—“
“Tell me what’s wrong. You don’t want me to hold you?” It was hard to look him in his eyes, seeing him be so worried and hurt.
“No I do but— not like this. You’re not in the right state of mind. You were hit with some kind of ability that’s making you act out like this—“
“I’m not out of my mind for wanting you!”
“But you’re clearly not your usual self either! Look just—“
Your stumbling stopped when the door swung open, one of the previous men that carried him walking in. He was about to start with his report until his eyes landed on you both. You wanted to sink into the wall and disappear— you weren’t expecting to be in this position let alone be seen.
No one said anything, the man just frozen and staring at you both. He didn’t move until Chuuya cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes.
“You mind? We’re in the middle of something.” He growled. “Quit staring and get the hell out!”
A weak yes sir left the lower rank as he rushed out, passing a confused Kouyou who also froze at the scene.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No!”
“Yes.”
You ended up breaking free of Chuuya’s hold, who scoffed at the interruption. It didn’t stop him from still reaching for your hand, rolling your eyes at his stubbornness.
This was going to be exhausting.
———-
48 hours.
The user said that Chuuya would be like this for 48 hours.
A lot could happen in 2 days. And you’re not sure if you’re even going to survive with him acting like this.
Chuuya was practically your shadow, hovering around you any moment he could. You weren’t used to him being so clingy, but a part of you felt ashamed at how much you were starting to get used to it, even looking forward to it at times. You did daily checkups on him, sometimes coming across the pulsating hearts again— but even without it, his behavior was still abnormal.
Holding hands, the pet names, flirting, swiping his black card on you for everything, being territorial around the others— it was just a sliver of what he was doing under this ability.
On the outside, you put on a brave face. On the inside, you wanted to scream. Life was cruel— waving something in your face that you’ve been craving and pleading for forever, only for it to be not true. For it to only be an illusion. But you could handle it, or that’s what you keep telling yourself to stop your breakdown from happening.
“Give us the room.”
Chuuya’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. The tense frown he shot the guard melted away as he turned to you. “Here— you’ve been cooped up in here all day.”
He had a bag in his hand—which had to be food from how good it was smelling— already clearing off some space on your table. You were a little embarrassed when your stomach started growling and he chuckled, sliding it over to you.
You were touched— he remembered your favorite restaurant. Even got the order right.
“What’s the occasion for?”
“I miss you.” He didn’t miss a beat.
“…Chuuya I saw you 2 hours ago.”
“So?” You don’t know when he got beside you, bringing you into his side. You were close enough to smell the expensive cologne on his collar and lingering on his coat. “I still miss you.”
“It’s only because of that ability.” You poked at him.
Chuuya turned and took a hold of your finger, soon using it to lace your hands together and pull you, somehow landing on his chest, which you felt rumble with laughter. You’re convinced that your heart was going to give out at any second despite how comfortable you were getting.
But if you could keep pretending to not notice the adoration in Chuuya’s eyes, ignoring his sweet words and lingering touches, then you could survive these 2 days.
———
Some time has passed, and Chuuya still hasn’t gone back to normal.
The user swore that their ability’s worn off by now. No matter how much Kouyou “interrogated” them, their answer didn’t change— the ability isn’t affecting him anymore. But Chuuya himself didn’t change. If anything, it started to become the norm.
“He was already in love with you!” The user groaned out. “That’s the reason why.”
“Why should we believe you?”
“Because my ability only lasts for 2 days- it doesn’t go longer than that, even if I wanted it to. I’m not powerful enough to make it extend.”
You were in denial, but even Kouyou seemed to believe them. Deep down you knew it was true— you wanted to believe it to be the truth— but you didn’t want to give in to false hope. You don’t think your heart could handle anymore grief.
“Ready to go home?”
Chuuya walked in your office shooting you that same gentle smile, already grabbing your stuff out of your arms and slinging it over his shoulder. His hand rested on the small of your back as he guided you out.
“Okay I can’t take this anymore.”
“Take wh—“
You grabbed at his face, holding both of his cheeks in your hands squeezing. You’ve always played this moment out in your head— Chuuya professing his love for you before claiming your lips, you both smiling ear to ear. That’s how you’ve always imagined it to go. Not you going mad and medically examining him on a spot paranoid that he’s still affected.
“You don’t have the hearts anymore, so why are you still acting weird?” You groaned frustratingly, accidentally squeezing and pinching Chuuya tighter. He hissed, ripping himself away from your hands holding his face.
“What the hell— what did I do?!”
“You’re still under the influence from that ability—there’s no other reason why you would still be acting this way!” You didn’t mean to yell, but you were getting worked up. You were on your last rope, the last of your mental stability on the brink of snapping.
“Wait.” Chuuya took a step towards you, making you take a step back. “You think that I’m still under the influence from the ability?” Another step. “You’ve been thinking that this whole time?” You winced at the anger and hurt in his voice.
“Can you blame me Chuuya?” You finally broke. You were already in too deep with your feelings, with no way out no matter how much you tried, even before this whole fiasco. A part of you wanted to get over Chuuya, to forget what you felt for him and only treat him as the executive that he is. But the other part of you, the one that won over, wanted to be selfish, be naive and stay in love. You wanted to hold out hope that maybe he felt the same way.
All this did was make things worse— for the both of you it seems. It wasn’t fair to either of you, and you felt stupid for even entertaining it—
Chuuya called your name, his arms finding themselves around your waist, his voice filled with concern. You wanted to break out of his hold and run away, hiding yourself away for the remainder of your days. But you couldn’t do that, and his touch felt so comforting that all you wanted to do was stay.
“Hey, why would you think that?” You’ve never heard him be so delicate before. “Did I do something to make you think that?”
“No it’s— you didn’t do anything to me Chuuya! You never did, I promise.” You swore.
“And you still don’t believe me.” He said it as more of a statement than asking you. Your stomach dropped when he turned deathly quiet.
“What can I do to prove it to you?”
You were taken aback by how serious he got, how intense the look in his azure eyes was.
“Prove what?”
“What can I do to prove that I’m in love with you?”
Chuuya leaned in, his lips ghosted over yours. You remember the first time this happened, how you saw the literal hearts in his eyes and how much you froze.
But this time Chuuya was in his right mind. And so were you.
You held your breath, shut your eyes tight and pulled him into a kiss.
His lips were so soft, him instantly melting into it. He was beginning to take the lead, arms bringing you closer towards him as the kiss deepened. You broke away first, feeling lightheaded from everything hitting you all at once. You kissed Chuuya, Chuuya’s been released from the ability, Chuuya’s in love with you.
Chuuya began to chase after your lips, only stopping when you put your hand on his chest, both of you taking a breath.
“And here I thought you were playing hard to get.” He teased.
“Oh please— you were the one making things difficult!”
He laughed, still holding onto you. You wanted to be embarrassed, but you were too relieved to care— especially with how much Chuuya was smiling at you. You were riding on a high that you’ve waited far too long on.
“Hey, night’s still young— why don’t we wait to go home?” Chuuya asked, rubbing circles into your laced hands. “I can get us a reservation somewhere nice with your favorite bottle of wine.”
“It’s really your favorite.” You chuckled, swinging your hands. “But yeah, that sounds…really nice. And I don’t think I’m ready to go home just yet.”
Chuuya pressed a kiss to the top of your palm. “It’s a date then.”
For the first time in months, you felt at ease. The cloud of uncertainty and confusion that would hang over your head finally disappeared. You felt excited for what’s to come with Chuuya, and hopeful that it wouldn’t end.
a/n: this was so healing to write, and is pretty self-indulgent.
w/c: 910
synopsis: you secretly audition for a musical, and dazai gets suspicious
warning: not well proofread
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
You almost miss the poster on the brick wall to your right, the corner peeling up at the bottom. What caught your attention was the ‘Auditions!’ in bold text at the top. It was a large flyer for a popular musical being shown in the city’s largest theatre.
Shaking your head, you begin to keep walking to the office when you stop in your tracks. Part of you knows that you will never have a good role, because that’s just the way it always was. There will always be someone better than you, so why even bother? However, just before those thoughts take over, you find yourself taking a picture of the poster on your phone in case you change your mind.
Which is exactly what you did. After tirelessly worrying about being good enough, the director posted the final cast listing.
You almost throw up.
You are cast in the exact role you auditioned for in the first place. This has never happened to you before, you don’t know what to do with yourself.
But you can’t tell anyone. You can’t put your finger on why, but the thought makes you ill. You’re supposed to be a magical crime fighter, and here you are joining musical theatre. If you tell Dazai, he'll make fun of you.
It’s non-negotiable, no one will know. No one needs to. Just one show can’t hurt, it’s only a few months. After that, your secret dream is fulfilled and you can be happy with that alone.
The only problem is that your co-workers are detectives. You know Ranpo will clock it immediately, but that doesn’t alarm you. He may be nosy, but he doesn’t just spread things around.
Dazai will be the main issue due to how close you are to him. You spend so much time together that it’s hard to imagine finding an excuse out of the usual plans. However, you had an idea.
You’ve been calling this a ‘project’, keeping things pretty vague. When Dazai asks if you want to go drinking with him, you simply tell him you’re working on your project.
What you don’t notice is how affected by this he is. He worries that he’s done something wrong when you consistently brush him off.
After a couple weeks of this, he’s lost his mind. You won’t tell him anything about what you’re doing, and he can feel himself slipping. Are you with someone else? Has he finally pushed you away? He twitches.
One night after work, he follows you out. You don’t know he’s there, but he watches you closely. He bites his cheek when you walk in the opposite direction from your apartment. However, his tension subsides into confusion when you walk into a studio center. He doesn’t go in for obvious reasons, but he leaves you alone for now. That doesn’t mean he stops snooping, though. He’s intrigued by you choosing to do something so out of the ordinary for you. He begins searching, looking for anything online until he can figure out what it is you’re performing in. And when he does, he is outright determined to see it.
Weeks later, you find yourself seated at your spot in the dressing room, listening to your other co-stars yap about their friends and family coming to see them tonight. You feel a familiar pit form in your stomach, and you sigh.
“Places!” The whisper-yell of your director snaps you out of your spiral.
You peek through one of the set pieces and find a full house. Your hands barely tremble, but you’re still confident.
You hadn’t been in the actual theatre for rehearsals until a week before, as you normally practiced in the large studio. Nothing could have prepared you for how large this place was. You feel professional, and part of you wonders what would have happened if you had made this choice years ago.
Osamu has actual chills as he watches far enough in the audience that you wouldn't see him from the stage. He’s almost insulted you’ve never shared this part of you with him.
When the show is finally over, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. Everything was perfect.
You grab your bag and pre-prep everything for the next run the following night. Leaving out the side door, you walk through a hallway that leads to the auditorium lobby.
You stop dead in your tracks when you see Osamu, standing against a wall, with a bouquet in his hand. He turns to you and gives you a small smile.
You grimace in slight embarrassment. “Osamu? How? What are-?”
“You can’t keep secrets from me, darling.” You flush.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, “Don’t be.” He gently holds out to you the blue and white flowers beautifully put together. “You know, you really amaze me sometimes.”
You feel your eyes watering and reach out to hug him. “Thank you,” you whisper to him. “This means so much to me.”
Separating, his eyes meet yours, “Shall we celebrate? There’s a restaurant down the street that’s still open.”
Nodding, you take him by the arm as you walk with him out of the busy lobby onto the quiet sidewalk.
“So...why didn’t you tell me?”
“I figured you’d think it was cringe.”
He laughs, “I mean maybe, if you weren’t so talented.”
a/n: ugh i love this trope so much i wanna eat it
this is severely self-indulgent
c/w: typical dazai, you know the drill.
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
dazai likes looking at you, and he can be pretty intense too
don't question him about it, he'll deny it.
he isn't good at expressing his emotions normally, but with you, he cracks. especially if you're alone
once you come to realize his outlandish behavior is an act, he can be surprisingly calm.
he is so possessive over you in subtle ways
if an outsider gets a little too close to you, he gets wildly uncomfortable.
like you know how he stares at you? try that but more
typically, people get the hint when they see him looming from behind you.
that lil bit of port mafia leaks out, and it's kinda hot.
he def watches you sleep if you take a nap around him, whether its at your place or his.
frequent sleepovers, at least once a week
he takes the couch at your apartment, but at his, he'll sleep with you in his bed.
you both are kinda casual about a lot of things. cuddling (in private)? sure. sharing drinks? whatever. you don't even blink wen he openly flirts with you.
but you two will not kiss. that's crossing a line.
except for that one time you both got really drunk
neither of you remember that
he's fun to drink with, though. he likes drinking games.
you borrow things from each other, like his jacket or your lip balm.
he doesn't like labels, it makes him feel weird.
it's so nice when you get to have real conversations with him. he's so smart and can go on and on about a lot of things.
but he's also able to share some of his deepest thoughts with you.
he talks less about wanting to die, unless he's having one of those aforementioned heavy conversations.
he's a fun texter
he shows actual interest in you as a person, rather than putting on a face like he does for others.
he has no plans of getting romantic with you. not because he's uninterested, but because he feels safe in the position he is in with you now.
if things get really crazy (like with fyodor and that whole mess), he might confess his feelings for you.
calls you "darling" in private.
he reads to you sometimes.
he accepts help from you when you reach out, and vice versa.
you share office gossip with each other
dazai holds a lot of respect for you if he considers you his closest friend and ally, which in this case, he does.
a/n: I'm kinda mad this didn't turn out the way i wanted it to, but if i didn't write about it, id still be thinking about this scenario at work instead of actually working. I might make headcanons of this later so it can actually make sense. not well proofread.
w/c: like 650ish
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
The office is blissfully silent when you settle the last few things in your desk - some folders, paper clips, and a laptop charger. Your second day at the agency was a success, being even better than the day before. Everyone was so helpful and kind, and your anxiety is finally beginning to ease.
That is, until you realize who your desk neighbor is.
It had been two years since you left the Port Mafia, finally escaping its iron grasp. You were ready for this change, and you had been for a long time.
You’re shaken from your thoughts when you feel the hair on your neck rise. You feel the itch of your ability kicking in, and you can sense the presence on the other side of the large room. You don’t move, already painfully aware of every dark shadow circling around you. With as much stealth as you can manage, you swipe your weapon from your bag, pointing it towards the direction your senses take you.
Meeting the familiar eyes of a tall man staring down at you, you let out a gasp as you almost drop your device. He doesn’t say anything, and you’re beyond uncomfortable. And yet, everything feels like a fever dream. The silence is palpable, and you feel his stare is burning through yours.
Part of you wants to flee and never return. However, you are glued to the floor by your memories of him.
“So you’re the newbie I’ve heard so much about.” His silky voice could tear through you if you weren’t partially afraid of his intentions behind that smirk.
“Osamu?” Your hands falter to your side, and he takes a step forward. He looks so different. “What the hell happened to you?”
You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but he knows what you mean. “I had to fulfill a promise.”
“You didn’t even tell me! You were just there, and then gone!” You run a restless hand through your hair. “I tried asking around and no one had a clue where you went, I thought…”
You assumed the worst.
“I left a note.”
“I guess it was hidden a little too well.”
He sighs, “Probably somewhere in the back of Mori’s desk.” It wouldn’t surprise you if your old boss had manipulated things to keep everyone from going ballistic once Dazai was gone. You can feel yourself getting worked up.
“I’m surprised you slipped out so easily.”
You lean against your new desk. “I have Ango to thank for that.”
His eyes narrow, “Oh, really?”
“When you left, Mori wanted me or Chuuya to figure everything out to fill your shoes, and I never had that in me.”
Your role in the Mafia wasn’t as sinister as others’. You were useful for gathering intel, and reporting back with results. You used your ability, so there was never a need to be forceful or violent. It wasn’t in your nature, and maybe that's what initially drew Dazai to you many years ago.
You were a kind soul born into the wrong side.
The sound of him whispering your name rings through your body, a feeling lost in your mind, until tonight. “I’m proud of you.” His arms are crossed but his eyes are softer. “You know that?” It’s a rare side of him you hope to see more of.
For the first time in this entire conversation, you smile. “Yeah.”
The analog clock on the wall reads 8:12pm. You had to be back in the morning, but you are apprehensive about letting him go. If he left your sight, would he actually come back or is this another game to him? Yet, you find your answer when you feel something radiating from him that you have never seen before.
Hope.
He backs away and moves towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning-”
“Promise?”
He stops in the door. “Hm?”
“Promise me you’ll come back.” You felt vulnerable but it didn’t matter right now. You couldn’t take the risk.
He doesn’t make promises, that’s just something that has never meant anything to him. But you mean something to him. “I promise.”
i could just go on and on about this one, don't even get me started.
cw: mention of blood, weapons, typical mafia stuff
⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨ ♱ ୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹
Mafia!Boyfriend who keeps his line of work far out of your reach, though he knows that won't keep you safe on its own. He constantly keeps you within his or his men's line of sight, primarily in public settings. He keeps a firm hand your lower back or waist when he walks with you in larger crowds to not only to soothe you in the midst of chaos, but to hold you close to him.
Mafia!Boyfriend who doesn't have too many rules for you, except for two major ones. Never lie to him, and never leave without him or one of his guards with you. He doesn't typically care where you go, he trusts you completely. However, he knows how scary the city can be, and needs you to understand that. He's a little traumatized, so it's only natural.
On a brighter note, you've become close friends with your guards. it's like having a small unit of armed besties.
Mafia!Boyfriend who can just be so paranoid sometimes. You ran into the wall earlier and have a bruise on your arm? Definitely questions you about it. Your location pinged a little too close to the hospital? Expect a quick phone call, just to be sure. He doesn't see himself as overbearing and he wouldn't care if you see it that way. He's does what he believes is best for you (with actually good intentions).
Mafia!Boyfriend who teaches you how to properly use a gun, but doesn't ever give you one or allow you anywhere near his own weapons. He flinches when you find one of his good knives and you taunt him by just barely poking the tip. What you don't expect is just how sharp it really is and draw a little blood, and that pisses him off. He punishes you by pouring rubbing alcohol on the tiny wound, which you squeal from. Afterward he might give you another lecture on not touching his stuff.
Mafia!Boyfriend who is absolutely enamored by you. He calls you things like, "darling", "sweetheart", etc. He doesn't allow you to speak ill of yourself, and will call you out on it. If someone even dares to be rude to you, they will be dealt with accordingly. Someone once made a snarky remark about how you made him "weak", but couldn't even finish the sentence before the barrel of his gun was pressed against their temple. It was just a warning, but he never had any issues after the incident.
A dangerous man and a heavy emotion like love is not a healthy mix, but he can't live without you. He will do whatever it takes to keep you in his life, whatever the cost may be.
fyodor x reader fic where he enthusiastically shows u his calico critter collection but ur actually a captive and he just cannot remember what he kidnapped you for
