[trappedculpability]

(⁠ノ⁠｀⁠⌒⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠┫⁠：⁠・⁠┻⁠┻ K.

8teen.indonesian.trans.he/him.

▷▶recent updates↷

STRENGTH. —leon ×/& gn!reader

↳ he may have reoccurring nightmares, but he also have you by his side.

▷▶in progress↷

CONFESS? —leon × gn!reader

↳ leon loves you, and he tells you so.

DELIGHTFUL. —leon × gn!reader

↳ leon cant stand you, but he cant lose you either.

▷▶　original characters↷

『井上解人』⇢inoue kaito

↪cotton candy punk!

〘CAHYA KIASAN〙

↪the cheerful and energetic pessimist.

『朝霧葵』⇢asagiri aoi

↪was he ever a princess?

[deadestsun]

𑣲| synopsis : leviathan as a boyfriend headcannons

𑣲| tags : leviathan x reader, fluff, headcannons

more like this

HAVING LEVIATHAN AS A BOYFRIEND WOULD MEAN . . .

— ᨳ he constantly talks to henry 2.0 about you and your relationship when you’re not in the room, insecurities, praises, worries. the goldfish hears it all. ଓ

— ᨳ guests who wants to go into his room to talk with him are constantly going to you for help with the secret phrase. ଓ

— ᨳ when he wants to hang out with you, he’ll just lurk around you while looking all gloomy. he wants to ask, but is too afraid of rejection to do anything. he just hopes you pick up on the ‘hints’ he’s giving. ଓ

— ᨳ he finds his nervousness about social situations to be better managed when he’s talking online… meaning he can and will spam you with game invites. ଓ

— ᨳ he will always make sure to have a controller for a second player set up just for you. he actually bought a custom controller for you, and gets mad whenever anyone else touches it. ଓ

— ᨳ whenever he feels envious about you speaking to other men he tries to recall times you’ve comforted him to calm himself down. ଓ

— ᨳ when you’re not sleeping over he cuddles into body pillows and imagines it’s your body. ଓ

— ᨳ he has many photos of you set as widgets on his phone. ଓ

— ᨳ while he enjoys his alone time he does have you on the back of his mind a lot, you live rent-free in his head. ଓ

— ᨳ he tries to get you to cosplay as his favorite characters a lot !! his phone’s camera roll is filled with dozens upon dozens of photos of you. ଓ

— ᨳ while he often fantasizes about the idea of you sitting on his lap while he plays… he’s not so eager about actually acting it out. he likes to completely focus in on his games. ଓ

— ᨳ he has a folder on his pc that is filled with multiplayer games you like. ଓ

[osamusghxst]

ᨵׁׅverᨰׁׅorked

⌯⌲ working on a lot of different stuff but i thought i’d clear my mind with secretary!reader & pm exec!dazai. this is a slow burn btw (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

A soft sigh fills the quiet of the office, the typing of keys periodically following, the scratching of pen to paper, a ping! here and there of messages or emails soaring through interconnected airwaves, demanding your attention — as does everything else in your work life. You had designated a day where Dazai is away, not forcing you to come with him, mentioning in an off-handed mumble, barely a coherent thought, of how it involved potential violence, and he doesn't 'want your life as my responsibility'. That didn't bother you nearly to the degree he thought it would, considering he has been much ruder toward you since the last out-of-town meeting he made you tag along to.

Needless to say, you're finally plowing through the piles of reports he has been ignoring in hopes it would ultimately disappear — and that is exactly what you're here for. Music has been softly playing in the background, to help with maintaining focus, and you don't believe you could be any more content than you are right now. You are in your element, doing menial, useless, boring paperwork at a desk far more grand than what you were initially used to; a brand-new computer that is completely up to date with all the programs you need to function, alongside a new keyboard and mouse that no other hands have touched; and a pencil holder filled to the brim with your favorite pens. All to yourself. No sounds of others' voices whispering and laughing amongst each other; no incessant ringing and clicking and slamming of landline phones; no one helping themselves to your company and striking up conversation you would otherwise not care about. And you're getting paid multiple truck loads more than what you were previously making to do the same exact thing, just for the top executive in the Port Mafia.

You're at ease, calm, and only have a few more reports to finish so you can finally breathe.

A few knock kock knocks hit on your door, your head shooting up to see Chuuya standing there, holding up a handful of packets in his gloved hand. Your eyebrows come together, flickering between his accidental, permanent scowl and the paperwork. "Mr. Nakahara, hi. I thought you were with Mr. Dazai today?" You rush to your feet, not wanting to be rude, and smooth your palms on your pants. The music continues playing, his brow raising, and his blue and brown gaze flits to the device it's emitting from. You rush to turn it off, offering an awkward smile, then fold your fidgeting hands behind your back.

"You're twitchy," he remarks simply, walking over to set the sheets down on the edge of your desk. Your brows downturn instantly at that. "Not that it's necessarily any of your concern or business, Dazai took off earlier than we planned and went with Akutagawa instead. Which doesn't bother me much since I really didn't wanna go in the first place." He sighs, resting his hand on his hip, and eyes you up and down — equivalent to a suspicious investigator scoping out his perpetrator. "Surprised you're here. Thought he took ya everywhere with 'em?"

"Not today," your hand reaches out, cautiously, to gather up everything he decided to leave behind for you, unannounced. "He said the mission needing to be handled would involve potential violence, and he didn't want to have to be burdened with ensuring the safety of my life." You say this with the cadence of someone retelling a note left by a loved one, no hint of hurt at the words, and that makes his brow arch again. "I don't mind, though. I have gotten so much done with being left alone, I couldn't have asked for a better time that he needed to take off on such short notice." You sigh with relief, a grin growing on your lips, and his nose briefly wrinkles at the apparent pride you're carrying within yourself for doing work. You know, at your job, that you get paid for.

"Right," he sighs, fingers coming up to rub into his sockets. "Speaking of, these need redone." He vaguely points toward your hands, and your entire demeanor drops, eyes hesitantly, slowly dragging down to look through the multiple pages he gave back to you. "Boss says this is entirely inadequate and 'can't believe it was even put on my desk'." He relays to you, a twinge of guilt rising up in him as he has to be the one to tell you, especially after your entire elated spiel of getting "so much" done.

"Inadequate?!" You gasp, appalled, eyes frantically scanning over everything, shaking your head with sheer incomprehension. "This is the exact same work I was putting in before that he said was astounding!" He licks his lips before they part, about to say something, but he just rubs the back of his neck instead. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nakahara, but I'm not redoing this unless I get an acceptable answer as to why my work is now deemed inadequate!" You slam them all down on the corner, arms folding, and you had no awareness that you were yelling at him. Another executive. Another boss. Telling him you will not be doing any corrections to your work unless you get an answer that is acceptable to you. How brave.

He stares at you blankly, eyes slightly widened with building irritation, having to bite down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from barking back at you, remembering you are now Dazai's personal secretary — no longer some run of the mill rank-and-file taking up space in the secretary wing. However, it seems being around his bandaged partner has made you far too bold. He nods his head in your direction, hands slipping into his pockets, and offers you a curt, tight smile. "Comes with being an executive's secretary, kid. Get used to it." He grits the last part before turning on his heel to walk away, and you are beyond confused because you've been doing executive work for the last three years and suddenly now it isn't good enough?

You fall down into your seat, fuming, struck dumb, and garnering half a mind to storm down to Mori's office on your own to demand answers as to why your workload has now doubled — if not tripled or even quadrupled if you are going to have to redo everything. This is unbelievable; I was almost done too... You stare at the different piles, on the verge of tears, the first time you have ever felt the need to cry over a job, and you have to pinch the bridge of your nose to try easing the dam that will surely break any second. I see now why you don't like doing your paperwork, sir. You inhale, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling, picking up your pen, turning on your music, and scoot your chair back into position, getting into comfortable preparation to be there all night.

You worked diligently, ignoring anyone and anything that dared trying to speak with you, door closed, lock latched, and your focus was unlike anything you have ever seen from yourself. You were once again flying through every ounce of wasted trees, ensuring inventory is accurate, meeting notes precise, contraband properly hidden in the subtext, and crimes written in invisible ink. The sunset is bleeding in from the windows, illuminating the several empty to-go cups of coffee you kept grabbing from the break room, and spilling over your outbox stacked high with your more than astounding hard work. You have been in a zone no one else can enter, until the sound of a door swinging open and feet scuffing along the polished floors shatters it into a tiny million little pieces.

"What the hell have you been doing all day?" Dazai barges in, filled with audacity and rage, his solitary eye darting around different parts of the room, landing on your surprised expression staring back at him. Paperwork? Again? "Well? Do you have an answer?" He spits, hand gripping tight to the knob to keep him steady. You blink a couple times, staring up at him without much thought behind any words you may say, obvious there probably isn't a good enough answer for him in general with this uncharacteristic mood he's throwing around.

"Uhm, I was just..." You gesture to your desk littered with evidence of your busy day. "Just trying to catch up." You tell him, voice meek, not understanding why he's so angry with you. He kind of assumed, what with the first thing he saw when he stumbled his way in was you hunched over your desk, pen scribbling at lightning speed, and the music was incoherent nothingness — blaring noise. However, you stupidly admitting that was more important sets him off further.

"What is your obsession with paperwork?!" He grits, now leaning against the door, and you observe him some as he appears to be struggling to stand. "I have tried calling you, texting you. I sent damn emails! Why the fuck were you ignoring me? You don't ignore me!" He is still shouting, the fury you have only ever heard about from whispers in the hallowed halls being hurled at you unprompted, and it's catching you off guard. You haven't ever really seen him get mad, irritable and agitated sure, but not necessarily like this; he is typically a fairly calm guy, given the circumstances, and isn't one to "lash out" — though, that calm is often times before the violent storm. Kind of like in this very instance. His teeth are bared with knuckles white on the doorknob, and his body wavers in stance.

"Sir, are you okay?" You slowly get to your feet, gaze bouncing around in different areas of his body, but nothing is visible, aside from the sweat forming on his face — that you can't tell if it's from whatever might be wrong or his anger. What a stupid question. All your observation and you're just now asking.

"No! My secretary's useless, who can't even answer the damn phone, and puts way too much focus on bullshit th-that doesn't mat-ter!" He sucks in a breath, head ducking down to conceal his grimace, and he looks like he's getting lower to the ground. Usually, on any other ordinary day, all of that would infuriate you to a point of walking right up to Mori and demanding a demotion; right now, you can't help ignoring everything he said as you rush over to his side when his knees hit the floor, and his arm is around his stomach. God, I want to throw up, this hurt so bad.

"Why are you here?" You start berating him this time, attempting to get him back to standing, but he's heavier than you expected for a lanky guy. "Why didn't you go to Mori?!"

"Tried," his arm instinctively tries pushing you away, but you fight with him, gingerly touching around on his stomach and side until he hisses, gripping your wrist. "H-He's out. Don't touch me!" He shoves your hand to the side, but he doesn't let go, using you as a crutch. "Don't act like you fuckin' care now after ignoring me for hours." His voice is harsh, pained, strained. Ignored him? I never received anything.

"Mr. Dazai, you need to go to a hospital!" You stand back up, hooking your arms under his, and you struggle since he is still fighting against you, stubborn in accepting your assistance, even though he apparently has needed it for hours. "You should have gone there in the first place instead of coming back here—Dammit, quit fighting me!" Your foot stomps down on the ground, an attempt to stabilize yourself and show your frustration, but he still isn't letting you help him in the slightest.

"I had to make sure nothing happened to you!" He bites, words fumbling out from his tongue without thinking about it, panting as he holds his side, and the pain is becoming unbearable — not worth looking for Mori and definitely not worth having a bitch fight with you in the middle of your office until he bleeds out. His arm hooks around your neck finally, hiding his pain-stricken features as he decides to just give in and allow you to take him wherever he needs to go. What do you mean make sure nothing happened to me?

"Sir, while that is incredibly kind of you to want to check in on me—"

"Ah, for fuck's sake, st-stop being so fuckin' formal and just-just get me to the damn hospital," he breathes, leaning all of his weight on you, and you can't help wishing you were a little stronger.

Dazai demanded that you wait outside his room, ordering all the doctors and nurses to not let you step foot inside unless he said otherwise, and you heard a bunch of them huddled together whispering about how he was probably the worst patient they ever encountered, a couple more mumbling about how they hate working under the thumb of the mafia and taking in 'people like him'.

You sat out there, scrunching in on yourself in your spot, worried you would be a burden or in the way, and scrolled through your list of notifications — all from your direct executive. One of the first ones saying that he needed you to tell Mori to stay on the premises to tend to his wounds. Every message and voicemail left on your device got increasingly more fury-filled, hints of the pain he was in sneaking out, and his final text said: never mind, i'll just take care of it myself. Your eyes closed, sitting there utterly defeated, and shook your head as the day played itself over and over again, how you asked if you needed to join him before he took off; finding out he went with Akutagawa instead of Chuuya; how you were hustling your life away dealing with reports while he was suffering somewhere after his mission went awry. It took you sorting through all of the incoming messages and calls to see you had accidentally turned your ringer off instead of turning only the volume down — there was no way you would have known at the rate you were going if anyone was trying to get ahold of you. Now he's hurt in the hospital because you weren't a "good secretary" and answered the phone like you're required to.

For someone who supposedly worried about you so much, his messages sure didn't show it.

"Excuse me?" Your head shoots up to meet the tired eyes of a severely overworked nurse. "Are you the secretary?" Can't even be bothered to give her my actual name, sir? You fight an eye roll but nod. "He's asking for you." She gestures for you to head into his room; you politely bow once you're up before shuffling in to see he is in a rather nicer room than you expected. Definitely not like anything you have had to stay in before.

When you turn the corner from the curtain, you can't help stopping in your tracks, seeing him lying there on the industrious hospital bed that has him propped up, dark hair in contrast to the ambiance of... everything, and his bandages are missing. All of them. You stare, admittedly longer than you want to, unblinking, and speechless: he's covered in scars wherever there's exposed skin. The eye he constantly keeps covered is revealed, and there's nothing seemingly wrong with it, aside from a scar down his eyebrow. He's in a hospital gown, standard, hooked up to some machines that beep at an abnormally slow pace, and he is staring off out the window with thoughts stirring in his melancholic brain.

Those somber voids catch your silhouette reflected in the window, attire blending in with the evening's dusk, and surprised is an understatement to see you actually standing there. He notices his own reflection, two eyes visible, and he wonders if he should always look like this — would I be more easily approachable this way?

"How are you feeling?" Your voice drifts out, distant; it doesn't really sound like you, and you don't recall your brain telling your mouth to ask that. "I... I've been worried. You know, at least until they came out and kept telling me you were talking." An uneasy chuckle comes out, but he doesn't react aside from his eyebrow twitching. So, you are capable of making jokes. You briefly bite down on your lip, watching him closely, but he's entirely still — a marble statue cracked and worn and withered by the cruelty of the world that wishes nothing more than watch it deteriorate, and seeing him like that actually makes your heart break for him. "Blue seems to suit you, sir."

"I don't like hospitals," he murmurs, voice hoarse. "It's why I just go to Mori." He isn't looking at you, making you swallow down your immense guilt.

"I am so terribly—"

"Don't bother with apologies," he interrupts, lids dropping as if he is going to fall asleep, but they open shortly after to continue gazing out of the window, moon full and glowing through the glass, and it dawns on you then the lights are off.

"But I am," you tell him, truthfully. "I don't think I understood what it meant to be an executive's secretary, let alone yours. I don't..." You stop, gaze downcast, shuffling in your spot. He doesn't say anything else. "I don't think I am ready for this position. I don't have what it takes to be like Kana."

"I don't want you to be like Kana. She hated me and wanted me dead," his words are blunt, tired. Your lips part at that, eyebrows coming together, and his head decides to roll enough to look you in the eyes now, and there's something there you don't think you have seen in him prior to today. "She never answered." Your features twist, expression shifting, and suddenly those angry text messages aren't so angry anymore. "Don't look at me like that. I don't want your pity." His tone is solemn, fit for a tortured artist, a diminished soul, and he rolls his head back to the side so he can watch the moon cast its spotlight on the city and the stars twinkle amongst the streetlights.

"Mr. Dazai, I vow to never ignore you again," you murmur. "It probably is meaningless words to you, but if brings you any solace, I don't want you dead."

"I loathe your formality," he whispers in response. Your shoulders sag, fingers messing with the hem of your button-up then clear your throat as your eyes are glued to the scar cutting down the arch in his brow. "Nothing sounds sincere when you speak to me that way." Whatever it takes to make the boss happy, I guess.

"Listen, man, I don't know how else to tell you this," you start, and his eyebrows twitch together, his reflection looking back at him, seeing yours actually resemble a normal human being instead of the poised business-like secretary he has known you to be. "This job is kind of killing me, and I don't know how much more I can take. I just wanted to prove to that hateful man I can do this, and I thought my only job was doing your stupid, awful, and, quite frankly, meaningless reports. Then the other damn executive came in and started telling me my shit sucks and I needed to redo it, and it just pissed me off more." You inhale, letting that string of mess out without breathing, and Dazai listens to you intently. Other executive?

"I don't think I'm cut out for this," you go on, body relaxing for the first time in days. "But that doesn't mean I want you dead. It was shitty of me to ignore you, and I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry you're in a place you hate all because I couldn't be a good secretary." You finish your small rant, letting out everything that has been sitting deep in the pit of your chest, taking up space on your diaphragm, preventing you to breathe, and the breath you take feels like taking in fresh air for the first time in three years.

Dazai lets all of that settle, something inside him actually pleased to hear you speak like that, refreshing compared to the stiff professionalism you typically exude. The corner of his mouth twitches, cracked lips feeling the stretch of a smile trying to appear, and he has to stop himself from laughing at you to prevent breaking the stitches.

"I told you I didn't like my job. You're starting to learn why."

"I truly don't like your job either," you breathe out a laugh, more so you don't start crying. "And if I'm still allowed to be informal and honest, I don't think I'm getting paid enough to keep up with you." A sound emits from his throat, kind of a scoff, kind of a laugh, and he just rolls his eyes.

"And you never will."

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist | minific masterlist | requests: closed

©GHXST likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 do not repost, copy, change/alter/edit my works, and do not use it to feed generative ai.

tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch

[osamusghxst]

i had this minifci idea if you want to it completely optional. where the reader goes to blind date -- but they see their co-worker dazai there and theyre like wth im leaving, and dazai pouts saying smth like "But what about our date"

Ｂｌｉｎｄｓｉｄｅｄ

⌯⌲ you say "optional", i say "obligated" because this is so cute.

You don’t really understand why your friend felt the need to try setting you up on a blind date. She knows you like someone, though you didn’t exactly tell her who, so maybe she’s trying to help you get over that person? Since it seems to be going nowhere? Either way, it’s a hassle, a waste of time for both parties, but at least you’re getting free food. That’s pretty much the only perk.

However, you were told by your friend that this supposed date would be waiting outside the restaurant for you “like a gentleman”. He wasn’t. Points docked. Your eyes roll, already annoyed, already hating this, and decide to walk in yourself, scoping out the scene. It’s a weekday, late afternoon, hardly anyone inside; your eyes scan over the few people in there, only three tables occupied. Two of which by small groups, and one by a guy sitting by himself — his back is to you, but your eyebrows furrow when you think you see something you recognize about him.

You, cautiously, walk up to the table, his ears perking up at the sound of footsteps, and he turns around just when you notice the bandages around his neck. Your expression drops, nose crinkling, and Dazai beams up at you. His lips part, getting ready to greet you, but the realization of how… not happy you look makes him stop. Are you that upset to see me? “If this is her idea of a joke, it isn’t funny.” You huff, turning around, gearing up to storm through the front door, when his hand reaches out to snatch your wrist.

“But…” You peek at him over your shoulder, a sudden, strange pitiful expression on his face as he pouts up at you with big puppy eyes. “What about our date?” He laments, poking his bottom lip out. You blink, the hurt you previously felt melting away, shoulders relaxing, and you just stare at him.

“… What?”

“Our date!” He gestures widely at the table, two water glasses resting on the surface, and a small cup of what looks like hot green tea is on the opposite side of him. “I even ordered your favorite tea.” You stare again, eyes flickering from his adorably pouting face, to the cup of tea, then back to his big, sparkling brown eyes that look even brighter than usual under the building’s soft glow. Your brows twitch together at that thought.

“How do you even know my friend?” You deadpan. His head tilts, still hanging onto your arm so you don’t run off.

“I helped her out a few years ago when I first started at the agency,” he explains, as if you should know this. “We keep in touch every now and then. She has been giving me cooking lessons.” Your jaw accidentally slacks.

“You’re her culinary student?!” You gasp, pointing at him, and he offers a sheepish smile with a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I wanted to impress you by making dinner myself, but she says I’m not ready. So, she set this up for us!” He grins again, and if he really were a dog, his tail would be wagging.

“U-Us? As in… me and you?” Your finger dumbly points between your chest and his, making him get to his feet, and you take a step back to eye his attire. No wonder I didn’t recognize him at first, he’s in street clothes instead of that damn coat.

“Yeah?” He leads you to the empty chair, pulling it out for you, then gestures you to sit. What a silly question. “Told her I have a bit of a crush on you but asked her to keep it secret for me, since you usually turn the other way whenever I come near you.” You gradually begin sinking down in the chair, keeping your skeptical eyes on him, and seeing that you decided to stay, he slowly releases your wrist. “I just wanted you to give me an actual chance.” He confesses, still standing beside you, and you are suddenly flushed — which only makes him smile, kind of triumphant. Cute.

“Yeah, sure, I-I can do that,” you murmur, now sheepish, kicking yourself for almost leaving in the first place.

“Great!” He plops down in his chair, jostling the table some on impact, and slides one of the menus toward you. “Since we know each other, it won’t be awkward like a real blind date. Plus, we already know so much about each other!” Your fingers drag the menu toward you, eyes glued to his excitement, and a tug pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Dazai, I don’t know much about you,” you admit. He cocks his head, still looking ever the elated puppy, and he chuckles softly. “How’d you know I liked this tea?” You finally ask, the question gnawing at you since seeing it sitting here. His gaze flickers from it to you, fingers drumming on the laminated sheet in front of him, and he shrugs.

“You know I like to do my research,” your brow raises, knowing at least one thing about him is that he is notoriously lazy, but his radiant smile with perfect teeth on display catches you off guard. “I already ordered for us before you got here. The menus are just so your hands have something to mess with since you get twitchy.” He waves you off, and you stare blankly at him. You nod slowly, trying to observe him, because if anyone is acting twitchy, it’s him. However, his eyes are on you, and you have no clue what you’ll be getting into if you let the date continue.

You did promise you’d give him a chance, though. Why deny your crush that simple request?

your friend’s a chatterbox and spilled all your secrets to him, btw.

- ghxst

mini fic masterlist

tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch

[osamusghxst]

(kind of a request but PLEASEEE feel free to ignore my sleepy rambles)

but how about a minific where reader (gn) is very in tune with their existence (and others) through only logical thinking, learning, and hard practice?

and so since they don't know how to regulate/recognize feelings they haven't learned yet, they couldn't understand what they feel towards (dazai/chuuya—you choose) at all

the reader who's usually very outspoken turned silent and jittery around him and so on I'm not sure

how do you think he would react to and handle the situation?

ꫀmotion꯱ׁׅ֒.

⌯⌲ you said: “you choose”, so i said: “both”. i hope i interpreted this correctly for you.

♡ 𝒪. Dazai -`♡´-

It isn't difficult for Dazai to get people he wants, simply walking up to them, flirting his way with ease through the conversation, and gaining their number by the end of it. He has no troubles expressing his admiration and adoration for those he finds awe-strikingly beautiful, galivanting his way up to their side with some smooth line and a graceful chuckle, and they're hooked, line and sinker, in a matter of seconds.

You will watch from afar as he does this countless times, observing in silence, not quite understanding what he is doing, or how the people he speaks to have sudden flushed cheeks, giggles that sound like melodies, and accept kisses on hands from a stranger. On any other ordinary day, that would be a nightmare scenario for you, being approached by some guy that thinks he has a chance at going on a date with you and then daring to touch you without your permission. You have never understood the complexities of romance, finding actions by those blinded by "love" succumbing to such idiotic outbursts and saying the dumbest things merely because someone told them they were pretty.

In summation, you believed there wasn't any possible way for you to fall victim to "crushes" since you are hyper aware of yourself at all times, and no one has ever earned the privilege of catching your eye enough to make you stumble over your own words in conversation.

At least you believed that until you're standing on the sidewalk watching Dazai yuck it up with some random girl ahead of you, leaning against the building while she is practically pinned beneath him, and an incredibly foreign feeling is stirring in your chest at the sight. She giggles and twirls her hair, other hand coming up to rest on his chest, and you're too caught up in watching her to see that he has been side-eyeing you repeatedly - to make sure you are seeing this.

Now, Dazai has noticed a few months ago you had begun to exhibit weird behavior whenever around him: your sentences are no longer stringed with prolific thought and unwavering confidence, but you have resorted to shutting up or providing short answers; you sit a little closer to him on the subway; if you two touch, you immediately pull away, and he has caught on numerous occasions how terribly your hands shake. He'll watch as you stare down at them with furrowed brows before stowing them away in your pockets, pretending none of that happened, and continue on with your day as he walks beside you. He has taken note that you have recently become a bit hostile toward him whenever he stops to talk to someone in efforts to obtain their number.

That was the final piece to the puzzle of your mind he has been trying to put together, coming to the conclusion on his own before you could: you like him. Which is about time, since I've been trying to get you to notice me romantically for almost a year now. Plus, he may or may not have discussed it with Ranpo to help him meet the deduction - who only assisted in the matter for a month's worth of lunches and 'a Ramune a day' as bribery to keep it hush for using his "ability" on you.

You stand there, awkwardly, this new emotion rampaging, but you have to wait for him to finish. Just... stand here and wait. That thought bothers you, and you can't understand why. You have been experiencing strange happenings where your heart is irregular, no matter how many visits to the doctor you make - you've been going so often that the doctor has to turn you away until you're actually having a heart attack. When you express concern that you think you are, she just rolls her eyes and sends you on your way. You can't bring yourself to talk to anyone about this, and you're worried mentioning it to Dazai won't be of much help since he isn't a medical professional.

Eyes flicker between the girl gushing over him, and your friend laughing as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and that seems to be your undoing. You storm up to them, those mischievous amber eyes on your immediately, the shadow of his infamous smirk plastered on his lips, and she gives you a strange look. "We're leaving." You demand, speaking for both of you, and she glances at him.

"Do you know them?" She tosses a thumb in your direction, and that makes... whatever is happening worse.

"Yes, he knows me! He ditched me to come talk to you for some weird reason when we are supposed to be spending time together!" You huff, primarily throwing all of this in his face, and he is still wearing that infuriating arrogance you have seen too many times to count. His attention is off the stranger, her name gone with the wind, and he gazes at you intently. "I'm glad you find this so funny." You spit, eyes narrowing at him. "God, when will you ever take anything seriously?" You scoff, shaking your head and stimping off in the opposite direction you came.

He pushes himself off the side of the building, but his bandaged arm is snatched by the girl, whose brows are raised in question. "What?" His tone is flat, making her give him an incredulous look.

"Aren't you wanting to go out?" She asks, since that was apparently the point of the conversation. His head slowly cocks, eyeing her up and down, then lets out a laugh of disbelief.

"Don't flatter yourself. I was using you to make them jealous," he slips his arm away, leaving her shocked with jaw slacked to race back up to your side. You're fuming, partially from the stunt he pulled and the other part because you haven't the slightest clue of what's wrong.

He falls into step with you, but you purposefully ignore him, digging around for your headphones to shove in your ears, but his hand comes up to stop you, and he is still sporting that dumb smile. "Have we figured it out yet?" He asks, and you blink up at him.

"Figured what out? That you're an annoying, arrogant man whore that talks to anything that breathes?" You stop yourself from going further, lips parting and just as surprised with yourself as he is for your words. You eye him up and down repeatedly, fingers trembling like all the times before, and your heart is not only pumping a mile a minute but aching from seeing him with that other girl. He shares a similar look, continuing to hold onto your wrist, and his eyes suddenly soften, the aura of his inflated ego melting away.

"I've noticed you've been having a difficult time understanding some stuff," he begins, and you want to be surprised he's noticed, but it's Dazai - he's so observant, he could see a broken arm before I could feel it.

Alas: "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm doing just fine."

"Did it bother you seeing me talk to her?" He probes, gesturing vaguely to where he left the stranger behind, and your eyes couldn't help following that direction to see she is long gone. Your neck slowly cranes back to look at him, swallowing, and nod. "Do you know why?" You hesitated, eyes dropping down to the ground, then shake your head. "Would it help if I told you why?" Your line-of-sight snaps back to meet his, jaw flexing and relaxing, cheeks getting warm when you realize his large, gorgeous hand is still holding onto you.

"Go ahead and enlighten me, detective," you murmur, almost a whisper, trying to uphold yourself as if none of this is getting to you.

"Don't get mad," he gently sings, wearing a normal smile fit for a normal person, and his eyes are lively in the afternoon sun beaming down on him. The sight quickens your pulse, and quite frankly, pisses you off. "It's because you have a crush on me." He tells you, and you stare at him, unblinking. "Yeah, it's true. You have romantic feelings for me. You wanna be more than my friend." He keeps going, and you begin lightly shaking your head, brows knitting together. He nods in response to your declination.

"Oh yeah," he eggs on, knowing for a fact this is eating away at you. "You wanna hug me, and kiss me, and maybe even go on a date with me!" He is now relentlessly, tortuously teasing you with all of this, your face beet red and hotter than the asphalt, making him laugh more. "And then, maybe after that, you wanna sleep with me!" He takes it so far you get flustered, hands flailing around that you drop your earbud and have to cover your face, because you truly never thought this to be possible. You still don't understand anything that is happening to you, having to take his word for it, and you think you're going to throw up.

"I'm gonna kill myself!" You scream, tearing off down the sidewalk, and Dazai couldn't get more of a kick out of this, swiftly nabbing your abandoned earbud before racing after you, closing the gap quickly due to his long legs, continuing to tease you like a couple of fifth graders on the playground.

♡ 𝒞. Nakahara 𐚁

You stand there with your hands at your side, fingers twitching every so often while you stare ahead at Chuuya, receiving orders from him for the next mission, but you can't seem to concentrate. Your brows knit together briefly in different intervals, and your heart seems to be pounding in your chest as you are in the same room as him. This has been happening more frequently, no explanation, no amount of deep thought can help you understand what is going on. The only thing you have been able to deduce is it only happens around Chuuya. You were sure to test the theory by being alone with many other people you know and talk to, and your heart rate stayed steady the entire time.

You had been running experiments on yourself since you have also hit a wall in conversation. Usually, you could engage perfectly fine with the executive without issue; however, roughly around the same time your heart decided to beat erratically, you have been stumbling over your words, getting flustered, and you're trying way too hard to avoid saying anything embarrassing - not something you were concerned with prior. You have reduced yourself down to silence, and unfortunately for you, he's taken notice.

He stops speaking, you don't realize it, and he is staring at you: your chest rises and falls more unevenly; you're not just still, you're rigid; eyebrows twitch; the corner of your mouth flinches; fingers flex and relax quickly, repeatedly; your eyes are spinning in your sockets. His brow gradually raises, slowly setting the packet down, and he just continues his observation. He is able to recognize you aren't listening to him; you're staring through him. "Are you high?" He blurts, your state similar to someone attempting to pass it off, in the most unsubtle way possible, that they are not under the influence.

The question snaps you back to this reality, blinking rapidly, and shooting him an incredulous look. "I beg your finest pardon?" You scoff, arms folding over your chest. "I don't do drugs." You tell him, pointed. "I'm actually incredibly insulted you would even accuse me of that, Mr. Nakahara." You nose turns up, pulse cranking up to an inhumane beat, and he nods slightly.

"Then why're ya actin' weird?" An eye peeks out at him before turning more to avoid looking at him.

"I am perfectly perfect fine and normal," you fumble over your tongue, using an excessive amount of words, saying it with full confidence, and he can't help but letting out a puzzled chuckle, walking over to you with those calculated and slow steps. Each one makes your nerves buzz, your bloodstream turn to ice, and pricks at your ears with each soft clack clack clack along the polished floor.

"People that are 'perfectly perfect fine and normal' don't usually avoid eye contact when proving they are," he circles in front of you, thumb and finger carefully grabbing your chin you force you to look at him, so he can thoroughly examine what could be causing the issue for your weird behavior, but all he notices is how red your cheeks are getting instead. We've been close before, this isn't new. His face is insanely close, noses almost touching, so he can better examine you, and the faint scent of his fading cologne is still strong enough to invade your senses, and the light smirk on his lips is making you want to die. Why in the world do I feel this way?! It's just Chuuya!

"Ya got a fever or somethin'?" He asks then, your face immensely flushed, then carefully removes his glove to press the back of his warm hand to your forehead. You're shutting up now, no witty remarks or playful backtalk like you typically throw at him, just standing there in front of him with sweat on your lip and in your trembling palms. "Never seen ya act this way. What's goin' on?" He cocks his head, removing his hand to pull the glove back on, and you swallow as your fingers come up to touch your cheeks. They're burning against your ice cold fingertips.

"I uhm..." You clear your throat, hands drifting back down to your sides, and you shift in your spot, avoiding looking at him directly - you know those stunning blue and brown eyes are analyzing you, and it makes your skin set aflame under your suit, feeling exposed to a degree no other human being has ever experienced. "I have been feeling... strange." You begin, unsure how to begin telling him what you're going through, and the air is cold. He waits, expectantly, trying to catch your downcast gaze, a bit antsy himself as his teeth carefully chew on the inside of his cheek. I wanna be patient, but I also wish you'd just spit it out.

"I don't really understand what's going on," you admit, shoulders slumping, and your hands come back up for you to fiddle with your fingers, making his brow cock upward. "I've been running some personal tests to see if maybe I need to see a doctor, and I kind of did go. And the results were embarrassing." The worst part was that the doctor was Mori, and he just kind of chuckled before sending you off.

"Well, embarrassing is better than dyin'," Chuuya gestures for you to continue, his interest piqued now, given he knows how rational you are of yourself and others, running experiments on yourself isn't out of the ordinary - but an embarrassing diagnosis? I'm all ears. "Go ahead, you can tell me. I'd say we're close enough to share these kinds of things." Your eyes dart up to meet his, a strange sincerity nestled in that two-toned gaze you hadn't seen before, and your heart shot itself up so far in your throat, you choked. His hands are immediately out, to try to help you, but you wave him off as you cough into your elbow.

"Wh-Whenever I'm near you..." You inhale, wiping the small tears that formed at the corners of your eyes, slowly releasing it, and shake out your hands. "Whenever I'm near you, I can't breathe. My heart is constantly racing, and I get nervous, and it's really difficult to talk to you." He blinks once, face frozen with a quizzical expression, and he doesn't know what to make of that. "When I went to Mori, for a checkup because I was worried about such a heartbeat per minute, he just... laughed at me, saying it was a 'crush'!" You emphasize the "diagnosis" the in-house mafia doctor told you, after reassuring you otherwise your levels are normal, and Chuuya's body is the rigid one now. He stares at you, baffled and bemused that you openly admitted that your issue is that you like him, then he remembers you aren't well-versed in the area of romance and lack comprehension with feelings such as love. From his understand, you've never experienced a crush - he feels a little honored he's your first one.

Wait... A crush on me?!

He suddenly lets out an airy, almost arrogant chuckle, making attempts to bounce back from his shock, and the lopsided smile on his mouth is sending your fight or flight into overdrive. Your body trembles, hands tremoring with anticipation shivers, and your teeth chatter. "Easy, babe. I tend to have that effect on people." He croons, tone cool, and your brows furrow. What kind of effect on people?

"Babe...?" You echo, and the arrogance is dwindling once again. Shit, forgot who I was talking to. "Chuuya, I'm really confused." You confess, voice pitching to helplessness, and the embarrassment is worsening. He clears his throat, standing up straighter and drops his arms down to his side, trying to become serious.

"How you're feelin' is what happens to people when they like someone else. More than a friend," he explains, trying to be gentle, but he kind of feels like he is speaking to a toddler. You look at him with big eyes, the innocence and lack of understanding prominent, and he wets his lips as he chooses his next words carefully. "You feel like that, around me, because you like me more than a friend." He speaks a bit slower, and you nod once.

"Right..." You nod once more. "Are we sure it's just not an anxiety attack? I do get those often and it feels quite similar to this." He stops for a brief second before letting out another laugh, covering his mouth, but it's too late since you already saw and heard him, and your heart palpitates in place. "I think it's happening again right now." You breathe, pointing to your heart. He would be way more flattered over this if he didn't need to help you work through these newfound emotions.

"Do you feel anxious?" He asks, stepping closer, closing any gap there may have still been, and your nose wrinkles.

"N-No?"

"Then it's not an anxiety attack," he soothes, head tilting, chain on his hat following his movements and clinking softly. "Don't worry, I'm more than happy to help ya sort of this shit out, yeah?" He offers his hand to you, and you glance down at it before meeting his eyes again. His fingers merely extend out more, inviting you, and you hesitantly rest it down in his palm - not before trying to jerk it away at first, forcing him to grab your fingers as delicately as possible so you don't run away.

"Let's try this," he brings you hand up near his face, and you watch him closely, suspicion raising, before his lips carefully, gently, place a lingering kiss to your knuckles. It feels like you just got shot right in the chest, steam coming out of your ears, and you quite literally yank your arm away to turn on your heel and bolt out of the door. He stares after you, bewildered, hand slowly grabbing his hat to pull it down over his face, and he starts bursting out into laughter with cheeks about as deep as scarlet.

masterlist | minific masterlist | requests: closed

©GHXST likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 do not repost, copy, change/alter/edit my works, and do not use it to feed generative ai.

tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch

[luanniidae]

Attachment (Doppo Kunikida x gn!reader)

જ➴ Part 1 of aichaku

જ➴ gn!reader says "I love you", how does Kunikida respond?

- Doppo!

- Yes?

- I love you.

That makes Kunikida's impeccable handwriting falter, ink dropping in a shaky line when he discards his pen.

He turns to you, lifts up his glasses, lips parted with disbelief.

- Can you say that again?

- I love you, Doppo.

A pit aches in his stomach, a hammering that makes his cheeks turn red and his hands tremble.

You giggle at his dumbfounded look, overcome with affection. His chest warms up at the sight.

Warm, like the tea you share in the afternoons, sweetened with honey and conversations he replays in his head like his favorite song.

Warm, like the spot on his desk where you lay your head to watch him work; like the back of his neck where he rubs it red when you make him nervous with your undivided attention.

Warm, like his pen after writing for hours about you, pages upon pages filled with little details, annotations, things to change in his ideals after you unknowingly opened up his worldview.

Warm, like the tears he sheds at night when he worries himself sick about you, knowing you're just a call away and still scared to check in so late.

Scared. He finds that he's scared. He feels small under your gaze.

He stays still, like the building could collapse with the wrong movement.

-... Do you mean it?

You cup his face in your hands and lean in, stopping just a breath away, gentle enough that he can pull away.

His lips meet you before he allows his hands to move. He kisses chastely, like a rose blooming, warm hands on your waist terrified that you'll run away or disappear somehow.

જ➴ 愛着 (aichaku) attachment, love, fondness

જ➴ Different attachment styles explored through the men of the ADA

Check out the other parts of this mini series!

Osamu Dazai જ Atsushi Nakajima જ Ranpo Edogawa

[luanniidae]

Attachment (Ranpo Edogawa x gn!reader)

જ➴ Part 4 of aichaku

જ➴ gn!reader says "I love you", how does Ranpo respond?

- Ranpo!

- Hm?

- I love you.

The little Sherlock smiles.

- Of course you do.

You scowl.

- No. I love you.

He straightens up in his chair, pulls the lollipop out of his mouth. The weight of your words, your firm tone, it makes him dizzy.

-... I assume you expect me to say it back.

You hum as you sit down on his desk.

- Not "expect", no.

- But you'd like me to.

- Of course.

His green eyes study you. You're always their favorite subject.

Your cheeks are flushed. You're smiling at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

He runs two fingers between your eyebrows, as if to wipe the tension away from that area. It brings a giggle out of you.

- I like your laugh.

So he states.

He likes your laugh, and he likes it when you're happy.

He likes it when you say you love him. He likes it when you say anything, really. Your voice soothes him even in the most overwhelming days.

He likes the openness you carry in place of the expectations he's so used to.

He likes reading you, but he also likes how you lay yourself out to him. He likes the way you read him, how you look at him like he's real, like he's reachable.

- I like being near you.

He stands up, wraps his arms around you, as if to prove his point. You embrace him. He huffs when he realizes where the "butterflies in the stomach" thing came from.

- How did you notice it before I did? I do love you. I love you!

જ➴ 愛着 (aichaku) attachment, love, fondness

જ➴ Different attachment styles explored through the men of the ADA

Check out the other parts of this mini series!

Doppo Kunikida જ Osamu Dazai જ Atsushi Nakajima

[luanniidae]

Attachment (Atsushi Nakajima x gn!reader)

જ➴ Part 3 of aichaku

જ➴ gn!reader says "I love you", how does Atsushi respond?

- Acchan!

- Yes?

- I love you.

- I love you too.

The white haired boy sighs, but it brings more tension to his body than it takes away from it. You click your tongue, step into his line of vision so he has to meet your eyes. He can't read you, and it's terrifying.

- Don't say it if you don't mean it.

- I wouldn't dare to! I promise!

- But you never dare to say it first, either.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, lowers his gaze. You step away, give him some space. It feels like rubbing salt on a wound for him. Your absence always does. He can't tell you.

He can't tell you that he dreams of you at night, in that space between daydreams and nightmares, when he's still warm and safe under the blankets.

He can't tell you that he doesn't feel comfortable if you're not at an arm's reach, where he can protect you if anything happens, where he can be there instantly if you need him.

He can't tell you that he wants you to — needs you to — need him, that you fill that space between the human and the beast in his heart, where he's hollow and not quite right.

He takes your hand in his, gentle, almost a devotional act. He can't tell you that's how he feels safest, when he doesn't have to doubt that you're real and right there with him, when you allow him near enough to touch and smell and, if he focuses enough with the tiger's senses, to hear your heartbeat.

- I'm sorry. I love you. I truly do.

He can't tell you about how that smile feels like cleansing his soul, like redemption.

જ➴ 愛着 (aichaku) attachment, love, fondness

જ➴ Different attachment styles explored through the men of the ADA

Check out the other parts of this mini series!

Doppo Kunikida જ Osamu Dazai જ Ranpo Edogawa

[luanniidae]

Attachment (Osamu Dazai x gn!reader)

જ➴ Part 2 of aichaku

જ➴ gn!reader says "I love you", how does Dazai respond?

- Dazai!

- Hm?

- I love you.

-... So you've told me.

The pensive man cards his fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face, a complete contrast from the careless rhythm of his voice.

- And so I'll keep telling you.

He turns away to stand by the window, an excuse to look somewhere else, to not have to meet your eyes. He deflects.

- Did you turn in the report from today's case?

- Yeah... Are you done with work tonight?

- Yeah... I should be going home.

- Stay with me.

He tenses up as your steps get closer, gazes at the pretty lights adorning the sky.

- I want to see if I can pry it out of you tonight.

His scowl dissolves as you wrap your arms around him, cheek on his back, your perfume lulling him in. He rests a hand on your forearm, forces a chuckle out of his lips.

- Pry what?

- I want you to say that you love me.

He swallows the knot in his throat, has to make a conscious effort of slowing his heart rate down.

Saying it out loud would be the same as putting a target on your forehead, acknowledging there's something that he wants to keep, something to be taken away from him.

Saying it out loud would make you want to pry more and risk dissolving the magic, the very illusion that makes you love him, the carcass that makes up his being.

Saying it out loud and seeing what happens next would be risking scaring you away with the rot that lays inside of him.

Saying it out loud would be risking realizing you're not enough to fill the empty space on his chest, losing the hope he's gotten used to finding in your embrace.

He clicks tongue, makes his tone lighter to numb the pain of saying it.

- You shouldn't keep trying.

He prays to the stars you won't ever give up.

જ➴ 愛着 (aichaku) attachment, love, fondness

જ➴ Different attachment styles explored through the men of the ADA

Check out the other parts of this mini series!

Doppo Kunikida જ Atsushi Nakajima જ Ranpo Edogawa

[osamusghxst]

can cohen anon become disco anon? :3 i love disco.

can i request a short drabble with dazai of a reader who just ups and leaves after arguments? just out in the city for hours, night or day, a tendency to just leave, go missing. sometimes for peace and sometimes to prove to themselves that they can just do it if things get bad enough.

ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴇ ɴᴏᴛ?

⌯⌲ hi there disco baby, i like to think that dazai is a little toxic & loves to fight so someone up & walking away in the middle of one would send him spiraling. this may or may not be the same reader from the be blunt mini fic ꉂ(˵˃ ∩∩ ˂˵)

Dazai is arguing with you again, not one to raise his voice often, if ever really, but it’s louder than what you’re used to, and it bothers you. It hurts you, even — but you don’t want him to know or see that. You don’t want him to know that you don’t like when he argues and fights with you, it always some sort of surprise and shock when it happens, because he is usually so calm, collected, seemingly well put together. Then he gets like this, and it makes you remember he’s a person too with emotions far more complex than you’d care to admit.

What you have started doing when he berates you to a point of incomprehension is you just… leave. If you’re in the kitchen or the bedroom or the living room, already standing, you just walk away from him, put your shoes on, and walk out. If you’re sitting or lying down, you get up without a word, and leave. It leaves him in a state of baffled and bewildered, previously following behind you as he continues his rant, then stops when the door closes in his face. The first time you did this, it only made him angrier that he took off too in the opposite direction — it was an issue when he came home and you still weren’t there. He searched everywhere for you, checking every place he thought you could possibly be, until he came across you sitting at the river with a snack and feet in the water, and the arguing stopped for a while.

You’d think he would get used to it, but he never did. He was always stunned into silence when you’d leave, gone for hours, him waiting for you, worried sick, until he couldn’t take it anymore and go on a one-man search party to bring you home. You would aimlessly wander, taking in some sights you have otherwise ignored, window shopping, getting snacks or drinks, and sometimes just strolling around town. It’s quiet, peaceful, and when he does end up finding you, so is he.

“Don’t you dare walk away again,” Dazai scolds, seeing you gearing up to go toward the door, tired of his yelling for no good reason, his hand securely around your wrist, and you just peek at him over your shoulder as if this is quite literally nothing to you. You blink once, tilting your head, then turn back to face him fully.

“Are you done talking to me like that?” You ask, plain, a blank expression on your features. He gives you a confused look.

“What?”

“I’ll stay if you’re done talking to me like that,” you tell him truthfully, being firm, and his grip loosens. “I don’t like it, Dazai.” You use his last name, to show you’re serious, and he doesn’t really know what to do or say. “If I upset you, just tell me instead of yelling at me and making me guess what’s wrong. I don’t like it.” You reiterate, and his jaw is tensing from how hard he’s biting down on his back teeth. He has a difficult time with you occasionally, learning the best he can, but he struggles because while you’re blunt and to the point, your brain still isn’t on the same functionality as his, and it bothers him. Sometimes, to feel better, all he wants to do is fight, to let it out, but you never engage — even before just up and walking away, you’d stare at him as if he spoke a different language.

And honestly, with how you’re reacting, he just might be.

“Yeah, okay,” he shrugs, hands stuffing in his pants pockets, and he can’t look you in the eye anymore.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, arms folding, and eyeing him expectantly. His eyebrows twitch together, tongue poking out his cheek before he just shakes his head — he was trying to tell you earlier, but he did it wrong, and now to him, it doesn’t matter.

“No, it’s alright. Let’s just go get dinner or something. I don’t wanna make you cook.”

“I don’t mind cooking. Helps me relax,” your eyes watch closely as he is already moving toward the door, feet shuffling into his shoes and hand grabbing his jacket to throw on, grabbing yours to hold out for you.

“I would like to go out, with you, together,” he holds your jacket out more, and you oblige after a long moment’s hesitation, letting him help you get it on. Then he kneels down to help you with your shoes, not because you needed it, but simply because he wants to — and doesn’t know how else to apologize with sincerity. “Dinner’s on me, we can go wherever you want.” You stare up at him when he is back upright, pondering, analyzing, eyes narrowing some, and he ignores you, taking your hand to lead you out of the apartment and down the sidewalk. So you two can roam the city together instead of hiding away while he scours every corner for you.

In reality, Dazai really just doesn’t want you walking out on him again, worried the next time you do will be the last time he ever sees you.

a bit longer than a drabble but i still think i made it short ^^

- ghxst

minific masterlist

tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch

[osamusghxst]

I've been refraining from making requests because I know you're already buried in them but after reading your last fic my heart is aching for Fukuzawa and reader exchanging flowers...

No rush, no pressure, no anything. 🫠

- 🐁

𝓕orbidden 𞋎anguage

⌯⌲ omg president fine shit (⸝⸝ ♡﹏♡⸝⸝) i can do a minific of that for you, no pressure at all! let’s make it a little scandalous~ a little longer than average

You feel as though you have just been caught. You ogle at the huge bouquet of white roses sitting on your desk, no note, no other indication of who they came from, but you’re fairly certain you know who it was. Your teeth carefully come down on a hunk of the inside of your cheek, completely lost in thought, and Atsushi peers over your shoulder when he sees you standing there entirely still.

“Wow, those are pretty,” he comments, pointing to the full blooms, and you can only nod, the fear of mentioning anything else potentially getting you and the other person in a bit of trouble. “Who gave ‘em to you?” He probes, walking around your stiff body to get a closer look.

“Uh, n-not sure,” you stammer, fingers coming up to mess with your hair some to come off as casual, but you’re actually shaking. “They are gorgeous, though.” You put on a form of a smile, on edge, and just hope Ranpo doesn’t notice your behavior.

“Another secret admirer? That seems to happen so often around here,” he grins before walking away, in search of something to do, and leaves you to continue your silent panic.

You have gained an unfortunate mass of emotions and feelings toward a particular person within the agency, not meaning to in the slightest, terrified of what this could boil down to, and not even thinking that your actions would reap responses. You thought that the safest and most discreet way to express your newfound admiration was by giving them flowers; you come in early, before anyone else, before him, and place a couple of stems plucked from the bushes in the park. It’s a bit naive, but you didn’t exactly want to spend money on them in case he found out it was you and ultimately had to nip it in the bud.

He had never asked questions, but you could always tell when he was at his desk, examining the wildflowers, that he was pondering who would have possibly thought to gift them to him. Your biggest fear used to be if he had just asked Ranpo, and playing coy isn’t exactly your strong suit. Before today, you never had been discovered, going about your work day as if nothing happened, being questioned once before but able to play it off well enough to not be asked again.

However, there’s a giant bundle of roses staring you in the face now that no one could imagine to ignore. Other agency members and secretaries have made passing glances when they walk by, murmuring amongst themselves or keeping their thoughts to themselves of how stunning they looked, while you stand there helpless.

“Whoa, who got ya these?” Ranpo’s voice causes you to jump, placing a hand over your heart, and wishing this wasn’t happening right now. You side-eye him, pursing your lips and hoping his glasses are elsewhere.

“Not sure,” your tongue clicks before granting him a smile, turning to face him so he doesn’t assume you’re acting weird. “Everyone’s so nosy today.” You half-tease, but you’re also seriously on the brink.

“Well, you’re acting weird. I’m going back to my desk,” his nose wrinkles some at you before walking away, and a small breath of relief escapes, shoulders slumping, and you don’t know what to do. Usually you would be elated and glad and jumping for joy to find out he feels the same way, but this is work, he’s above you, it could be viewed as unprofessional. People may start to think you’re getting away with stuff due to favoritism, or getting stuff handed to you. You especially didn’t want Ranpo to know, considering how close you two have gotten, and it all is weighing so heavy on your chest.

A throat clears across the room, your head whipping around to see the president standing at his office door, hands tucked away in his sleeves, and he nods once in your direction. “May I have a word with you?” Fukuzawa asks like he does anyone else he needs to speak to, but something about the tone made you feel as though you were in trouble. Maybe they didn’t come from him; maybe he found out it’s been me all along and he is telling me to stop. You scurry over, head down, and rush into his office with your hands folded in front of you, awaiting the berating of being so “unprofessional” and “bold” and “too forward” of essentially hitting on your boss with flowers — albeit the most innocent method, it’s still highly frowned upon.

The door closes, the soft click of the lock makes your heart jump in your throat, and you let out a shaking exhale through your nose. His shoes patter lightly across the linoleum floor to his desk, but he doesn’t sit in his chair; instead, he leans against the edge, facing you, and you blink up at him with wide eyes. “I see you got my flowers.” He remarks gently. Your cheeks flare up in an instant, clutching your fingers together. “I hope you like them?” His head tilts, piercing eyes gazing down at you, impression stoic, stone-like, nothing in comparison to the tone of voice he’s using with you.

Your lips part, unable to form the right words, jaw moving up and down but not even a sound emits. You’re gobsmacked. His expression cracks then with a small, lopsided smile, harsh leer suddenly softening, and your stupid heart melts.

“You’ve been sending me so many, I thought it only polite to return the gesture.”

“You… You’ve known this whole time?” You squeak, hand coming up to your chest, it trying to turn you to the door and run.

“Well, not the whole time,” his sentence veers off toward the end, eyes traveling elsewhere, and his hands are still tucked away in his sleeves. He then lets out a light laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and you’re flustered all over again. “I happened to see you sneaking out of my office one day. I didn’t want to startle you or bring attention to anyone else, so I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have been acting like a dumb school kid. I-I don’t know what I was thinking,” you start blubbering, completely forgetting the fact he gave you flowers in return. He watches you stumble, curiosity and amusement piqued, and lets you keep going. “I’m not even going to bring up the age difference but you’re my boss! The president of the agency! I shouldn’t—” Your teeth sink down into your bottom lip, stopping yourself from going, and his hand finally reveals itself to carefully come up and brush his thumb on your furiously flushed cheek. What an interesting reaction.

“Never mind all of that,” he whispers, but that is all of the affection you’ll be receiving at the moment, and he doesn’t intend on withdrawing his hand any time soon. “What do you think that says about me?”

“N-Nothing out of the ordinary,” you state plainly, honestly, accidentally leaning into his touch, and your eyes land on the stolen hydrangeas from the park’s shrubbery arranged in a small vase on his desk.

“Then why is it such an issue when it’s you?” Your gaze snaps back to meet his, and your hands are shaking with pining and want and anticipation, you have to clutch them together tighter. “Will you keep giving me these beautiful flowers?” He asks, genuine, the thought of no longer receiving your previous gifts world shattering for him. “I’ll give you more in return.” He adds on, a bargaining chip, his fingertip tracing stars on your skin, the pad rougher than you expected.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Emotions and romance aren’t something you involve yourself with terribly often, if ever, finding them troublesome. However, you feel as though you have been given permission to experience it and still aren’t sure if you’re allowed to take it.

“Of course not. I was worried I was the one out of line for how I felt,” another soft smile graces his lips, and it’s like inside of him you’ve never seen before. “If it is too much, I’m quite alright with keeping it a secret.” A secret? You look up at him with big, innocent eyes, making him almost gush. “I’m putty in your delicate hands, whatever you say goes, my dear.” The quiet that befalls the office is comforting, your head turning just enough to have your lips place a small, quick, chaste kiss to the heel of his palm, and it actually catches him by surprise. Am I allowed to feel like this?

“Maybe we can talk more later?” You suggest, carefully withdrawing, your hand on the doorknob, and he stands there thoughtfully as he watches your movements. “Like, over dinner?” You’re turning the knob, essentially giving him no time to come up with a viable answer, other than a nod of his head. As you pull the door opened, you see Ranpo, Yosano, and Dazai huddled up in a small group leaned against the door, and all three are staring at you with very large eyes. Your eyebrows downturn, scowling, and Fukuzawa remains poised, not uttering a single word other than giving them an amused and joking glare.

“Uh… what was that Kunikida?!” Dazai calls, hurriedly running off toward his desk where he left his partner. You lock eyes with Yosano who side glances Ranpo, and his glasses are on the bridge of his nose.

“Kyouka, what’d you need?” She tears off elsewhere, making a break for her own office, leaving you nose to nose with the master detective. Who blinks once before shrugging, turning on his heel to go back to his desk.

“Who do you think caught you the first time?”

just a note, reader is always in their mid-late twenties or older when i write fukuzawa~

- ghxst

minific masterlist

tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch

[osamusghxst]

𝑨nother 𝑯ero

𝒪. Dazai -`♡´-

requested by a lovely anon

♡

synopsis: we'll save the origin story this go around, since we all know how it goes. you are juggling life, romance, family, and college while being coined tokyo's kumo. all while having to prevent your hyper observant - nosy - boyfriend, dazai, from learning your secret. plus, you're so used to him coming to your rescue, you want to be the hero saving him for a change.

introduction: man, we're doing this again? alright, here we go: welcome to tokyo, where even radioactive spiders travel for vacation looking for someone else to make a hero. there's no uncle ben nor aunt may, no dead parents, and the boyfriend's family seems to be intact and mentally functional. the only biggest threat is if he finds out about your secret - oh, and the newest villain lurking in the depths of shibuya. also, that level 300 biology exam coming up next week that someone forgot to study for since they were too busy swinging around the districts protecting civilians from harm.

i wanted this to be perfect, or as perfect as i can make it, and i fear i fell a little flat. so, this is a semi-comedic take on spider-man, where you are the superhero tokyo didn't know it needed, and dazai is a rather scrappy damsel.

contents: ~8.7k words; sfw some comedy with canon-typical superhero violence; college, spider-man au; hero gn!reader; civilian mj!dazai; established relationship; a mix of toby mcguire's and andrew garfield's spiderverses; secret identity, identity reveal; fluff(?); i kinda gave dazai andrew's peter parker's personality; loserzai (if you squint) and he sticks up for you a lot

a/n this took longer than expected because i had to completely rewire my brain from what i originally planned to write. i made it sillier. kind of proofread.

You sigh heavily when you see Dazai wobbling and trudging his way up to you, a crooked smile on his bust lip, and his glasses dangling from his fingers. He tosses a hand up at you in a wave, and as he gets closer, you see his eye is beginning to bruise. “Hey, there’s my favorite flower.” His voice is a bit scratched and groggy; you cock a brow.

“Osamu,” you drag his name out in a warning, arms folded as you stand in front of your off-campus apartment door. “What have you done now?”

“What? I can’t go around defending your honor?” He coolly lets out, but it’s a bit of a whine. You roll your eyes, practically in defeat, and shake your head.

“We’re adults now. Why are you entertaining high school shit?” You murmur, ushering him inside and leading him to the kitchen where he plops down, his opened hoodie splaying out at his sides, and he winces as his arm comes around his stomach. In the light, he looks way worse than you expected, and some blood is trickling down his chin. He sees the way you’re inspecting him, and he offers another cheeky grin.

“I know, I look hot. You can say it,” he breathes, but he’s wrecked. Your fingers carefully push back his mop of hair, then set his glasses off to the side as you go in search of an ice pack.

“I told you before, you don’t need to go fighting my battles for me anymore,” you sigh inward, grabbing a bag of frozen corn you have no intention of actually using, wrapping it in a towel, then offering it to him.

“Yeah, well, it’s what I’m supposed to do,” he grimaces and grunts under his breath when he resituates himself, pressing the bag carefully to his gradually swelling mouth. “It’s part of being a boyfriend.” He mumbles then, eyes downcast when his hand slips under his shirt to gingerly massage his stomach. You shake your head again, not necessarily disappointed but some other thing close to it; he’s been getting in between you and bullies for as long as you’ve known him, feeling the need to protect you since he wasn’t afraid – he should have been though, since it always ended with him being injured in some way, shape, or form. You have felt the guilt follow you your entire life, nursing him back to health, having to tell his parents the wounds are because he was protecting you, and while they never yelled at either of you, you had it in the back of your mind they didn’t really want him talking to you any longer.

However, no matter how much they quietly protested behind your back, it was the only time he defied them, because he loved being your friend more than worrying about being in pain.

“Where else did they get you?” You’re already grasping the hem of his shirt, lifting up to see some bruising under his hand that he tries to hide. “Dammit Dazai!” You scold, brows downturned as you shove his hand to the side to get a better look: the color appears normal, but it’s big. “You antagonized them, didn’t you?!” You’re storming back to the freezer, jerking it open and aggressively rummaging around in for another bag of frozen vegetables, and he just has to sigh, to brush you off, since you often react this way after he comes stumbling home in this condition.

“I didn’t,” he weakly defends, a sharp inhaling causing the pain to sting worse in his side. “They were running their mouths, one v three.” He tells you, eyeing how you’re shaking your head with disappointment and irritation, wrapping another towel around the bag then stomping back over to hold it on his bruise to at least prevent swelling. “Why are you so upset?” He asks, dumbly, his free hand reaching to brush his fingers through your hair.

“Because you’re an idiot,” you mutter, kneeling down to sit on the floor, and allow your head to cautiously rest on his chest.

“You used to call me your hero,” he jokes, struggling less to speak, but it’s hidden in his tone he’s bothered you aren’t calling him that right now – or much less anymore. “Would you prefer the Kumo to be coming to your rescue?” He goes on, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and your eyes roll at that comment. He’s been frequently mentioning the hero that has run rampant in the different districts of Tokyo, dubbed “Kumo” since they have spider-like powers, leaving behind webs in their wake, anonymously helping police arrest criminals, prevent murders and gang wars, help kids find their parents, and the occasional cat stuck in a tree or dog in a fire get safely to their owners. Journalists, gossip rags, and the head of the police force have been trying to find out the identity of Tokyo’s Kumo, given they wear a mask and full-body suit to hide every aspect of themselves; the media bounty for any information on this superhero is rising higher with each passing day. The last you had heard, it was over eighty million yen. And you want in on it – that kind of money is life changing.

The thing is, “the Kumo” can’t exactly come to your rescue, and you can’t exactly turn them in for cash since you are Tokyo’s Kumo. You haven’t gotten around to telling Dazai about this, a secret you’ve been keeping to yourself since freshman year of college. Somehow, while at a bio-engineering laboratory for a random zoology course you took merely for the credit, you got bit by a spider during the tour and haven’t been the same since. Your eyesight wasn’t necessarily terrible before, but you had woken the next morning with beyond perfect vision, seeing clearly near and far; your hearing was heightened, able to pick up on many different voices and sounds within the city; your reflexes were beyond compare, sensing things before they happen; and you were… sticking to stuff. Your hands clung to anything they touched – walls, doorknobs, posters, leaves, buildings, clothes, hair – and that made for some rather interesting scenarios that you had to try explaining away to your boyfriend, who for once found your behavior strange, but couldn’t nail any solid evidence to use to confront you on it. There’s also the matter of a new, completely random spider infestation going on at your shared place – unsure if that is related.

At first, you didn’t really know what to do with your abilities, learning at the worst time that you can shoot spider webs from your body, which added to the constant sticking, and you were stuck in one for about twenty minutes – because this might as well happen. You had gotten out eventually, after essentially sitting in a forced time-out to think about this absolutely insane situation you have gotten pulled into, just before Dazai came home, and had the mess conveniently cleaned up without a single trace of excess webs – however, spiders were still lurking in the corners. It was when you had bumped into a simple thief, someone that had taken what looked like a standard gym bag, and all it took to get it back was a flick of your wrist to shoot a string of web to yank it backward. Much to both yours and the robber’s surprise, it was stronger than you expected, and the guy wasn’t willing to stick around to ask you questions, especially considering who they stole from was approaching. They definitely didn’t ask you anything, just grateful to have their belongings back, and you were left standing there utterly confused by the reflexes you exhibited in the moment – as if it was second nature.

The webs being sturdy gave you a bright idea, and you learned had to web sling through the city for faster transportation. Not without a little trial and error, of course, littered with bruises and busted or scraped skin, but it is so much more fun than walking.

Thus began your newfound purpose of helping others, tinkering with a costume until it was perfect to conceal your identity while giving you flexibility to move, learning and training to better understand these powers, and coming to the realization that people actually enjoyed having you around in their time of need. However, it was difficult to keep up with the monumental task you had set for yourself, considering underneath your mask, you’re still a college student trying to make it to graduation, working at your part-time job, and maintaining your relationship. There are days you want to give up, disappear, and hope for the best that you can get by in life having these extra abilities that annoyingly but rather conveniently help you with your day-to-day.

Then there are other days, when everyday civilians are thanking you for your services, kids looking up to you, and ensuring safety of the place you live that pushes you to keep going. Those people don’t care who is hiding under the mask, marveling at your powers and selflessness, your capabilities and willingness to help, your strong will, and all around the nicest person most of them will ever interact with in their lifetime.

Alas, you’ve been doing this for about four years now, and you’ve been able so far to keep your identity a secret from Dazai. You don’t like that you’ve kept something this serious from him, but you have convinced yourself it’s for the greater good, as well as for his own safety. You have had a few run-ins with menial villains, as any superhero would, and yeah they weren’t all that terrible, but it’s better if you keep them separated from your private life. He’s suspicious, though, and you’ve almost slipped up in front of him on numerous occasions, but for now, at least to your current knowledge, he has no clue. This isn’t to say there have been strains on your relationship, given crime and trouble isn’t ever on pause, and you would be out all different hours of the night before you come trudging back into your place, exhausted, a bit battered and bruised, and plopping down on the couch to sleep for the evening. You’re also a horrible liar.

There had been a small handful of nights you shuffled in, wearing your normal clothes and suit stuffed in your bag, that the light flipped on to reveal Dazai standing there in his pajamas, a confused but disappointed expression etched into his features, and he’d have questions you weren’t sure you had appropriate answers to.

“Where were you?” He asked one particular evening after you had a run-in with a low-level gang that was rampaging Shibuya, causing trouble and starting to get violent, a special request from the police that if the Kumo was listening on the report to get to the scene immediately. You made it out primarily unscathed, at least in the face, and you stared at him wide-eyed for a moment too long while you conjured up an excuse. “It’s almost two in the morning.” He added, brows knitting together, eyes distraught behind his glasses, and you hadn’t been checking on the time.

“Uhm…” You started, swallowing, adjusting your grip on the bag strap, and your gaze started darting around to come up with any reason at all that he would believe that you were out until almost two o’clock in the morning without checking in with him. “I-I decided to pick up a late-night shift at the store. You know, stocking during close and stuff.” You rushed out, but that isn’t something your location does – they stock off-hours in the morning before open, and Dazai knew that because you always complained if you were asked to come in at five in the morning and would rather stay later at night. “We received a big shipment that we had to get stocked quickly, couldn’t wait until morning.” You cleared your throat, beginning to step forward when you noticed the change in his demeanor. An eyebrow raised as you stared at him, watching, and his jaw flexed.

“Are you cheating on me?” He forced the question out, not one he would ever have thought he’d need to ask, but it had been weighing heavy on both his mind and heart, no other explanation as to why you would be running around all hours of the night, making up half-assed excuses for why you’re tumbling in that late, and you unintentionally had been distant with him. You were stock-still in place, blinking rapidly, and at a loss for words at such an accusation. A labored breath escaped, and you weren’t sure if you could keep this up any longer. “If you don’t want to be with me–”

“What?” You interrupted, voice hoarse, and bag shrugging down to the floor with a thud at your feet. “No! No, Osamu, no, I’d never cheat on you!” You stepped closer, but his hands were in his pockets instead of reaching for you or wrapping you up in a hug. “No, it was work, I’m serious.” You continued with the lie, desperate to claw and cling to any old thing your tired brain could think up, and so many ‘I’m sorry’s were already following. He wanted to believe you, everything telling him he should, but he knew you weren’t at work – he called, and no one was there.

“Okay, okay!” He had to pump the brakes on your mouth running a mile a minute, but he still didn’t make any moves to seek physical touch or comfort from you. “Just… Go take a shower or something.” He gestured up the stairs, vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, and you merely nodded, grabbing your bag to sling back over your shoulder, and climbed each step as if it was its own individual mountain.

After that day, he was more suspicious than ever, beginning to get increasingly more nosy, and you’ve caught him a few times too many rooting around in your stuff. You try not to be angry with him for it, considering you are keeping a ginormous secret from him, but you also are nervous he might start figuring things out by putting two and two together. He’s been asking to share locations – the both of you – and you are running out of reasons why you are against that, and he keeps every terrible lie in the back of his mind, noting you haven’t given the same reason twice. He’s been wanting to spend even more time with you once classes are done and if neither of you have work to do – he’s been closely monitoring your work schedule, making it harder for you to say ‘I’ve picked up an extra shift’, considering you’re supposed to be part-time. He’s been visiting you more frequently at work for lunch breaks, and picking you up after your shift, since he had noticed you are always running off elsewhere when your shift ends.

On the outside, Dazai is an overbearing and borderline controlling boyfriend. On the inside, you’re panicking because Tokyo needs their Kumo but your already clingy boyfriend suddenly needs all of your undivided attention. You are just so grateful he wasn’t accusing you of cheating, considering you’d never, but also didn’t know how to prove you weren’t. On top of that, he ended up coming up to you a few days later and said: “I’m not sure why I even thought of that. We’re both total losers, there’s no way you’d be able to find someone else to date.” You hit him upside the head. And then your hand stuck to his hair that you had to pretend was on purpose until you could figure out how to release it. He just thought you were really mad at him and taking it out on him hardcore.

Needless to say, you’re just glad he hasn’t kicked you to the curb, and he’s getting one step closer to figuring you out. 

You sigh, readjusting the frozen bag better on Dazai’s stomach, and shake your head against his rumpled shirt. “The Kumo’s too busy with more important things to help me with bullies that peaked in high school.”

“That’s what I’m here for, then,” he reiterates, combing his fingers through your hair before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We don’t need to bother a superhero with something I’m perfectly capable of handling.”

“I really wish you’d quit engaging with them,” you sit back up, getting to your feet, and walk off in the direction of the bathroom to get the first aid kit. He watches after you, sucking in a breath then carefully exhaling, shifting in his seat to be as comfortable as possible, and wondering what your deal was with this spider person running around. Anytime he mentions them, you seem to be disinterested, or feigning interest, acting as if you don’t really know too much about them, sometimes implying he was a mere “fanboy” on the hero. To prevent eyebrow raising, you engage in enough conversation about it until you can segue the conversation elsewhere.

He never used to question you, your actions, your terrible lies, having known you for so long he figured he knew you inside and out. He did notice, after freshman year, you were different, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Before, albeit more on the passive end, you always looked to him to solve your bullying problems, no matter that you two were in college now, since it seemed people are mean no matter their age; after the odd and mysterious change, you didn’t seem to ask him for help anymore on your issues. He truly can’t do too much for you, but he is more than willing to fight your battles if it means ensuring your safety; if he has to take a few blows to the face and stomach, he will – he always has, and he always will.

You have just been so strange.

Though, while you are under the impression your identity as Tokyo’s anonymous superhuman has been well-hidden up to this point, since he had calmed down on the helicopter tendencies, Dazai actually has plenty of evidence that he is gearing up to present to you on why he is confident in pinning you down for all of this. He just… doesn’t know how to address it. For the past year, he had dropped asking you too many questions, which was a relief, but it was primarily because he had decided to follow around the Kumo. Clearly asking you directly wasn’t getting him anywhere, so he figured he’d have a better chance at watching the superhero in action firsthand.

He and every other civilian believes the hero doesn’t have a set schedule, available around the clock, always on time whenever they need them to show up and save the day. However, he has noted that the Kumo is most active in the afternoons, coincidentally when classes are done – more specifically, your classes. He knows that isn’t sufficient, as there are plenty of people available in the afternoons, so it doesn’t rule anyone out completely, other than night class attenders or people with late-night jobs. Your shifts can vary, since you work at a convenience store nearby campus, meaning you may be available in the afternoon or you may not be, it depends; Kumo happens to be available when you are and are not working, but he can’t bring himself to rule the hunch out completely. That has made his eyebrow arch at the thought when he was jotting it down in his notes, since that implied you were either lying about working or taking off mid-shift to go handle business – both things typically uncharacteristic.

Sometimes he’ll sneak around town when he sees the Kumo swinging by on their string of web, momentarily captivated by the ability, seeing them zoom by, flicking their wrist effortlessly to shoot another string to swing from one building to the next. He’ll forget about his personal mission to uncover the identity when he continues watching their body fly and flip around, envious of the gymnastics, and has almost counted you out completely from the stunts alone – you cannot do any sort of flip to save your life, barely a somersault. That’s when he has to remind himself that this person has powers, enhancing their usual capabilities, possibly making someone who previously was an athletically inept loser become an Olympic contender.

Caution is not his forte, just as he interferes with your personal fights, he will try to get involved with fights from strangers and gangs, his thoughts consumed with being right that it’s you under that mask, the sheer idea of you being in potential danger kicking in his instincts to protect you as he is running into the middle of a gang war – only to be swept up by Kumo and swung off to a safer location and scolded by them that ‘this isn’t a job for a civilian’ and to ‘head home’. He watched closely to the demeanor of the masked hero, watching their hands fly and move around as they spoke, how a fist would place on their hip, and the voice was obviously changed in pitch and tone in a lousy attempt to disguise it, to be undetectable. He noted how similar it was to getting scolded by you, especially when he was at home with you the next day, he purposefully knocked something off the counter, an extremely cheap and ugly mug he purchased strictly for destruction, and paid close attention to your demeanor at how you berated him for knocking the cup over, hands flying and moving around, a fist on your hip, but your voice was normal. Recognizable.

He’d be lying if he wasn’t thinking about trying to hitch another ride on that swinging web.

The two of you only had two classes together, early mornings on Mondays and Thursdays, back-to-back, and Dazai would have the news quietly playing in his earbud in those classes, listening for anything life threatening that would call for the need of a superhero. So far, nothing has come up, and you are always in perfect attendance for both classes, unless you have told him otherwise due to being sick at home – definitely not faking since he can see the sniffles and redness on your nose and in your eyes, and you’re too weak to even get out of bed to send him off. He has, weirdly enough, on those days still seen Kumo swinging around without a care in the world, preventing bank robberies and armed theft at the corner store, and even being held at gunpoint by someone trying to run away from the scene. He may or may not have heard a nasty sneeze coming from underneath that mask shortly after disarming and wrapping the perpetrator to a streetlamp to await the police’s arrival for a proper arrest, a stuffed and clogged voice speaking into the phone.

Dazai has tried researching until his heart gave out on such a phenomenon. It took him countless days and meaningless hours scouring the internet for anything that would point toward spider-like superpowers that could infect a human being, the idea so illogical. However, he has no choice but to believe it, since someone is literally flying and swinging around on spider webs, he is fairly certain emit from their body, just like the arachnid.

It took quite a bit of that wasted time for him to find a possible connection, coming across an article deep within Google’s archive of searches, past new articles and fanfiction and apparent interviews, was a report on findings for genetically modifying living creatures to enhance their senses and lengthen their life span, and if they were successful, it could be considered ‘the most revolutionary discovery in scientific history’. Starting with a little spider. The document was hundreds of pages long, and Dazai spent hours diligently reading every single word on the pages, pounding back can after can of coffee with his glasses pressed up high on his nose, and his tired eyes couldn’t stop taking in everything he was finding out.

“‘O.M. Industries?’” He murmured as he read the company over and over again, his weary brain doing everything it can to connect the dots. It isn’t until his gaze veered off, eyes crossing from exhaustion, to a picture of you in a lab coat and laboratory, that he saw the bio-engineering’s name stitched faintly on the front of your white coat, and his heart dropped. There were plenty of other students in your class that went, the zoology enrollment huge, it seriously couldn’t be you. He decided the next morning to call in for an appointment to meet with the lead scientist of the lab and project to find out more, which is coming up here soon.

Meanwhile, you are seriously just trying to survive. You have done this for four years now, you’d think it would all be easier by now, but it isn’t. If anything, it feels harder. You want to tell Dazai, but with him running up on the sidewalk trying to interfere with your superhero business when you’re the Kumo is stressing you out beyond belief and is exactly why you haven’t gotten around to it yet. Being out in the general public, being counted on for things primarily handled by the police, made you come to the realization you had been blind completely to the way people are. They’re dangerous and violent if they feel like that’s all there’s left for them to do, and pulling your boyfriend into it makes your heart twist and clench, sick to your stomach, and incredibly irritated that he thinks he’s "big and bad" enough to jump in the midst of gang wars or robberies.

The first time he stepped on the scene, running up as if he alone could stop a bullet, your jaw fell to the concrete. You faltered, almost getting yourself hurt in the process, a pocket knife zooming through the air past your head.

“You need to go!” You commanded with your altered voice, panic settling in while you held him back, being a human shield, and he had the audacity to argue.

“No way! You can’t do this on your own!” He scoffed, and a small part of you then thought that maybe he already knew, since he was speaking as if he was aware that was you under there. You had sensed it before you heard it, the world seeming to move in slow motion compared to you, the slow pull of someone’s finger on the trigger, the sonic boom of the gun going off, and having scoop him up in your arms to quickly evacuate the scene. He clung to you, shaking some in your hold, eyes squeezed shut as he hid his face in your covered neck, and you rolled your eyes while moving between buildings with your webs. This is the guy who insists on solving all of my problems.

You dropped down to the ground, him not letting you go, unaware he was also standing upright without fear of gravity pulling him down, and you lightly patted his back. “Look, you can’t run around doing things like that.” You lectured, finally peeling him off of your body, and he actually pouted. “While it is always appreciated to receive assistance from a citizen, this is a dangerous job dealing with dangerous people. You aren’t equipped with taking on the duties I do.” This was not a new speech you have had to give, mostly to teenagers and children, which I guess is the same difference when it comes to Dazai.

“How are you better capable to take on such danger?” He challenged, arms folded, and he glared down at you – that didn’t help your anxious mind in thinking he already knew. You’ve seen that look before, one he gives when you’ve been out-of-character or letting people torment you.

“I shoot webs,” you countered, swiftly lifting your wrist to shoot a web at his mouth, and he stared at you with big, accusatory and angry eyes. His fingers came up to try clawing away at it, but it was thick, and if he could speak, he’d be interrogating you and asking how you became the Kumo in the first place – because that is such a “you” thing to do. “Go home. Stay out of danger, I’m sure you have someone worried sick about you.” And you left him with that, leaping up into the air and firing off another string, latching to the nearest building to swing back to where you once were. Your mind was preoccupied as you tackled the group of gang members, unsure if you handled that correctly, if you had given yourself away somehow; why he felt the need to come to your aid. Even if there was the possibility he still didn’t know, that would mean he was trying to help a random, masked stranger with the yakuza merely because they were outnumbered. And that was certainly not the last time he did that, either, somehow at your side to help with fists up and determination in his expression.

That sounds exactly like my Osamu, and how can I be mad at him for that?

Dazai had a difficult time that night working to get the web mouthguard removed, astonished by how sticky it was. When you walked in, you found him in the bathroom, frozen, a pair of sharp, pointed scissors near his face, and you had to pretend to be shocked at the state. Your eyes locked in the mirror, his narrowing briefly before correcting, then turned to hand the scissors to help get him free.

“Oh, I dunno, ‘Samu,” you giggled, taking the sheers regardless. “I kinda like you being this quiet.” His brows had downturned in a cartoonish manner, and muffled sounds tumbled out but it only made you laugh more. “I guess the Kumo’s got a sense of humor!” He rolled his eyes and plopped down on the toilet seat, folding his arms, and pouted.

Why, yes, yes you do.

You have been avoiding the police radio all day, needing a break, falling behind on your studies, needing to ease up on superhero duties since you have caught Dazai on a handful of occasions following around the Kumo with a notebook, pen, and sometimes even a camera like a little undercover investigator. You’ve been wanting to make a joke to him about capturing some pictures to turn into the tabloids for a bit of extra cash, but you knew there’d be no way to explain away your knowledge of him sneaking around since he hasn’t mentioned to you directly, his partner, that he’s stalking the hero. You have made attempts to rummage around for said notebook, but he keeps it at his hip at all times and hides it with diligence because you have yet to come across it. I just wanna know what you think of me.

In your rooting around, mutual nosiness, you did find a note off to the side where he has an appointment with “OMI” in a couple days, it flying over your head completely. You couldn’t even be bothered to wonder if it was a doctor’s appointment.

While you can avoid listening in on the police radio all you’d like to, crime and villains never cease, and your senses are going haywire, every nerve in your system sending signal after signal for your feet to move. You’re hardly over the threshold of the bathroom before the movie theater crashing sound of a car barges through the side of your apartment, where the kitchen is, and your eyes are trembling in their sockets so badly, you can barely make out Dazai’s figure stumbling along the hallway while he holds onto the wall. His eyes are bugging, whipping over his shoulder to look at the damage, and sees a standard four-door sedan lodged in a giant hole, knocking out the table he was previously sitting at.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, arm moving slowly as it scrambles for you when you rush to his side, hands all over his body to make sure he’s in one piece, completely ignoring the fact that a vehicle is just… there. His arm wraps around your shoulders, hand pressing your head to his chest, amazed and terrified gaze trained on the catastrophic mess, and you’re not even sure what this could have caused it. Suddenly, this may be out of your wheelhouse, considering you live on the third floor. “I didn’t think that happens in real life.” He swallows, holding you tight, forgetting about his pain in an instant.

“It usually doesn’t,” you whisper, daring to break away from him, inching your way to the ginormous opening that the car is half-hanging from, and there is more noise, yelling, screaming, and a roar of an unknown beast sounding in the middle of the street. You peer down, heart catching in your throat at the height, your suit not on to placebo you out of the fear, and your brows twitch together at the sight of a somewhat familiar body rampaging the street. He’s large, as big as the Hulk, but less green, and his fists are the size of wrecking balls, slamming them down into the asphalt to create craters. People are running left and right, screams for help, asking what’s happening, who that is. Where the Kumo is. Your hand fumbles to rest on the metal door, to steady yourself, and you feel a chest behind your arm with shuffling perking your ears.

“He grew,” Dazai murmurs, astonished, audible bafflement in his tone. Your head whips in his direction, distraught and puzzled, looking up at his pale face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Reks,” he nods in the direction of the hulking giant of a human, those absurd fists continuously coming down and knocking around, picking up more cars to toss in the air, and the billowing of his deep voice tells you this can’t possibly be real. And yet, you got bit by a radioactive spider that gave you superpowers, but this. This is what’s unbelievable. “He wasn’t that size when I last saw him.” You dart your line of sight back to the scene, watching equally large feet stomp around, and you whirl your entire body around to face Dazai.

“You fought that?!” You scream, pointing backward at him.

“In my defense, he wasn’t that big when I did!” He argues, gesturing in the same direction, and you scoff. “He was maybe only a little taller! And… And his clothes fit!” He adds, indicating this is an incredibly sudden change to see in your usual antagonizer.

“Dammit Dazai!” You stomp your foot. “No wonder you look so busted up!”

“How was I to know he was Reks on ‘roids?!” He counters, pointing back at him so your attention is on that and not your boyfriend. “He is demolishing the city! What are we gonna do?” Your head shakes in bewilderment, holding a hand up and blinking rapidly as you collect your thoughts.

“We?!” You exclaim. “We are leaving! Go, get a move on!” I demand, starting to shove him in the direction of the front door, but he’s fighting with you, trying to push your hands away.

“You can’t run away from this!” He emphasizes, stopping you both in your tracks, trying to essentially let you know he knows. “They need you!” Just as he tells this to you, an inhale that feels too heavy and weighing down on your lungs freezing in your chest, another guttural bellow comes from the enlarged Reks outside, faint, but clear.

“Bring out the Kumo!” Another car horn blares, getting quieter and quieter with the assumption it is flying in the opposite direction to a different building. You’re stopped cold, staring up at Dazai, feigning cluelessness because you don’t know when to quit, and you have to ignore everything happening outside until you are sure he is safe. “Come out, little spider! I wanna squash ya!” Reks continues antagonizing, trying to draw you out, and the helplessness and hopelessness of the city is coming crashing down on your shoulders while they are in terror, and you’re nowhere to be found.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shake your head again, lowering your gaze and beginning to shove him again toward the door, leaning down to snatch his shoes so he can get them on to run as far away as he can. “I can’t help people. I’m not a hero. I mean, shit, look at you, you’re in that condition because I can’t defend myself.” You ramble, avoiding looking at him, forcing your own shoes on and grasping the knob. However, his hand comes out over yours, and your heart is hammering in your ears. Your nerves are lighting up once more, making your teeth chatter with anxious anticipation, and fingers tighten around it against his protest. “I can’t save anyone from this. I’m just a person like you. There’s nothing we can do other than save ourselves–”

“You keep saying I can’t fight your battles for you. Now’s the time to take him on yourself,” he says, gentle but firm, and the sentence hits your heart like a ton of bricks – similar to the car hitting the building. “You’ve always been stronger than you think, and I knew it in the back of my mind, but I just wanted to be the one to protect you. Prove it then that you don’t need me.”

“I always need you.”

“I can’t fight that,” he tells you, honest for once that this far exceeds his match. You keep avoiding him, letting his words sink in, not surprised in the slightest such an inspirational speech is coming from him at a time like this, somehow knowing when it’s best to take things seriously, and letting you know he has full faith in you.

You nod slowly, letting out that breath you had been holding onto, and twist the knob to hurriedly push him out of the door. He is already protesting, asking you what you think you’re doing, and simply slam the door in his face to lock before he can try getting back in. “Run as far as you can! Get to safety! Kumo should hopefully be here soon!” You tell him from the other side as he is kicking and banging on his end, rattling the doorknob, and repeatedly calling out your name, demanding to be let back in. You have to ignore him, racing off to your room to find your suit, feeling silly that you have to change before going to fight off an overpowered version of your high school – and now college – bully that’s been trying to lure your superhero persona out this entire time.

You have to discreetly get yourself up to the roof of your building, tugging your mask on as you climb up the wall out of the bedroom window that is facing away from the villain, but kind of near where you last left your boyfriend. Careful steps get you there, nervous you have to face this guy on your own, unsure how he could even get to be this ginormous, and realize the wreckage is getting far more worse that you cannot buy yourself enough time to calm down. You stagger to your feet, stepping up on the ledge, and bite down on the inside of your cheek when you kneel down in position, staring over at the mess he’s made. The city is gonna have a hell of a time cleaning this up.

A quick, shrill whistle catches Reks’ attention, his head whipping around, but due to his large size, it comes off more as slow motion, until he ultimately thinks to look up and notices the Kumo he has been calling out to has finally arrived. You offer a two-finger salute, and he is mildly annoyed you’re so high up off the ground level. “There you are, Kumo!” He shouts, pointing an extra meaty finger in your direction. “Come down here and fight me so I can take you back where you belong!” His feet stomp down again, more craters emerging, while objects and people around him bounce into the air from impact. Cars bigger than the one in your kitchen lift off the road, and you have to fight against your fears – while ignoring that incredibly strange comment.

“Man, Reks, I know they said you needed to strengthen up to stay on the wrestling squad, but don’t you think you’ve gone a little overboard?!” You shout in return, maintaining a nonchalant composure with such a great distance between you two.

“The name is ‘Rex’ now!” He corrects with a smash of his hand into a streetlight pole, and you blink at him from behind your mask.

“Yeah, that’s what I said, ‘Reks’!”

“No! ‘Rex’!” He repeats, and you stare at him.

“Yeah, ‘Reks’!” You call back, and the civilians are now scrambling to run away while the two of you continue to shout “Rex” and “Reks” to one another, enough of a diversion for everyone to escape, knowing that underneath that engorged skull is still the dimwitted lowlife that only got into the same university as you because his parents are the largest donors. Not because of his brains.

He lets out a roar, something like an ogre that has been hidden away in a cave for hundreds of years, grabbing someone’s abandoned vehicle as if it’s a Hot Wheel, then ripping the thing clean in half. “Stupid spider!” He chucks them backward, colliding into more buildings behind him, and a few people start spilling out of them in the opposite direction. “It’s ‘Rex’! R-E-X!”

“Oh!” You drag out, snapping your fingers. “Sorry, I don’t speak English.” Every nerve in your body sparks, your feet kicking you up in the air on instinct and just miss getting hit by a dulled traffic light, the wires sticking out grazing our heels. You sling a string of web out across to the other building, swinging down and closing your legs tightly together with your feet upward, and knock into his nose on the way down, before flying to the rooftop; his head falls backward, but he remains upright, not that you were expecting to actually get him down. He yells out in pain, the attack more an inconvenience than an actual blow, and you crouch down with your elbow propped on your knee. “Oops, sorry there! Didn’t see you. They really should consider installing web crossings for me.”

“I’ll crush you!” He shouts, visibly enraged, face bright red and teeth bared. An extremely large vein is protruding in his forehead, and he kind of looks like a military reject.

“How cliche!” You gasp, feigning fear, and your hands come up to your mashed cheeks. “A giant human being threatening to crush a tiny spider? Whatever will I possibly do?” You antagonize, your hand now placed on your forehead, trying to keep him distracted with eyes on you so that there aren’t any more innocent bystanders getting stuck in the crosshairs. You think for a moment, him standing there seething, not used to having people make fun of him, until you hold your finger up. “Oh! I know!” Quickly, in rapid succession, you start swinging from different rooftop buildings, circling him, arms coming out with every cross of his path, masses of webs sticking his feet to the concrete, and he’s too busy trying to grasp you to notice.

You can’t help laughing, getting a bit of a satisfactory enjoyment out of it all, taking on someone who has been a jerk to you for years finally getting what he deserves without actually, physically, hurting him back. While your webs are strong against the average human being, they aren’t much to this monstrous thing; it slows him down enough to make him have to free his feet, then get stuck with every fwip in his direction, leaving you to wonder how much of this will it take to tire him out.

As you’re having your good fun with attempts of tuckering out Rex, stomping and stumbling around like a giant man-baby, spider webs everywhere, a voice that brings everything to a halt – including your heart – rings out in the empty street, garnering his attention and causing you to lose your grip, falling down to the ground in a rolling heap. “Hey, Reks! Come finish that fight we started!” Dazai provokes, the other whirling around to look at him, and squints, his molecularly rearranged brain trying to remember who he is. “You know who I am.” He puts his glasses on, and Rex points at him when the realization hits, a vein in his neck now popping out.

“Freak!” He roars, the newfound, boiling anger fuel for his inhuman strength to worsen, his trapped feet tearing themselves away to start a slow tromp toward your unbelievably moronic boyfriend. “It’s ‘Rex’!” You are rushing to your feet, pushing yourself off the ground, and coming up behind Rex to reach Dazai.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” You scream, tackling him mid-run, not stopping – even when he yelps and grunts in agony from the impact on the giant bruise on his stomach that now makes more sense – him clinging to your body in a frantic mess as you shoot a string up to a nearby building to soar through the sky to avoid the oversized mits reaching for both of you. “I told you to run away!” You scold while you two swing deeper into the city, trying to get him closer to a medic or hospital, and he heaves, wrapping his arms tight around you. Your nervous system is wrecked, senses firing off at different intervals, not able to tell what is what, and you can’t hear him at first – despite being right by your ear.

“…–ar! Car, car, car!” He’s screaming, eyes popping out of his skull at the sight of another sedan coming your guys’ way. You gasp when your senses come back to you, tossing him effortlessly in the air as high as you can, swinging yourself up toward a higher building just to twist and flip back in its direction to push off of, sending it back to the ground and you to Dazai. Who is screaming and flailing as gravity tries bringing him to the street.

“I got you!” You both collide with one another, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, breathing heavily, and never have been happier to see you in his life. His heart is hammering into yours, his body trembling, and he’s muttering to himself incoherently while you start looking for a closed off alley, absolutely certain Rex isn’t following that Dazai will be safe tucked away here so you can handle this issue without worrying he’ll interfere again. “It’s alright, you’re okay.” You reassure when you hear his teeth chattering in your ear canal and feel his nails trying to claw through your suit.

You swing into the nearest alleyway you spot, no one else around, and Rex so far behind it’ll take him twenty years at his pace to catch up and find you guys. A web sticks to a streetlamp, allowing for you to lower your bodies slowly, him not daring to release you even when his feet connect with the asphalt. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” You soothe, rubbing his back, but he shakes his head that is hidden away in your neck. “You won’t be bothered here, I promise. I have to get back to stop him.” You make the attempt to break away, but he’s scrambling for you, the distress evident on his features, and part of you wants to rip the mask off to properly comfort him. Then you remember: you’re the Kumo right now. In the intensity of the moment, you completely forgot you needed to conceal your identity, but instead you practically gave yourself away.

You clear your throat, putting on your fake voice, and toss a thumb over your shoulder as you place a hand on his chest to keep some distance. “I-I need to go. Will you be alright here?” It takes him a moment, but he is suddenly looking at you as if you’re absolutely deranged – his eyebrows are deeply furrowed, lightly shaking his head, and small, confused sounds are coming from his shuddering lips.

“Wh-Wha…” His hands grip your arms, bringing you close, then begins shaking you. “I know! I know it’s you under there! Quit acting like I don't!” He pleads, helpless, shaken. His eyes are glassy behind the lenses, red, and his face is paling. Your hands carefully come up to gingerly grab at his, to make him stop, and you have to hush him like a startled animal. “I know. I know it’s you. I know you anywhere.” He whispers, fingers reaching for the edge of your mask, and you have to snatch them, pushing them away, and maintaining your composure is harder than you thought it’d be.

“How? How did you know?” You ask, defeated. You can feel his freezing, frigid skin through the suit, and you’re worried he’s going to send himself into shock.

“You’re not subtle,” he steps closer, and you can hear his heart still pounding in his chest. “Plus, your voice. I’ve known you since we were seven, I hear it everyday. It’s my favorite sound, how could I not recognize it?” Your lips part, getting ready to say something in return, but there’s faint crashing in the distance, back where you left Rex, and you hate that this is happening right now.

“Look, I need to go, I need to stop him,” you have to force his trembling hands away, ignoring the expression etched into his features, him begging you not to leave him there alone. The sight is heartbreaking, your strong and brave boyfriend who fights every single one of your battles is now weak while you have to go save the day. “Stay here, please. I will be right back here to get you, I swear to you.” You’re already slinging webs to the streetlamp, feet off the ground, and he’s still clamoring for you.

“W-Wait! Wait!” He breathes, fingers brushing your ankle, and you sigh, knowing prolonging leaving Rex to his own devices will cause more destruction than necessary. You flip yourself over, hanging upside down like an actual spider, and you stare at him expectantly through your mask, holding onto the webbing tight.

“What is it?”

“I-I wanna give you good luck,” he says, a bit childish, and your brows come together. At a time like this? His fingers come back toward the hem of your mask, gradually pulling it down, but only just under your nose.

“Osamu–” His large hands are holding the sides of your face, cracked and bust lips pressing to yours, and somehow the tension in your body melts away. You don’t mean to, but you sigh with relief, this enough to remind you he is okay, and so are you, and you have your nerves back in check to take on the villain.

When he pulls away, not without landing one more lingering peck, he struggles but manages to get your mask back in place, and he still looks distraught. “Go on, my spider lily, my favorite flower.” He swallows, not wanting to send you off, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. “I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do.”

“I’ll come back in one piece,” you promise, taking a deep inhale before shortening the web so you can better flip upright and swing through the city, to get yourself back to Rex, and Dazai just has to watch you leave.

He stands there, sucking in a big breath, then shouts as loud as he possibly can, so not only can Tokyo but the entire world hear him: “You’re my hero, Kumo!”

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[iheartyuyu]

5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.

oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.

— ☆ —

1. movie nights.

you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.

first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?

for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.

your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.

tonight, everything was perfect.

you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—

bzzz.

you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?

you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.

you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.

so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”

he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.

“can i come in?”

you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”

“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.

holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—

“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”

your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”

you paused. “well…”

“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”

“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”

he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”

“hey—“

he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”

“oh. you didn’t have to—“

“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”

with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.

what. the. fuck.

2. hangouts.

you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.

at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.

however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.

today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.

the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.

“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”

you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”

he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”

you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”

you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”

before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.

and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”

“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“

“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”

you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”

“…did you just call me angel?”

his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”

that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?

you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.

fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.

how horrible for you.

3. aquarium.

you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”

she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”

“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”

she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”

“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”

she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”

you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.

and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.

‘couples only day!’

“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”

“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.

“yes.”

“ask sukuna to go with you.”

you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”

“that is quite literally not what i said.”

“you’re a genius.”

you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.

what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.

you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”

“…where?”

he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”

“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”

his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”

you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”

“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”

you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.

you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.

“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.

“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”

gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.

4. the beach.

you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.

you were freezing.

you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.

oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—

a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.

“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”

ah. your genie.

you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.

fuck. how could someone be so pretty?

he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”

“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”

“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”

“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”

“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”

“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”

he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”

you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.

you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”

he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.

what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.

“…you went early, huh?”

“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.

“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”

you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”

you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“

he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.

holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.

well. at least it wasn’t you this time.

5. studying.

as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.

during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”

gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”

“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”

gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”

“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”

you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”

“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”

“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”

you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”

“yes, please.”

later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.

you really needed caffeine.

everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—

fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.

sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?

you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.

you: please :c

a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.

“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”

“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”

you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”

he hummed. “good.”

in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.

you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”

he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”

in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”

you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”

his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”

“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”

he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”

was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”

“don’t mention it, angel.”

+1.

against your will, you were dragged to a party.

you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.

you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.

gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.

you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.

sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.

sukuna covering you with a blanket.

sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.

geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.

sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.

after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.

the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”

“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”

“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”

it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.

“…the stars are pretty.”

“mhm.”

he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”

“…mhm.”

he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”

“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.

“fuck.”

“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”

and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”

you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”

he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”

“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.

he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”

that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”

his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“

you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,

he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.

once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”

“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”

“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”

“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”

“…anything you fucking want, forever.”

[osamusghxst]

"For me?" 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

day 1 of fluffuary prompt challenge: gift giving~

♡

ranpo synopsis: you work at the armed detective agency as a recent hire, only being there roughly a year. you had heard about the master detective before starting, how he was the best at his job, completing any given case at any given moment - if he wanted to. you admire him greatly, practically worshipping the ground he walks on, and telling him any chance you have that he is "amazing" and "incredible". these of course are always great things he wants to hear, making you his favorite junior detective, and believes everyone should treat him the way you do. what ranpo couldn't quite figure out is your need to present him with offerings, even on your worst days.

dazai synopsis: you have been a member of the port mafia for quite a few years now, a "lower ranked nothing" that was appointed to their top executive - as their mail runner. you deliver conspicuous packages and unmarked envelopes wherever mori needs you to, and you are entirely content with your position. what dazai didn't understand was how you were so fine with it, believing you could do a little more - part of it an internal desire to spend more time with "his bug" on the job that he chooses to shove deep down into the black pit of his stomach. so, alongside teasing you, he likes to show his appreciation for not only your hard work but your existence by presenting you with shiny objects picked up off the ground, swiped from important clients' desks, and maybe dug out of the pants pockets of dead bodies.

introduction: these are some interesting things to present as gifts to people. i mean, of course, to each their own, but i wouldn't classify a snack as a present. i definitely wouldn't accept that polished button from someone's expensive armani suit as one either. what exactly does gift giving mean to you?

this is my take on gift-giving with people i would deem are a little more on the selfish side.

contents: ~5.8k words; sfw; fluff; gn!reader; both scenarios have implied reciprocated crushes; ranpo: reader referred to as "junior detective", no other warnings; dazai: au he is still an executive in the pm at 22, pm member!reader, implied dazai-typical suicide mentions/ideology, mafia-typical behaviors, reader is nicknamed "bug", mentions or alludes to dead bodies/looting from dead bodies/grave robbing, some headcanons thrown in.

۶ৎ๋ ࣭ ⭑‎ꫂ᭪๋݁ ࣭ ⭑𝜗ৎ๋ ࣭ ⭑۶ৎ๋ ࣭ ⭑‎ꫂ᭪๋݁ ࣭

E. Ranpo ᝰ.ᐟ

Believe it or not, you have gotten into Ranpo’s good graces, being deemed his “favorite junior detective”. It may or may not have to do with the fact you’re constantly telling him how great he is, or that he’s the smartest guy you’ve ever met, looking at him with stars twinkling in your big, curious eyes. Everything you say is one hundred percent true, though: you are baffled and amazed by his genius, his wits, and his inhuman deduction skills. Especially when it comes to using them on you.

You’re not one to wear your emotions on your sleeve, remaining collected most of the time, even if something is deeply bothering you. Ranpo, however, is able to crack the case in an instant. He puts those glasses on, activates his “ability”, and he has you all figured out. You definitely feel seen, that’s for sure. You also don’t mind that he makes his version of an effort to check on you when you’re in your “moods”.

The first time he did this to you, there wasn’t anything particularly wrong. Just… one of those days. You had come into the agency office like usual, greeted everyone like usual, and sat at your desk — like usual. What tipped him off was that you didn’t greet him, something you didn’t realize you hadn’t done, as if your subconscious knew if you approached him while you felt the way you did, he’d know instantly. And he did, simply by peering at you with those analytical green eyes over his glasses. For some reason, your lack of attention that morning was bothersome, so he took it upon himself to get to the bottom of it.

“Hey, how’s my favorite junior detective?” He greeted, coming up to the side of your desk to rest a hand on the edge. He purposefully pushed his frames up further on his nose, so that you knew he knew. You blinked before forcing a big smile, though you are always happy to see him, so it wasn’t too difficult to form.

“Hi, Ranpo,” you greeted in return, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m alright, how are you doing?” You ignored his obvious attempt at you asking what he had deduced, which threw him off further — getting him closer to realizing something in fact was wrong. He stared at you a moment before letting out a big, dramatic sigh with a slump of his shoulders.

“Well, you see, I’d be better if someone had told me hello this morning, but it seems I’ve been forgotten! What’s a master detective to do?” He finished his little tangent with a close of his eyes, and another dramatically pitched sigh. “I mean, honestly, I thought we were friends? Now you have left me to the wind! Not even a ‘screw off’!” You couldn’t help the giggle that came out at that last part, earning a slight smirk from him at garnering enough of a positive reaction for his hard work.

“Oh, Ranpo, who would ever forget you?” You teased, leaning down into your bag to pull out another smaller bag, extending your arm in offering. “By the way, I stopped by the convenience store on the way here. The one you like, said it has the best custard buns.” It was a nonchalant exchange, not much thought behind it other than you were already there in need of a drink, and the colorfully labeled stand full of pastries caught your eye. He stood there in silence for a second, eyeing the bag of goodies, before directing his attention back to you. The smile you wore grew genuine due to his childish antics, and he couldn’t help a relieved grin of his own as his greedy fingers came to take the treasure from you.

“Trying to sweeten me up after ignoring me? Could this have been a plot from the start?” He peeked inside, seeing not one, not two, but three of his favorite custard buns sitting at the bottom. How generous of you, junior detective!

“Nothing can get past you, Master Detective,” you smiled bigger before scooting into your desk, the weird mood you woke up with suddenly starting to vanish, and you began working quietly on your reports. He wanted to bug you more, hearing how great he is for making you feel better, and how grateful you were he spent his precious time to do so, but there were custard buns waiting for him, and he was feeling a little hungry. He snuck one more glance at you, taking his glasses off to do so, before turning on his heel to sit down at his own desk and dig into the snacks.

There was a different day when you walked into the office, not wearing your usual morning grin, not greeting anyone, and plopped down in your chair without a word to start going through your paperwork. And Dazai’s. And Atsushi’s. And even some of Kunikida’s. You were forewarned as you bumped into Dazai that they were needing to rush out to complete one of their investigations, asked you if it’d be too much trouble for your assistance on their abandoned work, and you for some strange reason said you were more than happy to help. Your brow furrowed, your nose scrunched, and you let out a small huff of irritation, but you powered through, scribbling along the pages of your work, Dazai’s, Atsushi’s, and Kunikida’s. And Ranpo noticed your blatant frustration. He always noticed when it came to you. He sought your attention the most, so willing to give him it, quick to tell him how wonderful he is, but you have been slacking lately, and he may or may not begin to feel… neglected.

When he leisurely walked up to your desk, hand on the surface to make himself known and not startle you, he originally planned in some lighthearted teasing. However, when he saw the annoyance written all over your twisted features, he decided against it. “How’s my favorite junior detective?” He asked — no jokes, no teasing, just sincerity. You paused for a moment, wondering if you should even take a break at all with how much there was, before going back to jotting things down.

“I’m alright,” you muttered. You realized then that it was Ranpo speaking to you, and you faltered once again. A small smile graced your lips as you sat the pen down then reached into your bag, pulling out two glass bottles. “I picked up some Ramune. I couldn’t remember which flavor you liked, so you can choose.” You gestured to them, an original flavor and a blue raspberry, and his brow raised. He was used to your simple offerings, treating them as such: offerings. Mere treasures to please him. Though, it struck him as incredibly odd that even when you were the one down in the dumps, you still provided him with a treat to get through his day. He glanced between the two flavors, partial to either, so it didn’t matter. He did know that you were a fan of blue raspberry-flavored things.

He grinned, that better-than-you boyish grin, reaching his hand out to take the original flavor. “Would you like me to open yours for you?” He offered, unprompted, and you blinked.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Please,” you scooted it closer to him, secretly grateful he was willing to do it for you since it was the only reason you strayed from getting it more often: you hated trying to get the stupid thing opened. Your eyes watched his hands, palm pressing down on the top to get the little ball down into the section of the bottle, then he pushed it back toward you. Your hesitant and weary smile grew into a gracious beam, aiming it up at him. “Thank you, Ranpo. You’re the best.” Strangely, his heart skipped a beat at that, and he wore a proud smile before shrugging.

“I know, Keeper of the Ramune, God of Fizzing Drinks. Please, go on,” he distracted you from your additional reports the rest of your shift, subtly dropping it off to their respective desks after you had left the office for the evening, with Post-It note reminders that the boys needed to complete their own work and necessary overtime was no issue.

It wasn’t lost on him that no matter the condition you were in, there was still the small thought in your mind to bring something to him. He came into his office another morning with a brand-new pen holder and various pens, saying you had noticed he kept losing his and would rummage around in other peoples’ desks or the supply closet for more. So, as a solution, you bought him more with a place to keep them.

You subconsciously bought two notebooks, only needing one, so you dropped it off to him at his desk while he was reading a magazine, sucker poking out of his cheek, and he stared at it before trailing his gaze up to watch you sit down without another word.

You had brought him lunch on multiple occasions, simply stating that he needs to eat something other than his delicious sweet treats and candy, alongside not just a Ramune, but a big bottle of water since you don’t know when the last time was you saw him drink any. He was always grateful for food, never one to turn it down, especially a free meal like the ones you bring, but he was surprised every single time. On some occasions, he’d venture to protest, saying you didn’t need to be doing all of that, and he was capable of going out on his own for lunch. You’d smile, sweeter than his favorite candy, tilt your head, and say: “Let me be nice to you.”

Your gifts started to look a lot less like offerings and more like what they are: gifts. With every convenience store run for custard buns or a candy bar, a Ramune or other fizzing drink you know he likes, every lunch brought to him, every office supply specifically for him to use, and every other small trinket that has made its way across his desk struck him with the realization that these are gifts.

The most recent thing you had sat on his desk was an origami paper crane you spent hours learning how to do, this being your first successful one that came out looking perfect enough, and your first thought was to give it to Ranpo.

“Do you like it?” You ask, hands folded in front of you while you wait for an answer. His curious green eyes flow down at the crane, not much taking him by surprise these days, but to see it sitting neatly on his desk like this, with you hoping he likes it, very much has him in a state of temporary shock. 

“You made this for me?” His finger carefully touches it, watching it rock back and forth, before looking back to you.

“Well, I mean…” You didn’t want to go on a weirdly long tangent about how you wanted to learn to begin with, no one particular person in mind when you started. It was when you finished, pleased with how well it turned out, that you decided there wasn’t any better to have it than him. A sudden rush of heat crawled to your cheeks, your smile becoming shy, and you dropped your gaze with a meek nod. “Y-Yeah, I made it for you.” He eyes you up and down before his all-knowing smile forms, cautiously setting the crane near the pen holder, then gets to his feet while pulling out one of his drawers — one you know is his “special” sweets drawer. Your features fall into curiosity, leaning over some to watch his hand move around, rummaging in his stash, then plucking a wrapped treat between his fingers.

You watch with big eyes as he walks around his desk, other hand motioning for yours. You stare for a moment, mildly confused, but raise your arm to hold your palm up in offering. He sets it down, the wrapping cold to the touch, and you peek down to see it is blue raspberry flavored, your favorite. Just as you raise your head, so you could thank him, his lips press a soft kiss to your now incredibly inflamed cheek. It lingers, even after he has pulled away, a light laugh following at your reaction, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets while he gazes at you, admires you, his usually sharp and analytical stare has grown gentle. Your eyes have gotten even wider, shoulders scrunched in surprise, and biting down on your tongue to prevent yourself from saying anything stupid. “Thank you, my favorite detective. I love it.”

How much he loves and craves your attention, but this reaction is his favorite. Easily confirming his deductions that he pretty much already had figured out. And now, junior detective, you can have it easily deduced that he maybe feels the same way.

O. Dazai -`♡´-

He stalks around often in the base, his coat floating behind him, barely clinging to his shoulders, a scowl permanently etched into his features, and those stark white gauze bandages wrapped tightly around his head to cover one of his eyes. He used to joke more frequently than he does now, aging in the mafia not doing him any favors, considering he thought he would have been free by now — either by finally deciding he could leave, or by a successful suicide. He rounds corners with cautious precision, towers over others like a demon, and hides in the shadows as if he is one. He would run his mouth a lot, his thoughts turning into giant, long rambles that he’d go on for days if you’d let him. Now, he doesn’t seem to have much to say.

You’ve been in the mafia for a few years, being one of Dazai’s direct underlings, but you’re of very low rank. You needed someone to report to, and Mori off-handedly shooed you in his direction. You both were young, but you had nowhere to go, and living was expensive. You also were naive to the members, not knowing anything about your new executive superior, simply noting to yourself that he didn’t seem like the type to be barking orders.

You were against killing, had no “real” or “useful” skills, so you were appointed the mafia’s primary delivery person. Mori would hand you special packages that needed to be sent out immediately, and you would diligently get them to their recipients in record time — considering you don’t have any other duties. Dazai would poke fun at you, remarking how swiftly you get things done, politely coercing you to try other things like infiltration, recon, or intel gathering. You would always accept these light taunts as true compliments with a professional smile, then decline his offer at “moving up”, preferring your standing as it is.

To this day, if he is in a good enough mood, he’ll tease you about how you’ve been the “Port Mafia’s best mailman”, asking if you’d ever considered finally accepting his offer to work on more important assignments.

“Mr. Dazai, you know I always appreciate your kind and uplifting words, but I really do enjoy running around Yokohama to drop off Mori’s contraband,” you’ll respond with a soft giggle, the corner of his mouth twitching, and sometimes you might catch that solitary amber eye soften.

“I thought I told you to just call me Dazai?” He’ll murmur, cheek on his fist, gazing at you from across his desk while you sit in front of him for one of your “performance reviews”. It was more or less just him asking you if you still like your position, and you constantly remind him that the answer hasn’t changed. Not in the five years you’ve been here. Not today. And certainly not tomorrow.

“Forgive me, you’re the only one who doesn’t want me doing it, so I tend to forget,” you’ll bow your head, polite and respectful, still wearing your calm smile, and he just stares at you. You do intrigue him, your loyalty maybe not near the level of his executive partner, but enough that it helps him want to keep you around. You noticed that you have been receiving considerable pay raises to your already greedy wages, and you aren’t sure why, considering you are simply as he states: the Port Mafia’s personal delivery department. It’s possible that some of the boxes withheld incredibly dangerous or classified items, maybe some of the envelopes had the highest of important information, but none of it ever piqued your curiosity enough to ask. None of it seemed worth gradually increasing pay rates to drop a package off on a doorstep or shoving a letter in a mailbox.

However, unbeknownst to you, your cold hearted superior believed that you needed to make more than what you were receiving. He’d be sending in glowing reviews to Mori, whispering in his ear that you are a fine member and needed to be treated as such. The top secret was: he wanted to keep you around, especially since he made you his little gofer. You didn’t mind when he’d ask you to go pick stuff up for him, running executive or personal errands if he were either too overloaded with work, preoccupied with something of his own, or lazy. Being a mail runner had its downsides: you didn’t always have work to do, but you still had to show up or risk missing out on getting paid. You tried to be a model employee, mostly in fear that since you were now associated with the mafia, getting kicked out on your ass from them wouldn’t look good on your resume for even the convenience store. Or, you know, dead.

So, on you went with his requests to pick up something from a drop-off point after previous negotiations went well, running off to the police department to gather reports that were considered “handled”, or running to the video game store because he was too impatient to wait until after work to get it. Something he noticed when you’d return is you were never empty handed, extra trinkets or snacks alongside whatever it was he needed.

“Mr. Dazai, I finished that thing you needed me to do for you,” you were at the threshold of his office door, a cup in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. He raised his head, seeing you hadn’t entered, before gesturing you in.

“Thank you, Bug,” he eyed the cup, wondering where else you had gone when he needed you clear across town. You had a slight skip in your step at the nickname, something you took as an adorable term of endearment, since he gave others dog nicknames that would otherwise be deemed hateful. You tried not to listen to everyone that would hammer in your head that he was insulting you, mostly because you didn’t want to hurt your own work morale, nor believe that your supervisor hated you. “And where did you wander off to this time?” His brow quirked, nodding toward your full hands. You stopped in front of his desk, carefully setting the cup down, then the bag, and rifled through it.

“I wanted a coffee for the walk back, then decided to get you something. Then I realized I don’t think you’ve eaten yet today, so I got you a snack,” you pulled out a small convenience store bento, placing it before him. Then you carefully scooted the to-go cup closer. “You mentioned that you tried matcha lattes recently, so I grabbed one for you.” His lone eye darted from your casual beaming face, to the drink, then to the food.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, not making moves to take anything.

“No, I know, but I was already out,” you cleared your throat before proceeding with caution. “Do you… need me for anything else today?”

“Not at the moment,” he kept his hands where they were, still avoiding the sustenance you had thought he needed. “Why? Do you have sudden deliveries to make?” He did pick his pen back up and went to work on his reports, something you rarely saw him do.

“Well, no,” you shifted from one foot to the other, your hands going behind your back. “Uhm, Mr. Nakahara needs me to assist with some stuff, and I told him I would since I don’t have any deliveries today.” You knew, being one of his subordinates, how he felt about Chuuya, and you had picked up in more recent years that Dazai did not like you spending time with him — whether or not it was work related. You watched as he paused, his pen going limp ever so slightly in his fingers before he gripped it again. His eye darted along the page in front of him, concocting some idea or distraction to get you to abandon your promise to assist his partner, knowing you never deny an order from your direct executive.

“Actually, Bug, now that I’m doing all this paperwork, I realized I might need some help,” he straightened up in his seat, adjusting his gaze back to meet your curious one, and you tilted your head.

“Yeah, of course,” you shrugged. “I’ll let Mr. Nakahara know—”

“No, I can get with him,” he stopped you when you were mid-turn of your heel, other hand out. “Could you stop by the secretary wing and grab any of the stacks in the outbox to bring back here?”

“Absolutely, I’ll be as quick as possible,” you affirmed with a single nod, getting ready to take off again when his throat cleared, and it caught your attention once more. You were getting a little nervous, wondering if you had done something wrong, but you happened to notice his hand outstretched to drag the bento closer to him.

“Thank you, for the snack. That was… that was really kind of you. You… You didn’t have to.” He looked as though he struggled a bit to get that out, not that he was always impolite, just obvious he wasn’t used to receiving such selfless gestures. His gratitude is usually dripping in his coy and teasing nature, hardly ever genuine. How sweet. You grant him one last smile then make way for the secretary wing.

Dazai paid closer attention to you upon returning from errands: anything he sent you out for, your hands were full of something to give him. Whether it was different drinks you had heard him mention he liked, snacks, mangas, magazines, books, and even gloves when the colder months came. He’d just stare at you, his eye traveling down to the presents on his desk that you laid out for him, then look back to you — mildly bewildered.

He wanted to repay your kindness, but other than continuously ensuring Mori paid you well and keeping your delivery routes cleared of danger didn’t seem enough anymore. How else would one show gratitude for receiving items? By exchanging items in return. The first time he came up to you, he looked a bit sheepish, something you weren’t used to from him. His hands were behind his back, and he was trying to sort himself out a bit before his shoulders suddenly straightened.

“Hi, Bug,” he finally greeted, you standing there patiently as he went through whatever it was running through his head, smile on your face as always when he graced you with his melancholic company.

“Hey, Dazai,” you adjusted the strap of your messenger bag, filled to the brim with heavy packages and miscellaneous envelopes that the boss needed delivered before the end of the day. You arrived earlier than normal, and while executives’ schedules are not usually set in stone, it was a surprise to see him here so early. “What brings you in so bright and early?” He breathed out a slight chuckle, feeling as though he had gotten caught, then cleared his throat.

“Uhm, I… I found this, and I thought that you’d like it,” he withdrew his hands, bringing his fist out in front of you. Your gaze turned puzzled, lifting your hand so the palm was under it, before he opened his hand and a small but hefty metallic object dropped to your skin. You glance at it, bringing it closer to examine, and see it’s a sturdy metal thimble. “You… you sew still, right?”

“I do. I didn’t think you remembered,” you carefully pick it up between your fingers, squeezing it some and notice with glee it doesn’t have much give. You slipped it on your finger, to make sure it fit, and your smile turned into a grin. “Thank you! I actually needed a new one since I stepped on my last one and crushed it.” He stared down at you, the elation and gratitude written all over you from a simple thimble was new to him. You stuffed it in your suit jacket pocket, gracing him with another beam, before circling around him to head toward the exit.

“Y-Yeah, no problem,” he mumbled to himself, watching after you, noticing the small skip in your steps, and the corner of his mouth turned up.

After that day, he wanted nothing more than to continue seeing that grateful grin all over your face, scouring the sidewalks and the roads and the alleyways for other small but sparkling treasures to gift you. You’ve received a combination of a few odds and ends: a perfectly smooth rock that was weird shaped; a cold coin-like object that neither of you could decipher if it was actual currency, or something abandoned from the arcade; a couple of different glass marbles that had different colors swirling around inside; loose buttons; and a child’s lost bouncy ball that was somehow in near mint condition.

At first, the objects were, admittedly, strange to be handed. He’d greet you, his voice soft, and his hands behind his back with a child-like wonder in his visible eye, a bit sheepish at first as he approached you. “Bug, I have something for you.” He’d catch your attention, then reach out to, as gingerly as possible, grasp your wrist to position your open palm up for him, then carefully drop the trinket.

In all honesty, while it was so nice and downright adorable that he thought of you this often, it was something else that made you accept these asphalt gems, forgotten memories for those they used to belong to: it was his smile he wore when he offered them up. It was the shyness and innocence it carried when he watched you examine what he brought, it growing even more when you tell him thank you and that you love it, even if you don’t know what it is. It’s the way that for once since working here with him, you get to see him be different.

However, the more you accepted, the more Dazai started to overthink his choices. Things left on the side of the road were starting to not be good enough, so he started venturing out toward the port or the beach, digging in the sand to find pretty shells or sand dollars; finding a different country’s currency amongst the edges dropped by importers and exporters; sometimes he’d come across small pieces of jewelry. A single earring, a bracelet missing a couple stones, a necklace chain, and once he found a ring with a giant gem nestled inside covered in sand. He didn’t think anything of it when he presented it to you, other than it was pretty and shiny, but you stared at it — blankly — for a long moment before your smile became more gentle.

“You want me to have this, Dazai?” You asked, pointing to the ring in his bandaged palm. You had just returned with the empty satchel, getting ready to report to Mori that you had finished your route early and wanted to test if he’d allow you to have the rest of the day off. Your executive had gotten in your path though, his smile a bit more smug than normal as he taunted that he found a pretty awesome gift for you. You weren’t expecting something this beautiful and well-intact.

“Well, yeah,” his brow raised, the look on his face showing a touch of confusion. “I spent forever digging around for it.” The thought made you giggle out loud, the biggest, baddest, and — second — strongest member of the mafia is sitting on the beach in his uniform digging in the sand for lost treasures to gift you, the Port Mafia’s lowest of the low: a mere delivery person. “Do you… not like it?” He tried coming off as though the thought didn’t bother him, that it didn’t matter to him what your opinion was because it was just a stupid ring. However, your silence, the lack of an immediate answer, made him waver.

“I love it,” you murmured, the grin on your face never seeming to disappear as you took it to slide on your middle finger. It was a bit too gigantic, the security of the diamond taking you by surprise, and you notice only a few grains of sand in the crevices. He even took the time to clean it before giving it to me. You watched it sparkle tremendously in the light of the building’s hallway. “Thank you, Dazai. It’s absolutely beautiful.” His shoulders visibly relaxed, biting his bottom lip to conceal his shocked happiness that you put it on.

“You’re welcome.”

Once again, though, that wasn’t enough. The look on your face when receiving the ring, how soft and gentle you had become, he wanted to see more of that. He wanted to hear you tell him 'thank you' over and over again for his efforts in finding something absolutely perfect and worth giving you. Silly trinkets that meant nothing he found on the ground, things no one would miss, and uncovered small treasures from the sand that are someone else’s distant memories still weren’t good enough.

Thus began him resorting to rummaging around in peoples’ pockets, alive or… otherwise. He told himself that whatever he would find from these people would be in pristine condition, nothing missing, and sometimes even brand new. Yeah, Dazai knew he could go to the store for you, purchase something, then bring it back in a pretty box or bag with a ribbon — that wasn’t enough. He liked to search, to have the glint and gleam catch his eye, and make him think of you while on his missions and assignments, his interrogations, his meetings, his walks home.

You had garnered quite the luxury collection from this, making small jokes here and there with him that his “grave robbing” and “petty theft” have become endearing, interchanging the accessories you’d receive from him in your day-to-day, but the ring would always remain on your middle finger. You had gotten it resized to fit more snug, to avoid it falling off, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter in his chest every time he saw you with it. Which was a new reaction to you he hadn’t felt before. Or he had ignored it to a point he couldn’t anymore.

“Bug,” Dazai catches you by the arm before you take off from his office, looking up at him wide-eyed. He doesn’t usually touch you, if ever, and this is the first time he’s doing so. You want to contain yourself, all those years of pretending like you didn’t have a crush on him because he’s technically your boss, but between all of these sudden hidden treasures he’s been hand-delivering to you and now touching you, the slight blush creeping up on your cheeks is evident with how warm you’re getting, and even he notices.

“Y-Yeah? What is it?” You clear your throat, straightening up and attempting to look him in the eye, but the smile on his face tells you that he already knows how you feel.

“I got this for you,” his other hand comes out from his pocket, holding out an oval-shaped stone. You peer down at it, seeing a small butterfly encased in the amber rock, and you peek up at him. “It was sitting on the desk of a different organization leader’s office. I had noticed it when I walked in for a meeting, and I thought… Uhm…” His words falter to a screeching halt, originally speaking a mile a second to withering down to being silent. His eye widens, staring at you, and he quickly shuts his mouth. He wasn’t even like this when he gave me the ring. You reach your hand out, fingertips running along the smooth, glossy rock, and you just smile.

“It’s really pretty, Dazai,” you assure, gingerly taking it to look at it more closely. “Is it ‘cause you call me bug?” Your eyes avert back to him, noticing a small tint of pink on his cheek, his gaze lowering from embarrassment. He nods. “Thank you. I’ll put it on my desk at home so I can look at it all the time.”

“Yeah, sure, no-no problem,” you watch as he fumbles around in his words, the only fidgeting being from his eye that looks everywhere but directly at you.

“Hey, c’mere,” you wave him down so he can be a little more eye-level with you. His brow arches but obliges, leaning down some and granting you a bit of eye contact. You’re nervous, though, pushing forward a playful smile. “I wanna give you something too, is that okay?” He hums, tilting his head, and he reminds you a bit of a confused puppy while he stares at you, waiting. “Close your eyes.” He blinks, a coy grin spreading across his mouth, but his lid drops anyway.

“You’re playing a lot of games with me, Bug. You’re lucky I’m patient, but I’m dying to know what it could be—” He cuts himself off when he feels your soft lips on his cheek, and your fingertips under his chin. Which they leave all too soon when you pull away, his eye cracking open, and his mouth still parted mid-sentence.

“Wow, I guess there is a way to shut you up,” you giggle, beginning to slowly walk backwards toward the door. “Bye, Dazai. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You offer him a small wave, your face in flames, and all but bolt out of the door. He watches after you, quickly straightening up, then suddenly his feet carry him toward the doorway.

“Bug!” He calls out, but you don’t stop, practically running down the hall. “Bug, wait a second! You missed!”

fluffuary 2026 | masterlist | requests: closed

dividers from fairytopea here on tumblr

©GHXST likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 do not repost, copy, change/alter/edit my works, and do not use it to feed generative ai.

[osamusghxst]

you are in love, true love. ㅤ♡ྀི

E. Ranpo ᝰ.ᐟ

“When this is all done, and if I come back tomorrow morning, would you wanna marry me?” “This is such a ‘you’ way of asking."

day 11 of fluffuary prompt challenge: true love~

♡

synopsis: you earned it, a quiet life. well, as quiet as it can get with ranpo as your husband. undergoing standard relationship trials and tribulations, alongside... whatever it was that his job entailed, you two made it to the absolute decadent end. now, you two can start all over together with your life together, one thing binding you more than he would have expected: love and childish wonder.

introduction: i understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars, and why they've spent their whole lives trying to put it into words. why he holds your shoes for you, even if you're already on his back on the walk home, and why you nab a taxi during rush hour traffic for him. why arguments boil down to conversation, and why you never get sick of each other. you're in love.

this was the hardest one to write, since it doesn't strike me as obvious that ranpo would want to get married, more importantly to be so in love even after exchanging vows. love to him is different than love to others, but it's yours all the same.

contents: ~3.4k words; sfw; fluff; true love; gn!reader; married; canon compliant/post canon; no other warnings

ᯓ★

"And he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown."

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Another quiet evening, snow falling gracefully on the already covered pavement, landing in your perfectly done hair, and on your husband’s hands that have your shoes dangling from his fingers. You are clutched to his back, mentioning briefly that your feet were hurting from wearing your shoes all evening, not having them broken in within enough time for the agency’s event that Ranpo had invited you to attend with him. He insisted on carrying you the rest of the way, but you insisted that you could make it the rest of the way. You, clearly, lost.

“Take a left,” you instruct, pointing in the direction of the next corner. “The train station will be straight ahead from there.”

“You truly are my guiding light,” he readjusts you on his back, securing his hold on your legs before turning the corner. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Continue being the most incredible master detective this town’s ever seen, just a little lost on the way to work,” you giggle, earning a breathy laugh from him at your kind words, and you grasp at his shoulders a little tighter.

“Gotta admit, I dunno why I argued carrying you, you know I’m weak,” he blabs, though he has no problem keeping the both of you upright on his back, walking perfectly fine alone the light coating of snow in the beginnings of twilight. Plenty of streetlamps and signs point in the direction of the train station, but to those iridescently green eyes, there’s simply no way to know how to get there with his partner to lead him. “Ah, whatever. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else anyhow.” He adds, to remind you that it really is not an issue to do this for you.

✎𓂃

It didn’t take much in the beginning for Ranpo to catch your eye, meeting at a bar while he was on a case – you at work as the bartender, and he needed some information about the murder investigation he was on. He mentioned offhandedly, as a strange means to impress you, that he didn’t actually need to go hunting too much for what it was he needed, but since he had a “rookie” on board, he had to go through the motions.

“While I have no clue what you’re looking for, since I just got hired recently, I can offer you a drink instead,” you smiled, getting a glass prepared with ice.

“Since you’re offering, how ‘bout a root beer float?” He leaned an arm on the bartop, a pair of plain black glasses perched on top of his head, and you blinked at him. You almost questioned the menu, the location, believing his word more than your training. After a long moment of silence between you two, him waiting patiently and you bewildered, you cracked into a grin, followed by light laughter at his request. Not too much catches him off guard, but your laugh did, making him pause before his smile turned a little softer from his usual arrogance. “While the laughter is downright adorable and contagious, I was serious.” He pressed, propping his cheek on his fist.

“I’m so sorry, Master Detective, but we don’t sell those here,” you told him, trying to speak with a gentler tone to ease the blow. “However, if you’re not doing anything Sunday evening, I would be more than happy to take you somewhere that does.” You filled the glass, already sitting on the surface and not wanting to waste it, up to the brim with water, ice cubes softly cracking and colliding down with one another into the cup. His finger reached up on the leg of his glasses, carefully bridging them down to the bridge of his nose, and analyzed you, his deductions coming down to one thing: you were flirting with him. Too used to being taunted and teased, this was indeed refreshing for him, green eyes alight with playful mischief, and a lovely grin plastered across his lips to show off his shining teeth.

“A gorgeous bartender willing to take me out for ice cream? I’ve been waiting for someone to be genius enough to know that’s the direct way into my good graces,” he mused, eyeing you up and down behind the clear lenses, his hand coming out to graciously accept the glass of water you placed before him. You blushed at his compliment, smile still gracing your lips, while your hands scoured in the supplies for a pen and paper. You scrawled your name and number down, extending your arm out with the slip between your fingers.

“Call me,” you murmured, since he hadn’t made the effort to ask for any way to contact you, and it seemed he didn’t plan on it. His gaze darted over the rim from the paper back to your eyes, before gingerly taking it from you and stuffing it in the front pocket of his jacket. He tossed a wink at you, setting the glass down and walking away without another word, leaving you standing there like an elementary school kid experiencing their first crush while his heart pitter patters in his chest like never before.

He asked you to pick him up, which you didn’t necessarily mind, but you found it a bit odd since you suggested meeting up at the train station. He was standing outside his apartment complex, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, and sweater slouching around his shoulders. His head was already turned in your direction, a sucker in his mouth, and he tossed his hand up in an enthusiastic wave. Your wave was more nervous, closer to your body, and you were chewing on your lip as you approached him. He popped the sucker out, holding it up to you, and your brow raised.

“Try?” He asked. You paused, eyeing him then the sweet, before shrugging, leaning over and popping it into your mouth. He stared at you for a brief second then erupting in a small fit of laughter at your boldness. You giggled, offering it back to him, just to see him put it back in his mouth like nothing happened.

“Swapping spit already?” You joked. “Master Detective, what kinda person do you take me for?”

“You did take my offering,” he shrugged, immediately pointing his finger ahead of him in the air. “Lead the way! I don’t know where the train is!” He declared proudly, beginning a march in the completely opposite direction.

“Ranpo!” You sang, remaining in your spot. He stopped abruptly, peering over his shoulder at you with raised brows. “If you want me to lead the way, don’t you think I should be in front? How ever will you get ice cream if you’re going the wrong way?”

“Hm, you bring up a good point, Bartender,” he turned on his heel, marching back up to your side, then gestured ahead. “Lead the way, my guiding light.”

That first date was the beginning of many dates, at least to the best of your ability, given that both of you had rather wonky and demanding schedules. However, you made it work by visiting one another during lunch hours – granted, yours were later in the evening after most would have gone to bed, but he didn’t mind. He learned to stay up late for you and kept a list of instructions you gave him so he could get to the bar on his own, a desire path engraving itself in the pavement from his apartment to the bar you worked at, one only he could see, memorized to get to you. The only route he cared enough to remember.

To your surprise, Ranpo was the one to suggest moving in together after a little over a year of dating exclusively, making it sound like it was more a favor to you than to him. “It’ll be easier for you to lead me to the agency in the mornings.” He shrugged, thumbs tapping away at his gaming control while you sat comfortably in his lap on the couch, his chin resting on your shoulder, and you couldn’t stop the smile that formed. “You won’t have to get up so early, ya know? Hate for you to be tired after working so hard at the bar. You should quit workin’ there, by the way. Lots of shady people running around. You’re lucky I’m there to protect you so often.”

“Of course, Ranpo,” you agreed immediately, leaning over to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, causing his face to flush, eyes trained on the screen across from him, but his arms enclosed tighter around your body, trapping you closer into his embrace.

The first argument the two of you had was actually over moving in. You insisted on going elsewhere that was big enough for the two of you, while he argued he enjoyed living in his current setting and wanted you there with him. You tried reasoning with him, but he was being infuriatingly stubborn over the situation, stating where he was now was the “optimal” location, you stormed out on him, heading back to your apartment that was half-packed, and wondered if you should unpack it all and put it back where it once was. It was nearing midnight, you lying flat on your mattress, staring at the ceiling and going back and forth on whether you should call him, apologize, agree that he was used to his apartment and make do for the time being to live in that space. While you were contemplating those options, the doorbell rang, and you wanted to ignore it.

However, it rang incessantly, groaning loudly at whoever would be risking the late hour to be irritating. You stomped to your front door and swung it open, your anger deteriorating to see Ranpo standing there, almost resembling a puppy that was abandoned out in the rain, considering there was water dripping from his hair and nose onto the hallway floor.

“I’m…” He started, his features falling as he averted his gaze. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here. I… I didn’t know where I was. I had to use my ability.” You stared at him, eyebrows furrowing, being told briefly by his adoptive father that his “ability” wasn’t real – he was just a masterful deduction artist. And he used his skills to find out where you lived, meaning he would have had to have gone to the train station and used it on his own to reach you. “Where do you wanna live?” He asked, peeking up at you through his matted down hair, and was slightly taken aback by you gaping at him as if you’ve never seen him before.

Without thinking, you gripped his soaking wet shirt and jerked him into you, trying to force all of the passion and apologies to be felt in your kiss, before dragging him – flustered and burning cheeks – off to your bedroom and kicking the door shut. All met without protest and fingers tangling themselves in your hair.

At some point in the night, half-awake from light stirring in the bed beside you, warm fingertips tracing along your features, and through the slits of your lids you could see Ranpo lazily watching his own movements. The moon poured in, brightening the room enough to make his green irises seem to glow, and the corner of his mouth turned up when he noticed you were awake enough.

“What is it?” You asked, groggy, his finger following the slope of your nose.

“Nothin’,” he mumbled, cheek pressed into the fluff of pillow. “Just kinda realized something.” You hummed in return, lids dropping from the weight of sleep trying to coax you back. “Pretty sure you’re my best friend.”

Things were normal for some time, aside from his job putting him in sticky situations, such as feuding with the city’s Port Mafia, then collaborating with them; trying to protect his dad from dying by trying to kill the Port Mafia boss that you could have sworn he just bragged about working with; and then the most recent development being… vampires. You didn’t have an ability, but you did what you could to understand his world that he lived and worked in, how powers can work, what it all was about. Even then, the vampires were a bit too much for you.

“I need you to stay out of this!” Ranpo urged, carefully gripping your wrists, verbally trapping you into your shared bedroom, his eyes visibly distressed. “I don’t think you understand how serious this entire situation is!”

“I don’t understand any of this, but I can’t sit back and just not help you! You expect me to go to the bar tonight wondering if you’re coming home or if the world will supposedly still be here in the morning?!” You were fighting with him, frustrated that he did tell you everything for once, wanting to sit in blissful ignorance so you could do just that: go to the bar to work your shift and believe the world will still be standing the next day to do it all over again.

“You can help by staying here, not opening the door or windows for anyone or anything unless it’s me, and do not answer your phone,” he rambled all of this off to you, his tone as serious as you have ever heard him, and you weren’t sure if there was anything to argue. Without powers or fighting experience or any other trained capabilities, what more is there you could have done to help? Though, the thought of something happening to your boyfriend, the love of your life, was sending you into an absolute spiral.

“So, what… Then what am I supposed to do?” Your chest heaved, staring at him in hopes of him giving you an answer while tears brimmed. “I can’t act like things are going to be fine. You’re talking about vampires and time travel, Ranpo! You tell me so much stuff, but this is by far the most insane!”

“I know, but please just listen to me for once,” he pleaded, subtly trying to shove you further into the room. “I am already having to come up with a lot of plans to keep my agency alive, I can’t try to come up with something to ensure your safety too.” He shook his head, eyes getting glassy, and his voice cracked. “I don’t think I could handle it.” You swallowed, eyes narrowing as you made an attempt to hold yourself together, forcing your head to nod in faux understanding. You couldn’t really make heads or tails of what all he confessed to you was going on, already having to come down from the fact that his agency was framed to be a terrorist organization that he had to also explain away – not that you believed it. You were kind of still stuck on… vampires.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing down more of your tears so you could appear strong. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll call out, but dammit Ranpo I have to work tomorrow! How else are our bills getting paid?!” You stomped your foot, nose scrunching up, but he could see how shiny your eyes were, mildly taken aback by your outburst. He stared for a moment before his expression dripped down into a soft fondness, a small smile forming as his thumb grazed your wrist.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to work tomorrow,” he murmured, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. You let out a heavy breath, getting yourself free enough to grip his shirt, to keep him close. “When this is all done, and if I come back tomorrow morning, would you wanna marry me?” He asked, resting his forehead with yours, and your heart stopped completely in your chest, biting down hard on your teeth as you stared at him, the closeness making it obvious to him how warm your cheeks were.

“This is such a ‘you’ way of asking,” you scoffed, a tear slipping without you meaning it to, his thumb already on it to wipe away. “When you come back tomorrow, I expect a ring and you asking me for real.”

“See, I deduced you’d want one, so I already got one,” he winked, pulling away and holding you by your shoulders. “Don’t get too bored and go looking for it. I still want it to be a surprise if I get back.”

“When,” you corrected again.

“It’s gonna be a long night.”

“I’ll wait right here.”

✎𓂃

Ranpo sighs, staring longingly at your photo he has framed and sits at the edge of his desk, fingers pressing to the glass.

“What’s wrong, Ranpo?” Atsushi asks from across the room, the sound coming from the Master Detective too grand to ignore. However, it isn’t enough to make him lift his head nor pen from his paperwork.

“I miss my partner, Atsushi!” Ranpo dramatically drops his head into his arm. “When’s lunchtime?!” Others in the room inwardly groan and roll their eyes at his behavior, since he has been doing this ever since the two of you got married. Two years ago.

“Now,” you answer instead, peeking your head in and knocking on the doorframe. His head shoots up, a boyish grin spreading as he rushes to his feet and hurls himself over the desk so he can reach you as fast as he can. “We should enter you into the Olympics.” You comment, smiling at him as if he didn’t just race nobody to get to your side.

“Too much effort,” he waves you off, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along to the entrance that you just came from. “Unless there’s a snack eating competition. I’d demolish it in a second.”

“I’ll reach out immediately to check on their consideration of adding it to their events,” you entertain his silly idea, knowing fully well that if there truly were a snack eating segment, he would in fact win that with no mercy to the other competitors. Probably ask for a second round when he’d see time is still on the clock. The idea makes you giggle to yourself, allowing him to drag you along the sidewalk, wondering if he knows where he’s going.

“Hm, what sounds good for lunch, my guiding light?” He taps on his chin, head swiveling around at the small handful of nearby restaurants, getting further away from the agency building.

“Depends, how hungry are you?” You tend to ask such silly questions when it comes to him. “You did enjoy a rather large breakfast, my love.”

“That was hours ago, I don’t even think my mid-morning snack was enough to satiate my hunger,” he overdramatizes his speech, slumping his shoulders when he can’t come to a conclusion on what to have for lunch.

“How about ramen? You never say no to that,” you suggest, noticing your route is already in line with his favorite ramen shop, his drooping act not fooling you in the slightest. “I am in the mood for some myself.” You add, a gentle nudge to confirm for him that you are fine with his subconscious decision.

“How about this?” He whirls around and cups your face, planting a sweet kiss to your lips in the middle of the sidewalk. You have to hide your flustered giggling, cheeks burning red getting worse when he nuzzles his nose with yours to keep you giggling.

“Ranpo, stop it!” You whine in between your laughter, gently shoving his face away, and he gazes down at you with the same longing fondness he had for your photo.

“That seemed to hit the spot,” he whispers before pecking your cheek, taking your hand in his as he marches forward, finger pointed in the air. “I decided we are having ramen!” He declares, bursting through the doors with purpose, and dragging you to “his” designated spot at the high top, even going so far as ordering for the both of you, commenting that whatever he gets is always the best and you’ll love it too.

You simply nod along, loving grin plastered on your face as you stare at him. Yeah, you may have seen him mere hours ago, and you’ll see him again when he comes home, but you always miss him the moment you two separate. You’ll never admit that to him, though, mostly because he already had it deduced the moment he stepped over the threshold, barely holding onto your fingers, not wanting to let go of you either.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

"You can hear it in the silence, you can see it on the way home."

fluffuary 2026 | masterlist | requests: closed

divider from fairytopea here on tumblr

©GHXST likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 do not repost, copy, change/alter/edit my works, and do not use it to feed generative ai.

[osamusghxst]

All Fun and Games~

day 12 of fluffuary prompt challenge: stealing each other's clothes~

♡

yosano synopsis: you tend to forget your girlfriend can be a little more on the competitive side, a little comment about keeping a cardigan turning into a game of who can snatch what without the other noticing. you play along, of course, because it makes her happy and you have learned how to dress with a new wardrobe.

chuuya synopsis: you get anything you want, your boyfriend too kind and sweet for his own good. but that brings you to utter boredom, looking for something he could say "no" to. so, you try your sleight of hand for the first time in your relationship at being a little thief.

introduction: this? yeah, i just got it. i found this new store called "my partner's closet", it's a stylish goldmine. and free.

in a not so shocking twist, i took "stealing" literally, and made you all a bunch of little thieves, stealing clothes left and right from a rather willing participant in a competition and a fashionable ex-punk that does not know the word "no".

contents: ~3.2k words; sfw; fluff; gn!reader; established relationships in both scenarios; stealing clothes; canon compliant; chuuya has heterochromia; no other warnings.

the impossible happened: they're short.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

A. Yosano ⚚

It started so innocently. You were shivering in the office, watching Yosano work on some tests she had run on one of the other members, and your tremors were a little too noticeable. She handed you the cardigan she had draped over her chair, stating she didn’t need it anyhow – because she knew right away you would have protested her offering. With a small huff but a smile all the same, you graciously took it and shoved your arms through as quickly as you could, hugging it to your body so you could garner as much warmth as possible, the lingering scent of her perfume and antiseptic a welcoming embrace.

When she had asked you for it back at some point, you jokingly jerked away, saying that she could have it back when you both got home, and ‘it’s mine now’. She stood there quietly for a brief moment before letting out a slight chuckle, her hand on her hip, and she smiled. “But of course.” Was all she said before sauntering off back to her office to review some work she had been trying to complete.

As promised, when you both entered your shared apartment after the workday was over, you shrugged the cardigan off and hung it up on her side of the closet, going about the rest of your evening, unaware that your girlfriend had begun conjuring up her own harmless scheme.

The next morning, as you two were getting ready for another day at the agency, you noticed that she was wearing one of your designated work shirts. Your brow arched, watching as she smoothed it out over her torso, then started working on her, ignoring your intrigued staring. She hummed to herself, plainly waiting for you to make a comment about her outfit, swiping some lipstick on, and running out of things to do.

“Is that mine?” You finally uttered out, finger lazily pointing to the shirt.

“Hm? This ol’ thing? No, it’s mine,” she giggled, answering immediately as she fluffed her hair once more in the mirror, blowing you a kiss as she walked by. You couldn’t stop the small blush forming at the gesture, watching as she grabbed both of your work bags, waiting for you by the door. She does look cute in it, you shook your head, walking over to her so you could escort her to the agency building.

That very evening, after Yosano had tucked away your work shirt back on your side of the closet, you took it upon yourself to poke through her pajama drawer, changing into one of her comfy sets, and practically skipping to the living room as if nothing was going on, plopping down beside her. Some popcorn in her bowl jostled out onto your lap, going ahead to munch on those pieces as a way to avoid looking in her direction, as her eyes were playfully narrowed at you wearing her pjs. “Aren’t those mine?” She asked, holding back a laugh. You peeked at her, eyes widened with innocence, and popped another piece of popcorn in your mouth.

“Hm?” You mimicked her earlier reaction, cocking your head then gently tugging at the hem. “No, these are mine.” You answered, using all of your might to sound as sincere as possible. However, the knowing look she had given you was enough to make your mouth crack, the corner tugging up in a coy smirk, leaning back into the couch cushion and enjoying your movie night.

After that night, there was an unspoken contest between the two of you: get away with stealing an article of clothing and put it back before the other notices. Yosano is crafty though, she will take things you least suspect, giggling a little too loudly to herself at the end of the day from the success of you not knowing what she wore; you had caught a pair of socks in the dirty pile that you knew for sure you hadn’t worn that week. You would resort even to accessories: watches, bracelets, rings, and earrings.

You weren’t necessarily keeping score, but your girlfriend was. At the end of every day, on the small whiteboard on the fridge, there was your name and hers with a line down the middle, and tallies underneath. You took note that she had far more tallies than you, the competitive thing she is. You could have sworn though there were times you had gotten away with wearing a shirt or pants without her knowing, or a jacket or scarf. You wondered if you wanted to break the unspoken rules of this little game, to make things a bit more interesting to you.

You still held up the end where you needed to be undetected, sneaking a shirt or jacket out of the apartment, but you decided to douse yourself in the perfume you knew she loved most on you, distracting her by how you smelled rather than by what your outfit consisted of for the day. When getting home, you’ll stuff it back in the closet, waiting for when you can watch the next time she goes to grab it, pausing long enough to bring it up to her face, burying her nose in the fabric so she can inhale your scent. A small, adoring smile will form, tugging it on over her head so she can wrap herself up in the material to be warm and feel as if she is being hugged by you. Momentarily forgetting the game completely, not bothering to mark a tally, lost in a cloud of you lingering on her body as she goes about her day like normal, pretending you’re following her around like you always do, even if you aren’t home.

The thought of sharing clothes never seemed to cross either of your minds before this challenge arose, the sentiment growing more and more on you, laughing to yourself when she floats by in some article of clothing that definitely didn’t belong to her, waiting for you to comment – or compliment, I’m not picky – on how she looks. Sometimes, you don’t give in to her silent flaunting in hopes of garnering your attention and flowery language, rather spinning her around in place before pulling her in to grant a tender kiss to her lips, knowing that acknowledgement farther exceeds whatever else she was expecting you to say.

Yosano walks into the office that early morning, wearing a pair of dress pants instead of her typical skirt, heels a little taller than what she was used to, her standard button-up, and a sweater you almost didn’t recognize. She hums to herself, rummaging around in the filing cabinet for some files she needed on someone to ensure they didn’t have any known allergies. Her mind is elsewhere, bogged down with work, examinations, an investigation she is required to take on later in the day, and flipping through the papers in her hand.

You sneak up on her, peeking over her shoulder, and softly whispering: “I like your sweater.” She jumps, sheets flying around after they leave her hands, and you have to bite back your laughter as you lean down to start picking up the mess.

“Dammit, don’t scare me like that!” Her foot comes down in an aggressive stomp, heel clacking hard on the floor.

“Sorry, lover,” you giggle, offering the papers back to her, to which she all but snatches them from you as her nose scrunches up and a rare pout forms in her features. “Where’d you find that?” You nod toward her outfit, referring to the soft, brown sweater she has on over her dress shirt. She looks down at it before giving you a playfully smug smile.

“Oh, this ol’ thing? I just found it in my closet,” she lets out a small, satisfied sound at her comment, alongside a shrug of her shoulder. You nod along slowly, gazing at her with warm eyes and a gentle smile.

“Keep it,” you murmur, running your finger along the sleeve. “It looks much cuter on you anyway.” You wink, turning on your heel to skip back to your desk, leaving her blushing violently in your wake as she realized she lost the game for the first time since it started.

C. Nakahara 𐚁

“That looks cute on you,” Chuuya mentioned, pouring himself some coffee while he glanced across the kitchen island at you, doing a double-take when he thought he recognized the sweater you were wearing. “Where’d you get it?” You had a fist full of the sleeve, staring at him wide-eyed before averting your gaze to the side and pursing your lips.

“Uh, I dunno,” you answered, shrugging. “Found it.” His brow lifted, peering at you again over the rim of his mug, your tone enough to throw him off.

“Right,” he lightly smacked his lips before turning toward the stove to begin making breakfast. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face when you turned on your heel and skipped off to the living room, humming quietly to yourself as you plopped down on the couch. Yeah, found it in the back of your closet, you kept wearing your smile, flipping on the television and huddling under the throw blanket as you got comfortable for a rare day in with your boyfriend. Your beloved cat was already curled up on the other end, getting up to stretch then made her way to make a bed of your stomach.

When it comes to Chuuya, anything you ask for he will make damn sure it happens. You had a bad day at work and burst into tears saying you didn't want to work anymore? He told you with a shrug to 'just quit', he'd take care of you. You need to go somewhere farther than walking distance and don’t want to take the train? He will happily drive you himself with no complaints or further questions other than ‘where to’. You need to go to the grocery store? He will go in your stead, just hand him the list. You want to blow as much money as you possibly can at the mall or your favorite store? His card is already sitting out for you on the counter. You want him to take off from work for a day so you two can be lazy together? He’ll… try. If all else fails, he’s taking a half day.

You appreciate that he never tells you no, seemingly the word not being in his vocabulary, but sometimes you want a challenge. Something to just make things more fun for you. You’ll politely and wordlessly take a small bite of food from his plate; he doesn’t mind, he was going to offer you to taste it anyhow. You take a sip of his glass with your eyes watching him over the liquid making way for your lips; he doesn’t pay you any mind, since he wants to know your opinion as is. You casually slip a few bills out of his wallet in front of him just to place in your purse; he just chuckles at your motions, thinking to himself how he was going to do that before leaving for work. All you were doing was saving him the breath.

You tried sneaking a cat into his penthouse when you came across it in the alleyway while you were out with friends, and he just stood there silently for a long moment, head slowly tilting and the cat following his movements, before he dragged his gaze up to meet yours. You stood there with a smug innocence, batting your eyelashes, and held your hands behind your back.

“Isn’t she cute?” You gestured to the tabby cat, her tail leisurely patting on the floor as it sits in the living room. “She was meowing like crazy, stuck in the rain. Poor thing needed shelter.” Your eyes suddenly grew bigger, bottom lip poking out in a pout. If this was a dog, there wouldn’t be a pause like this, or any type of convincing. However, you knew he hadn’t been around cats much, and you wanted one. You just weren’t sure how to address it, so you just brought her home.

He blinked before lowering his head again, gloved hand coming up to rest on his hip, then sighed with his eyes closing. “Did you make sure to pick up the supplies she needs? If not, I’ll need to run out now before the stores close.” Your smugness disappeared in an instant, staring at him from where you stood, eyes about to pop out of your head.

“Uhm… Yeah-Yeah, I picked it all up on the way back,” you threw a thumb over your shoulder in a vague direction. “Got her all set up, even got some overstock.” He nodded, walking past your new pet right up to you, a small hint of irritation in his blue and brown as he gently lifted your chin, then placed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t takin’ care of it,” he smiled softly then made way for the stairs to change out of his uniform. That was the closest to “no” he had ever come to telling you, despite later that evening you walked in on him lounging on the couch with your new cat curled up on his chest, and you could hear her purring like a lawn mower.

There wasn’t much he cared about when it came to you. It turns out he actually didn’t mind the cat, some days feeling like she likes him more than you, and he was entirely fine with sharing everything with you. Until you gravitated toward his closest one evening, just browsing over his selection, admiring his fashion sense, but wished he’d wear more colors, when the impossible happened.

“Get away from there,” Chuuya tiredly sang, sprawled out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl in beside him so he could get some sleep. “There isn’t anythin’ in there for you.” You peeked back at him over your shoulder to see him wearing a lazy smirk, lids dropping, and his arm half up and draped over his head. He had texted you earlier that day, letting you know work was more intense than he was expecting, not one to ever complain to you about his exhaustion. You took that as an opportunity to pamper him for the evening, making him dinner while he relaxed in the living room with the cat and his favorite show, to a point that he had passed out on the couch – which took you quite a bit of time to convince him to get up and trudge himself off to bed.

“I was just looking,” you murmured, voice sweet, trailing your curious and mischievous gaze back to the closet’s contents, an idea sparking in your bored mind.

Which brought you to sneaking out one of his cashmere sweaters to wear, one you knew you hadn’t seen him wear in a while, integrating it into your wardrobe so he wouldn’t get overly suspicious. You would sneak other articles of clothing in different increments, mostly old t-shirts he had hidden in the back of his closet he doesn’t wear often, unless he wanted to “loosen up” from his standard attire; you’d style them to make them look as if they were yours, throwing out half-assed lies of how you found them at thrift stores or you had them for forever.

It was the old band tee of someone Chuuya knew you had never listened to that you snuck out and wore in front of him that his suspicions were proven right: you had been sneaking your sticky fingers into his closet. The thing about your relationship was that he knew when you were clearly playing games, him not afraid to play along. He’d stand in the doorway, silent and undetected, while you rummaged around in his closet for your next material victim, then race off to the kitchen, pretending he liked your “new” shirt or sweater or jacket you had recently “found” or “bought”, seeing for himself how long you’d be willing to continue lying to him about your new favorite place to shop just so happens to be his closet.

He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at you for this, since he did truly believe you were adorable in all of his clothes you decided to make your own. He just couldn’t figure out why you had taken it upon yourself to just snag stuff without asking, considering most of the time you are polite enough to at least let him know if you took or borrowed something. He was well aware of his lack of telling you no, not believing he needed to, but he did know if he was serious, you would be respectful enough to accept it as his answer. He was confident the moment he finally looked you in the eye and told you to stop digging into his closet and return everything you stole, you would. However, he found himself having fun playing this game of “where’d you get that” and hearing whatever bogus story you could come up with.

You are rummaging around in the dresser drawers, fully knowing clothes in there are practically untouched, long forgotten by your boyfriend, aside from his socks and underwear. The soft sound of water pouring down and splashing along the bathroom floor spills into your shared bedroom, using it as an indicator for how much time you have to rifle through for a new garment of clothing. You vaguely remember a hoodie you have only ever seen him wear once that you made a mental note to yourself, the day your eyes landed on it, that you were going steal it from him to have a piece of him always. Then, much to your dismay, you had never seen him in it again, wondering where it ran off to, and had the reminder since your clothing thievery began.

Chuuya is about to turn off the water and step out when he thinks he hears something suspicious, his brows knitting together. He decides to leave the water on, cautiously grabbing the towel to dry himself off and wrap around his waist, before peeking out around the doorway, small droplets landing on the floor around his feet, watching as you are frantically searching in his drawer of abandoned hoodies and shirts he uses as loungewear or pajamas. He has to bite his lip to hold back from laughing at you, his eyes softening as you pull out your treasure, burying your face in it as you inhale. It somehow still smells like him.

He parts his lips, getting ready to ask what you’re doing, but he stops when he catches the absolute elation on your face after it pops back up from the hole of his hoodie, eyes closed as you take another deep breath from the collar of it. He pulls back, turning off the water, and decides that maybe he doesn’t really mind either that you are stealing his clothes.

Chuuya simply doesn’t believe in telling you no.

fluffuary 2026 | masterlist | requests: closed

dividers from fairytopea here on tumblr

©GHXST likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 do not repost, copy, change/alter/edit my works, and do not use it to feed generative ai.

[osamusghxst]

ｃｒｏｗｄｅｄ ｒｏｏｍ ✮⋆˙

O. Dazai -`♡´-

“What was the point of all those questions? Why did you call them exams? Was there actually a right or wrong answer?” His gaze darted around you, that smile still there, no crinkles in his skin as he wears it, and the color in his irises shift. You thought it was the sunset tricking you, but you could have sworn for a brief moment they changed to amber, resembling the whiskey you’ve sipped a time or two during late nights at the bar. “I have my own curiosities, as every good detective would. Aren’t there important things you’d want to know about people before wanting to be friends? To see if they align with you?” “So… Double suicides, romantic tragedies, and my thoughts on this case are important to you? To see if I align with you?” “Correction,” he murmured, voice low but soft. “Your thoughts on helping people, regardless the outcome.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, walking past you to reach Kunikida’s side, his fingers lingering before slipping away as he got farther, your lips parted as you watched after him. It was then, in that split second, you knew those whiskey eyes were going to be the only thing you could ever think about.

day 14 of fluffuary prompt challenge: not actually unrequited love~

♡

synopsis: you are an armed detective agency member that caught the curious eye of your colleague, dazai, that loves nothing more than indirectly asking your opinion on some things that are rather important to him. you caught his intrigue while he captured your heart in a painful whirlwind of unknown from longing stares and playful banter and stolen touches that you believe may have been all for naught.

introduction: they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but how exactly can you see through one if the curtains are drawn?

i know unrequited love all too well, making it an easy prompt to have you bleeding heart, hopeless romantics fall for the agency's heartthrob in what seems like one-sided futile attempts to garner his attention.

contents: 6.8k words; sfw; gn!reader; ada member reader; not actually unrequited love; dazai-typical suicide mentions/ideology; very brief angst

i fear i self-projected.

Ი︵𐑼

"I was afraid, but you made it safe; I guess that is our combination. Said you feel lost, well, so do I."

❀

It’s hard having a crush on your colleague as is: trying to remain professional, not making it obvious, not letting it interfere with your work, not taking any critiques personally, and surely not thinking every kind gesture toward you is a subtle wink to let you know they might feel the same way. Brushing knuckles for stacks of paper is merely an accident. It really is a simple coincidence that you two locked eyes from across the room, you were just zoning out, and happened to notice them staring back at you when you came into focus. Standing beside each other while receiving orders is seriously due to being assigned the same case, there’s no other reason for your shoulders to touch. Witty banter is that: lighthearted jokes shared amongst coworkers to help make the day more bearable, not because they want to hear you laugh or have you thinking they’re funny. Sitting next to one another in the break room, or on the train, or in a taxi, or your other colleague’s car, or even walking side by side down the street is because there is no other option.

A romantic crush on your colleague is already hard. It’s even harder when that colleague is Osamu Dazai, an enigmatic being with charisma anyone would kill to have, the ability to turn any situation around and put a smile on a crying face. An absolute jokester, capable of making anyone laugh with his cheesy lines and dramatic outbursts. Brains far exceeding what you could ever dream of having, solving a situation with ease, being three or four or five steps ahead of everyone else. His own smile and laugh a literal dream to witness, especially if you were successful enough to be the cause. With sharp eyes that are constantly at work, analyzing you, having you down to the very last key, warm and cold at the same time – the delusional thought that maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to melt them down to a softness whenever he gazes at you.

Those eyes were what you noticed first when you walked into the agency building, bumping into him by accident as you stepped in, him on his way out. He stared down at you, curious gaze while he tilted his head. “Oh? And who are you?” You blinked, staring at his irises, something about them inviting and unsettling at the same time, as if they had seen everything but nothing at all.

“Uhm,” you took a step back, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I’m new. I was actually looking for Fukuzawa, I think his name was.”

“Hm, he just stepped out, actually,” he pointed off to the side in no particular direction. “I’d love nothing more than to stay behind and show you around, but I have a last-minute case I need to get to.” He peered over his shoulder, hand reaching to rub at the back of his neck. “Hey, Atsushi! I have a task for you!” He sang, waving toward someone that looked younger, twisting in his chair to give his attention to the random guy in a trench coat.

“What’s up, Dazai?” Dazai. You stood there, a bit awkward, looking between the tall stranger with eyes like coffee, and the younger guy with golden eyes like a cat, silently second guessing if you’re in the right place. While you were certain you’d see him again, you had decided to forget about him for the time being and take a tour of your new workplace, get to know your new coworkers, and prepare for some entrance exam Atsushi warned you about.

The first stroke of attraction happened after your exam, once you had passed by the skin of your teeth, and Dazai approached you back at the agency as you were slumped down in your new assigned desk chair. Utterly exhausted. “Congrats, newbie.” He greeted, sitting down on the edge of your desk, and crossing one leg over the other. You lolled your head in his direction, hooded eyes staring up at him as you tried not to fall asleep. “That was a tough one, but you seemed to handle it with grace. I’d say that was admirable.” He wore a small, teasing smirk as he eyed you, analyzing you, to guess your reaction, your next words.

“I was more prepared for something on paper, not running for my life down the street,” you sighed heavily, craning your neck back to stare up at the ceiling with the bright, fluorescent lights blinding you to a point of closing your eyes altogether. He breathed out a light laugh, leaning back on his hands, making himself comfortable on your desk; the sound caused your ears to perk, brows knitting together briefly as your hands rested on your stomach.

“The agency’s gettin’ pretty big,” he began, sounding almost reminiscent. “There was only an incredibly small handful here when I joined a few years ago. But we gained Atsushi, Kyoka, the Tanizaki siblings, Kenji, and now you. You’re pretty quick, we need that around here.” The way he talked resembled a permanent smile, your lids cracking to peek at him through the slits, just to see he was smiling. Not necessarily at you, or anything in particular, but in general as he spoke. You couldn’t stop yourself from gazing at him, taking in his side profile, his shaggy mop of hair, his bandages. You took some time to just look at him, letting his image settle in your brain, memorizing him so you could pick him out in a crowd if ever needed.

“Now, I have a little entrance exam of my own for you,” he cracked a grin, turning his head to look in your direction, and his eyes were suddenly alight with wonder – in your blurred vision, they seemed to sparkle.

“I really don’t think I could handle another test,” you groaned, sitting up in your seat regardless and propping your face on your open palms, glancing up at him with a slightly pathetic pout.

“Don’t worry, it’s pretty simple,” his delightful, cheery beam fell down into a taunting smirk. “What’re your thoughts on suicide? A romantic double suicide, to be more specific.” You blinked, slowly, unsure if the exhaustion made you hear him incorrectly. “Honest answers only!” He sang, holding a finger up in the air.

“Are you asking if I’d kill myself with someone I’d otherwise be in love with?” You muttered, tone mostly monotonous, finding the question almost unbelievable. You barely knew much of anything about Dazai, other than his favorite pastime, aside from irritating the hell out of Kunikida, was reading books of all sorts. Whatever he could get his hands on, he’d flip it open with hungry eyes and read every last word. Oh, and he liked coffee. A question so deep seemed uncharacteristic from your first impression.

“Of course! Look at you, detective,” he taunted, those mysterious brown eyes seeming to shift under the light of the room and the weight of the question. You two stared at each other in silence, him patient for your “honest answer”, you wondering if this was one of his silly little games he supposedly liked to play. Your head cocked before a smile cracked on your lips, a chuckle coming out through your nose.

“Had you asked me when I was an overly depressed teenager, I would have told you that was what I wanted more than anything in the world,” you admitted, shaking your head as you remembered what it was like at thirteen, daydreaming about jumping from a building in front of your love of the moment, and them dying right alongside you because they couldn’t dare to continue on without you. “I’m older now, and while the depression may not have gone away, I think I have learned to live with it. But if I were given the option to shoot myself in the head alone in front of thousands or sit in an empty room with my lover and glasses of poisoned wine, I’d take the latter.” His expression was neutral then, listening to you speak, those wandering eyes not leaving your being in the slightest.

The room was quiet, the two of you were there alone as everyone else had gone home for the evening, but you wanted some time to sit in your new workspace, to get to know it better, be accustomed. You weren’t expecting anyone, let alone him, to hang back with you. Without anything in his features changing, his knuckles knocked twice on the surface, and his tone had drifted from that charismatic taunt to a soft affirmation. “Good answer. You passed.” With that, he got to his feet without another word, hands shoving into his pockets, and he floated away over the threshold. Leaving you there to wonder what exactly was the point of that question?

The second instance of attraction, where you knew something was stirring inside you, but you couldn’t put it into words, was when you had found Dazai sitting by himself off-hours, in the corner of a cafe you frequent with a mug of coffee in front of him and a book with pristine pages that fluttered with each careful turn of his fingers. You stood back for a moment, taking in his silence, since he never really kept his mouth shut much at work, and you barely missed getting your own order. The call of your name made his head lift, irises matching the liquid in his cup, that caught yours staring, neither of you exchanging anything until you were gifted a smile from him and a wave of his hand, beckoning you to sit at his side.

“Hey, Dazai,” you held tight to your to-go cup, the warmth protecting your hands from the brittle cold outside, bracing yourself already for when you have to leave.

“Hey there. Not wanting to enjoy the quiet of a cafe?” He joked, the area bustling with other customers, the beeping of machines, blenders and beans being ground, different names being shouted left and right as their orders are completed. His hand came up to his ear before dropping back down to the table, an earbud resting there beside his book.

“While the scenery here is top notch, I was just wanting to get some coffee then head back home,” his gaze dropped down to your large cup, thinking to himself that it was comically large, then flitting back to your face. “I don’t have a machine at my place, and I live close by, so I come here if I want some.” He nodded slowly, the friendly smile that never reaches his eyes still plastered on his face, and his fingers resting on the pages to keep it from closing.

“I have another exam for you, friend,” he abruptly switched gears on you, your face dropping into startled confusion. He leaned back in his seat, holding up his book so you could see the cover, but you didn’t recognize it. “What is your take on romantic tragedies? Remember, honest answers only.”

“Romantic tragedies?” You repeated, tilting your head to try to read the cover of the story, but you were sure you didn’t know what it was. He hummed in response, finger tapping lightly on the hardcover a few times. “Like Romeo and Juliet?”

“Well, that’s a rudimental example. Novice territory, entry level,” he chuckled, some loose strands falling down in his eyes. “The story of Orpheus and Eurydice is probably another example on that level. Both famed for a reason, of course.” The way he spoke, an air of being better than you, struck you for some odd reason, unsure if he truly believed that or if he was truly that arrogant all the time. Your gaze downcasted, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you thought to yourself on what exactly to say, fingers dancing on the cup as the heat gradually became too much.

“Being doomed from the start only makes them try all the more harder to make it work. It makes you wanna root for them, despite having a pretty decent idea on how it will end,” you began, clearing your throat but your voice lowered. “And it makes it hurt worse all the same when it doesn’t. I think that at least if they tried, made their love known and loud, then they wouldn’t die in vain or be left lovelorn. Or, in less extreme cases, no regrets in breaking off the relationship when it’s obvious that they aren’t meant to be together.” You shrugged. “I love them, even if they break my heart, but I think the best examples of true, unconditional love are from stories that end in tragedy.” He stared at you, mouth closed in a line, nothing about him readable to decipher if what you said was “correct”.

His impression remained neutral, directing his attention back to the story in his hands, fingers repeatedly flitting the corner of the page before deciding to dogear it and close the book. He rose, tucking it under his arm, abandoning his drink, before offering your grade as he walked away: “Lovely sentiment. You passed.” Another strange question to be asked, no reaction whatsoever to your response, with a vague confirmation that it was an acceptable enough answer, then leaving you behind. You glanced at his practically untouched mug of coffee, steam no longer swirling up into the air, before trailing your curious gaze to the back of his head growing smaller and smaller as he pushed the door opened to walk along the pavement, getting lost amongst the other bodies making way for wherever it was they needed to go.

The last encounter resulted in a twist to the chest, as if something stuck out of your heart that someone easily drove it deeper. You were assigned your first big case, and it didn’t go any sort of way that you had planned. Paired with Dazai and Kunikida, confident with them you would be successful, no blunders, no issues. Until you remembered you worked at a detective agency, taking cases that the police are unable or unwilling to complete, needing the observant expertise of highly trained, gifted individuals. It slipped your mind that cases wouldn’t just be beloved pets that have gone missing from sniffling children or chasing down bad guys that a lead was lost on. Sometimes missing person’s reports don’t have the results you are looking for, finding out the hard way why they had been missing for so long, basically vanishing without a trace.

You stood there, frozen in place, as Dazai and Kunikida worked to help lift and remove the heap of rocks that were piled up near an abandoned factory, a hole in the brick wall big enough to fit a few people at once. The meticulous placement of the rocks and small boulders already had your stomach churning, it was the unfortunate scene behind them that had your vision blurring with tears, stuck on your lash line, wordlessly scolding them to not dare fall right then. You swallowed, unable to move, your fingers twitching at your sides before you dropped your gaze immediately once you saw Kunikida put his hands on the person laying there, their back to you.

“Go on ahead back to the car,” you heard a soft murmur in your ear, recognizing the loafers beside your work shoes. “We’ll take care of it from here.”

“I have to be able to learn–”

“I know, and you are being quite brave, but it’s fine,” Dazai’s hand placed itself on your shoulder, carefully forcing you to turn back toward the car parked near the small huddle of police cars in the lot, quickly wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “You got us to this point, we’ll handle the rest.” You hesitated but nodded, obeying his orders before trudging off to Kunikida’s car, and leaned against the door as you hugged yourself.

When they regrouped, Kunikida didn’t really say anything to you, other than a small ‘good work today’, before heading toward the officers to discuss the report to send off to the station, the coroner loading the body bag into their vehicle. Your jaw shuddered as you stared forward, a few more stray tears dripping down that you attempted to swipe away before anyone noticed. Unaware a pair of curious brown eyes were ever analytical, staring at you from afar, wondering what must it feel like to cry for a stranger.

“Hey,” you jumped at the sound of Dazai’s voice, his hands coming up with caution. “Have time for an exam?” Your eyes rolled before closing, jaw tightening while you worked to calm yourself down, growing used to his antics and ill-timed commentary, but you weren’t in the mood that day.

“Not now, Dazai,” you whispered through your teeth, struggling to keep your voice level.

“How do you feel right now?” He asked, hands in his pockets, eyes on the side of your face, watching those loose tears streak your cheeks as if they weren’t an obvious indicator.

“I don’t know! What kind of question is this? I just saw–” You stopped yourself from fully blowing up on him, taking a deep breath as your fists repeatedly balled up and relaxed. “I don’t know. My feelings shouldn’t matter right now.”

“They can,” he responded, bordering on nonchalant. You sighed heavily, your hands reaching up to rub at the back of your neck and up the side of your face, shrugging.

“I don’t know,” you repeated, shaking your head. “I feel like I failed. I didn’t get us here in enough time. I didn’t help him.” He hummed under his breath, head turning toward the empty spot the guy had once occupied, hands behind his back.

“I’d say you did what you needed to, what you were capable of,” he sighed inwardly. “You helped his family and loved ones; they have closure now instead of still wondering what happened.”

“But, Dazai, he’s–”

“He’s been like that for days,” he interrupted with all the kindness he could muster, a way to ease your rampaging thoughts. “Long before we were assigned the case. Other than successfully finding him with your excellent detective skills, there was not anything you could have done to save him from this.” He explained. You sniffed, sparing him a glance, eyes still foggy with tears, and your eyebrows twitched together.

“Even so, I still feel like there was something else I could have done differently. Maybe if we were assigned the case sooner…” Your nose scrunched on its own at your statement, a lousy excuse to kick yourself while you’re down, knowing what he said was right: there wasn’t anything you could have done.

“I know it’s difficult with our line of work to deal with cases like this, and there will be plenty more,” he looked down in your direction, that recurring stoic expression back on his features, eyes scanning you, as if to download your feelings and reactions to his brain to store for later use. They never falter or waver while doing so. “You can’t save everyone. You won’t be able to, and you need to be able to understand that to survive in this field. All that matters is you try because you want to help others. Is that something you think you can do?” You stared at him, such a serious conversation, a lecture no doubt, from the otherwise “silly” guy that you work with – the guy that constantly pulls pranks and jokes on your fellow colleagues, including you; the guy who acts as if death is something he can come back from with his overdramatic declarations of romantic double suicide with some beautiful woman; the guy who seems to push down any existing emotion he could possibly have in the moment, trading it in for his intelligence to get through a case. Like all the other times before, he waited for your answer, to give you a pass or fail, and something shifted in your mind that day.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to work here if I weren’t able to,” you nodded, wiping away at the stains on your skin with your sleeve, shaking your hands out, mentally telling yourself to get it together.

“Excellent answer,” he didn’t waste time this go around to allow your words to settle like he had to the ones prior, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards at your ability to bounce back. “Congratulations, you’ve passed.”

“What was the point of all those questions?” You finally asked, turning your body to fully face him. “Why did you call them exams? Was there actually a right or wrong answer?” His gaze darted around you, that smile still there, no crinkles in his skin as he wears it, and the color in his irises shift. You thought it was the sunset tricking you, but you could have sworn for a brief moment they changed to amber, resembling the whiskey you’ve sipped a time or two during late nights at the bar. What’s your story, Osamu Dazai?

“I have my own curiosities, as every good detective would,” he shrugged, tilting his head. “Aren’t there important things you’d want to know about people before wanting to be friends? To see if they align with you?” You blinked, wiping at the corner of your eye before folding your arms.

“So… Double suicides, romantic tragedies, and my thoughts on this case are important to you? To see if I align with you?”

“Correction,” he murmured, voice low but soft. “Your thoughts on helping people, regardless the outcome.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, walking past you to reach Kunikida’s side, his fingers lingering before slipping away as he got farther, your lips parted as you watched after him. It was then, in that split second, you knew those whiskey eyes were going to be the only thing you could ever think about.

Every day since then, you spent your days trying to hide the fact you had undoubtedly fallen for him – for Dazai. You already knew not much could get past Ranpo, having to side-step him any chance you could when he tried approaching you on anything related to Dazai, wanting to avoid the master detective from deducing you have this terribly embarrassing crush. You avoided speaking about him with Atsushi, letting him ramble on about some complaints of his relentless antics so he could vent, but you never partook in additional commentary or opinion. You never agreed nor disagreed with Kunikida when he went on tirades about his “conniving” and “irritating” partner, merely cracking a smile or suppressing a giggle at how red his face was getting. You didn’t aid in the gossip of the secretaries, their whispers louder than they have led themselves to believe, but you surely didn’t shy away from leaning over enough to catch wind of whatever it was they were grumbling about – sometimes the topic being him.

Your line of sight always ends up landing on Dazai. As you’re slipping past Ranpo with as much innocence as possible, you catch a glimpse of that shaggy mop of hair over the head detective’s shoulder, loose strands falling around in his eyes or better framing his features as he works on something in front of his desk or when he walks away toward the door, flipping through papers for his case.

While Atsushi draws on about his minor grievances, your gaze trails off in a different direction, honing in on the side of Dazai’s face while he works diligently – for once – with something on his computer, his fingers periodically coming up to pinch and pull at his bottom lip as he reads, before dropping it back down to type again.

As Kunikida drones on and on about something Dazai did to him as a harmless joke, you encouraging the behavior with your stifled laughter, your vision is filled with him sitting down, relaxed, at his desk with a triumphant and lazy smirk on his lips. His gaze will be on his partner that’s yelling at him like it’s a second full-time job, before those alluring brown eyes flicker to meet yours. His arrogance worsens, an audience for his pranks, someone that’s laughing along.

You always tend to linger a little too long when that happens, holding contact with him until he flusters you to a point of averting your gaze after a small wink, your stomach flattering and heart palpitating.

Little did you know, as you admire him from over Ranpo’s shoulder or gape at him during Atsushi’s rants, or even before Kunikida opens his mouth for a rambunctious lecture, Dazai has already noticed you. Eyes subconsciously gliding to the side, avoiding too much movement to prevent obviousness, watching you; analyzing you; scanning you; learning you; hoping you are already looking at him.

Long before your sparkling eyes find him, his hot whiskey amber has already honed in. Nothing in that room gets in the way, his view of you straight on, and immediately averted when he notices the movement of your line of sight traveling elsewhere, knowing it’s about to stare at him.

Your admiration in silence, internal longing, is usually short lived, since he somehow always knows when you’re gawking at him, whether you’re aware of it or not. Boring days in the office, where there aren't active and assigned cases, everyone present to catch up on paperwork or handle mundane office duties, sitting at your desk with pen in hand, and you’ve zoned out completely as your unfocused vision stares out ahead of you. It starts with merely looking out the window, making a mental note of the day’s weather, mind wandering on what you should make for dinner or if you had plans with friends to go out once you were off.

Then it shifts of its own accord, as if in search of something – or someone – that it hadn’t seen all day. Your gaze will drag from the glass to the person sitting near it, mouth closed for once while he’s hunched over some paperwork with his pen scrawling across in lazy strokes, his other hand tangled in the strands of his hair, a simple, impulsive thought of what it would feel like wonders in. This can last for different bouts of time, either a few seconds or elongated minutes, before you’re caught by Dazai’s eyes locking with yours, and heat blooms across your cheeks to spread to the tips of your ears before quickly dropping back down to the work you’ve mentally abandoned. You end up looking away too soon, though, because he was about to grant you a soft smile, a silent conversation, an invitation.

Instead, he’s left being the one to stare at you now, wondering if maybe he did something wrong; the scripted and rehearsed dance he had in his mind of you two exchanging these hushed whispers hidden in your longing gazes has been completely disrupted with no way to recover. He’ll gaze at you while your back is turned toward him as you speak to someone else, his eyes trailing along your hair, your shoulders, down your arms, and to your hands – an intruding thought of what your fingertips may feel like wandering into his ever-moving brain. He’s more nervous of being caught than you are, directing his eyes elsewhere the moment he notices your body turning, beginning to face him, but he can feel the burn of your stare on his skin, searing right through his bandages as you take in as much of him as you can before walking away to wherever it is you need to go.

You can keep the potential secret of your feelings for Dazai under wraps from your colleagues, leaving them with a hint of maybe. However, you know you can’t hide it from him at all. You are ninety-nine percent sure at this point, from your not-so-subtle stares, enthusiastic giggles at his jokes and pranks – of course, when they’re not aimed at you, and accidental stolen touches, that he knows you are helplessly enamored with him. Possibly more, something deeper, something more painful.

There are only so many more carefully crafted brushings of fingers when reaching for the same paperwork or a pen that you can handle, playing it off as an accident and letting him have it first. So many more shoulder touches while standing beside each other that neither of you make moves to create space, both so bold to stand so close but both too much of cowards to part ways. So many underlying questions and undertones in your witty back and forths that go practically unaddressed by either of you. So many more times you are caught staring at him like he is both the cure and the disease that ails you, just to go home alone and wallow in self-pity for another unsuccessful day of finding out if he feels the same.

Everything is getting to a point that it’s too much pain for this much effort, knowing outwardly telling him how you feel is useless – thanks to the vicious murmurs from the secretaries you stupidly listened to, alongside knowing he won’t ever dare to be the one to say something to you. A point that makes you sit there in the office, an ache in your chest, the stares not the same as they once were, allowing your hateful mind to tell you this is all in vain. A point where your heart still skips a beat when you’re assigned a case with him, an excuse for additional time, but you know you’re on a timer. A point where you have stopped stealing touches that were never yours to claim, keeping your hands to yourself and perfectly placed that there wouldn’t be any accidental brushing. A point that makes you hope this soon will pass, and you can go back to acting like normal and never imagine what a life with him might be like.

Across the room, in his seat, Dazai has noticed all of your changes. You don’t work nearly as hard to sit beside him in the car anymore, just moving to the backseat with your hands politely in your lap. You don’t scoot your chair along the floor to work at his desk instead with a lame excuse of not having a pen while you take his. You create a crater between you two when receiving orders for your cases. Your eyes have gone astray, his unable to find them when before, even in a crowded room, he could spot them so easily.

Dazai did know. The day you walked into the office with a little extra bounce in your voice and an extra hint of flirt on your lips, he knew at that very moment you were head over heels for him. Why, he to this day couldn’t figure it out, but he was intrigued by your attention – never one to turn away a pretty face willing to laugh at anything he says. He was drawn to you, after his little game of twenty-one questions, genuinely inspired by the answers you had given, and finding you worth his time.

He stares at you just as often, if not more, as you stare at him, eyes once empty and cold now curious when they flowed over your existence, tearing through every page as quickly as he can to learn – usually one to take his time, but he didn’t think he had enough, wanting to know what would be the quickest way to land you with unwavering confidence. The silence of your glances, conversations meant only for you two, was his favorite part of the day, especially when you would get flustered and abashedly look away. He looked forward to when you would try to casually touch the back of his hand as your reached for his pen from the surface or nabbing the paperwork you were both trying to complete, his fingers twitching in place as they scream for him to simply grab your hand on his own, like he would anyone else. He saved a seat for you right at his side everywhere you travelled.

Dazai’s breaking point is this evening of an agency ceremony, something he had been preparing for, all those stolen touches he was gearing up to brush and trace on the back of your hand, to sit beside you at the table with your shoulders pressed together, accidentally reaching for the same glass, knuckles bumping into one another that causes you both to erupt into hushed but bashful giggles and chuckles before he would let you take it anyway. The hunt for your eyes in the mass of people, knowing once he found them, they all would disappear, leaving the two of you alone.

You have been stalking around the room, glass in hand as you present yourself as happy to be there, engaging in idle chatter with strangers you could care less about, smiles agonizing as your faux laughter rings and bounces off the walls right back into your ears, fearing everyone else can tell. You take careless sips between every bout of conversation, the champagne not nearly what you were expecting, just to abandon it completely so you can try to hide and blend into the wall. Your mood is too harshly deflated, affected by a coworker over the dumbest reason, dodging and weaving from Ranpo – since he loved cornering you and using his power to tell you what is wrong with you. If you had your way, you wouldn’t have been here at all.

Dazai carries himself through the small crowd, hearing your laughter and using it as a beacon, but anytime he thought he caught up to you, you had vanished. His wandering eyes have searched and scoured every inch of this room and has to no avail been able to find yours, growing frustrated with each passing minute you are not in his line of sight. Being stopped by random strangers to discuss agency matters he, at this moment, could care less about, forced smiles gracing his features with polite and professional handshakes, bows of his head, and feet rushing off in a different direction as swiftly as they can.

You had found a spot off in the corner, away from everyone to be able to people-watch, hands behind your back as you lean on the plaster, and a hefty sigh escapes through your nose. Eyes trailing here and there, watching important people speak their important thoughts, fellow agency members converse with them or amongst one another, grazing over Kunikida as he talks with the utmost professionalism with some big shot you were told to steer clear of, sliding past Atsushi sitting at a table with Kyoka and Kenji, and running through Fukuzawa beside Yosano laughing at something another important person in an important suit said. Someone is missing, your careful and steady eyes languidly drifting through the crowd, until they stall on their own.

Across the room, so far out of reach, hidden between the shoulders and heads of silhouettes belonging to blurred shadows, burning with a strange and unfamiliar flame underneath the candlelit chandeliers, are the amber irises that have forever haunted you. They gaze back at you, wordlessly asking for your permission, growing nearer with every trembling beat of your pumping organ, blood rushing and pounding in your ears, fingers working to smooth out your hair and sweating palms slipping down the material of your outfit, a malicious voice in the back of your mind asking why even bother?

“There you are,” Dazai greets, out of breath, his fingers resting cautiously on your wrist, fingertips burning on your skin that shoots right up your arm and straight to your heart. It stops for a moment, wide eyes looking down at it, your own fingers twitching in his direction. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” Your brows knit together, staring up at him with a bit of a dumb expression. Searching for me?

“Sorry about that,” you break out into your best smile, one to get you by. “I needed some time to myself. What is it? Did something come up that we need to take care of?” His expression slips, noticeably, and for the first time since knowing him, you catch it. His eyebrow arches as he looks down at you, his friendly smile wavering down to puzzlement, his coffee brown shifting to burning whiskey at his sudden and clear panic.

“What? No,” he shakes his head, breathing out something like a chuckle, taken aback by your question. Did I misunderstand? Did I read this all wrong? “No, I just–” He gazes down at you, your eyes on his, big and expectant, your heart picking up as if revived by the one you believed killed it. “I wanted to spend time with you.” You stare at him for a moment, his fingers never leaving your wrist, and you can’t help the hesitation.

“You… Wanted to spend time with me?” You echo, though your tone is anything but confident. “Are you… Are you just bored?” It’s his turn to stare at you, his features dropping to incredulity, wondering what exactly he had done to make you think something like that. What an odd thing to say.

His tongue comes out briefly to wet his parted lips, lightly shaking his head once more as another breath of disbelief lacing through his chuckle comes out, the faint smell of the evening’s champagne lingering. You watch him closely, thinking for once you have him in a moment of weakness, his brows repeatedly twitching together while words he isn’t great with swirl around in his brain, every line and swoon-worthy compliment he had been practicing in his head to use on you floating right out of his brain, rendering him the impossible: speechless. His fingers slip further up your sleeve, the touch further igniting whatever flame he started, and a shudder rattles out of your throat that breaks him.

“I have one last exam for you,” he blurts out, a last-ditch effort to get through this without further stumbling over his tongue.

“You said the last one was–”

“What are your thoughts on romantic picnics in the park?” He cuts you off, words rushed, your eyes bugging at the question, trying to piece together if this is authentic or a sick joke. “More specifically, with me, this Saturday evening.” He swallows, choosing then that he had grown tired of dancing alone, and so terribly wished for your company once again. His voice drops, no one deserving to overhear the rest of your conversation. Reverence in every whispered syllable: “I’ll even let you pick how we kill ourselves after.”

“Don’t tell me you think we’re set to end in tragedy already, Osamu Dazai,” your knuckles graze his gauze-covered wrist when his hand made its way to your elbow, ever so slightly tugging you along with him to the dancefloor.

“I thought you said nothing was more authentic than lovers doomed from the start?” His eyes never left yours, holding contact, forcing you with no choice other than to do the same, being pulled along by the flame that flickers in those suddenly impish irises, pupils dilating at the sudden smile spreading across your face.

“How little faith you have in us,” you mutter, his other hand carefully reaching to grasp at yours.

“‘Us’? Have you turned in your test then?” You sigh heavily at his incessant pestering about still pretending this is an “exam”, rolling your eyes, but your smile turns into a grin when he guides your shaking hand to his shoulder.

“I hate eating outside with bugs,” you declare.

“Then how about a romantic picnic in my living room? Still with me, still this Saturday evening, and I still await how you want us to commit suicide.”

“Maybe one day, if the world is ending, and there’s literally no hope for us, you can drink a poisoned glass of wine while I shoot myself in the head,” you giggle, a coy smirk gracing his own lips now when his brow raises again. “This Saturday, I fear I need to live a little longer. I have a date with my handsome coworker that I hope will turn into a second one.” You notice then that his feet have been leading you along to the dreadful orchestral music playing over the speakers, your steps falling in tune without thinking about it, being swept away by those far too recognizable eyes, ones that you can point out in any crowd in an instant. They smile with him for once, and maybe the delusion you previously had was correct: maybe you can melt down that cold exterior.

“Perfect answer.”

❀

"You're down for my love, honey, say when. I be waitin' on my time 'cause I'm patient."

fluffuary 2026 | masterlist | requests: open but on delay while i catch up!

dividers from rmstitanics here on tumblr

©GHXST likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 do not repost, copy, change/alter/edit my works, and do not use it to feed generative ai.

[osamusghxst]

reblogging because i actually loved writing this one. it’s probably one of my favorites.