#bsd Chuuya | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moomuzan · 3 days ago

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— 𝖌𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔𝖔 𝖋𝖆𝖗

they physically hurt you during an argument , dazai , chuuya , akutagawa , angst , requested

As the fight spiraled into chaos, every word seemed like a jagged shard, cutting both of you open. Dazai stood before you, his expression carefully constructed, a facade of calm that only amplified the storm raging in the room. His words were like knives, precise and cold, but you had learned how to endure them. Or so you thought.

“You think you’re better than this?” he snapped, his voice laced with something darker, more desperate. “Better than me? You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’re so naïve it’s pathetic.”

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, voice trembling but resolute. “But at least I feel something real, Dazai. At least I’m not hiding behind masks and games like you.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of your words settling between you. His jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides. You could see it—the storm breaking through his carefully curated demeanor, the anger and fear he so often buried rising to the surface.

And then, like a thunderclap, it happened.

While his hands moved faster than his mind, shoving you back, his frustration snapped into action. The force wasn’t calculated—it never was—but it sent you stumbling into the wall with a sickening thud. Pain shot up your back, sharp and immediate, and for a moment, the air was knocked clean out of your lungs.

Defeating, merely silence followed.

As if they were still grappling with the weight of what they’d done, his outstretched hands trembled. His eyes widened, the usual nonchalance stripped away to reveal something raw, something terrified.

Hoarse, he whispered your name, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as you steadied yourself against the wall. The ache in your side was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest, the realization that this—this person, this moment—was no longer safe.

“Don’t touch me,” you managed, your voice trembling, not with anger but with something more fragile.

“I didn’t mean to,” The man said, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I swear, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” you interrupted, the words bitter as they left your mouth. “You never mean it, Dazai. But that doesn’t stop it from happening, does it?”

Dazai‘s hands fell to his sides, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words physically struck him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. For once, Dazai Osamu—the man who always had a plan, a clever retort, a way out—was speechless.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep forgiving you for the ways you hurt me, for the ways you make me doubt myself. Love isn’t supposed to feel like this.”

In a matter of seconds his expression shattered then, the mask slipping completely. He looked like a man on the edge of something vast and terrible, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a desperation that made your heart ache.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, the words barely audible, as if saying them louder might break him entirely. “Please. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Tears spilling down your cheeks as you stepped toward the door, you whispered: “You don’t know how to love, Dazai.”

He sank to his knees then, his head bowing low as if he were trying to disappear into the floor. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and broken. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to be anything but this. But I love you. God, I love you.”

You froze at the door, your hand gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles turned white. For a moment, you thought about turning back, about kneeling down beside him and telling him that love could be enough, that it could save you both.

But it couldn’t.

“I love you too,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “But sometimes, love isn’t enough to fix the damage.”

Opening the door, you stepped out into the cold night, the sound of it closing behind you echoing like a gunshot.

Dazai stayed where he was, his body trembling, his hands clutching at the floor as if it were the only solid thing left in his world. The apartment was silent now, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

He stayed there for hours, alone in the dark, his mind replaying every moment, every mistake, every crack that had led to this. And when the sun rose, spilling light into the room, it illuminated nothing but the hollow emptiness he’d tried so hard to avoid.

In the end, he realized, it wasn’t you he’d been trying to save. It was himself. And now, he had lost both.

The argument had begun as a flicker of irritation, something small enough that it could have been smothered if either of you had tried. But neither of you did. It grew, feeding on unspoken frustrations, on misunderstandings too deeply buried to untangle in the heat of the moment.

Lit only by the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds, the apartment was dim. Chuuya stood in the middle of the room, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. His hat had been tossed carelessly onto the couch, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration.

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” he shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls.

“You’re not listening to me!” you snapped back, your own voice trembling with the weight of the argument. “You never listen, Chuuya! You think you can decide everything for me, like I don’t have a say in my own life!”

He turned sharply, his blue eyes blazing with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t understand what it’s like out there! You don’t know what these people are capable of! I’m doing this for you!”

“For me?” You let out a bitter laugh, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re doing this because you can’t let go of your own fears! You’re so used to fighting everyone else’s battles that you can’t see I’m not the enemy!”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to rein in the storm inside him. But the storm was relentless, and it spilled out before he could stop it.

“You don’t get it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea what it’s like to carry this kind of weight—to know that one wrong move could mean losing the only person you—”

Though he cut himself off, his voice faltering, the damage was already done. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, and it pressed down on both of you like a tangible force.

Taking a step back, your hands trembled at your sides. “I’m not a child, Chuuya. I don’t need you to control every part of my life. I just need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” His voice rose again, sharp and cutting. “How am I supposed to trust you when you keep putting yourself in danger? Do you think I can just stand by and watch you get hurt?”

As his anger filled every corner, the room felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in. He moved closer, his movements sharp and unsteady, and before you could step away, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

The grip wasn’t meant to hurt—it was meant to stop you, to hold you in place, to make you listen. But it was too tight, too rough, and the heat of his frustration burned through his touch.

“Chuuya,” you said softly, your voice shaking. “Let go.”

But he didn’t. His fingers tightened slightly, his knuckles white as his grip mirrored the storm raging inside him. He was too far gone, too consumed by his own emotions to realize what he was doing.

“Why can’t you just—” His voice cracked, and he stopped, his words hanging in the air like broken glass.

You tried to pull away, but his grip held firm, and panic began to rise in your chest. Memories you had buried deep began to surface, unbidden and cruel.

A voice from your past, cold and unyielding. “You think you can just walk away? You’ll never be free of this. Never.”

Colliding with the past in a whirlwind of fear and pain, the room around you blurred. Your breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over, streaming down your cheeks.

“Chuuya,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please.”

The sound of your voice—cracked, pleading—broke through the fog of his anger. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze, as though realizing for the first time what he was doing.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He released your wrist as though it had burned him, stepping back as if the distance could erase the moment.

Though you cradled your wrist against your chest, your body trembling as you tried to steady your breathing, the fear lingered, a shadow that refused to be banished.

Softly, he called out your name, his voice thick with regret. “I—fuck, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t—”

Yet, you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words caught in your throat, strangled by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Chuuya’s hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to reach for you or keep his distance. His eyes, usually so fierce and determined, were filled with something you had never seen before—fear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Bluntly, you looked up at him then, your eyes filled with tears, and for the first time, he saw the crack in your armor—the vulnerability you had always tried so hard to hide. And it broke him.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his head bowed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I—” He stopped, his words failing him, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to love someone without breaking them.”

As you watched him, your heart ached at the sight of him so utterly wrecked. And despite everything, despite the fear and the pain, you found yourself reaching out, your hand brushing against his cheek.

Looking up at you then, his eyes were filled with anguish, and for a moment, the storm between you seemed to quiet.

“Chuuya,” you said softly, your voice still trembling. “We can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep—”

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know, and I swear, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just—don’t walk away. Please.”

The desperation in his voice broke something inside you, and you nodded, though you weren’t sure if it was forgiveness or hope or something in between.

But as he pulled you into his arms, his grip careful and gentle this time, you couldn’t help but wonder if the cracks in your relationship were too deep to mend. And in the quiet of the room, as the storm finally subsided, you both realized that love wasn’t always enough to fix what had already been broken.

Always being harsh, Akutagawa’s words were sharp enough to wound, his presence suffocating like a shadow that never left your side. He wasn’t kind, not in the way others might be, but he cared in his own jagged, brutal way—protecting you with the same ferocity he used to destroy. You were his tether, his calm amidst the storm of his life in the Mafia, the one person who softened the edges of his wrath. But even tethers could fray, and that day on the battlefield, everything unraveled.

Unraveling so, the fight was chaos, the kind of chaos Akutagawa thrived in. His Rashoumon tore through enemies like paper, his focus deadly, precise. You stood at his side, as you always did, fighting with everything you had to survive in a world that rarely spared you kindness. But the enemy was relentless, and the tide of the battle began to shift.

“Stay back!” he barked, his voice cutting through the noise. His tone was sharp, impatient, but beneath it lay something unspoken—a thread of fear he refused to acknowledge.

“I can handle this!” you shot back, your determination blazing in your eyes.

Yet Akutagawa’s patience, already worn thin by the heat of battle, snapped. “You’re a liability,” he snarled, Rashoumon lashing out in a violent arc, meant to clear the way and shield you from the enemy closing in.

He miscalculated.

Instead, the tendrils of his power struck you, slicing through flesh and bone, sending you crumpling to the ground with a scream that cut through the battlefield like a blade. Blood pooled beneath you, stark against the dirt, and Akutagawa froze, the world narrowing to the sight of your broken body lying in the wreckage of his mistake.

Afterwards, the fight ended in a blur, your enemies retreating as the full weight of his actions crashed down on him. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out, unsure if he even had the right to touch you now. “Stay awake,” he ordered, his voice unsteady, the fear breaking through. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Coughing weakly, blood stained your lips as you looked up at him, pain and betrayal flickering in your gaze. “You… you did this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Akutagawa’s chest tightened, his breath catching as the truth of your words settled over him like a noose. He did this. To you. To the one person he swore to protect above all else.

The weeks that followed were a blur of pain and silence. You survived, but the scars—both visible and invisible—ran deep. You couldn’t look at him the same way, flinching when he raised his voice, shrinking away when his hands moved too quickly.

Trying to fix it in his own way— he muttered cold apologies under his breath, offers to train you harder so you wouldn’t need his protection, promises he didn’t know how to keep. But nothing worked. The damage was done.

One night, the tension broke.

“You don’t trust me anymore,” he said, his voice low but laced with a bitterness that cut through the room.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes tired, your body still healing from wounds he had inflicted. “How could I?” you replied, your voice trembling. “You’re supposed to protect me, Ryuunosuke. Not—” Your voice broke, and you looked away, unable to finish.

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Then, with a voice that was quieter than you’d ever heard, he said, “I know.”

And he did know. He knew the pain he caused, the fear that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him now. He knew he had crossed a line he could never uncross.

Knowing didn’t make it easier. It didn’t make the silence between you any less deafening, or the nights spent alone any less cold. It didn’t stop him from replaying that moment over and over in his mind, the sight of you bleeding because of him seared into his memory like a brand.

He still loved you, but love wasn’t enough to undo what he had done. It wasn’t enough to erase the fear in your eyes or the distance growing between you. And now, as he stood in the shadows, watching you from afar as you tried to rebuild yourself, he wondered if it would have been kinder to let you go entirely.

Yet, Akutagawa didn’t know kindness. He only knew how to hold on, even when it hurt. Even when it was the last thing he deserved.

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moomuzan · 2 days ago

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— 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙

your wounds are critical! chuuya , akutagawa , dazai , two endings: no-comfort & comfort , requested

Unraveling, the night was a cacophony of chaos. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The world around him was a haze of noise and movement, but Chuuya saw none of it. He was focused on you, lying on the cold pavement, your body still and fragile in the growing pool of your own blood.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound in your abdomen. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

You blinked up at him, your vision hazy and unfocused. The corners of your lips quirked in a weak attempt at a smile, the kind you always gave him when you were trying to reassure him—even now, when you were the one who needed reassurance.

“Ch-Chuuya… I’m fine…” Your words were a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“No, you’re not!” he snapped, his voice raw and desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re not fine—you’re bleeding out!” His gloved hands pressed down on the wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of crimson that spilled between his fingers.

It was everywhere, staining his hands, soaking into his coat, dripping onto the ground—The sight of your blood shattered something inside him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be untouchable, invincible, his equal in every way. You were his partner, the one person he trusted to have his back.

And now you were slipping away.

He threw his hat aside, his fiery hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat. His eyes glistened, but no tears fell—not yet. Instead, his fury burned hotter than ever.

“They’ll pay for this,” he growled under his breath, his voice low and venomous. “Every single one of them. I’ll make them regret the day they thought they could touch you.”

But his anger was hollow, a desperate attempt to distract himself from the reality unfolding in front of him. Every breath you took was shallower than the last, and he couldn’t stop the dread creeping into his heart.

happy ending

Chuuya didn’t leave your side—not for a second. He carried you in his arms, running through the streets with a single-minded determination that bordered on madness. The people who dared to get in his way didn’t live long enough to regret it.

When he finally reached an empty building, he laid you down on a makeshift bed, his hands working with frantic precision to tend to your wounds. He tore off his gloves, his fingers shaking as he cleaned and dressed the injury, his mind screaming at him to stay calm.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking. “You hear me? I’m not letting you go. Not like this.”

As the hours passed in agonizing silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing, Chuuya sat beside you, his hand wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. He spoke to you—soft, quiet words filled with guilt and love, his usually sharp tone now trembling with vulnerability.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, your voice was faint but steady. “Chuuya…”

Relief flooded his face, and he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

You smiled weakly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll try.”

Chuuya didn’t let go of you, not that night or the nights that followed. He stayed by your side, caring for you with a tenderness that only you ever got to see, his usual brash demeanor softened by the sheer relief of having you alive.

sad ending

Chuuya’s fury burned like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He carried you to the nearest safe house, his movements quick and precise, but his heart was a storm of fear and guilt.

Once inside, he worked tirelessly to tend to your wounds, his hands steady but his mind fractured. He talked to you, begged you to stay awake, to fight, but your responses grew weaker and weaker.

When he finally finished patching you up, he collapsed into a chair beside the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The room was too quiet, the sound of your breathing too faint.

“You’ve got to pull through,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

Hours passed, and Chuuya didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on you, on the shallow rise and fall of your chest, on the pale color of your skin. He wanted to believe you would wake up, that you would pull through like you always did.

But doubt gnawed at him, an unrelenting reminder of the fragility of life. The memory of your blood on his hands, of the way your body had gone limp in his arms, haunted him like a ghost.

When dawn broke, the faint light spilling through the window did nothing to ease his torment. He sat there, still as stone, waiting, hoping, praying for a sign that you would come back to him.

But you didn’t wake—not yet. And Chuuya was left in the agonizing limbo of uncertainty, caught between the hope that you would survive and the crushing guilt that he had failed to protect you.

For the first time in his life, Chuuya Nakahara felt truly powerless. And it was a feeling he would never forgive himself for.

As a mentor Akutagawa had always been unrelenting, cold, and merciless. The way he barked orders and pushed you beyond your limits was suffocating at times, but you knew it stemmed from something deeper—a warped belief in perfection, in power, in survival. He demanded nothing less than absolute excellence, and you worked tirelessly to meet his expectations, even when they left you bruised and battered.

However, this mission was different. It was dangerous, even by his standards, and the risk was glaringly obvious. He had chosen you for it anyway, confident in your ability to deliver. Confidence that now felt like arrogance as he scoured the desolate streets, his coat whipping around him in the wind, his sharp eyes darting in search of any sign of you.

You were late—far too late. And by the time these hours turned to days, dread began to sink its claws into him, deeper and deeper with every second of silence. He replayed the last time he’d seen you, the way you’d nodded with quiet determination when he gave you your orders. You had trusted him, relied on him to prepare you. And now, the thought that you might be gone, that he had sent you to your death, was a weight he couldn't bear.

When he finally found you, collapsed in a heap in the shadows of a back alley, his breath caught in his throat. Blood soaked your clothes, dripping onto the cracked pavement below. Your skin was pallid, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. You looked like a ghost of yourself, barely clinging to life.

Akutagawa stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing with emotions he didn’t know how to process. Anger, guilt, and something else—a foreign ache that felt far too close to grief. He approached you slowly, his usual sharp, deliberate movements replaced by something hesitant, almost tender.

“Fool,” he hissed under his breath, though his voice wavered. “Why didn’t you retreat when it became too much? Why didn’t you come back to me?”

Stirring slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttered open just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I thought I could handle it,” you whispered, your voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the wind.

Akutagawa clenched his jaw, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure of where to start. He had always been so sure of himself, so in control, but now? Now, he felt powerless.

happy ending

Akutagawa wasted no time. He lifted you into his arms, his expression hardening into a mask of determination. He wasn’t going to lose you—not like this.

Instinctively, he brought you to the Mafia hideout, ignoring the startled glances of the other members as he stormed through the corridors. His focus was singular, his steps purposeful as he gathered everything he needed to tend to your wounds.

For hours, he worked in silence, his sharp, precise movements betraying the storm brewing inside him. He cleaned and bandaged your wounds with care that seemed almost out of character, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest.

When you finally regained consciousness, your voice was weak but steady. “Why are you… doing this?”

Not looking at you, his focus was hyper-fixed on tightening the last bandage around your arm. “Because you’re still my responsibility,” he muttered, though the words carried an undercurrent of something deeper.

Over the next few weeks, he rarely left your side. He ensured you had everything you needed to recover, from medical supplies to food, though he never lingered long enough for the conversations to grow soft. He kept his distance emotionally, even as his actions betrayed his concern.

On the day you were finally strong enough to stand on your own, you thanked him quietly, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passed between you. His gaze lingered on you a second too long before he turned away, his coat billowing as he walked toward the door.

“Don’t fail me again,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. And when you joined him on the battlefield once more, it was as though nothing had changed—except for the silent understanding that he would never let you fall again.

sad ending

Lost in motion, Akutagawa carried you to a secluded place, far from the chaos of the city, where the air was still and heavy with the scent of earth and rain. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding, to keep you alive. But the wound was too deep, the damage too severe.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It sounded more like a plea than a statement, a desperate attempt to will the universe into giving him more time.

Smiling faintly—your lips pale and cracked. “You don’t… have to lie,” you whispered, your words slurred with exhaustion.

“Stop talking,” he snapped, though his tone was more broken than angry. “Save your strength.”

Of course, you didn’t stop. “I… wanted to prove myself to you,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you forced them open again. “I wanted… to be someone you could rely on.”

As Akutagawa’s chest tightened, he surely didn’t know what to say. He had always believed in power, in strength, in the cold, unfeeling logic of survival. But now, as he watched you slip away, he realized how hollow those beliefs felt without you by his side.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His hand hovered over yours, hesitating before he finally took it, his grip firm but trembling. “You don’t get to leave me like this. Not after everything.”

Your breathing grew slower, more labored, until it finally stopped altogether. Akutagawa didn’t move, didn’t speak. He sat there, his hand still clutching yours, his usually cold, emotionless expression shattered by a grief he couldn’t contain.

When the sun rose, casting its golden light over the world, he was still there, silent and still, watching over your lifeless body as though he could bring you back to life through sheer force of will. But no matter how much he wanted to, you were gone. And he was left with nothing but the ghost of your presence and the crushing weight of his own failure.

Dazai Osamu had always been an artist of detachment, a master of keeping the world at arm’s length, of slipping between roles and masks until even he could no longer remember where the performance ended and the truth began. But with you, he’d let himself forget the artifice, if only for fleeting moments. You, the civilian who had somehow carved your way into the abyss of his existence, had become an unwelcome but intoxicating anomaly.

Though he never admitted it—not even to himself, you were his sanctuary. The weight of his sins seemed lighter when he lay beside you, your warmth an anchor against the ever-present pull of the void. You were the only piece of his life untainted by blood, betrayal, and violence, and that was why he kept you far away from the shadows that clung to him like a second skin.

But no matter how hard Dazai tried to shield you, the world he belonged to always found a way to destroy everything good.

The hitmen weren’t looking for you. They wanted him—Dazai Osamu, the man who had walked out of hell and left corpses in his wake. But when they didn’t find him, they found you instead. And they made you their message.

He came home to silence—a silence that wasn’t the kind you filled with soft conversation or lazy laughter. This silence was heavier, darker, and it hit him in the chest like the memory of a long-forgotten betrayal.

Dazai knew before he even saw the blood.

The sight of you lying there, your body broken and barely clinging to life, stole the air from his lungs. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind blank as the weight of it all came crashing down. And then something primal snapped inside him.

His voice was low as he called out your name, trembling, barely audible. He dropped to his knees beside you, his fingers shaking as he touched your blood-streaked face, as if he were afraid you’d shatter beneath his touch.

You were still breathing, but it was faint, so faint that he felt like every second could be your last.

“Why—why did this have to happen?” he whispered, his words more to himself than to you. He pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I kept you away from all of this, didn’t I? I thought I did...”

And yet, even in this, he couldn’t escape the guilt, the bitter irony of how his world devoured anything it touched.

happy ending

Against all odds, you survived. Dazai, his hands unsteady but precise, tended to your wounds in those first crucial hours, working with a focus born of desperation. He called in favors, used every connection he had to ensure you lived.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak and disoriented, he was there. His face betrayed nothing, but his hands—gentle as they brushed the hair from your face—told a different story.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow even to him.

In the days that followed, he didn’t leave your side. He cared for you with a devotion so intense it bordered on obsession. He bought you whatever you needed, whatever you might want, as if material things could erase the pain, as if spoiling you could atone for his failure.

But no matter how much he gave, the guilt never left. Every time he looked at you, he saw the scars—both the ones on your skin and the ones buried deeper, in places he could never reach.

Dazai, the man who had once thought himself untouchable, now found himself tethered to a new kind of torment: the knowledge that he had been the one to bring ruin to the one thing he loved.

sad ending

But fate wasn’t kind, and this time, the genius himself couldn’t outsmart the universe.

You didn’t make it.

Holding you as the life drained from your body, his voice was soft and trembling as he whispered words meant to soothe, to distract you from the pain.

“Just stay with me a little longer,” he pleaded, his tone almost casual, as if he could trick you into staying by pretending this wasn’t goodbye. “We’ll laugh about this later, won’t we? You’ll make fun of me for being so dramatic, and I’ll tell you how ridiculous you are for worrying me like this.”

Still, even as he spoke, he felt your breaths grow weaker, your body heavier in his arms. And when you finally stilled, when the silence became absolute, Dazai didn’t cry.

Instead, he sat there, holding you, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts too fractured to form words. He replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every smile, every laugh, every time you had looked at him like he was more than the sum of his sins.

And now you were gone.

The hitmen who had done this would pay—of that, he was certain. But even vengeance felt hollow, meaningless, because no amount of bloodshed could bring you back.

As he laid your body down and stepped away, he thought of all the times he had tried to leave the darkness behind, all the times he had thought you might be the one to pull him out of it.

In the end, Dazai was a man who destroyed everything he touched. And now, as he walked away from the life you would never return to, he realized that perhaps he had always known this would end in ruin.

Because that’s what he was: ruin, wrapped in charm and wit and hollow smiles. And this—losing you—was the cost of pretending he could be anything else.

thx for reading <3

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