#can you imagine having that much irrational and nasty hatred in your body

[heavenlydreamangelflyhigh]

imagine having the gall to censor the word “c*nt” and then in the same sentence dropping the t slur without even blinking just to come off as hardcore or whatever

[imaginethoseguys]

Dog... not me saying I won't be writing fanfiction anymore, then asking for Haikyuu inspo and then finishing 3 seasons of Bungou Stray Dogs in a week and writing this...... I have no explanations. bye

One Way

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x fem!S/O Word count: 2.7k Warnings: suicide and depression, angst, it ends good tho Summary: After parting, Dazai thought he would never see her again. He convinced himself he wouldn't. But then, a new lead for a case appears, and Dazai feels his entire being shattering to pieces.

When Dazai saw that case for the first time, he didn’t believe it. It was too good to be true. No, it couldn’t possibly be true. After they parted the last time, he never imagined such a chance to present itself to him. But all the evidence said otherwise, so it left him no choice but to believe. His deadly precise logic was in a raging conflict with his emotions, which Dazai never thought would be an issue. Although, lately, everything became too possible for his comfort.

In existential fear of meeting her again, he regretted meeting her at all. Not for the reasons one would assume. Looking back, he should’ve killed himself months, months, and months ago because now that he knew her, he understood how difficult it was going to be. Before, he was eager and ready to end his life. Nothing really held him back, no bonds strong enough to regret leaving them behind. The issue lied not in reflexivity or thinking too much about others. It was in nothing but his own overbearing and absolute selfishness when it came to her. He didn’t want to live to keep her company, he wanted to hold onto his privilege of looking at her, touching her, smelling her hair, kissing her knuckles, feeling her gaze on his face, feeling her fingers in his hair. He was rid of it after they last saw each other, which was ages ago.

Now, this crushing lonely bliss was tumbling down, all because of a file that stared at Dazai from the surface of his desk. Dozens of people dead, Yokohama was on the brink of a cross-organization conflict, and the newly located lead had Dazai completely taken aback. He wasn’t working, of course, to Kunikida’s great annoyance. He was thinking, spiraling into endless rabbit holes, staring at her photo attached to the file. She looked so nice, why did she always look so nice? Well, he knew why, she was elegant and stylish, there was a metaphysical kind of beauty to her, she looked breathtaking no matter what she did. Perhaps, it was his bias talking. She always looked after his appearance back in the Port Mafia days. She fixed his ties, she taught him to buy good-fitted pants and shirts. She wouldn’t shut up about Mori’s coat asking him to please throw this doormat away and get something nice. He figured it probably wasn’t the coat as much as it was her hate for Mori and his nasty pedophilia, it’s so disgusting it’s probably contagious please wash your hands. She cared. It felt nice. She would be happy to know he burnt it. He wondered if she would like his new coat. He bought it trying his best to remember her advice. He wanted to show it to her.

Wanted but couldn’t, there was no way. There were rumours about her death a few years ago among the Port Mafia crowd, but Dazai called bullshit on it right away. She knew better and she did better than just dying somewhere. Staring at her photo that was clearly taken here, in Yokohama, he couldn’t understand. Why was she here? Why was she involved? She had no reason to be. She wanted to get away, there was nothing she wanted more. After Oda died, they both decided to leave Port Mafia. But Dazai intended to stay in Yokohama and she wished to leave without looking back. Mutual loss drove them apart, they both weren’t mentally ready to find compromises. So she left. And he stayed. And now there was this photo of her, shamelessly lying in the file and destroying the elaborate image of a life he has built for himself. He stated at it for another minute or two. There was one reason for her to be back, Dazai was deliberately avoiding even considering this reason because everything inside him screamed how unrealistic and stupid this reason was.

Still, he had to suppress his inner turmoil because no matter what he thought, rationally, there was only one way to find out. Uttering a quiet ‘I see how it is,’ he got up and started walking towards the exit. Kunikida was quick to stop him.

“Where do you think you’re going, Dazai?”

“Weren’t you the one who gave me the file? I’m off to work, of course.”

“Don’t say ‘of course’ like it’s something ordinary, idiot.”

Kunikida eyed Dazai’s face and fell silent for a moment.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, calmer and noticeably more serious. Dazai looked back at him, eyes half-closed, giving him a moment of silence in return before breaking into another exaggerated smile.

“No thank you, I don’t want you ruining my disguise plan, Kunikida.”

Kunikida started yelling again, but Dazai paid it little attention since he was already out of the door.

One way, he thought repeatedly, as if to burn the phrase into his mind. ___ The building Dazai found himself in was no coincidence or convenience. Universe was speaking to him, furiously punching the obvious into the back of his head as he dodged and ignored the impact. The old abandoned church was the place where he found her after a failed attack mission. She wasn’t a stranger to murder, and she was prepared to face death of her associates as well as her own, but it was her first mission in command and a first horrifying defeat, which she did not take lightly. He found her hysterical, sobbing and holding onto her arms so hard it bruised, fingers almost piercing through fabric and skin. Never in his life has Dazai ached for someone else’s pain as much as he ached for hers. He couldn’t bring himself to say something usually harsh, like stop pitying yourself or get over yourself and get your shit together. Instead, he grabbed her and pressed her trembling body into his own, hugging her so hard she could barely breath anymore. He wanted to squeeze all the anguish out of her and absorb it. It wasn’t a problem, he dealt with worse, he could take it, so please let him so she doesn’t have to. His head pulsated in despair, at a loss of what to say and what to do. So he kissed her, so hard their teeth collided. He kissed her and kissed her, until she couldn’t think. He wanted to distract her, to leave her head an empty space, to leave her no chance to reflect, remember, or blame herself. No chance to feel anything.

Looking back, Dazai wouldn’t call it the healthiest way to comfort someone in distress, but it kind of worked, so who’s to judge. He walked up to the altar, allowing the nostalgia to take over his senses for a little while. He always found it funny: they made their secret meeting place a church, yet nothing they did here was close to holy. Nothing they ever did in their lives was holy. A murder 9 to 5 takes a pretty big toll on your mind and soul so having someone in your orbit who relieved your sense of existential dread and sometimes made you forget you’re dead inside helped. This is why Dazai wanted so badly for this lead to be a dead end. He was doing such a nice job of having his shit together and seeing her meant all of it would go to hell. One could say he was being too harsh on himself, but these were facts: as an analytic, Dazai knew himself in and out, and he acknowledged that his feelings for her, which was arguably his most irrational part of being, were a threat to his work performance, moral compass, and strive for the sweet embrace of death. It had to be fake. Then, he would come back to the agency, and she would be gone, and he would be able to solve the case like 2+2 and move on. Then, he would commit suicide, perhaps with some lovely lady, in some poetic and melancholic way, letting the black hole in his chest ascend into space and settle somewhere in its infinity. And all would be well. If this lead was a fake. If it’s a fake. If it’s—

“Fancy meeting you here.”

A second, and Dazai can swear he hears the sounds of glass breaking all around him. Everything is vacuum, the following silence is deafeningly loud in his ears. His body aches and his chest feels tight and prickly. He can’t find it in himself to breathe.

“You know, I wasn’t even sure this place would still be here, but I sacrificed logistics for the sake of a romantic sentiment.”

Her heels tapped against the old wooden floor as he felt her get closer to him.

“I guess great minds think alike,” Dazai said without turning around. There was silence again. He could feel her soft (he knew it as) gaze on his back. His fingers trembled.

“What do you have to do with this whole thing? You’re a primary suspect. What’s your gain?” Deciding to wait no more, Dazai spoke.

He hears her chuckle.

“Why do you ask me if you already know the answer?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Don’t say it.

Don’t say it.

Don’t say it.

“I got involved on purpose, of course.”

“Why?”

Say it isn’t so.

“To get to you.”

The hole in his chest shifts, it grows bigger, hungrier, it howls, like a whale on the bottom of an ocean. Even though she has left a long time ago, her ghostly presence lingers inside of him, a little smoldering coal, red sparkle inside a black pit of nothingness. It senses her presence, her scent, the timbre of her voice, and it starts absorbing everything it can reach just to get her closer, to lure her in.

“It was a pretty risky affair, I confess. I’m on a radar right now. I’m surprised no one followed you here, but you’re Dazai, so I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

She waited for his reaction and when nothing followed, continued to talk.

“My leave from Port Mafia was messy. I’m not on good terms with Mori, like you. I’m not on any terms with him except for my ever-burning hatred of that perv. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but after Odasaku things moved fast, so I had to leave immediately. The only option of me not dying was a one-way ticket. I wasn’t supposed to get involved with anything in Yokohama, otherwise they would be fast on my ass.”

He knew that, he knew all of that, he wasn’t stupid. He understood she was telling him this to fill the silence and not to explain herself. But seeing, or hearing in this case, her alive meant her escape was successful. So why? Why would she come back? To a person who did not follow her. Who did not write her. Dazai did not want her being tracked by anyone, so he kept his distance. But this distance was supposed to drive her away, to separate them. To turn them into strangers.

“So why,” Dazai said out loud, finishing his train of thought. “Why are you here? Why on earth are you here? Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably, “she mused. She was right behind him now.

“Tell me the reason,” Dazai gritted his teeth. It was the only way to stop his entire body from shaking. Just tell him something, anything but not what he wants her to say.

“Because life without you is meaningless and miserable.”

Dazai scoffed. Who is she saying this to?

“I don’t want to live if it’s a life where I never see you again. I’d rather live 5 minutes after seeing your face than god knows how many years with you as a fading memory. I fucking hate your memory; I don’t need it. I need you. I’m not a good person, I don’t deserve chances at life, I’m not gonna use them. I killed a bunch of innocent people in hopes of getting you on the case, you think I care for my life anymore?”

He remained silent. He knew this feeling too well. To live with a bottomless pit for a heart, to meet someone who covered it so nicely to then be rid of that someone? It was better to never cover the pit in the first place. It only hurts more when you know things can be different. Better leave them untouched and let the black hole swallow you, thinking this is how it’s supposed to be.

“Osamu. Look at me.”

He let in a shaky breath. He hasn’t heard his name like this in forever. No one else could say it like her. In no one else’s lips did it sound so soft, so tender, so welcoming.

So loving.

“Please don’t make me turn around,” he said quietly, barely a whisper, voice filled with pity and hurt.

“Why?” she echoed as quietly.

“Because I’ve been doing such a good job ridding my life of any meaning. I’ve convinced myself I won’t be seeing you again and that I’m fine with it. I’m numb. It makes the work so easy, you know? I can execute any plan and not worry about anything. I’ve studied so many ways of suicide. I’ve never been closer to making my wish come true. I can spend a bit more time helping others and then clock out into nihility.”

He felt her forehead softly press against his back. Her long gentle hands went around his waist and locked on his stomach. Her delicate fingers reached to his hollow chest, to the hungry wailing emptiness that was devouring him and cradled it. She took it into her warm benevolent palms and held it carefully, warming it up. Dazai breathed out brokenly, his own hands lingering above hers, hesitant.

“How am I supposed to kill myself after seeing your face?”

He felt her smile.

“I’m sorry. I’m too selfish.”

Her body shifted back slightly, which made Dazai instinctively turn his head to the side.

“Got you.”

With that, she leaned onto him and caught his lips in hers. Check mate. Losing any last bits of control, he spinned around, grabbing her, pressing her body closer to his. He wanted to hold her close, so close, closer than ever before. He wanted to dissolve in her, to become one with her because it seemed to be the only way to never lose her again. Life didn’t need to have meaning, there was no meaning. No meaning, no God, no purpose, no higher power, no morality, no ethics, no good, and no evil. There was only her. He only needed her. Her lips, her scent, her voice. She could be his God, his judgment his atonement, his nationality, his worldview. His sin and confession, his modesty and decadence. His culture and ignorance.

He could feel her own darkness longing, begging for his presence, the way his longed for her. She talked to him through her tongue entwining with his, through her hands clutching his shirt.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

A small and hesitant do you love me? Do you want me?

Dazai smiled helplessly.

Why do you even ask? Of course I love you. I can’t fucking live without you, life is pointless without you in it. I want only you, there is nothing else in this world. It’s only you.

you you you you you you you you

When they break apart, they are both breathless, like they just ran a marathon. He finally opens his eyes and looks at her. It’s a paradox, how she looks so different yet so comfortably same as the last day he saw her. Same glimpse in her eyes when she looks at him. Same soft hands cupping his cheeks. Same breathtaking scent that blurs your mind and vision. It’s her. The pit in his chest is quiet, for the first time in years. The lingering coal is lit up, it’s bright and warm, and the flame is her figure.

She looks him up and down, pleased.

“You got a new coat.”

He grins, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

She closes her eyes again, placing her palm firmly on his chest, sealing the darkness shut.

“I love it.”