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vee-beeee · 1 year ago

Text

The Tent

Okay this is a change from dbh LOL

So im figuring out how to write for these characters, and its going to be harder because its 4 people so PLEASE forgive me.

Warnings: Tents, enclosed spaces with 4 boys

Chocobros x reader (can be taken as platonic)

Im sorry for any spelling errors or plot holess

SORRY IF THIS HAS BEEN DONE BEFORE

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You woke up

And then wished you didn't.

It smelt like sweaty socks and boys.

Someone had shoved your back into their front, and was snoring VERY loudly. Another person had his socks in your face, sprawled out over what looked to be Noctis himself. So the case of the smelly socks was solved, that had to be Prompto. You didn't see anyone else in your line of vision, but guessing at how strong and muscular the arm around you was...

Gladio had turned you into his own personal teddy bear.

You gently tried to roll out of his grip, but he grunted and held on to you with a stronger grasp. You sighed and searched for another way out, you need air and to be away from this tent.

You briefly wondered if tickling Prom would wake him up so he could help, but you didn't really want to touch his feet.

So you sat, starting at the tent walls and daring to breathe through your mouth.

You thought about falling asleep again but whenever you tried, Gladio's snoring woke you up just as you were on the cusp of the dream realm.

What a terrible way to start your morning.

Finally, FINALLY you heard someone stir. You turned your body as much as you could in Gladio's grip and saw Ignis's hair over a massive leg.

"Ignis!" you whisper-yelled, hoping to get his attention. He turned around, sleep very much apparent on his face, and looked the entirety of the tent until his eyes caught yours.

"Miss Y/N?" He mumbled, raising an eyebrow at your position, Gladio crowding your back and Proms feet in your face. You had also felt Noctis was really close to your knees, you could feel his hair whispering against your skin. It was ticklish and uncomfortable.

Ignis huffed out a laugh, and you proceeded to beg him to help you.

"Why of course, Dear Y/N. However, I believe Gladio is going to kill me in his sleep if I remove you from his hold. I can help with Prompto and Noct however."

You sighed, sad he wouldn't even TRY not to get killed by Gladio. You watched him as he harshly rolled Prompto off of Noctis, and you were briefly worried that he would awake.

He just snorted and continued sleeping.

Ignis next went to Noctis to gently move his head away from your leg. Of course, Noct slept like a corpse so he didn't even notice. You took your chance to thank him, and ask a favor

"Can you leave the tent flap open I need air please."

Ignis nodded, and exited the tent, leaving the flap open. You started to bask in fresh air and morning light, but then the world turned upside down.

Gladio was rolling over, treating your body like you were an actual teddy bear.

He was now slightly under you, both arms surrounding you with the literal strength of a Titan.

And you were suffocating in his chest.

In ANY other scenario you would have been like "nice" . But in this one you could not breathe. And that was a problem. So you started gently saying his name.

Gladio groaned, but stayed asleep. You tried wrestling your arms out from his iron grip, but no use.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

Loud enough for him to clearly hear you, you poked the bear

"Ooo this book of gladios looks so good, im going to read it while eating chips and wipe my fingers on the pages and fold the edges to mark where i am. Surely he wont mind"

Suddenly you were shoved as his eyes shot open and he released you, sitting up to look around huffing.

"NO THATS MY COLLECTORS EDITION!" you breathed and rolled over as he looked around and found his book by his belongings.

Then he turned to you, brows furrowed and irritation clear on his features for 1. being woken up and 2. having his most prized book threatened.

"What the hell was that for?"

You moved onto your back and stuck your tongue out at him

"You were suffocating me in your pecs, I had to get free some how"

His anger faded into an embarrassed smile, and then a smug smirk.

"A lot of girls would pay real money to get suffocated in these pecs."

You rolled your eyes as hard as you could and he let out a hardy laugh, which accidently woke Prompto.

He snorted as he awoke, leaning on his elbows before asking "uh whats slo funmny?" and then promptly fell flat on his face, going back to his dreamless sleep.

You and Gladio stayed quiet before looking at each other and chuckling quietly. Gladio winked at you and turned to leave the tent. You watched his huge shadow as it moved across the tent, and then it disappeared.

After a couple of minutes, you heard Gladio and Ignis in the camp talking, and saw an opportunity to get more sleep. So you found your original spot and comfy sleeping bag, and settled in.

(A couple hours later)

You woke up, blinking your eyes slowly, feeling that you had gotten a good rest. You looked around and saw the Prompto had seemingly left, and you didn't see anyone else so that must mean Noct left too.

You closed your eyes again, resting them for a moment before you felt something moving around your front. You jumped and accidently smacked your elbow against the something. And that something groaned.

You looked down to see a mess of black hair nuzzling into YOUR blanket.

"Noct?" You leaned on your elbows and he looked up at you sleepily before groaning out a response

"you have the good blankets."

and then he was gone. But luckily, you had help to wake him back up.

Ignis had heard your surprised yelp, and knew it was time for Noct to get up. He had been chatting with Gladio and Prompto about how to pay for more car renovations, but that conversation could be put on hold.

Ignis grabbed a pot and one of his spatulas, before leaning down into the tent flap.

And then he started hitting them repeatedly together.

He saw you cry out and put your hands over your ears, and Noct just sat up slowly and glared at him.

Ignis smirked and left the tent when he saw Noct leaving, and you followed shortly after.

You watched Iggy put his utensils away and you went straight for the middle of the circle of chairs you all had put together the night before. Noct had just slumped down his camping chair when you started talking.

"Why do you guys love piling on me so much when we sleep? Like I wake up and your all over me."

You stood stalk still and waited for a response. You heard groaning and looked over to see Noct open one eye and looking at you.

"Smell nice and warm"

and then he was asleep.

Ignis sighed and walked over to shake him awake and you turned to see Gladio and Prompto nodding their heads. Gladio was the first to say something.

"I think he's right. Your a little babe space heater." You flushed, and he and Prompto laughed seeing your face.

"Yeah and you uhh, kinda smell a lot like roses." was Proms response, and now you watched him go red. Gladio slapped him on the back and Ignis chuckled quietly, continuing to try and wake Noctis up.

So your consensus was to buy more blankets, and an air freshener.

Fair enough.

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THANKS FOR READING

I dont know if this is cringe or how I did, but I hope I did good on my first time writing these guys.

Hope you enjoyeddd

#final fantasy 15 #final fantasy series #chocobros #ffxv noctis #ffxv gladiolus #ffxv ignis #ffxv prompto #ffxv x reader

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thedamselzelda · 5 months ago

Text

Snake Eyes and Bloody Lies

Featuring: Dazai Osamu

Summary: Shadows of the past dance in the neon glow of the Starlight Casino. As buried secrets resurface, a night of glamour spirals into a web of things unsaid and lethal encounters. In this high-stakes game, the truth becomes the most dangerous bet of all.

word count: 7.9k, fem!reader, pm!reader, sfw (mild cursing), use of other names for reader (Izanami, Bella, etc.), use of Italian (though I don't speak it/ use of good ole Google Translate so I'm sorry if I offend anyone), slightly proofread

Author Chat: Holy hell guys, I am SO sorry this took way longer to get out than I originally intended. It's also WAY longer than I had originally thought in my head, but alas what you imagine isn't written out and so on. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing this part!

previous part ~ next part | DBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

The click of heels against concrete echoed through the stairwell as you and Chūya descended into the dimly lit basement. The air grew cooler with each step, carrying a faint musty scent that tickled your nose.

As you reached the bottom, Chūya let out a low whistle, followed by a chuckle. He called your name, his voice tinged with amusement. "Would ya look at that? It's a great view. I'd say it even rivals a masterpiece worth ten billion."

"Yeah," you replied with a soft laugh, raising your hands to frame the sight before you between your fingers like a photographer composing a shot. "It is a pretty sight."

While Chūya was admiring the scene for his own reasons, you couldn't help but appreciate the view of Osamu chained up, looking slightly disheveled. His usually immaculate appearance was marred by a few wrinkles in his shirt and a few strands of hair out of place. It was evident that someone had already paid him a visit, and true to form, Osamu had likely provoked them. Despite his predicament, he managed to flash you a charming smile, trying to ignore Chūya's presence. However, the fiery redhead quickly made his way over to Osamu, causing his face to contort into a look of disgust.

You remained on the last step of the stairs, leaning against the cool concrete wall. The rough surface pressed against your back through your clothes, grounding you in the moment. Just before you'd come down, Chūya had promised not to kill Osamu, acknowledging its importance to you. However, as Chūya shrugged off his jacket and tossed it back to you with a fluid motion, it suddenly became apparent that he wasn't going to let this opportunity for payback slip through his fingers.

You shifted uncomfortably, the fabric of Chūya's jacket soft against your hands as you clutched it tightly. When Chūya landed a punch on Osamu that seemed to genuinely catch him off guard, you instinctively took a step forward, concern flashing across your face. However, you froze in place when you caught Osamu's subtle cue - a slight twitch of his fingers and his eyes darting meaningfully towards you. You sighed, realizing the implications. All part of the plan, huh?

Osamu's voice echoed in your mind, a memory of his earlier instructions: You're going to have to let the slug just do what he wants. He won't hurt me too much. Not with the letter I sent. Especially… not with you there.

As the confrontation unfolded, Chūya occasionally glanced back at you, perhaps gauging your reaction. Though you couldn't make out their words over the pounding of your heart, you didn't need to hear them. Osamu had already briefed you on the gist of what would transpire.

You watched as Osamu's lips moved, no doubt delivering some cutting remark designed to provoke Chūya further. The effect was immediate - Chūya's body tensed, his hand flying to his knife. In a flash of movement that made you flinch, he slammed the blade into the wall beside Osamu's head, the sharp edge barely grazing his cheek.

As Chūya turned and began stalking towards you, his eyes blazing with a mix of satisfaction and lingering anger, you finally stepped off the last stair. Your heels clicked against the concrete floor as you moved to meet him, your posture straightening as you prepared to play your part in this dangerous game of deception.

"Have fun?" you remarked with a smirk as you approached, holding out his coat. Chūya snatched the cloth from you as he gritted his teeth in frustration, glaring at you.

Osamu interjected smoothly, "It's funny. 'Chūya driven out of the organization because of me' had a nice ring to it, too."

Chūya whirled back, shooting you an unappreciative glance. "Wait. You two! You were both playin' me! Fuckin' bitch."

You let out a huff, placing your hands on your hips as you faced him. "Now, now, Chūya. I let you beat up my boyfriend because of your weird dynamic, and this is the thanks I get?"

Osamu's low chuckle grew closer as he reached your side, his presence a comforting warmth. "Leave her be, Chūya. She only helped a little." He idly toyed with the knife in his hand, the blade catching the light. "Besides, this was a reunion long in the making for the three of us. It was only fair to have a surprise of this caliber."

Chūya whipped around, his auburn hair flying as he turned his back on you both. "I'm gonna kill you both one day, I swear."

"Oh, by the way," Osamu smirked, glancing at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Didn't you see Chūya break the chains and let me free?"

You tapped a finger against your lips, feigning thoughtfulness. "I do think I recall seeing that, yeah. So, if you were to run away now, he'd be the one on the chopping block for it."

"WHAT?!" Chūya spun back around, his face contorted with rage. "You bastard!"

Ignoring Chūya's outburst, you dramatically leaned towards Osamu. "But couldn't you just make it look like someone from the Agency came and rescued you?"

Osamu rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, affecting a lazy demeanor. "I mean... I could... but that sounds like a lot of work."

Chūya's eyes narrowed as he looked pointedly at Osamu. "And why would I believe you, the pathological liar?"

"I don't lie in these kinds of negotiations. I think you know that." Osamu's voice was steady as he casually tossed the knife back to Chūya, who caught it with practiced ease despite his anger.

Chūya was visibly livid, his fury directed not only at Osamu but at you as well. His fists clenched at his sides as he struggled to contain his temper. "Fuckin' hell... Just what'd ya want?"

Osamu slid his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed. "It's as I said earlier."

You crossed your arms as Chūya glanced at you, then closed his eyes in exasperation. "Why would you ask me when she knows too?"

Osamu gave you an expressive look. The two of you had your suspicions, but with every mafia member keeping their lips sealed, you lacked the definitive location of the information Osamu required.

You shrugged, your voice casual. "All I know is that Akutagawa has been leading the hunt."

Chūya let out an exasperated sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "The records should be in the comms storage room on the second floor."

"Ooooh. You were right, Osamu." The two of you exchanged a knowing nod.

"What did you even need me to say that for then?!" Chūya spun around, flinging his coat back upon his shoulders with a flourish. He let out a puff of air as he began to walk away. "Just get what you came for and get the fuck outta here, you ass. And try not to get Izanami in too much trouble."

You smirked at Osamu and let out a breathy laugh as he thanked Chūya. When Chūya was halfway up the stairs, still muttering threats, you nudged Osamu's arm.

"Oh yeah." Osamu leaned forward, calling out to Chūya with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Noooo, you're doing it wrong! Aren't you forgetting something?"

You smiled and joined in, leaning forward to shout with Osamu, "Don't you think you're forgetting something, Chuuuuuya?"

Chūya stopped, huffing out a breath as he let his head fall back slightly. Then, his knees came together as he dramatically turned to face you both. He pointed, using the worst attempt he could at a breathy feminine voice, "There will be no second chance!"

You and Osamu stood there, desperately trying not to burst out laughing.

"N-n-no... second... chance?" Chūya's temper quickly changed. "What the fuck?! You guys should be laughing!"

Your lips began to betray you as you looked at Osamu, who was also fighting the urge to laugh. Only when your eyes met did you both let loose a roar of amusement. You reached out and grasped Osamu's arm, nearly doubling over. His hand went to your waist for support as you both shook with laughter.

As you wiped a tear from your eyes, you hardly noticed Chūya storming off, his muttered curses fading into the distance.

"Well, that wasn't at all nerve-wracking, even with that stupid excuse for a disguise. At least you got what you came here for." You stepped out into the spacious entryway of your penthouse, the soft glow of recessed lighting illuminating the modern décor. Osamu trailed behind you, his eyes roaming curiously over the sleek furnishings and artwork adorning the walls. It had been quite some time since he had crossed the threshold of your living space, and you could sense his subtle assessment of how things might have changed.

"Why is there an extra set of house shoes here?" Osamu's voice carried a hint of suspicion as he pointed towards a pair of familiar shoes in the doorway. You turned back, your gaze flicking from his outstretched finger to Chūya's worn leather loafers.

"You're smart, figure it out." Your tone was dismissive as you made your way into the expansive kitchen. The polished granite countertops gleamed under the pendant lights, a stark contrast to the layer of dust that had settled on the high-end appliances. No one had cooked here in quite some time, not even you. It was always take-out or restaurant dining, a testament to the responsibilities thrust upon you since your return from Italy.

You opened the stainless-steel refrigerator, the cool air washing over you as you grasped a bottle of your favorite Moscato. When you turned around, you caught sight of Osamu unceremoniously dropping Chūya's house shoes into the nearest trash can, a look of disgust marring his features.

"Osamu!" You snapped harshly, your voice echoing in the open-plan living area. "We've bothered him enough for the day."

"Nah," he sighed, plopping down on your plush leather couch. His nimble fingers began to paw at the files strewn across your glass coffee table, his brow furrowing as he scanned the documents. "These your casino numbers? Looks like someone's gonna be in trouble..."

You hummed noncommittally, deftly popping open the bottle of wine. No need for a glass when it was all going to get drunk anyway. You joined him on the couch, pulling your leg up underneath you, the soft leather cool against your skin.

As you settled in, your mind wandered to the real issue at hand. It wasn't the revenue of the casino that was trending downward, but rather the imports moving through its walls. A small, almost negligible number of weapons were going missing during processing. At first, you had been reluctant to dwell on it, knowing that a proper investigation would demand far more time than you were willing to allocate. However, with the inconsistencies growing, you knew it was only a matter of time before Mori would be breathing down your neck, his cold eyes demanding answers you weren't sure you could provide.

The weight of the situation settled over you like a shroud as you took a long swig from the bottle, the sweet Moscato a stark contrast to the bitter thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Yeah, I just need to figure out where it's going." You grasped a sleek remote beside you, pointing it toward the large, high-definition screen mounted on the wall. It flickered to life, illuminating the dimly lit room with a mosaic of camera feeds from various angles within the casino. Some showed the bustling gaming tables, while others revealed the shadowy back hallways where the real business was conducted.

"Wow. You must get really bored if this is what you do all day." Osamu teased, his fingers deftly flipping through the pages of reports. The rustling of paper mingled with the muted sounds from the surveillance feeds.

You plucked the documents from his hands, your tone tinged with a mix of frustration and weariness. "Well, I unfortunately don't have the luxury of calling out whenever I'm just 'not feeling it'. Also, I'm about to get really angry if you're about to say you figured it out."

He laughed, a warm sound that momentarily lightened the tension in the room. Relinquishing the papers, he immediately reached for another stack. "No, though, I wish I could make it that simple for you. Ranpo could figure it out in a split second."

You hummed thoughtfully, your eyes darting across the array of screens before you. You noted small changes needed in camera angles and observed how guests were responding to various aspects of the casino. One angle in particular caught your eye – a view over a blackjack table where a brunette man sat, his movements suggesting he was counting cards. There was something odd about him, and you began to wrack your brain, trying to place what the reason was.

As you pondered, your thoughts drifted to your recent conversation with Mori. There were only a few reasons why he would agree to allow you such autonomy. Firstly, your position as an executive was one of the highest forms of trust within the organization. Alternatively, Mori might be allowing this situation to play out for the long game. His desire for Osamu's return was no secret.

A sobering thought crossed your mind: on the minuscule chance Osamu did somehow agree to return, he would likely usurp your position as executive, becoming Mori's right hand and the Port Mafia's next leader.

You turned your head to look at Osamu, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the reports. The soft glow from the nearby lamp cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity in his eyes. In this moment, you found yourself drawn to this version of him – the one that most resembled Oda, yet with subtle differences that were uniquely Osamu.

As you watched him, you realized there were new facets to his personality that you were starting to love, though you would never stop cherishing who he was before. The thought struck you: isn't this what it means to truly love someone? Loving them unconditionally is to embrace both the old version and the new one that grows with or without you. It's accepting the evolution of a person, cherishing their core while appreciating the changes life brings.

Your mind wandered back to the possibility of Osamu returning to the Port Mafia. The idea sent a chill down your spine, not because of your potential loss of power, but because of what it would mean for him. He had made such significant progress in becoming the person that Oda had asked him to be – a better man, one who used his abilities for good rather than destruction. You couldn't bear the thought of him taking all these steps forward only to backtrack several years now.

The weight of these thoughts pressed heavily on your chest. Perhaps, if he did consider returning, you would attempt to convince him otherwise. You imagined the conversations you might have, the arguments you'd make, all in an effort to preserve the growth he had achieved. It wasn't about your position or the power dynamics within the Port Mafia; it was about protecting the man he had become, the one who was inching closer to fulfilling Oda's dying wish.

Your contemplative sigh, heavy with unspoken concerns, caught his attention. Osamu looked up from the papers, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, you saw a flash of something – concern, curiosity, maybe even a hint of vulnerability – cross his face. It was a reminder of how far he'd come, how much more open he was now compared to his days in the Port Mafia.

Setting aside the documents, Osamu wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against his chest. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, providing a momentary respite from your worries.

"What's got you all caught up in there?" he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His voice held a note of genuine concern, a rare display of vulnerability in the usually guarded man.

As you nestled against him, your lips parted, ready to spill everything that was on your mind. However, at the last moment, you hesitated, closing your mouth before the words could escape. You shook your head slightly, earning a snug squeeze from Osamu. Your eyes drifted back to the brown-haired man on the screen, his movements suddenly capturing your full attention.

"That man isn't only counting cards, he's fucking memorizing them," you said, slightly pushing off Osamu's chest. His attention turned to the screen as well, his eyes narrowing as he observed the player's subtle movements.

"Wow, worst casino you could possibly want to do that in, too," Osamu remarked, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "He's probably trying to get your attention then."

It really did seem that way. The man's sleight of hand and intentional movements were almost too obvious. You doubted the dealer could see, but as soon as your phone began to ring with its shrill tone, you hoped your floor manager had spotted it as well.

"Izanami," you spoke curtly into the phone, your voice automatically shifting into a more authoritative tone.

You reluctantly crawled from the comfort of Osamu's arms; the loss of his warmth immediately noticeable as you walked over to the TV for a closer look.

"Just 'cause you're getting closer doesn't mean the picture will be any less fuzzy," Osamu quipped from the couch, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. You turned and stuck your tongue out at him, a moment of levity in the tense situation. He responded with a smirk and blew you a cheeky kiss, the familiar gesture bringing a brief smile to your face.

"Ma'am, table A12. We are currently watching—" your floor manager's voice crackled through the phone.

"Grab him and take him before he takes anymore of my patron's or the casino's money," you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for argument.

"Miss, this is his sixth visit in the past week. He's sat at the same table and asks every visit when you will make an appearance."

Your head jerked back slightly in confusion, brow furrowing as you processed this new information. You muttered a curse to yourself, then spoke to your manager once more, your voice low and controlled. "Place him in a holding room then. I'll be down in thirty."

You huffed as you closed your phone, frustration evident in your voice. "So much for a quiet night in."

Noticing the smirk remaining on Osamu's face, you raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, silently demanding an explanation.

"What about a night with you and I together ever says 'quiet'?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You puffed out a breath, trying to refrain from laughing. Heat crawled up your face, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring your cheeks. Turning away to hide your reaction, you walked into your room. "Well, it doesn't matter now. I have to head to the casino."

No reply called back to you as you headed into your spacious closet, but you could sense Osamu's presence not far behind. You could feel his eyes on you as you meticulously looked through your clothes.

"I guess you'll have to go back to your dorm," you said, a note of reluctance in your voice. "I can't just leave you here."

After a moment, you looked back at him, taking in his relaxed posture as he leaned against the frame of the closet door, hands tucked into his slack pockets. His expression remained unchanged, a hint of expectation in his eyes, as if silently telling you what you should do without saying it aloud.

"Or," you found yourself saying, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you placed your hands on your hips in mock defeat. "You could come with."

His mood instantly shifted, excitement painting itself across his features. His eyes lit up, a rare genuine smile breaking through. "Yes! I think that's an even better idea."

You laughed, the sound light and playful in the quiet of the closet. "Though..." you trailed off, a mischievous glint in your eye.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes widening with curiosity. The gesture was oddly endearing, reminding you of a puppy presented with an unexpected promise of a treat.

"What you're wearing isn't really the dress code," you explained, your gaze sweeping over his usual, casual attire.

He raised an eyebrow, surprise evident in his voice. "Your casino has a dress code?"

You turned back to your wardrobe, fingers brushing over luxurious fabrics before grasping a sleek black halter dress. You laid it carefully over your bent arm, the silky material catching the light. "Yes. I have a dress code at my casino. If you make the guests dress nice, then they will have the mindset that they are in a high-class establishment. Which the Starlight is."

Osamu tsked playfully, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Playing mind games on your guests isn't really nice, Bella."

You shrugged, a playful grin playing on your lips. "I've done worse."

With a sense of purpose, you headed deeper into the closet, your fingers brushing past designer labels until they found a hidden clothes bag tucked away in the back. You paused, your hand resting on the zipper as a wave of emotions washed over you. Taking a deep breath, you turned back to Osamu.

"Oda and I had planned on giving this to you when I came back, but well..." your voice trailed off, the unspoken history hanging between you.

You held the bag out to him, and he took it with a mixture of curiosity and reverence. His fingers deftly unzipped the bag, revealing a stunning navy-blue suit, complete with a crisp black button-up and a rich maroon tie. The quality of the garment was evident even at a glance.

"It was his," you murmured, your voice soft with memory. "We had the tailor customize it to your last measurements, give or take your projected growth." You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. "He really wanted to see you wear it, too."

His eyes softened looking at the suit. “Well, I guess it’s good your casino has a required dress code.”

Osamu's fingers deftly traced along the lapel of the navy-blue suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles as they continued downward. He straightened the maroon tie, the silk cool against his calloused fingertips, as he gazed at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The suit fit him perfectly, as if it had been tailored just yesterday rather than years ago.

He wondered to himself if Oda had wanted to gift it to him because of his selected color palette; Osamu had always favored blacks and darker colors, whereas Oda had leaned towards lighter tones. Regardless of the reason, as he looked back at himself, a sense of unease settled in his stomach. The man staring back at him looked like he had never left the Port Mafia - polished, dangerous, and ready for whatever the night might bring.

"Is it too much? The suit?" you ask, your voice carrying a hint of vulnerability rarely heard.

He turned to see you, and his breath hitched. You were dressed effortlessly in the black halter dress, its fabric flowing like liquid shadow around your form. Twin slits rose daringly up to your hips, revealing tantalizing glimpses of skin with each movement. His keen eyes didn't miss the revolver strapped to your thigh, the lethal accessory that somehow only added to your allure.

The sight of you was almost too painful, too reminiscent of years ago during successful missions long gone. You looked like a vision from the past, yet undeniably present and real.

"No," he said, trying to convince himself as much as you. "It's really nice. You two did really good."

He watched as a small, bittersweet smile graced your lips. You walked towards him with a grace that spoke of years of training and natural poise. Your hands rose to rest upon his chest, the warmth of your touch seeping through the fabric of his suit. He heard you sigh, noticing the sadness wavering in your eyes.

Osamu reached up, his fingers brushing away stray hairs from your face with a tenderness that belied his usually aloof demeanor. His touch drifted down, gently raising your chin so your eyes met his.

"Hey, don't look so sad," he murmured, his voice soft. "You're about to take me to your fabulous, upscale casino."

Your laugh rang out, a melody that Osamu hoped would never cease to exist. It was a sound that grounded him, reminding him of why he had chosen this path away from the darkness of his past.

He leaned down towards your parted lips, gently grazing his upon yours in a feather-light touch. When you attempted to deepen the kiss, he slyly moved back, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Osamu, don't tease," you breathed out, your voice a mixture of frustration and desire.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. "I can't make you work for it?" he quipped, his tone laced with affection and mischief.

Before you could reply, he ultimately relented, meeting your lips in a kiss that spoke volumes. The warmth of your body pressed against his, the softness of your lips, the faint scent of your perfume - all of it overwhelmed his senses. If he didn't have pressing matters to attend to, he could stay here for hours; just holding you and relinquishing all responsibilities of life was all he wished he could do with you. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this moment of tender passion.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, his thumb gently pressing against your blood-red stained bottom lip. The contrast of his pale skin against the vibrant color was striking, a visual representation of the delicate balance between tenderness and danger that defined your relationship.

In a hushed voice, you smirked, your eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. "What am I to do with you?"

He gave a light laugh but refrained from replying, letting your imagination decide upon that. The possibilities hung in the air between you, electric and enticing.

He watched you turn away, your movements fluid and graceful as you retreated to the closet. You returned moments later with the maroon silk scarf, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting of the room. You approached him again, reaching around to drape the scarf over his shoulders. The brush of your fingers against his neck sent a shiver down his spine.

"I believe the look is now complete," you murmured, turning him to face the mirror once more.

Osamu could see himself more clearly now, or rather, the image of what could have been had he remained faithful to the mafia. The man in the mirror was polished, dangerous, and undeniably attractive. Yet, there was something in his eyes - a softness, perhaps - that hadn't been there in his Port Mafia days.

You remind me of someone.

"You look very handsome, Mr. Detective," you said, your voice warm with admiration and a hint of playfulness. The warmth of your hands snaked up his waist underneath the suit jacket to rest upon his chest, squeezing him in a comforting hug. Your touch grounded him, pulling him back from the edge of his darker thoughts.

Your affection completely made up for the fact that he was doubting the whole thing; seeing himself as a reflection of someone he was trying his hardest to leave behind. The cognitive dissonance was palpable - how could he completely move on when you were so intricately entangled with everything he was, both past and present?

As he stood there, your arms around him and your reflection beside his in the mirror, Osamu felt a complex mix of emotions. Gratitude for your unwavering support, love for the woman who had stood by him through his darkest times, and a lingering uncertainty about the future. But with you by his side, he felt ready to face whatever the night might bring, walking the fine line between his past and his present with you as his anchor.

"Let me just grab my coat, then we can go," you said, your voice carrying a hint of excitement for the evening ahead.

Osamu felt the gentle graze of your hand along his arm as you walked away, the brief touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He watched as you picked up your phone, your movements precise and deliberate. You punched a button, and he observed with curiosity as you allowed it to ring four times before ending the call. The significance wasn't lost on him - four, the number of death. He let his head fall into a slight shake as a smile formed upon his face. You and your dedication to death, even in the smallest of gestures.

You disappeared for the final time into the depths of your expansive closet. When you emerged, Osamu gave you one final look-over. You were now adorned in an off-the-shoulder, snow-white trench coat that contrasted beautifully with the black dress underneath. The coat seemed to glow softly in the dim light of the room, accentuating your figure and lending you an almost ethereal quality.

Osamu extended his hand to you, an invitation and a promise rolled into one. He loved every bit of this version of you. You reached for him, your hand fitting perfectly into his.

“To the Starlight!” He excitedly said, tossing his free hand into the air with a point.

“So, I can figure out what the fuck this guy wants.” You mutter, as if remembering the true reason for this outing.

The bright exterior lights of the Starlight Casino glimmered in Osamu's eyes, their golden glow reflecting off the polished surfaces of the building. While this wasn't his first time at this specific establishment, it was his first time entering its doors with you on his arm.

As the two of you stepped inside, Osamu's senses were overwhelmed by the opulent interior. Rich red carpeting stretched out before them, its plush fibers muffling his footsteps. Golden accents adorned the tables, catching the light and adding a shimmer of wealth to every surface. His eyes roamed over the meticulous details that you and Chūya had spent months planning.

"So, short stack helped you decorate this place?" he muttered in an annoyed tone as he paused in the entryway. A hint of jealousy colored his voice, wishing he could have been part of this process with you. "It looks so different than during the Rogue Roulette."

You gave a satisfied hum, your eyes sparkling with pride as you waved to patrons calling out your name. "That was the goal," you replied, your voice carrying a note of accomplishment.

Osamu soon realized the adoration you had accrued; visitors approached the two of you, singing nothing but praises of the Starlight. He observed with a mixture of pride and fascination as you handled each interaction with grace and poise. Your responses to each guest were eloquent, thanking them for their kind words and encouraging them to notify you of any needs they might have during their stay. The sincerity in your voice was palpable, and Osamu couldn't help but think that you were perfect for this role in every sense of the word.

With your hand firmly grasped in his, you guided him through the crowd, navigating the sea of patrons with ease. As you reached the bar in the center of the building, Osamu's attention was caught by your seamless slip into Italian.

"Nico, mio amico!" you called out, leaning across the polished bar top.

A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes approached, a generous smile spreading across his face as you spoke sweetly to him. "Pour my guest a glass of The Singleton whiskey, and I'll have my usual. Grazie!"

As Nico rushed to fulfill your order, Osamu gently pulled on your arm, turning you to face him. He caged you against the bar, his proximity to you sending a subtle thrill through him. "You find him in Italy, I'm assuming?" he asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

"Nico is a good friend," you explained, your eyes meeting his. "I stole him from one of the finest restaurants in Italy. The one, in fact, I wanted to take you to when you visited. I, instead, took Chūya with me."

Osamu rolled his eyes dramatically at the thought, a hint of playful jealousy in his voice. "So, you took Chūya on a date? Then stole their bartender as compensation for the disaster that must have been?"

"It honestly wasn't that bad," you replied with a light laugh. "He made a fool of himself when he ordered, though."

Osamu watched as your eyes darted around for a moment, sensing there might be more to the story than you were letting on. Before he could press further, Nico returned, neatly placing the drinks upon the polished countertop. Osamu took note of his refined movements. Every action was precise, a testament to the man's experience and your keen eye for talent.

Osamu raised the crystal tumbler of whiskey to the man, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Grazie, buon signore," he said, his Italian rough but clear.

Nico's eyebrows rose in surprise, a look of intrigue crossing his face. He glanced between you and Osamu, a knowing smile forming. "You capture his heart on your travels too, signora?" he asked, his tone warm and slightly teasing.

You smiled at Nico's joke, raising the straw of your own drink to your lips. After taking a sip, you replied, "Many of my workers, such as yourself, come from there. However, my guest has always called Yokohama home." Your eyes met Osamu's, giving you a small smile as he fondly remembered each moment he had shared with you until your departure. “Treat him well should he ever visit?"

Nico gave a slight bow, warmth evident in his voice as he responded, "Certo, mia signora."

As Nico turned away to continue serving the gathering guests, Osamu's eyes followed him, curiosity piqued. He wondered about the circumstances that brought this skilled bartender from one of Italy's finest restaurants to your casino in Yokohama. Was it merely an employment agreement, or had you wielded your considerable influence to ensure his presence here?

Osamu found himself both observer and participant in your world. The crowd around you continued to grow, patrons eager for your attention. He noticed how you kept a firm grip on his hand, a subtle but clear message to those who might try to get too close. Amidst the cacophony of voices, Osamu's keen ears picked up on the undercurrents - men muttering vulgar comments about you, women eyeing you with barely concealed jealousy. Yet through it all, you maintained your composure, navigating the social minefield with the skill of a seasoned professional.

"Madam Izanami!" A hearty, booming voice rang out from a nearby table, cutting through the ambient noise of the casino.

"Prime Minister!" Osamu saw a large, genuine smile form upon your face as you tugged him along toward the Craps tables. The excitement in your voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the controlled poise you'd maintained thus far.

As you approached, Osamu took in the sight of the Italian Prime Minister - a portly man with a jovial face and expensive suit that barely contained his girth. His beefy arms were outstretched, fanning over you as you waved him off with practiced grace.

"My dear, you look as radiant as ever!" the Prime Minister exclaimed, his voice carrying a hint of an Italian accent.

"Hush, you flatter me too much," you replied, your tone warm and familiar.

Your hand attempted to leave Osamu's, but he refrained from letting go. A surge of protectiveness washed over him. It was too risky. He couldn't fathom why you would abstain from touching others yet be so quick to touch a diplomat. Touching him would risk the Port Mafia's standing with other governments, something Osamu was far too aware of.

You gave a small glimpse back to him, tapping your thumb against his hand. The gesture was subtle but clear - a request for trust.

I can't, Osamu thought to himself. Not only as a detective within the agency but as someone who wanted to protect you from anything and everything.

You tapped again as you carried out the conversation with the man, blowing on his die at his request. The Prime Minister's eyes lit up with excitement, his boisterous laugh echoing around them.

With a roar of excitement from the Prime Minister, you tapped four times, and Osamu, understanding the significance, reluctantly relinquished his right to hold you. Your hand gently rested upon the Italian Prime Minister's back, his hand snaking around your waist, thankfully, at a respectable height.

Osamu watched on, his face a mask of polite interest as the two of you discussed something, the Prime Minister's tone similar to an old friend who hadn't seen you in quite some time. He caught snippets of Italian mixed with English, the easy familiarity between you and the politician both intriguing and slightly unsettling.

The older man's gaze slipped back to Osamu, eyeing him suspiciously. His jovial demeanor shifted, taking on a more protective air. "Are you treating my girl with the utmost respect?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

Osamu straightened, his smile breaking through to hide his internal thoughts. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of besmirching cara mia," he replied smoothly, his Italian pronunciation perfect.

The Prime Minister raised his eyebrow, clearly impressed but not entirely convinced. "One wrong move and it won't be only the Port Mafia you will have to worry about, boy," he warned, his tone leaving no doubt about the seriousness of his threat.

Osamu felt the corner of his lips twitch at the threat. You had very obviously made friends in high places, a fact that both impressed and concerned him.

"Oh, Amedeo. Stop that," you chided gently, tapping the Prime Minister's chest lightly as you moved away, rejoining Osamu's side and grasping his hand once more. The warmth of your touch was a welcome comfort. "Try not to take all of my casino's money tonight. However, I hope you are successful at the least. Have a safe flight home and tell the missus I say hello."

"Of course, mia ragazza," Amedeo replied warmly, waving the two of you off as his attention returned to the Craps table.

You turned on your heels, leading Osamu further into the depths of the casino. The liveliness of the halls began to die down once you opened a door to the back corridors, the sounds of the casino floor muffling behind you.

"So," Osamu's curiosity finally piqued at the absence of eavesdroppers. "What did you do to him?"

You smiled back solemnly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "With all my time in Italy, you seriously think I would attempt to kill him?"

"With all things considered?" Osamu pressed, his tone a mixture of curiosity and concern.

You stop as you gave a breathy laugh, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. "He has cancer," you revealed, your voice softening. "Though, possibly to your surprise, I didn’t cause it."

Osamu paused before issuing a reaction, waiting for your explanation.

“He visits the casino, every so often. With my education, thanks to Dr. Stevenson, I think about molecular structures, down to the cellular functions. With the Prime Minister, I can’t cure him. However, I can provide him with more time.”

Osamu stood stunned with disbelief as the two of you continued down the corridor. “So, Italy was beneficial after all. Never would’ve though Mori would do something in your favor.”

You laugh, “I know. Doesn’t he realize he’s signed his death certificate with that?”

Along the long stretch of the cemented walls, a man stood at attention awaiting you.

“Miss.” He bowed with precise motion. “He’s asked for you once more after we detained him.”

“Has he said anything of interest otherwise?” You shrug the coat from your arms, the revolver catching Osamu’s eyes once more. Osamu reaches to grasp the coat from you before you had a chance to hand it off to your manager. His stomach flipping lightly at the soft look in your eyes, before they harden once more toward the door.

“No ma’am. He’s been silent otherwise.”

Osamu watched as you nodded decisively, grasping the door handle and entering the room. He followed close behind, noting the manager's quizzical look as he closed the door.

Moving into the dimly lit corner, Osamu positioned himself facing the man handcuffed to the table. Despite being a detective with the Agency, he felt compelled to remain a silent observer. This was your casino, Port Mafia territory. He refrained from speaking out against the man's wrongdoings, partly because he knew the impending show would be something to behold, even if it contradicted Oda's dying wish. Osamu convinced himself that Oda would understand, because it was you he was with.

He watched intently as you circled the table, your movements graceful yet predatory. The air crackled with tension as you waited for the man to either speak up confidently or beg for mercy. Surprisingly, neither occurred.

"Tell me," the man finally broke the silence, his gaze fixed on his chained wrists. His thick Russian accent caught you off guard as he continued, "Are you the bitch who owns this establishment?"

"And if I am?" You tilted your head, your voice dripping with honeyed venom. "What makes you think you can enter my casino and make a fool of the Port Mafia's Izanami?"

The man's response was a smirk that gradually evolved into raucous laughter.

Irritation flashed across your face. In one fluid motion, you grasped the metal seat and yanked it out from under him. The man crashed to the floor, his laughter abruptly silenced. Osamu could now clearly see the scar running down the corner of his mouth, his brown eyes darting about wildly.

"Where's your laughter now?" you hissed. "I'm the bitch that will end your life. Now, why are you here? Why have you come to meet your end?"

"I came because I was ordered to," the man replied, his voice steady despite his prone position. "I have a message for you."

As the man attempted to reach into his breast pocket, Osamu stepped forward. With practiced ease, he slipped his hand into the man's pocket, retrieving a sealed letter. He showed you the wax seal, pretending not to notice the faint outline of a rat.

Your eyes widened momentarily before narrowing sharply. "Who sent you?!" you demanded, grasping the man's shirt roughly.

Osamu retreated, letter in hand, his mind racing. He recognized the emblem, but your reaction raised questions about your connection to it.

You were now in full contact with the man, yet the expected anaphylactic shock hadn't set in. "Who sent you?!" you repeated, fear evident in your eyes.

The man's lips moved; his words inaudible to Osamu but clearly heard by you. A smile curled your lips as you began to squeeze the man's neck.

Your voice, sweet yet deadly, broke the silence. "No man could ever build a perfect world such as this one."

Blood began to spill from the man's eyes and nose, a gruesome sight that didn't deter you.

"Do svidaniya, yego tsvetok," the man choked out his final words, his blood spattering your face. Yet you didn't release your grip, continuing to squeeze as if fearing his resurrection.

Osamu sensed your fear beneath the facade of madness. "Bella, he's gone," he said softly.

You blinked, looking up as if suddenly remembering his presence. Glancing back at the lifeless man, you murmured, "Oh, I suppose he is." Your hands released their grip, and the body hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

Osamu watched intently as you approached, your heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor. Each step echoed in the silent room, amplifying the tension. Despite the blood staining your face and clothes, he found himself captivated. This darker side of you stirred something within him - a mixture of admiration and nostalgia for the days when you both walked in the shadows of the Port Mafia.

"Can I have the note?" you asked, extending your hand towards him.

Osamu raised his eyebrows, feigning forgetfulness about the paper. A part of him wanted to keep it, to examine it away from your watchful eyes and unravel the mystery of why he was sending you letters. The weight of the paper felt significant in his pocket, a secret he was reluctant to relinquish.

"'Samu, give me the paper." Your words carried an unexpected edge that caught him off guard.

Reluctantly, he retrieved the folded sheet from within his suit. He hovered it above your outstretched hand for a moment, then pulled back as you reached for it. A small act of defiance, born from his growing curiosity and concern.

"Before I do," he said, his voice low and probing, "what did he say to you?"

He watched as your eyes flashed with annoyance, the blood on your face accentuating the intensity of your gaze. "Nothing of major importance," you replied, but Osamu knew better.

As you attempted to grasp the paper once more, he deftly moved it out of your reach. A playful smirk tugged at his lips, masking his growing unease. "You had quite the reaction for it to be nothing."

He observed you huff, poking your tongue into your cheek - a telltale sign he recognized as you formulating a lie. Deciding against listening to whatever half-baked story you might concoct, Osamu sighed and handed you the slip.

"I trust you will tell me when you're ready," he said, resignation coloring his voice at the unexpected turn of events. "I know who it's from, though. So please, don't allow him to manipulate you." The words felt heavy on his tongue, laden with concern and a hint of jealousy.

Your expression softened slightly as you took the paper, and Osamu felt a glimmer of hope. "Amore mio, that man could never do such a thing. I promise, when I have a full understanding of what's going on, I will tell you."

As you turned away to unfold the slip of paper, Osamu stepped closer, unable to resist. He peered over your shoulder, his breath hitching as he took in the contents: a simple drawing of a whale and a cryptic note that read, "So it begins, moy tsvetok."

“He brings word to you. He will build the perfect world for you.”

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We are getting into things now, and I have more to come I promise. I have like reader's whole thing semi-thought out up to the most recent events anime/manga wise. Like, if y'all enjoyed this, just wait until I get Beast out. ugh I love writing way too much. Anyone relate?

Song Inspo: Villian— K/DA

Anyways! Hope you enjoyed this part, if you did and feel compelled, give her a little like and repost?

Thank you to everyone who gives this a little read, and until the next installment <3 ~DamzelZelda

#bsd #bsd dazai #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai x y/n #bungo stray dogs x reader

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