#let dazai be comforted

[iwantmochisoup]

i really needed happy skk :3c Happy holidays to ya'll~!! ♡

[unicornpopcorn14]

*Gasps* I AM ALIVEEE

Gift presented to my first donator on Ko-fi, and absolute sweetheart @sonatana!! So sorry for the late delivery, I appreciate your patience so muchh 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Hope you enjoy it <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63886900/chapters/163848148

Chapters: 1/4 || Words: 4.7k || Category: 15!skk whump

Also big thanks @ay-masakali for beta-ing this chapter and coming up with the title <333

[whathorselegs]

If Not For You

Summary: A short two part fic of Dazai and Chuuya comforting each other through Dazai's unconventional expressions of emotion. Part 1 is teen!skk after the Dragon Head conflict. Part 2 is 22!skk Title taken from Maneskin's song 'If Not For You'

Pairing: Skk (Dazai x Chuuya) Can be read as a platonic or romantic.

Inspired by @unicornpopcorn14 's post about Dazai's unconventional shows of emotion

This was supposed to be silly but it ended up leaning way more into emotional hurt/comfort

Part One - If Not For You

Despite his small stature, Dazai had never found it difficult to locate Chuuya. If anything, it was harder not to notice him with all the noise he was usually making. Exclaiming at this, yelling about that, stomping about, sometimes- on the off chance Chuuya saw Dazai first- he’d still fling himself at Dazai with his gravity. Of course, that was usually when Dazai had played some prank or other and Chuuya was actively hunting him down.

Lately though, Chuuya had been disturbingly quieter, and just like Dazai was just about to now, he was increasingly finding Chuuya curled up in some secluded corner of an empty room, sulking.

No, not sulking, he reminded himself.

Mourning.

Again.

Dazai had never understood why people mourn the dead so intensely, sure, it was sad, but most things were. He thought it was the strangeness of having a person suddenly not be there at first, and that people in the mafia- who were used to losing people- would be just as unaffected as he was. Turns out, he was alone in that here too. Frequent exposure to death didn’t stop people mourning, it seemed. Especially not Chuuya. This was the second lot of friends he’d lost and whilst Dazai didn’t understand the reason behind people’s mourning, he had enough sense to show them a little more grace than he normally would.

So when he came across Chuuya, huddled up and alone in an abandoned meeting room for the third time this week, Dazai was also quiet. He could have yelled Chuuya’s name, made a joke about him hiding away like a mouse in the walls, something of their usual games, but they all just felt intensely wrong in this situation. As much as he would like to force their normal routines back into place, he knew that wouldn’t help.

He sat down on the floor beside Chuuya, who had his knees up to his chest, leaning against the wall and idly looking out the floor to ceiling windows. Though Dazai doubted he was actually taking anything of the scenery in.

“You’ll get a hunch if you keep sitting like that.” Dazai said, choosing a soft tone for the teasing, offering a branch for Chuuya to take if he wanted to reach out for normalcy.��

Instead Chuuya sucked in a short breath, tensing up, like he’d only just noticed Dazai and shot him an annoyed glare in warning.

No games then.

Dazai leaned back against the wall as he formulated his next move. He was supposed to be bringing Chuuya to a briefing, however, in the mood he’s in, Dazai didn’t fancy his chances trying to tell Chuuya to do anything. He needed to get him out of this funk first, clear his mind.

His head tilted to the side as he pondered whether it was possible to clear the mind of a skull that’s already empty. Any other situation and he would have said that out loud. Just right now, though, Dazai didn’t feel like getting pulverised. Trying to be sensitive to people's feelings was giving him a headache. He needed to relieve the tension building in his temples. Looking around, Dazai noticed this room had a sofa, perfect for curing his headache, but then he couldn’t just ignore Chuuya, still curled in on himself in the corner. That would make for a terrible sight.

And then it hit him, he could solve both problems at once.

“I know what you need.” Emboldened by his plan, Dazai went as far as to prod Chuuya’s side, earning him another glare. “You need to clear your head.”

After a moment of just staring sceptically at Dazai, Chuuya responded with a strain in his voice he couldn’t quite hide. “What?”

“Come on, I know a great method.” Not deterred by Chuuya’s lukewarm reaction Dazai grabbed the sleeve of Chuuya’s jacket and attempted to pull Chuuya up. The arm moved, but the rest of the boy remained sat where he was, like the immovable rock he was. 

“Why would I do anything you tell me to do?” Chuuya snapped, trying to yank his arm back and failing.

“Because, I’m right. Always. My methods have never failed us once. Ever.” He tugged at Chuuya’s arm as he spoke, seeing Chuuya subconsciously uncurling from his position, torn between ignoring Dazai and trying to shut him up. Dazai just had to toe the line between just annoying enough to motivate him to move and not enough to get his nose broken. 

Finally Chuuya stood up. “You smug little- You’re not always right.”

“Prove me wrong then.” Dazai dangled the opportunity in front of Chuuya, a bet was always a good motivator for him.

“Fine. Show me your dumb method and I will.”

He led them to the sofa, trying not to be too obvious about how pleased with himself he was. “This always clears my head.” Dazai informed Chuuya and he knelt on the sofa facing the backrest. When Chuuya didn’t do the same, he pointed next to him on the sofa. “Do as I do.” He barely managed to bite back the dog nickname.

Chuuya huffed, rolling his eyes before mimicking Dazai’s actions and mumbling something about how stupid this was under his breath. Instead of calling him out on it, Dazai let it slide and lowered himself backwards on the sofa, letting his legs hook over the backrest and his head dangle off the end of the sofa cushion. Chuuya looked at him like he’d just contorted himself into a pretzel rather than sat upside-down on a sofa, but he did follow Dazai’s actions.

“How is this suppose to-”

“Shush!” Dazai hushed him. “Just look out the window and be still.”

The familiar tingle of blood rushing to his face, the tickle of his hair slowly falling down and the dull pulse of his blood in his ears steadily began to build. Dazai felt his lips and fingertips turn numb as he watched the clouds pass outside the window and soon, there wasn’t a single thought in his head. No frustration, no confusion, no strange ache to somehow share in Chuuya’s pain, just the sound of his own heartbeat and both their gentle breaths. 

After a minute of quiet, he glanced Chuuya's way to find him staring out the window, face ridiculously red and expression almost blank. It may have actually looked blank to most, but Dazai had learned to see the subtle wonder with which Chuuya’s eyes saw the world. Wonder that those eye’s seemed to have been lacking recently. It made his all too loud heart flutter to see even the faintest hint of it’s return.

“See clear head.” He said quietly, or hoped it was quiet, hard to tell with all the blood in his head. “Bad thoughts are heavy.”

Chuuya only briefly met his gaze before looking out the window again with a deep, tired breath. “Yeah.”

“They fall right out your ears this way!”

At that Chuuya snorted, almost falling off the sofa.

Part Two - I Couldn't Get Off This Floor

Chuuya always locked his door. That simple fact was undeniable. His apartment contained too much sensitive information to be forgetting to lock his door. On the off-chance Chuuya thought he’d forgotten, he always turned around to double check and it was always locked. Which is why it was becoming an increasing annoyance to return home and find his door unlocked. Despite him having the only key.

Knowing the exact cause of this conundrum only aggravated Chuuya further. He hung up his coat and hat before removing his shoes and made his way into the front room ready to give said ‘cause’ a piece of his mind.

He halted immediately when he saw Dazai lying face down on the floor. Perhaps if this was any other person on the floor it might have been more alarming, but this wasn’t the first time Chuuya had witnessed Dazai in this state. Despite himself, Chuuya found his earlier annoyance melting away, his shoulders drooping as he took in the sight for a moment. Then he quietly made his way over to Dazai, grabbing a couple of cushions from the sofa as he got down on the floor with Dazai.

“Floor time, huh?” He said softly, poking Dazai’s shoulder. To which Dazai hummed in acknowledgement before turning his face in Chuuya’s direction. His forehead was marked by a shiny red square from where it had been pressed to the floor. Chuuya suppressed the desire to laugh at the sight and pushed one of the cushions Dazai’s way. It was accepted silently as Dazai tucked his forearms under it and rubbed his face against the soft fabric. No thanks, Chuuya noted, no words at all. So Dazai really was feeling off today.

Chuuya lay on his side, facing Dazai, resting his own cushion under his head. After watching Dazai a moment longer to see if he’d come out of his shell, Chuuya decided he was well and truly jammed in there. He reached out, pushing his hand under Dazai’s cushion to find the fingers hiding there and hooking them around his own.

“Have you eaten recently?” He asked.

There was a delay before Chuuya felt Dazai squeeze his fingers. Once for yes. 

“Promise?

Another single squeeze.

He couldn’t help the doubt in mind, Dazai was notorious for forgetting to feed himself when got like this, but Chuuya didn’t push it. He’d promised and doubting Dazai’s promises right now would only make him feel worse.

“Want to move to the bed?”

Two squeezes. Which meant no. 

More accurately this meant Dazai felt like he couldn’t move yet, he’d described it like the feeling of being trapped behind his eyes once, like his own body no longer obeyed him because of the sheer exhaustion that overcame it. So Chuuya wouldn’t pester him to move before he was ready.

“What about some music?”

One squeeze, yes.

“Blanket?”

One squeeze, yes.

“Contact?”

Two squeezes, no.

There was never a set rule as to what exactly helped Dazai in these situations, Chuuya simply memorised which suggestions most often helped. Music to quiet the thoughts, blankets for comfort and occasionally, physical contact like brushing his hair helped. The last one was the least likely for Dazai to say yes to, but in recent months there had been an uptick in yeses, so Chuuya always offered.

He stood up again and set about completing his tasks. He chose a soft classical CD to play, one he imagined Iceman would have enjoyed listening to. No words, the perfect selection of songs to just rest your mind to. Then grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and returned to Dazai, draping the blanket over him and lying back down at his side. Even if Dazai didn’t want physical contact, having someone’s presence beside him, not judging or trying to force him to move, just understanding and being still with him helped.

Chuuya closed his eyes, letting his own mind settle as he listened to the gentle music. Honestly, he knew he shouldn’t, but his work day had been so long, he could have fallen asleep right there.

A hand found his own again and when re-opened his eyes, he found Dazai watching him with his hand loosely wrapped around Chuuya’s. Dazai’s index finger tapped at Chuuya’s knuckle. Morse code he realised.

Thank you.

“Sure thing, partner.”

[evilkaeya]

posting one skk official art daily is my hobby now anyways what the fuck is this

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Chapter 110 is 13 pages long welcome to hell!!! so in a lot of ways this is just more fuel for a theory that I've had for a few weeks now, that's only gotten stronger with each recent season 5 episode, which is that the last episode of the season is gonna end on 110, and that Asagiri/Harukawa and Bones have been collaborating to make this happen, specifically because it's a major turning point that would be the only good place to end the season on.

When we started getting especially long chapters again (like from 25-35ish pages, with the exception of 107.5, the last two being some of the longest we've ever had), at first I just assumed that Asagiri/Harukawa got freed up from some other obligations they'd been having to cause the extremely short/half chapters, like promotional stuff for the anime/Beast movie, or working on light novels. But then 109 happened, with the "supposed" death of Dazai, and heavy emphasis at the end on how literally everyone is at their lowest point right now, and I got to thinking. 11 episodes is a strangely specific number for an anime season -- why not 12, or 13, or even 10, like you'd usually see? Why have we gotten suddenly gotten two 35 page chapters out of nowhere, that's almost unheard of at this point? They're both beautiful chapters, don't get me wrong (as always), and maybe A/H simply just didn't want to cut them in halves because they felt like the full emotional impact wouldn't hit/that there were no good cutoff points in them, but you can't deny that it's surprising, after all the shorter chapters we've been getting. Why has the anime been going at such insanely breakneck pacing for the most part ever since around the Sunday Tragedy chapters, even more so than it has in the past? So much so that it feels dangerously close to overtaking the manga?

Well, maybe, just maybe, it's because..... Asagiri decided a long time ago that whatever happens in 110 is the only point that feels "season finale"-worthy enough, in an arc that still isn't anywhere close to being completely wrapped up, and so both the manga and the anime have been specifically coordinated to reach that part within 2 and a half weeks of each other?

I've seen a lot of people now think season 5 will end with 109, and as much as my sadistic side would find that hilarious, I honestly don't think they'd do that and realistically don't want it to happen; it'd be so cruel to cliffhanger the anime for years like that, and just doesn't feel like a season cliffhanger BSD would do, a series that is ultimately hopeful and uplifting. Seasons 2 and 3 had a positive, conclusive ending; the only reasons seasons 1 and 4 didn't was because they're technically not really full seasons of their own, and are more like the first cour of another "season" that also came out that same year (seasons 1 and 2 both aired in 2016, so they're more like one big season, and seasons 4 and 5 have both aired this year, so they're also more like one big season, again taking into account how episodes 12 and 50 are not satisfying finales like episodes 24, 37, and hypothetically, 61, are). I really can't see season 5 ending with Dazai and Fukuzawa's supposed deaths, Sigma being unconscious and maybe close to death, Atsushi being vulnerable and limbless again, everyone we love still vampires, and the entire world being basically doomed; that's just too depressing and not like BSD at all. However, having said that, if it doesn't end there, there really isn't any good place to end the season before that, either, that feels in any way satisfying or like a finale at all. And so, to me, that only leaves after 109: chapter 110.

I think things are really gonna turn around next chapter. Like I said, everyone is at their lowest point right now, it cannot possibly get any worse, the framing of Dazai, Fukuzawa, and sskk at the end of 109 is telling us that; this is the time for the heroes to finally start winning again, with Aya being so close to pulling out the sword, and for all the thematic reasons other people have talked about to death that I don't need to go into here again. This upcoming chapter being so short again makes a part of me wary of 110 being "the one", so to speak, I won't lie, but at the same time, it's very possible that it needs to be that short because that's all the final episode of the season will be able to reasonably fit in, since it's already gonna be VERY close if they do make it all the way to 109. And at the end of the day, I don't doubt at all that Asagiri and Harukawa can make these the most monumental and game-changing mere 13 pages ever if they wanted to; a chapter does not at all need to be extremely long in order to be an important and impactful one, even if short ones we've gotten in the past haven't felt the most important.

An additional thought I've had, though this is much more crack territory than all this already is, is that since we know from Anime Expo that a Stormbringer movie at some point is highly likely (judging from Asagiri's reaction when someone brought it up), it's possible that chapter 110 and thus the final episode will involve the long-anticipated return of Verlaine and/or Adam, or at least some other major reference to Stormbringer, that would naturally and smoothly lead into a Stormbringer movie to explain things to people who haven't read the novel. It would make a lot of sense, especially since the s4 OP has the Old World sign behind Chuuya, which might be a hint that this has been in the works ever since seasons 4/5 were first in planning with Asagiri. We also know that Dazai and Chuuya's voice actors apparently struggled to record their lines together this season, which probably relates to 101 and possibly 109, but it could be 110 too.... I could be very wrong, as I'm no expert on this kind of thing, but I kinda doubt they would bring Chuuya's actor in for just the vampire growls, and Asagiri placing heavy emphasis on Chuuya's importance this season in that one interview gives me the impression that he's talking about much more than just 101/109. But that's the least solid evidence I have, that's just mostly based on vibes I get.

So basically, I think a lot of factors -- the unusual episode count, how close the anime is to catching up to the manga with three whole episodes left, the seemingly arbitrary recent chapter lengths, and the climactic events of 109 -- can tell us that 110 might be a very, VERY big deal. Again, there's of course no way this arc is anywhere near close to being finished, with so much left to address and resolve, but since it is currently incomplete in the manga, unlike the previously adapted arcs, if the anime was going to adapt it at all, they'd have to find a place that feels satisfying enough to end this season, knowing there won't be more anime for a long time after this, and so I think they specifically planned for that, from both Bones' and A/H's sides. 10 episodes might not have been enough to reach that point, but 12 or 13 might have been too many it wouldn't have been if Bones actually decided to slow down and let the story breathe the way it needs to, but this post isn't meant to criticize the anime, so maybe 11 was just right. And maybe Asagiri and Harukawa specifically pushed to make recent chapters longer than usual, in order to make sure that the manga reached the story content in 110 the monthly release right before season 5 was to end.

Is this just copium? Absolutely. Am I going to look like an absolute clown in two days when this post ages like milk? Probably. But the evidence is There, so let me just enjoy my delusions until Sunday, okay 🥂🫡

[fishandbandages]

Can I give beastzai a really tight cathartic hug and tell him it’s going to be okay

OOC: thank you for checking in on him, nonie

OOC: he needs it

[ohhcinnybuns]

Here I am again,

You've been expecting me because I can't keep my mouth shut,

But if we don't know how their story ends, what then?

I have another prompt for you that's sure to really cut

‘  i am aching to hold you  &  keep you safe,  to be pressed against you so that nothing can harm you.  ’ 👀

In his arms, by the sea - Merman! Chuuya and Captain Dazai (OTPOY alternate ending)

Words: 2.8k

The shushing of the ocean waves entered his ears, muffled as if his head was below water. It could be. His mind had felt absent for months, his irises becoming mornings waiting at dawn for a sign—any sign at all. 

Time seemingly moved along without him. Days became weeks and months. Every morning, the same routine. He would walk, wait by the pier, gaze at the horizon, and return to the lighthouse he called home. He waited by the shore, hoping that a streaking comet would surface from below the sea, vermillion-drenched locks and teardrop irises ready to call his name and bring him back from his mind’s deceptive trenches. 

Boats drift by, bellowing their horn, while seagulls turn over vacant shells, searching for a morsel. Whispers of people passing by began to call him insane as if the story of his life that made him human was nonexistent and make-believe.

It was as if he had not been there to witness the tragic event that seemingly had him frozen there in time, wondering what he could have done differently to bring his loved ones home. 

---

All he had wanted to know was answers. All he had wanted to do was to understand why his father never came home. 

Why did Fyodor have to reappear when his father was doing just fine, away from the life of piracy to start anew? Why did the rat have to remove someone who meant so much to him, stepping all over the bond they’d come to build, know, and grow? 

Fyodor never even liked Oda to begin with. He always suspected that Fyodor disliked Oda for walking away from his crew - the mark of the Decay of Angels blemished on his arm, a grim reminder of the gruesome things he participated in. 

Dazai gritted his teeth with every sight of it because that was not the Oda that raised him. There was no piracy to him, only a man in love with the sea, freedom, and exploration. Oda had tried to move away from the decay that wanted to mold him, and in the end, his love for the sea always called him back, like a siren tempting her sailor to come forth and pull him under. They lured him, never to come back this time. 

“Where is he?” Dazai pressed him, holding a knife to the captain’s neck. 

“Have you tried looking at the bottom of the Yokohama port, Dazai-kun?" the captain returned his question with a cackle that turned Dazai’s boiling blood glacier-cold. He shivered, breathing rapidly through the gut-wrenching feeling coiling in his stomach. 

“I’m not playing.”

"If you really want to know, Dazai dear, he never left the port. He tried to run, but unfortunately, Nikolai was much faster than he thought,” Fyodor said with a widening smirk. “He got him right here," he continued his tale, the back of his hand knocking against Dazai's chest, “two shots is all it took for him to tumble off the boat. So very sad, Dazai-kun. I’m so very sorry for your loss." 

A ringing in his ear. A shaky breath. Dizzy, tunneling vision. He had hoped it was a lie, but what did Fyodor have to gain from it? Nothing at all. Nothing was ever enough for a cold, blooded monster like him. No amount of plundering and violence was ever enough. He had told the truth and there was nothing more to it. 

Fyodor took hold of his devastation to make his escape. He shoved Dazai away, swiftly kicking open a barrel of oil and throwing a nearby lamp to the ground before dashing away. 

Fyodor ignited his ship with his followers, plans, and treasure still on it. Their convenience didn’t matter - they were only pawns ready to sink with their captain and ship. 

Dazai managed to escape the stores and jumped out of the burning ship into a safety raft. He cut the rope, ready to return to his boat, when a streak of a reddened bioluminescent tail swam past him beneath the bow of the blazing ship. 

“Chuu…ya?” His heart quickened, and he gulped down a knot forming in his throat in worry. The sound of screaming pirates roaring to extinguish fires blared in his ears, the crackling of compromised wood searing the sky. 

Dazai kept his sights on the water, waiting for any sign of Chuuya to return, but that’s when he heard a creaking, the sound of wood snapping out of place. Dazai gasped, smoky fires penetrating his lungs as his eyes stung from falling ash and soaking sea salt. He knew then Chuuya's plan to stop Fyodor. He couldn't do anything. He felt useless. 

Whatever Chuuya had attempted must not have been enough, the ship continued rocking, and Dazai could feel adrenaline as he waited for Chuuya to return to the surface. But he did not. 

Instead, the sea began to bubble and sway viciously, waves growing and pushing Dazai’s safety raft away from the blazing ship. He had to hold on to the side of his raft to keep his balance; otherwise, he risked tipping into the water. He placed a hand over his mouth and nose to slow the inhale of smog and water from entering his system, and when he was pushed a fair distance away, his eyes were wide as he watched the mighty ship struggle against the sudden force pulsing from below the boat. 

The once abysmal ocean thundered brightly as if a light switch had been flicked on, like an active volcano ready to burst. The sea turned a spilled bloody wine surrounding the vessel before a red and black beam broke through the mainmast. The boat started crumpling like a tin can before the ship splintered down its middle and split into two. 

“CHUUYA!” he had cried, heart drumming so quickly it trembled his body. 

Screaming bodies landed in the ocean, crying for help. The few rafts left on the ship had caught fire, unusable. Dazai searched the chaos for any sign of Chuuya but instead found Fyodor, who tossed aside a crewmate floating on a piece of wreckage for himself. 

The crewmate attempted to scale on again but was kicked away by the captain’s boot, which used him as leverage to float the makeshift raft away. The crewmate submerged underwater, nowhere to be seen. Then he sat leisurely, with a knee raised, surveying his surroundings while removing his wet dressings with a smirk. It made Dazai's blood boil, but it didn't last long. 

The same glowing light that brought down the boat sped towards the wreckage Fyodor sat upon at top speed and pulsed water like a geyser to flip it over, tossing the captain into the ocean’s depths once more. Dazai knew it was Chuuya, and he could not look away, slightly relieved that the merman was still out there. 

Fyodor’s head appeared above water briefly before Chuuya sprung from behind, clinging to a bewildered Fyodor with an arm hooked around their neck and hissing at his prey. He bit into the crook of the rat’s neck, his catch thrashing about and screaming in pain, shouting curses that fell on deaf ears as his surviving crewmates watched in terror, holding tightly to their wreckage and removing themselves from the water as quickly as possible. All the fighting did nothing to Chuuya except clench his teeth tighter. 

Dazai could feel Chuuya's gaze on him; pitch-black irises and red swirling symbols slithered all over his body, making him almost unrecognizable. The hand that held Fyodor became a claw resembling molten magma covered in inky veins, and blood seemed to leak from his orifices, staining his chest, shoulders, and face. He didn’t appear all that responsive, working on autopilot and consciousness.

“So this is… Chuuya’s true from…” is all Dazai could mumble, awe in his shaky breath. He wanted nothing more than for Chuuya to come back to him so he could wrap his arms around him and whisper to him that everything was okay now. He doesn't have to do more. Dazai beckoned for the merman to come close. 

The redhead detached his jaw from the rat’s nape, features twitching as if wincing now and again. He was in a primal state, and his instincts to attack were rampant, but beneath that, there were flickers of exhaustion, and Dazai could see the merman panting as if at his limit.

The merman's claw dug into the side of Fyodor’s throat and slashed it open. Blood rushed, screaming subsiding into gurgles, choking on salted water and iron. The captain's crewmates could only watch in horror as their leader pawed at his neck, trying to remove Chuuya’s hold on him. In the end, it was futile.

Drifting a little away from the wreckage had been Sigma and Nikolai, panting and soaking wet inside of a burnt boat, having seemingly gotten away just in time before the ship fractured. They could hear their captain screaming into the night sky, and all Sigma could do was turn his back to the scene and cover his ears. Nikolai, on the other hand, watched on with a balled fist and furrowed brows, turmoil flickering between Sigma and his captain. Ultimately, he chose to stay seated, watching his captain be mauled with a conflicted gaze. It's every man for themselves in open waters - any fight and loyalty they might have had in them sunk with their ship. 

Fyodor continued thrashing wildly until Chuuya couldn't handle his fuss anymore. The fins that shaped the redhead’s ears fanned back, and before Dazai could call to him, Chuuya dove below the surface with his prey in hand, their tail fanning swiftly to gain as much distance between himself and the surface before the flicker of his tail died out, losing sight of him. Dazai’s stomach drops, eyes round, hands gripping wood tightly as he leans against the bow of his raft for any sight of the merman, but he never resurfaces. 

He doesn't know how long he stood on that life raft out at sea waiting for Chuuya, hoping they would return. There was no sight of his bioluminescence. Dazai didn't know if Chuuya was alive or dead. 

Nothing could have prepared him to grieve as deeply as he did when he stepped back into his ship, rescued by his friends, who placed a blanket over him and directed him to his quarters. 

A piece of his heart sunk to the bottom of the ocean that night, an endless stream of tears over the reality of Oda's death and Chuuya's disappearance washing over him all at once. Everything around him moved in slow motion, rocking with his ship, paused forever in this moment, trapped in a loop that didn't want to let him go and hadn't let him go. 

How does anyone learn to move forward after the death of their loved ones? It is said that time heals all wounds, but what if some wounds don’t close? That has been a question that has plagued his mind since that night. Dazai never honestly thought about it, always having thought that his life should have ended at thirteen when he initially tried to drown himself. Yet, Oda and Chuuya became his saving grace when he thought he would never have anyone on his side, and now he was left to live without them. 

---

The walk back to the lighthouse this evening is a little chillier. Winter starts are always like that, much more polar next to the sea, but Dazai wouldn’t change it. He keeps his gaze lowered, mindful enough not to walk into others, hands in his tan coat pockets, breathing into the bundled navy scarf around his neck. The clicks of his shoes are the only evidence that he is moving forward and not floating to his destination. 

Crisp sea salt permeated his senses, hair fluffed and ruffled by the breeze. He walks the crisscrossing piers, the crescent shape of the harbor leading to a rocky shoreline, where a path veers off at its end, steps leading up to his lighthouse. This is where it all started. It’s only right that this is where he should end—the beginning of them and the entanglement of their Fates after the catalyst of his drowning. 

He had thought that maybe Oda would have loved Dazai buying the lighthouse - a home they could share instead of the shanty shack they used to live in because Oda was humble like that. The lighthouse kept them close to the coast, nights full of lulling tides and wondrous expanses of diamonds in the sky; perhaps it would have saved Oda from his end to have what he loved the most so close to him. Dazai wanted to give him that. 

He also thought Chuuya would have visited him more often. He thought they could meet again at the rocky ledges and dive together to explore the world below, fingers entwined and bodies close. He once joked to Chuuya that in another life, they would be fated sea horses drifting with the rolling tide in a swirling dance. The memory alone makes him smile, remembering the bright red hues that made the merman’s cheeks flush and splash water at him. 

Dazai bundles the scarf around his neck more tightly, the snugness comforting him as he ascends the steps. There is always tomorrow, he supposes as if that’s not what he’s been telling himself for months. There is always a tomorrow. 

As he reaches the door of his home, he unlocks it and enters, ready to close the door. A sound of quick steps enters his ears, and a hand holds his door open before he can fully close it shut. 

“Wait!” the person pants. They continue inhaling and exhaling as if they had been running for miles, finally trying to catch their breath.  

Dazai blinks, instinctively opening his door with a, “Yes? What can I do for you?” 

It wasn't often that he had visitors storming at his door. The last person to visit him had been Atsushi to check on his well-being. However, the sight he came upon made him speechless. 

“You walk…so fast…those lanky legs of yours… goddamn it… How am I supposed to keep up? Wait, I need a minute…” 

Before him was the soul of the ocean incarnate—flaming locks dry, curled, and swept to the side, trying to catch their breath. The stunning blue of his eyes glared at him playfully, a smirk plastered on his lips as his breathing regulated. He wore modern clothing and was rather handsome: a black leather jacket, onyx gloves, and a plain black T-shirt. At his neck rested a choker that replaced the seashell garland he used to wear. But even more surprising was the lack of a fishtail, replaced by legs hidden beneath navy jeans. 

“Chuuya?” Dazai croaked through the lump in his throat. All that time, waiting for time to shift along again. 

The redhead stands tall, a hand on his hip as he beams, asking, “Did you miss me?”

Dazai leaps forward, embracing Chuuya in his arms tightly, body trembling as if scared that the body he held was a figment of the imagination. He feels Chuuya chuckle into his chest, snaking his arms around his waist before whispering a small, “I’m home.” 

Dazai’s grip tightens for a minute before letting the redhead go, pulling back to look at Chuuya again, who gazes at him sheepishly, pink shading across his face. 

His eyes sting, caressing the softness of Chuuya’s cheek tenderly, still processing that Chuuya was standing before him. His hands continued to travel down to his neck, where he could feel their quickened blood flowing, and finally down to his chest, where a thumping heart beats. 

He looks in awe as Chuuya smirks up at him again. A smile surfaces, bubbling happiness overwhelming him as he leans in to capture his lover's lips in a kiss, tears finally falling free. Chuuya came back. 

Chuuya smiles, standing on his tiptoes, wrapping his arm around Dazai’s neck to keep them close. Dazai pulls away enough for their lips to brush together, a gentle “Welcome home” spilling from his lips, as Chuuya thumbs away the droplets from his eyes. 

The redhead grins, raking his hands through the brunette's knotting locks, speaking softly, “Sorry I kept you waiting so long.” 

Dazai hums with a smile and a nod, fondly gazing at his lover before kissing their forehead and taking hold of their hand. 

“You do have some explaining to do,” Dazai says with a small laugh. 

Chuuya laughs along, holding their hands up to place a kiss on Dazai’s wrist as an apology—one of Dazai’s favorite things that Chuuya did. Intimate and gentle. 

“Yeah, I know,” is all the redhead says calmly. 

Dazai nods, stepping away, leading Chuuya by their clasped hands into their home. Finally, time could move forward for him again - no longer stuck with ‘what ifs’  and wondering what he could have done differently for another outcome. No longer would Dazai be in his loneliness, gazing out at the ocean from his lighthouse or at the piers, waiting for a sign of life. Finally, he could live the rest of his days happily with his lover in his arms by the sea. 

[silverbladexyz]

LMAOO AHAHA

No, I'm just hugging all the characters and being their wholesome friend that they desperately need! Totally not being a menace and becoming the bane of their existence, rightttt? 😊 (I probably made Chuuya sick of all the physics questions I ask to him xD but hey it's not my fault he has a gravity manipulation ability ;w;)

And speaking of which, what could you be doing on character.ai hun? 👀

[autistic-katara]

i hate it when ppl r like “uhh that guy is a literal murderer. if he heard u calling him ‘pookie’ or whatever he’d kill u on the spot” like ok and??? babey and killer arent antonyms my guy can do both

[madraleen]

me: i believe tanizaki will be going to the pm. he hasn't had a character arc and he is a great fit for them, both skill-wise and personality-wise. in my humble opinion, dazai going to the pm doesn't line up with his nor mori's characters. the reason dazai left dictates how he lives, and that hasn't changed. we've seen dark dazai in the pm, and we've seen good dazai working with the pm, so the exploration of new dynamics would be comparatively limited. that said, even if dazai volunteers in order to spare his allies, mori would be out of his mind to accept. he's suggested that he returns, yes, but out of dazai's own volition. forcing dazai to come back would mean mori setting up his own assassination and the pm's destruction from the inside, or at the very least being at the mercy of good dazai's ideology, bonds and whims. might as well close up shop now.

also me: 🥺👉👈🥺 and i just don't wike dazai leaving the ada 🥺👉👈🥺

[lunaetis]

your  name: osamu dazai

your age:  22

your perfect date: a walk by the water at dusk and a nice dinner to follow.

make out in private or in public?:  both? both.

do you like to cuddle?: yes!

tell me something about you: i can play the piano and i like cats.

why do you want to be my valentine?: because you're cute and warm and sweet :3

(for eden)

VALENTINE'S APPLICATION. || no longer accepting

─「エデン」─  there was a unique way in how her AUREATE ORBS gazed at him. a depth that was difficult to explain, yet a distinct warmth wishing to envelop his very frame every time he was within her sight. amber hues mellowed tenderly at the words he had written. a walk at dusk by the water, that made her lips pull into a smile. warm and sweet, he said. the TRAILBLAZER felt a sharp pang wondering what he would think of her if he knew where that warmth came from. it's a destructive, burning force locked within her.

                " i'm more dog-coded than cat-coded. would that still be alright ? " a light, playful nudge came from her head to his shoulder, before leaning up to nuzzle a little closer to him. he said she was warm, yet, it was in his presence that she felt CALM and content. to her, he was the light that made her feel her own chaos being quiet by. ever since they met, she had that sense of protectiveness she couldn't explain. that no matter what, she wanted to PROTECT this one from everything. if the stellaron sought to hurt, then let it hurt anyone but him.

                " accepted, under one condition — would you play the piano for me ? "

▸▸ [ @starsburned ]

[unicornpopcorn14]

So we all know by now that Dazai is comfortable enough around Chuuya to show nervousness/worry.

Enough times for Chuuya to pick up on that pattern. The pattern, may I remind you, that doesn't have evident correlation to either nervousness or worry to most people. One that can even be interpreted as misplaced given the situation.

Which means that Dazai has done this in front of Chuuya so often, that Chuuya at first was hella confused, before he finally made a connection between when and why it happens. And still remembered that connection after four years of separation. Which gets us to my point:

What if this isn't the only emotion Dazai displays weirdly?

What if he has multiple unconventional patterns he displays for sadness, frustration, content, or disgust? The times he really feels them, and they become too strong for him to just deal with normally? What if these are the only times he's actually being genuine with his emotions?

And Chuuya is the only one who is familiar with them all?

Dazai would be jumping rope and Chuuya would be like, "quit sulking, let's get icecream"

Dazai hanging upside down on the couch and Chuuya going, "It's okay, mackerel. You can cry."

Dazai actually crying, full on heart-wrenching sobs, and Chuuya unironically going, "What, good news?"

It's just... comforting, for one person in Dazai's life to read him like a book. Everyone else would look at him like he's crazy, displaying wrong emotions/behaviors at the wrong time, but Chuuya knows that it's just how he processes feeling properly, and thus he's the only one Dazai can count on to put things into context and understand, which makes him display them even more openly.

Because Chuuya never shamed him for his quirks, as much as Dazai never did his.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control. 

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself. 

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board. 

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first. 

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt. 

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable? 

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious. 

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again. 

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word. 

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in. 

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday. 

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public. 

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question. 

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.” 

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side. 

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face. 

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together. 

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now. 

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer. 

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away. 

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last. 

Nothing good ever does for him. 

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it. 

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps. 

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy. 

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving. 

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why. 

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you. 

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Take My Hand, Let Me Save You Like You Save Me | Soukoku is now Complete!

I've finished this after so long, yay! The last chapter is Chuuya's Perspective.

[calmlb]

something about Dazai being comfortable enough around Chuuya to be vulnerable and let him see his genuine reactions (especially his genuine shock) as he processes out loud is SO SO IMPORTANT TO ME

plus Chuuya not being shocked to see the genius at work tells us this isn’t the first time he’s seen Dazai actively figuring things out in real time…

the way Chuuya knows Dazai's nervous habits— noticing that Dazai is worried, and subtly checking on him. the way Dazai drops his facade in favor of putting all of his focus into the mental game at hand is such an obvious sign of trust & closeness for someone like Dazai, whose facade is his main form of defense

how they interact with each other in the downtimes when there’s nobody watching…

all i can think is, look how far they’ve come since they were 16 when Dazai couldn’t trust anyone with his plans. how even now, Dazai is always putting up his “all according to plan” front, even with the agency. how Chuuya is the one person we’ve seen him truly drop the mask around, and Chuuya doesn’t bat an eye. even their banter is ongoing, but subdued.

soukoku and their subtle displays of intimacy will be the death of me 💔

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎