#mori angst because i said so | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osamucide · 3 months ago

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FLAVOR PROFILE—afab+gn!reader, angst and comfort??? smoking, alcohol, established friendship, feelings, f!masturbation, loss of virginity, body worship, biting, scratching, tiniest hint of corruption (there should've been more I’m sorry) and possessive aku, praise, fingering, penetration, creampie

ABV—6.1k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

"Really?"

He can't believe you're laughing at him. You swear you're not—you've sworn twice now. He just sighs and snatches your cigarette from you.

"I just kind of can't believe it, Ryuu," you rationalize, pressing your shoulder against his. "I'm not, I promise. I'm not laughing because it's funny. Just surprised, that's all."

Surprised, sure, alright. Look at me, he wants to spit at you, but he's hacking from holding the smoke in his lungs just a moment too long and so you work the dart from his fingers and tuck it back between your lips as he rights himself.

Akutagawa crosses his arms, not unlike a pouting child, and fixes his eyes on the brick wall across from you both and the one you lean back on as you're sat atop some wooden crate, one long discarded after a weapons shipment or whatever else. He can't help but feel a little small beneath your reaction, but you resume issuing soft kicks to the gravel beneath your feet like it was nothing—like you hadn't just drawn probably one of the most humiliating confessions out of him. He never really gave a second thought to all that before you came around, but now that he's beside you, elbows crossed over his knees as he draws them closer to himself, he suddenly feels like he should've before.

You finish your cigarette in silence, pointedly not moving away from him.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, sincerely as you chuck the butt to the ground in front of you. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable." But he still doesn't look at you. Akutagawa's dealing with more than one predicament at the present moment and he needs to sort them before he can turn his attention back to you.

One—he doesn't know if it would've been more or less attractive, or maybe repulsive, if he could've said, yeah, I've fucked plenty of people before, or at least I've fucked someone, and Akutagawa's aware he's a lot of filthy things, but apparently he's neither a liar nor a whore, and it leads him right to his second predicament, which is this: why does he care whether you find him attractive or repulsive?

How long has he care what you think of him at all? And last: what does it mean, that he does?

It's that last one that his thoughts get snagged on.

You tap your foot beneath you. This alleyway is where you always drag him off to when you feel like getting away from work. He can hardly remember the last time he said no to you when it came to escaping Mori's iron rule for an hour or so. But he wishes he would've today, kind of like he wishes he would've skipped the only other time he can recall wishing to have skipped—the day you let him smoke one of your cigarettes.

It's funny how your conversation from that day parallels the exchange from minutes ago. It sticks in his mind right now. You, at least two years younger and having known him on a much more superficial level than you do now, had laughed a little; it makes him feel only marginally better about you laughing now. Even then you were reassuring him, not because it's funny, but just because—I don't know, that's what I do when I’m surprised, I guess. He's always envied your ability to find joy in small things like that, after all.

You didn't make him feel small just now. He finds ways to do that all on his own; he knows that. He must've been weak back then because he'd inhaled less tar than you, and he hated that, so he did it when you offered. But now, here he was. You know he's never even kissed anyone, let alone fucked. The sensical pattern, thinking back to that day when you tapped a cigarette out of your pack for him, lit it off your own, good-naturedly patted his back as the coughs raged out of him because he inhaled it all down way too fast for someone with clean lungs—

Where exactly would that lead now, logically?

It's not like he's never thought about it. But you don't need to know that.

Akutagawa turns his his head away from you, chin on his arms. He can feel his face burn. He won't let you see.

But he knows you now, and you know him. And he knows you'll offer anyway.

You sit in silence, maybe ten minutes more, kicking the ground and letting your eyes flutter open and shut, before you pull another smoke out of your pack and stick it in your mouth.

“Well,” you mumble as your lighter flicks, “If you wanna change that…”

He doesn’t move. He can still feel the crate trembling from how you tap your foot, which is good, because he’s a little restless himself. You draw off your cigarette; he sees the smoke dissipate in his peripheral as your head falls back to rest on the brick. What he doesn’t see is your little half-smirk, but he knows it’s there.

It’s not that Akutagawa doesn’t like you. Anyone that knows him well can probably see he likes you, or at least tolerates you—he lets you drag him here week after week, shift after shift, after all. He gives you grace, even if it’s small, when you fuck up on jobs—something he never gives to anyone else, hardly even Chuuya. He doesn’t flinch or swat you away when you absentmindedly pull him in some direction by his elbow or his wrist; he doesn’t scoff at you when you lean up against him, like you are right now, and shift away from you or push you off like he might even with Gin. To someone who doesn’t know him, he probably looks indifferent to you at worst, and indifference and tolerance, and maybe even liking, tend to go hand-in-hand when it comes to the wielder of Rashoumon. He’s not outright evil to you, and that’s enough—if for no one else, for you. But you know him by now.

And because you know him, you know what he’ll say next.

“No.”

And it’s not because he doesn’t like you, which is why you’ll do what you do next, and he knows you will because he knows you, too, by now—enough to maybe like you—you’ll press him.

“Aw, why not?” It drawls out of you lightheartedly, almost jokingly.

It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never looked at him with fear, disgust, or hatred in your eyes—not even before you knew one another so well and he would regularly, in response to your antics, threaten to beat you to a pulp with his black beast. It might have something to do with how you seem to look right through him like that, and then inadvertently boost his ego by telling him you think he totally has the capacity to be cool, or even normal, doing things like fucking and smoking cigarettes. He wants to laugh at how silly it all sounds to him. Akutagawa’s never been good at letting himself understand why you make him feel the way you do. Why he deserves your kindness or companionship. Why you can’t see him for what he is: a war machine, configured from birth, far beyond—or maybe beneath—any sort of semblance of a normal destiny that includes indulgence. Love. It would make him respect you less, hate you, maybe, if it wasn’t so secretly pleasant, the fact that you don’t look at him like that. The fact that you seem to think he does deserve something more than misery.

I have a feeling this is gonna be a long partnership, so it’d be a lot more fun if you smoked! You said that the day you were assigned to each other, before you knew about his lung condition, and he knew he shouldn’t have ever accepted your offer that day in this very alleyway because he ended up liking the head high cigarettes gave him, even if it was horrible for him.

The same way he likes you, and it makes him unbearably soft. The same way he’d probably like kissing you. Fucking you. Another thing that’ll kill him one day, one way or another. He knows if he gets any closer than he is, and then for some reason you leave—die, run away, decide your relationship is awkward now and he’s horrible and you hate him, whatever—it’d kill him, undoubtedly. Better not to smoke the cigarette. Better not to fuck the only real friend he thinks he’s had since he was watching his back every moment he lived in the slums. Anything that felt good was almost certainly a trap laid to hurt him.

“Because,” he huffs.

If for sole annoyance or disgust, he would’ve bitched you out. But he doesn’t. You note this. So, you let it go. Because you know him.

“Alright,” you sigh. Not disappointed, not dismissive. Just affirming and understanding. It blows his mind all over again. He doesn't move, doesn't look at you. "Well, I suppose we should get back." Your eyes flick to your wristwatch. "Kouyou wanted us for something in about a half hour."

Some silly meeting in some bar. Chuuya's not there to keep her from getting off topic, so Akutagawa sits beneath the low light (on the edge of the booth, thank god), you next to him, while your superior's ordering another round of whisky sodas for the table.

When Kouyou distributes the drinks, Akutagawa slides his toward you, which you then slide to the man on your other side. His name's Shota—one of Chuuya's subordinates—and he takes it off your hands happily. You nestle your own between your hands on the tabletop.

"But as I was saying," the scarlet-haired woman continues, "it's going to have to happen over the weekend. I don't think it's wise to do anything until Nakahara's back from Tokyo, which will be Friday at the earliest, and the tracking number for the Makarov shipment on its way in got thrown in the trash so Hirotsu's going to have to..."

Akutagawa's gaze trains steadily on your hands; his own are busy, one propping his chin up, the other circling rings over the rim of his first and only glass, now empty. It's not out of the ordinary for him to tune out of Kouyou's tipsy ramblings, especially when Chuuya will be back in a few days to explain the game plan concisely and soberly. What is out of the ordinary is that he's still stiff, thinking about your conversation from the alleyway and the tone in which you so nonchalantly cooed aw, why not? Almost as if you'd been a little disappointed when he said no, he wouldn't take you up on your offer. Were you? He has to doubt it. You've always been a little too eager to get him fucked up on Chuuya's wine, drag him out of work, pull him out of his comfort zone—he'd seen the unmistakable excitement on your face the first time you'd jammed a cigarette between his lips. But that is way too far out of his wheelhouse, and he's pretty sure you both know it.

Even if he does keep thinking about it.

You, well—you sip your second whisky and take note of his fidgeting. Although your drink’s only half gone, you tap your foot against his, glancing between him and the door; he looks at you, then back down at his empty glass, clears his throat and nods ever so subtly. Code exhcange for I'm bored, wanna leave? Of course. So when the conversation lulls, you both stand.

"Kazuha has us at eight-thirty," you explain, bidding everyone good evening and seeing yourselves out the door before anyone has the chance to ask what for.

"Kazuha? That was the best lie you could come up with?"

"Are we still sitting in there or not?" you refute, cigarette dangling from your mouth as you walk with your hands behind your head in the direction of headquarters. "Can't wait to get home."

"Yeah, after your hard day," Akutagawa mutters.

"Hey, watch it," you poke. "I moved shit all morning. Need a shower bad."

Which is exactly what you do after you depart from your partner and scamper up to your apartment. But first you take the liberty of lighting a few candles, cracking your bathroom window for a breeze, dancing around to a little music as a bath full of lavender salts warms, and rubbing out your sore knees with that pain relief oil Higuchi recommended to you. It's true, you did spend all morning getting shipments from the port; the less luxurious side of the life and work of a mafioso moving their way up the ladder isn't something you're unfamiliar with, although you do it less now.

You settle in, sighing. Maybe it's wrong to still be thinking about it, but you had sort of hoped Akutagawa would take to your little quip earlier with at least a hint of curiosity, or bring it up on your walk home even if just to tell you how absurd it was that you'd even think such a thing; perhaps you should've been more deliberate, you think. Or maybe it's a good thing that you weren't. He's one of the last people you'd want to make things weird with—outside of being the (rather oblivious) object of your affection, he's still your coworker and, as of recent years, very best friend. Somewhat of a literal partner in crime. You snicker at that as your shoulders dip below the water. You momentarily debate trying to dismiss your little feelings for the night, and you will, for the most part—but while you're relieving physical tension under the soft flicker of your candles and the hum of the city below you, you figure you might as well dispel your disappointment, too, and you trace your fingers down the curve of your hip to find yourself wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water.

Meanwhile, Akutagawa is pacing his living quarters. He's already taken a cold shower to stave off what has only become more difficult not to think about now that you're gone—he doesn't have to hold it together for you or anyone, and he finds himself trying to sit still on the edge of his bed as his phone sits a few feet away on the nightstand. Should he text you about it? Call you? Fuck that—you do a fine job of flustering him when you're barely trying, but if he let you know—god, if he let you know, he'd never hear the end of it. Text or call you to talk about anything else, even if just to hear your voice and have your presence? No, he has a feeling that would drive him even further up the tree he's chased himself up; he's sitting, tapping his foot like you were earlier when he should've been able to answer you normally, his apartment is dead silent, his dick's half-hard in his sweatpants and he doesn't know what to do.

You probably weren't even serious. If he was smart, he would've jacked off in the shower and called it a night.

But he likes you. More than you realize—more than you can realize, because he's always stone-faced, no-bullshit, hard-ass Akutagawa and he doesn't know how to be anything else, even when you're around and ecouraging him to loosen up. You can't possibly realize how much you've done for him in terms of easing his anxiety over always being good enough, in terms of helping him understand his humanity, in terms of making him feel like a real person.

He suddenly feels like he's on a tightrope of keeping you close and messing it all up, and whichever way he decides to fall will inevitably bring unending frustration that he could've done something different, something better.

And maybe this is an opening. Or a pinnacle that his relationship with you was doomed to come to. Either way, he can't sit in his apartment. Marching forward, like he always does—no matter how hesitantly—he slips his jacket on and shoves his keys in his pocket before he's heading for the elevator.

It's not until he's staring at the interface of buttons that he decides between launching himself to the ground for a long walk along the port or punching in your floor.

And you're so close—your back's arching, your jaw hangs slack, you're spilling water down the side of the tub that pools on the floor, but you'll worry about it later—when you hear manic pounding coming from your hallway. Maybe it's not yours, you think, screwing your eyes shut and working your fingers back and forth in tight circles around your clit because you want it, damn it, but your apartment's so damn big that it's almost impossible to conceive of it being for anyone else.

"One minute!" you shout, rising out of the water with grumbling breath to wrap yourself in a towel and blow all your candles out in one swipe. But whoever it is doesn't hear you, or doesn't care—the harsh knocking pattern booms again, and you almost trip over your pile of discarded work clothes as you fumble out of the bathroom wondering what could possibly be so important, and on account of who, that they had to interrupt your first hour of alone time all day, not to mention when you were so deliciously close to an orgasm you'd been working yourself up to with painstaking care. You'd even edged yourself a little, just because you figured you had time; you would've gotten it over with if you'd have known you were on call, but here you are, unsatisfied and stomping to your door, about to crack it open and take whatever orders were about to be unloaded onto you with a smile and can-do attitude.

You fling the door open.

“What?”

Akutagawa’s fist is still raised to knock. You watch his eyes behind his sunglasses as they flit down to you—you in nothing but a towel—and his face breaks out in a blush you’ve never seen on him before.

If you were any less annoyed, you would’ve smirked.

“Ryuu, what?” you snap again as his hand falls to his side. Whatever it is, if someone needs backup, if it’s urgent, you wish he’d tell you already—it’s so unlike him to stand speechless that you almost want to ask if something else is going on. “Can you spit it out so I know if I should get dressed, please?”

No, he wants to croak out, but you’ll just keep barraging him with questions—all he does is fumble his way inside your apartment with please don’t get dressed on the back of his tongue and that really strange, dazed look behind his glasses. He can't even blame the alcohol from earlier—he only had one, and it's had ample time to wear off.

“Ryuunosuke—”

He freezes where he is, steely eyes locking onto yours, and his voice leaves him, hoarse. “Say that again, please.”

You look at him incredulously, scrunching your towel up beneath your fist that holds it up. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Akutagawa feels small again. This was the wrong decision. He should’ve gone for that walk. He should’ve jerked off in the shower and then went to bed and tossed and turned until he finally fell into an erratic sleep and he should not be here, he should wake up tomorrow morning, sleep-deprived and full of regret but knowing he’s safe because he didn’t go to your apartment to find you in nothing but a towel and he spared your relationship, he didn’t make it weird, and he’d look at you longingly for the rest of however long, only when you weren’t looking just so you’d never know how much agony your stupid little joke from earlier today put him in.

But you’re expecting an answer, and out of all the filthy things Akutagawa is convinced he is, he is not a liar.

His eyes fly to the ground. Your legs, knocking together from the chill of the water droplets that still cling to them.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about earlier,” he forces out. “What you said.”

You hesitate. “What I said…?” Had you said something wrong?

Great, he thinks, mouth falling open. So you weren’t serious.

“You know what, nevermind.” He shouldn’t be here. He goes to push past you, toward your still-open door, but you stop him, shutting the door and pushing a palm against his chest.

“Tell me,” you mean to say, but it sounds more like a question; his pale face flushes again, and you search him with your gaze. He seems to shrink a little more before he sighs and looks to you once more.

“If I wanted to change that I’ve never…”

You wait.

“Kissed.”

You blink, cock your head.

“Or fucked anyone.”

Your hand lets up on his chest, and you find yourself taking a step back—little, but it sends your partner reeling into self-doubt all over again.

“You want…” You speak, quietly, with less urgency than you have thus far. “You wanna fuck me?”

And Akutagawa’s nodding, more frantically than his pride would prefer. But he’s nodding. Not looking at you. Waiting for you to laugh and clap him on the shoulder with a yeah, as if and tell him to go home.

But your fingers slide up to curl along the side of his neck. When his eyes are still downcast, you cup his jaw in your palm.

“Ryuu, look at me.”

Here it comes. The big rejection. He’s ready. He’ll go home and punch a hole in his wall, but he’s ready to hold it together right now.

His eyes drift to yours again, still cold and nervous, like a dog’s when it’s about to bite.

But you smile, trace your thumb along his bottom lip, and whisper.

He has no idea how much you mean what you're saying next.

“I wish you would’ve just led with that.”

It’s like bombs are about to detonate in his brain. He knows what he should do next—he should kiss you, he should throw himself at you and let your tongue between his lips, but part of the reason why he’s here is because he never has, and he trusts you to show him—just what kind of weak has he become, trusting someone with their teeth so close to his throat? It doesn’t matter because he wants it, he just wants you to—

“Show me, please.”

To his displeasure, you don't latch onto him like a hungry animal. Instead, your fingers drift down to his and wind between them; you lead him past the couch to your bedroom, sit him down, and pull your towel a little tighter around you. He wants it off, he wants to see you—even if the thought of sitting naked himself, in front of you, makes his stomach flip, he wants nothing more than to tear the towel away, get to exploring the ways you like to be touched, hear sounds from you he's never heard before.

"Ryuu," you say, one hand on his shoulder. "Be sure you want this."

"I do," he squeaks out, hardly ever having heard his own voice so meek.

"Tell me. Say it."

"I want it," his words follow yours seamlessly, without another thought. He's already established in his mind that he trusts you. But he's still sort of waiting for you to start chuckling and tell him this is a big joke; his hands tremble as you stare, digging for uncertainty, but you don't find any. So as you hold your towel against you, you crawl carefully onto his lap, astride his waist.

And now, he has you. Between his fingers. They find the curve of your waist as you curl an arm around the back of his neck after you work the jacket off from around his shoulders, tear his glasses off, push his soft bangs from his face. Akutagawa looks at you with so much wonder, so much need; you set your weight on him, and you feel him, and his nails grip your ass through the towel.

"Please, don't be gentle," he whispers when your lips hover immediately over his. He can feel your breath, warm and inviting, as the tip of your nose brushes past his.

You smile into his mouth and wrap your other arm around him.

You let the towel fall as you kiss him.

Hot, slow.

And the bombs go off all at once. Before the towel can pool over his hands he's batting it to the floor, scooting back onto your mattress to accomodate you; he wants to shut his eyes but you grind down against him through his pants as your lips mold against his and he’s probably never felt so alert in his life. Akutagawa gasps in a certain way, another sound he's never heard himself make; when your fingers tangle into the hair at the back of his head, he groans, grips your waist, and his eyes melt shut, finally.

You kiss him until he's putty, and he follows your lead; you grab his wrists and guide his hands to your chest, which has his eyes flying open all over again as he feels his fingerpads twitch over your nipples. You work him onto his back, easing him down with your tongue against his, so warm, so wet; your teeth, harsh in his bottom lip, where your thumb stroked so tenderly before, force his hips in a circle, and, oh, god, you have him losing it already, completely helpless, completely breathless.

You pull back, grinning, before grabbing for the buttons on his shirt.

"This okay?"

It's not okay, it's insane. His pants are too tight. He's never needed someone like this. And you look so angelic above him waiting for him to nod, give you a small yes, before you work him out of his shirt next, taking care to trace every ridge and valley of his ribs and abdomen as you do. He shivers when it's gone, discarded with his jacket and glasses; his arms come to cover himself but you trace those, too, the dips in his lean muscle and severities of his shoulders, collarbones, elbows, wrists. Just as he thinks he might feel too vulnerable, you start mapping him out with a softness he's never felt before; he wants to sink into it, keep it forever. If he wasn't so painfully hard, he might not even need to fuck you; just laying, relaxing into the sheets beneath him as you look at him like he's beautiful, is a heaven of its own.

"You're so pretty, Ryuu," you mutter. You hunch to bite the juncture of his throat and shoulder, then soothe it with a kiss. "So, so fucking pretty. You know that?"

Akutagawa shudders again. "I told you not to be gentle."

You bite him once more, grinding your bare cunt along his clothed cock, and a groan throttles from his chest. After doing the same to the opposite side of his neck, your lips meet his again, and he forgets about shielding himself in favor of letting his hands rock you back and forth against him.

You feel him twitch below you as you work him into nothing but impatient breath and swollen lips; your irritation from not reaching your climax earlier doubles back on you in a wave of arousal, and you’re guiding him out of his pants and boxers at the same time, and thank god that’s all that’s left and that you’re so turned on already because when the tip of his pale cock hits his abs, all you can think about is sinking down onto it, feeling it fill you up and pulse inside you.

But you wait, looking at him low-lidded and asking him, “You want me on top, or you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses, twisting a leg into the bend of your knee at his side; you’re not weak by any means, but in one smooth movement he’s got you on your back, pinned down by your wrists. “If you’re going to be gentle, then I won’t.”

Wasting no time. You almost giggle but you’re gasping, his eagerness streamlining into a searing kiss to your mouth and one of his rough hands snaking down to collect the wetness pooling between your thighs.

He knows he should touch you. He knows that much. He wants to know—

“Where? Tell me where,” he growls into your mouth, and you guide him by his wrist and fingers once again to draw tight circles over your clit—ones that make you arch, and after feeling how you do it he burns it into his brain, the movement you’re guiding him through that sends your head lolling onto the pillow. Akutagawa’s eyes widen. He could watch your expression replay for hours.

“That’s it,” you encourage him, breathy, letting him go as he memorizes your rhythm. “Feels so good.”

You bring your two wet fingers up to his mouth, which he accepts without hesitance; his tongue swirls around them and you realize how serious he is—he doesn’t want it slow and you’re losing your resolve against him and you think you need him in you, right now.

He stills when you reach for his cock, dark hair swaying as his gaze trails your hand; he sits back, heaving, as he rubs you, as you stroke him and smear a pathetically large bead of precum across his tip and down his length. Trying desperately not to stop, to keep making you feel good, he throws his head back when you squeeze just beneath the head of his cock and pull him back toward you by his shoulder.

“Wan’ you to fuck me, Ryuu,” you whine, lining him up with your weeping hole. He’s pushing in with hardly a second thought, and, oh—he’s groaning in yet another way he’s never heard before, watching himself disappear into you, bracing himself on your forearms until he fills you up to hilt. So wet, so warm. He hardly realizes how ragged his breath is until he hears your own.

You squirm, and after he presses another series of messy kisses to your lips to stifle the noises of pleasure leaving him that would be so humiliating if he wasn’t so drunk on you, you hold him by his chin and look so deeply into his eyes that he’s afraid for a second you’re doing that thing where you look right through him into his very soul, but your mouth is forming around words that he must hear, he must hang onto, you have to tell him what to do, and you do—

“Don’t be gentle.”

So he isn’t. He moves, on nothing but your words and intuition and the way you clench around him; there’s virtually no resistance when he pulls out, slams back in, pulls out, slams back in—and he loses himself in it so quickly, so noisily.

“Unh—fuck—” Your name leaves his lips like a song that has you linking your ankles behind his back as he writhes, pounds into you—and you understand all over again, he wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t want it slow. And neither do you, you realize, now that he’s dragging his perfect cock along your insides so deliciously.

He realizes something too, as he falls to his elbows and buries his open mouth into your neck; that he never wants anyone else to hear the sounds either of you are making ever again. He doesn't care that you're more experienced than him, or that your relationship is irrevocably changed now that this is happening; you're going to be the first and last person that ever hears him moaning like this, that ever has him blushing from face to chest at the lewd sounds that your bodies emit where they meet and then part each time he pistons in and out of you. You’re clawing at him, raking tracks down his back and biceps that spur him to a pace he didn’t know he was capable of—he can’t wait to see them in the mirror tomorrow when the rawness has left and they’re angry red, a testament to how quickly he’s learning you, how quickly you’re both falling apart, how much he thinks he loves you.

Yeah, he thinks he loves you—it’s muffled by your skin, but he’s saying it, he can’t help it, he can’t keep it in his lungs if he’s going to keep this pace up.

“Love you, Ryuu,” you echo, and he echoes you right back like he didn’t start it.

“Love you.” Thrust. “Love you.” Thrust. “Love you—mmh!”

"My good boy," you croon when he reaches down to touch you, to feel you squeezing him down on him. Your good boy. You could turn him into a whore if you kept saying that.

"My name, please," he breathes, high-pitched, almost wheezing; you hold him as close to your body as you can, shortening his unstoppable thrusts against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, pushes rhythmic moans from your throat, and his hands are all over you, begging for it in his rough grips that undulate into soft caresses back to harsh nails back to gentle strokes.

"Ryuunosuke—" you choke out, "Don't—" Gasp. "—fucking—" Gasp. "—stop!"

The most gorgeous strand of strained moans, gasps, and growls leave him as his head batters insatiably against your cervix; he’s falling off that tightrope, and you’re catching him, all his shaking fingers and trembling thighs that still momentarily before he can warn you, before he can tell you—

"Cum in me," you sigh as you feel him, feel yourself breaking, coming undone as he forces his sounds down your throat; you swallow them all, crying out against his lips as he bites you, furrows his brow, pulls back to bore into your clouded gaze—he's sure he looks the same if not worse, more unraveled, mouth open, lips wet, when you arch back and pull him flush against you and he's cumming, taking you for every last bit you'll give him until you're hypersensitive, fluttering around him, helping him make a sticky mess beneath the both of you as his head falls forward again, into your shoulder, restless, groaning with aftershock, until his lips meet yours and he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you, neither of you ready to come down yet.

But soon enough you're reduced to exhausted writhing, slow bites, fingers through his hair and he's spent—pleasantly so. Weak, not in the way he feels after he's been brought to his knees by a formidable foe but in a way he will not be content to part with; a comfortable resignation that he could make a home in.

Akutagawa wraps himself around you, and you kick the blanket at your feet up until you can pull it over his shoulders and tuck your nose into his forehead.

"Still kind of don't believe you've never done that before," you think out loud, voice a little absent from how you’ve been sobbing for him.

And Akutagawa finds himself smiling into your skin. He sounds just as much of a wreck. "Never. Not until now."

It was good. Not only was it good, but you can feel him softening inside you, and you want him to stay.

"Meant it, by the way."

Then he looks up at you, quizzically. That strange, dazed look is in his eyes again.

But you just look back at him. Push his bangs back, mirror his tired smile. Wipe the drying sheen of sweat from across his brow.

When it clicks, he's buried in your neck again. Grumbling. "I meant it, too."

You hug yourself impossibly tighter around him, muttering his name, rolling you both to your sides where you cup his face once more, pressing smooches all over him, less heated and more playful, and Akutagawa scrunches his nose as you pepper him and start mumbling in between—

"Love you. Love you. Love you."

He catches you in your tirade and kisses you like you first kissed him—slow, deep. His own love you whispered, almost imperceptible. He'll stay. "Thank you. Love you."

Like he never knew he was capable of loving. He’s not uncomfortable. For once. For real. You caught him when he was falling. He hopes you’ll keep doing it.

But right now, he only has one more question.

"Do you have any cigarettes?"

You reach across him, over to your nightstand. “Who do you think I am?”

My angel, he thinks in response as you nudge the filter between his lips to light it. You, in control, let him puff before you steal it for yourself.

And he’s yours. The Port Mafia’s ferocious Hellhound is your good boy, your angel.

You’ll love him until he believes it.

#csm reference #kinktober? you thought.#vanillatober.#couldn’t help it with him i need to love him til he loves himself #i should’ve picked someone else if i wanted it to be nasty that’s my b you guys #akutagawa smut #akutagawa x reader #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #nnnsfw.ᐟ #kinktober 2024 #with love—reid #mdni

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cheriecoke · 2 years ago

Text

i miss when we first met

FEATURING. dazai osamu x f!reader & f!reader x chuuya nakahara — wc: 15.1k

SUMMARY: you'd always been in love with Dazai, but you started to doubt that he'd ever cared for you in return. chuuya, though, had never shown you anything but true affection.

CONTENTS: nsfw 18+ ONLY, pm!dazai, pm!reader, mostly dazai x reader but…, unhealthy relationship dynamics, voyeurism, cheating, manipulation, smut, degradation, guns, angst, dazai is very bad at expressing emotions, pet names, horrible communication, unrequited (?) love, the list goes on bc they’re in the port mafia just be warned

note: this took me like 4 months to finish & i am so so nervous to post it lmao. i wanted to write something different & this is very outside my comfort zone! :) but it's dazai's birthday so i figured i might as well share it today

You rolled onto your side away from Dazai, still breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

Beside you, he had shifted onto his forearms, moving up against the headboards to sit up straight. The covers fell off of him, revealing the marks that you’d left all over his body, the scars from a life lived in the mafia.

Under the red silk sheets, you were silent, your head settling into the pillow as you stared at him.

He’d deny it, but he was beautiful, a tempting, alluring creature that you couldn’t get enough of.

But you also knew Lucifer had once been God’s most beautiful angel, and it only made sense that Dazai Osamu would hold the same kind of exquisiteness.

Dazai closed his eyes, rolled his neck as he leaned back, stretching out all of the stiff muscles. He didn’t touch you again, kept a distance as he wiped the sweat that had dried on his forehead, the fluids that had stained the sheets between you.

He used to talk to you, after something so intimate. Used to hold you in his arms and trace your skin with a gentleness you didn’t know he possessed. He hadn’t always been cruel when he fucked you, hadn’t always put his own needs before yours.

Of course, Dazai had never loved you. That was something you were certain of in your very core. But he’d held at least some shred of respect for you before becoming the head of the Port Mafia. Now, you didn’t think he saw you as anything more than a means to an end.

It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter that Dazai spoke to you minimally when you two weren’t alone, that everyone in the Port Mafia knew you were nothing more than the woman who slept in his bed.

It didn’t matter because you loved him. You’d stood by his side since the beginning, since he’d recruited Chuuya, since he’d lost Oda.

Since he’d killed Mori.

You’d been with him through all of it, seen every horrid side to him, and you’d never once wanted to escape. Dazai had his claws in you, and he had them in deep. The thought of being anywhere but with him had never crossed your mind.

“Akutagawa told me what happened yesterday.”

You blinked, snapping out of your haze as Dazai regarded you with cool, condescending eyes. He was peering at you from over his shoulder, picking his dark button-up off the floor. The skin on his back was red from scratches, the lines dragging through his taut skin.

“Did he?” you said, looking down at your nails. You hadn’t expected anything less. Akutagawa did everything in his power to get exaltation from Dazai. “I’m sure his report was thorough.”

Dazai’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, a darkened tint flashing in them. “That’s all you have to say?”

His voice was unamused, icy, and it reminded you that no matter how many times you crawled into his bed, let him use you however he wanted, he was still your boss. He was Dazai Osamu, the man whom everyone in Yokohama feared.

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.” Your gaze twisted away from him, unable to meet his hardened expression completely. “I was distracted. It was my fault entirely.”

Dazai made a noise in the back of his throat as he moved out of the bed. He sauntered across the room, so quietly and cat-like, and you buried yourself deeper into the mattress, wanting to sink into it completely.

“You’re lucky, then, that Akutagawa was able to deflect the bullets.” He began replacing the bandages that had slipped off of his face, covering his cheek with disgust.

He let you see him completely when it was just the two of you. It took every ounce of your self-control not to read into that, to wonder if it was just a habit leftover from when you were younger.

“I am lucky.”

Truthfully, you’d only hesitated for half of a second, momentarily lost in your own loop of suffering, and your opponent had gotten an edge on you. They’d shot at you, then the bomb, nearly prematurely blowing up the building.

“After decades of work, I would’ve thought you’d know better by now.” Dazai sighed wearily, like your presence irritated him. It probably did. “I’ll consider moving you. I’m sure there’s a place for you where you can’t get yourself killed if you fuck up.”

“Dazai—” you swallowed, a horrid tasting stinging your mouth as you remembered your time with him had come to an end. He was back to being Mori’s underling, the man who looked at the city like it was nothing but a chessboard. “Boss,” you remedied quickly, all too used to addressing him differently. It was difficult, sometimes, to recognize where Dazai began, and the Port Mafia’s boss ended. “It was a stupid error. In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever done something like that before?”

Dazai hesitated momentarily, before tensing his shoulders. He didn’t answer your question. “Don’t let it happen again.” A warning was in his eyes when they met yours through the mirror. “I don’t have the patience to find a replacement for you, and Akutagawa’s too valuable an asset to lose to a seasoned professional’s careless mistake.”

You exhaled, looking back down at your hands. The ones that had already been stained in so much blood, wrought with crime and bad intent. “Understood.”

You finally climbed out of the bed, missing the warmth that it gave you, even though Dazai’s cold body always sucked it away. He laid so stiffly next to you most of the time. You remembered when he used to sleep with his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

As you dressed, Dazai kept his eyes on his work, never paying you any attention. You felt discarded, useless, and you wanted to hate him, wanted to hate yourself for longing to wrap your arms around him, hug him from behind.

“I’ll send you with Chuuya tomorrow,” he said, scanning reports and assignments that he’d thrown aside lazily last night. “An easy assignment outside of Yokohama. Think you can manage that?”

“Just give me the job.” You snatched the paper out of Dazai’s hand, and he didn’t say a word, only watched as you perused it. It was, really, the simplest task he’d given you in the past few weeks. You’d felt like he’d been overworking you just to avoid you. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

Dazai’s smile widened, sinister, and wicked. He brushed his hand delicately over your shoulder, against your neck before patting you on the head. “I trust you won’t let me down.”

Going against every sensible atom in your being, you smiled wearily. His minimal display of affection warmed you, a deep pang settling in your soul. “Have I ever?”

“No.” He held a sort of awed fascination, twisting a part of your hair between his fingers. “How lucky someone must be to be my greatest enemy. To get the kiss of death from an angel is not such a bad way to die.”

He held your cheek in his delicate fingers, and you were putty in his hands, wishing that his eyes would soften, even by a fraction. That his hand would cup around his cheek like he meant it.

Instead, he pulled away, and you felt cold, cold, cold, drowning in your own emptiness.

You scoffed, trying to regain some power in the situation. “I’m no angel.”

“Hm,” Dazai hummed, dropping his head in his hands, resuming a spot behind the desk, the deep red chair much too similar to the one in his office, the one that Mori had inherited from the previous boss. “Perhaps not to others.”

And you grew hot, feeling that, maybe, Dazai was giving you a compliment.

It was at times like these that you saw the semblance of your previous relationship. When you could tease him without feeling the weight of his superior rank looming over you. When you could kiss him without tasting venom. When you didn’t have to wonder if it would be appropriate to touch him, or if you should keep your distance.

You wanted to quit him. Really, you did.

He was a horrible, loathsome person.

You’d never be able to stop loving him.

“I could never be any sort of heavenly creature, Dazai. My spot in hell was sealed the moment I sided with the Devil.”

Dazai laughed, the sound raw and dry, so humorless. “I hope you don’t mean me. Flattery will get you nowhere,” he tsked, the tip of his tongue scratching against the back of his white teeth.

You certainly hadn’t meant that as a compliment.

“Should I say goodbye before I leave?” you asked wryly, doubting that he’d even want to see you again. His image burned against the back of your eyelids, and you drank him in, hoping that when you died, his face would be the last thing you saw.

Dazai didn’t grace you with a simple yes or no. Instead, he glanced up briefly, his one eye exposed, mere centimeters of skin uncovered. “Goodbye.”

You nodded; lips pressed tightly together as you accepted the dismissal. With a sigh, you were out of the room, wondering why you hadn’t just showered before you left. Most of your clothes were in Dazai’s closet anyway.

You didn’t see him again before you left.

The assignment Dazai had given you was a few cities over, a task of infiltrating an enemy organization who’d gotten a little too close to the Mafia’s boundaries. It was simple enough, especially with Chuuya at your side, though the whole ordeal had you away from home for a weekend, and far too much time with your own thoughts.

Dazai had set the two of you up in a suite, one with two separate bedrooms and a shared living space. It was much more luxurious than you even needed, with a view overlooking the entire city and an extensive bar in the kitchen. The furniture was a deep, black leather, every accent dark in color.

It was conspicuous, but you’d grown too used to extravagance after being with Dazai. You allowed yourself to indulge in it.

A silly notion, really; the place you slept every night was much more lavish.

You scrubbed the blood off your face, your hands, and stared at yourself in the mirror without recognizing the person before you. The water at the bottom of the shower was a macabre shade, staining the tiles as it swirled down the drain.

Shivering, you tried to reconcile all of the things you’d done, shelve them away before you could wonder if all of it was really worth it. If Dazai was really worth it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, your skin rubbed raw, Chuuya was sitting at the bar, a freshly cracked bottle of wine before him. His back was tense, muscles strained as he regarded you with weary eyes, the darker shade under them obvious and alarming.

“Took you long enough,” Chuuya snorted, pouring himself a glass. The bottle was aged and dark, the label faded. He must have brought it along with him; it certainly hadn’t come from the hotel. “I was getting bored.”

You made a face, taking the seat beside him. “Well, there was a lot of blood.” You reached over to snatch the bottle, pressing it to your lips before he could protest.

“Help yourself, then,” His expression was sour, but his acerbic tone held a hint of amusement. “Do you know how expensive that is?”

“No.” You shrugged, taking a sip. Money had stopped meaning anything to you a long time ago. “Should I care?” The liquid warmed your throat on the way down.

“Probably not. You’ve surely got enough cash behind you to buy me another one.”

“Right.” You snorted and wondered how much of that stuff you’d have to drink before you’d stop feeling a thing. Thoughts of the crumbling bond that you and Dazai shared wouldn’t leave you alone. “And you don’t?”

Chuuya laughed, twirling the glass in his gloved hand. There was a hardened edge to him that you didn’t like. Opposed to Dazai, Chuuya had always been much more open with you, more willing to share his thoughts. “Well, we can’t all be Dazai’s favorite. You’ve got the keys to the kingdom, my dear. Whatever belongs to the Mafia belongs to you too.”

“Favorite?” You spat out the word, darkening at the mention of Dazai, the man who never seemed to leave your brain. It was always Dazai, Dazai, Dazai. The youngest executive there had ever been, the one who’d become the head of the Port Mafia just a few years later.

You hated him. Wished you could burn the memory of that haunted man entirely.

“Hm?” Chuuya leaned forward like he hadn’t heard you.

A bitter flavor blossomed on your tongue when you thought of saying his name out loud. “I don’t want to talk about Dazai right now.”

You brought the bottle to your lips again; it was starting to feel lighter.

“Why?” Chuuya’s eyes dimmed as he stared at you, looking for something hidden in your irises. A secret that wouldn’t be there. You’d always been too easy to read. “Did something happen?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about Dazai, and you immediately think something’s wrong?”

He blinked. Hesitated. “Well, I spent my teenage years listening to you talk about him like a lovesick fool. The subsequent years watching him stare at you in the same way.” He took the bottle away from you, tipping his head back. “Something must be wrong.”

You felt a flush at your neck, the skin itching with sweat. It was cruel of Chuuya to allude to any emotions from Dazai, when you knew they weren’t there. “That’s not true.”

Chuuya sighed. “Isn’t it?”

Although his temper had always been much worse than yours, you felt the same sort of anger claw at your back. The urge to scream at him became almost insuppressible. “Dazai doesn’t care about me like that.” You flopped down on the bar, alcohol fuzzing the edges of your senses. It felt nice, warm.

Maybe being away from the Port Mafia was better for you than you thought.

“Don’t be stupid.” Chuuya’s eyes had narrowed when your head fell forward, his fist clenching around the bottle.

“Stupid?” You immediately sat up, blood rushing straight to your head. Who was Chuuya to come and tell you everything he thought he knew? It was laughable, really. “He doesn’t care, and I think I’d know. Fuck you, Chuuya.”

You slammed your fist down on the table, hurt. You didn’t understand why Chuuya would side with Dazai when he knew how much the situation troubled you. How often had you bared your soul to him, told him how Dazai’s aloofness had hurt you over and over again?

His eyes softened, an apology immediately leaving his lips. “I’m sorry—”

“Are you?” The words were vehement. Chuuya was shamelessly against your relationship with Dazai, always coming up with one reason or another to get you out of it. Now, it seemed, he was trying to defend it. “Dazai cares or he doesn’t. You can’t keep changing your mind based on the situation.”

“Dazai does care.” Chuuya said the words like they pained him to leave his mouth, each one dragging a dagger against his chin. “You think he’d keep you around if he didn’t?”

You did. You knew that you had use outside of Dazai’s feelings, just like Chuuya, just like Akutagawa. Just like every menial grunt who had a shred of value for the Mafia.

“He cares that I have value to him.” A sigh left your lips, and you sunk your chin onto your palm, feeling like nothing more than the dramatic woman in a Shakesperian tragedy. Really, you couldn’t remember when you’d become so pathetic. “What will become of me when I can’t sink a bullet into the skull of his enemies anymore?”

Chuuya frowned, the wrinkles deepening on his forehead. “No one can predict what Dazai will do.” He let you steal his half-full glass of wine, keeping the bottle safely tucked away from you. “Would it make much difference to you if we could?”

“I suppose not.” You’d grown tired, the subtle buzz of alcohol coming in quick on your empty stomach. “Nothing matters much anymore. I’ll never leave the Port Mafia.” Saying the words out loud made it more real than you’d intended, even though it was a fact that had sunk deep into your bones the day you’d met the dark-haired, suicidal bastard. “Why do I have to love him, Chuuya? Why can’t I love a good man?”

You thought, why can’t I love you instead, and left it unsaid. The words might have been too cruel. You knew the pain of unrequited emotions.

“Because you’re in the Port Mafia. Good men would know to stay away.” Chuuya drummed his fingers against the countertop before reaching out, contemplative. Though you remained unmoving in your seat, his hand still retracted before he touched you, as if burned. There was caution in his movements, every action calculated—Chuuya was usually the opposite, as intelligent as he was. “Besides. You’ve never tried to let Dazai go. You don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you said defensively, though even to your own ears, the statement was weak. Dazai was an addiction, and you’d go back to him time and time again. Even when, sometimes, you weren’t so sure there was anything good about him. “I just don’t know how. What would I do out there in the world without Dazai?” You laughed, amused. A normal life didn’t seem possible—you’d have no idea where to start.

Chuuya’s face pinched in disgust. “Take over the Port Mafia. Kill him and run it yourself.” He huffed, running a hand over his eyes, exhausted. “There’s a solution. If you really want to get rid of him.”

You blinked back at him. A moment passed; you’d forgotten he was looking for a response.

“I suspected as much.” His shoulders slumped, defeated, as you drew back in shame. “How long will you talk yourself into this endless cycle of torment? Dazai isn’t the same man that you fell in love with, and he never will be again.” He met your eyes, cold and guarded. “There’s nothing to be done about that. If you want Dazai so badly, put up with every single part of him. I’m tired of listening to the same grievances, time and time again.”

Chuuya made to stand, but you stopped him, grabbing his wrist lightly. He glared at you from over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to convey your apology sincerely. “You’re completely right. I’ve never tried to let Dazai go, and maybe I can.”

You didn’t give Chuuya time to formulate a response. Before he could understand what was happening, you leaned forward, catching him off guard, and planted your lips on his.

For one singular moment, Chuuya had kissed you back, tasting your mouth in its entirety, before he shoved you away, scrubbing his skin like he’d been burned.

“Don’t do that.” He had a hand in your face, scolding you like a child. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

You stared at him; his dark eyes were full of an emotion you had never seen before. “Why not? You said I should try to let him go.”

“Not by kissing me, fucking hell.” Chuuya hissed, his voice just above a whisper like someone else was listening in. Something vile had been unleashed in him as he gesticulated around wildly. “You’re Dazai’s.” He scoffed. “Do you think any smart man would do anything with you, knowing you sleep in that monster’s bed every night?”

You sniffed, sticking your jaw out. Maybe, you’d been wrong all this time. Chuuya was like everyone else, wasn’t he? Holding you at a distance because you cared for the wrong person.

“I’m not leaving the Mafia. I’m not leaving Dazai.” You reached across the table, grabbing one of his cold hands. “I just want to be someone else for once. To know what it’s like for someone to care about me so completely.”

“It’s not going to be with me.” Chuuya yanked his hand away, laughing mirthlessly. “I never thought you’d try to manipulate me like this. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.”

Your eyes flashed, infuriated. Chuuya looked at you with some kind of betrayal, like he wasn’t the exact same way, like he wasn’t the same kind of vile person that you were. “I know you’re in love with me, Chuuya. I know you’ve looked at me since we were sixteen years old, wished so badly I would look at you the same way.”

His jaw clenched, the anger giving way to something else. “Don’t start.”

“You’ve wanted me all this time, haven’t you?” It was a genuine question; one you’d always been too scared to voice. Chuuya was the only person you considered to be a friend and knowing that he felt that way about you would ruin your friendship completely.

Though you had one sip too much of alcohol running through your veins, and you’d spent two days wondering how you could stop feeling a single thing for Dazai. Rationality had left you entirely.

Chuuya was silent, still watching you with hesitance.

“You’re the only person in the Mafia who really cares about me, aren’t you?” you said, softer, wondering if you could lure him in. Spring him into a trap you’d both be certain to regret in the morning. “You’re the one who talks to me about everything, who watches out for my well-being. Who’s never looked at me like I was anything but the prettiest girl in the world.”

And though Chuuya still didn’t trust your actions, his eyes had softened just a hair, his body releasing the tension. “You are.”

You smiled, but his compliment made you feel nothing but guilt. “Then why won’t you let me kiss you, Chuuya?”

“Because.” He scraped a hand over his face, breathing heavily like it was taking every ounce of his willpower to resist you “Dazai will kill me, you understand? He’ll kill you.”

“Wouldn’t you at least like to know?” You invaded his personal space. Each word you spoke cracked him a little bit more. “I know you’ve imagined me spread out before you, entirely exposed to you. How I��d look with my hips arching off the bed, crying out your name—”

“Stop it.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You felt like you were losing your mind. Something had cracked in you, and you couldn’t come back from it. Things would never go back to the way they were after those careless words had been tossed into the world. “You’ve always wanted me, so why, when I’m giving myself to you completely, won’t you accept?”

Chuuya swallowed. His voice had grown thick with desire. He raked his eyes over you cautiously. “You’re asking a lot from me, baby.” He held your cheek, grazing the bone in the gentle way that Dazai had forgotten. “Believe me, I want to. But you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I haven’t,” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. The touch of another person felt so nice against your icy skin. “I’m okay. I’m not drunk.” You weren’t—the alcohol had just made you brave enough to ask. “Please, Chuuya.”

He swallowed thickly. “He’ll kill me.”

“And he’ll kill me. Just as you said.” You met his eyes completely, wondering why you couldn’t care for this man in the same way, why his lips weren’t as alluring as Dazai’s, why his voice didn’t set a blaze deep in your stomach. “Do you really care whether Dazai thinks of me as his?”

His cheeks were flushed, eyebrows pinched, and you spotted the moment he began to draw back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t.”

Then, you panicked, eyes becoming glassy as he released you, turning to retreat back to his bedroom, and you scrambled for another way, a way to bring him back to you.

“Chuuya, please,” you said, desperation in every syllable, and when he turned around, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. “I just want to know what it’s like with a person who loves me. Can’t you give me that?”

That was it. That was all you had to say. When Chuuya bowed his head, you knew he’d given in.

“Why do you think I can give you what he can’t?” Chuuya’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m not that kind of man. I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for.”

“No,” you said. “You’re not that kind of man. You’re Chuuya. The only person that’s always been there for me.”

He hesitated, momentarily, before sweeping you into his arms, his touch the softest you’d ever felt. “Are you certain that you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if Dazai kills me.” Chuuya spoke into your mouth, carving the words into your aching heart. “You were always going to be the death of me, anyway.”

His lips were upon you again, kissing you with the hunger of a starved man, and you gave him back as much as you could, which was the despair of a lonely woman. His touch was one of loving hands as guided you back into the bedroom tenderly.

When your back hit the bed, he asked if you were okay, asked if everything was comfortable. The concern in his eyes had rarely been seen in Dazai’s own—you couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken care of you first.

“I’m fine, Chuuya,” you promised again and again, and you smiled, caressing the soft skin of his jaw.

His lips pulled back in return, and then your shirt was thrown over your head, carelessly tossed towards the corner of the room. Though, no matter how many articles of clothing you lost, the necklace that Dazai had given you still rested against your collarbone.

You cupped your palm around it, trying to avert Chuuya’s gaze as he stared down at the precious metal, something conflicting in his cool irises.

“It’s okay,” you said, doing your best to distract him. You wouldn’t take the necklace off. It didn’t matter how much Dazai had hurt you; you needed the reminder of the absolute infidelity you were committing. “Keep going.”

Feeling more anxious than you had before, you kissed Chuuya, trying to dispel the bile that gathered in the back of your throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chuuya said, kissing every inch of your face, his hands hovering over your chest. “I could look at you forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough.”

Chuuya’s sentiments warmed you, but words weren’t enough. You pulled his vest off, then the buttoned-shirt and every other intricate article of clothing he wore.

It felt wrong. His height was wrong. His skin felt too warm under your palm.

“When did you fall in love with me?” you asked, breathing heavily. Desire pooled in your abdomen against your will, your own heart betraying you. Still, it was nothing more than the most basic reaction of human nature, raw and primal, unaffected by the organ that was jailed within your ribcage.

Chuuya was surprised by the question, and he paused, his face just inches above your stomach. “I think I realized when I was seventeen.” He huffed out a laugh, inhaling your perfume. “It was the first time I saw Dazai kiss you. I thought I was going to be sick.” He continued kissing down your body, sliding your pants past your hips. “I’d always wanted you. I guess I just didn’t realize until then.”

You exhaled, feeling tears spring to the corners of your eyes, ones you suppressed.

Dazai had given you flowers that day. You remembered how they smelled, the rainy spring breeze. The way the sun reflected in his brown irises, melting them into candied honey that brightened his entire complexion.

“Then take me, Chuuya. If you’ve wanted me for so long, then fuck me like you mean it.”

His dark eyes flashed, but his gentle caresses never turned rough, never sped through a single moment you had together. You smiled, your expression peaceful and open when he finally slid your panties off, your cunt throbbing as his finger brushed against your swollen clit.

Chuuya took his time with you, singing praises that you hadn’t heard in a long time, and you came once around his slender fingers, the ones that were much less skilled at knowing every place you enjoyed being touched.

When he finally sunk inside you, you still felt empty, unfulfilled. You tried to lose yourself in his mouth, in the taste of wine and Chuuya, and dug your fingers into his back.

“Feel so good around me, baby.” Chuuya whispered into your skin, imprinting the words into your neck. He was careful not to leave any marks, though he wanted to, wanted to claim you as his own. “Taking me so well.”

You tugged on his hair as he kissed down your collarbone, between your breasts, his breath hot and heavy. Though you cried out, you kept your voice quiet, still fearful that someone might hear, might know exactly what kind of betrayal you’d committed.

Chuuya thrust into you slowly, so much gentler than Dazai, hitting the spot deep inside of you that had you arching off the bed. “Fuck,” he said, choking on his own breath. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” He was full of desperation, his hands digging into your hips.

“Chuuya,” you said, holding his head between your palms.

He gave you the brightest smile in return, sad and meaningful. “I know. I can feel you squeezing me tighter. Let go for me, doll.”

His hair was just as soft, but it wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t short enough. His kiss didn’t feel the same, and you felt tears blurring your vision as you realized you’d never wanted him, you only wanted Dazai, and this was all wrong.

Still, you came around him, as he was buried deep inside you, but his name never left your lips, not even as a breathy whisper, because the one that was sitting there was Osamu.

And when he pulled out of you, you stroked him with practiced laziness, moving your hands in the way you knew Dazai liked, even though Chuuya felt so much different in your palm.

Chuuya kissed you as warmth flooded into your hand, and then he was breathing heavily, collapsing onto the bed next to you. He kissed you over and over, holding you tight, and you smiled, satisfied, because at the least, you knew this was what love felt like.

You’d never get it from the man you wanted, so you’d take it from Chuuya, even if it made you feel rotten inside.

The room smelled like sex and betrayal, and Chuuya took care of you, carried you out of the bed for a bath, and gently rinsed away the sweat and grime.

You were silent for most of the time, only reassuring him when he asked if you were alright.

For the first time, maybe you were. You imagined a future where you could learn to love Chuuya, a future where you were finally able to rid yourself of Dazai and start over again.

But it was nothing more than a delusion, a dream that would never happen. Dazai was a part of your soul. You knew that and Chuuya knew that, even as he closed his eyes next to you, the woman that would never give her love to anyone else. Your heart beat and bled for Dazai Osamu, every inch of your being meant for him. It would kill you to let him go, and if he died, you’d die right alongside him.

You turned away from Chuuya, burying your face in your hands, completely unaware that he’d left the bed to sleep in the other room.

You didn’t talk to Chuuya the next morning, not when you took a private car back to Yokohama, not when you stepped foot back onto the Mafia headquarters. Things between you had soured, just as you’d suspected, and you didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t think there was any way to go back from what had happened.

Higuchi was waiting for the two of you when you walked in the door, her blazer perfectly pressed, and her shirt tucked. She greeted you with a half-smile—gesturing towards the stairs. “The boss wants to see all of us for a meeting. He said you two would be arriving at this time.”

You nodded, and Chuuya scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand his superhuman ability to know what’s happening all of the time.”

Swallowing, you followed Higuchi, trying not to hear the foreboding nature of Chuuya’s statement.

Most high-ranking Mafia members were in attendance, with Dazai at the head of the table, the dark wooden chair beside him eerily empty and welcoming. You took a seat, and Dazai’s eyes ran over you, smoothly and hastily, before a small smile appeared on his features. “No injuries?” he said, and though his tone was professional, you could hear the slightest bit of concern.

“None,” you said, and something in your voice cracked, ever so slightly.

You were such a fool. You’d never be able to hide something like this from Dazai.

He eyed you suspiciously, before sliding his glance over to Chuuya, who was as cool as usual. His face was shadowed by his hat, hiding any evidence of a sleepless night.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, tucking his palm into his hand. “Debrief.”

Your partner gave Dazai every last detail, summarizing as best he could, and sliding in the occasional sarcastic remark as he leaned back casually in the chair. Dazai listened with boredom in his expression, drumming his fingers against the table until Chuuya’s monologue was complete.

He turned to Akutagawa, who bowed his head an immediately launched into his own assignment.

You blinked—you hadn’t realized that Akutagawa’s squad had been sent elsewhere. It made no sense for Dazai to send you with Chuuya when your own division had a separate mission.

The meeting wrapped up quickly, and the members scattered, going their own separate ways for the afternoon. Chuuya refused to meet your eye as he got up from the table, one of the last to leave the room.

As you stood, Dazai closed a hand around your wrist, his thumb brushing your pulse.

“Was the hotel alright?” he asked, his head titled curiously. “You look tired.”

You took a sharp breath.

Fuck.

“It was fine, Osamu,” you said, and when his name slipped easily from your tongue, something in him changed. He loosened the hand on your wrist before releasing it entirely, the bandaged palm falling into his lap. “Thank you.”

Dazai nodded, turning away from you, and you’d forgotten that there were still other people in the room. Akutagawa, who lingered with morbid curiosity, and his sister, who had always sort of pitied you for your tumultuous relationship, bore witness to the brief interaction.

Behind them, Chuuya stood tense, his back straight as he crossed the threshold, sparing you only a glimpse before exiting into the darkened hallway.

“Alright,” Dazai said in a hushed voice, his face schooled back into the usual, guarded expression. “I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t much of a response, and he didn’t elaborate, keeping his steely eyes ahead as some low-ranking members trudged in for a meeting with their boss. He’d be busy all afternoon, it seemed.

You swallowed, and left, knowing that it was fruitless to try and keep a secret from him.

Chuuya waited for you outside, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a contempt that hadn’t been there before, such a contrast to the loving man you had seen last night. “This changes everything, you know?”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Chuuya.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he scoffed. “I was the fool. I made my choice.” Chuuya sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I meant what I said, though. Yesterday. It was all true, and if you need anything, I’ll be here.”

You felt a chasm open in your chest, and you wished the floor would’ve swallowed you whole. You were losing everyone, it seemed, and maybe, Dazai really did have a point with his talk about suicide.

When you stepped into the bedroom, Dazai was sitting on the edge of the bed, the setting sun casting a shadow of his own reflection. He was twirling a pistol around his pointed finger, staring at the wall with blank eyes.

You shut the door quietly, your hands shaking against the golden knob.

Though you hadn’t made a sound when you walked through the door, Dazai’s gaze was on you immediately, sensing your entrance.

You’d never been able to slip past him.

“You’re back early.” Those were the first words that came to your mind, your voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. He was regarding you with disdain, his jaw set coolly. His hair turned bronze in the evening rays, loose strands scraping against the bandages.

“I am.” His jaw clenched, examining you with a singular, dark eye. You felt exposed under his gaze, laid bare for him to see no matter how much you shrouded yourself with. “You sound like you’re unhappy to see me.”

Dazai ran his finger along the trigger like he’d never held such a weapon before, the gun becoming an object of morbid fascination.

You exhaled. There was so much space between you, a distance you weren’t sure you’d ever cross again. Though you thought you knew Dazai better than anyone, in that moment, he was unreadable—a chapter of pages that had been torn out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, standing tall. Despite your nerves, you were fixated on Dazai, always drawn to him like a moth to a flame, desperate to uncover the very thing that could kill you. “I miss you every time we’re apart. You’re no stranger to my feelings.”

You could offer him that, at the very least. An undeniable truth before everything between you shattered.

Dazai stood, his dark coat billowing out behind him as he finally came to face you, suddenly seeming much taller than you remembered. And with one look, you knew that he knew. He’d always been too smart for his own good.

“I’m not certain of that any longer,” he laughed, though it was a bitter sound that clawed its way up his throat. “Why don’t you tell me the truth, instead.” Dazai stood before you with a smile that was so sweet it was almost sinister. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you did?”

You weren’t sure which one of you would blink first, caught in some deadly staring contest. Most people would’ve surrendered to him by now.

“Why?” you jutted your chin out, refusing to give in to him in any way. If you were going to die, and you were, you would make sure Dazai knew everything you’d never told him. “You already know.”

“No.” He poked the gun into your cheek, right beneath the sharp bone. He’d clicked the safety off moments before. “I want to hear you say it. You betrayed me.”

When you refused to say a word, Dazai hissed and cocked the gun. He pressed it to your temple, the metal cold against your delicate skin.

“Say it.”

You sniffed. He wasn’t giving in, and instead, stood there silently, unmoving until you finally caved. There was something about the color of his eyes. No matter how much they hardened, you still remembered the young man he used to be. The one who wasn’t quite so cold, who picked you flowers, even with blood dripping down his arm.

“Fine.” You narrowed your eyes. “I fucked Chuuya.”

Dazai blinked. Then, he started laughing. Crazily, maniacally. You saw too much of your old boss in him that it made you sick.

“Shameless.” Dazai took a step back and dropped the gun to his side.

“What?” you sneered, pressing yourself up against him, refusing to be intimidated by the man that had been yours for years. “Should I be ashamed?”

Dazai’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. “Yes,” he said, fists curling at his sides. “After everything I’ve done for you.” Dazai grew quieter, flicking a strand of hair out of your face. “Do you feel no remorse?”

“You can’t be serious. What have you done for me, Dazai?” You grew still, grabbing his wrist before he could touch you again. “You’re not upset I was with another man; you’re just upset that it was Chuuya.”

You poked him in the chest, a hot stream of air exhaling through your nose.

“I gave you everything, didn’t I?” The two of you spoke at each other, avoiding the answers, never acknowledging what the other had to say. Around and around you went, an endless circle until one of you finally conceded. “I’ve given you the world, and you still wanted more.” Dazai finally broke free of your loose grasp, stroking your cheek. “What can Chuuya give you that I can’t? I ask for nothing but honesty.”

There was no jealousy in the tone, no sorrow; it was the most genuine question he’d asked you in months. The inquiry of a man who’d lost sight of himself in the past few years, and who’d somehow, over time, forgotten what it meant to care for another.

“You gave me nothing,” you said, but somewhere along the way, your cheeks had grown wet. You’d been struck by the sudden affection in his voice, the softness harsher than a slap to the face.

He was a horrible man, the worst kind of man. Yet, you couldn’t imagine a life without him, a world where you existed alone.

The truth rested at the edge of your tongue. It wouldn’t solve much, your affection for him never had solved much, but at least he would understand.

“This was never about wanting more. I never wanted Chuuya. You’re a fool if you think that.”

Dazai was silent. You pressed on.

“I wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I’ve devoted my entire life to you. I do everything you ask.” You were breathing heavily, big gulping breaths that contained minimal oxygen. “I asked for nothing in return. Nothing but for you to care about me, and you never did.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai laughed humorlessly.

You ignored him, your confession leaving on one heavy breath, a string of words incomprehensible to your ears. “But Chuuya loves me. He always has, and he made certain I knew that.” You paused, averting your eyes. The entire city could be seen from the window over his shoulder. “He told me all of that, and you know what I thought the whole time?”

Dazai scowled.

“I wished that he was you instead. I wanted it to be you so badly, I wanted it to be you saying those things to me, kissing me like I was the most important thing in the world.” You took his wrist again, pressing the gun back to your temple. The cool metal was almost soothing against your skin. “Please, Dazai. Give me this one last thing. I’m begging you to kill me. I can’t take this any longer.”

His finger rested on the trigger.

“I want it to be you. I’ve never wanted to die at anyone’s hands but your own.” His hand felt just as it always had in your palm, his fingers much longer, but his skin so soft. It was almost comforting, how familiar he was, and you longed to be a part of him, to bury yourself deep within him and wear his skin as your own.

Dazai’s expression twitched, and you smiled at him, the taste of salty tears spilling into your mouth.

As you closed your eyes, you prepared for the noise, hoping your blood splattered on Dazai’s coat and stained it, the proof of your existence inerasable. You hoped that Dazai would grow to regret it, would realize that your love for him was close to unconditional.

But the violence never came. The cool metal fell away from your skin, and when you opened your eyes again, Dazai’s shoulders had slumped, the very image of defeat.

“Do you honestly think I can bring myself to kill you?”

“What’s the matter?” you asked, blinking your eyes open. You reached for the gun again, but he drew back, as if stung. “Afraid to lose your best assassin?”

“No.” Dazai’s eyes were hard, his frown set deep into his face. “I’m afraid to lose the woman I love. The most important person in the world to me.”

You stared. Blinked. Then, the worst kind of emotion washed over you.

You swallowed over and over, trying to get the bile out of your throat. You’d wanted to be done, wanted to escape. And yet—

“Don’t say that.” you shook your head, backing away as Dazai inched closer, too close and you felt yourself getting sucked back in, remembering that you’d loved him for years, and you’d never love anyone else. “Fuck you, Dazai. Stop toying with me, and just kill me."

“I love you. I thought you knew that my darling angel.”

You were crying harder, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you. You don’t care about me.”

“No?” Dazai had grabbed your wrist again, but it was so soft. “I thought you were smarter than that. Did you think you were partnered with Akutagawa at random, and not for the sole reason that I knew he’d do everything in his power to protect you? Did you think I moved your seat next to me at meetings because you were nothing more than my stupid whore? Bought you everything you ever wanted because I couldn’t stand you?”

“Yes,” you said, sniffing, feeling yourself melt where he touched you, itching to reach up and pull the bandages off his face, see the beautiful features beneath them that he hid from the world. “You don’t care about me."

“I do care,” he said, fingers grazing your chin. “I’ve killed for you. I took over the Port Mafia so I could give you everything you wanted. Why wasn’t that enough?”

“Because I never wanted that. I never wanted any of this. I wanted you, Dazai Osamu. That was all.”

Dazai frowned, and then he bowed his head, kissed your neck, then around your earlobe, and it was the softest you’d ever felt in your entire life, a gentleness you hadn’t known he was capable of. When his hands snaked around your stomach, pulling you back against him, you were lost in his adoration.

“You never said anything,” he said, kissing your shoulder, breaking the tension in the muscles. You were his, in every lifetime, you’d be his. “I thought you were… happy?”

“How could you think that? I’m not happy, Dazai. I’ve never been less happy.”

“Not even when I tell you that I love you?” he kissed your knuckles.

“Do you love me enough to be a better man? Do you love me enough to let me sleep in your bed and see your whole heart instead of the fragmented pieces that you sliced up just to hide?”

“Yes.” The word was resounding, resolute. “I love you enough to forgive you.”

You held him at a distance, lips falling apart easily. “But I don’t want to forgive you.”

“You will.” Dazai smiled, that irritatingly knowing smile of his that you’d fallen for in the first place. “You will because I mean it this time.”

“You never apologized,” you looked away, trying to find the strength to move. You were enraptured, in every fiber of his being. “You never will. You never do.”

“I never knew anything was wrong,” he frowned, and it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, and you had him so close that you just wanted to forget anything had ever changed. “How was I to fix it if you never told me?”

His words were full of poison, but his voice was so soft you couldn’t help but fall back into him. Perhaps, you should’ve said something. Maybe your actions had never been enough.

“How long have I been at your side, spent hours listening to your every word, even when they didn’t make sense to me? You should’ve known, Dazai. I shouldn’t have to tell you something like that.” Your words were losing their bite, and his lips quirked up, knowing that you were slowly coming back to him, clearing you of the sins you had committed.

He was hesitant, thoughtful, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. And perhaps, that was the final straw in your resistance, his gentle kiss enough to set your soul on fire.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Dazai said, his lips ghosting over yours, handing over the apology like a gift. “Won’t you give me a chance to fix it now?” It felt like a bad idea. Dazai wasn’t deserving of any more chances; you’d already given him years of second chances, had always given him the benefit of the doubt.

“You expect me to believe you’ll let us off scot-free?” you said, your face deadly close to Dazai’s. “What about Chuuya? Will you kill him in my place.”

“You’ve got me in your hand, love. If you want me to punish Chuuya, just say the word. I’ll kill him if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t. That was the farthest thing from what you wanted, but you worried that if you sounded too enthusiastic, he might just follow through with it.

Instead, you pulled him to you, grabbing the dark tie that he wore around his neck. He grinned into your lips, his saccharine smile seeming much too deadly to be all that sweet. “Do you honestly think I believe a word that you’re saying?”

“You want to,” Dazai said, curling his hand around your jaw, his fingers brushing your ear. “That’s what matters the most.” He kissed your lips, and you could taste the difference, all the love he poured into it this time. It wasn’t like kissing a statue. “It’s all true, anyway.”

You broke away, breathing. “I won’t do this anymore, Dazai.” You finally had his hand in your own, placing the gun back to your temple. “You’re not the man you once were, and you’ll never be him again.” The smile that graced your lips was sad, though it was knowing. Things were always going to end this way.

Dazai’s face wrinkled as he tried to decipher all the words you’d never spoken. “I’m not the same man, that’s true, but my affection for you has never died.” He cupped his other hand around your cheek, hesitantly keeping the gun to your temple, squinting with his head bent.

“You’re the leader of the Port Mafia, and such a ruthless man wouldn’t let a betrayal go unscathed.”

There was a wave of silence while the two of you stared at one another, sifting through the situation with hardness in your jaws, the tension palpable within the air. Dazai straightened, clarity in his irises as a smooth smile burned onto his lips.

“Is that what you want?” he said innocently. “You want to be punished for your insurrections?”

Your mouth grew dry, but you held your ground firmly, swallowing back all the uncertainty. Perhaps you didn’t want to die. Perhaps you did. You just hated the gaping hole inside of you that never seemed to leave. “I want you to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Dazai laughed, then the hilt of the gun was against your temple once more. He held your chin steady between his forefinger and thumb, regarding you with thinly veiled disgust. “You’ve never wanted that before. Not when I asked you to die alongside me, to follow me far into the afterlife.” He sighed, releasing your chin before cocking the gun. “This isn’t about death at all.”

“What—”

“You want me to claim you, is that it?” He clicked his tongue before leaning forward, sneering. “Perhaps it’s that other way around. You want everyone in the Mafia to know I belong to you, hm?’

You blinked, though you began to feel weak in the knees, the eyes that you knew so well suddenly intimidating. “I never said—” but even then, your voice wavered, unsteady and uncertain of the immediate heat that had swirled under your skin.

Dazai’s mouth curled, a gruesome smile there. “I know you better than anyone. I’ve always known exactly what you want. Even though I shouldn’t forgive you, I can’t help myself.”

You swallowed, and Dazai had taken a step forward, pushing you with him, the gun still swaying at your temple, even when the backs of your thighs hit the bed. You fell onto the mattress, and he was on top of you, his finger caressing the trigger as he collapsed.

Dazai had never scared you, not even when he was a child you’d barely known, the teenager shaped in Mori’s image. Though, now, the unreadable expression on his face was alarming you, and you wondered if all this time, you should’ve been fearful.

Still, even with your underlying hesitance, you felt a wave of desire crash over you at the sheer need in his eyes. It wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with, but there was something else there. Maybe it was the love you’d just never noticed.

“Osamu,” you said in a quiet voice, not afraid, but not confident either. Your finger brushed the point on his wrist—it was the same heartbeat you’d always recognized.

“What?” he said, taunting you menacingly as he towered above you. “You were so bold just a second ago? What happened, darling?”

Unable to do anything but blink back at him, Dazai brought his thumb to your lips, brushing it across the plump skin before dipping it into your mouth.

Unprepared, you nearly choked, eyes blown wide as you stared back at him. Though, there was a command within his eyes, and you obliged, sucking as you watched the saliva drip down to his palm. Dazai pulled it away from your mouth with an obscene pop, giving you a sweet smile from his position above you.

Despite your humiliation, you shifted your hips on the bed, bringing your thighs together to provide you with a fraction of relief. Dazai’s eyes flashed at the movement, his smirk widening with an amusement.

“You’re nothing more than a dumb slut, aren’t you?” Dazai’s hand ghosted of your stomach, settling on the inside of your thigh momentarily. You ached with need, swallowing your pride and any demands that you could make of him. “Had Chuuya all to yourself this weekend, and still expect me to fuck you senseless.”

Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth before shutting it, lips still covered in your own spit. “Osamu,” you began, attempting to diffuse the situation, to explain that what had transpired between you and Chuuya meant nothing, but he never gave you the opportunity. “It wasn’t—”

Dazai’s gaze hardened, the adoration disappearing the moment you dared to speak. His fingers deftly wrapped around your throat, thrusting you into the mattress with enough force to quiet you entirely. “Shut up. If I want to hear you speak, I’ll ask. Understand?”

You could do nothing but nod, hating yourself for the ache that had grown more and more intense in your core, desperate for some sort of contact. Dazai, distracted with his own task of tearing your top off, had failed to notice the breathing that had grown heavier, the flush of heat that spread on every inch of your body.

His slender fingers finally removed the confining pants, a task he did skillfully with one hand still wrapped around your throat. Then, his fingers were against your aching cunt, and you twitched, letting out a heavy sound from the singular movement. You could feel yourself pulsing against nothing, desperate for his fingers between your legs.

“Pathetic,” he said, his fingers lazily dipping through your folds over your underwear. “I’ve barely touched you. How can you be this fucking wet?”

“Please,” you said quietly, your own hand aching to take over, if only to provide yourself that relief that he refused to give you. Every time you shifted into his hand, he brought it away, taunting you with the release you so craved.

“Please?” Dazai was mocking, cruel, every bit of the person people expected him to be. The one he never had been with you, not until recently. “You’re nothing more than a greedy little whore. Must have been why you fucked Chuuya without a second thought, huh?”

You were silent, staring him down with a clenched jaw. Your brain was twisting, betraying you, turning into empty cells within your skull, and you weren’t sure how to handle the accumulation of emotions that you felt for the man before you, the one who’s love had always been purposeful and merciless.

“Well?” he said, tightening a hand to close off the air to your lungs, trapping you with his strength. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and when your words sounded choked, when you clawed at his wrist, he loosened his grip just a hair, the only indication that the man you loved was in there at all. Still, your hips acted of their own accord, shifting further into his hand. “I’m sorry, Osamu, I am.” You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he finally slipped his fingers under your panties, rubbing your aching clit. “I wanted you; I needed you and you were never there, but Chuuya was, and—”

You were a stammering mess of desperation and regret, feeling unglued under Dazai’s hands, like the words you’d been meaning to say could finally come out. He was the only one who’d ever listened to you completely, who you’d felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. Yet, it had been so long since you’d let yourself be open with him, and now that the opportunity arose, you were too weak to deny it.

“I was always here,” Dazai said harshly, and you were almost certain that his anger was genuine, the tone breaking in his voice a result of true sadness. “You never came to me, and I thought that’s how you wanted it to be.” His fingers sunk into you, and you threw your head back into the pillow, moaning sinfully with the lewd sound of him sinking in and out of you, the wetness collecting with every movement.

“You never showed me you cared,” you cried out, certain that there were tears streaming down your cheeks, and you should’ve been humiliated. It was humiliating—the way you were clothed in nothing, crying as Dazai laughed at you, taking full control over your body. How he could’ve done anything to you in that moment, and you would’ve let him, because that was just how much you wanted him.

“And Chuuya was the solution?” He grabbed your cheeks with the hand that had once been around your throat, pinching them to make you look at him. “You going to pass yourself around the rest of the Mafia, sweetheart? Who’ll get a taste of you next? I’m not so certain even Akutagawa would pass up the opportunity.”

His words were senseless, meant to hurt you, and you still couldn’t stand the anguish that was in his eyes.

“No,” you said, and you leaned up, wanting so badly for his lips to be on yours, to feel some semblance of the connection that you’d always had with him. “I wouldn’t, Dazai, I’m yours.” You choked on the sounds of your own moans, your thighs shaking with every change in pressure. “I’m yours. Please, I need you.”

You were certain there were marks on your neck from his fingertips, and Dazai ghosted his mouth along the delicate skin there, biting at the soreness from before. You jerked, digging your nails into his back as you drew closer and closer to your climax.

“Don’t make demands.” Dazai leaned back, and you missed the closeness, the sharp scent of him lingering in your space. “Chuuya hasn’t been a part of this conversation yet. Should we get him up here? I hadn’t considered what to do with him, but this might suffice.”

Dazed and drunk on the feeling of his hands all over you, it took you a moment to process what he was saying. His hand was already swiping through his phone, picking the number of the man that you least wanted to see.

“No, Osamu, don’t—” you cried out, and yet, you made no move to stop him. Instead, you remained pliant on the bed as he sunk another finger into you, his thumb moving in agonizing circles against your clit. He tucked the cellphone under his chin, smiling at you maliciously, controlling you with every blink of his lashes.

You had always had trouble resisting him. Now was no different.

Chuuya answered as you released another moan, and Dazai was grinning wickedly, as if some larger scheme had finally come together, the culmination of everything he was plotting. “Boss?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, and you flinched, locking gazes with his deep brown irises, the color so alluring and beautiful, a shade that had darkened with each misfortune you’d endured together. You hated him, you did, but there was a fine line between the two, and your love for him would die with you, would transcend whatever simple rules the afterlife placed on Earth. “How quickly can you make it up here?”

You could hear the hesitation on the other side; Chuuya didn’t say anything for a moment.

“A couple minutes, I think. I haven’t left the building.”

“I’ll give you a couple minutes then.” Dazai’s words were clipped as he hung up the phone, throwing it to the arm chair a few feet away from the bed.

His attention was back on you completely as you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure before Chuuya came into the room. Though it was so hard when the pools in his irises were pulling you deeper, locking you into a heaven that you’d never been able to reach.

Dazai pulled away briefly, his soaking fingers leaving your body to alleviate his cock from the confines of his dark pants, hovering before you.

You swallowed, not able to remember the last time your desire for him ached this badly. Your eyes trained on the very part of him that you wanted inside of you, the tip flushed so beautifully. There was nothing on your mind but him, how you wanted every part of him, even if it meant enduring misery after misery, and Chuuya was right—if you were to love Dazai, you needed to love every part of him, even when it seemed impossible.

A whine escaped you and you were reaching out to him, knowing he’d never let you live down your humiliation, but the future was not a part of your logical thinking, not now. “Want you inside me.”

“Surely you can hold off for a few minutes,” Dazai said, though the way his toned chest pressed to your own, and how he kissed your face with a tenderness you’d forgotten made it nearly impossible for you to refrain. “So desperate for my cock.”

You wanted to touch yourself—you would’ve, had you not been so nervous of the fact that Chuuya could come in at any minute.

“Tell him to leave,” you said, dragging your fingers through his hair, finally kissing him like you’d been wanting to, and the sound was sinful, heavy with lust as you forced a taste into his mouth, wishing every part of him was a part of you too. “I don’t want him or anyone else, just you, I promise—”

Dazai cut you off and ignored your pleas; he smiled against your lips, though it was anything but kind. “I think he’ll enjoy seeing you like this, won’t he? You’ve got such a filthy mouth on you when you’re fucked properly.” He kissed his way down your chest, resting his face just above your breasts. “I bet Chuuya didn’t see this side of you, did he?” Dazai licked a circle around your nipple, tugging it between his teeth. “I’ve done nothing but call you names and you’re dripping all over the sheets.”

You shook your head, feeling pained by how badly you wanted release.

“Of course not.” Dazai sat back up like he could sense Chuuya approaching from the other side of the door, his presence bold and detectible. “He’s forgotten what’s mine, after all.” He smiled at you once more, kissing you with a kind of love that only he could portray, the kind that was nowhere close to innocent. “Don’t cum until I tell you to. Be good for me, okay?”

Dazai had always known what to say to you, even when your relationship was falling apart, even when you hated him more than you loved him. His words could be so tender, the praise melted in with the unkind quips of his tongue. It was the gentlest tone he’d used since your clothes had come off, and you couldn’t help but melt under him, nodding like you’d give him anything he asked of you.

Of course you would.

Dazai traced your features delicately, grinning maniacally, ears attuned to the quiet that broke from the footsteps approaching. His cock was lined up against your dripping hole, and it took every ounce of restraint not to plant yourself on it, trying so hard to please him, the sinful man who held too much power over you.

“You’re so pretty like this, aren’t you? My beautiful little whore, always willing to take whatever I give you.”

“’Samu,” you babbled, blinking away the tears as you latched onto him, wishing you could spare yourself the humiliation, but too drunk on him to care. He shifted you forward, taking your thighs in his hands and placing them around his waist. “I can’t take it all at once—”

“You’ve done it before. Do it again.” He growled, squeezing your throat once more in one smooth motion, thrusting into you. And though you had doubted how prepared you were, he slid into you easily, already so loose and pliant from his fingers. “See? Never forgot the shape of me, sweetheart. Even after you’ve been with another man.”

You let out a choked moan as Chuuya walked into the room, lost in the ache and the burn and the pleasure that came with loving and fucking Dazai.

There was one singular pass of silence before Chuuya spoke, letting the door shut with a quiet click on the hinge. “Boss—” Chuuya was hesitant, though his eyes were immediately drawn to you, raking over your blissed-out form. “You said to—” His hand was still on the knob, though he was distracted, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, ashamed but so full of want that it ached.

“Come in, Chuuya,” Dazai said sharply, his words solid and commanding, and you couldn’t help it when you clenched around him, drawing him further into you with nails scraping down his back. “We should discuss something.”

“Well, can we talk about it when you’re not in the middle of fucking your girl?” Chuuya asked, swallowing down the desire he hid so poorly. His cheeks had flushed, words just on the edge of stumbling and slurring together. “Another time, maybe.”

“This is the perfect time, actually,” Dazai stopped moving, already breathing heavily above you as you stared, whined, needing so badly for him to stop teasing you. “Besides,” his eyes drifted knowingly to Chuuya’s obvious erection as he laughed darkly. “I don’t think you mind so much.”

Dazai pulled back painfully slowly before sinking into you with a quicker thrust, your back arching off the mattress to catch even more of him inside of you. A barely noticeable sweat had broken against his hairline, and you stared at him, mouth slightly agape in awe at the boss of the Port Mafia, the one you somehow had wrapped around your little finger.

Your breathing had grown unsteady as his cock got deeper and deeper inside of you, hitting where you’d never been quite able to get with your fingers, the thickness of him catching on every sensitive part inside of you. His hand was back between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit, and you weren’t sure you could last much longer, not as he carried on a conversation with Chuuya, who watched you with darkened eyes, barely holding himself back.

“Please, Osamu,” you were practically begging now, your cheeks glistening with wetness as you clawed at the muscles between his shoulder blades, surely leaving bruises all down his spine. “Please, please, let me cum.”

Dazai made a tsk noise in the back of his throat. “Not yet. I don’t think you deserve it quite yet, does she, Chuuya?”

Chuuya sniffed, shifting uncomfortably as his pants grew tighter. “Gonna punish her all day, boss? Such a pretty thing should get what she wants, shouldn’t she?”

Dazai dropped his chest closer to you, going deeper into you, and you cried out his name, though your eyes were still locked with Chuuya, as if he were going to be your savior. You remembered how gently he’d touched you, how careful he was, and you wondered why you’d ever wanted that at all.

“Chuuya thinks he can fuck you better than me, darling, but you know that’s not true, don’t you? He’d spoil you too much, but this is what you want, right? You want to be called a stupid fucking cockslut.” Dazai grinned against your lips, whispering in a breath that only you could hear. “Just so that at the end of it all, you’ll be my good girl.”

You whimpered, soaking him as you clenched harder. Your brain had gone numb from the feeling of him. Dazai was smiling viciously, but you could see the underlying tenderness.

“She looks so pretty right now, doesn’t she Chuuya? Not a single thought in that beautiful little head of hers.” He smiled at him knowingly, dark hair flopping into his eyes as the rest of the loose tendrils stuck to his forehead. “You’re lucky. You’ve gotten two chances to see her now. Twice as many as most men who fantasize about fucking a woman that sleeps in another man’s bed.”

Chuuya’s voice was raw, his words cracked. “You’re sick, Dazai,” he said, clenching his hands into fists. “Putting on a show like this just to punish me.”

“You and I both know you’re enjoying this.” Dazai traced your cheeks sweetly, kissing your lips deeply. You let out a strangled breath into his mouth, something on the precipice of a moan. “Can you do one thing for me, pretty girl? One more, then I’ll let you cum, how’s that?”

You nodded, desperately, as Dazai’s fingers finally dipped back down, rubbing agonizingly light circles.

“Tell Chuuya who’s making you feel this way,” Dazai said, pushing your face away from him to stare straight into Chuuya’s dark eyes. “Tell him who you love the most.”

“You,” you gasped out, clenching tighter around him. What an easy request to make—you’d never loved anyone else. “I’m in love with you.”

Dazai sniffed, though he was patient, slowing his thrusts almost to a stop. “Not good enough. I need you to be more specific.”

You cried out, locking your ankles onto his hips, trying to force him back into you. But Dazai didn’t budge, watching you until you provided the answer that he so desired. “I love you, Dazai.”

He frowned, shaking his head once more. “My name. Say it. It sounds so sweet from your lips.”

“Osamu,” you choked out. “I love you, Osamu. I love you. I love you.”

Dazai finally smiled above you, gently tracing your cheeks with his thumb as he slowed down the pace of his hips. “I love you too, darling.” His words were soft, whispered into your lips before he turned away, meeting eyes with Chuuya across the room. “See?”

Chuuya was glowering, stiff as a board, his face pink, and his legs shaky. “I got it, Boss.” He choked out, though his eyes were on you, unable to leave your body, even as he tried so hard to be polite. His aching cock strained against his pants, and he breathed sharply, swallowing over and over. “Do I need to be here any longer?”

Dazai laughed, and you thought he looked so pretty when he did that, his smile flashing wide and alluring, the corners of his eyes crinkling marginally. “Never said you had to stay. I figured you’d want to watch her come undone one last time.”

Chuuya, for as noble as he wanted himself to be, made no move to leave, glued to the spot on the floor beyond your bed. He was just across the room, but you couldn’t focus on anyone but Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, the man who you’d killed and bled and committed horrible acts for.

You said his name again, scrambling to bring his attention back to you, hands on his face with a desperation you didn’t realize you’d possessed.

And Dazai, with the kindness of a man he wasn’t, placed his hands just above your stomach, leaving kisses across your chin as he thrust into you, sweetly, menacingly, one last time. “You did so good, my love. You can cum now. Make a mess all over my cock, beautiful.”

You jerked, squeezing around him as you felt the pressure in you finally release, the colors shifting and changing between your high as Dazai brought you in and out of an orgasm, his words reaching your muddled brain with soothing noises. Your body twitched as your muscles spasmed, sweat gathering in the space under your knees. There was little in your mind, save for the dark-haired man that had quickly become your whole world.

You smiled lazily, lacing your fingers with Dazai as you slowly began to come back to yourself. The world around you was empty. Chuuya had all but disappeared into a block of nothingness as you stared into the world itself. If there was no Dazai, there was no you, and it was as simple as that. He was everything you’d ever wanted—you’d be a fool to ever left him go.

As you regained your breathing, still sensitive all over, Dazai came inside you, spilling hot release into you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too busy being satisfied with the feeling of him all over you. His hands never left you—he was delicate, caring, pressing loving touches into your skin as you recovered from your high.

“I’m yours, Osamu,” you said, closing your eyes as you basked against the bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up against him, bury yourself in the warmth of another body.

He smiled against your cheeks, lips flushed and bruised. “I know you are,” he said to you only, before pulling away. You shivered, but opened your eyes, and he’d already held the gun out to you, presenting it as an offering. “That’s why you’ll be the one to kill him.”

It took you all of ten seconds to remember who him was, and that the man who had borne witness to your most intimate moments with Dazai had not disappeared and was still gawking at you from the corner of the room.

“What?” you asked stupidly, your jaw falling open.

“You heard me.” Dazai pressed the pistol into your palm, curling your fingers around the handle. It was like ice against your hot body, and though it’d been years since your first time firing such a weapon, you suddenly felt like you were there again, uncertain, and afraid of the dangerous firearm. “Kill him.”

You stared at Chuuya, the honest man who, even despite his rough exterior, had been there for you since you were kids. You remembered how the three of you had been so close, for such a long time, until Dazai had gone and killed Mori and fucked it all up.

It felt wrong. The entire situation was wrong, and it never should’ve come to this.

“It’s Chuuya,” you said with tired eyes, something in your voice pleading and desperate.

Dazai shrugged, holding you close against him as you struggled to sit up in the bed. Your muscles ached and you were still so sensitive, but reality was coming back to you. This was all a mess, and you wanted so badly to feel shame at everything you had done, but you were trying so hard just to–

“You’d think I’d let him live after what he did?”

“Osamu.” You weren’t sure you could bear it. You’d always sworn to kill whatever adversary Dazai and the Port Mafia faced, but Chuuya would always be an exception. You wanted him in your life as much as you wanted Dazai, someone you could trust without fail, who would listen to you complain even when it hurt him. “I won’t do it. He’s my friend. I thought he was yours too.”

Dark eyes full of disdain met your own, and he pinched your jaw once more, a mixture of devastating anger. “I can’t allow a traitor to live. I’ll kill him if you won’t. Then, I’ll kill you. Then myself.”

You shoved him away, suddenly wishing you weren’t so exposed, on display in the middle of the room. “Then fucking do it already, Dazai. What are you waiting for?” A tear broke free from your eye, and you wiped it furiously, not giving him a chance to mock you.

“Stop.” Chuuya finally spoke, his voice drawing your attention like a commandment, and you fell silent, refocusing on him as he bowed before you, dropping to his knees. Eyes locked onto your own without a single fear, cruel acceptance surrounding dark pupils. “It’s alright. I deserve to die. I’ve broken your trust, boss. I might as well be a traitor to the Mafia.” He swallowed, though he was unwavering. “I don’t want to live with this feeling any longer.”

“Don’t say that.” you spat, hating that such a strong man was giving himself over, exposing every weary weakness that he’d come to carry. “You don’t mean it.”

“I do.” He sighed, straightening his spine as he leaned forward towards your hand, much as you had done before, and you realized that this was such a sick, twisted change of fate. That the affection you’d always doubted was real after all, but Chuuya was still left playing the fool.

Perhaps, you were of the same vein, wanting desperately to die in the heavenly hand of the one you loved most. You could understand him for that. You could grant him one final wish.

“Do you regret any of it?” Dazai asked, as the wheels in your head spun, the decision dawning upon you, handed over from the ancient tragedies, rival even to the gloomy romances of Shakespeare.

Chuuya shifted towards the other man, looking into his cold, distant eyes. “No,” he said honestly, his jaw set. “I don’t regret it because now I know she’ll never love me. She’s all yours Dazai. Always has been. Always will be. Does that satisfy you?”

There wasn’t an ounce of fury in his expression when Dazai smiled back.

“You heard him,” Dazai said, lifting your limp arm by the elbow, pointing it like a skilled tutor. The gun was on Chuuya’s forehead, between his eyebrows, and your finger was on the trigger. Dazai’s whisper was like the Devil on your shoulder, and you were falling fast, your last shred of morality burnt from papery resolve. His hand supported your weakened muscles, guiding you along like you’d never before committed such an act. “You’re an assassin, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, narrowing your eyes before cocking the gun, mustering up the last bit of strength you had left. Chuuya couldn’t have looked more prepared for death, and you basked in Dazai’s prideful smile as he branded it into the crook of your neck.

“You’re certain?” you said to Chuuya, once more, hand no longer shaking despite your guilt.

The man, nothing more than a victim, nodded, and he had the audacity to smile, to look peaceful about his release from this life.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya. You shouldn’t have to bear the weight of my sin.” “It’s mine to carry, just as it is yours,” he scoffed, eyes hard with resolve. “Of all the things that would land me in Hell, I hardly believe this is the worst.”

You nodded, regrettably, and took a steely breath, erasing the heat the stung behind your eyes.

Then, you pulled the trigger. You waited for Chuuya’s brains to stain your floors, for the remnants of his skull to shatter all across the wall behind him. For the life to slowly drain from his stunningly bright eyes, leaving you with nothing but a corpse that would rot away wherever Dazai chose to toss his body.

Though, none of those things happened, and you stared at each other with fierce incredulity, knowing that you’d unwillingly become puppets in Dazai’s dramatic play, a show put on for no one’s entertainment but his own.

You’d been completely senseless, an idiot, really. The gun had felt lighter than usual, and you’d ignored it, even when you should’ve known it housed no bullets.

“Dazai?” you said in a low voice, dangerously, twisting to look at him from over your shoulder. An anger you’d never felt before had bubbled up inside of you, your heart thundering with a fierceness you hadn’t realized was a part of you. “There’s no bullets.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed, taking the gun away like it was but a toy, throwing it onto the armchair in the corner. “I’d never kill the strongest ability-user in the Mafia. You both should know me better by now.”

You scowled, the ugly expression marring your face, and Dazai frowned, leaning forward to appease you. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You played me for a fool. Was all of this an act?” you cried, wondering if maybe Dazai had been lying this entire time. Maybe all those sweet words he said had never been true, and you had fallen for them anyway, like the mindless pawn you were.

“Which part?” Dazai asked, but you could tell that he knew what answer you sought, what lies you wanted to unveil.

“You know which part,” you said, moving away from him, not sure what emotion to grant control. You felt an intense amount of fury, misery, and pity for yourself, who’d never asked Dazai for anything but to be on your side, and he still couldn’t give you that. “Fuck you, Dazai.”

Your lip quivered, but if you’d begun to cry, shame would swallow you up and drown you in the dark abyss of misery. You would have no other choice but to throw yourself out the window, where everyone in the Port Mafia could bear witness to all the ways that Dazai had ruined you.

“Boss—”

Chuuya’s sentence was cut off sharply.

You’d tried to climb out of the bed, but Dazai had grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you could escape from him once and for all. Though he spoke to Chuuya, his eyes were hard on you, never leaving the set he stared into as you swallowed over and over, trying to think of anything but the sick feeling in your chest.

“You can leave now, Chuuya. Consider this your lucky day.” His voice was icy, threatening, and though Chuuya lingered a moment before climbing to his feet, he spared you nothing but a small glance in return.

You inhaled, then exhaled, trying to stop the simmering of blood within your veins, feeling the heavy weight of his hand on your wrist. As you sat there in silence, waiting for him to be the one to break it, you started to wonder how much of this was really Dazai’s fault, and how much you were the one to blame.

“It was a test.” Dazai tried to bring your attention back to him, letting only a fragment of emotion drain into his voice, though it was enough to slowly, slowly pique your fascination once more. “That was all.”

You wet your lips, though your tongue was just as papery. “So none of it was real.”

“What do you mean?” Dazai came to sit in front of you, his skin pale in the dark lighting, and you could see the cracks in his facade, and maybe this splinter in your failing relationship would slowly begin to heal itself. “Everything I said was very much real.”

His soft fingertips traveled up your arm, curling around your shoulder, across your collarbone, before settling in that delicate space between your jaw and your ear. There was a starry look in his eyes, the twin pair that had been exposed.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” you said, scrunching your face in remorse, wanting to slither away from him, even as he drew you closer, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he wore, the liquor that he favored when you were away. His hair had been freshly washed, and the smell of shampoo still lingered, even under the thin layer of sweat.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” Dazai countered, the hurt not veiled in the slightest this time, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. Heat flooded to your cheeks, and you were looking away, wondering why he was pulling you close to his chest when he should be hating you with the passion of a thousand fiends. “How could I trust you after that?”

You parted your lips to speak, but your jaw was locked, and the inside of your mouth tasted like cotton.

“I’m not a good man,” Dazai said, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, and you squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to his bicep. “You’ve always known this. Yet, for as often as you talk about me with disgust dripping from your words, I’ve never sought to bring you pain.” He breathed in deeply, and you buried your face into his chest, wondering how much longer it’d be before you wept. “You’ve caused me pain.”

You tried to cry out, to tell him that you never thought it would hurt him, but he’d seen the very same in you, hadn’t he? You’d never given him any indication that the coldness in his words was bothering you, that the blurred lines of your relationship were getting confusing and hurtful, and he had done the same.

“We’re not good for each other, Osamu,” you whispered quietly, your lip quivering. The weight of your voice shattered against your vocal cords.

He let out a breathy laugh, smiling against your forehead. “On the contrary, I think we’re the perfect fit.”

For what reason he believed that, you weren’t sure.

You clenched your jaw tight, but it didn’t stop the feeling of tears from overwhelming you, hot droplets that spilled heavy from your eyes, running off your chin to Dazai’s chest. Your hands shook, clenched around his arms so tightly you were sure you were breaking the skin.

Dazai pulled away, monitoring your face with concern. You hated the way he looked at you with such pity when he was the reason for such pain. Yet, you couldn’t help but curl into him, warm, never wanting to escape from his reverence. “Why are you crying, my sweet angel?”

Nausea soured your mouth, and the regret that tinged you, tainted you, was vastly overwhelming. It was horrible in a way that you’d never felt.

It struck you, then, that you’d been blind to Dazai’s every affection, too ignorant to notice the ways that they had shifted as his life did. He no longer held your hand over the table during meetings, but the chair beside his was just as grandiose, and he greeted you with something of a smile when you walked into each room. He no longer accompanied you on assignments, but you were always taken care of, in a hotel most people couldn’t afford with a partner that could singlehandedly take out a hundred men. He no longer picked you flowers from a wild field as he’d done as a boy, but the vase on the table always held a beautiful bouquet of deep, red roses, without a single wilting flower.

Chuuya, all this time, all these years had been right. There was no use in loving Dazai if you couldn’t stand him in his darkest hour, the bitter ugly side of him that no one wanted to see.

You’d never thought about it, really, but you’d changed just as he had. Everyone in the Mafia had blood on their hands, was ruined in more ways than one, and you were no exception. If loving Dazai meant loving those parts of him, then loving you meant just the same.

The tears fell harder, and Dazai seemed panicked, stricken, always so oblivious when it came to the affairs of your heart, and sometimes he tried, but you couldn’t hate him if he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you said pitifully, knowing from the spoiled heart in your very chest had ruined everything. “I’m sorry.” You said it again and again until Dazai was shushing you, running a large, cool palm down your back, the only way he knew to soothe you.

“I wish I’d never done it. I wish I’d just spoken to you, asked you, anything—” you wiped your face, heavy breaths stuttering before Dazai took your hands away, and erased the tears for you. “I just thought you hated me. It was the only thing that made sense.”

Dazai smiled sadly, because no one had taught him to love. How was he to know that he’d been doing it wrong all this time. “I wish I’d seen it before. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He sighed, dropping his head to your shoulder with a weariness that he’d been born with. “I’m sorry.”

A tingling sensation began under your skin, and you were warm all over, realizing just how much that apology had meant to you. For some reason, it felt like coming home.

The strong grip that nostalgia had on you gradually began to melt away.

3K notes · View notes

justcallmesakira · 9 months ago

Note

BESTIE IF U DONT DO THIS REQ N I WILL FACKING EAT UR MUTUALS

DAZAI WITH A SISTER DAZAI WITH A SISTER DAZAI WITH A SISTER!!

she has black cat energy and err makes suicidal jokes here and then but never does t and chuuyas always the one who pulls her away from dazais tendencies because he DOES NOT want reader to follow dazais steps and err dazai and reader have a 2 year gap and err basically dazai took her away with him when he left and thats were she sort of stopped talking BECAUSE BOOM CHIKA BOOM ODAS DEATH LEFT HER MORE TRAUAMATIZED THAN THE KIDS ASAGIRI BLEW UP!!! so errr crack and chuuya and reader is ummmm AHEM AHEM AHEM (cough coug)

AND BASICALLY MORI HAS THIS like obsession of bringing reader back to the mafia like he constantly says stuff like "Dazai, my offer still stands but please remember that i would really really love to see your dear sister back first" LIKE YKNOW WHAT I AM SAYING???????????

DAZAI AND HIS YOUNGER SISTER!

Sypnosis: you are the younger sister of Da-dazai! Is he a great brother or not? UPPP TO YOU! >< oh and maybe hide your secret vists with chuuya please!!

Genre: crack and heavy angst! (dont question it)

Warnings: suicidal themes! cans of gasoline, glitter bombs, reader is very quiet type, manipulation (for good use!)

A/N: yummy yummy

uh oh! this is gonna be so damn messy

so um first of all! i really think reader would be very intelligent like dazai like oh fuck! i just got under a whole rubble of rocks by some guy who btw is the enemy of my brother quick! think of something

and then theres this bsd aesthetic plan you make and just survive! to the shock of your horror... :D

okay but in all seriousness! he defiently jokingly gave you his suicide guide to if u ever felt inspired by him

VERY VERY NORMAL BROTHER ACTIVITY!!1

dazai stop influencing people around you to plug off them self challenge impossible: GO!!

if you do however join his meticulous activites kunikidas actually going to blow up

😇

but imagine how cute it would be a black cat energy young sis and a golden retriver brother like bish forget romantic relationships like dazai who sometimes forget he left his sister at work!

but ynkow mf dazai always wants to keep close to you because he was never really there (like my fake as friends🙄) back in the mafia! woohoo

so now you can asks him for whatever you want but now he actually feels guilty because you have now become the silent type and dont really talk that much

Great job dazai! best brother everr!❤️

Imagine running away from the mafia with ur lil sister then realising she doesnt even want to talk anymore and that you might actually failed as a big brother even after buying her a whole lotta stuff

COULDNT BE OSAMU DAZAI GUYS!!!

tell him to take you to an amusement park and he will! but dont be surprised if you see him trying to run to jump off a bridge because he does not have for the sake of god any money!

AYY dazai cosplaying toji to get milk? real or fake??? find out here!

dont click on the link :3

ANYWAYS he definetly tries his best to get you back to talking sure the only thing he could do is talk to himself with you beside him doodling some stuff but yknow...it genuinely makes him form a sad smile when he gets reminded that maybe if he were a better brother and actually comforted you it would have ended better

"I saw a cat today yknow! it had a black eye and orange patterns. Somehow it looked wise" dazai said relazing on the chair, his hands behind his head, the whole night of yokohama was quiet only the flicker of the dim light placed underneath the balcony ceiling could be heard.

The night was calm too, it had a soft storm-like feel to it. Dazai knew you were listening thats probably why he would talk to you all these months, no one else was there for him anyway. So its better than nothing.

All of a sudden amdist the silence several pokes tapped on his shoulder which made his eyes widen slightly. You held up your sktechbook infront of his face, a bunch of doodles of him and a full sketch of his side profile

"(Name)... This is amazing! Wow you could be a talented artist yknow!!" he said you didnt know whether he was just flattering you or not because of the emptiness in his eyes. Depression changes a person. But the slight flicker of light in his made it visible to your loud mind. Dazai was glad you made some progress.

Okay now hb your interactions with da agency??

I am pretty sure both you and him joined da agency together (gotta make sure his sister ACTUALLY doesn`t follow his steps!😋😋😋😋)

kunikida may act all cold around you and view u as some kid especially when you randomly make the most random ass suicidal jokes in the middle of a meeting but...

Lets say he sort of checks up on both of you every morning! cant let the dogs out now kunikida! you never know what they do....

iykwimyk

now yosano girlypop is the only person who shows genuine concern for you when you get hurt why? because she was bamboozled when she found out you are dazais sibling like

"huh- are you actually capable of being a brother? more so having family"

dazai be at the corner weeping because of the amount of slander

DESERVEDDDD😍😍😍

I can totally see fukuzawa patting both of you and dazais head after you two collaborated on a mission

IDWGDHYWDFYUDFILOVEFATHERRELATIONSHIPS

he prob randomly call you for tea i mean not too randomly but he likes your black cat energy

speaking of which ranpo and you bully da heck out of criminals before they ultimately mistake you for some god!! /nj

kenji and kyouka just chills around you and tries debating what you and dazai have in common.

belonging in the mental asylum. thats whats common between you two/nj again😁😁

With chuuya

NAWWWWH BRO NAWW☠️

Chuuyas gonna end upl like this emoji☠️☠️☠️

Okay maybe i am over exaggerating this but yknow dazai is like really smart

UNFORTUNATELY!!!

So he will definitely know when ever you two act a little🤭😝😘🤗😍🥰👍

Hes going to get tjat expression from chapter 114 and chew chuuyas expensive tuxedo!!

I bet after he finds out hes straight up going to give chuuya a flashback of stormbringer era!! 😍😁

#verynormalbrother

"W-w-w-what da SKIBIDI [name]??? YOU WILL NOT AND NEVER MEET CHUUYA AGAIN" "wow... and i thought you were trying to become a better brother :(" "YOUNG LA- i-" ":("

He was about to say lad

like manipulative ass brother like sister ig! :33333333

He prob had suspicions back in the mafia especially because of how you mostly stuck around chuuya when he wasnt there

YOUR FAULT BRO!!!

And then u rizzed chuuya up with double black eyes (get it?)

"You know [name] it still hurt me, though i promised i would never say it infront of your face but.." Chuuya said seriousness in his tone looking at you eyes "But please stop looking at me with those cat like eyes they deeply remind of someone and I DO NOT like it"

He ended this funny note with a genuine fear and irritation in his eyes. you only nodded and continued to stare at him, your eyes rivaling a black hole not that hole by the way.

A tingling feeling gathered in himself as chuuya looks at your blank stare "Dont look at me like that!" he raised his flustered voice, a small hue of pink appearing on his cheek which only grew as you held on to his sleeve, snuggling against it like a cat.

But before he could be more flushed a really dark aura crept up behind you and then, right then you knew you fucked up bad.

"i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-cant believe this!" your brothers voice perked up behind you genuine horror on his face as if he just saw his bestfriend die infront of him twice.

"Oh my fucki-" chuuya sighed, both of you are caught. "[name] ICANTBELIEVETHISOMGIAMGOINGTOENDMYSELFLIKEMYOTHERVERSIONFROMANOTHERUNIVERSEWHOLOWEREDYOURSTANDERDSICANTBELIEVETHISHIT" dazai rapped at super speed, an anger and shock unwordable enough for you to be confused at whatever hes yapping about. "DAZAI what the fuck??" now chuuya was confused too.

"ANDYOU, HERMANADAPUTA (sisterfucker in english) YOUUGLYSHORTMFWITHNOFLAGSNONOTHING,YOUTRUSTISSUED?IWILLGIVEYOUPRISONFORLIFEISSUES" "WHAT IS YOU BROTHER YAPPING ABOUT?"

And all you could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolds infront of you. But safe to say you got in big trouble when you went back home!

anyways dazais going to go full on 8 cans of gasoline on the portmafia if more is obsessed with you like him

and then you realised..

"fOr tHe fIrSt TiMe iN fOrEVer" he actually did/nj

Okay okay but in all seriousness (litearlly @justcallmesakira catchphrase guys!!) Dazai would genuinely become more protective of you if mori was targeting towards you.

i would run away to antarctica too if mori even tried interacting with me

SHES A RUNNER SHES A TRACKSTAR!!!!!🏃💨

But if you are intelligent then i guess you met fyodor too? And maybe some sort of rivalry goes on between you two like "oh its my brothers enemy, gotta help my bro blow him up!"

I have nothing much to say because dazai would make secret plans (which you alrdy know) to make sure mori doesnt get too close with you

Like oh he was planning to approach you that day? BOOM dazai is already there. Yeah like that

If mori says that however... Dazai will reply with a dark eyed gloom,tilting his head back creepily "You will have to need more then the whole of port mafia to interact with my sister"

Dazai hates mori alot and though he knows that you are old enough to handle situations that doesnt mean he wont care for his only sister. You are the only thing left that he can protect without feeling inhumanity or faraway.

A/N: HATE THISSSS NOOOUUU

Tags: @inojuuy @biscuits-spooky-corner @terururuko @little-miss-chaoss @saelique @silverbladexyz @typcallysid14 @nezuko-kamado-cute-demon

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chuulyssa · 9 months ago

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🇾🇴🇺 ❜ 🇷🇪 🇸🇴 🇵🇷🇪🇹🇹🇾 , 🇾🇴🇺 ❜ 🇷🇪 🇸🇴 🇵🇴🇵🇺🇱🇦🇷.

ᴅᴀᴢᴀɪ ᴏꜱᴀᴍᴜ !

↷ A/N ─ first songfic! I TRIED OKAY??? love this song btw. also i tried to make this as less slutty and more angsty as i could.

★ COUNT ─ 2.1k

!! TAGS ─ f!reader x pm!dazai, reader is in the port mafia, fantasization, dubcon (only kissing), mentions of rape and stuff in the song, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, reader is down bad for dazai

this isn't outright smut but there are a few mentions of it in the reader's thoughts, so im putting the mdni sign

★ PROLOGUE ─ he was everything you ever wanted. but would he ever see that?

♬ SONG ─ ecstasy

SMUT, 18+, MDNI

READ ON AO3

You couldn't believe the first time Dazai had kissed you. It felt so unreal, so distant. Your lips had locked in a perfect embrace as if they had been carved just for each other. And then he had pulled away ever so slightly and rested his forehead against yours, telling you how much he loves you.

It had felt like a dream come true. Although you had joined the Port Mafia earlier than him, you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with him.

What was it? A crush? Love? A fantasy? You didn't know, and you didn't care to. All you believed was that you were made for Dazai, and how could you not? His hair would move along with the wind when he would look at you for a bit too long - or so you would think, deluding yourself into the deception of a world where you woke up and fell asleep with his kisses.

I just wanna be your sweetheart Fucking come here, give me your heart

On several occasions you had tried giving him signals - letting him know that you wanted him. That you loved him. That you would listen to him blabber about in bars till dusk. That you would stroke his hair and tell him that he was perfect in every way possible if you had the courage. That you would be with him even if you were the only one standing.

"Earth to Y/N?" Dazai snaps his fingers in front of you, yanking you away from your thoughts.

"Yeah?" you said, slightly flustered.

"As I was saying, we have to first infiltrate the organization from the inside. It will be a bit difficult since it's just the two of us-"

The two of us.

Us.

Your mind began to slip away from Dazai again as you thought about the possibility of you and Osamu Dazai becoming "us" and "we". It was blissful. Your eyes began looking glossy, and he probably noticed, because he sighed and shook his head before ruffling your hair.

You came crashing down to earth again.

Just you and me to infinity I can't fucking breathe, too much ecstasy

On your way to the mission, your eyes kept glancing at him. He looked so pretty, with his hair cascading down in front of his eye in the most perfect manner, and his bandaged hands making your knees wobbly as you imagined how they would feel on your thighs, slowly inching towards your core.

The thought made you shiver, and you stumbled slightly. Dazai spared you a look of concern.

"Are you sure you're okay? I could handle them alone if you want."

"I'm alright. I can do this," you smiled softly at him. Yes, I can do this, you thought, I can do this because I'm with you.

He was your motivation, your burning desire. He was your ray of happiness in the cruel world. He was everything you had ever wanted in life.

The two of you made it to the front of the organization's immaculate house, where a party was being held. The mission was simple; get into the party in disguise and kill a few easy targets. You hadn't paid much attention to Mori's instructions anyway, for your eyes had looked at nothing other than Dazai, heart leaping with joy at the thought of being partnered with him again.

Dazai put a hand on the small of your back, and you felt goosebumps arise. He guided you into the party after giving you a small nod, and you interlocked your arms with his.

You met a few people here and there; none that you cared about. All you focused on tonight - and probably every night since you had first met him - was him. His face. His body. His voice. His laughter. His expressions. His jokes. Him. He was perfect.

Kiss me on the lips, choke me on the floor Drag me around, and push me right against your door

The night continued on, and there was only Dazai in your mind. You couldn't get him out at all, not when he was right in front of you, forehead against yours and about to kiss you. You felt as though the entire world had faded away, leaving only you and Dazai in a bubble of your own.

You held your breath as you waited for all your dreams to finally come true.

His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you felt dizzy from anticipation. Time seemed to stand still as you forced your eyes to be on his. Your heart raced in your chest, matching the frantic beat of the music pulsing in the distance from the party you had left to complete your mission.

Oh. Right. Mission.

How could you forget? How foolish of you to think that this was real. The targets you were designated to kill wouldn't want Port Mafia members in the corridor you were currently in. This was all just a show to maintain your cover.

The realization hit you like a sledgehammer, shattering all your anticipation from before. You tore your gaze away from him, and his fingers immediately went up to clutch your jaw.

"Do you trust me?"

You were silent.

"Close your eyes."

You did, and he put his lips on yours tenderly, as if you were made of glass and could break by the slightest pressure. You felt like crying. You had wanted him to kiss you for so long, and here he was, kissing you as if you weren't supposed to catch feelings for him right then and there - as if he was completely okay if you were ruined because of him.

Dazai's fingers slid from your jaw to your neck, caressing it softly before changing the pace of his kisses. They felt more passionate, but were they, really? This was all a facade. This didn't mean anything to him. Anything at all.

I'm your little doll, come and play with me Dyeing all my hair, we could be in the scene

The car ride back home was silent. Dazai had a few stains of blood on the black collar of his coat - none his, thankfully - yet he drove like he hadn't just murdered some people.

You sighed. Yes, the Port Mafia wasn't a place for feelings, and Dazai knew that perfectly well. You had finally realized that Dazai was nothing but a cold person who had no remorse, no guilt, no emotions at all while he toyed with others.

You had given away nearly half of the life you had lived up till now for him. You had given away all of yourself. You had changed yourself as much as you could. You had listened to everything he would tell you. You had done everything you could yet here you were, eyes burning as you struggled to keep them open so you didn't end up breaking down in front of the very person who was breaking you every second of this long ride.

When you reached the door to your house, you gave him a little wave, and he looked hesitant.

"Can I stay over for tonight?"

Every muscle in your body screamed at you to say no, to tell him to fuck off, maybe even punch him and shatter a few bones so he knows what it's like to be broken. Instead, you resorted to nodding lowly, not a word escaping your lips as you unlocked the door, kicked off your shoes and walked into your room, locking it from inside.

How dare he after what he did to you? How could he? Was he that heartless? Was he really how people had described him to be? Cold, ruthless and merciless? You thought you knew better, but did you?

Your legs gave in and you sunk to the floor, your back against the door. Why did he have to kiss you? Why did you agree to this stupid mission? Why did you ever fall for this man?

Lights out, you don't tap out You're so crazy, manipulate me

"Y/N?"

You immediately wiped your face on your pillow and got up to go to the living room where he sat. Tonight, for the first time in your life, Dazai was nothing but a guest to you. Not a crush. Not your love at first sight. Nothing. Just a colleague.

"I heard you. I thought you might need a drink," he offered you one, and you slowly took it from him.

You stared at the bottle of wine on the table. He had probably ordered it just now. It was an expensive one, not one you usually drank. Well, you weren't much of a drinker anyway. But tonight, maybe you could drink a little, to drown your sorrows with the very man who caused them.

The room was dimly lit, and faint moonlight formed a few odd shapes on the floor. The two of you sat drinking, and while Dazai seemed sober enough, you were already almost wasted.

"Listen," Dazai said suddenly as if he had finally made up his mind to say something. "I wanted to ask. Did that kiss mean anything to you?"

"What kiss?" you acted dumb. You didn't need to be reminded of that, not right now in your most vulnerable state.

"Don't play dumb with me, Y/N," he said sternly. "You know exactly what I mean."

You pursed your lips. "Yeah, I do. Answer that question yourself first."

"It did. A lot."

What?

You stared at him. Was this another way to break your heart even more? Was he toying with you again? Yes, this had to be another one of his manipulation tricks. But somewhere, in the corner of your heart, a tiny voice said, the Dazai I know isn't like that. He would never do something like that.

And you felt your defences crumbling all over again. You didn't care if he manipulated you and left you heartbroken as long as you got to be with him for some part of your life. You loved him. Loved.

Fucking chase me, fucking break me You're my everything, please just rape me

For the second time that night, Dazai's hands were on you. Only this time, you were happy. You wanted him. You needed him. And so you kissed him back with all your might.

You couldn't think straight at all. You couldn't feel him stand up and carry you to your bed. You couldn't see him covering the two of you with blankets to kiss you under its privacy. All you knew was that you were in his arms, and wanted to stay that way forever.

Osamu Dazai was kissing you. The Osamu Dazai. Osamu the-Youngest-Executive-in-the-History-of-the-Port-Mafia Dazai. Was this real? You didn't know. All you wanted was for the moment to go on forever.

You pulled away once more to catch your breath. On top of you, Dazai was panting too, brushing away hair from your eyes and blowing air on your face gently. You were sweating from the heat of the moment. His breath felt cool and cold, but his touch was warm, just like you had fantasized it to be.

"What are we?" you asked.

"Everything."

I just wanna be your sweetheart Fucking come here, give me your heart

You woke up as curtained sunlight hit your face, blinking at the sensation to try and keep your eyes open. A slight shift in your position made you feel Dazai against your chest, his face buried sideways and lips in a small pout.

Your eyes widened as you realized the events of the previous night. It was real. You two were official. You were dating Osamu Dazai.

Your movement had caused Dazai to purr lightly, his voice making your brain numb. Assuming he was tired, you patted his head, still in disbelief over your fortune and merely resorted to staring at the ceiling. You didn't want to wake him up. The feeling of him getting so cozy and vulnerable with you made you want to stay still like that forever.

How could someone be so pretty? So endearing? What must it be like to be that beautiful? To be someone's will to live? To be someone's first laugh and smile? How was it that someone could capture your heart this way? You felt a whirlwind of emotions; pathetic, romantic, love, disbelief. You felt everything as you stared at his sleeping figure, chest heaving up and down to match his heart beat.

You could almost feel him take your breath away. God, you loved him so bad.

Just you and me to infinity I can't fucking breathe, too much ecstasy

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pepper-steam-milkshake · 1 year ago

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i always find it lowkey funny whenever i read angst fics where mori goes on a rampage because of dazai's defection...

because bro knew he was leaving. he literally let him.

it's not shown in the anime--which is probably what most of these fics are based off--but in the epilogue of the dark era light novel, it's stated that mori is aware that he was going to lose dazai because of all this, and let him leave while leaving the executive seat open for him should he ever come back. now, did mori anticipate that dazai was going to join the ada? probably not, but as we see in the original timeline,

it's just funny to me because people usually use this as a reason to write whump, especially towards chuuya basically going "chuuya why dont you know where dazai is etc etc" or of dazai being taken back and tortured for leaving, but like. mori knew he was leaving and accepted it. dazai didn't know that mori was anticipating it, which is why he acts surprised when dazai says that mori forced him out of the port mafia, with him saying that he thought dazai left willingly. they have two different perspectives of what happened during dark era because of the knowledge each of them has.

there is no way that mori knew oda told dazai to go fight on the side of good after oda's death, as that was said to dazai by himself, however. that is where the disconnect is on mori's part. he probably expected that dazai would eventually come back after grieving oda's death, so he had no clue that dazai would just end up going to another organization--leaving his seat open for him because of that.

i don't know. dark era thoughts while i work on my timeline

#original post #bungou stray dogs #bsd mori ougai #bsd dazai osamu

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sorrowsofsilence · 4 months ago

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memento mori • n.s

pairing: noah sebastian x gn!reader

words: 1.6k

warnings: ANGST, grief, loss, death, mourning (this is kinda heavy, please do not feel like you need to read im getting out feelings)

summary: "if you're watching this, im dead."

note: i think i was feeling some kinda way because i don't really know where this came from lol, but here's a quick little blurb if you enjoy angst <3

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING A REAL PERSON IN A FICTIONAL SCENARIO! I AM NOT IMPLYING THEY WOULD ACT THIS WAY OR DO THE THINGS IN MY FANFICTION- IT IS FOR FUN, AND IT IS SIMPLY FICTION! <3

I sat in front of my computer screen, shell-shocked as the haunting words of his last video echoed in my ears.

"If you're watching this, I'm dead."

My heart clenched at his words, chest tightening as my breath caught in my throat. My room around me felt cold, too large and too empty, even with the myriad of knick-knacks and photos that adorned every available surface.

With trembling hand I reached out a to replay the video, but hesitated before I could do it. His face was frozen on the screen, eyes full of sorrow and resignation. A face I had fallen in love with; a stranger’s face that had brought so much unanticipated joy into my life.

His voice echoed through the silence again, the words heavy with grief and regret.

For what? For whom?

Refreshing the page, I watched his face light up the screen- his brown eyes warm and laughing, a stark contrast to the somber look from the end of the video. I watched as he talked about his day, his love for music, his appreciation of movies and games. It was all so normal, so Noah. It was easy to forget, just for a moment, what the end of the video would bring.

Then came the shift, where his bright demeanour began to fall away, replaced by a solemnity that felt unnatural on his usually vibrant face.

"I have some news," he began, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his words. Even though I’d already heard him say it, part of me still hoped the next words out of his mouth would be different.

"But before I tell you," he said with a long pause, staring directly into the camera as if he knew I was watching, “I want you to remember the fun we had. I want you to remember the laughter, the joy...how I always kicked ass at super smash," His voice wavered with a stiff laugh, vulnerable and raw.

"I want you to remember me as I was, not as I will be."

My vision blurred with tears as his gaze bore into mine through the screen. Pulling my knees to my chest in an attempt at comfort while sitting at my desk, I choked back the tears that threatened to spill.

His words, even though for thousands, felt painfully intimate; like we were alone in an empty world, sharing a private moment of heart-wrenched farewell.

The long-haired brunette continued, "If you're watching this, I'm dead."

The harsh reality of his words hit me again like a physical blow, the tears falling as saliva grew in my mouth, lips quickening.

I watched his face crumple with sorrow before he collected himself, taking a deep breath. An inked hand came up to rub his face, as though he was struggling with words.

"There's no easy way to say it," he said, voice trembling with held-back tears, "I've been sick for a while... I didn't want anyone to worry. So, I kept it to myself."

Taking my sleeve, I rubbed my eyes as he continued.

"But now..." His voice wavered, "Now, I'm gone."

I watched in helpless agony as he tried to smile through his tears, a raw attempt to offer comfort, that he may have needed more.

The image of Noah, smiling despite everything, was a painful reminder of just how much I had lost; what the people in his life had lost.

“And I’m sorry.”

And here he was, apologizing to us for dying.

His brave facade crumbled then, and he broke down, weeping openly on screen. Noah’s sobs echoed through the quiet room, filling the spaces between my cries. I wanted to reach out to comfort him, but he was no longer there…only his digital ghost remained, memorialized within the code.

"I don't want you to mourn me," he said, his voice merely a whisper. "I want you to celebrate me for the life I've lived, and not the life I've lost."

His words knotted in my chest, a cruel irony in the face of the anguish that strung me. How was I to celebrate him? When every fibre of my being felt shredded by grief?

"You’ve been my friends," he continued softly, “and in a weird way, my family. You’ve joined streams with me through my best and worst times. I read every comment, every message; you didn’t know it but you gave me strength and laughter when I needed it most.”

Tears welled anew in my eyes. The impact of his sincere words left my heart racing, and limbs warming in misery.

"I need you to promise me something," he choked out after a moment, his gaze unwavering from the camera.

I sniffed, wiping my eyes again, his plea holding an intensity that made it impossible for me to look away

"Promise me you won't let my story end with my death," he said, sharing a small smile.

His voice tremored, yet it was filled with a surprising steeliness. "Promise me that you'll remember the joy, the laughter... the love."

His eyes held a fervour that pierced my heart; a vow exchanged under the silent witness of testimonial sorrow.

"I want you to take whatever you’ve found in my videos. Every smile, every piece of advice- every Mortal Kombat combo,” He paused, swallowing harshly with a dismissed laugh. "I want you... I want you to live."

The weight of his words hung in the air like a solemn promise. Live. He wanted me to live, us - fully and completely

"Love generously," he whispered, "Don’t take being here for granted.”

Noah smiled, nodding towards me, “You are worthy, and you are cherished. You make an impact on this earth, whether you believe so or not. You have a purpose.”

I continued to sob as his words flowed out of the speakers, dancing through the room in a mournful ballad.

His brown eyes bore into mine from the screen as he tucked a strand of brunette hair behind his ears.

"But most of all," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper now, "I want you to know that even though I'm not physically here anymore, I'll always be with you."

His words wrapped around my body in a comforting hug, and I squeezed my knees closer to my chest. As I rested my chin upon them, letting the tears stain my jeans I shared a bitter smile with the man I appreciated more than life itself.

The finality of Noah’s message was there – stark and painful – yet beneath it was an underlying message of hope and resilience.

"Thank you," he smiled after a pause, wiping away his cheeks with the sleeve of his black hoodie, "Thank you for being a part of my journey."

The screen blanked as the video ended, leaving me alone in the silence.

A sense of loss washed over me, raw and broken, desolate and despondent.

I sat there for a while longer, holding my body as his words echoed in my mind.

'Love generously. You are worthy. You have a purpose.’

The sentiment clung to the edges of my consciousness, like a mantra slowly seeping into my being.

My steps felt heavy and slow when I found the strength to leave my room, each one an effort to move forward.

Grief was insidious like that, invading every thought and action with its hollow grasp, embellishing its roots deep beneath the skin of heartache.

Yet, was I allowed to mourn someone who was ultimately in the end, a stranger?

But when I crawled back up the stairs, into the safety of my room, I crawled into bed and let myself open his channel once again.

Unwanted tears welled up again as I glanced at the screen, scrolling through the various streams and uploads. For so long, it had been my window to Noah - his thoughts, his creations, his heart-warming smiles.

Now, it was merely a screen- the end of the illusion that I had been a part of his life, even though we were strangers separated by thousands of miles.

The digital veil was a beautiful thing; allowing us to feel a brief sense of connection- until it’s pulled away.

And although we were strangers, he reached out to us in his most vulnerable moment.

He had shared his pain, his fear, and ultimately his hope for those of us left behind.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I hovered my thumb over another video title - 'Noah's Adventures: Ocean with the Boys��.

When I hit play, there he was. Alive. Vibrant.

His infectious smile tugged at my heartstrings as he pointed excitedly at the stunning sunset around him, knocking into his best friends. The brunette’s laughter filled my room, dispelling the stifling silence that had taken hold of my heart.

With every passing second of the video, I cried, my chest aching as my throat tightened with grief and pain- yet nostalgia and laughter as I smiled with him.

"Ya boy Noah here," he said with that familiar twinkle in his eyes, "Me and the gang thought a picnic would be a good idea,”

He then held up a container of sacramental bread, his bizarre favourite snack.

“I got jesus bones, Nick’s got the vodka.”

The chorus of laughter that erupted as Noah smiled cheekily into the camera left my heart aching at the sight of his friends- his family.

I mourned for them, too.

This was the Noah he wanted us to remember: full of life.

As the video drew to an end, the screen filled the brilliant hues of orange and purple splashed across the sky, as if painted by an ardent artist.

Noah looked at the camera with a serene smile.

"Life is a masterpiece," he said, out of breath as he stood upon the hill, capturing the water behind him, "Each day is a new brush stroke adding to its beauty.”

The video ended with a shot of the sky, Noah's laughter dancing into the twilight.

His last phrase lingered into the silence:

"Remember to appreciate it."

memento mori.

tags:

@thefallennightmare @xxkittenkissesxx @deathblacksmoke @nyxisnotok @anameunmusical

@sitkowski @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier @th4t-em0-k1d @dsireland86

@whenthesummerdies @spicywhenspeaking @veronicaphoenix @lma1986 @calleyx13

@somewhere-diamond @auratheopossumwitch @blackveilomens @skulliecadaver-blog @silentglassbreak

@darkmxgician @sprokat @thatchickwiththecamera @reyadawn @xserenax-13

@philomenie @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @blend-in-with-the-madness @rumoured-whispers

@anything-more-than-human @blacksoul-27 @sweetwombatpizza

#noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian angst #bad omens angst #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens band

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despairots · 1 year ago

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#A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, o. dazai!

a special oneshot!

description, it’s special to know how the other feels. to communicate is the best, though, dazai isn’t one for words but it’s fine, you’re the same. neither of you can put the feelings you have into words.

— story contains, angst, established relationship, swearing, suicide mentions, depressing talks, “no longer human” connections i think?, r! psychoanalysis’s i guess?, mental health, trauma talking, character deaths, if i missed anything let me know! gender neutral! reader.

“why are you writing this?” bc dazai is one of the characters i heavily relate to on another level. hes so much different from mizuki akiyama and satoru gojo. and this is just me talking a lot about dazai’s character and analyzing him… btw, r! wears a black blazer (or leather jacket) white button up with a black waist coat, either brown shorts or pants (maybe black of u want), underneath the shorts or pants are like black tights and slip on penny loafers.

long before you started dating dazai, there was an obvious connection that you only saw and felt. obviously, you were friends during those time periods because you worked in the same place, everyone there were friends.

though, the friendship you two had were entirely different from the rest, had the same humour but showing it differently. you wouldn’t lie and say that dazai flirting with you just to ask for a double suicide didn’t concern you, because it did. there’s no doubt that he’ll try and eventually succeed (although, death doesn’t accept him).

there’s nothing that can kill this man, no matter how hard he tries. you picked that up during one of his failed attempts, it almost succeeded if kunikida wasn’t there, you thanked him a ton. all he said in response is that; “i have to look over that idiot one way or another.” no matter how much dazai annoys his coworkers, they still care.

when dazai tries to commit and somewhat fails, it’s almost like he’s punishing himself for still being alive. you know his past, after all, you were in port mafia with him, even though you two didn’t work together or how he didn’t know you during that time, you sure knew him.

he was surrounded by death, in the port mafia and the ada, it follows him yet never accepts it’s his time to come to the afterlife. he makes these plans that somewhat end up succeeding though he hurts himself in the process, always worrying you. what if eventually death actually accepts him at some point?

dazai has been extraordinarily smart every since he was a kid to the point where he’s been dehumanized by dubbing him; “the demon prodigy”. you didn’t know anything about his parents, you did know what drove him to be tired of living. he’s tired living, bored by life and the people around him, to him, they are easily predictable and manipulated that nothing can surprise him.

he can’t find sense to the world but most importantly, he doesn’t find sense in life, he ends up reverting to extensional depression, continuing the cycle he lives in.

dazai has been exploited ever since he was 14 and taken into the port mafia by mori. he was kept alive by mori, by chuuya, by everyone. he was used until there was nothing left. he never had any love nor hope (that he’d ever have someone to understand him) until a friend he later brought up to you, oda.

he truly believed he deserved everything that happened to him in the port mafia.

you believe that younger dazai never believed that he could be better, but if he’s changing now than he always had the ability to change, just never tried. he was sure the mafia was the only fate he had and the only place to escape of living.

then oda died. dazai was free, with ango’s help of wiping his criminal records. without ango’s help, he would’ve never been free from mafia, though he knows his past will always haunt him, he’s accepted that. he also knows that his indebted to ango, he knows he owes him.

since oda’s death, dazai’s trust had ran thin and he’s always on guard, his ability to open up to anyone had been cut off because he can not lose anyone again. the things he cares about and didn’t wanna lose, is lost the moment he gains it.

his plans always evolve other people, rather to manipulate or exploit. you don’t blame him, if it meant surviving, you would do it too.

he is someone who jokes but never opens up nor can be his true self. he’s a wreck who will drag anyone else down with him, that was a price you had to pay for dating him. he repulsed the idea of love and being in a relationship with you because of how he’ll be afraid of losing you.

dazai dated you as a joke, to see how thing will end, until he realized that you were somewhat different. you were always one step of ahead, had almost the same ability that involved contact, and you had this missing glint in your eyes. that’s just the surface though.

dazai knows there’s more to you— he doesn’t know about your connections to the port mafia though— but he doesn’t bother bringing the topic up to you though nor does he like talking about it.

at nights like this, where he’s staring aimlessly somewhere and devoid of emotion, he’s completely vulnerable in your shared dorm. sitting on the couch, cheek on the palm of his hand as the other searches the cold touch of your hand, seeking for some company.

—and you’re there. sitting on the couch with him and a book discarded in your lap, only staring at dazai with a look of curiosity and content, he looks peaceful despite the war going on in his head.

(you were memorized by the destruction he creates and has, it was peaceful to know what beautiful destruction that dazai carries with him).

when dazai feels the cold skin of your hand, he could feel his ability cancelling yours out as your hand covers his, holding it tightly yet so soft that he wonders if you’re even there. dazai finally looks at you, face still devoid of emotion, watching you reopen your book.

“morning, sleeping beauty.” you hummed softly, an amused tone with your words. dazai groaned and knocked your book off your lap, kicking his legs up into your lap and laying down, now staring up at the ceiling.

hearing dazai go silent wasn’t rare, it was rather common when you two are in your shared dorm, but not hearing him say something stupid back confused you.

you turned your head to dazai, taking notice of his eyes that threatened to pour tears in front of you, “you okay, ‘samu?” knowing him for a while now, he wouldn’t open up and talk about his feelings. it’s fine though, you’re like that too, and you wouldn’t mind waiting forever even if it didn’t come.

dazai didn’t respond.

he never did.

he closed his eyes and if you listened closer, you could hear the shaky breath that he exhaled. taking his hand in yours, you placed a chaste kiss to his palm, the contact making dazai open his eyes slowly and sit up on his elbows.

“when are you gonna leave?” he’s says stupid shit all the time, it doesn’t effect you, none of his words effect you. it should’ve effected you but it didn’t, and dazai could tell by the unamused look on your face, “when are you gonna take your life seriously?” you lightly jabbed at him, hearing him scoff and mutter ‘hypocrite’ underneath his breath.

dazai sat up properly, scooting closer to you and grabbing your hand, setting his head on your shoulder. dazai’s touch starved but refuses any contact that doesn’t involve him initiating it, you’re an expectation, you’ve always been every since the relationship started.

silence took over you, the fan in the background aswell as dazai’s calming breath stirring you into a tired state, laying your head on dazai’s head (knowing the neck pain wouldn’t be worth it tomorrow).

“y’know i’d wait, right?” dazai hums underneath his breath as a response, “how do i know you’re not lying?” and you scoff. rolling your tired eyes, for a guy like him to ask you that question is amusing. “we’ve been lying to eachother for a while but i’m not lying about this, ‘samu.”

the former executive makes himself more comfortable in the crook of your neck, forcing you to lay down and keep him close, “i know.” the words came out muffled, and alas, his eyes are shut again and his sleeping in your arms that are now warm.

with him being asleep, you could pick out the smallest details about the boy in your arms. in your arms, he isn’t the former demon prodigy, in your arms, he isn’t a former port mafia member, in your arms, he isn’t a dehumanized person.

he’s just a boy.

osamu dazai isn’t one for words, but it’s okay, because you’re not one for words either. it’s gonna be like that for awhile, or forever, only time could tell. dazai knows this; you know this. and since dazai’s betrayal to the port mafia, he’s changing, but if he’s changing now, he was always capable of changing, he just never cared enough to try.

osamu dazai isn’t one for words, neither are you.

tick.

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ravencincaide · 10 months ago

Text

Just like Dazai

Summary: No one liked being compared to someone else. Especially when you suspect that there was much more to your boyfriend's relationship with his ex partner than met the eye. But did it really matter? After all, you'd never be able to meet his expectations. Because you weren’t Dazai. No matter how much he compared you to him.

Pairing: fem! Reader x Chuuya Nakahara

Inspired by Raven’s special anon prompt: “Chuuya accidentally hurts the reader with something he said or done. And he realizes it only when he sees her hurt expression and when she runs away from the room? “

Warnings: Cursing, mention of alcohol consumption, hurt/ light angst. hint at SSK,

Enjoy

“ Goddamn it, you’re just as fucking bad with your bets as Dazai”

The smile faded off your lips and twisted down into a frown. Your laughter which rang out together with the loud music of the arcade died down in your throat. All that was left behind was the obnoxious tune of the game you two had been playing for the past hour or so. The victory dance and loud screech on your screen and the ’you lose’ on Chuuya’s with an even louder melody which seemed to mock the ginger. Without your joy and laughter you could clearly hear it now; the frustrated growls of having lost yet another round of the game he swore he would kick your ass in. The musings at the fact that he was supposed to be better than you, the bitter one-line comparisons between the way you played the game and Dazai.

It was always Dazai. Dazai would have made a different attack in that last second, and then Chuuya would have had you where he wanted you. Dazai would have missed that last shot and then Chuuya would have been able to–

His quiet rant left a bitter taste in your mouth. You had only ever caught sight of the ex-mafia executive once as a new recruit but now you seemed to constantly exist in his shadow. Dazai, who was supposedly only a mission partner, was someone your boyfriend compared you to. Dazai, the bastard who was no longer in the Port Mafia. Dazai who was so much smarter- he would have goddamn planned better for the mission and then there’d be no casualties. Dazai who’s reports were always short and straight to the point when delivered to Mori, while yours were always too long. Dazai this, Dazai that!

Dazai wasn’t there- he had left of his own volition while you stayed and served and slaved. Fought for the Mafia- fought for Chuuya. Showered him in love, affection and care. And yet still, somehow, despite not being Dazai you lived in his shadows.

Whatever for?

Suddenly, Chuuya’s firsts made contact against the dashboard of the arcade machine between you two- an action which caused several other patrons to inch away from you in visible fear. Normally you would have scolded Chuuya for his brash actions, now you merely glanced up at him in question. There were two tokens clutched in his fist- a frustrated demand for yet another rematch. “ Another time, this was just dumb luck, yeah! Final round and I’m gonna kick your pretty lil ass, sweets!”

But you were not in the mood for games.

You were bitter, angry in the way no one seemed to understand. On edge in a fashion that not even the cocktail beside you- or the alcohol in your system- could calm. You didn’t bother to plaster a fake smile on your lips as you slid off the slightly too high chair. Your heels made contact with the sticky arcade floor and you bitterly mused that Dazai would have likely moved with more grace than you had. No, he wouldn’t have needed to jump down; he was the perfect height to just slide off the stool with dignity. The thought made anger flare in your gut. Your eyes looked anywhere but at Chuuya. “ Another time, okay? I realized I forgot something”

You caught sight of his surprised expression, the confused hurt look on his face as you turned on your heel. Of course you disappointed him; that’s all you seemed to do. Unlike Dazai who–

You cut your trail of thoughts off and hurried out. You did not wait for his reply, did not look back at him as you stumbled out of the arcade room. Past the pool tables, pushed through the sweaty tipsy queue of other patrons who waited to order their up-tenth drink and then out into the chilly evening air. Your feet carried you faster and faster for every second, until you turned down unfamiliar streets which lead you away from Port Mafia territory. That lead you further and further away from Chuuya.

But at that moment you did not care. Because why should you? Why had you even bothered trying in the first place? Why had you put effort into getting to know Chuuya? Why had you bothered trying to share your skills and passions when all you were to him was nothing but a replacement? A replacement for the partner who left Chuuya behind.

A man you would never be able to surpass, and so you were doomed to forever reside in his shadows. Because no matter how hard you tried, you would never be Dazai.

Author note: So we start off Raven's specials with a little angst. (Yes I know it's not Sunday, but I have a plan, trust me. So shhh)

Don't forget to check Raven's masterlist! and wait for the next Special ;) ©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

#raven's special #raven cincade's works #Raven's drabbles #Raven's short fics #chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader #jealous reader #bsd angst #chuuya angst

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surrealitea · 8 months ago

Text

Trigger warnings: fem! reader, pm! dazai, angst, blood, death, guns, alcohol, angry at waitress (abusing staff is never okay), dazai-typical suicide comments, please comment if I'm missing anything

Belladonna: silence

Word count: 3.8k

Author notes: This have been in my drafts since late November and I wanted to get it out before I turned 19 (that didn't exactly happen), so here's a birthday gift from me to you. I also apologise because all my other Dazai drafts are also angst.

The rain started to pick up but neither of the two teens bothered to pull out an umbrella, not that they had one, or take cover beneath the restaurant awnings. They welcomed the light shower which soaked their clothing and prevented the blood that coated it from permanently staining the garments. Trailing behind the bandaged young man, who skilfully avoided the lit streetlights which would reveal the darkened red patches to an innocent passer-by, was a young girl of the same age in equally dark clothing.

“Have you ever considered leaving the Port Mafia?”

The question made the boy’s artful steps pause as he turned to his companion.

“Why? Do you plan on leaving me, Belladonna?” he teasingly replied with that classic ambiguous smile that never got close to reaching his eyes.

The girl paused, lips parted slightly as if to say something but shut just as quickly. She stood there facing him, however her eyes never met his unbandaged one, instead staying fixated on the straightness of his nose and pointiness of his jaw. After a moment of pause, the answer followed.

“Of course not, I could never leave you… till death do us part.”

The boy’s piercing stare didn’t soften. The answer was hardly satisfying considering the prolonged pause used only by those yet to master the art of lying. He said nothing though, and simply turned back around, relieving the suffocating atmosphere that unnerved the weary office worker unfortunate enough to pass by them in that moment.

The pair continued their walk once more under the starless night sky whose hopeful twinkles were slaughtered by the insomniac-inducing brightness of city-light neon.

The office door closed with a slight click as the person failed in their attempt to enter unnoticed. The man that sat conceitedly in the plush leather chair, which looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, turned his calculative eyes upon his visitor.

“Ah, Dazai, what brings you to my office?”

“Why did you give orders to execute Y/N without consulting me?”

“Come now, you are smart enough to already know why.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Why? Because she is your girlfriend? Surely you aren’t foolish enough to actually fall in love.”

Dazai gave no response, only hardening his glare at the man still seated in the plush throne of an armchair.

“As an executive you should already be aware that such relationships are a weakness not needed in the Port Mafia.”

Silence from Dazai continued to pervade the room as his stare took on a bloodthirsty edge which would have unnerved anyone else.

“Let me handle this, there is no reason for you to involve others when she is my subordinate.”

“No, another executive will be tasked with the mission of eliminating Y/N and you are not to interfere. Should your personal feelings get in the way then I will have no choice but to take disciplinary action against you.”

Knowing he no longer had room to argue with his superior, Dazai reluctantly resigned from the verbal battle. Though he was sure to leave the with the stench of unfinished business, and a clear promise of defiance which certainly wasn’t his brightest idea but not regrettable to the boy.

With the insolent slam of the office door, Mori picked up the phone beside him and dialled a number. It didn’t ring long before a familiar snarly voice answered the call. “Chuuya, could you come to my office?”

The tight dress felt constrictive around the girl who was used to her looser work clothes that provided the freedom of movement needed for her line of work. The boy opposite her, who stayed in his usual attire despite his request to dress up, busied himself with the menu although it was obvious that no words were being comprehended. The girl’s menu, wrapped in an elegant black leather cover characteristic of such a high-end restaurant, stayed in its neat form, untouched.

Without ever having removed his eyes from the cream tinted paper, “Are you not going to order, Belladonna? You’ve been staring into space for the past fifteen minutes.”

She startled out of the daydreams that violently consumed her like a starved beast and shakily grabbed the menu from its resting place only to tear apart the binding with more brutality than necessary. She quickly flicked through the pages while restlessly shuffling, from the overpriced entrees that wouldn’t be more than a mouthful to the extensive wine selection flown in from every famous vineyard in Europe, none of the elegantly printed words registered to her frazzled brain still drowned in its own paranoia heavy enough to block out the world around her.

She was saved seconds into reaching the last page by the waitress that seated them that evening and had already been waved off by Dazai prior for the two guests were then still indecisive. With a practiced upturn of the lips she patiently asked if they were now ready to order.

The boy closed the menu and handed it back to the woman, not once taking his eyes off the fidgety girl across from him, as he recited his order that consisted of the priciest steak and a bottle of vintage wine he definitely wouldn’t enjoy.

When silence followed his response, Dazai asked, “Belladonna, have you made a decision?”

The frazzled girl dared to glimpse at the eyes of her lover which she had until then avoided all evening so far. Dark pools of hollowness which took in everything they saw without giving away anything themselves caught hers and trapped them there inconsiderate of her pleas to look away.

“Belladonna.”

His voice took on a sharper commanding edge this time but still sounded light and teasing to any stranger.

“Uh, I- I’ll have the same, thanks.”

“An excellent choice, ma’am.” With that the waitress left the two teens to their uncomfortable silence.

Dazai’s mouth was moving, and the girl could just barely make out the hot air spilling from his mouth from their close distance. But his words never registered, blurred instead with the dozens of other patrons merrily chattering away till it became incomprehensible white noise. Her eyes drifted longingly to the door a dozen or so paces away and just barely obscured by the oriental plant that didn’t quite suit the establishment’s French aesthetic.

“-re you listening to me? Belladonna? I’m recounting my brush with death here, and you’re spacing out? Do you not care about me anymore?!”

The buzz finally subsided into a medley of words again, and the girl was confronted with the pouty face of her lover whom she starred confusingly back at with owlish, empty eyes still not quite present.

“… I’m listening, you were talking about-“

She was thankfully saved by the waitress who had returned with the exorbitant wine comfortably blanketed by a bucket of ice and was placed at the edge of the table. She took the already uncorked bottle and poured the bloody liquid into two glasses then elegantly wiped the nozzle on a white cloth, the colour bleeding into the pure shade, before slightly bowing and leaving them to savour the ambrosia.

As Dazai lifted the glass toward his date in preparation of a toast, the last few drops were already sliding down the glass and past rouge painted lips.

“Belladonna, you’re meant to savour such wines. You’re lucky that slug isn’t here to chew you out for such barbarism,” he teased as his own lips kissed the glass only to slightly pucker at the unaccustomed sweet fruitiness not found in his usual choice of poison.

Now drowned in a strained silence once again, and with no attempt made by his partner to break it, Dazai decided to make the first move and asked, “how was your day, Belladonna? I was so busy overseeing a weapons shipment that I never got to visit you.”

“Oh, it was fine, just the usual boring paperwork regarding mission reports and such.”

“Aww! And without me there to entertain you it must have been so boring you were willing to finally join me in the afterlife to escape this oxidising world’s mundanity!”

An empty, sad chuckle left her chewed-up lips at the Dazai-typical comment as she placed the glass down that was already half empty of her second drink.

“No, not yet. There are still things I want to do with my life, places I want to see once I’m finally free.”

The unnoticeable twitch on Dazai’s lips lasted no more than a split second, though whether it was a smile or a frown not even the demon himself could tell. “Free? And what exactly do you mean by that, my Belladonna?”

The poor girl didn’t get out more than a few frantic stutters before they were interrupted by the waitress again who had arrived with two steaming plates of their finest cuts personally cooked by their renowned head chef himself. A look of blissful relief painted the girl’s countenance at the sudden end to a tense interrogation.

Dinner was shrouded in silence as the two quietly ate their meals while the steak was still juicy and tender, and salad still fresh and crispy. Dazai had scoffed his down with a little too much vigour (probably being the first thing he’s eaten today, maybe yesterday too), and with only a few mouthfuls to go finally looked to his partner. She, on the other hand, had barely touched her food, and was currently chewing with about as much enthusiasm as someone forced to eat sand.

“What’s wrong, Belladonna? Is the food not to your liking? You look like the slug whenever we’re forced to work together.”

“Oh, um- it’s a little dry, I guess…” she stuttered, avoiding eye contact with the boy in front.

“Really? It looks fine to me. Here, let me try some.”

The girl frantically grabbed the plate and yanked it away from the outstretched hand, the knife fell in the process with a deafening clatter. Two pairs of owlish eyes met, though one had a touch of fear that the demon could definitely discern. Sheepishly, the girl returned the plate back to the table and collected the knife from the floor while avoiding the impassive eyes of her partner.

Another minute of tense silence was thankfully broken by Dazai as he waved down the waitress.

“My dear Belladonna here says the steak is dry. Bring the chef out so he can fix this abomination, I can’t go serving anything but the best to my Belladonna.”

“Oh! Of course, Sir. I’ll bring him here right away, Sir. I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” the waitress hysterically apologised with overly exaggerated bows to the two.

“Ah- No! It’s fine, really! The steak isn’t that bad actually, and I wouldn’t want to cause them any more trouble.”

“Belladonna,” Dazai’s strict chastisement shut the girl up. “If it’s not to your liking then say so. You’ve been a mess all evening, it’s getting annoying.”

A muffled sorry escaped bitten lips.

“What are you still doing here? I already gave you an order.”

The waitress, who till now had been watching the two, turned around in a panic to escape the wrath of the demon before her.

“You know what, it’s fine, I’ve lost my appetite. Belladonna, we’re going.” Dazai stood up with a loud clatter and grabbed his partner’s hand to drag her away from the teary-eyed waitress fearing for her employment.

“Ah! Dazai, wait!”

The boy turned around, only to address the waitress that was too distressed to move. “You can charge our meal to my dog, Chuuya Nakahara, when he visits this weekend,” he proclaimed, before promptly storming out of the fine-dining establishment. The mood, already soured by the earlier commotion, felt even worse now as all the staff were already well aware of the rumours surrounding his reputation.

The cool breeze nipped and chilled the girl’s bones to ice as her jacket was sadly left abandoned on the side of her chair back inside. Her wrist was still being painfully clenched in the vice grip of her partner who clearly had no intention of loosening his hold.

“Hey, um- thank you for tonight. Though, I need to go now, I have an early mission tomorrow and am really tired.”

“I want to take you somewhere,” Dazai interrupted as he stared absently into the distance.

He started walking off into the pitch black yonder, and while his grip slightly lessened it did nothing to ease the hand-shaped bruise forming, nor the tempest of anxiety in her stomach.

The full moon, tinted an eerie blue, illuminated the abandoned warehouse and its surroundings just enough to make out the outline of a young man in a pitch-black coat. Obscured in the shadows was his partner, the young girl of the same age in equally dark clothing. A gentle breeze tickled the two’s hair enough to send a chill down the shadowed body’s spine (or was it the boy’s stare?).

“Have you ever considered leaving the Port Mafia?”

The question made the girl’s eyes widen as her muscles tensed in trepidation.

“Of course not, I could never leave you.”

She tried her best to hide behind a smile, but the rueful upturn of her lips easily gave away her secrets to the boy who could read her like a book.

“Then tell me what you were thinking of when you colluded with the Special Division?”

The girl wasn’t stunned by the statement that she had already known was coming, though it certainly didn’t help her prepare for this situation. She stood in silence, no longer worried about the chilly evening that didn’t bother her anymore, instead more concerned for her trembling soul being consumed by the red-eyed demon.

“Answer me!”

His response lacked the subtle warmth and adoration it once had, to the point she thought all of their history together was just an unrealistic dream that would never come true. And maybe that was so because…

Now all the fear that had been building up in her stomach and tormenting her mind was finally on full display at the sight of that all-too-familiar tarnished silver barrel. She flinched. Not the subtle jerks she had been giving all night whenever he said her name, but a jolt backwards like she was prepared to flee.

She wanted to throw up. Spill the pricey contents that unsettlingly filled her stomach across the gravel below.

She wanted to run away. Leave her life and everything- the good and the bad- behind to start anew in a foreign country far, far away from the Port Mafia.

That was the plan after all. But what did it matter now? What did it matter now that she was cornered by the man who used to whisper sweet nothings into her ear under sweaty sheets, the man who now forced her to either stare down the imposing loaded barrel waiting to dole out her inevitable fate, or the demonic, unfamiliar, red eye.

She wanted to breakdown and cry. Maybe his non-existent heart would have just enough pity to end her suffering quickly rather than continue this pointless torment. But what was she expecting from the mafia’s greatest torture specialist, the demon prodigy himself? He was probably relishing in her suffering, quietly laughing behind those watery eye mocked her for naively believing their relationship was ever truly real to him.

She wanted to give up. So tired of all these mind games and bloodshed that maybe she knew this was the only true way to release her soul from the bloodstained underworld, from all this worldly suffering she regrets enduring.

The click of the safety being turned off broke the agonizing silence. The muzzle pointed between her eyes at an almost point-blank range that even a blind man couldn’t miss. Most in her situation would be on their knees by now pathetically begging for their lives as they lie through their teeth about some loving family they can’t bear to part with, however she just stood there. Eyes were murky with tears that refused to fall, and a defeated smile graced the lips that he wished to kiss such sorrow off of because they only ever deserved joy.

“I love you, Osamu.”

The sorrowful crow whose beady black eye had silently judged the scene took flight in a frenzy as the gentle thud disturbed it. The dark liquid which miraculously until now had yet to stain the girl’s dark clothing soaked the black cotton a disturbing wet colour till the original shade disappeared in its entirety.

A barely visible stream of smoke rose from the hot muzzle as it rested by the side of the heartbroken lover.

The silence that followed suffocated the midnight air which took on the faintest hint of an irony scent.

“You can come out now, Chuuya, the deed is done.”

The shadow clad figure hesitated but didn’t seem surprised by the address from his partner. Unmistakeable orange locks came into the moon’s view for the first time since arriving at the warehouse as their owner floated down from the cracked window on the second floor.

“I didn’t think you would actually go through with it,” the ginger apprehensively replied.

“Oh come on, Chuuya, we’re partners, you should know me better than anyone, that a demon can’t fall in love.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

Dazai never answered Chuuya. Never spat back a teasing comment like usual to raise the ginger’s short temper in hopes of him kicking the bucket from high blood pressure. Dazai never even looked his way.

Instead, his right arm started to lift. The heavy object weighty in his hold, and the slight sizzle to his temple unpleasant, though it didn’t matter when all would be over soon. Nothing mattered anymore now that the heart that once beat for you both had gone silent at his own hands.

He was ready. Always had been for the past eighteen years. All he had to do was pull this trigger and-

“Hey!”

A swift kick to the wrist was all it took for the gun to fall from his grip with a resonant thud.

“Geez! If you were going to take it this badly why’d you kill her at all, you clearly knew I was following you.” The chihuahua’s barking never registered to his ears which still rang with the sound of his yet-again failed attempt.

“Oi, are you even listening to me?!” It was clear by the lightless eye that he was not. Chuuya seriously didn’t understand why he still bothered with this enigma of a man. Even if he was the only one who could read him, Dazai still managed to dumbfound him at times.

Though, looking back on his meeting earlier in the day, he supposed the outcome was inevitable.

“Chuuya,” the mafia don started the second his office door clicked shut, “I have a mission for you.”

“What is it, Boss?”

“I want you to eliminate Y/N. She has been caught leaking important documents to the Special Division in hopes of defecting from the mafia under their protection.”

The words clearly shocked the young man as his mind raced with any possibility that such a statement was untrue. He had met the girl several times while in the company of their mutual, Dazai, and was never once struck with any suspicion of possible disloyalty from her. Afterall, she was (somehow) the Demon Prodigy’s lover, and Chuuya knew that despite his general laziness toward work his partner would never tolerate betrayal to both him and the organisation. But Chuuya also knew better than to question the words of the boss as the former doctor would always, always prioritise the organisation’s security no matter the cost.

“I’ll see to it that it’s done,” was all the ginger could respond with.

“Chuuya… Dazai will try to interfere, you don’t have to stop him, just make sure that the task is completed. Afterall, I’m sure he won’t risk his position over some senseless feelings that need to be purged.”

With that, the young man was dismissed from the office and sent on his way to end the life of his work partner’s cherished lover.

“hehehe hahahaha!”

Chuuya was broken from his thoughts by the deranged laughter in front of him.

“Oh, hat rack, did you honestly think I could ever fall in love? Someone like me isn’t capable of such senseless feelings… no, if they do exist, they should be purged or else I might start seeing a point to living.” His tone was kept light the whole time, even his partner somehow bought it, though deep down he wasn’t entirely fooled by the lack of eye contact and the brunette’s quivering shoulders.

They stood like that for some time, in the silence of midnight which ate up the distant noise of Yokohama’s always bustling nightlife. They ignored the corpse not even five feet from them despite knowing they would have to call the cleaner to dispose of it and the blood which had somehow dried despite its unsettling size, a testament to how long they stood there.

Eventually, the silence and the cold became too much for Chuuya who had started to make his way back to the busy streets and toward home. But he stopped after only a few paces.

Dazai had not moved from his position, not even looked toward his partner, and instead opted to continue staring into the jet-black sea that perfectly reflected the moon’s azure glow.

“Hey… you coming or what?”

All he got was a hollow hum of approval in reply, though it still took Dazai another minute to finally set off. Chuuya never tried to leave without him despite his muffled grumbles of “damn, it’s cold,” and “hurry it up already.”

As they finally set off, Dazai couldn’t help but stop beside the cold body of his once lover. Her skin a ghostly pale- even for a corpse- and a clear icy blue tint to her lips that even his favourite vibrant red lipstick couldn’t disguise. And yet she was still the most beautiful woman to ever grace his sight, and probably ever will in his (hopefully) short, pitiful life.

“Don’t worry, my dear Belladonna. I’ll join you in hell soon.”

And as if it was a careless afterthought, whispered to the winds, the boy didn’t even realise the words escaped his lips.

“I love you.”

Extra (because I really wanted this in but didn't want to ruin the vibe):

“Oh, and I’m not paying for your meal, stupid mackerel, or sharing the rest of this bottle with you after you wasted it.”

“Aww, but as my dog, it’s your duty to serve your master.”

“You- I’ll kill you!”

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd anime #bsd manga #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #pm dazai x reader

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night-dazai · 9 months ago

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requesting an ango x reader where reader gets hostage and ango just flips the hell out because he hasn't realize his s/o has been kidnapped for 2 days and his ass is so overworked he didn't know 😭

In the end he gets back to his s/o safe and sound 💕

Note: Sorry took a lot longer almost a month, was not feeling so good for the past weeks.

Let's Go Home :

Tags: angst, kidnapping, comfort and fluff

Heavy eye bags, dead eyes, messy hair sweating in an air-conditioned room. Ango stood staring at the big screen in front of him, people near him froze seeing the hacked screen where you lay on the floor beaten and bruised. Dress torn, bleeding from your lips and a little from the head and unconscious your body lay while someone angled the camera to your puffy face strained with tears and blood “Release him, Jay whom you arrested a week ago if not she is done for good “ a voice said showing your face and chuckling another voice spoke .” Hey hey she is such a beauty lets not let it go to waste “ hearing that voice few more voices broken into laughter as the screen went black.

Coughing and wheezing you slowly open your eyes, which hurt. Your entire body hurt but your head hurt even more and so did your hands which were tied behind your back as you sat in the chair trying to look up at the men looking at you. “Your bf sure loves you I think he looked so horrified, “ one said. Words were heard but it was hard to process “Ango….” you thought “Sa….me” you mumbled before fainting once again recalling that night ……………………………….

“It is my fault …it is my fault “ he mumbled to himself holding his head and almost tearing his hair out. Ranpo was looking at the files he had shown about Jay while the director of ADA was talking with Mori “It has been 2 days, it is very risky now but since they showed she is alive …we can try I guess” he said while the director just listened staring at Ango.

His heart was beating fast, very fast for the past few hours and all he could imagine were the worst possible things those men could do to someone like you. A normal person who has no idea what about the cruel underground world.”If only I took her calls, if only…..I was there …”

“I should have never fought, even if I did I should have gone and said sorry. I should have not left her alone … She is not involved in this world at all ……” he thought his nails scrapping his scalp when a bandaged hand yanked it from his hair “Enough we found a location if Ranpo’s guess is the right its to best to go fast, “ he said.

Ango could hardly process what was happening, he tried searching for you for hours but had no clue but the moment the mafia and ADA joined hands it was in 4 hours they found your location, was he too tired to search, was he angry at himself for not taking your calls ? he did not know but he knew one thing “ they are going to regret it “ he said following Dazai and Ranpo out.

“Please take it I am sorry “ you kept thinking clutching the phone as if it were your life you kept calling your lover “Please ango I am sorry “ you mumbled keeping it close to your ear as the ring went and went and said the person had not taken the call. Tears ran down your face, you both fought yesterday night when he came home late for the 1000th time according to you “I was forced to work okay “ he said rubbing his temples indicating he was annoyed “If you do not want me in the house.... fine “ he said in a low tone and before you could react he had left the house and did not come home in the morning also.

In the morning when the doorbell rang, you ran to it thinking about how to say sorry, but something told you to take a look at the window near it and there stood 5 men one with a gun talking to the others.

Running inside you hid in your closet and called your lover but he did not take the phone, and it did not take long for the kidnappers to find you and here you were fainted all bloody and beaten up thinking how you shouted at your already overworked boyfriend “ I am sorry …” was all you could think.

“No more ..it hurts ….” when your whole body pain was felt again as you slowly started to gain conciseness you just wanted to rest. But no people were screaming and shouting, there were some harsh words “What was…was it…..” you paid a little closer attention “ Chuuya!” said a loud voice “she is in that room “.

The voice sounded familiar but you could not place it on anyone and instant gunshots were heard, but you could not move or do anything and at this point, your body was on the verge of collapse “ Ango…..be safe….” you thought and fainted as you a bright light in front of you.

The room door which burst open had Ango rushing into you while destruction and chaos were behind him. His hands skilled but trembling untied you from the chair, and he slapped your face gently “Wake up…wake up…y/n….” he said but you did not wake up.

Ranpo came in and stood at the entrance, he knew Ango for reasons and many knew him for various reasons but none were good. They have seen him smile and laugh but not one person has seen him this devastated. Dazai smiled a little standing next to Ranpo “ he found some he truly loves I guess “ he said.

Ango was rocking your cold body mumbling “You are safe …please see me y/n ..open your eyes please” his eyes were wet with tears “Let's take her to the office and get her treated “ Dazai said placing a hand on hso shoulder .

Your head had a sharp sting “Again….” you thought “Voice…just voc-Ango ?” you mumbled slowly opening your eyes. The room was brightly lit it took your eyes a few seconds to adjust but once it did you saw your lover.

Ango was talking to the director or ADA and Mori while the doctor lady from ADA was adjusting your IV “Ango..” you mumbled again a bit louder gaining all their attention.

He rushed to you, holding your hand “Y/n..yes me I am here ….i am here “ he said. His voice broke as he kept saying sorry, his hands were trembling. You have never seen your boyfriend like this and you also did not like this. You wanted to tell him it's okay and it's not this fault, you wanted to comfort him but your throat hurt at the thought of speaking loud.

Collecting any strength you had you pulled him closer by his shirt, hugging his neck you kissed his cheek “ I love you …” cough ..” home.. let's go home “you said. Your words made the man lose all kind of control and sob in your weak little arms but it felt so strong and warm as everyone left the room.

#bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd fanart #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd x female reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #ango sakaguchi #bsd ango #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs ango #ango x reader #ango x y/n #night dazai

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thebottomfromhell · 1 year ago

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hello!! I enjoy your stuff!! I was wondering if request are open could you headcanons of the upper moons having a goth s/o ?

like imagine their partner having platforms, chokers, black lipstick, the dark clothing and tattoos uwu

I would really love to see how they would react to them 🫰

Requests open, don't worry. It's a lovely ask, I hope you like it. I am writting considering the context, most are demons in the XX century that have lived at least 100 years, all of them from JAPAN. If it wasn't because most of this guys are freaks, none of them would approve.

How does the Uppermoons feel about your asthetic? Goth GN Reader.

Warnings: Kokushibou being a grampa 😂, Referenced sexual content, Sekido being emotional again, and Akaza has his implied angst (why almost everything in him has at least some hidden angst?).

Gyutaro:

Gyutaro loves your asthetic, it's almost the opposite of the traditional japanese beauty standards and he's all for it. He thinks it suits you a lot and he is not bothered when you want to show off a inked skin or too much skin. (He specially loves tattoos, thinks it's genial that marks on the body can be artistic, he is always nervious to touch them but you can see he wants to).

If you want to share a t-shirt, lend him some jewelry, put a choker in his neck, paint his nails or make him a fake tattoo (his regeneration would ruin a real one), then he is reasy for you to dress him up. (Even the lipstick, he is all for messy kisses and the more the merrier) With you as a partner he would start to incorporate some of this things to his everyday style (and Daki would loath you for it.)

Gyokko:

Gyokko is conflicted, he likes the gothic style, adores it even. The themes, the dark colors, the uniqueness, it's a great asthetic. But it's not his asthetic. He likes colors, soft patterns, brightness. And of course Gyokko can't have it if it's not about himself, not that he minds. "Some things must be loved from afar. It's like art, you are not supposed to interact or be part of it if you are not the artist. You are just supposed to appreciate it."

He fully supports the way you look, the way you dress, and he might try to wear dark make up every once in a while with you doing it as a bonding experience, if you have something really nice then jewelry is a must, specially the choker (he feels sexy with it)... but besides that, he would barely touch it. Also, you better keep your mouth away with that lipstick.

Hantengu:

It suits you, he doesn't have any strong opinion about it besides that. If that is what you want to wear, please do. But he got to admit there are things he is rather intimidated by in your style, the dark colors everywhere and memento mori themes are one of those.

He would not let you near with any of your things, not even the nail painting. Still, he would be plainty supportive of you expressing yourself. He is ok with the lipstick, though, it causes no harm.

Sekido:

Sekido is ok with it, it's the way you express yourself and dress is none of his business. He doesn't really like it but still thinks it's much better than dressing like Karaku or Urogi. He doesn't mind anything you do tl yourself as long as you like it.

And if you ever think of lending him something... don't, at best he will not use it, at worst he will give it to Urogi or Karaku and you will never see that piece of clothing/jewelry again. And try to put any make up on him he will literally have you shocked untill you pass out. Also, please clean the lipstick off if you want a kiss, he doesn't like them that messy.

Karaku:

Karaku thinks it's beautiful and sexy, he loves it a lot and is unafraid to say it. The second he saw you he said "Damn, you're looking good, hot-stuff. Suits you so much I'm almost envy it." He falls in love with you again evertime you expose a tattoo (he will trail the drawing with his index as he whispers how much he loves it in yoour skin by your ear) or wear tight and black clothes.

Don't mind him matching your style every once in a while, when he gets the mood to fix himself. But now that you gave him the idea he is forever using a choker, best thing ever. Also, he loves the black lipstick, he is enamored with kissing you with both having some and creating a mess, also he likes it since is extremely visible in his unlike bitemarks (they heal), so he is all for you kissing anywhere you like with it.

Urogi:

Urogi adores it, he thinks it's unique. Really, he gets all over you and asks you things like "What is that?" "How did you get it?" "Is it uncomfortable?" He also comments how it looks good in you. This includes the tattos, he loves then, even licks them at times lnly to see if it rubs off and is always amazed when it doesn't, even if he ever licked that same spot a million times.

After a while you realize he started to steal your stuff, specially the jewelry. He doesn't even wears them, he just likes them a lot so he keeps them. You can't get him to wear anything at all, he will run away at the sight of you wanting to dress him up (like a dog realizing it's bath-day, maybe he does think you will force him into a shower cuz he stinks a bit and you would not want to wear a shirt that he just used).

Aizetsu:

Aizetsu likes it, he thinks you look nice in it, you look like yourself. Dark clothes fit anyone, he thinks, and damn him if he isn't attracted to the themes, specially the memento mori. The thing he loves the most are the tattoos, the fact that they are part of you. He asks about their meaning, of why did you choose certain design, of the experience, he uses them as a way to know you.

Now, he wouldn't actually wear that. While he also likes dark clothes, he uses only things that are comfortable for his skin and to do the katas with his spear. But... a little bullying and he will be willing to match with you for a while. Oh, and he looks adorable after a messy kiss with the lipstick. He loves it and hates it at the same time, since it's awful but he likes that you can leave a mark that won't heal so he doesm't want to clean it off.

Nakime:

Nakime is in love with your style, she doesn't understand it as much as she feels she should, since he also wears black. She likes the themes, adores the tattoos (even if she would die before letting a needle basically embroider ink into her skin), dies for the make up and jewelry, also the fact she literally fell in love with you when she saw you like that... she still hasn't managed to integrate herself fully into it. She adores it, yearns it, but it's not hers.

Still, Nakime does like when you lend her something, and she would use them from time to time as long as you guide her through the style. And she likes a lot to kiss if you are both wearing lipstick, even if she doesn't like to deal with the mess it leaves in the skin.

Akaza:

Akaza doesn't share the taste, but he is very supportive. He likes to see you dress up the way it makes you comfortable and happy, and he is not above gifting you a gothic piece of jewelry or cloth if that will make you happy. His biggest issue are the tattoos, for some reason they make him feel on edge (you are used to him being paranoid of you being hurt, but fearing it out of a tattoo?)

He would not wear none of those, never. Akaza loves you, but he is not comfortable with the idea of so much black in him. It's actually funny because he wears white and pink, so you give the Jade (you) and Kat (him) vibe from Victorious at first glance. Also, he is not going to stop you from kissing hin if you wear lipstick, but he is cleaning his mouth the second your lips leave his.

Douma:

Douma literally doesn't care. You could both dress in the most expensive suit or a trash bag and the same reaction. "You look lovely in that!" But he says it mostly because it's the correct thing to say, since he doesn't have feelings on the matter. The only think he is curious about are the tattoos, but once he made some questions like "Did it hurt?" "Why this drawing?" "What if one day you don't like it anymore?" He starts losing interest.

He also doesn't care lf you put anything on him, you could give him a tattoo if you ever wanted. He doesn't care if the kisses might get messy with the lipstick or even if you want to put make up in him, at best he will think having his face "painted" is funny and at worst he will clean it off. Douma just doesn't care.

Kokushibou:

Kokushibou hates it, if he wasn't a demon he would have died from a heart attack everytime he saw you using a choker with black lipstick, visible tattoos, clothes too tight in your skin and/or too revealing (he thinks too revealing is showing your shoulders, thighs, any tiny bit of chest, waist, back and so) and way too many accesories for his liking. And don't get him starting with the memento mori themes (he's terrified by it).

This is a japanese traditional man, and what your style is almost the exact opposite of it. Still, he barely comments on it, he's a very quiet man, and he's so horrified he doesn't know how to approach because... you really like to be like that??? [Go to sleep gramps 😂] If you ever put anything gothic on him, no matter what, even if it's just the figure of your lips with the black lipstick, forget the canon timeline, he will die then and there. [Poor grampa, your youth is too much for him 🤣]

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akutasoda · 1 year ago

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I dont know if you accept requests like this and if you dont then feel free to ignore it but if you do can i request edgar allen poe, kunikida and higuchi with a like 12/13/14 year old reader who sees them as a parental or older sibling figure? Like reader could be like an orphan or a kid with just like a bad family who sees them more like a parent or a sibling like relationship

-🧛

childhood closure

synopsis - sometimes found family is true family

includes - kunikida, higuchi, poe (all platonic)

warnings - gn!reader, child reader, fluff, slight angst, wc - 679

a/n: yes i do accept platonic writings! im a sucker for found family

doppo kunikida ★↷

↪he had met you through a mission in quite the unfortunate chain of events. your parent/guardian was the criminal that they had just arrested and that left you with no one to look after you.

↪so for the mean time you were placed under kunikida's care as the main person on the mission until they could locate any family for you to go to.

↪however it was taking quite long to do so, and kunikida kind of starrted caring about you more like a parent then a temporary caretaker. and you started seeing him as a father figure.

↪the agency would note how you two truly acted naturally like a father and his child. so when they couldn't locate any more family for you to go to. kunikida offered to become your legal guardian.

↪sure it was a lot of responsibility to befall upon him so suddenly and he would have to alter his schedule. but he cared for you and saw how you viewed him as more of a parental figure he couldn't just push you away.

↪and to some people's observation he always looked slightly happier when near you, almost as if he saw you as his own.

ichiyō higuchi ★↷

↪you were another child under the 'care' of the port mafia. but you had been assigned to be under the care of higuchi as your ability was useful in bodyguarding and as a current bodyguard she was deemed suitable to teach you.

↪plus you were starting to get on mori's nerves but you were too useful to get rid of. you went into it expecting the worst. but little did you know higuchi had held sympathy for you. she never really agreed with kids like you being in the mafia but it wasn't up to her.

↪so she figured with what you've been through so far, she could maybe help you. and at this new found kindness fron your new mentor, you started looking up to her.

↪and after spending most your time with her, you saw her not as a mentor but an elder sister. and when she noticed she realised that she did actually see you as her younger sibling.

↪which made you two closer and actually she took it upon herself to look after you outside of work aswell.

↪eventually you two would just think of eachother as siblings and she promised to always look out for you.

edgar allan poe ★↷

↪when you first met poe it was under quite a unique situation. to put it simply you were a orphan. but simply did not want to stay at the orphanage waiting to be adopted. so you escaped.

↪and one day you saw a pretty odd looking man roaming the streets. he seemed to be looking for something not your concern though. or so you thought until a raccoon walked up to you.

↪the raccoon pawed at your leg before you lifted it up and it crawled ont your shoulders. cute. that's when you saw the strange man coming towards you.

↪he awkwardly told you that that was his raccoon, karl. you shrugged and handed him over to the man who said his name was poe.

↪but in a last minute thought. you had asked the man if he had anywhere he kndw of you could stay. probably not smart asking a stranger but there was something about him.

↪one thing led to another and eventually you had become his assistant. mainly because karl really liked you. but to you poe had helped you and you couldn't help but imagine him more as a father figure to you.

↪and when louisa came to ask poe about something, and met you she accidentally confused you for his actual child or relative, even if you didn't look alike.

↪and that's when he started seeing you as more of his child and not just his assistant. and eventually that dynamic became quite the thing between you two.

↪he looked after you as if you were his own and you couldn't remember when you have ever been so happy.

#x gender neutral reader #x reader #x child reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd kunikida #kunikida x reader #bsd higuchi #higuchi x reader #bsd edgar allan poe #poe x reader #🧛 anon↩

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cheriecoke · 1 year ago

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hi~! can i rq a scenario with dazai where his s/o finds out he abused akutagawa in the port mafia and gets super pisssd at him because they themselves were abused? thank u!

color me blue

FEATURING. osamu dazai x gn!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: mori reveals dazai's true nature as a mentor to akutagawa.

CONTENTS: references to past abuse, arguments, pm!reader, ada!dazai, angst, typical dazai warnings lol, comfort at the end

notes: thank you for the request !! i hope this is okay <3

It’d begun like any other morning. Already exhausted, you woke with an overwhelming list of things to do, tasks that needed to be completed by the evening.

It was a typical routine for you, these days. As a high-ranking member of the Mafia, you never got a break. Not from your job, nor the menial chores you needed to suffer through in your personal life. The laundry, it seemed, wouldn’t do itself, no matter how much your boss paid you for all the illegal actions you’d committed.

And though it was wearisome, everything had been fine. The sun began to set, and you realized that for the rest of the day, you would be free.

That was, until your routine check-in with Mori somehow led to a disclosure of what had been years’ worth of private information.

He’d greeted you as normal, sat you down before his desk with his oily smile, and had you review everything you’d accomplished that week. Though you believed you would be free to go within half an hour, when you stood to leave, Mori released an oh, by the way, and reiterated the unanticipated torment that Dazai had put Akutagawa through.

For the entirety of his story, you sat without so much as a twitch of the muscle, but you couldn’t comprehend why Mori was telling you now. It had been nearly four years since Dazai left the Mafia, and though the Boss had been aware of your relationship as teenagers, he’d never given you any sign that he knew it’d continued after Dazai defected.

You’d both been careful, secretive. You never did anything to draw any suspicion or be labeled as a traitor, and the two of you were successful.

At least, you thought you’d been successful.

Mori had never once mentioned it, had never so much as batted an eye when you spoke about Dazai from time to time. Though, now, his grin was much too conniving, the words made of steel as he drew them out, directing them in a sharp point towards your chest.

He had no intentions of going after Dazai, that much was clear. Nor did he seem intent on killing you for your misdeeds. Already, he’d spun a vile web, knowing exactly how to use you as his best asset. With you still under his command, he had some sort of advantage over Dazai and the Agency.

Perhaps, his comments were just a test of your loyalty. If Mori laid that one tiny seed of doubt in your mind, would it be enough to fracture the bond between you and Dazai that had been unsevered for years?

You wanted to convince yourself, fervently, that the answer was no. You’d been by Dazai’s side for this long and nothing he’d done had turned you away. Yet, you were unprepared for the anger that had risen in you, burning so hot and ravenous that you were unable to think of anything else.

It was all that was on your mind as you returned to the apartment, a barren space that had been used for nothing besides meetups with Dazai since the two of you purchased it. Each wall was entrenched with years of as much sin as there was love. Items that belonged to both of you were scattered across the surfaces, but there was never anything too important.

At the end of the day, neither of you could stay there long.

You paced the apartment, thinking through everything that Mori had said, over and over again. An ache of sorrow fought against your warranted rage, and you stood by the door waiting for Dazai to enter.

As angry as you were with him, as horrified as you wanted to be, there were still years and years of comfort and gentleness that placed a cooling balm over your burning wounds.

Still, a part of you had always been envious that Dazai had managed to escape into something good, and you’d become the enemy to his organization. Now, it seemed, you were the only thing holding him back.

In some other universe, surely, there was a life better for the both of you than this.

Despite your affection, you inhaled, fortifying yourself for a regrettable conversation. You channeled your resentment into logic, rephrasing sentences in your mind until they were perfect, forming an argument that couldn’t be so easily shut down by Dazai’s soothing words.

The door clicked, unlocked by the only other person that held a key to the salacious space. He was humming to himself, an upbeat song that had been stuck on the radio charts for weeks.

Something about that simple action startled you, set you off kilter, and you crossed your arms, protecting yourself. You came here with a purpose, and you refused to diminish the weight of the conversation. A puff of steam left you on a heavy exhale.

Dazai threw the key on the counter and smiled, his eyes softening the moment they caught a glimpse of you. “You got here faster than I thought.” His tone was cheerful, and he seemed relaxed, without the foreboding cloud of misery pushing down on him. It was so unusual that you, almost, regretted bringing up what you’d learned from Mori at all.

Though, it wasn’t something you could just ignore. You straightened, making sure not to deflate under his undeniable warmth.

For a moment, Dazai didn’t realize that anything was wrong. He hung his coat up, stretched his limbs, and talked without facing you. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen one another. I thought about you all day,” he said, drawing out the syllables with a short laugh. “You’re always such a distraction. How will I ever get my work done?”

Dazai seemed so happy, and in all your years together, you’d never thought that would be a word used to describe him. It pained you to ruin that, even as your nails dug into your palm, trying to reconcile the two versions of Dazai that you knew.

You looked away. If you wanted to say what you needed to, you couldn’t bear to see the way his soft expression turned into one of animosity.

For a few more moments, he rambled on to himself, before realizing that you hadn’t said a word at all. You felt frozen in the middle of the room, your mouth dry as you tried to think of the best way to segue into the conversation.

“Hey.” Dazai had grown quiet, and he stopped mulling around the apartment, finally focusing all his attention on you. “What’s wrong, pretty?” There was a pout on his lips, his expression already falling from the bright, joyful one he’d worn when he’d entered. “I still haven’t gotten a kiss.”

You were weak for a moment, questioning if your anger was even worth it. A minute passed of your own silence before you resolved yourself, ending your hesitance. What you’d heard had upset you tremendously; you couldn’t just brush past it like it was nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dazai’s face screwed up, eyebrows pinched, as he tried to remember what he could’ve possibly done to upset you that week. Though you often bickered about ridiculous things, it was rare that either of you lashed out in anger at the other.

Your expression was enough to let him know that this was one of those times. He hesitated. “I’m… not sure what you mean, love. Did I do something wrong?”

At that, you laughed, amused that he could play so innocent. He’d changed while in the Detective Agency, that much was certain, but you knew every bit of his soul and he certainly hadn’t been purified of his sins. “Mori told me about Akutagawa today. I doubted how much of it was true until I thought about it, really thought about it, and it makes sense.”

Dazai stared blankly back at you, his eyes searching your face for any more context. They flicked back and forth, round brown irises full of an uncertainty you weren’t sure was genuine. He was a master of manipulation, and you refused to ever be a pawn in his schemes, no matter how small. “I haven’t seen Akutagawa in weeks. Whatever’s happened to him—”

You stood straighter, keeping your hands tight at your sides. “I’m not talking about now, Osamu. I’m talking about years ago; back when you were training him.”

A moment passed; he didn’t blink. Nothing in his eyes betrayed him. “Would you care to provide me with some context?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” You scowled, clenching your teeth so hard that it hurt. “How could you do that to him? All those years, you and Oda kept it a secret from me. You hurt him. You were so cruel.” Your nails dug deep into your palm. “I told you everything that happened to me before I came to the Mafia. Every way that I was hurt, and you told me you understood. You promised me, and you turned around and did the same thing to him.”

Dazai held his body loosely, surprised by your sudden outburst of emotion. It seemed he was unsure what to do with the confession you’d just handed over. Dazai licked his lips, wetting the dry skin, and searched deep into your soul for the best way to soothe you.

But the betrayal, the hurt, was buried deep within you, and the anger wouldn’t fade so easily.

“I never kept secrets from you,” he said, instead of answering any questions. His tone was cool, unaffected, like you hadn’t just raised your voice as your countenance changed into one of distress. “You just never bothered to ask.”

Silence. You swallowed, hard, each notch of your spine stiffening. “That’s not fair. How was I supposed to know his training was any different from mine? Should my first suspicion have been that you were mistreating him?”

Dazai grew grim, the first twinge of emotion you’d seen since you’d spoken. He rubbed his temple. “You’ve got a right to be angry, but I never hid anything from you on purpose.” He reached out for you, his touch soft as he rubbed your bicep. “I just don’t know what you want me to do about it now, sweetheart. Why are you bringing this up?”

You didn’t want to tell him about Mori, not yet. That was a conversation for another time, and he wouldn’t hesitate to claim that bit of information was the more pressing matter.

Instead, you inched out of his hold, gazing back at him with contempt. “You can’t be serious, Osamu.” His audacity shouldn’t have been surprising, but it shocked you, nonetheless. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dazai held his hands out like you would hand him over a script, a typed apology just for him to repeat back at you. “Never once did you show any concern for Akutagawa’s wellbeing when he joined the Mafia. Suddenly, you care, and I’m not sure why.”

“That’s not true!” you said, your cheeks hot with frustration. “We we’re friends—”

Dazai laughed, though it was mocking, without any true humor. “You expressed an interest in him that wasn’t ever reciprocated.”

You scrubbed your face, drained from his rebuttals, and put enough space between the two of you so that Dazai couldn’t touch you.

“Fine. Maybe we weren’t friends, but I wantedto be because I knew he understood. I thought we could get to know each other well. Then one day, he wouldn’t even speak to me anymore. He looked at me like I knew so much more than he did.” A finger was in Dazai’s face, scolding. “You fucked it all up. We’re just a year apart, Osamu. I didn’t want him to treat me like that just because I was dating his mentor.”

There was a break of silence. Dazai sniffed, recovering some sense of power in the conversation. “I’m sorry.” he said, but it was merely to appease you, no sincerity in the words. “Perhaps my methods of training were inappropriate and unethical, but it’s the Mafia, my love. What did you expect?”

Frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. “And if it had been me? If I had been under your command, would you have done the very same?”

At that, Dazai softened, his lips curling down. The light in his eyes flickered and faded, any happiness in his face muted. “It would never have been you. You know I could never bring myself to hurt you.”

You buried your face in your hands, his sweet comment doing little to soothe you. “He was just a kid—”

“I was too.” Dazai held your wrists gently, prying them away. He was frowning, dark eyebrows pinched together as he looked at you with both concern and betrayal. “You’re going to blame this all on me, when I was a child too, doing what I thought was right?”

“No. But you’re an adult now, and you still treat him the same way.” You shoved him away, putting space between you, never before having felt so cold in Dazai’s embrace. “He’s nothing more than a chess piece to you. That’s something I can’t accept.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai turned hard; suddenly he’d lost the upper hand. “You’ve got a lot of opinions on what’s right. Yet, remind me who’s the one still in the Mafia?”

It was meant to hurt you, a low blow that stung and went straight to your chest. You hadn’t wanted to stay in the Mafia, but he’d never given you the choice. Dazai had left you with nothing more than a note and a promise, and you were too stupidly fond of him to ever let him go completely.

“It’s so hard to love you sometimes, Osamu,” you said, quietly, trying to keep your emotions at bay. “Your new friends at the agency get to be ignorant about the man you used to be, but I know just how cruel he was. I see him every time I look at you.”

Dazai stared back at you stunned and hurt. He flexed his fingers, but for once, he didn’t reach out for you.

You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

The bathroom door slammed behind you, and you stood in front of the mirror, watching splotchy patches form on your skin from unreleased emotions. The sink ran, a steady stream with no end, to tune out your deep, calming breaths until you no longer felt that immense amount of anger.

You knew what you were getting yourself into by falling in love with a man like Dazai. You’d known it from the beginning. He was no different than all the people that had hurt you, the reason why you’d come to the Mafia in the first place.

Yet, he was so much more loving with you, gentle and patient, and you knew that under every layer of bad intent and regretful crimes, Dazai was a good person.

With a sigh, you turned off the sink and crept back into the room, feeling remorseful and miserable. The knowledge of what he’d done to Akutagawa was something you couldn’t forgive him for. It was horrible and traumatizing, but so were so many other things that he’d done.

You couldn’t place double standards on him for his previous actions. If you had loved him despite all of those things, you weren’t going to be able to stop now.

“Osamu?” you said in a quieter voice, creeping out of the bathroom silently, slinking within the shadows.

He was spread over the length of the couch, his head resting on the arm of it as he stared up at the ceiling. When you approached, he shifted into a seated position, waiting for you to speak.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you began, walking slowly towards him, drawn to him easily. “You’re not a difficult man to love. I’ve never felt that way.”

Dazai smiled, though it was half-hearted, and extended a hand to you. You took it quickly and he drew you into his lap, squeezing you tight. “Well, I certainly don’t make it easy on you.”

You were silent. He kissed your forehead, running a delicate touch across your back.

“I can’t take back what I did to him.” Dazai sighed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “The damage is done.”

“I know that.” You breathed, his calming scent wrapping around you, reminding you that no matter what, he would always be your home. “It’s not fair for me to judge you when I’m still in the Mafia. My crimes are no better than yours. Even if what you did…” you trailed off shaking your head. “No. You’re right, Osamu. It’s not fair.”

He guided your fingers to his lips, kissing each of them lightly with the beginnings of a smile. “I’ll never be a perfect man, but I’m trying to be a better one.” Though he refrained from showing vulnerabilities to most people, he was more open with you, more willing to reveal the parts of himself he despised the most. “I… hope you know that. It may not seem like I’m trying, but—"

“I know you are.” You ran a hand through his hair and swallowed, resting your cheek on top of his head. “Osamu, you’re already so different than you were when you left. You’ve changed much more than I have. It was horrible of me to diminish that.” You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I said that.”

A minute passed before he spoke again, his breath so steady, a reminder that he was still there, with you, despite all attempts he’d made to leave you behind. We’ve seen every ugly side to one another. It makes it far too easy to be unkind. Doesn’t mean I’d ever love you any less.”

You smiled, though it was sad, but through your hurt you were still devastatingly devoted to him. It was just easier to ignore the damage he’d caused when you weren’t staring it right in the face, a walking, breathing reminder of the person he held inside him. The very type of man that had once hurt you.

You squeezed him tighter, blocking out the cruel memories of your past. Dazai had never laid a punishing hand on you, had never spat demeaning words at you that could never be forgiven. Through it all, he had adored you, treated you with a gentleness you’d desired, and loved you without conditions.

Brushing dark hair away from his forehead, your eyes softened, the darkness in him cracking as the light began to shine through. “I know, Osamu,” you said, your cheeks pinching, warm. “Despite it all, I will always love you without regrets.”

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