#ranpo...i have not thought of him in a long time..one week in fact

[mncxbe]

Omg, How do you think Dazai, Ranpo, and Jouno (if you want you can add some people) react if their S/o is still stuck in the "Crush phase", like subconsciously smiling at them, sometimes forgetting to breathe (is that just me ?), hiding their face, you get the gist :]

Omg this is so sweet I cannot- I made it kinda sappy hihi let's get right into it♡♡♡ also sorry it took so long to post. school is killing me💀

°☆●

Me, blushing? Nah...

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒑𝒐, 𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

cocky bastard (affectionately)

teases you so much about it omg but does find it adorable

"Aww my bella's still flustered around me? Glad I didn't lose my charm"

no bcs if you catch him off guard; like if he sees you look at him with those big doe eyes he will defo get flashbacks of the times you first started going out on dates

he smiles so gently and he's so happy

like don't underestimate the love this man will have for you fr

You were currently sitting at a square table, tucked in the corner of your favourite coffee shop, with your loving boyfriend facing you. He's been listening to you talk about your insufferable colleagues at work for about half an hour.

You knew you were starting to get the facts mixed up in a jumble of incoherent sentences but you couldn't help it; not when Dazai was looking at you with those beautiful, chocolate brown eyes and that smile you loved so much.

And oh, how blissfully aware he was of the effect he had on you. It warmed his heart to see you act so nervous around him, because of him, after all this time...

He never thought the two of you would last. Maybe a couple of weeks or months, yea. But three whole years? And the relationship was still going well? He was the luckiest man of Earth.

"Aww is my pretty girl blushing again?" he cooed as he leaned over the table and pinched your cheek lightly.

"What? No, I'm not..." you whined in protest as you covered your face with one of your hands.

"It's ok bella. I know you'll never resist my charms. Now please go on talking. I love the gossip" he mocked again, but you caught the hint of softness in his voice.

Taking a deep breath in, you resumed your talk, hand subconsciously reaching out across the table for his.

Dazai intertwined his fingers with yours, meeting them mid-way. He listened carefully, sliding his thumb over yours like he did a countless times before- like he'll do until the end of time because he loves you- and he smiled, nodding at your words.

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒑𝒐

cocky bastard part 2

much like Dazai he loves your reactions; it's a gentle reminder that you still love him the same way you did when you became a couple

also teases you a bit but let's be honest, he's probably stuck in the crush phase too

y'all are so giddy all the time really

Lost in deep thought, Ranpo swirled his tongue around a cherry flavoured lollipop; fingers mindlessly tapping against the cushioned couch in a slow rhythm.

"You see. Those people must've been hiding in the warehouses closest to the city. They needed a fast escape route so picking the ones on the shore would've made no sense."

For the past ten minutes Ranpo's been explaining to you how he captured a group of gun dealers, deducing the location of their hideout from a mere stain he found on one of the men's shoes.

As per usual, you listened patiently to all he had to say. Your boyfriend's stories never ceased to fascinate you; he was simply amazing. As you watched him nonchalantly explaining every step of his deduction, his signature grin stretched on his lips; a rosy tint rose to your cheeks.

"And anyway, that's how we narrowed down the possible options for the warehouses. Since the ones on the eastern side were patrolled more often, only the ones in the western side remained as- Hey, you still listening to me?"

His question snapped you out of your trance and you nodded eagerly.

"Yes babe. Sorry. I was just distracted for a moment"

Ranpo didn't fail to notice the way you averted his gaze from his and how your blush grew deeper when he leaned in, placing a finger under your chin to make you face him again.

"Then look at me when I'm talking, sugar. You know I can't stand it when I don't have all your attention."

"Sure Ranpo, sure. Now go on please" you urged him and he couldn't help but smile.

Your boyfriend indulged you, continuing his story from where he was left but his attention now shifted to you. He was speaking mechanically, focusing on your awed expression and trying his best to conceal his pride and joy. Even after all these years of being a couple, you were still so excited and giddy whenever he told you about a case at work.

He remembered your first date, when he accidently rambled on about some murder that happened in your neighbourhood and you stood these smiling, just like you did now, listening to him talk. That's the day he knew you were the one.

When he finally finished talking you clapped your hands, merrily swaying from side to side.

"That was great love. I'm sure I would've never figured it out. You're amazing"

Ranpo chuckled and placed a quick kiss on your lips, causing you to flush again.

"And you're adorable when you blush like that" he said gently, booping your nose.

𝑱𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒐

he's so painfully aware of all your reactions

when your breath hitches when you watch him cook dinner for you? he catches that; when your heart beats slightly faster when the two of you cuddle? he doesn't miss that either

doesn't always want to admit it but he loves it

also doesn't tease you too often about it; he simply doesn't point it out because he knows he still reacts the same to you

congrats, you made his heart melt

Your boyfriend was minding his own business, typing away some reports at the kitchen table when you placed a cup of steaming coffee next to him.

"Here you go sir. A double shot espresso with no milk and no soy sauce." you said playfully, causing Jouno's lips to curl into a smile.

"You're hilarious, you know that?" he mocked as he rose the cup to his lips and took a sip.

And then he heard it: the faint thumping of your heart and your sharp exhale.

"Something wrong, love?" he asked cautiously, placing the cup back on its ceramic plate.

"No just..." you began, blushing furiously "You're really handsome when you work. I mean, you look so focused and all."

Your words came out a mindless babble, causing your boyfriend to smirk.

"Who knew you'd still be so giddy after all this time. You watch me work almost every day"

"Well, you're still as handsome as always so..."

He reached out a hand, motioning you to come closer to him and you closed the distance between you. Jouno swiftly pulled you onto his lap, relishing the way your heart skipped a beat when his arm wrapped around your waist. You were brimming with joy, like a kid in a candy store.

And little did you know that so did Jouno. He didn't want to admit it but he still got flustered when he took notice of the effect he had on you. It was a sweet, gentle reminder that, although your love had matured and changed during the two years you've been together, deep down you still adored him the same way you did at first.

Resting his chin on your shoulder, Jouno went back to typing his report.

"Just stay with me for a while, will you? Tell me if I make any mistakes while writing" he asked in a hushed voice and you nodded in response, adjusting your position on his lap.

'Perfect...' he thought to himself as he placed a kiss on your shoulder. 'This was perfect'

[yurislotusgarden]

sigma and ranpo w 19? congrats on 100 followers btw !! :D

ʚїɞ Separately! Sigma, Ranpo Edogawa x Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ The event

ʚїɞ word count: 754 (Sigma - 429, Ranpo - 325)

ʚїɞ Tw’s: None! Just pure fluff, pet names are used, reader’s gender is not specified in any way

ʚїɞ Thank you anon <3

It’s a calming feeling for him. Sigma can't help but love the feeling and take in the feeling of your arms around his waist and your head on his back or the back of his neck.

And you know it. That's the reason behind your actions at the moment.

You could tell he was stressed. There has been problem after problem, paperwork after paperwork, and all the new guests that Sigma insists he has to remember stuff about like he does with the other customers.

You decided to help using small gestures. A cup of freshly brewed tea, baking his favorite cookies, some coffee midday, telling him it’s time to sleep, sometimes even dragging him out of the office once the hour gets too late and he thinks he should still stay.

Affection always worked well against the man, you are well aware of that fact, so you decided to use that against him to your advantage.

Sigma was sitting at his desk, the setting sun behind him gave him a serene orange light. You thought it fit him when you saw him in that scene.

You entered his office with the plate in your hands, the door making barely any kind of noise to indicate your arrival, but the bi-colored-haired man, like always, noticed you with no problem.

“Hi, [Name]. What brings you here?”

The smile that appeared upon noticing you, brought a smile to your face. You placed the plate on the edge of the desk.

“Nothing much, cotton. Just wanted to bring you some food.”

“Thank you, Angel”

The slight blush from saying the petname was visible on his cheeks. You love the fact that he still blushes, even if not much, simply because of a petname.

You walked behind him, and he was sure that you were going to look out the window like you tend to do, but he instead felt arms wrap around his waist. He had to get up from his chair as you -now realizing on purpose- left the plate too far to reach if he was to be sitting down.

Sneaky.

As much as he wanted to tell you to let go, as he has work to do, he couldn’t. The feeling of the arms around his waist and the head against his back was, unfortunately for him, relaxing, causing him to lean back slightly, his shoulders letting loose.

A moment of silence passed.

“I-”

“Please, don’t say even a word.”

He doesn’t need to hear that you were right when saying he’s really stressed. He knows you were.

“Please!”

“No.”

“Pretty please! With a cherry on top, sugar! With a cherry on top!”

“No is a no, Ranpo.”

“But why?”

“It’s the middle of the night!”

“And?”

A sigh could be heard throughout the room, a tired one. Ranpo came back much later than usual, Fukuzawa wanted him for something, resulting in him coming back when you were already ready for bed, and to have your very much-deserved sleep.

To your tired self demise (courtesy of your mission that day), Ranpo decided it would be an amazing idea, to literally latch himself onto your back (you’re unsure of how you are capable of carrying him in your current state), before proceeding to keep asking to go to his favorite bakery for the next 10 minutes. The problem? It’s literally 1 in the morning, and said bakery was long closed. Even worse, it’s Sunday, therefore it’s gonna be closed today as well.

You spoke up after a minute of silence.

“Alright, how about this-” you could feel the manchild moving his head at you speaking up “-you will let me sleep.” a huff could be heard behind you. “And I will bake your favorite twice this week in exchange.” it was a good deal. You could say so upon feeling the weight being mostly gone from your back. Ranpo let his legs fall back down, standing behind you, his arms didn’t change much in terms of place, your waist.

A chin was placed on your right shoulder.

“Promise?”

The cheeky grin could be damn heard, you sighed.

“Yes, I promise.”

You indeed ended up baking his favorite twice, one of the 2 times already in that day’s evening.

You knew he knew that this is how it’s gonna end up. You didn’t mind much tho. For sure not when the feeling of his arms around your waist while baking and slapping his hands away from the not yet ready food was a nice feeling.

Notes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated &lt;3

Do not copy or translate my works on/to any site

[i-need-entertainment]

Character: Edgar Allen Poe x female reader

Warnings: minor angst (unrequited love), ranpo being a gremlin and stealing candy

Pt.2

“No, don't eat those! They aren’t for you Ranpo!” 

Poe lunged towards the coffee table and picked the candy bowl up and out of Ranpo’s reach before setting it gently on his bookshelf. 

Ranpo huffed as he sat down on the couch, letting out a sound of dissatisfaction at having the candy bowl placed out of his reach. 

“Then who are they for then? You don’t like them.” 

Ranpo raised a brow as he watched his friend fumble around before clearing his throat, 

“W-well, you see.. they’re uhm…they’re- just don’t eat them! And please don’t try climbing up my bookshelf to get them again, the candy for you is on the other table.” 

Ranpo let out a sound of delight as he spotted the other candy bowl before grabbing it and plopping himself back down on the couch. 

Happily munching on his candy Ranpo hummed as he unwrapped another piece, “So…Y/n huh?” His emerald gaze shifted over to Poe for just a moment before he reclosed his eyes and busied his fingers with sifting through the bowl for yet another candy.

“I beg your pardon!” Poe sputtered as he tried but failed to act casually about Ranpo’s blistering accusation.  

Ranpo sighed, “Well it’s obvious you like her- why else would you keep a candy you don’t care for and not allow one of two of your only visitors to eat it? If it’s not for me and it’s clearly not for you, then it must be for Y/n!” 

Ranpo seemed pleased with himself at his friend's flustered state and broken sentences. His superior detective skills had long since allowed him to work out his friends feelings, but watching him flounder around like a fish out of water was never anything less than amusing for the detective.

“W-well yes, they are for her, but that doesn’t mean I have feelings for her!” 

Ranpo sighed as he set the bowl down on the table and crossed one leg over the other, propping his head up by his hand while his elbow sat perched on the arm rest. “You’re right, it doesn’t. The poem you wrote with her name on it though? Yeah, that kinda gave it away.”

Poe grimaced as he rushed to gather the papers he had haphazardly left on his desk into a pile before shoving them into his desk drawer. 

“Are you going to tell her?”

Leaning against his desk with a sigh he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes shifting over to his friend who was devouring the candy he had replaced for the 3rd time this week.

“...we both know telling her would be pointless, so no…I don’t plan on ever telling her.”

“And you’re okay with that? You’re fine with her going out wi-"

"Of course not Ranpo...but none of that matters now, as long as she’s happy, I’ll-”

He’ll…what?

You were the light at the end of the tunnel when revenge had consumed him. You were his tether to this world and his rock- never ceasing in your support of his writing or his dreams as a detective. Your smile had brought him inexplicable feelings of joy and completeness - two feelings he wasn’t sure he would ever feel again.

He wanted nothing more than to have you be his, his to hold and cherish and love and care for-

But none of that mattered- his feelings for you would never leave the pages upon pages he wrote them on, and he was dedicated to ensuring you never found out about them. There was no deeper purpose to the poems and letters after all, in fact they had never so much as been properly addressed to you. Simply thrown into the drawer he had started shoving them into when company came around. 

There was nothing wrong with the poems or letters- most of them were either elaborate declarations of love or well-thought out words he had only ever dreamed of having the courage to say to you. There were some compliments scribbled down on scrap pieces of paper, wishing dearly he could say them to your face but never quite finding the strength to say them out loud. More recently however he had begun writing apologies. 

Apologies for being a coward, and for being unable to tell you the deeper feelings he held for you. In fact his most recent addition had been an apology letter he had written just the day before, it had been an apology for lying to you.

“There’s still time y’know.” 

Ah, the gala the agency had been invited to. It was still a few hours away, so he’s sure Ranpo was suggesting he use this time to call you or text you and tell you of his feelings before you followed through with your plans to attend with another.

But surely Ranpo - the world’s greatest detective - had already deduced it was Poe who had encouraged you to not only go, but to accept your co-worker's gracious invitation in the first place. His smile had been tight and he’s sure he was tripping over his words when he spoke, but years of repressing his emotions and keeping to himself had taught him valuable skills in regards to hiding how he felt. And afterall, you had been smiling when you left- so you must have been looking forward to your date.

Date..

Poe sighed as he left his spot at his desk and walked over to the window, kneeling down slightly to pick up Karl who had scampered over and put him on his shoulders, suddenly grateful for his comforting presence.

“I know, but…” He paused to look out the window, watching as the nearing storm began to snuff out the blue afternoon sky and the once sunny landscape slowly became consumed by the growing shadow of the thunder clouds.

“It’s better this way..” 

‘She’s better this way’

He knew letting you go without so much as an attempt to tell you of his feelings was a mistake, a mistake Ranpo had thankfully chosen not to comment on - but as he watched the dreary weather continue to move in he couldn’t help but know in his heart that this was for the best. Someone like you didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like him, and someone like him didn’t deserve someone like you.

“Besides, I’m sure she’ll have more fun with him than she would with me - she loves to dance,”

Poe knew he wasn’t fooling the detective but it didn’t matter, he had fooled himself and that’s all he needed to do. You would continue to see him only as a friend and occasional co-worker who let you play with his pet racoon and kept your favorite candy stocked full in his office, and he-

Well he would keep loving you and admiring you from afar, and maybe someday the pain would numb and he would grow content with watching you give the love he so longed for to someone else.

“And I heard Dazai was quite the dancer.”

The candies on his shelf and papers in his desk spoke volumes, but when it came to you it seemed Poe lacked the one thing he wished he could give you - his words.

@i-just-like-goats thanks for beta reading queen😩

[kunikinnie]

Hi!

I love your writing, they are so sweet and in character.

Could I request a fic with Poe where the reader (not neceserally in a realationship yet) reads one of his books, and after finishing it he gives it back and inside there are a bunch of pieces of papers full of illustrations/fanarts of the book?

If you don't want to write it or you don't have time, that's okay too. Don't owerwork yourself. Have a nice day!

a/n: thIS IS SO SWEET omg I remember when @amenemisa drew a Kunikida based on one of my drabbles adfjaldfkja anw here's some pure fluff!!

note: GN!reader is NOT in a relationship yet

There was nothing special about a nervous and restless Poe pacing around his room for God knows how long. Anything and everything that could potentially trouble him could trigger such a reaction, although lately the list has been significantly reduced to only two topics - namely, his writings and his crush.

That is why in this current episode, his anxiety has unfortunately doubled in magnitude.

A few weeks ago, you had shown interest in reading one of his very own works (not that it was a rare occurrence - in fact you've repeated yourself dozens of times) and were about to return his book and share your thoughts on it.

Both the panic and excitement were so intense that Poe thought he'd literally split into two different people: the serious writer and the hopeless romantic. The former was ready to brood over possible criticism while the other was simply happy to see you in person again. The only thing the two halves could agree on was the stress from receiving anything, let alone a review on his work from you.

A servant knocked on his door and announced that a guest had arrived, but before he could mention the identity of the person Poe had already scurried to the receiving room.

"Can't believe you had your decor changed just for Y/N..."

Instead of you, a nonchalant young man surveying the room was comfortably lying on the couch.

"It's good to see you, Ranpo-kun," Poe genuinely gladly greeted him. "But what are you doing here now, of all times?"

"Yeah, about that..." He sat up and handed over a familiar leather-bound hardcover book. "Something came up so Y/N asked me to bring this to you. The review's inside."

All the fire from until that moment's fervor had been dampened with a mere few words. Still, just holding the physical manifestation of your thoughts prevented from the disappointment from setting in completely.

He opened the book to where not one, but a few sheets of loose paper were stuck in between. Upon noticing that some of the papers did not contain words, he frantically looked for the one that did explain or summarize whatever you wanted to say. It was a small sticky note at the back of the front cover.

I really enjoyed this! Couldn't help myself so I hope you don't mind :)

That alone tugged a small but stupid smile on his face. However, further examination of the other papers nearly made his heart burst.

The characters, key moments were familiar... was this fanart of his work...? Drawings? For his work? No one has ever done this before...

"Looks like you'll need more that a moment so I'll just go straight to your game- wait, don't cry on my cape! I just washed it!"

tagging: @stygianoir

[silvfyre-writings]

Who am I? (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome to yet another Fukudad fic, but this time, from Ranpo's POV, which is a first for me. In fact, despite Ranpo being in all my BSD fics, I have only written his POV once before (and you all know which story that is), so this was quite a challenge.

If you enjoy, do leave a like, or even reblog!

Ranpo sat with his back against his bedroom door, head on his knees as he stared at the skirt that had been lying innocently on the floor ever since he’d dragged it out of his closet that morning. Every time he picked out what to wear each morning, his eyes landed on the skirt, but he always told himself ‘next time’ or that ‘it wasn’t appropriate’, never quite finding the courage to wear it until recently. He had intended to wear it today, just like he had intended to yesterday, and the day before that one, and the week before—the point was that Ranpo was a coward.

The skirt had been a gift from Fukuzawa, bought six months prior on their first ever outing together, when the man had caught him staring at it for just a little too long. Fukuzawa had been clear back then when he’d told Ranpo he could only get pants and shirts, and yet Ranpo hadn’t been able to stop himself from staring at clothes he’d always had an interest in, but had never been allowed to look at or try back when his parents had still been alive. And because of that, he ended up making Fukuzawa spend more money on a piece of clothing that Ranpo hadn’t even worn once since its purchase.

Yeah, he was a coward.

It wasn’t even the judgement that made Ranpo so nervous, so scared to wear a piece of clothing that was considered by the rest of society as feminine, because he remembered Fukuzawa telling him that he was allowed to wear what he was comfortable in, regardless of whether it belonged to a boy or a girl, and that if Ranpo did indeed choose to ever wear the skirt, there would be no judgement from him. That wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was what putting on the skirt and wearing it would mean; Ranpo was already considered different and weird by everyone else in the world who met him just because he was different from the rest of them, he didn’t want to be judged for what he wore too.

There was a knock on the door, a single knock that he would never have heard if he’d still been asleep. “Ranpo?”

“I’m awake.” Ranpo called back. He’d been awake for hours in fact, long before Fukuzawa himself had even been awake, but he’d remained in his room all morning, trying to deal with this internal conflict of what clothing to wear that he’d suddenly found himself in the midst of. It wasn’t common for Ranpo to be awake before his guardian, but he hadn’t been sleeping well the past couple of days—not that Fukuzawa was aware of that yet, now that Ranpo had his own room—so he’d found himself with a lot of time to think. And while Ranpo didn’t mind thinking, he preferred to do it when he was working and trying to find criminals, not when he was alone in his room, with only himself to think about.

That was a dangerous game for him to start playing, and not one he wanted to partake in. Not again.

“I’m about to make breakfast.” Fukuzawa said before Ranpo could let his mind drift and get lost in his own thoughts again, which would undoubtedly make himself feel worse than he already did. He remained silent, not to ignore the older man, but because he knew there was a question inbound, and he already knew that the answer he had to give wasn’t one that was going to be easily accepted. And sure enough, the question came. “What would you like to eat?”

Ranpo sighed and buried his face into his knees. “I’m not hungry.”

And sure enough, his answer wasn’t accepted. “You didn’t eat dinner last night, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa sounded worried as he spoke, which just made Ranpo feel guilty for worrying the man in the first place. “Would you like me to—”

“I’ll eat later.” Ranpo interrupted, and squeezed his eyes shut; he knew he had to eat, and that if he didn’t eat something soon, then Fukuzawa would force him to drink one of those nutrition smoothies he’d had to have for a while a couple of months back, and that was the last thing Ranpo wanted. They didn’t taste nice. But… he just couldn’t bring himself to eat anything right now. It wasn’t that he felt nauseous or anything, it was simply that he had other things on his mind right now—like picking some god damn clothes for today—and food was the last thing he was thinking about.

“Ranpo—”

Before Fukuzawa could ask him anymore questions, or try to convince him to actually eat something, Ranpo spoke straight over the top of him. “I promise, I will eat before lunch.”

A sigh came through the door. “Alright…” Fukuzawa didn’t sound overly pleased, but seemed to believe that trying to argue would just be a pointless endeavour, and instead stepped away, and Ranpo listened as the sound of footsteps disappeared down the hall, and minutes later, the familiar sound of Fukuzawa cooking started up. It was normally a comforting sound, but this time it brought nothing but tension, and honestly, Ranpo didn’t know why.

Instead, he turned his attention back towards the skirt in his hands and angrily threw it across the room where it landed at the foot of his bed. Ranpo wanted to scream, but without a pillow to muffle it, he didn’t dare, only because it would bring Fukuzawa running, and while it wouldn’t be the first time he reacted badly to a piece of clothing, it was always embarrassing when it did happen. So he bit back the scream and kept it trapped in his throat as he climbed to his feet and returned to his closet. Ranpo went through his entire closet, throwing clothes all over his room as he tried to find something to wear, something that wouldn’t suffocate or make him feel ill—which none of his clothes did to begin with because Fukuzawa always paid attention when he bought clothes for Ranpo, but it was just one of those days where nothing was right.

Eventually, after emptying everything he owned onto the floor, Ranpo left his room behind and entered Fukuzawa’s, making a beeline for his guardian’s closet instead where he found the hoodie that he’d been offered the first night he’d stayed with Fukuzawa. It was well worn, but soft, and massive, and it was the only thing Ranpo could bear to wear today. It was the only thing he could wear, really, when his mind was like this, determined to make him hate the clothing that he wore every day. It was stupid, so, so, stupid, yet Ranpo had never succeeded in winning against himself. Maybe one day he would, but today was not one of those days. Pathetic.

After sitting on the floor of Fukuzawa’s room for almost ten minutes, Ranpo finally dragged himself to his feet and made his way to the living room where he did nothing but throw himself onto the couch that Fukuzawa was sitting in front of, quietly eating his own breakfast as he looked over some paperwork that Ranpo didn’t care to try and understand. It was important, if the way that Fukuzawa’s brow furrowed as he read was any indicator, and it was probably to do with getting Ranpo enrolled into school again, because Ranpo remembered Fukuzawa bringing it up once when they’d been in the midst of moving homes. Not that Ranpo had been paying attention then, because he’d been more focused on trying not to breakdown over shifting around again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the new place they were living at, because he did. But he’d finally managed to get settled and comfortable in Fukuzawa’s old apartment before the lease had run out and they’d been forced to find somewhere else to live. Ranpo remembered Fukuzawa showing him a bunch of places, asking his opinion and thoughts, which had seemed strange at first, because why would Ranpo need to have an opinion on a temporary residence—Fukuzawa had explained to him what renting was when he’d said they had to move in the first place—only to learn that Fukuzawa was intending to buy a place.

And boy, if Ranpo hadn’t been swamped in guilt after learning that.

Fukuzawa had been quick to reassure him, because apparently Fukuzawa was the kind of adult Ranpo had been searching for since the death of parents, and ever since they’d met, the man had gotten good at being able to decipher Ranpo’s emotional and mental state, quite often before Ranpo himself even knew what he was feeling. Which was why, when Ranpo had started to fall apart at one of the apartments they’d looked at, Fukuzawa had taken him to the side and questioned him; gently.

“What are you feeling, Ranpo?” Fukuzawa had asked him after finding somewhere quiet for them to talk.

Ranpo had curled up into the corner of the bench they were sitting on, like he was wont to do when he wanted to hide by couldn’t. “Guilt.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re about to spend a lot of money for me. Again.” Ranpo had said, but when he’d lifted his head to see what kind of expression Fukuzawa was wearing on his face, he hadn’t expected to see worry and concern. No, he’d expected to see exasperation and frustration, but there was none of that, no matter how deep Ranpo tried to look.

And he just hadn’t understood how Fukuzawa could be so understanding all the damn time.

But after talking through Ranpo’s feelings—with Fukuzawa admitting that he himself was a little stressed about moving—things had gotten a little easier to deal with, and he and Fukuzawa had found a nice, still small, two bedroom place that they could both comfortable live in. It was a similar layout to Fukuzawa’s old place, but a little more modern and with an extra bedroom, and Ranpo would’ve been a fool to not notice that that was a deliberate choice. But since Fukuzawa didn’t say anything about it, he elected not to either, and now they had a home, one they wouldn’t have to leave unless they wanted to.

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa’s voice caused Ranpo to blink and suddenly, he was back in the living room, with his guardian crouched before the couch, concern on his face, and a sliced up apple in hand. Fukuzawa’s other hand was just barely touching Ranpo’s own, and he blinked again, letting his eyes stay closed this time. It was easier to talk to people when he couldn’t see the expressions on their face, couldn’t see what kind of face people made when talking to him—when they judged him.

Not that Fukuzawa had ever been that person, and if he had, he’d kept his opinions to himself and away from Ranpo.

He’s drawn from his thoughts again when Fukuzawa’s hand squeezes his own and his eyes flick open just long enough to see the growing concern before he slammed them shut again. “Ranpo, are you alright?” Fukuzawa asked.

Ranpo wasn’t okay, that much was obvious to him, but he still nodded and smiled, trying his best to ease Fukuzawa’s worry. There was no sense in stressing out the man when not even Ranpo himself understood what was going on. Well, he understood a little bit, but the issue was something that only he could deal with, and it was one he’d been ignoring for years at this point, only thinking about it on the odd occasion. Back then, it’d been easy to forget about, because he’d had his parents, and then they’d died, and then it’d been about survival, and the problem was pushed to the very back of his mind.

But now that he had a stable place to live, and someone that cared about his wellbeing, it was harder to ignore, although he was still determined to do so.

“I’m alright.” Ranpo said when he realized he hadn’t responded to Fukuzawa’s question, and had seen the man’s expression become one of near-panic. He sat up from where he’d been laying on the couch, allowing enough room for Fukuzawa to sit next to him, and took the plate with the apple on it from Fukuzawa. He stared at the apple, feeling nothing but dread as he looked at the innocent piece of fruit, but he fought past that feeling and picked up a single slice. He nibbled on the apple, ignoring the way it felt tasteless in his mouth. “I’m alright.” He repeated.

“You’re not.” Fukuzawa said as he stood and sat next to Ranpo. “You’re wearing my clothes which is enough to tell me you aren’t.”

Ranpo hummed, because Fukuzawa was right as usual.

“Do you want to talk?” Fukuzawa asked, turning in his seat to look at Ranpo.

“No.” Ranpo picked up another piece of apple and began to eat it. He flicked his eyes open again, and looked at Fukuzawa without turning his head. Fukuzawa looked worried, but not overly worried like had had been the last time Ranpo hadn’t been well, probably because he was still eating unlike last time where even the foods Ranpo considered safe had failed him.

Fukuzawa hummed this time, and turned away. “Do I need to worry?”

“Not yet.” Ranpo said, and leaned against Fukuzawa’s arm. It was an invitation, one that his guardian took, and Ranpo relaxed the moment he felt that familiar weight come to rest across his shoulders. “It’s just a day. But I’ll let you know if you do need to worry.”

“Alright. Do you want to put a movie on?”

Ranpo nodded, and accepted the TV remote as it was handed to him, allowing Fukuzawa to get up go through the small collection of movies they owned—they’d been gifted them by an overly kind mother that Fukuzawa had apparently met only once before—and helped the man pick one out. The movies were all children’s movies and that was fine with Ranpo, especially today when he wasn’t sure if he could actually focus or not. Once the movie was started, Fukuzawa returned to his seat on the floor and began to work again, leaving Ranpo to his own devices.

As it turned out, it wasn’t just a day like Ranpo had initially thought, for the next day, he found himself in the exact same position as before; back pressed against the door and the innocent skirt clutched in his hands as he tried to find the non-existent courage to wear the damn thing. Because he wanted to wear it, but he just couldn’t, and he didn’t understand what it was that was stopping him from actively doing so. It was like there was something physically holding him back, something whispering into his ear that it was a bad idea, that he’d be judged for it like he had been the first time he’d dared to wear one.

Because this wasn’t the first time that Ranpo had been interested in more feminine clothing.

When he’d been younger, much younger, his mother had come home wearing a pretty skirt, and Ranpo had been fascinated with it. It’d looked easy to wear, light, and he couldn’t help but think what he would look like wearing it, and he’d asked his mother if he too, could wear one. His mother hadn’t been mean or cruel, but there’d been a odd expression on her face when she refused to let him, quietly telling him that skirt’s were not meant for young boys to wear, and that Ranpo was a boy, so no, he couldn’t wear one.

Ranpo hadn’t really understood what his mother had meant when she’d said that because why did it matter if you were a boy or a girl? Clothes were clothes. But his mother was his mother and good children always listened to their parents, so he didn’t try to argue with her, even if he did think what she’d said was stupid. And when both his parents had stepped out of the house to run some errands the very next day, Ranpo had snuck into his mothers closet and pulled out the skirt, running his tiny hands over the material with a smile before he pulled his pants off and pulled on the skirt, standing in front of the mirror with an even wider smile because it just felt right.

But the joy hadn’t lasted long when he’d lost track of time and his parents had come home. His father, upon seeing what he’d been wearing, had begun to yell that Ranpo was a boy, not a girl, and that he should be wearing what was appropriate for boys. Ranpo didn’t really remember that day too well; the yelling had spooked him because his parents had never yelled at him before, and he’d begun to cry, and then there’d been more arguing between his parents, and Ranpo had just torn off the skirt and thrown it at them before running to his room where he’d hidden away and broken down entirely.

He hadn’t understood why they were so mad about him wearing something different.

If it was comfortable and it looked nice, who cared what gender it was made for? Which of course, brought Ranpo to his next conundrum.

What made him a boy?

As a child, that had been a thought that had crossed his mind more than once, but back then it was nothing more than that. A thought. But ever since he’d lived on the streets of Yokohama, he’d been exposed to all kinds of people; girls that had boyish features, and boys that had girlish features, and people that fell between the lines and looked like both. It’d been fascinating to see, and if Ranpo hadn’t been busy trying to find somewhere to sleep and wondering when his next meal would be, he might have found the courage to ask those people about it and learn more.

But he hadn’t, and the thoughts had slipped back into the darkness of his mind once again.

Until now.

Unknowingly, Fukuzawa’s actions at the shopping mall all those months ago, had dragged those thoughts back into the light, back out into the open where they could no longer be ignored, no matter how much Ranpo had tried to. He remembered vividly how supportive Fukuzawa had been, without any kind of judgement in his voice or without any kind of disgust or unhappiness on his face, when Ranpo had struggled with choosing his own clothes for the first time. And when Ranpo had shown interest in clothing that fell outside of boy’s clothes, Fukuzawa hadn’t said anything at all about it, only asking if they were clothes that Ranpo wanted to wear. That was how he’d ended up with the skirt in the first place.

And here he was, teetering at the edge of a breakdown because he couldn’t make up his mind about a simple piece of clothing.

Ranpo sighed and stood, letting the skirt slip between his fingers, and hit the ground; the intention was to grab some different clothing from where it lay scattered across the floor—because he was yet to clean up his mess from yesterday—but instead, he stepped towards his closet and stared into the mirror. His eyes fell over his body, towards his still thin and bony arms, because despite Fukuzawa feeding him proper meals several times a day, he was still unable to put on weight. They fell towards his pudgy stomach, something he’d always had, even when he’d been on the verge of starvation before being rescued by Fukuzawa.

Ranpo’s eyes ran over his entire body, managing to find each and every fault that he had with it, no matter how big or small it was. And there was nothing. Not one thing about this body of his that he liked, and that scared him just a little, because what was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t go to Fukuzawa about this, because he just knew that the older man wouldn’t understand, that he’d ask too many questions that Ranpo didn’t want to answer—couldn’t answer—so that he could understand. And normally, that was fine, Ranpo appreciated the questions that Fukuzawa asked because it showed that the he cared about Ranpo’s well being and wanted to be able to help him.

Ranpo’s eyes fell to the skirt again, and in a sudden burst of bravery, he grabbed it and pulled it on before he stood in front of the mirror, and he just stared at himself. And stared. And stared. And stared. There was no relief or sudden epiphany when he saw himself in the skirt; instead there was dread. His stomach felt like it was about to fall out of him, and his heart was pounding so loud he could feel it in his ears. Unlike the time he’d tried on his mother’s skirt, this didn’t feel right at all. In fact, it felt wrong.

I look like a girl.

The thought crossed his mind as Ranpo looked at himself, and it was easy to see why. The shirt he was wearing was one of the ones that’d been picked out from the girl’s section of the clothing store; cut just a little different to the rest of his shirts, but the main reason was his hair. With everything that’d been happening, Ranpo had neglected to cut his hair, meaning that it had grown a bit longer than he was used to. Instead of hanging around his chin, it hung close to his shoulders, and now that Ranpo had noticed it, it just made him hate himself even more.

I look like a girl.

Ranpo shuddered at the realization, and turned away from the mirror, and his eyes fell on the scissors that lay on his bookshelf where they’d been forgotten about after he’d unpacked his meagre belongings. In an instant, he had a solution, and Ranpo crossed the room and grabbed the scissors before returning to the mirror. Scissors in hand, and determination powering him, Ranpo brought his hand up, grabbed a chunk of hair and cut. The sound of the scissors closing made him jump, and his eyes went wide when he saw the hair in his hand. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t cut his own hair before, because he had. Shorter hair was easier to maintain when living on the streets, although last time he’d cut it, it’d been with a broken knife that he’d found.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

Hair fell to the ground around him as Ranpo cut it. Massive chunks of different lengths because he couldn’t see through the tears that had begun to form after the second cut. They weren’t wanted, and Ranpo took a moment to wipe them away before they could even fall, but they returned just as fast. Ranpo sniffed, and dropped the scissors, jerking as they clattered against the wooden floor. It was as he jerked, that he could sight of himself in the mirror. Patchy, half-cut hair, and dressed in a skirt, Ranpo noticed that he didn’t look anything like a girl now, but neither did he look like a boy either, and that was when he felt right again. And that was when the realization flooded him.

He wasn’t anything.

Not a boy, not a girl.

He was nothing.

The scream erupted from him before he could stop it, and Ranpo collapsed to the ground in tears, surrounded by hair and clothing as he sobbed into the floor with his arms wrapped tight around his middle. Through his cries, he heard rapid footsteps fly down the hallway before his door was thrown open, and Fukuzawa burst into the room. Ranpo lifted his head just enough to see Fukuzawa in the mirror through blurry eyes, and his cries only grew stronger when he noticed concern and panic on the older man’s face.

It only took a second for Fukuzawa to act, and soon enough, Ranpo found himself being pulled into Fukuzawa’s arms, his face pressed against his guardian’s shoulder as he continued to cry. He sobbed, and shook, and he threw his hands against Fukuzawa’s chest. Ranpo felt a hand run through his hair, felt himself be rocked gently from side to side, and melted into the touch, his cries tapering off into silent wailing. The hand in his hair was warm and comforting, despite the callouses that were just as soothing despite their roughness. Ranpo tried not to focus on that part though, and instead he focused on the warmth surrounding him, and tried to follow the exaggerated breathing he could both hear and feel.

And for the first time in days, Ranpo’s mind went quiet.

He slumped in Fukuzawa’s arms, tired and all cried out, yet he made no effort to move, desperate to cling to the one thing in his life that had promised him stability; Fukuzawa. Fukuzawa let the silence draw on for just another minute before he pulled away and coaxed Ranpo into lifting his head. Ranpo pretended not to notice the way that Fukuzawa’s eyes fell to the scissors on the floor before they scanned over his arms, looking for marks that didn’t exist. “Are you injured?”

It wasn’t the question Ranpo had been expecting. He shook his head. “No.”

Fukuzawa hummed. “What were you doing with the scissors then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ranpo scoffed, his own eyes falling to the mess of hair and clothes that lay spread around him. It was then that his mind decided to restart and remind him that he’d only cut half of his hair before he’d broken down. His cheeks burned in embarrassment at that thought, because apparently, having half a head of cut hair was more embarrassing than shamelessly breaking down in his guardian’s arms. It was with that thought in mind that Ranpo picked up the scissors, and moved to sit in front of the mirror, but the moment he lifted them to continue where he’d left off, a hand curled around his own and gently pried the scissors from his hand.

Fukuzawa didn’t say a word as he took the scissors and sat behind Ranpo, the sound of the scissors echoed in the silence as more of Ranpo’s hair fell to the floor. Ranpo sighed heavily and watched in the mirror as his hair began to even out and return to the length it had been when he and Fukuzawa had first met. Fukuzawa glanced into the mirror when he heard the sigh before he returned to cutting Ranpo’s hair. “Ranpo, what’s going on?”

Ranpo remained silent for a moment, thinking over in his mind whether or not he wanted to confide in Fukuzawa. There was a part of him that did, because Fukuzawa was Fukuzawa, and the man had been nothing but supportive the entire time Ranpo had known him. But there was also a part of him that didn’t want to, because Fukuzawa had already done so much for him without any complaint, so it just felt wrong to push yet another problem onto the man, a problem that Ranpo didn’t even understand yet. He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You know I’m willing to listen, whatever the problem might be.”

“What if I don’t know what the problem is?” Ranpo asked, watching as the last strand of uneven hair was cut off. He looked at himself in the mirror and felt a little more at ease now that his hair was at a much more comfortable length; it made him feel like less of a girl and more of the… whatever it was that he was.

“You can still talk to me, and we’ll try to figure it out.” Fukuzawa stood and moved to place the scissors back on the bookshelf where they had come from before he returned to Ranpo, standing behind him and resting his hands on Ranpo’s shoulders. “I must admit though, that I have an idea of what it is that’s bothering you.”

Ranpo’s head turned so fast, he was surprised his neck didn’t snap from the force of it as he stared at Fukuzawa with wide eyes. “You do?”

Fukuzawa nodded and held out a hand towards Ranpo, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He was guided towards his bed where the two of them sat; Ranpo swinging his legs in the air anxiously whilst Fukuzawa sat in absolute calmness. “I am not sure how to word this in a way without sounding… blunt.”

“Blunt is okay.” Ranpo murmured. I think it will be at least.

A nod, and a minute of silence, and then Fukuzawa spoke. “Do you perhaps feel, as if you are more of a girl than a boy?”

Ranpo tilted his head so that his hair hid his face from view, and he hunched in on himself at the question. It was a valid question, and blunt just like Fukuzawa had warned him, but it still hit hard, and it left Ranpo unable to form words because he genuinely didn’t know. He didn’t think he was a girl, because aside from showing an interest in feminine clothes, Ranpo hadn’t really desired to be a girl. And considering he’d just broken down because he’d thought he’d looked too much like a girl, he didn’t think being a girl was for him.

But he also didn’t think being a boy was right either.

He’d been a boy his entire life, been told that he was a boy and dressed in boy clothes and made to act like a boy, but he’d never really felt… attached to being a boy. It was simply what he’d been raised to be, and he’d never really given it much more thought than that to it. He hadn’t needed to, not when he’d had more important things to deal with at the time. But now that he did have the time to think about it, it was all he could think about, and yet, there was no easy answer to his problem. There was just still so much he didn’t know and didn’t understand about it all; sure he understood his own feelings a little, but most of them were unknown and unfamiliar to him, and that was terrifying.

He could only hope that Fukuzawa would understand him.

“No.” Ranpo finally said. “I’m… interested in some aspects of femininity I guess you could say, but I don’t want to be a girl. But…”

“But?” Fukuzawa’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at Ranpo.

Ranpo somehow managed to curl up even smaller, and he felt a hand come to rest on his back, the firm pressure it provided helping him to relax, and he let out the breath he’d been holding, some more tension vacating his body. “I don’t know.”

“Alright.” Fukuzawa disappeared from beside him, only to appear right in front of Ranpo as he knelt in front of him, with kind eyes and no judgement. Ranpo nearly cried again just from that. “Let’s talk about it then. Because something’s going on, and I want to be able to help you, Ranpo. I’m worried.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it, because I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“You do, and I know you do, you just need a little bit of help getting there.” Fukuzawa reached out to rest a hand on Ranpo’s knee. “If you don’t feel like a girl, then what do you feel like?”

“Nothing. I feel like nothing.” Tears welled up in Ranpo’s eyes again against his will, but this time, he wiped them away with a clenched fist before they could start to fall. “Boy? Girl? I don’t understand it at all. Why does it matter? Why can’t I just be me? I’ve spent weeks wanting to wear this stupid skirt, but every time I looked at it, all I can remember is my parents telling me that I am a boy and that boy’s don’t wear skirts.

And when I came to Yokohama, it got even more confusing because I met boys that were actually girls and girls that were actually boys, and it was just too much because I grew up in a tiny village. We didn’t have those kinds of people, but—but it felt good, ya know, to know there were other people that didn’t feel attached to the way they were born, but I couldn’t ask because I had to survive, so I just never addressed it. But then there was—” Ranpo broke off suddenly, throat moving as he swallowed and shuddered. He’d been about to tell Fukuzawa what had happened with the rich man that had given him the scar on his shoulder; how the man had caressed him and called him pretty boy over and over again.

He may have been able to tell Fukuzawa the origin of that scar, but there was no way he’d ever divulge what had actually happened that day.

But judging from the look of slight anger on Fukuzawa’s face, he knew what Ranpo had been about to say. Because that anger was only reserved for the stranger that Fukuzawa had only ever heard about. That look didn’t last long, once Fukuzawa realized Ranpo was looking at him, and he smoothed his face into something gentler.

“Gender is… complicated.” Fukuzawa began to say. “Over my years, I too have run into people like you described, and many of them have gone through what you have. Uncertainty of what it is they are feeling, and fear of judgement for being different to how they were raised. Some of them gave into what their instincts said and changed themselves to suit how they felt, but there are others who were too scared and remain hidden from others.”

“So it’s… okay? For me to feel this way?”

“Of course.” The corner’s of Fukuzawa’s lips twitched upwards. “You know you better than anyone else. If you say you aren’t a girl, you aren’t. If you say you aren’t a boy, you aren’t. And if that happens to change as you grow older, then that’s fine too. It can take time to find yourself, Ranpo, but if it helps, you’ll always have my support.”

“What do I do then?” Ranpo asked, the stinging in his eyes growing stronger. He was pretty sure that there were tears slipping down his cheeks, but neither he or Fukuzawa made a move to do anything about it. They weren’t tears of sadness, but ones of relief; relief that regardless of how he felt about himself, he’d always have Fukuzawa beside him, supporting him as he figured it out.

“Well, that’s up to what you want to do.” Fukuzawa stood and began to move around the room, picking up strewn about clothing and folding it. Ranpo watched him with open eyes. “If you would like to be called something more neutral, you can come up with a new name, or you can go by different pronouns if you’d like to. People who identify the way you do tend to use they and them from what I’ve seen and heard.”

“And what if I do… do those things?” Ranpo asked, only because he wanted to know how Fukuzawa would react. He liked his name—it was the last thing he could tie to his parents, and besides, it belonged to him, so there was no way he’d ever consider changing it… but, as for pronouns… that was something he’d be willing to try, now that he knew it was actually an option.

“Then just let me know and I’ll use what you choose.” Fukuzawa said, as if it was just that easy when it really wasn’t. Ranpo had gone the past fourteen years being a boy, so to just throw that all away and embrace how he truly felt about himself… it just wasn’t easy to do so.

“If I do… do I have to tell everyone?”

Fukuzawa paused to look over at Ranpo, and shook his head. “Only if you want to. How you identify is your business and your business alone. If you feel comfortable with other people knowing, then you can tell them when they talk to you. But if you’d rather just be out to me, that’s fine too.”

Ranpo let out all the tension that remained with one breath, collapsing back against his—no their—bed. They smiled for the for the first time since all this had started, finally feeling as if they’d finally found the answer they’d been searching for, for years. An answer that felt right after so many years of not even understanding what was wrong in the first place. “I think I’d like to try those pronouns, for now, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is.”

[immamapletreekid]

ranpo in idv im not surviving this one

[oh-ranpo]

☾ – pairing: edogawa ranpo x reader ☾ – summary: ranpo loves to share his deepest thoughts with you while you sleep.

Ranpo always says the sweetest things when he thinks that you’re asleep. 

It’s not that he’s entirely opposed to saying these things when you’re awake, but it’s much less overwhelming.

You already make his heart beat in ways that he doesn’t understand.

So, having you gaze at him with those eyes full of love and affection makes him more than a little nervous.

He’s great at almost everything, but your entire presence throws him for a loop.

In the best way.

With your body resting on top of his, your head on his chest and his hand in your hair, this is where Ranpo spills his deepest confessions.

The second your breathing has evened out, he’s whispering to you, feeling that coil in his stomach growing as he voices the deepest thoughts of his heart. 

The cockiness and pride flies right out the window when he’s speaking to your sleeping form.

Normally, he’s always praising himself and setting himself up to be the hero, but for the first time, there is now someone he doesn’t mind sharing the spotlight with.

“You were amazing at the crime scene today. Way more helpful than Dazai usually is.”

He absolutely loves working with you and requests you as his partner for every case.

“I think better when you’re around,” he had justified but you always knew he could get along without you.

But why would he when he doesn’t have to?

He accentuates every one of his compliments with either a soft kiss to your temple or the top of your head. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he mumbles sadly sometimes.

It’s not that he thinks you’re going anywhere.

But he realizes the dangers of the job and the precarious situations the ADA often finds themselves in.

And he can still vividly remember the time before you were in his life and how lonely that was.

Even if he hadn’t truly understood how lonely he really was until you came along.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.”

This is often said after a particularly rough week. 

Usually by the end of any given day, Ranpo is tired of being around other people and just wants to be left alone.

But he always looks forward to coming home to you.

“I can’t wait to see you in the outfit you picked out for the event next week. Yosano says it’s amazing. But you look amazing in everything.”

Loves showing you off at events, and brags about you when you get home later that night.

“Dazai was drooling all over you tonight. Can’t blame him though. It really was hard to focus on anything else but you.”

Little does he know that most of his words are heard by you. 

In fact, it quickly becomes your favorite part of the day.

You weren’t sure how long he had been doing it, but one night you were in and out of sleep and heard him talking to himself.

You soon realized that he was talking to you.

Only he didn’t expect you to respond.

“You looked so pretty setting up the meeting at work today. I know that sounds crazy, but you make ordinary tasks look so enticing that I almost want to do them too.”

The second part of the statement was a little ridiculous but it made your heart squeeze in your chest because you knew what he was meaning to say.

He was the smartest guy you knew who didn’t know how to properly articulate his thoughts.

The feeling of his fingertips against your scalp made staying awake to listen to the other things he had to say so much harder, but you always managed.

“Who would have ever thought that I could fall in love? It’s crazy really. Wouldn’t believe it myself if it wasn’t for the way my stomach and heart feel when you’re around. Not even all the sugar in the world could compare.”

You wanted to kiss him so bad and assure him that the feeling was mutual but you didn’t want to startle him. 

You also didn’t want to interrupt his private moment.

Even though the words were meant for you, they weren’t meant to be heard in this context. 

If he didn’t want to say them out loud to you when he knew you were listening yet, you could wait.

You had no problems voicing your feelings to him while you were both awake. 

And if it took him some time to build up the courage to say them to you, that was okay.

“It’s a little insane but… I think I could marry you one day.”

Ignoring that one was the hardest. 

Keeping your breathing and your heart rate from skyrocketing was downright impossible, and so you had to fake a a small shift in movement - just enough to pass off as something you would do in your sleep - to keep your cover from being blown.

The next day you were extra affectionate, and while he wasn’t entirely sure why, he didn’t find himself in a position to complain either. 

“I would do anything for you.”

Ranpo’s selfishness dissipated in your presence and that’s how he knew it was the real deal. 

“All’s well that’s well for me” had suddenly become “All’s well if you’re with me” and he didn’t even think twice about it. 

[theodora3022]

Sheathed Claws (Part 1)

(Yandere Fukuzawa feat.Ranpo as his evil sidekick)

Summary: As a former Assassin himself, the formidable Silver Wolf Yukichi Fukuzawa can see through seemingly perfect disguises. You really should not have chosen ADA to work after fleeing the Order of the Clock Tower. 

Notes: I wrote this instead of polishing my Tetchou fic, someone yells at me to do things in order- You can sense clear parental issues here, so enjoy! The reader’s ability is modelled after Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, the ability to control air currents. She is a former assassin leader of the Order of Clock tower, her superior being Lady Agatha Christie. I could have wrote this as a full fic, but I got too excited about a Mori fic and just...went with easy way with this one. The next part would be out next week by the latest.

Special thanks to @killuwumi​ and @bungoose​ for beta reading this mess! You guys are the best :))

Warnings: Female reader, Power imbalance, possessive behaviours(in future chapters), mild yandere themes, Ranpo gives horrible relationship advices

You thought your facade is good enough, that your acquaintances are none the wiser. And you are correct, at least to a certain degree. But for a fellow former Assassin, it is not that difficult to decipher from the way you carry yourself. Fukuzawa, the president of your current organization, for one.

You had paid an old friend a good sum, who happens to be a government official, to cleanse your dirty past. Nobody would find anything now, not even yourself.

To avoid any suspicions, you created this bubbly innocent girl mask for your coworkers, to gain their trust so even if the Order finds out about you they would have a hard time pursuing you. You never were particularly close to anyone, even when you let Naomi come to your shopping trips from time to time after her endless pleas. “Your western style is just so cute! I want to try it!!” Of course, you cannot say no. Guess Lady Christie was right, if you wear a mask long enough it would fuse in with your true self.

You act just like any other secretary in the ADA, polite, properly-dressed, hardworking and always ready to pick up any agent’s slack on paperwork(mainly Dazai’s). He notices how you would blend well with the background with that quiet nature, your presence barely noticeable, just like what he used to be in his assassin days. You also have a sweet voice and would look up to him with those adorable feline-like eyes while reading meeting reports to him.

No, no Yukichi, she is your employee, not a stray kitten you encountered in a park. You cannot pat her on the head or squeeze her cheeks, it would be inappropriate. He had to scold himself so very often, whenever you smile to greet him at his desk or wish him a good evening when you leave work. Maybe that is why he hired you, a foreigner with little work experience in Japan.

Since you are only a clerk, Fukuzawa assumed you did not possess a special ability, therefore he did not bother to check your background thoroughly. However, there is something that distinguishes you from the norms like Kirako Haruno or Naomi Tanizaki. Your quick reflexes are unusual for a civilian. His suspicions were confirmed thanks to Ranpo.

When Ranpo accidentally pushed one of his donuts off the table, you snatched a napkin, crouched down and caught the pastry with one hand. All done within half a second, without dropping a single sheet of the files on your other hand. Even Ranpo was impressed and gave you a few words of praise. You responded with a sheepish smile, but that smile does not look so harmless to Fukuzawa anymore. That is when Fukuzawa took a particular interest in you, who are you really? Those moves would take years of training to mould into one’s instincts.

You have hidden pockets in that skirt? He could just be paranoid, but that size is enough to fit a mini-gun or a dagger. In fact, you do carry these things around, old habits die hard. Decades of Assassin life had made you insecure without a weapon to hold. But young women often carry self-defence mechanisms right? Surely you would need them since you are just so cute. Is he just overthinking things?

Using his connections, the ADA president got a copy of your records from the Government Database. But they are nothing out of the ordinary, almost too normal. Maybe you are just blessed with natural talents, not some government spy.  Because that could mean big problems, as Fukuzawa hates the government to stick their noses into his Agency.

“(Y/n)-san? She is a nice girl. She is always willing to help out everyone with their troubles. Hah, one time she even went to drag Dazai out from a ditch!”

“When the powers are out, (y/n)-chan brought lots and lots of candles for us. I cannot be more grateful.”

“She loves sweets and would often bake me some! (y/n)-chan calls me her test subject for her confectionery arts, not that I mind as long as I get half of her chocolate cookies!”

Only words of praise and gratitude, Fukuzawa cannot seem to find a single bit of negativity related to you? You are so friendly towards everyone, no one ever saw you in a different mood other than cheerfully happy.

The more Fukuzawa learns about you, the more invested he becomes. Even though it started as an investigation, he had grown fond of you rather quickly. Soon enough he finds himself smiling back to your greetings and goodbyes, even sneaking gazes full of fondness when you were not noticing.

Hm, so the agency president had taken a special interest in you huh? That is better than ideal. Now you can sleep soundly at night without ten traps set up in your apartment. People usually protect what they love right? Now you got the powerful Silver Wolf, an elite swordsman as your bodyguard!

These little actions did not get past the observations of Ranpo Edogawa. You are pleasant to have around, and if you marry the president would mean you would never leave the ADA right? He can have those delicious sweets for the rest of his days! His sensei is happy, and he got an endless supply of delicious food, sounds like a win-win to him.

So when Fukuzawa asked him to use his Ultra Deduction on you, little Ranpo did not suspect a thing and gladly obliged.

“(y/n)-chaan is a skilled assassin, with at least ten years of experience...And served in the Order of the Clock Tower as one of their finest knights, but she is currently on exile.” Ranpo and Fukuzawa exchange a glance, mixed with shock and horror. Both stayed silent for a while, digesting the unbelievable truth Ranpo just dug up.

So, his hunch was correct. But how can you, a charming lady who would help the elderly to cross the street, would give up your seat on the train to pregnant women, would help out anyone in need used to be a cold-blooded assassin? (These are all classic kindness gestures in Asia, in case anyone is confused)

Can Fukuzawa imagine you in black tights(eh idk how this came up), ending people’s lives while lurking in the shadows? No, it is physically impossible. He lived that kind of life, how can you turn out to appear so innocent? Unless you hid your evils exceptionally well. This sends a chill down his spine, the thought of someone who can fool the entire Agency of intelligent agents…

You may not harbour any ill-will towards them yet, but you still pose a major potential risk regardless. You can feed the agents poisonous cakes and even Kunikida would eat them without question. Some precautions need to be taken.

“Sensei, you like (y/n)-chan, right? Why not take her in and watch her every move, make sure she is no threat?” Another win-win situation, if you ask Ranpo. You would have all the time in the world to bake! Wouldn't that be amazing?

His smart apprentice never disappoints.

[aarcanechaoss]

☆ Dazai has a girlfriend? ☆

☆ Smut + a little bit of crackheadness

Hearing the giggling of his coworker was normal, at least that’s what Atsushi told himself. The suicidal maniac was particularly chipper today and everyone noticed.

“Atsushi could you finish my paperwork for me.” His eyes widened and he pouted, “pleaseeee.”

“Dazai do your own.” Atsushi sighed.

“Ugh please! I’ll be late and then I’ll get in trouble and then I won’t get my present.” Fake tears welled in the man’s eyes.

“What are you on about now?” Kunikida piper up, clearly over Dazai’s weird mood.

“Ko will be mad I gotta gooo.”

“Who’s Ko?” Kenji asked. Naomi and Kyoka looked towards him with wide eyes, they wanted to know as well.

“Hm? Ko is my girlfriend.” He said nonchalantly.

Beat

“WHAT!” The agents yell. Dazai laughs, throws the last few pages onto Atsushi’s desk and slips towards the door.

“What’s the racket?” The President appeared around the corner with a raised brow.

“I have a date and must be off!” Dazai exclaims. Fukuzawa merely nods.

“Dazai.” Naomi called, he turned and tilted his head. “Why didn’t we know this? Who is she? What’s she look like? Is she beautiful? How long have you been together?”

“So many questions.” He smiles. “I can spare a moment to talk about my wonderful Ko!” If sparkles could appear in the air they would have.

“So-“ Ranpo prompts. What? He was intrigued as well- he hadn’t deduced that Dazai was in any kind of relationship.

“Well firstly, I like to think of work and private life separately. She’s a criminologist and I a private eye, we don’t really talk about work so I guess I just didn’t here. We’ve been dating nearly a year and she’s the most perfect woman ever.” His eyes gleamed in excitement. “She knows so many suicide methods it’s wonderful and she doesn’t think I’m weird!”

At that comment the ADA looked at Dazai with annoyance of course his girlfriend knows something about suicide methods to deal with him.

“Then why do you keep asking other women to die with you?” Atsushi asks.

“Hmm? Because I have to practice before I ask her. It’s a proposal after all.” The ADA stood still in shock as the man happily left the office on his way to his date. Once gone they erupted with questions.

“Do we follow?”

“He didn’t say what she looked like?”

“He seems pretty happy.”

“Wonder how they met.”

The president smiled at the mess but stood in thought. Dazai had unintentionally reminded him that he had to meet with his daughter in a few days to meet her boyfriend finally. That should be interesting.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Dazai walked along merrily, Kosuke was waiting at her apartment for him. His hands were tucked into his pocket, his fingers playing with the small Present in his left pocket. He bought her a necklace, nothing super fancy just a silver chain with two birds on it. Small, pretty and perfect for his favourite person.

The apartment door was beckoning him closer, his fingers twitched around the keys in excitement as he unlocked the door. Kosuke was waiting patiently at her dinner table, the food was warm and ready to be eaten when she heard the door unlock. Dazai walked in and grinned at the silver haired woman who quickly stood and ushered him to the table.

“How was work?” She asked.

“It was good but not interesting, just paperwork.” She rolled her eyes, she knew he’d probably give the paperwork to someone else to do. “Don’t roll your eyes I actually did most of it except like five pages. It was just signing things anyway... you?”

Kosuke sat beside her lover and smiled. “No new cases to look over nor and criminals to understand their minds. Anyway no more work talk eat up and then I’ll give you a gift.” She winked.

“Oh my my Kosuke I am indeed excited. Here for you.” He passed her the necklace box and opened it. She smiled and blushed, she loved it.

“It’s gorgeous... actually Osamu.” She bit her lip towards the handsome man. “How about we forgo dinner and get take out later? I’m not the best cook anyway.”

“My darling Ko, I’d love to skip to desert.” He reaches forward and captured her lips in a deep kiss, his fingers trapping themselves in her silver locks. Her metallic blue eyes closed slowly as she moved into the kiss, her own hands reaching forward to tug at him. “Bedroom.”

The adventure that was making it to her bedroom was difficult when making out and attempting to strip oneself of unnecessary clothes. Beneath her green dress was lacy underwear that he’ll have to remember she owns so he can toy with her another night tonight was something sweet and passionate, relaxing and needing. Finally being able to remove his pants he stood before her arms and neck bandaged while Kosuke herself wore a bandage around her neck.

Last week they’d spoken about this, how they wanted to show everything- yes they’d been together nearly a year but sex more often then not involved still wearing the bandages and they wanted to remove them, even if just for tonight.

Kosuke moved first, her hands trailing Dazai’s toned stomach, thumbs grazing small scars and bumps before beginning to undo the first bandage on his arm. His arms were scarred, his neck held a perpetual bruise from his hundreds of attempts and he knew she didn’t pity him, he knew she’d never say anything to push him away just as she knew he’d not be disgusted by the scar on her neck. He was lost in thought, staring at the underwear clad woman, he didn’t notice she’d undone the other arm. Her hands rested on his chest and she looked at him.

“I don’t have to take off this bandage.” She said. He stared at her.

“Take it off, I’ll take yours off too.” A hand cupped her cheek as he kissed her softly. Her smooth hands were quick and skilled as she removed the wrappings around his throat. Her thumb rubbed over the darkened skin before cupping his cheek instead. His own hands moved on their own, it felt strange not having the bandages on, he reached her neck and undid the bandage. The pink scar at the base of her neck spoke volumes and the rope burn that wrapped around her neck spoke even louder. If anything he thought Kosuke looked even more beautiful like this.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered resting his hands on her hips as his lips pressed against her neck. She sighed. He lightly bit the soft skin to elicit a moan. Quickly he removed her bra and palmed her chest, moving the heat from his palms around her body. She melted into the touch, her own hands dancing around his body before trailing to his briefs. She snapped the elastic against his skin and he hissed softly.

Being that she was slightly taller she had to lean a tiny bit towards him not that he minded, in fact he loved it, he loved her and everything about her. She pushed him towards the mattress and landed beside him, he rolled over till he was above her and between her thighs. His length twitched and hips bucked forward when his lower half met with hers.

For a few moments that’s all they did, grinding against each other while their hands exploded the others body. Kosuke’s hands knotted themselves in his hair, holding him close as their tongues fought for dominance. She let him win. Dazai sat back on his calves and Kosuke raised a brow.

“What’s up babe?”

“Can’t decide if I want to eat you out or fuck you.” He shrugged.

“Fuck me now and then wake me up in the morning with that tongue of yours.” She smirked, he reflected her face with his own and quickly moved to remove their last article of clothing each. His hands smoothed over her thighs, spreading them a little.

“So impatient and wet my love.” He giggled. Kosuke went to speak but Dazai oh Dazai had swiftly entered her till he was balls deep.

“Osamu!” She exclaimed with a rather loud whine. He’d never get over those gorgeous sounds nor the way she’d claw at his back (or chest when she rode him). Did her nails sting? Yes. Did he love the sting? Also yes. Slowly he rocked into her a moan sitting in the back of his throat. Her back arched up as he made one quick movement to thrust into her just right, she exposed her neck and he couldn’t control himself as he began scattering kisses and hickies over the soft and sensitive flesh, he was going to mark her good and he hoped she would too.

“Fuck fuck.” He growled as his pace picked up, his hair stuck to his face with sweat, his arms shook as he lent over the tall woman and moved to kiss her again. “You’re so fucking beautiful you know.” He moaned.

“Osa-mu.” She moaned against his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you... I love you too.” He groaned, she clenched around him and fuck did that make him wild. His thrusts became quicker and more erratic and her legs flung around his hips pulling him closer, heels digging into his lower back. He moaned, loudly. “Are you close?”

“Yes... yes yes can I Osamu?” She pleaded.

“Cum for me.” He breathed, one hand snaked between their bodies and rubbed against the sensitive bundle of nerves and she lost it. Her body twitched and shook and clenched around Dazai’s as she came. Dazai followed quickly pumping into her sloppily as he came inside her. “Kosuke.” He moaned before collapsing beside her.

Somehow, someway they pulled up a blanket and fell asleep together- Kosuke would clean the sheets in the morning.

When morning came Dazai was delighted to see Kosuke was still beside him, breathing slowly with a hand on his heart. She liked to know his heart was still beating, it’s cute. Suddenly his mind flashed with images of the night before and a sneaky smile made its way onto his face as he looked to the woman cuddled to his side.

“Fuck me now and then wake me up in the morning with that tongue of yours.” She had said and oh how he planned to as he slipped beneath the blankets and from her grip.

Waking up like that was absolutely wonderful- she’d admit unabashedly as his tongue worked magic against her core. And by the time she’d returned the favour of course someone had to call right as he’d finished in her mouth.

“Ugh it’s Kunikida.” He groaned and pressed answer. “Yes?”

“You are late for work.”

“No I’m not I don’t work today.”

“Yes you- oh... I see your schedule apologies.”

“Could he not call so early in the morning.” Kosuke grumbled.

“Now now Ko you have plenty of time to mark me before tomorrow.” Dazai giggled.

“Oh I- uh... is that your girlfriend?” He kind of wished he was at work now, just to see the uptight mans face.

“Yep. Now excuse us we wil continue where we left off BYE.”

Back at the office Kunikda was brighter than a tomato as he stared at the paperwork in front of him. Atsushi waved a hand in his face to get his attention.

“Kunikida?”

“After a brief phone call we can assume those two have an active lifestyle and I called them in the middle of it.” He cried. Atsushi, Kenji and Kyoka blinked in confusion whilst Yosano laughed so hard she was doubled over.

Ah what a lively bunch.

[straymackerel]

Omg I feel like 9 would fit Ranpo so well!!!❤️🥰❤️✨💚📗🔫

ranpo + epibreren (dutch, v.) to perform useless busywork as though it were very important.

➽─{and you are quite right, my darling anon 😼🖤💫😚⭐️🌻}─❥

You thought nothing of it at first. How the greatest detective in the city, probably Japan, and possibly the whole wide world spent company time was none of your business. It’s not as if you were paying him or anything. But come this dreadful morning, when all other available hands were on deck, you couldn’t help but to slowly realize that Ranpo was—in fact—the only detective slacking off.

Any old passerby may find the young man’s attempt at play pretend convincing, but to the seasoned eye, there was no mistaking it. Even with all of his posturing, Ranpo seemed much too eager given the stack of paperwork weighing down on his desk. He seemed a little too… self-satisfied. 

You knew exactly what laid in that pile; in fact, you’d organized it for him. A disappearance, a stolen car, a murder or two in a back alleyway, a few robberies in broad daylight. The circumstances of which, you’ve come to learn, were nothing but a bore—at least by his standards.

So, yes, you’re quite suspicious when Ranpo makes his way through a supposedly related newspaper, humming a happy little tune to himself as he marks the pages. His attention hardly wavers as he continues to take notes on it—something you’re quite sure his ability doesn’t require.

You ponder your options. After all, you’re but a secretary in this agency full of gifted detectives. Would it really be okay to tell the best of the bunch how to do their job?

But surveying the area once more, you find that the situation remains in your hands. Dazai is still out in the field, undoubtedly unreachable at this hour. Atsushi is sifting through paperwork like his life depends on it, and Kunikida is briefing a hushed Kyouka and Kenji on their next case, though the confusion on the children’s faces is most apparent. Yosano was last seen dragging Tanizaki into one of the back rooms, the latter with a deep gash to his right leg (...yikes). No one else seems to notice the overt slacker right before you, but how could they when things are this hectic?

This isn’t a matter of respectability anymore. Not when your coworkers are so visibly struggling. 

So you take a step in Ranpo’s direction, to which he pushes his cap down just a little further. For someone whose job is to snuff out the truth, he’s pretty bad at hiding it. His hand scribbles away at the newspaper with unprecedented ferocity, speed increasing with every inch you gain. By the time you’re hovering over him, he’s nearly burning holes through the paper, but you’re determined to confirm what you already know to be true. 

Nose deep behind recycled newsprint, it would appear that Ranpo isn’t taking notes at all. Hidden in his lap are pigmented sticks of wax, and beneath his hands are his favorite weekly comic strips. 

He’s been coloring them. 

...He’s been coloring them in crayon.

You try to suppress the amusement that dances across your face, but to no avail; Ranpo refuses to look at you anyway. 

“This is very important,” he insists before you can even get a word in, clutching the newspaper to his chest a beat too late.

“More important than the state of the workplace?” No response. “I hear there’s a chance we could go into overtime for the rest of the week,” you try again, steeling your voice as best as you can. The tension is completely lost on Ranpo, though.

“Not my problem.” His crayons are hidden, one by one, into a balled-up fist as he asks: “What good is a detective agency carried on the back of a single detective?”

“You know very well how unfair that is,” you sigh, holding your hand out for the crayons, but his grasp on them only tightens. “The city is in an uproar, crime rates at an all time high. I know the cases aren’t particularly interesting right now, but—”

“But that’s because a bunch of nobodies thought they could pull fast ones in all the chaos. That’s more or less what you wanted to say, no?”

“Well, yes, but...” you trail off, taken aback. Ranpo somehow worded it better than you could have.

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me,” he says, unconvinced. If you could follow his gaze, you’d see him looking straight past you, eyes trained on the front door and already plotting escape. Your recovery is a meek one.

“Please, Ranpo. The city is in danger.” He only smirks in response.

“You haven’t been working here long, so trust me on this.” He folds the newspaper into a neat little square, shoving it into his pocket. “This city is always in danger.” With that he rises from his desk, and you scramble to rein him back in again.

“I’ll treat you to ice cream later.” Ranpo hesitates for a moment, but continues to walk past you.

“What do you take me for, charity? I can buy ice cream myself,” he says, leaving you no choice but to step directly into his path. He has half the mind to push you aside, but what you say next completely stops him in his tracks.

“It’ll be topped with cotton candy.” 

Ranpo stills, his mouth agape. His face finally swings up to meet yours, suddenly intrigued by your offer. A crayon falls to the floor in his stunned silence.

“Served in a bubble waffle,” you add for insurance, to which his eyes widen—sparkle, even.

“And what place sells such a delicacy...?”

“Finish your work and I’ll bring you there.” 

Your words prompt cat-eyed slits to peer into you, methodically searching for any trace of a lie. When he comes up empty-handed, Ranpo sighs not in defeat but in content, settling back into his chair as fast as he stood up. Emerald irises sink back under lazy eyelids, wispy eyelashes coming to rest upon his cheeks once more. Every last piece of coloring paraphernalia is handed over to you and he poises a hand to shake on the sugary suggestion.

“Deal.”

general tags. (info)  @skateme2yokohama @shozaii @suehiro

[sins-over-tragedy]

Just saw your post and I thought it would be quite fun to see your writing! Can i have Ranpo× S/O who loves to read...? Its ok if you dont want to-

Hey love! Of course I want to. I just wasn‘t sure if you wanted some headcons or a oneshot so I wrote a oneshot. If you meant headcons, feel free to request them again, I‘d love to write them! I tried to make it a little bit fluffy c:

I really gave my best, hope you enjoy it! ❤️

WARNIGS: SHORT MENTION OF NIGHTMARES, ANGST IF YOU SQUINT

Ranpo with a S/O who loves to read

Ranpo Edogawa was by far the greatest Detective in all of Japan. - The whole world even, if you asked him. He was one of the most clever men you‘ll ever meet, solving even the most demanding cases like it was nothing, astonishing both the public and the police in Yokohama with his infamous skills. His coworkers both loved and respected him, like they should, because they received the biggest part of their income from the cases he worked on, not even needing a partner for most of them. His deducting ability was unmatched, one look from his sharp green eyes behind his characteristic glasses was enough to unravel even the deepest and darkest secrets of the person standing in front of him.

Ranpo also couldn’t stand a lot of things. Like, when a new police officer underestimated his deduction skills. I mean, how dare they? Or the one time he ran out of candy. Now, that really was a nightmare. (Not only for him, but also for his colleagues, who had to deal with him on that dreadful day)

Another thing he hated with a burning passion, was having to rely on public transportation. Train schedules? Hell no.

But the one thing that really got on his nerves- that he couldn‘t live with for the love of god - (Or Arahabiki, if you want) is-

„Not now Ranpo, I really want to finish this book.“

Yeah, that.

Having to share your attention. That was just plain awful and cruel towards him. „But Y/N, come ooon, you‘ve already said that the last few times I‘ve asked you!“

Don‘t get him wrong, he loved your (not so) little obsession with books.

You, reading to him at night to calm his nerves, when the thoughts about his past and the death of his parents just got too fucking much and threatened to overwhelm his mind- it never failed to scare away his demons.

What got him even through the shittiest of days was the thought of coming home and cuddling up to you in the living room of your shared apartment, while you would read stories to him, about adventurers seeking long lost treasures; tales about mythical creatures like dragons and elves; Detectives, almost as clever as himself. He didn‘t really care, as long as it was you who read them to him. You could even read a goddamn phonebook to him, and he would still lay there, listening, while your soft voice lulled him to sleep.

It didn‘t matter to you what kind of book you were reading, as long as the writing was good and the story catched your attention. Your reading obsession also has helped you with your work at the agency on more than one occasion, learning different facts and stuff about almost every genre you could get your hands on.

That was just one of the many things he loved about you. You also were clever. Maybe not as clever as him, but while he cracked cases within the bat of an eye, you always came and picked him up at the train station, when he got off on the wrong stop again - Jesus, Ranpo that was the third time this week-

Not even once had you told him that you had no time, or simply didn‘t want to, because he was a grown man and he could- he should be able to come home by himself. You always were there for him, not once asking for something in return.

What he also loved was your shared apartment. It wasn‘t big, or expensive - you both couldn‘t afford that, never even wanted to - but it was enough.

Your whole apartment looked like a small library, shelves filled with books of all shapes and sizes almost reaching up to the ceiling. Plants in every corner, flowers of different colours, or just plain green dragon trees. Ranpo loved it. It was just so cozy, so warm and inviting, it was so you.

But when you‘ve found a book that really caught your attention, there was nothing that could bring you to stop reading it. Not even an angry Kunikida - and that spoke for itself. So when Ranpo saw how engrossed you were in the newest part of your collection, he feared the worst, and his mind quickly began to form a plan on how he could at least catch a bit of your attention. He went into the bedroom, grabbed a thick blanket and some cookies from his secret stash inside the sock drawer (they didn‘t call him greatest detective for nothing) and made his way back to you into the living room. He found you still sitting in the same place, not having moved an inch. Did you even realise he was here before? Ranpo really wasn‘t a fan of having to share your attention.

He also was a little shit. „What are you doing?“ Ranpo looked up from your lap, where he had placed himself and began to get comfortable. „Getting my S/O back.“ You couldn‘t hold back the small smile that stole itself on your lips at your boyfriend's antics. „Oh come on, don‘t be so dramatic!“ „I‘m not dramatic, it‘s true and you know it!“ He shifted again, not having found quite the right place to settle himself yet. You decided to have mercy on him. „Come here you drama baby.“ The book was placed on the coffee table next to you while you slided a bit farther down on the couch and stretched out your legs. That way he could settle himself in between them, comfortably laying his head on your chest. He let out a content sigh. „That‘s much better.“ You only hummed in response and began to comp your fingers through his messy mop of black hair. If he were a cat, he‘d probably purr. „Read to me, Y/N.“ „Always so demanding...“ But how could you deny him something, while he looked so freaking adorable, with his pouting lips and narrowed eyes? His sharp green orbs followed your every move, while you picked up your book again and began to read it to him.

You couldn‘t really tell at what point he had fallen asleep, but when you decided to take a small pause to rest your eyes a bit, the first thing you noticed were the faint snores that left his slightly parted lips. How cute. You couldn't help yourself, so you bent down and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. You closed your book, carefully put it back on the coffee table to not disturb him by moving to much, adjusted the blanket so that both of you were covered by it and decided to join his small nap.

And while you both laid there, wraped up in each others warmth, there was only one thing to describe how you both felt in that moment: absolutly content.

——————————————————————

Why do the characters in my stories always tend to fall asleep at the end? Easy. Bcs sleep is bae.

[snowingstarlight]

Slip and Fall

AO3 Pairing: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya Tag: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending TW: Suicide Attempt Chapter One: Kill The Actor

Who am I? Who am I trying to be? Not myself, anyone but myself. Living in a fantasy to bury the reality, Making myself the mystery, A strong facade disguising the misery. Empty, but beyond the point of emptiness, Full to brim with fake confidence, A guard that will never be broken, Because I broke a long time ago. I’m hurting but don’t tell anyone. No one needs to know. Don’t show or you’ve failed. Always okay, always fine, always on show. The show must go on. It will never stop. The show must not go on, But I know it will. I give up. I give up giving up. I am lost. I don’t need to be saved, I need to be found .

"Depression"

By Cara Delvigne

He felt like he was drowning; crushed underneath emotion he forgot he possessed.

It was the first emotion (did it classify as an emotion?) he felt when he awoke that morning; an empty blackness that filled his body and soul and crushed him beneath dark waves of the darker emotions he often repressed. It wasn't a common feeling, but it wasn’t rare either; but something about it was different this time around. The darkness that overtook him was heavier, deeper and so... so empty .

Dazai's breath hitched as he tried to calm himself; his heart pounding in his chest despite his own confusion as he tried to pinpoint the exact reason he was feeling like this. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes as he belatedly realized what emotion was trying to spill out; it was loneliness, an ever crushing sorrow engulfing his mind and soul - an emotion causing his bones to weigh down and ache.

It took some effort to reach up and scrub his eyes until the emotions that bubbled up were wiped away momentarily; not that he really tried to shove it away, and instead Dazai let himself fall deeper into the pit he called his own soul. He never had much energy to keep his own emotions at bay, not since he had left the Mafia anyways; and wouldn’t Odasaku like to see him like this? To see him embracing these emotions instead of shoving them away, down into the inky blackness that was his soul?

The Demon Prodigy had none, to the public at least. But Dazai Osamu that was a part of the Armed Detective Agency? He had more emotions than the man knew how to deal with, thus the suffocating.

Although, Dazai doubted that Odasaku would have liked to see how he dealt with them, as he skipped breakfast in favor of a cup of coffee that was hot enough to burn his tongue; rich enough in smell that it helped him evade the nausea that clogged his stomach from the fact he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and black enough he had enough energy in him to chuckle in pity of himself at comparing the color of the energy bean juice to his own soul.

It didn’t take any effort to slip on his usual mask as he dressed himself and left his apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind him as he stepped into the crisp morning air; he had nothing worthy of stealing. His feet and legs felt heavy as he headed towards the office, hands shoved until his pockets as he moved through the crowd of people like a ghost. His mind was whirling far too fast for even himself to keep up with as he sidestepped a couple passing by; a side effect of a day like this. Usually, Dazi would allow himself to stay at home, shutting off his phone and barricading the door to keep Kunikida from charging in to drag him to the office, or he’d text that he wasn’t feeling well and would spend the day sleeping as much as he could in an attempt to force himself out of his darkened mood.

However there was something different about this empty lonely feeling that he hadn’t felt since he had joined the Agency. It was, fun , to say the least - The Agency, that was - and Dazai didn’t bother putting any extra effort into his suicide attempts other than creative ways that would annoy his coworkers and supposed friends, unlike when he’d been with the Mafia. Not that he ever tried, really, never having enough energy to pour into activities outside of work, unless you counted his numerous masks, but his own facades and masks no longer took effort to keep up; as they were a second skin to him now, compared to the ones he had in the Mafia - perhaps the Demon Prodigy had been the only one that had exhausted him.

Really, the most energy he spent on a daily basis was on his own mind as he tried to keep up with his own whirling cascades of thoughts and predictions as he stayed ten, twenty , fifty , a hundred steps ahead of his enemies, and even his own coworkers.

It was whenever Dazai awoke feeling like this- drowning underneath the ever crushing overwhelming and consuming feeling of loneliness that his masks would slip up a bit; that he’d allow himself to act a bit off.

Yet, not once had it seemed to be noticed.

Not once had it seemed like anyone cared Dazai wasn’t his usual self.

Because no one cared.

His mind drifted back to the dream he had awoken from, a blip forgotten in his memory - a rare occurrence for his photographic memory - but the feeling that had seeped from that dream and into the waking world was something Dazai couldn’t shake even as he settled into his desk-chair, giving his usual chirpy “Good morning everyone!”

He couldn’t remember who it had been - someone who had no name and no face that he could recall, but somehow he knew who it was anyways and it made his stomach twist uncomfortably - but he’d been important to them. Dazai’s lips twisted into a mournful smile as he set to typing up his reports he’d been ignoring for a while now; some odd weeks at the least.

A dream, that was all it was; he wasn’t important as a person to anyone, he could go missing and no one would notice - has done so a few times before, temporarily of course - not one of them that he was surrounded by had nor would care.

Suicide - killing himself - was something he joked about often, he was even humming his silly little suicide song now as he typed without much thought in it, too wrapped up in his own obscure thoughts, and yet none of them had noticed that part of the time he wasn’t even joking about it today - and Dazai would’ve made at least three by now. Certainly they’ve gotten used to his half-assed attempts at suicide, yet had none of them realized they’d saved him a few times from an actual attempt? Not that Dazai did that often, anymore, but the thoughts still lurked in the back of his mind, clawing and gnawing at the idea that he wasn’t enough - that all he was, was a burden on everyone.

Sitting there in his chair, typing idly but diligently away, he listened to everyone chatting around him which included Kunikida stopping once in a while to bark at them to get back to work. It was a completely normal office day, ixnay his suicide jokes nor Kunikida barking at him for too long, but Dazai felt more lonely than he had in… well, perhaps since he’d gone underground for those few years to wipe his record clean. Human interaction had been sparse then and more than once had he attempted to kill himself.

It never worked though, never for him. Only humans could succeed at suicide, and wasn’t he No Longer Human?

Dazai supposed it was odd to have a dream of committing suicide that wasn’t a burden to others. It was a secret he kept close to his heart since a childhood he never had been given, but he didn’t want to be a burden on others; even if he allowed himself to act like one so often. His work got done in the end, his debts paid, but every time he acted out, it was for attention; because even though it was bad attention, attention was still attention.

No one said anything when he skipped lunch, Kunikida leaving at noon exactly for his, Atsushi and Kyouka following him; none of them invited him along, but that was expected. He often was the one who invited himself along, although it was a bit disheartening - and didn’t that just add to his terrible mood? - that none of them spared him a glance when he didn’t get up to join them with his usual loud and boisterous persona, a smile forced upon his lips just in case one of them did. The Tanizakis were out for the day, and Kenji was on a case so his usual desk was clear of the teenager, the President hardly left his office unless he was needed, same for his assistants, and Ranpo had left along with Yosano for a shopping trip that was undoubtedly sidetracked by the detective’s sweet tooth.

Dazai’s reports were finished by the time the newest detectives were back from lunch, and Dazai himself was idly playing Solitaire on his laptop in an attempt to pass the time quickly, blatantly ignoring Kunikida with a strained smile on his face as his partner screamed at him for ignoring work. There was no smart-ass reply from the elder though, and that seemed to infuriate Kunikida further, but Dazai didn’t bother paying him any more attention than the casual glance once in a while to see if he had finished with his tantrum.

He refused to be a burden on others, but he still allowed himself to enjoy a moment like this; not that Kunikida knew he had finished his reports, or that he had them sitting in his email ready to send out tomorrow morning when he’d already be gone. It’d be too much of a burden on his partner if Dazai had left the paperwork he owed along with the paperwork for finding him dead inside of his apartment for Kunikida to go through; which made his heart weigh a little heavier as he sprang up and announced in such a falsely cheerful tone that he was done for the day in what he assumed was the middle of Kunikida’s rant.

Not that any of them would notice his tone was off, none of them had before, so why would they start now? The only one who had been able to read him so clearly… he didn’t want to think about him at the moment.

Dazai forced himself to whistle a thoughtless tune as he pulled on his coat, ignoring the pang in his heart as his gaze got caught the color for a moment and his mind went to another person; someone who would’ve flourished within the Agency, a person whom Dazai was just a bad imposter of. All Dazai was… all he was, was someone who was living the life he - that Odasaku - should have been.

He flew down the staircase before anyone could even attempt to stop him; he didn’t want to read their emotions that they all wore so easily on their sleeves - except for Kyouka, perhaps (Ane-san was such a hardass with emotion training, not that it seemed to stick for someone else) - and it was easy enough to ignore the ladies’ shocked expressions and exclamations in the cafe as he paid his tab in full. Undoubtedly they were surprised, with how much trouble he gave them on paying back his debt, but Dazai’s mind was whirling out of his control again and he found his feet padding down familiar streets within a blink of an eye, no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

How long had he spaced out to get across town?

The sun was beginning to set, the orange glow eerie instead of comforting as the shadows around him grew longer alongside the voices in his head growing louder. Dazai’s heart was thumping in his throat, breathing growing erratic instead of the usual calm that unsettled his foes and - and oh, he was at Odasaku’s grave.

Instead of sitting against the grave - as if Odasaku was there with him - as he usually did, Dazai stood above it, hazel eyes trained on the name carved into the stone. Usually it wasn’t this hard to speak to his friend, but this time Dazai’s tongue sat heavy in his mouth and his throat was tight as he tried to find the words he wished to say.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing out, eyes closing as Dazai inhaled slowly, the smell of the autumn leaves and drying grass wafting through his nose before exhaling harshly through his mouth. “Odasaku… I tried to become a good man like you said… but I cannot carry on any longer.” Lips twisted into a sham of a smile. “What good is it, or rather, how can I be the kind of person who can help people, when I cannot even help myself? You would know, wouldn’t you, old friend?”

Oda would know exactly what to say to him, what to tell Dazai to cheer him up or set him back upon the path of becoming someone who could walk easily on the side of light... but a dead man could not utter a single word, and it wasn’t long before Dazai found himself walking the streets of Yokohama, the world around him washed out and dull in color as he made one stop for a bottle of whiskey that cost him a year’s worth of pay at the Agency before heading to his apartment, a plan that been forming and changing since that morning finally firmly settled in his mind.

Cleaning his apartment didn’t take any longer than he expected it to, the empty bottles of sake and empty or half-eaten cans of crab shoved into trash bags, floors swept and mopped until they shone, along with his multitude of books stacked nicely into a corner, away from his mattress where he sat now - his back pressed against the cold wall behind him as Dazai nursed the newly opened bottle of whiskey.

It wasn’t like Dazai owned much, anyways - except for his books, perhaps. He’d been so bored those two years he’d taken the time to read book upon book, and even though he had them memorized and hadn’t read one a second time, he didn’t have it in him to just throw or give them away. His walls were bare of any art, the mattress pressed against the wall had only sheets and one blanket, a few pillows so worn down they were nearly completely flat were stacked at the head, and a pad sat on the floor next to the mattress, his farewell note written on there along with his wishes for with who he wanted his books to end up.

It had been tempting to stop by Lupin, as he often did on these sorts of days, but it was to bid his final farewells this time, and he wanted to stop looking at the ghosts of his past just for one moment in an attempt to stop the hurt . Odasaku and Ango had been the only ones he had considered a friend at the time, and Oda had gone and left them already with such horrible parting words to Dazai, and the thought of seeing Ango again, if the man allowed a moment of his time for the ex-mafioso… it had his blood boiling under his skin and Dazai took a hefty swig of the bottle to try and drown the anger away with the burning in his throat as the rich liquid slid down his throat.

During his two years in hiding, there had been the terrible days when Dazai would curl up in his hotel room crying, silent as a mouse as his chest would ache and fingers trembled as they dialed a well-used number in his phone. He’d press his phone close to his ear as he curled into a ball in the bed, listening to the voicemail message Odasaku had left - his number bought by Dazai right before his sudden disappearance from the Mafia, and he left everything alone besides paying the bill religiously for nights like these.

One rare terribly bad night, he had ended up dialing Ango’s number - it had rung once, twice, before heading to voicemail and Dazai had nearly broken his own phone in anger at knowing Ango was avoiding him. He had just wanted to talk - wanted to desperately understand, to get some closure, but Ango was denying him that and it hurt and Dazai didn’t know how to deal with hurt by himself.

His apartment looked so little used, that it ought to belong to a ghost in his opinion. “I suppose it may now, hm?” The idea of coming back as a ghost was a terrible one, but perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as where Dazai knew he’d end up - for there was no way someone like him would get into heaven. A sigh fell from his lips as he raised the bottle in his hand to his chapped lips and took another swig, but didn’t swallow.

Swishing the mouthful of whiskey around in his mouth, Dazai’s gaze moved from his oddly empty apartment to where his closet was, the door open and the few clothing hung inside was in plain view.

His black coat he had inherited from Mori - and had told the mafia leader he’d burnt - was what his amber hues settled on first, and a faint but true smile slowly stretched across his lips as a certain redhead he’d been forcing himself not to think of he finally allowed to cross his mind. “Chibikko will open a bottle of Pétrus at hearing I’m finally dead, although I am sure he’d be pissed it wasn’t himself that ended me.” Truly not a bad way to go, but Dazai knew that his ex-partner would forever be haunted by it if he ever truly carried out his meaningless threats.

Chuuya, he was the only one who Dazai was certain would care if he was gone, for a while at first. Certainly he’d get over his death in time, but the fact that he would have no way out of Corruption if he ever needed to use it would always have Chuuya caring about it.

He could recall a time when Chuuya would be breaking his apartment door down during a day (or night) like this, manhandling Dazai into his own apartment across the building and shoving him into the bed that was far too big for someone as small as Chuuya - or so Dazai would tease whenever he was feeling up to it. However, times like those, was when Chuuya would let Dazai fall apart and stayed there to help put the pieces of his shattered mind back together without question - never prompting Dazai to tell him what he didn’t feel comfortable saying.

Dazai always ended up telling the chibi anyways, because Chuuya was one of the two people Dazai felt comfortable enough with to open up. Yet, in one single night he’d lost both those people - Oda to death, and Chuuya on his own accord by leaving the Mafia behind.

He didn’t blame Chuuya for hating him - if their roles were reserved quite honestly Dazai knew he’d likely feel the same - for he knew Dazai as well as Dazai did, perhaps even better, and Dazai loathed himself for a number of reasons he couldn’t - wouldn’t - put into words.

Mori would be disappointed that their little game of chess they'd been playing since the death of the old boss would end. Akutagawa… his mafia protege would likely be upset it was something as simple as pills that ended up killing him, and that thought was enough to have Dazai chuckling somewhat humorlessly as he took a sip from his bottle, humming delightedly as his thoughts drifted and his heart gave a little twinge of happiness at knowing that they would care enough about his end to celebrate - or fume - it.

Kouyou would be glad that the Lad would be gone to leave her Boy alone, she never had cared for Dazai anyways - and he knew it. His soul was far too dark, it scared her… it scared a lot of people who had been able to see that side of him; except perhaps Hirotsu. The elderly man had been (and was still, Dazai assumed) oddly fond of the Soukoku placed under his care, even if they were his superiors. Would the man miss him? Dazai didn’t know.

From one coat to another did his gaze next settle upon the sandy one that he’d bought a handful of days after Oda’s death to attempt to match the man - his feeble attempt at trying to match his own wishes with Odasaku’s. His mind drifted from the Mafia to the Agency, another swig taken at knowing they’d congratulate him for finally achieving his dream of committing suicide.

Dazai hoped that Kunikida would be pleased at being re-partnered, potentially with someone who actually cared about their paperwork being on time and someone who was almost as punctual as he was. Kenji, Junichirou and Naomi weren’t people he hung around all that often at or outside of work so he didn’t know exactly how they’d react, but undoubtedly they’d enjoy the bit of peace and quiet his death would bring.

Yosano and Ranpo were the two Dazai would miss most; certainly Kunikida was his partner and he’d miss messing with him, but Yosano and Ranpo were the two that Dazai had gotten closest to. Perhaps it was Yosano’s own history with the Mafia and Ranpo’s ability (or rather, his non-existent ability) to deduce anything by a glance that he’d been drawn to, but Dazai silently cherished those moments with them; sitting quietly in Yosano’s office on the bad days when his mind was screaming too loud, exchanging sweets with Ranpo while watching the latest drama in the office unfold in front of them...

“I’m getting sentimental.” Dazai chuckled weakly, his thoughts going to his pupil; little Atsushi. Oh how he’d grown in person since he had dragged him out of the river, successfully spoiling Dazai’s most recent actual suicide attempt; he’d been distracted long enough afterward to be actually curious and defected from the idea of trying to kill himself for a while by looking after Atsushi. Sadly, his pupil had grown enough and was obviously tired of Dazai’s weird way of showing his affection, and had stopped taking him seriously.

At least the boy would have Kyouka after this; and Dazai knew she’d grow to be the person he never could. Lying in the murky waters, she would drift to the lighter side while he endlessly waded where he was; torn between the darker waters and the light ones.

Fukuzawa… was a hard one to read, the man hadn’t fully trusted him for the longest time after Dazai had joined. Not that be blamed him; he had been a suspicious person, no background and getting in by the word of Chief Taneda, well, that had made things worse.

No one but Kunikida had listened to him at first, and still it was only now that they were cooperating and needed someone with a lot of inside information on the organization that they finally listened properly to Dazai.

Dazai had been the Port Mafia’s strategist; Mori-san’s right hand man. No one had dared to not listen to him when it came to planning, although they questioned the hows and whys, they never had not followed through with one of his plans, pulling them off almost flawlessly. Chuuya had been the only one who ever defied any of them, and that was a rare occasion when something had gone wrong.

The people at the Agency had never listened fully, reacted far too quickly to emotion and senselessness. If it had come to an all-out war with the Mafia, they stood a chance by sheer will and Ability alone, but in the end they’d be wiped out at some point.

At the Agency there hadn’t been a need for schemes or planning, though his mind was put to good use figuring cases out, but it wasn’t the thrill he’d gotten used to at the Mafia. After a while, after his beginning with silly schemes and the incident with the Azure Messenger, he had stopped trying to plan with them in it directly; instead choosing to wrap his schemes and plans around them, putting other plans in motion to cause them to react in the way that Dazai knew how to get them to.

Because no one cared enough to listen, although he sometimes cared far too much about them.

He sighed as he slowly lowered the bottle of whiskey - half gone already - to pick up a bottle of sleeping pills he had nicked from Yosano’s stash a while back. She either hadn’t noticed they were gone (he had placed a similar bottle filled with ibuprofen in its place) or hadn’t said anything about it if she had.

Quite honestly, Dazai was still surprised that Fukuzawa was still placing his trust in him, even after it had come out that he’d been a Mafia Executive only a handful of years ago. Whether or not Fukuzawa knew that Dazai had been the Demon Prodigy - handpicked by Mori to succeed him at some point or another - or half of the infamous Port Mafia dou Soukoku, he didn’t know, but either way he’d begun to tread carefully around the President in case he had a change of heart.

His finger stroked the bottle for a moment before in a swift movement he had the lid popped off. Without hesitation Dazai brought the open bottle of pills to his mouth, pouring as many as he could fit into his mouth before swapping one bottle for another - grimacing at the dry taste of the pills - and drowning the pills in whiskey. It took only one other time before the pill bottle was empty, and he sat it aside as he fished over the edge of the mattress for his old phone he’d kept for reasons like this.

It wouldn’t be too long until the pills kicked in, and he’d get the painless death he so sought, but before then… before then, he’d like to hear Odasaku’s voice one last time. One last nice thing for himself, perhaps.

Scrolling quickly through his contacts, Dazai smiled grimly at the name in his contact list that he dialed far more often than anyone else before closing his eyes, tapping the call button and raising the phone to his ear.

“This is Sakunosuke Oda... why Dazai insisted on having me create this voicemail, I have no idea, however I cannot reach the phone right now, so feel free to call again later, or leave a message… now how do I turn this off?”

Was what he had been expecting to hear after hearing the phone ring to the end.

"What the fuck do you want, Mackerel?"

Was not what he’d been expecting, he hadn’t even heard the noise of the phone call being answered.

Dazai startled in surprise at hearing Chuuya’s voice, eyes opening in a flash and the bottle of whiskey nearly slipped from his hand. Instead he forced it to close tightly around the neck of the bottle, biting back his instant remark of surprise he forced the cheer into his voice. “Ahh, so the Slug did pick up after all! What a good doggy!”

He must’ve hit Chuuya’s contact name instead of Oda’s - it was right beneath the other - and now he just needed to annoy his ex-partner enough to end the phone call without letting on what was going on; not that he believed that Chuuya would come running to his rescue, but Dazai didn’t want to let on that he was dying and just wanted to hear Odasaku’s voice...

Hearing Chuuya’s was almost soothing, though.

“I’m not your dog, shitty Dazai!” Came the predicted bark, which had Dazai laughing into the cell.

“Of course you are! I say jump and you say how high after all! Though, I don’t think Chuuya could jump all that high, he is so small after all.” How he missed their constant teasing and bickering; it had been so fun to rile Chuuya up, knowing that Chuuya let him - although the reasoning behind it had always evaded the strategist.

“What the fuck did you say about my hight?! You know what, never mind. Why the hell did you call? It’s been four years , asshole.”

And how many times between then and now had Chuuya called him? How many voicemails (that Dazai could never bring himself to listen to) had Chuuya left for him? And this was the first time he had ever called the number back.

How much he wanted to say it was a slip of a finger, but then Chuuya would question why he had his old mafia phone out and-

“Maybe I just missed you, my doggy! Didn’t you miss me ?”

“What the fuck? As if! Like hell I wou-”

It was almost poetic, Dazai mused, here he was likely dying, but he never felt more alive than now; it had always been that way. For as much as he wanted to die, how empty and lifeless he felt back in the Mafia, he had never felt more alive than when he was talking to Chuuya - seemed that extended beyond their Mafia days.

Ever since the moment they had met, Dazai had been interested in his elder who, as a stark contrast to himself, had been so full of life . He had found himself falling out of his masks and persona around Chuuya so easily and quite often, yet never once had Chuuya made fun of him for it- for slipping up, or falling apart around the redhead. Chuuya… he had stayed and watched out for him, taking care of him when he fell apart… and Dazai had foolishly left that behind.

Just thinking about it made his chest hurt, or was that the drugs mixing with the alcohol? Dazai couldn't tell anymore.

It was beginning to become a struggle to stay awake, Dazai belatedly noticed; the bottle of whiskey slipped out of his hand and before he could catch it it had hit the floor with an audible crack; Chuuya's rant against missing him and threats of hanging up the phone paused momentarily. "What the fuck was that?"

"Just a mess I'll clean tomorrow," Dazai lied, his words slurring and he frowned as he realized his breathing was slowing. "I'm getting…” He hesitated, uncertain why. “I'm tired." It wasn’t an exact lie, it was getting harder to think and to process whatever Chuuya was trying to say, as if it was being ran through some language he barely knew. "I… sing to me?" He wanted to hear Chuuya's voice for as long as he could, and Dazai knew the slug could sing and well.

It seemed like it would be a nice farewell.

"Have you been drinking whiskey?" Dazai let himself indulge in the idea that there was a hint of concern in Chuuya's voice as he hummed a confirmation. Chuuya knew as well as he did that he drank sake to sleep, and whiskey to drown.

"Sing ?" He pleaded quietly instead of answering, feeling his eyelids begging to close. It was, so very selfish of him to ask - no, to make Chuuya be a part of his final moments after years of everything he'd done to the elder. But Dazai was a selfish person, he knew he always had been and always knew he would be to the very end… he couldn't confess to himself that he felt guilty for this as well.

"Oi, Dazai-" Chuuya's voice was weaving in and out of his head, words mashing together and no longer fully registering, the words like distorted noise - if he didn’t know what was happening, he’d have assumed he’d been dunked under water. Dazai nearly dropped the phone as he slouched against the wall, just stubborn enough to keep the phone up to his ear.

"Chuuya." He cut off whatever Chuuya had been in the middle of ranting. It was getting so hard to concentrate enough to speak, was this his last moment of clarity before it was all over?

He wanted to thank his old partner for being here, in his final moments, for caring enough to pick up the phone despite how many times he hadn’t when Chuuya had tried. He wanted to thank him for bickering with him like they used to before… before Dazai lost Oda, before he had lost sense of himself in those emotional days and ruined their partnership; cutting the ties they had, them being so close to each other, so very harshly that those ties were now irreparable.

Chuuya still trusted him with his life, yes, he’d proven that when they had gone up against Lovecraft and the Executive had allowed himself to use Corruption, but that was the extent of it. Not to mention how mad Chuuya must still be for not taking him to the extraction point, months ago that had been.

Dazai couldn't focus enough to express just how much Chuuya still trusting him meant to the detective. Couldn't focus on even attempting to explain his scattered thought pieces - mind still whirling even in his last moments, thoughts screaming at him so loud it hurt his ears; refusing him the chance of a quiet death.

At least it was painless physically, even though his heart ached with every stuttering beat.

He was so tired, he just wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded… divine.

"Chuuya... Goodnight."

"Osamu?!"

[rokutouxei]

in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

-

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t “get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

[kunikinnie]

Could i maybe request Ango, Kunikida, Dazai, and Edgar Allan Poe for a short Headcanons?

This is one of those ones that doesn’t have to be long or super detailed, but it was just a cute thought that popped into my mind.

Their crush, who they aren’t dating yet, accidentally letting a cute pet name slip one day while they’re talking to them. They realize afterwards and are just like, ‘shit.’

I know that may be a little hard to understand so like, for example

Ango: ugh… I’m exhausted

Y/n: awe- baby i bet you are, look at all that paperwork-

Ango: what??

Y/n: shit-

I hope that makes sense! And don’t feel compelled to make them super long! I don’t want you to overwork yourself or burn yourself out!!! Take care of yourself!! Your writing is amazing! Have a great week!

a/n: THIS IS SO CUTE aUgh This actually sparked a scenario for Kunikida... but ofc that shall remain in the drafts for now. Also thank you for being so nice anon! I hope you take care of yourself too <3

accidentally calling them a pet name

Featuring: Dazai, Poe, Kunikida, Ango

Dazai Osamu

"How nice it would be to have some crab right now~"

"Aww, is my baby hungry?"

His eyes would widen for a moment, then a large smile would appear. Seeing you realize what you said amused him. "Why, would you be willing to feed your baby, then?"

This man's flirting game is strong what can I say

The usual banter would come after that, like nothing absolutely embarrassing happened

Deep inside, he was glad to hear you 'flirt back' - almost too sincerely. It's like a reassurance to him, in a way, that you care about him

He'll definitely be able to get you to say it again, so be wary

Edgar Allan Poe

"I really hope Ranpo-kun likes this one..."

"I'm sure he will, sweetie. You're an amazing writer"

He froze. Physically, mentally, emotionally, he stopped functioning. I guess that's the effect of a double kill

Although you were embarrassed, the concern over his current state was much stronger. "P-poe, are you okay?"

He'll be rejuvenated by the slightest tap from your finger. Cue incoherent rambling accompanied by the reddest face you've ever seen

"N-no, you're the sweet one- ahm, no what I meant to say was-"

Please calm him down, somehow. He might never be able to face you for the next four days if he gets too embarrassed

Kunikida Doppo

"Will you be able to submit the report by tomorrow?"

"Of course I can, dear."

He stared at you, and you stared back. Did you really just-

"O-oh I'm so sorry, Kunikida-san. I didn't know what I was thinking..."

"It's alright, Y/N. Just don't say that to any random person, please"

Only say it to him

Dazai managed to get a recording of you saying that (don't ask how) and totally sent it to him. Kunikida said nothing, but you can bet he downloaded it in his phone. May or may not be his alarm in the morning

He thinks about that whenever you two are talking, but he tries his best not to think about it too much or else he himself might call you "dear"

Sakaguchi Ango

"Thank you for helping me, Y/N."

"Sure thing, honey. Anything for you."

...

"W-w-wait Y-Y/N-"

A stammering, blushing mess, fiddling with his glasses and whatnot. You were also a stammering, blushing mess, but at least your brain was working (more than his at least). The wonders of sleep deprivation, you thought

"A-ango-san, m-my apologies. Please forget what I said."

He would not forget what you said. In fact, he'd remember it every time you come by

He'll unconsciously try and suck up to you, hoping that you'd say it again (it never works tho he gets too flustered every time he tries lol)

[astxlphe-fics]

Atsukyou Week Day 1 // Roleswap AU

@atsukyouweek

There is a boy with a bomb on the train, and if Kyouka can save him, then maybe she can save herself too.

(Platonic atsukyou)

Word Count : 4 296

Content warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Basically the train scene with Kyouka and Atsushi swapped. It was pretty fun to write uh.

“Thank you for your help, Kyouka-chan,” Yosano says as they carry the groceries on the train platform.  

Kyouka doesn’t say anything, glancing up and nodding quietly, but Yosano doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I’ll hide some of the sweets for you, so Ranpo won’t snatch them away,” Yosano continues with a quick wink. They walk onto the train and take their seats. 

She eyes the man from earlier, who is carefully avoiding their gazes. When he bothered Kyouka about bumping into him, Yosano sent him groveling at her feet and he ran with his tail between his legs.  

In Kyouka’s opinion, considering Yosano’s anger, he was lucky to have kept it, the tail.  

“...Thank you,” she says quietly. “About earlier.”  

“Don’t worry about such trivial things.” She waves her hand dismissively. “So, I heard you knew Dazai before you joined us?”  

“Not really.” She thinks back about Dazai, whom she dragged out of the river just a few days ago. “I’d heard about him.” 

She knew him only by reputation — Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia executive turned traitor, the one the boss still refuses to replace.  

There isn’t much talk of him, unless you managed to pull Akutagawa or Chuuya into a rant, and what information she gathered during her past six months as a Port Mafia assassin was enough for her to recognize him as soon as he told his name.  

He looked at her, eyes wide and round, before he laughed, recognizing her as a fellow turncoat.   

“I killed 35 people,” she said that day— she ran away from the Mafia with the full intent of killing herself, at some point, but she ended up saving a man instead.  

“So what?” he answered, and gave her a chance.  

Or maybe it was him who saved her, the lines have blurred since then. 

And so, she’d been hired, passing the agency test, though no one but Dazai — and probably Ranpo, smart as he is — knows of her background.   

She is snapped out of her recollection as the loudspeakers let out a high-pitched sound.  

“ An announcement from the driver's cabin ,” the loudspeakers sputter out. “ I apologize for the intrusion! Now, I am about to conduct a little experiment!”     

The voice is familiar, one Kyouka has encountered several times before. She blanches, hand closing tight around Yosano’s arm. “That’s—”  

The voice keeps going, enthusiastically announcing the passengers would be the subject of the experiment. Then, the train churns, shaken by a sudden explosion.  

“Do you know who that is?” Yosano asks, having noticed her reaction.  

"Did two or three people just die~?” the voice continues. “The next blast will do better than that! I have installed bombs at both ends of the train — enough to blow everyone up!”   

“Kyouka-chan?” Yosano insists.  

“Motojiro Kajii,” Kyouka answers, trembling.  

Yosano stills, recognizing the name. Kajii, despite being in the Mafia, is still a bomber and explosive specialist well-known of the authority and, as a result, of the agency.   

That Kyouka is able to recognize him by voice is a whole other can of worms.  

“Well then, hello Kyouka-chan~" he calls in a sing-song voice. “ We’re here for your head, and if you you’re careful all those passengers may not be blown up all the way to heaven...it’s up to you!”   

So, the Mafia is coming for her already? She joined the agency barely two days ago, how did they find her so quickly?  

“We don’t have a lot of options,” Yosano says, deciding the aforementioned can of worms will have to wait. “Either we let them take you, or we jump out of this train with dozens of passengers. Or—” she sets her hand on her hips.   

“We fight them?” Kyouka suggests. She doesn’t want to face Kajii, she would need to use Demon Snow to beat him, and right now this is the last thing she wants. 

“I’ll got at the front and take care of the bomber. You go look for the bomb at the back.”  

“Kajii has a special ability too.” 

“Do you know what it is?” 

“Yes.” At Yosano’s questioning glance, she elaborates. “He is immune to lemon shaped bombs. He uses them to fight, especially if he is fighting up close. It allows him to stay unarmed while doing a lot of damage to his opponent.” 

“Thank you,” Yosano says. “This information is precious; I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Kyouka nods. “Be careful,” she tells her, because she knows Kajii and how dangerous he is despite appearances. 

“Don’t worry.” Yosano pats her head with a smile. “We’re the Armed Detective Agency.”  

Taking that as a reassurance, Kyouka takes off, running towards the back of the train. 

If Kajii is the head of the squad behind this attack, then maybe he’s the only one with an ability. The bomber at the back, hopefully, isn’t as strong, ability or not, and she may be able to take him without using Demon Snow. 

She pushes past the crowd pressing around her until she reaches the second to last carriage, fully expecting a group of black-clad, armed men to ambush her at any moment. Instead, she runs straight into a teenage boy.  

“S-Sorry!”  

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Kyouka tells him. “You heard him. There is a bomb.”  

“I know— I—”   

Her instincts tell her something is wrong. The boy is a few years older than her, white haired and golden eyed, and she doesn’t recognize him at all. He is pale and looks just as scared as everyone else, but something is wrong.   

He is dressed in black.  

There is a gun strapped to his belt.  

Then, he starts running past her, further towards the back of the train, and she runs after him until he’s cornered in the very last carriage — one the civilians have already evacuated.  

“I— I’m Atsushi.”  

“Kyouka.”   

“I know.” He gulps, and his hand closes around the handle of the gun at his belt. “I’m supposed to keep the bomb safe,” he says, “and kill you.”  

Atsushi doesn’t look like a mafia operative, but neither did Kyouka in her days. He is obviously a newbie, but it doesn’t make sense. Kyouka, before being a traitor, was regarded as a competent and powerful assassin, so why give this kind of task to a newcomer?  

It doesn’t matter. Two days ago, she would have welcomed death gladly. She doesn’t deserve to live — she has killed 35 people in six months, her ability exists for murder, and her skills revolve around assassination.  

But now her wish has changed.  

“You’ve killed 35 people, so what?” Dazai said. ��Does it make you unsuitable for the agency?”   

She thought so, but Dazai is suitable for the agency despite having been an executive, and she passed the test — a test of character, for them to see how willing she is to help people in need.  

Glancing back, she looks at the civilian in the next car. If she doesn’t find the bomb, they’ll die.  

If she can save them, with her own skills, maybe she can truly believe Dazai.  

Maybe she can give herself a chance. Maybe it’ll be okay for her to continue living in the light, to help people in the hope that one day she’ll earn her right to be alive. 

Clutching at the phone, at the only thing she’s left of her mother, she shifts her position, moves herself in front of the open door and draws her blade, standing ready to protect them.   

Atsushi’s hand shakes, and so does his gun.   

Getting him to tell her where the bomb will be easy. He’s so scared of her it’s a wonder he hasn’t spilled his guts yet.  

“Where is the bomb?” she asks.   

“It’s—” He winces, and his free hand flies to his ear — an earbud, she notices. Someone is giving him orders from afar. Maybe Kajii? But if Yosano is keeping him busy... “If you try to escape, I’ll set it off.”  

Someone on the other side shuts him up just as he goes to say something else, giving him more orders, and Kyouka takes advantage of his distraction. She adjusts her grip on her blade and moves. Her blade slashes through the teen’s shoulder, sends him sprawling backward on the ground with a scream of pain. He clutches at the wound, gasping, and she moves again, cutting his cheek.  

She doesn’t want to kill him; she just wants him to talk.  

“Where is the bomb?” she asks again, more forcefully. 

The cut on Atsushi’s cheek heals before she can blink. So, he does have an ability — a healing power, then? Those are quite rare, but not suited for battle, making the fact that they sent him even stranger. 

Pinching her lips, Kyouka attacks again, and he reflexively raises his arm to protect himself. She tries to hold back before she cuts through it too deeply, to avoid cutting the limb off, but her blade suddenly comes to a stop.  

The teen’s arm has changed shape, stopping it before it could make damage. It’s now covered in fur — white and stripped with black — and his fingers have elongated in long, sharp looking claws.  

He stares up at her, wide eyed, and they have changed too, now bright yellow with slit pupils.  

“Oh—” His breathing becomes even more erratic. “It’s coming,” he says quickly, agitated, “I’m really sorry.”  

And his whole body shifts. His skin boils over, his muscles distort and he lets out a pained grunt, killing intent rolling off him and Kyouka has to take a step back, fear only now starting a crawl up her guts.  

A giant, white tiger stands in front of her, snarling.   

“We are looking for a beast ,” Kunikida explained as he joined Dazai and her for dinner the night they met. “A giant, man-eating white tiger. The military police asked us to find it and dispose of it.”   

The tiger the agency is looking for belongs to the Mafia.  

All of Atsushi’s fear seems to have faded now that he is in his tiger form. He looks at her, eyes full of rage, and pounces.  

Its claws rip through her clothes and sink into one of her arms, and she is thrown backwards, back hitting the train seats. Pain throbs through her but she doesn’t scream, merely grits her teeth and takes it.  

Kyouka is a fool, sometimes. Underestimating the scared-looking teen was a mistake — has he been biding his time, camouflaging his killing intent, waiting for the moment he could transform and take her by surprise?  

It attacks once more. She tries using her blade to fight back, but a single swat of his paw is enough to break it. Her body screams in pain as he hits her, and the severed half of her weapon clatters uselessly upon the floor. 

She may need Demon Snow for this one. She grits her teeth, closing her eyes. 

Her ability is good for nothing but battle, and she used it to murder 35 people under Akutagawa’s orders. Even before then, it killed her own mother. She doesn’t want to use it. But as the tiger looms over her, teeth bared, she knows she doesn’t have a choice. If he kills her, it could go after the civilians, and Kyouka will have been unable to save anyone . 

The ghostly woman appears behind her, now bound to her will by the president’s ability. She takes in a deep breath, shoving aside her hate and disgust for it to focus on the fact that she is using it to save innocents.  

It’s coming. I’m sorry .  

She still can’t shake off the wrongness of the situation as Demon’s Snow cuts through one of the tiger’s legs. The suddenly missing limb throws him off balance and he collapse, but it doesn’t take long for it to grow back.  

This Mafia newbie is a giant, regenerating tiger.  

She doesn’t understand.  

Why not set off the bomb like he threatened? Why keep up with the act until last second? Why is there still something wrong?  

She thinks about the last six months, about Akutagawa’s orders coming from the phone and her ability reacting to it, outside of her control. She didn’t really want to kill anyone, but her ability had still obeyed. 

It’s coming. I’m sorry .   

It's not an act.  

“You don’t control it,” she says out loud, staring up at the tiger. It stares back — there is nothing of the scared Atsushi in its eyes.  “And you don’t want to kill me.”  

The Mafia must have taken in another person with a destructive ability to make murder his life purpose, just like they did for her. She feels a twinge of sympathy for him — maybe, if she could convince him to show her the bomb earlier... 

It doesn’t change a thing. Atsushi can’t hear her now. She closes her eyes, gripping her weapon tight. She doesn’t want to kill him either. But the civilians are her priority, she has to do everything in her power to keep them safe.  

This isn’t Atsushi anymore. 

The beast charges, and Demon Snow meets it heads on. Blood sprays around them as she cuts the tiger again, trying to slow it down. It heals fast, and she needs to be faster.  

Distracting it with Demon Snow, she runs towards it. Another hit from the beast has her bones creak and protest, but she can’t give up. If it goes on a full rampage, bomb or not, everyone on this train is dead.  

She slides between its legs and stabs its belly with what is left of her weapon. The beast roars and trashes, it tries to claw at Demon Snow, who avoids it. The metallic door bends and shatters under the blow. The people in the next carriage scream.  

Before it can heal, she stabs it again and rolls out of the way. Demon Snow catches her and helps her as she jumps, grabbing onto the fur, until she’s on top of it.   

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You’re just like me. I wish — I wish I could help.”  

Her halved, jagged blade sinks deep into the back of the beast’s neck.  

It shakes, and throws her off, stumbling. Its legs folds from under it, and she sees the strange, eerily glow of its eyes fade as its body shifts again.  

Leaving Atsushi curled up on the floor, groaning in pain.  

Atsushi coughs, one of his hand massaging his nape. It’s already healed, just like the cuts on his stomach. He looks up at her as she presses her blade to his throat, eyes roaming all over her, taking in each of her injuries.  

She’s still standing, and there is something like relief in his eyes when he sees it.  

“Why,” she asks, breathless, “do they send someone like you against me?”  

“It’s—”  

 The ear bud has fallen off and he is now palming around, trying to find it, until gaze fixes itself on something close to Kyouka’s feet.   

When she glances down, she sees it. The communication device has fallen there. Careful not to move her weapon and cut his throat by accident — though she now doubts it’ll actually kill him — she steps on it, crushing it under her shoe.  

No orders will come for him anymore.  

“It’s a test.”  

She almost lowers her weapon in surprise. “A test.”  

He nods. “I am — a beast,” he tries to explain. “A beast of calamity. I bring misfortune to everyone around me. My life has no worth at all if I can’t be of use to someone—” he licks his lips. “Akutagawa said—”  

Akutagawa. Of course, it’s Akutagawa . He must also be the one who convinced him he is a calamity.   

“Akutagawa said, that if I kill you and protect the bomb, I will have proven useful to him, and they’ll keep me and show me how to control the beast.”  

“And if you fail?”  

“They’ll sell me — there is this organization looking for me, the Guild? Or the military police, he said they will put me down. But—” he shakes his head, and his voice’s pitch rises. “I don’t want to hurt you, or anyone! ”   

She almost asks why he didn’t just say so — but the answers come to her by itself as she remembers the earbud she just crushed. If Akutagawa was on the line, Kyouka doesn’t doubt that, at the slightest hint of Atsushi trying to explain, he would have blown all of them to kingdom come.  

First, they need to defuse the bomb.  

“The bomb,” she says instead. “Tell me where it is.”  

Paling, Atsushi tugs at his white tie, undoing it, before unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, pulling it open to reveal part of his chest — and the bomb strapped to it.  

She can’t, for a few seconds, breathe. Her knuckles turn bone white as she clenches hard around the handle of her blade.  

The bomb is on him. Akutagawa put the bomb on him.  

She doesn’t expect the sudden rage bubbling under her skin.  

“Okay.” She says, trying to stay composed. “We will take it off.”  

She can still save him. She can still keep him safe. She can save the passengers and Atsushi. 

Kneeling besides him, she takes a look at the way the bomb is attached. It would be more prudent to carefully undo the strap than try to cut it with her weapon.  

“He’s wrong,” she suddenly says. It’s been bugging her since Atsushi said it. “You’re not a calamity.”  

“What?”  

“Akutagawa is lying. He told me that my life only had value if I killed people. So, I did. But—” she shakes her head, looking for the straps holding the bomb to his chest. “I'm working on changing it, which means he was wrong. He will make you into a calamity if you obey him, but you don't have to. You can still get away.”  

“Kyouka-san, I brought a bomb in this train.”  

“So what?”  

Compared to 35 people in six months, one bomb they’re working on defusing is nothing.  

She looks at him in the eyes, serious. She wants this point to get across, to show him what Dazai showed her.   

Unlike her, he hasn’t truly harmed anyone yet. If people like Dazai and her can have a chance at something different, at giving their lives the value they want instead of the one others want to give it, Atsushi can too. 

“I put all those people in danger—”  

“So what?” she says again. “Do you wish to hurt anyone?”  

“No!”  

Her fingers close around his wrist, steadying his trembling hands. “Then what do you wish for?"  

“I want—” He choked on his own breath. “I want to fix this.”  

“We will,” she promises and he looks at her doubtfully. “I’m from the Armed Detective Agency. It's my job to help now.”  

It seems to calm him down, and he smiles at her tentatively. "Thank you."

She is just about to resign herself to cut through the straps when the speakers come to life.  

“Announcement from the driver’s cabin!”   

Yosano’s voice echoes through the train, and both Kyouka and Atsushi look up to the nearest loudspeaker  

“Is Kyouka-chan alive? ” Yosano asks. “ That bomber wasn’t actually that much to deal with. According to him, the bomb on your end is set off remotely. It’ll blow fast if not defused properly too— is that right?” A soft mumble is heard through the speaker — Kajii sounding very out of it. Yosano hums in approval at the reaction. “The only way to defuse it is with the emergency button, that the Mafia member on your end has.”   

Turning to him, she extends a hand without a word.  

“Ah—” Atsushi stands and dusts his pants, before taking a remote out of his back pocket. “Yes, I have it.” He holds it out to her, allowing her to take it. “Here.”  

Kyouka studies it. It’s a simple remote, with a single button at the center, but there is a gnawing suspicion in her guts. It’s too easy.   

Akutagawa would never let them get away so easily — send a newbie so obviously unwilling to harm anyone with the only mean to defuse the bomb? That’s practically asking him to disarm it and make a run for it.  

Was he counting on her to kill Atsushi swiftly and try to defuse it on her own? Did he think the prospect of being caught and killed — or sold to whoever gave the Mafia the most money — would be enough of a deterrent? Did he believe the promise of acceptance, of giving his life worth, would have him cave in and obey? 

Atsushi looks at her expectantly, biting his lips, twisting his fingers. He tries hard not to show how terrified he is, and Kyouka nods at him, attempting to be reassuring.  

She presses the button.  

Her phone rings.  

Heart pounding in her chest, she freezes.   

The phone — Akutagawa used it to control Demon Snow, but she didn’t want to get rid of it anyway. It was what she had left of the mother her own ability had killed, and he couldn’t take that away from her.  

With a shaking hand, she flips it open, and Akutagawa’s voice echoes from the other side. “ He pressed it, didn’t he?”   

Her eyes fly to Atsushi, who is trying very hard not to move, and she makes herself sound more confident for his sake. “Leave him alone.”  

Atsushi slowly backs away from her, but her focus is back on the phone.  

“How cute, ” Akutagawa says dryly. “Don’t take it off, weretiger. Kyouka decided to take all the passengers with her.”   

“Kyouka-san—”  

She whips around. The bomb makes a ticking noise, and she drops the phone. It clicks shut as it bounces on her chest.  

“Take it off,” she orders, but Atsushi takes another step back instead, towards the gaping hole left by the tiger’s claws earlier in the fight.  

“It’s too late. I’m sorry — I— It’s my fault everyone here is in danger.” He’s speaking fast, words almost mixing with each other. “They’re right, I only bring trouble and bad luck but— it’s better if I —” His jaw clenches, and the fear fades from his eyes. “I want to fix it. It's the only way.”  

He is getting closer to the edge. The train is passing over the river and the drop, on top of the explosion, would probably kill him, the explosion too close for the regeneration to kick in fast enough. 

He’s going to jump, and it’s like she can’t move to stop him.  

"I made this mess and my life has no value anyway, so if I can do something right—” His heels come to the edge of the drop. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”  

“Don’t—”  

“Thank you, Miss Detective.” Atsushi smiles at her. “You helped a lot.”  

He falls.  

Kyouka runs.   

She jumps after him, Demon Snow materializing in front of her, pulling her downward until she can wrap one of her arms around him. With a quick work of her weapon, her ability cuts the bomb free, and Kyouka grabs it with her free hand, flinging it away from them.  

It blows in a jumble of unbearable heat and ear-piercing sound and a burning sensation on her skin, and Demon Snow embraces them, taking the brunt of it.  

They hit the water hard and the cold makes her skin tingle where the heat burned her. She can’t see straight, can’t tell up apart from down.  

When her head breaks the surface, she takes a large gulp of air and coughs. She stays there for almost a minute, refusing to move, her muscles aching but still holding onto Atsushi.  

Then, she kicks her feet, trying to swim, though a kimono is probably not the best outfit for it. In the end, Demon Snow reappears on its own, gently wrapping its arms around them and pulling them towards the riverbank.  

After being hauled there, Kyouka pulls Atsushi up on the dry ground, never once letting go of him. She breathes in deeply, the adrenaline fading, and her shoulders slump. Her kimono sleeves are charred, but thankfully she wasn’t burned in the explosion.  

Atsushi still unconscious, she gives him a once over, making sure he’s not hurt. One of his sleeves is ripped and the slight burns are already healing, but he otherwise looks fine. 

“We made it,” she whispers, holding him close, fingers running through his hair.  

She will have Akutagawa’s skin if he harms him again.  

Demon Snow sits by them, and one of her translucent hands rests on Atsushi’s shoulder. Kyouka pointedly looks away. 

She did it. She used Demon Snow to help and protect, but still, she can’t forget that it’s her ability who murdered her mother, the ability she used to kill so many people. 

But it saved them. 

If she keeps using it to save people, maybe one day she’ll have earned her right to life, the same way Dazai is earning his own. 

“Kyouka-chan!” The clacking of heals on the cement draws her attention to Yosano, hurrying in her direction. She stops once she reaches them. “Any injuries?”  

“I’m fine,” Kyouka answers. The cuts the claws left in her arms sting. “But I’m not sure about him. I want to bring him back to the office.”  

Yosano pauses, considering the tight grip Kyouka has on the boy, and the way Demon Snow looms over them protectively. The translucent woman’s head snaps up towards her, blank face evaluating her until Yosano is deemed harmless and she fades away. 

“He is from the Mafia, isn’t he?”  

Kyouka shakes her head no. “He is not an enemy.”  

“Very well.” Yosano straightens up and fishes her phone out of her bag. “Let's take him home, then.” 

[leonawriter]

Home Territory

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs/Mononoke

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Characters: Kunikida, Dazai, Atsushi, Ranpo, Chuuya, Fukuzawa, Mori.

Summary: Kunikida has concerns over Dazai's living arrangements, and fixes things with paperwork. Chuuya is having a crisis of his own, of a far more benign nature. And both Fukuzawa and Mori are reminded of how difficult being the leader of an organisation is when your subordinates aren't always human.

(Part four in the “Not All Kitsune Have Nine Tails” ‘verse. Follows “Smoke and Fox-Fire.”)

...

Once could be passed off as a fluke. A case gone south didn't always end up with everyone back at the agency, or even back home, so with Dazai having gone missing partway through things taking a turn for the strange, he hadn't even questioned Atsushi on why he hadn't come back with a bandaged nuisance in tow that night.

The next morning he'd been similarly distracted by the fact that despite not having seen or heard him arrive or leave the Agency's dorms, there Dazai had been, in all of his red and fluffy glory on his chair, and making more trouble than usual. And that was saying something, given that what was usual was making Kunikida want to tear his hair out.

He had started to actually notice on the second night, when the dorms - despite it being late enough that Dazai should have been back, in theory - were yet again noticeably quiet.

He must have gone out drinking again, is his first thought on that, although something about it feels off. Possibly because Dazai hadn't on one of his notorious pub crawls that would inevitably end up with the police calling him up in the middle of the night for quite some time now, and- it struck him as he continued that train of thought, why it felt wrong. Dazai had been arrested not all that long ago. Not for something as minor as disorderly behaviour, either, but his actual crimes. The serious ones. Surely he wouldn't put himself in that sort of situation again so soon after such an experience...?

Even so, Dazai never showed up all throughout Kunikida's own nighttime preparations, and he wasn't about to interrupt his own schedule and routine for one man just because that was probably what Dazai wanted. 

So he came into work again the next morning... and there Dazai was. Again. 

Whatever he had been up to, it certainly didn't seem as though he could have been drinking, or at least not to the degree that he had found him in countless times before. There was no lingering smell of alcohol on his clothes, or smoke, that would follow him around the room if that were the case, as had happened before. If anything, there was a sort of musk that followed him now that hadn't before, which confused him until he realised that it was the scent of fur.

None of which explained where Dazai had been the past few nights.

All he was left with was the vague idea that he couldn't have been roughing it in a park - and why do such a thing anyway, when he had a perfectly warm and dry bed to go back to? - or drinking until he rotted away in a cell, and he was clearly going somewhere.

Somewhere that both Ranpo and Atsushi, it seemed, were aware of. Which... while reassuring, and made him at least feel that wherever Dazai had been it couldn't have been anything that would put him in any sort of danger, or anything would be a cause for concern, was still frustrating. 

Somewhere that made him at least several minutes to an hour later to work each day, he noted, a glance at the clock telling him that it was closer to the latter this time than the former.

The door to the office opening inward disrupted his thoughts as he prepared for either a client having come on foot, or Dazai, and at this point either was a distinct possibility - only for the first thing to come through the doorway to be an impossibility he had somehow grown used to over the past several days.

A single red ear made way for brown hair and then a second red ear, and then the rest of Dazai followed suit, attempting to saunter into the office and take to his place without being noticed, by the seems of it.

"Dazai."

Dazai froze, and then turned- no, first he flicked an ear in his direction, and then he turned to face him properly. Which was still going to take some getting used to. Ears - anatomy in general - wasn't supposed to work like that. It just wasn't. Not on human beings-

And there it is again, he thinks, catching himself for not the first or last time. Because Dazai, not that it should have even come as a surprise given how inhumanly irritating he could be, wasn't a human being. At least not entirely.

"Eh?" Another ear flick. "Did Kunikida-kun want something or did he just want to make sure I hadn't forgotten my name?"

Breathe, he reminded himself. Do not twist the damn fox's ears just because he's trying to deflect on purpose.

Because, he had to be. Dazai hadn't said a word about this to anyone in the past several days, and... even if no one else was bothered, even if no one else was wondering what was going on or felt concerned at all, Kunikida wasn't anyone else, and the entire situation was starting to grate on him.

"I don't suppose you could explain to me exactly where you've been for the past several nights?"

And there was the up side to the strange new body language. It was harder for Dazai to completely mask his reactions to things unless he used what he had somehow figured out the previous day about his newfound ability to use illusions - not that Dazai had ever needed illusions to make trouble in the first place - and hide his non-human features entirely. In which case it would go without saying that there was something he didn't want to to share.

"I could," Dazai said slowly. "But I don't see why I should have to. I'm not in any danger anyone needs to rescue me from, and I'm coming to work each day-"

"Not that you actually do anything that could be called 'work'," Kunikida couldn't stop himself from correcting.

"-so it isn't as if there's a problem, if-"

"You're late every single day, and we don't know where you are! I fail to see how there isn't a problem with this!" He cuts across Dazai's excuses and the next thing he knows, he's leaving a report half-written to stand up at his desk. "Do I really need to point out that there have been several times in the past few months when you would vanish, and you'd turn up some time later - hours, days, weeks - only for us to find out that actually, what we," and he was perfectly well aware that when it come to some cases, the earlier ones especially, "we" was mostly "him", "had assumed was just more of your slacking off was actually a serious incident that we should have been made aware of!"

The incident with Dazai getting captured and imprisoned by the Port Mafia back before the alliance - before, not that he had been aware at the time, Dazai had been in more danger than any other Agency member due to being seen by the mafia as a traitor. With that in mind, even with it being Dazai who was as slippery as the kitsune trickster he apparently was, it was nothing short of a miracle he had made it out alive.

The serial apple suicides. Getting shot right before the Agency and the mafia went into disarray. 

No one had even known where he had been or what had happened to him to even know that he had been arrested until much later, an entire period of time spent not knowing what his status was, whether he was alive or dead, to say nothing of if he had a plan.

At some point, Dazai's ears had flattened back onto his head, staring at him. 

"But I'm... I'm fine," Dazai was saying now. Weakly, as if he really didn't see what the issue was. Looking around, only to realise that the office had quieted down to the barest hush of voices, and only then in the direction of the clerks who had come back in spite of everything.

"Even if that's the case, it's still not something that I can stand to let lie, when I'm fine doesn't tell us where you've been."

Dazai has his mouth half open to say something else, whatever it is, but he doesn't get the chance.

"Kunikida has a point, you know." Ranpo, it seemed, was finding the conversation topic serious enough to put down the pastry he'd been eating, even if there were still crumbs on his mouth and fingers. "We're not asking you to come back, if that's what you're worried about."

"We aren't-? I for one would much prefer it if he did come back! At least then-"

"No, we're not. He's a fox, Kunikida. You can't make foxes go where they don't want to go. If Dazai's fine where he is, then he's fine where he is - but at the same time, like I said. You've got a point, because we don't know where he's been."

The last was aimed directly at Dazai himself, with all the authority of Ranpo's extra years and - apparently - extra experience in terms of other matters, that Kunikida had learned during the latter part of the previous day.

"And what if I don't want to tell anyone where I'm staying?"

"Then I'd say you're being a selfish brat," Kunikida ground out, taking only some small amount of satisfaction in the way that Dazai's eyes widened, and he backed away a step, seeming for all the world as though he was just giving them all the same bratty attitude as always - if it weren't for how his ears and tail were quivering like a cornered dog. Which Dazai himself didn't seem to even be aware of.

He sighed, hand pinching the bridge of his nose and then re-adjusting his glasses.

It takes only a few paces to get around his desk - leaving the half-finished report still staring back at him from his computer screen, and wasn't that just like Dazai to interrupt his work even when it wasn't on purpose - and find the filing cabinet with the forms that he knows have rarely had any use, and perhaps that should be fixed, and for more than just Dazai, but with the way everyone in the Agency is... they'd simply never gotten around to it, and for one good reason.

"Kunikida-kun, what are you...?"

"Most of the agents tend not to bother with these, but that's usually because it's seen as unnecessary. The Director doesn't enforce it for the same reason. Would you care to guess what that is?"

"Because it's boring?"

"Because everyone else lives in the same place. The Agency's dorms mean that it's harder for something to just plain happen when no one is watching or aware. And if something happens, we all know- and because we all know, there's no need to contact anyone else." He pulled out the form that he'd been searching for. "If you really aren't coming back, you could at least fill that in."

"...you want to put my new address on the system," Dazai said after a full minute of reading the thing. "I can't do that."

"Dazai-!"

It confirmed his rising suspicions that there was a new address involved, that Dazai hadn't simply not been returning back to the dorms for any other reason, but the outright refusal-

"He's gonna need the next one, Kunikida," he heard, Ranpo's voice pulling him back from the brink of outright throttling his infuriating partner. The next one. Of course he had thought of that, but who could possibly...? And yet, Ranpo seemed certain.

So, out came the "next" form. The one that usually went with the first one. The one that he hadn't even thought Dazai would be able to have filled out, if he had just found somewhere else to stay, somehow. 

Something shifts.

Atsushi, who had been looking between the two of them with some level of anxiety, attempted - and succeeded - to get behind Dazai to look past him at what Kunikida had given him. When he saw, the kid's eyes widened, brows rose, and then he looked first at Dazai and then at Ranpo.

"Oh," the kid said, "I get it. I never needed one of those because... but... d'you really think that person will..?"

Which outright confirmed that Atsushi knew who Dazai was staying with, that he was staying with someone, and hadn't told anyone else. Ranpo he could understand, because he was Ranpo - he'd probably been able to take one good look at Dazai over the past several days and could have figured how exactly what was going on without any help at all.

Dazai, meanwhile, just shrugged and folded up both forms, putting them in an inner pocket of his coat and leaving Kunikida to wonder if they'd simply disappear over the course of the day, or turn up with immature doodles all over them.

...

Dazai wasn't sure when the words come love, sleep had somehow turned into the sound of Chuuya closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, or hearing him call out I'm home just like he had ever since his third night staying over. Because the first night had just been the two of them collapsing into bed together and not being sure who would still be there come morning, and the second hadn't really been expected-

But somehow, somewhere along the way, Chuuya has been letting him make himself at home.

There's his own sleeping yukata waiting on the bed, since it's more comfortable now than pyjamas, and his toothbrush is in Chuuya's bathroom. Chuuya has started to buy canned crab (again; he remembers when they were partners and Chuuya would just shove it in his face when he hadn't been eating at all, because he hadn't seen the point, and looking back it was probably the fact that Chuuya had wrestled him into it and remembering that there was worth being there for and paying attention to, rather than the crab itself).

The previous night, they'd somehow wound up with Chuuya sitting normally - more or less - on his sofa, while Dazai's head rested in his lap, half of Chuuya's attention on the reports he'd brought home and had brought out despite Dazai's protests, and half on Dazai's head, including his ears, which he knew were soft and, when he was in his more human form, by far more accessible than the only other fluffy part of him.

Especially with the fact that being a hanyou apparently came with sharp bits - claws, and teeth, and sometimes he could control them, but he couldn't always, and sometimes... sometimes Chuuya's furniture suffered the consequences. 

He kept expecting harsh admonishments, because he'd often caused less harm when he'd done things on purpose - maybe Chuuya didn't see it that way, but at least shifting all of his belongings an inch to the left just to see him come to work the next day covered in bruises had been harmless, as had been covering everything Chuuya had owned at the time with (unused) old bandages, just because of some insult he had wanted his partner to regret having made.

But Chuuya... Chuuya noticed, and made strange, odd noises in the back of his throat like he was trying to strangle something back there, and he'd breathe, and just... move on. He had to notice, when there were scratches in the upholstery and the carpets and the woodwork. Dazai had been on the receiving end of more than one headache-inducing tirade on how the chibi wanted him not to touch his things and not to damage any of his things, but now he had been-

Nothing.

The worst he'd had in response had been what he could only assume had been a joking suggestion that maybe we should get you a cat scratching post, which he couldn't imagine being much help if he did go through with it.

There was fur all over the place.

From his tail, but also from the few times so far that he had simply gone around on all fours, the novelty not quite having worn off. He still had a puffy soft coat that had plenty of fluff to spare, so every so often bits would just... snag. He wouldn't even notice most of the time. But it had reached the point in even just this long, less than a week, and no matter any of the other things-

Chuuya's home smelled of Dazai.

When he'd first arrived earlier in the week, it had been full of the scent of smoke and wine and freshly laundered clothes, as well as the barely hidden tang of old, dried blood and steel that came from his knives and that lingered in the doorway, and all the places that Chuuya would linger after a mission.

Now, the scent of kitsune followed into every room. The scent was still light, hadn't settled into the pores of the house, could still be exorcised with time and deodoriser, but there was something heady and frankly terrifying to the idea that this was happening, that he could tell that it was happening when previously he'd repressed everything so far that he'd barely noticed that his senses were any more sensitive than those of a human being who tended to notice a little more than most.

The entire house felt like potential, and two pieces of paper burned holes in his coat pocket. Despite the well-meaning intentions of his co-workers, they felt more like a threat than anything nearly as encouraging as they must have intended.

Except-

Ranpo had been the one to suggest the second form. Ranpo, who knew youkai better than Dazai, and who had a good nose like the cat he was, and who had meet Chuuya before. 

And Dazai... trusted Ranpo.

He just wished that he trusted himself - trusted whatever this was that he and Chuuya were starting together - even half as much.

...

The first thing Chuuya thinks when he calls out and doesn't get a response is that Dazai must have been out late on a case, or that he'd stayed at the dorms again, or... any number of things he hadn't felt the need to tell Chuuya about, never mind the fact that apparently they live together now-

But then he sees the shoes in the genkan, and that means that Dazai had to be in here somewhere. 

He thought, at least, given how quiet it was. Weirdly quiet, for a place that should have a Dazai in it. After all, Dazai didn't even have to have his shoes on to go out, and for all he knew, he might wind up halfway through the night and hearing scratching at his door-

He goes through the motions of putting his coat up, but he's still wearing his knife when he walks into the living room and the first thing he sees is that there's something on the coffee table, and he's already picked it up by the time he realises that Dazai's not just still here, but still in the room - not that he'd have noticed if he hadn't caught the smallest movements out of the corner of his eye.

Just a week ago, and a fox in my living room hiding under the sofa would be cause to grab the thing and throw it out as far as I could so it didn't come back, and now...  what?

He blinked. 

The words on the page he'd picked up without thinking didn't change, or rearrange themselves. And after yesterday, he half expected they would. That this would be some sort of new prank, and Dazai was on all fours just to make sure he could run off faster than Chuuya could catch him.

As far as he could see, it was just a normal form. The words were printed in black and white, on normal print paper. Hell, it was the sort of generic thing that he'd had to fill out just working for the mafia a few times, because no matter that they were a criminal organisation, gods forbid they didn't have their internal paperwork and filing systems in order.

So he knew what it was. He wasn't an idiot. It was just the context that was... 

Unable to finish that thought, he reached out mechanically to the next sheet of paper that'd been hidden under the first, and nearly drops them both.

Notification of Change of Address was the first one.

Emergency Contact Details was the second.

Both of them had the Armed Detective Agency's header on them, just in case he wasn't sure where they'd come from.

"Dazai?"

He's not sure what, exactly, his voice is doing, but it feels like he must have gone through several different emotions in the space of saying that one word.

Dazai whining normally is just something to roll his eyes at, because whatever he's going on about and making eyes at him for, is probably just something he could have handled himself if he'd only been bothered to deal with whatever it was earlier, or that's not actually a big deal at all but he's just being an attention-seeking brat about things.

Dazai whining as a fox is just a pitiful sound that he really... doesn't know how to deal with.

"Whether either of us like it or not, I can't speak fox, Dazai. You're gonna have to work with me here." He glanced back at the forms. They still said the same things. "I don't get... this."

He stared, mind blanking out the longer he stood there, hoping that if he just waited long enough Dazai would give in and explain what was going on. It was more than a relief when red fur wriggled out from its hiding place and jumped up onto the sofa only to be Dazai-shaped - or rather, mostly human Dazai-shaped - before he hit the cushions.

"Kunikida-kun got mad at me," Dazai said, and maybe if someone didn't know him as well as Chuuya did they'd think he was relaxed, but Chuuya could see the tension in his body and in all the ways he did and didn't know he was showing it. The way he wouldn't meet Chuuya's eyes, instead concentrating on something on the ceiling. "I haven't been sleeping at the dorms since..." he trailed off, and didn't have to finish that, since Chuuya already knew what he was talking about. "It's only been a few days, but given it's Kunikida-kun I shouldn't really be that surprised."

Which explained just about as much as it didn't - not enough.

"What... exactly, did you tell them, then?" No, that wasn't- "Why did you wind up with these?"

Dazai blinked up at him, and for a moment he was afraid he'd just wind up with a sorry-looking fox again.

"Because," Dazai half-mumbled quietly enough Chuuya almost couldn't hear the words, "I sort of let slip that I wouldn't be going back to the dorms." A blink, as they both stared at each other, and a widening of Dazai's eyes. "I mean - that I didn't want to- I..." He deflated somewhat, and brought his knees up, tail curling around himself and making him look far younger and more innocent than Dazai had any right to be, after all he'd done. "I didn't tell them where, or that it was you, though."

"Dazai..."

The name came out more as a slow exhale, a sigh than anything, full of emotions he couldn't quite put names on. At least, not yet.

Brown eyes narrowed, and then the next thing he knew Dazai was on his front, face in a cushion.

"If Chuuya wanted to say something all he needed was to say it."

The words that's rich, coming from you gathered at the top of his tongue, but he bit them off with as much patience as he could muster up.

A dozen different things he could say all went the same way. 

Usually, people don't move so fast. 

Most people don't move in so quickly.

We don't even know what we're doing half the time.

Or what we are to each other other outside of-

Come, love. Sleep.

"I thought... I guess I just thought that when you'd figured out who you were again, you'd just... I dunno. Go back."

"I thought Chuuya didn't want me to go back, or go anywhere. I thought Chuuya just wanted me to come back to him."

There was something about the words that was dizzying. Dazai was a fickle, changeable bastard fox who just left, who left and didn't care and who was... saying that he wanted... that he thought...

Chuuya sat down. Still holding the two forms in his hand.

Dazai lifted his head up, squishing one ear against the cushion in an odd way that didn't seem comfortable, but that Dazai didn't seem to notice.

"What... is this what you want?"

Dazai doesn't just stay. Dazai doesn't do anything without some sort of backup plan, or motive. 

He only came with me because I asked first, if the weretiger had asked first, that'd be where he'd be staying. Not here.

Just because I "called dibs."

"Chuuya's being particularly stupid right now." Maybe he was. But it wasn't like Dazai was being much better, and that made him feel more okay about the whole ordeal. "I want to stay here. Didn't I just say that?"

Oh.

In some dim corner of his mind, he realised that this would take a fair bit more than just this one form - not that Dazai would likely be all that bothered, because as long as his letters could be passed along through his coworkers, he'd just be lazy and not bother with it - but that... that could be later. 

He wondered, considering it was Dazai, what whoever had given him the second form had been thinking, when they'd thought of that.

"How much do they know?" he asked with a slight frown. 

There were some things that'd happened that night that... were the entire reason he'd half dragged, half carried Dazai into his home and let him get away with so much in the first place.

"Hm? Ah. Oh... that. I... haven't really told them," Dazai said, now picking at a loose thread on the sofa that wouldn't have been there if it weren't for Dazai's claws picking at it in the first place. It was almost funny. As a kid, he'd never even dreamed of having upholstery that wasn't at least a bit ratty. Even the best the Sheep had been able to get their hands on had holes in places, because the adults had taken the good stuff first. And then when he'd been half-dragged into the mafia, he'd gained an appreciation for how he'd been able to afford furniture that didn't even have a nick or scratch. Now here he was, and Dazai was tearing holes and scratches in everything- something he wasn't about to stop doing, either. The future seemed full of imperfect furniture, and the more he thought about that, the less awful it became. "Atsushi knows," Dazai was saying, pulling Chuuya out of his own thoughts. "Because he was there. And he knows enough to notice things. He's a good kid." Chuuya nodded along, because from what little he'd seen, he'd agree with that. "Ranpo probably does, too."

Chuuya scowled and shuddered at that name - that detective. Just because they were back on the same side again didn't mean that hearing the name and knowing that the detective knew - or even just suspected - that one sore spot of Dazai's right now wasn't rubbing salt into the wound.

"And you trust them?"

The more they talked, the more Dazai relaxed, his tail and ears twitching from time to time, and this time he even grabbed at the extra limb he'd gained in the past week, losing his hands in the fur.

"Neither of them have told anyone else," he said. "I might tell the others. Sooner or later. Maybe. Or I might just leave it and see who notices first."

"Whatever you want to do, really," Chuuya found himself saying. "They're your people."

People who Chuuya would end up interacting with a lot more than he'd ever planned on, the moment he's finished signing his life and what little remained of his peace and quiet away. But if Dazai didn't want to say anything just yet, then neither would he.

"Mm," Dazai hummed out. "They are." Dazai tilted his head. Chuuya wasn't even sure if Dazai really understood what he'd just said, how differently youkai saw their connections with people compared to normal human friendships. Then again, Dazai barely understood that sort of thing anyway. "So... you agree to both?"

"I didn't just let you into my home for shits and giggles, Dazai. Or to just kick you out the moment I felt like it." Dazai was still watching him. Waiting. "That's a yes."

He just hoped this wasn't going to come back to bite him in the ass in the middle of the day and a call from some poor Agency soul who'd drawn the short straw to contact him when Dazai starts acting like the brat he is just for the attention. It'd hardly be the first time he'd have done a thing like that.

"....Chuuya?"

So there was something else.

"What?"

"Talking of telling." Dazai was now wearing his serious face, although the effect was marred somewhat by the fluffy ears, and the fact that he was still holding onto his own tail on Chuuya's sofa. "About that. If there are going to be records, I want you to tell Mori what's going on before he has a chance to find out for himself."

"I thought you didn't want me to tell the Boss."

"And now I do. I just told you why. Are you going to do it or not?"

"You say that as if it'd ever be easier to not tell him something. Of course I will. Though if it weren't for the what I'd be making you tell him yourself - and you're still going to owe me for this."

Dazai had the gall to stick his tongue out, which just emphasised the effect of making him look ridiculous. 

"What's mine is yours, Chuuya."

"We're basically housesharing, Dazai. We're not married or anything."

He stood up abruptly, taking the two forms with him and neatly avoiding the - thankfully socked - foot that Dazai tried sending at him, and doing his best to look straight ahead at the kitchen instead of looking back. And wishing he hadn't just said that, or that he could just put his hat back on and hide his face without getting called out for it.

You've told him you love him already days ago, he thought to himself, inner voice calling him an idiot as he heated up the water for tea, and started the food prep because gods knew Dazai wasn't going to. Most people who share their house with someone don't sleep in the same bed as that person, either.

At this point, he didn't think he could tell Dazai to sleep in another room. And not just because it'd feel like a betrayal.

Dazai, who he knew damn well was a chronic insomniac... had been sleeping. Dazai had been sleeping, and he'd been doing so in Chuuya's arms, for the past couple of nights.

Not to mention, he... could hardly say he hadn't been feeling better for being able to wake up to fluff and fur and bandages and noodle limbs and the ever-present cool sensation of Dazai's ability nullifying his own.

...

Fukuzawa Yukichi took one look at the two forms that Dazai had handed him, from which could be gathered the exact home address and contact details of someone he knew to be a mafia executive, and then looked back at Dazai himself.

Dazai, who was standing there, waiting patiently with a purposefully neutral expression on his face.

For a moment, for all their differences, he couldn't help but be reminded of Yosano, and wondered how many times Dazai had stood in just that sort of way in front of Mori Ougai, to ask something of the man that in all likelihood should have been given freely, and without such worry or concern.

An ear flicked, and then went back to its alert position.

Only kids do that sort of thing, Ranpo had said to him just the other night about the way Dazai wore his fur, distressed but quiet. Kids and hanyou! I should've known before. But because it was Dazai I just didn't- but I should've known.

It wasn't often that Ranpo came to him with frustrations about not knowing something, and even less frequently about those things that concerned the non-human side of things. And now that he did, it was about a coworker. One of Yukichi's own subordinates, even.

He sighed.

"By the way that this is coming to my attention, it seems that this is more to inform me of something that has already been decided, rather than to seek my approval." The changes - the minute shifting of Dazai's posture, the twitches of his features - might have remained invisible to most, but to Yukichi, who had experience with reading far more subtle signs than this, the nervous tension was as clear as day. "Dazai."

"Director, I-"

"There is no need to apologise for doing what you felt that you must after what was clearly a stressful situation," although simply describing it as stressful felt like he was understating things, here, given what he understood had happened. "Or putting your trust in someone. I merely wish to know that the two of you have thought this through. Although the Agency and the Port Mafia are currently at peace, we are both well aware of how easily such a truce could be affected by events outside of our control."

If anything, discomfort he could see and sense in Dazai rose, but that was hardly outside of expectations given the subject and situation.

"You can trust that I wouldn't allow my living conditions to affect my loyalties, or to become a danger," Dazai said. In just as much of a carefully neutral tone as he had made sure to put on his features.

"Dazai, it isn't your loyalty that I am concerned about," he said, eyes shutting for a moment as he thought about all of the potential repercussions of this. In the past two years since his entrance exam, Yukichi had never once, not even since he had first been made aware of the boy's previous occupation, questioned that loyalty - never had he been given any reason to.

"In which case," as if that had been something they had needed to have made clear at all, "I can only say that should anything come up... Chuuya and I will need to deal with such things as they do."

"Then it seems that you have thought of everything already, and the Agency can merely do the best we can with regards to keeping the information that the two of us have trusted us with as safe as possible."

From Dazai's expression, that wasn't what he had hesitantly knocked on his Director's door and expected to come away with. That, along with the sharp but uncertain way that Dazai bowed his thanks and left, made him relieved at the quiet and privacy that enabled him to rub at his forehead, at the premonition of a headache as well as hoping that Dazai's situation turned out to help him – and that whatever came their way that threatened such stability that he had managed to find for himself didn't break him.

Then again, that was the reason he had built the Armed Detective Agency up around Ranpo in the first place, was it not? Not simply just to ease the burden on one boy and ensure that he was safe, but for them to support each other.

...

Mori Ougai watched Chuuya leave with most of his expression covered up by his hands still steepled in front of his face. He closed his eyes the moment the door closed, allowing himself to let out the breath that he had been holding in, which wasn't - quite - a sigh.

"I've started compiling an offline database of people in the communities who'd be good to have on side. Not even necessarily outright working for the mafia, just good to have owe us a favour or two."

That was what he had started with. And if Ougai were to be honest, he hadn't expected anything of the sort in such a short period of time. Granted, the list of names on the handwritten sheet of notes was small, and with the way things Chuuya had explained to him, no matter what he said or how he spun things, it would be more Chuuya that any of these people would be answering to, than him.

A minor note, and one that he was more than willing to let slide for one reason - that Chuuya himself was still loyal to him. Just as importantly, loyal to the mafia as an organisation. As long as that were the case, then there was nothing for him to be concerned about either way.

And then the bombshells had fallen - two connected pieces of information that he had known he would have to tread carefully with the moment he heard them, because of how he knew he could so easily break the two involved with one wrong move.

"There's a name that isn't on the list, Boss," Chuuya had said. "Dazai's got kitsune in him." Strong enough to be affected by the rules of these communities, evidently. And interesting though it may have been to have pressed on the matter and find out just how much, how strongly, and when either of them had found out this fascinating new development... said rules had confined him into a mere nod and a gesture to continue when he could see that Chuuya wasn't finished. "He's also moved in with me."

On the one hand, it would have been appreciated if he had been given some fair advanced warning to such a development; Dazai being able to potentially see whatever work Chuuya brought home with him was not a thought he liked to dwell on, considering his former executive's current mode of employment.

But on the other hand - it was hardly as though he could have stopped them, and nor could he now, if he wanted to.

It was as he had told Kouyou in reference to the incident in which she had been captured by the Agency; just like her, if Chuuya wished at any time to leave, then there would be very little that either he or the entire mafia behind him would be able to do to stop him. And with Dazai at his back... Double Black had been feared for a reason. From the picture he was beginning to paint of the youkai culture and mindset, the very action of opposing them only could end in a bloodbath.

Perhaps Chuuya liked to tell himself that he was as human as the friends he enjoyed socialising with, or even the body that he owed half of his very existence to. But the more Chuuya told Ougai of what to expect, the more his mind drifted back to innumerable instances that now made more sense, just as he was sure that the same could be said for Dazai's own behaviours. Even the very loyalty that made him so invaluable was merely a symptom of the whole, and now left him wondering just how much of Arahabaki was subsumed into being Chuuya's ability, and how much had survived in other means.

Questions, perhaps, for another time. Or at least to ponder privately.

In some situations, the most optimal solution was a swift strike, to act first before the opponent could so much as formulate a plan; in others, the only thing to do was to accept the way that the board had presented itself, and trust that things would sort themselves out in the most beneficial manner for all involved. In this case, the latter.

A downpayment in trust indeed, he thought to himself.

...

AN: If there are things that don't make sense in the Dazai-Chuuya section, there's a reason for that. You don't have the (full) context yet. 

(That’ll be shown in “Fox-Faced,” so please read that too. Although I’d love to know what you think it is with only this and the previous fics to go by~)