#ranpoe week 2019

[izukiout]

Your warmth

Ranpoe Week 2019 Day 2: Shut up

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Poe is frustrated. He tugs at the roots of his hair and draws small, invisible circles at the sides of his head, occasionally taking sips from his coffee. He types about fifty words and then stops, staring at the screen as though it’s his laptop’s fault he can’t write.

He has no idea what’s wrong with him.

Everything was fine just a few hours ago. He finished outlining the story and knew exactly what he was going to write. Now that he's reached the climax of the short story though, his outline seems – dare he admit it – kind of stupid. It just doesn’t make sense; not to him at least.

He’s a mess of a writer sometimes, and he hates himself for it.

What he hates even more, however, is having his rival see him like this. He knew accepting Ranpo’s request to come over was a bad idea. Why did he do it again?

“You’ve been staring at that screen for hours, it’s seriously getting annoying.” Ranpo hops up from the couch. He places a hand on Poe’s shoulder and leans in so that he’s eye level with the screen as well. “Do you know what happens next?”

“Of course I know what happens next.” He mutters, and for a moment he wants nothing more than to shut the damn thing and tell Ranpo to go and mind his own business while he tears himself apart, trying to think of what to write next. He doesn't though; he doesn't think he could ever bring himself to do that.

A stupid part of him actually finds Ranpo’s presence comforting. It pains him to admit it; it makes his cheeks burn and his heart race and he despises it.

“You don’t seem like you do.” Ranpo mentions it like it’s not a big deal, and Poe's breathing hitches. Had it really been that obvious?

If only the earth was so kind to open up and swallow him whole; but Poe has a feeling he isn’t that lucky.

“Well, actually I-” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. He wants to come up with some sort of excuse, he really does, but he knows Ranpo can probably see right through him, and he doesn’t even have the energy to try and come up with a lie anyway. “I have an idea of what is going to happen next, I just-”

“You’re not sure?”

“Yes. I mean, no- I mean… kind of.” He skips over the part that his outline didn’t work out, and that he decided to basically ignore it after he reached the third page; he can’t, and he won’t admit it out loud. At least not in front of Ranpo, who keeps praising him about how his writing is getting better, and whose opinion matters more than anyone else's.

“You’re not very good at writing when you don’t know what happens next, are you?”

“Oh shut up!” Poe ruffles his hair and rolls his sleeves up, only to roll them down again. “I’ve pantsed countless of my stories for your information.”

“I know, I didn’t-” Poe glances up from his hands when Ranpo doesn’t continue right away. “Sorry.”

Ranpo is quiet after that, and all Poe can do is play with the hem of his shirt and chew on his bottom lip. He doesn’t feel like he can keep the conversation going, and if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want to either.

“I’d take a break to think about it if I were you.” Ranpo flashes him a small smile. “You’ve been sitting on this chair, beating yourself up for exactly four hours, let’s go eat something!”

Poe doesn’t have the time to protest. Ranpo takes hold of his arm and forces him to stand to his feet, before he drags him in the kitchen.

“What do you want to eat?” He asks. The room is spinning and so when Ranpo lets go of him, Poe sits on one of the chairs of the dining table and takes his time to reply.

“Ah, anything is fine, really.” He says.

“I want something sweet. Do you still have that-?”

“Chocolate cake? It’s inside the fridge, right where you left it.” The moment the words sink in, Poe clears his throat. If his cheeks being on fire means they’re colored red too, he hopes Ranpo doesn’t notice. “Y-You know that I don’t really eat sweet things unless you’re, um, here, so uh, that- that’s why-”

“It really is right where I left it!” Ranpo thankfully cuts him off before he can confuse his words and embarrass himself more, and takes the cake out of the fridge.

They eat in silence, but Poe is dangerously close to disturbing it when he almost chokes on his food more than five times. It isn’t his fault, he tells himself; it’s just that whenever he glances up from his plate and at Ranpo, he finds him looking back at him.

He and Ranpo play with Karl for a little while, petting him and watching as he runs around the room. He has more energy than usual – Poe has a feeling that is because a certain detective is there – and Poe can’t help the small smile that touches his lips as he follows him with his gaze.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes, his head is on Ranpo’s shoulder and Ranpo is mumbling something about wanting to go to the bathroom but not being able to.

“Ah, s-sorry.” He removes his head as quickly as he can, only for Ranpo to put it in place again. Poe actually squeaks. He opens his mouth but closes it; he knows he'll probably regret it, but he's too tired to protest.

The next time he wakes up, the sun shines behind the closed curtains of the only window in his living room, and it’s so warm and cozy that he almost doesn’t notice that he’s not alone on the couch.

Ranpo’s head is on his lap, and he’s in this half sitting, half lying position that just looks so uncomfortable Poe is actually guilty. He wants to wake him up, tell him something about his body hurting if he sleeps like this, but Ranpo looks so peaceful and content while he sleeps, and Poe does nothing.

Karl is sleeping on his left, and Ranpo is sleeping on his right, and there’s no way for him to stand up without waking one – if not both – of them. He blinks a few times and yawns. Going back to sleep doesn’t sound so bad, not after having been awake during most of the previous night.

He can get back to writing when he wakes up. Now all he can focus on is just how warm Ranpo’s body is besides his own.

[mgmirani]

A Second Chance

(Reuploading this post since Tumblr mobile somehow ate it) 

So! This is my entry for Soukoku Week 2019! ( @soukokuweek19 ) I’m not entirely sure how this word vomit turned into something vaguely coherent but I love it and these two adorable morons (mainly Dazai - he’s definitely the bigger moron). 

This was originally written for Day 3: Reaching out but, as it went on, I realised it had drifted away from that so now I’m tagging it under Day 7: Free Day! 

Hope you all enjoy reading!

Title: a Second Chance

Prompt: Day 7 - Free Day

Pairing: Soukoku (Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya) 

Words: 7787

Summary:  It’s a few days after the fight with Lovecraft and Dazai realises that maybe, just maybe, leaving his ex-partner alone in a field after he passed out from exhaustion wasn’t the best decision he could have made. And...wait, when did he start thinking the Chibi was pretty?

(Note: this work contains no triggering or explicit materials)

Four years…

It had been four years since he’d last seen Chuuya and yet, in that Port Mafia holding cell, fiery red hair blending into the red light, blue eyes flashing as they looked up at him, it had felt like no time had passed at all.

More time had passed since then and yet the memory was as clear in his mind as if it happened only yesterday.

Chuuya…

Ignoring Kunikida’s increasingly frequent (and loud) attempts to get him to do his paperwork, Dazai continued to slouch on the couch, eyes closed as he pictured the scene in his mind.

Thoughts of that encounter, naturally, lead him to thoughts of their second. This time, Chuuya had been bathed in blue from the light of the full moon. Red and blue...the same colour as Chuuya’s hair and eyes. It seemed almost ironic.

That encounter had taken place less than a week ago. The Guild was officially defeated thanks to himself, Chuuya, Atsushi and Akutagawa (although how on earth Lovecraft had survived to apparently jump into the sea, Dazai had no idea and no wish to understand) and things had returned to a semblance of what could be considered ‘normal’ for the residents of Yokohama.

...With the exception that there was still an uneasy truce between the ADA and the Port Mafia. Dazai held no illusions that the truce would last overly long. It was only a matter of time before they were, once again, at odds. The question wasn’t if, but when and how the uneasy peace would come crashing down.

“I used Corruption because I trusted you.”

Chuuya’s remembered words drifted through his mind and he shut his eyes more tightly, deliberately trying to turn his mind away from the accusing tone. Chuuya had been tired (he always was after using Corruption) and, though his tone had been exhausted, Dazai had still heard the reproach clear as day.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful in his answer to Chuuya’s question regarding why he hadn’t stopped him as soon as the fight was over. Oh sure, it had been fun to watch Chuuya throw about singularities like it was nothing but that hadn’t been his entire reason.

Chuuya had looked...beautiful.

The blue light, the red markings...the contrast and the sheer power that Chuuya had exuded...he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Even when he wasn’t fully in control, Chuuya always captured his attention: be it to tease or admire.

Not that his Chibi was aware of the admiration. He was far more used to the teasing, the little comments that got him all riled, all the remarks that had those pretty blue eyes flashing with anger or frustration. Dazai couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t resist putting a spark in those eyes just because he wanted it directed at him.

Was this healthy? Absolutely not. But, then again, when had Dazai Osamu ever done anything that was in his own best interest?

...okay, scratch that. When had he ever done anything for his own personal health? He was well aware that he was, in truth, rather selfish despite his attempts to be better.

He cracked open an eye to watch as Atsushi bickered with Tachihara and sent pleading looks to Kyoka for help. The girl, predictably, ignored the unsubtle requests for aid and continued to do her own work. The girl was still on a bit of an emotional high after becoming a full member of the ADA and was determined to keep up with everyone else despite the fact that she was still only fourteen and so, technically, shouldn't be expected to do the same amount of work as everyone else. Then again, she’d been in the Port Mafia and no one remained a child for long there, especially not someone who had already killed 35 people. Dazai should know. He’d long since lost count. Even so, as he stared at Atsushi’s face, tiger-gold eyes shining brightly as he gesticulated wildly, Dazai felt a smile turn up the corners of his lips.

He’d made himself better and that was reflected in Atsushi, in Kyoka, in the relationships he’d managed to somehow scrape together with the other people in the ADA despite how much of a pain in the ass he made himself. He still had a long way to go but, he thought, he’d reached some sort of state in which Odasaku might approve.

And yet…

“I used Corruption because I trusted you…”

And yet, when it came to Chuuya, he had so easily fallen into old habits. It had felt so natural, so right to tease him, to encourage that temper he was still so well known for (even if it was far more difficult for others to bring it to the surface nowadays). Dazai hadn’t even really thought about what he was doing while he interacted with Chuuya, his words and actions flowing like a well-rehearsed script which he had no need to alter, as familiar as breathing and as easy as closing his eyes at the end of a long day.

And yet…

And yet, should he not have done better?

“Take me...to the extraction point…”

Chuuya had trusted him to step in when he used Corruption and Dazai had (at his own pace). Chuuya had asked him to take him somewhere safe after using Corruption and Dazai...Dazai had left him lying on the ground in a field at midnight with his hat and coat folded neatly beside him. He’d left without so much as a backwards glance.  

Chuuya had been fine and he’d known that he’d be fine. There wasn’t anyone else around when they’d left and the location was isolated enough that no one was likely to come across him so Chuuya hadn’t been in any real danger.

Still…

Asking himself if he’d done the right thing was rather redundant. He knew that he hadn’t and it was niggling at him, like a toothache which he couldn’t do anything about or an itch that he just couldn’t scratch. The urge to do...something, wouldn’t leave him alone.

There was, of course, the choice of just ignoring the problem until it went away. That wasn’t an option though. They were in the same city and their organisations were likely to either ally or antagonise each their on a regular basis from this point onwards. He was going to run into Chuuya again sooner rather than later so that was completely out of the question.

What then, should he do? Should he do anything? Would Chuuya be surprised that he’d left him there? Probably not.

That thought had Dazai frowning to himself. He’d gotten used to living up to people’s expectations of him, especially when it came to Atsushi. He’d been able to help him, to help Kyoka and the Agency as a whole that living down to Chuuya’s expectations rather than up…

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

He thought of the surprise that would’ve been on the Chibi’s face if he’d woken up at the extraction point and wished that he’d actually done it. He was sure the reaction would have been amusing. The anger would, of course, have also been amusing but the thought of eliciting a different reaction from the fiery redhead…

Dazai resolved that, the next time they crossed paths, he would do that. He’d make sure and take care of Chuuya if only for the surprise that would cross those expressive features, the confusion that would be hastily covered up in those pretty blue eyes…

...pretty?

Dazai blinked to himself. Since when had he thought of Chuuya’s eyes as pretty? He’d thought so earlier but he hadn’t noticed doing so at the time.  Sure, he found him attractive in an “if I wasn’t attracted to women” sort of way but who didn’t? But actually considering him pretty? He’d always thought Chuuya interesting, fun to poke at and, yes, beautiful with Corruption tracing over his skin but…

...when had this happened?

Not important - alright maybe important but not the main thing he needs to focus on right now. He found Chuuya pretty but surely that didn't mean anything. He wanted to elicit more reactions from the Chibi, positive ones and not just negative ones. He wanted…

...he wanted Chuuya to look at him the way Poe was currently staring at Ranpo while the other was...looking at him.

Ranpo smirked, corners of his lips lifting up in a knowing expression, glasses reflecting the midday light coming in through the windows and Dazai felt his back stiffen.

Deciding to cut his losses, he stood, making it look as natural as possible and not like he was choosing to run away from those too-perceptive eyes, and strode purposefully from the office. Kunikida’s calls for him to return to his desk were, of course, ignored.

It was as he was closing the door taht he heard it.

“Finally.”

He paused, waiting to see what Ranpo would say next. There was nothing for a few seconds before the silence was finally broken.

“...um...what do you mean Ranpo-san?”

“Dazai finally got a clue,” was the only response Ranpo gave and Dazai felt a brief flicker of relief that the detective hadn’t said anything else. He was even more grateful that, at this point, Ranpo hadn’t actually met Chuuya.

Hmmm...now there was a thought. That could be amusing.

Mentally shaking himself, Dazai strode out of the building, debated a moment before heading back to his apartment. He wanted a quiet place to think so he could plan how best to reach out to Chuuya.

..and to process what he’d realised while lounging on the Agency’s couch this afternoon. He couldn’t exactly freak out in public now, could he? Well, he could, but he didn’t feel like drawing attention to himself for a change. Perhaps later when he was in the mood to draw interesting expressions from people other than his Chibi.

Wait...his Chibi?

Well, of course Chuuya was his. They had made that bet hadn’t they? Would Chuuya even remember it, he wondered, with everything else that had happened during those few days. Dazai did though. How could he forget the sound of Chuuya’s head hitting the console or the yell of frustration quickly cut off by surprise as he’d ducked down behind the machine, trying not to be noticed by his so-called ‘friends’ from that stupid gang. Really, Dazai had done him a favour. If they were that easy to turn against him, they didn’t deserve Chuuya anyway.

He stepped more quickly, determined to get home as soon as possible.

He had to think.

—————

Chuuya still lived at the same address.

Dazai wasn't surprised.

What did, however, surprise him, was the easy way the key turned in the lock.

Huh...Chibi hadn’t changed his locks in the four years Dazai had been gone. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Putting said thought to the back of his mind for later consideration, he opened the door on silent hinges and carefully stepped inside.

Chuuya liked his comforts; that included a thick, soft rug which made it incredibly easy to walk silently through the quiet flat. It was about half an hour from sunset and the light filtering through the windows was fiery, tinting everything in shades of gold, copper and red.

As he looked around, he noted that, alongside the locks, very little had changed. Perhaps there was a new piece of art and he was quite sure that the loveseat he remembered had been replaced by a large armchair but, other than that, it was like stepping back in time.

This seemed to happen a lot where Chuuya was concerned.

Dazai had to be careful. He couldn’t let himself slip into old habits. He was here to reach out, to prove that he had changed over the last four years.

…..by sneaking into his flat with the key he’d swiped when they were 16.

Baby steps.

Silently acknowledging that, perhaps, this hadn’t been the best plan but committed to following it through nonetheless, Dazai stepped further into the flat. It was as he was passing a small table that he noticed it; the hat.

Chuuya never went anywhere without that stupid hat so, therefore, the only conclusion Dazai could draw was taht Chuuya was somewhere in his flat.

...and he hadn’t noticed Dazai yet.

Pausing all movement, Dazai closed his eyes and focused all his attention on his surroundings, listening for the slightly rustle of cloth, the faintest screen from deeper into the fat.

Nothing.

Turning his head to better peer into the living room, Dazai confirmed that, yes, Chuuya wasn’t in there, waiting to ambush him. Nor, it appeared, was he in the kitchen.

Logically, that left only one place.

The bedroom door was shut and, aa he approached, Dazai felt a shiver of anticipation go through him. He hadn’t managed to sneak up on Chuuya in quite a while and this was definitely going to result in an interesting reaction.

He may be here to make amends with the Chibi but that didn’t mean he was above drawing out some fun reactions. Just because hw wanted Chuuya to look at him...more positively...didn’t mean he was going to give up antagonisinghim. Where would the fun be in that?

Moving slowly, Dazai reached out and opened the door. It was as quiet as the rest of the flat, swinging on silent hinges as Dazai slowly and carefully opened it enough to slip through and nothing more.

Chuuya was lying in bed, head turned away from the door and towards the massive window on the oppositee wall. Yokohama was lit by crimson light which spilled over Chuuya, blending perfectly with his hair which was fanned out behind him on his pillow.

Dazai felt his breath catch slightly but resolutely ignored it.

Still..

Dazai removed his phone from his pocket and took a picture, thankful he had the camera sound turned off. Chuuya was asleep and he doubted he’d get this chance again any time soon.

Putting his phone away as he stepped further into the room, Dazai was careful to keep his steps light. Chuuya’s bedroom had a wooden floor, a deep cherry wood which matched the furnishings. Said furnishings included the massive four-poster bed which was set against the wall between the walls containing the door and window respectively. The red curtains (and why was he not surprised?) were pulled back, tied neatly to the bed posts with thin braided chords.

The blankets, of course, matched the curtains perfectly and Dazai wondered when exactly Chuuya had time ti pick out such things and how his little ex-partner managed to reach the top of the four-poster bed. Did he have a footstool hiding somewhere or did he just use his gravity manipulation?

This rather random (and entirely amusing) train of thought was cut off when Dazai managed to get a good look at Chuuya’s face.

What he had initially taken for redness from the setting sun was, in fact, revealed to be a deep flush accross his normally pale skin. Now that he was closer, he could hear that, although Chuuya was indeed asleep, his breathing was shallower than would be expected and there was a light sheen of sweat accross his forehead.

He also noted a few dark purple bruises tracing their way accross Chuuya’s skin, disappearing below the blanket. It had been a few days since the incident with Lovecraft and his partner (honestly he couldn’t even remember his name; he was that unimportant) and yet the bruises looked like they had only appeared yesterday.

Dazai felt his stomach drop and a pang in his chest.

Chuuya, apparently, hadn’t been fine.

This...changed things.

—————

Chuuya cracked his eyes open, knowing that something was wrong but not having the energy to deal with it. He felt like his limbs were made of lead and, when he tried to sit up, his head started spinning badly enough that he immediately paused all movement.

Fuck he hated this.

It had been four years since he’d used Corruption and, somehow, in those four years, he’d managed to forget exactly how painful the aftermath was. It could, however, just be that it was worse this time. His body wasn’t used to it anymore.

And, he thought bitterly, it wasn’t as if spending the night in a fucking field out in the open had helped.

Damn Dazai…

“Don’t worry...I got you.”

Yeah fucking right. That was why, at dawn, he’d had to drag himself to Mori’s office, give a delayed report and then drag himself home only to collapse in bed without even being able to change. He’d woken up hours later with the beginnings of a fever and, despite how much it ached and how much he didn’t want to, he’d made himself change out of his filthy clothes, strip the bed and put on clean sheets since he’d slept in his bed without changing out of said filthy clothes, and preprared for about a week of hell.

He’d been conscious for perhaps four to five hours of the last few days, his body demanding that he sleep while it healed from the use of Corruption and fought the fever. Admittedly he wouldn’t have been able to do much even if he had been awake considering how difficult and painful it was to move at this point. His body felt like one giant bruise and, upon waking for the second time covered in sweat and dizzy as fuck, he vowed that he was going to hunt Dazai down when he was able and kick the shit out of the lying bastard. Killing him would be too easy (and likely what the bastard wanted) so Chuuya wouldn’t do that. No, he’d just make him wish he was dead.

A noise from just beyond the door had him turning his head. He almost immediately regretted it, his temples throbbing, but he forced himself to ignore it, fingers twitching under the blanket. What had caused that sound? Was someone in his flat? Who could it be?

As he was preparing to do...soemthing (his brain was far too foggy to come up with anything coherent) the door opened further (he was sure he’d closed it before crawling into bed) and, who should walk in, but the person he was currently planning the maiming of.

“Dazai...”

The name was hissed between clenched teeth, coming out as little more than a croak. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the bandaged bastard in his bedroom doorway.

Dazai had paused, like he was surprise Chuuya was awake, and Chuuya felt his temper flare.

How dare he. How fucking dare that asshole break into his flat after what he’d done. How fuckign dare he!

“Nice to see Chuuya’s awake,” Dazai commented, his tone far quieter than his normal boisterous delivery but Chuuya couldnt’ focus on taht right now, too overcome with the absolute rage he felt at seeing Dazai so soon after being abandoned in a fucking field at midnight after using Corruption.

“I’m gonna make you...wish...you were dead,” he got out through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Dazai replied, not seeming phased by the threat of physical violence and, right now, Chuuya wasn’t all taht surprised. He doubted he could threaten a kitten in  his current state, let alone a slippery bastard like Dazai.

“The fuck do you want,?” He growled, deciding he didn’t have time to deal with Dazai’s bullshit.

“Chibi needs help,” was the immediate reply and Chuuya felt himself tense.

Help?

Dazai thought he needed help?

The bastard thought he needed help after what he did?

“Get. Out.”

“Not until Chibi’s feeling well enough to toss me out himself,” Dazai returned immediately. Chuuya snarled.

What an utter bastard. What was he getting out of this? Was he just here to make fun of the fact that, currently, Chuuya couldn’t throw a pillow, let alone Dazai’s lanky ass? Yeah, that must be it. He was here to be a bastard.

What else was new?

“Her to gloat then? Should’ve known.”

Dazai blinks, affecting a surprised expression which Chuuya wasn’t buying for a moment.

“Gloat?”

“Yes, gloat,” Chuuya repeats, feeling some part of him settle now that he’d figured out exactly why Dazai was here. The bastard would taunt him for a while, maybe make a half-hearted (and entirely unhelpful) effort to aid him and then fuck off back to his detective agency until the next time he needed Chuuya to hit something he couldn’t talk his way around.

Dazai, it seemed, wanted to draw this out though since, unlike what Chuuya was expecting, he didn’t immediately drop the act nd start taunting him. Instead, Dazai made a “wait here” gesture (which was rather ridiculous since he could barely make himself roll over, let alone get out of bed right now) and left the room.

What was he doing? Was he trying to put him on edge by making noise where Chuuya couldn't see or reach? Was he breaking his shit so Chuuya would have to clean up the mes when he could drag himself out of bed? No, that would be too simple and blunt for Dazai. He had to be up to soemthing else.

Sounds reached his ears but he couldn't figure out what they were. All he could do was lie there and wait for Dazai to return.

He must’ve dozed off again because the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes and turning towards a weight he felt on the bed. Dazai had returned and sat himself on the edge of the bed, perching like a bird that knew it would have to take flight rather quickly at any moment.

“What do you want now?” He grumbled, too tired to put up too much of a fight. His anger had, apparently, given way to tiredness while he’d been dozing and Chuuya couldn’t find the strength to muster it again. What was even the point? Perhaps this was a good thing. If Dazai couldn't get any interesting reactions from him, he might go away faster. Dazai was, after all, like a spoilt kid with a shiny toy. That toy was, in this case, Chuuya (loathe as he was to compare himself to such a thing). If Chuuya didn’t react, didn’t give Dazai anything to work with, he’d move on to something else more shiny, more fun to poke at with a stick to watch its reaction.

Dazai didn’t reply to him, instead turning and picking something up from the bedside table he sat beside. He heard the sound of water slouching about before something cool and damp was pressed against his forehead.

Wha…?

Dazai, not noticing his confusion (or more likely pretending not to notice - that bastard noticed everything) turned away from him. Chuuya wanted to reach up and throw the cloth at Dazai’s stupid face, put enough weight behind it to cave in the bastard’s fucking skull ike he deserved but, again, he couldn’t make himself move.

When Dazai turned back to him, he was holding a bowl in one hand and...a spoon in the other.

“No,”

“Chibi needs to eat.”

“I said no!” The anger was back, blazing in his chest. So this was his plan then? Not just gloat but try and humiliate him too? Probably taunt him while he fed him like a fucking child. Fuck that. He wasn’t going to accept it. Whatever it was was likely poisoned anyway (be it deliberately or because of the shitty bastard’s inability to cook anything without somehow making it toxic).

“Chuuya needs to eat,” Dazai repeated, as if he thought using Chuuya’s actual name instead of that stupid fucking taunt would make a difference.

Chuuya closed his eyes and turned his face away. If Dazai wanted him to eat whatever it was, he’d have to force it down his throat. He heard a sigh and felt himself bristle more. What did that bastard have to sigh about? He wasn’t the one stuck in bed with a fever and covered in bruises because his fucking partner had abandoned him after a mission.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted when he felt...something, sliding through his hair.

What the…?

It was soothing, rhythmic and...very pleasant. Unbidden, he felt his body relax, muscles that had been tensed to do...soemthing...uncoiling like an unwound spring.

It was as he felt himself lean into it that he realised what it was and tensed all over again.

Dazai was petting him, running his fingers through Chuuya’s (undoubtedly sweaty) hair, fingers playing with the strands before returning to massage his scalp. He really was out of it if he hadn’t been able to recognize what Dazai was doing.

How pathetic.

“Chibi’s always been the most stubborn when he’s sick,” Dazai murmured and Chuuya held in a snort.

“Who was the one who acted like he was dying from a cold?”

“It could’ve turned into pneumonia,” Dazai defended, tone indignant.

“You are such a fucking drama queen,” Chuuya muttered, eyes slipping closed again as he let himself enjoy the physical contact. He knew this was a trick of some sort (it was Dazai - there was always a trick) but, with how little energy he had right now, he was willing to enjoy it before the bastard pulled something else.

Hadn’t he been angry not a minute ago? He tried to concentrate on the feeling but couldn’t. He was still angry, still furious with the other male but he just didn’t have the energy to express it properly. His mind was also vaguely foggy (probably from the fever) so that likely wasn’t helping.

Fuck this situation and fuck Dazai Osamu. When this was over, he was going to pay the bastard back for this, one way or another.

“Hmmm…” Dazai made a non-comical noise and Chuuya’s thoughts were forcibly dragged back to the present moment, to the feeling of Dazai’s fingers tangling themselves in his hair and rubbing gentle circles against his scalp.

“Chuuya never eats after Corruption. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

The comment caught Chuuya off guard. Weren’t they just talking about how much of a pain Dazai was when he’s ill?

“...Your point?”

“Chuuya should eat more.”

Yes, Chuuya should drag himself, in his current state, to the kitchen and make himself something to eat. That would go absolutely wonderfully he was sure. His expression clearly must have conveyed his thoughts because Dazai once again held up the bowl.

“No.”

“What if I eat some?”

“Your a suicidal maniac. If you eat it, it’s definitely poison.”

“Chuuuya,” Dazai whined and Chuuya fought back a small smirk at the tone. It felt good to annoy Dazai, even just a little. For all he knew the bastard could just be putting it on but he’d take what he could get in this situation.

“And what if I didn’t make it?”

“Then where did you get it?” Had Dazai raided his cupboards to find something? He couldn’t remember what was in there. Did he have a few tins of soup stored somewhere? It was possible.

Dazai, for once, kept his mouth shut and, instead, tilted the bowl so that Chuuya could get a good look at the contents and, at the same time, ensuring that he had the opportunity to smell whatever it was.

As he breathed in, the familiarity of the bowl’s contents hit his senses and his eyes widened minutely.

How the…?

“This is still you favourite, right?” Dazai asked, tilting the bowl further towards him.

“...how the hell do you remember that after four years?”

“You ordered me to get it for you often enough. It’s hard to forget.”

Hesitantly, Chuuya leaned forward and took another, deeper sniff of the revealed bouillabaisse. He’d discovered a small cafe not long after moving into this flat, only a few streets away, and had fallen utterly in love with their food. It hadn’t taken him long to get into the habit of eating there once a week or, on the odd occasion where he didn’t feel like being out in public, having the staff prepare him a meal which he would then eat in the privacy of his own flat.

The bouillabaisse in the bowl had been one of the first things on the menu he’d tried. There was just something about it that Chuuya couldn’t quite put his finger on. All he knew was that it had become a routine rather early in their relationship that, after using Corruption and returning home (normally dragged there by Dazai or one of his minders), he’d have someone fetch him a bowl of bouillabaisse from that cafe, eat it and then pass out for a few days.

Apparently, Dazai had remembered…

It didn’t mean anything. Just because the bastard remembered this was his favourite thing to eat when he was ill or post-Corruption, didn’t mean Chuuya was going to eat it.

“Come on,” Dazai coaxed. “How will you feel better and throw me out if you don’t eat anything?”

“...Are you seriously trying to use logic? You, of all people?”

“Chuuya says that like I’m not logical.”

“Are you implying you are?”

“When am I ever not logical?”

“March 5th, five years ago.”

Was it his imagination or were Dazai’s cheeks turning a little red? Nah, it was probably the light coming in through his windows.

“Chuuya’s being mean when I came here to help him feel better,” Dazai pouted and Chuuya snorted slightly.

“Since when do you help anyone but yourself?”

The mirth fled Dazai’s face, leaving it blank. It was only in the absence of emotion that Chuuya realised just how much of it Dazai had been exuding. The gaze looking down at him felt...empty and, despite how warm he felt, he had to fight back a shiver.

This was the Dazai he remembered; the one that could go from playfully vicious to cold, ruthless and unnerving in less time than it took you to blink. And there Chuuya was, practically helpless lying in bed with those deadened, blank eyes staring down at him.

“Four years ago.”

Chuuya blinked, confused.

What?

“Well...that’s perhaps a bit generous. Maybe about a year and a half ago.”

“Had Dazai...answered his question?

“What the fuck?”

It was only when those dead eyes flickered that he realised that he must’ve asked the question aloud.

“You see,” Dazai continued. “I didn’t join the Agency right away. I had to lay low for a few years, keep my head down, show I could stay out of trouble before they would...deal...with my record.”

“So what changed?”

If Dazai was in the mood to answer questions (even if Chuuya was more than half convinced that his ex=partner was just spouting bullshit to mess with him), Chuuya was going to get as much out of him as possible.

“Something.”

“Feel like giving specifics?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I figure it out.”

“Yeah right.”

That gaze was still unnerving but he forced himself to ignore it. He’d worked with Dazai for three years and, even if it had been four since they’d last done so, he still remembered this. Act normal. Depending on his mood, he’ll pull himself out of soon enough. (Yet another reason Chuuya was sure that, had Dazai not been in the Port Mafia, he would have been ordered by someone to see a goddamn therapist a long time ago).

“I only really noticed after I met Atsushi.”

“The tiger brat?”

“The very same.” There was a smile creeping back into the corners of Dazai’s mouth, his eyes gaining warmth that had been absent and Chuuya felt a surge of...something...in his chest. So those Agency brats could get Dazai to show emotion (genuine from what he could tell) after about a year while Chuuya had known Dazai for three, nearly four, and hadn’t managed to elicit anything other than taunting, annoyance and the urge to set a bomb under his car?

Fan-fucking-tactic.

“Then why aren’t you bothering him?” He succeeded in keeping the bitterness from his voice, barely, and forced himself to relax again now that those dead eyes were no longer directed at him. Fuck; he hated that look.

“Atsushi’s not the one lying in a bed with a fever.”

“Funny thing, neither would I if you hadn’t left me in a fucking field.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

They were going in circles, their conversation going nowhere. Or, at least, that’s how it felt to Chuuya. It felt like he’d take a few steps forward but then Dazai would say something and there’d they’d be, right back to where they started; the fact that Dazai had broken into Chuuya’s flat while he was unconscious after leaving him, exhausted and alone.

“Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

“...and if I can’t think of one?”

“Then congratulations; that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me in the last seven years.”

“Will Chuuya eat now?”

“You’re not going to go away until I do, are you?”

“Like I said; I’m not leaving til Chibi’s well enough to throw me out himself.”

“Fucking...fine.”

Dazai blinked down at him, surprise flashing accross his features before it was once again masked behind that pleasant, charming smile he so often liked to wear.

“If it’ll make you leave sooner, fine. I’m too sick to deal with your bullshit. If it’s poisoned, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your shitty life.”

“Whatever Chibi says.”

“Shut up and help me sit up. I’m not lying here while you spoon feed me like an infant.”

“But Chibi’s as small as-“

“Finish that sentence and I will maim you”

Dazai once again set the bowl to the side and, far more carefully than Chuuya would expect from the bandaged bastard, helped me into a semi-sitting position, back pressed against the mountain of pillows Chuuya insisted on keeping on his bed. Chuuya was sure to keep his movements slow so as not to aggravate his injuries or spark another bout of dizziness.

“Why does Chuuya have so many pillows?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“No reason, just curious.”

“I’ll believe your ‘just curious’ line when you go a week without getting slapped.”

“It’s day six, I’m sure I can manage.”

“Sure you can.”

“Want to bet on it?”

“Right now, fuck no.”

“Chuuya’s no fun when he’s ill.”

Chuuya didn’t dignify that with a response, merely gesturing for Dazai to hand him the bowl. Dazai seemed hesitant but Chuuya’s glare intensified and he gave a put upon sigh, as if he was the one being inconvenienced in this situation, before handing the bowl over.

Chuuya propped it in his lap carefully, making sure there was no chance of him accidentally tipping it over, before taking his first spoonful of the bouillabaisse. He closed his eyes as the taste hit his tongue. It had been a while since he’d managed to visit the cafe and this was, admittedly, just what he needed.

Movement drew his attention and, as he turned his head, he noticed Dazai hopping off the bed and heading towards the door. Suspicious of what he was doing but not being able to follow, Chuuya returned his attention to the bowl in his lap and continued to eat.

It was as he was finishing (he stil had about a third of the bowl left but he couldn’t make himself eat any more) that Dazai returned, two slightly steaming mugs in his hands. Chuuya couldn’t stop himself raising an eyebrow when he realised exactly what was inside them.

“Really?”

“Chibi kept it in the same place.”

“The minute you go, I’m changing the locks.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t anyway.”

“I forgot you had a key. Trust me, I will.”

Dazai made no comment, simply taking the bowl away and replacing it with the steaming mug of chamomile and spiced apple tea he’d procured from Chuuya’s kitchen.

The scent, like that of the bouillabaisse, was familiar, calming and made Chuuya relax further into the pillows. Breathing in the fragrant steam, he could almost pretend that the aches and pains were non-existent, that he wasn’t still overly-warm and uncomfortable from fever and that Dazai, bandaged bastard that he was, actually gave a damn rather than this pretence he was putting up for some unknown reason.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he murmured, tone soft as he took his first sip. The warmth traveled down his throat and settled in his stomach, pleasant rather than the uncomfortable warmth he felt everywhere else.

“...I know.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because…” Dazai paused but Chuuya didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see what emotions were passing over his face. He couldn’t trust that anything he saw was real. “Because I’ve changed and, the other night, I acted like I would have four years ago and...I didn’t like it.”

There it was. This wasn't about Chuuya at all. It was about Dazai feeling guilty that he’d not stuck to whatever precious morals he’d managed to scrape together over the past few years.

“And,” Dazai continued, capturing Chuuya’s attention before his thoughts could primal any further downwards. “I realised I should’ve been a better partner and taken you to the extraction point.”

As if he was going to believe that horseshit.

“So you think taking care of me now makes up for it?”

“No,” Dazai admitted and Chuuya was tempted to turn, to see what affected emotion was on that face but he resisted, keeping his eyes closed and breathing in the sweet scent of his tea. “But I’m hoping Chuuya wil find it in him to give me a chance to do better next time.”

“And what if, next time, you just say fuck it and don’t stop me?”

Because, as much as he’d cursed Dazai after waking up and dragging himself to Mori’s office, as much as he’d ranted and raved about how he should have known better than to trust the bastard to do what he’d asked...he’d still held out some shred of hope that Dazai would do what he’d said. When they were partners, Dazai had occasionally taken off after Chuuya had used Corruption but, in those circumstances, there were almost always other members of the Port Mafia around (typically Hirotsu) who would make sure he got back safe. This time, it had just been them so his only option afterwards had been Dazai.

And Dazai had abandoned him there.

It wasn’t a big step from ‘not taking me somewhere safe after using Corruption’ to ‘not stopping me when I use Corruption’.

“That won’t happen.”

And Chuuya had to look at him, had to see his expression because what the hell?

Dazai’s tone nad been sharp, almost commanding. As he met that amber, steely gaze, Chuuya felt something in him react (though what it was, he couldn’t be sure). Dazai’s eyes were determined, focused on Chuuya like he was the only thing that mattered in that moment. He couldn’t remember a look like that ever being directed at him before.

“And why’s that?” The words left him almost involuntarily, tone not quite biting as he locked gazes with Dazai, willing himself to see through whatever act teh bastard might put up, ready to focus on any microexpression that might slip through the cracks.

“Chibi’s not allowed to die.”

“What’s it to you if I die or not? Newsflash; you’re the one that left, not me.”

“Chibi’s not allowed to die,” Dazai repeated, as if by saying it again he could make Chuuya accept it. Not happening - he was sick, not oblivious.

“Why do you suddenly care?”

“Chibi wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”

“Try me.”

“Chibi’s pretty when he’s angry.”

That statement caused Chuuya to nearly spill hot tea over himself as he stared, incredulous at Dazai who was now deliberately not looking at him.

What. The. Fuck.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I told you.”

How the hell was he meant to react to that?

“I have no idea how to respond to that statement and, right now, part of me is sure you’re just a hallucination brought on by fever.”

Dazai let out a small chuckle at that statement, turning to look at Chuuya again. That warmth that had been in his eyes when he’d talked about Atsushi was...directed at him. When had this happened? How was he supposed to react to this? Was this really Dazai Osamu? It didn’t seem likely but…

...but an imposter wouldn’t have known about his favourite food when he was ill, wouldn’t have reacted when he brought up that particular event in March five years ago, wouldn’t have teased him quite so much if they were trying to get into his good graces. There was too much that was so purely Dazai that the only conclusion he could come to was that he was, in fact, speaking with the real him.

And that thought was mildly terrifying because…

Dazai Osamu told him, to his face, that he was pretty.

“You know, you don’t have to say anything,’ Dazai commented, that stupid, warm expression still in his eyes and the corners of his mout turned up in a small smile that looked far more genuine than anything Chuuya could remember seeing during their three years together. “”But you asked so…”  He shrugged, as if he didn’t really care whether Chuuya responded or not.

“You expect me not to say something after that?”

Dazai shruged again, as if he couldn’t care less what Chuuya had to say.

“So, what does Chibi have to say?”

...that was a good question and, unfortunately, it wasn’t one he had an answer to. This...was never something he thought he’d ever have to deal with. Dazai had never, to Chuuya’s knowledge, admitted an attraction to another male. And for said male to be Chuuya of all people…

“When, exactly, did you…?” How did he even finish the question?

“Yesterday,” Dazai admitted.

“...and how did you come to this realisation?”

Keep talking, keep asking questions. Maybe it would start to make sense if he just kept asking questions.

This time, Dazai didn’t answer and Chuuya felt a surge of annoyance. Dazai had been surprisingly forthright so far but he’d known that, at some point, he’d clam up and stop answering.

“I...think I’d prefer to tell you that some other time.”

Wait, what? Dazai wasn’t refusing to answer the question, just refusing to answer it now?

“So…” Chuuya began, eyes narrowed as he put the pieces together. “You break into my flat, bring me food, say you’re going to look after me until I feel well enough to kick your bandaged ass out and now you’re saying you think I’m pretty (which you only realised yesterday!) but you’re not giving me a reason why you suddenly think this even though I know you’ve only ever been attracted to women?”

Dazai shrugged again, the motion easy and careless. Chuuya let himself flop back against his pillow mountain, lifting an arm to cover his face so he wouldn’t have to look at the bandaged bastard, not caring at the uncomfortable sensations from the bruises as he did so.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

“Is that a good thing?”

Chuuya didn’t dignify that with a response, just kept his arm over his eyes and tried to proces the last few minutes of their conversation.

“This still doesn’t change anything,.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to give me another chance.”

“And if I don’t?”

Dazai didn’t reply for a while and Chuuya was, once again, tempted to look at him but resolutely did not. He did lower his arm but kept his eyes closed. He lifted the mug of cooling tea to his lips again and finished it off in a few small sips. Wordlessly, Dazai took it from his hand and he heard it being set down on the nightstand.

“Then you don’t.”

“Just like that?‘

“Just like that.”

“You’re not going to try some stupid shit to win me over?”

“Would it work?”

That...was a fair point. Chuuya knew Dazai’s tricks, had seen them used often enough that he could practically recite them word for word, rehearsed gesture for rehearsed gestures. If Dazai tried any of his normal shit with Chuuya, he’d know and kick the bastard’s ass for it. The fact that Dazai had acknowledged that, had admitted that his normal methods wouldn’t work on him...

“And besides,’ Dazai continued. “Why would I trick you into something like this/‘

“Because it would amuse you. You’d find this sort of shit funny: don’t even bother denying it.”

“Maybe,” Dazai admitted. “But I’ve decided that if anything happens, I don’t want it to be because I tricked you into it.”

Chuuya was once again having doubts that this was, in fact, the real Dazai Osamu.

“Just ...think it over. I’m not expecting an answer any time soon.”

‘And if you never get one?”

“Then I’ll just have to live in hope that I’ll get one one day, won’t I?”

With that, Dazai once again left the room, taking the dirty cups and bowl with him. Chuuya was left alone with his thoughts which were currently roiling, unable to concentrate on any one thing for longer than a. Few seconds before soemthing else captured his attention.

He did’t know how to feel, didn’t know how to react. This was no t something he had ever considered a possibility under any circumstance and, now that he was fed and relatively comfortable, he didn’t really want to think about it. As quickly as his mind was flitting from subject to subject, he could feel it also beginning to slow as his body decided that, having been awake for a decent amount of time, it was now time to return to unconsciousness so that his body could focus on healing itself.

Gingerly, he shuffled back under the covers so only his head was supported by the pillows and curled up on his side facing the door. He opened his eyes, watching for Dazai. His eyes were drooping however and, as he closed them, he was vaguely aware of the sensation of a hand running through his hair again as he drifted off to sleep.

———-

A few weeks later, head in Dazai’s lap and fingers once again stroking through his hair, Chuuya couldn’t help but think that, maybe, just maybe, it was worth giving Dazai that second chance.

[ao3feed-skk]

by ArizuRabbit

Missing there will be no second change Kisses Leave it to me, partner Dates tying the knot LIBRE

Words: 8122, Chapters: 6/7, Language: Español

Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Bungou Stray Dogs), Shibusawa Tatsuhiko (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: SkkWeek2019, Soukoku, Soukoku Fluff Week, dragones, hielo, apocaliptico, aliceinwonderland, Escolar, Omegaverse

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #16: Scars- Bungou Stray Dogs

This is part 2 of this ----

“How can you do this to yourself?” Kunikida asked, deep in shock. Obviously, Dazai had been hiding something under his bandages. Self-mutilation had always been a distinct possibility, but not in his wildest dreams had Kunikida ever thought that it would be this bad. Nobody should be able to hurt themselves to this extent.

It should not be humanly possible, but then again...

A chill went down Kunkida's spine as he realized for the first time how the name of Dazai's ability actually seemed to fit the distraught man in front of him, in some sick, distorted kind of way. 

Maybe the idea of being in possession of no longer human was what fueled him, manipulating his body and mind into enduring these horrible actions which any sound mind should be unable to commit against oneself.

A faint shake of the head was the only response he could get out of the lethargic man and Kunikida decided to let it be for now.

If he pushed him too hard, it would only end in disaster. Even if Dazai always seemed to worm his way back to life, into the same annoyingly carefree and chipper 'bandage-wasting-suicidal-maniac' (which somehow had become a term of endearment around the agency) he usually was- this situation right here, right now, felt different.

It was real and right in front of him and uncensored and absolutely heart-wrenching.

So Kunikida kept quiet and continued cleaning out the wounds, using strips or stitching them together before covering them with excessive amounts of gauze while his thoughts were spiraling out of control about the days leading up to this...

...which had been utterly uneventful. Nothing to warn them of what was to come at all.

They had been just like any other days, weeks or months, with Dazai doing slightly dangerous things around the office, declaring them as possible suicide methods while wearing a huge grin on his face. Or, shamelessly getting down on his knees in front of any woman in his proximity that he deemed worthy, begging them to commit double suicide with him.

Teasing, agonizing Kunikida to no end, abrupting his thoroughly planned out schedule just to get a reaction- which Kunikida always would give him.

Pretending that Ranpo wasn't fiercely competitive towards him- letting the abilityless (and just a bit clueless), but never the less genius, detective solve several puzzles Dazai himself likely had been able to figure out the second he had laid his eyes on them.

And the way Dazai was huddled up in the corner of the room like a ferocious animal when Kunikida had come in...

“Who did you think I was?” Kunikida finally asked carefully. Dazai bearly stirred.

“Hm?” Dazai hummed, still a long way from his bathroom in his mind. But, he finally seemed to be waking up from the hypnotic daze he had been trapped inside.

“When I came in... You seemed to think I was someone else.”

“Oh.”

Dazai was weary and pale, probably from blood loss and sleeplessness. Kunikida had just begun to sew shut yet another gash on his arm, but the stinging, throbbing sensations that radiated from the self-inflicted wounds exceded far beyond Kunikida's precise stitches.

“I- I'm not sure,” Dazai answered sincerely, winching a little as Kunikida tied the first stitch at the next laceration.

“Sorry,” Kunikida muttered quietly, but Dazai only waved it off as not a big deal.

“I think I was somewhere else, in my mind, I mean,” Dazai explained before he scoffed drearily. “When you let yourself in, I was looking for a weapon I haven't borne in 5 years.”

At that, Kunikida raised an interested eyebrow, but continued his work meticulously all the while, hoping that his cryptic partner might continue this rarety of opening up if he didn't interfere too much.

Of course, Dazai didn't, which wasn't too surprising considering that he was the same man who had managed to keep his past position as one of the most powerful (not to mention dangerous) people of the Japanese underworld a secret for years. A position he had reached when he was still just a teenager.

How this suicidal, manically depressed goofball could manage such a thing, was something Kunikida would never be able to truly comprehend. It was likely something none of them would ever understand- they would never know how a scrawny child with a death wish had ended up as an executive in one of the most feared gangs in the world.

The only person in possession of those answers was currently seated on a toilet seat in front of him, bleeding from countless lacerations reaching from his throat to the soles of his feet.

So, Kunikida decided that he couldn't pounder on that part of Dazai's past anymore. It was simply too bizarre, and even if Dazai clearly was very haunted, maybe focusing on who Dazai was now- not who he used to be, could somehow pull him out of this self-destructive apathy.

Or maybe it's not Kunikida who needs to stop thinking of Dazai as a monster.

Kunikida cleared his throat, catching Dazai's glassy eyes that had previously stared blindly into his lap.

“Dazai, I know I might be the last person you'd want to hear something like this from, but I'm going to say it anyway... You have to stop blaming yourself for... whatever it is that's tearing you apart. You need to stop living in the past and start looking forward to the future... The past is clearly eating you alive, but the future just might save you.”

Dazai only looked at him. For a long time, while a small, pained smile slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth. Dejected, he let his hair fall in front of his eyes, and something in his expression shifted.

“Of course, Kunikida-kun... I have to stop dwelling on the past and focus on the future. It all makes sense now,” he murmured in an eery whisper, bitterness, and animosity dripping off his tongue like blood from a blade.

Like the blood, dripping from Dazai's hands, arms, legs, feet, torso, hips, chest, neck... Kunikida was clearly over his head in gaping wounds.

“Dazai...” Kunikida started to say, but Dazai jerked his head back up. Exhausted yet fiercely focused, half-lidded eyes peered holes through Kunikida, almost startling the usually stoic man out of his kneeled stance in front of him, needle still between two pieces of flesh, ready to tie it back together.

“No, you're absolutely right. If I just stop thinking about it, it will all go away. I will win back my will to live. This aching, gnawing, harrowing emptiness that makes me utterly unable to feel a single thing except for unbearable guilt, will just disappear! The loved ones of those I've tortured and killed will finally be at peace! It won't matter that I've orphaned countless children and simultaneously been the sole reason that the only man that could've saved them was killed-” his voice broke off in an abrupt, pained choke.

Trying to brace himself, he inhaled a sharp shuddering breath. Carefully exhaling, everything shattered again and he was left heaving on the toilet seat, somewhere in between a sob and hyper-ventilating.

“Shit, Dazai... I didn't mean...” Kunikida quickly finished the stitch he had been working on and cut the thread. He backed up, giving the struggling man some space.

“...do you really want to know why I do this to myself?” Dazai asked venomously, crouched down on himself in a way that Kunikida couldn't decide reminiscent a hug or a straight-jacket.

“It's my punishment. These are all my sins. No matter how many scars that litter my body, it will never be enough...” His voice was shaking, fragile and small, struggling to bear.

“I can't keep count of them, just like I lost count of all the people I've hurt... how many families I've destroyed... So, I wear these scars on my sleeves as a constant reminder of what I've done, and it will never be enough... Not until it kills me.”

Kunikida wanted to say something, anything.

...but what was there to say, really? Kunikida knew a thing or two about regret, that much was true. Still, what Dazai had done... What good was a regretful sinner to anyone? Or a dead sinner, for argument's sake...

It wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't change his wrongdoings.

“At least, you're helping people now, Dazai. It won't cancel all the other things out, but it does count for something.”

“...do you know what the worst part is, Kunikida?” Dazai asked, seemingly ignoring the blonde's attempt of encouragement.

“...the worst part is, that... even if what you say is true...” 

He was unable to finish that sentence the way he intended.

Again, Dazai choked on his words. He cleared his throat, fighting back tears (because he didn't deserve to cry- didn't deserve to grieve or morn or feel fucking sorry for himself-) before he was able to force out in a pained whisper, “...it won't bring him back.”

Kunikida had come closer now, leaning down with his hands hovering insecurely over Dazai's battered body, wanting, but lacking the courage to place the comforting touch he so wanted to set on his partner's shoulder.

Suddenly, Dazai yanked his head back up. His expression was tight, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His irises seemed to wobble from unshed tears as he grabbed onto the taller man's shirt.

At the blink of an eye, literally, Dazai's body betrayed him. One tear fell, two tears fell, and finally, the flood gates opened.

Kunikida stared horrified, paralyzed by the rare sight. Dazai was showing real, unfiltered emotions.

Quickly, the idealist shook himself out of his stupified immobilization and pulled the trembling man in, locking his arms around him tightly.

Dazai cried silently. The only sound coming from him was an occasional shuddering heave for air, and Kunikida only tightened his grip around him, whispering repeatedly in his ear that it was okay.

------------------

Kunikida came around his car to help Dazai out. He had reluctantly agreed to use the crutches that Kunikida had found inside the closet in Dazai's bedroom, to ease the pressure on his newly stitched feet. It had been the strict condition for driving him out here instead of to the infirmary.

Dazai stood, heavily leaned on them and peered over the graveyard he had lead them to. Kunikida stood beside him, trying to follow his gaze, which guided him towards an old, weeping willow. Its branches leaned tiredly over a sole gravestone at the absolute edge of the site, with a beautiful outlook over the ocean.

Dazai started to hobble his way towards the tree, the snow dancing around him like angles in an ethereal snowball fight before Kunikida was able to shake himself out of his musings and hurried to catch up to his partner.

“Wait up,” he said, raising his voice slightly before catching up to him. Dazai really didn't need to slow down- the trail was icy and Dazai was clearly struggling to make his way, with the crutches slipping off the path now and then- leaving him looking unstable and clumsy.

But, he didn't look back. He soldiered forward, aimed intently at the modest gravestone under the beautiful tree.

Once there, Dazai let himself crumble to the ground in front of it, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a lighter. Using his bare hands, he dug out a small lantern from under the snow, and re-lit the light inside of it.

It immediately illuminated their surroundings, giving their evocative spot in the dim graveyard a serene, celestial glow.

Kunikida curiously leaned over to read the writing on the stone. It said Oda Sakunosuke- born October 26th, died January 10th...

...oh.

Reading further, the engraving read in beautiful cursive, “Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak, and protect the orphans.”

Suddenly, he understood the significance this man had had on Dazai's life.

“It was his last words,” Dazai said calmly, apparently noticing Kunikida reading. “He is the reason I left the Port Mafia, to spend my life in the light.”

Kunikida nodded, captivated by the moment.

“You truly cared about this man, didn't you?” Kunikida stated severely. Dazai gave him a curt nod and concentrated his attention back to the tomb.

“He was a good man,” Dazai confirmed solemnly.

“I'm sure.”

“He...” Dazai started to say, but cut himself off.

Kunikida kept standing behind, watching the wind tearing at his partner's clothes, ruffling his hair in the frigid winter-breeze.

“...yes,” Dazai finally continued. “He was... He was too good for this world.”

The snow shifted behind him. Kunikida lowered into the snow by Dazai's side.

Together, they sat there in comfortable silence, quietly honoring the man's life on the anniversary of his death.

The air was chilly, and Kunikida felt the snow soaking through his trousers, but he was going to keep sitting there for as long as Dazai needed.

After some time, Dazai reached into his pocket and took out a small flask. He opened it, muttering a quiet “Kenpai',” and poured out a small amount onto his friend's grave, before bringing it to his own lips, taking a sip. He passed it along to Kunikida- who was driving, but still accepted it. “Kenpai,” Kunikida repeated with a nod, gesturing towards the grave in a small toast.

The whiskey burned on its way down his throat, warming him up a little.

After their drink, Dazai was finally starting to get up, and Kunikida hurried to his feet to help him out. He handed the crutches over to him and turned to leave.

Dazai stayed back for a moment, smiling faintly at his friends final resting place.

“See you soon, Odasaku,” he murmured silently, bowing his head in respect before following Kunikida's lead.

Kunikida didn't want to think about what he might have meant by that.

Calmly, they walked back towards the car, side by side. Dazai still struggled a bit but was keeping Kunikida's pace never the less.

“Thank you,” Kunikida uttered suddenly, and stopped. Confused, Dazai tilted his head and peered back at him.

“For what?”

“For showing me this. I really appreciate it. I know it's... sacred.”

Dazai lowered his gaze for a moment, before a sad sort of smile appeared on his lips.

“Oda deserves for people to know what a great man he was. I should be better about that, huh?”

Kunikida shrugged. “Maybe so, but I think an even better way to honor his memory, is to stop disappearing for days and hurting yourself. I didn't know Sakunosaku-san, but if he's half the man you claim him to be, I'm sure he wouldn't want that for you.”

Considering this for a moment, Dazai nodded his agreement as if it was a thought that had never occurred to him before.

“Yeah, you're probably right...”

“None of us do,” Kunikida pressed on.

They had arrived back at the car now. Dazai got in, while Kunikida ushered the crutches in the back before getting into the driver's seat.

Longingly, Dazai stared out of the window as they pulled out from the parking lot in front of the graveyard, heading back towards the solitude and pressing atmosphere of the dormitories. 

Somehow, Dazai dreaded it, afraid that his head would spiral back into that dark space. He already envisioned ripping open the countless amount of stitches one by one, fixating the pain from his inside to the outside of his body- letting crimson liquid escape, reminding him of the many screams of his defenseless victims as he stomped their heads onto the pavement and-

“Don't.”

A hand was placed on top of his own, and he realized that he was subconsciously picking at his stitches over the bandages. Dazai blinked several times, surprised that he had let his mask slip.

Kunikida sighed audibly.

“I'm sorry,” Dazai muttered, parting his hands.

“Don't apologize, just... Just don't do that.”

Ashamed of himself, embarrassed about his slip-up, Dazai kept quiet for a long time. The silence in the car felt pressing and uncomfortable- and Kunikida racked his brain for something to say. He didn't want to leave Dazai alone with his thoughts for too long.

“...if you don’t, I'll tape oven mitts to your hands, like a toddler with chickenpox.”

Dazai snorted, willingly taking the bait. 

“Actually, picking at your stitches soften the skin and make it scar less,” Dazai proclaimed matter of factly.

Kunikida side-glanced at his bandaged partner, for once, understanding where this was going-

“You should probably write that down,” Dazai smirked knowingly, receiving a chuckle in response, and a light smack across the head.

[angelsu-is-translating]

My plans

My long term plans: Dazai Chuya 15 years old (2019) spanish translation and  Interviews from Bungo Stage 1 (Mainly in spanish, if I had time I’ll considere to do english too)

My short term plans: More fanarts, mainly Ango, Oda and Ranpo because birhtday was this week. 

[izukiout]

Set me Free

Ranpoe Week 2019

Day 7: AU, Free for All

READ ON AO3!!

“You’ll regret this.” Poe hissed. “This isn’t justice.”

“It might not seem like justice to you,” The man closed and locked the door of the cell. “But you are far away from home, aren’t you?”

He walked away, and Poe wrapped his fingers around the bars to stay on his feet. He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. He’d ever been this weak in his life.

“I’m innocent!” The room was spinning, and it was impossible for Poe to focus on the man’s body as he walked away.

“I believe you, honestly!” The man shouted back. “But what I believe doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Stop mocking me! Do you know who my father is?”

That made the man stop. He looked over his shoulder and offered Poe a small smile; it looked ill, melancholic, almost haunted.

“All I know about your father is that he knows you’re here, and he didn’t even come to see you, let alone try and get you out. If he’s your best bet, then…”

Poe was too shocked, too caught up in thinking about what he’d just heard, that by the time the words sunk in, the man was already gone.

He sighed and backed away from the bars. He sat on the bed instead of standing there and hurting himself more. He winced, touching the wound on his leg. It wasn’t that deep, but God, it burned.

“You need to wash that.” Someone whose voice Poe didn’t recognize said.

Poe jumped a little on his seat and looked around. “Who- Who’s there?!”

“I think my name isn’t what you really want to hear right now. It would be better to ask me where I am instead.”

“Wh- what?”

“Oh come on. To your left.” The voice said, and Poe looked to his left.

“There isn’t-”

“Just kidding, I meant to your right.” The stranger said, and so Poe looked. He was once again met with a wall.

“Stop! Just- just show yourself already!” Poe was starting to think he was hearing voices in his head, and the thought scared him more than he’d ever admit; going mad was the last thing he needed.

“You know, you’re no fun!”

For a moment, there was silence. Poe held his breath, heart beating so furiously inside his chest he thought it might burst. He saw something tiny move from the corner of his eye.

The action was so brief that he wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t already looking at that direction, but Poe was sure; one of the stones on the right wall of his cell had moved, it had moved further back into the wall.

“Don’t scream, okay?”

Poe was about to ask what the stranger meant, when the stone was pulled back, leaving a hole in its place. Someone slipped into Poe’s cell through the hole, and fell on the ground with a huff.

Now. Poe didn’t exactly scream… but he did shriek louder than necessary.

“You- you- you- you just- did you- what- how- how did-”

“You’re taller than I thought!” The man completely ignored his broken, panicked questions and dusted himself off. “And try and breathe a little, will you? I don’t want you fainting on me.”

“How did you get here?”

“Are you blind?” The man - he had bright, green eyes, Poe noticed - picked a little hat that had fallen on the ground, dusted it off and placed it on his head. “Didn’t you see? I got in through the hole I made.”

“Through the- just who are you?” Poe sat further back on the bed, putting some more distance between him and the man.

“Introductions are so boring, let’s just get this over with already. I’m Ranpo, Edogawa Ranpo; but that doesn’t really matter, does it? Everyone call me by my number here, which is 1826!” He flashed Poe a grin. “And you are?”

“Edgar- erm, Edgar Allan Poe.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and?”

“Your new name, silly.” Ranpo placed his hands on his hips, narrowed his eyes and looked Poe up and down. “Your number.”

“Oh.” Poe looked at the number they had written on his left arm. “2410?”

“2400! There’s so many of us, how do they even feed us?” There was a pause, before Ranpo continued. “I didn’t come here to talk about the other prisoners though, I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?”

“You’re hurt.” He nodded towards the direction of his leg.

“It’s better than it looks.” Poe cleared his throat, covering the wound with his hands. “The cut isn’t that deep. It doesn’t hurt as much now.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious.” Ranpo got closer and when Poe squeaked, he paused and raised his hands in the air. “Okay, I won’t touch it. But you can’t leave it like that, it could get infected.”

“And why would you care if it did?” Poe furrowed his eyebrows.

“Because I need you! I need you for something very, very important!” Poe opened his mouth, but before he could ask what that oh-so-important thing was, Ranpo kept going. “And besides, if I help you now, you’ll owe me; and a good man always pays his depths, so you’ll have no option but to help me with that very important thing too!”

“And what if I don’t want to help you with that very important thing?”

“Oh, you’ll want to. There’s no doubting it.” Another wide smile touched Ranpo’s lips. He took a few steps backward, hands folded behind his back. “I could tell by your voice, but now that I’m looking at your face, I think you might be as eager to help me as I am with getting your help!”

“Where are you going?” Poe asked, just before Ranpo could get back into the hole.

“To my cell of course! I’m going to be back with some water, and bandages.” He paused for a moment, before he said. “Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t-” Poe started, but Ranpo was already gone. He heaved a sigh.

It didn’t take too long for him to come back. He held a wooden bowl full of water, a towel and a few bandages, just as he had said he would.

“Now, let’s take care of you.” He dragged out the word as he dipped the towel in the water. He sat down beside Poe and pointed at his leg. “Uh, I’ll need that.”

“Try anything funny and I'll-” Poe let Ranpo place his leg on his lap.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Ranpo started cleaning the wound and sighed. “I heard you say you’re innocent.”

“Because I am.”

“Then how come you’re here?”

“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘I was at the wrong place at the wrong time’?” A small smile touched Poe’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Countless times.” Ranpo returned the smile. He dipped the towel into the water again. “That’s what happened to you? There was a murderer and you were just walking by the moment the knights came into the scene?”

“How did you-” Poe winced. “Careful with that. It hurts.”

“There were some rumors. Murder isn’t a petty crime, you know. If you’d just stolen something you wouldn’t be in this prison. Then again, if you’d murdered an adult it wouldn’t have been that huge of a deal, but a child.” Ranpo paused his movements and looked up at him. “Killing a child is different.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Answer this question then.” Ranpo placed the towel down and picked up the bandages. “Why are you here?”

“Because somebody wanted me to be here.” He hadn’t thought that saying it instead of thinking about it would be as hurtful, or as embarrassing as it was.

“There we go!” Ranpo giggled. He seemed almost excited, much to Poe’s frustration. “See? It’s so much easier to talk when you’re being honest.”

“You knew I was innocent all along?”

“Maybe.” Ranpo shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t look like someone who just killed a child; didn’t sound like it either when you got here.”

“Why do you ask me all those questions if you already knew?”

“So I could move on to the questions I don’t know the answers to, of course.” Ranpo let go of the bandages and took a moment to admire his work. “What is the name of that someone who wanted to put you out of the game?”

“I don’t know his name-” When Poe saw Ranpo open his mouth, he quickly added. “But I’ve seen his face.”

“That’s not good enough though!”

“I know, I’m- I think it was someone from the council?”

“For goodness’s sake, Poe, of course he was from the council; but the council consists of thirty people - thirty old men who all manage to look alike - or did you not know?!”

“This isn’t the time. I’m- I don’t want to think about it.”

Ranpo threw his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking and mouth wide open. “You don’t want to think about it? I’m really sorry to tell you this, but that rat that got you here is the person you’ll be thinking of every single second you spend in this cell; not your mother, not your father, not your lover, only him.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I think I have more experience than you when it comes to what it feels like to live in the dungeons of the palace.”

“How long have you been here anyway?” Poe asked.

“About three years.”

“How long will you stay here?”

“Try and guess.” Ranpo rested his chin in his hand, tilting his head to the side. “When will I be allowed to leave this hellhole?”

Poe was silent for a long time. He wanted to say a random number of years, he really did, but the way Ranpo was looking at him - like he trusted that he’d get it right no matter what - made him change his mind.

“Never?”

“Bingo!” He clapped. “Just like you. That’s why I said you’d want to help me with that very important thing.”

“What-”

“Ah, ah, ah- let me finish! You and I are going to escape together!” The grin Ranpo wore at that moment seemed to almost be reaching his ears. “Doesn’t it sound like fun?”

“Fun?! Are- are you out of your mind?!” Poe moved away from him, and squeaked when his back touched the wall. Ranpo shook his head.

“You’re a bigger coward than I’d thought… but it shouldn’t be that big of a problem- come on, cheer up! I’m the miracle you’ve been wishing for and I’m going to help you - you believe in miracles, right? you seem like you do - but in order to do that you have to trust me, okay?”

“I just got here! Even if I agreed, I don’t even know-”

“Okay, now you’re acting like an idiot. We’re not going to escape today, so you can stop acting like you’re going to piss yourself. We’re going to wait for the perfect moment.”

“And you expect me to trust that you know when that perfect moment is?” Poe heaved a sigh and drew small, invisible circles at the corner of his head.

“Exactly! I knew you’d eventually get it! You’re better than the previous prisoner, you’re just so easy to convince!” Ranpo stood up and took the towel and the water in his hands. “The guards change every day, so don’t try to befriend them. If anyone asks about the bandages, they were right there when you came here, okay? You don’t leave your cell, ever, so there’s no way you’ll meet any of the other prisoners, so you should be fine. I’ll visit again tomorrow to see how you and your leg are doing, so be prepared!”

“W-wait- you’re leaving already?!” Poe tried to lift his body up from the bed with his hands.

“Stay where you are and rest! I know I’m a good company, but I need to be on my cell when the guards come to see if we’re all still alive tonight, so yes. I'm leaving.”

They didn’t say anything else, because the door at the end of the hallway opened with a screech, and Ranpo was gone.

The stone was back in its place, and Poe spent all night thinking about whether it was all a dream, all a trick of his wild imagination. When in the morning, Ranpo visited him again, Poe felt something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

It was a mixture of safe and threatened, and even though he had never felt that way before, the feeling wasn’t unwelcome.

Maybe he’d met Ranpo for the better. Maybe escaping wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, if he was to attempt it with Ranpo by his side.

[izukiout]

You should smile more often

Ranpoe Week 2019

Day 6: Love

Read on AO3

“Are you sure we have everything we need?” Poe asked, scanning the living room with his eyes one last time.

“Yes, and I think we’re good to go. We’re already late by ten minutes; what happened to you stressing over that?”

“Right, you’re right- we’re going to miss our flight and then we won’t leave early and all of my plans-”

“Yes, we need to leave now - this trip was your idea, remember? - so if would you be so kind.” Ranpo got on his toes and placed his hands on Poe’s shoulders, turned him around and pushed him out the door. “You’ve traveled countless times, right? I’m the one that’s supposed to be acting like this; why are you so worried?”

“Because it’s you I’m traveling with, and I have to think of everything by myself, or did you forget that?”

“But it was your idea to go on a trip together! You should have just gone on your own and save yourself the trouble.”

“No, I didn’t- it’s not like that.” Poe pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wanted you to come, it- it wouldn’t have been the same without you.” He placed a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder; look at me, he wants to say, but he doesn’t, and Ranpo’s eyes stay glued to the floor.

“Then you better stop acting like I’m a burden or I swear I’ll-”

“You’re not a burden, I’m just- I’m just stressed. That’s all. I’m- I’m always like this when I travel, I-I think.” Poe’s heart clenched painfully inside his chest when Ranpo pointedly avoided looking at him.

“Well, stop. You’re ruining the mood.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll try, he says.” Ranpo huffed. “I hate you sometimes.”

Poe didn’t know what to say to that, and so he stayed quiet.

“We need to leave.” Ranpo said again. He dragged the two suitcases out of the house, closed and locked the door. He handed the black one to Poe, and kept the dark brown one to himself.

“Can I ask you something before we go?” Poe bit his lower lip. He saw Ranpo’s shoulders tense, but he didn’t let that discourage him. He needed to say it or he thought he’d go mad. “Could you maybe call Dazai and ask how Karl is doing?”

“Oh, for the love of- Poe, we need to go; Karl is safe and sound. Dazai’s taking care of him like his life depends on it, and Kunikida is always keeping an eye on them. Lucy is a dependable young lady; she’ll take good care of him in case something comes up and everyone at the agency is busy - which is highly unlikely, but anyway - and besides, Kenji is there and he actually knows what he’s doing. Now hurry up and help me get these in the car!” He gestured at the suitcases.

“O-Okay. I trust you.” He muttered. They got in the car, and when Poe started driving, he gulped to get rid of the newly formed lump in his throat, and looked at Ranpo from the corner of his eye. “Sorry. It’s my first time traveling without Karl.”

“I can tell.” Ranpo shifted in his seat and sat up a little straighter. He gazed out the window and rested his head on his hand. He still hadn’t looked at him, and it made Poe more worried than he’d like to admit. “You don’t have to apologize. I know you’re not doing it on purpose.”

“I-I know you know I’m not doing it on purpose.” Poe’s grip on the wheel tightened, so much that his knuckles turned white. “I’m still sorry though.”

Ranpo didn’t say anything, and for a moment Poe was worried that he would stay upset until he found a way to make it up to him. When he took a look at Ranpo’s face, however, his shoulders relaxed.

A small smile rested on Ranpo’s face. He was looking at the road ahead of them with his green eyes wide open and full of that spark Poe had fallen in love with.

“You might want to look at the road. If you don’t want to get us both killed, that is.” Ranpo’s words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, Poe’s cheeks warmed up, and he did as he was told.

“S-Sorry.” He muttered.

“It’s okay.” Ranpo raised a hand to tuck a lock of Poe’s hair behind his ear. “I like it when you smile. You should do it more often.”

“I-I wasn’t-” Now it wasn’t only his cheeks that burned. He was almost sure the tips of his ears - maybe even his neck too - were bright red as well.

“You were.” Ranpo kissed his cheek, and it took everything in Poe not to slam his foot on the brake and stop the car right then and there to ask Ranpo to kiss him on the lips instead. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“Seems like I was too busy looking at your smile then.”

That seemed to catch him off guard. Ranpo blinked twice, drew his hands to himself and looked at the road ahead of them, but the sudden rosiness of his cheeks gave him away.

“Whatever.” His voice cracked, and it made Poe smile again.

“I love you.” If only Ranpo knew how good it felt to say it.

“I know.” Ranpo ducked his head, but Poe had seen it; the way his mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Love you too.”

[izukiout]

Ranpoe Week 2019

Here’s a little sneak peek of one of my fics for ranpoe week!! I’m on vacation and I may not be able to post them on time, but I’m crossing my fingers because who knows? Maybe I will!

“Please just stop lying already. Even Karl is worried about you.” Poe points at the raccoon on Ranpo’s lap. Karl makes a noise as though the little devil agrees with him. Ranpo furrows his eyebrows, shooing the raccoon away. Karl makes another noise and climbs on Poe’s shoulders. That little traitor. “I am worried about you.”

“Well, you’re wrong. Both of you. I’m fine.”

“I can tell it’s important to you. You don’t talk unless you’re spoken to, and you keep eating and eating nonstop and I just have a feeling that－”

“I told you, I’m fine, just leave me alone!” Ranpo ignores the pang of guilt he feels when Poe flinches. He shouldn’t have raised his voice, he knows; but it isn’t like he can turn back time, and so Ranpo swallows the newly formed lump in his throat and shoves more chips into his mouth.

“You’re the one that called me, and- and told me to come over. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought- I thought-” Ranpo notes the crack in his voice, notices the way Poe’s nails dig in the skin of his arms to keep his hands from shaking, and he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole right then and there. Here Poe is, trying to comfort him for hours now, and what is Ranpo doing? Being an asshole. Great. “I can leave if you want me to.”

“No, don’t-” He throws the now empty bag of chips on the ground and curls himself in a ball, arms wrapped around his legs. “Don’t leave. I just- it’s not that easy to talk about it.”

[izukiout]

The stupid things you do

Ranpoe week 2019

Day 3: Sun in eyes

Read on AO3

He’s been walking for hours. Poe doesn’t know exactly how many, but he can tell. His legs are so weak he’s scared his knees will give in right then and there. His body begs him to take a break, but his brain knows better.

He needs to rest, and he despises himself for it. He despises how dry his mouth is, how thick the sweat rolling down his back is, how useless his eyes are when they’re half-open like this. He’s tired, but he doesn’t dare to stop.

Ranpo is unconscious on his back, and he needs help, and Poe would be damned if he let him down just because of his own stupid weakness.

He was thinking about it, how he found himself in this situation, but that was at the beginning; now he just walks and keeps his thoughts in order, doesn’t let any of them go wild. It’s better this way.

Who cares that some unknown ability user appeared out of nowhere and sent them in the middle of the desert, with nothing but each other? Who cares if they all should have had been more careful, maybe should have had seen it coming too? Who cares if the Armed Detective Agency probably doesn’t know they’re gone?

Poe can’t turn back time. It’s useless to beat himself up for things he can’t change.

What matters now is that he has to get to civilization as soon as possible; if he’s lucky, that will be before it gets dark. If he’s not, he’ll have to hope that they’ll be alive when the sun rises the next day.

No matter what, he mustn't stop walking. Who knows what wounds Ranpo has after getting hit by that blast.

It makes a shiver run down his spine – the thought of him never waking up – but Poe tries not to think about it too much, tries to focus on walking instead.

He doesn’t know when, but at some point, he starts mumbling to himself; and then those monologues end up being directed at Ranpo, although he doubts Ranpo can hear him.

“You shouldn’t have entered that building. You knew you were unarmed, and you knew you would put yourself in danger if you did, but you did it anyway.”

He squints as soon as he looks up at the sky. The sun is too bright and his eyes aren’t strong enough, and so he looks down at the sand again.

“And it was so stupid of you. Brave maybe, yes, but just so stupid that I really don’t know why I went after you.”

It’s a lie. He knows why he went after him, but he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. It’s pathetic, really; how even when he knows Ranpo doesn’t hear a thing he says, he’s still too scared to say just how much he cares about him.

He would do it again. He would go after him as many times as Ranpo asked him to.

“And you should cut it off already and wake up before I lose my mind and get us both killed, are you listening to me? If you wake up now, I’ll forgive you for being as stupid as you were. Please, just-”

His vision is swimming, and he wipes away the few, hot tears that roll down his cheeks. He sniffles and muffles the sob that escapes his lips with his hand. The tears taste like salt in his mouth; they remind him of just how thirsty he is, and he promises not to cry again.

“I need you to wake up, you idiot. Don’t you dare call yourself my friend again if you don’t wake up right now.”

The way he holds Ranpo reminds him of that one time he gave Ranpo a piggyback ride, but the thought brings more tears in his eyes and he pushes it at the back of his mind.

Don’t think. Just walk. It’ll be okay He repeats the sentences in his head, over and over again.

“You know, if- if you think it’s too much work to wake up just- just move around a little bit. Just- just do something. It almost feels like you’re-”

He stops, puts him down and presses two fingers on his neck. After he makes sure there’s a pulse – and after listening to Ranpo’s heartbeat for longer than necessary – Poe scoops him up in his arms and places him on his shoulders again, with such ease like he’s done it a thousand times.

“If you die, I’ll kill you and then kill myself afterwards, do you understand?”

That’s the last thing he remembers when he wakes up. It takes him a moment to remember where they are, but when he does, his eyes widen and he jumps on his feet, looking around him like a maniac, until he spots Ranpo’s body beside his own.

He doesn’t calm down, not when he places two fingers on Ranpo’s neck and knows he’s alive, not when he realizes he must have fallen asleep while walking and nothing else happened. His heart has long started banging on the walls of the prison that is his chest, and is begging to be set free.

He stands up, ignores how painful it is to do it, takes Ranpo on his shoulders, and starts walking again.

Maybe if they’re lucky enough, they’ll stay alive and go home. Maybe if Poe is lucky enough, Ranpo will wake up before they do. Maybe if Ranpo is lucky enough, Poe won’t give up.

Then again, Poe never really believed in luck.

He has already felt the need to stop trying and let the two of them die there so many times it’s almost embarrassing. He tries to be strong, but there’s a part of him that knows he may not be strong enough.

Ranpo expects too much of him. He better thank him when he wakes up, and he better make it up to him when they finally go home.

[ao3feed-skk]

by Shinkirou

Dazai's been leaving work early about once a week. Kunikida sends Atsushi and Kyouka to discover why.

[For day 29 of my 'daily(?) December' challenge, as well as for the very-overdue skk week prompt/day 7, which was the free day.]

Words: 1665, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 7 of SKK Week 2019

Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Izumi Kyouka (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Kunikida Doppo (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Light-Hearted, Fluff and Humor, Established Relationship, Relationship Reveal

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #9: Shackles - Bungou Stray Dogs

“Uhu, no.” “Kunikida-kun...”

“No.”

“I don't see the big deal...”

“Still no.”

“In that case, I have to make it an order.”

“B-but, director...”

To Kunikida's defense, he held his sulks rather stoically for a twenty-four-year-old who was throwing a fit inside a hotel lobby.

“You and Dazai-kun is sharing a room, and that's final,” Fukuzawa announced dryly, if not a little miffed. They were all tired from traveling and were looking forward to spending the night in the comfort of a fancy hotel. The Agency had been given a mission by a large corporation in Akita. It wasn't a particularly complicated mission, and they expected it to mostly be of the theoretical kind, which was why Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai and Ranpo had gone, instead of the agents with the more physical abilities like Atsushi, Kyouka and Kenji.

Really, if it hadn't been for the fact that the company they'd been hired employed a large amount of ability users, it would have been a police matter more than anything.

Kunikida growled defeatedly, trying his hardest to ignore the bandaged nuisance that stood behind him, leaning his head on his shoulder and grinning triumphantly. Not only did he have to sit with him on the train, listening to the cacophony of Dazai's double suicide composition, but now he had to room with him too. He usually didn't long to spend any prolonged amount of time with the miniature detective either, who, despite almost being nearly thirty years old was licking a lollipop vigorously while the Armed Detective President was literally helping him with a wry zipper on his coat. But, considering the alternative, he'd take that infantile genius any day.

“Well, let's hit the hay,” Dazai announced cheerily, grabbing the keycard from the reception clerk as she was about to hand it over to Kunikida, leaving the idealistic man fuming with fury.

Calm down, Droppo. It would be highly unideal to blow a fuse as early in the mission like this. You can hang in there for a couple of days. You're a strong person. You can fight the urge to strangle him.

“Hey, MacGyver,” Dazai singsonged happily. If Kunikida had been a little more alert, he would have stopped himself from reacting to such a stupid nickname. Unfortunately, he did look up at the dark-haired idiot, standing a couple of steps up in the staircase, giving him exactly what he wanted. Attention. “Snoozer's losers!” Dazai splurted out and jolted up the stairs with childlike glee. I can fight the urge to strangle him.

                                                           ➈➈➈

The hotel room was spacious and nice, with dark wood parquet floors and crème colored walls with one accent wall in paneling that matched the floors. The lights radiated warmth, which could almost remind one of the illumination of a fireplace. Two single beds were placed in the middle of the room, both with frames in a pleasant brown color, covered in light bedsheets and bedspreads that matched the rest of the tasteful interior.

Dazai noticed how the surroundings immediately soothed Kunikida's sour mood. Good, he thought.

Personally, he had never understood how one's habitat could affect one's mood that much. He had never been one for materialism. Really, he was more than satisfied as long as he had a roof over his head. A bed and a blanket were a bonus, and an own bathroom with bathroom facilities was simply a luxury.

He guessed he preferred the simplicity of having nothing more but the bare necessities. As an executive in the Port Mafia, he had been completely overwhelmed by the opulence of his executive suite. His dorm room at the Agency felt much more comfortable to him. “Well, I guess we should go to bed. We have an early start tomorrow,” Kunikida determined, placing his suitcase on the bed he had decided on (the one farthest from the window, because the air seeps through the cracks and can give you a throat or ear infection, Dazai mimicked in his mind), and started to unpack the neatly folded clothes inside. Dazai shoved his own light traveling bag inside the larger space of the closet, ignoring the disapproving glare from his partner, before shrugging off his jacket and gingerly placing it on a wooden hanger before hanging it inside and shutting the door. The only thing he grabbed from his bag before tossing it aside, was his toiletries which he brought with him into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

At least, seemingly, getting ready for bed. This was exactly what Dazai had dreaded. This mission was going to take at least a week to complete, and he would have to share a bedroom this whole time. Usually, he would unwrap his bandages at night to let his skin breathe, but that was out of the question. The worst part of this whole trip was that he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten an undisturbed night of sleep. There was a lot about his past he couldn't remember. It seemed to have been blocked out of his mind, and he had no desire of getting those pieces of his life back. But at night when unconscious, things tended to come back to him. Nightmares would terrorize him every single night when he was able to sleep. Once, after an especially long time of being unable to even shut his eyes without being struck by his past abuse like a lightning bolt, Yosano had slipped him a bottle of sleeping aids. Apparently, he looked like shit (her words) and it was clear he wasn't getting enough sleep. That night he had tried them. Reading the possible side effects being nausea, headaches, sleepiness (well duh), he saw that one of them were actually suicidal thoughts- so, if he wasn't able to get a peaceful night of sleep from them, there still might be something good to come from of it. It was the worst night he could remember ever having (at least sleeping wise). Before even falling asleep, he started hallucinating terrifying images. The branches scratching at his windows suddenly turned into fingers grasping at the henges and trying to get in. The ceiling was suddenly melting and faceless people were appearing out of the shadows gliding against the walls, throwing their grisly chains after him and trying to pull him back into the hell his mind had been gracious enough to suppress. And when he was incapable of keeping himself awake, he'd been trapped inside the night terrors for several hours, the drugs making it impossible to tear himself awake. That night had covered more of his horrid past than any night before or since. So, he had already decided that he wasn't going to sleep on this mission. He was completely capable of going several days without sleep, he'd done it many times. An entire week though, he was unsure about, but he would do the best he could. Finishing brushing his teeth and changing his bandages, an ordeal that usually took him about forty five minutes, he changed into his sleeping attire, a long-sleeved cotton shirt in white and black sweatpants, and returned to Kunikida in their joint room.

“About time, what the hell were you even doing in there?” Kunikida growled irritated.

“Stealing soap,” Dazai shrugged and settled into his bed. “Are you insane?” Kunikida snapped, starting a tirade about professionalism, hygiene (because; could they really know if they set out new soap to every new guest? They might re-melt old bars or refill bottles with old soap- to which Dazai answered that in which case, it was a good thing that he took it so they couldn't reuse it anymore) and the general criminal system because of it was technically a criminal offense to steal anything.

Dazai tuned his partner out. He actually enjoyed the familiar background noise before the dreaded night. There was something comforting about the normality of it, reminding him that everything was actually just like it was supposed to be and that nothing was going to lurk out from the dark corners or try to get in through the windows in spite the fact that they were currently residing on the thirteenth floor.

While Kunikida set the timer for his nightly ritual, Dazai settled in for the night, putting on his earphones and sinking underneath the hospitality of his thick comforter.                       ��                                   ➈➈➈

The next day, Kunikida woke up at six in the morning like he always did. Even if everyone wasn't going to meet up until nine, Dazai knew that Kunikida would never, not even on the weekends, sleep in late. Dazai was grateful for the predictability of his partner's actions. That meant that he could lay down and pretend to be asleep before he woke up. Dazai had spent the night reading over the mission files more times than he cared to hold a count of, as well as re-reading his trusted favorite book, gathering inspiration in case the mission would become extremely tedious and he had to concoct a suicide poison of office supplies. Ink or battery acid seemed like his safest bets- sniffing sharpies would likely just make the work more entertaining, and before he would even know it, they might have another “mushroom incident” on their hands. Kunikida had not been happy with him that day (which was reason enough for a repetition).

The day went by painfully slowly. It was apparent that he would be stuck in a vacant office for the majority of the week, trying to crack hidden codes left by the culprits to communicate between each other in a series of sealed documents. It seemed like work suited best for Ranpo, but the kid wasn't even able to figure out how to turn on the damn computer, so that left the boring part of their mission to him.

Once nighttime dawned upon them once again, Dazai repeated his schpiel, getting ready for bed and settling under the covers without much hassle, pretending to be asleep before Kunikida was done in the bathroom. He had started to become tired now, but he knew he had another night in him easily.                                                         ➈➈➈ 

The day after looked much like the day before, with him downing coffee, locked inside the office, scrolling through hundreds of pages of numbers and codes, trying to keep himself alert of any series of numbers that didn't seem to add up. It was getting harder now. His eyesight seemed to double from time to time if he didn't stay fixated, and he fell in and out of concentration, staring sheepishly onto the screen, scrolling down the pages mindlessly.                                                        ➈➈➈

On the fourth day, he had started getting concerned glances from his coworkers. He wasn't blind (just nearly, but only on the one eye), he could see the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror, and he had a constant twitch at the edge of his left one. He felt it too. He was so tired that turning his head towards the president to answer his question (that he had no idea what was) at their morning meeting, felt like he had to rotate a small mountain all on his own. “...your daily report, do you have it?” Fukuzawa repeated. Dazai couldn't remember if he asked him to repeat or not, but he nodded carefully, not wanting to rattle his aching head more than necessary, and pulled outa neatly assembled folder and handed it over.

“There's definitely some correspondence there. It's subtle. They're using a...” He couldn't remember the word for it. Frowning slightly, he made a gesture at them to forget about it. “Ranpo can figure it out. I've highlighted what I could find.”

The rest of the meeting went by without much input from him. Only small noises of approval or disapproval when he was being addressed directly, and he was seriously starting to consider sniffing on the sharpies for a shot of energy.

It was almost a relief once he was able to lock himself back into the dark room with the computer and cases of flash drives. Heavily, he collapsed into the comfortable chair he'd been provided with and poured himself a cup of coffee before booting up the computer and busying himself with his work.                                                        ➈➈➈ Before he even realized it, he jerked awake, quickly realizing he had nodded off. Two weary hands came up to drag over his face, and for a short while, he just sat there, resting his head while trying to wipe the fatigue from his facial features. He wasn't sure if he could do this anymore. At some point, he would have to get some shut-eye. Knowing from experience that clinical depression tended to become so much worse from a couple of days without sleep, as well as the increased paranoia that his state of mind could not handle.

The problem was, that the paranoia he would feel when sleep-deprived, was not the same kind of paranoia he should have felt then and there. Because if he did, he might have been more altered to the shadow that lurked behind him.

Before he could register the firm grasp on his hair, his head was thrown forwards, hitting the keyboard at high force. Immediately, he felt his nose crack on impact and he glided, stunned, to the floor.

Within seconds after hitting the floor, a boot stomped on his chest. The wind got knocked out of him, and he struggled to get his body to obey his commands. A little too late, he grabbed at the boot, but it slipped through his fingers before it came down on him once again. A choked gasp escaped him before he kicked with his feet, trying to roll over and get up.

The unknown apparition got in another few hits before he was on his feet. Dazai blocked the next couple of punches as the culprit seemed to start charging an ability induced attack. Dazai calmly touched the person, and the energy he was producing between his hands was killed off instantly. Using the moment of confusion to his advantage, Dazai grabbed the dark-clad figure by the shoulder and spun him around, pressing him violently against the wall. Finally, footsteps were heard outside, and the door was quickly unlocked. Fukuzawa and Kunikida entered, stun gun and katana raised, ready for attack. Ranpo was standing a couple of feet behind them, curious while on guard. “Dazai, are you okay?” Fukuzawa inquired grimly, slowly lowering his weapon as he deemed the situation under control. Dazai tried to sniff in the blood streaming from his nose before he turned around, but the flow was too heavy and he had to admit defeat and let it flow freely.

“Peachy,” he grinned as convincingly as he could, not loosening his hold on his attacker until Kunikida came to take over. Dazai let go and slowly waggled away in a sudden dizzy spell, steadying himself against the wall. He didn't even realize that he drifted down to a sitting position on the floor before Fukuzawa leaned down and held a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Kunikida can take care of things here. I'll take you to a doctor.”

He was sure he argued against it, but the next time Dazai found himself aware of his surroundings, he sat on the examination table at a doctor's office, getting his broken nose forced back into place with a wet cracking sound.

Apparently, he had broken his nose and a rib and needed a few stitches on the bridge of his nose and over his right eyebrow.

At this point, he felt so out of it that he was unable to argue when Fukuzawa decided to steady him back into the waiting car once he was fixed up, and followed him back to his hotel room. Once inside, he was discarded on his bed, where he fell asleep instantly.                                                            ➈➈➈

He was shackled to the wall. Tight, rough chains bore into his fragile skin as he tried to wiggle his wrists out of them, adding to the burning, bleeding marks varnishing his juvenile skin. He had figured out how to dislocate his thumbs now, making it easier to slip his hands through the firm iron rings of his cuffs. So now, they had placed another cuff around his neck. Even if he tired- he couldn't dislocate that. Not if he wanted to get away from here.

There was no way in hell that he'd give them the satisfaction of killing himself in here- they were not going to see him crumble. Not going to see him give up. He was going to keep breathing until the day he could look them in the eyes as they bled out and suffered from the same torture they had inflicted upon him for years on end. He was going to live until the day he could hear them scream in agony. Hear them beg for release.

Years went by before he could do that. Years of burning hot branding irons, electricity, and painful medical experiments. Years of watching clones of himself being developed inside test tubes, maturing inside small bottles of liquid and being born from sick DNA splicing and engineering.

His clones always turned out so macabre. Usually developing an extra body part or completely missing one. The ones that clearly was lacking his ability of nullification were slain as soon as they were “born”, and the ones who did, usually died a long agonizing death from organ failure, if they were ever viable at all.

Their remains were laying there, rotting inside his holding cell. He couldn't even smell it anymore, he was so used to it.

His head hurt. It always did when he was starting to remember something. Something he had forgotten and was fighting its way to the surface, usually making his grim existence even more unbearable.

What triggered it this time, seemed to be the new chain around his neck. ...it was raining. His clothes felt heavy, making his emaciated body struggle even harder to move. The memory was blue- usually symbolizing that it was bad. All his memories were blue or red. But the red ones had only come recently, and he hadn't even been granted the fortune of suppressing them yet.

He was staggering along, suddenly dropping to his knees in a puddle, quickly being pulled up by the chain around his neck by... someone. A man. He didn't have a face, but he still visited in his dreams sometimes.

It was the day he got here- he hadn't even realized that there was a before. For the longest time, he thought he was one of the experiments. The clones.

...maybe he was. Maybe he was just that one successful clone, abilities, memories and all from the original host. Fuck! He was such an abomination- he had never had the right to be alive at all. No wonder life was so painful.

And then, they were back, those nameless, faceless scientists, and he knew it was time for another round of... of...

...of what exactly, he wasn't sure. He only remembered it would be cruel and extremely agonizing.

The cuffs were taken off- but it didn't matter. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up anyway. His head thudded to the stone floor, while his hands laid uselessly by his side, his body unable to move. New shackles were added, and he felt his already dislocated elbows being tugged forward, forcing him to try and stand up but he couldn't only stumble his way after them, as fast as he was physically able.

Once inside the room (the room- the- the fucking room), he understood what was going to happen. He couldn't quite see it but he still knew and it was bad he had done bad and it was starting all over again. He was hurled onto the table (the cold table, the one that always hurt and he didn't want to please don't-) and leather straps were being tightly fastened on his head, chest, arms, abdomen and feet.

The doctor prepared the needle that was supposed to make him mellow and obey but it hurt- hurt so much and it slowly, agonizingly slowly, was being lowered towards his...

“Dazai!”

Finally catching his breath, he threw himself off the bed he suddenly knew he was lying on and scrambled across the floor, pushing his back against the wall (because the wall is safe, no one can come up from behind- no one can surprise me and I can fight if they do) and curled tightly in on himself, hiding behind his knees and simultaneously protecting his vitals.

How long had he forgotten to breathe?

He was out of breath, panting, before he realized that he wasn't tied down anymore.

And he was certainly not alone. Shit.

Hesitantly, he looked up and into the somber, steeled gaze of Fukuzawa, who was standing over him in a slight crouch. Dazail looked to his sides, making sure that there weren't any more spectators before he warily brushed both of his hands through his hair, winching a little as his fingers brushed over the newly stitched wound over his eyebrow.

“I had a bad dream,” Dazai chuckled apologetically, trying his best to glue on a smile for his superior.

“Yes, you seem to be prone to those,” Fukuzawa answered gravely, not averting his eyes from his subordinate.

“Tsk, not really,” Dazai tried but understood that his bluff had been caught long before this moment. He lowered his head, resting it on his knees while waiting for Fukuzawa's verdict.

The silver-haired man used a bit more time than Dazai had anticipated before he spoke again.

“I'm sorry for this.”

His reply made Dazai's slightly swollen eyes peer up. Unintelligble, he uttered a weak, “Huh?”

“I'm sorry for putting you through this. I know sharing rooms is hard for you.”

Dazai had no idea where this was coming from. How in the world could Fukuzawa know about his nightmares? Unable to say anything in return, he just looked quizzically at his elder.

“I've read Yosano's reports, Dazai-kun. I know about your nightmares. They’ve occurred everytime you've been commited to the infirmary since you started with us, and I don't think I have to tell you that it's been quite a lot of times during these past years.”

There was a small pause, clearly left for Dazai to say something. But when he didn't, Fukuzawa continued.

“So, I know how you struggle with sleeping. And I knew before going on this mission that you'd have a hard time... I know you, Dazai-kun. You wouldn't want to be a nuisance. Unfortunatly, we only got these two rooms, the rest of the hotel is stacked. I thought that sharing a room with  Kunikida would be the best way for you to relax. If I could, I'd put Ranpo, Kunikida and myself in one room and you by yourself... but that would've been a bit strange...”

Dazai was slowly beginning to relax now that his boss was starting to speak a little more informally. He always liked to witness the humanity of the usually stoic man. Lowering his shoulders a bit and working on the strenght to get back to bed, the trembling in his knees made it clear to him that he wasn't ready to move just yet. Now, he felt like he needed to say something. Something to disarm the situation.

“I...” was all he could muster before his voice broke off and he had to settle back into his defensive seat on the floor. Fukuzawa seemed saddened by it, which only crushed Dazai’s heart. He never wanted to see the man who had taken a chance on him when no one else would in such disarray because of his own foolishness. He loathed himself for it.

“If it's of any consolation, the guy you caught has admitted to everything. He's given us all the names of his culprits, and we're looking at a hefty bonus for finishing the job early.”

Dazai mustered up a smile, tired eyes creaking at the raising of his cheekbones. Fukuzawa retuned it and leaned down, helping Dazai stand up and settle onto the bed.

“Now, I want you to sleep. We're not leaving until tomorrow morning, and the rest of us have a lot of work to do down at the police station. You've done your part and then some. We probably won't return until late. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

Dazai was already half asleep on the bed but nodded vaugly before letting out a deep, easy exhale and grabbed onto his pillow. Never had he been comfortable being in such a vounerable position in front of anyone. He wasn't sure if it simply was exhaustion or if it was... trust? But for the first time since he didn't know when, he felt happy to settle into bed, for several hours of a good night's sleep.

Fukuzawa stayed with him until soft snores were heard steaidly with each breath of Dazai’s broken nose. Then, he gingerly pulled the comforter over him, before shutting the lights and exiting the room.

Ranpo and Kunikida was waiting outside.

“How's he doing?” Ranpo asked worriedly with a slight knot between his eyebrows.

“Better,” Fukuzawa answered with a soft smile, ruffling his as-good-as-adopted son's head over his hat.

“Is he asleep?” Kunikida asked grimly, trying to get a look inside the room before Fukuzawa carefully closed the door, trying to make it as soundless as possible to not jostle their sleeping coworker.

“For now,” the silver-fox replied earnestly. There wasn't any quick-fix to Dazai's issues, but this was a start as good as any.

The three of them walked silently towards the second hotel room, ready to settle in for the night. It was time for Dazai to rest comfortably. And if that meant for one of three grown men to swallow their pride and sleep on a sofabed, that would just have to do.

[ao3feed-skk]

by setosdarkness

Reasons why Nakahara Chuuya is the scariest, most badass motherfucker in the whole of Yokohama—and not solely because of Arahabaki or his exemplary work as a mafioso. He’s the only one capable of making Dazai willingly volunteer to do chores. WILLINGLY, because it cannot be stressed enough.

(Alternately: you know you’ve hit the relationship jackpot when you actually enjoy doing chores with your partner.) (Take two: 5 chores Dazai willingly did and did well + the 1 chore that Chuuya would rather die than let Dazai do)

Words: 9485, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of the 'why does nobody believe we're actually married' verse

Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Bungou Stray Dogs Ensemble

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Soukoku Fluff Week 2019, Day 4: Domestic, Established Relationship, 5+1 Things, Fluff and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Canon Timeline, Married Life, Public Display of Affection, Unconventional Mating Rituals of Soukoku, soukoku being Extra, Love Confessions, Implied Sexual Content, (implied sskk ranpoe morifuku)

[ao3feed-skk]

by Ikiyou

Snippets and scenes for Soukoku Angst Week 2019

Day 1: Flowers (Jumanji AU - because why do flowers always have to mean hanahaki? ;)

Words: 1788, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Survival Horror, Horror, Angst, skkangstwk2k19, Jumanji AU

[ao3feed-skk]

by UchihaSaya

Soukoku Fluff Week 2019 -Day 3- : Kisses.

"Dazai is so obsessed about hiding something with the mask that he suddenly wore but Chuuya wasn't ready to let him be till he finds his secret ."

Words: 1473, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Soukoku Fluff Week 2k19

Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Short & Sweet, Domestic Fluff, only fluff, And More Fluff, Because they deserve to be happy too !, Soukoku Fluff Week 2019, Day 3, Kisses, Forehead Kisses, Morning Kisses, Neck Kissing, Both of them are childish, Love

[ao3feed-skk]

by Gardenia (LycorisSoul)

Chuuya goes visits Dazai after the doctors are done seeing him. His other visitors were in for a surprise.

What are summaries?

Words: 927, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Ozaki Kouyou (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Izumi Kyouka (Bungou Stray Dogs), Miyazawa Kenji (Bungou Stray Dogs), Kunikida Doppo (Bungou Stray Dogs), Edogawa Ranpo (Bungou Stray Dogs), Tanizaki Junichirou (Bungou Stray Dogs), Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Soukoku Fluff Week 2019, Day 6

[izukiout]

I owe you

Ranpoe Week 2019

Day 5: Stay

Read on AO3

“Are you sure you’re okay?

His hold on the bag of chips tightens. This has to be the hundredth time Poe has asked him that.

“Don’t I look okay to you?” He asks, before he shoves another handful of chips in his mouth.

“You seem a bit…” Poe falls quiet, and Ranpo stops eating.

“A bit?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m eating. How is that acting weird?”

“Please just stop lying already. Even Karl is worried about you.” Poe points at the raccoon on Ranpo’s lap. Karl makes a noise as though the little devil agrees with him, and Ranpo furrows his eyebrows and shoos him away. Karl makes another noise and climbs on Poe’s shoulders. That little traitor. “I’m worried about you.”

“Well, you’re wrong. Both of you. I’m fine.”

“I can tell it’s important to you. You don’t talk unless you’re spoken to, and you keep eating and eating nonstop and I just have a feeling that－”

“I told you, I’m fine, just leave me alone!” Ranpo ignores the pang of guilt he feels when Poe flinches. He shouldn’t have raised his voice, he knows. It isn’t like he can do anything about it now though, so Ranpo swallows the newly formed lump in his throat and shoves more chips into his mouth.

“You’re the one that called me, and- and told me to come over. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought- I thought-” Ranpo notes the crack in his voice, the way Poe’s nails dig in the skin of his arms to keep his hands from shaking, and he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole right then and there. Here Poe is, trying to comfort him for hours now, and what is Ranpo doing? Being an asshole. Great. “I can leave if you want me to.”

“No, don’t-” He throws the now empty bag of chips on the ground and curls himself in a ball. “Don’t leave. I just- it’s not that easy to talk about it.”

“It will make you feel better though.” Ranpo feels the couch shift beside him, and he doesn’t need to look to know that Poe’s sitting beside him. Karl’s fur tickles at the back of his neck, but he won’t complain. It’s comforting to know that the raccoon trusts him enough to sit on his shoulders. “What happened?”

“They were just being stupid, and rude… and stupid.”

“Did someone say something they shouldn’t have?”

“Oh, they said a lot of things they shouldn’t have.” Ranpo’s grip on his pants tightens. Whether Poe doesn’t notice, or if he does and chooses not to comment on it, Ranpo doesn’t know.

“They?”

“Well, not all of them, but- yes. I wish you were there, I was ridiculously outnumbered.”

When Ranpo glances at Poe from the corner of his eye, he’s fidgeting with his fingers, looking everywhere but him. It makes the smallest smile touch Ranpo’s lips – for some reason he likes it when Poe gets all shy around him – but he’s quick to make it disappear. This isn’t the time.

“What did they do exactly?”

“You know how Kunikida is.” Ranpo says. “And how he sometimes gets upset when I don’t finish all my work on time?”

“Yes.” Poe drags out the word and frowns. “But that is kind of an everyday thing though? I don’t see how-”

“Ah, but you didn’t let me finish!”

“Right. Sorry.”

“As I was saying – before you went on and jumped into conclusions – Kunikida got mad because I didn’t finish writing some stupid report; I don’t even remember what case it was on! The problem is that he had already been mad at Dazai, and since he couldn’t find him, I was the one who had to face Kunikida’s anger and frustration at the both of us, because Dazai was out doing God knows what.”

Poe blinks twice. He opens his mouth but closes it as soon as he does so. There’s silence for a few moments, before he finally mumbles. “I thought you could easily deal with Kunikida’s, uh, mood swings?”

“The problem wasn’t what Kunikida said.”

“Then what was it?”

“The president happened to be walking by… and he-” Ranpo gulps, taking a few short breaths through his nose. His voice cracked, and wasn't going to let it happen again. “He said some things.”

“Is that why you left earlier than usual?” Only when he talks does Ranpo notice that Poe has placed a hand on his shoulder. He is surprised by how soft and warm it is, how it distracts him from the numb pain in his chest as he talks.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to. He told me to leave.”

“I’m sure he didn’t-”

“No, you weren’t there and you don’t know how he- how he just- looked at me and just-” His vision is swimming, and he shuts his eyes as though it’s enough to make the tears disappear just like that. “I don’t want to talk about it. He probably doesn’t even know why I got as upset as I did.”

“I see.”

Ranpo expects him to say something else, anything that could get his mind off of thinking about what happened, but Poe says nothing, and there comes a long silence after that.

Just when he thinks his mind is eating him alive, Poe chuckles. It’s short, but it’s loud enough for Ranpo to open his eyes and look up at him.

“What is it?”

“Ah, n-nothing, just-” He reaches over to take Karl and place him on his lap. “He was moving around, I’m surprised you didn’t feel it. He’s probably hungry.”

Ranpo stands up. Hands on his hips, he keeps his head high as he makes his way into the kitchen. “Let’s see if I have anything that can satisfy his hunger.”

He comes back with a few cookies, some with and others without chocolate. He hands the chocolate ones to Poe as he feeds Karl the other ones, not really asking for Poe’s permission to do so; he’s fed Karl more times than he cares to count.

When Karl is done eating, he’s a bit more like himself. He sits on Poe’s lap and closes his eyes, probably taking a nap.

Ranpo fights the urge to do the same.

“These are for you.” Ranpo glances at the chocolate cookies. He leans back and buries his body deeper into the couch, as though if he could make himself smaller, he wouldn’t be as embarrassed.

“F-For me?”

“Yes. For you. That’s what I said.” Ranpo feels his cheeks warm up, and he clears his throat. “Now eat them before I change my mind.”

Poe does just that. He’s painfully slow at first; he’s chewing and gulping so hesitantly that Ranpo almost thinks he doesn’t like the taste, but he becomes more confident the more he eats, and Ranpo lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you.” Ranpo says it so quietly he’s almost scared he’ll have to repeat himself, but Poe stops eating and hums. He doesn’t say anything, but Ranpo can tell that hum is something like you’re welcome or maybe even anytime if he’s lucky, just the way the cookies are something like a thank you for being there for me when I needed you the most and I owe you big time.

They don’t talk much after that, but Ranpo knows he really doesn’t need Poe to talk to make him feel better. All he needs is to feel Poe’s shoulder brush against his, and all he needs to hear is Poe’s breathing fill the awful silence of his room along with his own.

Poe is there with him, and that’s more than enough.