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chuellas · 26 days ago

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Auld Lang Syne | You never thought you’d make it to the New Year after the events of this previous one, but here you are spending it with both new and old acquaintances.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, terms “Doll” & “Baby” used, Dazai makes a questionable decision, WC: 1.8k

A/N | I am so incredibly late to this but I’m a sucker for a good New Year’s kiss fic >.<

It’s strange to be celebrating after all that’s happened in the last year. There is certainly plenty to celebrate, but there’s also plenty to mourn over too. The feelings are conflicting, however, the more you drink the more you’re leaning towards the former. Maybe you’ve done enough grieving.

The other odd thing is the presence of the Port Mafia, in fact, the event you’re attending with your colleagues is being hosted by the very organization your president had previously declared an enemy. Sure, both the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia had worked together in order to stop the catastrophe that was Fyodor Dostoevsky, but that was only circumstantial — “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” You had thought it was one of those situations, but maybe Mori and Fukuzawa saw a benefit of everyone working together.

It’s not often that you agree with Dazai, but the two of you are on the same page as you lurk in a corner, unhappy with the situation. You both should have taken a page out of Yosano’s book and faked being ill. Although you think if anyone deserves to play hooky this evening it’s her. The one truly jarring thing about this evening is just how many wary looks the two of you were getting. Most are being directed towards the former “Demon Prodigy” but considering your past with the Port Mafia, quite a few were directed towards you as well.

“How far into the fall do you think someone would get before passing out from shock?” You side eye Dazai at his words, only to find he has turned around and is now leaning over the ledge of the highrise you're on gazing down at the street far below almost longingly with his champagne glass still in hand.

Normally you wouldn’t entertain his intrusive thoughts but you’ll take the morbid question as a distraction from the pair of bicolored eyes that have been glued to you all night, making your skin itch with anxiety. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? You turn your head to peer over the ledge yourself and let out a breathy snort.

“Would a fall like that even scare someone like you? Most people that fall from this height pass out from shock because of how scared they are.” You take a sip of your champagne, the back of your head burning from the hole being seared into it.

Dazai turns back to you with an exacerbated expression on his face. As if he isn’t the one that brought up the subject. This is what you get for humoring him instead of just continuing to side eye him like you usually do.

“I wasn’t talking about just myself!” The brunette looks like he’s about to protest more but he goes silent when something behind you catches his attention and suddenly his face shifts into a dangerously amused smile.

You shiver and it’s not from the cold. “What? Quit smiling like that, you’re freaking me out.”

“You have an admirer.” He practically sings the words and you’re once again acutely aware of the gaze that’s been almost glued to you all night.

“I’m quite aware that he’s been staring but thanks for reminding me, Osamu.” Your voice is dripping with sarcasm as you scowl and take a generous sip of your champagne, finishing it off, while Dazai’s grin only widens.

Chuuya has been watching you all night. He tried approaching you earlier, thinking he could just smooth talk his way back into your good graces, but you pointedly avoided him until he got the message. You didn’t want to talk to him until you were inebriated enough to not care. So far you’re at 3 glasses of champagne and the thought of the ginger still irritates you. The thought of him plotting with Dazai and packing up to go to Europe and try to play hero still pisses you off.

Dazai got a mouthful from you when he got back. He was apologizing to you for weeks before you finally let up and forgave him. But Chuuya has apparently been too busy with Port Mafia matters to put in more than half of the work Dazai did.

The Port Mafia executive has a long way to go until you’ll willingly give him your attention.

The problem is, you don’t want to be mad at him. You want to ring in the New Year with him. You want him to be your last kiss of this year and the first kiss of next year. You want to be securely in his arms, the place you feel the safest in this world, when the year starts. You want to start it off right.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, too stubborn and upset to approach him but internally yearning for his touch and attention.

You should have just stayed home.

Dazai’s cinnamon eyes flit between you and what you can only assume is his former partner behind you. You watch as something washes across his face in a short wave, something so small that you would have missed it entirely if you didn’t know Dazai as well as you do. Guilt. He still feels guilty for several things but you think this time specifically is for taking Chuuya away from you and not cluing you in on any of their plans. Dazai would never in a million years admit that, though.

So instead he says, “Y’know…I’ll never understand how the slug ever managed to captivate a girl as beautiful as you, but I do understand just how much you mean to him. Maybe you should cut him some slack, for both of your sakes.”

His words elicit another side eye from you, this one far more suspicious than the others. He puts arms up in mock surrender, a goofy grin spreading across his face when he looks behind you again with a nod. He’s up to something but before you can figure out what it is, Dazai is hoisting you up and unceremoniously tossing over the railing.

You’re falling, plummeting to the ground and suddenly his question from earlier made sense. You shouldn’t have entertained him, you should have scolded him and walked away. This was another one of their plans. Somehow you weren’t scared, you knew he would come catch you. He always did.

Your body, however, didn’t have as much confidence in Chuuya as your mind did. You feel an unsettling queasiness wash over you, waves of panic thrashing inside your stomach. Vertigo is surely fast behind with the way everything is moving around you in a blur that’s disorienting. But before it can barrel over you, a familiar sensation spreads across your skin, it’s warm and familiar. Almost like home.

Gentle, yet firm hands grip onto you and slowly halt your fall to a stop and suspend you in the air.

“I’ll kill that damn Dazai for pushing you over like that. Are you ok? Didn’t hurt yourself while falling did you?” His voice drips with concern and you can practically see the crease in between his brows.

Somewhere in your free fall you had screwed your eyes shut. You hadn’t even realized you’d done it or why. Maybe to try and settle the heavy nausea you were experiencing or maybe because there was that small part of you that was whispering in your ear that Chuuya wouldn’t make it to you in time.

You take in a stuttered breath, grip instinctively tightening on his arms as he shifts gravity again so the two of you are standing comfortably on the side of the high rise you were just pushed off of.

You open your eyes to find one brown and one blue eye watching you cautiously. “...You didn't put him up to this?”

Your tone is accusatory and Chuuya flinches at the implication. A flash of hurt displays on his features before he looks away with a frown.

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d go along with a plan that insane. I know you’re pissed at me but c’mon, Doll, d’you really think I’d risk your safety like that?”

The answer is ‘no, of course not’ but the words get caught in your throat for some odd reason. You try to form the words but your vision blurs and throat spasms. When you finally get your lips to part a hiccup spills from them and you find yourself crying. Your fingers sink further into his arms, biting into the cloth.

Gloved fingers are instantly caressing your face, wiping away at the tears spilling from your eyes. You lean into his touch, finally giving into him. You come to the realization that Dazai was right, of course he was right, you hate that he usually is. You’re never going to hear the end of it from him. You know he’s watching you admit to yourself that you miss Chuuya more than you’re upset with him.

You melt into the Port Mafia Executive and let his ever present warmth sooth your distress, within moments you’re calmed down enough to form an actual response.

“I know you wouldn’t.” You look up at the ginger and smile weekly at him. “Make sure to thank Dazai before you kill him, he pushed me, quite literally, to forgive you.”

Chuuya rests his forehead on yours and lets out a relieved but tired sigh. “I missed you-”

He’s cut off by the whole city erupting in cheers and fireworks going off, a signal that the new year has started. Chuuya searches your eyes for a quick moment, looking for any possible opposition to what he was about to do. He doesn’t find any.

The executive is quick to lean in and tenderly place his lips atop yours in the sweetest kiss you think you’ve ever experienced. It’s gentle but filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. Before you can figure it out, Chuuya is pulling back with a smile.

“Happy New Year, Baby.”

Your smile is wide when you reciprocate the sentiment. “Happy New Year, Yacchan.”

The ginger opens his mouth to say something else but is cut off once again, this time by a mess of tousled brown hair peering over the ledge again and a sing-song tone. “You guys owe me! I think I should receive a New Year's kiss too!”

You watch in amusement as Chuuya’s brow twitches and his jaw clenches. “How ‘bout you kiss my damn fist you jackass!”

Dazai sticks his tongue out at him, taunting him like always — knowing exactly which buttons to push and you can’t help the light laughter that escapes your throat. You missed this. You missed them, despite how much they make you worry. The familiarity of it all spreads a warmth through your chest and you can’t help the feeling that this will, in fact, be a good year. Maybe the best you’ve had in a while.

#chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya x you #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x you #chuuya x fem!reader #bsd x fem!reader #bungo stray dogs x fem!reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd #bungou stray dogs #writings ʚїɞ

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misslycoris · 1 month ago

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AULD LANG SYNE

For old time's sake — Alastor spends the new year remembering a person from his distant past.

STORY TAGS Angst, childhood friends, flashback, happy ending but not really but everyone's happy, no smut, gender neutral reader, no mention of y/n

“𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝,

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑�� 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍?

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝,

𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚎?”

New years meant a lot to Alastor. In his first year in Hell, it gave him the opportunity to see his first extermination day. Twenty-four hours of bloodshed delivered by Heaven's savages dressed in gray. The stroke of midnight signaled another year for him to spend terrorizing Hell and crushing the next incompetent power hoarder under his boot.

But after his untimely absence, celebrating the new year had taken on a different meaning for him. Charlie had a habit of celebration, she likes holding celebrations, yes, but more than that she loved reviving celebrations. From Valentine's Day, Easter, even until Christmas — not even Hell's counterpart Sinsmas — did she persuade her hotel patrons to celebrate. New Year's Eve was today's victim, even the impending danger of this year's extermination day wasn't enough to dissuade her.

"Alright, everyone! We have a few minutes left, and I just wanted to take a moment to make a toast!" Charlie happily stood up, raising her slim tall glass of champagne.

"For all of you who have been with me since the beginning, for those of you who have stayed with this hotel even if, uh, things were not so great." Vaggie held her shoulder with a reassuring smile.

"For those of you who are here despite our differences in beliefs and for those that we've lost. This hotel would've never been where it is if it weren't for all of you." It was a sentimental moment, with Charlie trying to wipe the tears that were threatening to spill out of the corner of her eyes.

"So, everyone! Let's spend tonight together and remember those that we've lost. Let's continue to live happily as friends and family! To a happy new year!" Each resident held up their glasses, chirping back her greetings before being absorbed back into their own conversations.

"Those that we've lost, huh?" Alastor mused to himself as he snuck off to the hotel's balcony. He's had enough socializing for one night, he could use a little break and a good glass of whiskey.

Outside the hotel was the same view as it always was, even if Charlie had her way in the hotel, the rest of Hell seemed more busy with preparing themselves for the annual cleanse. The smell of sulfur was a little more tolerable tonight, the noise downtown wasn't as bad as it usually was, and the harsh lights of the city were muted tonight. It was the calm before the storm, a moment of peace and a taste of what a quiet night would be like.

It gave him room to think and let his mind wander.

Back in the simpler days when he used to celebrate the arrival of a new year with other people in a nicer house than his, dressing up to the nines and pretending to have a happy family. A classic scene from his childhood to his early teen years that brought a smile that wasn't so difficult to etch on his face.

His family consisted of him and his mother, anyone else he may have forgotten to mention was rotten scum. Besides his blood-related family, however, were the people of his old neighborhood before he had moved into the city. Lovely folks the lot of them, all smiling and happy like they hadn't had a care in the world. It was especially true when they celebrated New Year's. He remembered lots of fireworks, and neighborhood parties where families either ate inside their houses or hosted a generous party for others to attend. Kids running around before being scolded by their parents, back to bed once midnight strikes, they've stayed up late for long enough they say.

It was in one of those celebrations he met you.

Odd little thing you were, traveling with your folks around the country, actors in those silent films his family sometimes watched in the local theater. They were eccentric, often going around in random out-of-the-way neighborhoods to spend your vacations away from the hectic cities. You were often left alone by the other children, you were new and nobody was brave enough to approach you and your odd family. You were simply that kid their mothers would force them to play with.

Alastor was similar in some regards.

His mother often went on long tirades about how every single kid in the neighborhood avoided her son like the plague and she hasn't got a clue why. Her son was obedient, kind, and more respectful than the others, so why was it he was always on his own?

Alastor chuckled at the thought. If only his mother knew how much of a devil he was, a little hellion who punched kids like there was no tomorrow before scaring them out of their wits. She would faint if she knew!

But that was why when his mother saw you, she had the grand idea of putting you and him together, ain't no better way to force foster friendship between two outcasts.

"Be nice okay? I'll be right over there servin' up the jambalaya." She ruffled his hair before leaving the both of you in an awkward silence. Alastor considers it the first experience he had with dealing with difficult people, and as the first of this instance, he was out of his element. He didn't like how quiet you were, he didn't like how you didn't mind it either. His family was always loud, in more ways than one, but his mother had always showered him with a lively home, one filled with music and smiles. Weren't you supposed to come from a couple of actors? Surely you had to have some sort of social bone in your body.

"I'm Alastor." He greets with a smile, you'd turn your head lazily toward him and take a moment to stare at him.

"Green doesn't suit you." Not even your name, no. The first words you've ever addressed him with were about his outfit. Mind you, he was wearing what his mother bought him for Christmas so he was understandably miffed, but you said it so blandly it didn't sound like it was an insult. It was just a statement, green in fact, didn't suit him.

"That face doesn't suit you." He narrowed his eyes, expecting you to cry or punch him, either way, he was prepared for.

"That missing tooth doesn't suit you." That was neither crying nor punching, what's next? He immediately slapped his hands over his mouth to cover it, last month, or was it the week before Christmas? Somewhere along those days, he had knocked his tooth out in a scuffle, one of the older kids had decided to pick a fight with him and Alastor had a few things going against him.

"What's wrong with that?" His voice came out muffled behind his hand.

Even when you met all he could remember was indifference on your end but for a moment he could remember how you stifled your laughter at the sight of him hiding his teeth. He doesn't know what his mother saw during your interaction that night but he remembers being dragged out to play with you whenever she was invited over by your mother for chitchats over beignets and coffee.

You were a strange child, you continued to comment on his fashion tastes and all you did was draw all day. No wonder no one wanted to play with you, you were no fun at all! For a conversationalist such as Alastor, it was as if he was put up against a brick wall, it's not even funny at the time, he remembered constantly falling into awkward bouts of silence even after trying to rile you up into bickering with him.

"You really should consider wearing red more often." There you went again, with your fashion statements all the while you kept your eyes glued on your sketchbook.

"You should consider makin' friends than whatever you're doin'." You shook your head.

"I'm fine, thank you." Kicking rocks all afternoon was hardly entertaining but he'd rather take that than sitting by the staircase. He had half a mind to just snatch your sketchbook from your hands and see what was so tantalizing about it.

Actually,

"Hey!" You didn't put up much of a fight when he did just that, only sending him a glare that warned him not to do anything he'd regret. It was a sketch of the house in front of you two, unfinished and rough but in the eyes of a child it looked like something that came out of a museum.

"You drew this?" He asked, flipping through other pages filled with illustrations of flowers, sceneries you've seen, picturesque locations you've been to, and random household items.

"Yes, now give it back." You snatched the sketchbook right out of his hands, flipping back to the sketch you've made. You clicked your tongue at the stray pencil mark that you accidentally made when he grabbed ahold of it, not being able to notice him sitting beside you and staring at your drawing until he was right there. That afternoon something shifted, Alastor began to ask you things about yourself. About your life and passion for arts, even the places you've been to. It was his first glimpse of the world outside of his city, stories about snowy mountains and humid canyons, skyscrapers lining up the streets, and the sound of vendors gathered in tight alleys.

You and Alastor grew to tolerate each other until that tolerance morphed into you and him actively seeking out each other's company.

Two odd ducks — he was often seen sneaking off to sit in a random meadow or empty field with you lagging behind him. Alastor did the talking and watched as you captured the beauty of his hometown within your sketchbook.

"Do you draw people?" Alastor saw fancy portraits in the houses of sugar barons and cotton kings so he'd expected you to have some drawings of your own but surprisingly, you didn't. Even with drawing bustling cities you actively try to avoid drawing people, at most, you'll draw silhouettes of people. Clumps of shadow meant to imitate a crowd.

"No."

"Why not?"

"They're too difficult. If you get one thing wrong it'll look messed up entirely." You held up your sketchbook against the landscape, trying to see if you had missed anything.

"Have you tried?"

"I drew my parents once, they're actors but even I could tell they had a hard time trying to like it." Alastor leaned against the grass, staring at the setting sun far beyond the horizon.

"Well, practice makes perfect. If you wanna be an artist you gotta try harder than that." You replied with a half-hearted hum, much more invested in your work than what he was saying.

"What do you want to be anyway? You wouldn't do so bad as a boxer." Perish the thought, he'd never. His dreams were far beyond his neighborhood and much farther beyond his city. To be heard by the masses, his name spread far and wide, that's right, a radio broadcaster. Starring in late-night crime shows and afternoon suspense series, in game shows and commercials. He'd be a household name! That way he'd help his dear old mother out of the throes of misery and be remembered by all.

"I'm destined for radio, I just know it." He said with confidence. How true those words were, there was never a doubt in Alastor's mind that he would make it, one way or another it was him against the world and he fucking won.

"Seems right for a chatterbox."

"Still, that doesn't change the fact that you need to start practicin'. Momma said she'll consider puttin' me in school but if you ask me I'd rather sell newspaper. At least we'll be earnin' somethin'." Your hands froze over the paper, bothered by something that he said but he couldn't tell what it was.

"School's starting soon, huh?" There was a solemn tone in your voice that he didn't understand back then.

"You don't like school?"

"You can say that." Alastor elbowed your shoulders at your reply.

"Wanna sell newspapers with me? I'll ask momma and then we'll go and ask your folks." You grabbed onto your sketchbook and began to pack up your things, getting rid of the weeds that were stuck on your socks.

"I don't think that's possible." Alastor stood up and followed right behind you, blissfully unaware of the turmoil you were currently facing. Your family was just about ready to leave New Orleans back then, aiming to provide you with formal education that your parents gathered up their savings on.

It was funny how big of a deal it seemed like to the both of you when your parents broke the news, you two even had a spat if he remembers correctly. That's the thing, however, it had been so long ago he couldn't even remember what you looked like. Not the color of your eyes, your hair, not anything. Half of what he remembers is either made up by an overactive imagination or half-truths he filled in to close any gaps. He was a child, it was in the early 1900s, and you were only in New Orleans for less than a year, he was surprised he could even remember you.

What he did remember was the single torn page you gave him before you left.

A portrait of him.

It was messy, filled with mistakes, and clearly something an amateur drew, you had all but cried when you were giving it to him. But for as rough as it was, no matter how disproportionate it might've looked to a seasoned professional, Alastor liked it. Like was a strong word but it was the truth. A childish appreciation of something objectively worthless. It was no Picasso, but it meant more than all those gaudy paintings tucked away in galleries. For something you were admittedly bad at you were more than willing to try, your parents told him you've crumpled more than half of your sketchbook's pages before you got something you were satisfied with.

He couldn't see any of your indifference during your day of departure, you and him stayed tethered to one another until the moment you had to leave.

"Let's see each other again someday!" Alastor shouted as you waved goodbye, he was holding the portrait between his arms, too scared to leave it unattended.

"I'll be waiting!" You shouted back.

As happy as you both tried to be, hoping to find the time to see each other again, you two never did. Your family never gave out your new address and while you had his, you never reached out. More than that, his family moved to a different part of the city when their financial situation went down the rocks due to a fool. So even if you did send a letter afterward, it wouldn't have reached Alastor.

That portrait you gave him soon got lost during the move, maybe he misplaced it somewhere or it was blown away by the wind into a crevice in his old house, never to be seen again.

You would've died decades ago so maybe you were up in Heaven enjoying a life without worries, you were always the voice of reason between the two of you. If you were somehow down here in Hell with him, then considering you hadn't reached out to him despite his notoriety it would mean you'd rather stay incognito, that or you were dead.

As distraught as he was back then, with time you became someone who was just a part of his childhood. Not meant to be anything more than just a memory that he can go back to reminisce and sometimes that's just alright. He'd hate to rope you into the mess he was up to during the 30's, maybe that's part of the reason he wasn't that keen on meeting you again.

Would he have wanted to? It was a nice thought, he wanted to know if you got somewhere within the art industry, he'd like to catch up and tell you all the things he's been up to. But other than that, he doubted there was anything more to say.

"Hey Smiles! Charlie was callin' everyone for the countdown. Get your ass in 'ere!" Alastor downed the last bit of whiskey in his glass before reconvening with the rest. There was no need for hypotheticals, he was already busy with the mess of living an afterlife with a merry band of misfits.

Being a memory for someone isn't such a bad thing, not when you were part of the very few that he looked back on fondly.

All he could hope for was you looking back at those days with just as much fondness as he has.

“𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚎, 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛,

𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚎,

𝚠��’𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚝,

𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚎.”

╭┉┉┅┄┄┈•◦_•◦❥•◦_

One final gift from me before the new year hits, Auld Lang Syne always makes me cry whenever I hear it being played especially during New Year's Eve. It reminds me a lot of the people I used to be friends with but have since grown apart from. Not really due to any fights or arguments, just drifting apart in general. But they're happy and I'm happy (mostly), if anything I'm thankful that I was a part of their life, as short as it may have been. With that, I wish you all a very prosperous new year.

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #writing #alastor #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #oneshot #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin x y/n

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