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sundae-meringue · 10 days ago

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Soukoku Playlist Challenge: day 1

bad idea, right? - Olivia Rodrigo

"yes i know that he's my ex

but can two people reconnect?

i only see him as a friend

(the biggest lie i ever said)"

ada!dazai & pm!chuuya

Dazai can't sleep and decides to visit an old friend. Yeah...we'll go with that. Friend.

It's 2am and Dazai is still wide awake. He's been like this for hours. Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten a cappuccino as his post-work little treat. Oh well.

His mind races, making patterns out of the popcorn ceiling. He's not even under the covers. He needs something to do.

He could get started on that paperwork Kunikida expects him to have done by morning. He smirks. As if.

He gets up and sits on the edge of the bed. He could go for a drive. No, he really shouldn't. Every time he tells himself he's gonna "go for a drive" he ends up parked across the street from a certain slug's apartment, staring up at his windows and the deep red curtains just beyond them. Or at the new car he bought after Dazai blew up the last one.

When that happens he never actually goes inside, he just sits in his car, gazing out the window. Maybe that's insane, but Dazai had never been known to be particularly sane anyways. It's not because he misses Chuuya, god no. He just...wants to make sure he's okay. That he's doing just fine without Dazai, that the stupid firecracker hadn't gone and gotten himself killed with that mouth of his. Nothing more.

He's already halfway down the stairs before he realizes he's operating on autopilot. Fucking christ, I guess we're doing this. The icy January air burns his lungs as he trudges out to the parking lot, to his car, which he will then drive to a different parking lot. I don't miss him, I just need to check on him and then I can go home and go to sleep.

He doesn't start his car when he gets in it. He stares straight ahead as he weighs his options. He really should go back to bed. There's a deep pit in his stomach that he'll never admit is caused by soul-crushing yearning. He imagines what would happen if he really did see Chuuya tonight. Would he be happy to see him? Maybe angry at him? He did have a lot of reasons to be angry. But it's 4am and Dazai's brain fog is making him consider the risk of getting punched in the face if it means getting to see him again.

Fuck, this is a bad idea, right? Whatever we had when we were partners, whatever electricity sparked between us, it's over now. It's done. I just need to go back inside and go to sleep.

He turns the key in the ignition and backs out of his parking spot. His eyes are all but glazing over from exhaustion but there's adrenaline flowing through his veins.

Every functioning braincell is screaming at him to just go home but it all sounds like blah blah blah. Those braincells aren't the ones driving the car, and they'll shut off the moment he sees that freckled face and fiery red hair.

It's a bad idea, right?

No, we were only friends, only former partners.

It's a bad idea, right?

He signals and makes the turn into Chuuya's apartment complex.

It's a bad idea, right?

He opens the door and stumbles out. The parking lot is a ghost town. No one saw him come in.

It's a bad idea, right?

He approaches Chuuya's door, staring at the 258 that hangs there in bronze letters. There is no sound besides a faint siren in the distance.

It's a bad idea, right?

He draws out a thin piece of wire from his pocket.

Fuck it, it's fine.

He easily picks the lock and pushes open the door as quietly as he can, just to immediately see Chuuya standing at the edge of the hallway, glowing red. There's a kitchen knife glowing red a few feet away from Dazai's face, pointed straight at him.

"Who the FUCK broke into my-"

Chuuya's eyes widen as he sees the visitor, who still hasn't made it all the way through the door yet. "D-Dazai? What the fuck are you doing?"

He rushes towards Dazai, holding his nightrobe closed with one hand. It's cow print. Dazai will surely tease him about it later.

"Hiiii Chuuyaaaa~" Dazai morphs his expression into something nonchalant and smug, though his heart is beating out of his chest. "I figured you must've been deeply miserable without me so I came to check on you!"

"I don't need a shitty fucking mackerel breaking into my house at the ass crack of dawn. Go away"

Dazai smirks and steps back out, slowly closing the door behind him.

"Wait, hold on!" Dazai looks him right in the eyes. Their eyes remain locked for what feels like centuries. It's so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Dazai fidgets. Chuuya blinks.

He then sighs and grabs him by arm. The red glow disappears, and the knife clatters to the ground.

"Fuck it, it's fine," Chuuya grumbles.

Dazai is yanked inside and the door clicks shut.

#soukoku playlist challenge #skk playlist challenge #soukoku #skk #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #dazai x chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #olivia rodrigo

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someonedefinitely · 7 days ago

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hey guys, remember the post i made two and a half hours ago about making a soukoku songfic (Feel Better by Penelope Scott) with Dazai's POV? well.. enjoy the 2k words!! edit: uploaded on ao3 and attached link!!

A nice pace—it was the best description Dazai could come up with whenever he asked himself to describe what sort of a life he was living now.

Not too slow like it was before joining the Detective Agency—he needed some action, but not as violent and urgent as his Port Mafia days.

But something prevented him from outright admitting that.

Sure, the usual hectic nature of the office was enough, and his co-workers were alright, but something felt off.

Dazai’s pen glided over the sheet, the ink melting into the page precisely as he directed the object to.

Precise. That was his life. Something he personally and perfectly curated it to. Of course, he was a genius, and with that came some useful methods to manipulate his surroundings to just what he preferred.

For some reason, he'd been doing the opposite as of late.

Likely to distance himself from the mafia. Obviously he continued to hide behind his mask, but his mannerisms were so much more genuine.

There was only one person he'd shown that side to before.

The grip on his pen tightened and his movements paused, making the ink pool over the specific spot and ruin the word that was previously placed.

His previous train of thought far gone, he shifted to a new line, and began to write, this time with less grace.

I don't wanna feel better

No one's ever gonna love me like that again

I don't wanna get over you

I wanna sit with you in bed

I don't wanna feel better

I'd give anything to miss you again

I don't wanna get over it

I wanna get under it instead

It felt as if his inner-consciousness was regularly at war with his brain. Thoughts of Hatrack somehow always seemed to invade and plague his mind.

Of course he could keep his mind hushed during the day and force himself to pay attention to work; but in the quiet confines of the night, however, the designated time he kept to truly tear his feelings and thoughts out as the room was darkened in solitude other than that lampshade…

The lampshade was nothing but a personification he created in his mind. The lampshade didn't actually care. No, the lampshade shouldn't care.

He hated that he wanted the lampshade to care, though.

…He was surprised at that particular thought. Was he healing like the lampshade told him so?

A book sits on top of clean and messy blankets

On a bed that fuckin' creaks at night when I get in it late

And late at night, I'm chugging Gatorade

And someone's breaking up when I crack up

Because I know I'll never know just what to say

Ever since he'd left the Port Mafia, all he had done was write. What else was there to do before joining the Agency?

So he wrote.

He filled out books with diary entries. Alongside keeping journals, he began to write poems.

Just like now.

He was honestly surprised how he hadn't done this earlier in his mafia days—it was so much easier to express his thoughts in writing than saying it out loud.

Of course he'd tried. He tried. He tried for him.

Eventually it's impossible to continue, even if the person deserves it.

I'm a communist, a terrorist, an MPDG thot

Or I'm a sad girl in a dorm room, living out the shady Christian plot of

Twilight or The Bible or The Lover by Duras

Or I'm just really fuckin' selfish and really fuckin' lost

It really felt as if he were in a reimagining of some cliché tragic romance, and only for him.

Surely Slug had forgotten all about him. And even if he hadn't, surely he'd have such an impression that, if Dazai’s name were brought up, he'd dismiss the topic with a scorn.

That certainly was the case. Dazai was never wrong in his calculations, after all.

…But, what did he think of that deduction?

But someone loved me, someone fucking loved me

Someone fucking loved me and I fuckin' loved them too

Goddamn it, I was worth something, I fuckin' learned something

I had my cake (I ate it, it ate me too and, God, no)

I don't wanna feel better

Some things always fascinated Dazai.

The fact that he could be the object of affection, for one.

Being so wasn't the same as respect; he had the respect of so many—Port Mafia members when he was still one, his co-workers in the Detective Agency, but to truly be the muse to one’s love and kindness?

His first thought would go to Odasaku. But that was familial.

His second thought made him wonder how he always managed to fucked things up.

We kept our liquor in a suitcase underneath my bed

And we drank it to go out or just stay in or to feel sad

But in a hot way, a way I'll fuckin' never have again

The sun has began to set

Of course Dazai and Slug knew each other as teenagers. And of course they’d drink anyway, because they'd done much more illegal shit than underage drinking.

Dazai drunk a lot. Alone, with his former friends, and even now with the adult members of the Agency—but nothing could meet the odd domesticity of him and Chibi cheering after a mission in his apartment.

Sometimes they drunk because of their shitty lives. Sometimes they drunk just because. Sometimes they drunk as an excuse to stay in his bedroom.

Sometimes they drunk to have something to blame as they awoke a day later in the bed unclothed.

The lamp flickered.

I'm a socialist, Marxist, libertarian slut

I am an awkward teenage virgin and I sort of kinda laugh a lot in bed

But other times, I cry or don't make noise at all

I'd give my life to have a room that feels that small

Dazai is known for his exaggerated expressions—it looked as if he wore his emotions on his sleeve.

It was all a mask, of course. Why would Dazai be that vulnerable voluntarily? Someone would have to force it out.

Someone had.

It felt as if it were yesterday, clinging onto his shirt and bunching it all up in his hands as Dazai buried his face into the shorter man’s neck at an awkward angle, sobbing uncontrollably.

Or sometimes they’d sit together in the comfortable silence.

It wasn't as if he didn't trust the Agency’s members and couldn't be as vulnerable with them because of it, but simply that only when all of them were combined did they equal to what he had with Chibi.

Would he really mind if he’d have to make a switch in spending time with him, than the ADA?

'Cause someone loved me, someone fucking loved me

Someone fucking loved me, I loved them too

Goddamn it, I was worth something, I fuckin' earned something

I have a right to die, a right to live, a right to choose, too

And God, no!

Of course I don't wanna feel better!

Can you fucking imagine?!

The concept of having a reason to live had always confused Dazai. It was possibly his biggest question in life which he usually never gave a second thought to.

Until, of course, the reason arrived. In full force.

Chibi’s reaction to Dazai simply staring at the vein he’d nicked too hard once—the frantic begging for Dazai to take things seriously, the panic in his eyes, a whole storm, not only in his irises, but visible on his face.

He sort of stopped.

He isn't aware why he doesn't go all out while trying out methods anymore.

…To think that blatantly false statement would mock his intellect, yet it was his own thought from his own mind.

He didn't need to think further, simply observing the pen going over the ruled lines in order.

No one's ever gonna love me like that again

I don't wanna get over it

I wanna rip the stars to shreds

I don't wanna feel better

Of course he'd had one night stands here and there in the aftermath of leaving the Mafia.

For him? It was good enough.

He knew it'd be fruitless to look for love, so obviously he wouldn't even bother trying.

Of course it hurt, of course it fuckin' hurt

It hurt like nothing in the world sometimes

That I was super scared, and we were all a train-wreck

And also somehow making it

I think I might've died there twice, and I would do it all again

Port Mafia had fucked him up.

No, to only write one sentence to describe what he had gone through would be an understatement.

The only reason he could even recognise that was because of a special few.

Slug, Odasaku, and now the Agency members. The Agency members who made him unknowingly recognise how easily an environment can be uncontrolling and non-manipulating.

But, despite the change in scenery, which was clearly doing wonders for his mental health—something felt wrong.

Off.

Sure, life at the mafia was terrible, but it felt home, because that was all Dazai knew once. And as the years passed upon his leaving, he came to the revelation that he'd go through with it all over again for him.

I'm a nihilist, a soldier, an OCD-machine

Or I'm a healthy baby-girl who traded sunshine for disease

But when my head hit my cheap pillow, I could tell I had a heart

And I wanna tear this fascist Milky Way apart

Being a weapon never bothered Dazai.

He never even had a reason to live, so when Mori came along, Dazai played his games.

Continuing his way of living with an attempt here and there—the usual. For him, the glass would always be half empty.

Or atleast supposed to.

Getting a reason to live is weird.

'Cause someone loved me, someone fuckin' loved me

All my filthy life I loved someone I barely knew

Goddamn it, I was worth something, I fuckin' learned something

And it felt better in my mouth than fresh warm food

Port Mafia was his entire life once.

And they were partners once.

For the important part of his life, Slug was all he knew. He knew and didn't at the same time.

Sure they told each other things, but it was always either the heaviest childhood trauma or an exchange of insults—no in between.

In spite of the insulting remarks, he felt so understood.

He actually felt as if he had worth.

It was a nice dynamic.

His frantic pace of writing practically turned to scribbles.

I guess I loved you, I guess I really loved you

All my filthy life I loved someone I barely knew

And now you're over there, and I'm way over here

What am I gonna do?

Guess he would admit it.

And he frankly, didn't care.

He didn't care that he'd lost his only chance. He didn't care if the one person who saw him for what he truly was, the one person who’d shown him love and affection in his own way, didn't care.

Good.

Chuuya would feel better without him.

He didn't care if Chuuya believed the opposite. He didn't care if Chuuya believed that having someone who cared about him would help him feel better.

If that truly were the case?

I don't wanna feel better

No one's ever gonna love me like that again

I don't wanna get over you

I wanna sit with you in bed

I don't wanna feel better

Somehow, his mind, his treacherous fucking mind, wanted the opposite. Not the calculating, rational one—no, the emotional one.

He wanted to get over him, he really did—but why would his hand write the opposite? Why did his subconscious steer his strokes in the other direction? Why had he done so the entire poem?

…He really did want to sit in bed with Chuuya one last time.

#soukoku #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #osamu dazai #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #chuuya bsd #bsd chuuya #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #writeblr #songfic #skk #skk playlist challenge #ao3 #archive of our own #my post

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