#what the hell is going on in yokohama

[tinfoilhatsss]

What does Dazai have to do with the Book?

Dazai has had connections to the Book in the past, implying that he knows or previously knew where it was being held. What is the Book, and why is it so detrimental to the storyline? 

The Book is a highly sought out supernatural item which can alter reality. It consists of many blank pages, and once written on, acts on said words. This has the ability to change reality as it is (Shown in the beginning of the arc where the ADA are suddenly the terrorists that they had perviously sought out to apprehend). The book is regarded as greater than abilities. This could allude to a higher being in play, as the creator of the Book is unknown. Could it be a singularity? Yes, but again, it is mentioned by Ranpo that it is too powerful to be an ability. 

Dazai, as seen in Beast (An alternate universe created where Dazai took over the Port Mafia), is completely aware of the multiple universes created through the book. This ‘Dazai’ from beast creates this universe through the infinite possibilities available to him. 

My interpretation of this text excerpt is that original Dazai was in possession of the Book when he sought out an alternate universe where Oda lived. Original Dazai created Beast Dazai with his memories. Beast Dazai is a product of Dazai’s regrets and therefore behaves accordingly in connection to the original. They are essentially the same person through a completely different timeline. 

Though the wording of it is confusing- You can’t create an alternate world that you already live in unless you are from a different world originally. This could imply though that the world in Beast was identical to the original world until Beast Dazai stumbled upon the Book and diverged the course of the world from there, therefore splitting it. Feel free to correct me on any of this.

Either way, we know that it was most likely obtained from Yokohama (So it was at least there from the years that Dazai was 14 to current age). We also know that original Dazai has some sort of connection to the Book.  

As we see in the image above from chapter 28, Fitzgerald mentions that the Book cannot be affected by any abilities. Though the book is resistant to all abilities, Dazai’s is the exception. Atsushi’s ability is rumoured to have a connection to the book, as well. This leaves there to be two possible options:

1. Dazai’s ability has the capacity to nullify the book, and therefore other supernatural creations that may or may not be limited to abilities, OR he is directly connected to the Book and such is able to interact with it. This makes me wonder, does his power play a much larger role in the plot of BSD? 

2. The Book is actually not resistant to all abilities, and thus there are abilities that share a connection to the book. These abilities would be considered exceptions. Fyodor’s ability also shows resistance to laws that abilities supposedly follow, shown in Beast where his manifested ability not only refuses to attack him, but appears sentient. This theory results in the idea that abilities aren’t a singular type of power; There are fundamental differences between different skills. 

Both options involve Dazai. I think Beast could very well become an important aspect to the storyline of BSD due to the fact that it is proof of what the Book is capable of. Are there other alternate universes created by the Book? 

This information comes from the BSD wiki, the manga panels and the BEAST light novel. I don’t really post analysis stuff, but also it’s fun to research and collect my thoughts, so yeah! Someone discuss bsd theories with me pls im dying nobody wants to talk with me about it

[ssaraexposs]

"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN SHIBUYA?!" (Kunikida's version)

[akkivee]

decided for my hypmic 7th anniversary post to list my fav song in each album, thinking it’d be easy enough, but i’m already stuck on the first mtr album what have i done to myself

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking. 

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side. 

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics. 

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction. 

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk. 

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?” 

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately. 

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?” 

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you. 

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk. 

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there. 

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is. 

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge. 

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt. 

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple. 

He smiles. 

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route. 

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants. 

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is. 

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze  snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to. 

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest. 

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.” 

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him. 

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs. 

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent. 

God, he’s gorgeous. 

You hate him. 

You’ve missed him. 

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can. 

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs. 

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips. 

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.” 

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago. 

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective. 

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?” 

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions. 

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him. 

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace. 

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time. 

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.” 

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying. 

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch. 

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs. 

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did. 

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work. 

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk. 

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek. 

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes. 

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for Christmas because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything. 

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t. 

“I know,” he murmurs. 

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly. 

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses. 

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

[osamucide]

⊹ LOOKIN’ FOR THE ONE THAT WANTS TO MAKE MY NAME A TATTY!

cw: multifandom (bsd+jjk), suggestive, name tattoos!!! all around questionable? feral and whipped and lovesick and possessive and stupid stupid hot men

reid: down bad for this concept and these mfers anyways stream aggy by coco and clair clair

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Who would get your name tattooed on them?

This SCREAMS GOJO. He’s so shameless—he’d get your name tattooed on his asscheek if you asked. He’d let you do it. He’d let it be Comic Sans for the meme. Not because he doesn’t take you seriously—quite the opposite, actually! His six eyes know he won’t ever regret this—he loves you so much and there’s hardly anything in the world he wouldn’t do to put a smile on your face even if it’s dumb. But really, tell him to be for real—suggest along his bicep in a pretty script font and consider it done <3

SUKUNA’S probably going to do this under one condition—he gets to mark you as his too, and this does not necessarily mean you also get a tattoo. But let’s say you do! I think he wants yours between your tits on your sternum running vertical, and he’ll probably get his in the exact same place—exact same font, exact same color. . .there, or down his spine, or if he’s feeling especially soft the day of the appointment, across his Achilles tendon, for obvious reasons—don’t make him say it.

If this screams anyone else on this list, it’s TOJI. He won’t even hesitate; he’s not exactly the most responsible guy around, but you like him, and he thinks you’re perfect—why the hell shouldn’t he have your name wrapped around his upper arm like a cuff, especially if it means your eyes light up and you flash him that gorgeous smile? Just don’t be too surprised when you find his baby mother’s name haphazardly covered up/half removed somewhere else on him.

I can see NANAMI doing this a few years into marriage, maybe, but doing it nonetheless. Look at him—he’s the dictionary definition of a keeper, and this is hardly any different to him than never taking off his wedding ring (and believe me, once you’ve got him on lock I mean he never takes it off). Matching ones would be especially alluring to him—you’re his one and only, and he hardly gives a thin and subtle sans-serif tattoo of your name on his upper thigh a second thought. What’s more is he’s enamored with kissing the spot where you get his name <3

This may or may not be me pushing my tattooed CHUUYA agenda but whatever. I think he’d be SO down for this. He’d probably make a little date out of it—drive you to the nicest tattoo shop in Yokohama under the guise of wanting to pay for whatever piece you want on yourself—tattoo or piercing—and sit patiently while you get it done, and then ‘decide last-minute’ that he’ll get one too, what the hell, and tell you not to look until it’s finished. Some elegant, masculine script font behind his ear that’s visible when he pulls his hair back <3

TACHIHARA is so grounded in what he loves. I’m 100% willing to bet he has a tattoo for his brother. Your name, too, tattooed on the outside of his shoulder, is like a badge of honor to him—everything he does, he does with you in mind. His only regret is how every uniform he wears covers it; he truly would’ve gotten it on his neck just above his shirt collar or on the back of his hand if it wouldn’t make him so easily identifiable. I can see him liking a traditional calligraphy font—only the prettiest for the love of his life <3

Funny how the man who knows nothing he desires can be permanent gets your name tatted on him. I think the prospect of having your name in his skin forever is just so hot, so romantic to DAZAI—there’s poetry in it however your relationship ends up unfolding. He knows he’s in love with you. In some way or another, no matter how he might end up driving you away, regardless of if you end up hating him for the monster he really is, even if you end up dying hand in hand like he hopes for, you’ll always own a piece of his heart and it’s evident in the pretty serif font he got buzzed across his hipbone <3

I include NIKOLAI in every one of my unhinged headcanons but I just can’t see him being anything less than ENTHUSIASTIC TO BOOT in a relationship. He is all in! You put up with his crazy, you drive away his sadness, you hold him so sweetly—the way you love him truly makes him feel on top of the world. And in true Nikolai fashion, I think he has your name in a font of your choice tatted right over his heart. Kiss it, bite it, trace it, lick it—he loves letting you know he’s all yours <3

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[maidensveil]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷LOVESTRUCKੈ✩‧₊˚

sypnosis; the bsd men are just so inlove w/ u! but what are their habits that they gained and/or stopped when they began dating you??

pairings; dazai, kunikida, chuuya, fyodor, ango/reader

warnings; mentions of suicide in dazai’s part(it’s literally Dazai =/)

oh.. this menace.. (but everyone loves him so yuh). Being with DAZAI has a lot of ups and downs, especially since he’s trying to get you to commit suicide with him. But ever since you two started dating, he started spending less time trying to die and not doing anything productive, and always coming up with excuses just to be in your presence. Especially if you’re tired from working too much. He knows it’s bad to get close with someone because all the people he card about in his life either disappeared or just left him. That’s what KINDA makes his clingy personality. (Keyword: kinda, his other clingyness is just there bc he is generally clingy for no reason at all.) this man’s love u so much he will do anything you ask! You tell him to do his paperwork?? he’s immediately sitting down on his chair working like a normal person. (Kinda, bc if u say u’ll reward him with a kiss, he’ll do his work immediately!!) if you tell him to stop drinking?? OKAY ANYTHING FOR YOU!!<3

KUNIKIDA knows you aren’t really his ideal type in a woman, but can’t help but be drawn to you. Once you two began a relationship, Kunikida tends to neglect his notebook just to look out for you/take care for you. If you point it out, he’ll just brush it off. He’s also really protective of you, even if it’s a little thing. Like when he makes you tea/coffee or any warm drink you like, he always tell you to be careful when touching it in order not to burn your hands or tongue, and always scolds you when you do the opposite. I also have this lil headcanon; whenever you both go to work, he’ll always check the weather forecast before leaving and brings an umbrella when it’s too hot/rains. It doesn’t matter if he gets wet, his priority is you not getting sick!

CHUUYA is a stubborn, hotheaded guy. He never listens to anyone(unless it’s you or his boss.) Before you guys started dating, he was always in a pissy mood, probably because of his work or his subordinates. But when you two started a relationship, his chihuahua mood somewhat disappeared. Yes yes, he knows. He always had a soft spot for you. But he didn’t know it would go this far as to change his personality! (Well as long as no one insults him or you, then yeah he won’t go back to the chihuahua phase.) hell, even the port mafia noticed his sudden personality change. he’s always gentle with you, especially since he knows he’s the strongest ability user.

FYODOR doesn’t really like overworking. But he has to do it for “the sake of the world” apparently. So when you come into the picture, you have to practically force him each time to stop working to rest even for a moment, to the point when he actually stops working even without you telling him not to. It’s just that you always force him to rest, that it feels weird if he didn’t take a break now. He also stops biting his nails, because “you say it’s unhygienic”, he says. He also doesn’t sleep much, but since he likes loves your presence and whole being, he forces himself to fix himself and his whole well being. hey, if you’re gonna “save” the world, you might as well look good while at it, right?

like fyodor, ANGO also doesn’t like overworking, in fact he hates it. But it’s his job and he signed up for it so.. no excuses. Ango knows his whole job is very dangerous, and you could get involved in dangerous matters, so from time to time, he makes sure to check up on you by texting you or calling you. It doesn’t matter what it’s about though, he just wants needs a response to make sure you’re safe. Same goes for you. You sometimes just send him a quick text to check up on him. Whenever he gets a free day from work, you guys usually stay in and relax together or just roam around Yokohama, but he’s mostly indecisive and will only go with where you want to go to or what you want to make up for the times he never is around you<3

ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ʙʟᴏɢ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ @aoizaraka . ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ/ʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ.

ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ © 2023

[osaemu]

OSAMU DAZAI: ❛❛ MIDNIGHT RAIN ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ his melancholia is addicting. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. smut –> angst. cunniligus, implied p –> v, alcohol consumption. mentions of alcohol and smoking. established relationship.

author's note: somewhat inspired by cornelia street, easily the best song off of lover imo. fight me.

dazai's a stressed man—that's what years upon years of living in environments as active and tense as the mafia and the agency would do to anyone. so on the somewhat rare occasions that dazai softens around you, it's not a problem for you to oblige him.

ever since the two of you started dating, you haven't had a free night to yourself. nights that were once spent on the couch are now spent following dazai through the scarcely lit parts of yokohama, the only illumination of his figure being the soft rays of twilight bleeding from the sky.

on your little nights out, he never lets go of your hand. whether it's to tug you along cobblestone pathways or comfort you in the alleys you used to avoid, his fingers are always threaded through your own.

the more comfortable he gets with you, the more touchy he gets. dazai's arms seem like they were made to wrap around your waist, and you can't help but feel like a part of you's missing when his fingers aren't tangled with your own.

dazai's good with his words, and even better with his hands. only someone as adroit as dazai could make you see stars on your bedroom ceiling with just his fingers.

on nights when the agency works him like a dog, it's all you can do to keep your heart from melting when you see the way he falls asleep in your arms. for him, your touch is dangerously drug-like—something like a sedative, as he tells you the morning after.

dazai wouldn't have it any other way—he'd rather be addicted to you than to cigarettes or alcohol. and, lucky for him, he finds out after your first night in his sheets that you even taste better too.

one crisp evening after one too many glasses of whiskey, dazai's lips find their way to your collarbone, brushing across your skin in an almost ghost-like manner. the way he's holding himself back is almost painful to watch—the longing in his eyes plus the way he flexes his fingers pulls out a plea for him to just touch you from your lips.

one thing leads to another, and within a couple minutes your clothes are discarded to who-knows-where and all you can think about is how good dazai is to you.

and yet, even an hour later, he's holding himself back. despite being under the influence, dazai retains enough of his mind to resist the growing urge to fuck you to his heart's content. only after your pleas turn into full-on begging does he give in, deftly pushing your legs apart and sliding in effortlessly, mumbling praises on just how well you're taking him.

dazai eats you out like a man starved—when you convince him to fuck you with his tongue, he's ravenous. to him, you taste like heaven, and to someone who's certainly going to hell, he can't help but savor the taste of the paradise he'll never set foot in.

someone with such a tainted past like him doesn't deserve such a good girl like you. you shouldn't have to bear any part of the burden that rests on dazai's shoulders—it's not your fault he's so attracted to you.

that's a lie. the blame can only be put on you for being so accommodating, so comforting, so fucking perfect—at least, that's what dazai tells you from his spot in between your legs.

the pornographic sounds that the two of you make over the course of the night fluctuate every time one of you goes over the edge, mind swamped with nothing but thoughts of the other.

the night goes by too fast, marked by love-drunk kisses and nearly-spilt glasses of whiskey. neither of you has any idea how it started or how it'll end—the rumpled sheets tangled in between your legs is enough.

promises of i'm yours fall from both of your lips as the high starts to fade and your breaths start to slow, sleep tugging at the backs of your minds.

as the view around you fades to black, a last whisper slips through your lips. just before your eyes flutter closed, you relish the look of surprise on your boyfriend's face—it's exceedingly rare to catch dazai off guard, and for you, the person he thinks he understands the most to do so? impossible.

and yet the six words you murmur as your head hits the pillow leave dazai open-mouthed for a moment. he's speechless. the words themselves aren't much, but the meaning behind them is everything.

all good things come to an end—as a member of two of the most perilous organizations in yokohama, dazai knows this all too well. being surrounded by death and danger for half your life tends to destroy one's faith in destiny, and yet, as dazai watches you fall asleep on his chest, he dares to let himself hope against all odds.

all good things come to an end, but hopefully, this won't. he's invested far too much into this for it to crumble—if the worst happened, he'd never love again. it wouldn't be worth the risk, not if someone as perfect as you managed to slip through his fingers. he couldn't lose you, too.

so when he hears his thoughts mirrored on your lips, something in dazai's heart breaks. all his life, he'd been taught that permanence was a false promise. everything ended, good and bad, eventually. dazai had been taught to cut people off before they could hurt him, but for you?

if loving you was pain, then by all means, consider him a masochist.

"i hope i never lose you."

[jackiepackiee]

Hello! Could I request a Chuuya x reader story (no AU please) where she is someone important like a princess, and they hire the best executive to protect her when she goes to Yokohama? 🩷🩷

𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓂𝒶𝒻𝒾𝒶

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎

The royal family would do anything to protect their daughter, anything. Including hiring one of the most feared men in all of Yokohama from one of the most dangerous organizations in the world.

The port mafia, with some of the most dangerous executives.

Chuuya Nakahara, that name just yelled power.

Your family was their on business, and most of the guards needed to protect the other members. Only the most trusted, highly trained, powerful people were to be working for the family.

The meeting was set late at night. One of the high floors in the port mafias headquarters. Safe to say, you didn’t exactly expect skyscrapers. But here you were, being accompanied by a woman named Kouyou to meet your new bodyguard.

“You’ll like him, I’m sure of it. He’s a gentleman.”

You looked over, this was the first time she had spoken to you.

Looking to your feet, you didn’t respond.

“I can sense you’re nervous. About meeting him I presume?” She was calm, very easy to talked to.

“I’m afraid to say I’m a bit on edge. Never have I been protected by a stranger.”

The elevator opened, sleek floors of polished marble were to be expected of the meeting floor for a princess.

“Follow me, he should be with our boss in the main office.”

Shoes clicked as the two of you walked. Hers much more confident than yours.

Then, you met with a group of bodyguards in front of some wooden doors. They swung open, revealing a ginger man. He was facing the wide windows overlooking the port city. Adorn in a very expensive looking suit. Very well dressed was he, kinda cute too.

Next to him was a seated man, supposedly the boss. Mori. He noticed you and Kouyou first.

“Well, we have been expecting you.”

Chuuya turned around to see who he was speaking with. He waved politely to Kouyou before taking you in. So simple, yet so classy.

Even if you knew you should’ve said hi to the boss, you focused on your new bodyguard. And he was just as focused on you.

“Chuuya, this is your new assignment.”

He smiled, and tilted his head as a greeting.

“Hey princess.”

Leaving the office, he walked next to you. It was awfully quiet.

“Where are we going?”

“Eh? Oh, just your new place. It’s nice, and right next to mine.”

You looked at him from your peripheral, then back to the floor with speed when he looked at you too.

“Nervous? That’s alright, I’ll protect ya.”

“I’m… not nervous.”

He laughed, well more of a quick one.

“Why is that, princess?”

“You seem very strong…”

You didn’t mean to be so honest. Shit, what if he-

“Thank you. You know, how about we tour the city first? I’m sure it’s your first time in Japan.”

“How can you tell?”

“I have a feeling~”

You felt butterflies in your stomach, was he teasing? Why did this wanted criminal have to be so damn alluring?

“And I have a feeling you’ve never been around a princess with those manners of yours.”

He froze, and quickly stopped smirking. Until you laughed. When he realized you were teasing too, he rolled his eyes playfully.

“You’re feisty. Good thing, I thought this mission would have me walking on egg shells with everything I do.”

Soon, a group of men walked by. They stared at you, obviously not the stares you would want. And hell, was Chuuya pissed.

“The fuck you looking at? Damn underlings, move those eyes before I crush you!”

They quickly looked away, terrified. No wonder he was your bodyguard.

“Say princess, how about that tour?”

He took you through the city. It was beautiful, the port was cool and calming. The ocean smell was like a lullaby.

It was alright, until a group of thugs saw you. An enemy organization.

He grabbed your hand, and hid you in his coat. Gun shots went off, and you thought that was it. You were good at dead.

Until, no bullets hit you.

Screams from the men. You try to look, but he pulls you to his chest.

“No, I’ve got you. No need to look. Stay right here, pretty.”

You hadn’t noticed you started shaking, the guns obviously scaring you.

“Let’s go to where you’re staying. A nice, warm bed.”

Had you started, floating? What in the world?

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ll get you back.”

Soon, the cool air went away. And so did the noise of the city.

He moved your body gently away from his, and your feet met the ground.

“Where are we?”

“My plac- I mean, where you’ll be staying.”

“It’s warm.”

“Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

[woklaza]

Dark Era: Dazai being a bitch

Dazai: No, Akutagawa, you're not going on the mission Akutagawa: Why, Dazai-san? Dazai: Have you seen your hair? You're why the percentage of tourists visiting Yokohama drop every year! Do you know how many tourists we lose because of your bangs? The other day I walked into the police office and they used the picture on your bounty as a 'Don't do drugs' poster- Akutagawa: *sobs* Chuuya: Motherfucker you're the one that gave him that haircut what the hell-

[strongbabe2907]

Here’s a little review of Zepp Haneda - Dir en grey Who is this hell for tour 2024

In the morning i took a wrong train and almost ended in Yokohama, lmao. In the end i was there around 10:40 and we got the merch tickets.

After that we met up with a few people and had some food. The cafe/bar we went too was blasting Dir all day and played their pvs inside too, it was surreal but very cute.

Visnu brought the art books and it was so cool to see them irl before she put them in the gift box🥰 everyone worked so hard!! Go check out #SilverCoinProject if you haven’t! I’m not an artist i send in some pictures hehe. There’s also a picture in there of my gifts.. maybe i’ll post them later on social media now i have given them.

So we walked around a bit and went to the torii my friend recommended, but they were doing construction work right around it so it was a bit noisy.

When it was time for merch we found out todays sticker was Kaoru!! I hoped a shiny but unfortunately just normal ones. Still cute.

I bought more merch for friends and some standees, did some trading with other japanese fans and some gift exchange 🥰 honestly everyone has been so nice and sweet.

We god dinner before the show and i started to get nervous again.. we split up waiting because we had different numbers and i was very focused on the counting haha.

I had 235 for vip which got me… 6th row maybe? Second barrier in zepp. Which was.. i had hoped for a bit closer but it is what it is.

Again i was between Kaoru and Kyo and looked at them most. Shinya wore his white outfit, Die also wore a white outfit. I think Toshiya was all black? He wore the shorts with something on top and dramatic separate sleeves.

Kaoru looked amazing! He was in all black. Black dress shirt with big collar. Wearing a small, wide black tie. His waistcoat thing and trousers/shorts were the same texture/print. The waistcoat was much more wide/baggy and shorter in the front and longer in the back. I think it had 2 rows of 3 buttons on it. The shorts were just passed his knees and veryy wide with big pockets on the sides. He wore black leggings with them again. Black dr martens and i think socks?

His hair was pulled back in a little ponytail and he had two strands loose in the front. One behind his ear and one just loose. He had the usual make up, little fangs, eyeliner and dark shading especially around his head. He was the only one that didn’t change for the encore.

Kyo wore the same simple outfit. I still couldn’t make out the tat very well, but thought i could discern some points to it.. Visnu later mentioned she thinks it’s either like a little star or a cross?

He wore low black doc martens this time.

His voice was just 💯from the start. They seemed more energetic/relaxed than the first show (which was still really good btw). He did some dancing (god he’s so tiny..) and moved around and took his earpieces out to listen to the crowd sing/shout. Closer to the end he pointed at two people, one right ahead of me. I think one of them had made a tattoo like him and he was smiling? Cute.

Also HELLOOO obscure was so awesome. It was the more recent version which i personally prefer. It was so cool!! And i mentioned this on twitter already but Kaoru didnt do much wahwah but he did grunt along with tsumi no kisei and was doing tough guy act to the crowd and singing along with a song (sorry cant remember which) for a long but, it was really cute. They switched sides once i think. My friends said there was almost a twin towers collision but i didnt see.

After the last song (Eddie), Kyo did a big smile and said ‘bye bye’ and he was off.

Shinya’s drumstick landed right next to my foot but i was busy looking at Kaoru😭😂🙈(he was also throwing stuff). Then girl next to me notices a tiny but before me and bend down to grab it, but it was fine i mosty found it funny i missed it cos i was going 👁️ at Kao.

Everyone but Kyo also threw a tour towel.. maybe shinya didnt? Im not sure. Toshiya was smiling and put his face in it before tossing it in the crowd lol. Kaoru also threw it near the front and Die tied a knot in it again and pitched it to the back of the venue lol.

So good live! Girls around me were lively but i was standing at a bit of a dead area in the crowd?? I liked both citta and zepp even though the vibes were different. (Citta was def more intense)

After the show we got the vip bags! They’re very cute. And now i try and recover a little before heading to Kyoto.

[ssaraexposs]

Why does this feel like Avengers: Infinity War finale? Fyodor is definitely pulling a Thanos here

[ravencincaide]

Just a cake

Summary:  What was supposed to be a sweet innocent question aimed at gaining a sliver of Chuuya’s attention spiraled out of control. It shook the foundation of your relationship and everything you thought you knew. Indeed with one innocent question you lost it all- and yet saved yourself two decades of suffering all in one go. 

Pairing: Fem reader x Chuuya Nakahara 

Inspired by Raven’s special anon request: Chuuya says something that hurts the reader and she leaves. 

Warnings: Cursing, verbal argument, angst

Enjoy~

“ Can I ask for a birthday cake for my birthday?” 

Your tone was light and playful, almost joking- a stupid question meant to lighten the focused mood in the dark, stuffy, paperwork-filled office. A silent cry for a sliver of his attention, just a tiny reassurance that despite the heavy workload which plagued your lives, that he still cared enough not to forget about your important day. You envisioned that Chuuya would pull you into his lap. Then he’d kiss your skin in between bites of bento that you just brought to him just moments earlier. You envisioned a sweet promise that he had already ordered the best cake in Yokohama. or that he would tap your nose with a gloved finger while he demanded to know what kind of boyfriend you thought he was. 

Especially when all you asked for this year was a cake and homemade dinner.  Just a little time together in the privacy of your home.  You and him without praying eyes. Just you and him. Just you, the special news and–

“ Hmff what kinda cake do you want?” you flinched at his tone and paused in the middle of sorting paperwork, unsure whether you heard him right. Your eyes flickered upwards to meet Chuuya’s narrowed ones. Clear frustration itched into his face “ Tell me now the kind you want, doll. Or I’ll just pick something up on the way” You bit your lip. You knew you did not want just ‘something’; a day-old cake from the bakery, or a generic one from any grocery store still open once he got off work. You wanted a cake picked with time and care, selected with you in mind. The type of dedication he’d show whenever he got wine for his friends' birthdays. The warm kind of affection he’d shower you in on good days. The picture perfect generous and loving boyfriend in the eyes of others. 

“ Don’t bother,” you answered without anger. “ With that attitude, I’ll fix it myself.” You felt his narrowed eyes glare at you, but you did not spare him a second glance. You were afraid that his expression would make the burning rod of anger explode and escalate the situation further. 

Neither of you needed that now. 

“ Oj I said I’ll fix it” Chuuya snapped back “ Just stop fuckin asking about it constantly.” 

His comment was the wrong thing to say. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, the words that made the anger in your stomach spike into an uncontrollable fury. “ You know what? Don't bother getting me anything!” you hissed “ I don’t need a goddamn thing from you.” 

“ What the hell is your fuckin issue?” Chuuya’s fist made contact with the table, his action made the stack of your newly sorted paperwork slide down towards the floor “ You’ve been having a goddamn attitude lately, the hells your problem?!” 

“ I don’t know, maybe if you actually took your time to come home once in a while you’d know!” your palms hands slammed against the table in equally furious fashion. 

Chuuya let out a growl- bit back the insult at the tip of his tongue. Still his words came out just as sharp as before, if not more painful, blaming “ Do you even understand my financial role? Or do you think my apartment gets paid for by itself, just like the wine and other ‘necessities’?-” You opened your mouth, ready to snap back that he had himself to blame for refusing to take a damned penny off your hands. He had no right to blame you when you had offered to pay time and time again only for him to stuff the money right back into your hand. But he did not let you speak. No, Chuuya kept going, not finished in his fury-filled trade. “ - Besides who the fuck would want to come home to someone constantly ungratefully pissy, hmm?” 

“If that’s how you’re feeling then we shouldn’t be together at all” your voice was just shy of a scream, your eyes full of humiliated anger. There was one thing to be pissy because of work related stress but this was crossing boundaries even Chuuya would normally stay clear of. 

Not today. 

“ Maybe you’re fucking right about that doll!” Chuuya didn't yell. Yet his words echoed loudly, louder than any other sound in his god forsaken office.  

You felt like you were slapped. The fight left your system with one big exhale. Your shoulders slumped and you bowed your head. Hands returned to your sides, balled into tight fists. 

Chuuya waited for you to say something. When you didn’t he let out a long sigh and turned back to the papers in front of him. You heard the way he picked up his pen, the scratches of the tip against the pristine papers “ I’ll send someone with you to get your things.” 

“ Don’t bother, I don’t need or want jack-shit from you” you turned on your heel and headed in the direction of the office door. 

Chuuya spoke again before you could leave his office; “ Don’t bother coming back to the Mafia. You’re relieved of your duties.” 

A sense of dread filled you but you were too proud to show it. Your lips set into a thin line as your hand lingered on the doorknob. “ As you wish. Don’t come crying to me when you’ll regret this later.” you spat then snuck out of the room right before Chuuya’s fury could reach you. 

You closed the office door just in time to hear something smash against it behind you, presumably the half eaten bento you had taken such time and care to prepare for him. Made his favourite things and brought it over for him too. 

Fucking ungrateful bastard. 

 A dull frozen feeling set  in your body- your mind hadn’t processed what had just transpired. Could not understand how you had lost everything; your home, your job, your lover and your life over a simple question. A request for something other than a last minute generic cake for your upcoming birthday. 

Still as you sat down in your car and pulled out of the Port Mafia parking lot for the last time in your life you couldn’t help the tears that streamed down your cheeks. The suffocating heartache- but also the tiny bit of relief that bloomed in your chest. The relief at the fact that the bloodthirsty executive of the Mafia finally showed his true colours- true thoughts- about you. Blamed you for the fact that you had stayed home from work during the past weeks. Blamed you for the insufferable act of wanting your partners attention. No, he was your ex partner and that was for the better. 

It was better that you broke up now than if something similar happened in the next weeks. Or so you told yourself. A few days from now you would have told him the truth and then you would have been trapped with him. By him. A caged bird with no chance to escape. No you should be happy, thankful that he decided to finally show the ugly of his character. 

Murderer unable to handle a heart. 

As similar thoughts ran through your mind, you couldn’t help the almost manic smile that appeared on your lips as you drove further and further away from the life you knew. After all, you were certain Chuuya would come to regret this decision in the future. 

But by then it would be too late. 

Your eyes flickered to the passenger seat where a large, obnoxious gift bag sat. With huge golden letters it spelled out “congratulations” and from it peeked out a shirt with the words; 

You’re going to be a dad…

Author note: And Chuuya would most certain regret his actions ...

Hope you enjoyed this little special addition to Raven's special that's the lengths of an actual fic. Yes I've had it prepared in advance and used this as an excuse to publish it. Hope this angst hurt just a tiny bit more than the previous. Don't forget to check Raven's masterlist! and wait for the next Special ;) ©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 AND WHEN I'M BACK IN YOKOHAMA

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with the team sent to escort you back to the port mafia headquarters obliterated, you're on your own in a war-torn yokohama. or, well, you are until mori sends out the infamous double black to retrieve you... you almost wish he would've let you suffer out there alone.

wordcount: 10k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, mentions of mafia business

AUTHOR'S NOTES: at last, we get the first meeting between pm!reader & double black. keep your eye out for two other cameos in this fic ;) i can't remember if dazai and chuuya got their moniker before or during the dragon's head conflict and i dont feel like going to go figure it out so for the sake of my sanity, their little duo started rising in infamy just before the conflict broke out.

“Oh, this is the worst,” you complain quietly, arms wrapped around your waist as you look up and down the abandoned street.

The city looks nothing short of apocalyptic with dead bodies littering the ground and buildings caved in. You can’t help but want to blow up at Mori for calling you back to Yokohama with all of this happening. The “elite squad” he had sent to ensure you arrived at the Port Mafia base safely had been all but decimated by an ability user with a penchant for arson—you only survived by the skin of your teeth, running as fast as you could down vaguely familiar alleys until you finally lost him. 

You pull out your phone, trying to see if you can call Mori but only fall further into despair when you find that you have no cell service and your phone is nearly dead.

Tucking your phone back in your pocket, you let out a shaky breath as you begin to make your way down the street again, trying to figure out where exactly you are so you can get to the base as soon as possible. It’s only a matter of time before that pyromaniac finds you and your ability isn’t exactly built for self-defense or combat—you’re not sure if you can get yours activated before you’re roasted to death by the man.

You swallow thickly, anxiety beginning to spread through you as you make your way through rubble down the street. What happened? It’s all too reminiscent of that day eight years ago when Mori found you, the death and destruction as far as the eye could see—it drags up emotions you’ve long since repressed and now is not the time for it.

You’d been unable to get answers out of Mori’s men before the ability user attacked your convoy, but it seems as if the city has become a warzone—but over what? How hasn’t it reached the news outlets yet? And who are the combatants? Obviously, the Port Mafia is one of them, and you can guess that Mori called you back to Yokohama because the war isn’t falling in their favor, but who the hell is strong enough to compete with the Port Mafia, and why? 

You sigh, kicking absently at a small rock as you continue down the street. 

You should have been briefed. You don’t know why you weren’t briefed before being called back to the city. Frustrated, you turn down a somewhat familiar alley and lean against the wall, resting your head back against the bricks. You need to figure out what’s going on, but more importantly, you need to figure out where the hell you are so you can get back into safe territory.

You peek your head out to peer around the road—not a soul in sight in the streets, but… your gaze flickers up to the buildings, sliding from window to window until you catch sight of a figure peeking from between the blinds down to where you’re standing in the alleyway. Instantly, they let the blinds fall shut and throw themselves back indoors, but it’s too late—you’ve already spotted them.

You let out a breath of relief, looking both ways to make sure the fire manipulator hasn’t caught up to you yet before darting across the street to the building. It’s an apartment complex—the door leading into it has been half knocked off its hinges, so it’s easy to push it open and step inside.

The whole hallway has been ravaged, doors on the lower floors kicked in to reveal trashed rooms. You have to be careful not to step on glass as you make your way to the stairwell, Third floor, fifth window from the right. Most of the doors on the third floor aren’t quite as done in as the ones on the first, but only one has light peeking out from the crack.

You exhale, letting your eyes slide shut briefly before you raise your fist to knock on the door. “Excuse me! Would you mind answering a few questions? … I just arrived in the area, got caught in the crossfire of some battle, I would really appreciate the help, if you can spare any.” You’re careful to keep your voice light, gentle, and you’re even more careful to make sure your expression is smooth and unassuming when you hear the lock click open.

“You picked a god-awful time to come to Yokohama, child.” You hear an older woman speaking on the other side of the door; she doesn’t open it yet, but now that it’s cracked, you think your ability will work quickly to make her at ease. “Not one of ‘em Strain decoys, are you?” 

The fact that you have no idea what she means by that is infuriating, a reminder that Mori didn’t even bother to warn you about anything before dragging you back here, but you don’t let your frustration seep onto your face.

Strain… Strain… That Australian organization? What the hell are they doing in Yokohama? Why have you been kept so in the dark?

“No ma’am, unfortunately, I don’t even know what you mean by that,” you admit, and when you hear the woman let out a heavy sigh, you know that you’ve won, sending up a silent prayer of thanks as she opens the door to let you in. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

The woman only grumbles, but her eyes are gentle and her wrinkled face is soft as she ushers you into the room, shutting the door behind you and locking it. She’s not alone in the apartment, you notice—there’s a teen boy around your age lingering in the hallway, blonde hair cut short and glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose as he studies you with a frown. 

“What are you doing out here on your own, girl?” the elderly woman asks as she wobbles after you into the main room of the apartment, ushering you to sit down. “Doppo, go get the poor girl some water. Stop acting like a lump, boy.”

The boy looks disgruntled but nods, scampering off into the kitchen as the woman turns her attention back toward you. “Well? Don’t you know? Yokohama’s no place for tourists lately. Where are your parents?”

Your smile falters, mind racing as you try to pick your words carefully. “My father is the one who told me to come back to the city. I was… not made aware of the circumstances I would be arriving in.”

“Men,” the elderly woman spits out, looking up as the boy, Doppo, returns with two glasses of water, handing one to you and one to the woman. “Take notes, boy, you better not end up like one of those useless wastes of air or I’ll put you down myself, understand?” 

“Yes, granny,” the boy replies, and though he still looks distinctly aggrieved, you can’t help but feel amused by the fact that he immediately pulls out a notebook to take notes.

“Would you mind telling me what exactly… happened to the city?” you ask after a moment, taking a sip of the cool water and trying to make yourself a bit more comfortable on the sofa. “I haven’t seen anything on the news about this.”

The woman scoffs, waving her hand. “Of course not, big whigs think that they can keep it all on the low and get it under control before the incident makes it across seas,” she says roughly. “Gang wars broke out after some bastard with a lot of money died. Came in from all over to try to get their hands on the money. Whole city’s being torn apart.”

Interesting, you think to yourself, mind racing as you put together the few puzzle pieces you’ve been given. How many factions are already here? Who are they? Why did Mori call you back here if it’s already escalated this much? Your ability might be key in intel gathering and negotiations, but you’d be useless in combat.

“Our ward is under the control of some organization called the Strain,” the boy tells you. “They’ve been targeting civilians. They-”

Doppo grimaces and looks away, an angry expression crossing his face and you watch as the elderly woman reaches out to squeeze his forearm before looking back over to you. “Boy’s mother was killed by them the night the conflict broke out. I’ve been looking after him since.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say quietly, but he only averts his gaze from you, looking down at the ground. 

Strain. You were right. You’ve heard a lot of them. They originated in the Australian underground, but they spread rapidly throughout the world—footholds in every major country, stakes in every major world event. Brutal and ambitious, you suppose you’re not surprised they came here if there’s as much money up for grabs as the woman assumes. 

“What ward are you trying to get to, girl?” the woman asks you. “It’s not safe out there on your own. There are no rules or laws anymore, whole city is anarchic. You go out there on your own and you’ll be picked off by Strain.”

“I need to get to my father,” you tell her as you shake your head. The Port Mafia must be in an especially precarious position if Mori is bringing you back after the conflict has escalated this much—your heart rate spikes as worst-case scenarios start to fly through your head, wondering if they’ve been backed into a corner, forced into a position where their only option is negotiations for surrender. Logically, you know Mori would never let that happen, but it doesn’t quell the rising fear. “He’s in Naka-ku.”

You just need to know what ward you’re in and-

“You’re in Kanagawa-ku right now, you’ll never make it through it and Nishi-ku—and Naka-ku is the heart of the conflict,” the woman says as she clicks her tongue. “Stay here. You’ll be safer.”

“I need to get to my father,” you repeat again, “but thank you, really, for the offer and concern… and for helping me figure out what’s going on. I appreciate it.”

You rise to your feet to leave, and instantly, the boy is on his feet, nearly knocking over the woman’s cup of water and promptly getting whacked with a rag in response. The boy winces but takes a few steps toward you, undeterred. 

“You can’t go out there,” he says, green eyes pleading for you to listen. “Just stay. Once everything’s calmed down, we can help you find your father.”

“I can’t stay,” you say quietly, wondering if Doppo’s desperation for you to stay is a result of your ability messing with his head or if he really does just have that big of a heart. You think as a thank you for their help, that you’ll ensure that Yokohama will become Strain’s grave.

The old woman makes another disparaging comment about ungrateful fathers before nodding at you. “Good luck, girl, be careful out there.”

You make it approximately seven blocks before the ability user that you thought you lost catches up to you. You think that if you die here, you’re going to spend the entire rest of Mori’s life terrorizing him as a ghost. You grimace as a wave of flames sweeps above you, you can feel the heat against the top of your head from where you’re using an abandoned car to shield you from the man, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he gets to you.

Shit, you sigh, eyes flitting around the street trying to figure out if there’s anywhere you can dart to, but the only other rubble you could hide behind is a tipped-over dumpster in an alley twenty yards away—you’ll never make it that far without something to shield you from the flames. 

You blame Mori. Again. He should’ve warned you about what you’re walking into, and he should’ve sent more than just a group of second-rate losers to pick you up from the station knowing how bad the city is. Now, you’re going to get roasted alive by some psychotic pyromaniac when you should be back in Kyoto dealing with the more pleasant parts of business—wining and dining elites to strike deals and expand the Mafia’s influence throughout all of the societal spheres of Japan.

You grimace as you steady your gun in front of you, using the broken side-view mirror of the car you’re hiding behind to try to figure out where the ability user is because if you can get one good shot off you’d at least have enough time to make a break for it. You just need to focus—the Colonel didn’t put you through all of that firearms training just for you to choke up when you actually need to use it.

Your gaze tracks the man as soon as he comes within view of the mirror. You breathe in and out steadily—once, twice, three times. He’s fumbling with a walkie-talkie, distracted, and you don’t hesitate before taking the given chance. You twist into a kneeling position to face where he’s standing, raising both arms as you aim the gun in his direction; he catches your movement from the corner of his eye, expression shifting into one of anger, but you fire off three bullets before he can retaliate.

Or so you thought.

Your lips part in shock as the man whips a fireball in your direction before he hits the ground—even if you do evade it in time, it’s stronger than the rest he’s been throwing at you, it’ll blow right through the car you’re using as a barrier.

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to take a step back but your ankle catches on a stray piece of rubble. You hit the ground hard, pain shooting up your leg and as you brace yourself for the flames, you squeeze your eyes shut.

But the agony of burning to death never comes.

Your eyes fly back open when you see someone standing between you and the fireball, the flames fizzling out and dying before they can touch him. They disappear, unable to get past him to you, and your eyes widen in shock. Who on earth… He looks over his shoulder at you, dark-hair flopping in his visible eye—he’s pretty, you think absently, even if a quarter of his face is covered in bandages. You blame your thoughts on the fact that you’re still a bit stunned and confused. 

Then he opens his mouth.

“You must be the precious cargo,” he grins. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Cargo?” You gape, offended. “Did you just call me cargo?”

“Precious cargo,” he corrects, eye turning up in amusement before he focuses his attention back to the ability user who had attacked you. “Go handle that, pipsqueak. Make yourself useful for once.”

“Shut your damn mouth, bastard,” another male voice spits from behind you, voice riddled with irritation and anger. 

You look behind you to see another boy around your age with orange hair and mismatched eyes. He’s dressed more casually than the dark-haired boy, who’s wearing a black suit and tie beneath his long coat. He barely spares you a look as he steps forward, and you watch as his entire body glows red before he flies forward so fast that your eyes can’t even keep up with him. 

The gravity manipulator. You’ve heard of him through Kouyou—not much, but enough to know he’s probably the strongest ability users to exist in the eastern hemisphere. Does that mean…

The dark-haired boy turns his attention to you, smile widening as he leans over you. He looks unbearably amused at your predicament, and you find yourself growing more and more incensed by the second. 

“Dazai Osamu,” he greets. “You got a name, precious cargo?” 

Oh.

You recognize the name instantly, eyes narrowing, and as if he can sense your sudden change in demeanor, his smile starts to fall. Dazai Osamu. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. Mori brought him in two years ago, if the rumors you’ve heard hold any truth to them—after he sent you away to Kyoto with Kitada Usurai, one of the previous boss’s executives. 

You always wondered if the reason Mori never brought you back had something to do with his new protege—whether it was because he didn’t need you in Yokohama anymore now that he had “the Demon Prodigy” to be his heir or it was because he just didn’t want the two of you interacting. You never really minded; you like being in Kyoto and you like not having to be at the heart of every gang conflict that takes place in Yokohama but you can’t help the bitterness that rises now that your eyes have settled on the boy that took your place.

Before you can answer him, Dazai abruptly goes careening over to the left, hitting the ground hard. The orange-haired boy is standing where he once was, leg extended, and you realize that he must’ve kicked him away. 

“Stay there and die, won’t you?” he snaps, and you glance behind him, trying to figure out if he had already taken care of the ability user that had been hunting you down. Your lips part when you see him crumpled in a pile of rubble, unmoving. “Nakahara Chuuya. You can call me Chuuya. You hurt?” 

He extends his hand to you, and you take it gratefully, giving him your name and letting him help you to your feet. You stumble a bit, your left ankle buckling under your weight, and Chuuya wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. 

How embarrassing, you think, thanking him quietly before easing his arm away, standing on your own even with the pain in your ankle, not wanting to come across as weak. You make your way over to where the ability user is crumpled on the ground, kneeling in the rubble next to him. You lift your fingers to his neck to see if he’s still hanging on, but there’s no pulse.

You click your tongue, having been hoping you’d be able to take him back to the base for questioning, but instead, you let your fingers drift to the symbol embroidered on his jacket and then to the two bars embroidered onto his bicep.

Strain. 

The old lady and her grandson hadn’t been lying.

“You recognize the symbol?” Chuuya asks, wandering over to stand next to where you’re kneeling on the ground.

You frown instantly. “You don’t?” you ask dubiously, eyes narrowing again as Chuuya bristles at your comment.

“The conflict only just started a few days ago,” he says defensively. “We don’t have intel on all of the organizations that have showed up in the city. There are dozens of them. We’ve been more focused on trying to keep the civilians out of the crossfires at this point.”

A mighty fine job they’ve been doing at that, you think sarcastically, mind drawing back to the boy and old woman that helped you earlier and all of the destroyed buildings. You keep the thought to yourself, not too keen on antagonizing one of the people sent to get you out of this hellhole. 

“That’s why he brought me back here then,” you mutter more to yourself than anyone else, rolling your eyes as you grab the ability user’s walkie-talkie and rise to your feet. “He’s a member of Strain—one of their lower-ranked ability users, if the lines on his coat are accurate. From what I’ve gathered, they control Kanagawa-ku and Nishi-ku. We should get out of the open before their stronger ability users show up.”

“I can take them,” Chuuya says confidently, looking unperturbed by your comment.

“I’m sure you can,” you say dryly, “but how skilled are you at using nonlethal force against strong opponents?”

Chuuya only squints at you, which is as much of an answer as you need.

“If we want actual, useful intel, we’ll have to capture one of their higher-ranked ability users alive. I can get the information out of them, I just need the opportunity to use my ability.” You rise back to your feet, gaze shifting around the street to try to figure out where you should hide out for the night. “Plus, night is falling, and rumor has it, Strain has an ability user that’s particularly adept with umbrakinetic abilities and I would rather not run into him. I am already tired and wounded, and I don’t know how your gravity would interact with an element unaffected by gravitational forces so we can’t rely on your brute force.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have attitude?” Chuuya scowls, disgruntled by your blunt commentary, and you roll your eyes.

“No, actually,” you say, giving him a thin smile. “In fact, I’ve been told I’m quite pleasant. I’m just in a bad mood because I didn’t realize Mori would be having me return to a warzone when he called me back to Yokohama. I would’ve appreciated a bit of a head’s up.”

Your gaze drifts back to Dazai as you speak, curious, but the boy is already looking at you, a frown on his lips and visible eye sharp. As soon as he notices that you caught him staring, his face smoothes out and he cocks his head to the side, questioning, eye too black and too empty.

Your gaze slides away from him onto what seems like another residential building behind him.

“We’ll stay there for the night.”

You wake up with a pain in your back and a headache. The fact that your ankle doesn’t hurt as badly is only a minimal consolation as you push yourself into a sitting position and rub your forehead, disoriented and confused, trying to remember where you are and why you’re sleeping on a rickety bed.

Your gaze catches sight of a head of orange hair lying in the opposite direction of you, pillow at the foot of the bed and curled close to the edge of the mattress as if trying to stay as far away as possible from you.

That’s right. You’re back in Yokohama. Mori called you back to help with this conflict. Sent the gravity manipulator and the Demon Prodigy after you to make sure you got back to the base. Your eyes linger on Nakahara Chuuya for a moment, watching the way his chest rises and falls, soft puffs of air escaping his lips—he’s fast asleep, dead to the world. So, you let your gaze drift across the room; it’s dark, no lights on in fear of drawing unwanted attention from Strain scouts if they see any sign of life in one of the abandoned buildings. You can only hardly catch sight of Dazai Osamu sitting near a cracked open window, one knee tucked to his chest while the other hangs loosely at his side as he looks outside and smokes a cigarette.

There’s an indecipherable expression on his face—a heavy look in his eyes and a downturn curve to his lips. You watch him curiously for a moment. 

You’ve heard a lot about Dazai Osamu’s feats while stationed in Kyoto: ruthless, terrifyingly intelligent, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. It took only a year of him being a member of the Mafia for him to be given control of Mori’s personal covert ops unit, and he’s been producing staggering results since. He’s the one who takes charge of eliminating organizations that you deem unworthy of associating with the Mafia but too problematic to keep around, the one who’s been opening up new distribution and trade channels for you to make use of in negotiations and acquisitions.

You suppose you’ve been working closely with him for a while now, even if the two of you have never interacted until now.

Still, the rumors that have spread about the boy are nothing to scoff at. The head of the Mafia’s interrogation unit—they say no one lasts more than five minutes in the same room with him before cracking. You’ve heard through the grapevine that the lower-ranked mafiosos are more terrified of him than any of the executives—see him as heartless and calculating, willing to sacrifice any one of them if it means furthering the Mafia’s interests. He only views people as tools, there’s no room in his black heart for meaningful relationships. No one trusts him and the longer he works for the Mafia, the darker and more unfathomable he becomes, even in the eyes of others entrenched in the dark—people keep far out of reach of him unless they have a death wish.

You study him carefully from where you’re sitting; he still hangs his jacket over his shoulders, like some sort of barrier from the rest of the world. His expression now is a far cry from the smile that had been on his face when you first saw him; his eye black and eerily still as he stares out the window, void of the gleam that had been in it before he noticed your reaction to his name.

You slide out of bed as quietly as you can, making your way over to where he’s sitting—he doesn’t even notice your approach until he catches sight of your reflection in the window, but even then, he doesn’t turn to look at you, only tracking you through the glass until you come to sit on the windowsill across from him. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, pulling your knees to your chest.

“You shouldn’t sit at the window,” you finally say. “Someone could spot you.”

His eye is so black right now; you almost feel uncomfortable beneath his stare but you only raise your eyebrows. His gaze pointedly trails down to where you’d joined him and the corner of your lip quirks up.

“Fair enough,” you say and then hold your hand out, silently requesting for him to pass the cigarette over to you. Dazai stares at your hand for a moment and just when you’re about to draw your hand back, he finally reaches out to let you take it from him. Your fingers brush his as you take it between your index and middle fingers, the contact causing a spark to run up your forearm. You lift the cigarette to your lips and take a long drag, tilting your head back against the wall before you tell him, “You should go get some rest. I’ll take watch the next few hours.”

“Not tired,” he replies after a few seconds of silence. His voice is just as cold as the expression on his face, no hint of the playfulness from earlier in the day.

You hum, trying to decide what to say because he’s clearly unhappy and you have a feeling it has to do with how you reacted to hearing his name earlier, so you decide to be upfront, not in the mood for word games. 

“I think you’re unhappy with me because of how I reacted to hearing your name,” you say, laying out the issue. His gaze snaps up to you, sharp and narrowed, lips parting to deny the allegation but you don’t let him. “I was only surprised. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I have a bad opinion of you.”

“No?” Dazai asks, a sardonic lilt to his voice, goading more than anything else but you don’t fall for the trap. 

With your legs brushing, you can’t feel the familiar warmth of your ability circling through you and emanating around you, everything feels cold and empty instead, as if a part of you was sucked into a vacuum in space—the rumors must be true about him being a nullifier. You’ve never had to interact with people without your ability as a fail safe, it’s constantly active despite trying to learn how to turn it off. It’s useful though, it ensures that even if you mess up, the people around you are comfortable enough and amiable enough to not notice. They trust you without you even needing to do anything, adore you just because of the pleasant feelings your ability induces in them.

This is… different. 

And you don’t think in a bad way. You’ve always wondered what it would be like to interact with people without your ability interfering, it’s why you tried so hard to figure out if you could turn it off. And… it's nice talking to someone who’s not automatically endeared to you by your ability, who you can have normal conversation with without having to wonder if they’re only talking to you because you’re messing with their minds. Even nicer than you used to imagine.

“No,” you confirm. “I’m curious about you.”

The corners of Dazai’s lips turn down even more, brows furrowing at the comment. “Why?”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“A monster,” you say the word absently, watching as Dazai goes rigid at it, staring you down. “A demon. It’s what everyone calls you, at least.” 

“... and what makes you think I’m not one?” he finally asks, jaw tight.

Your lips curl into an easy smile again. “If you were a monster, you wouldn’t have been so bothered by the idea of me not liking you. The desire to be liked is an exceedingly human trait.”

Even under the dim moonlight, you can see the way Dazai’s cheeks burn a rosy color at your words. He suddenly looks years younger as he fumbles for words, gaze averting from you back to the window, but his reflection betrays him. 

“I was not bothered by the idea of you not liking me,” he protests, defensiveness creeping into his tone as he snatches his cigarette right back from your hand as if to make a point, giving you a glare from the corner of his eye. “I was not.”

“You were also very clearly put off by the fact that I had no issue with Chuuya,” you note, biting back a laugh at the squeak-like protest that slips from his lips and the mortified expression that follows. “Jealousy, another exceedingly human trait.”

“I was not jealous,” he cries out, a bit too loud because from where he’s sleeping on the bed, Chuuya grumbles out a ‘shut the fuck up’ in his sleep. “I was not jealous.”

“It’s okay if you were,” you say, instead of indulging in his denial. “I’m not judging you.”

“I wasn’t,” Dazai hisses, more insistent now. “I don’t care if you like me or not.”

“Well, I do like you,” you tell him—honest, you’re having fun teasing him.

“You don’t even know me,” Dazai scoffs, cheeks still pink as he pointedly turns his face away from you. “You can’t like me.”

“I want to know you,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you observe him. You like observing things—it’s the easiest way of gathering information. You keep quiet, you don’t draw more attention to yourself than necessary. It’s how you’ve been able to thrive alone in Kyoto even with so many vultures circling you. “I don’t know many other people my age… none, really.”

Something strange crosses Dazai’s expression. Longing but hesitant. Wistful but reluctant, like he should know better but just can’t help himself from wanting. You’re good at reading people, you pride yourself on it; it’s another reason why you’ve been able to succeed in Kyoto alone. Dazai is difficult—he covers half of his face and he’s quick to school the other half when he slips up, but you’re observant. It’s what you’re best at. 

You wonder, maybe, if Dazai has his own vultures. You think he must, he’s young—like you—and it’s probably why he uses his reputation as a shield and wears his long black coat like armor in the same way you use honeyed words and wear a saccharine smile. So, the thought must be scary to him as much as it must be appealing—the desire to have someone see him put against the fear of actually being seen as he is. 

You know it better than anyone.

“Well, you can’t have Chuuya. Chuuya is my dog,” Dazai says firmly, raising his chin. “He follows my orders.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Your dog?” you ask dryly.

“My dog,” Dazai confirms, seemingly quite proud of himself. “I won a bet, and now Chuuya is my dog for life.”

“Must have been quite the bet,” you drawl, watching as Dazai brightens a bit at the topic.

“We had a contest to see who could figure out the culprit of one of our missions faster. I won, of course, because Chuuya is slow and dumb like a slug. A slug. Chuuya is a slug,” Dazai cackles, dark eye shining as his lips curl up into a wide smile, clapping his hands together. “I’m much better than Chuuya, you see. He’s a brute. He’s never had to learn to be smart or cunning because of his ability, so he just punches things around until he gets what he wants. Plus, he’s small—and if that’s not bad enough, he is more arrogant than his tiny body can hold. That’s why he’s my dog. He can’t do anything without his master’s orders.”

Dazai is not subtle in dragging Chuuya down to boast about himself, puffing out his chest like some prideful bird and lifting his chin as he speaks. You think that if Chuuya was awake to hear this, Dazai would find himself tossed right out of the window to fall two stories to the ground, but the other boy is asleep, blissfully unaware of Dazai’s rampage of insults. 

“What happened during the mission?” you ask curiously, a bit interested to know what’s all been happening in Yokohama while you’ve been gone.

Dazai looks surprised as if he didn’t expect you to encourage his yapping. Then, he lights up again. “I’ll tell you all about it…”

You wonder, maybe, if the rumors of his solidarity and inability to form meaningful relationships might not have stemmed from his own volition. Rather, you think they’ve been enforced by the people around him who refuse to give him the time of day in fear of his reputation, because right now in front of you isn’t some twisted and unfathomable wraith of the Mafia.

All you see is a boy the same age as you eager to have someone new to talk to. 

He talks all night. 

From the moment you sat there with him at two or three in the morning until dawn, you don’t think he shut his mouth once. You hardly spoke more than a handful of times, content to just lean your head against the window and listen to him go on about all of the missions he’s had since joining the Mafia a year ago—most of them involved Chuuya, and he certainly made a show of explaining in each one why the mission would have failed without Dazai there to guide it along.

“See. This is why he’s my dog.”

It’s not until Chuuya finally starts stirring as the sun crosses the horizon does he finally quiet down, seemingly not keen on getting himself launched out a window if the other boy happens to hear one of the unsavory stories Dazai’s telling you.

Then again, his first words are pretty much asking for it.

“About time you woke up, slug,” Dazai says cheerfully when Chuuya groans and rolls over, clearly starting to wake up. His dark eye gleams as he waits for Chuuya’s explosive reaction to the new nickname.

“Hah?! What did you just call me, bastard?” Chuuya snaps, although he’s quite slow in pushing himself out of bed, sleepy and disoriented, gaze swiveling around to try to land on Dazai.

“Huh,” you say, more to yourself than them. “He is quite sluggish in waking up.”

“What?!” Chuuya demands, head snapping toward you. 

On the other side of the window bench, Dazai snickers, looking mighty pleased with himself. He looks a lot more his age now, the tenseness in his shoulders has dissipated in the hours he spent talking to you, the tightness in his face has smoothed out. His eye is a lot wider and a lot brighter, the corner of his lip twitching as he waits to see what Chuuya’s going to do next. He sits closer to you now too—or, not closer, really, but he’s extended his legs out a bit as the night drew on until they were all but entangled with yours.

“You’re a slug, Chuuya,” Dazai jeers. “A slug. Because you’re small and slow. Aren’t I so brilliant?”

“I’m going to toss your shitty ass out the window,” Chuuya booms, throwing himself out of bed and darting over to Dazai, who evades Chuuya’s punch by diving off of the window bench, nearly taking you right with him considering his legs were stuffed between yours. “Get back here, you asshole.”

Dazai’s out of the room in an instant and Chuuya is chasing after him, spitting out curses and threats. You sit there for a moment, blinking, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened before just deciding to shake your head and rise to your feet. You stretch, body a bit sore from sitting in the same place for hours and tired from the little amount of sleep you got last night. 

You’re ready to get back to headquarters. You want to sleep in an actual bed and you want to drag Mori for his incompetence and nearly getting you killed. You miss Elise too, even if you don’t really like what she’s become. You’re just happy to not be alone anymore—being in Kyoto was… stressful, at best, and downright agonizing, at worst. You couldn’t trust anyone, not even your ability was enough to protect you there, you had no friends, you were lonely and constantly looking over your shoulder because you had no one to watch your back—even the other members of the Mafia in Kyoto with you would’ve turned against you at any given chance if it meant they could drag themselves higher up the hierarchy. 

You yawn as you leave the room, hearing the distant sounds of Chuuya kicking Dazai’s shit in. You make your way to the front of the building you guys had camped the night out, intent on getting a breath of fresh air before waiting for them to stop fucking around but you hardly get more than half a step out of the door before you’re pushed back hard against a nearby wall.

Your eyes widen when a figure manifests in front of you, particles of shadows knitting together to form a young man who seems to be a few years older than you. You barely withhold a sigh, realizing that despite all attempts to avoid him, you still managed to stumble right into the hands of Strain’s shadow manipulator—literally.

“I didn’t expect the cargo we got intel on to be a girl,” he says coolly.  “I almost didn’t believe it when Anderson reported it to me. Though I haven’t heard from him in hours, I assume that’s your doing.”

“You know,” you say lightly, “this is the second time in less than twelve hours that I’ve been called cargo. I think I like it even less coming from you.”

Though you’ve heard a lot about the shadow manipulator, you didn’t know what he looked like before now—he’s quick and elusive, and those who do manage to catch sight of him are killed by him soon after.. He’s not much older than you, though—two years max—handsome enough, pale blonde hair and green eyes with tan, freckled skin. 

Your lips curve up into a small smile. “Are you going to kill me or are you going to stand here with your hand around my neck? … Just so you know, I’m not into that.”

You watch as—just as you expect—he frowns deeply and takes a step back. He watches you carefully, brows knit together, and you let your ability work. Invisible threads wind around his limbs, curling up his neck twisting into his ears and nose and mouth, they curl up to his brain and take root, leaving him vulnerable to however you plan to use your ability.

You still have to be careful. You have to be subtle. Your ability is useful but it has its drawbacks—the biggest being that if you’re too sudden with it, the person you’re targeting can realize that you’re messing with their head and pull themselves out of it. That would be the worst case scenario because 1) they’d realize you have an ability and 2) you’d be in trouble. 

So you resign to just tilting your head to the side as you smile—some emotions are fickle, positive ones like love and happiness, especially among people like you who don’t often feel those emotions. Negative emotions are easier in that once you send someone into a spiral of fear, paranoia or rage, it’s almost impossible for them to draw themselves out, but they’ll inevitably realize that you had done something to their head, which is not an option because your ability needs to remain a secret.

So you decide to just rely on the passive form of your ability, watching as he falls victim to it, shoulders slumping and muscles relaxing as he eyes you curiously. Your ability is non-combatant, yes, but as soon as combat is over, it comes out to play.

He’d made a fatal mistake when he chose not to snap your neck.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you say conversationally, hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side. “They say you’re one of the strongest ability users in the world right now.” 

“I didn’t expect you to be a kid,” he says with a frown. “You’re what? Fourteen?”

You blanche. “I’m sixteen,” you protest, forgetting to keep up appearances as you stare at him, aghast. “I do not look fourteen.”

He makes a face as if he disagrees and then shrugs. 

Your eyes bulge. “I do not,” you repeat angrily. “I’m sixteen.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, amused. “I’m not in the business of killing kids though, so I guess I have to take you in. What a bother.”

Your eye twitches. You’d rather die than be taken hostage by Strain and you don’t know where your shitty escorts are so you settle for antagonizing him as a means to stall.

“You’re a high-ranking member of Strain, how are you going to sit here and tell me you’re not in the business of killing kids?” you sneer. “Your organization has been the cause of more child deaths than any other in the world.”

His eyes turn to slits as he stares at you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says coldly. “I put a stop to all of the rings in Australia myself.”

“And what? You think Strain is willing to just take those losses?” you say, an amused laugh bubbling in the back of your throat when anger flashes through his eyes. Your gaze flits down to the five lines embroidered on his jacket. “For an executive, you must not be kept in the loop by the rest of your comrades. The moment you dismantled the rings in Australia, they turned to strike a deal with Bunin—what do you think your branch in Russia does there? They’re helping Bunin expand his trafficking rings through the East and Strain cuts twenty percent of the profit.”

His hand snaps forward to grab your collar, yanking you toward him. “How would you even know that?” he spits, but from the conflict thinly veiled behind his eyes, you know that your words have taken root. 

You raise your eyebrows as you look up at him, a bit too close for comfort.

“How did you know I was coming back to Yokohama?” you counter instead. He lets you go immediately, withdrawing with a closed-off expression. “Come on, we’ve both been betrayed in some manner—you by your organization, me by someone within mine. I almost burned to death because of them and you… you’ve been working for an organization that’s been lying to you for years. Let’s help each other.”

“I don’t even know if what you’re saying is the truth,” he replies tightly. “I don’t-”

“Then go find out,” you say with an idle smile, “and when you realize I’m telling the truth, well… your ability is quite handy, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me again.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression indecipherable, but after a few long seconds, he disappears in the same swirl of darkness that he appeared in and you can finally relax. You let out a heavy sigh as your shoulders slump, lifting your hand to your neck, wincing at the tenderness.

You doubt that will be enough. You’ve heard rumors that he’s Yakuza-born—only ended up with Strain after Mishima’s Sun and Steel went to war with their syndicate—loyalty is always core to those types, runs through their blood—but at least you’ve planted the seeds, and when he inevitably finds out you’re telling the truth, he’ll come crawling back for more information.

And hopefully some information for you in return. 

Your gaze flits to the side when you hear a crash from your left, seeing Nakahara Chuuya fly out of the building, hands glowing red and eyes wide and wild, trying to seek out a man who’s already long gone.

You roll your eyes. “He’s already gone. Thanks for the help, O’Great Protectors,” you say sarcastically. “Really, you guys are amazing at your job.”

Chuuya has the decency to look ashamed, face flushing as red as his hair as he deactivates his ability and looks away from you. “Who the hell was that?”

“Itou Asahi,” you say absently. “Strain’s shadow manipulator—one of the strongest ability users in the eastern hemisphere right now. Mori brought him up a few times wanting me to recruit him. I didn't think I’d get the chance considering we’re aligned with the Sun and Steel and he hates them, but I might have an opening.”

Your look over to Dazai, who only frowns at your words, gaze trained on you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“You’re hurt,” he says, brows furrowed, and you realize he’s looking at your neck.

You drop your hand from where you’d been brushing your fingers against the sensitive skin, feeling distinctly too seen under Dazai’s heavy gaze. You don’t know why you feel a bit flustered, but you do and you definitely don’t like it.

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we head back to headquarters now?”

Dazai frowns like he’s about to protest, but Chuuya nods before he can. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Headquarters is less than a mile away now. The streets that three of you are walking down are safe—none of the organizations have made it this far into the heart of Port Mafia territory—and yet for some reason, Dazai still feels incredibly troubled. 

He hasn’t even been able to join in on you and Chuuya’s conversation. He’s had ample opportunity to considering how much Chuuya is embarrassing himself by trying to act smart, but instead he finds himself trailing behind the two of you, an outsider, too lost in his own thoughts to even think of trying to make a snide comment.

Why is he so troubled?

Dazai isn’t sure and that troubles him too.

He’s always been very in tune with himself. His emotions, his motives, his wants and needs—they’re few and far between, yes, but Dazai has never struggled to pinpoint them at any point in his life. 

He was sad when his ability manifested and his siblings no longer wanted anything to do with him. His ability made them uncomfortable, made them feel empty because it deprived them of their own abilities. They said it was unnatural, and they said he must be unnatural too because why else would he develop such a terrible ability? Dazai couldn’t really blame them, his ability made him feel empty too—he theorizes that when it doesn’t have an ability to suck up into the black hole, it starts devouring anything else it can get its hands on, like his emotions, because he stopped feeling much at all after it manifested. 

When he was twelve, he wanted to learn how to play the piano to impress his mother, though he never got the chance to show her because she was killed soon after. He hasn’t wanted much of anything since then. 

When he was fourteen, his grandfather started pitting him, his siblings and his cousins against each other. His older brother drew the first blood against one of his cousins, and it was a bloodbath from there on out. With both of his parents dead and his siblings and cousins trying to kill one another to be named his grandfather’s heir, Dazai didn’t have much reason to live himself, and he definitely didn’t want to be killed by one of his siblings or cousins. 

So, he thought the next logical step was to die, so he tried to kill himself.

He failed, obviously, and ended up with none other than Mori. He still hasn’t found much of a reason to keep living. Chuuya is around, he supposes, and he’s entertaining enough to mess with—it’s enough to keep Dazai going for now—and you claim to want to know him, so Dazai is interested in seeing how that plays out, but that’s beyond the point. 

The point is that Dazai knows what Dazai wants. Dazai knows what Dazai needs. Dazai knows what Dazai feels. And Dazai currently cannot figure out why Dazai is troubled, so something is certainly wrong and he needs to figure out what it is. 

He hears you laugh at something that Chuuya said and barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Nothing Chuuya says is ever that funny, so you must just be being polite, but it’s still annoying. Mostly due to the fact that Dazai can’t call it out because he doesn’t even know what was said because he wasn’t paying attention courtesy of his current dilemma.

He withholds a sigh as his gaze drops to your neck, eyes focusing in on the dark bruises lining your neck—the fingerprints of that ability user form Strain that attacked you when he and Chuuya weren’t around—and his irritation spikes yet again.

At once, a lightbulb goes off in his head.

That’s what’s troubling him. He’s found himself looking back at the marks on your neck on more than one occasion, and each time, it’s triggered his displeasure. He’s not sure why it took him so long to put it together, but now lies a new issue: why is it triggering his displeasure?

He squints as he stares at you hard, willing the answer to come to him. There must be a logical reason for it, he just needs to figure out what it is. He can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye, probably wondering why he’s staring at you so intensely, but Dazai just can’t rip his gaze away, fully intent on figuring out what his problem is right now.

Casualties are expected in this line of work. Dazai has never been one to think twice when people are hurt or killed in the line of action—he’s lost many subordinates to ensure the success of a mission and has even put his own life on the line if it meant that it bettered his chances of succeeding. So he should by no means be bothered by the prospect of you being wounded, especially considering he barely knows you.

“I want to know you.”

Dazai blinks as your words suddenly ring through his head again, startled by his own thoughts. His brows furrow even deeper because no, that can’t possibly be the reason why. He supposes it might be influencing it a bit because people who want to know him are few and far between, so the thought of meeting someone who actually gives him the time of day and almost losing them right away is unfortunate. It makes sense that it’s making him more irritable, especially when it’s something he’s curious to see play out and it’s something that could’ve been easily prevented.

Oh, he realizes, suddenly satisfied as he comes to an answer that he can quickly accept, disregarding everything else. 

That’s the issue—it was preventable. 

Dazai should’ve seen it coming and he should’ve been quick to take the necessary steps to avoid it. What he was feeling was irritability at himself, not at the fact that you got hurt. It wouldn’t make sense because Dazai doesn’t know you and even if he did know you, casualties are expected in this line of work. But you’re his assignment—his and Chuuya’s—Dazai has never failed an assignment before, much less with Chuuya, and he’d come this close because he’d recklessly let down his guard in enemy territory. 

It makes sense.

Much more than any of the other absurd explanations he’d been considering do at least.

This time when Chuuya makes a stupid comment, Dazai chimes in with some very necessary commentary, giving you a simpering smile and a wink before dancing out of the way of Chuuya’s much anticipated roundhouse.

Still, Dazai finds the troubled feeling returning again when his gaze drifts back down to the marks on your neck as he passes by the two of you with flourished spin, antagonizing Chuuya just to entertain himself with how red his face gets in embarrassment. 

But his gaze darts back up to your face quickly and he shakes off the unwelcome feeling, another quip on the tip of his tongue that abruptly dies when he sees your hand pressed to your mouth as you try to hide your amusement from Chuuya. Your eyes are turned up and your smothered giggles are just barely audible, the mid-morning sun casts an ethereal glow over your face and for a moment, Dazai is entirely stunned by the sight. He nearly trips over his own foot, and since he’s unsteady on his feet, he can’t avoid the way Chuuya predictably transitions from a roundhouse into a back kick.

He goes flying backward, all breath pushed from his lungs as takes the kick to the gut and hits the concrete hard a few feet away. He should be disgruntled, or he should at the very least retaliate with another mocking jibe, but instead, he finds his gaze fixed on you, watching as you finally burst into laughter, unable to contain it with the sight of Dazai sprawled out on the ground looking like a clown.

His heart rate spikes and Dazai’s hand flies to his chest, alarmed—becomes even more so when it doesn’t settle down. He rips his gaze from you to stare down at the ground, forcibly calming his heart and only when he’s sure that he’s got it under control, he looks back up.

Immediately, he loses control over it again, and this time it feels even more erratic, each thump resonating through his ears as you approach him, giggles quieting as you hold out your hand to help him up. 

For a horrifying second, Dazai thinks he might have a heart attack and that would be a lame way to go. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he does not have a heart attack, although that means he’s probably going to have to go to Mori when he gets back to the base—death may have been more preferable to that. 

Great, he thinks bitterly, not only has he had to deal with Chuuya for over twenty-four now, but now he’s going to have to go see Mori and figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Or you. He wonders if maybe you have an ability that’s somehow affecting him, that would be a serious issue for future missions that the two of you might be paired for. 

But it must be that—it’s the most logical explanation. 

What a mess the past day has been, but…

Dazai thinks it might’ve been worth the trouble, eyes lingering on you for a few moments longer before he takes your hand, taking note of the odd jolt that runs up his arm as soon as your fingers wrap around his hand to help him up. 

He doesn’t notice that even with your fingers locked with his, his heart still beats out of his chest. 

“Don’t tell me you’re over here reminiscing.”

You roll your eyes before looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on an achingly familiar face. Chuuya drops lightly to the ground behind you, using gravity to soften his fall as he approaches you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest as a smile curves to your lips. “I was waiting for you.”

“D’aw, did ya miss me?” he asks with a sharp smile.

You have a retort ready to fly from your lips, but instead of speaking it, you sigh and let your gaze drift across the street in Kanagawa-ku that you’re standing in. Even after all of these years, the ground and buildings are still charred where that ability user had attacked you—faded now, of course, but you can still make out the faint remnants of the attacks.

Maybe you are reminiscing, you think to yourself, a heavy feeling settling over you. If you close your eyes, you can almost picture the rubble you were hiding behind, the jolt of fear you’d felt when you realized you wouldn’t be able to dodge the next attack, and then him.

And then Dazai.

“I did,” you admit, dragging your eyes from the ground to look back at Chuuya, whose smile falters a bit before softening.

“I can’t believe Mori had you abroad for three years,” he sighs, reaching out to squeeze your wrist. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Let’s head back to headquarters and have a drink. We can put on a movie.”

“Not one of your shitty horror movies,” you laugh, knocking your shoulder into his. You lean into him a bit as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, keeping it draped around you as the two of you start to make your way back to the base.

You hesitate—and Chuuya can feel your hesitation from the way he glances down at you, concerned. He frowns and asks, “What’s up?”

You let out a puff of air and then speak up reluctantly, “Have you… heard from him? Of him?”

You hate the twinge of hope that’s audible in your voice, despite how hard you tried to rid yourself of it. You hate even more the sympathetic look that Chuuya casts you; he knows who you’re talking about instantly—of course, he does, there’s only one person it could be—his lashes lower and his arm drops back to his side. 

“I saw him,” Chuuya says after a few moments. Your eyes widen as your head snaps toward him, waiting for him to continue. “... Met him. He’s part of the Armed Detective Agency now. Got himself captured by us to try to get information to help his new protege.”

“Oh.”

Your throat feels tight. Too tight. Swollen. Your eyes sting painfully and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath. The Armed Detective Agency. New protege. You don’t know if you feel bitter or relieved. Bitter because he’s found a place somewhere without you, relieved because he’s alive and okay. 

His defection still doesn’t even feel real after four years, it’s not like you’ve been in Yokohama long enough to fully process it, but god… you could still imagine him coming up behind the two of you with a snide comment to antagonize Chuuya, eyes trained on you to watch the way you laugh at Chuuya’s reaction. The wistfulness hits you so hard that it almost knocks the air from your lungs—not for the first time since he left, you yearn, you miss him, you want him, and now that you’re finally back in Yokohama after so many years abroad, it’s all the more intense.

How unfair, you think, nails biting into your palms as you stare ahead.

“Do you think he’s replaced us?” You try to keep your voice light, but you think you fail.

Chuuya lets out a bark of laughter. “He can certainly try.”

Your lips curl up at Chuuya’s words, gaze flickering down to the ground. “Yeah, you’re right,” you agree quietly before asking, “Did he seem… okay?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I’m not talking about that shithead anymore,” he tells you. “I’m sure he’ll come looking for you now that you’re back. Let’s go home now, yeah?” 

The thought of Dazai coming to look for you makes your stomach twist with anxiety; after so many years apart, you just don’t know what to expect… but you suppose you’ve never really known what to expect from him, so you’ll just handle him the same way you always have. Except maybe not as kindly.

But you don’t have to worry about that yet.  Instead, you smile and bump shoulders with Chuuya again.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

[mello0cat]

Chuuya Nakahara X Reader

★ Gn reader Fluffs and kisses Short like Chuuya <3 Enjoy <3 <3

The office was surprisingly quite, rather strange for the quick-tempered red head...

the view outside the large windows were peaceful, over looking the city below, the stars covered the Yokohama skies yet no moon to be seen, rather a rare site for the polluted city

The two were sitting in the confines of his office. You, waiting for his work to be done while perched up on his table, Him, enjoying the talk with you discreetly enough. He seemed to be in a good mood today even after that hell of a mission.

What were they talking was about? Simply everything, it was a comfortable moment at the end of the day, quite litrally, He fell silent standing up and moving to you, a soft smile tugging into his face, he only had only ever looked so peaceful with you

Tilting his head to your's, pressing in a gentle kiss, so short yet very sweet. Something you're accustomed to, despite being so cold on the outside he really is sweet, to you atleast

His eyes full of unspoken love, ever admiring you.

Your face softened as you wrapped your arms around him bringing him closer to press another kiss

He held you tightly, as if you would dissapeared the moment he let's go, not wanting this to be simply a fleeting moment rather a memory he'd hold close

Parting her kiss, He muttered in a sigh

You're going to be the death of me

[nakahras]

᯽ fireworks • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • it’s the first time seeing chuuya after meursault. he left without a word and came back without a word. alternatively, the first time you tell chuuya you love him.

warnings • lower case is intentional, depictions of overstimulation/anxiety/panic attack, cursing, reader has an ability (description below), and fem!reader

wc • 2.8k

a/n • chuuya fluff my beloved <3

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ability • ravalry: allows its user to read the thoughts of someone through their emotions. the user can also push thoughts onto a target as well as emotions. this can cause the target to experience hallucinations both visual and auditory. it can also cause the target to feel certain emotions against their own will. the user, if not careful, can become overwhelmed by others’ thoughts and emotions themself.

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you watch as the night sky ignites into every color under the rainbow. the firework show from tonight’s festivities had been going on for almost 15 minutes now. almost all of the ada members had decided to participate. hell, even dazai caved and dressed in his best traditional clothes at the request - begging really - of atsushi. but even dazai’s participation couldn’t convince you to stay.

crowds had never agreed with you. they were noisy and it always felt suffocating. but there wasn’t a lack of effort, thanks to atsushi and dazai’s puppy dog eyes. it was comical considering those two boys are the most cat coded people you have ever met in your life. atsushi being a literal tiger at times. but unfortunately you only lasted a total of 67 minutes before your ability made everything extremely overwhelming.

even under fukuzawa’s “all men are created equal” you had a bad habit of subconsciously activating your ability and becoming far too overwhelmed by everyone else's thoughts to turn it off. dazai was able to stay back with you and use his own ability to calm you down. you were obviously grateful but you didn’t want to keep pulling him to you every time it happened.

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“do i get a reward for helping out my fellow ada member?” dazai’s voice was as light as ever, obviously he had been trying to make light of your situation.

this was the first time in a long time he had come out with everyone, the first time he came out since meursault, which was also a reminder that you still hadn’t heard from a certain gravity manipulator since arriving back in yokohama. you didn’t want to ruin the fun for everyone just because of your heightened emotions and constant loss of control. it wasn’t fair to anyone, most of all dazai.

you smiled meekly at the brunette. you could see it in the way his eyes dulled, that he’d already known what you were about to say, you said it anyway. “how about i reward you with the rest of the night off? i’m not cut out for these crowds. think i’m just gonna head to the empty pier and watch the fireworks from there.”

you started to back away but dazai persistently followed. “c’mon, you can’t possibly be upset over that shr-“

“dazai.” you’d promptly cut him off, not wanting to admit to yourself, let alone dazai that you were upset. especially considering the reason.

dazai throws his hands up in surrender with a wicked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes — although, dazai’s smiles almost never did. you’re unamused and frankly tired, so your own mask had cracks in it. dazai, ever the observant, immediately drops the cheery facade and mumbles something under his breath.

something along the lines of, “that damn slug, ruining everything by running late…” you choose to ignore the cryptic way dazai says that and instead waved.

“tell everyone i said to have a good night.”

and with that you left. not even giving dazai a chance to respond as you had already turned to leave mid sentence.

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽

that’s how you find yourself here, sitting at the edge of the pier, knees tucked snugly into your chest as you lay your cheek on them to look up at the sky. your mind was a storm of noise but luckily the fireworks were louder. that didn’t stop you from feeling a very prominent presence approaching.

you tense, instantly recognizing his presence. it takes every ounce of self control you have to keep your head in place and not look his way. your arms tighten around your legs and it’s the only indication you give him that you’re aware he’s there. you can feel his stare, his eyes bore into the back of your head, it felt as if he continued to stare he would start to make a dent in your skull.

still, you continue to look forward and ignore his presence. the noise from the fireworks may be deafening but you’re so honed in on the redhead behind you his defeated sigh is hard to miss. he tentatively shuffles his way next to you and remains standing. you vaguely notice from your peripheral, that he isn’t in his usual dark clothing. instead you note flashes of red, gold and white. your eyebrows furrow. was he wearing a haori? which means he must be wearing a montsuki haori hakama? he never wore traditional clothing. you were itching to look over at how gorgeous he must look but resist the urge yet again.

you continue to refuse to acknowledge his presence.

another sigh.

more silence on your end.

this time he clicks his tongue, but it’s more in defeat rather than annoyance. “that damn mackerel texted me. told me he couldn’t do the one simple task i asked of him. last time i ask him for anything…” the last part of his sentence broke on into a grumble, obviously thinking out loud more than talking to you.

there’s still no verbal response from you, although your face does twist into a scowl. so that’s what dazai meant earlier. chuuya was supposed to meet you all at the festival. to what? surprise you? you didn’t want to wait for a surprise. he knew how much you loathed surprises. you just wanted him back. you wanted to confirm for yourself that he was safe.

the port mafia executive is observing you. he watches as shadows of colors provided by the fireworks dance across your face, causing you to look 10x more strikingly beautiful than you already do. you’re quite literally the most stunning thing chuuya has ever laid his eyes on. he wants to tell you so. he wants to gush over how much he missed you. he wants to hold you. but he needs you to acknowledge him first and he knows you have an opinion about meursault that you deserve to voice. the problem lies in getting you to open yourself up. next to being the most stunning, you’re also the most stubborn person he has ever met. he has his work cut out for him.

“i was gonna surprise you at the festival…” of course he was, you almost scoff at the predictability of it all.

another sigh escapes chuuya’s lips when once again he doesn’t get a response. he knows he shouldn’t poke at you. but at this point he doesn’t know how else he could elicit a reaction. he ponders on it for a moment, nervously gnawing at his bottom lip. this could get you to open up but it could also make you more upset. he makes his decision and takes in a deep breath.

“i wanted to surprise you. i thought about you a lot while i was gone. the thought of coming back to you was about the only thing that kept me sane while having to deal with that damn dazai.” his last words come out bitter, as if he truly had been suffering.

you try to keep face. gritting your teeth and sinking your nails into the palm of your hands. but the cracks in your mask were already too far gone, it snaps completely off. your head swiftly lifts and turns to finally look at him.

and god how unfair. it’s so incredibly unfair how handsome he sincerely looks. his face isn’t covered by his hat and hair is tied by an ornamental string. the reds and greens and golds of his outfit really bring out the duel colors of his eyes. even frowning like he is, he is still a shining star in a sky full of clouds.

you have to remind yourself to keep your resolve as you scowl at the redhead. unbeknownst to you, chuuya is having a very similar crisis. you look like the most priceless treasure on this god forsaken planet. the gold hair ornament you wear frames your face perfectly. the colors of your traditional wear compliments your skin tone perfectly. even your makeup, which subtly matches your outfit, is perfect. you are perfect.

your sour expression is what brings him back to reality.

you let out an appalled scoff. “you thought of me? i find that hard to believe considering you made the decision to go along with dazai’s plan without warning. do you know how messed up i was? thinking you could be dead upon hearing you had been turned into a vampire. i thought i was never going to see you again because you didn’t tell me- i didn’t know. and then when you do return i don’t hear a single thing from you? not even a text saying ‘hey, shit is crazy at the port mafia but i will see you as soon as i can. just wanted to let you know i was safe.’ i would have been happy with that, chuuya.”

he flinches at how harsh his name sounds coming from your mouth. like you had to physically force it out. you never called him by his name. it was always a pet name of some sort. it was truly heart wrenching that he had pushed you to this point. it was never his intention. with everything going on he didn’t realize that maybe he should have communicated dazai’s plan with you, but he can’t change that now. what he needs to focus on is fixing his mistake. so, he listens to you and let’s you get it all out.

“...instead you continued to leave me in the dark. i had to continue on like i wasn’t a wreck, not knowing where you were. do you know how many times i imagined you were just dead somewhere in a foreign prison? too many times to count on my hands. dazai-” you choke, not having realized that you had started to cry. you swallow thickly and continue. “dazai had to constantly be on watch because i would lose control of my ability over the smallest of things. despite being exhausted, i refused to bring myself to imagine a world without you in it. no matter how much i was spiraling, it jus wasn’t something i could bear the thought of because-”

you’re cut off again, this time by a sob that you can feel throughout your entire body. you choke again, feeling like you can’t breathe. your eyes unfocus, your hearing goes fuzzy and your limbs begin to feel numb and tingly. in your panicked haze you briefly note that you’re reaching out and latch onto some sort of soft material. the colors igniting the night sky become overwhelming so you squeeze your eyes shut. you wish you could drown out the booming noises created by the fireworks. it’s all too much, it’s been too much. your ears are ringing and your hands are trembling. the emotions swirling inside of you begging to be let out but you hold them in, not wanting chuuya to be affected. you’re nauseous, you feel as though you could throw up at any moment.

chuuya knew you got like this, he’s heard dazai recount the times this ability has caused you to overwhelm yourself and initiate a panic attack. your grip on his haori was unexpected until he saw the sheer trepidation swimming in your glistening eyes. his body reacts before his mind can and he’s scooping you into his arms. chuuya softly cradles your head, gently resting your forehead against the side of his chest where his heart lays. he’d seen somewhere that the sound of a heartbeat could calm this sort of episode. he also coos and and speaks soft words of reassurance.

it’s absurd how calming just his presence is to you, even when you’re this irate with him. you need to regulate your breathing. fast. the ringing in your ears has subsided and the thrumming of chuuya’s heart pulls you in. hyper focusing on his heartbeat helps calm you further and your breathing slows back to normal. your face is still buried in his chest and your hands are fisting his kimono. your grip loosens, signaling that you’re better. but you burrow your face further into the gravity manipulator's chest. he lets out a deep chuckle that sends vibrations through your entire head. it helps clear the fog that has built up in your head.

you utter those three words you’d been holding in since before he left. it’s like you had finally broken the dam within your heart and this was the result. now that the water has settled you have one last thing to do. but because you were so close to his chest the words came out muffled and unintelligible.

“my pretty doll, i can��t understand you when your face is covered like that. c’mere…” chuuya lets out another chuckle as you whine and pout dramatically when he peels you off of him. your face is puffy and eyes rimmed red. somehow your makeup managed to stay completely intact, you’ll have to remember to ask naomi what she used.

you huff and try to look away but he gently, yet firmly, takes hold of your face to gingerly wipe away at your tears. once he’s pleased with his work his eyes meet yours and he smiles softly. “now, what was it you were trying to say? i think i should be able to here you clearly this time.”

and something about the way he says that makes you think he actually heard it the first time and just simply wanted to hear you say it again. you turn your nose up at him and eye him suspiciously. “no. i don’t think i will…”

chuuya sighs incredulously and lets go of your face. he slumps down and rests his forehead on your shoulder. instinctively you raise your hand and sift your fingers through his wavy tresses. his hair is always surprisingly soft. you can help but to smile amusedly at his obvious defeat. you look back up to the fireworks that were still going. they must be nearing the finale because the amount of colors dancing in the sky have multiplied.

“stubborn as hell like always. i shouldn’t be surprised.” chuuya lifts his head back up and cups your cheek to turn you back to look at him. “you technically said it first, but i’ll let you hear it first. i love you.”

your lips part to respond but you find yourself mesmerized by the chuuya’s eyes. the reflection of colors swirling in his irises make it look like an actual fire has been ignited underneath them. your bottom lip begins to tremble as you feel yourself become overwhelmed by the feelings his words elicit. this time it was in the best way possible but it still made you embarrassed. you take in a shuddered breath and pout more. “god damn you, chuuya nakahara.”

with that utterance, you lean in and your lips meet his. you pour everything you have into that one kiss, hoping it explains your feelings better than any words you could ever string together would. luckily for you, chuuya has always been a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. he understands what you’re trying to convey and he reciprocates by grasping the back of your head and tilting his to deepen the kiss.

it felt as if you were falling into an abyss that consisted of only chuuya. your brain was simultaneously working in overdrive and malfunctioning all at once. the only thing in your head was chuuya.

it was only chuuya:

chuuya’s velvety hair

chuuya’s blazing warmth

chuuya’s soft lips

chuuya’s heavenly scent

chuuya’s gentle touches

chuuya.

then he chuckles against your lips and, god, you could just melt.

much to your dismay, chuuya goes and ruins it by leaning back and disconnecting your lips. you make a noise of protest but he keeps you firmly where you are. your eyes are lidded and breathing is heavy. he could sense how overwhelmed you were once again becoming. he gives you a few moments to fully cone back to him before speaking again.

you open your mouth to say it again but he interrupts. “you don’t have to, i understood you the first time.”

your mouth slowly shuts and you lean your head back on his chest, ear pressed against his beating heart. you both look up, hoping to enjoy the rest of the fireworks together.

“i’m still upset and this conversation isn’t over, but…” you trail off as the finale begins. after another moment you continue as you watched the colors multiply once again. “let’s just enjoy this. i missed you.”

his grip around you tightens. you look over to him and he’s smiling brightly at you. “i missed you, so damn much. we can go back to my place after this and talk over a bottle. how’s that sound?”

you look back to the sky with a smile playing on your lips. “sounds like heaven.”