"I don’t mind, but… you know I’m very good at this game, right?”
“Of course I know,” Ranpo said, mimicking Yosano's confident smirk. “That’ll make it even more enjoyable to play against you!”
“Fufu… Very well then. I will not go easy on you, though.”
“I sure hope so!”
In which Ranpo and Yosano go to the casino.
---
🎰 Written for the Ranpo week 2026 Twitter event Day 3 & 4: With another ADA member + Mayoi cards
🎲 two-parter, 8,8k words
🃏 Slice-of-life-ish, extremely self-indulgent, with sprinkles of ranposano for the soul
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“Do I look like I am visiting someone’s grave, to you?”
“No.”
Dazai was expecting this answer; what he did not expect was to hear it fall like this, sharp and cold like a guillotine. For the first time since he had entered the graveyard, Ranpo looked directly into Dazai’s eyes. His were shining with a ruthless glow.
“To me, you look like you’re hiding.”
In which Ranpo finds Dazai at Oda's grave.
---
🪦 4,3k words || souheki (gen)
🪦 pre-canon || set a few months after Dazai's entrance exam
🪦 of thoughtless prayers, hollow beliefs, and pious wishes for remission
Summary: Finally back in the Devildom, Damien spends some time with his favourite demon.
Ship: Lucifer/Damien (Self Insert MC)
Word count: 666 (heh)
Notes: somethin short and cute simply bc i wanted to :) spoilers for lesson 22? is that needed? jic i guess
------------------------------------------------
What an absolute whirlwind of a day.
One that started with Solomon essentially shoving Damien into a portal to the Devildom, landing straight on Satan's head. There, he got to see his favourite people in the whole world again. He knew he would be back at some point, he just wasn't expecting it to be so soon.
Next was the disaster of Levi's Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup, the powerful aphrodisiac that all 7 of the demon brothers mistakenly took. Luckily, the situation was fairly simple to fix, and everyone was able to go back to normal quickly.
The rest of the night was loud and eventful as they all crowded around Damien, wanting to talk and just be with him. He's here. He's with us. We can see him and touch him again. That only ended when the firstborn, Lucifer, took note of the exhaustion settling it's way onto the human's body, and sent everyone to their rooms for the night.
Last, but not least, in the wee hours of the morning, Damien is whisked away from the warmth of his own bed and carried across the house by the one demon he wanted to see the most.
And now here he lay in a mess of limbs in the bed of the eldest. The one who so kindly told his brothers "no" when Damien didn't have the heart.
"You truly have no idea how much I have missed you." Lucifer mumbles into Damien's forehead as he traces circles onto the other's back with the hands he has wrapped around his waist. Those hands reflexively tighten when Damien shifts his weight ever so slightly, drawing a laugh from the human's mouth.
"I think I have at least some idea." Damien teases as he unlocks his fingers from around Lucifer's neck and starts to thread them through his dark hair, eliciting a satisfied hum from his throat.
"Did you miss me?" Lucifer's question is almost lost by the hair and skin that covers his mouth. Maybe that was his intention.
"Of course I did. Every single fucking day. The thought of summoning you to my side just to see you tempted me more than once, but I know better than to abuse our pact." Damien tightens his fingers as they rest tangled in Lucifer's hair, gripping loose fistfuls as if he'll disappear at any moment.
The silence that falls between them is comfortable and warm, only being interrupted by the sounds of their breathing and steady heartbeats, both perfectly in sync with one another.
"Did you mean what you said?" The question comes out of Damien's mouth more strangled than he had intended.
"By what, my love?"
"Earlier, when you told me that the syrup was affecting you. You told me that you had considered going to the human world and bringing me back here. Was that true?"
Wordlessly, Lucifer takes a hand and brings it up to Damien's chin, lifting it ever so slightly to face him. Then, he leans in and kisses him softly, only a moment passing before he pulls away.
"While I may have not been in full control of my tongue at the time, I can assure you that every word I said came directly from the bottom of my heart."
Damien feels his face heat up slightly at the honesty. "So… when you said that you loved me…?"
Lucifer pulls Damien in a second time, catching his lips in a deeper, more passionate manner. His movements are deliberate, hoping to express the words he will, won't, and can't say. He only pulls back when he runs out of air, and he hears Damien gasp for his own.
"Truly and deeply, my joy."
They lay there together peacefully as sleep creeps up on the two of them, threatening to pull their minds away from each other for longer than they would like. Damien mutters a breathy "I love you too." before the gentle lulling of his partner's breathing sends him off, with Lucifer following quickly behind.
ranposano + "the way your eyes darken when you get aroused, is making me lose my mind"
ao3 link
--
Ranpo couldn’t recall what had started it. Was it something he said, something they saw, or something else entirely? He couldn’t remember, and that frustrated him; mostly because he would have if his brain were functioning correctly.
But it was frozen. Everything – where they were, what time it was, or even the reason he and Yosano had gone to that reception party in the first place – had blurred into a hazy mist, leaving but one thing to focus on.
“Is something wrong, detective?” Yosano’s voice, though tainted with a hint of amusement, was subtly levelled to a tone just as seductive as her eyes – her mesmerizing eyes, dark and profound like two lakes which Ranpo was irresistibly drawn to, should he drown and never come out again. The same eyes that caused his usually sharp brain to shut off, all because of something that had happened and which he couldn’t recall.
It took all his willpower to lower his gaze and pin it to his shoes.
“… I don’t like it.”
“Hm?”
“The way your eyes… darken when you get aroused like that…” Ranpo was pretty certain the whistle sizzling at his ears had something to do with the growing heat devouring his temples. “… It’s making me lose my mind.”
For a brief second, Yosano’s enticing gaze melted into an expression of genuine surprise. Then, quickly covering her mouth with her gloved hand, she let out a laugh so crystalline that the attempts of the music playing in the background to cover it sounded like a blasphemy.
… Ah, it seemed there was no going back, if he started to have such poetic thoughts, Ranpo managed to think through his fogged mind.
Although, as Yosano’s delicate fingers tantalizingly traced the shape of his jawline, it didn’t feel that bad.
“There’s no need to worry, then,” she whispered, leaning closer. The delicate notes of jasmine from her perfume tickled Ranpo’s nostrils. “Your mind is not going anywhere. I’ll give it back to you once we’re done…”
Her hand followed the curve of his Adam’s Apple, marking its up and down when Ranpo swallowed, and trailed down to his collarbone. There, it glided along the bone, slowly pushing back the collar of his shirt. Her other hand was about to unbutton it to reveal the flushing skin beneath, when Ranpo swiftly grabbed it.
“N-not here…” the detective managed to utter under his choppy breath. Just forcing his brain to think of the words he wanted to say drained all his energy, when all his focus was drawn to the sudden discomfort between his legs, and the delicious promise it would soon be relieved that he could read in her eyes. “I… I don’t want people… to see us…”
“You mean you don’t want them to hear you…” Yosano tapped the tip of Ranpo’s nose once, then his pursed lips twice. “We both know how loud you can get when–”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever…!” Galvanized by the heatwave of embarrassment washing over him, Ranpo pulled at her hand. “Let’s just go already…!”
“Tsk, tsk… Aren’t you being greedy, getting so hasty like that.”
Ranpo rolled his eyes and made a contrite pout, causing Yosano to chuckle heartily. For a fleeting instant, their bickering alleviated more than it broke the spell, just enough for their usual complicity to show through their locked gazes. Their mutual feelings for each other only grew deeper, if that was even possible.
Yosano sighed fondly.
“Alright. As you wish, princess.”
Ranpo managed to grin in response as she led him out of the dining room, keeping the fog at bay until he was sure their private moment would not be disturbed to let it take over his mind again.
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There was something fascinating about that woman. Graceful moves as she danced to the soft notes of the piano. Diaphanous features frozen in a melancholic expression. Her visits to the Black Lizard inn were scarce, yet no soul who had ever laid eyes on her could forget about that lone shadow swirling lightly, ephemeral like a butterfly. No one knew who she was, nor where she came from. The tales of her apparitions were whispered among the regulars like an urban legend, who you could meet once in a blue moon, under specific conditions unbeknownst to mere mortals.
There was a sliver of truth in that exaggerated version of reality, however. One day, when nothing seems to fall out of ordinary, she will come, always late at night. She will never order anything; she’ll simply go to the dancefloor, where she will dance, alone, as always. Whether you were waiting for her or luck chose to be on your side, her presence and the sudden opportunity for you to witness her silent dance will never fail to feel like a daydream.
Mysterious. She was the embodiment of that word.
“i never wanted you to find out like this.” + Fukuzawa & Ranpo? 👀
I had completely different plans for this prompt, but since Lady Inspiration agreed to bless me today so I could say I've done something for Ranpo's birthday, I've switched them for something else entirely. Still, and as always, thank you for the prompt, clau <3
Ranpo & Fukuzawa + "I never wanted you to find out like this"
ao3 link
Fukuzawa came to a stop the second he passed the threshold. Something was wrong. Though he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, something about the still atmosphere of his home instantly put his senses on alert.
It was right after he put – cautiously and without a sound – his bags on the floor, right when he was about to call out to a certain someone, that Fukuzawa understood what was setting him off.
The silence.
“… Ranpo?”
His house had never been silent ever since Fukuzawa had taken Ranpo under his wing, about a year ago. Whenever he went back from one of his never-ending meetings, that restless kid was always there to greet him like a pet who knew by instinct when its master would come back (except that, in Ranpo’s case, it was through deduction rather than by instinct).
But today, nothing. Not even a distant “welcome back”, or just a sound indicating someone was living here.
Maybe he’s just sleeping…
After all, Ranpo had acted rather odd for the past few days, and especially in the morning before Fukuzawa set off for his meeting. Perhaps he had caught something and needed rest? Though it was a plausible possibility, Fukuzawa couldn’t completely shake off the feeling of worry that had seized him. Projecting his senses as far as he could, he gingerly stepped towards the bedroom.
However, he didn’t need to go that far. As soon as he passed the kitchen’s door, Fukuzawa abruptly stopped and backtracked.
“… Welcome back, Prez’…”
Fukuzawa barely registered that feeble voice he almost didn’t recognize, for his brain had frozen in sheer stupor upon witnessing the scenery unfolding before his eyes.
The kitchen was covered in a snow-white dust, which could only be flour, judging by the torn open pack that was bleeding out its white insides from the edge of the counter. Some utensils were upside down either on the counter or on the floor – among which a bowl, a spatula and some spoons. Lying pitifully in the flour was a book, which was most likely the projectile responsible for all the knocked down tools.
And finally, curled up in a corner of the room, was Ranpo, with his knees hugged to his chest and his face buried behind them.
Fukuzawa blinked as if awaking from a dream. Or should he call this a nightmare…?
As cautiously as if he were approaching a wounded beast, Fukuzawa kneeled in front of Ranpo. His attempts to make eye contact were lost on the boy’s hidden face.
“… What happened?” Fukuzawa asked as gently as he could, mostly to not rub the boy the wrong way.
Ranpo lifted his head ever-so-slightly to glance at Fukuzawa, then at the wrecked kitchen, then at Fukuzawa again before he hid his face again. The message was clear. The swordsman could almost hear his protégé’s patronizing voice blaring in his ears:
“You really can’t tell? You’ve got all the hints right under your eyes!! It should be OBVIOUS.”
… Maybe it should; but what was obvious to Fukuzawa as of now was that Ranpo would definitely have said that out loud if he was feeling alright. The swordsman couldn’t be sure, but the boy’s eyes had seemed red and swollen with tears when he met his… If he was being overwhelmed with some kind of grief or anguish, that would explain his reluctance to speak up.
Nevertheless, Fukuzawa had to get him to talk. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to help him… right?
“… Tell me. Did you try to cook something?”
“…”
“… Were you having trouble with it? Is that why you’ve thrown everything away?”
“…”
“… Ah, erm… Yes. I see that there’s only flour out… Hum, perhaps you didn’t find the other ingredients for your recipe?”
“………”
Fukuzawa sighed to himself. It was no use; Ranpo seemed determined to keep his mouth tightliy sealed.
But then…
“… For someone who wants to create a detective agency, you make a pretty crummy one.”
Fukuzawa opened his mouth as if to protest, but shut it up and scratched his head instead.
“That’s… fairly right, I suppose…”
Ranpo snorted briefly, though it sounded more like a sniffle. Fukuzawa hesitated; was it a good sign? Should he make use of that small interaction to try and go further?
The swordsman sighed again. Educating a child was really not his forte. Part of him wanted to leave Ranpo to his teenager-ish whim and wait for him to calm down to talk it out. But his little experience told him that this resolve would not last more than five minutes. Likewise, he knew punishing Ranpo by having him clean up his mess before figuring out what had caused it in the first place would be counter-productive.
So instead, he went to pick up the book left on the floor, and dusted it. It was a recipe book for cakes and pastries. Judging by its worn corners and its stained cover, it had served more than once.
Fukuzawa tilted his head curiously. This book wasn’t his. Which could only mean…
“Is it your book?”
Fukuzawa had kneeled in front of Ranpo again. When the boy perked his head up, he handed him the book. But Ranpo shook his head.
“Don’t want it.”
“Why? It’s yours, isn’t it?”
“… No…”
Ranpo’s voice collapsed. Shivers seized his shoulders, to eventually turn into sobs as his eyes welled up with a new wave of tears.
“No… not m-mine… ma… my mo- my Mom…”
Oh.
This single word, this single name gave Fukuzawa a missing piece to this puzzle. Ranpo had tried to cook with the book of his late mother… It wasn’t hard to imagine why he was acting so lost and broken, then.
Suddenly, Ranpo snatched the book, and hugged it to his chest, without ceasing to sob and cry.
“… I thought you didn’t want it?” Fukuzawa pointed out, hoping he didn’t sound too harsh.
Ranpo shoo his head and tried to sniffle, but his nose was completely clogged, so he ended up coughing instead. Fukuzawa wordlessly handed him a tissue.
“… My Mom… she… she loved b-baking…” Ranpo managed to utter, in-between sobs, once he could breathe. “I… she tried to make me bake, too, sometimes. I d-didn’t like it. Too sticky… too tiring…”
He paused to let a few uncontrollable sobs pass.
“B-but… there was one… one recipe I… always b-baked with her…”
“Only one?”
Ranpo nodded. After clearing his nose once more, he angrily wiped away his tears, as if he had grown tired of crying and wanted to stop them.
“Yeah. My… my birthday cake.”
Fukuzawa blinked, somehow unable to process the word for a few seconds.
“… Your… what…?”
“Ah. Right. Of course, you wouldn’t know.” Ranpo sniffled and, taking his time to control his voice, said: “Today’s my birthday. The 21st of October.”
That’s when it dawned on Fukuzawa. That was his last missing piece, the one that provided him the answer to why his kitchen had turned into a war zone simply because of a book, should it have belonged to the culprit’s deceased mother. The one that also explained why Ranpo had been acting apathetic for the past few days.
Today was Ranpo’s first birthday since his parents’ death.
“I…” Fukuzawa vainly tried to think of something to say. But his mind had gone completely blank. “… You, um, you should have told me… that it was your birthday… I, um…”
I what? Good question. Would it have changed anything if Fukuzawa had known Ranpo’s birthday date? It’s not like he knew anything about celebrating a child’s birthday, let alone an orphan’s…
Ranpo shrugged in response.
“Yeah I know, I thought I’d have to tell you about it. But to be fair, I wasn’t certain you’d know what to do with that info… No offense.”
“N-none taken…”
After all, you’re right once again…
“Although…” Ranpo cast a regretful glance at the kitchen. “I never wanted you to find out like this, either, you know…”
“… I know. Don’t worry, it’s alright.”
To highlight his words, Fukuzawa gave a gentle pat on Ranpo’s head.
“Tell me, Ranpo. Would you like to eat something special, tonight? We can go to any restaurant you want, and you can order anything you like… reasonably. Hum. Consider it… a present from me.”
Ranpo’s eyes, which had widened upon receiving the head pat, began to twinkle – and it wasn’t due to the tears, this time.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“… And if I don’t like something – you know, like the mochi – I can leave it aside?”
“Tonight, you’ll be allowed to, yes.”
Ranpo started to tremble, like a bomb about to explode. In the blink of an eye, he sprang to his feet, and started to list a ton of things he’d love to eat with his usual cheerfulness and rowdiness… though they kept a hint of fragility, which leaked through his wavering voice.
Fukuzawa sighed. Hopefully he had done the right thing…
“However, we’ll still have to clean this before we go anywhere,” he said, nodding at the chaos in the kitchen.
“Urgh…” Ranpo scratched his head, showing something that looked like guilt on his face, for once. “I guess I have no choice… It’s fine for this year; enjoy it while it lasts, because I won’t be taking any chores for my next birthdays!!”
Fukuzawa took a broom, repressed the urge to knock Ranpo’s head with it, and threw it into his hands instead. For sure, the date of October 21st would become a very special day for the years to come… for better or for worse.
When you're in a relationship of three and you're the shortest one
kunichuuzai + making (fun) use of Chuuya's height
find it also on ao3
---
Evenings should always be this perfect, Kunikida thought. Lukewarm air, clear sky dotted with cotton clouds, faint breeze whispering secrets in the trees.
And above all, he and his two boyfriends, walking hand in hand, heart light and mind free from every work duty for the day.
(Technically, Dazai had done nothing today. But since it was an everyday occurrence, it still counted. Somehow.)
All three of them – Dazai, Kunikida and, at the center, Chuuya – were walking down a verdant alley of a relatively less frequented park in the western suburb of Yokohama. Far be it from them to have chosen this place so as to hide their relationship to the public’s eyes; but sometimes, a little intimacy was pleasant. Here, far from the regular couples and passerby, they could relax and be themselves – neither Armed Detective Agency or Port Mafia members, but simply three young men wishing to make the most of their time together. Considering the hazardousness of their respective lines of work, who could tell how much longer those simple moments would last?
Kunikida was leisurely gazing at the shimmering evening light painting golden shades on the canopy, when Chuuya’s disgruntled voice roused him from his daze.
“Dazai… Stop tugging at my hand like that.”
The bandaged man – although the bandages around his neck were hidden under a carefully wrapped scarf – flashed the ginger head his characteristic mischievous smirk.
“It’s not my fault if your arms are so short you get carried away by my movements~” he chirped, swinging his slender arms in an exaggerated way.
“You asshole… I’m gonna kill ya if you don’t–”
“Now, now, that’s enough, you two,” Kunikida chimed in, mildly annoyed at his partners’ tendency to endanger their special time together with their shenanigans. “Let’s not fight and just enjoy the scenery…”
Chuuya snorted and, after shooting one last glower at Dazai, grinned knowingly at his other boyfriend.
“I promise to not kill him if you’re paying me a good drink on the way back, beautiful.”
Kunikida rolled his eyes. “You always say that.”
And you always fall for Dazai’s baits to antagonize you. This part, however, was best left unsaid. Waving a red rag under a bull’s nose was a far less dangerous choice, in comparison.
“Ooooh, are you treating us tonight as well, Kunikida~?” Dazai spoke cheerily. “I want crab for dinner.”
“Nobody gives a shit ‘bout what you want, jackass!!” Chuuya snapped at him – though he didn't let go of his hand.
Speaking of which, when Kunikida and Dazai met eyes for a brief second, the blonde noticed the way his Slim Jim of a partner squinted at their hands linked together. Dazai wagged his eyebrows at them, then at Kunikida. The latter had a very bad feeling about that smirk on his face...
“Hey, Chuuya, how high do you think you can fly?”
“Huh? The hell are you–”
“Kunikida! On the count of three!! One… Two…”
Oh no. He’s not going to…?
“Three!!”
Everything happened within a mere second; and yet, time seemed to stretch during that brief moment, like a movie sequence put on slow motion.
Synchronizing his movement with Kunikida’s Dazai threw his arm high up in the air – with Chuuya’s hand firmly clasped within his spider-legged fingers. Feeling the weight of his ginger partner being shifted, Kunikida reflexively held his arm higher, in order to help him maintain his balance.
And as a result, for a very split second… Chuuya’s feet left the ground.
Of course, it was merely by a centimeter. And one heartbeat later, the front of his shoe was grating the dusty ground. But the deed was done.
None of them couldn’t not associate what had just happened with the heartwarming image of a child swinging between their parents’ arms.
Needless to say that Chuuya didn’t exactly like being at the center of that picture – let alone playing what counted as the most humiliating role for him. An opinion Dazai visibly didn’t share, since he suddenly doubled over, seized by uncontrollable laughter.
“………. YOU BASTAAAAAARD…!!!!”
Gravity suddenly densified around Chuuya, enveloping him in a halo as red as his flushed face. Letting go of Kunikida’s hand, he planted his feet in the ground, turned on his hips, and punched Dazai in the face. Naturally, the latter’s skill instantly cancelled the gravity force – which didn’t prevent him from flying a few meters away, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
Kunikida sighed and shook his head.
One day, their dates together would go smoothly, without any incident like this one.
Until then, all he could do was wait… and, promise or not, pay yet another drink to the ever-so-bullied Chuuya.
