#bsd ficlets

kunichuuzai + making (fun) use of Chuuya's height

find it also on ao3

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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.

odaran + "You'd miss me?"

ao3 link

“I need help to bury a body.”

No introduction. No context. And above all, not even a hi or other greeting as a starter.

Not that Ranpo needed any of that. If that assassin boy made the effort to find him here, in yet another random alleyway of Yokohama – where Ranpo would probably spend the night, given it didn’t rain until then – it certainly wasn’t to shoot the breeze.

As for the greetings, they would be rather outlandish considering their respective situations. Two orphans, one unemployed and roaming the streets like a stray, the other killing for living? Not exactly the general picture that came to mind when talking about teenagers’ meetings.

“Straight to the point as always, Oda,” Ranpo sneered, albeit with a hint of genuine amusement. “Tell me, whose trap did the so-called genius assassin fall into again, hm?”

Seemingly unfazed by the taunt, Oda shrugged carelessly.

“My skill has its limits. I barely saw what would happen that the trap had already started to close on me… Though, unlike last time, I could kill the guy just in time.”

“But that wasn’t a ‘clean’ kill because it was done on the spur of the moment, and now you need help to clean your mess or the police will easily trace it back to you. Correct?”

“Exactly.”

Ranpo snorted. “And so, you thought of me? Aw. I’m touched.”

Oda answered with another shrug.

“You’ve helped me last time. And it’s only thanks to you and your intervention that I’m not rotting in prison today.”

Ranpo’s smirk faded. With his arms crossed, he leaned against the alleyway wall, and took in the scent of the upcoming rain lingering in the air.

It had also rained the night which had followed that event. The strong wind blowing that day, which Ranpo had let in inside the office, had also carried that moist scent that reeked of misery. Though the smell of blood that had filled in the air two shots later was no better, Ranpo reckoned.

The raven-haired boy wondered why that redhead was showing gratitude towards what he did, back then. As far as he was concerned, getting that paper that would assure him the government’s financial aid for yet another month had been his sole reason for coming into that office. That fact he had to counter every single nonsense this grown-up in a white cloak was trying to feed him, or that he had eventually exposed all of his lies and how and why he had tricked Oda, was merely a chain of events that had nothing to do with him.

As for helping the assassin boy to untie his bounds, assure him he wouldn’t call the police, and tell him how to escape so they wouldn’t find him… Ranpo couldn’t tell. It came naturally. After all, the assassin boy had seemed convinced he would get caught… which wasn’t true. It had been clear as day to Ranpo, and yet that stupid redhead had been desperately blind to it. Ranpo couldn’t possibly let that slide, now, could he?

“Heh. I wouldn’t have thought it’d be so easy to earn your trust, mister assassin. Have I become your favorite accomplice yet?”

Oda tilted his head. Though his expression didn’t change, his voice conveyed his puzzlement.

“I’ve never had accomplices. I’m not trusting enough for that.”

“Yet you’re asking for my help? Just because I’ve helped you once?” Ranpo pointed out, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re smart. I can tell you see things clearer than I do. Where I see a dead end, you see a way out.” The boy’s blue gaze suddenly became sharper. “Which also means you’re smart enough to know what will happen if you happen to betray or fool me.”

Not impressed by the underlying threat, Ranpo grinned wryly.

“Just to be sure, does refusing to help you bury a body count as betraying you?”

Oda crossed his arms. Judging by the light frown wrinkling his forehead, he was taking the question seriously.

“… No. I can’t count it as such. I can understand you wouldn’t want to mingle with that stuff again…”

“Jeez, I was joking, you numbskull…!”

Ranpo cackled, but his voice sounded hollow – hollow like the pit that had formed inside his core after the death of his parents. A black hole that had sucked away all the colors of the world, leaving it bleached and dreary like an endless rainy day.

“… I don’t care about mingling with your assassin stuff,” Ranpo eventually said in a whisper. “Whether I do good or bad, the adults will always find a way to scold me, anyway…”

He shook his head, painfully aware he was starting to get dangerously close to a point where the dike sealing away his feelings would start to leak.

“So yeah, I’ll help you. I don’t have anything better to do anyway. Besides…”

“… Besides?”

Ranpo shuffled with his feet. His next words were standing at the tip of his tongue, hot and burning like the weird feeling creeping under his skin when he thought about uttering them out loud.

“… Well, I… I’d kinda miss you if you were to get caught and sent to prison – which will likely happen given your lack of imagination to clean up your mess. So I can't let that happen, y’see?”

Oda’s eyes widened, and for the first time, an emotion – surprise – made his lifeless irises twinkle.

“You’d miss me?”

His astonishment wasn’t fake. And it didn’t reek of some stupid hopefulness that screamed a craving long repressed. It was genuine bewilderment; as if the idea of someone missing him was an unknown concept, which had never crossed his mind even once.

For some reason, it made Ranpo unbearably pissed.

“Don’t look at me like that!! Of course I’d miss you!! I know we’ve spent like only one night together, sharing a meek meal that the gulls eventually snatched from us, and having nothing more than a couple of card boxes to sleep in, but…!”

The dike was starting to crack; Ranpo could feel it. Gritting his teeth until his gums hurt, he thoroughly pushed back the flood, only allowing a few words to leak through:

“… But that was the first time in ages I didn’t feel alone… So…”

He trailed off, more unable than unwilling to say more.

For a moment, no one said a word.

Then, Oda took a step forward. It took all of Ranpo’s willpower to not cringe back when the redhead leaned in, as if to tell a secret:

“Does that mean that, if I ever get caught and get sent to prison… You would help me escape?”

It was Ranpo’s turn to stare at him wide-eyed. He raked the words over and over in his mind, searching for a trace of deceit, something that would awake his defiance.

All he found was a genuine question which, this time, seemed to hold a hint of hopefulness.

“… Heh. Now you really sound like I’m your accomplice.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

Something inside Ranpo fluttered upon hearing those words. A gentle, healing warmth smoothened the coldness born from the hollow pit rotting him from the inside, if only a little.

Fidgeting with his hands like he didn’t know where to put them, Ranpo eventually settled for a nervous scratch behind his head.

“… W-well… If I’m going to be your accomplice, then…”

The young boy was aware how the word ‘accomplice’ had started to sound, to taste more and more like the word ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It didn’t feel that bad.

Hiii lena!! So, this has gotten, hum, LONG, haha. But I couldn't help but being inspired by your prompt (I love Ranpo and Fukuzawa's family bond so much, I could spend hours babbling about it sjsksjk). Thanks for submitting it <3

You may find the fic(let) either under the cut or here on ao3. Enjoy :)

"What will I do without you? Thank you-" + kunikidazai

Dazai didn’t flinch when he saw his broken leg, darkened and swollen from his ankle up to his knee.

Neither did he flinch when Yosano palpated it, her touch feeling like the caress of a thousand glass shards on his skin, despite all the care she put in her moves.

Dazai’s face didn’t show much more emotion when he was laid on the operation table, nor when the anesthetic was injected into his veins.

Even after he woke up and felt the pain crawling back under his skin as the product wore off, his expression remained unchanged.

Then, a few hours after he came to his senses, Yosano came to deliver him food – and her diagnosis.

“The bones were a total wreck… I did what I could, but it won’t reweld properly. I’m afraid you will limp for the rest of your life.” 

Dazai’s next mouthful of his meal felt like a boulder when he swallowed it. That’s how he knew the news actually affected him.

How strange it was. Getting sick or having broken limbs was something he had been used to for his entire life. And should his injuries be permanent, he could never had cared less.

Until now, at least. For to his own surprise, Dazai found himself feeling a sting in his heart at the sheer idea he would never walk like before ever again. Since when did he get attached to this sack of flesh and bones binding his wistful soul to this dreary world?

“In addition to the meds, I’ll prescribe you a week of complete rest,” Yosano declared while preparing him a wheelchair and crutches. “During that time, you should never lean on your bad leg or try to move it on any account. Got it?”

“You mean I get to do nothing and get assisted for an entire week?!” Dazai chimed cheekily. “I should break my limbs more ofte- I’m kidding!!” he quickly added when he met the doctor’s icy glare. “I’m kidding, don’t look at me like that!!”

Yosano sighed and came over to help him sit in the wheelchair – but not before flicking his forehead first.

“I’ve called Kunikida to tell him you’re awake and ready to go,” she informed him, blatantly ignoring his yelp of protestation. “He should come pick you up in a minute…”

As if summoned by this affirmation, three knocks were given on the infirmary’s door. A “Come on in!” later, Kunikida entered the room, a mask of anguish darkening his face.

“… How are you feeling?” he managed to croak after taking in the sight of Dazai sitting in a wheelchair, a gown barely hiding the slimness of his bony stature, and a thick splint wrapped around his leg.

The answer to his question was: “Like shit.”

Dazai’s answer was: “Way better now that you’re here, my dear Kunikida~!”

The brunette’s eye twitched upon hearing his own voice. His tone sounded too dissonant. Too fake. He wanted to put the blame on the drugs, but part of him knew it would only be self-deceit. And that same part of him hated it.

Regardless, if Kunikida heard the lie behind those words, he chose to ignore it.

“I’ll take you home. For the upcoming week, I will be taking care of you. You shall resume work eight days from now. I… I will make sure of it.”

Dazai chuckled softly.

“Pragmatic as always, aren’t you, Kunikida? Ah, what will I do without you? Thank you-”

His carefree reply got cut short by the unfamiliar, always troubling sensation of two arms being wrapped around his torso. It was as if Dazai’s usually sharp brain got short-circuited, unable to process the simple fact that Kunikida had fallen to his knees to pull him into a hug.

“That should be my… the agency’s line.” His partner’s voice was barely a whisper. “What will we do without you? What will I do?”

The last line had been uttered so faintly Dazai wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t so close.

“We are all very grateful to everything you’ve done for us. However, you’ll have to stop being so reckless. You could have had way worse than a broken leg…”

He trailed off in his sentence. Dazai was still unable to budge even a muscle.

But before the silence – and the hug – could last any longer, someone cleared their throat.

“Please do absolutely not mind me, boys,” Yosano snickered – though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed a token of genuine fondness as she watched her juniors.

Kunikida instantly got up and bowed as he apologized profusely. As for Dazai, his gaze remained blank, and his expression frozen. However, somewhere deep within his chest, he felt that something was starting to thaw.

"Smells like jealousy to me." + kunichuuzai

Going to the Uzumaki Café at closing time should have been a good idea. Chuuya had made a detour after completing his latest mission precisely because he didn’t want to miss a certain person, who should have been at the café at this hour.

A person who definitely should not have been this unkempt-haired detective, who was now staring at him through narrowed eyelids like he was looking at some curious lifeform in an aquarium, the gargling sound of the orange juice he was sipping with a straw filling in the awkward silence that had followed the door bell’s carillon.

“…What the fuck are you doing here at closing time?!”

“Good evening to you too, Fancy Hat,” Ranpo snickered back, albeit with a hint of amusement. Eyeing the redhead’s leather jacket and gloves, he added in a cheerful laugh: “Hey, great timing! I was just about to get back home; it’s so nice of you to offer me the ride!”

Chuuya snorted. “Like hell I would let you do so much as touch my bike.”

While keeping the detective in check from the corner of his eye, the ginger head quickly looked around the place. No one else was in sight, except for the owner – who was cleaning a few glasses behind the counter with his usual phlegm.

“If you’re looking for Kunikida, he’s left a bit earlier together with Dazai. You just missed them.”

Chuuya brought his attention back to Ranpo.

“What? With Dazai? And they didn’t…? Don’t tell me they had a mission?”

Though he tried his best to hide it, he clearly sounded annoyed. Ranpo obviously didn’t fail to catch it; and neither did he fail to catch that unfinished sentence the mafioso had muttered under his breath.

“Did you have something planned with Kunikida for tonight?” he asked with clearly faked innocence. “That would explain why he was so reluctant to go… And also why Dazai look so proud of himself. He basically stole a march on you~”

A red glimmer flashed in Chuuya’s eyes; the next second, the wooden floor beneath his feet began to creak painfully, as if it was being pressed by an increasing force.

“… I’m not gonna fall into your stupid trap a second time, detective. Take back what you said or I’ll turn this place into your grave before you get the chance to pull out your friend’s book.”

“Woah, it’s really like in fairy tales, with the magical words that unlock things.” Not impressed by Chuuya’s threats for the least, Ranpo crossed his legs and leaned on the counter. “You really get riled up easily when it’s about Dazai, hm?”

The wood broke under Chuuya’s feet.

“That’s it, now you– !!”

But before the gravity could expand any further, before Chuuya could carry out his threats, a clear tinkling echoed within the café. The ginger head stopped in his tracks, somehow called out by the sound.

Behind the counter, the owner had left his initial place to approach Chuuya. Like a poker player sliding their tokens, he pushed a single glass towards him; the purplish liquid inside it swirled gently as it lapped against the glass’ rim.

“Sir, please refrain from fighting in our establishment. Accept this in compensation; it’s on the house.”

“Uh. Oh. Hum. S-sure.” Chuuya took off his hat, bowed his head politely, then took the glass. “My apologies.”

What am I doing? The mafioso had already taken a sip when the question popped up in his mind, and the delicate, exquisite plum-flavored savor that diffused in his palate instantly made it go away. Thought he was more into fortified wines and more heady alcohols, Chuuya had to admit this umeshu-like cocktail was a delectable drink.

A chuckle then tore him out of his trance.

“What’s so funny?” Chuuya hissed at Ranpo.

“Oh, nothing.” Though he was still wearing that cheeky smirk, there was a hint of softness in his voice that reminded Chuuya of Kôyô. “I was just thinking that you’ve reacted exactly like Kunikida does each time he receives this drink.”

Reading the untold question in Chuuya’s quizzical gaze, the detective went on: “You know Dazai loves to tease Kunikida on the daily; every time he does it in this café, Kunikida’s offered this very drink, and instantly calms down like you did. Our dear owner’s umeshu has almost become legendary because of it.” Another chuckle. “And now, you’re adding to the legend!”

“Uh. You tell me.”

What’s in this thing…?! Chuuya tried to meet the owner’s gaze, but the man had gone back to his former place behind the counter, and was cleaning glasses as if nothing ever happened. Although nothing about it indicated that man was someone to be wary of, Chuuya mentally noted that he should never underestimate neither any member of the agency, nor any of their acquaintances…

“I didn’t know Doppo was into plum alcohol,” he eventually mumbled as if to himself.

“To be fair, I think he didn’t know either until he tasted this drink,” Ranpo answered conversationally.  

Chuuya didn’t reply. Sadly for him, the detective seemed eager to tease him, tonight.

“What’s with the glum look, Fancy Hat? Are you jealous?”

“… No.”

“Ha! You hesitated just now!”

“Leave me alone!” the ginger head barked. “They’re work partners. I can’t be jealous every time something happens between them at your office or when they go on a mission together!”

“Hm. Smells like jealousy to me.”

Chuuya glared at him and, with a furious gesture, slammed the now empty glass on the counter.

“… Thanks for the drink, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave before someone forces you to sacrifice your stock to calm me down…”

“Hey, wait! You don’t even want to know where they’ve gone?” Ranpo called him out as he strode towards the entrance.

Chuuya stopped and glanced at him from above his shoulder. “Why would I? It’s their mission; I have no reason to interfere.”

“… Who said they were on a mission?”

There was a lasting pause. Then, swift like a gust of wind, Chuuya strode back to Ranpo’s side and grabbed him by the collar.

“What. Do you. Mean. By that?!”

Still not scared or impressed whatsoever, Ranpo sighed wearily.

“You’re not a fast catcher, are you? Do I really have to explain everything? Kunikida does think they went on a mission – otherwise he’d never dropped his plans with you for the evening – but Dazai tricked him. He’s taken him for a surprise date.” He paused briefly, like he was hesitating. Then: “After all, Dazai anticipated that you two would have something planned for Valentine’s. He wanted to piss you off, I guess.”

Ranpo almost fell off his chair when Chuuya let go of him, fuming with rage.

“That bastard…!! He really thinks he can leave me aside like that?! That’s not what he had agreed on!! Dammit, and you, Doppo… how can you still fall for his tricks…?! Ugh, I knew letting him come back was a bad idea for both of us…!!”

He suddenly spun on his heels, and pointed at Ranpo.

“Tell me where they went! Now!!”

Ranpo obliged as casually as if he were giving directions to a stranger in the street. Chuuya almost choked on his tongue when he recognized the name of the place, which was – rather unsurprisingly for anyone who knew Dazai’s wicked and perverse mind – a love hotel.  

Silence fell as lightly as a feather once the raging engine roar of Chuuya’s motorcycle vanished in the distance. After some time, Ranpo leaned on the counter again.

“Say, chief. What did you get from what that guy just said before leaving?”

“… Can you precise your thoughts?”

“When he got riled up after I told him Dazai tricked him and Kunikida. What he said right after. What do you think he meant by that?”

“Ah!” The owner’s eyes creased as a smile lifted his cheekbones ever-so-slightly. “I see. Well, I believe the three are supposed to be in a relationship together, but he got left aside because Mr Dazai went alone with Mr Kunikida? At least, that’s what he seemed to be implying.”

A grin spread on Ranpo’s face.

“Heh heh. Thanks for your testimony, my good friend. You, at least, catch things quickly…”

That being said, Ranpo jumped off his seat, paid his drink and, after exiting the café, took his phone and sent a message to Yosano:

"You owe me 3,000 yen 😎"

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Omg yessss. I love them and I love the angst potential that they have </3

"Isn't it exhausting, keeping up all these lies?" + tachigin

Maybe it was because he knew the silent sound of their footsteps like no one else. Or maybe it was because Michizou himself was a master at moving as silently as a shadow. At any rate, he knew someone was approaching – and he knew who that someone was.

“Gin? Is that you?”

It had to be them. No one in the Port Mafia walked that unnoticeably. And to be honest, who else would visit him there, in the depths of the Port Mafia’s underground prison? But being blind was something new to Michizou, and the irritating fact he was unable to confirm his hunch unless he got a vocal answer still disturbed him.

However, even if the person who had joined him remained silent, it actually strengthened Michizou’s intuition. After all, Gin wasn’t a person of words. Even when they were teammates and trusted each other with their life, she would rather silently communicate with him by using their eyes. Subtle gestures. Wordless codes that only them could understand. That was the kind of bond they shared.

Used to share.

“… The council will decide of your fate tomorrow at dawn.”

Gin’s voice didn’t show any trace of emotion. Oh, what Michizou would have given to see their face! Even for a brief second… But on second thought, he didn’t think he wanted to see the disappointment in his former teammate’s eyes. The pain born from his betrayal.

“I see…” The redhead initially didn’t intend to say anything more, but the cruelly comical sense of his words tore a broken laughter out of his dry throat. “Well, not really, since I can’t see anything anymore! Ha-ha-haha-haha-haha!!”

His laugh echoed eerily between the walls of his cell.

“… Sorry,” Michizou cawed once he had calmed down. “That was lame, even for me.”

Gin didn’t reply.

Michizou spoke again:

“Did they send you to inform me? That’s unusual.”

“… You’re right. They didn’t. I came on my own.” A pause. “I shouldn’t even possess that information to begin with…”

Michizou merely nodded, taking in the implications of that confession much more coolly than he probably should have.

His ears picked up the sound of creasing clothes. When Gin spoke again, their voice appeared closer, clearer – had they taken off their mask?

“Tell me, Tachihara. Wasn’t it exhausting… keeping up all these lies?”

Despite being fully aware that opening his eyes would only result in “seeing” an abyssal void, Michizou couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at where Gin was supposedly standing.

He had betrayed her. Betrayed all the Port Mafia. He had betrayed everyone, and instead of asking the expected “why did you lie to us?”, they were inquiring if it had been hard for him.

The thought should have moved him. Perhaps even stirred something in him. But all Michizou could offer in response was a scornful snort.  

“Exhausting? Heh, can’t say it was. I’ve been lying ever since I was born anyway. It’s something natural to me.”

The more he talked, the more the venom oozed from his words.

“That’s right. I’ve spent all my life pretending. Pretending that I didn’t care that my family hated my guts since my birth. Pretending that them wanting me dead instead of my brother didn’t affect me. Pretending I was your ally until I betrayed y’all. Pretending I was the Hunting Dogs’ ally until I betrayed them.”  

And the more he talked, the more he realized he was hurling about every secret he had held for so long. Not that Michizou cared, though. He didn’t care anymore.

“Was it hard? Was it exhausting? Not really. That’s just how my life is. I've never known anything else, and I’ll certainly die without knowing anything else.”

Suddenly, all of Michizou’s gall vanished. Unable to tell if it was due to his entire monologue or simply his last sentence, the young man felt like all his energy had been sapped, leaving nothing but an empty core inside of him. Had this core ever been not empty, though?

“… But that would be another lie if I said it didn’t feel lonely,” he whispered, so faintly even he ended up doubting he ever uttered the words aloud.

Nothing but silence answered his confession. Michizou wondered if Gin had left while he was rambling carelessly about his life. He didn’t possess Jôno’s enhanced senses, after all. And if Gin was good at being silent when they moved, they were even better at hiding their presence when they were still. Michizou couldn’t tell if the faint sound he heard was their breathing or the faint murmur of the wind howling in the distance.

Then, Gin’s crystal voice broke the heavy silence.

“… Hirotsu and I will try to stand up for you during your judgment. I don’t believe it will change anything, but… I wanted you to know.”

Without waiting for an answer – which she knew would not come anyway – Gin turned around and left. This time, she didn’t bother masking the sound of her footsteps.  

It was only once silence fell again on his cell that Michizou realized he had been clenching his fists so hard blood – which he recognized by the scent and the feeling of a warm and thick liquid – was oozing from the halfmoons dug by his nails.

No, keeping up all these lies hadn’t felt exhausting.

ranposano + kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

Seeing all the various versions of "kunichuu + spiderman kiss" on my dash gave me a boost to write my own haha. I won't complain about it tho <3

The ranposano one will take a bit longer so I'll post them separately 👀

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kunichuu + upside-down "spider-man" kiss

“Well, well. She didn’t go easy on you.”

Kunikida flinched. For a split second, he thought he had imagined this scoffing voice. But even after he turned off the tap, he could still hear it giggling in his back. The blonde man searched for his glasses – a reflex he had when he was embarrassed – only to remember he had lost them during his confrontation with Katsura. Resigned, he turned around, and tried sounding as natural as possible.

“… Since when are you here?”

“You mean in the station, or in the men’s restroom, watching you wash your bloodied nose after a literal toddler punched you in the face?”

Standing upside down, his feet casually resting on the ceiling, Chuuya was holding Kunikida’s stare with an amused look on his face. Thanks to his skill, which manifested as a reddish glow surrounding his unmistakable silhouette, the mafioso’s hat and coat didn’t suffer the force of natural gravity. Add to this the frustrating fact his blood was rushing to his temples and pressuring his skull, and it almost seemed like Kunikida was the one who had been turned upside down.

“So, you saw everything?” he sighed, massaging his aching temples.

“The Mafia has eyes and ears everywhere, you should know that.”

Chuuya approached him, without bothering to go back to the natural sense of gravity. When he was close enough – at least when their heads were – he lowered his voice.

“That was a risky move back there.”

Kunikida didn’t need to ask him to precise his thoughts; he knew what the ginger head was referring to.

“I knew Miss Yosano was in the station. I trusted her capacity to read the signal I sent her and to quickly understand the situation.”

“Ah, so that’s what that weird bang sound was about…” Chuuya snorted. “Well, I suppose you’re not a first-timer with this, are you?”

Kunikida dried his hands, tilting his head to dart a quizzical look at one who was supposed to be his enemy – yet who, behind the scenes, was so much more.

“Were you perhaps worried about me?”

“Pfft. Like I’d be worried about some thug having beef with you. Though it’s kinda worrying this one was ready to bomb an entire station just to prove you wrong.”

“Katsura is stubborn. Too anchored in reality.” A veil of sorrow briefly clouded Kunikida’s eyes. “Just like I used to be too anchored to my ideals…”  

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Spare the confessions for later…” A smirk curled the ginger head lips. “We can talk it off at the usual place... you ‘ideal-obsessed idiot’.”

“Hmph. You even heard that…”

“I told you, I saw and heard everything!”

Chuuya let out a roaring laugh. Apparently, he didn’t care about being heard. Knowing him, he certainly had more than one way of getting out of the station unnoticed if the situation asked for it. He was part of the Port Mafia, after all.

“Good grief, Doppo. You go and save a little girl with the most heroic move – though it was pretty stupid if you ask me – and the next second you dump her when she was about to propose to you? You’re such a heartless man, Mr Idealist.”

Kunikida grumbled and pinched his nose, which caused him to wince in pain.

“You deserved that one, honestly.” Though it still held a hint of amusement, Chuuya’s voice had gone down an octave. It sounded deeper. Softer.

Closer, too.

Kunikida barely had the time to open his eyes that Chuuya’s lips were on his. Though startled at first – both by the unexpected move and the fact it was a kiss given upside down, a first for him – Kunikida quickly melted into it. Because his position allowed him to reach it, Chuuya trailed another round of kisses up – or down, from his perspective – to the bruised nose. And though it was still sensitive, the move felt like a soothing balm to Kunikida.

And not just to his nose.

“What did I deserve?” the taller man asked once they pulled away. “The punch or the kiss?”

“You shouldn’t have seen that.” + kunichuu

"You smell nice" + suegiku

Nine hundred ninety-five... Nine hundred ninety-six... Nine hundred ninety-seven...

Sweat dripping from all pores of his body, muscles rolling under his skin, Tetchô diligently counted the push-ups. Mentally. Indeed, he had to take care to not say any number aloud. Even the “thousand” milestone did not receive if only the honor of punctuating his regular breathing with a louder, heavier expiration. Jôno had made it clear: he would agree to stay on Tetchô's back during his workout session, only if the latter didn't make any noise other than the mandatory “inhale-exhale” rhythming his respiration. And since his mate had an ideally balanced weight, Tetchô definitely didn’t want to do anything that would put him off.

"... Hm. You smell nice."

A shudder surged through Tetchô's muscles, prompting him to stop between two push-ups for more than one second. And though he immediately resumed as if nothing had happened, the break in his rhythm didn't go unnoticed by Jôno.

"What? That was a simple observation."

The push-ups went on. After letting a few seconds go by, the blind man eventually sighed.

“Tetchô, when I said ‘no sound during the work out session’, it meant no sound to disturb me while I am having my lunch break on your back. If I am speaking to you, you are to answer me.”

Tetchô didn’t need to be told twice.

“Teruko had enough of the smell of my sweat invading the corridors after my training, so she offered me some shampoo and this deodorant to put on before and after every session.”

“Ah, bless our vice-captain…” Jôno muttered with a smile, while freeing two of the fingers holding the pear he was eating to mimic the move of joining his hands in a prayer.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm. What I like is the delight of not having to suffer that horrendous body smell coming from you during your training sessions – and after, for that matter… At least I can savor my nashi pear in peace without having to systematically go outside.”

As if intending to stress his words, he took a bite of the fruit.

“…Keep it up, and I might actually appreciate sharing some training sessions with you,” he added after a short hesitation. “Even if that means I have to play the weightlifting for you during my break.”

Tetchô’s head immediately perked up at the end of his next push-up.

“That means you’ll agree to do it again?” he asked, full of hope.

“Why do you sound so enthusiastic about it?!” Jôno angrily retorted, knocking the back of his mate’s head his with foot. “You disgusting muscular freak… Do you think I am some bee you can attract with a nice, flowery smell?”

Jôno bit his lower lip, a second too late. The words couldn’t be stopped anymore. And now, everything, from the slower pace of Tetchô’s push-ups to the vital signs he could sense from him, were indicating the same thing: he was lost in his thoughts. And because he knew his mate better than anyone else – much to his dismay – it wasn’t hard for Jôno to guess what could occupy his thoughts at the moment. There was a ninety percent chance it had to do with bees and flowers, with some weird correlation with Jôno himself and his personal tastes.  

Jôno sighed. Teruko would die of laughter if he were to explain the situation and ask for help. Perhaps Michizou would be more benevolent? At any rate, this whole situation and thinking of how he could get out of it was already giving Jôno a bad headache, that even the nice smell coming from under him couldn’t appease…

"You shouldn't have seen that" + kunichuu

Dim lights. Smell of cigarette and gingerbread. Jazzy, melancholic music playing in the background.

The place hadn’t changed at all.

It used to be their place. It was the place where they first bonded. Where they had their first heart-to-heart talk. Their first shared laughter. Their first silly argument. Their first drunken confession. Their first kiss.

Because it held so many memories, coming there had been like a reflex after the appalling events that had occurred the past few days. A reflex they had shared – unsurprisingly.

Except for the distance between their seats, everything was just like the first time they stumbled upon each other in this bar. The atmosphere was tense. Heavy. Full of unspoken words.

And just like the first time, it was Kunikida who broke the silence first.

“You shouldn’t have seen that.”

Chuuya’s grip tightened on his glass. A flash of red later, it splintered into the palm of his gloved hand. The whiskey spilled on the counter started to drip on the floor, each droplet pounding slowly. Frustratingly slowly. Too slowly compared to the frenzy beating of Chuuya’s aching heart.

“No one should have seen that,” the ginger head finally hissed. “Yet there was four of us in that damn helicopter and all of us had eyes to witness your stupid shit of a move.”

A shard had flown towards Kunikida’s hand, lightly slashing the skin between his knuckles. Nevertheless, the young man hadn’t flinched. Not even when spots of blood had formed around the gash. The pain pulsating from it was nothing compared to the one that stung at his heart.

“What were you thinking?!” If the stool hadn’t been anchored to the floor, Chuuya would have knocked it over when he stood up, rage making each fiber of his being vibrate. “What was that deal about ‘fueling your ideals with your life’, or whatever bullshit you’ve said back then?!”

Kunikida remained silent. Slowly but surely losing the grip on the last straw holding his composure together, Chuuya grabbed him by the collar.

“Answer me, Doppo. Is your life nothing but a disposable consumable to you? Have you even thought of the consequences of your stupid sacrifice? Do you have any idea how your oh-so-heroic move affected your colleagues?”

Chuuya pulled harder at the collar, forcing Kunikida to bend over until they were on eye level.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to see my own despair in their eyes? To grit my teeth and keep my cool when my boss asked me to go to fucking France to help Dazai? To hide what had happened to him, only to learn you were alive and well from him because that asshole always has to know everything?!”

The wooden floor under Chuuya’s feet began to crack under the growing pressure of increasing gravity. Meanwhile, Kunikida’s eyes remained steady. They were not looking at Chuuya; they were fixed on something else, something farther, that no one but him could see. Something no one, let alone Chuuya, could ever comprehend.

The ginger head clenched his jaw, so hard the joints could be heard cracking. The glasses behind the counter clinked harder as the gravity force kept on expanding throughout the room.

And then, suddenly, it stopped. All the pressure plummeted; the wood stopped creaking; the glasses stopped tinkling. Silence literally fell on the bar, as if the very molecules of air had fallen like lifeless marbles after vibrating for so long.

The grip on Kunikida’s collar loosened. And before he knew it, Chuuya had his face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare do that ever again.” Chuuya’s voice was low. Loaded with emotion. “Never again, you hear?”

Two large hands held him, one on his back, the other entangled with his hair. It seemed to Chuuya those hands were trembling. Spasmodically.

“I’m sorry,” Kunikida whispered against his ear.

Sorry for what? For sacrificing himself? Or for not being able to promise he won’t do it again?

Chuuya sighed through his nostrils. He knew the answer to that question.

And he hated it.

Without a word, he fully embraced his lover, digging his fingers in his large, so large back – a back which could never be large enough for the burdens it had to bear.