Hi yuriiii, hear me out on Nikolai with a reader who's whimsy and silly, just nearly chaotic as him but just doesn't know (theyre just that one hamster riding unicorn picture). 👀👀👀
a/n: Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai Nikolai
As previously stated in the request page, this is an AU where the DOA isn’t a criminal organization, same with their members. In this AU Nikolai doesn’t deal with murderous tendencies.
૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ content [fluff]: g/n reader, reader is just as silly and whimsy as Nikolai, Nikolai’s personal conflicts with freedom
[🪽] He didn’t DREAM of your silliness when he first laid eyes on you.
[🪽] He’d laugh when you did something funny, but as he found out that was just who you were he was astonished.
[🪽] “Hahahahaha!! That magic trick I just showed you, let’s do it on Sigma!!!” He laughed as he headed towards the poor manager’s office
The “magic trick” was nothing other than dangling Sigma upside down by his legs just to mess around with him.
[🪽] When Sigma isn’t being pestered, you two focus on Fyodor.
He is always calm, but you can see a small a small piece of him wanting to scold you and Nikolai for bothering him at work.
[🪽] Back to Sigma!! Swapping out his personal objects or cookies by random items makes you two pretty happy.
“OUT OF MY OFFICE! NOW!” He finally snaps at you both. If it wasn’t for all the time he spent training on how to not blow up on guests, he’d throw whatever was heaviest on his desk at both of you.
After finally leaving the poor man have some peace, Nikolai frowned “Awhh… Sigma isn’t the best audience I had… he didn’t even clap for me.” He sighed out
[🪽] Ask him about his magic tricks? He’s happy.
Compliment them? He’s HAPPY.
Pull out a quiz or another trick on him? He’s almost shaking with excitement to show you more things he knows.
[🪽] When it comes to serious conversations, you two found a common ground: not finding yourselves.
Maybe his speech about freedom changed how you viewed things
Maybe you just replied “How is the mind the cage when it determined what is to be free?”
Needless to say, you reassured him, he will find freedom one day, in the right ways.
[🪽] As usual, you never knew who was the real Nikolai. Was he just a man confused and caught up in his own crisis, or was he just acting this all out?
[🪽] You do worry about him. He’s became your friend quickly, after all.
[🪽] Even by your silly moments, Nikolai could grasp who you were, bit by bit. And soon enough, he found himself in an odd sense of excitement to surprise you with quizzes or with whatever new he learned.
Nikolai was grasping the fact that he was slowly falling for you.
But he couldn’t just let this happen, he had to fight against it, somehow.
[🪽] He found himself stuck. Should he avoid you to deliberately go against his heart, or should he interact more with you, to get your praise and your applause.
He eventually decided on the first option, but he wasn’t accounting for the fact that you went after him.
[🪽] When you came up to him, asking to pester Sigma with you, he took a good 5 seconds looking at your eyes with a straight face.
“Sorry, is now not a good time?” You asked, a little afraid you upset him.
Nikolai smiled widely “Hahaha! That reaction is so common!” He laughed at your face. Nikolai does love when people look surprised or caught off guard.
You slowly smiled in relief. Only for Nikolai to turn his back at you and walk away.
If you went after him, you could see a Nikolai staring at his card eyepatch. Maybe it’s best to leave him be for now.
[🪽] If you made that comment to Sigma, he’d tell you to stop bothering him, but he felt kinda bad when he saw your happy whimsy attitude wasn’t present.
“I’ll go talk to him, I don’t believe I’ll come with an actual response, knowing how he speaks.”
“Just tell me whatever he tells you, please.”
When Sigma approached Nikolai, the jester seemed as normal as ever.
“Ooh? Why did you come here?” He turned to the manager with a big grin.
“I’ve been noticing you.”
“Oh~? Are you trying to compliment my skills?” He giggles, fanning his hand at Sigma.
“No. Why are you avoiding your friend?”
Nikolai’s smile fell, taking off his hat, he smiled “You see, I’m avoiding them because that will lead me to freedom! I’m deliberately avoiding them, going against my own heart!” He steps closer to Sigma.
“… your heart?” Sigma asked, honestly, I’d be better to just bump against Nikolai and get the information.
“You see… love will just make it hard for me to achieve freedom. Love implies morality, morality is the prison I fight to escape.”
“I feel like you’re restricting yourself more than anything.”
“I don’t blame you, Sigma, after all, a bird that was born a prisoner will never understand it is jailed.”
Sigma nodded and thanked his coworker. It’s honestly confusing to coexist with nikolai when he says these things. Sigma has his own problems to go through before being able to occupy his head with the clown’s philosophies.
The manager found you, eventually.
“Ah, (Y/N). I’ve talked to Gogol.” You immediately come up to him.
“What did he say?”
“From what I could understand he… seems to be avoiding you because his love for you is impairing his sense of freedom.” Sigma honestly seemed more confused than you.
[🪽] When you finally discovered Nikolai was actually having feelings for you, you decided to talk to him.
“Nikolai.”
Nikolai seemed a little taken off guard by your sudden arrival, but it’s not like you could’ve noticed that with how well he hides it.
“Huh~? Is my dear friend (Y/N) coming up to me because they have a new quiz?” He said with a chuckle before he noticed you had your hands behind your back.
You sat beside him, still hiding something behind your back.
“Nikolai, I’ve been thinking about your thought process.”
He seemed very pleased “Do you agree now?”
“Aren’t you restricting your freedom by placing all those boundaries around morality? If you go against it, you’re just creating a new sense of morality for yourself.”
Nikolai laughed, though, it kind of made sense. He didn’t fancy the idea of just getting in another jail cell, but it’s not like he doesn’t know there’s no escaping from his own mind.
But you still can’t help but try, you don’t want to lose him, as much as he wants to lose himself.
“That’s not what I’m here to talk about, though.”
You pulled out a small bouquet of red roses from your back, as well as a box “I wanted to give you this. As a thanks for being my friend. Fyodor told me you liked piroshki, so I made you some. I hope you enjoy it and you stop avoiding me.”
This was the first time you actually saw a surprised expression on Nikolai’s face.
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Hello writer Yuri👀👀👀Can I get uhhh👀👀👀👀👀 a Ranpo x Closeted Transmale! Reader who are Uni students and they do stupid banters tgt and such and Reader is just as arrogant and ridiculously confident and smart as Ranpo so they go head to head but one day Ranpo notices Reader got quiet and nervous when he commented smthing about Reader being his "girl best friend" but Reader doesn't say anything cuz hes nervous and other stuff makes Ranpo noticed maybe Reader is, in fact, not a girl. So one day they're sitting under a cherry blossom tree eating their ass off cuz they are FATASSES/aff and Ranpo and Reader are talking until Reader muttered something under his breath like "Do you ever wonder how people would perceive you? If things ever changed?" And then switches to random topics but Ranpo puts down his hat as a blossom leaves fall onto it and Ranpo puts it on Reader's head like "Hey, man to man. Your secret's safe with me ♡." And Reader blushed and is just speechless but still he doesn't come out because theyre content together just as they are and when Reader is comfortable Ranpo will be with him <3333 yayyyyy totally did not think about the TADC ending as I'm writing this ok I'm yapping IM SOWWY OKAY BYE AND THANK YOU!!
૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ content [fluff/small bit of comfort]: University AU, closeted trans male reader
You were over at Ranpo’s dorm for a study session. “Study session” in quotation marks, both of you already know all of the subject’s content. You guy’s study sessions are just a label for hanging out and eating snacks.
You unwrapped a particular candy Ranpo really liked
“Hey, if you eat that I’ll only have two more of this one.” He pointed out, you didn’t know if Ranpo was trying to annoy you or not.
“Oh, my bad, you can have it.” You said, feeling particularly nice that day.
“Huh? Thanks! You’re my girl best friend! Actually, my best friend!” He immediately grabbed the candy and popped it in his mouth.
You didn’t really know what to reply. The single word “girl” bothered you a lot. You thought about coming out, saying something witty like “I’m actually your boy best friend.” but the thought made you extremely nervous. In the end, you didn’t reply, just going back to reading your book.
Ranpo took notice of your quietness, but didn’t make a deal out of it. He’s smart, so he knows it’s something he said, not the fact that you gave him the sweet you were about to eat.
The next couple days, Ranpo paid more attention to how you reacted to things. He noticed your body language, your expressions, even the small glint in your eyes that change. In the end, he reached the conclusion that the association of you to a woman made you really uncomfortable. Ranpo thought, for the first time, maybe you’re not a woman. In fact, you’re not.
Ranpo took notice of that fact pretty quickly, eventually, he decided to avoid calling you a “she” or a “girl”. He didn’t want his best friend uncomfortable, after all.
One day, having lunch under a cherry blossom tree in the campus, you both were talking about random subjects, not paying much mind to what left your mouths. Seeing that chance, you decided to test the waters with your best friend “Do you wonder how people would perceive you if you changed?”
“Changed?” He turned his head towards you, talking with his mouth full (as usual).
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dude!” You playfully shove him “You got some habits to change y’know?” You immediately try to get a reaction out of him, in order to be able to change the subject.
Ranpo opened his eyes, raising his hand to his hat and placing it on the floor.
As a single cherry blossom petal fell on it, he brought his hat to your head, with a smile, he said: “Man to man, your secret’s safe with me.”
Feeling the affection in his voice and how accepting Ranpo already was being, you realized that his avoidance of feminine terms wasn’t just by chance. All of these facts made blood rush to your face, your cheeks turning red as you tried to utter a single word.
You could just let out a small nod as you rested your back on the tree’s trunk.
Slowly, you brought your hand to his hat. You’re not exactly ready to come out yet. It’s not just because Ranpo’s aware of that fact, that it means you’re comfortable.
As you both watched the cherry blossoms fall, you could feel a heavy weight lift off your chest.
None of you had the courage to even touch hands, things are already good enough for now.
The day you did come out to him, nothing changed, except your name and pronouns. Ranpo kept pestering you and treating you the same way. He doesn’t feel the need to change who he is with you just because you’re out now.
Though, this didn’t last for long.
These past few days Ranpo got oddly quiet and nervous around you.
“Is there anything bothering you?” You asked him
“Look, now that you’re out, I believe I have the courage to tell you how I feel…”
Needless to say you felt the same way he did.
After a few months passed, you two were in his couch, you were feeding Ranpo snacks. Of course you were, first off, that’s all he eats, second, it seems like all of his ability to feed himself vanished since you two started dating. If Ranpo could get spoiled by his lovely boyfriend, of course he would want to.
“Thanks! You’re the best boyfriend ever.” He grinned, laying his head on your shoulder.
“You really can’t feed yourself?”
“Why? I got you right here, you can do this for me.”
As the usual Ranpo would, he’s just passing whatever work he could do to you.
This chapter is part of my Chuuya x reader long-fic, so please make sure to read the previous parts first :)
Tags: chuuya x f!reader, slow burn (reallyyyy slow burn), partners to lovers, original female characters, focus on personal growth, angst, mystery, action, attempt at humour
Warnings: violence, swearing, psychological trauma, the usual bsd shenanigans
Chapter word count: 4.7k
Summary
"Already tainted by sorrow
Is a fox's splendid fur used for a coat
Already tainted by sorrow
Is the snowflake that shrinks before it falls"
You cannot make something out of nothing. This is the fundamental rule of your life.
Ice cannot be formed without water.
Trails cannot be followed without clues.
Hypotheses cannot be tested without evidence.
For ten years, everyone told you to give up the search for your parents, brilliant scientists who vanished from the criminal underworld in a fiery blaze, every shred of existence devoured. No addresses, no experiments, not even a surname to call home.
In pursuit of answers, you turn to the Port Mafia, for who would know more than Yokohama’s largest criminal organization?
But you are about to learn that what awaited after every question were not answers, but endless sprawling labyrinths— and Chuuya Nakahara, the man you are now expected to call your superior officer, with far too many opinions on how to do your job.
As the truth crackles through the icy surface and warmth threatens to melt long-frozen cores, you must confront a possibility shaking the very ground beneath your feet:
What do you do when what you’ve spent your life searching for doesn’t want to be found?
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4
Chapter 5 - Cerulean
In Yokohama, sea salt stirs in the air long before the harbor ever comes into view.
It infiltrates your tongue, mixing with the residue of this morning’s coffee and the sweat trickling down your forehead in a briny tang. Down below, the ocean of sparkling water nearly blinds you with every lingering glance.
Your sworn enemy for the day, however, is not the fleet of foes carrying stolen cargo, but the wind. It whips through the open helicopter window and tousles the hair you spent methodically braiding in front of the mirror, steals sheets of your reports when your grip loosened for an unsuspecting moment, and blows the occasional hapless insect and spray of salt water into your eyes. It even nearly rips the ribbon off your brooch before you clasp a protective hand over it.
When you avert your gaze inside, you expect to see Chuuya with his arms crossed and nodding off, or lost between the lines of the mission report, but instead, the entire upper half of his body dangles outside of the aircraft. A hand rests over his hat lest the wind snatches it away, his azure irises scouring the endless expanse of matching blue ahead. A massive overjoyed grin has taken over his usually grouchy face.
Or maybe that’s just how he looks when he’s not schooling you.
One would think he was enjoying the thrill of a rollercoaster drop, though to him, this would probably be equivalent.
Your stomach starts to plummet, and you have a feeling it’s not due to the altitude.
Eventually he climbs back in and tugs the ends of his gloves tighter around his wrist. “How many?” he asks.
The pair of binoculars lower to your chest, your eyes still squinting at the vague black dots in the distant horizon. “It’s hard to make out from this far, but I think around a dozen.”
Chuuya frowns, shooting you a pointed look. “You think?”
“I believe there to be a dozen,” you correct instantly.
“Better,” he scoffs. “Remember what I told you about certainty.”
You instinctively mirror his expression, the familiar itch of an argument clawing its way up your throat. “But, sir, reporting anything I’m uncertain about could lead to incorrect inductive reasoning. It’s important to account for unforeseen circumstances.”
His hand drops from unbuttoning his coat, squinted eyes slide towards you and stop at your face, as if he’s trying to determine whether or not you’re being serious. “The whole damn battlefield is unforeseen circumstances. You think the world’s gonna stop so you can gather more information for your case file?”
“Well no, but if I could increase our chances of success with a little more certainty then it might help—”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The problem with you investigative types is this,” Chuuya contends. “When I talk about certainty, I don’t mean knowin’ everything about what you’re fighting. You’re lucky if you can predict a damn thing that happens out there.” His arms cross over his chest, his chin raised in defiance. “What I’m talkin’ bout is conviction— in yourself. If you step out there second-guessing yourself, you’re basically asking to get your ass handed to you.”
A lump rises in your throat, arms hanging awkwardly by your side.
“When you walk in, you should believe you’ve already won. That’s how you fight.” His eyes shine with pride as if recounting all the victories he’s racked up over the years. “Got that?”
Absolutely not. There was only so much fighting I had to do in an interrogation room.
“Yes, sir,” you concede anyway.
Now is when he finally decides to take a look at the mission report and flips through the pages. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again, “You remember what the boss’s orders were, right?”
Earlier that morning, Mori’s voice carried across the Port Mafia’s HQ rooftop as you clambered into the helicopter. “Thirteen minutes ago, we received word that our latest export shipment had been intercepted by an organization we recently dismantled. The flotilla carrying this stolen merchandise was spotted to have just left the harbor.”
One of Elise’s paper airplanes arced through the air and crashed into Mori’s shoulder, before crumpling beside his polished shoes. “Ensure the ships do not leave Japanese waters.” A smile slipped onto his face as he crushed the plane beneath his toes. “Surrender them to the sea if you must.”
You swallow at the memory, sweat continuing to roll down your temple. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t understand why you’re so excited. Aren’t we just retrieving stolen cargo?”
Chuuya jabs an accusatory finger in your direction. “So you did hear him wrong.”
Another bead of sweat drips down your chin. “What did you hear then?”
“What I heard…” Mirth lights up his face again, a snicker escaping his lips. “Was give ‘em hell.”
Silence stretches in the gap between you. You take in his words, turn them over in your head like he passed you a weighted coin.
A frown suddenly crosses his face, the shadow cast over his eyes darkening when his chin lowers. His thumb points behind him at the open window. “If you don’t have the stomach for this, you might as well go home now.” And yet, the corners of his lips curl ever so slightly in a thinly veiled smirk.
Ah, so that’s what this is. A challenge.
Chin up, shoulders back, eyes forward. Your gaze is an arrow cast straight to your enemy’s heart, unfettered, unflinching, unforgiving. Finally, smile, like the sheen of an unsheathed katana.
That was how Kouyou taught you to hold yourself.
Brandishing the smirk for him, you toss the binoculars aside and rest your hands on your hips. “Bit late to turn back, isn’t it? If those are the boss’s orders then who am I to disappoint him?”
This time, Chuuya laughs unabashedly, the kind that regales the winds outside. “Knew Boss wouldn’t assign me dead weight.”
All your newly gathered confidence is suddenly knocked out along with the air in your lungs. The helicopter lurches and the space inside feels lost to gravity. Like the suspended weight of a guillotine before the drop.
Chuuya quirks an eyebrow at your nonresponse but makes no more remarks, opting instead to lean over the window’s edge again. “Just up ahead now, Takashi,” he yells to the pilot to win over the wind, “Get in close to the ships at the back of the fleet.” Then he turns to you and barks, “You take the east wing. I’ll sweep the west.”
You respond with a stolid nod. The pilot shoots back a thumbs up, and before long, the flotilla appears within view. And yet the distance between you and the water stretches like the space between today and tomorrow.
As the helicopter begins its angular, choppy descent, your stomach recoils with every sway. Eventually, it draws near enough that you can distinguish the individual crewmen running about across the deck. The waters below crash over each other and make you wish you’d skipped breakfast that morning like a certain engineer.
But before you can complete that thought, Chuuya’s voice cuts in. “We’ll be jumping soon. Not scared of heights are you?”
The solid cadence of his voice makes it clear there’s no room for failure— not to mention weaknesses. Sunlight slips inside, rays limning the strands of Chuuya’s wild hair billowing around the sharp cut of his jaw like live flames. His coat frees itself off his shoulders and flies to the back of the aircraft.
One hand rests on the door handle. One chance.
Shrugging off whatever grasp motion sickness had on you, you steel your nerves against the howling winds.
Shoulders back, you sweep one arm through the air and bend in an exaggerated bow. “After you,” you simper.
Chuuya merely flashes a grin. And then barrels out of the open door.
Now there’s no one left to yell at you for being slow. No one needed to.
Chin up, eyes forward.
What comes next wasn’t hers, though.
The leap.
And then the fall.
Yokohama’s skyline blinks by on your left. And though the scene leaves something to be desired as opposed to its nighttime counterpart, there’s a certain allure of seeing every shadow retreat beneath the daylight. You’re sure you could’ve come up with a better allegory had you not been freefalling.
Your back burns from the stubborn sunlight, and you grimace. Is this what Icarus saw on his way down?
Hang on, did Chuuya tell you how to land?
Shit.
An explosion erupts from the nearby deck. A cloud of smoke and dust rises above a meteor-sized hole. The ruckus attracts a growing mob of crewmen, and from within the wreckage, a familiar red silhouette glows.
Of course.
But if Chuuya provoked you into accepting his challenge to jump, then he must have trusted you to figure out the landing on your own. That didn’t mean he had to leave you to figure it out midair though. Knowing you can’t very well replicate his methods, you propel your brain into overdrive doing the only thing you know to do: think.
Your eyes scour the deck directly below for anything that could make your crash-landing any less conducive to certain death. Rows of stacked containers line up in Jenga pieces— but unfortunately metal isn’t known to be a very good cushion. A square of canvas is stretched across one corner— but there’s no knowing what lies underneath would be any more forgiving.
But there— directly under the crane is a massive acrylic tank. A tank of seawater and whatever fish has the misfortune of breaking your fall today.
As the ground rapidly approaches, you twist yourself to catch the eastward breeze, the wind now your dependable friend, towards the tank. Your boots jut out under you so that they reach the pool at an angle, your head barely saved from knocking against the edge of the tank.
In the instant before your feet make contact, your fingers curl and the water beneath your toes ices over like a freshly frozen lake, crackling downwards into the midsection of the tank. The thin layers disrupt just enough of the momentum to keep you from plunging straight below deck.
Once every sheet of ice is broken through, you summon your ability once again to transform the next layer of water into frozen slushy-like pellets, shattered ice that swallows the last of your descent, enough to prevent a very painful, final splat.
Whatever water remains slows your fall. The acrylic walls aren’t quite as resilient though. Definitely not.
In a devastating groan, the four walls of the tank explode, sending you skidding across the deck in a torrent of saltwater, seaweed and scales stuck to your face.
Every single bone in your body shudders from the impact, your hips and spine seeming to shoulder the brunt of the impact. When your hand reaches up to peel a slimy strand of seaweed away, it also pulls off blood seeping out of some wound from your forehead.
Miraculously, gravity decided you should live for the day.
Water sputters out as you make a haphazard attempt at standing. Your knees buckle putting one foot in front of the other, but unfortunately, you can’t blame the ship’s movement for your pitiful swaying.
Several monstrous fish thrash violently near your feet, nearly twice your armspan, their panicked eyes staring blankly at the sky as if wondering what they did to deserve this. The scattered seawater pools around your ankles, soaking right through your thermal leggings.
“The tuna! The bluefin tuna escaped!” a panicked voice approaches from the other end of the deck.
“You idiot, it was obviously the girl,” another voice snarls at him. “Forget the damn tuna. Shoot her!”
A round of artillery fire rings out. From the top of some containers, three cannons send a rain of shells straight down. But before they can reach their target, ice climbs in a wall in front of you like a barricade, halting the shells’ skyborne trajectory. Then the wall fractures into hundreds of scattered pieces, each ice-encased shell propelling backwards where they came from.
Cries sound from above where the three cannon-handlers now clutch at their bullet-ridden arms, blood spouting from the holes. Their weapons, too, lay in shattered segments around their feet.
Heavy footfalls thunder behind you. Six cleaver and machete-wielding burly men, who look like they weren’t very happy you’d interrupted their farming and fish-steaking routine, race across the deck. They only make it about halfway before you freeze their feet in place.
A frosted breath escapes your lips as you take in your surroundings. The six men are suspended in precarious positions, most just about to topple over themselves with their weapons raised high above their heads, knees coming up to their chests at the start of an attack sequence.
“You think a little ice will stop us?” One of the men growls, furiously picking at his shoe with the tip of his machete.
You ponder this briefly before giving a solemn nod. “You’re right. I should be more thorough.” With a flick of your wrist, the ice continues creeping up each body like a spiderweb, until every man is frozen up their midsection, arms bound.
The man who spoke is now immobilized in an awkward, bent-over position, his blade stuck to his shoe and hands, now shooting you futile glances.
You traverse between the row of frozen men like giant chess pieces, every deliberate footfall kicking up another smattering of snow into their faces. “You can still try to pry yourself free if you’d like.” You throw a glance over your shoulder. “Of course, it’ll be a bit difficult to fight me without skin on your feet.”
What you see in the distance makes you turn around entirely. Smoke billows out of a nearby ship that's been turned on its side, the entire front half submerged.
A short distance away is Chuuya's frenzied figure throwing punch after kick after punch at the onslaught of enemies surging at him on the deck. He promptly tosses them one after the other overboard, before deciding instead to sink the cargo containers with his gravity. Their increased weight causes the deck to groan in agony, and then collapse inwards, the containers punching straight through to the bottom. With the newly punctured holes in the ship, the vehicle quickly loses buoyancy and descends, seawater rising through the gaps.
Chuuya doesn't wait for it to sink before hopping over to the next one. But this time, he keeps himself levitated and brushes his hand across the hull. The ship begins floating, utterly devoid of gravity, helpless crewmen sliding down the sloped deck. And Chuuya, with all his love of combative spectacles, grabs the tip of the hull, balances the whole mass over his shoulder and bowls it into the sliver of space between the nearest two other ships. The resulting explosions erupt in perfect synchronization.
A flawless strike.
A flash of red.
A force of nature.
Conviction.
Wind whistles through the air as if applauding Chuuya’s efficiency. The worst part is, you would be too. You didn’t know when you started holding your breath, just that when you remember to inhale again, the motion makes your ribs rattle like a skewed xylophone.
It’s not until Chuuya leaps onto the next ship that a chill races across the back of your neck.
“Charge!”
In a single blink, your every side is surrounded by a motley crew of bedraggled men wielding fishing tools turned weapons. One ambushes you with a fishing spear and nearly takes your eye out before an ice dagger splinters it in half. Your foot stumbles back, giving another crew member the opportunity to bash the back of your head with a bat.
Stars dance in your vision as you fall backward, collapsing next to one of the unlucky tuna fish.
“Now how should we deal with you, Snow White?” jeers a hazy voice. “You prefer filleted, butterflied, steaked, or let me guess— since you’re all fancy you probably deserve sanmai oroshi?”
Not looking good.
The men creep closer to you, each hoisting their weapon of choice as if already revelling in the thought of cracking your skull open.
“You’re basically asking to get your ass handed to you.”
No. I am not proving him right.
One hand slams against the wooden deck and a flurry of ice races over the floor, but this time, in a thinner layer than the one you used to trap the machete-men. Just enough to immobilize your assailants while you regain purchase of the ground.
Unfortunately, these new constraints prove much easier to shake off. Within seconds, several men begin to approach you striking and thrusting through the air. Your heels tap against the deck and the new skates pop out with a click. For a harrowing moment, the deck lurches sideways beneath your feet. Then the floor rights itself with stark clarity, just in time for you to slide backwards and narrowly evade a knife to the throat.
Sasaki, you did it again.
A thin smile spreads across your face like blooming ice. You lean to the right, legs carving an arc through the makeshift rink, and manage to draw enough ice for a spear. Suddenly every knife slashes through empty air where you stood a single blink ago. All it takes is one lean, and you’re already sliding behind your opponent, whose demise is met with a swift stab through the heart.
But after the fourth swing, miss, and stab, you find yourself doubling over and clutching the space under your chest, completely winded.
Think. With the amount of water you have, you could manage to freeze and spear them three at a time, but in the corner of your eye, even more armed men hop over the containers to join the battle, and at that rate you’d be gutted just like that other man gloated.
Your eyes flicker to the men still frozen behind you, halfway encased in ice— a little overkill now that you thought about it more.
Don’t second guess.
You draw in a long breath despite the ache in your ribs, and summon all the water on deck back to you. The ice that previously held hostage the six men now races back to you in whirling wisps, gathering around your spear until it builds over the tip in a wicked curve. Out into a giant crystalline scythe.
And now that every one of your enemies is freed, they, naturally, charge at you all at once. You flick your wrist so the sharp edge of the scythe glistens in the ocean sunlight.
“Believe you’ve already won.”
With the remaining frost, you spin up miniature icicles and swing the scythe in a wide arc. The bodies nearest to you are sliced in half, straight down the midsection, while the ones in the outer ring bear gashes where the hail of icicles meet skin. Others were knocked out, felled by a bluefin tuna that slid away in the whirlwind.
The wind howls once again. A strand of hair flies into your eye.
The handle of the scythe rests on your shoulder as you kick away the tail of the nearest fish. “Sorry, not a huge fan of seafood,” you reply to no one in particular, brushing away your hair.
Fog rolls across the deck like the final curtain falling over these lost souls.
Their eulogy, however, is interrupted by a peculiar rumbling underfoot. Something rapidly approaches, but evades your gaze behind the shrouded mist.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air. An arc slashes at the space between your eyes.
But it fails to meet its target. A compact shield of ice blossoms across your wrist and parries the blade with a sharp crack. You don’t remember deciding to make it.
So this is what they mean when they say your ability acts before you do.
What water was used for its creation, though, is entirely lost to you.
The assailant, who appears no older than a teen, skids back and before he even recovered his footing, swipes his feet behind your knees then dashes away. Your wrists sorely break your fall before your chin hits the ground. A folded sheet of paper hangs out of his back pocket, faded inked lines running across the creases, a compass in the corner— and then he disappears into an open hatch below deck.
A map. That must be the route they planned to sail with the cargo.
You grit your teeth and don’t think twice before hopping into the hatch after him.
It takes a minute for your eyesight to adjust to the darkness, but once you make your way deeper inside, a familiar confidence settles into your joints. Narrow corridors, low ceilings, and rooms that needed no more than a few strides to cross all laid out in a labyrinthine network. Your shoulders relax, but the dagger gripped in your palm doesn’t.
Rustling echoes down the corridor and your pace quickens in pursuit. The youth from earlier conspires with an older man in a room lined with charts. When they catch sight of you, the bearded man whistles and soon, you’re joined by a small entourage of sailors brandishing an assortment of seafaring tools from sextants to compasses to hourglasses.
The ensuing fight— if you can call it that— took even less time than finding this room. Tremendously unremarkable, you think as you finish tying the last knot around the group of unconscious sailors. You clap the dust off your gloved hands, before swiping the map out of the kid’s pocket.
The only thing deterring you from engulfing the contents of the map right then and there is the dim lighting, forcing you to squint at the lines.
But when you return above deck, the sunlight exposes more than the cargo markings and shipping coordinates. Crimson pools march from the fallen bodies and collect around your boots, and the map goes limp in your hands.
Deadly silence poisons the air. The only sound comes from the flag snapping somewhere overhead and waves crashing against the hull of the ship you stood on. One of the six ships you were assigned to take care of. The remainder rapidly disappears over the horizon. Smoke plumes rise from the exhausts like a forsaken farewell.
Your gaze fixates on the line where the sea meets the sky. That oh-so-fragile line.
One ship. One of six.
The rest? Sand through your fingers.
Chuuya would never have let something like this happen.
The instant that thought finishes in your brain, your stomach flips with regret.
Because you know what they say: speak of the devil, and he shall land with a crater-sized crack in the deck. Right beside your motionless figure. The timing was so comical you would’ve laughed if all the air wasn’t knocked out of your lungs.
You catch him scanning the deck from your peripheral vision. But you don’t greet him.
“So,” he begins with a click of his tongue. Here it comes. “Why do you smell like sashimi?”
The words come out dry with an edge of displeasure, as if he were asking why his wine is room temperature.
The question lands so astronomically outside your realm of logic that you almost start laughing. You don’t.
Your words choke through a hard lump in your throat. “I landed in a fish tank.”
The toe of his shoe nudges the snout of a nearby fish. “That explains the tuna.”
“Doesn’t explain why you’re still on the same ship you landed on though.”
Of course he’d been watching. In fact he probably finished cleaning up his half so fast that he’d kicked his feet up on a lawnchair watching your struggle like a football match. You felt like one of the shipping containers he sunk to the ocean floor.
“No, it doesn’t,” is all you manage to croak out.
Your eyes are still cast into the far distance when he asks, “How many were on this ship?”
“Lost count after the ninth attack,” you mumble through half-parted lips, “around thirty if you count the non-combattants below.”
Somewhere behind you, Chuuya groans and taps his heels against the wood. “Hey, look at me,” he commands.
Your head doesn’t turn.
“I said,” he sucks in a breath and then barks, “look at me.”
Your feet stay rooted in place.
All that goes on in your head are the same thoughts running a circular groove through your brain. That kid wanted me to see the map. He kept checking to see I was following him through the corridor. He was baiting me. Buying time so the others could escape.
And I fell for it.
The mission objective was to secure the cargo ships. I won the battle but at what cost?
“For fuck’s sake, Y/n.” he eventually grumbles, the way he says your name striking you like a bullet that pulls you out of your loop. Then he trudges over to plant himself directly in front of you, blocking your view of the skyline. “What were you looking at?”
“The ships.”
“The ships,” he repeats, slower this time, tasting the word with the sea air. “What about them?”
“They got away.”
“So you’re aware. Good to know.”
Silence. What is there to say? Every excuse feels unfathomably pathetic to reach for.
“How many?” This morning’s same question makes your heart sink to your stomach.
“…Five.”
Surely he can do the math himself. But he made you say it anyway.
“Remind me, your ability uses water to manipulate ice, correct?”
“Yes.”
He throws a single glance on either side of him, and the wide, wide expanse of ocean surrounding your every direction. An infinite, immediate water source, wasted.
“You still think like you’re inside a box.”
Eventually, he realizes there isn’t another word he an get out of you today.
“Right,” he heaves a heavy sigh, and then balances a cigarette between his lips. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Somehow, what little he said was worse than any yell or lecture or insult you could’ve conceived.
The last thing you hear is the one, two clicks of a lighter. Then every one of your senses is consumed by the lull of rolling tides, crashing, crashing, crashing.
Chuuya’s footsteps disappear, your head submerged in water. He leaves you to stand in the middle of the ship, in a sea of eternal blue.
“I just grovel on the ground here
Like some kind of beast, thoughts darken
There's no way of knowing
When those darkened thoughts will break.
It's as if I'm drowning in the ocean
And can see the moon glowing overhead.”
.
.
.
The way home took much longer than Chuuya would’ve liked. His door opens with a slam that lands much harder than he intended it to, rattling the folders sitting on the nearby shelf. He throws his coat over the leather back of his office chair and slumps down.
Under the tip of his hat progressively falling further over his eyes, he traces the silver rays of moonlight crawling across his desk and the ashtray in the corner. His nose crinkles.
He’s always hated the way his office smelled after a mission.
Gunpowder, dried blood, ash, engine exhaust— all of them cling to his hair and always need more shampoo to wash out. This time, though, there’s a characteristic scent of seawater and… tuna.
“Tch,” slips out involuntarily.
The shadow of your crestfallen face bubbles to mind against his will. His jaw tightens, grimace deepening.
“That’s what happens when you overobsess over the small shit,” he complains to no one in particular. His hand already reaches for the wine in his drawers. “I bet she’s next door overanalyzing the whole thing beginning to end. She’ll probably come up with some smartass excuse tomorrow.”
That’s what people like her do.
But as he brings the overflowing wine glass to his lips, his eyes darken, cerulean meeting burgundy.
She was oddly quiet at the end though.
The half-filled glass slams onto the oak table.
His door is closed, the stretching shadows in Chuuya’s office his only audience.
Nonetheless, he can’t help but curse under his breath.
“Damn investigative types.”
…
A/N: This chapter took exponentially longer to write because I had to work out a lot of the physics, so I apologize if it's still not realistically sound, bear with me 😅 It also took some time figuring out itself what I wanted to convey through every scene, and though I know it's a lot, I hope it'll all make sense in due time. This was the first time I've had to write y/n and chuuya conversing for longer periods and as much as i'd like to insert as much banter as I can and I'm still working on getting a handle on dialogue, I still have to prioritize character revelations and plot but hopefully it'll smooth out soon.
If you made this far, thank you for reading and I sincerely appreciate you sticking with me on this long, long journey <3
*The indented quotes are an except from irl Nakahara's poem titled "Lost Hope" that I got from @bsd-bibliophile
HIHI o em gee your reqs are open soo🥹..CAN I KINDLY REQ rockstar/idol chuuya x fem reader?? It can be sfw/nsfw, whatever you would like to do!! Can it be headcanons and a short drabble?? THANK YOU SM IF YOU DO <3 your my fav writer btw ok so liek..stay healthy ok? -random anon hi
⊹ ꒰🍷꒱ ˖ off the record — chuuya x fem!reader ♡
cw: sfw, nsfw, oral, headcanons & a drabble, fluff, cuddling
a/n: hi random nonnie, thank u for ur kinds words & support, it really means a lot to me (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i'll try my best to stay healthy (no promises/j), please take care of urself too, ok? (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) hope u like these—enjoy! ♡
♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୨ 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 ୧ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡
⊹ ࣪ ˖ he keeps you mostly out of the public eye. not because he’s ashamed—his fans know about you, you'll come out from behind the curtains from time to time. they love you. he’ll sometimes drag you on stage to watch, then pull you into a quick, heated kiss at the ends, before going behind the amps because "you look too good standing in my spotlight.” but he'll keep your relationship more private because he’s viciously protective, you’re his private sanctuary in a life that’s 90% noise.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ after shows he’s wired. adrenaline and stage lights still burning under his skin. he’ll come straight to the green room or the hotel suite, tug you close without a word, bury his face against your neck and just breathe you in while the roar of the crowd still echoes in his ears.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ stress relief fucks are real. he loves having you ride him before concerts while he’s still half-dressed in stage clothes. hands gripping your ass hard, or when you blow hik right before he goes, deep throating him while blinking up at him with your too pretty eyes that he can't handle—he'll always step on the stage with his face flushed and glowing, hair always a little mussed.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ he flies you out whenever he can. private jet, his suite, cozy and warm, always with your favorite drinks and the snacks you like. when you fly together he'll pull you close and you'll listen to his soundcheck drafts and wips, waiting for your opinion. he ends up asleep with his head on your shoulder most of the times.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ you'll try on his outfits before his shows sometimes. it's almost like you're modeling them for him—flashy clothes, his button downs, sometimes his hat and tie alone and nothing else. something about seeing you in his scent and his name makes his control slip in the best way.
♡ ｡ﾟ•┈ ୧ 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮 ୨ ┈• ｡ﾟ♡
the hotel suite was dim, only the city lights bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows. chuuya was still wearing the black tee from the encore (i wrote this outfit based off the middle pic hehe), top buttons undone, the faint sheen of sweat on his sharp collarbones catching the low light. his hat rested on the nighstand in the corner.
you were sitting on the edge of the massive bed when he walked in. he didn't speak—just crossed the room in that measured stride, gloved fingers already loosening his tie. when he reached you he cupped your jaw, tilted your face up, and kissed you like the encore never ended. deep, hungry, tasting like expensive wine and the metallic edge of adrenaline.
“missed you,” he muttered against your mouth as he climbed onto the bed, voice rough and gravely from singing. one hand slides down your side, slips under the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his—and gripped your bare thigh.
"me too". you pulled him closer by the open collar until he was between your thighs, his head resting on your chest as you leaned back and down on the headboard.
you pushed his damp hair back, smiling at the way he leaned into your touch. “you were incredible. as always.”
“yeah?” his smirk was sharp, but his eyes were softer, almost reverent as they traced your face. he dipped his head again, slower this time, kissing along your jaw to that spot under your ear that always made you shiver.
“then let me show you how much i appreciate my biggest fan." he mummered before pressing his lips on yours once more. he pushed you back onto the sheets without breaking the kiss, tongue slowly pushing past your lips, gloves finally coming off so he could feel your skin on his.
the city sparkled far below, but in here it was just the two of you—his weight, his heat, the familiar scent of his cologne and stage smoke, and the way he said your name, no spotlight or crowd.
just chuuya, stripped of everything except the way he needed you.
Hi! Can I request some Gide x reader fluffy/playful game night headcanons? Specifically with board games (card games included too if you’d like)! Feel free to pick any games you think fit. Sorry for picking such an obscure character, I don't see a lot of content about him. Please and thank you!
a/n: … honestly think Gide represents a really interesting concept and I don’t see it being talked enough. Also, I kind of have beef with him bcs of Odasaku so…/j. He has so little screen time, so I don’t think I can make a lot out of him. If you have any suggestions please send them over! Since I didn’t grow up playing card/board games, I can’t really name them… sorry!
૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ content [fluff]: g/n reader, game night
[✉️] Nights like this are rare for both of you and it’s one of the few chances you have to see Gide let his guard down and have fun.
[✉️] He is often described as being cold and serious, but he has a soft spot for you. Gide feels as if he’s getting to live the small portion of the life he desired through your presence.
[✉️] His ability comes in handy. Even if it’s 5 or 6 seconds he can foresee, he uses the ability to know what cards to play as you both lay your cards at the same time, for example. Don’t get him wrong! It’s not on purpose, sometimes his ability activates on its own and he ends up foreseeing what you’re about to do.
[✉️] He likes to play classic board games with you, most of them consisting on answering questions to proceed forward on the board.
[✉️] He has various strategies he uses to win the games. If he’s feeling nice, he’ll let you win some.
[✉️] Gide is itching to teach you his strategies and he always does. Sometimes you can win some rounds!
[✉️] If it’s a board game where cards play a crucial role, he won’t shuffle the cards to his advantage, he wants to keep his honor, after all. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t like seeing your puzzled face when met with a tricky question/ hard decision you gotta make.
[✉️] He cherishes every minute of the night he spends with you, he wants to keep on going with the games until you two are basically sleeping on the floor.
[✉️] This happens sometimes, you both get sleepier and sleepier, you extend your hand to him, to which he holds. And thus, both of you are asleep on the floor, completely ditching the card games.
No need for pillows either! It seems like all sense of physical comfort stems from you two’s interlocked fingers.
[✉️] If he wakes up to you both sleeping on the floor, he will carry you to bed and sleep there with you. Making sure you both sleep holding hands (that’s where all the comfort really is!! Who cares if you have your head rested on the rock hard floor or in a soft pillow…!!!)
[✉️] Gide can’t wait for the next game night you both will have.
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This is all over the place like me, ugh I guess persuading him to stay a bit longer, wishful thinking on my part tbh
My works: enjoy
Bye now - Mars ♡
"Osamu?"
The detective paused, one leg dangling off the building, ready to jump
"Ah, Bella" he smiles, "Care to join me in a double suicide?" He has the audacity to offer you his hand
"No" you slowly stepped closer, "Not today" racking your brain back and forth for something to delay him from jumping
"Such a shame, truly. I'd rather die with a beautiful woman like you by my side than alone"
Stepping closer, close enough to touch him, gently cradling his hands with yours
"Come, let's go for a walk"
"But-"
"Please." The quiver in your voice stops him. He hated that you had this effect on him. Hated that he let you get close enough to his heart for you to make him pause on the one goal he dreamed of achieving.
"I wish to have this at least, one last walk?" You smiled weakly, desperately
He sighed, stepping back down, squeezing your hand in his, "It's just like you to make me stay longer in this cruel world"
Smiling, you pull further away from the edge, "Come on"
He laughs, following you down the stairs and out onto the streets as you whisk him away to wherever you please
"Bella, slow down" he laughs, hands intertwining with yours now to not let go as he runs besides you
"I want something sweet" you pulled him into the first bakery in sight
"There's always me" he flirts, happily following you to the cashier
"Whatever the lady wants"
"The lady wants you" you whisper to him as the staff packages the goodies you selected,
"Mhm, I want the lady too" he leaned into your space, thumb caressing the back of your hand
"The lady wants you to stay...alive"
The smile dropped from his face, "Bella,"
"Osamu"
...
The tension is broken by the staff setting down the bag of goodies on the counter
"We can have this conversation a million times and it won't change my mind" he sings as you both walk out of the bakery
"That doesn't make me feel better, in fact it makes me paranoid because I never know when our last conversation or kiss or fight is gonna be our last"
"Would you rather I lie to you?"
"I would rather you not be so cruel"
He sighs deeply, the rest of the walk to the park is quiet. It's uncomfortable, he knows he's upset you.
Both of you sat quietly on the bench, the space is evident between you, not only physically but also emotionally
Osamu sets the bag of pastry down between you two in an attempt to lighten the mood
"I'm mad at you" you finally looked at him
"I know"
"I want to fight with you, but I am scared"
"Fight with me, hit me, yell, scream, anything you wish my sweet love" he reaches for your hand, tightening his grip on you when you attempt to pull away
"I do not wish to hurt you, and honestly I am scared to fight with you but I want to slap you silly right now"
That makes the detective smiles, it's too bright for your likings
"Don't smile at that"
"You're hot when you get mad, I can't help it"
"I am tired, Osamu"
"Imagine how tired we are" he raises his brows
"You don't get to quote pop culture moments right now"
"It was a little funny" he moves the pastry bag to behind him, scooting over to you, "No?"
"Why did you let me fall in love with you knowing you wouldn't change? Why be so cruel to me? My heart can only take so much" you sighed, caving and hugging him tightly, "and yes I am aware of how selfish that sounds but for once I want to be selfish"
"You can be selfish"
"I cannot lose you"
"Then join me"
...
"Okay"
He squeezed you tighter, closer to his chest, "Liar, you're gonna try to talk me out of it"
"Maybe" you smiled
"Definitely, you can't lie to me, Bella"
"Worth a try" you whisper against his coat, staring at the stray cat as they shamelessly steal your pastry literally behind Osamu’s back
You simply watch as they sneakily run away with the pastries in their little mouths
"The cats stole our sweet treat" you mumble, still hugging your partner
"I have my sweet treat right here" Osamu sighs happily, placing sweet kisses along your neck
"Don't try to seduce yourself out of this, I'm still mad at you"
"Mhm"
"Stay a little longer, please, just for me"
"Bella..."
"Please, lean on me, rely on me, please please"
You sound so desperate, pleading with a man who already had his mind made up, only short of you getting down on all fours and start begging of pathetic
"I'm sorry, I can't promise you that" his voice is deep, serious, his face is blank, eyes far away,
Cupping his face, "I hate you" you leaned in and kissed him, pouring all the pain and hurt into it because your words were failing you right now
Heyyy i just wanna say that i want smut version of dazai x reader who crazy as him👉🏿👈🏿
⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ two can play that game, nsfw version ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — dazai x fem!reader ִֶָ.𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽₊ edging, bondage, choking, hair pulling
sfw version here 𐙚ּ
⊹ ࣪ ˖ dazai loves edging you until your thighs shake, until you're squirming, squealing, tears glistening on your lashes as you kick your legs—which just makes him smirk, but you turn it right back on him just as ruthlessly. you’ll straddle his hips, sinking down torturously slow while he’s still half-dressed, rolling your hips in tiny circles until his usual playful mask cracks and his hands grip your waist hard enough to bruise. you refuse to move until he’s panting and whining your name like a prayer and a curse.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ the bandages are never just aesthetic. you both use them. sometimes he wraps your wrists above your head, tight enough that the fabric bites, then fucks you slow and deep while murmuring how pretty you look trapped under him. other times you reverse it—looping the strips around his throat and wrists, pulling just enough to make his breath hitch. the way his eyes glaze over when you ride him like that, bandages taut between your fingers, is addictive. he cums hardest when you lean down and bite his neck right above the wrap.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ choking and breath play—you know exactly how much pressure he likes. your hand fits perfectly around his throat while you’re on top, thumb pressing over his pulse as you grind down. he’ll grin through it, eyes half-lidded, and buck up sharply to remind you he’s still dangerous. when he flips you over, his long fingers wrap around your neck with surgical precision—never too much, always right on the edge where pleasure blurs. you both chase that dizzy, floating high together, gasping into messy kisses when you finally let each other breathe.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ hair pulling is often. not harsh but with enough pressure to feel the sweet ache the morning after—he'll fist his hand in your hair when he's wrecking you from behind, pulling just enough to lift your head and hear that fucked out gasp that comes with it. you'll do the same to his when he's in between your thighs, pulling hard on his locks, nails digging into his scalp while you lock your thighs around his head, making him moan into your pussy and pull you even closer by your hips.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ he eats you out like a man starved for salvation. slow, thorough licks that map every sensitive inch, two long fingers curling against that spot that makes your vision white out, and when you cum he doesn’t stop—overstimulating you until you’re grinding against his tongue again, sobbing his name. you suck him off the same way, throat massaging his length with soft, then hard pulls, until he's bucking his hips into your mouth, head thrown back as his back arches. you don't pause after his orgasm either, going on and on, placing featherlight kisses on his sensitive, leaking tip, gently suckling just to hear his pretty whimpers and make him lose it ♡ ︎
⊹ ࣪ ˖ sometimes the sessions turn tender and overwhelming. he’ll tie your wrists to the headboard ans spend an hour worshipping every inch of you—sucking marks onto your inner thighs, licking the sweat from the hollow of your throat, pressing his forehead to yours so you share every breath as he slides back in. the eye contact is relentless. wjen you finally cum, clenching around him in long pulses, he follows with a broken moan, burying his face in your neck like you're the only thing anchoring him to this world.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ post orgasm, he’s clingy in the most him way—arms loosely wrapping around you like a cocoon, legs tangled, murmuring how your pussy is the only addiction he doesn’t want to quit. you trace the lines of his bandages with lazy fingers, occasionally dipping lower to tease his spent cock until he’s half hard again, ready for another slow, lazy round where time loses meaning.
I'mma just slide in here and request for Dazai x gn!reader who actually matches Dazai's freak🥹 Im fine with headcannons or a short scenario if you want, i just have a lot of fun imagining the chaos they'd bring🙏
⊹ ꒰🩹꒱ ˖ two can play that game ⊹ ࣪ ˖ — dazai x gn!reader
nsfw version here ♡
cw: sfw, crack, getting high (mentions of shrooms), reader's implied to be in the agency, mentions of suicide/joke attempting, flirting ౨ৎ ˙⋆. ᡣ𐭩
a/n: this idea is sooo cute i giggled so hard writing these enjoy! ♡𐙚ּ ֶָ֢. ︎↻ & 💬 appreciated!
the biggest shock to everyone in the armed detective agency was not that dazai managed managed to get into a relationship. It was that he somehow found someone who enabled the exact brand of nonsense he usually gets yelled at for. you two are the kind of couple that makes everyone's eye twitch daily. you've both been labeled "do not leave unsupervised" in everyone's mind.
you got high with him once.. (well twice for him)—just like that episode in the anime. he had gotten the shrooms again, certian that this time, they were poisonous.. they were not. it was hell. he was standing on the desk, pointing and saying he's in the afterlife again—except the afterlife he was pointing at was you! you were giggling because he was turning purple.. before you swayed and fell on him with your full weight, crashing down. then you tried to strangle him with bandages.. he ended up mummifying you instead of atsushi, it was fun until kunikida knocked the high out of you both. you call him "zazai" sometimes. (sorry i giggled)
you ate dog food In front of a dog just to taunt it. both had to call in sick. no work? no problem. he's got you all to himself. only thing he'll take his time working on.
he's extra clingy with you. he knows you won't push him away—not even as a joke—he won't say it but he feels comfortable doing so. he'll whine and throw himself all over you, and he knows you'll just humor him or continue working with him attached to you.
you’re probably the only person who can beat him at his own game. dazai tries to annoy you. you annoy him back. he tries to make you flustered, you calmly flirt back and handle him like it's nothing. (he’d probably be more flustered by the casual confidence than the obvious response back.)
"it's beating your name in morse code. my heart, i mean." (pun intended, im crine it's not even a joke)
"sounds like a medical issue. wonder what you'd taste like if i put honey all over you and licked you up and down. that'd fix your heartbeat."
"..i.. ok."
you two have a ritual of going on 'dates' around the river he first threw himself in. (tsurumi river) mostly after work when the exhaustion is clinging to you like wet clothes—the sun is slowly setting, and the sound of water and the birds chirping is the only thing that can be heard. usually you just ear some sweets or a simple meal—but he did offer you the opportunity of jumping in with him. you accepted, you both jumped in the water but he quietly panicked and pulled you to the shore, laughing it off. but other times it's just his head on your lap or your shoulder, and your fingers playing with whatever part of him that's nearest like strings only you can tune.
speaking of dates.. dates are never normal. picnics turn into stakeouts, movie nights become live commentary battles where you both try to out-dramatic tge characters. but the real intimacy is in the quiet after—sitting on the rooftop at 3am, legs tangled, sharing a single pair of earbuds while the city hums below. no need for grand gestures—you both know the other would burn the world down in the most theatrical way possible if it came to it.
you know exactly how to dismantle his manipulation games when he tries them on you (which isn’t often anymore). one raised eyebrow and a deadpan “nice try, 'samu” is usually enough. he respects it, enjoys it, actually. you're not afraid to call his bullshit, you do it without flinching or getting hurt in the process. and he’s quietly obsessed with it.
“dazai osamu.” “yes, my beloved accomplice?”
“you’re being stupid.” “cruel. accurate, but cruel.”
“you’re welcome.”
dazai is used to people being entertained by him, annoyed and exhausted by him, or suspicious of him. someone who can play along without being fooled by him is different. it's not a hollow kind of match, where it's just giggles and shenanigans. you can laugh at the ridiculousness while still noticing when he’s avoiding/struggling with something. you understand that sometimes the performance is the point. sometimes life is absurd, and instead of fighting that, you’re both going to make it more absurd. and that combination throws him off more than anything.
