#rachwrote

an exasperated sigh leaves his lips as he uncuffs your hands and ankles and lets them free before sauntering over to sit across you on the opposite side of the table.

maybe it’s your cry for help, or maybe it’s because you know it’s the most effective thing you can do to make him drop his guard and earn your freedom sooner rather than later, but you run your feet up his thighs, the man across from you throwing his eyes wide open in surprise.

this time he gets rougher; in a split second he’s beside you, slender fingers circling your throat and throwing you against the back wall, blue eyes judging you at point zero.

“what the fuck are you trying to do?” he spits, except you can’t feel the threat behind his actions at all.

your hand moves down from his wrist to his chest when you catch sight of his bulge through his pants. you never expected him to show an interest that quickly, but hey, whatever works for you, right?

you would inwardly cheer at your easy success but you can’t say you’ve completely won, either. not if your coated panties have anything to say about it.

“i think we can drop this act, mr nakahara,” you whisper, winking at him as you snake your arms around his neck while he lets go of his grip on you, side-eyeing the camera in the corner of the room.

he already disabled it, and you’re a little too impatient to role play any longer. (of course, the other port mafia grunts know nothing about chuuya’s secret rendezvous with you, the girl who refuses to join the organisation no matter how many times they try to acquire you.)

right, because you’re not the only one who enjoys this. you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve fucked, and you really were taught better than to keep a fuck buddy from the mafia but how can you ever deny yourself when he’s the only one who seems to be able to give you the release you so desperately crave?

nakahara chuuya. it was a complicated relationship (or fuck-ship) you had with him. just a mere few months ago, all you knew of him was that he was probably a thug, and one of the ones in charge. he wouldn’t be so goddamn cocky if he weren’t.

the sudden exposure of your bare chest to the cool air brings you back into your current predicament. he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking on the nub while his hands circle your waist and you willingly jump into him, letting him turn and throw you onto what was supposed to be the interrogation table.

as chuuya flips your dress up and tears your flimsy panties away, quickly replacing it with his tongue, you think this is “loose lips” of a different genre altogether.

he lays his tongue flat before licking a thick stripe upwards, coaxing such scandalous sounds out of you that he’s surprised he hasn’t fucked you senseless already.

one finger inside your cunt and he has you in a wordless moan. another finger stretching you out and you’re desperately grinding down against it. the third finger he adds has you moaning his name and you’re just positive he has a shit-eating smirk on his face, satisfied with your reaction.

“i thought someone didn’t want to talk at all?” chuuya teases, his fingers moving tantalisingly slow on purpose, all in the name of riling you up because otherwise you would make no show of submitting to him.

“fuck off, chuuya,” you whine, unhappy he slowed down right as you were about to hit your high.

he chuckles, “you’re not going to tell me what i want to know, are you?”

a rhetorical question; of course he doesn’t need you to tell him the answer.

“guess i’ll just have to punish you then,” he hums, his free hand coming up to take your cheeks between his fingers, your mewl barely audible as he quickens his pace.

he’s knuckle-deep inside your cunt but all you can think of is wanting him to stuff you full, with his cock, with his seed. you’re a greedy little whore for him and he relishes every second of it. you never would have thought that one desperate plea for survival (aka seducing the port mafia executive into having sex with you the first time he tried to apprehend you) would lead to your regular meetings which ended in bare bodies and euphoria unmatched.

chuuya, on the other hand, is just glad you’re not exactly the port mafia’s enemy. so technically, technically, this isn’t betrayal. just a slight slip up in the security systems because like hell would he let anyone else see you buck naked like this.

he straightens up as you sit up, undoing his belt and tugging his pants down, his cock springing free and you lick your lips at the mere sight of the precum leaking from its tip.

“fuck,” he drawls, throwing his head back as your mouth envelops him whole, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over again he thinks he might just cum from how good your mouth feels and how hot you look staring up at him.

you hollow your cheeks as you release him from your mouth with a pop, making a show of licking your lips, knowing how much he loves seeing you like this. “if i did something good you should at least praise me,” you tease.

but chuuya isn’t in the mood for games today, no. he want to be inside you, and now.

with a firm tug on your hair, he rips the remainder of your dress off, both your clothes a heap of mess on the white marble floor. he pulls you up by your hair, with you wincing slightly in pain, “you give the best head, now bend over.”

not the kind of praise you had envisioned, but it gets to you all the same, letting it travel down your body to spread your legs while you lay just down on the cold metal table.

he lines himself up at your entrance before slowly pushing in, your mouth falling open the moment you feel his girth spreading you open, the burn just barely tolerable. you’d thought you would’ve gotten used to his size by now, but evidently not.

“you okay?”

there he goes again with the momentary concern that holds a certain softness behind it that makes your heart skip a beat. you hate how the both of you have a soft spot for the other, not that either of you would actually verbally admit it.

“mhm, just please f-fuck me already,” you whine, and he doesn’t need to be told twice.

in an instant his hips snap against yours and you thank god the walls are soundproof. otherwise you’re sure even mori would’ve heard you scream from all the way up in the penthouse office.

it’s been way too long since you last met. well, in reality it’s been what, a month and a half? but still.

“you’re so fucking tight,” chuuya grunts, one hand restricting both your wrists at the back of your waist while the other gives you one tight slap on your ass. “slut, getting wetter just from that.”

normally you’d talk back to him, but you feel way too good right now to dare to break the moment.

chuuya’s eyes observe your face contorting in pleasure, trailing down to your hips, and then down to your pussy basically sucking him in, growing tighter and tighter.

you’re close, he can tell. he quickens his pace, and you find yourself bouncing back to meet his rhythm, your eyes flicking up to meet his, “i’m g-gonna cum,” you mewl, so adorably submissive as though you hadn’t tried to talk back so readily earlier.

“cum for me, baby, go on,” he encourages, pace getting faster and faster from chasing his own high.

you moan out each other’s names as you both release at the same time, your insides filling warm as he spurts all of himself inside you before he pulls away, watching as the cum slowly drips out of your abused little cunt.

he gives your clit a tight slap before you hear the sound of a shutter going off, and spinning around to find him showing you a photo of yourself all sprawled out on the table, filled with his cum.

not that you particularly care; that photo incriminates him as much as it does you. you kick your ripped dress to the side and opt for his coat instead, tying it carefully around your body as a makeshift dress while he gets dressed himself.

“i sincerely hope that’s for your wallpaper,” you quip, smirking at him before whispering a “see you soon, chuuya,” into his ear, before turning on your heels and easily slipping out the door.

He doesn’t know whether it’s because you’re fairly inexperienced, or maybe it’s because you’re biting your lower lip and it may be unintentional but god, does Dazai think you’re sexy like this.

You’re still hesitating, but you let him use your scarves to tie you to the bedpost anyway. That small whimper you let out as he tightens them — if he could he would stuff your mouth full with his cock just to muffle them. But no, you’re a little different from the girls he usually dates. Dazai can just tell by the averting of your gaze and the heat pooling up in your cheeks that you’re extremely shy about this. Yet you’re such a good little girl, saying yes to him.

Dazai’s fingers leave a light trail of desire down your bare chest, stopping just shy of your pretty little cunt as he learns to admire the sight of you, getting all wet for him. He pries your legs further apart, before leaning forward to whisper in your ear, “are you sure you want this, baby?”

You nod, and while he’d like to ask you to verbalise it, he doesn’t push you. No, you he needs to treat like a princess. Pamper you like one. So he just chuckles and kisses your earlobe, before slowly trailing kisses down your neck, to your bare chest, taking a moment to nip on your slowly hardening bud.

The moans that escape you — he’s entranced. You’ve never felt this good before, have you? Those few times you’ve fucked, they’ve never quite paid attention to you, have they? Dazai smirks as he pulls away, loving your half-lidded gaze, loves how much lust is behind those beautiful eyes of yours.

And how cute it is; you’re still trying to hide your face even though you’re buck naked against your chalk-white sheets.

“Baby, you’re beautiful,” Dazai says as he lets his tongue trace a line down from the middle of your chest to your clit, stopping to make sure you’re okay for him to continue. His brown eyes flick up to meet yours, and he’s inwardly reveling about how he has barely even touched your little pussy yet and still, you have your tongue licking the side of your lip, as though you can’t wait for him to show you just how amazing you can feel with just his tongue.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, okay, baby?”

A nod from you is all it takes for him to lift your legs over his shoulders so his head is nicely nestled in between them, tongue slowly lapping up the juices trailing down your pussy. Dazai lets out a hum of approval as he hears your gasps. You enjoy this, don’t you? With his tongue silding across your lower lips now, two fingers making their way slowly into your pussy, the way your back arching a sign that you’re completely under his mercy.

“Fuck, baby,” Dazai coos against your clit, feeling you clench around his fingers. “I’m gonna make you feel real good, baby, so just let it all out, okay?”

His fingers increase their pace, going in and out of you so quickly, hitting your spot over and over. Your moans are getting louder and louder, and god if only he could die overdosing on you that’d be ideal.

“Osa—”

You’re practically grinding your hips against him now, desperate for your release. And Dazai is all for it. His cock is begging for attention, but you’re all he can think about now.

“Cum for me baby, show me how good I make you feel.”

Oh, the way you moan his name as you come on his fingers drives him absolutely crazy, he’s wondering how he ever has the patience to control himself when all he wants is to be inside you and giving you a mind-numbing fucking.

Dazai smirks up at you as you watch him pull his fingers out before licking up all your juices. You try to look away but Dazai’s free hand pulls your face back to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, you taste so fucking good, belladonna.”

His lips come down to kiss your cheeks, and you can feel the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit, eliciting an impatient whimper from your lips. You can hear him chuckling the moment he hears it, and you know that he’s aware he’s got you wrapped around his finger. (Quite literally, because as you think this his fingers are rubbing circles on your clit and even though you’ve just came not one minute ago you’re already aching to have him inside of you again.)

Dazai is being patient though, very patient. You can tell because you can feel just how hard his cock is yet he’s still taking the time to tease your little clit, even though you’re more than wet enough to take him.

“Pl-please,” you mumble, and Dazai pauses his ministrations to gaze down at you, a gaze so soft you think you can actually melt under him.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what you want.”

How brazen you’ve gotten after just a little warming up to him.

“F-fuck me, p-please, Osa,” you stutter out, hiding your face in his chest.

Dazai would love to tease you, would love to hear you beg him to fuck you, but he knows how much it took for you to even admit that, so he restrains himself. Instead, he plants a kiss on your forehead and gives you what you’re so politely begging for.

His index finger runs from your arms (and he notices how you get goosebumps just from that) all the way down to your thighs (you swear you got even wetter just feeling that) and he lifts it up slowly so he can position himself in front of you. He looks to you, as though asking for permission, and the moment you nod, he’s slowly pushing himself inside, letting out a grunt and a “baby, you’re so fucking tight you feel so fucking good.”

You’re hiding your face in your arms when you feel him pulling you back again, getting you to look at him as he stretches your pussy and fills it full with his cock. He’s not even halfway in and you already have tears in your eyes — it’s been a while since anyone’s fucked you, and even then they weren’t this big.

tap. tap. tap.

slow, and weak, on the mahogany door.

you only just settled down after a long exhausting day at work, but already an unwonted visitor. you stifle a grumble, socks muting your harsh stomps against the marble floor, but any trace of irritation is carried away by the wind when you feel the familiar texture of bandaged arms brushing against your skin, and the subtle elation under his controlled murmur.

“i’m so glad to see you.”

you take a moment to collect yourself, before you return his hug. you stop yourself from asking the obvious ‘are you okay’ because you think it redundant. for dazai to go out of his way and visit you out of the blue? something is definitely bothering him. but it isn’t your place to pry — you know it’s impossible for him to talk about his cases (you deduce that it’s the only factor in the current that would make him feel this way). however, there is one thing you can do as his girlfriend.

make an effort.

you drag your boyfriend inside and shut the door behind him, observing as he flings himself down onto the sofa, the perfect embodiment of exhaustion. whatever it is that managed to bring him down this bad just means you have that much more work to do to pull him back up. and no, you don’t mind at all, actually. on the contrary, you love being the one he entrusts these particular notions to. you know he would rarely ever let anyone else’s actions dictate his mood. except yours.

in that honeyed voice of yours, you lean down and let your thumb ghost his lips, earning yourself a pout from your boyfriend as he looks up at you. “tell me anything you want for dinner, i’ll whip it up for you,” you offer.

dazai grins, sitting up and presses the tip of his nose against yours, a glint in his eyes. “i know just the thing i want.”

“are you sure this is all you want?”

dazai chuckles at your skepticality, offering only a grin in response, jabbing his fork down onto the meat and swallowing it readily.

now it’s your turn to giggle. it still baffles you how this is his idea of a perfect dinner: crab from a can with bottled sake from the supermarket. he’s aware that you can cook up a much better, high-end version of this, with your knack for fancy plating and wanton knowledge of compatible herbs.

but you know better than to question it. his answer would probably be much too complicated for you anyway. so you roll with it. not everything has to have an answer. you know when probing is unnecessary. this is one of those times. it isn’t too difficult to just be content with what you have. because you are. very. just lounging with dazai, sitting on the floor eating on the coffee table.

it’s simple. homely.

the both of you have a lively debate on the alleged corruption of one of the state senators, occasionally being sidetracked by the music playing on the television. by the time the two of you finish up, you notice the sun sinking lower and lower against the sky. you glance at your watch, twenty-three minutes left, give or take.

“what is it?” dazai asks with a simple head-tilt and wondering eyes.

now you grin in reply, “come on, let me take you somewhere.”

fifteen minutes later you’re leaning against his side, sitting on the freshly cut grass, watching as the sun sets on the horizon, the orange resembling fire hearths and tangerines. you feast your eyes on the sight before you as the rich hues of orange blends with purples and crimsons.

you always liked sunsets. they remind you of fresh colours brushing upon a blank canvas, leaves you wondering how something so beautiful managed to exist in the first place.

“a masterpiece, isn’t it?” you subconsciously ask, your gaze fixed on the sky before you, an unobstructed view thanks to your many-a-times spent wandering around the park near your home.

“yeah, it is.”

dazai isn’t agreeing with you though, not completely. because while you’re admiring the scenery, he’s admiring you. you’re the only masterpiece in his eyes, a timeless existence being captured in the lock of your gaze. he shifts his pupils back to the centre before you can catch him staring at you, though.

but he finds that that mere few seconds of admiring you isn’t enough. so he casually lays his head on your thighs, much to your surprise. you try to lean back, aware that it isn’t the most flattering angle for him to see you in, but he reaches up to move your face back into place.

“you’re beautiful, belladonna, don’t hide that.”

you can feel a heat creep up on your cheeks as you sheepishly smile back at him and give in. besides, when have you ever been able to say no to him?

and maybe now you do understand why he prefers the simple things. because as the blanket of the velvety night signals the end of the drowning sun, a thought pops into your head.

there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. because it’s not about what you’re doing, it’s about who you’re with. and never did you think you’d ever be enough for someone as prodigious as dazai osamu, but that isn’t important. what matters is that he thinks so, and he does. you know it. he’s shown it to you countless times, even if they are through subtle, unconventional means.

so you text your boss to request a sick leave tomorrow, something you have never done so just because you’re the hardworker that you are. but when you peer down at your beloved boyfriend’s blissful face, you think that some things deserve more weightage in your life as opposed to corporations that largely looks at their workers as being replaceable.

that night you wrap the blanket you prepared around the both of you as you shift to lie down on his chest, letting the steady pulse of his heartbeat envelop your ears. you call out to him, only to get his rhythmic breathing as a response. slowly, you flicker your eyes up to peek at him. he’s already asleep. and you exhale a silent laugh at how absolutely harmless he looks in this state.

he was the one that came to you seeking refuge from his troubles, so how did it end up helping you blow your own negativity away? he really is a remarkable person, you think.

“i love you,” you whisper to him, before you let yourself fall prey to your enervation.

and as your consciousness slips away, you think you hear the faint rustle of sleeves and the muffled murmurs of someone trying to tell you something.

“i’d stay alive forever if it meant i could spend an eternity with you.”

but you’re already fast asleep, and it’s okay. because the man with the voice responsible for such earnest words knows. he knows he’s going to spend his entire life convincing you so.

TWELVE YEARS AGO.

“They found someone at the house. We have him right now.”

The man on the other line seems to still have something to say, but the redhead doesn’t allow him. It’s a matter that can’t wait.

“Keep him there, make sure he doesn’t leave.”

Chuuya leaves the rest of the torturing to his colleagues as he exits the premises. He recalls what his subordinate reported earlier. ‘Him’? He scoffs. It’s been six years since you left the mafia and basically vanished into thin air. Which is a considerably long time, but Chuuya still can’t wrap the possibility around there being a new guy in your life.

Besides, the redhead didn’t do anything wrong. Why did you have to leave without a word? Why did you feel the need to leave at all, even? It couldn’t be stress. No way. You worked at the Port Mafia casino, yes. You were in charge of it all, and it did anything but stress you out. You loved working there. You loved the gamble. You absolutely revelled in the risk.

They put you in charge of the casino for more reasons than one. You were very calculative, very meticulous. You always had your moves planned out beforehand and you were always able to tell your opponents’ hand without even having to cheat. The gambling was definitely one of the reasons why you were so good at manipulating people. It was also one of the reasons why even Mori asked for your help in some cases.

But your best quality as a mafioso?

Your unpredictability. Or, as Mori dubbed it, your insanity. In both gambling and in general. You had helped the mafia win favours over more than just a few officials by winning against them — be it in poker or any other games. You weren’t even below playing russian roulette. Sure, Chuuya had been worried at first, but after a while it was pretty clear you’d always make it out of it safe — was it luck or was it pure calculation, or a mixture of both perhaps? Chuuya doesn’t really question it. And when it came to planning missions, your unconventional methods always helped, because no one would ever see it coming.

That blew up in his face though. You left him without any clues pertaining to your whereabouts or why you left in the first place. He thought you left along with his ex-partner, that maybe it had something to do with him. But it was apparent that wasn’t the case. Not when you didn’t surface at all even when Dazai did. He couldn’t help but keep thinking of potential things that happened to you. Did you leave because you met someone else? Doubtful. But given how long it’s been, it’s certainly not out of the question that you already did meet someone else by now.

You’re beautiful, smart, fun. You’re everything anyone could wish for. You’re so understanding that sometimes Chuuya questions where you get your patience from. You were just perfect, in every sense of the word.

Chuuya groans just thinking of everything. Even after being kicked to the curb, why is it that now he is still attracted to you? Lucky he was, though. Because that’s the only reason he agreed with Mori’s plan to put all efforts into seeking you out. You were incredibly elusive, and a pain in the ass because of that. And had it not been for a certain intense war against an enemy organisation, they would’ve let you go on with your life, wherever you ended up. You’ve been very quiet, not spreading anything about the mafia, or else Mori would’ve picked up on it. Very well-behaved, and a pardon would’ve been your reward.

But even the best needs help sometimes. And Mori specifically wants yours. He probably figured Chuuya was the biggest factor that would tilt things in their favour, and he agrees. Which is why he heads this mission in the first place. Not only is he the biggest shot at getting you back, but he wants to see you. Wants to know exactly why you left him the way you did.

Closure. He wants closure.

Life is funny though. Because he ends up with more questions than answers when he opens the door to his office.

Suddenly all the idle chatter he passes by in the hallway makes sense. The ones that just skip past his ears because he’s too deep in thought about you. He remembers the gist of them though. Things like “he’s so cute, like a model,” and “right? I think he looks handsome” (to which Chuuya was slightly annoyed by because he thought it was referring to your new beau).

But no, he wasn’t greeted with a man. He opened his doors to find a boy with eyes as blue as the ocean sitting on his desk, fiddling with his pens. Eyes that remind him of the exact shade he looks at in the mirror everyday. Chuuya hurriedly shuts the door, locks it, and steps hesitantly toward the boy.

This boy… looks roughly about six years old. And Chuuya feels his breath hitching in his throat. That’s around the time you went missing. He feels everything closing in around him, the fear of why you left him finally being made clear to him.

Weirdly enough, the boy isn’t the tiniest bit scared. His head is tilted, fingers still fiddling with Chuuya’s fountain pen, and waiting for Chuuya to reach him. He blinks his little eyes, before finally smiling up at him after a while. He opens his mouth, a simple word leaving his delicate lips.

“Daddy!”

Chuuya isn’t even allowed a further minute to process it before he hears knocking on the ceiling and someone falls through the vent onto the floor; one with an all-too-familiar figure. And who flashes an all-too-familiar grin.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Half an hour later Chuuya finds himself struggling to process all the information you’ve unloaded on him. He observes as his son draws on a random piece of paper he’s found lying around, in the other side of the room.

“You let them think they’ve captured our son, when in reality you were waiting for them to?”

You nod. Chuuya internally facepalms himself. How is it that you’re able to gamble with this, too? With your — and his — son’s life on the line? You basically left him there to be abducted, knowing that they won’t do anything without Chuuya’s permission (who’s to say he wouldn’t have allowed them to torture the kid? Well, he wouldn’t, but still…) and then sneak yourself past security and into his office, all in the hopes of letting him know he has a son?

Then again, you wouldn’t bet something like that if you didn’t believe that things would absolutely go your way. He’s been with you for so long before, he’s familiar with your moves and the way you think. Not completely, but good enough.

It was so brilliantly simple. (Also, you used to sneak into his office through the vents when your relationship was still under wraps, so it really wasn’t a surprise to him that you chose to sneak in through there now.)

“Why now, after all this time? Why tell me now?”

For a moment he catches a brief look of guilt wash over your face. You lie back on the couch on your spot next to him, and close your eyes, as though bracing for an outburst as his response.

“I didn’t want to tell you at all, at first…” you trail off, the guilt completely taking over you now. “I only came now because… I want you to get Mori off my back.”

Now Chuuya understands why.

So, you didn’t even intend to give him a chance to meet his son, let alone let him be involved in any part of your life. But you only appeared because you knew Mori would come after you, demand for your help. The only reason you showed yourself today… was to convince Chuuya to help you. Because if there’s anyone who could convince Mori to back off, Chuuya could. And you understood that all too well.

Chuuya can just laugh at himself right now. How foolish is he, to think that you came back because you still harboured feelings for him. How pathetic of him.

He can sense his expression growing grim. Not that he’ll make any attempts to conceal it. His cerulean eyes travel from his son to you. You seem a little less guilty now, though. You look… at peace, somehow.

“What makes you think I’ll do what you want?”

“Because you want to prove me wrong.”

Your answer catches him off guard, and his anger is replaced by utter confusion. You take his silence as your cue to explain.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think you’d make a good father and do what’s right for our son. Prove me wrong. Keep our son away from this. Do what a good father would and give him a chance to grow up normal.”

Chuuya scoffs. So that’s why you didn’t tell him anything. Never told him you were pregnant. Never hinted at a goodbye. You’d rather be branded a traitor like Dazai instead of having to make Chuuya choose between you and the mafia. He knows; if you set your mind on something, it’s hard to change it. And in other situations it might’ve been negotiable, but not with your baby.

You know Chuuya would never betray the mafia. That’s why you think he’d never make a good father. Because he can’t put you or the baby first. And now… Now you come with good faith. You’re trying to believe that he can learn to be a good father.

Starting with this choice.

This impossible choice.

Except not really. He knows what he’ll end up choosing anyway. You were right. If he knew you were pregnant he’d have convinced you to stay with the mafia, convinced you that he’d make sure the baby is well-protected. But then he’d be missing the point of your whole argument. You grew up in the mafia, and technically, so did he. You knew how it didn’t allow a chance at normalcy, and you didn’t want to strip your baby of that choice. You wanted your child to at least have a taste of what being normal is like, before you ultimately let them choose what they want.

Now, even if he gives an unfavourable reply, he knows you’d do anything to keep his son away from the mafia. It’s only a question of whether or not you’d have to struggle against Chuuya for it.

Silently, he stretches a hand out to you as he gets up from the couch. He can see the subtle surprise on your face. You’re impressed, aren’t you? He has on the best poker face since you’ve met him. You can’t guess what he’s thinking, this being the first of such instance since you’ve met him. He doesn’t say a thing when you ask him what he’s up to, only continuing to offer his hand to you, keeping mum.

A gamble, a risk you’d have to take. You can either take his hand and see where he leads you, which could lead to you getting your way or it could just lead to total destruction. Or, you can refuse, and then you’d have to figure a way out on your own. Which Chuuya doesn’t doubt you’d already have ingrained in your head.

But he knows you’ll choose the former. Why? It’s the only one where an inherent risk is present. Because you’d be totally in his mercy.

And that’s why you find yourself flown out of the headquarters, onto some random building’s rooftop. A perfect view of the setting sun and an even more perfect view of your old lover, striking crimson locks imitating the beauty of the orange sunset.

Looks like it paid off.

“Will you let me know where you’re staying? A child needs his father,” Chuuya asks you, your fingers intertwined in his, and you forgot just how much you missed this; him.

“And the mafia needs you.”

A swift rejection, but he’s not going to give up so easily.

“I have a right to know. He’s my son too.”

You inch closer to him and he feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. It’s been six years since he’s been this close to you, and he can’t believe he has to let you go again. With your son in tow, too. Without so much as a clue as to where you’re going to move to. No way to find out. Given that they only managed to find you in the first place because you wanted to be found.

“Maybe if you’re the boss or something.”

PRESENT.

Now here he is, sitting in the office, new king of the Port Mafia. And his two very important guests are making their way up here. Chuuya hurriedly puts the letters back away. They were how you communicated with him, updated him on you and your son. Though you never put any return address, so Chuuya couldn’t send one back even if he wanted to. Also, you didn’t include any photos, so Chuuya is curious how his son has turned out.

Your timing is impeccable, to choose to visit him just as he’s taken over the office. He suspects maybe you have your ways, what with the vast amount of officials you have wrapped around your finger.

But as the doors open, every other thought he has is thrown out the window. You enter first, and his face lights up, seeing those familiar pair of eyes, so warm, so inviting now. And behind you, your son, now slightly taller than you (and probably Chuuya but he refuses to think of that), greeting him with a polite nod and a smirk on his face.

A wave of understanding washes across his child’s face when he spots something hanging on the wall behind his father.

“Hey! You kept the drawing I did when I first came here!”

He had drawn the three of you together, with himself in the middle, his parents on either side of him, holding his hands and walking in a park.

Chuuya chuckles. “Of course, it was the only thing your mom let me remember you by.” He shifts his gaze over to you as your son gets the hint, moving to admire another far corner of the room.

You let yourself fall into his arms, and Chuuya hugs you tight. Because it’s taken eighteen years. A long, torturous eighteen years apart, which honestly was a run in circles, though it was a necessary one. But now finally, he can be together with you, and his son. Chuuya looks down at you with the warmest gaze you’ve ever seen, wet eyes threatening to spill with tears any moment now.

“Welcome home, my love.”

not that the answer matters. because you still hurt. everything’s screwed up, and no amount of effort will change anything, will it? no amount of trying will ever get rid of the loss, the grief, the guilt you feel. and you’re caught between two lines: to keep living and torturing yourself (which you think you deserve), or to just end it all and return to the beginning of life itself in death? the latter is a form of escape, though. do you really deserve it?

you can’t really explain the turmoil that goes on in your head. but it irritates the heck out of you. it hurts, and it will keep hurting. but it’s not like you can shut off your thoughts just like that.

maybe this is why the razor cuts deeper and deeper as you go. because the more you think, the larger the amount of pain you need to translate from emotional to physical. at least with physical pain, you’re distracted enough not to think.

how long has it been since you’ve done this? way too long. you’ve had your own personal crutch — your boyfriend. and immediately you feel an overwhelming amount of guilt rush over you. it isn’t alleviated when the next moment, you can hear his footsteps rushing over to you, the thumping all you can hear. or is that the drumming of your heart in your ears?

you don’t know. you really don’t know, you barely know anything.

all you can say for sure is that there is an unsightly amount of blood on the bathroom floor. you can’t even remember how long you’ve been sitting here piling slit on top of slit on top of slit. your arm is sore, and your fingers are sore too. you don’t even realise how much you’re crying until you turn to look at your boyfriend and all you can see is his striking orange hair all blurred into one with his face and those cerulean eyes.

and you cry even more because you think he doesn’t deserve this — he’s been so good to you. he doesn’t deserve having to worry over someone so pathetic, right?

but as always, he always seems to know what to do. and no, you don’t mean the fact that he’d thrown the razor aside the minute he got to you, or the fact that he disregards the blood staining his pants as he tries to clean your wounds.

it’s how he doesn’t pile on your guilt. no mention of “what the fuck did you do” or “what happened” because he doesn’t want to make you feel more overwhelmed than you already are. all he does is let you calm down as you nestle against his chest while he wraps your arm in a bandage, slowly, carefully, gently.

“i don’t deserve you, chuuya,” you let slip. you’re a little drowsy, and he knows it. after all, you’d lost a lot of blood. he makes a mental reminder to get the mafia doctor in to see you as soon as possible, but for now he has to put your emotions first. besides, he’s confident enough in his skills that you’d be okay for now, as long as you get some water in you and rest.

he smiles at you, poking your nose with his gloved finger before hoisting you in his arms and carries you to the bed. he doesn’t even care about the stains that get on his sheets. he just wants you comfortable. it’s not chuuya’s first time dealing with difficulties. although, this is the first time he’s seen your harm yourself. don’t get him wrong, though. he’s internally panicking, but he can’t show you that. it’ll make things worse, wouldn’t it?

honestly, he finds it weird how he knows what to do in this situation. how he doesn’t let his fear take over him. not that he lets himself ponder about it. he’s more concerned with what you’re upset about. but you both know — you’re not one to share so easily. even if he is your boyfriend of a year.

you’re amazed, actually, at how patient he is with you. considering he’s not much of it in anything else. never once has he actually pressured you to share anything. he’s asked you about it, but he’s quick to assure you that you don’t have to say a thing you aren’t comfortable with saying.

“you know, i’m so scared,” chuuya confesses as he sets down the glass of water on the nightstand after you take a big gulp. he sits himself next to you, and you allow him to wrap an arm around you, getting under the sheets, making you feel all warm and cosy.

“i’m so scared of losing you,” he explains, fingers now twirling your hair. “and i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, princess, but can i be selfish this one time and ask you to please, let me share that pain with you?”

you don’t miss the slight quiver in his tone. he’s close to cracking, but he’s trying not to — just for you. and maybe he’s not the best person to try and ‘cheer someone up’, but oh god, to you? his patience and understanding is more than enough. and he’s never once failed at it.

chuuya hugs you tighter now. you can smell the faint hint of cigarettes lingering on his skin, and while you’re normally not a fan of it, oddly enough, it smells like home. your home.

no man is an island. and it’ll probably take more than anyone can imagine to make you feel okay again, if it’s even possible at all. but sometimes people lose sight of what’s important. sometimes, some people try — and that’s already more than what you can ask for. because not everyone has the patience for it.

“i love you, baby,” he whispers as he plants a long kiss on your head, “i love you and i would do anything for you. so just — just stay with me as long as you can, okay?”

never any sign of pressure. and you can feel the slight minification of the hurt you thought would never let up. right, that’s right. because in a world where no one owes anyone else a thing, sometimes a simple show of effort is a treasure in itself.

“chuuya, i know i’m not easy to be with —“

“you’re worth it, though.”

you giggle a little at how quick he is to assure you of that. it’s only miniscule, but you do feel your mood lightening a little.

“shut up,” you chide, embarrassed, burying your head in his chest, hearing the slight quickening of his heartbeat. “i know i’m not easy to be with, and i know you never ask anything of me, so i promise, chuuya. i promise you, i’ll try.”

you don’t even have to ask him anything, but you know that even if sometimes you fail at it, if sometimes you just break again and have a similar moment, that he’ll still be there for you, to assure you that you’re never alone.

“it’s you and me against the world, princess.”

They say that eyes are the windows to your soul.

Dazai doesn’t believe it. Not one bit. Especially now that he’s seen you assassinate someone with his very own eyes. But it takes him back to that day. That first day he met you. Not because they look exactly the same, but because they look the exact opposite.

It was what captured his attention in the first place; the way they smiled, how they twinkled in the orange of the sunset as they locked with his. And yet, mixed in with the vibrancy is something that Dazai couldn’t quite place — a darkness or a void.

Maybe that’s why he’s attracted to you, why he felt on edge around you. It’s not like how he would usually feel around others, most of his time being spent around members of the agency where their records are squeaky clean and out in the open. It’s easy to find out about everyone. Everyone but you.

The two of you tread around the subject like you were dancing a tango. Whether it was good or bad was debatable. Dazai would lead, asking vague questions first, in hopes to just ease you into the harder ones. But you always answer in a way that doesn’t give anything away. Still in harmony, but never completely in-sync. These conversations were always a vibrant and playful dance between the two of you; he was always on his toes.

A certain part of him knows that he got together with you because of that mystery. It intrigued him that much; how elusive you are. He didn’t notice though, how over time his focus has shifted. From wanting to find out your identity to wanting to actually get to know you. From doing things out of obligation to doing it because he actually wants to. He didn’t realise it, until he was in too deep.

And he thought maybe, maybe, he didn’t need to know. Besides, how bad could it be? Dazai has a tainted past himself, yours couldn’t be worse than his was, could it?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Worry often casts a big shadow over a small matter.

That shadow consumed Dazai earlier — the moment he realised that their target was you all along. Every inch of their makeshift headquarters was filled with photos and information of Dazai himself, as well as you. But the red circle is marked on your face.

Dazai was the end goal, and you’d be the bait.

Of course, no one knew what you were capable of at that point. Not Dazai and least of all the enemy.

He was alone, and he wasn’t the best fighter, but he’d be damned if he let anyone touch you. So without so much as a call to his partner who had been investigating elsewhere, he rushed out to hail a cab. Dazai vowed to save you, no matter how many of them he’d have to kill.

3.47pm

Your shift would end soon. As cunning as the enemy was, they wouldn’t be able to attack you in a packed café. They weren’t that stupid to put more tails on themselves. Dazai had thirteen minutes to reach you.

3.55pm

“Could you please step on the gas?”

Dazai’s exasperation was clear as day.

“I don’t control the traffic, boy.”

So was the cab driver’s.

4.02pm

The cab finally rounded the corner and the café came into view — Dazai couldn’t even wait for the driver to stop. Money was thrown into the front of the cab and he bolted out the door, past the café and dipped into the alley you always took for a faster path home.

And there he found you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They say the greatest beauty comes from the greatest clarity.

In this moment, in the current present, Dazai is inching just a little closer to that beauty. There is meaning to that emptiness in your eyes — and he knows it all too well. How can one afford emotions when it is one’s duty to kill?

All his worry dissolves the moment he saw you wielding that knife with the finesse of a well-seasoned assassin. And now he has only one concern, the same one he’s had since he first met you: who are you?

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

Your voice echoes in the empty alley, your fingers rubbing the blood stains off your knife with one of the poor victim’s jackets before settling it back in its holster, hidden under your dress, attached to your thigh. And as you walk towards him, Dazai sees that hint of spark in your eye — the radiance.

“What does it matter? You aren’t going to tell me the whole truth.”

But Dazai’s voice doesn’t carry a hint of malice. Just a pinch of surprise and a dash of admiration. It isn’t easy for anyone to hide anything from him. And if it wasn’t for the enemy, he would probably never have figured out you were an assassin.

“I will tell you one thing, though,” you relent as you reach him, snaking an arm around his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his.

Dazai gives a low chuckle, his hands wrapping themselves around your waist. You are definitely a dangerous one, that he knows. “And what is that, my belladonna?”

You open your eyes wider this time, and Dazai is yet again, surprised. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

He can’t spot any hint of that darkness he’s used to seeing when he looks into your eyes everyday. No, this time your eyes exude earnesty — is this you being completely honest?

“And I’m supposed to just trust you, now?”

Dazai still isn’t exhibiting any hostility — because he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t feel like you’re disguising anything behind those words. And if there’s anybody he trusts, it’s himself.

“You want to, don’t you?”

Your voice carries an absolute confidence, and Dazai is fairly impressed. How insightful you are. No matter how much he wants to deny it, he can’t. Even if he does, you’d see through this at least.

“Ah, my beautiful belladonna—” he gives you a quick peck on the lips — “is there anything that escapes you?”

But of course there is, and you both know it. As much as you are a mystery, Dazai is an enigma. Your occupation is a conundrum, and so is everything that makes Dazai who he is. And even so, you both let it slide, because as time drones on, there is one thing that glues you together.

I love the way you hold my hand. Never too tight, like you were afraid of my bones breaking. But not too loose that I can escape you. I love the way you put your arm round my shoulder and rest your head on top of mine. I can just feel your hair tickling my ear, sometimes replaced by your breaths because you know that’s my sensitive spot and you like to make me squirm.

I love the way you kissed me. For a flirt I always thought you’d be rough with me. You know, those kind of kisses that manage to knock the breath out of your lungs and gets you seeing stars in your eyes? Surprisingly, our first kiss was more than gentle. And more than patient. It was weird though, because I thought you kissed me out of… desperation? Disillusionment? I didn’t think it was possible for someone I looked up to as much as you to even carry feelings for someone like me. But you did.

I love the way you loved me. And you know what’s funny? I always used to need some kind of verbal validation that my (ex)boyfriends loved me. I always asked them: do you love me? But you? I never asked you.

At first I thought it was because I was scared that you’d say you weren’t sure or maybe I just didn’t want to risk pressuring you and driving you away. But I realised something, somewhere throughout our relationship. I never asked you, because I already knew.

Because although you never told me, you always showed me.

I know, Osa.

I know how you always set your alarm half an hour earlier than mine just to get up to make me coffee and bread. (You don’t even show up in time for your own work but you always make sure I get what I need before I go to work.)

Thank you.

I know how much you hate dogs, but you helped me take care of mine. I remember how you played with her, and I know how you remembered to buy her food when I was being a bad owner. God, you even helped me bury her. And you hate dogs.

But you love me, don’t you?

You don’t have to tell me. I know.

Thank you.

There’s so many more things you did for me, and believe me, Osa. I am so grateful for everything you did for me. And please don’t go blaming yourself, okay? If anything, you were the one thing I was grateful for in my life. 

So I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I can’t take this anymore. I honestly have been hovering over this for a while. It’s always been in the back of my mind. Because everyday I feel stuck. I tried my best, baby, please believe me. I tried my best to see the good in things, but I’m tired. Of getting hurt, of trying to feel better only to get shot down all the time.

I’m just so, so tired.

I look at my friends and I feel like I’m just an outsider looking in. I always feel like I don’t belong, even if I try. I look at my job and I feel so unhappy. No matter what I do it will always just be another thing that brings me down. I look at my parents and think they’ll do better without me. After all, I bet I’m the reason they’re unhappy in the first place anyway. I look at pictures of my grandparents and I just wish I was with them up there. I look at you and I just feel so guilty. I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I?

I just feel like no matter how hard I try, nothing will ever get better. And I’ve lost faith that it ever will. Maybe this is me being selfish, being whiny, being a horrible human being ‘til the end. But maybe now I don’t care anymore. Because living is hard. It’s so, so hard. And Osa I feel so, so scared.

You know what’s the worst part?

I know I’ll feel even more disappointed if I wake up.

...

Will you allow me to be greedy one last time, baby?

Please don’t give up on yourself. I know I’m not one to talk. But Osa, I meant everything I ever said to you. I meant it when I said I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for. I meant it when I said you’re one of the most amazing, charming people I’ve ever met. You left such a dark place to venture into the light, and I know you still don’t see yourself as a good person. But you are to me.

Give yourself some credit, okay?

Osa, you’re one of the reasons why I’m grateful to have lived at all. If not I wouldn’t have experienced what it was like to really be loved.

I’m just… I’m sorry for being this way. I guess maybe I ask for too much, and I’m sorry you got caught up in my mess —

oh, you just sent me a text —

See you tomorrow, belladonna~

Let me just tell you I smiled.

Please forgive me for lying to you this last time okay? Please let me sleep to the idea that I’ll wake up to you and that I’ll be happy when I do because nothing else in my life has to matter.

Goodnight, Osa.

‘Til we meet again.

Forever yours, Your belladonna