#safe read

Two women stand by a large sakura tree, quietly watching as the branches sway in the breeze.

The one with fox ears speaks up first.

“Prototype or not, if you’re going to let the thing loose shouldn’t you at least make him a servant? Familiar, perhaps?”

“Miko…”

“Of course it’s completely your decision, Almighty Shogun.” The fox-woman says. “But if he were to wake up on his own…who knows who or what could find him.”

“I hate it when you call me that” The other woman’s face is like stone. Emotionless to everyone except the vixen in front of her.

“Hmm? But it is your title, is it not?”

“Yes but for you to address me in such a manner is…” The Shogun’s words are spoken softly.

Nevertheless her partner’s fox ears twitch.

“Oh? Are you blushing?” She asks.

“Enough. I see your point.” The Shogun acquiesces.

“You always do, Ei.” Miko smiles.

A kitsune created for the sole purpose of serving the Shogun’s very first puppet. Created not from the same white wood tree as he but something otherworldly and supposedly forgotten.

They were laid to rest in the Shakkei Pavilion, on the off chance that if he were to wake, he’d have someone to accompany him.

Someone who would always be there.

Someone who would always listen.

Someone who would always obey.

And someone who would never leave.

That is until…

“What if we changed that?”

The fork in your hand slips out from your grasp and onto the plate, some syrup making its way over your work shirt and hair.

You could not have heard that right. You stare at Dazai with a bewildered expression, irritated that once again his face is void of any hint of emotion. The silence stretches for a moment before it is broken by the same person who started it.

“Just kidding!”

Your stomach drops.

The brunet jeers and sits back in his chair, hand running through his hair. “You should’ve seen the look on your face!”

You feel yourself trembling in utter disgust, watching the man put on another mask. He chuckles for a few seconds until he decides to make eye contact with you.

A very big mistake on both parties.

“What?” You whisper softly. “Why would you make a joke about that?”

It was obvious that he didn’t expect you to question it. “O-oh come on, bella! You know this is how I usually make conversation,” he shakily replies, “it’s who I am!” You begin to grab your things, standing up and looking at him dead in the eye.

His mask crumbles.

“I do know that,” you say slowly, “that’s why I refuse to entertain this any more.” You see another waitress starting to approach your table and withhold the urge to smirk. “How about you entertain that waitress over there coming this way when she gives you the check instead?”

You turn away from him and walk to the door, ignoring any half-hearted attempts of your name coming from Dazai’s mouth. You’re done. To rub salt into the wound you make sure to grab the earlier waiter’s shoulder, leaning towards his ear and saying goodbye to him and that the food was delicious. You swear you can hear something crack.

You take out your phone and call Kunikida, saying you feel ill from lunch and that you plan on working from home the rest of today and tomorrow.

“Very well, rest up. It doesn’t surprise me that the place Dazai picked just so happened to serve food-poisoning as a lunch special.” He scoffs and you say your goodbye’s, biting your inner cheek and going straight home.

A perk about your tiny little apartment? It’s not the shared complex the ADA offers its employees. You won’t run into anyone on your way there.

You slam your door open, no longer feeling the need to hold back. Shoes fly and papers fall as you crash onto the couch. You do nothing but lie face-down, breathing harshly as you try to get a hold of yourself. Reality settles in along with confusion. What made you snap just then? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? Dazai was right, he did crack jokes like that all the time, so why did this time feel so different?

You slowly piece all the little things that happened at the diner together. From the start with him inviting you to somewhere outside the café, to the waiter showing interest, to his strange attitude, to the personality flip at the end.

Ah.

Yeah, you figure it out— it didn’t exactly require critical-thinking skills. He was— at the very least a little, serious in regards to the waiter setting him off. You’ve never seen him with such a dark expression outside of difficult missions, even then they’d only last a second before he’d shift his face into something more neutral.

Which means he was being possessive, despite the fact that the both of you weren’t dating.

And so you conclude that he was genuine with his question right before the switch-up. Problem is, he was scared, scared of himself and scared of you. The thought of being together with him is a contradicting feeling; you feel like you’re in a light daze floating on a cloud but with a bowling ball inside your stomach. You imagine Dazai feels something similar.

You don’t know much of Dazai’s past but you do know it was gruesome. Agonizing. Terrifying. So while this situation troubles you immensely, you know that whatever he is feeling now is ten-times more intense.

That being said, it’s not like you plan on letting him off the hook. If he wanted your friendship back he would have to work for by himself to fix it.

Your phone starts to ring and you groan at the thought of it being Dazai, only to be surprised at Atsushi’s name on the screen.

“Hello?” You answer the call.

“Oh, Y-Y/N! I didn’t think you’d answer,” he sounds surprised, “Kunikida said you felt really bad after eating lunch with Dazai.”

You try to make yourself sound sick, changing your voice to be low and croaky as though you’d just chugged a shit ton of alcohol. “Yeah…I f-feel terrible,” you lie.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Atsushi says sincerely, “I just wanted to ask you a quick question and then I’ll let you go— I promise,” he tells you. You think it is work-related and tell him that he could go ahead and ask, not expecting him to ask about another employee.

“It’s Dazai” he starts, “when he came back from lunch he seemed a little…off. He didn’t look sick though? I was just wondering if something else happened at the diner that made him upset, he’s actually doing his work and its scaring me Y/N.”

You barely manage to hold back a laugh at that last part and instead stutter out, “Well, did you ask him? He seemed fine to me.”

“I didn’t ask him,” the weretiger admits. “He’s giving off a such a murderous aura it could rival Akutagawa’s, in all honesty.” Yikes. “Oh, before I forget!” He chirps, “Kunikida told me your address so I can bring you some medicine and stuff from the agency. Is that okay?” He asks.

You see no harm in him dropping stuff off at your house, though you do feel bad about the agency spending money on you when you weren’t actually sick. “Sure, I’d really appreciate it. Please tell everyone I said thank you.” You say.

You hear some shuffling in the background, papers rustling and what you guess is a chair screeching backwards. “Oh fuck he’s coming, I’ll- uh, see you later? After work?” He panics and the line goes dead.

Who was coming? You shrug it off and suspect it to be Kunikida throwing a chair at Dazai for sleeping on the job….except Atsushi said he was actually working.

You shudder at the thought of an angry Dazai throwing shit around the office but quickly rationalize that even though Dazai can act immature, he would not physically cause harm to anyone of the ADA.

You think. Probably.

You get off the couch and stumble to the kitchen to fetch yourself some water, head hurting from today’s earlier events. You chug a glass down and see your Marigolds on the window sill infront of you, looking a little worse for wear.

—————

“Y/N! I have a surprise for you!” Dazai sing-songs as he pulls another one of his famous, unnecessary, antics. You turn to him just in time to have flowers shoved in your face, the urge to sneeze violently upon you. You take the bouquet from his hands and lean away to take a good look at the flowers. “Are these Mar-“

“Marigolds, my beauty! Unfortunately, for some reason…none of the flower shops around here sell any belladonna,” he sounds very disappointed and pouts as Kunikida makes a snide comment about how terrible that must be.

“They’re gorgeous but do you even know what Marigolds symbolize?” You ask him. He puts a hand on his chin and pretends to think.

“Don’t care!” He suddenly shouts, “I’ll make it symbolize whatever I want since I’m the one who bought it!”

“You mean you picked them because they were the cheapest flowers in there,” Ranpo points out and the office roars with laughter, you included.

“Either way, I appreciate it.” You’d later tell Dazai.

—————

You give the plants some more water, knowing that they, as all picked-flowers, don’t have much time left. You let out a sigh before leaving the marigolds and head back to the sofa, planning on taking a cat nap until Atsushi rings the doorbell.

It’s dark out when you wake up from your snooze, a constant sound of knocking echoing around the room. You sit up in a huff and quickly make your way over, moody from your interrupted sleep.

You throw the door open, “Atsushi, for fuck’s sake! Stop it already-“

Outside the door isn’t the young weretiger, but instead a tall man with his thin, bandaged hands in his pockets and bangs covering the majority of his face.

Ah… shit.

Everyone’s worst nightmare came true. The identities of agent Twilight and the assassin, Thorn Princess had just been exposed after being a well-kept but damning secret for so many years.

Yet despite these two working for different people, they couldn’t bear the thought of intentionally hurting the other. Even if they were furious with each other. Thankfully, there was a bigger enemy to face and so they teamed up.

Twilight, who was once known as Loid Forger, throws a grenade at the group of men hurdling towards them. It reminds Yor of when he first proposed to her. While he looks over their makeshift barrier as the smoke clears to find out if anyone is still standing, Yor spots the grenade pin and grabs it. She puts it in her pocket with a heavy, sinking feeling as her husband tells them that it’s best to move now while they’re still down. She agrees, and the spy and assassin dart off into the night.

Heavy tension hung in the air when they arrived back at the house.

Both felt betrayed.

Both felt guilty.

Both felt like they were hypocrites for being so angry at their fake spouse even though they did the same thing.

Both were worried that the other was planning to hurt Anya.

Yor’s eyes are completely black as Twilight opens his mouth to interrogate. They are interrupted by their adopted daughter running into the living room. “Don’t hurt each other!” She screams.

The two don’t hide their confusion as Anya was nowhere nearby when the secrets were revealed. Franky volunteered to watch over her as Loid said he’d be arriving late from work and that Yor had a dinner party to attend to. The blond didn’t expect to later need his assistance on the mission.

Twilight, now acting as Loid, tries to console her. “Anya, everything is just fine. Why don’t you head off to bed-“

“No!” The child interrupts, “it’s not! I know papa and mama are really angry at each other. But don’t be! Both of you are the same! You did it to protect everyone…including me.” Anya begins to twiddle her thumbs, eyes donned with unshed tears. “I….I know who papa and mama really are.” She stutters out.

“You do?”

“How?”

The couple both question her at the same time. The small child starts to cry, her hands shaking as she holds her favorite stuffed toy. “N-no one in this family is normal,” she weeps, “even Bond isn’t normal.” The dog trots over to her and brushes against her side, offering her to lean on him.

“Your real name isn’t Loid,” she points at her father. “You’re Twilight, the best spy in the WISE organization.” Before the spy can interject, Anya moves her finger over to Yor. “Your real name is Yor but you are an assassin. A really good one, too.” She says.

Silence fills the room.

Twilight asks the question Anya had been afraid of since the moment he met her. “No one ever said anything. How do you know that?”

She takes a big gulp, hands clutching at the hem of her nightgown. “I always knew,” she whispers, “I…I can read people’s minds.”

She refuses to look up at her parents, hearing their thoughts jumble with all sorts of questions and accusations that she was lying to them.

One of Yor’s thoughts are louder than the rest and Anya calls on it, “you were thinking about how you just realized Franky was gone when you two came home.”

Yor stutters. “I-well…” she looks down at Anya with a tired expression, “you’re right, I was.”

The telepath looks over at her father, his jaw dropped and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

“So…you’re saying you knew since the orphanage that this was only for a mission?” He carefully asks. She nods tearfully, “you called it Operation Strix.” Now well-aware that the wonderful family she’s come to know for the past year is now nearing its end, she doesn’t see the need to hide anything anymore. “I didn’t say anything because all I wanted…was a family,” Anya admits. She hears another set of sniffles and looks up to her mama, whose eyes were bloodshot-red as she hiccups.

“Oh, Anya!” She rushes over to the child, despite now knowing that she lied and was never Loid’s real kid, either. She wraps her arms around the little girl and rests her chin on the top of her head, full-on bawling. “I-I’m so sorry…” she says.

I really wanted to be your mama, Anya reads her mind. “I wanted you to be my mama too!” The girl cries.

Twilight watches from the doorway Yor hugging his fake-daughter, feeling a strong, tight pain in his chest. Right there, Yor truly looked like Anya’s mother.

He gasps as he feels something wet roll down his face, slowly realizing he is crying for the first time in over many, many years. All of this was for the sole purpose of a mission to save Westalis. To make the world a better place. But as he stares at his false wife and daughter…

Nothing has ever felt so real to him. He silently starts to breakdown and jerks when he feels a tug on his shirt. He looks down and sees Bond pulling him towards the two. He pats the dog on his head, sighing before he slowly makes his way over.

Anya hears him approaching, “please don’t hate me,” she mumbles.

“Anya…I could never,” Loid- Twilight, admits.

He drops to his knees and wraps his arms around the both of them, happy that Yor doesn’t seem angry at him anymore. If anything, she was as heartbroken as he was.

This stupid family fantasy ended up becoming a loving reality for everyone.

“I can’t…I won’t, leave you Anya. I give you my word,” he promises her with every sincerity. He turns to the woman beside him, finding her sobbing, tomato-like face to be more beautiful than ever. “And Yor…if you’ll have me…”

His wife nods rapidly, letting out another cry as she buries her face into his shoulder. “I would like nothing more,” she tells him.

—————

A week later, it dawns on Loid that he never properly proposed to Yor. He gets off the sofa and plans to head into the kitchen where she’d been, to talk to her about what she would like to do regarding their marriage. He is stopped by the woman in question holding something in her hands and wearing a flush on her face. “Loid…” she starts— they both agreed to keep on using his pseudonym, “I would like to ask you something.”

“What is it, Yor?” He smiles gently, only to once again have his jaw drop as she opens her palm.

In her hand sat the same grenade pin from seven days ago, cradling it with such fondness. “Since this was how you proposed to me…I thought it would be nice to go ahead and redo it…but for real this time…Loid will you-“

She’s interrupted by her lover slamming his lips against hers.

Ah… shit.

Now you’re really going to be sick.

“Did Atsushi just up-and-die on his way over? What are you doing here?” You ask, bitterly.

Dazai doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

You resist a groan. You hate Dazai more when he doesn’t talk.

“Just…get in here,” you step aside making way for him, realizing just how chilly it is outside. He pasts by you and you close the door, noticing how he didn’t go over to the couch like he normally does. Instead, he stands several inches from the door with his head hanging low.

Silence stretches between the two of you for at least a couple of minutes.

“Dazai,” you begin, “you’ve got ten seconds to start talking before I throw you back out.”

That seems to struck a nerve as he finally glances up at you—

His eyes are red.

But…Dazai doesn’t cry?

“You…” you trail off, what the fuck were you supposed to say?

He lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, me…” he mutters.

Forget kicking him out, now you’re worried that if you let him go he might actually do something reckless and possibly hurt himself.

“What…” you choose your words carefully, “do you want to sit down, Dazai?” You shoot down your original question as to why he was at your house.

“No. No, I’m fine thanks.” He huffs out and turns his back to you. You’d be pissed if it weren’t for him speaking seconds later.

“What happened today,” he starts, “at the diner. I’m…” the man tapers off and starts to run a hand through his hair. You notice his other hand is balled into a fist, shaking.

Fucking forget what happened today, he looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown— DAZAI is on the verge of A BREAKDOWN.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Dazai it’s okay-“

“No it’s not.” He didn’t exactly shout, but his voice was louder than necessary. “It’s not,” he repeats at a lower volume. You stare at him quietly, gathering that interrupting him and trying move on would only make the situation worse. He turns to look at you. “I’m…” you jerk as he rests his chin upon your shoulder, “sorry.”

You are speechless, to say the least. Who was this fucker and what happened to the Dazai you knew and love-

Well, you don’t know about the “love” part, yet. But still.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats sincerely, arms coming to hover over your waist as he silently asks for permission to hug you.

You step back and he pulls away fast, scared he’d gone too far. You’re quick to snatch one of his wrists. You settle his hand around his waist and cradle Dazai’s face with your own.

“Thank you,” you smile. His lip trembles the slightest bit, but he doesn’t cry. You stroke his cheek with your thumb, startled when he moves to kiss it.

“What I said about changing our relationship status…” he seems to be stuck on whether or not he should lie again. “It…wasn’t a joke. I very much like you, but if you don’t feel the same way that’s okay,” he whispers.

You feel yourself tear up as words you never thought you’d hear from him were finally whispered to your ear.

“N-no don’t cry Bella! Um- shit- uh do you want to punch me for earlier? You can totally punch me for earlier-“

You cut him off with a laugh, arms wrapping around his neck as you slam your lips against his. He lets out a small, “mmph” in surprise before returning the kiss with the same energy. You start to run your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck and gasp when he pulls you tighter. He takes that chance to delve into your mouth properly, and you’re running out of air.

You slowly break apart, faces flushed. You share a smile.

“I’m sorry for my behavior at the diner, still.” Dazai pouts, “I can’t believe I acted that immaturely.”

“Oh, what ever do you mean?” You play dumb. “You mean when you glared daggers at the waiter or when you tore up pieces of that napkin as though it contained damning evidence to a crime you committed?”

He frowns.

“That was oddly specific but yes.”

You hum as you play with the collar of his waistcoat. “So you’re saying you are apologizing for being possessive?” You further tease.

“Yes,” he lets out a groan and rolls his eyes.

You kiss the side of his jaw, thrilled when he can’t suppress a shiver.

“What if…I liked you being possessive?” You smirk up him, feeling a jolt in your stomach as his eyes darken and his grip tightens ever-so-slightly.

“Belladonna,” his voice is as dark as it was at the diner, but instead of being afraid you are very much turned on, “I can be a lot more than that.”

——————

“Dazai,” you later say as the two of you wash dishes together, glancing at the flowers in-front of you. “Did you ever happen to look up the meanings of marigolds?” He shakes his head and you stifle a laugh.