#bsd x reader

[fragileheartbeats]

"he's insane-"

HE JUST NEED LOVE STFU BITCH!!!

#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏ #house of the dragon #house targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd x reader #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #eren yeager #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #mk x reader #levi ackerman #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #slashers x reader #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #genshin impact x reader #paul atreides #text

[syo0x]

Hi! I hope you're doing well :)

Could I was wondering if you could write a gn!reader who is sick and refused to take their meds. So PM Dazai and Fyodor who are already fed up and annoyed with the whining about feeling sick, take the pills and water into their own mouth and kiss the reader to make them take their pills. And afterwards saying something to make the reader swallow.

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•BSD men with a stubborn sick s/o

•Characters: Fyodor, Dazai, + Chuuya

━━━━━━━━━━━━ Fyodor ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everything felt dizzy... as you lay down the couch while you wait for Fyodor to come back. You don't know when you felt so heavy, as you heard the door unlocked and saw Fyodor.

"Welcome, baaack.." You said while he saw you completely looked sick.

Fyodor's expression falls the moment he notices the state you're in. He approaches you, careful not to disturb you too much. He looks worried. "My, my dear, you don't look well." His voice contains a slight note of concern. This is... not something Fyodor is accustomed to. "Are you alright?"

"I dunnnoo.." You said as Fyodor kneels next to you. His hands rest on your forehead to check on your temperature.

"Oh, dear. You must've caught a cold." He then looked at you sighing... he was worried about how you got cold.

"I shall return with the necessary items in merely a second." Fyodor walks off and comes back carrying medications, drink. He sits next to you on the couch and gently places you in his lap. "Now, now... I know this tastes not to your liking, but you must drink it. It'll alleviate your symptoms to a certain extent."

You kept your mouth closed, refusing to drink the medicine.. you hate the way you have to drink some bitter medicine. As you looked away and not daring to even look at what Fyodor was holding.

"Im not gonna drink that.." You said being stubborn after seeing the medicine colour just makes you feel sick.

"Be a dear and make it easier for both of us. I don't want to resort to more drastic methods. Drink it." His tone has grown colder again, a note of annoyance evident.

There were still no signs that you're going to take of you taking the medicine.

"I don't waaaant to..." You said... Fyodor sighs.. and have enough with your protest.. but he can't help to adore your vulnerable state and being stubborn. He loves the view he's viewing right now, but he has no choice but to do it.

As you feel Fyodor's hand on the back of your head, and he tilts you upward. He kisses you on the lips, sliding the cold liquid into your mouth. His tongue forces the medicine down, and just like that, he holds your mouth closed until he's sure you have swallowed everything.

You can taste the bitter aftertaste running down your throat as Fyodor pulls away. You were speechless as he still looked at you with a serious expression of him as you were so stubborn.

A blush spread on your cheek as you kept quiet on what just happened... as he smiled mischievously.

"Now.. close your eyes and rest.. you don't want me to make me use other methods for you to obey, right?" He then kissed your forehead and made sure you're comfortable. It's pretty rare to see this side of Fyodor.. as your eyelids slowly get heavy and make you fall asleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ PM Dazai ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Belllaa~" Dazai won't stop cudding with you as how much you've been saying you're sick and still snuggle up to you.

"We can't cuddle right know..." You said.. slowly nudging him as you felt bad.. you wanna cuddle with him too but you don't want him to get sick.

Dazai continues leaning forward until only their noses are touching, he whispers in a voice that is barely audible. ".. How about we just spend time together until you get better..?"

Dazai's hand remains gently pressed against your cheek, his thumb occasionally gently rubbing against your skin. Dazai leans back as he continues speaking

Dazai keeps smiling and continues whispering, "... Because there'll be no shortage of opportunities to do more than just caring for you."

Dazai's hand remains gently pressed against your cheek as he leans closer once again and speaks with a soft and comforting voice. "You're mine after all.." He said, smiling at you.

You felt more dizzy as you can't really much tell what's Dazai was saying he noticed that you were starting to feel dizzy. His hand remains gently pressed against your cheek, but he leans back. His voice becomes softer, and he grabs some medicine.

He tried to be as convincing as possible as he spoke. He knows you're going to be stubborn when you have to drink medicine.

"Come on, just drink it up. It won't taste very nice, but it'll get your cold control faster so you feel better...then we cuddle you know..?"

He said as he looks at you pleading.. You didn't fall for it as you kept refusing.

"No.. im not going to drink that..!" You said and avoiding his gaze.

Dazai chuckles softly as he speaks, his tone becoming more seductive and comforting as he was slightly annoyed.. how can he cuddle you if you kept going like this..? he then leans closer towards you

"... You're really too stubborn at times, you know that? Fine.. let's do this on easy way.."

Dazai's hand firmly held your chin as it forces your jaw open just wide enough so he can pour the medicine into your mouth. Dazai keeps a firm grip of your chin the entire time so you can't spit it out.

Dazai chuckles as he feels your tongue trying to push the medicine back out of your mouth. Dazai then seals your lips with his, forcefully preventing you from pushing the medicine back out. Dazai's other hand holds you in the tight grip as he forces you to swallow the medicine.

You were surprised as you tried to push him away refusing to swallow it Dazai doesn't give you any breathing space to refuse the medicine as he keeps holding your mouth sealed shut with his. His hand keeps on firmly gripping your chin as you try to move your head away from his. He keeps trying to make you swallow the medicine.

Dazai eventually manages to make you swallow the medicine in its entirety because of how hard he pressed his lips against yours. The medicine is gradually flowing down your throat and into your stomach.

Dazai pulls away smirking as he gave you a kiss again as you clearly start to struggle to breath and a blush spread across your face. Dazai kept repeating the same loop and immediately throw a pillow at him to stopped Dazai.

"Im not done kissing you yet..!" He said.. with the look of lust on his eyes as he took a note of you blushing a smirk can be seen on his face. "Oh..?~ You liked it after all.." He said teasingly.

He then snuggled up to you feeling relief you've taken your medicine.. "Now we can cuddle now..~" You still felt flustered and felt so defeated by his kiss.. Maybe next time you'll drink your medicine with your own will.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ Chuuya ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chuuya came home tired.. seeing your state making him so annoyed.. he just wanted to cuddle with and sleep already and now.. he's not able to.

As he takes note of your fever. Despite that, he still wants to comfort you for a bit, even if he is going to end up getting sick.

“I know… but I can’t let you lie here alone like this.”

He sighs as he pulls you into a hug, knowing very well that there’s likely a chance he might fall ill, too. But he is willing to risk it if you could be made more comfortable, even if it’s just for a bit.

"Chuuya don't be stubborn..." He then let of you pouting as he spoke.. “Damnit, Doll… you made sure to take your medicine right?”

You then looked away, avoiding his gaze.. "Well.. uhm.." Chuuya’s eyes narrow as he raises an eyebrow when you mention you haven’t taken your meds yet. “You didn’t take your medicine..” He looks at you with a disappointed look as he sets you out of his arms and sits up in bed. “Why didn’t you take your medicine..?”

"It taste bad and im going to be fine..!" You said protesting.

“So? You still have to take them…” He grumbles as he stands up and walks to the bathroom, grabbing some medicine and a glass of water from the drawer under the sink. He walks back to you and places the water and medicine on your lips. “Just open wide…”

You covered youself with blanket and moving away from him. "I don't waaannnaaa"

Chuuya scowled at how stubborn you’re being, but he’s already made up his mind and knows he won’t stop until you take them. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to.” He tells you sternly as he holds the tablet to your mouth and waits for you to swallow. “Come on, Doll. You know I’m not kidding around.”

As much as Chuuya had felt a bit exasperated with you, he still couldn’t help but to find you adorable. Your stubbornness was always one of things he adored about you. Even when you pouted and hid away your mouth.

But once he placed the pill on your tongue, he didn’t hesitate on kissing you to get you to swallow it.

Chuuya continued to apply soft kisses on your mouth as he waited for you to swallow the medicine. Once he heard you've finally swallow it, he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. "Alright... you took it?" He murmured as he looked at you for an answer.

You cough a little and felt embarrassed as you hid yourself with a pillow. “That wasn’t so bad, Doll, you’re fine.” He told you as he gently removed the pillow from your face. He also brought a hand up to brush back your hair, as if it was a natural reflex to do so.

“Just relax, there’s no use in being so embarrassed…” He rubbed the back of your head gently and kissed your forehead to comfort you. “It’s not like I haven’t kissed you before anyways. You don’t need to turn all red for me…” He teases and smugly about.

Well he's right.. but it was unexpected... as you lay your head to his chest and wrapped his arms around you to make you sleep comfortably.

"Rest well, Doll.." He then kissed your cheeks adoring you. The medicine wasn't taste so bad when Chuuya makes you drink it.. you wondered why...

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#bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd fluff #chuuya x reader #fyodor x reader #dazai x reader

[asimpforyagami]

🇨​​ 🇴 ​​🇴​​ 🇰​​ 🇮 ​​🇪​​ 🇸​ !

BSD MEN REACT TO YOU BAKING COOKIES FOR THEM AFTER A BAD DAY.

↷ A/N ─ we hit 5k+ notes !! im so happy :D there's gonna be an event which im gonna talk about at the end of this. enjoy and please leave likes and reblogs :)

★ FT. ─ dazai , chuuya , ranpo , akutagawa

!! TAGS ─ fluff, pure fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

"i know you had a bad day, so i made you cookies"

ᴅᴀᴢᴀɪ.

It wasn't abnormal for someone like you to see Dazai cry. Nevertheless, it'd make him feel embarrassed, even pathetic for showing his emotions to you in such a way. And somewhere in his mind, he could see the faint looks of pity on your face every time he broke down, eyes glossy as he'd remember his old days at the Port Mafia with his perfect little friend group.

He was Osamu Dazai. He had experienced pain, loss, a few fleeting moments of joy, and so much. He had been through a lot. He did not need anyone's sympathy - even yours.

This day was, hence, nothing out of the ordinary. Dazai had trudged back home with heavy steps, dismissing your questions about his whereabouts and remarks about how drenched he got in the rain.

He had gone straight into the bathroom and locked himself in. It didn't matter how many years had passed since Oda's death. It would always feel like yesterday to him, so close yet so far away. It would always rip his heart out how if he had been there just a few moments earlier, he could never have had to watch his only friend die.

He sank to his knees near the wash basin and cried.

---

There was a knock on the door. Dazai scrambled to his feet to open it. He was in the bedroom after another breakdown, locked away.

"Dazai?" he heard your soft voice from outside the door. His heart warmed up a little and he opened the door.

"I know you had a bad day," you said, holding out a plate of freshly baked cookies, "so I baked you cookies."

Dazai looked down at the plate for a moment, then looked back up at you. He felt numb. He felt disoriented. Slowly, he reached out to break one cookie with his fingers and ate it.

"This... this is amazing," he said quietly, tears blurring his vision, threatening to break him down once more.

"It's not much. They're only chocolate chip," you waved a hand off. "Do you like them?"

"Yeah," he replied in a breathy voice. "Yeah, I do."

His ruined day had been perfected by a mere batch of cookies. As you urged him to have more, he finally smiled.

How could someone be so kind?

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ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀ.

Chuuya was no stranger to drinking and passing out on his couch only to be woken up by you late at night so that he could come to the bed and sleep comfortably there. He felt pathetic for using wine and alcohol as a means of coping with loneliness, especially after Dazai left the Port Mafia.

"Chuuya?" you whispered softly in his ear.

He stirred in his sleep, one hand hanging off the couch while empty bottles crowded on the floor.

"Chuuya."

His eyelids fluttered open, and with a groan, he shifted on the couch, his hand instinctively reaching for the bottle that lay within arm's reach.

But before he could grasp it, you gripped his hand gently.

"No," you said firmly.

He paused to look at you before rubbing his eyes with his other hand and sitting up.

"I baked you cookies," you murmured, sitting on the couch beside him.

It was only then that Chuuya noticed his favourite cookies decorating a plate that sat on the table in front of him. You leaned forward to grab two cookies, shoving one in your mouth and the other in his.

With his mouth stuffed with a cookie, he couldn't help but stare at you as the events of the entire day crashed onto him all at once. A tear slipped from his eye - of joy, admiration or sadness, he did not know. But as he stared lovingly at the way you playfully scolded him for not including you in the drinking session, your voice muffled from the food, there was only one thought that crossed his mind.

How could he ever be stupid enough to believe that he was lonely when he had you?

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ʀᴀɴᴘᴏ.

Ranpo was not the type to cry in front of people. With his child-like confidence, very few people had ever actually seen him in a vulnerable state.

So it was distressing when he realized you saw right through his fake smile. He felt like an idiot for not predicting that you would get to know about how upset he was after the President scolded him.

He lay on his bed. Even thinking was too tiring for him right now. His hair was all over his face, his head pressed against his pillow. There was a knock on the door, and he spoke in a quiet voice, "Come in."

You entered with a plate of cookies. They were shaped like little stars, each with a different flavour and colour. You set the plate next to the nightstand and gave him a soft smile.

"I know you had a bad day, so I baked you cookies."

"You... you did?" he whispered, his voice cracking as he slowly sat upright to look at you in the eyes.

"I tried. I don't know how they taste. I wanted you to be the first one to take a bite."

He nodded and you sat down on the floor, looking up at him and putting a cookie in his mouth gently. Ranpo opened his mouth and felt the savoury taste of your baking.

"I like it," he hummed.

"Really? Do you want me to make some more for you tomorrow?"

"You will?" his face brightened up genuinely. "I love you!"

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ᴀᴋᴜᴛᴀɢᴀᴡᴀ.

Akutagawa was one to hide emotions from everyone. He did not like to let others think of him as human, but rather as a creature to be feared, and someone to be proud of to Dazai.

Since the night Dazai had been abducted and Akutagawa had interrogated him, the latter had been quiet. He was never to talk too much or overshare, but it could be sensed that something had hurt him deeply.

"Ryuu?" you said softly sitting down next to him.

"No," he looked away, shunning you out before you even got the chance to speak.

"I know you had a bad day," you smiled softly, "so I baked you cookies."

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye before his heart melted. You had the most beautiful look on your face, two hands supporting a plate of cookies. He had never told you what his favourite ones were, frankly he couldn't decide. Sweet things just weren't for him.

But these ones, the ones that you made just for him? These were his favourites. The ones you had made that showed how much you understood him.

At that point, he realized he did not have to change himself to gain the approval he desired in the past. He had already won in life the moment he met you.

.

.

.

.

.

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🇹​​ 🇭 ​​🇦​​ 🇳​​ 🇰​ ​🇾 ​​🇴​​ 🇺 ​ ​🇫​​ 🇴​​ 🇷​ 5 ​🇰​ ​🇳 ​​🇴 ​​🇹​​ 🇪 ​​🇸 !

HERE IS THE PROMPT LIST FOR THE EVENT.

WE DID IT AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHSHRFEEKFHKNFAKN

THE WAY I SCREAMED ILYYY TYSM FOR THIS IM SO HAPPY :D

so OBVIOUSLY there should be an event 🤭 because as I've said multiple times i love spoiling yall

again, the prompt list for the event is here. all you have to do is ask for a scenario + character and i'll write it out :)

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#bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd scenarios #bsd hcs #bsd headcanons #dazai hcs #dazai x y/n #dazai x reader #chuuya imagines #chuuya x reader #fyodor hcs #fyodor x you #fyodor x reader #akutagawa hcs #akutagawa x reader #chuuya headcanons #dazai headcanons #dazai x you #fyodor imagines #atsushi hcs #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #dazai bsd #bungou stray dogs ranpo #poe x reader #nikolai gogol #nikolai x reader #nikolai headcanons #bsd sigma

[demon-kumo]

𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥

➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

➤ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐇𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞… 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝.

➤ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

➤ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢'𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡-𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

➤ 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀

No one loves wine as much as CHUUYA. Hell he has a cabinet at home full of it, you were never one to drink though. Yet the minute he stepped into the home the scent of expensive wine reached his nose.

Working in the mafia had never been easy, whether you were a simple office worker or the boss, everyone went home late. Chuuya was no exception, as an executive he stayed longer than most. So the sweet pop in his bones allowed a satisfied smile to come to his face as he stood from the chair.

Finally, time to head home.

The click of the door allowed the corridor to open and sighed at the cool air hitting his face on the hot Yokohama night. His shoes hit the floor with a clumsy clack before it hit him. The strong scent of wine.

Perfect features, in your words "rivaling the gods", scrunched up as he walked through the penthouse and was met with an unfamiliar sight.

You. Hunched over the marble counter with a familiar red bottle in front of you. Soft cheeks hued red alongside your adorable ears, with a dazed look in your eye. Chuuya knew this sight, it had been on his own visage multiple times.

It seems the roles have been reversed.

Blazen blue hues softened considerably on instinct at the mere sight of you as he waltzed over. Placing a hand on your shoulder you looked up with glassy eyes and met the eyes of your lover.

"Hey (Y/n), you good?"

A drunk giggle escaped your lips, "Of course," you waved your hand, "I am perfectly fine, can't you tell?" you said as you were about to take another sip only for your husband to grab the glass.

"Alright love, I think you've had enough." He chuckled, finding your drunken state endearing and amusing. He had never seen you drunk before, you were normally the responsible drinker. It wasn't often that you drank wine.

The smile dropped from his face when you gasped like an overzealous Karen, hand to your chest as you looked at him with mouth agape.

"Sssirr, you may be handsome and k-kind enough to care about some stranger buuuuut don't call me that!" You slurred your demand as you pointed at him.

Chuuya tilted his head, "Call you what?"

"You know exact-ly what I mean you scoundrel! You can't call a w-woman you just met lllovveee,"

Chuuya raised his brows in surprise, "Huh?"

You squinted your eyes at him with a pout, "You heard meee right, I will have you know I am married!" You slouched in your chair.

Chuuya deadpanned, "L-(Y/n), I am the man you are married to."

You scoff a drunk scoff, "Y-you dare lie to me, I know my husband when I see him. And," You pointed at him for the nth time that night, "you look nothing like him."

You look through your blur and see the hazy figure of blue and orange covered in black and red clothes. Yep, 100% not your husband. "Myyy husband is ten times the mannnn you will ever beeee. He would never lie to meeee.... plusss he is-sh the most handsome man I have ever met."

Chuuya flushed bright red at your words but chuckled as he picked you up bridal style, just like he did the day he married you, and smiled at you. The same loving way he always did.

"Well then, that man is extremely lucky to have you. He also loves you more than anything, probably... no he would definitely burn the world for you."

➤ 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔

Being passed out from beer and liquor was a familiar scene to OSAMU. Within the years of hiding from the mafia and laying low, passed out in bars. But to find his spouse in one, now that was a new one.

"(Y/n), sweetie, I think you should stop," Dazai suggested as he watched you call the bartender for another shot. You already were way past wasted.

It wasn't often Dazai was seen with a worried expression but this was one of the moments. He was worried his darling wife would pass out soon and wake up with the largest migraine when waking up.

"Wwwwhatttt, no!" You childishly rejected it as you waved your hand dismissively. "I cannnn handle itttt."

"Sweetie, if you drink any more you will pass out." Dazai sighed, is this how you feel when you deal with him drunk.

He placed a hand on your shoulder and pulled you up, placing his credit card at the bar, and paying for your drinks. Surprisingly he actually had the money to pay for the amount of shots, for her, he will always pay.

"Come on sweetheart, let's get you to bed."

"mhm, nnnooo!"

You push yourself away from the man, stuttering away as you look at him with an exasperated look. Dazai gave you a worried smile, "What do you mean-"

"I tollld you no!" You shook your head, "I have a husband! I am a married w--woman!" You said with a small hiccup as you held onto the counter with your knees bent.

Thank the lords that this bar is empty, Dazai thought to himself as he let out a small laugh. "Sweetheart, I am that husband."

"Nope!" You shook your head, "I know my husband, he would never look like you. You're hideous, my man is the... picture of... beauty!"

You slid to the floor on your knees as your cheeks reached an even more red state while Dazai chuckled though if you looked close enough you could see a small blush.

"Oh is he now?"

"Y-yes, I would never betray himmm, what kind of woman... would I beee, if I went to bed.... with another man!"

Awww, that is so sweet, even if the man who is currently trying to take you to bed is your actual husband.

All of a sudden, tears fall down your face, large fat puppy tears as broken sobs. Dazai's shifted to shock as he quickly bent to the ground and placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey! What's wrong?"

"*Sob* It's just.... thinking 'bout Samu.... *hick* He is always sad." Dazai's eyes widened as he remained silent when you started to rant. "He never shows it... *sniff* but he thinks so poorly *hick* of himself... but he won't tell me how he feels.... he thinks he is unworthy of *hiccup* h-happiness... or me... I'm a terrible wife... I can't even talk to him about that *sobbing*..."

You cried on his shoulder, tears staining his sandy coat but he didn't care. He looked down at you with an expression he rarely ever wore in front of someone. No one could really describe it, looked like a visage of self-loathing and pity. Was this how you really felt.

He brushed a hand to your head, who had now fallen asleep on his shoulder, mouth slightly agape. You looked like a sleepy child in an adult body. He placed a soft kiss on your head.

" Sweetheart, I know you can't hear me so it doesn't count but, you are right I don't think I am worthy of you. You are the best thing that has happened to me, which is why I am trying my hardest to make you happy."

#bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd fluff #demon kumo #romance #dazai osamu

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes. 

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area. 

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean. 

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself. 

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia. 

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally. 

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai. 

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on. 

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she���s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers. 

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?” 

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully. 

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on. 

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror. 

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?” 

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there. 

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression. 

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him. 

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.” 

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this? 

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently. 

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears. 

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp. 

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box. 

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time. 

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out. 

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos. 

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance. 

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias. 

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him. 

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen. 

But is this really any better? 

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress. 

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?” 

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low. 

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall. 

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are. 

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away. 

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners. 

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?” 

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them. 

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer. 

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?” 

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?” 

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him. 

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them. 

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths. 

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start. 

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other. 

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting. 

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does. 

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him. 

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him. 

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance. 

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth. 

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction. 

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you. 

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous. 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

[koihanwrites]

THIS GUY LITERALLY KILLS PEOPLE. REBLOG IF YOU WANT TO JOIN HIM !

#koihanwrites #koi's talkings #dazai osamu #dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai bsd #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader

[chuuyrr]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ 𓆩 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 ‧₊ 𓆪 fallen angel! dazai osamu , f! angel! reader . . .

dazai osamu descends from heaven's heights, burdened by his own demons and desires. amidst his descent, he encounters you, a beacon of purity. regardless of his dark past and the weight of his transgressions, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to your innocence and light, and so the fallen grapples with the ultimate sacrifice, to fall from grace for the chance at true love.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ on-going, slow updates . . .

𝐂𝐖(𝐬) ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ angels! au, religious themes: inspired by éloa (1824), a poem about a f! angel falling for a "stranger", which is also inspired by the hades and persephone myth, mostly sfw, only one chapter will contain nsfw and it can be skipped

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ i can fix him (no really i can), guilty as sin? & false god by taylor swift

‧₊ ࿐ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 .ᐟ

𝐢. 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

sfw. in which he sought to reclaim his lost light, and like a moth to a flame, he found it in you, an angel of light

𝐢𝐢. 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍, 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

nsfw. amidst tangled bedsheets, you yearn for his love and grace, echoing their own longing for acceptance.

this chapter can be skipped .ᐟ

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑, 𝐈'𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

sfw. despite all, he chooses you, and you choose him too, even it means to fall again just to take you with him

𝐀.𝐍. ⊹ 𓂃 ₊ this is my official submission for @kentopedia's "love through the ages" collab event. it was supposed to be a oneshot fic only for fallen angel! dazai osamu, but i just recently decided to turn it into series fic .ᐟ

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x y/n #dazai osamu x you #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x fem reader #bsd dazai #dazai x reader smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs smut #bungou stray dogs x y/n #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd x reader smut

[kimetsu-chan]

~playing in the snow headcanons~

A/N: so I asked five of my friends if I should have snow or instruments be the main focus on what I was gonna write, and four of em said snow :3 so we got some playing in the snow headcanons with some my fav bsd characters.

Characters: Akutagawa, Atsushi, Chuuya, Sigma, Nikolai, Ranpo, Kyouka, Lucy, and Tanizaki

TWs ⚠️: Uhh- I don’t think there are any, but it is important to note that Kyouka’s is the only one that is written to be strictly platonic. You can choose romantic or platonic for the others :D GN!Reader

I think there are slight spoilers in Sigma’s?

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke

It would take a lot of convincing to get that man within five feet of the door. And I mean a lot.

Why would you want to go outside in the freezing cold when you can stay inside where it’s nice and cozy?!

Once you explain to him that you want to play in the snow, he gets even more confused.

Why-?

He’d be sitting in a chair, his feet propped up on something with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other while staring up at you like you just grew two heads.

After you told him it was fun and something you really wanted to do, he stare for a second or two longer before spitting out a response.

“Okay….? Then go play in the snow..? What, do you need my permission??”

“No, I want you do come with me, Ryū!”

He would let silence envelope you so for a moment or so before saying a quick and simple “No.” and going back to reading.

After some puppy dog eyes and the best begging you could muster(alone with a deal that you’d leave him alone for at least six hours afterwards) he’d finally go with you.

And when he was dressed up and finally ready to go outside with you, he’d watch you excitedly start making a snowman with a fond look on his face.(he will deny enjoying this for the rest of time.)

Atsushi Nakajima

He is hopping out of his seat and putting five coats on at the mere mention of snow.

Heck yes he wants to go out and play in the snow with you!

Did you even have to ask?

You could tell him to put some warm clothes on and be ready to go outside and he’d do it in a heartbeat and with absolutely zero hesitation.

The first thing he wants to do when yall get outside is make snow angels. And he wants your snow angel to “hold hands” with his (they’re just next to each other)

He’ll let you choose what to do next, deeming it “only fair” since he got to choose first.

“No- [Name]-San-! You get to chose!”

“But I don’t know what I want to do, Atsu, you should pick!”

It would be just a bunch of giggly “no you”s back and forth until you finally relent and ask to make a snowman.

And you best believe that he is going to make that the most cozy looking snowman you’ve ever seen.

It is going to be even more fashionable than Chuuya Nakahara. (No it’s not.)

Chuuya Nakahara

Once again, a lot of convincing will be needed.

What did you expect? The man is extremely busy like 24/7, he doesn’t have time to play in the snow?

But he can’t just deny you when you come up to him to ask him so sweetly if he can please come play with you in the snow.

He wants nothing more than to accept and make you happy, but he really needs to finish his work.

So he sighs and comes up with an alternative.

“How about this, [Name]. I’ll work for about another thirty minutes, then we can go outside, okay?”

“That works! Thanks Chuuya!”

“You’re welco-“

He gets cut off when you roughly wrap your arms around him in a quick hug before running off to do who knows what.

He stares off after you for a few seconds before turning back to his work with a shake of his head and smile.

(Extra bc we can’t end Chuuya’s w/o him actually getting outside 🤭)

When he actually finishes his work, he exited his office to see you already playing outside.

He decided that it would be most fun to quickly get ready and sneak up on you, who was busily forming the base of a snow fort.

There was a yelp as cold snow fell on top of you, and you turned to glare at the ginger who was smirking smugly.

But don’t worry, you got him back by pushing him over into the snow and dropping some snow down his shirt.

Sigma

Poor boy-

Being three years old, the poor guy has never played with snow once in his entire life.

So when you ask him to go with you, you’ll have to explain to him what the heck snowmen and snowball fights were.

He’s mildly interested when you do explain, but he doesn’t quite understand the point.

Doesn't being outside in the cold for a long time give you the risk to get sick?

Overall, he’s rather confused about the purpose of playing with cold, wet snow, but he’d agree.

Once he was free, that is.

And that turned out to be a lot quicker than he thought it would, perhaps it’s because your “silly” wants have peaked his interest.

He would quickly finish his duties his duties within the sky casino, and go to find you and get ready.

When you guys step outside, Sigma immediately felt chilly. The high altitude of the casino only making it colder.

“[Name]… Are you sure this is a good idea-“

He grunted as a snowball landed square in his face.

You giggled as you saw him frozen as he processed what you just did.

Before you could ask if he was okay, he quickly picked up some snow and threw it back at you.

He had a small smirk on his face, oh it was game on.

Nikolai Gogol

Oh boy.

He was the one who initially proposed the idea of playing in the snow, because why wouldn’t he.

He doesn’t care if he’s supposed to be busy, he’s dragging you outside with him whether you like it or not.

You could be busy, you could be relaxing, and he’s suddenly ambushing you and struggling to get a coat over your head.

He will make sure you’re nicely dressed for being in the snow.

After all, you’re no fun if you’re sick.

As he’s yanking you to your feet and dressing you in so many layers, you may as well become a fur ball at this point, he’ll be running his mouth, explaining in grave detail what he wanted to do.

“Okay, so first, we’re gonna make little forts, then we’re gonna hide behind them and throw snowballs at each other. Now- I promise not to throw them too hard, okay?”(that’s a lie, he’ll throw them as hard as he pleases)

You could only watch and nod as he led you outside to begin building.

I sure hope you wrote out your will.

Ranpo Edogawa

He’s busy eating snacks working at his desk, when you came in.

He took one look at your face and flushed cheeks from already having been outside for a while, and knew exactly what you wanted.

He debated whether or not abandoning his precious sna— I uh- I mean work just to make you happy.

He thought it over for a second and decided he could go a little bit without his food, and could grace you with his wonderful presence.

He stood up from his seat with his usual smirk and pointed his unfinished lollipop in your direction.

You didn’t even get to ask him before he started bargaining with you.

“I’ll go outside with you on one condition, you gotta buy me lunch.”

You paused, that actually didn’t sound that bad, so you agreed.

You two quickly got dressed (after Ranpo put his snacks away) and headed out of the office to play in the snow, leaving a extremely frustrated Kunikida at the door yelling at you.

It wasn’t very long before all the grass/ground surrounding the agency was covered in snow angels.

Kyouka Izumi

To be honest, I see Kyouka getting rather excited.

Sure she hadn’t done it in a long time, but Kyouka used to love to play in the snow when she was younger.

It was kinda a bittersweet thing to her.

So when you asked, she was more than willing to go with you. She gently grabbed your hand and led you all the way to her and Atsushi’s dorm to get some warm clothes.

Seeing that she didn’t have enough to comfortably be outside, you took your scarf that was hanging loosely on your shoulders off and wrapped it around her neck to help her keep warm.

Kyouka smiled at you when you did so then with increased energy, she took your hand again and made her way outside.

She immediately opened her mouth and tried to catch a falling snowflake on her tongue, being successful in doing so.

She turned to you with wide eyes and pointed at where the now-melted snowflake had been.

“[Name], did you see that?”

“Mhm!”

“[Name], let’s go make snowmen..!”

Before you could even respond, Kyouka grabbed your hand and jogged to the nearest open space to make a snowman.

You guys ended up making two, a bigger one complete with its younger sister.

Lucy Maud Montgomery

Lucy, much like Akutagawa, would decline immediately at first.

She’s in the middle of a shift, she can’t just abandon her job as a waitress.

Or so she thought.

Until her boss gave her the go-ahead that she could take a break and go play in the snow.

Her next argument would be that she was “too mature” to go play in snow.

But then you turned that right back around at her and asked if that meant you were immature.

She stuttered and blushed from embarrassment as she denied what you said.

“N-No-! I didn’t mean you were immature! I just-“

“Then let’s go!”

Cue you grabbing her arm and running towards the building door and shoving her coat that you stole earlier into her arms.

Lucy sighed and reluctantly pulled her coat over her arms and stepped outside with you.

In the end, you guys had a lot of fun running around and pushing each other into the snow.

Tanizaki Jun’ichirō

Actually, Tanizaki was the one who suggested the idea.

He said it would be a fun way to get a break from all their work(totally not because he wanted to show off his snowball fight skills, nooo-)

He would offer to fetch your coat for you when you agreed, doing so anyway when you declined his offer.

He held your coat out for you as he put on his own on, happily suggesting the snowball fight he was planning.

You agreed, not thinking about how he could use his ability to his advantage.

And that’s exactly what he did.

He hid behind a tree and made his illusion self dash to hide somewhere else, effectively turning your attention away from where he actually was.

He hit you in the back of the head a little harder than he meant to, and immediately stood up to rush over and see if you were hurt.

“[Name]! I’m sorry, I didn’t me— AGH-“

Karma came so sweetly as he slipped and landed on his back.

There were no hard feelings though, you guys called a truce and laughed about it for the rest of the day

A/N: these were so fun to write, omg-

I hope you liked it! Please consider liking/reblogging if you did :3

#🍁 #hehehe #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd x gender neutral reader #gn reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #bungo stray dogs x reader #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bsd akutagawa #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #akutagawa x reader #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #bungo stray dogs atsushi #atsushi bsd #atsushi x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya x reader #sigma bsd #sigma bungou stray dogs #chuuya #sigma x reader #bsd sigma x reader

[flurry-of-stars]

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝓎𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multipart story. 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion–” “His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. You were already struggling.” 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.5k or so (A/N: First of all, I’m giving the biggest shoutout to a very close friend of mine for helping with the Russian written in this chapter, you’re the best and I owe you for this ❤ Second of all, I know, strange to write an author AU when the characters are based on authors but here we are. I want to say Novelist AU Fyodor may have a few similar traits to IRL Dostoyevsky but he is not supposed to be a complete one-for-one in every sense of the word. They’re supposed to just be minor nods to the real Dostoyevsky.) ❤ Reblogs are appreciated ❤

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹? 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝑒𝒹? 𝒪𝒽...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈.... ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ The lake always looks mystical early in the morning at this time of year. A faint mist rolls over the mirrored surface as dancers in orange and yellow descend from their places in the comforting embrace of timber and bark. Soldiers of fading green, browns and oranges line the lake, swaying in the soft, chilly breeze. Bird song and the gentle scurrying of the forest’s dwellers is the perfect symphony to this backdrop. Yes. This was why Fyodor always sat outside to write. He felt a peace unlike anything else when he sat at his small outdoor table, the earth claiming the furniture by wrapping tendrils of green around its leg. He doesn’t mind. He never had any intentions of moving it after all. A single page sat at his hands, one hand elegantly moving across it as he writes in Russian, his mother tongue. The sound of his pen scratching against the white sheet tickles his brain pleasantly, each stroke deliberate and careful. Fyodor would only write the drafts of his novels on paper. He would never touch a keyboard. Even when conversing with his agent he would only use his phone. With his long distant friend and fellow author, he opted for letters. Technology was something Fyodor wasn’t fond of. His deep, purple eyes rise from the page, tired eyes scanning the horizon before him. He notices a few russet sparrows flying over the lake. For a moment, he even thinks he can see a fox on the other side of the lake, disappearing into the treeline. Yes. This view was far more enjoyable than some television or computer screen. He breathes deeply, taking in the rich, earthy air around him. It wouldn’t be long until this view would be painted in white, the frigid air forcing him to stay indoors far more than he would have liked to be there. The novelist was a homebody, that much was true. But he spent most of his time outdoors when he wrote his stories. Or rather, attempted to. His current novel had been giving him a bit of grief as of late. “Romance novels are popular right now!” He could still hear his agent’s voice insisting. “With the works you’re already known for, I bet the world is dying to see your take on one! Plus, if we partner with this company and make it an international release, the revenue would tie you over so you can focus on a novel you actually want to write!” Fyodor scoffs. He wouldn’t have even considered writing such a novel, were it not for the fact that his funds were looking a bit depressed as of late, due to a few recent large expenses that needed to be paid. His eyes scanned over to his wristwatch; it was still a few hours yet until his guest would arrive. Another matter his agent had been too insistent on that Fyodor had begrudgingly accepted.

He didn’t understand why she had been so pushy about the matter of an assistant. He had managed so far on his own. He didn’t need any help. These were his stories to tell. Sighing, Fyodor rises from his chair. He moves towards his small, cozy dwelling, his raven hair ruffled by the Autumn breeze. Perhaps a nice pot of tea would get those creative juices flowing again. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ A soft breeze teases your hair and scarf as you walk up the winding stone path, heading deeper into the heart of the forest, an eerie fog cast across the sky. The trees sway their branches in the wind as if greeting you as sunlight filters through the thick branches, showers of yellow and orange descending on your path as you walk. You see an old, rough-looking tabby cat that gives a low mewl before disappearing over the fence like an elegant shadow. You notice a few small cottages scattered around the area. One is at the top of a flight of narrow cobblestone steps. Another is nestled near some thick bushes and trees, almost devouring the structure in its natural embrace.

The thin fence lining the pathway is overgrown with thick vines and small flowers here and there, with tall trees and other flora about, creating an almost fairytale-like appearance. Everything here is quiet and still, aside from the chirps of a few insects and the whistling of birds. You clutch your orange coat closer to your body, the fabric blending in with your environment as excitement runs through every inch of your veins. This was the opportunity you had been searching for! What were the chances that you’d run into a literary agent while heading to the unemployment centre to ask for help? It was as though God himself had lifted an olive branch for you.

The agent, Vivian, had looked at you with such joy when you explained that you were looking for experience helping authors get their works published. You wanted to help however you could, whether that be as an editor, a translator or even a beta reader! You just wanted a way to step into this field finally. You had grown up with a love for books and stories. You wanted to be part of the process to get these books created. “Well, I have just the guy for you,” Vivian had replied, a small smirk on her lips as she handed you her business card with a name written on the back. The name of the novelist she had been helping for the past decade. Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

You had never heard of the man before. Walking along the quiet stone path, heading towards a large archway overgrown with blossoming flowers, you wonder if he wrote under a pen name. You were so excited to meet him! Oh, but you needed to calm down and relax. Don’t make this weird! You walk through the archway, the gentle aroma of the blossoming flowers filling your senses as your eyes fall on the crystal-clear lake before you. The water was a calm, almost mystical blue, with nothing disturbing its perfect surface. It looked like it could have been the subject of an oil painting. You blink, the trance broken as you notice movement. An older gentleman sits at a small outdoor table, a small porcelain teacup in hand. You notice a few strands of grey in his otherwise dark hair, along with the dark crescent moons under his mystifying yet cold purple eyes. You wondered if they were from late nights of writing stories or brainstorming.

He looked more frail than you were expecting. Quite lithe. He reminded you of a scarecrow. He was almost swimming in the dark coat covering his shoulders, even his white scarf seemed to be looped multiple times more around his throat. You tense as his eyes flicker up, meeting yours. The teacup moves back towards the saucer, resting upon it with a soft clink. He lifts one of his hands, beckoning you closer. You come to stand before him, your heart pounding out of nervousness and excitement. This was it. The first day of the rest of your life! Things would only be looking up from here! Before you can speak, the gentleman interrupts you. His thick Russian accent sends a slight shiver down your spine, “You’re the assistant Vivian sent.” He looks you up and down slowly. You can feel the judging look in his eyes as he scans you carefully, “You have no experience in this field and yet you agreed to be my assistant. Fascinating…” You swallow, trying to calm yourself. You almost burst into excited rambles as you begin to speak in a rather rapid tone, your giddiness getting the better of you, “Y-yes sir! You see, it’s always been a dream of–” “Enough.” He says suddenly, shaking his head. Those dark eyes of his stare coldly into yours, your excited heartbeat being frozen still in your chest as he adds, “I do not wish to hear your life story. You are here to do a job. And I expect you to do it well.”

You try and speak up, “Shouldn’t we go inside–” “No. You will work out here,” he cuts you off as he reaches down to a leather bag by the side of his chair, hidden from view. He lifts it, passing it over to you as he speaks, “Within this is the first three chapters of my latest novel. I need you to proofread, edit and translate it into English by the end of the week.” You tense; the end of the week? You supposed you could handle that. What’s the most he could have done? Really? Maybe ten thousand words total? You take out the first group of papers. It looks like he’s stapled each chapter together. There’s no title page yet, so it starts straight on the prologue. One issue becomes apparent very quickly. One big, glaring issue. Fyodor’s handwriting. He had written in fluent Russian from what you could tell. But his handwriting was quite…well, it was cursive? It was hard for you to put into words. The best way you could describe it was like a doctor’s handwriting. “Excuse me, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You look up from the first page. Fyodor is gazing across the lake, sipping on his tea once more. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you continue, your tone soft and polite, “I’m having some trouble reading your handwriting. I don’t suppose you have a typed version I could reference instead?” His dark eyes slowly turn over to you. You swear you feel the cold of a hundred Winters rush through your body at once, “If you can’t translate it, then I shall call Vivian right now and inform her that sending someone illiterate does not help me in the slightest.”

‘Illiterate??’ You quietly think, feeling both offended and furious. ‘At least my writing doesn’t look like a chicken walked all over my page!’ Biting your tongue, you nod. You would make this work, just to spite this guy. ‘Just think about the end goal. Someone out there is going to love this book. You just need to focus on your goal..’ It’s a daunting task, one you weren’t sure you could achieve. But you were going to put your damnest into this job more so than ever now. ✩

Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion and anger. Vivian didn’t mention that she was sending someone like you. Had he known that, he would have called his overseas friend to go and stay with him while working on this novel that he didn’t even want to write. His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. He notices the way your brows furrow in irritation. You were already struggling. It was only a matter of time before you gave up and admitted defeat, running away from his little piece of heaven with tears in your eyes and a white flag in your hands. He liked that thought. That thought brought him peace. “You’re going to have to work faster than that,” he suddenly says, sounding very proud of himself. You don’t look up, your hands and eyes continuing to move as he adds, “Vivian wants the book by the end of the year. If you can’t handle getting three chapters done by the end of the week, you’re useless to me and any other author.” He notices your jaw clenching. He sees the way you swallow down whatever response you keep to yourself, instead replying with a soft “Yes, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” If he breaks you down enough, will you submit faster? Will that get you away from him faster? He’s silent for a long while, his gaze slowly returning to the scenic view before him. It soothes him and assures him he will soon have his space and peace returned to him. He lifts his teacup, sipping the warm liquid slowly. He just had to bide his time and wait. You would crack eventually. He would make sure of it. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

Even though Fyodor treated you coldly and barely even spoke to you, you were intrigued by his writing. It felt like his words had a grip on you, filling you with the urge, that desperate need to know what happens next. The novel was about a young man. From what you had read, he was an extremely lonely man. No matter how Fyodor wrote him, or what scenes he was in, he was always alone, even when surrounded by people. But there was one thing you wouldn’t understand. “If this is supposed to be a romance novel,” you say slowly. “Then where is the other lead? What’s this guy going to romance, himself in the mirror?” “Oh come on now, cut him some slack,” the warm voice of your best friend chimes over the phone. “This is just the first three chapters, right? He’s probably just laying down the groundwork for now. I mean..” She pauses, hesitating before adding in a teasing tone, “The main female lead in that story you read didn’t get a proper romantic interest till like, what, book four?” “Hey, you say that like I wanted her to have one!” You joke, giggling as you walk up the winding stone path on your way to Fyodor’s. It was almost week’s end and despite having a handful of paragraphs left, you were almost done translating the first three chapters. Though it wasn’t an easy task. You had learnt that Fyodor had a habit of rambling in his stories. Sometimes, this made parts more fleshed out. More interesting and intriguing to you. But you didn’t need to know the full backstory of some random man sitting by a lake if he wasn’t going to be important to the story later on. “I want to give him some advice,” you say into the phone, your voice suddenly more serious. You notice the pair of village cats nearby as you pause in place. The younger orange tabby cat attempts to play with the old tabby, the older of the pair growling as he backs away, “But is it my place to give him advice? I mean…he is the author. It’s his story. I have no right to tell him how to write it.”

You hear a hum on the other end of the line as you start moving again, approaching the familiar archway. Then, “You could always try it. But this Fyodor guy doesn’t sound like the type who would take your advice onboard. You’re still so new to this field, your ears are still green!” You chew on your inner cheek, sighing. The chances that Fyodor would listen to you were slim to none. You understood that already. It didn’t take a genius to know where you stood in his regard. But you wanted to help Fyodor make improvements to his book. You look up at the archway, a gentle breeze pushing against your back as you sigh in defeat. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know how badly he chews me out.” You end the call, hiding your phone in your pocket, walking through the archway and into the lush clearing. You were already expecting to be greeted with the typical iciness from the author as you approach his table. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he greets you. His tone isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s not as frosty as you were expecting. There’s a faint hint of hibiscus in the air as the soft breeze draws the scent of his tea of the day to you. Yesterday was ginger. The day before was turmeric. He always had a fresh pot every morning when you arrived. But he never offered you a cup. Regardless, you come to sit at his table, your chair creaking faintly as you reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the last few pages of the first three chapters of his novel before speaking, “I’ve almost finished with these chapters,” you let him know, a flame of warmth in your voice. “I only have a few more paragraphs to go. Though I have to say–” You rummage around your bag, searching for your lucky pen as you continue, “--I quite enjoy your writing. It's captivating. Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging on the end of your every word–” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fyodor quickly interjects, deep eyes narrowing at you, the dark hoops under his eyes making him look more menacing. A shiver runs down your spine as he nods at the paper before you, “Get to work and stop wasting your time with idle chatter.”

‘Oh, so I can’t even compliment you?’ You quietly think, your hand wrapping around your lucky pen. You pull the gold and black ballpoint pen out, clicking it to life as you begin working, huffing and puffing in annoyance in your mind, ‘Fine then. Maybe I just won’t speak to you again. God, I hope all writers aren’t this entitled.’ You catch yourself, your fingers caressing the side of the ballpoint pen as the gold edge shines in the early sun. No…you knew all writers weren’t like Fyodor. He was a rotten apple surrounded by batches of bright, red fruit. He wasn’t going to stop you from reaching your dream. He would not stomp that flame out. A silence falls over you and Fyodor. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not quite pleasant either. It just simply is. You glance up now and then to see Fyodor sipping on his tea, his eyes always drawn to the distance. You scan his expression for a few moments, your pen stopping its movements. He doesn’t notice you looking at him as he stares almost longingly into the distance, his dark eyes shrouded with depths of emotion you struggle to comprehend. But there is one emotion there that is most obvious to you. It’s a look of deep, suffocating loneliness. He stares, as if seeing something in the distance you cannot. He is silent and still. You barely even see his chest rising and falling with his breaths as a gentle breeze tousles his raven hair, as though an invisible hand would be combing through each lock with a careful, almost affectionate touch. Then, as if returning to reality, he blinks, his gaze slowly shifting to meet yours. You stare at one another, frozen in time for just a heartbeat. There is no coldness, no scolding. Just you and him and his sad, lonely eyes. For a moment, you almost decide to ask if he’s okay. Almost.

But as quickly as you see this side of Fyodor, it disappears under frozen blinds and walls of ice. His dark eyes glare at you, hiding the emotions you saw behind a careful shield as he scolds, “Why are you wasting time staring into space? Get back to work.” You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, eyes gliding back to the paper at your hands. You don’t speak a word and merely focus on those last few paragraphs. You knew what you saw. That cold facade cracked for just a moment to reveal something more to this man than you originally thought. There was more to Fyodor than the cold wall you kept smashing again. Your pen glides across the paper, finishing the last few translated lines. You smile to yourself, placing the ballpoint pen down on the garden table before looking up at Fyodor, pride glittering in your eyes. You’d completed the first obstacle he’d put in your way, “I’m done, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” His eyes graze over your smile, the proud glimmer in your eyes, then move down towards the sheet of paper at your fingertips. He turns his body, sitting at the table properly now as he nods at you, “Let me check.” Taking the rest of the pages out of your bag, you slide each completed chapter over to him, your hands carefully caressing the top sheet before passing it over. You were hoping this would prove your value to Fyodor and get him to start treating you…well, like someone trying to help him. Like a proper translator. Like someone actually trying to get his book published. He’s silent for a long while as he flips through the translated chapters. He murmurs to himself every now and then in Russian; sometimes he sounds almost fascinated. Other times, he sounds annoyed. Then, at last, when he’s midway through the second chapter, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to do an international release. My words simply do not translate well into English.” “We could work together to find a suitable substitute for your words in English,” you suggest. The moment his dark eyes pierce into yours, you gulp. “If you wanted to. It won’t be exactly the same but I’m sure we could find a nice middle ground.”

He’s silent for a while as if thinking over your words. Then his eyes travel back to the page, murmuring, “We can try. But I assure you, you won’t be able to translate it perfectly. The English language is incapable of properly translating what I’m attempting to convey–” ‘There he goes again, acting all high and–,’ your grumpy thoughts are interrupted as a thought strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You resist the urge to gasp. Wait…was this the first proper, positive reaction you’ve gotten from Fyodor? He accepted you reaching out a hand to him? Then maybe now was your chance! You gasp a little, suddenly standing up, much to both yours and Fyodor’s surprise. He looks up at you, taken off guard as you suddenly blurt out, “Um! In that case, I had some other advice I wanted to give to! It’s in regards to that man you focus the second chapter on!” “I don’t know if he has any significance to the plot or not, but is it really necessary to have the last twenty pages focused just on his backstory?" "Because it seems like you could use these pages to develop the male lead further or even bring in the female lead! Are you intending for him to have a larger role or–” “You dare to have the audacity to lecture me on how to write my novel?” Fyodor’s cold voice cuts you off, his eyes narrowing at you dangerously. You can almost feel your voice being stolen by his anger, as he continues you glare daggers at you so sharp, that you feel that little shred of confidence and pride you’d finally gained being ripped to shreds before you. “You translate three chapters and that’s it? You’re suddenly an expert in the writing world, are you?” He scoffs, laughing at you mockingly. He tosses the translated pages onto the table, his eyes continuing to stare into your own shocked eyes. His voice grows harsher as he suddenly begins to speak in his native tongue.

“Сверхуважаемая госпожа, я хочу напомнить вам, что ваше право на собственное мнение не обязывает меня слушать этот бред. Молчание - великий талант. Мой совет вам: если у вас будут мысли, держите их при себе; в наше время умные люди молчат, а не разговаривают. Я вас здесь не нанял для авторского выступления, так что будьте любезны, работайте и не стройте из себя Александром Сергеевичем Пушкиным.” *

He stands suddenly, leaving you stunned in place, unable to find your voice. You watch in stunned horror as he storms towards his cottage, tucked and hidden within the wilderness of the trees and shrubbery. He enters it, slamming the door behind him before you can utter another word. You feel both stunned and horrified. You had no idea what he had just said to you but why did it feel like you just lost your job? ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “You should have cut him some slack.”

“Do you really think I need to hear that right now?”

“You know it wasn’t your place to criticize him like that–”

“I know…I don’t know what came over me…” You sigh heavily, sinking into the thick duvet on your bed as your heart aches within the tight confines of your chest. The sound of the city beyond your apartment blares outside. The distant siren of an ambulance. The loud yells of passerbys. A dog’s loud barks as the scent of cigarette smoke and fumes waft through your apartment window.

It wasn’t the classiest apartment, very far from it, but it was the only place you could afford right now with the allowance you were receiving from the government, along with what little savings you had left. You sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, “I genuinely didn’t mean to do it. I just got so excited. I felt like he was finally accepting me into his world…” You lower your voice, sounding more upset. “But now I’ve gone and ruined it all…not even a week in...”

You lift your other hand, holding up your gold and black ballpoint pen once more. You twirl it between your fingers, Fyodor’s harsh expression still vivid in the back of your mind. You felt like you really offended him. You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to help. But you understood how your words had come across as hurtful. You didn’t know the story Fyodor was plotting out. You didn't know if this man was going to play a pivotal role and yet you–

You hear a loud crunch on the other end of the line, causing you to wince and yelp in surprise, your thoughts broken through instantly, “Ack! Trixie! Hold the phone away next time!” “Mrm! Sorry girl, but look-” Trixie goes silent for a few moments while she finishes chewing whatever she’s eating. Then, she speaks again, sounding quite calm as she gives you her advice, “--I think you owe him an apology. This guy is not only your senior career wise, but he’s the literal author of the book you’re translating.”

You frown as she goes on, your eyes glued to your ballpoint pen as the streetlight outside touches it, making the golden parts gleam, “What kind of things does he like? You know, besides sitting and staring at the lake all day.”

You think over Trixie’s words, eyes sparkling with the golden hue coming from your pen. Fyodor hadn’t spoken to you much these past few days since you began working as his translator. He greeted you, scolded you to start work and then sat in silence until the day’s end. Did he like anything besides staring at the lake and–

Suddenly, you sit up in your bed, and your loose, white nightgown drops over your frame, the old springs of the bed squeaking softly. That was what you could get him to apologize! You would need to get some research in tonight and wake up early to head to the store tomorrow. You were sure there was a speciality store for this type of thing on the other side of town.

Moments before you’re about to hang up, you get a second call. Your eyes widen as you read the name on the screen; Vivian. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Sorry Trix, I have to go,” you quickly say, rising from your bed to move over to your kitchen counter where your laptop was sitting, charging. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“Keep me updated on your situation with your author man!” Trixie manages to chime back before you end the call, picking up Vivian’s seconds later.

“Yes? Hello, Vivian?” You quickly answer, holding your phone with your cheek while typing into your laptop’s keyboard, searching through the specific results you had pulled up.“I’m surprised you’re still up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; all those involved in the literary world seem to be night owls.” She chuckles, before clearing her throat.

You scroll through the results page as Fyodor’s agent keeps speaking to you, “I presume you know why I’m calling. I just got off the phone to Fyodor regarding the…incident.” The incident…

You cringe at it being referred to like that. Your heartbeat picks up as you stand up straight, a deeply apologetic tone in your voice, “I know, I know, I was in the wrong. It’s Mr. Dostoyevsky’s book and he’s free to write however he pleases. I just got a little head of myself and–!”

“Easy,” Vivian whispers soothingly. It almost feels like she’s there with you, patting your shoulder and assuring you it's okay. “Fyodor is still a tad…appalled at your behaviour, but I have managed to convince him to give you another chance due to how efficiently and well you translated his first chapters.” A gasp escapes your throat; before your hopes can get too high, she quickly adds in a tone that reminds you of a stern teacher, “But this is your last chance. He’s said if you step out of line again, you’re out.”

“No…no, I understand perfectly!” You run a hand through your messy hair, resisting the urge to jump and dance around in glee. Oh thank God, you didn’t lose this chance! Your gaze flickers back towards the laptop screen, the results still silently waiting for you. You knew you still had to apologize properly for what you had done.

“I promise, neither of you will regret this.” You begin writing down an address frantically on a sticky note, looking up the coordinates to the location on the other side of town. You click your tongue, planning everything out in your head. Yes, if you wake up earlier, you will have the time to swing by and get everything ready before visiting Fyodor tomorrow morning without being late.

Suddenly, Vivian’s voice breaks through the silence, cutting you out of your thoughts, “I shouldn’t be saying this but do me a favour, would you?” She pauses for a moment. You focus more on her as she adds, “Cut Fyodor some slack.”

“Wh-what?” Is all you manage to breathe out. Everyone keeps telling you to do that. Were you in an echo chamber? Or did everyone else just see something you couldn't? She continues, sighing heavily and you swear you hear a pen being placed down, judging from the gentle tap you hear on her side of the call.

“It isn’t my tale to tell, but I will inform you that Fyodor has been through a lot as of late.” You frown deeply as you hear this. “This is his returning novel after taking some time away from his career, so all I ask is that you show him the same patience you would want to be shown.”

Your mind stews those words over silently as you chew the inside of your cheek. The novelist you were working with was an enigma. He was more mysterious than the deepest pits of the ocean, and more closed off than a crime scene. You only had his name. His career. And the gift of being able to read his captivating story. Well, part of it.

Just who was Fyodor exactly? And what had he gone through to make him the way he is now?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

The sky was overcast and angry as you began to make your trek towards Fyodor’s quaint cottage. You sprint along the stone path as the sky rumbles like a beast, growling as the clouds light up, warning you of the upcoming downpour that is about to begin. Clutching the bouquet you’d bought close, along with the small gift bag, you run through the archway.

The usual clear, mirror-like surface of the lake was black and menacing, nowhere near as picturesque as it had been for the entire week. No birds were singing. Branches waved violently in the strong winds that buffeted against them, sending spirals of leaves cascading around, like mini tornados of color.

You barely manage to hold onto your bouquet and gift, grimacing as you notice Fyodor isn’t sitting at the usual spot today. You look towards his cottage, the trees and shrubbery around it rustling violently against the strong gusts as well. They almost look like they’re clinging onto the cottage to keep themselves rooted. You catch a glimpse of that old tabby cat sprinting up to the door, his paws reaching up and scratching at the timber desperately and at once, it opens.

You see Fyodor, wrapped in a thicker cloak than normal along with what seems to be an old ushanka on his head, keeping his face warm. He opens the door to let the feline inside, cloak dragging on the floor behind him like a cape. Rubbing against the Russian’s legs, the tabby darts inside, away from the rough weather. But he doesn’t follow the feline; his dark eyes lift, meeting yours across the way.

He watches as the wind tousles your long hair as though playing with the elegant strands, your bright, vibrant coat of orange a stark contrast against the blackening sky but matching perfectly with the leaves falling from rustling trees around you. He sees the way your brown scarf aggressively sways in the violent breeze as the sky growls a final warning. He says nothing as he watches you. Is he waiting for you? His eyes scan you once, twice…it’s like he’s taking you in for the first time.

Like this, you look like a single glowing ember in the darkness of the world, seconds away from being snuffed out and devoured by the shadows.

Not wanting to be left out in this downpour, you sprint towards Fyodor, a loud crack echoing across the sky as it lights up, lighting striking somewhere in the distance as you pick up the pace. Without a word still, he steps aside, letting you run in just as it begins to storm. Cold droplets pour from the sky as it roars, another loud crack is heard in the distance. Rain begins to patter loudly on the roof of Fyodor's humble home, almost cleansing the land.

You hear the door close, along with a lock being turned, clicking into place. You turn to face Fyodor, noticing that the room is not illuminated by the bulbs hanging overhead but by candlelight. There are candleholders along the wall, lighting the hallway in a warm, welcoming light. Flickers of yellow dance across Fyodor’s face, his dark purple eyes practically invisible in the dark of the cottage.

Gripping the bouquet tighter, you hesitate to hand it over. Then, at last, you do, presenting the brilliant bouquet with a gentle hand. “Here,” you say softly, almost silently. “These are for you.”

You watch as his calculating eyes trace along each chosen flower; the blue hyacinths to the white orchids, to the few lilies of the Valley. He hesitates to accept them as his eyes turn back to you. He must be waiting to hear her apology out loud, “I’d like to say I’m sorry for overstepping.” The plastic around the bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter.

“I am both your junior and not an author,” you begin, fighting back down every inch of your pride to make sure your apology comes across as genuine. “I had no right to tell you how to write your story. I’m only here to translate it into English so I’m sorry. It will not happen again.” You also present your other hand, holding the gift bag out to Fyodor. “I hope you can forgive me and we can start fresh.”

He eyes the gift bag, reaching for it first. He peers inside, hiding his surprise behind his cold eyes as he notices the variety of tea leaves you’ve purchased for him. These are all high-quality leaves from a teashop on the other side of town. Passionfruit drop. Cream black tea. Autumn spice. He looks up at you, raising a brow curiously.

You squirm under his gaze, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would he accept the apology? Would he not? It felt like time was frozen as you and Fyodor stared at one another, his deep, purple eyes peering into the very depths of your soul as if trying to see if you were truly sorry in the very pit of your heart.

Then he moves past you. You feel your heartbeat freeze in your chest and then–

“Come along. I will brew some tea while you begin work translating chapter four.”

Warmth spreads across your chest instantly, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile breaking out on your face as you turn, following Fyodor through the candlelit hall towards what you presumed to be the kitchen, your apology bouquet in hand.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were both glad Fyodor had seemingly accepted your apology…and excited to read the fourth chapter of his novel. Even if he rambled on for the next forty pages and didn’t progress the plot. Your ankle boots click against the old wooden flooring as you hurry after the author.

✩ You were an enigma to Fyodor. Despite the cold walls he had placed securely around himself and the distance he had tried to keep from you, you kept coming back. Did this job really mean that much to you or were you just that desperate for money?

Or perhaps you were here for other reasons.

The kettle’s loud whistle shakes Fyodor from his web of thoughts. He takes it off the stove, bringing it over to his preferred ceramic teapot, decorated with painted pink carnations, filling it with the boiling water before moving on to inserting the mesh tea infuser, full of some of the new leaves you brought him.

As the aromatic smell of spices fills the air, he turns his thoughtful eyes to where you sit at his dining table, reading over the fourth chapter of his novel. He sees your smile behind the pages. The way your eyes gleam as you read and reread paragraphs. It even looked like you were no longer struggling to read his handwriting.

He felt warmth stirring in his heart. Fyodor had seen from reviews and heard from Vivian that his works were well-beloved, but seeing you smile and the joy in your eyes was something else entirely. It stirred something deep within his soul.

You actually did enjoy his story. You weren’t just going along with the crowd or agreeing with a friend because it was a popular piece. You were genuinely enjoying his work. He feels his heart pound for just a second before he turns away, focusing on the tea.

With slender hands, he pours the rich, orange liquid into the prepared porcelain teacups, the fragrance growing even stronger in the room. Between the sound and smell of the pouring rain and terrifying thunder and the earthy, aromatic smell of the Autumn spice tea, Fyodor felt his shoulders relaxing as he brought the two teacups over to the dining table, just in time to hear you gasp quietly.

Ah, you must’ve gotten to the part where the female lead is fleetingly introduced. For a moment, Fyodor finds himself smiling.

Dividers: @/saradika * Translation:  Dear Madam, I want to remind you that your right to your own opinion does not oblige me to listen to this nonsense. Silence is a great talent. My advice to you: if you have thoughts, keep them to yourself; Nowadays, smart people are silent, not talking. I didn’t hire you here for an author’s speech, so be kind, work and don’t pretend to be Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin.

#bungou stray dogs #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

[theory-necessary-simple]

https://kristin-910.tengp.icu/zj/lyAS4j1

#2000s emo #anne boonchuy #bsd x reader #old money #imagine #irina shayk #big booyt #mary nabokova #information #Illustration #cowgirl #plus size model #intimacy #christian

[hopleii]

should've said no,

content: dazai x fem!reader, toxic relationship, lovebombing, gaslighting, manipulating, cheating, fighting, swearing, angst no comfort, kinda ooc but kinda not, semi-proofread, trashy writing

a/n: had a mental breakdown abt my ex so i was like 'our whole relationship would be a good story' so yeah!

you knew, you always knew that dazai had a way with women. he was handsome and charming, he could easily get any girl he wanted with just a few words, and that's how he got you.

a year ago, you went to a formal event with your friends. you were third-wheeling with them and their boyfriends, as expected. taking small sips out of your glass, enjoying the tart and sweet taste of wine, you sat there unaware that you had caught someone's eye.

"what's a pretty girl like you sitting alone here?" a feathery voice from behind you snapped you out of your thoughts, you turned back to see a brunette man with a handsome face, no, handsome was an understatement. he was gorgeous.

"my, my...you are indeed pretty," he says in a gentle voice as if you'd float away if he wasn't careful. you got a bit shy and looked away, averting your gaze to cover up the flustered look on your face. "hey...look at me." the man whined,

those were the exact same words he said that pulled you back to reality, stopping your sweet moment of reminiscing on the first time you both met, at a party, where you both danced the night away.

and now you barely even hold each other anymore, "y/n...look at me!" he yells as he grabs your chin to face him, "listen to me! god, what is going on with you?" he yells again.

oh...right. the two of you were in the middle of an argument, it all started off with a backhanded comment, now both of you are fighting in the middle of the night. "what's going on with me? what's going on with you!?" you yell back, "you've been staying out late and you don't even tell me why! don't you know how worried i get?"

"how many times do we need to talk about this...I'm out working okay!? I just got home and you're already yelling at me...give me a break, I've had a long day..." he groans as he adjusts the collar of his blouse, a habit he does when things get too heated. but as he adjusts his collar, something caught your eye, something red.

"what is that?" you asked, dazai's face went pale when he hears your question because he knew exactly what you were talking about, "what's what?" he replied, his tone becoming calmer and quieter to avoid suspicions

"that." you said as you walked over to him and pulled down his collar, lipstick marks.

you let go of his collar as you let out a quivering gasp, tears forming in your eyes. "b-baby...it's not what it looks like, okay!?" dazai gently grabs your shoulders before pulling you into a hug, trying to comfort you and stop you from crying, but instead, it only fueled your anger even more because you got to smell the cheap, floral perfume on him.

"it was for a case at the agency okay? i...i had to get information from someone a-and.." he paused, losing the words he was about to say when he saw your face stained with tears as you looked at him with disgust and betrayal. "baby...just trust me, okay? it was for a mission...nothing more, okay? you're the only one i love." he says as he tightened the hug, making soothing motions on your back to try and comfort you, to earn your trust again.

"believe me..please? I'm sorry I didn't tell you...forgive me please? forgive me if you love me, baby...you trust me, right? because you love me?" dazai shaked your shoulders gently, looking at you with pleading eyes, urging you to believe him.

but you were always an understanding girl, weren't you? you always gave people second chances. and that might've been the worst mistake you made.

"y/n..say something!" he shakes you again, "I..I believe you." you say with hesitation, to be honest, you didn't. but he loved you, right? just like he said in that party a year ago...he loved you.

"r-really? I'm glad...you're not mad at me, right? you don't hate me?" he sighed, relief washing over him. his words made him seem so genuine, his face looked so innocent but there was still a part of you that didn't believe him at all. "fuck...you hate me, don't you?"

you get nervous at his words, your heart ached as he said that, "n-no! no, I believe you...I promise. nothing you do could ever make me hate you.."

dazai smiled softly and kissed you on the forehead, his mood shifting as if none of this happened.

months went by after this incident, he still came home late, some nights he didn't even come home. everytime you tried to talk to him about it, he'd get defensive and start yelling at you, calling you stupid to think that he was anywhere else but work, defending himself when all you did was ask him "where have you been?"

your friends warned you, your parents told you, your colleagues tried to talk to you but dazai had messed up your head so much that you were blinded by a false sense of love,

"so you'd rather listen to your friends than your own boyfriend!? why won't you trust me? y/n...come on, trust me!"

dazai's words echoed in your mind, you wanted to believe him. you wanted to trust that the man you loved wouldn't betray you, that there was a valid reason. his late nights turned into weekends away, excuses grew flimsier, and the distance between you widened with each passing day. yet, every time you tried to confront him, he would turn the tables, making you feel guilty for doubting him, for questioning his loyalty.

your friends' warnings fell on deaf ears, drowned out by dazai's promises of love and devotion. you clung to the hope that things would get better, that the man you fell for would return to you.

as the months passed, the weight of your doubts grew heavier, suffocating you with each passing day. you tried to bury them beneath layers of false assurances and forced smiles, but they refused to stay hidden for long.

the click of the door jolted you from your thoughts, but the sight of dazai didn't bring the relief you craved. his expression was unreadable, his eyes avoiding yours as he shuffled into the room.

"hey, i'm home," he mumbled, his voice barely audible above the silence that hung between you.

you opened your mouth to speak, to confront him, but the words caught in your throat. instead, you watched in silence as he moved past you, his presence heavy with unspoken truths.

"we need to talk," you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

dazai's gaze flickered with guilt, and he nodded wordlessly, the weight of your words settling on his shoulders. you took a shaky breath, preparing yourself for the conversation that would shatter everything you thought you knew.

"hmm? okay..." he hummed as he sat down in front of you, "what did you wanna talk about, pretty? oh, before that, i got you a gift! do you like it?" he says as he presented you a big box of chocolates that would probably take you weeks to finish. he was always like this, wasn't he? showering you with love and gifts, burying you with compliments every time he knows you're about to slip away to make sure you shut up and forget about the messed up things he did.

"it's not about the chocolates, dazai," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

he frowned, confusion flickering across his features before he plastered on a charming smile. "of course, my love. what's on your mind? you know you can tell me anything," he said, his voice oozing with faux sincerity.

you took a deep breath, gathering the courage to lay bare the truth. "i know about the other women, dazai," you said, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "i know about the lies, where you've been going all these nights. i can't do this anymore."

for a moment, there was silence, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. and then, with a scoff, he leaned back in his chair, his smile slipping into a sneer.

"oh, is that what this is about?" he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "you really think you can just walk away from me? after everything I've done for you?"

"i deserve better than this, dazai," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roaring storm of emotions inside you.

but he just laughed, a cold, mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. "deserve better? you think anyone else would put up with you?" he spat, his eyes ablaze with contempt. "you're lucky to have me, y/n."

with a heavy heart, you rose from your seat, the weight of his words like chains around your ankles. you wanted to scream, to lash out at him for the pain he had inflicted, but you knew it would only fuel his cruel satisfaction.

instead, you turned away, your resolve hardening with each step you took toward the door. his laughter followed you, a haunting echo reverberated in the empty space between you.

"you'll be back," he called after you, his voice laced with venom. "you always come back."

© — hopleii

#works—💌 #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #osamudazai #dazai x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x fem reader #bungo stray dogs angst #bsd angst #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n

[catmelonwriting]

Sucking off big brother!Fyodor

Warnings: Incest, this is written terribly, toxic!Fyodor, fem reader

Characters: Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Translations: малышка = little girl

A/N: idk I have so many prompts I'm supposed to be writing and want to be writing but I just don't jave the energy I'm hoping this will wet my appetite or wtv

You lay lazily on the bed half asleep, It was mid July, and the heat was making you drowsy. You were supposed to be reading due to your brothets orders, but gave up & into your fatigue, resting on your bed in your day clothes, not even bothering to change. You were suddenly startled awake by a scoff and Fyodor speaking. "Clean up this room, малышка. It's disgusting in here."

His voice was degrading and he stared down at you with a glare. Your room wasn't even that bad! Just some clothes lying around, but to be fair.. he did own the house. "I don't wanna..." You groan, your voice was raspy. Your eyes flutter open to Fyodor standing directly above you, his hand resting on your bed frame.

"You don't have a choice, малышка." Fyodor smirked, knowing how much you hated being called that. It made you feel small, and weak, but no matter how much you told him you hated it, he kept going. "Clean up now, or I will make you regret it."

"Make me regret it if you're so tough, then." You grin, sitting up and crossing your legs, placing your elbow on your knee and your cheek in the palm of your hand. "If you don't clean this room within the hour, you'll be doing something much more unpleasant."

His eyes narrowed and you grin. "Awh, tell me, exactly what will I be doing?" You'd always had an attraction towards him, and he's known. You'd expect him to be disgusted by it, but.. "You'll be sucking my cock until I'm satisfied, малышка." He said casually, as if it were nothing. "And trust me, I won't be gentle about it."

Your stomach flutters, and despite the disgust and fear you felt.. you couldn't help the arousal that dripped from your hole. You needed to appear confident, and unbothered. You hated Fyodor seeing you as weak. "Aw, well maybe I'd prefer that." You grin, dropping to your knees in front of him.

Fyodor raised an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden change in attitude. He stepped closer, allowing you access to his pants. As you undid his belt and pulled down his pants, revealing his hard cock, he couldn't help but feel a surge of arousal. He grabbed your hair, guiding her head towards his member.

All you could do was giggle, giving a tiny little kitten lick to the tip of his dick, dragging out a hitched breath from him. You do nothing more for a minute, only kissing and licking the tip, before he grew impatient.

He huffs, before he yanks your head back by her hair, forcing you to take him in. You gagged as he filled your mouth, the pain causing small tears to well up in your eyes that you immediately blink away. He began thrusting his hips, fucking your mouth roughly, enjoying the sensation of the warm wetness of your mouth enveloping him.

You moaned onto his dick, licking a fat strip up the bottom of his shaft as he face fucked you, letting the tears fall only because you knew how much he loved reducing you to a crying mess.

"Ah.. you're so good at this, myshka. Keep going, go on." He groans, drawing your attention up to him, he loved how pathetic you looked down on the floor, tears falling from your eyes, ruining your mascara. As his climax neared, you felt his thrusts get sloppier and harder till his hot cum filled your mouth.

He pulls out, tapping your mouth so you stick your tongue out. Proof you swallowed, of course. "Good girl.." he drawls out, looking at you with that sadistic smile he always has. "Now, I guess I should repay the favor now, hm?" He smiles, crouching down in front of you.

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dostoyevsky fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor smut #fyodor x reader smut #incest smut #fyodor x reader incest

[damagedintellect]

ADA Dazai x Reader

💌Obligatory sex pollen fic I guess?? chapter 2💌

Summary: Certain abilities Dazai can dispel outright without touching the user. This has always confused the brunette greatly where the technical line was drawn. During Q's apocalypse, he couldn't bring individuals back to their senses but with Shiwabusa's fog he could prevent Chuuya’s ability from manifesting. Apparently this “Sex pollen” ability was more like the former example. Which left Dazai the only one conscious of their actions as everyone fucked like rabbits.

Notes: Based on a dream I had a few nights ago....This chapter is shorter because I started waking up once I realized it was THAT DREAM, I'm literally crying it got a second chapter some one help😭

Contains: sex pollen, dubcon, pregnancy, mpreg, pregnant Fyodor, Fyodor being painfully religious, 🍋 in chapter 1

💌 Wordcount 1,971 💌 Chapter 2 of ?? [If I have another dream I am obligated to update this] <= Previous chapter

Just like that for a few weeks everything was back to some semblance of normalcy. Out of sight out of mind you guess. Once you stopped feeling sick all the time you could hardly tell you were pregnant at all. You were still confined to the office since it would take anywhere from 3 to 6 months to fully heal from your injuries but that was fine with you. Honestly you don’t understand how Dazai does it. You've been pampered by Yosano's ability. It didn't even occur to you that you'd still have to have some sort of physical therapy afterwards either. Meanwhile Dazai gets shot and stabbed all the goddamn time and he takes it like a champ. Just one more reason to like him you guess.

Dazai looked up to catch you staring. You didn’t look away but your face did start to feel warm. You hadn’t really sat down and talked about it in depth yet. That night or about the child and honestly no one in the office has really tried to bring it up either. Although you still don't know what to say, sooner or later someone has to say something and hopefully it won't have to be you. Unfortunately you have a feeling it's going to be you.

Dazai glanced at the door and frowned. He's been trying to avoid any meaningful confrontation but judging from the sounds outside he swallowed. He knew those footsteps better than anyone and it was only a matter of time before “he” showed up. This might as well be happening today. Without warning Chuuya emerged from the doorway looking annoyed. 

“Okay, which one of you is the weretiger!”

Atsushi hesitantly raised his hand. You raised an eyebrow at the exchange. What was the mafia executive doing looking for Atsushi? Dazai sighed and rose to his feet, putting an arm around Atsushi as Chuuya approached the two. 

“Why Chuuya, what brings you out to our domain! I almost didn't see you there, have you gotten shorter?” He smiles cheerfully. You swear you could see flowers and sparkles surrounding him.

Chuuya crossed his arms “Go to hell and wait your turn. I have a bone to pick with you after I square away business with the tiger boy.” He glared at Atsushi, sizing him up. “And you, my boy Akutagawa hasn't been the same since your guy's little rescue operation. Mind telling me why that is?” It was surprisingly less threatening and more of a genuine question.

Atsushi’s face flushed a few shades darker “Why don't you ask him! He's the one who-” He stopped mid sentence, groaning. He figured Akutagawa wouldn't talk about it to anyone either but being asked directly because Akutagawa was out of sorts was insulting. How did he think Atsushi felt? “You know what, the bottom line is I'm pregnant and it's his fault he used his stupid ability like that. If anything I should be the one who's traumatized!” 

Chuuya hummed, putting his hand under his chin as he thought about an earlier encounter. “Oh so that's why he was muttering about being bound to the weretiger. He was saying something about not even holding hands yet and having to marry you. Guess that makes me the godfather for two babies then.” the redhead shrugged like this conversation was an everyday occurrence.

Atsushi slouched, was this karma for trying to suggest that Fyodor and Nikolai should get married? 

“Don’t tell me Akutagawa is religious too.”

Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows. “What? No listen kid, this is about stepping up to responsibilities. Raising a kid's a big deal.” He looked over at Dazai with a smirk about to add one more thing but Dazai interjected, flicking the brim of Chuuya's hat.

He continued to wave his hand in the other's face. “Who said you were the godfather? I don't remember calling you.” Both of their expressions went flat for a moment as they glared at each other passively.

“You should have, it would have been better to hear the news from you than from Mori.” He huffed “Why didn't you? It's not like you to go back on your word. What happened too, I wouldn't lie about something like this.” He mocked in a Dazai like fashion.

“I thought you were too drunk to remember that!” Dazai whined.

“Yeah well I also remember promising to be your best man if you ever lived long enough to find someone.” Chuuya leaned back into his hip “So?” the redhead crossed his arms, waiting.

“So what?” Dazai said matter of factly. As the two stared back at each other, Atsushi finally sat down. Why did they have to do this at his desk?

“So what? You're not even going to introduce me!”

Dazai rolled his eyes. Is that really what Chuuya came here for? When Chuuya walked in you had gotten up from your desk to make tea. As you brought the cups over Dazai walked around you and put his hand on your shoulder “(Y/N), Chuuya, Chuuya, (Y/N). There, you happy?”

“Wait (Y/N)? You mean your-” Dazai cut him off but Chuuya looked surprised. You wonder what he was going to say. It sounded important.

Dazai pankicked and grabbed the other from behind covering his mouth as he dragged him out into the hallway. “Nope that's it you overstayed your welcome.” 

Once the door shut Ranpo pouted “I'm pregnant too ya know. I wouldn't mind Mr. Fancy hat being the godfather.” He puffed out his cheeks.

Atsushi rolled his eyes. “That's all you got from that!”

Ranpo sighed “No, I also got the image of Akutagawa tying you up so thanks for that.” 

Atsushi stood up so fast his chair nearly fell over. “How can everybody speak about it so casually!” 

He looked over to you with pleading eyes. Atsushi was probably hoping you'd back him up. Instead you laughed, handing him the disregarded tea. 

“Well for starters only the adults are here today and the more you talk about it the less power it has.” You handed the detective another cup. “Although instead of putting you on the spot Ranpo should have asked if you wanted to talk about it first or at least opened up about his experience.”

He took a sip of tea before shrugging. Ranpo didn't mind sharing at all in fact he’s glad someone asked about it. “Not much to say really. Poe hugged me from behind and by the time I realized he wasn't doing it to be cute I just kinda went with it.” Ranpo shrugged with a smile on his face. “I'm more curious what happened with Kunikida!”

The blonde tensed as you set the last cup down in front of him. He had stopped his typing as a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Do I have too?” Out of everyone in the office Kunikida had been the one trying the hardest to skirt around the conversations. He wanted to forget it ever happened. It was bad enough that Dazai would tease him about it whenever they were alone.

Ranpo hummed “Akiko's really careful because she could never give up drinking for that long, so since you're not forced into being a dad, dealer's choice?” You all nodded in agreement, it only seemed fair since you were putting him on the spot.

Kunikida pushed up his glasses. You assume he probably doesn't want to share. Instead he turns to address you. “Which reminds me, I thought Yosano gave you a contraceptive too?”

“I was so exhausted I forgot it was in my pocket and never took it.” You frowned. It didn't feel like a priority in the moment but like most of them you were out of it. “But forced parenting aside, right now this is about sexual trauma.”

 Kunikida cleared his throat “I wouldn't know what to share. I turned to look at Yosano and the next thing I know we're kissing in a passionate manner.” He paused wondering if he should say something about the elephant in the room. “Also this should go without saying, but no one is forcing you to be a parent. Ranpo and Atsushi might not have a choice but there's still plenty of time for you to think it over. No one would stop you if you decided you're not ready to be a mother.” This was true but your mind was already made up. 

Somehow only Ranpo knew of your crush? You thought it was fairly obvious. Had it been anyone else you probably would have gotten rid of it by now. 

Ranpo laughed before you could answer, sharing his two cents. “Who said I don't have a choice? I'm choosing to have this little munchkin! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to see what me and Poe create. Besides, I've always wanted a mini me!” He patted his stomach proudly.

Atsushi sipped on his tea “That's true. So in a weird way it kind of worked out for you and Poe huh. At least one of us lucked out.” He’s been avoiding Akutagawa as much as possible ever since that night.

Ranpo snickered, “I would say two of us lucked out.” He draped one around your shoulder opening his eyes to give you a smug look. “Well you care to share with the class? This was your idea after all.” 

So that’s why he bothered to bring all of this up. You sighed in defeat. “Lucked out my ass!” Your cheeks were red as Atsushi and Kunikida gave you incredulous looks “Keep in mind Dazai was fully conscious of his actions. He kind of just let me get it out of my system in hope that I would eventually snap out of it,” You groaned hiding your face in your hands “and yes, apparently I was begging him to fuck a baby into me. Is that what you wanted to hear, Ranpo!”

Ranpo blinked a few times “You didn't have to go that far but yeah I was just trying to get you to mention your crush on Dazai.”

“You have a crush on Dazai?!” Both Atsushi and Kunikida shouted. Kunikida nearly spat out his tea. You groaned “That’s why I was planning on keeping the child but I feel like I'd be baby trapping him.”

“It’s not baby trapping if you decide to keep the child, it's your body. I already told you that you have the final say.”

Everyone slowly turned their heads back to see Dazai coming back into the office. You swallowed “How much of that did you hear?”

“Not much but you already told me your reason for wanting to keep the kid.” He shrugged nonchalantly and everyone wiped their heads back to you.

Atsushi was dumbfounded. “Wait a second, let me get this straight. He knows that you-”

Dazai spoke over him. “-Always wanted kids, it's not that big of a deal. Unless that's not what we're talking about?” He tilted his head to the side. Did he miss something? It took a lot out of him to turn Chuuya away especially after the stupid slug made his own revelations about the situation. 

You released the breath you were holding. Everyone else understood Dazai was just as oblivious to your feelings as always. Eventually you would have to tell him but it was still early enough in the process to figure that out. At least everyone else in the office knew why you’ve been acting weird since that night.

Kunikida groaned at the realization. “I don't know if I can handle a mini Ranpo running around, let alone a mini Dazai.” He went back to his work. “It’s bad enough having to work with Dazai as is.”

You laughed as the two tried to defend themselves.

#bsd imagines #bsd fanfic #bsd dazai #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #my bsd brainrot is showing #x reader #based on a dream i had #i can't believe this got a chapter 2

[asimpforyagami]

heyyyy, ur writing is very scrumptious ✨️✨️ can i request prompts 1, 6, 9 and 12 for fyodor?

thank uuuuuu

↷ A/N ─ the way i wrote 12 on the prompt list JUST for fyodor 😩 ily anon

★ PROMPT ─ 1, 6, 9, 12

!! FT. ─ fyodor

─ wearing his clothes

Fyodor raised his eyebrows at the sight of you near the door, clad in another one of his long white shirts. He never understood what you thought you would achieve with this action.

"Again?" he asked.

"Again," you smiled and hopped over to where he sat, before taking off his ushanka hat and putting it on your head.

He blinked at you momentarily in surprise before letting out a small chuckle and inviting you to sit on his lap.

Whatever your reason for stealing his clothes was, he didn't mind it one bit. You looked too cute with his hat on for that. Maybe it did look better on you than him.

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─ cuddling with him

You lay in your bed, arms tangled around Fyodor. He was staring right up at the ceiling, thinking of something. You leaned your head towards his chest, an indication that you needed your hourly dose of attention.

Fyodor looked at you and smiled softly. He let his own arm wrap around your waist and pulled you closer so that you could lay on his chest comfortably.

"What are you thinking of?" you asked.

"Me? Nothing much," he said quietly, pecking your forehead lightly. "You're more important."

"Yes, I am," you grinned and rested your cheek against his chest, hearing his heartbeat faintly. He shifted his position slightly so that his legs could intertwine with yours and hummed a soft lullaby.

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─ waking him up

You had never woken up before Fyodor. Still, he had given you 'instructions' on what to do in such a 'situation'. So, after freshening up, you crawled back into the bed where he was cuddling a pillow.

Sensing something better than a pillow to cuddle, Fyodor immediately latched onto you in his sleep and pulled you on top of him. You chuckled slightly.

"Fedya?" you said softly.

"No..." he groaned. "Not now."

"Good morning," you said.

"Not yet," he buried his face in your neck.

To think that he could be this affectionate to someone was a dream, you thought.

"It is, now," you replied. "Wake up."

"No," he said again. You sighed and stroked his hair, softly tugging at it sometimes. You didn't try to wake him up anymore. Rather, you stayed in the intimate position for about an hour.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

─ styling his hair in silly ways

You shook your legs around from your position on his lap.

"Don't do that," Fyodor said calmly, and you paused before resuming it again.

"I'm bored."

Fyodor sighed. Being with you was like babysitting a child, he thought.

"Well, what would you like to do, myshka?"

You sat upright on his lap and took the clips and hair tie on your hair off.

"Welcome to my parlour. What hairstyle would you like to get?"

Fyodor blinked at you, startled, before replying, "The one you like."

You nodded and immediately began to work, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tying it in a small ponytail. It was as if his hair was made to be styled. You sighed dreamily as you leaned away to look at him after finishing.

He had a little ponytail surrounded by little pink Hello Kitty clips that you had bought, not for yourself, just for this occasion. You stifled a laugh before pulling out your phone and immediately snapping a picture.

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#fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor fluff #fyodor dostoevsky fluff #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky x you #bsd x you

[sn00pism]

"What's it like to be filled with dread? Dreadfully."

Dazai Osamu x reader

This was not supposed to happen. He had gone over every part of the plan and had backup responses in case things went wrong, but not for this. Never for this.

You were not supposed to be there and Dazai could only watch as you jumped out from behind a column, where he had left you after you chased after him.

God, you were stubborn. He should have known, should have considered that, but you were too impulsive, too irrational. Quick to jump the gun and ask questions later.

The sound of the gunshot replayed in his ears like a broken record. He could only stand and watch as blood began to soak your shirt, right by your abdomen on your left side. But it was your scream that haunted him. His mind raced, his heart pumped blood through his veins, and adrenaline flooded his senses. Dread filled him as he saw the pool of blood growing around your fallen body.

Yosano was not here, but he knew that when the blood reached a certain amount, there was nothing that could be done.

Your pained gasp brought him back to his senses. His knees buckled and he crawled over to you. His gun fell to the ground, but he did not care. He was open and vulnerable to be killed, but he would gladly die if it meant staying next to you.

His hands cradled your head, heavy and pale, as a string of blood left your mouth and your eyes focused on him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Osamu… I'm sorry…" Your breath quickened as the pain shot through your body. A small cry escaped your lips, and your eyes watered as they focused on Dazai. His hands shook as he reached over to place a hand on your wound and apply pressure, earning a cry from you as your face twisted in pain and sweat gathered on your forehead.

"I know, I know, shh shh, you're okay… you're okay, just breathe, please." He did not realize that the fighting was still going on, the ringing in his ears too loud. He could feel that he was losing you. He had killed enough people to know when they were too far gone. But he held onto hope and thought about Yosano. His hand slipped into his pocket, gripping his phone, but his hands were too shaky and the phone slipped from his grasp, now covered in blood.

For the first time, the sight of blood made his gut twist. Your blood. His attention returned to your face, your eyes turning glassy as you cried freely. The hand he had on your stomach was now deep crimson and slippery, but he pressed harder. This time, you did not gasp in pain, and he felt panic rise in his chest.

He turned to you, a panicked expression on his face as he felt like a knife was twisting in his heart. You looked at him, your panicked face mirroring his. "I can't…" Your eyes turned misty and tears gathered in them. "I can't feel your touch." Your voice came out softly, barely above a whisper, but it resonated harshly in Dazai's ears. "I don't want to die, Osamu." Your eyes were full of terror as you came to grips with your situation. Dazai felt his heart breaking, his chest tightening until he couldn't breathe quite right.

"No, no, please, breathe, you're okay." His voice broke as he clung to your hand, his eyes searching around the chaos for his phone, his breaths ragged and short. "I can call Yosano… she'll heal you in no time, please just hold on for me, please." Tears blurred his vision and he wiped them away angrily, your blood coating his face. The smell of iron filled his nose, and he felt sick. Tears fell from your eyes as you sobbed softly in his arms. The blood was too much.

His eyes snapped to yours, watching the life in your eyes slowly vanish. "I love y-" Your voice faded out before you could finish, your life draining out of you in crimson streams, pooling around him and swallowing him whole. "No, no, please…" He let himself fall onto you, his cries muffled by your chest, the feeling of your body pressed against his. "Not you too, please… don't leave me too."

Time slowed to a stop. The ringing in his ears became louder. Dread filled his lungs and his mind.

You were gone. And this time, it was his fault.

I felt like trying my hand at angst. I used a part of the baseline test from the movie Blade Runner 2049. Hope I did it right. Do message me with any thoughts or improvements for the future or this fic in particular!

#bsd dazai #bsd x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #osamu x reader #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x y/n

[syo0x]

¨˜ˆ”°⍣~•✡⊹٭„¸ Sweet Misunderstanding ¸„٭⊹✡•~⍣°`"~

͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Synopsis: Asking Chuuya to buy you "pads with wings."

͟͟͞꒰➳ Super Fluff!

͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Got the idea from this video Click me!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.

You were feeling odd today.. oh right.. it's time of the month and you don't have any pads left. So you decided to ask Chuuya to buy you some.. after all its an emergency.

"Chuu.. can you buy me something pleaaase?"

Chuuya hums, as if considering your request for a moment before replying.

"Hm? Whaddya want me t'buy, Doll? Be more specific."

"Pads with wings.. i need it right now.."

Chuuya raises his eyebrows at the suddenness of the request, but he’s not bothered. If you need it, he’s gonna get it. However, it raises another question, one he probably shouldn’t ask.

“It’s that time o’ the month, huh?”

Chuuya chuckles when you nod in response to his question. He reaches over from his side of the bed and rubs your back soothingly. To him, it’s just a natural thing. You’re a woman, he knows how much it sucks to have your period.

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll go a store an’ get you some.” He rises out of bed and walks toward the door. Pausing, he looks back to you, grinning and winking cheekily.

“Gonna need a list of anything else besides pads?”

"Just pads with wings.." You said..

"Gotcha. I'll be right back."

He exits the room and then shortly after he leaves the apartment. He's gone for about an hour before he returns, carrying a bag from a local drugstore.

"Here you go, Darling. A whole ass supply of pads and chicken wings. Plus, uh, some candy cause I figured you want some sweets after that." Chuuya grins, and he seemed confident.

You were confused as you didn't asked for 'chicken wings' as you giggled.

"Why there's a Chicken wings here?" You said as you can't contain your laughter.

Chuuya looks down in confusion, then glances around the bag. His confusion deepens when he sees the chicken wings in there. He must've either zoned out or misheard you.

"...I thought you said you asked for pads with wings?" He replies, trying to get some clarification just in case he was right the whole time.

"Yeah i did.." You said still giggling.

Chuuya sighs. He's trying, really, but he's just not getting it. He scratches his head, thinking that maybe if he just says what he's thinking directly to you, you'd be able to clarify what you originally meant.

"Hey, Doll. I'm kinda slow today, so bear wit' me. When you asked for pads with wings, were you sayin' you wanted me to buy ya pads and wings, or were you sayin' you wanted me to buy you pads that literally have wings-"

You've been laughing on the entire situation as Chuuya got slight annoyed.. but he can't help but adored your laughing.

"I thought you knew what was you're going to buy.." you said..

"...Yeah. I should've known." Chuuya mutters as he sighs. He knows you well enough to have known what you were implying at. He just wasn't thinking it through correctly. It was just such a weird request. How can one NOT imagine pads with literal wings on them if somebody just said "pads with wings"?!

"...Forget it. Anyways, I got 'em for ya. Now quit bein' a smartass and help me finish these chicken wings before they get cold."

As both of you enjoyed the Chicken Wings and you still can't stop thinking about how funny it is as it makes Chuuya embarrassed and annoyed.. but he thinks.. buying it accidentally wasn't so bad, after all.. it was a sweet misunderstanding.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.

(I was giggling while making this)

#bsd x reader #bsd x gn reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd fluff #chuuya x reader #chuuya fluff