#bungou stray dogs fic

[momodita]

snapshots. [—dazai osamu]

TAGS / WARNINGS: male reader, specific clothing (suit),       dazai being dazai, barely suggestive WC: 1,000 NOTE: even though this was written with male       readers in mind, there are no pronouns       used and can read as gender neutral!

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI.

“Need some help?”

You muffle the swear, but not the pained noise that escapes as your leg smacks the counter. Teeth clenched, you hunch over the sink, clutching your throbbing knee before gathering yourself to glare at the intruder.

“Where’s Atsushi.”

“Surprised?” Dazai trills, volume surprisingly controlled for how loud you know him to be. His lofty hum echoes—you grimace as he fills the precious little space left in the bathroom. “Atsushi-kun got sent on an assignment. He’ll be gone for a while.”

“And he entrusted you to help me instead?” you snark, a touch mean knowing the thickness of his skin. Turning your back on him never feels safe—at least with the mirror, you’re not completely vulnerable. “I would’ve thought he’d ask someone a little more reliable. Like Kunikida-san.”

“Oh! You wound me!” Dazai exclaims, hand flying up to press against his forehead. He saunters forward with a dramatic lean. “And here I thought you might need me to lend you a hand,” he says, flourishes with a grin, gaze lingering meaningfully on your tie.

Your nose wrinkles. “No thanks.”

Dazai merely tuts—undeterred by the blatant dismissal—leaning on the counter to watch you fumble.

“If it were Kunikida-kun here,” he says, low and amused, stoking the burn of irritation at the back of your throat, “He would’ve made you start over. In seiza to boot.”

You shudder imagining it. “No one will notice if it’s bad. It’s just a stupid tie.” The excuse doesn’t burn nearly as much as his huffing laugh, something quiet that makes the muscle under your eye twitch. Maybe you should forgo the tie, after all.

“Now, now, don’t say that,” he sings—gleeful, like he’s sitting on the punchline of a joke. “It won’t take long.” His hand opens for you, expectant. “Besides,” Dazai says, “seems like you really want this meeting to go well.” He speaks plainly enough, but you’ve no confidence to decipher any double entendre while operating under several layers yourself.

Against the sticky apprehension licking your ribs, you let him: slipping the tie from your shoulders and lowering it onto his palm. Not for the first time, his presence raises the fine hairs on your nape.

He’s an indomitable presence behind you. You’re sure he can’t see the goosebumps erupting along your arms, but the little quiet chuckle by your ear makes you think he knows of their existence.

Dazai lays the tie across your nape. Drapes it down your front and adjusts the two ends with an impish, plucking touch. You watch his hands in the mirror. It occurs to you, now, that as you are—trapped between him and his mirror image—there’s nowhere to run. In the silence, your mouth purses, twitching with the pressure to break the tension—anything to release the buzz of adrenaline clogging your throat.

“Don’t tie it too tight,” you say haltingly, blood rushing to your face. “I’ll choke.”

Dazai, humming, merely smiles. You watch his eyes narrow with it in the mirror, how he loops and pulls and twists the fabric—almost mesmerized by the knot coming neatly together in his fingers: long and pale—a sharp contrast to the matte black of your suit and dress shirt.

His expression drops as he works. It’s a rare moment where it holds no fallacies, no comedic lilt of his brow or mouth. Your chin twitches when he wiggles the knot to a tight finish, uses both hands to slide it up against the base of your throat.

You swallow, then—not meaning to—and drop your eyes to the faucet. Dazai drags the tie between his fingers, smoothing the fabric with a slow motion of his arm. You can’t stop the tightness in your chest—as if his hands were sliding all over you.

“Dazai-san.” His name gets pulled from your throat like teeth, hand twitching, wanting to snatch the tie from his fingers. His presence is a weight on your shoulders—heat at your back, crawling up your throat all the way down your calves, the tips of your fingers, as you tease the idea of shoving him away. Forcibly relaxing your aching jaw.

Your eyes dart up to meet his in the mirror. It’s a mistake. For one dizzying breath, his head tips—just a fraction, small enough that you blink and are no long sure it even happened—and the gleam in his eyes is gone, swallowed by the shadow of his fringe. You don’t need the subtle press of his thumb to know your skin has gone clammy.

But then he blinks, and the moment passes. He splays his hands out as if revealing a surprise, grin full of teeth.

“See? Not too bad, wouldn’t you agree? Kunikida-kun would’ve had you make one hundred knots.” Despite the obvious playfulness of his voice, it does little to quell the blood rushing in your ears. His hands descend upon your shoulders, a gesture somehow more threatening than when his fingers had been kissing distance from your throat. “And his lectures take forever.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because you’re the one he lectures the most?” you ask. “That’s why no one takes you seriously, Dazai-san.”

His eyes narrow with a smile—the familiar stretch of it triggering your flight impulse. You manually reset your footing to rid yourself of the feeling.

“Maybe they should,” he suggests, and reaches for your throat. Your blood freezes, but all he does is flip down your collar, tucking the tie under the starched fabric. “I’m quite the hidden gem.”

Muffled laughter outside the door is just the remedy you need to reset.

“How egotistical of you,” you reply flatly, and sigh. “Are you done?”

“Of course, of course.” Dazai waves. “Safe travels.”

“Thanks,” you mumble. He ducks out of the bathroom to engage with Kunikida, putting himself directly into the blond’s verbal line of fire.

And you, alone, dip fingers inside your suit pocket to find a familiar plastic lump.

#dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs fic #bsd x reader #bsd fic #reader insert #snapshot fic #male reader #sorry for the character to those who are #unfamiliar w bsd SJKDHFKHSJ #also this fic could've so easily turned into nsft but i was GOOD and i RESTRAINED MYSELF #momodita fic

[bleachification]

⸻ CHAPTER FIVE; ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

pairing: dazai x f!reader (fantasy au)

warnings: mentions/themes of depression

chapter list: this is CHAPTER FIVE of a multi-chapter fic series. PLEASE read the chapters below (in order) before this one or you will be very lost!!

prologue

one

two

three

four

word count: 3.5k

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

Back in your homeland, at the Imperial Palace, the largest constructed facilities are ones of sport and training. Sharpened swords and polished armour take the place of bookshelves on bedroom walls, and the practice of scripture is seldom found. Higher education, though no less important than warfare, is strictly limited to scriveners, court officials, and the professional erudites of your father’s choosing. In the face of current conflicts, most of your father’s people are far more absorbed in military affairs and bureaucracy than arithmetics, the sciences and the humanities.

Although, when it came to you, it was like a switch went off and all those sentiments were turned upside down. 

By a certain age, your tutelage switched from scholarly knowledge to that of etiquette and what he referred to as ‘womanly affairs’. Those usually consisted of things like sewing, music, and art classes. The only one you ever enjoyed was the horseback lessons. 

But thankfully, your father’s one track mind meant you were never discovered for—or suspected of—possessing further-education books and studying politics, diplomacy, and military tactics on the days general schooling lessons were cancelled. It is why you find yourself in the royal library, hours before you are due to meet Dazai for dinner. 

Hundreds, if not thousands, of marble shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling. Each one is stacked, end-to-end, with leather bound tomes and tea-stained manuscripts. There is a fireplace in the right corner, carved from blackened stone and crackling with warmth. Around it sits a pair of dark-green, thickly-cushioned armchairs, along with a matching sofa that is wide enough to fit at least four people. 

You walk further in and are greeted with four arched windows spanning the length and height of the space, each one clear as the summer sea. You squint, momentarily blinded by a sudden passing ray of sunlight. Birds are chirping underneath the morning sky, and branches of a looming willow tree sway in front of the left-most window. You take in the sprawling garden view; a labyrinthine maze of hedges take up the centre, and a large assortment of decorations speckle the grounds. Smaller fountains, rainbow flower beds, and iron-wrought benches are only a few of what you can see. 

You look around a bit more, noting the study tables anchored to the floor and the winding staircase that leads to the open-plan second floor. The library is well-kept, as shown by the pots holding blooming flowers along the window sills, but the dust lining the shelves indicates that no one has used the archives in a long time. You wonder why—it is the first and only comforting place that you have found in the cold, lonely palace. 

You make your way down the stacks before a section catches your eye.

A Comprehensive Guide on Abilities and a Meta Analysis on their Structural Archetypes; 

The Scholar’s Circle’s Codex on Yokohama’s Political Affairs;

North vs. South: A Dynastic Tale of Continental History. 

You grab all three and almost lose your balance from the weight of each text. More and more books are added to the pile in your arms until you can no longer see straight ahead. 

With a huff, you drop the mountain of pending research onto an oak-stained study table and quickly get to work. 

Hours pass, the concept of time long faded as you lose yourself in the world of preternatural powers, warring states, and the cluttered institutions that make up the Kingdom in its most present form. 

The striking differences between Yokohama and the Northern Empire are more vast than you had ever imagined. It's a stark contrast—governance, industry, arts, religion and everything else you've come across so far. Not a single commonality to be found.

“How has…? But wouldn’t the roots originate from the dark ages? Let’s see…” you mumble, talking to no one in particular. 

“Have you found a specially interesting read?” A particular person asks. 

You fall out of your seat in surprise. 

“General!” You squeak, reeling from his sudden appearance. 

The mild-mannered Fukuzawa gives you a gentle smile and moves to help you up. He hooks two large arms under your own and lifts you back onto your chair. The scene reminds you of a mother cat picking its kitten up by the scruff of its neck.

You drop your head onto the table in embarrassment, refusing to make eye contact until, hopefully, a meteor comes falling onto earth and crushes you to death. 

“Good morning, General,” you mutter. 

“Hmm.”

You peek up at him with one eye. “What?”

“It is five in the evening,” he replies, bemused. 

“What?!” You bolt up, shame long forgotten. 

It takes you a second to realize how orange the library is, cast in the hues from the setting sun. 

You drag a hand over your face, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes. “Shit, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Fukuzawa raises a brow. 

“What? You’ve never heard a noble cuss before?” 

He taps his chin. “I can’t say I have. You truly are a breath of fresh air, Your Highness.”

You grin. “As are you, General. And please…”

He listens, head tilting in curiosity. 

“It is [name]. We are friends, are we not?” Your false sincerity coats your words like a second skin.  

The sun dips far below the horizon, robbing the world of its light. You take in the storm clouds in the distance, absentmindedly wondering if the Empire would experience the same downpour later in the night. 

Fukuzawa ponders your question for a moment longer before answering. “We are, but I am also your subordinate, so I am afraid I must decline.”

“And if it is an order?”

Fukuzawa’s eyes sparkle. “Then I am under aristocratic obligation to comply.”

In a tone laced with authority and bemusement, you proclaim: “I, acting Monarch of Yokohama, hereby order General Yukichi Fukuzawa to act beyond propriety and address me by given name only. No titles, no fancy designations. Just [name].” 

“As long as you are willing to grant me that same honor, [name].”

You grin. “See? Isn’t that so much better, Yukichi?”

The General only laughs and turns to take a seat across from you. The armour he dons makes a clanging noise as he settles himself. Patches of dirt litter the surface of the metal while other areas sport minor indents—likely from the force of a blade's flat or hilt. 

“Did that hurt?” You nod towards the largest dip in the steel. 

He looks down at his left side, around the area between his upper ribs. “Couldn’t even feel it.”

“Of course not,” you wave, returning your attention back to the pages. 

“I see you are interested in…” Fukuzawa leans over the table, peering at the emboldened titles of each tome. “Yokohama politics, history, and culture?”

“The pen is mightier than the sword, as they say,” you muse. “And a bright mind is far mightier than those stumbling blind in the darkness of their own ignorance.”

“I do wish more members of the court shared that sentiment. It would certainly make my migraines less frequent.” 

You faintly recall the term from a book you finished earlier. “The… inner court?”

“The very same. A parliamentary round table of aristocrats and representatives, headed by the Four Noble Houses.”

“The Four Noble Houses? You mean…” You cringe, an unpleasant memory resurfacing. 

Fukuzawa’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Ah, yes. I recall a certain purple-faced duke drenched in the colours of His Majesty’s most favoured cabernet sauvignon.”

You smile sheepishly. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Formally? Yes.”

You groan and drop your head in your hands.

Fukuzawa lays a palm on your shoulder and gives you a gentle pat. 

“But reasonably? Absolutely not. He deserved ten times worse than what he got.”

“Someone needed to stand up to him,” you point out. 

“Sadly, there are not many people who can.”

You sigh at that and go back to your research. The moment you set your eyes back on the book, the pages in front of you begin to blur and mesh into a whirlpool of ink. 

“Maybe it is time for a break…” you murmur. 

Fukuzawa leans forward and studies your fatigued expression. 

“What have you learned so far?”

You snort. “You mean other than our sordid history? The decades of hatred and conflict brewing between our countries?”

“Ah, yes. Besides that fun little facet of our politics.”

You run through the miles of information you had just absorbed, each little bit coming together piece by piece to paint a very clear picture of the modern world—one where mystic abilities, gods of old, and monsters coexist in disharmony. 

‘Abilities’ as you have come to know them, are practically non-existent among the lower caste in the Northern Empire. The only ones who wield them are of noble blood, aside from the rare few commoners—unfortunate individuals who would be executed for merely holding power outside of their status. Even then, barely anyone manifests one. In recent years, the only ability-user you know of is Chuuya.  

In Yokohama, these powers are respected, admired, and much more plentiful. In your textual observations, it is noted that the military and governing leaders are chosen for their abilities. 

“Hm… what is yours?”

 You are curious. What sort of fate-bending, death-defying power could this seasoned warrior have?

“Mine?”

“Your ability. You must have one, being the head of such an elite corps.”

“My ability…” he pauses. 

You raised a teasing brow. “What? You’re not going to tell me?”

“Just considering the risks of doing so. You have proven yourself to be both smart and deceitful. A deadly combination.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” You place a hand on your chest in mock offence, scoffing in indignation. 

Fukuzawa laughs—that familiar smooth rumble that you have come to find placating. “Would I be wise to?”

“Of course not.” You wave a dismissive hand. “But you should tell me anyway because I am curious and stubborn and will likely find out on my own regardless.”

The general’s gaze is filled with a kind of warmth that is unknown to you, only interrupted by a flicker of a melancholy that twists his expression momentarily." It happens so fast you almost mistake it for a trick of the light.

“You remind me so much of her…” He mumbles under his breath so softly you pass it off as a whisper of the wind. “Very well. I will tell you.”

The sun has all but disappeared from the horizon, the shimmering moon slipping in its place. The dark, glittering night falls onto Fukuzawa’s features beautifully, making  him seem a little more weathered and a little less mundane as he explains his decidedly non-mundane powers. 

“It allows me to control my soldiers’ own abilities. I am able to manipulate their capabilities, help navigate their potential, and expand the boundaries of what they can do. That is my ability,” he explains. 

You mull over Fukuzawa’s words, a bit surprised at the nature of it all. The powerfully built military veteran looks at you like he knows what you are thinking—knows that you are confused on why someone with his battle prowess has such a passive skill. 

“You forget, Your Highness, that before I am a warrior, I am first and foremost a leader. Without my men, I am nothing, and without me, many of those men would not have survived until now,” he states. He says it like a fact, and perhaps in some ways, it is. It makes more sense the longer you think on it, his ability is almost perfectly suited to his position. You wonder what yours would be if you manifested one. What about Dazai? Would his ability reflect bloodthirst and coldness? Or would it be the opposite of what you know him as?

You make a mental note to come back to that question later, and direct your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“[Name],” you correct.

Fukuzawa blinks. “Sorry?”

“You called me ‘Your Highness’ just now.”

“I apologize. Force of habit,” he drops his head in a slight bow and the moonlight streaming through the open windows reflects off his gray hair, transforming it into a silver mane. 

Fukuzawa apologizes to you a lot, like a father fumbling for words in front of his newborn, careful not to be anything but kind. If anything, you find it endearing. As well as a little… disappointing. 

“General.”

Fukuzawa’s smile drops at your change in tone. The worry in his eyes is clear. “Is something wrong?”

You give him a small smile, a tad tense. “No. Not really. Though, I would like to ask you something. Would you humour me?”

“Of course. I will answer anything within reason,” he reassures. 

You rest your cheek against your palm, curiosity and wariness burning bright. 

“Why are you so kind to me? I know how this country views the Empire—views me. I am not blind to the scornful glances nor hidden insults thrown around. I am numb to them. But you… Kunikida… that peculiar doctor as well, you are all much too cordial with a sworn enemy. Is it pity? Some misplaced sense of duty? Or perhaps it is all fake and you are all laughing behind my back as we speak.”

Silence spreads through the empty library, the only noises are the crackling of the fireplace and the gentle swishes of the willow branch behind you. The only thing you hear is your pulse thrumming against your skull.

If Fukuzawa is taken aback by your bluntness, he does not show it. Despite only knowing you for this short period of time, he is probably already used to your brusque manner of speech. He folds his hands in front of him and leans backward, taking some time to come up with a suitable answer. You can practically see the gears turning in that head of his. 

A few moments pass before he finally speaks in a serious, yet gentle, voice.

“Do you think yourself undeserving of our respect?”

You shake your head and answer: “Not at all. I am only surprised you would willingly impart it to me.”

“I cannot speak on Sir Kunikida or Dr. Yosano’s behalf—although, I imagine they share the same thoughts—but I am kind to you because it is common sense. I am kind to you because I am honoured to serve under your reign,” Fukuzawa assures. His expression softens. “I am truly sorry about the harassment you have had to endure. I will do my best to keep them in check, but if it happens again, do not be afraid to use your status. You are their ruler. Do not let them forget it.”

A lump forms in your throat and you force yourself to swallow it down. The support eases your heart, but the anxiety does not fully disappear, nor does the cold tingle of resentment in your chest. They probably never will. For now, you will accept his words, but with caution, as you are still very much in enemy territory. You will need to lead with your mind to survive, not your heart.  

And Fukuzawa? The gentle general is merely a stepping stone, not a friend. 

“I… am grateful. Tha—”

“General Fukuzawa!” In a very familiar fashion, the doors to the library burst open to reveal a man, effectively cutting you off. 

Kunikida stands beneath the frame, face alarmingly red and breaths coming out in short, laboured puffs. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Fukuzawa grimacing. 

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?.” The minister spits out each word with barely contained anger—more accusation than actual question. 

“Chief Minister.” Fukuzawa bows and slowly inches himself towards the door, closer and closer to the fuming blonde. “I see you are… upset.”

Kunikida’s eye twitches. “Upset? Upset?!” His voice hits an impressive octave and you briefly wonder if he’s ever considered a career in opera. He certainly has the knack for it. 

“I—” 

“The outdoor arena is on fire.”

The general clears his throat. 

“Right. I did tell them not to try out those new techniques without me around, though His Majesty’s soldiers were never ones to adhere to the rules.”

“A black hole opened up in the ceiling and swallowed three stable boys. They were… fully nude when they fell out an hour later.”

Fukuzawa blinks. 

“That’s… new.”

“You have five seconds,” Kunikida says flatly. 

“Well. Duty calls. I shall have to put out some fires… er… literally.” Fukuzawa makes his way to the open doors and is about to leave when he adds: “Have a wonderful  night, [name].”

“Good luck,” you laugh. 

He gives you a small wave before disappearing down the hall. 

You turn your attention to Kunikida who is now slightly less red, though still glowing a nice shade of pink. 

“Good evening, Chief Minister. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask. 

“I am here to bring you to dinner service. Perhaps you have forgotten? You seem to be engrossed in our literary offerings,” he answers plainly. 

Kunikida stays standing, but has walked further into the room, hands clasped behind him as he studies the books you chose with furrowed eyebrows. 

“I enjoy reading. Is that such a crime?”

“I am only surprised you were able to find this place. After His Majesty banned entry, most just ignore it as they pass by.”

You cock your head to the right. “I was curious about that. Why? It is a beautiful library—a sunlit treasure trove of knowledge. I would imagine most people would be clawing at the doors for just a glance, yet it is as barren and untravelled as the deserts in the West,” you muse.

 Your curiosity is only a mild interest until Kunikida’s gaze sharply turns away from yours, blatantly avoiding your poking and prodding. His averted eyes cause what little inquisitiveness you had just felt to balloon into a wave of eager investigation. 

“Kunikida.”

He adjusts his glasses and nervously glances at his timepiece. “We are going to be late if—”

“Kunikida.”

He sighs, relenting. 

“If nobody uses this place, why is it so well kept? There are no dirt patches or cobwebs, but the dust between pages suggests that no one has opened them for many years. ”

“If I were to make an educated guess…” Kunikida stops for a moment to think. “I would wager that His Majesty misses what it used to be, and is only trying to preserve the last of that magic. Though the memories here are much too vivid and much too painful for him to come back to.”

What it used to be… 

A flicker of something… a fleeting feeling… No. A memory. At the very back of your mind—

“But I do not think he will continue to do so.”

It vanishes, and you fall back to reality, grasping at nothing and nowhere. 

You shake yourself out of your daze, a bit peeved at the interruption, but curious all the same. 

“Do what? Preserve this place? You believe he will let it just… crumble to ruins?”

Kunikida takes a seat and folds his gloved hands together. The lines on his forehead appear as he tenses, preparing his next words with careful precision. He works his jaw, tension releasing and forming with each movement, as if he is warring internally, fighting to either let the words out or keep it in. 

You hope he chooses the former. The more information, the better. 

His expression settles and a stern look replaces his calm visage. Whatever he has to say must be serious.

You catch yourself tapping the side of your thigh anxiously under the table and clamp your fingers down on your leg… hard. Your father did always say that a royal must be poised and perfect, and he made it extremely clear that such emotions were to be erased and forgotten. 

And if they weren’t… 

A chill runs down your spine at the memories.

“I am well aware that you are, and pardon my candor, untrustworthy.”

You almost snort. Not the first time you’ve heard that and it certainly won’t be the last.

Kunikida continues. “But I believe it is only right to tell you as His Majesty’s spouse. King Dazai is… he is…” Kunikida pauses as he fumbles for the right word. 

A clock ticks. Kunikida settles on a phrase. 

“Unwell. A disease of the mind and heart that has stolen his will. He is here only to serve a purpose and that purpose is not to live out the rest of his life. He exists, but for years now he has not been… here. Almost as if one wrong move and the line His Majesty balances upon disappears and takes him with it.”

Time slows. The air thickens. Are you breathing?

“Slowly but surely, he is fading away,” Kunikida pauses and swallows as he tries to work out his next words. 

“Some days I believe he is better. Most days I do not allow myself to indulge in such a lie.”

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007 @letsliveagaintoday @bejeweledgirl @nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf

#x reader #bsd #dazai osamu #angst #bungou stray dogs #dazai fic #dazai angst #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd fanfic #bsd x reader #fantasy au #bungou stray dogs kunikida #kunikida #bsd fukuzawa #dad fukuzawa #enemies to lovers #lovers to enemies #bungou stray dogs fic #dazai au #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai osamu x reader

[dont-f-with-moogles]

The Envelope

Characters: Dazai x Reader Word count: 937 words Osamu Dazai is one of the regulars at the café where you work. Whilst conversations with him are never dull, your tireless to-and-fro often takes you away from the subject of his ever-growing tab. Instead, you are forced to sidestep his constant invitations into a ‘lover’s suicide’ and remind him that such a pursuit can be accomplished alone by any individual in possession of a good life insurance policy. If anything, the living spouse would then at least profit financially. And yet, Dazai neither seems satisfied with your responses nor deterred in his efforts to change your mind.

One day, at the end of a long shift, you were approaching the double doors, keys in hand, when Dazai slouched past the glass. Startled, you opened one door to admit him. It had been some time since he had visited the café and the lateness of the hour only added to your sense of trepidation.

“Just thought I’d stop by… I’m sure you missed me!” he called out jovially. As he perched upon one of stools which lined the counter, you set your ring of keys down noisily.

“Oh, I made do with the customers who actually pay their bills,” you snapped back at him. Your hands flexed at your sides; suddenly you wished you still had something to occupy them with. “Still, it has been a while. I saw on the news that there were arrest warrants out for the ADA…”

“It was horrible,” Dazai agreed mournfully. “Prison was the worst! My cell was tiny, the company was just dreadful and don’t even get me started on the food!”

There was always something so captivating about his performance, even if that’s all it ever was; an act. And yet, the dull, monochrome day-to-day was flooded with colour in his presence. For one so preoccupied with death, he possessed the singular ability to rouse the world around him into life. Hearing his voice after all those weeks was enough to lift your lips into a shy smile. Despite yourself, your earlier resolve was already crumbling. With an effort, you tore your eyes away from his own.

“Look Dazai, it’s closing time and I need to get home. How about I make you a coffee to go? Consider this one - and only this one - on the house. I guess it's the least I can do after everything you’ve been through.” Fumbling, you laid down a fresh filter and sprinkled in several, hasty spoonfuls of ground coffee.

“Actually…” Dazai drummed his fingertips upon the counter. “…I’m here to ask you out.”

The handle of the kettle almost slipped from your grasp.

“I know, I know!” he waved away your protests before you had even uttered them, “…but hear me out, just once more will you? I’ve been preparing for this moment you know!” To add further mystery to his words, he slid an unmarked envelope across the bar. “I even asked around for advice on what to say to you!” Dazai leaned back so luxuriously on his stool that you were certain he would fall. Quickly, he righted himself. “That being said, my cell mate was nothing short of psychotic. He insisted that I get you fired from your job and isolate you from your loved ones so then you’d have no choice but to crawl to me!”

“Wow. What a romantic.” Somehow, you managed to flatten the tremor in your voice. It was fortunate that, by now, the rich coffee decoction had dripped down into the lower basin, for you were able to occupy yourself with an open cupboard. You made a performance of retrieving a fresh takeaway cup before he could notice the warmth in your cheeks.

"So…” Turned away from him, you smiled down into the empty cup. “...you were thinking about me whilst you were in there…?”

”…of course. And, whilst I didn’t take that man’s advice… I did come prepared.“

Finally connecting his statement to the white envelope, you placed the items down and returned his attention.

"Six months’ tab paid up.” Dazai winked roguishly. “Plus tips.”

“Who did you rob?” You turned the paper over in your hands, conscious of the deepening flush upon your face.

He laughed. “Would that matter to you?”

In answer, you placed the envelope over on the other side of the counter.

“I guess in the end, it wasn’t so hard to figure out what to say.” Dazai rose, hands stowed in the pockets of his trench coat. “I just had to prove to you that I’m a man of my word…” He nodded and, taking up the coffee you had made for him, turned to leave.

As Dazai approached the doors, he spoke again. His voice was losing its theatrical quality with every word. It was as though he was breaking character; opening up to reveal some hidden quality. There was something new there; something nervous, tentative, sincere. “…I’m also doing a little better now, I think. Maybe, someday, I’ll die with a beautiful woman… but first, first we’ll live.” He gave a small sigh. And, with that, he raised the cup in a brief gesture of farewell.

“Wait-”

Dazai glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted in interest.

“Maybe… this time, I’ll let you take me somewhere…” You were untying the white bow of your apron with clumsy fingers. “There’s just one condition…”

He opened his mouth to reply but you interrupted with a raised hand.

”…I’m not heading anywhere near the riverside with you, got it?”

He laughed. Then, pushing his palm against the glass, he held the door open to the fading evening light.

Part 2 (NSFW)

#needed some Dazai fluff #now we're all the waitress #shall I write the nurse next? lmao #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x fem reader #dazai x you #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs fic #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #dazai-typical suicide references #tw: sui mention

[ranpd]

hiiiii another skk fic; mind the tags on this one

#ghostwriting #skk #soukoku #soukouku #dazai x chuuya #chuuya x dazai #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #bungou sd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fic #bungou stray dogs fic

[iamthemess]

Is self-deprecation the only thing people will interact with on posts now days? Oh, oh no, I dropped my terrible 25k SSKK fic. It's okay, no one will see it anyway:(

There’s room in my cup for more sugar - IamTheMess - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]

Does this work? Is this how I'm supposed to interact with people here?

#ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfiction #bungou stray dogs #fanfiction writer #writer #bsd #bsd atsushi #bungou gay dogs #bsd akutagawa #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bungou stray dogs atsushi #shinsoukoku #shin soukoku #shin soukoku fanfic #shinsoukoku fanfic #bungoustraydogs #bungou stray dogs fic #bungou stray dogs fandom #bsd fandom #bsd fanfic #bsd fic #bsd karl #yes the racoon

[oh-ranpo]

heart on your sleeve

☾ - pairing: ranpo edogawa x fem!reader ☾ - word count: 5.2k+ ☾ - warning: alcohol consumption, some cursing, nothing too crazy. ☾ - summary: it was supposed to be a girl’s night out where you were safe to bare your heart’s desires without repercussions. but after three drinks too many, maybe holding in those feelings becomes a little bit harder. 

One shot and two mixed drinks should have been your limit. You knew yourself and your tolerance enough to know that venturing too far outside of those parameters would only end in disaster. Too bad your friends were a bunch of enablers who wanted to see you suffer. 

After three shots, you felt your inhibitions fall away, and when they were partnered with the same number of mixed drinks in a very limited amount of time, your night was sure to be headed for a swift derailment. Only, by the time the third rum and coke had been drained from your glass, your ability to care about what came next had disappeared completely. 

It was supposed to be a girls night out - a reward for all the hard work you had put in at the Armed Detective Agency lately. You, Yosano, Naomi and Kirako had been planning this outing for a while as a way to let loose. Your lives were constantly dictated by the moods and whims of others, and while you knew you were appreciated, it was hard to get as much recognition when you were working in the shadows of those like Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo and Ranpo Edogawa.

Ranpo Edogawa.

Just the mere thought of his name had your head spinning in ways that would make the alcohol in your system jealous. While you found yourself having to work twice as hard to manage to even come close to his level, when it came to the young detective, you found you didn’t mind quite as much. Even in his arrogance, you found him endearing. Not that you would have ever admitted that to him out loud. It would only serve to inflate his ego more, and while you were infatuated with him, the thought of that was almost too much to bear. 

With your fourth drink in hand, you stumbled your way back to the table where the other three girls were waiting for you. The floor felt like it tilted in a gradual slant as you walked, and your brow furrowed as you concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. I can’t be that drunk, you thought to yourself. Though, in all reality, there was no denying that you were.

It had been a rough week. A rough month, actually. The caseload that you had taken on was bigger than ever, and while you had plenty of assistance, it felt like the pile of paperwork on your desk was never-ending. Even Dazai wasn’t able to shirk his duties off onto Atsushi as there had been so much to get through. It was all hands on deck, all the time. It was exhausting.

That didn’t mean that you were unhappy, though. You loved the people you worked with, and you were happy to use your abilities to help better the city that you lived in. It was just nice to have a break here and there, and those breaks had started to come fewer and farther apart. So, who cares if you were a little past drunk and your mind was turning into inebriated mush? Surely that would just have to be a problem to be solved tomorrow.

“That was fast,” Yosano smirked as her gaze flitted to your newest drink as you set it down on the table in front of you. It had only been mere minutes since you had downed your third one, and you hadn’t hesitated to rush to the bar for round four. It helped that the bartender had been eyeing you up all night, and so you were able to jump to the front of the line as well as earn a slightly heavier pour than might have been the norm.

“So? I thought we were here to have fun?” You shot back, smiling around the rim of your glass as you lifted it to your lips. You knew that Yosano was just giving you a hard time as she was already on her fourth drink as well. She had been the prime enabler for this evening’s festivities, and while you had assumed that it was because she, like you, wanted to let loose after a busy few weeks, there was no way you could have foreseen her ulterior motives.

“The bartender was awfully flirty,” Naomi commented this time, your gaze turning towards the dark-haired girl sitting next to you. She gave you a playful wink and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even in your drunken state, you were still far from interested in some random stranger at the bar. 

“He’s not exactly my type,” you huffed as you set your glass back down, almost accidentally knocking it over as your other hand clumsily bumped against it.

“Oh yeah?” Kirako hummed from across the table. “And just what is your type, exactly?”

This topic of conversation was to be expected. It wouldn’t have been a girl’s night out without bringing up some personal gossip, would it? You had just hoped that you wouldn’t have been the first one to be grilled about your love life - or lack thereof. 

Normally, you would have pretended to ponder this question and come up with some vague response, but your filter had disappeared as soon as your third shot glass hit the table, and instead, a sly, crooked smile spread across your lips.

“Ranpo, of course.”

Yosano’s eyebrows shot up in amusement as she pretended to be surprised by this bit of information, and Naomi and Kirako smirked at each other from across the table. If you were sober, you might have asked them how in the world they had already figured it out, but now your mind was preoccupied with other things. 

Like the emerald green of a certain someone’s irises and brown capes and pageboy hats. 

“Does he know?” Naomi asked, pulling your thoughts back to the girl’s at the table around you. You shrugged in response. 

“For the world’s greatest detective, he doesn’t even seem to notice me.”

Yosano had gone quiet as she was now typing something out on her phone. You noticed her distraction immediately and frowned. 

“Akiko, are you even listening to me? I’m spilling my deepest secrets over here,” you pouted, and Yosano laughed before flipping her phone closed and sliding it back into her pocket.

“I know you are, but I believe that you’ve got it all wrong. To think that Ranpo doesn’t notice you is to say that you’re the most oblivious person that I’ve ever met.”

Your forehead scrunched in confusion, but you didn’t respond to her insult right away. 

How would she know if he had noticed me? It’s not like the three of us hang out that much. Sure, her and Ranpo are close, but I’m always going off on missions with Atsushi and Kyouka, never Ranpo. Why would he have noticed me?

You downed your fourth drink in record time, opting to busy yourself with the alcohol as opposed to finishing your current conversation. Sensing your disinterest in sharing more matters of your heart with them, Naomi had started rambling about her brother, and Kirako admitted that she didn’t have much time for romance considering how busy the president kept her. It was all stuff you had heard before, and while your mind was spinning with Yosano’s comments and the residual thoughts of your handsome co-worker, it was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate as the alcohol seeped into your bloodstream.

You had no idea how much longer you sat at that table while your friends chatted idly with one another but after a while, your head started to slump towards the table, and you were sure that your eyes had even slipped shut at one point. It wasn’t until someone was gently nudging your arm that you realized you had drifted off, and when your eyes slowly fluttered back open, you were sure that you still had to be locked inside a dream.

For there, standing right next to you, was Ranpo Edogawa.

“Wow, you look just like someone I know,” you murmured, your hands rubbing at your eyes as you tried to push away the dream. There was no way that it was the actual Ranpo, because he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. He wasn’t a partier and he certainly didn’t feel the need to partake in vast alcohol consumption, even when he needed to unwind. You had also never seen him in anything other than his work attire and a suit and this Ranpo was wearing sweats and a sweatshirt that didn’t feel like it fit his style at all.

“Do I? Of course, I do. It’s-“ Before the man could finish, your hand had reached out to wrap around his wrist and you smiled softly up at him. 

“You both are so handsome, you know? Like, it’s unfair. Really and truly unfair.”

Ranpo - or, to you, imposter Ranpo - stared back at you quizzically for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts to formulate a response. The other three girls were watching this interaction with unabashed amusement, with Yosano being the most delighted of them all.

“What are you talking about?” The man asked, and you pushed yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly as your arm gripped his shoulder in an attempt to steady yourself. The man’s eyes widened, and a sound slipped past your lips - one that was something embarrassingly similar to a mix between a moan and a whimper - as your other hand moved to gently rest against his cheek. 

“You even have the same eyes. Those green fuckin’ eyes that I could just die for.”

Whether this was a dream or this man was a stranger, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop now that you had gotten started. Every feeling that you had kept repressed seemed to tumble off your tongue and your concept of personal space was completely abandoned as you leaned into him, desperate for even a sliver of something akin to intimacy with a man you knew you could never have.

“He’s smart too, you know? The guy that you look like. Possibly the smartest guy I know, or really, the smartest anyone could know. He’s got this… he’s got this brain that just… it…” Your words trailed off as you thought about the way that Ranpo handled cases and how easy he made it all look. His mind was just wired in a way that let him see everything, and it was a skill that you were often envious of, and it wasn’t even supernatural. That’s just who he was. He just knew it all.

Well, except for the hopeless crush that you seemed to have on him.

The man was silent again, and when you lifted your head to look at him, your heart dropped to see that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. His eyes were fixed on someone behind you, and you knew that it had to be one of your friends. You sighed, drawing his attention briefly, before standing up to your full height, your hand dropping from his shoulder again as you were now able to support your own weight.

“And just like him, you don’t want to give me the time of day. Go figure.”

You flopped back down onto the bench where you had previously been seated and let out another heavy sigh. Thank God this isn’t the real Ranpo, you thought to yourself sadly. How embarrassing to be rejected in such a public setting.

You lost yourself in your head again, your thoughts still fuzzy around the edges from the alcohol. The conversation continued around you, but you were still stuck in the moment before. Seeing that shock on Ranpo’s face was something you wanted to forget. Even if it wasn’t really him, it looked enough like him for you to get the idea. Your heart ached and thundered in your chest as you thought about just how much you wished things were different. Whether it be your feelings or Ranpo’s, you couldn’t decide which would be easier.

It took a minute for you to notice that the man you had just bared your heart to was kneeling down in front of you, and it wasn’t until he waved a hand under your nose that you finally looked back up. Your breath caught as you took in his soft smile, and his cheeks had turned a dusty pink when your eyes finally met.

“Are you ready to go home?” 

The question caught you off guard, and you quickly turned your head to see if your friends had noticed this stranger offering to take you home, but your stomach dropped when you saw that you were the only one still sitting at the table. Even though you were intoxicated, you were still apprehensive about being left alone.

“Yosano called us a cab. It should be out front any minute now.”

So, he knew Yosano. You were going to have to have a talk with her when you got to work tomorrow.

Slowly, and hesitantly, you nodded as imposter Ranpo helped you back to your feet. He didn’t say anything about your earlier confessions, and you tried to quell the racing of your heart as one of his arms slipped around your waist while he lifted one of your arms to drape across his shoulders. You might have been a little nervous, but you could still let this game of pretend last a little bit longer. Real Ranpo or not, having him close was both comforting and exhilarating even with rejection still fresh in your heart.

“Tell me more about this guy I look like.”

The sound of the man’s voice sent a shiver down your spine at how the tone carried a similar weight to the man in question. Same inflections, same pace, it was almost as if he had found a way to perfectly imitate him. It was almost cruel teasing your heart like this.

“Ranpo, he’s…” you started, your voice much quieter now as you stepped out into the cool, night air. There was a cab waiting at the curb, just as he said there would be, and as he led you over to pull open the door, you thought about the best way to describe the man he was asking about.

“Ranpo is one of a kind. In more ways than one.”

The man didn’t say anything as he held the door open for you and gently helped you into the backseat. It wasn’t until he was seated next to you, both of your seatbelts fastened and your address given to the cab driver that he spoke again. 

“What does that mean exactly?” 

You sighed, but a smile spread across your lips as you envisioned Ranpo sitting at his desk with sweets wrappers surrounding him and his handheld game resting precariously in his lap. He could be so childlike sometimes, but not really in a negative way. He was carefree and easy going. He didn’t sweat the small stuff because he could always see the bigger picture. He was blunt, yet kind in his own way. He had an air about him that brought about undeniable trust and belief in his abilities because he had never given anyone a reason to doubt him.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

Leaning your head against the man’s shoulder you got the first whiff of his scent, causing your heart to palpitate in your chest once more. It was easy to mask in a room filled with sweaty bodies and the potent smell of alcohol, but being alone in the backseat of the car with him, it was undeniable. He smelled sugary sweet with an underlying floral tone that had to have come from the shampoo that the had inevitably used earlier that night. It was the same smell you would find yourself walking through when you passed Ranpo’s desk or when you walked behind him into a meeting. 

Nuzzling your face further into his sweatshirt, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly as you tried to imagine what it might be like to have this smell surrounding you all the time. His warmth was intoxicating all on its own, and you wanted to live inside this moment of pretend forever. Your heart throbbed as you thought about how it would be gone as soon as you were dropped off in front of your apartment building, and you had to hold your breath to keep the frustrated groan from slipping past your lips.

“I swear this is one of the best dreams I’ve ever had,” you finally managed to say after a few minutes of silence spent pulling yourself together. This still had to be a dream. Everything was coming together too perfectly for it not to be. You were probably still passed out on the table back at the bar, and any minute now, a bouncer would be shaking you awake and telling you that it was time for you to head home.

The ghost of fingertips brushed across your hand that was resting in your lap, and when you slowly opened your eyes, you were surprised to see the man’s hand hovering over yours. His eyes were fixed on the space between them, as if contemplating what move he actually wanted to make. Smiling to yourself, your cheek still pressed against his collarbone, you flipped your hand over and allowed his fingers to slip between his own. If you were going to lean into this fantasy, you were going to go all the way.

Clammy palms pressed against yours, and you were taken aback at how nervous the man seemed to be. You had practically thrown yourself at him, telling him all the ways he reminded you of someone else, and he was the one that was nervous? Maybe he had diabolical intentions and now, seeing how pathetic you really were, he was starting to feel bad instead. Either way, you were too distracted by your own feelings to allow any sober part of your brain to think rationally.

When the cab pulled up to your apartment building a few minutes later, you started to feel nauseous. The night had officially come to an end, and now you were destined to head up to your apartment where you would get ready for bed alone, and the crawl under the blankets with no one else’s body heat to help keep you warm. The worst part being that your mind would be filled with emerald pools and soft, lingering touches that would never come. Thus was the downside to getting wasted and letting your fantasies run away with you.

“Guess this is me,” you muttered pathetically as you hesitated to open the door and drop the hand of the man sitting next to you. It didn’t even cross your mind that you hadn’t been the one to give the cab driver your address. Instead, you had just accepted the journey and now you wished that you could go anywhere but to your cold, dark bedroom.

“I’ll walk you up,” the man offered before pushing open his door and using his hold on you to pull you out behind him. You were still unsteady on your feet, but when you grasped his hand tighter, he maneuvered you back to his side so that you could lean on him if you needed.

“You don’t want the cab to leave without you, I can make it the rest of the way,” you offered, but the determined look imposter Ranpo gave you almost made you weak in the knees.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He accentuated his statement with another soft smile and you found it outside of your abilities to say no. 

You barely comprehended the fact that, once inside the elevator in the lobby, he hit the exact right floor number without you even having to ask, and when you reached your door, he somehow already had a key ready to unlock it. 

“Yosano gave it to me when she realized you were going to need help home,” he offered in way of explanation as he slowly turned the handle, giving you a quick glance as a blush spread across his cheeks. You nodded in understanding, accepting his reasoning without even delving too much into it. It sounded like something Yosano would do. She was sneaky like that.

Though, you were going to have to confront her about giving strange men your house key. Add it to the growing list of topics you were going to have to discuss with her the next time you saw her.

You flipped on the lights to the entryway, and only when you went to step out of your shoes did you finally drop the man’s hand. Disappointment filled your chest at the loss of his warmth, but now that you were safely inside your apartment, you figured that he would be on his way.

“You know,” imposter Ranpo said as he stood awkwardly in your foyer. When you looked up at him, you were struck, once again, with just how much he looked like your Ranpo. They were eerily identical. “When Yosano told me to come to the bar tonight, I honestly didn’t expect all of this.”

Yosano… invited… what?

Your mind was spinning as you stared up at him quizzically, trying to put the pieces of the night together so that they would make sense. 

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you mumbled, your hand moving to rest against your forehead in frustrated contemplation. The man’s eyes remained locked on you, and even though there was still a hint of anxiousness surrounding him, he still seemed more sure and confident than you.

“You keep talking about Ranpo like… as if I’m not Ranpo. I guess I just don’t understand how you haven’t realized it yet.”

Your head snapped back up, and the smirk that now resided on his lips boasted the same confidence that you saw every day in the office. Whether his lips were wrapped around a lollipop, or he had just solved a major case without so much as lifting a finger, that look was one that had been permanently engrained in your mind. And now… now it was directed at you.

“I-“ Your voice cut off when you realized you didn’t know what to say. You were still drunk and a part of you still thought that this was a dream. It was too sweet to wake up from, but your skin flushed at all of the instances of the evening that led to the conclusion that he was telling the truth.

“For someone who works for the ADA, you are awfully dense sometimes.”

A momentary flare of rage rumbled in your chest at the insult and you glared at the man standing in front of you. 

“Well, if you really are the real Ranpo, I could say the same thing about you.” This seemed to take him by surprise as the brunette’s mouth snapped shut and his wide eyes regarded you quietly. It wasn’t often that anyone dared insult him, but your filter was gone and you were beyond frustrated. “I’ve been enamored with you for months and it took until you saw me intoxicated, spilling my heart for all of Yokohama to hear, for you to finally notice. The world’s greatest detective, my ass.”

Stunning the great Ranpo Edogawa into silence was a feat, and you had now done so at least twice in one evening. Dazai would have been thrilled to hear of your accomplishments if you weren’t so utterly embarrassed to the point that you would never want to speak of this evening again if things continued going south. 

“You never said anything,” he mumbled under his breath, and you laughed bitterly. 

“Of course, I didn’t. How does one tell a coworker that barely pays her any attention that she’s head-over-heels for him without looking like an idiot? The entire office would eat that shit up, and don’t even get me started on the merciless teasing that asshole Dazai would inflict upon me. You’re the one that can see everything, Ranpo, I thought that if you cared, you might have figured it out.”

Your anger had turned to despair, and what little bit of happiness you had experienced on the car ride over was now long gone. Faced with the reality of your situation, you wished that you could simply disappear into the floor, never to be seen or heard from again. Working alongside Ranpo was going to be difficult now that your true feelings had been exposed and your heart was aching from just how terribly everything had gone.

“When it comes to human emotion and matters of the heart, it’s not… it’s not that easy.” You barely heard his soft musings, even over the short distance between you, and you instinctively took a step closer so that you could hear what he was trying to say. “Or, maybe it’s not and I did see it but I was just… maybe I was scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Of you.”

You blanched. Ranpo Edogawa scared of you? 

“Why?”

Ranpo was staring at his shoes now and it wasn’t like him to not meet your gaze. You hadn’t ever seen him act so reserved in front of anyone before, and it was almost like he was trying to hide away from you. He always portrayed himself as someone who couldn’t bothered; as someone who could always figure it out. It seemed, at least, until his own heart got involved.

“Forget it,” he huffed, his mood changing swiftly as he turned back towards the door. “Forget I said anything.”

Even in the state that you were in, you were still able to move fast enough to grab his wrist before he could wrap his hand completely around the door handle. He paused as his head slowly turned towards you, and you instantly became aware of how close you were to him now. His scent invaded your nose once more and the warmth of his arm pressed against your chest, sending your mind reeling.

“Be honest with me, Ranpo,” you pleaded, and his shoulders dropped as a defeated look crossed his face. “I just need to hear you say it.”

Feeling the most sober you had in hours, you willed yourself to hold onto him until he finally moved away from the door, eliminating the risk of his imminent departure. 

“I don’t know what to say other than… I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve never had to even try before. All I know is that when Yosano called and said that she needed my help and that you were involved I still… well, I came without a second thought. I don’t like going to bars. I don’t even know how to get to the bar using public transportation so I had to walk.” He paused, and you took a moment to mull over the distance between Ranpo’s residence and the bar that you had just left. It would have taken him at least thirty minutes to walk there, and in the middle of the night no less. “If it would have been Dazai or Kenji or anyone else, I would have told them to bother someone else, but it was you and I-“ 

Suddenly, realization washed over you like a tidal wave. He had come to your rescue because Yosano had said that you needed him. Even if it was just because you had too much to drink, he had still shown up - walked there, even - and you hadn’t even heard him complain once about it. It was so out of character that you could have convinced yourself once again that this had to be a dream or an imposter. But something flashed in those deep, green eyes of his and you knew that you were staring at the real deal now.

And he had come for you.

“Ranpo,” you whispered, his name carrying the weight of every emotion that was bubbling inside of you. You wanted to kiss him but you also knew that the moves you made now could be misinterpreted by your level of intoxication. So, instead, you lifted the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his arm to cup his cheek before sliding back into his soft, dark hair, memorizing the texture and feel of everything against your fingertips. His eyes fluttered briefly as he turned towards you completely.

“The taxi is gone,” he stated, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Good. I didn’t want you to leave.” And you weren’t even a little bit afraid now of being so honest.

A smile appeared on Ranpo’s lips soon after he digested your words and he stepped into your space, pushing your hand further back into his hair. 

“What will we tell Yosano?” He asked, and you giggled as you leaned against his chest.

“Nothing. Let’s make her suffer.”

The twinkle in Ranpo’s eyes caused a squeezing in your chest and you felt a fire build in your stomach at the realization that this particular soft look really was meant for you and you alone.

“Not a very nice way of rewarding her for bringing us here together,” he quipped and you shrugged. 

“That’s what she gets for going behind my back. Even if everything did work out for the best.”

Ranpo doesn’t disagree with you there, and soon kicks off his shoes before he’s guiding you down the hallway towards your bedroom. You giggle to yourself as he keeps you steady while you brush your teeth, and you blush when he lifts his sweatshirt over his head before lifting the edge of your comforter for you to slide under.

“I can make a bed for myself on the couch if you just-“

You hold up your hand to stop him, and then reach over to lift up the blanket beside you. 

“It’s far more comfortable here. Besides, see it as a thank you for getting me home safely.”

A deep blush painted Ranpo’s cheeks as he stuttered out a rebuttal that you pretended not to hear, and you waited until he had filled the space in the bed next to you before reaching over to turn off the lamp. Even with there being space between you, you could still feel his warmth seeping into your skin, a small smile settling on your face as you turned to face him. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Ranpo whispered, his voice shaking slightly at the sudden onslaught of nerves in this new environment. You nodded as a yawn escaped you and your eyes slowly started to slide shut.

“I wanna make sure this wasn’t a dream. To do that, you have to be here in the morning too.”

You didn’t see Ranpo nod as your eyes had already closed, but you did feel his hand slide across the mattress to find yours underneath the blanket before sleep fully took over. And when you woke up the next morning to dark, fluffy hair splayed across the pillowcase next to you, your heart raced realizing that for once, your reality had far surpassed the sweetness of your dreams.

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[ddostoyevskyy]

❝𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍❞

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕: The Hell of Mirrors, 𝐈!

Edogawa Ranpo

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒... officially f!reader for now on, fluffy with a pinch of angst chapter, heheheheheheheheheheheheheh

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄... haven’t updated for a while */cutely gives you this chapter.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒... 3.823k

SERIES MASTERLIST

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄, 𝐈, 𝐈𝐈, 𝐈𝐈𝐈, 𝐈𝐕, 𝐕

Why would a man become crazy if he entered a glass globe lined with a mirror? What in the name of the devil had he seen there?

“I have already processed your request of Gifted Business Permit from Gifted Special Operations Division, Mister Fukuzawa. We just have to wait for confirmation and other formal details and you can work as a public servant as an ability user, from then.” Chief Taneda exclaimed, his eyes averting meticulously from Fukuzawa and the two children seated besides him; both a young boy and girl whose had her head gently laying on his shoulder, her eyes blindfolded. He had recognized the silent girl eversince they’ve arrived. The young boy, however, has been staring at him with such emerald, determined eyes, wearing a piece of glasses and a familiar military corps cap.

“That’s good to hear, Chief. I hope, my request will be fulfilled because these children really has a potential. Although, this young lady here needs a little supervision, she’s a soft spoken child.” Fukuzawa replied, sipping on a warm tea as Ranpo reached for the cup of water in front of him as he nudged his shoulder where you have been resting on. You raise your head subsconsciously before you felt the cool touch of the mug on your lips which Ranpo had offered you. You were startled a bit before you took his offer to drink, the water had quenched your thirst as you finished drinking with a satisfied buds before muttering a small sound of gratitude.

“I see. But you know her full potential, right? I just hoped, you can bring out the best for this child, Mister Fukuzawa.” Chief Taneda watched the two children interact without words as Ranpo fed you as you eat what he feed you as you munched those unfamiliar flavours exploding in your taste buds. You feel these bursts of delightful and enjoyment as your stomach feel full too, although these emotions are usually something you feared to feel — it makes you feel warm and giddy.

“Of course. I know parenthood is not an easy task, but if they are really willing to help and save others, I am willing to be a guide and a witness of their success.” You felt a large hand on top of your head as Fukuzawa patted your head as he did to Ranpo which the young boy protested with an adorable pout as he continued to feed you while sulking.

“I’m glad to hear that, Mister Fukuzawa. But as an official too, I would like to take young (Name) to a gifted specialist to be checked further. She has been through a lot of psychological torture that her own ability did to herself. And, as far as I know, she was experimented.” Chief Taneda offered. Your trembling hand found the table as it caused the utensils on the table create a tingling sound on the ears. Your lips trembled as Fukuzawa and Ranpo stared at you in bewilderedment, waiting for your next move.

“I was not experimented. These bruises are the aftermath of overusing my ability. Since I were to use my mind for the Altered Reality, my whole body and nerve are affected. My Reflecting Emotions ability travels on my veins and controls the beat of my heart causing palpilations and an almost heart failure. I am not insane.” Your voice held such authority and with your eyes even covered, the man across you felt a sudden intimidation as he gulped. Well, maybe you are not insane, but your level and capacity of knowledge is not normal for a child without medications or experimentations. Ranpo’s case were different; he can see through truth and deduction, while you, have the power to roam in someone’s mind; to mess with their minds, to apply different memories that has never existed, to manipulate someone’s dreams, to appear in someone’s nightmares. The both of you combined is a dangerous combination to ever exist.

“My apologies if I ever offend you, but that’s not what I meant, Miss (Name). We just have to see what’s your full potential and the Gifted Division is willing to help you.”

“I have no power to refuse because the law won’t follow someone whose underage, but Mister Yukichi is now my guardian, and he’s responsible with the decision of my sake,” You answered as you heave a sigh. You felt a poke on your cheek as you tilted your head to Ranpo’s direction, pursing your lips before shaking your head to tell him you don’t want another bite anymore. You have lost your appetite and the food you ate felt like it was trashing on your stomach, swirling with emotions as you calm yourself for a moment. You place your lips on the mug in your hand again as you drink. “But even though I have my eyes covered, I can sense your heart beat. It sounds pleasing and sincere through the ears. I trust you because you are willing to help Mister Yukichi, but I don’t trust those people in that... Gifted Division.”

Fukuzawa stared at you, ash-grey eyes shining under the fancy lights of the restaurant. This... is such a huge responsibility, especially coming from the responsibility itself. But Fukuzawa is also determined to see your full potential, although you seems skeptical and Ranpo had been avoiding his gaze as he also felt silent at your trembling voice, he knew it was a bad idea to hand you over the Gifted Special Operations Division. If ever, Fukuzawa is willing to be an instrument to see your full potential instead of the officials. Ranpo is aware of what will happen too as he felt your small hand tightened on the hem of his cape as you unintentionally tug and grip. Ranpo can sense your agitation and a little bit of irritation as your thighs which is glued to his own started to bounce in action.

Fukuzawa can sense the distress to the two children besides him as he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I think, we are already finished here, Chief. Thank you for your help and I expect good news for the pending approval of my business permit. Please, contact me for that matters only. If you’ll excuse us, we have to go,” He stood up as he take his wallet from his pocket, rummaging a few cash before putting it under the utensils available on the table. “Ranpo, (Name), let’s go.”

You shakily sighed as you felt Ranpo’s arm on your shoulder and the back of your knees, hoisting you up on his arms as you leaned your head on his shoulder before you felt him strided, following Fukuzawa shortly after he bowed to the Chief whose left speechless because of you. He never really protested anymore, although he was just in an utter shock in disbelief after they left, maybe it was a good idea not to involve you to the officials anymore.

“I’m sorry about my behavior earlier, Mister Yukichi...” You muttered under your breath as Fukuzawa catches your voice. He shook his head as he sighed. “I just can’t... go back there anymore. I hate hospitals.”

“I understand, (Name). You don’t need to apologize for such small things, alright? What you did earlier is a sign of improvement. You can actually fight for yourself without using your ability, right? So, it’s fine, (Name).” You felt that large hand on your head again, patting and caressing your hair in such manner that made you melt as you shift on Ranpo’s arms.

“Hey, don’t get too comfortable. You’re heavy, you know?” Ranpo murmured with a slight pout.

“Are you tired, Ranpo? I can carry her.”

“No can do! But we can take taxi! Or you can carry me on your back and carry (Name) in your arms at the same time!” Fukuzawa sighed at his behavior, shaking his head before ignoring the child’s suggestions which made the younger’s lips puckered more in annoyance.

“So bored!”

“Where are we going, Mister?”

“Are we there yet?”

“I’m getting sleepy!”

“Hey, you! Are you asleep? Ah! How dare you sleep peacefully in my arms!”

Ranpo pondered more questions to the older man that is left unanswered. Fukuzawa really had no idea where to go tonight and his house which is still quite far away from here.

“Hey, Mister. I was just wondering,” Ranpo’s voice turned serious, a little bit lower from his high-pitched, playful voice earlier as he caught Fukuzawa’s attention. “(Name) seems to have a vocabulary I don’t understand sometimes.”

Fukuzawa stared at the boy whose looking directly on the streets as they both walked in sync. “Don’t worry about it. I, as an adult don’t understand what’s going on in her mind too. She’s a close book. But bringing her with us is not a wrong decision, Ranpo,” The boy fell in silence as he pondered in his mind. Fukuzawa saw a lot of confusion and hesitation in the younger boy’s emerald eyes when his gaze averted to the girl sleeping peacefully in his arms.

“And I don’t regret tagging you along too.”

“Are you making me cry again?” Ranpo retorted.

Fukuzawa’s eyebrow arched in confusion. “...No?”

The boy snorted, holding back laughter as he lift his arms and adjusted the girl’s position on his arms with a sigh.

“Where are we heading? I’m so tired!” Ranpo retorted again as Fukuzawa sighed, pulling the girl out of his grasp without waking her up. Before he could answer the younger one, his phone rings through his pocket. He carries the young girl on one arm as if it’s an infant. His muscles restraint under the sleeve of his yukata as he halted for a moment, making Ranpo leaned on the light post, impatiently with a pout.

“Is this Fukuzawa Yukichi?”

“Yes, speaking,” He answered. “Who is this?”

“I’m... (Name)’s father.”

A frown appeared in Fukuzawa’s expression, furrowed eyebrows and purse lips as every steps he took felt heavy and unrelenting. He breath in as he glance at the two children sitting a little away from the table, yet still visible on his supervision. (Name)’s head on Ranpo’s shoulder as the young boy’s also leaning on top of her head with his mouth slightly agape — tired from strolling too much in Yokohama city as he fiddled with his fingers.

(Name)’s father... what would this man who claimed to be her biological father need from him? Or from his daughter... will he take the young girl away from him? Fukuzawa shook his head — he’s not even her legal guardian, yet the thought of bringing her back to the reason why she became a child with no emotions doesn’t sit right with him.

Everything that happened today doesn’t feel right.

It was as if the Heaven were punishing him for all the mistakes he did — those bloodsheds he sheated, and those failed mission as a private bodyguard and assassination is weighing him down as he remembered that one employee whose as powerful — with a connection to the Port Mafia; where he learned and mastered the art of sword. He never failed, though, he realized he wasn’t really ready for such responsible like this; taking children with him despite his dangerous connections.

He ought to change, although his principles and morals opposed his actions — protecting a mere child is not a solution he thought of. He viewed children as fragile, naive, and carefree. But those two children leaning on each other in a deep slumber begs to differ — both intelligence and emotional capabilities that any normal teens at their age rarely has.

But, they’re still a child after all.

Both craved for a parental guidance and validation a parent should fully give them. Edogawa Ranpo were not deprived of that matter until both of his parents are quick to disappeared from this world before he could have explored the world better with them. (Name) (Last Name), however, were deprived to feel any emotions present in this world, not even a touch of a mother and a genuine love of a father that has been betraying her since birth. Those memories planted on his mind were harsh memories of chemicals and experiments that (Name) believed to be a product of her own ability; in which is arguable, but none of it is a fact.

Though, he can’t really ignore Ranpo’s situation — both of them are very much alike.

“Mister Fukuzawa, right?” A man in a suit appeared right in front of him with a serious expression. The man’s head swivels around the restaurant before his eyes fell on the spot Fukuzawa’s been guarding for a while.

“Yes, you’re not mistaken. Please, tell your concern as much as possible because I have company whose definitely tired right now.” Fukuzawa answered with a monotone, voice deep and a little harsher than usual.

Ranpo’s eyes shot open wide as he quickly glance on his right, blinking his eyes when his vision blurred as he felt a frail arms hooked on his own. His head swivel towards Fukuzawa’s table whose not alone anymore, accompanied by a man in an elegant suit; the same familiar (H/C) locks welcomes his sight, warm and vibrant under the chandelier lights as he huffed an air through his mouth.

No matter what the outcome of the adults’ conversation will be, Ranpo knew this will be your last straw. His fingers ghostly wrapping around your own as you shift in your slumber, unconsciously tightening your grip on his warm hands. No matter how Ranpo thinks of countless solutions, it will never change; a child’s power in this cruel world, no matter how intelligent they are — without a mother and father — will only fall apart.

Especially, how your father is definitely one of most powerful man with authority, given by how he suddenly looked so intimidating and domineering as he intently stare at Fukuzawa.

This man... will definitely won’t hesitate to use law against Fukuzawa.

“Edogawa...san?” He heard you murmured, voice gentle as he looked down at you, “What‘s bothering you?”

“The fact that you're sleeping peacefully while I can't feel my shoulders by now.” Ranpo huffed with a pout, all in while masking his concern to the current situation as he could feel the tension going on a certain table.

“Huh...?” You shifted a little when you realized, cheeks heating up for unknown reasons you can’t identify as you realized your finger were intertwined. “Sorry.”

Fukuzawa’s silver eyes averted to them as he met Ranpo’s before the younger one nudge his head to the side, a signal in which, Fukuzawa doesn’t seem to catch on. He averted his gaze to the man in front of him who claimed himself your father, yet you seemed to give a single care when you kept yourself close to Ranpo despite the embarrassment that you felt earlier.

“Hey, (Name),” Ranpo whispered as he glanced through the entrance and exit of the restaurant for a sign of bodyguards or men in suit standing outside for any future casualties. He grabbed your wrist with a firm grip, warm fingertips engulfing your cold ones. “If you were to choose, will you go back to your old life with your father?”

He felt your whole body halt with his question, your relaxed arm became tense in his grip as your mouth fell open in disbelief. Your mind surges with thoughts swirling in your mind — the thought of Fukuzawa and Ranpo bringing you back to your biological father’s den like a rabbit on a lion’s cage dominated your thoughts as you flinched when Ranpo tugged you back to reality. He pursed his lips when he saw how your lips trembled and threatening to scream.

You yanked your wrist away from him, causing you to stumble to your feet as you scrambled, losing balance. A shriek escapes your lips as a glass breaking sound resonates in your ears; you fell down in a pile of broken glass underneath as you hissed.

“(Name)!” You could hear the faux concern lacing on his voice as you gritted your teeth. What is that all about?! Is Ranpo plotting something? You figured by how you could identify his mischievousness by his voice. “Are you alright?!”

You scrunched your nose in process when he kept his voice that way.

“Hey, Sir! She’s blind, can’t you see? We need to bring her to the hospital.”

Fukuzawa finally realized the look Ranpo gave him earlier.

You kissed your teeth together as you grabbed into Ranpo’s dark cape, tugging him to help you up in hurry. You felt some of the broken glass had prickled in the sheer skin of your flesh — realizing how incredibly thin the fabric of your longsleeve dress that stops below knee.

One thing Ranpo noticed about your attitude is your lack of patience in everything.

Fukuzawa watched when a huddle of people crowded the two children as he pursed his lips.

“What happened? (Name)? (Name)!” (L/N) had tried to call his daughter’s name, that to his dismay, had already disappeared from the midst of the crowds. Fukuzawa’s eyes averted to the door exit as he saw Ranpo scurries out of the restaurant carrying (Name) on his back. He mentally facepalmed.

He‘s definitely going to give Ranpo a good scolding later.

“Edogawa-san!” You yelled his name — the very first time he heard you ever raised your voice as your arm wrapped around his neck for support, the other one were clutching on his black locks in annoyance, his dark tresses surprisingly soft while his cap sat securily on top of your head instead. “Slow down! What’s the rush for?!”

Your voice were high-pitched, almost breathless even though you were not the one running and carrying another weight on your back as he huffed a breath. There’s no reply on his end as you shrieked when he run a little faster, your hand toppled on his hair were instantly removed when you felt his hat almost falling off your head; he warned you not to lose it or he’s gonna drop you off of his back.

You huffed as the cold breeze of air hits your supple skin that was exposed, the small cuts on your skin due to the broken glass aches a little, but you can manage. You have no idea what’s this boy running from, but you could definitely feel the adrenaline rush on his veins.

“Sorry for asking you that question earlier. I know you would react that way and I have to put on a show to distract them.” Ranpo’s fevered and out of breath words reached your ears despite the wind harshly blowing in your direction because of his speed. You never thought he could run this fast like this, though maybe it was just you and your unathletic stamina.

But, can’t he tell you what’s really happening atleast?!

“Edogawa-san, where are we going?” You asked, out of breath, despite him carrying you, you could feel his exhaustion runs wildly on his body, the exposed skin of his neck forming sweat as it trickles where your arms are hooked for support.

Ranpo doesn’t answer, roaming his opened eyes around as he abruptly stopped when he realized his surroundings; dark and empty with not even a single soul or human in the streets, the flickering lights of lamppost made it more darker and eerie. He could only hear his own breathing, two heartbeats, and the soft breaths from you near his ears that made his skin and flesh tremble.

You didn’t say a word too; the defeaning silence pierce both of your ears as you grip on Ranpo’s uniform, creasing the fabric in your fist. You could feel the hesitation and fear run his whole system.

(Name), what are you doing?

Ranpo pondered in his head as he stepped back a few times before turning around completely, walking back where he ran earlier just to confirm something. He was quiet and so are you — completey and engulfed in a silence that if he ever make noises, he might as well die. Ranpo can’t go back now — not when Fukuzawa is really eager to take you with them; to change your life into a better one like he did to Ranpo. Though, it seems like the scarf in your eyes wouldn’t make any changes to you.

Ranpo stopped on his tracks again as he vaugely realized; he’s been walking on the same path — the buildings and infrastructures never changed as the flickering lamppost he saw earlier never changed as though playing games and surging him on to be completely insane.

“Edogawa-san,” You called out his name as his ears rang, his breath rigid when your voice falters in a quiet hymn, as if lullabying him into sleep, luring him into slumber until he falls asleep — yet he fought the urge to fell in the tips of your fingers, or to sleep at the melody of your voice as though he will be laying on a bed of roses forgetting its thorns that will pierce in his body.

Are you playing with him? Is this part or your insanity? Your mercy? Is this the part where he’ll regret everything he did to save you away from the grasp of the man who you called father who did nothing but to make you suffer enough in the liue of chemicals and the artificiality of your veins that made your mind sharper but crazier. He vaugely knew everything, though your intuitions and intentions were still unknown to him, atleast he knew what your condition as he could be any help.

“Do you see a hospital building?”

Ranpo swivel his head around as he faced a building painted in white walls as he mindlessly nodded.

“You wanna know the real me, right?” Your voice falters yet again as you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face on the crook of his shoulder as you sighed. “I’d like to make you see everything of me within my ability. I’d like you to understand why I’m doing this. Our physical bodies were unconscious right now, this only place within the consciousness of our minds. You cannot be seen, therefore you can explore.”

And, as if in a flick of fingers, Ranpo is now inside the building — a room with white walls and bright light that blinds him as he stills, emerald eyes widening as he stared of what‘s in front of him.

You and mirrors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved 2023 © ddostoyevskyy. Do not repost without permission or plagiarized.

#bsd fics #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs x reader #[❤️; niko’s series] #bsd ranpo #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #ranpo x you #ranpo x y/n #bungou stray dogs ranpo #bungou sd #bungou stray dogs fic

[kerosenecrushh]

Words: 1,106

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Additional Tags: Dry Humping, Drunk Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Needy Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Horny Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Kinktober 2023 Series: Part 15 of Kinktober 2023

Summary:

Dazai is drunk and horny and Chuuya won't have sex with him so he finds another way to get off.

#kerosenecrushh ao3 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fic #bsd #bsd fic #soukoku #soukoku fic #soukoku smut #skk #skk fic #skk smut

[labradorite-skies]

Flufftober Day Eighteen ~ Doppo Kunikida

✧･ﾟ: * Prompt ~ Soulmate AU ~

A red ribbon only you can see, one end tied to your pinky, the other to your soulmate’s. There were so many stories, whispers of people whose string didn’t lead anywhere, or that a friend of a friend knew someone whose string was tied to someone, but they had a string tied to another. Even though the sources of those rumors were often harder to trace than the strings themselves, the doubt they created ran through the minds of those who hadn’t found their “other end”. The idea of seeking romance outside of the string wasn’t uncommon, either from those who just wanted to mess around in the meantime or from those who decided that they didn’t want to wait. Doppo Kunikida, though, is a man of ideals, a man of plans, a man of standards. His plan encompassed his entire life, down to the minute. But to his annoyance, fate isn’t as easily accounted for as a traffic jam or a rush at the restaurant he was going to visit. So the reminder of his soulmate on his finger was both a blessing and a curse, the idea of a perfect match elated him, but the unknowns that came along with it kept him wondering. The number of people who never met their soulmates was difficult to dismiss, and with how volatile his work could be, that concern weighed heavy on Kunikida. But he wouldn’t settle, as long as his soulmate could be out there, he’d wait for them.

The day started like any other, waking up, eating breakfast, getting dressed, and tying the ribbon he always wore to work before heading out. But when the door opened for a new client, Kunikida’s eyes widened upon seeing the hand of the figure in the doorway. On their pinky, the other end of the red string he’d been both captivated by and dreading was tied. He clears his throat and walks over to where Dazai had started flirting with consulting the client. With his hand on the brown-haired man’s shoulder, he offered to assist with this case. The smirk on Dazai’s face revealed he had an idea of what was happening, and he left with a wink and some excuse for not stopping someone from doing his work for him. His ability to be annoying even when being helpful still astounded Kunikida, but Dazai’s antics were the last thing on his mind when you spoke up and introduced yourself. The blush on your face seemed to indicate you also noticed the connection, and the blonde couldn’t hide his smile as he stated, “Doppo Kunikida, I’m happy to help with anything I can. And, if I’m not being too forward, I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime, I think we have a lot to discuss.”

2022 Flufftober Masterlist ~ Requests | CLOSED | ~ Prompts: @flufftober

#bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fic #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs fic #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd imagines #bsd fic #bsd x you #bsd kunikida #kunikida x reader #bsd doppo kunikida #doppo kunikida x reader #doppo kunikida #flufftober #flufftober2022 #drabble

[just-a-dinosaur-i-guess]

so temporary

Agatha wishes, very dearly, that if Zelda had to break down, then it would be by decaying; a gentler thing then rot. Some could blame this fantasy, these delusions, were as tender as a grave. But Agatha, having dug quite a few graves, knows graves are only warm to those who did not have to take the cold dirt out of the earth. - on agatha, zelda, and rot

oneshot, 510 words, agatha (and agatha/zelda) centric, part of my post doa au

aka: agatha is disdainful for 500ish words

#pidge's fic posts #agatha christie #agatha bsd #agatha christie bsd #bsd agatha #bsd agatha christie #agatha x zelda #(but also zelda x fitzgerald. polyamory) #bsd fic #bungo stray dogs fic #also very brief #ivan #appearance #post doa series #lawth #<- tentative series name (like atlas with the heavens) #fic #bungou stray dogs fic

[hardfluff]

you know, I'm just minding my own business but then Tales of the Lost has to go and make casino Rampo HOT. The animation on this card is also just too, too much.

#bsd edogawa rampo #bungou stray dogs fic #bungo stray dogs #bsd mayoi

[ningensorrow]

more thoughts on my odasaku lives au with side soukoku because why not.

dazai, oda and chuuya escape with the help of ango, on the promise that dazai would not kill him on sight (yet). chuuya is not very inclined on letting the man too close to them as well, much to odasaku's chagrin.

they stay oversea, in paris, to chuuya's delight.

(and dazai absolutely didn't have a say on where they should go, absolutely not. and well, if he had a quick, without any murderous intent, talk with ango, it was only because chuuya would be less inclined to go back to the mafia if it's somewhere he likes. nothing else)

chuuya is quick to learn french, and dazai takes it as a personal challenge to do it as well, because everything chuuya can do, dazai can do it better.

("it is not a good look on the dog to believe he can be smarter than its master, after all, chibikko~"

"casse-toi, shitty mackerel!"

"merci!"

"that's not what you should say, oi!")

odasaku is slowly becoming an alcoholic because if he thought that listening to dazai pining about chuuya was bad enough, living with both of them is a torture and he is starting to believe that this is the real reason soukoku is so dangerous.

(there are nights that are too long. odasaku sits in silence, a picture in his pocket, and he can't bring himself to look at it.

sometimes he wonders if everything that happened was a punishment for the person he had been before.

it is a shitty punishment, though, if those who paid for his mistakes were innocent children, and not his bloodied hands.)

(some nights, their house is filled with broken french, english songs and breaking plates, and the three of them fall asleep on the same couch, their legs and arms intertwined, tied together by the matching, dirty blood, and a single choice.)

#oda is alive au #odasaku goes to therapy but because of soukoku not the mafia #odasaku: i can live with the mafia and the murder #but those two #those two scares me #dazai learns french only to annoy chuuya #dazai also speaks it without proper grammar to annoy chuuya #odasaku guilt complex #odasaku needs a hug #he gets them #so many of them #soukoku #bungou stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #odasaku #bsd #ficlet #bsd headcanon #bungou stray dogs fic #headcanons #my french is very awful please help me #llex.exe #i wrote this

[bleachification]

trojan horse - dazai

+ dazai x reader (fantasy au)

+ this is ch. two of all that glitters is not gold (the prologue)

ch. one is here: dissonance

ch. three: in reverence

Golden armadas decorate the sea like jewels fastened upon a crystal hand, dotted plains of might and power—all at the behest of your nation’s adversary. The kingdom’s greatest foe… Prince Dazai Osamu. 

Princeling, as you used to call him. A nickname borne of affection and sullied by betrayal. 

Tonight, the royal fleet departs for its homeland with jewels, satins, and you aboard. In less than four hours, your vows will be cemented into your country’s history and the war shall halt—on paper, that is. The mere thought makes your head throb. 

Waving the useless deliberations away, you turn away from the window. A sweeping glance across the space before you elicits a tingle of discomfort that crawls up your spine and burrows its way into the back of your throat. Wooden chests and velvet cases filled with your most prized material possessions line the north-facing wall. The furniture, stripped of any and all embellishments, look like skeletons. Your room seems infinitely more spacious now that everything is packed up. Barren of comfort, you swallow at the sight. 

It is almost as if you are a stranger in your own home. 

“Is everything ready?” You ask. 

“Yes, your highness. As you requested, I have packed up all of the items written on your list,” the man behind you replies.

“Including…?”

“Yes,” he hesitates. “Although, if I may speak, your highness…”  

You turn towards the large window, gaze drifting across the sparkling cityscape wrought with peachy hues and sharp outlines. “You always do Chuuya. Go on, say what you intend.”

Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, huffing in irritation. “This is dangerous… foolish. Even for you.”

You crack a small smile at his bluntness. It is a comfort. “Did you just call me a fool?”

You’re teasing him. Just like you always have. Just like you did back when titles did not matter and your loved ones were not handpicked in favour of court politics. Back when things were much, much simpler.

Chuuya only scoffs. “You had to hear it. It may as well be from your childhood friend.”

You level your gaze at the ginger-haired man, the face you have known since birth only stares back at you, unfazed. “Ah, so you’re speaking as my friend, then? Not my personal aide?”

“And if I am?” He asks. 

“Then I appreciate your concern. But I will be fine. I have gone through much worse than that of a wedding, remember?” You raise a brow when he rolls his eyes so dramatically you fear they’ll fall out of that thick skull of his. When he doesn’t speak, you continue on, “I can handle this. I can handle him.”

“He is not the person we used to know! He never was,” Chuuya protests. 

A shooting star falls across the sky, leaving a glowing path in its wake. You make a silent wish and pray the heavens hear you. “I understand.”

“Do you really?” Skepticism coats his every word. 

You turn your head slightly, just enough so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Chuuya crosses his arms, impatiently tapping his fingers against his bicep as he expresses his disdain.

“Yes.”

Your answer only irritates him further. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t be packing belladonna in your bags and strapping daggers to your legs! If you insist on going down this path, Y/N, you could–”

“Die?” 

You are well aware of the consequences of your plans, death included. But if the cost of revenge is your life, you will gladly pay that price. 

Chuuya realizes this and his irritation fades to something softer. Something sadder—more fearful. “Yes. Precisely that. You could die.”

You step down from your windowside and make your way to Chuuya's side. Luggage litters the marble floor, causing a misstep or two. In what feels like a mere moment, the dying sunset casts the already lustrous room in a gorgeous light. Warm orange tones pour into the room like a golden tide, flooding out any and all dullness. 

You nudge his shoulder with your own, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. Chuuya looks like he’s about to go and strangle Dazai himself just to keep you from coming to harm. “You don’t believe I can do this? That I can hurt him? Bring him to his knees?”

Chuuya shuffles so that he is facing you, still scowling, still with arms crossed. “You know it’s not about that. He… Dazai is out of his mind. Who knows what he’ll do to you if he uncovers your true intentions.”

Chuuya says his name with such scorn you almost feel bad for Dazai. Almost.

“Do you really think that I’m unaware of how… cruel he is?” You pause, a distant memory floats around the back of your mind; a painful past you can never outrun, “I experienced that inhumanity firsthand, Chuuya… watched as it destroyed my family, and nearly my empire as well. I couldn’t burn the image out of my mind if I tried.” 

Your best friend falls silent. You do for a second as well, resolve hardening in the process.

“For that, he will pay. By no one’s hand but my own,” you vow. 

A hand that you have trained for years, all for the sole purpose of hurting him. To be able to bear the heavy weight of a blade—to lift it and apply just enough pressure that you are able to draw fear from his eyes and a line of red across his throat. The thought of having that much power over Dazai… it is addicting. Exhilarating. Terrifying. 

Chuuya stares at you in both irritation and concern, his nerves firing at every end as he paces the length of the room, muttering as he does so. “So damned stubborn… Cannot believe… Just like when…”

“Are you done cursing under your breath? I do still require your help with preparing for the ceremony,” you comment, rolling your eyes as his grumbles get louder. 

Chuuya practically stomps his way back to you, huffing in defiance. “If there ever was a record, let it be shown that I am vehemently against this moronic plan.”

You make a noise of agreement. “Duly noted. If that is all, will  you come help me with my cosmetics now?”

You stroll over to the cushioned seat tucked under the shimmering vanity hidden away in the corner of your room. A round mirror pebbled with milky pearls and brushed with diamond powder sits atop a glossy desk surface. The ornate piece was gifted by your father for your birthday many years before. For a second, you are glad for the marriage. For as long as it lasts, you will never have to see that sickening thing again—never to be done up on the whims of the Emperor. 

You sit down. The chair is soft—too soft—and you sink further into the cushion than desired. 

Chuuya grabs a few elaborate accessories, powders, and a shockingly large pile of fabric from the drawers and closet next to you. He drops them unceremoniously onto your empty bed and shifts through the mess before he finds what he is searching for; a small pot of safflower lotion. 

“Yeah, yeah. I still don’t understand the reasoning behind all this dress-up,” he mutters. He hands you the lotion and busies himself with the mountain of clothing on the bed. 

“It is something I hope you never come to understand, my dear friend,” you sigh. 

After all, there is no worth in a canvas without paint, much less a doll bare of face. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

Four days and four nights. That is how long you have been at sea, a prisoner of your father’s accord on the enemy prince’s ship—No Longer Human. You find the name a bit morose for your liking, but there’s no accounting for taste, you suppose. The others following aren’t much better. You spared the various liners a glance before boarding the capital ship. From memory, there was one called Twin Dark, and another painted with swirling red letters of: The Crystal Rose. You’d much prefer being on the latter—roses are your favourite flower. They have been ever since childhood. 

You wonder… 

No. You shake the inkling of a thought out of your head. The chance that that man would remember something so obscure about someone he so despises… laughable. 

But you don’t laugh. You don’t do much at all. You stare out of the floor-to-ceiling glass that is more akin to a wall than a window. Vast ocean greets you, sparkling like a veil of crushed gems under the setting sun, sitting snug below an infinite sky. 

Someone knocks on your door—three quick raps. You make a noise of confirmation and the door quietly opens to reveal a stranger. The man who walks into your room is tall and lean, with thin wired frames resting on the sharp bridge of his nose. His hair, long and so blonde it almost glows, falls across his shoulders and ends at the small of his back. There is a sternness to his expression—humourless and collected, but not cold. In fact, there isn’t anything antagonistic about him. 

Under normal circumstances, you would give him a friendly smile, say hello, maybe even compliment him on his clothes. Today is not a normal circumstance. He wears garments stitched of a gorgeous blue silk, reminiscent of the midnight sky. Layers of fabric pool off of him, white and grey, all covered by a traditional robe. The robe is lined with silver edges and tied together at his front with a matching sash. The patterns on the outerwear swirl together, falling lotus petals that almost come to life with his movements. From the looks of it, he must be a high-ranking official in Dazai’s court. 

The blonde man pushes his glasses up with his left hand and adjusts the box he holds in his right. It doesn’t exactly look impressive, a rectangular package wrapped in silver paper. It’s the size of a large book. The only thing out of the ordinary is the black lettering on the surface; a phrase written in glittering cursive. Your name. 

The blond man bows. “I greet Your Highness, heir to the Northern Empire. I am Doppo Kunikida, Chief Minister and personal aide to His Majesty.”

“His Majesty?” You raise a brow. Last you heard, which was only three days ago at your marriage ceremony, Dazai was only a prince.

“Yes,” Kunikida says. 

You wait. The Chief Minister stays silent, something  you are sure he does quite often. 

“I am in no mood for games,” you state plainly. 

Kunikida straightens and nods his head almost imperceptibly at your thinly-veiled irritation.  “Apologies. His Majesty, Dazai Osamu, has succeeded the throne as of two nights ago. The formal coronation is set for three days' time, the evening after our arrival.”

You blink. Dazai is… king? The little boy who used to pick out flowers and break down sobbing when a thorn pricked him is now the leader of an entire kingdom? The leader of the enemy kingdom, you remind yourself. As the king, his power has risen considerably, along with the stakes of your position and plans of revenge. 

Guess you really can't call him Princeling anymore. 

You swallow down the uneasiness in your throat and turn your attention to the silver box, hoping Kunikida doesn’t pick up on your anxiety. 

“What is it?”

Kunikida hands it to you before taking a step back. “A gift.”

“Let me guess, a gift from His Majesty?” 

If Kunikida notices the sarcasm in your tone (and it is quite difficult to not notice it), he doesn’t show it nor comment on it. “A wedding present, he said. A small offering of peace.”

You want to shove the new King of Yokohama’s peace offering down his throat until he takes the shape of a rectangle. Sadly, Dazai isn’t here for you to do so, and it would be quite the scandal; ‘Royal marriage ends after three days due to newly appointed King Dazai’s death by cardboard box.’’

You thank Kunikida for the gift and he quietly leaves with another bow. It might be your imagination, but the stony-faced Chief Minister seems relieved to be dismissed. You hadn’t let your annoyance show that clearly, had you? 

The box isn’t very heavy. You set it on the large four-poster bed in the center of the room. 

You haven’t seen Dazai since the wedding—if you can even call such a stifling event that. He disappeared right after and left you in the care of the soldiers and attendants of Yokohama Kingdom. They are the ones who brought you aboard the ship and showed you to your cabin. Though “cabin” isn’t quite the accurate description for your quarters. Aside from the huge bed laden with piles of silk and cotton and the seemingly never-ending glass wall to your left, the room has everything and anything you can possibly think of. 

The marbled tiles under your feet are cold to the touch, and the deep blue reminds you of the midnight sea. Rows and rows of clothing, shoes, and accessories line the walk-in closet in the back, right next to the silver-gilded fireplace that lights up the room with warmth.  Across from it sits a large loveseat tufted with silk and made of black velvet.

And yet… despite the glamour and luxury of your accommodations, the only thing that catches your attention right now is the gift. You pick it up and stare at the shining letters. You should throw it into the fireplace. Let it burn to ashes. Better yet, you should chuck it off the side of the ship and pray a shark eats it. 

Your fingers twitch. 

About all of three seconds pass before you rip open the outer wrapping of the package and uncover it. There is a folded note sitting atop a gently folded bundle of satin—a stunning article of clothing. The garment is noticeably traditional wear, and very formal. It shimmers with every little touch, every little breath. It is coloured a deep red, a shade not unlike blood, that is beyond flattering against your complexion. 

The sight of it makes you want to hurl. First it was your father, now it's Dazai who thinks he has the right to dress you up… to show you off like some sort of war prize. 

You won’t let him have the satisfaction. You toss the clothing aside and reach for the envelope that came with it. You open up the folded paper and immediately recognize Dazai’s handwriting. It hasn't changed much since he was young. Slightly more polished, and definitely less chicken-scratchy. 

Y/N,

I have drafted letters like this one every single night for the past ten years, only to throw them all into the fireplace out of frustration. Or perhaps it was out of cowardice and shame. Even now, I am nervous—no—terrified at the notion of you reading this. Even now, you have such a startling effect on me. 

You must hate me. I understand. Anyone would feel the same in your shoes. Although…regrettably, I cannot say the same for myself. But that is an indication of my own weak constitution more than anything else. 

No matter. You hate me and that is that. But we are married now and I am set to change things. Our countries require our amicability, despite any personal feelings you may harbour. I will not force you to care for me—but I will try, for as long as I am able. 

Please join me for dinner service tonight. In three hours time; southern side of the upper deck. 

We have much to discuss. 

P.S. After much deliberation and many sleepless hours, I decided that red would look best on you. Though I fear even a paper sack would leave me quite speechless as long as you were the one wearing it. 

Your (beloved) husband,

Dazai Osamu

Your first thought is to punch a wall. Your second thought is to punch a certain king right in his smug face. After so many years, he is still pretending to be on your side. Still pretending that there is anything left between you that isn’t the shattered remnants of a tragic history best left in the past. 

The fireplace flares as it swallows up the last of the note and garment, leaving nothing behind but charcoal dust and a soft warmth that rolls over the room. You sigh, both satisfied and exhausted; completely drained from the emotional turmoil of the past week.

The sun is long gone underneath the waves, dark midnight now settled in its place. The moon, in all its glory, lights up a path across the sea for the ship to follow and casts a silver sheen over your room. There is not a speck of land in sight. It is as if the world had been swallowed by the sea, with only the stars as companions. The sight makes you sleepy… and just a little bit homesick, which surprises you. 

Kunikida shows up a short time later, ready to bring you to Dazai. You insist on taking your dinner in your quarters, much to Kunikida’s protests, and lock the door behind the maid that brings it. Just in case. Though the lock didn’t do much to block the incessant knocking on your door that sounds just as you are about to fall asleep. 

Peeved and a little puzzled, you stumble out of bed in a daze, making your way to the door that is currently taking a beating from the other side. 

Is it Kunikida? The maid from earlier? Who the hell could need you at this ungodly hour?

The answer comes in the form of Dazai Osamu. His hair is tangled and sticking in all directions, like he was tossing and turning. His clothes are nothing but a cream cotton robe covering a pair of loose matching bottoms, wrinkled and creased. He is still as beautiful as ever. 

You slam the door in his face. Or at least, you try to, but Dazai anticipates it and sticks a foot out to block it. He winces, ever slightly, but gives no other indication of discomfort. 

You are positively irked. 

Before you are able to cuss him out and physically push him away, he speaks up.

“Apologies. I couldn’t sleep. It seems that even in the dreamland, you manage to plague my every thought,” he says with a slight frown. 

Confusion and irritation swirl in your chest as you take in… everything. Is he out of his damn mind? More than usual? 

You narrow your eyes at him, not buying this innocent act of his for even a moment. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with that information? You act as if this problem is one I can, or even want, to help you solve. Though I assure you that is not the case. Unless there is an emergency—a real one—leave me be, Your Majesty. You and I have nothing to speak of.”

His frown deepens. “Who…You don’t need to call me that.”

Your left eye twitches. “What?”

Dazai swallows, an air of nervous energy pours out from him, along with annoyance. That just makes you even more mad—if anyone should be annoyed, it should be you. It also puts you on edge—Dazai is rarely nervous. 

“There is no reason for you to call me by a title. My name—it is yours to use freely,” he says.

“I disagree. Now, Your Majesty, why are you here?” You reject him flatly. 

Dazai is clearly unsatisfied with your decision but decides to drop it. For now. He clears his throat. “You didn’t come to dinner.”

“I didn’t want to.”

If your reply hurts him, he doesn’t show it. He just nods like he expected that answer from you. “Right. Is it because of the clothes? Kunikida said that it would be a nice gesture, a way to show goodwill, and I thought it would look—”

“No, not because of the clothes,” you interject. Is he messing with you right now?

“So it was because of me.”

You cock your head. Your mind is on overdrive trying to work out his motive for being here—for bringing up all these strange, irrelevant things. “If you knew that, why come here at all?”

He smiles sadly. “Wishful thinking on my part. I thought…” He hesitates, clearly unsure if he should voice his feelings out loud. He tries anyway, “Well, let’s just say it is a treacherous thing to be stuck in a past that no longer exists. I was feeling… nostalgic. It will not happen again.”

A small lump forms in your throat at the finality in his tone. You swallow it down and make a noise of agreement. “A wise decision.” 

You expect him to leave, but Dazai lingers at the doorway. This entire time he has been nothing more than a foot away from you, yet the distance between you continues to grow into an insurmountable gap. You wonder how you ever loved him; how you ever looked at him and felt something other than heartache and hostility. Those memories feel like a mere figment of your imagination nowadays. Perhaps they are.

After a moment of silence, he says: “It was never my intention to hurt you, you must believe me on that.”

Your knuckles turn white from how hard you clench the doorknob. It takes all your willpower and patience not to put a blade through his head, right then and there. 

Not his intention to hurt you? Believe him? Such pretty words undeserving of being spoken by such an ugly liar. 

“It's a shame I am not the naive little kid that you used to know. Because if I was…” You lean into him, until your mouth is right next to his ear. 

Dazai stills. 

“I might actually believe you,” you hiss. 

You pull back and ignore his stricken expression. 

Dazai shakes the shock away and nods. He takes a step back, understanding his cue to leave. He turns and takes a few steps before stopping and looking back at you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he softly whispers.

You shut the door without another word. 

#Dazai Osamu #dazai x reader #dazai #dazai angst #dazai fanfic #dazai fic #kunikida #dazai x y/n #bsd #bsd x reader #bsd fic #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fic #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #chuuya

[rashoumon-homo]

Russian Doll! Lots of firsts for this one- it’s my first gen fic, my first multi-chapter fic, my first angst fic, and so on.

A little over 4k words

5 chapters (complete)

Angst with an unhappy ending

Sigma-centric

(It all comes together in the final chapter so don’t quit halfway lol)

If any of that sounds like your jam, I’d love for you to check it out!

Here’s the link :)

#rashoumon writes #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd fic #bsd fic rec #bungou stray dogs fic

[bunglegaydogs]

yes, i am shamelessly plugging my skk fic here bc i can ^^

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fic #bungou stray dogs fic #fanfiction #fic #anime #manga #chuuya #dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #osamu dazai #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #skk #double black #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 skk #the whole time i was writing this i was screeching like a maniac /pos

[iamthemess]

setosdarkness is my role model and I hope they know how much they mean to this fandom.

#bungou stray dogs #fanfiction #bsd #fanfiction writer #bsd fandom #ao3 writer #writer #ao3 fanfic #bungoustraydogs #bungou gay dogs #bsd fic #bungou stray dogs fic #bungoustraydogsfic #ao3 fanfiction #bsd fanfiction #setosdarkness