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Boring.
That’s what Dazai’s life has been, for the past nine years. Less? More? Who knows, really.
It’s dreadful, though. Disgusting, no fun. Completely overrated. Even with the parties her students are planning for her coming up. She doesn’t deserve those no matter how fun they are. She doesn’t deserve the banter with Ranpo, either, or Fukuzawa’s care, no matter how much she takes of both. They don’t know she doesn’t, though, and never will. She’s selfish like that.
Either way! Her life is boring, so she’s breaking into the Port Mafia Boss’ office to steal a top secret file not even everyone in the organisation knows about, which contains dirt on every last one of Japan’s politicians. Not even to use, or to keep- rather, just because it’d be the most stressful for the mafia to deal with. Dazai doesn’t care for power, or for messing up the economy, she only cares to witness Nakahara Chuuya, the new Boss- well, new, she’s been in the position for eight years at this point- handle the situation with as much furious grace as ever and maybe rip out a couple hairs in private. That’s how she handles Dazai stalking the mafia, at least.
Anyway! Breaking and entering was a bit difficult since Dazai hasn’t done it to such a secure place in so long, but it went without a hitch. Exhilarating, actually! Very fun, yes. Opening the hidden safe was pretty easy, but still fun since the prickles of being potentially caught set Dazai’s nervous system a-spark, and now, sneaking out is just as fun. Maybe Dazai should do this a few more times before she dies.
Even if it puts her university in danger. It’s only a little, Dazai has it under control, so it’s fine. Plus, can’t she just leave if things go south? Exactly.
Flowing into a broom closet to hide from a guard patrol, Dazai-
The two other people in the broom closet stare at her. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke and Nakajima Atsushi, a sub executive who Dazai gave a lot of trauma back when she was the Demon Prodigy and a relatively newer executive, both close to Lucy Montgomery of the Black Lizards, respectively. Who were just making out. Damn, Dazai got cocky if she didn’t hear them.
“Well, don’t let me interrupt you.” Smiling over the voice changer static, Dazai pushes the doorknob-
And gets knocked to the ground, Nakajima turning her wrist out and cutting off her mask with tiger claws. Nakajima’s hand fists into Dazai’s hair, securing her further. Good thing Dazai learned to control her ability, wouldn’t want suspicions as to her identity so early on. Good thing she’s a woman now, too; Akutagawa would’ve recognised her otherwise.
Anyway, show time. “Ow-ow-ow! That’s just rude, I didn’t mean to walk in on you.” Dazai pouts, “Ow!” And sue her, it really does hurt. Nakajima’s arms would crack nicely as they break, but alas, Dazai has sworn against bringing needless pain into the world.
“Call the Boss, Ryuu.” Nakajima tells her companion, and Dazai huffs into the floor, “She smells like she came from the office.”
Oh, they’ll call Nakahara Chuuya. Perfect, makes not escaping on reflex worth it. “Oh please, like I’d want to go to that grimy place.” Despite having come from the office, which was actually very clean, Dazai says, shifting to be more comfortable on the floor.
“It’s not- what- you- who do you think you are!” Akutagawa’s ability, Rashomon, slams into Dazai’s shoulders along with her screech. Ah, some things never change… Though now Dazai can’t uppercut her for that. Not that she ever should’ve.
“My name’s Dazai, Dazai Osamu, for your pleasure.” Nodding with her words and despite the sting on her scalp, serious, Dazai says, “Ow!! Would you stop trying to sprain my wrist?? Sheesh.”
Predictably, Nakajima eases up, scheming sweetheart that she is. The beeping of a call fills the broom closet, and a sleepy ‘Yes?’ filters from the other side.
“My apologies for interrupting your rest, Boss, but there’s an intruder in the headquarters. The weretiger says she came from your office.”
All Akutagawa gets before the Boss hangs up is ‘Thanks. On my way’.
“Alright. Let’s take her to the dungeon, weretiger.”
Despite being perfectly capable of leaving Nakajima and Akutagawa in the dust, Dazai cooperates as she’s cuffed to the wall in a shady, stinky with blood cell. She doesn’t even talk that much, after Akutagawa slaps her for the sixth time.
Anaemic as before, Akutagawa still packs quite a mean punch, and Dazai is very explicitly pouting about it. Accepting justice? Not her style.
“How did she even know about the document?” Whispering a little ways away from Dazai, Nakajima asks Akutagawa, “We should check security, maybe there’s a leaker?”
“Oh, there’s not a leaker, no, there’s just a rumour on the web most don’t even believe or have much detail on. It’s like a game of telephone, really! Someone heard somewhere the Boss of the Port Mafia has some blackmail for some very important people which only the highest echelon are privy to, someone else elaborated on it, and now there’s like eleven hundred more theories on how the Port Mafia is planning to upend the Japanese economy… Nothing special, really.” For the annoyance factor, Dazai nods as she responds. She may have done a little stalking on top of that to check the rumours- and in general too, she’s thorough- but she’ll keep that obsession to herself.
She gets slapped with Rashomon for her troubles. Akutagawa glares. “No one was talking to you.”
Huffing, Dazai turns away. “Let a girl be helpful, why don’t you? It’s quite silly to refuse intel.”
“You’re an enemy. Any intel you give is a liability.” Akutagawa glares harder. Shockingly sound reasoning, coming from her. Her scrunched up face is pretty cute, like an angry puppy. Whoever thinks she’s scary? All that training, completely for nothing… She could at least pretend the abuse worked, there’s only so much Dazai’s ego can take.
Although in fairness, Akutagawa is incredibly strong, and always has been. In spite of Dazai, if anything.
Whatever. “Well, did I lie about my name?” Pouting, Dazai pulls on her chains, telegraphing a desire to cross her arms.
Akutagawa goes to slap her again, but Nakajima catches Rashomon with practised ease and smiles a little. “Someone like you wouldn’t need to worry about a name, I feel. You’re incredibly skilled, Dazai-san. Please, take our distrust as a compliment.” And she bows. Such a sweetheart, wow. Thoroughly undeserved toward Dazai.
“Awww, I’m honoured, Nakajima-san! How did you survive in the mafia so long, you’re so incredibly sweet! I’m sure it speaks to your martial skills and intelligence, an ability to be so polite.” Cheeky, Dazai swings on her feet, crinkles her eyes. From what little she knows about Nakajima, the sweetness is a weapon, a disarming manoeuvre; seems like it’s at least a little genuine, too.
A loud blush and a louder smile spreads across Nakajima’s face. “Thank you, Dazai-san.”
Akutagawa looks like she swallowed a rusty nail. Noticing out of the corner of her eye, Nakajima ruffles that awful hair. It eases Akutagawa’s shoulders.
Aren’t they meant to try and hide their relationship? Something-something exploitable weak points? Young love… Even if Akutagawa is only two years younger than Dazai, technically in her late twenties. It counts, doesn’t it? It totally counts.
The door to the cell, meanwhile, opens, and in comes the most gorgeous woman in Yokohama aka the Port Mafia Boss aka Nakahara Chuuya aka the love- obsession, love doesn’t exist- of Dazai’s life from this moment forward.
Sure, Dazai has seen pictures. Camera footage, even. Neither lives up to the soft to the eyes and no doubt to the touch flaming pixie-cut curls of her hair, with asymmetrical fluffy bangs reaching her collarbone on one side. Not to the delicately blushy pale skin with specklings of freckles like sparks flying from a violent forest fire, either, and definitely not to the eyes, the burning pure chemical copper blue eyes, bluer than anything the world has to offer. Her thighs look like they could pulverise Dazai’s head, not to mention a watermelon, and her chest is beautifully full. Ugh, the arousal is sharper than blood lust. Maybe Dazai should get laid more often.
“So an intruder, mm?” Hand on her hip and her heavy, brawny frame carried with the elegance of Death itself, Nakahara Chuuya studies Dazai, so unimpressed it ties Dazai’s stomach into a knot and shoves it up her throat. Figuratively; literally, Dazai’s body stays as perfectly controlled as ever.
“Chuuya-san.” Bowed into a right angle, Nakajima straightens- while Akutagawa stays bent like a well-trained butler, as pathetic as she ever was- and walks over with the document Dazai stole, “I held onto what she took since we didn’t know where to put it, I hope you forgive this initiative. This is Dazai Osamu, twenty-eight, a professor of Japanese Literature in the Yokohama Public University of Arts and Science, according to her files. From what we’ve seen, she didn’t disturb your office beyond taking this, so she must’ve known exactly what she was looking for. Would you like Akutagawa-san and I to leave for the questioning?”
Nakahara Chuuya smiles at her subordinate, and for a second she looks more like a kind older sister than a mafia boss no matter the red scarf tied loosely around her neck. A simple city slicker style, the ends of the scarf pulled through a loop and left to hang over her patterned black vest; not how any of the former bosses wore it, but Nakahara Chuuya gets to do whatever she wants.
Having ruffled Nakajima’s hair and told her she’s done a good job, Nakahara Chuuya instructs Nakajima to keep the binder of blackmail on her for the time being, dismisses Akutagawa from bowing and takes a couple of steps toward Dazai. Her tight, black trousers have leather holsters fastened on each thigh, one with a stun gun and one with a knife. A rectangular leather box where she keeps bullets connects to her belt, and she has really nice, sleek, dark steel toed boots and a little chain dangling from the wide brim of her hat. Her bulky black jacket with red lining hangs as ever from her shoulders.
She’s started talking. “Out of sheer curiosity, why’d you have a masculine first name? Do they not give out matching backstories to their subordinates in whatever organisation you work for?”
Grinning and mentally slapping herself to concentrate, Dazai cocks her head. “I don’t work for anyone, Nakahara-san. The name’s mine in the same way as you are short- it’s a fact of life.”
Unimpressed, painfully unimpressed, Nakahara Chuuya crosses her arms. “Mhm. Are you a contract worker?”
Crinkling her eyes, Dazai swings on her toes a little. “Nope! I’m an employee at Yokohama Public University of Arts and Science, just like Nakajima-san said. Does the chibi need things repeated for her? Did her hat eat her brains, I wonder?” Maybe she shouldn’t antagonise the most powerful woman in Japan, but in fairness, Nakahara Chuuya should’ve thought before being this hot. Plus, maybe she’ll kill Dazai; that’d be the best death no matter how painful.
Although Dazai would have to escape before it can mess her up too much and surely before it can kill her. She swore her life to light; she can’t let darkness take it.
Nakahara drags a sigh. “Atsushi-chan, Akutagawa-chan, change of plans, please leave us. Lock the door behind you.”
Wordlessly, Nakajima and Akutagawa oblige, even as Akutagawa glares absolute daggers at Dazai. Kinda cute, how loyal she is. A weakness, one Dazai exploited, but… Cute.
“Awww, I’m getting a private audience! You’re just so nice to me, Nakahara-san!” Bouncing on her toes again, Dazai cocks her head.
Nakahara Chuuya, in place of answering, pulls the stun gun from the holster on her thigh. “You didn’t answer one of my questions, you piece of shit. Why is your name masculine?”
The poisonous swear word burns like hot honey at the underside of Dazai’s brain. Talking to Nakahara is even more exhilarating than she expected. “‘Cause changing it would be too much paperwork.” She shrugs. She picked the name thinking she could bear to continue living as a guy for the advantages it has, but well, she got bored. Repression is fun only to a point.
Too beautiful, too elegant, Nakahara’s gloved hand twirls the stun gun. “Is it your deadname, then?” Dazai already knew she was supportive of queerness, but it’s admittedly nice to see it for herself.
She grins. “Eh, I don’t really mind, some of my coworkers call me it. I wouldn’t choose it today, though.”
“Are you on the run from anyone?” Nakahara makes a couple steps toward Dazai. If she stretched her arm out, she could shock Dazai now. Not very fun, but the flex of her thighs as she walks make it thoroughly worth it.
“I’m a professor, Nakahara-san. Who would I be running from, the concept of having to grade all my students?” Playful, Dazai asks, watching the stun gun strike closer- a violent, furious fuzz seizes through her nervous system, “Augh!! Unnecessary!”
“How else to train an insufferable little bitch into telling the truth?” Pulling the stun gun away, Nakahara smirks, cupid bow lips crooked sharply up. Truly, balm over the remnants of the disgusting static.
Easing her heartbeat, Dazai pouts. “You’re so mean, Nakahara-san! You know I have a lecture today, right? I can’t be skipping to get tortured, the dean of my faculty won’t believe me and she’ll have my head.” Mostly for her recklessness, of course; Fukuzawa understands when she skips, she’ll certainly understand if Dazai says she got into a skirmish.
Nakahara snorts. “Call me Chuuya, I fucking hate formality. We’ll getcha out of work, don’t worry your pretty little head. Gotta make sure you actually work there, you know?”
Call Nakahara Chuuya, who just said Dazai was pretty, by her first name. Dazai will die. Beautiful woman, allowing Dazai so near… Ah, truly, no justice in the world!
“You’re still mean, Chuuya!” Not allowing an ounce of blush to spread over her cheeks, Dazai pouts harder, “This is animal abuse.”
“Oh, I’m fostering three puppies and I wouldn’t dream of hurting them, you are a special case. Now, are you on the run?”
Special case. Chuuya called her a special case! Cease, Dazai’s soaring- evenly beating because she’s just that good- heart! Ugh, staring so openly was a mistake, Chuuya must know exactly what she’s doing!
“Technically from my parents, I suppose. But I assume you’re asking about the mafia?”
Chuuya smirks. “You’re a perfect liar, aren’t you? Talking to you like a civil human being won’t be of any use.” And she goes to put her stun gun back into its holster.
Oh wow. “Is Chuuya gonna torture me?” Cocking her head, Dazai asks. As much as she hates pain, anything becomes bearable at the hands of a beautiful woman.
“Don’t need to.” Chuuya gets out a little sugar-stick-like packet out of her vest’s breast pocket, “Now, will you open your smart ass mouth for me like a good girl, or will I have to force it?” Confident, grinning, she strides the final step and a half between them, leaning into Dazai’s space.
On one hand, being manhandled by Chuuya. On the other, good girl. Plus, drugs don’t really work on Dazai, so it won’t cost her to act a bit cocky. She opens her mouth.
Chuuya’s smirk grows, and she breaks the packet of the sugar-like- at least, to the touch- powder into Dazai’s mouth. It tastes faintly metallic, kind of like blood, and dissolves more or less on impact. She swallows the resulting liquid, although there’s less than she would expect; some must’ve already absorbed. Definitely not sugar, mm?
“So what does it do?” She asks, examining the effect on her body.
Her heart stutters, stabbing in her chest, before she hears Chuuya’s answer. What? It stutters again, a violent thump, when she tries to control it she can’t, can’t mould her muscles, she’s not breathing right? What- she always has perfect control, she’s mastered her heartbeat even when she’s blackout drunk, not to mention on every black market drug there is-
Unless this new thing impedes her control directly, somehow.
When she opens her eyes- when did she shut them?- there’s not a trace of a smirk on Chuuya’s lips, her posture emanating confusion.
Recalling every muscle needed to breathe- external intercostals, diaphragm, scalenes and pectoralis minor, breathe in, external intercostals and abdominals, breathe out- she wrangles them together, and manages to pull in a long breath. “It impedes my self control, I see.” Her voice tremors. Her heart hurts, hammering savagely away, “I’d much rather you torture me.” She didn’t mean to say that second part, “Fuck.”
“What the- shit. Shit, okay, can you answer one question? I’ll immediately give you the antidote afterward, this thing never- no one ever reacts like this, are you like, fine??” Chuuya panics, and it’s funny but Dazai is in pain and she can’t get her vocal chords to laugh anyway.
“Fukuzawa-sensei made me take a quick depression evaluation once. I got twenty six out of twenty seven. I’ll answer any question to make this stop.” Breathing carefully, Dazai tries to reach her heart muscles, but they slip away, weasel out, fall through her fingers like fine grains of sand. It’s dark in the room- no, she shut her eyes again. She can’t open them. “Fuck, please. Fuck. I wish I was begging you in other circumstances. Sorry- ah, shit-” Curled up on the floor against the wall, Dazai broke out of the cuffs, she’s pulling her hair out of its greasy bun, “It hurts.”
“Shit, shit, okay- who were you before you went on the run?” Closer, Chuuya’s pretty, rumbly voice scratches Dazai’s brain, eases the pain if only by a fraction.
“Demon Prodigy. Worked under Mori Ougai, former head of the Port Mafia. Ouch, fuck, I- killed so many people, I didn’t care, I tortured and demolished all hope for those who went against Mori, I trained up Kyuusaku and Akutagawa to be weapons, fuck, I only stopped because I had a taste of losing everything! Chuu- Chuu ya-ah, I ran like a coward even though the only acceptable way for me to be a better person like Odasaku wanted would be to take over the mafia and fix all the harm I’ve done, I’m so sorry, augh! I’m happier like I wanted but not- agh! Not more meaningful- maybe?”
A stab in her chest, it hurts! She catches her breath- “Fuck, fuck! I’m dying, aren’t I? I don’t deserve the relief, I never let myself die in the end, I make it hurt but never end my life, but it’s not enough for me to suffer, I need to make people happy, but I’ve been awful at that-”
A gloved hand seizes Dazai’s jaw and some new powder gets shoved down her throat. She chokes. It fizzles and dissipates, sweet and bitter at the same time. Dazai’s body convulses, she can’t breathe-
“Shh, it’s almost over. The effects will wear off soon, it won’t hurt anymore. You did great, okay? You did amazing. I’m- I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t know it’d fuck you up like that. D’you want a hug?”
… What?
It all burns with an ache in Dazai’s chest, bone-deep and bright like a black hole. Is that- fuck, emotional pain. A heavy shudder breaks through Dazai’s body. Words itch in her mouth, unfair, traitorous words. She can’t breathe and keep them back at the same time. “Chuuya can’t be serious. I’m awful, I should never get a hug.” Huddling into herself, Dazai works to filter air. It’s hard, like she’s pushing past a knot in her throat, but she drags it in anyway. Panic attacks- because this might as well be one- can be helped with even breathing, she’s eased Kunikida and Yosano from them before.
“I asked what you want, not what should happen. Stop fucking weaselling, you unbearable bitch.”
Deep breath, Dazai focuses on her heart, next. Still a bit slippery, still painful, still pounding through her entire body, in the tips of her fingers and toes, but she’s more aware of it now. How she wishes she could just turn it off, it wouldn’t hurt at all.
But she doesn’t deserve death. More of that black ache spreads through her chest, inside her ribcage and within her ribs, consuming her. She wants it. She’s selfish. She nods.
Chuuya’s body heat envelopes her, solid, strong warm nice safe and she smells like expensive cigarettes, wine, sandalwood and the sky soon after a storm, and she pats firmly down Dazai’s back. “Good fucking job acknowledging it, asshole.” She filters her breathing slowly just like Dazai.
“And, ‘bout what you said… D’you know how many people I killed? D’you know the kinda shit I’ve done to end up where I am? To do my noble fucking mission of making the world better? D’you know why I’m doing this? Because I’ve been betrayed, and then shown goodness, not ‘cause I’m good. I didn’t become a damn-near paragon overnight, you won’t either. But if you want to, you will, no matter how much trauma you dished out. You’re not that special, darling.”
Dazai’s eyes prickle. Deep, even, selfish, she breathes with her heart rate finally stable, and leans into Chuuya’s warmth, forces all of her muscles to loosen. “I’ve-” The words begin to slip, well, might as well, “always been exceptionally special, Chuuya. How can you know that?”
Chuuya snorts. “‘Cause you’re human, dumbass. That’s obvious about you, in your guilt, in your desire to be better, in your goddamn depression, hell, even in your teasing. Even in what you choose to present to the world.” She pauses, and shifts to be closer to Dazai’s ear, “I bet the reason you heckled me is ‘cause you were intimidated by how hot I am, too. Very human.”
Chuuya calls her human like it’s the most obvious fact that Dazai is dumb to. Dazai’s heart skips a beat, and god damn it, she was doing so well. She nuzzles into Chuuya, into this stranger who’s so kind to her it hurts, kind impossibly, for seemingly no reason, and allows her eyes to water. “Maybe.”
Rubbing circles into her back, Chuuya hums. “Good. You know, I might’ve been made in a lab, don’t remember. But it doesn’t matter if my soul is just code- it matters that I feel, shit like that. I’m real to me, and no one else’s opinion matters unless I want it to. Make sense?”
Well. Dazai has already embarrassed herself, and given Chuuya way too much ammunition should Chuuya ever want to hurt her. Plus, who knows, maybe none of this is waking reality, maybe she passed out from the drugs. “I’m not real to me.” Quiet, she says.
“‘Course you’re not, you’re a dumbass. D’your students like you?” Chuuya rubs the back of Dazai’s skull. Caring-
Oh. Huh. “Some say they do.” They do things for her, too. Give her gifts. They often hug her at the end of the year. They like to spend time with her, they say. Granted, she’s never truly real her with them, or with anyone. She never lets her sadism, her gaping emptiness show. What’s the point? It feels like nothing, and it can’t be helped with anything but pain or danger. Why upset people with a void they can’t fill? Puzzles one can’t solve are only annoying, to be thrown away.
“Means you’re real to them. Means you’re good to them, you make them happy. How’d that feel?” Massaging Dazai’s back, Chuuya asks.
Messy, painful tightness roils in achingly slow convulsions in Dazai’s chest. “It’s not the real me.”
Chuuya squeezes her. “Damn. So you work to be good to them?”
Heavy, Dazai’s heart gives a barely-there stutter, one she manages to catch and smother. She doesn’t do a good job, she hurts them, insults them, pushes them away, worries them, gets them angry, manipulates and hurts them for fun, she doesn’t regret it, not really- Chuuya will point out they still like her, that she tries, and Chuuya hasn’t seen it for herself, doesn’t know why Dazai tries. Chuuya can’t be convinced. Deep breath, Dazai shifts a little. “Say, Chuuya, why are you doing this?”
The arms around Dazai tighten. “Mainly ‘cause you’re hurting, and I wanna help, care for you, you know… Hold you, if you’ll let me.” Chuuya pauses, humming, “But honestly, another thing is that I want you on my side. If not in the mafia, then available for a chat every now and then to help advise me. Maybe for a stealth mission here and there, if you’re down. You’re fucking skilled, and rumours will creep out about some rando who got interrogated by the Boss herself and then walked free, so it’s not like you have the option to keep your life as it is.” Hugging Dazai closer, she quiets, softens her voice.
Pure ache pushes through Dazai. Chuuya’s right, and she wants to manipulate Dazai rather than show goodness. Good, that’s good. It’s understandable. What was Dazai hoping for? To stay confused and anxious about Chuuya’s intentions? Not even Odasaku got close to her selflessly. “I could disappear.” Nuzzling deeper into Chuuya, Dazai mutters. It hurts. Not so much physically, anymore, but the hot black hole in her chest has grown, expanded, more aching than before. No matter how much Dazai hates pain, she wants it back. Maybe she could ignore this ache, then.
Chuuya hums. “D’you want to?”
Dazai meant off mafia records. Chuuya means out of the life she built entirely. The latter is a safer option.
A bunch of third years headed by Naomi are planning to throw Dazai a secret end of semester party. Yosano and Ranpo’s annual mall outing is coming up, and they’ll probably call Dazai along. Fukuzawa’s been nagging her about therapy, sending resources and motivational cat posters. Kunikida got her a planner. The first years aren’t making the party they want to throw a secret, the second years have decided to have the best grades in Dazai’s class instead of partying, and the doctorate students Dazai is supervising have unionised to get Dazai a pay raise. She’s feeding stray cats on university grounds, she’s on speaking terms with one of the waiters in a bar she frequents, she helps out in the university library sometimes.
When did she get a life? Since when does anything matter at all? She should’ve known better than to settle into routines, fuck. It’s fine, she doesn’t feel for these people as much as she did for Odasaku, but still. She got careless.
Shuddering in Chuuya’s arms, Dazai takes a deep breath of that rich, expensive scent Chuuya is laced with and shakes her head. “I’d rather not.” It’s risky to tell Chuuya that, given Chuuya sees her use; still, Chuuya isn’t better than Dazai, in fact, she seems more vulnerable, more heart-achy, so being used by her is nothing but a safe thrill. Dazai can keep her away from anything vital, firstly, and secondly she needs a distraction and a disturbance to her life now, so why not give Chuuya ammunition? Honestly, Dazai’d be stupid not to jump at this.
A hum, a precious vibration in Chuuya’s throat. “So don’t. Let the mafia protect you. You won’t have to kill, or torture, or destroy anyone; all I will ask of you is gathering intel, advising me and maybe negotiations, sometimes. You know what the mafia is working toward, I think it aligns with what you believe, and you’ll be paid for it… Why not?” Firmly soft, Chuuya continues rubbing circles into Dazai’s shoulder blades, into her scalp. Isn’t she close with Kyuusaku, the Kyuusaku Dazai literally tortured?
Well. Not like it matters. Dazai can avoid Kyuusaku, their pained face can’t haunt her if she doesn’t see it. Or reminders of it. Or-
Whatever, Dazai’s getting a new and exciting mafia start. Thought spiral begone! Weaselling her arms from where they’re squished between herself and Chuuya, Dazai hugs Chuuya back and smiles for the first time since the drug wore off. “Okay. Only thing I ask for, get me my mask back, and don’t tell anyone who I was.” Money is money, Chuuya is delicious, the Kyuusaku problem won’t be prominent as they don’t show up at the mafia very often; no real downsides, as far as Dazai is concerned.
“Consider it done.” And Chuuya nuzzles Dazai’s cheek, so intimate, and Dazai’s has to catch a heart stutter, “We’ll do the proper ritual later, but for now…” She draws away, her fiery warmth leaving Dazai’s body prickling, and cups Dazai’s face, “Welcome to the family.” Her soft lips press against Dazai’s forehead, flirting, Chuuya is flirting, Dazai won’t have to try to seduce her at all, “I’ll communicate with my executives ‘bout this. Let’s take you to a more comfortable room than this, mm?” She leans back in-
And picks Dazai up. Bridal style.
Purely for comedic factor and not at all to hopefully be endearing, Dazai squeaks and latches onto Chuuya, careful to avoid skin. She’s not flirting, she’s being funny! Well, maybe both. Definitely both.
A light blush rouges Chuuya’s freckled cheeks, a confident smirk adorning her lips. “Don’t try to run, darling, or there’ll be a headhunt.” Gorgeous, stunning, and fully aware of it. Chuuya’s own knowledge of her power, power she doesn’t know Dazai could overwhelm, makes the flame of her eyes infinitely brighter, hotter, and Dazai is nothing but a moth.
“Mori couldn’t headhunt me.” Pouting, she pokes Nakahara Chuuya’s chest. Today has been such a day, hasn’t it? A failed heist, an induced panic attack, handing herself over to the mafia she once swore to escape, and it’s only… Should be about seven AM now, if the aforementioned panic attack didn’t mess with Dazai’s sense of time too much.
“Mhm, you’re damn weaselly. Think you can leave me in the dust? D’I look like that old piece of bloody shit to you?” Carrying Dazai effortlessly, Chuuya asks. She looks nothing like Mori, nothing like the woman Dazai didn’t care for in the slightest from the most loathsome of places, the woman she hated and feared so dimly it took her years to realise what she felt, the woman she’d rather never think about. Instead, Chuuya is alive and stunningly intelligent in a way opposite to Mori, using care not to stifle but to ignite.
Should Dazai be openly flirting with her new Boss? No. Is it a good idea? Absolutely not. Has she embarrassed herself enough for nine lifetimes? Yes, she did.
Turning to look up at Chuuya, she allows a blush to take over her face. “No. You look like a forest fire. Wild, untamable, powerful and terrifying.” She nuzzles Chuuya’s arm, “Warm.” Unable to hurt Dazai, too; Dazai has avoided fires before. Chuuya is too genuine to be too difficult to manipulate.
Through the corridor, past guards, Chuuya carries her. Holding her, keeping her close. “You look… Like oil paints. Reflective, gorgeous. Perfect at creating any image people want of you, but stunning in your raw form, too. Smooth and slick, or some pretentious shit like that. I’m not very good at metaphors.” Staring ahead, Chuuya flies up the stairs using her ability. It’s lively red.
Dazai shifts her eyes down from Chuuya. “That was very good, actually. I’d give you eighty nine points, with negative one for swearing and negative ten for not bringing up another key aspect of oil paints- they’re toxic.” Maybe she’s looking for compliments, reassurance; no one could prove that, totally, since she’s the perfect criminal.
“Only if you use them wrong. With proper precaution, they’re just beautiful.”
Dazai breathes. Low hanging fruit, but- “So Chuuya wants to use me?” Pouting up through her lashes, she asks.
A small dart of pink tongue smooths over Chuuya’s lips. “Something like that.”
Oh, lord, no work to seduce Chuuya is necessary, Chuuya is somehow already seduced. Allowing heat to pool in her cheeks, Dazai throws the back of her hand over her forehead, pretending to faint. “The horror! Chuuya is after my innocence!”
“Mhm, ‘cause you’re such a maiden pure, sure. Which one of us was ogling who first, you bitch?” A smirk in her voice, Chuuya joustles Dazai a little.
Peeking at Chuuya with one eye, Dazai smooths her smile into a pout. “That’s just because I’m a winner.”
A loud, brash laugh bursts through Chuuya, and she tosses Dazai up lightly before catching her again and she’s so strong oh holy mountains and rivers she could manhandle Dazai into anything-
“Bet I’m gonna win something from you in a second.”
“Chuuya, please fuck me. I’ll die otherwise!” Before Chuuya can flirt first, Dazai proclaims.
Chuuya stares at her. Then, she laughs again, and holds Dazai impossibly closer. “Stolen right from under my nose, damn. What about me being Boss? Not scared I’ll punish such an unruly underling, you little shit?”
“That just makes it hotter.” Serious, Dazai nods. There’s still warm tightness in her chest, still a black hole of everything eating at her being, filling her up where there’s usually nothing. Must be the after-effect of the drug.
“You know what, sure. Whatever you say, sweetness. You seem like you’ll be fun to break down and rebuild, I deign to agree.” Despite her somewhat careless words, Chuuya smirks like she rigged and won the lottery. Chuuya wants Dazai, for her skill and body. If Dazai was a lesser woman, she would choke on the feeling.
It’s weird, isn’t it? She broke and entered for nefarious reasons, and here she is, realising she cares- regrettably, however little- for the life she built and the people in it, throwing herself into the mafia she no longer loathes because Chuuya has changed it, for Chuuya. Well, on paper for Chuuya; really, she’s selfish, she only wants a distraction and a disruption, she’d do something else if Chuuya hasn’t offered. But, she’ll have the thrill of the fight again, orders, orders Chuuya won’t make numbing like Mori did. If anything, Chuuya will make her feel. It sucks the moisture out of her mouth. It sparks her nerves, pretty little electric signals drawing her to life.
It’s honestly a bit of a terrible tactical decision, but Dazai can always course correct, so… What does Ranpo say? Yolo, you only live once? Code for ‘caution to the wind’?
Precisely.