Work Text:
The Armed Detective Agency sounded like it was on the verge of collapse.
Which, unfortunately, was normal.
“DAZAI!”
Doppo Kunikida slammed a notebook onto his desk hard enough to startle Atsushi beside him.
“You were supposed to finish these reports three hours ago!”
Across the office, Osamu Dazai lounged dramatically across the couch with one leg hanging over the armrest.
“Kunikida-kun,” he sighed, “your obsession with paperwork is deeply unattractive.”
“I AM NOT TRYING TO BE ATTRACTIVE TO YOU.”
“Your loss.”
Atsushi rubbed his forehead tiredly.
Kenji looked up from the floor.
“I think Dazai-san is very attractive,” he offered honestly.
“KENJI.”
“What?”
Naomi burst into laughter.
Tanizaki looked exhausted.
Meanwhile, Ranpo sat near the window eating snacks while observing the entire scene with suspicious amusement already shining in his eyes.
Which usually meant disaster.
Dazai rolled onto his back lazily.
“Kunikida-kun, if you continue yelling like this, your blood pressure—”
The office door slid open.
Silence spread instantly.
Fukuzawa stood calmly near the entrance.
“Dazai.”
Dazai blinked once.
“President?”
“My office.”
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
Even Kunikida straightened.
Dazai swung himself off the couch with unusual grace before following Fukuzawa through the hallway.
Ranpo watched him leave.
Then slowly smiled into his snack bag.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
---
Fukuzawa’s office was quiet compared to the chaos outside.
Sunlight spilled across polished wood while Dazai dropped lazily into the chair opposite the president.
“You called for me?”
“There is an information broker holding a private gathering tonight.”
Dazai’s expression sharpened instantly.
“The broker recently acquired documents involving both the Port Mafia and the Agency,” Fukuzawa continued. “We need the information before it reaches outside buyers.”
“So we’re infiltrating the party.”
“Correct.”
“And because I am charming, intelligent, and devastatingly beautiful—”
“You will not be attending alone.”
Dazai paused.
That tone felt dangerous almost protective .
“Your mission partner,” Fukuzawa continued evenly, “will be Nakahara Chuuya.”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
---
At nearly the exact same moment.
Far across Yokohama.
“Absolutely not.”
Chuuya Nakahara looked personally offended by reality itself.
Mori sat behind his desk looking far too calm.
Elise giggled nearby.
“You are overreacting,” Mori said pleasantly.
“You want me to work with Dazai.”
“Yes.”
“On purpose.”
“Correct.”
“Again.”
Mori smiled.
Chuuya looked ready to commit homicide.
“The target broker only allows trusted married couples into the private exchange,” Mori explained. “You and Dazai will attend together.”
Chuuya nearly answered automatically.
We already are.
The words stopped in his throat at the last second.
Mori noticed.
Of course he noticed.
But he said nothing.
Because Mori pretended not to know many things.
Even when he absolutely did.
Instead he rested his chin against his hand.
“You seem tense, Chuuya-kun.”
“I’m going home.”
“You still need your briefing.”
“I already regret living.”
Elise laughed louder.
Chuuya aggressively shoved his gloves on.
Beneath the leather rested a silver ring hidden against his finger.
His thumb brushed over it unconsciously.
Mori’s eyes flicked downward briefly.
Still.
He said nothing.
---
The medical room smelled faintly like antiseptic and perfume.
Akiko Yosano looked delighted.
Which never meant anything good.
“Stand still.”
“I feel deeply victimized.”
“Good.”
Dazai stared distrustfully at his reflection while Yosano adjusted the long dark wig carefully.
Soft waves spilled over his shoulders while the black silk dress clung perfectly against his body.
Gloves.
Heels.
Dark makeup softening his sharp features just enough to look elegant in a dangerous way.
“You clean up suspiciously well,” Yosano muttered.
“I prefer looking like a drowned corpse.”
“Unfortunately for you, Nakahara clearly has standards.”
Dazai’s mouth twitched slightly.
Yosano noticed immediately.
Interesting.
She adjusted the final pin holding the wig in place.
Then stepped back to admire her work.
“Honestly,” she sighed, “this might actually kill him.”
“Too late for that.”
The silver necklace beneath Dazai’s collar shifted slightly as he moved.
A ring rested hidden beneath the fabric.
Always there.
Always hidden.
Yosano noticed.
But wisely said nothing.
Few minutes later dazai , took the ring from the necklace and slide it into his finger with gentle smile resting on his face .
---
The Agency reaction was catastrophic.
Atsushi froze.
Tanizaki looked like he forgot language entirely.
Naomi gasped dramatically.
Kenji smiled brightly.
“You look pretty, Dazai-san!”
“Thank you, Kenji-kun. You’re the only person here with manners.”
Kunikida stared in visible horror.
“Why,” he asked slowly, “do you look like a criminal femme fatale?”
“Natural talent.”
“You look expensive,” Naomi added.
“That’s because I am.”
Ranpo finally looked up from his snacks.
One glance.
That was all it took.
His grin spread instantly.
“Oh,” he said casually. “You look like you’re renewing your vows.”
Dazai nearly choked.
Atsushi blinked.
“Vows?”
“Nothing,” Ranpo said innocently.
Which absolutely meant something.
Then he added:
“Have fun tonight.”
Dazai narrowed his eyes.
“That sounded threatening.”
“Oh, it definitely was.”
---
The phone rang twelve minutes later.
Dazai answered lazily from the couch.
“Chuuya?”
“Don’t sound happy about it.”
“You called me first. That’s adorable.”
Silence.
Then:
“You’re insufferable.”
Dazai grinned.
“You love me anyway.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Because unfortunately, that was true.
“I called because Mori-san said we need to coordinate before the mission,” Chuuya muttered.
Dazai stretched across the couch.
“Mm. Nervous?”
“About the mission? No.”
“About seeing me in the dress?”
Dead silence.
Then:
“Shut up.”
Dazai laughed softly.
Warm.
Genuine.
Chuuya heard it through the phone and immediately regretted having ears.
“You should wear the black tie tonight,” Dazai continued lazily. “The wine-red one makes you look too pretty.”
“…you notice my ties?”
“I notice everything about you.”
That landed too softly between them.
Too honestly.
Chuuya cleared his throat roughly.
“Don’t flirt too much with the target.”
Dazai smirked instantly.
“Jealous already?”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, definitely jealous.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“And yet you haven’t.”
“Goodbye, Dazai.”
The line clicked dead.
Dazai stared at the phone for a second before smiling to himself.
Warmly.
Privately.
Like something only Chuuya could pull from him.
---
Rain painted Yokohama gold beneath the hotel lights.
Luxury cars lined the entrance while warm light spilled across wet pavement.
Chuuya arrived first.
Black suit.
Gloves.
Hat.
Wine-red tie.
Broad shoulders sharp beneath tailored fabric.
Several women looked toward him immediately.
He ignored every single one.
Then a black car stopped nearby.
The door opened.
And Chuuya forgot how breathing worked.
Dazai stepped out slowly.
The long dark wig flowed over his shoulders in soft waves while the black silk dress hugged his body in ways Chuuya immediately took personally.
Long pale legs visible beneath the slit.
Dark gloves.
Heels.
A diamond necklace resting on his neck .
Beautiful.
Absolutely fucking beautiful.
Dazai noticed the staring instantly.
A smug smile appeared.
“Speechless?”
Chuuya recovered through aggression.
“You look ridiculous.”
“Liar.”
“You look like trouble.”
“You married me anyway.”
That shut Chuuya up immediately.
Dazai stepped closer.
Near enough for perfume and rain to mix together.
Then quietly:
“You wore the red tie.”
Chuuya looked away.
“Get in character already.”
Dazai smiled softly.
Only for him.
Then slipped one arm through Chuuya’s.
And instantly they looked terrifyingly believable together.
Like they had been married for years.
Because they had.
---
The ballroom glittered gold beneath crystal chandeliers.
Jazz drifted softly through expensive air while wealthy criminals and underground brokers laughed over champagne.
And the second Dazai and Chuuya entered together, people noticed.
Not because they were pretending.
Because they weren’t.
The way Chuuya’s hand settled naturally against Dazai’s waist.
The way Dazai leaned toward him automatically.
The private glances.
The tiny touches.
Years of hidden marriage sat unconsciously inside every movement.
A woman nearby sighed softly.
“They look deeply in love.”
Both men visibly stiffened.
Because fortunately.
They were.
---
The broker appeared forty minutes later.
Tall.
Expensive rings.
Arrogant smile.
The type of man Dazai disliked instantly.
The broker greeted them smoothly while studying them both carefully.
Dazai smiled beautifully before speaking in a softer, refined tone completely different from his usual voice.
“Kurosawa Rei.”
The broker’s eyes lingered immediately.
“And this is my husband, Kurosawa Ren.”
Chuuya nearly lost composure on the spot hearing Dazai say it aloud like that.
The broker kissed Dazai’s gloved hand.
Chuuya’s jaw tightened immediately.
Conversation continued carefully after that.
Mission first.
Information first.
Dazai tolerated the wandering touches because the data mattered.
A hand against his waist.
Fingers brushing exposed skin.
Leaning too close.
Dazai smiled through all of it.
But Chuuya noticed the tension instantly.
Of course he did.
Because nobody knew Dazai’s discomfort better than him.
The broker leaned close again.
“If you ever become bored of him, sweetheart—”
His hand slid lower against Dazai’s waist.
And something inside Chuuya snapped violently.
“Take your hand off my wife ”
Cold.
Deadly.
Possessive.
The broker laughed.
Wrong decision.
Very wrong.
Because the next touch lasted less than a second before—
Gunshot.
Silence exploded across the ballroom.
Blood spread across white marble.
The broker collapsed instantly.
Dead before he hit the floor.
Screams erupted seconds later.
Dazai stared at Chuuya.
Not shocked by the murder.
Chuuya killed people regularly.
No.
What startled him was the expression on Chuuya’s face.
Fury.
Protectiveness.
Something dangerously close to panic.
Like he genuinely couldn’t tolerate someone else touching Dazai for another second.
And beneath all the chaos flooding the ballroom
Dazai felt relieved.
Chuuya grabbed his wrist immediately.
“Move.”
Then dragged him straight out into the rain.
Rain hit hard against the hotel windows.
Dazai barely managed to keep pace through the heels while Chuuya dragged him through empty hallways with one hand locked tightly around his wrist.
“Chuuya—”
“Not now.”
“You just killed a man in the middle of a ballroom.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re being emotional.”
“You let him touch you.”
Dazai blinked.
Ah.
There it was.
Not anger.
Not really.
Possessiveness.
Jealousy.
Something rawer underneath all of it.
The elevator doors opened.
Chuuya shoved him inside immediately.
The second the doors shut, Dazai got pushed hard against the wall.
Not painful.
Just sudden enough to knock the breath from him.
Chuuya stood too close.
Breathing hard.
Gloves still on.
Hat slightly crooked from the chaos earlier.
And his eyes
God.
Dazai knew that look.
The dangerous one.
The one that usually ended badly for everyone else.
“You let him keep touching you,” Chuuya said roughly.
“The mission required—”
“I don’t care.”
That came out instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without thought.
Dazai’s pulse stumbled unexpectedly.
Because Chuuya meant it.
Always meant it.
The elevator stopped.
Neither moved.
For several long seconds the only sound came from rain hammering against the building outside.
Then quietly:
“You looked uncomfortable.”
Something about those words hit harder than the wall had.
Dazai looked away automatically.
Which only irritated Chuuya more.
One gloved hand grabbed his chin immediately, forcing him back.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend I don’t notice things.”
Dazai laughed softly.
Weakly.
“You notice too much.”
“Obviously.”
The elevator opened again.
Chuuya dragged him out before Dazai could answer.
---
The hotel room door slammed shut behind them.
And everything snapped.
Chuuya kissed him immediately.
Hard.
Messy.
Possessive enough to steal the air directly from Dazai’s lungs.
Dazai kissed him back just as aggressively.
The wig shifted beneath rough fingers while Chuuya shoved him backward until the back of his knees hit the mattress.
“You have issues,” Dazai muttered breathlessly.
“You wore that dress knowing exactly what it would do to me.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Chuuya made a frustrated sound low in his throat before kissing him again.
Dazai laughed against his mouth.
Which only made things worse.
Because Chuuya already struggled enough when Dazai laughed like that.
Warm.
Breathless.
Real.
The silk dress slipped halfway off one shoulder while Chuuya’s hands moved restlessly across his waist and thighs like he genuinely couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch first.
Possessive.
Hungry.
Familiar.
“You’re staring again,” Dazai whispered.
“You’re wearing a slit that should be illegal.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You’re lucky I love you.”
Dazai smiled lazily beneath the ruined makeup.
“You’re lucky I’m pretty.”
“That too.”
The next kiss felt rougher.
Needier somehow.
Years of hidden marriage and buried emotions and quiet domestic routines tangled together beneath it all.
Because the truth was,
Nobody knew them like this.
Nobody saw:
Chuuya carrying groceries home after missions , Dazai stealing his wine ,sleepy arguments at three in the morning, Chuuya fixing loose bandages silently or Dazai sleeping better beside him than anywhere else
Nobody knew Chuuya always left the apartment lights on when Dazai was gone too long.
Nobody knew Dazai still came home even when he was covered in blood and exhaustion and quietly crawled into Chuuya’s bed afterward.
Nobody knew.
And somehow keeping it secret all these years only made moments like this feel sharper.
More dangerous.
More theirs.
Chuuya shoved him gently backward onto the mattress.
Dazai landed with a soft laugh.
“You know,” he said breathlessly, “most married couples communicate with flowers.”
“You hate flowers.”
“That’s not the point.”
“You also hate people.”
“I married you.”
“Bad judgment.”
Dazai grinned immediately.
“There’s my husband.”
Something warm flashed briefly across Chuuya’s face before he hid it by kissing him again.
The wig was definitely ruined now.
Dark strands spilled messily across the sheets while Chuuya’s hands slid beneath the silk dress possessively enough to make Dazai’s breathing stutter.
“Mine,” Chuuya muttered roughly against his throat.
Dazai shivered visibly.
That reaction alone nearly destroyed the last scraps of Chuuya’s self-control.
“You let him touch you too long.”
“The mission—”
“I know.”
Another kiss.
Slower this time.
Lingering.
“But I still hated it.”
Dazai swallowed hard.
Because this ,
This was the part that always got him.
Not the roughness.
Not the possessiveness.
The terrifying sincerity hidden underneath it.
The way Chuuya loved him so openly in private while pretending otherwise in public.
Hands slid beneath loose bandages carefully.
Not removing them.
Never forcing.
Just touching skin beneath them gently enough to make Dazai ache somewhere embarrassing.
“You’re staring again,” Dazai muttered weakly.
“You’re beautiful.”
Dazai immediately looked offended.
“That was disgustingly genuine.”
“You married me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
Chuuya laughed softly against his neck.
Warm.
Rare.
And Dazai felt stupidly fond all over again.
---
Much later —
Dazai decided his husband was a violent man.
This was not new information.
But it did feel significantly more personal now.
“My legs don’t work.”
“You’re still talking. You’re fine.”
“I’m being abused in my own marriage.”
“You started it.”
Dazai lay dramatically face-down across the hotel bed while Chuuya moved around the room collecting discarded clothes and ruined bandages.
The wig still spilled across Dazai’s back in dark messy waves.
Chuuya noticed immediately.
Then paused.
“…you kept this thing on the entire time.”
Dazai buried half his face deeper into the pillow.
“Mm. You seemed enthusiastic about it.”
Chuuya immediately turned red.
Dazai’s shoulders shook weakly with laughter.
“You kept pulling my hair like you were in a romance novel.”
“Shut up.”
“At one point I thought you were going to growl.”
“Dazai.”
“You were emotionally compromised.”
Chuuya grabbed the wig gently and finally pulled it free.
The long dark hair slipped away.
And suddenly—
There he was.
Messy brown hair.
Smudged makeup.
Loose bandages.
Exhausted eyes.
His real Dazai.
Chuuya softened instantly.
Completely instinctive.
He sat beside him quietly before brushing one thumb carefully beneath Dazai’s eye.
“There you are.”
Dazai hated how much that affected him.
Stupid heart.
Stupid husband.
Stupid soft moments after getting absolutely destroyed.
Chuuya started rewrapping the loose bandages carefully.
Gentle hands now.
Always gentle afterward.
Dazai watched him silently for a while.
Then quieter:
“You don’t have to look at them like that.”
Chuuya glanced up immediately.
“Like what?”
“Like they’re something pretty ...... it's not .”
The room fell quiet.
Then Chuuya leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against one faded scar near Dazai’s shoulder.
Natural.
Familiar.
Like he’d done it a hundred times before.
“they are even if you deny it .”
Dazai went very still.
Because Chuuya always did this.
Always looked at the ugliest parts of him like they deserved tenderness too.
And honestly?
That was probably worse than the roughness earlier.
Chuuya finished fixing the bandages before standing.
“Stay there.”
“Threatening.”
“I’m making food.”
“Domestic.”
“You’re barely able to walk.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“You almost fell trying to stand up.”
“In my defense,” Dazai muttered, “you’re built like an attack dog.”
Chuuya looked deeply satisfied with himself.
Which was frankly rude.
Several minutes later he returned with food, water, painkillers, and the expression of a man who knew exactly what he’d done.
Dazai narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“You look smug.”
“I am smug.”
“My waist is broken.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
Chuuya leaned down close enough for Dazai to feel his breath against his neck.
Then quietly:
“Still mine though.”
Dazai smiled helplessly into the pillow immediately.
Hopeless.
Absolutely hopeless.
---
The next morning was worse.
Mostly because Dazai genuinely could not walk properly.
“This is humiliating.”
“This is consequences.”
“You’re short. You shouldn’t be this strong.”
Chuuya snorted while adjusting his tie.
“You say that like you didn’t enjoy it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.”
Dazai glared from the bed while struggling with his shirt buttons.
Chuuya watched for approximately three seconds before walking over and doing them himself.
Domestic traitor.
“You’re annoying,” Dazai informed him.
“You’re limping.”
“That sounds fake.”
“You nearly collapsed in the bathroom.”
“In my defense,” Dazai said seriously, “you absolutely ruined me.”
Chuuya almost choked.
Then immediately looked unbearably smug again.
Dazai hated him.
Unfortunately.
He also loved him.
Which was significantly worse.
Dazai reached the apartment door carefully.
Which mostly meant limping dramatically while pretending he wasn’t limping dramatically.
“This is your fault,” he informed his husband.
Chuuya looked up from where he was wearing his shoes .
“You’re still talking, so clearly I didn’t hit hard enough.”
“Abusive.”
“Brat.”
Dazai slipped his shoes on slowly before reaching for his coat.
Then paused.
“…you’re staring again.”
Chuuya didn’t even try denying it.
Because honestly?
Watching Dazai limp around in his oversized coat with messy bandages and sleep-tousled hair after spending the entire night in Chuuya’s bed did something deeply unreasonable to him.
“You look good like that ,” Chuuya admitted casually.
Dazai blinked.
“Like what?”
“Marked up.”
That should not have affected him as much as it did.
Unfortunately.
His stupid husband noticed immediately.
A smug grin appeared.
“Oh my god,” Dazai muttered. “You’re impossible.”
“You love me anyway.”
“That’s unrelated.”
Chuuya walked over slowly until he stood directly in front of him.
Then adjusted Dazai’s collar ⁸carefully with gloved fingers.
Gentle.
Always gentle afterward.
“Try not to flirt with anyone today,” Chuuya said lightly.
Dazai stared at him.
“…you killed a man yesterday because he touched my waist.”
“And I’d do it again.”
Completely serious.
Dazai felt heat crawl embarrassingly up his neck.
Which was unfair.
Because Chuuya looked way too pleased noticing it.
Then Chuuya leaned down slightly and kissed him once.
Soft.
Quick.
Domestic enough to make Dazai’s chest ache unexpectedly.
“If the Agency ever finds out I’m married to you,” Dazai muttered weakly, “Kunikida is going to have a heart attack.”
Chuuya smirked immediately.
“Hopefully today.”
“Cruel.”
“You married me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
---
The Armed Detective Agency exploded the second Dazai walked through the door.
Mostly because he was visibly limping.
And Ranpo noticed instantly.
Of course he did.
Dazai attempted acting normal.
Which failed immediately.
His neck bandages sat crooked.
A dark hickey remained visible underneath.
His posture looked suspiciously careful.
And every time he sat down he winced slightly.
Ranpo stared for exactly two seconds before bursting into laughter.
“Oh my god,” he wheezed. “Chuuya really made sure nobody else would be walking you home tonight.”
The entire office froze.
Dazai nearly choked.
Actually blushed.
Rare terrifying event.
Atsushi looked horrified.
Tanizaki dropped paperwork.
Naomi gasped dramatically.
Kunikida blinked slowly.
“…what does that mean?”
At that exact moment, Yosano walked into the office.
She took one look at Dazai.
Then immediately burst into laughter too.
“Nakahara was rough, huh?”
Dazai hid his face behind one hand.
“I hate every single one of you.”
“Your waist okay?” Ranpo asked sweetly.
“No.”
Kunikida looked seconds away from cardiac arrest.
“WITH WHO?”
Ranpo grinned brightly.
Dangerous.
Delighted.
Then Fukuzawa calmly walked past the office.
Without even slowing down, he said:
“Your marital matters should remain outside office hours, Dazai.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Atsushi stared.
“…marital?”
Kunikida slowly turned toward Dazai in horror.
Ranpo smiled innocently.
“Oh,” he said. “Did nobody know?”
Dazai looked like he wanted death.
Kunikida made a strangled sound.
Atsushi turned toward him immediately.
“Kunikida-san?”
Kunikida’s face had gone completely pale.
His notebook slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a sad little smack.
“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, voice shaking, “that Dazai has been legally married to a Port Mafia executive this entire time?”
Dazai opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Ranpo helpfully added, “Since they were eighteen.”
Kunikida clutched his chest.
Atsushi panicked.
“KUNIKIDA-SAN?!”
“This,” Kunikida wheezed, “is not in the schedule.”
Then he collapsed backward into Atsushi’s arms.
Yosano laughed so hard she had to hold the doorframe.
Dazai, still limping, pointed weakly at Ranpo.
“You killed him.”
Ranpo only smiled.
“No. Your marriage did.”
And somewhere across Yokohama, Chuuya sneezed violently while drinking wine in his office.
THE END