Curate, connect, and discover
Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs
Ship: Dazai x Reader
Prompt: “'Sorry for showing up like this.’ You sighed, your shoulders relaxing in silent defeat. ‘Come in.’”
TW: mentions of death (Oda), mentioned bad home life though not explicit
!Gender of reader is not specified!
A/N: I do plan on making a 2nd part where the reader and Dazai talk things out and get in a relationship, not sure when I'll finish it though
The word count for chapter 1 is roughly 2k
Also, this will be posted on my ao3, link on my master list
You had known Dazai for a long time, perhaps not as long as Chuuya has, but that’s beside the point.
While you had grown up around shady people and been dealing with said shady people’s shady shit pretty much your whole life, courtesy of your shitty, shady parents, you hadn’t actually joined the Port Mafia until you were 17. Two years older than Dazai and Chuuya, but joined the Mafia around roughly the same time Chuuya had.
With your ability, it didn’t take long for you to begin to climb the ranks. It wasn’t like you were trying to specifically reach the rank of executive, but gradually, you crept closer.
About a year and a half after you had joined you had made a name for yourself, and that was also about the time you had met Dazai and Chuuya for the first time during a bigger mission.
You had somehow managed to become something like friends with them on that mission and had become a somewhat regularity to be paired with them on large missions. You were tough enough to handle both their eccentric personalities as well as teasing enough to get along with Dazai and passionate enough to friend Chuuya.
It was a weird trio you had formed, often being the one to defuse them when they began to bicker. And of course, apologizing when they disturbed the everyday citizens with their fighting when the three of you had time off to just be kids.
Over time, you had begun to grow closer and fonder of Dazai, being able to relate to him more often than one probably should, but whatever. Sometimes, the two of you would find each other silently sitting at the docks staring off into nothingness, neither of you would talk, just simply get lost in your endless thoughts while enjoying the presence of someone who was similar enough to understand you.
On one such occasion Dazai had broken the endless silence of the waves below your feet; inviting you to join him to meet with his bar friends. That was when you met Ango and Oda. They were pleasant company and you had found yourself growing attached to them just like you knew Dazai was, though he would’ve probably denied it at the time.
So, when Dazai disappeared one night with no traces, followed by learning of Oda’s death. You knew.
That didn’t make it hurt any less of course. Especially with how his sudden departure shed light on your feelings for him.
While Chuuya presented himself to be finally rid of his presence, you both knew that Dazai leaving had hurt both of you. You had chosen to tell Chuuya Dazai’s reasons for leaving, not wanting the anger of Dazai’s leaving to grow into hatred, besides, Chuuya would’ve pieced it together eventually.
And like that. Everything continued. The Port Mafia didn’t mourn over its losses. Executive duties called.
So, when after 4 years of no contact, to say you were surprised at his being in the ADA would be an understatement.
You hadn’t had the chance to see him yet like Chuuya had but you were there to witness Chuuya’s drunken midnight rant after having invited you over.
“Oh, trust me, he’s as shitty a mackerel as he always has been. He hasn’t changed a bit.” Chuuya slurred off, grumbling under his breath as he laid his head down on the counter.
You were both sitting at the kitchen island, a bottle of some expensive wine brand, open and mostly empty now, was on the counter between you.
You sat with your body facing Chuuya, your head resting in your palm, elbow against the counter.
“Mhm. He hasn’t changed a bit huh?” You spoke more for the simple sake of speaking, entertaining the drunk man before you. You didn’t need clarification of something you already knew.
Dazai had always been capable of doing good. He just didn’t care between doing good or bad, it made no difference to him. He’s only working for the light because it’s what Oda wanted. Dazai not changing wasn’t a surprise. So Chuuya’s following words were a little less than expected.
“Actually…” He paused, slurring off again before clarifying his words, his head remained poised on the counter. “He looked… brighter?” He seemed to question his own words before continuing. “Brighter and healthier. He seemed…” Chuuya trailed off again but not due to his drunken state. He stopped himself from finishing his train of thought.
“Happier?” You finished for him.
He didn’t respond.
After that, you had practically forgotten about Dazai now being in the ADA, too busy with missions and the seemingly never-ending, growing stack of paperwork.
That was until tonight.
It had been a grueling past few days, rainy weather, long meetings, missions to assign, missions to report and file, and of course your endless stack of shitty paperwork that had somehow found itself in your home office, taking up even more of your own time which was already short considering your importance to the Mafia.
After you got home, sometime around the dead-ass crack of dawn, you had only grabbed a cup of coffee, one of the larger mugs you owned, before heading to your office for more work.
Sometime, while in the middle of reviewing some report, you had fallen asleep, lulled by the endless pitter-patter of rain hitting the window in your office.
You had slept most of the day away and upon waking, it had already grown dark outside, probably around 9 or 10 at night now, and you were thankful to whatever divine being had granted you a day off today because you would have been so fucking late. You chose to willfully ignore that Mori-san was technically the one who made your schedule. He was a good boss, competent in his decisions, but he was no divine being.
Stretching in your chair, you could feel the soreness of your muscles from the previous day of work. There was a tightness in your back, worse than it normally was, courtesy of sleeping in your chair.
A knock sounded on your door, soft when it made its way to your ears but still clear as it cut through the silence of the penthouse you called home.
You dragged your body to your door, still completely dressed head-to-toe in your typical Mafia outfit with the addition of a few wrinkles, your shoes clacking noisily on the floor.
“Coming!” You called out before the person waiting behind your door could think to knock again.
Reaching your door, you work through your security system before opening your door, behind, a man you hadn’t seen for 4 years.
Your tiredness slipped away from your body as you gasped. Your body now on alert as you stared at him.
He was dressed in, presumedly, his ADA outfit, light in color. His bandages still covered his neck, probably the rest of his body, but the ones that used to cover his eye were gone. He had clearly gained weight since you had last seen him, though he still lacked a significant amount of meat on his bones someone his age and height should have.
Chuuya was right, he looked happier. No. That was wrong. He didn’t look happy. He looked… sad? Guilty?
They weren’t emotions you were familiar with seeing on him. Sure, you had seen both emotions on people in the Mafia during interrogations… but on Dazai? No. He hardly ever even faked them.
He did look brighter though. Healthier.
He also looked- no was drenched. His clothes were darkened by the rainwater still pouring outside. Dripping water on the carpeted floor. You could see a few dark spots on the floor down the hall, marking his trail.
He beat you to a response.
“Sorry for showing up like this.”
You sighed, your shoulders relaxing in silent defeat. “Come in.”
You stepped to the side, letting him in.
You closed the door behind him as he observed the expensive and modern decorations. It lacked any personality, at least to an untrained eye. If one looked closer, you could make out a knick-knack here or there that didn’t quite fit the rest of the rather drab decorations.
It lacked vulnerability.
Your bedroom, though, where only you went into, your interests bled out.
“I assume your room has more personality than this, no?” Dazai’s tone was off. A half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.
“Vulnerability isn’t something Mafia Executives have the luxury to indulge in often.”
He didn’t respond.
“You can hang your coat on the rack.” You spoke, staring at his back as he walked into your home. “And take your shoes off.”
You turned down the hall towards your room, leaving Dazai to settle.
As you walked you called out to Dazai, not facing him. “I should have some clothes that fit you.” Then as an afterthought, “I want you to take a shower.”
When you walked back into the living room with some clothes, Dazai had actually listened, his coat was hung up and his shoes were in the genkan, he had also taken off his socks, probably soaked after being out in the rain.
You walked up to him, handing him the clothes. “Go take a shower. There should be some rolls of bandages in there, though I’m not sure how many I have left.”
He took the clothes from you silently, then: “Thank you.”
You looked him in the eyes, trying to discern how much you didn’t know about him anymore. How much you needed to learn about him.
“Have you eaten?” You spoke calmly, trying to ignore the thoughts and feelings swirling inside you without end.
“I-…” He hesitated. “No. I haven’t.”
Without another word, you left him to go take a shower. It was probably a good idea to make something to eat anyway, considering you were currently running off of a single cup of coffee.
You decided to not bother to cook and instead pulled out two packets of ramen in part because you were still tired as fuck, and you didn’t know if Dazai’s eating habits had changed or not.
It was better to settle for something simple that he might eat if you were lucky.
It didn’t take long for the ramen to finish heating up and for you to place it in two bowls so you placed them on the table. You were about to go check on Dazai when he turned the corner into the living room.
Something was off, he had changed into the clothes you got for him, and his hair was still wet, dripping water off of his soft curls. He seemed… hesitant -nervous? More so than he had been before taking a shower.
“I made ramen.” You spoke, realizing you had been looking for a bit too long. You gestured to the table with the two bowls full of still steaming ramen.
“Thank you…” His voice was quiet, low. He clearly wasn’t bothering to hide his hesitancy, or perhaps he was just failing miserably in trying.
You sat down at one end of the table and busied yourself with eating. You watched him shift over to the seat adjacent to you.
Your eyes widened in upon noticing. “You’re not wearing your bandages?”
He shifted in his seat, avoiding your gaze.
“The hoodie and shorts are soft…”
The ‘and I trust you’ went unsaid but understood.
Your face softened around the edges.
“Eat.”
He responded with a nod before picking up his chopsticks.
Soon enough you had finished your food, and though Dazai only ate half, it was more than you were expecting him to eat. You placed your dishes in the sink to deal with another time before returning to the table, though you remained standing. Dazai had yet to get up.
“Do you want to watch something? I have a day off so…” You trailed off awkwardly.
He looked up but he didn’t quite meet your eyes.
“Sure.”
The only light currently on was the blue light emitted from the television that was playing some show you were hardly paying any more attention to. After a few episodes, you had shifted from sitting awkwardly on opposite sides of the couch to where Dazai was now practically lying on top of you. He was lying his head on your chest with his face turned towards the screen, invested in whatever show it was that was playing. You had let him pick. You were far more interested in watching as he relaxed into you as you ran your fingers through his now, mostly dry, curls.
“Tired?” Your voice no more than a whisper.
“No…” He responded; a hint of a tired whine interlaced in it. A tone his voice always had when he was tired just didn’t want to sleep in lieu of whatever he was currently doing, which at the moment was watching a show while cuddling with someone he hadn’t seen in 4 years.
“Sure~.” You teased as your nails gently scratched at his scalp.
He grumbled something softly into your chest.
You knew how bad, how dangerous your next thought was. It could end badly for both of you, but you couldn’t help when the words slipped from your tongue.
“Why don’t we go to bed hm?”
He responded with an unintelligible whine, pressing his face further into your chest, as he wrapped his lanky arms around your back.
You sighed softly but even if he had clearly put on more weight, he still wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight against you physically speaking. You gathered what remaining strength you had in you as you wrapped your hands around his waist before shifting to a sitting position. Then you secured your arms under him to lift him up in your arms.
“Come on, you lanky beanpole. Time for bed.”
The talk could wait for tomorrow, after all, he couldn’t leave with his clothes still in the washer.
PT 2