a graveyard smash

  • Hoshi: If you have sex during Halloween would it be a monster mash or a graveyard smash?
  • DK: No, it's just straight up bone-ing!
  • Soonseok: *High-fives*
  • Dino: I hate both of you so much.
as yet unnamed

[ dazai osamu x reader ]


notes: discontinued. included every section, even the originally unpublished parts. i didn’t realize it was over 4k words.


一 ; the first letter.


I liked you, enough.

You weren’t too bad of a person, if I really thought about it–which I found myself doing, more often than not. You were so many things: the Port Mafia’s dearest prodigy, an underage drinker, a rival of dogs, and the champion of those stupid competitions we always had. Fickle, capricious and all over the place. One moment you wanted to play petty games and the next you were plotting the demise of your nearest enemy, usually Chuuya. At times, you were a lot to handle, but I grew used to it. After all, I liked you.

Were you real? Sometimes, I couldn’t tell how to distinguish your reality from the false mask you wove. You could be saccharine sweet whenever you wanted to, and it could mean so much. I tried not to think too much about it, because why would I need to? I was nothing compared to you. We never had to know each other.

We probably never should have met.

I was perfectly fine on my own. I was living, getting by, managing. I could handle things alone. Company, especially the constant kind you offered, wasn’t necessary. I had confidence in myself, the independent kind where I truly didn’t need someone else, otherwise I would start to question things. I liked the peace it brought, so of course you had to come along and turn everything upside down.

Maybe I should have asked you to fix it. Maybe I should have asked you to return it to the way it was before. Maybe I should have made you pick up the pieces of the glass heart you shattered and glue them back together, because any semblance of being whole is better than what you have left me with now.

Am I being dramatic? Probably. You must understand, we were young. Things are magnified somehow, as the years pass. Problems become all the more obvious, and some scars refuse to fade.

But I don’t blame you.

We were young and blind.

So, Dazai, ask me again.

Like you always had. Day after day, week after week, month after month. The texts of letters that made up words that made up sentences that made up the currents of the heart you pretended not to have. The long and dramatic speeches you ambushed me with that dragged on for so long that carried the story of your soul.

Ask me again tomorrow.

Won’t you?


二 ; the second letter.


Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl, living in a place and time that they really shouldn’t have had anything to do with. Except they did. Victims of circumstances, driven by twisted desires, they found themselves in the organization that ran amok in the moonlit nights. They new nothing about the other - she knew his name and nothing more, and to him, she could very well be nobody. Their stories could have run parallel lines, they did not need another person to further their journeys, but in the end perhaps intersection was unavoidable.

But, intertwining?

Who would have guessed, that someone with a name and reputation like yours would want to talk to someone like me?

I was nothing but a fleeting face that could be forgotten as soon as I was seen. I ran errands for my superiors and averted my eyes at the slightest sign of internal strife so I wouldn’t find myself in more trouble than necessary. People as high up as you never would have though to look twice.

Except - except, I had to laugh.

“Ah, look at you!” was what you exclaimed, seated across from your - our - redhead resident matchstick. “Would a belle such as you be interested in a double suicide?”

A rather strange way to accept paperwork. Stunned, I must have stood there for a long moment, trying to wrap my head around the words that had just slipped from your mouth. Chuuya swooped in, like the life-saving angel he was and always will be when he wants to rub you the wrong way, to tell me that you’re always like this, and that I shouldn’t worry.

So, I laughed.

“Maybe some other time,” I said.

And I laughed. Maybe all this time in the mafia was getting to you, knocking you off your rocker. It would make sense, to lose grip on reality after so many years playing around in this business. It’s why nobody really asked about certain colleagues, it’s why nobody really thought twice about certain groups.

I would realize, years later, that you didn’t ask for a lovers’ suicide. It couldn’t have made that much of a difference, but you did not take word choice lightly. It meant something, and I didn’t know what.

Now, I might have an inkling. You’ll tell me if I’m wrong, won’t you?

You knew who I was, the whole time. You knew everything, and you were curious.


一 ; postcard one: lupin.


Hi, [Name]!
Odasaku made me these postcards, years back. I’m afraid that I never could do as good of a job as he did with the later ones, but it’s as you said. It’s the thought that counts.
Today, I visited the Lupin again. I invited Ango (do you know him? I’m not sure.) to come, but he refused. Suppose he still worries that I might put a bullet through him, after the stunt I pulled. But, the Lupin, it was just as I remembered. Nice and cozy, and the bartender hadn’t forgotten me. He even had my drink ready!
I should have taken you, on one of those evenings after work. You would have liked it, and I’m sure that you and Odasaku would have gotten along.
—–wish that you were here.


三 ; the third letter.


Do you remember the sound of my laugh? I remember yours. All of yours, from the laugh you used in the face of certain death to the one you used to mock your enemy and the laugh that slipped out when you were able to truly enjoy yourself. Maybe it’s just me, but they were all so different. Sure, your face still screwed up and I thought it couldn’t have been any less attractive, but it was you.

We shared many, over the course of the years. You laughed because I couldn’t do things you could, and I laughed because you could be downright ridiculous at times. Nothing cold-hearted, just two people learning to be friends. We would laugh when the other made the slightest mistake, and then move to help. We would laugh when we took a day off, unannounced, to explore the street markets and sometimes the festivals. We would laugh, you especially, when I somehow got sugar on my nose and you had to reach out and wipe it off.

You liked sugar a lot.

I learned this too late, after you had stolen the candy I picked up from one of the booths. But I didn’t mind. Not much, anyway.

Of course, you laughed more than I did. The way you chose to go about your life was different; you seemed to take the smallest thing and find amusement in it.

But now, I wonder, how much of it was real? You once told me that you joined the mafia to feel human. It was where the most desperate of emotions could be found. Were you simply doing it because you thought that was how you could find humanity? Did you really feel amusement bubbling up inside of you, the sort untainted by the darkness of your life?

Whatever the case was, you found reasons aplenty to laugh.

I remember the first time I heard that terrible sound.

It was when I bumped into you, a few days after the first incident. You were lounging in the corner, just outside of my office - they say that you can do some things you normally wouldn’t be able to in the Port Mafia, but maybe whoever decided someone as young as I was would need an office to work in was expecting too much - a cigarette in your hand, and when I asked you to put it out, you did with a laugh. You proceeded to offer me one, and I wonder why I hadn’t kicked you out of my life right then. I hated smoke, but with you around I grew used to it.

Oh, did I say “terrible”?

I did.

If I could use only one word to describe my childhood, if would be “terrible.”   Not even you could save it. Not even I can deny that most of it was because of you.

But I haven’t even gotten to that part yet.

The joke is on you, this time, Dazai.

I remember your laugh and I hate what you have done to me.


二 ; postcard two: the bookstore.


It’s that old bookstore again, [Name]!
Do you remember when I found you here? Your nose buried in a book and wedged between the bookshelves, you had probably been here for a couple hours. I guess it made sense. You were on vacation, so of course I decided I should have a nice conversation with you. After all, we were only getting to know each other. It’;d be a shame to let all my effort go to waste.
I suppose a book to the face told me how much you wanted interaction.
Next time, I’ll buy you that book you always wanted. How does that sound?
—wish you were here.


四 ; the fourth letter.


I think the first time I really enjoyed myself, ever since I woke up one day in the mafia infirmary, was the night you and Chuuya took me to a party. Not one of those fancy ones the boss would make us go to - you, actually, I didn’t start going to those until you decided I should - but one of those thrown by high school kids. It was mild, but I’m not sure what I expected. Those kids might have thought they were living on the dangerous side, but their definition is nothing near how dangerous we lived.

But, I had fun. The drinks were a bit watered down for my taste, though I had experience. Chuuya might beg to differ and you probably switched his drink out for cherry soda so he could stay on his feet longer. I’m surprised none of the kids paid us much attention. We must have blended in better than I expected.

That was the first time I truly experienced life. Sure, I’ve had my moments of escape, but this was different. I had people with me, people I considered friends. It was new, and it’s forever in my memory: the way Chuuya’s hat fell off his head about an hour in and the way you picked it up to wear, the way you caught my gaze and made such a big deal out of winking that I almost choked on a laugh. I avoided getting wasted that night, dragging the two of you out before midnight, telling myself that I had work to do the next day.

It was a lie.

I told myself that I wouldn’t stay any longer with you and Chuuya, after you insisted on racing down the streets like the cops were chasing us. After you took your time choosing a car and broke into it just to speed to the harbor and ditch it. You were so careless, reckless even, when you chose to let loose a bit. I knew that if I spent another second with you, I might end up even further in a pit of trouble.

But I stayed, didn’t I?

Until Chuuya downed that can of beer I had swiped from the party and stuffed in my bag, until he started to cuss you out, loudly, until you practically picked him up like he was a sack and announced that we had to find somewhere to leave him.

“Should we leave him in the street?” you had asked. My eyebrows had gone up, neither surprised or disappointed. Even two hours with the two of you could already give me a glance of your relationship. The fact that you had been even a little bit civil towards each other that night was a miracle in itself.

“Let’s go to my place,” I suggested. “It’s closest.”

I didn’t know where you lived. I didn’t want to know. As for my flat, well, I figured you must already know. You had your ways of getting information.

The walk to my apartment building was sobering. The realization of what had taken place only half an hour before sank in, and I found my steps faltering even before my door came into view. I hadn’t known you well, then. Our relationship before only consisted of nods hello, brief conversations, nothing more. That night, it had been a huge leap, and I didn’t know how things would be the next day.

You must have seen the doubt flickering through my eyes, because your lips curled up into that smirk of yours and you said, “Are you having second thoughts? Did you decide that it’s not worth letting a monster into your home?”

I rolled my eyes and replied, “You’re a monster, alright. Who steals a car and doesn’t have the decency to ride it all the way to Tokyo?”

You were careless, so very careless, so very arrogant and so very wrong.

And you made me careless. You changed me, and I had hoped I changed you.

But if I thought we were stupid and careless then, the us years later couldn’t compare.


三 ; postcard three: hot pot


You liked hot pot, right, [Name]?
We used to walk by this place every time we went to the street markets. You glanced at it every so often, but you didn’t say much about it. The windows were always fogged up, the door slightly open, and business all around the clock. You said that the place must be good, before changing the subject to something that happened at work. I tried it last week, and it was. You were right, like you so often were.
If I were being honest, I never was too sure about you. You didn’t like to talk much about yourself. What you liked, who you were, where you came from - it was all a secret. You even had a smile for it, with your lips pressed together and eyes sliding shut, it was the kind of secret that you would never part with even if it could save the world. And I wanted to find out.
If I ever do, I hope you tell me if I’m right.
—-wish you were here.


五 ; the fifth letter.


You broke a lot of hearts.

Don’t even try to deny it. I’m not saying it like it’s a bad thing, it’s a fact and I am stating it. Chuuya and I used to have bets every time you took fancy in some girl. Would you have sex with this one? How long would it take before you got tired of them? Would you break up with them before? Would you get rejected because you were a little too suicidal for their tastes? I’m not sure about you, but I prefer my men alive.

I’m not bragging, but usually I won the bets. I’m not even sure if Chuuya paid me all that I had won, but it doesn’t matter. He made it up with the food he treated me with. Food for the bets he lost and the trouble he caused me - less than you did, but he didn’t have a clean record - at the rate we were going, buying myself groceries was almost unnecessary.

You, on the other hand, you had your own ways making up for the messes you created. You must have broken my bathroom at least twice, Dazai, and I think you only fixed it once. I haven’t checked.

I swear, though, you spent more time at my flat than you should have. It was practically your second home. Of course, it was gradual, the hours you would spend there. At first, it was Friday nights after you and Chuuya dragged me out to have some sort of fun, whether it was wandering the streets of Yokohama and engaging in the nightlife, or hunting down new restaurants to try out, or frequenting the bars who were already far too familiar with us. Then it evolved to you walking me home from work, on days when I would actually get to go home. It felt strange on the occasions that you weren’t with me, and eventually you got me moved to work with you so our schedules wouldn’t conflict as much.

And then you started staying overnight.

It wasn’t on purpose, I know that.

You were half of Double Black. You took on dangerous jobs, sometimes you were too exhausted to make it to the headquarters right after a mission. The first day you showed up at my door nearly gave me a heart attack, but I grew used to it as time passed.

I had to get used to so much because of you.

I think I had to restock my first aid kit just for you. At least I would always be prepared, for any more unexpected visits.

At some point, I realized that every now and then I could smell the instant noodles you made at my place, even though I was certain I had opened the windows to air it out. I could smell hints of your cologne, on the pillow and the couch where you liked to crash, on the curtains from that one time you tripped over a lamp and just lay there for about an hour and then promised it wouldn’t happen again even though it did. If I tried hard enough, I could hear your chuckle from the half-conscious conversations we would have.

“Why is Chuuya such a lightweight?” for example. You asked me that, and I’m not sure what kind of response you were expecting. I didn’t give you a helpful one, too exhausted from having to stitch you up from a suicide attempt.

You did an awful lot of them, only to wind up with them failing and you standing outside my door with that sheepish smile on your face, asking me for help. I told myself that one day I would turn you away. I never did.

“If he used his ability, he wouldn’t be.”

I could feel the vibration of your chuckle from your back.


四 ; postcard four: pier.


You helped a baby crow once, at this pier.
It was your ability, to be able to heal minor injuries with a single touch. I found that on your file, but even Mori said your profile was incomplete. How did you convince him of your loyalty? He had no suspicions of you.
The crow recognized me - I’m surprised, though crows are quite intelligent. He followed me around when I stopped by, maybe hoping you would pop up like usual with food for him. When he realized you wouldn’t be coming, he pecked my hand and flew away. He drew a little blood, but it wasn’t much of an injury. I doubt you’d worry, though. You’ve seen me at worst stages.
You should visit your crow soon.
—wish you were here.


六 ; the sixth letter.


Over the course of years of your womanizing habits, I think that there has only been one person who ended things with you. That is, at least so publicly, in front of me.

It was after work one day, during the months Chuuya spent overseas, on a Friday that we decided to go somewhere mundane. Given that earlier in the week, we had hacked into a company’s funds to collect unpaid debt, something relaxing certainly seemed in order. Of course, I knew you had a new fling - Chuuya and I could never call them girlfriends, it seemed so permanent. All your previous ones, at some point, if they ever saw us, accepted the fact that we were friends. Maybe it was because Chuuya was there and we ganged up on you, but they never bothered us much.

Maybe you did something, said something, but I don’t know.

This time, however, it was different. She caught us at the wrong time, at the ramen house down the street by my flat. We visited often, once a month, and the owner recognized us and our timing well enough to already have a table ready.

She was there with a friend, who immediately directed her attention to us. You had me playfully shoving you into the restaurant, cheeks flushed from the cold and smile fading from the bouts of laughter we shared from the impressions we were doing. You were always uncannily good at them. I felt her stare on us, but when I asked you, you shrugged it away.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. For some reason, whenever you said that, it made me feel strange.

She left us alone, until the owner seated us at our usual table - “two people today?” - and had our food ready in less than ten minutes.

I suppose, when she realized that nobody else would be joining us, she decided that something dishonest was going on and stormed over.

I don’t remember what she said - no, yelled - at you. Her voice was loud, quieting the buzz of the room, ringing and grating at my mind enough to give me a headache. But, I do know that she accused you of cheating. You selfish jerk, she had screamed. Playing with my heart like this for a month and cheating on me on our anniversary. Something along those lines.

It startled me, badly. You were as calm and collected as ever, waiting for her to run out of steam so you could get a word in. It didn’t matter that everyone’s attention was on us, I think you were enjoying yourself because of how far from the truth she was.

If Chuuya were there, we would have bet on how much effort you would put into this. Would you end things, or would you attempt to make amends?

But then she said something that jarred us both.

“Did you even love me?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse, tears running down her cheeks. “Did you even love me the way you love her?”

I could have laughed about so many things; she had only known you for one month, and was already demanding this, or she thought you loved me more when all we ever were from the very beginning were two people learning friendship.

“No,” was your response, as careless as ever. “Please, leave us. You’re making a scene.”

A cold dismissal, but it worked. The sound of the ramen house slowly returned to normal, albeit a bit awkward until you reached forward and pinched my nose. Then nothing else mattered except the phone call I would have to make with Chuuya.

I only realized afterwards that you did not correct her, that we were only friends and nothing like what the two of you had.

It made me wonder, though.

Do you even know what love is?


五 ; postcard five: street market.


Happy Lunar New Year!
Just kidding, it’s not. It hasn’t been for a while, but I just found this card. How have you been? How did you spend the last year? It’s been so long since we last spoke, but I still remember everything about you.
The street vendors have changed, most of them, so it’s a completely new experience. I certainly enjoyed it, and I know you would too. Well, the fifteen year old you. A great deal of time has passed. You must have changed a lot. I know you did.
Where are you? I haven’t seen you around. Have you been promoted? You deserve it. Have your habits changed? Have you moved? Are you trying to avoid any trace of me?
I bought you some candies to share!
—wish you were here.


七 ; the seventh letter.


I’m sorry, the way I ended the last letter was dramatic. Rereading what I wrote made me want to start all over, but I don’t have the time.

You understand, don’t you? You’ve always had a flair for dramatics.

I spoke to that woman, a few months back. I’m surprised she recognized me - both of us have changed. If I could, I would have told you off for the way you treated her. She’s a friendly person, and the life she leads is one I envy. She has a husband now and one child, happily settling down once again in Yokohama city. Her life is so normal, so wonderful.

Neither of us could ever have created something like that. It’s not our nature. We are self-destructive and driven and incapable of seeing the world in the same way others do. The dark of our work has shaped into the strangers we are today.

I suppose, in a way, we have always been strangers. No matter how many crashed parties or mafia formals or nights at the harbor we spent together, I could never understand you, not completely. I disillusioned myself many times when I was younger. Perhaps I have even romanticized things and saw what wasn’t there when I looked at you, because you had once been incapable of love.

Sure, you knew what lust meant, you knew what business and forbidden implied.

But love, it was an alien term to you. I don’t know what you perceived it as, but once that woman applied the term to me, things changed overnight.

You avoided me after that, almost as if you had a revelation; an epiphany had struck you, and you did not like it. Of course, you could also have done it to send me a message. To remind me of what I already knew about our relationship. You were my superior and I was your subordinate. Feelings could not get in the way of our jobs. Maybe you thought I was overstepping, growing too comfortable.

I don’t know, and quite frankly, I don’t need to know.

Your visits ceased and gradually I forgot what it was like. Your scent, lingering in my blankets from all the times you insisted to take my bed and leave me the couch, ad the laughter that would echo off of the walls of my flat - they disappeared. You didn’t want anything to do with me, and I saw little problem with it.

Of course, it hurt a little. What we had was something unlike any other friendship I ever had, and you had chosen to rip it away from me.

I got over it.

It didn’t take me long. After all, if you ask me, Chuuya made a great companion for those weekly outings. he was like the older brother I never had.

Except when he got drunk. Then, it was more of me babysitting him overnight while making sure Kouyou wouldn’t find out, even though I swear the lady has super powers when it comes to the conditions of her wards. Nonetheless, Chuuya and I had adventures of our own, escapes from the constraints of the mafia in ways only the best of friends could think of.

You might say otherwise. You might have seen it as something else. Don’t lie to me.

anonymous asked:

You're not a True Witch unless you can do the monster mash (it's a graveyard smash)

OH, TRUE. 
That’s the dance we do at the Witch Sabbath, fyi. 

BTS Group Chat 25.0

taehyung: if you have sex during halloween would it be a monster mash or a graveyard smash?

*yoongi has kicked taehyung out of the group*

wanderlust

[ akutagawa ryunosuke x reader ]


notes: i really liked this idea. i might actually write my favorite points into another story later, but it’ll have been completely changed. watch out for poor writing, female pronouns, college!au, hellish plotting, shitty mistakes.


“I’m going to be on the radio someday.”

The quiet atmosphere remains unbroken as she speaks to her best friend, voice so soft he almost misses her words.

Gaze flicking from their feet, hanging over the edge of his balcony, to her face, bathed in the light of the sun setting on the horizon, he chooses not to reply and instead returns his attention to the popsicle stick dangling loosely from her hand. A soft breeze ruffles his hair, strands of hers flying into his face, the girl unmoving even when he tries to shift away from her.

“You think that’s ridiculous, don’t you?”

He raises an eyebrow at this and chooses to cover his coughs rather than coming up with a reply. In situations like these, he has learned quickly it is better to avoid the question, but not to deflect it completely.

And she knows his logic. Picking up on the motion’s meaning, she shoves him with her shoulder and pouts when he does not budge.

“Come on, Ryu. Just say it. Say it’s ridiculous.”

He winces at the nickname, from back when her attention span was so short she couldn’t spend the time to figure out his complete name, now used only to get him to listen to her -

There is no way I’m going to say that.

Shaking his head, the boy prepares for her to do something incredibly petty, like smashing the remainders of her popsicles onto his face and claiming she had been aiming at his mouth but missed when his parents got home.

It is such a [Name] thing to do, he is surprised that she hasn’t already done it before.

But she only laughs, a sound clear and refreshing and -

- absolutely unforgettable.

Rolling his eyes, he pushes her head roughly, exasperated.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” he sighs. “You’re so weird.”

“Sure,” she hums contentedly, a small smile, and they lapse into another comfortable silence.

We’ll just have to wait to find out, won’t we?

He doubts she will follow through with her declaration. She always flits from one thing to another, never quite settling down, never finding something that keeps her interest long enough. Last week it had been watercolor paintings, the month before it had been anatomy, and just last year it had been photography.

Each bored her, and were eventually left forgotten.

The only thing she has kept is her friendship with him, the neighbor with a distaste for all that is bright and cheery.

Complete opposites, yet they clicked from the moment their parents introduced each other and he spotted the girl crouching to marvel at the roses.

Of course, there is always more to it.

But they are ten, young and with a whole lifetime to explore, a whole world waiting.

of candy and lost items

[ edogawa ranpo x reader ]


notes: fic graveyard. supposed to have been a collaboration between me and an author on quotev, but she dropped the idea partway through and has no intentions of picking it back up. kind of salty about it, but whatever. warning: poor writing, i have no idea which parts i wrote and which parts i didn’t, will never be completed, can’t even remember the plot, femal pronouns.


[Name] sits at her desk, pulling absentmindedly at strands of her hair and pressing the tips to her fingers while staring blankly at her computer screen while she waits for words to magically appear. She has been at it for about twenty minutes, having returned from a lunch break and now is wishing for it back.

Damn Kunikida for making her do the most boring job - going through all of the Agency’s expenses and calculating the sum.

It is always too early in the day for her to do math.

Unlike a certain somebody, she is not a genius who can just figure things out with a snap of her fingers.

In fact, unlike another certain somebody, she does not go around life regarding things without emotion - instead, she looks at the numbers with a measured amount of hate. Enough to communicate her point, but not enough to burn a hole through the screen and send yet another certain somebody running from the venom in her stare.

And as if he knows what is running through her mind, the certain somebody who gives her the most trouble is now entering the room, posture relaxed from an hour doing who-knows-what, and seating himself at the desk next to hers. The girl lets out a puff of air, sending any stray strands flying up straight from the force of it.

What impeccable timing Edogawa Ranpo has.

[Name] avoids looking at him directly, even as he pulls out a colorful bag and frowns childishly when he realizes that there is nothing left inside.

She can already predict his next words, having gone through the same situation almost daily, and is wrapping her fingers around the handle of the bottom drawer before he starts to speak.

“[Naaame]-chan,” Ranpo complains, drawing out her name - just to annoy her, she can tell- as he flops down on top of his computer. “Can you give me some candy?”

Turning herself to face him, she raises an eyebrow, a familiar response rolling off her tongue. “But didn’t Kenji just give you some an hour ago?”

His frown turns into a pout as he continues to stare at her. “He did. But I’ve finished them already!”

If [Name] had not known Ranpo as well as she does, she would have ignored him - but she values her peace and quiet and her ears remaining not red and her heart rate remaining normal and steady, so she breathes out a long sigh. Shaking her head as if to wonder why she still puts up with this daily exasperation, she forces a pained smile and pulls the drawer open.

The stash of candy she has had been for personal use, if she felt that she needed some sugar to get her through the day, but ever since she met Ranpo she realized that a better use would be giving it to him to shut him up. At least, that’s what she tells herself when she keeps it stocked for situations like this.

The black-haired detective’s face instantaneously lights up at the sight of the box of gumdrops resting in the palm of her hand.

“Here,” [Name] says shortly, purposefully looking anywhere else but his face.

“Aw, you’re the best, [Name]-chan!” he exclaims with a wide grin. [Name] does not see it, fixing her gaze on his hand as he takes the gumdrops from her, but she can hear it in his voice. That, coupled with the praise from her secret crush, makes her immediately flush a crimson red that spreads across her whole face.

“I - it’s nothing, really,” she manages, flustered, spinning back to her computer so fast she wouldn’t be surprised if her chair broke.

Despite the bright blush painting her cheeks, Ranpo either doesn’t notice or care as he tears open the box without sparing another glance at the colleague.

Listening to his hum of satisfaction as he pops one into his mouth, [Name] shuts her eyes and exhales slowly, feeling the heat on her countenance disappear as a sense of strange disappointment overwhelms her.

Ah, really, what was I expecting?

It’s not like Ranpo would ever have feelings for me in the first place.

“Uh, Dazai, what are you laughing at?”

“Hm? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You … you were laughing just now.”

“Oh, that. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

[Name] is usually a much more reserved person, preferring to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself at almost any time of the day - that one time, when she had been so sleep-deprived she had allowed herself to be convinced that she could steal Kunikida’s book of ideals, doesn’t count. Whenever the other members of the Agency dumped their work on her, she would do it without a complaint, no matter the amount of stress it gave her. She considers herself as quiet, bottling things up that she deems as unimportant.

But somehow, Dazai Osamu always manages to bring more negative emotion than she is used to into her day.

If it had been positive, she wouldn’t have complained - strike that, she wouldn’t complain either way.

This time is an exception, because in a stark contrast from all of Dazai’s suicide attempts -

“I don’t think getting killed by Ranpo counts as suicide,” [Name] points out, her phone a good distance from her so she can’t reach it if Dazai says something stupid that makes her want to chuck it across the room.

“Of course it isn’t!” is his response, and she promptly drops her hairbrush on her toes “I’m not trying to die today!”

“Ooh, shocker,” she mutters, crouching down. “You’re always trying to die. What’s so different now?”

For some reason, she has a strange feeling that Dazai has an evil plan underneath all of this that he isn’t telling her about. [Name], picking up the hairbrush and rubbing her toes as if to get rid of the pain, continues, “If stealing Ranpo’s glasses isn’t enough to get you killed, Kunikida will be after your skin for disrupting the workplace.”

It had happened once, the same day she had stolen his notebook.

[Name] is very eager to not see that happen again.

“No, he won’t,” Dazai says, sounding far too cheerful. She is instantly on guard. “If you execute your part of my plan perfectly, he won’t even find out!”

“Wait, wait, hold up, hold on for a minute - when did I ever agree to this?” she demands, eyes flying wide as she realizes what he intends to do. “You - ”

“You don’t have a choice!”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

She can hear him take a breath to repeat himself, and she quickly cuts him off.

“No, I know what you said, but excuse me?” If anything, listening to Dazai gives her gray hairs. As if her job doesn’t already do that.

“You’re not asking the right question,” he chides. “The question is, what are you getting out of this?”

No, I’m pretty sure it’s am I going to survive as one piece after this mess.

But [Name] finds herself opening her mouth and saying, “Alright. Then, what am I getting out of this?”

Dazai lets out a laugh - one that both sends chills down her spine and also makes her wonder if he ate any of those strange mushrooms again.

“It’s a secret!”

Forget Ranpo murdering Dazai for this, [Name] is going to find a way to do it herself.

Halloween With Harry

So, @lovingstyles87​ DARED ME to write some fluff about carving pumpkins with Harry. Since I love Harry and Halloween so much, I just had to! Hope you enjoy! (I’m a novice, so be kind!)

“I always feel like somebody’s WATCHING MEEEEEE!” Harry scream-sings. “Harry, I swear to God, I will gut YOU as well! I haaaate this song!” you threaten as you point your pumpkin scooping spoon at him. You couldn’t help but smile and giggle at him; he was being so playful and jubilant; he has a few days off and has been wanting nothing more than to have a proper Halloween celebration with the woman he loves. You love Halloween just as much as he does. It makes you both feel like starry-eyed little kids again.

“Aw, love! How can you hate this song? It’s bloody Michael Jackson fo’ crying out loud!” Harry argues. “Not to be pedantic, but he only sings the chorus.” you wink at him as he rolls his eyes at you. Being with Harry during any holiday was so warm and relaxing. Always full of laughs and fun. You both have been so busy lately and this time together was much needed. The toasty fire burning, the kitschy Halloween music playing, the wonderful smells from the kitchen, the extra cuddles and stolen glances. Life was perfect.

Keep reading