Kenji Sato Headcanons

kenji sato headcanons ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ synopsis: what ken sato would be like as a boyfriend

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ pairing: kenji sato x gn!reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a/n: this is completely self indulgent because of ultraman brainrot hehe... ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ word count: 668

ken sato might be this charismatic player on the baseball field and to the press but kenji is an awkward, shy person when it comes to romance. his confidence evaporates into thin air whenever you’re around. imagine his surprise when he found out you liked him back. he was sweating and nauseous for an entire week before his coach was tired of him and asked you out on his behalf. he asked you to call him kenji.

i’d like to think he’s a big romantic because of his parents, his mother in particular. to find someone that he loves as much as his mother loved his father? that’s the dream for kenji. when he found you, he could see that future with you.

he is a man of focus. when he has his eyes set on you, you are the only person in the vicinity. at first, you were a bit insecure about dating one of the most sought after men in baseball. when kenji found out… let’s just say you no longer have those worries.

his love language is most definitely acts of service. he loves to send you texts throughout the day whenever he thinks of you.

“i just saw the cutest dog walk by and remembered that you wanted one. should i visit the shelter on the way home?”

“you wouldn’t believe how much i miss you right now.”

“thought you’d enjoy the sunset as much as me. missing you so much right now.”

“when i come home, we’re making macarons. i know how much you’ve been craving them.”

he was hesitant to tell you about his ultraman heritage. he avoided telling you for a month after you guys moved to japan. except, you aren’t stupid. the bruises he’d come home with weren’t from baseball. the bruises would suspiciously be in the same places ultraman would get hit... you didn’t question his decision to withhold the information. it was a very personal secret. you’d just ask mina if he was okay after fights and if he’d need an ice bath prepared.

the day he found out that you knew, he cried. it was a particularly nasty fight against an agitated kaiju. mina informed you that he’d need help getting home. when you pulled up next to him, he tried making excuses until he saw the first aid kit you had. he couldn’t stop apologizing. you just smiled and kissed him. the weight lifted off of his chest and he could breathe. when you guys got home, mina told him everything. he vowed in his head to marry you after that night.

now, he was incredibly thankful and considered himself very lucky that you were so accepting of his ultraman secret. he just really hoped you were also accepting of a kaiju baby. thankfully, you were a big fan of cute things.

despite how tiring raising the kaiju baby was, kenji always made time for you. he may neglect his sleep but he’d never neglect the love of his life. he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t his father and wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

when it comes to physical touch, i don’t see grand gestures despite his baseball persona. i feel like he’d want to protect your privacy. it’d be light touches like a hand on the small of your back or locking pinkies whenever you guys are close enough. he wouldn’t hide the relationship though. absolutely not. any time he can bring you up, he will. press conferences. interviews. small talk. the world will know he’s taken and he’s yours.

after seeing you with emi, he’ll most definitely want kids with you. he wants a child that looks just like you, whether it be by birth or adoption. he thinks that, if the kid looks like him, he’ll act just like him… he’d rather avoid that. he hopes he’ll be a good father.

He is so sexy in this photo 🫠

This tweet reminded me of this one panel from the manga

꩜⋅˚₊‧𓇼 ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅ love sick (sfw)

pairing: levi ackerman x fem!reader ★

contents: angst, fluff, the most aggressive pining known to man, suggestive language | 1.1k word count . . .

synopsis: levi's been feeling under the weather lately, his symptoms somehow worsening whenever you're near. but it's completely normal that his heart races whenever you glance at him, right? it means absolutely nothing.

Levi is certain he is ill. Terribly, terribly ill.

In the past few days, Levi has been finding himself in an unbearable state, and for no reason at all. It's an illness, it must be. What else can explain this insistent discomfort within him? The pounding of his heart, the clenching of his stomach, the shortness of his breath…he has never experienced anything like it before, and it's driving him mad.

“You should visit the infirmary if you aren't feeling well,” Hange says, looking up from their meal to eye him curiously. “You look rather pale.”

Levi slaps their hand away when they reach out to touch his forehead. “I'm alright.” But at the unconvinced look on Hange’s face, he adds, “It's probably just a cold.”

Hange frowns, taking a spoonful of stew into their mouth. They swallow, then say, “Have you been drinking enough water?”

Levi grunts dismissively and Hange shrugs, resuming their meal. He stares down at his own food, stirring the contents of his bowl with disinterest.

“What about the tea I gave you? That was supposed to help with headaches, but maybe it helps with colds too—”

Levi tunes Hange out as they begin to ramble about herbs and medicinal plants. He can barely pay attention to anything these days, let alone Hange's mindless chatter. All he can think about is—

“Haven't seen you in a while!” Hange calls out suddenly.

Levi blinks, looking up from his bowl. Hange waves enthusiastically across the room and Levi follows their gaze to see you walking over, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes meet his briefly, it's hardly a second long, but Levi feels his heart leap all the same.

He quickly looks back down at his bowl of untouched stew. He’s ill, very ill.

“How's the training coming along?” Hange asks as you sit beside them. You greet Levi politely as you settle into your seat and he nods in response. He doesn't trust himself to speak just yet.

“Horrible,” you say, sighing wearily. “New recruits are always exhausting to deal with.”

Levi watches from the corner of his eye as you start eating. His eyes drift to your mouth and he imagines what it would feel like against his own. Soft, warm, perhaps even sweet? He wonders how it would taste—perhaps of the stew you are currently eating, or maybe something sweeter still.

Hange laughs and Levi looks away when they turn towards him.

“You should ask Levi for some advice,” they say, grinning at you. “I bet he'd be great with new recruits! Right, Levi?”

Levi narrows his eyes at Hange. “I don't have time to babysit.”

You laugh softly and Levi finds his attention returning to you, drawn by the sound of it. He stares, mesmerised by the way your lips curve upwards so beautifully. He wants to touch them, run his thumb over them to feel that warmth and keep it for his lonesome. He wants to kiss them until his own mouth tingles, until he can no longer tell where yours begins and ends.

“I'm sure Levi couldn't help you much this week anyway,” Hange says with a shrug. “He's been sick.”

Your brows furrow as you turn to look at Levi. “You're sick?”

“No,” he grunts.

Hange rolls their eyes. “Yes, he is. He's been feeling ill for days now–”

“Shut up, Shitty Glasses,” Levi snaps, shooting them a withering glare. Hange simply shrugs again before continuing to eat their meal.

Just look at him,” they say through mouthfuls of stew. “His face is beet red!”

Levi glares at Hange again and they return his gaze, unfazed. When they notice your concerned expression, they nod emphatically and say, “See? He's practically steaming!”

Levi turns away from your pensive stare, hating the worry he sees in your eyes. He doesn't want you to waste any thought on him—not when you deserve to be thinking about more important things.

“I'm fine,” Levi mutters.

You hum thoughtfully before turning back to Hange. “Does he have a fever?” you ask them.

Hange shakes their head. “No, he claims he doesn't but I don't believe him. He's been acting strange lately, maybe it's something contagious.”

You hum again. “Have you tried drinking anything that might help?” you ask Levi. “Some tea, perhaps?”

“He wouldn't drink any of my herbal brews,” Hange interjects before Levi can respond. “Said they were weird.”

Levi scowls at Hange, annoyed by how easily you seem to believe their words. “I said they tasted like shit,” he corrects, shooting you a pointed look. “Not that they were weird.”

“But they're good for you!” Hange insists, their brow furrowed. “You should really give them another chance, Levi. I can brew you something different if you don't like the last one–”

“I told you, I don't need it—”

“Maybe some mint would help—”

“Hange—”

“Or maybe ginseng—”

“For fuck's sake—”

“Oh! I know!” Hange exclaims suddenly, slamming their hands on the table excitedly. They grin at Levi. “Lemon balm would do wonders—”

“Enough,” Levi growls. “I don't need your stupid teas–”

Levi's voice falters when you place the back of your hand against his forehead, brushing his bangs aside gently. The gesture is so unexpected that Levi forgets to breathe for a moment. He freezes, his eyes wide as he stares at you.

“You do feel a bit warm,” you murmur. “Maybe you should rest.”

Levi swallows thickly. Your touch is featherlight and cool against his skin. It's soothing, and Levi leans into it before he can stop himself.

“I'm fine,” he repeats, but the words come out breathier than he intended.

You smile softly. “It's alright to take care of yourself sometimes, Levi.”

Levi falls silent at that. He can't bring himself to argue when you're looking at him like that. When your hand is still pressed to his forehead, your fingers still twining through his hair…

“Besides,” you add with a small smirk. “You'll never get better if you don't rest.”

Levi scoffs, averting his gaze. He tells himself that the fluttering in his stomach is a result of your insistence and nothing more. “I've survived worse than a cold,” he says dismissively.

You chuckle. “True, but you won't survive the week if you keep working yourself so hard.” You move to finish your stew, your touch disappearing in the process, and Levi nearly whimpers from the loss of contact.

He clears his throat, willing the sudden tightness there away. “Fine,” he forces out, “I'll rest later today. After I finish some paperwork.”

“Really?” you ask, hopeful.

“Yes,” he lies.

“Promise?”

Levi looks back at you and your expectant stare. You're looking at him so earnestly, your eyes bright with concern and relief. He can't stand it.

He nods.

You smile, satisfied. Levi looks away, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. He tells himself that the warmth in his chest is a result of the shitty stew.

He ignores the fluttering in his stomach as well.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

Let’s say Levi has a crush on reader but someone else also is pursuing reader. This someone else could be on a similar level to Levi but not necessarily his friend. I just more like to see what people think Levi would act like if he finally talks himself into pursuing reader but turns out he has “competition” in a way

Thank you if you answer this 🫶

Gasp Ah…. I LOVE THIS.

How are you?! Sorry for the late reply! Don't thank me for answering! Thank you for coming to my blog and asking.

Mh, LOVE IT. You know… have you listened to the song "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift? Haha, well, that's Levi LMAO.

I feel, with a hand on my heart, y'all know I love this man, but he simply cannot compete with someone in any field related to social implications. Has Levi finally talked himself into pursuing someone and trying to get his feelings across? Great, he thinks—I'll clarify—HE THINKS that he's being rather OBVIOUS. Maybe for those who know him, they would also notice Levi is interested in this person because he's not behaving like his regular self. But for the poor reader he's trying to court? … he's simply being nice HAHA.

This man would think that stopping by that person's job (if they have a bakery, tea shop, etc., for example) regularly, buying, and having a very small chit-chat is "flirting." He thinks that, if this person is a scout, asking them if they need anything from downtown or if they want a tea is CLEAR that he wants something with them. No.

So if someone else is pursuing the person he loves and has more social skills than him (which is not something hard to have), there's a high chance that person would take the lead in the "race for the reader's heart." Maybe they are more outgoing, charismatic, extroverted, etc., and they take the lead. Levi would be jealous, 100%. He would get grumpy, angry, etc., but always at himself.

I can picture him muttering and cursing at himself under his breath while working, "I'm an idiot, I'm stupid. YoUr HaIR DoESn't lOOk ThAt ShITTy toDAY," mocking his own voice, and then groaning in frustration. "… my mom must have dropped me as a baby or Kenny's kicks really damaged my brain. I can't be this stupid," realizing that this other person says "smooth shit," as he would call it, and he simply can't.

Especially because Levi's love language is acts of service… mixed with degradation lmao. "Give that, you're going to drop it," and he will carry stuff for them. "You look like shit, tch, just sit down, I'll do it," and he brews them a tea and brings them something to eat.

Levi is a grower in people. I can 100% see him having feelings for this person for months, years perhaps. Maybe they even consider and go for a relationship with Levi's competitor, and it doesn't work out, etc., and they have grown close to Levi. Something he says or does makes the reader snap and say, "… are you flirting with me, Captain?"

Levi would look stoic as ever but slightly defeated mixed with embarrassment and say, "Yeah, for the past year. Thank you for finally noticing."

(extra scene)

Levi alone in his office: "Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you? Been here all along. So, why can't you see? You belong with me."

I'll tag people on this one because I had a blast writing it. Thank you so much, you made my birthday lmao.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthor @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @kikarouflames @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @levicansteponme Wanna join my tag list? Here!