hyacinth - bsd reader insert

1.

"Excuse me?" Dazai laughed. The bartender gave him a deadpan stare, then resumed prepping the desired drink. Okay, so they were serious. Two could play at this game.

"With the sudden appearance of the Rats, you wouldn't happen to be...associated with them?" He felt his lips curling into a much more sinister smile, bandaged hands reaching out for the cup of whiskey the bartender offered. "What was your name again?"

"I never offered it," the bartender tightly responded. Awkward seconds ticked by before they relented. "(L/n) (Y/n)."

"Ah, you said that with such ease. Are you perhaps from a country that uses last name then first name?" (Y/n) winced at the statement. Dazai didn't miss that. "Interesting. Would you mind if I did some questioning?"

"I do kind of mind, daemon," the bartender muttered.

"Back to the Rats, then," Dazai said. "Their activity has been rising up in Yokohama just this weekend. You were hired here this weekend, no?"

"How would you deduce that, Mr. Dazai?"

"Your name tag is new, and with the wrong name," Dazai pointed out. "I'm a little saddened that you gave me either a fake name or the name tag is lying."

Now (Y/n) was positively sweating.

"We ran out of new nametags, as the manager didn't expect a new worker," (Y/n) curtly said.

"Then how did you get hired?"

"A favor," (Y/n) responded vaguely. "This feels more like an interrogation than an actual friendly chat, y'know."

"Hm!" The outburst of the man startled the musing individual. "In that case," curling his lips down into a flat, unimpressed line, "if I do this," bringing out a tiny blade, pressing it to their skin and restraining them in a flash, "will anyone intervene?"

"Madman," (Y/n) gasped, trying to accommodate themselves by writhing violently in his grasp. Soon enough, the door jangled open and a quite familiar figure stepped in.

"Here to greet me personally in such early stages of the game?" Dazai, although prepared, still ashened at the appearance of Fyodor. Fyodor's lips curled into a darker smile as his magenta eyes flashed in the warm light.

"(L/n), let's go," Fyodor coolly commanded. (Y/n) didn't move from their place—after all, they were being restrained by Dazai himself.

"As you can see, I am quite occupied," They voiced out with no shame at the irritation that bled into their voice. "Mind helping me?"

"I do mind," Fyodor vaguely responded, and (Y/n) let out an increasingly annoyed grunt. "You have no ability, because you have been cleansed by me. Therefore, you are superior to this man."

"You're lying," (Y/n) gritted out. "You only state that with smile. That's a true lie."

"Oh? So is their ability lie detecting? Ranpo would really like them then," Dazai mused.

In a span of three seconds, (Y/n) had suddenly leaned forward, digging the knife into their throat. However, Dazai was heavy enough to gain momentum. (Y/n) directed the force to the side, where they went sprawling, knife clattering out of his hand and across the floor. Fyodor watched with impassive eyes, noting Dazai's minute moment of sadistic glee at the sudden turn of events.

"Let's go," he repeated.

Dazai only smiled. "Who will maintain the bar, then?"

They left him in an empty bar, tab locked into the whiskey.

=
"That's kinda mean," (Y/n) drawled as they paced down the sidewalk. Fyodor was dressed in casual clothing, any traces of his normal appearance erased under his mein. No bloodlust emanated from him at all. To say (Y/n) was impressed was quite the understatement. "Also, stop glaring at the flowers."

"I am not," Fyodor calmly said, but (Y/n) noticed with some glee he did actually avert his eyes away from the floral shop. "Why do you approach me with such a request?"

"Because you're going for the page of that book, no? And that page can help me get back to my original timeline," (Y/n) said. "After all, I don't belong here."

"That is exactly why I kept you," Fyodor hummed.

"You seem like the guy to find a random trinket that catches his eye to just nab it," his companion deadpanned.

"Be silent now," Fyodor muttered, and they went along, eventually reaching the hideout. As they walked upstairs, (Y/n) let out a cough, covering their mouth.

"Always with that perfume that reeks, that neighbor," (y/n) sourly said. Fyodor simply smiled.

"You can't smell the blood above it?"

"That's edgy," (Y/n) maintained a straight expression as they attempted not to laugh at Fyodor's cliche statement. "How are you not murdering me now?"

"It is not murder, but survival. I cleanse people so they can live a better life. I am here to do work nobody else would do," Fyodor said.

"That's what Thanos said, too, and look where he went."

Pause. "Who's Thanos?"

(Y/n) scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "this is why we can't have good things" before reaching their apartment door. They unlocked it with ease before venturing in, then abruptly pausing.

"Wait, I don't remember reading this part," they whispered to themselves. "I am slightly not following the route, anyways."

"What?" Fyodor asked, catching up to them.

"Nothing!" (Y/n) smiled. "I was just surprised to see you have a guest. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Scarlet Letter. Looks kinda under the weather."

Indeed, the platinum haired man was there, and he looked like a dead man walking.