Molly's Fics Cause she Refuses to Read Them on Ao3

In The Witching Hour [Incubus Dazai]

In retrospect, Chuuya knows he probably should have locked the front door before he went to bed. It's basic common sense — something that's been drilled into him after working for the Port Mafia all these years. As Mori once said; you lock the bad things out to keep yourself safe. Chuuya doesn't know how he could have slipped up over something so easy. It's embarrassing.

He's lying on his futon, quilt pulled up high enough to reach his chin. It's a little past 3 am, he knows this because the light from his bedside clock is glaring at him from the corner of his vision. He can't see too well in the dark, but he can feel the weight of someone sitting by his feet, above the blankets and throw rug. Chuuya squints and he can barely make out the vague shape of a man sitting down, streams of light reflecting what looks like bandaged hands resting in his lap. Shadows distort the face too much for Chuuya to make any solid identification though.

His knife is in the drawer next to him and for a few seconds he entertains the idea of making a quick dash to grab it, but he doesn't want any sudden movements to alert his intruder to his wakefulness. In these types of situations, it's better if he can find a way to catch the person by surprise, off guard, preferably before Chuuya gets himself brutally stabbed to death.

He's not scared. He's been prepared for moments like these his whole life, leading the Sheep taught him to always expect someone wanting to stab you in the back. He breathes in slowly, preparing himself to make a move whilst pretending to be asleep.

"I know you're awake, Chuuya," a lilting voice breaks the silence. Chuuya can't place it to anyone he's familiar with. And more importantly; he's been caught. Fuck.

He pushes the blankets back with a kick, digging his heels into the man's thighs as he rolls over to shove a hand into his bedside drawer. Where's my fucking knife? He asks himself as he grabs at random objects blindly, he's sure he left it there, he's always been careful about these things.

The man on the edge of his futon hasn't moved despite Chuuya kicking at him with his feet, tainted sorrow enhancing the gravity should have cleared him out the room by now. What the fuck is going on?

He finally feels the handle of his knife and grabs it, ripping his arm away from the drawer and moving down the bed to hold it up against the man's throat. "Who the fuck are you and what do you want?" He breathes out, pushing metal up against cold skin, "spill, or I'll tear your guts out," he snarls.

He receives a chuckle in response and it only makes him want to snap the fucker's neck. "Yeah, I don't think that one's going to work on me. Sorry, buddy." Chuuya stiffens at this, "put the knife down, you'll only end up hurting yourself." It only makes Chuuya press the knife in harder. It's his house, he should have the advantage here. Why does it feel like he's the one being cornered?

"I asked you a question, answer me," Chuuya spits out, his grip on the knife still firm. He can feel the tension rising in his body and he knows he won't be able to keep this position up for much longer if they stay like this.

"Right, how should I put this?" The man pauses, he doesn't sound threatened in the slightest, unlike what Chuuya was hoping for. "Well, you see. I'm a demon. You happened to invade some of my land yesterday and for that, I owe you a very special night." The man smiles, Chuuya can feel the movement on the back of his hand, "I'm Dazai, it's lovely to meet you."

He's got to be joking.

"That's a shitty lie you've just told me," he growls, "you know, you've come to the wrong place if you want to talk crap like that," Chuuya shoots back, he's not stupid enough to believe something so utterly ridiculous. If this asshole is about to rob him, he'll take his life first.