#Now it’s really smoochi dazai

[soukokuwu]

could i please get a super soft scenario of just being on a date with dazai? maybe he had a bad day, so the reader decides to treat him for dinner, letting him choose their meal. afterwards, sitting on the grass at a park, with a blanket around them and watching the sunset. him cuddling into her, while she runs her fingers through his scalp and kisses his head. tysm :) i love ur writing and u seem like such a cool person irl

LOVEBUG.      genre. fluff      synopsis. people can change, even the most unlikely ones.      word count. 1.4k      author notes. this took so long for me to get out i’m so sorry!! but thanks for waiting, if you’re still here, and tysm for your kindness anony <33 hehe someone thinks i’m cool :3

times change, and so do people.

you are the catalyst of dazai’s change, the one that takes over him akin to a hurricane overwhelming a small city. but whereas a hurricane leaves a destruction in its wake, you grew flowers in the barren soil which was his life. where he would once rather drown in the ocean, now he drowns in thoughts of you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

there was a time where he would rejoice in being alone, to stop putting on a facade. because truth be told? it’s tiresome. but funny enough, where he deigns to be himself on a day-by-day basis, he deems it worthy when it’s with you.

because how can love be real when he doesn’t bare himself?

which is why when a case earlier that day reminded him of the only loss he ever grieved, he gets the overwhelming urge to just see you, to hug you and inhale the scent of your hair, the scent that naturally calms.

it’s a wednesday, and he usually doesn’t come over on work nights, but he can’t help himself. dazai allows himself to drag his feet over to your apartment uninvited.

tap. tap. tap.

slow, and weak, on the mahogany door.

you only just settled down after a long exhausting day at work, but already an unwonted visitor. you stifle a grumble, socks muting your harsh stomps against the marble floor, but any trace of irritation is carried away by the wind when you feel the familiar texture of bandaged arms brushing against your skin, and the subtle elation under his controlled murmur.

“i’m so glad to see you.”

you take a moment to collect yourself, before you return his hug. you stop yourself from asking the obvious ‘are you okay’ because you think it redundant. for dazai to go out of his way and visit you out of the blue? something is definitely bothering him. but it isn’t your place to pry — you know it’s impossible for him to talk about his cases (you deduce that it’s the only factor in the current that would make him feel this way). however, there is one thing you can do as his girlfriend.

make an effort.

you drag your boyfriend inside and shut the door behind him, observing as he flings himself down onto the sofa, the perfect embodiment of exhaustion. whatever it is that managed to bring him down this bad just means you have that much more work to do to pull him back up. and no, you don’t mind at all, actually. on the contrary, you love being the one he entrusts these particular notions to. you know he would rarely ever let anyone else’s actions dictate his mood. except yours.

in that honeyed voice of yours, you lean down and let your thumb ghost his lips, earning yourself a pout from your boyfriend as he looks up at you. “tell me anything you want for dinner, i’ll whip it up for you,” you offer.

dazai grins, sitting up and presses the tip of his nose against yours, a glint in his eyes. “i know just the thing i want.”

“are you sure this is all you want?”

dazai chuckles at your skepticality, offering only a grin in response, jabbing his fork down onto the meat and swallowing it readily.

now it’s your turn to giggle. it still baffles you how this is his idea of a perfect dinner: crab from a can with bottled sake from the supermarket. he’s aware that you can cook up a much better, high-end version of this, with your knack for fancy plating and wanton knowledge of compatible herbs.

but you know better than to question it. his answer would probably be much too complicated for you anyway. so you roll with it. not everything has to have an answer. you know when probing is unnecessary. this is one of those times. it isn’t too difficult to just be content with what you have. because you are. very. just lounging with dazai, sitting on the floor eating on the coffee table.

it’s simple. homely.

the both of you have a lively debate on the alleged corruption of one of the state senators, occasionally being sidetracked by the music playing on the television. by the time the two of you finish up, you notice the sun sinking lower and lower against the sky. you glance at your watch, twenty-three minutes left, give or take.

“what is it?” dazai asks with a simple head-tilt and wondering eyes.

now you grin in reply, “come on, let me take you somewhere.”

fifteen minutes later you’re leaning against his side, sitting on the freshly cut grass, watching as the sun sets on the horizon, the orange resembling fire hearths and tangerines. you feast your eyes on the sight before you as the rich hues of orange blends with purples and crimsons.

you always liked sunsets. they remind you of fresh colours brushing upon a blank canvas, leaves you wondering how something so beautiful managed to exist in the first place.

“a masterpiece, isn’t it?” you subconsciously ask, your gaze fixed on the sky before you, an unobstructed view thanks to your many-a-times spent wandering around the park near your home.

“yeah, it is.”

dazai isn’t agreeing with you though, not completely. because while you’re admiring the scenery, he’s admiring you. you’re the only masterpiece in his eyes, a timeless existence being captured in the lock of your gaze. he shifts his pupils back to the centre before you can catch him staring at you, though.

but he finds that that mere few seconds of admiring you isn’t enough. so he casually lays his head on your thighs, much to your surprise. you try to lean back, aware that it isn’t the most flattering angle for him to see you in, but he reaches up to move your face back into place.

“you’re beautiful, belladonna, don’t hide that.”

you can feel a heat creep up on your cheeks as you sheepishly smile back at him and give in. besides, when have you ever been able to say no to him?

and maybe now you do understand why he prefers the simple things. because as the blanket of the velvety night signals the end of the drowning sun, a thought pops into your head.

there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. because it’s not about what you’re doing, it’s about who you’re with. and never did you think you’d ever be enough for someone as prodigious as dazai osamu, but that isn’t important. what matters is that he thinks so, and he does. you know it. he’s shown it to you countless times, even if they are through subtle, unconventional means.

so you text your boss to request a sick leave tomorrow, something you have never done so just because you’re the hardworker that you are. but when you peer down at your beloved boyfriend’s blissful face, you think that some things deserve more weightage in your life as opposed to corporations that largely looks at their workers as being replaceable.

that night you wrap the blanket you prepared around the both of you as you shift to lie down on his chest, letting the steady pulse of his heartbeat envelop your ears. you call out to him, only to get his rhythmic breathing as a response. slowly, you flicker your eyes up to peek at him. he’s already asleep. and you exhale a silent laugh at how absolutely harmless he looks in this state.

he was the one that came to you seeking refuge from his troubles, so how did it end up helping you blow your own negativity away? he really is a remarkable person, you think.

“i love you,” you whisper to him, before you let yourself fall prey to your enervation.

and as your consciousness slips away, you think you hear the faint rustle of sleeves and the muffled murmurs of someone trying to tell you something.

“i’d stay alive forever if it meant i could spend an eternity with you.”

but you’re already fast asleep, and it’s okay. because the man with the voice responsible for such earnest words knows. he knows he’s going to spend his entire life convincing you so.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @smoochi-dazai @animatedarchives @chihxru ask me to be added/removed <3

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Matching Rings | Osamu Dazai | Bungo Stray Dogs

Request: A gift for @smoochi-dazai​

Word Count: 1186 words

Page Count: 3.3 pages

A.N. Okay, so I’m dumb as fyuhck. Osamu is his first name- not Dazai. And this is the first thing I’ve written in a while as a full story so I’m rusty. Hope you all enjoy though!

        The soft and heavy haze of sleep laid heavy on your body, a soft groan left your lips as you shifted in bed, the intense heat of the blanket and room combined made a whine follow rather quickly. You stilled your body soon after that, your eyes rolled in irritation, deciding to leave the bed for a bit to cool down. In just your underwear and a tanktop, you found the cool air calming your body heat, a small sigh of relief leaving you. Stretching your arms over your head, you made your way to the thermostat, bringing the heat down to sixty-eight, preferring a cooler temperature anyways. 

        "'m thirsty." You muttered, padding to the kitchen to grab a water bottle, a small sway in your steps. The extra chill of the fridge had you in heaven, and with weak arms you managed to sit yourself on the counter, eyes now closed and back hunched, you were half way back into sleep once again. You didn't notice the soft footsteps in the house, opting to ignore them- seeing as your aunt had the habit of waking up in the middle of the night to check on you, you wouldn't be surprised to see her.

        "Ah, here you are, my sleepy, Belladonna." Osamus voice rang out, singing to a melody that was just for the two of you, a smile on your face as you lolled your head over to his direction. He did have the habit of entering your house , so hearing him of all people wasn't something that would worry you, especially after having to work a few jobs like he had done tonight.

        "Hm. Osamu, it's late, an'... how'd ya get in here?" You asked, a hand coming up to rub your eye, moonlight lighting up the empty kitchen to bring your boyfriend into your line of sight. He usually called before he came over, or told you earlier in the day, either way- you were expecting a heads up.

        "You're really asking me how I got into your house? When I've done this... gods know how many times? I'm in the Port, [ Y/n ]." He laughed to himself, arms out as he strode towards you, hands placed on either side of you. You let out a short chuckle and turned your head, hands in your lap, his own voice mingled with yours. Humming, you leaned down, forehead touching his, his eyes closed at the contact, enjoying your nose slowly moving against his.

        Though he was freshly indoctrinated to the Port Mafia, paired with possibly the most insufferable kid as a partner, and quickly rising the ranks to executive- he was still a teenager. He still enjoyed his moments of peace with you, the warmth whenever the mere thought of you crossed his mind, the calm before the storm that covered the stars in the sky the both of you would often gaze at on the roof of your aunts home.

        "I got you a gift-" He started, pulling away from you, a hand moving to your thigh as the other went into the pocket of the overcoat that hung on his shoulders.

        "Osamu, I told you not to do that." You sighed.

        "I know, I know, but I just couldn't resist. You see, today is a very special day, for both you and me." He mused, playful in tone and movements, he pulled out a small black box- soft to the touch, and quite small, like the one that would hold a ring...

        "Osamu, I swear to the gods if you're-"

        "I'm not proposing, if that's what you're asking- er, well, thinking. Not yet, at least." He murmured, shifting side to side. Yet? At least he was thinking of the future, or was he just messing with you? He had a habit of doing that. And not to forget, you were too tired to care for a small statement like that.

        "It's the day you..." He sung, pointing both fingers at you, the small velvet box held gently between both hands.

        "And I," He pulled his fingers in, jutting his thumbs out to point at himself, his smirk becoming a soft smile.

        "Met. In turn, we started this whirlwind of a romance, me and you." You smiled at his words, fully awake at this point, holding his larger and much colder hands between yours. A sigh left you once again, and you leaned forward to kiss him, soft and gentle. Appreciative and full of love. You knew Osamu was always... himself, often leaving you wondering if he really did care about you, but those were just small moments.

        He knew how to make you feel special.

        You just wish it wasn't in the middle of the night.

        But this will do, for now.

        Opening the box slowly, you watched as he unveiled the two ebony bands, a large gold stripe ran horizontally in the middle. Your eyes shot open, this surely was expensive, and looked like something you'd never want to lose. Your breath was caught on your throat, and you could see on the inside of the bands two small symbols on opposing sides. 

        Your astrology signs.

        Your heart was soaring, heat filled your face in adoration and embarrassment, probably due to the fact that you annoyed your boyfriend with the stars to the point he bought you matching rings. 

        "Holy shit, Osamu, these must've been expen-"

        "Worth it, you mean! I mean, the look in your eyes, I'd buy a hundred more just to see it again!" Oh no, your heart! You couldn't hide the smile on your face, opting to look down at your lap and the box holding the rings, his laugh rung in your ears again. He coaxed you into looking up, taking one of the rings and placing it on your right hand, opting for your ring finger. 

        "This is beautiful, thank you, really." You spoke up, taking the other ring into your own hand, his right in your own. You placed his own ring on his hand, your mind racing, not knowing how to articulate yourself properly.

        "You know I'm not good with words-" You started, you wanted to make these words count, mean something, he got you such an expensive gift after all!

        "One thing I love about you." He said, laying his head on your chest, arms tightly wound around you.

        "But, really, I love this. It- it means a lot. I just wish I could get you something like this-"

        "It's alright, not everyone our age works so high up in the Port Mafia."

        "Jesus Christ, Osamu, I'm trying to be grateful here. Maybe even romantic." You rolled your eyes, a smile on your face as your head shook, his antics getting to you again.

        "Eh, that isn't really our style, now is it?" He grinned, fingers pressing into your sides slowly, a small jolt coming from you.

        "No, not really." Your hands hand into his hair, playing with the locks, mindful of the bandages that were meant to cover his eye.

        "Good. I thought I would have thrown up."

        "Okay- ew."

[soukokuwu]

✢ genre; pairing. angst; dazai x reader ✢ warnings; word count. a lot of suicidal thoughts, mentions of suicide; 976 ✢ synopsis. you write a letter to your boyfriend ✢ author notes. this was mostly self-indulgent, i was thinking of writing for a few bsd boys, but first, have this one for dazai! i tried my best with it, i hope y’all like this!! let me know what you guys think <3

To my dear sunshine,

I love being yours.

You’ve never said this to me, but I want to say it to you: I love you.

I don’t know why you’re even with someone like me when you clearly can do so much better, but I thank god everyday that I am able to be your girlfriend.

I love the way you hold my hand. Never too tight, like you were afraid of my bones breaking. But not too loose that I can escape you. I love the way you put your arm round my shoulder and rest your head on top of mine. I can just feel your hair tickling my ear, sometimes replaced by your breaths because you know that’s my sensitive spot and you like to make me squirm.

I love the way you kissed me. For a flirt I always thought you’d be rough with me. You know, those kind of kisses that manage to knock the breath out of your lungs and gets you seeing stars in your eyes? Surprisingly, our first kiss was more than gentle. And more than patient. It was weird though, because I thought you kissed me out of… desperation? Disillusionment? I didn’t think it was possible for someone I looked up to as much as you to even carry feelings for someone like me. But you did.

I love the way you loved me. And you know what’s funny? I always used to need some kind of verbal validation that my (ex)boyfriends loved me. I always asked them: do you love me? But you? I never asked you.

At first I thought it was because I was scared that you’d say you weren’t sure or maybe I just didn’t want to risk pressuring you and driving you away. But I realised something, somewhere throughout our relationship. I never asked you, because I already knew.

Because although you never told me, you always showed me.

I know, Osa.

I know how you always set your alarm half an hour earlier than mine just to get up to make me coffee and bread. (You don’t even show up in time for your own work but you always make sure I get what I need before I go to work.)

Thank you.

I know how much you hate dogs, but you helped me take care of mine. I remember how you played with her, and I know how you remembered to buy her food when I was being a bad owner. God, you even helped me bury her. And you hate dogs.

But you love me, don’t you?

You don’t have to tell me. I know.

Thank you.

There’s so many more things you did for me, and believe me, Osa. I am so grateful for everything you did for me. And please don’t go blaming yourself, okay? If anything, you were the one thing I was grateful for in my life. 

So I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I can’t take this anymore. I honestly have been hovering over this for a while. It’s always been in the back of my mind. Because everyday I feel stuck. I tried my best, baby, please believe me. I tried my best to see the good in things, but I’m tired. Of getting hurt, of trying to feel better only to get shot down all the time.

I’m just so, so tired.

I look at my friends and I feel like I’m just an outsider looking in. I always feel like I don’t belong, even if I try. I look at my job and I feel so unhappy. No matter what I do it will always just be another thing that brings me down. I look at my parents and think they’ll do better without me. After all, I bet I’m the reason they’re unhappy in the first place anyway. I look at pictures of my grandparents and I just wish I was with them up there. I look at you and I just feel so guilty. I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I?

I just feel like no matter how hard I try, nothing will ever get better. And I’ve lost faith that it ever will. Maybe this is me being selfish, being whiny, being a horrible human being ‘til the end. But maybe now I don’t care anymore. Because living is hard. It’s so, so hard. And Osa I feel so, so scared.

You know what’s the worst part?

I know I’ll feel even more disappointed if I wake up.

...

Will you allow me to be greedy one last time, baby?

Please don’t give up on yourself. I know I’m not one to talk. But Osa, I meant everything I ever said to you. I meant it when I said I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for. I meant it when I said you’re one of the most amazing, charming people I’ve ever met. You left such a dark place to venture into the light, and I know you still don’t see yourself as a good person. But you are to me.

Give yourself some credit, okay?

Osa, you’re one of the reasons why I’m grateful to have lived at all. If not I wouldn’t have experienced what it was like to really be loved.

I’m just… I’m sorry for being this way. I guess maybe I ask for too much, and I’m sorry you got caught up in my mess —

oh, you just sent me a text —

See you tomorrow, belladonna~

Let me just tell you I smiled.

Please forgive me for lying to you this last time okay? Please let me sleep to the idea that I’ll wake up to you and that I’ll be happy when I do because nothing else in my life has to matter.

Goodnight, Osa.

‘Til we meet again.

Forever yours, Your belladonna

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives @smoochi-dazai​

[soukokuwu]

↳ genre: fluff

↳ pairing: dazai x reader

↳ synopsis: it’s just a peaceful day of riding the storm out the best way you know how: hot chocolates with a topping of marshmallows.

↳ word count: 877

↳ requested by @smoochi-dazai

On most days he is a member of the Armed Detective Agency, comedian on the outside, with a deep brooding and resentment on the inside. Dazai Osamu can be an unfeeling, merciless man, but not today.

No, today, he is your dutiful and doting boyfriend, sitting out on the balcony enjoying the storm unravelling before him. Everyday he waits for the inevitable, for the moment life lets him experience the last thing it ever will. Maybe that’s why he’s never been good with communicating anything, even when he seeks help he seeks it silently; hides it beneath various masks. And everyday he questions himself: with you around, does he really still... want it?

Dazai feels oddly at peace with the storm raging on. Perhaps because it mirrors the inner turmoil in his head. Even as the heavy rain patters down on the roof, even as the lightning splits the sky in half. The thunder is an orchestra of a beautiful melody in his ears. He hangs his head back and takes in the smell of the rain — something he finds relaxing, nearly therapeutic — before a flick on the forehead sends him back upright.

His careful, appraising orbs observe as you move past him to sit on the sickeningly bright yellow beanbag next to his.

“Where’s mine, belladonna?”

Your eyes shift from the fog in front of you to the cup Dazai is gesturing at. You stick your tongue out at him.

“Get your own, Osamu, I’m not your maid.”

Dazai grins, leaning over until his face is just inches away from yours. He closes in on you right until his lips hover just slightly above yours.

“But you are my beautiful lady, correct?”

He notices your eyes slowly closing, knows that you’re expecting a soft peck on the lips. His hands snake up your arm, feeling as the goosebumps sear across your soft skin.

Your eyes are fully closed now. You’re fully enjoying the nervousness that creeps up on you.

But the kiss never comes.

And when you open your eyes, Dazai’s still there, but he’s grinning. And that’s when he pulls back, your cup of hot chocolate in his hand. He laughs silly when you try to grab it from him, but you fail — his hands are much longer than yours.

“I win, you lose—”

“Osamu, don’t—”

Yet a single sip and Dazai is hissing in pain.

“— drink it yet,” you sigh in defeat as he sets it back down on the table.

A quick run back to kitchen and back to the balcony with a cup of refrigerated water in your hand, you offer it to Dazai, who’s still wincing from the pain of burning his tongue.

He takes a small sip. It seems to have helped.

“Since when are you so careless, Osamu?” A question you don’t really need an answer to. You just wanted to comment on his absent-mindedness, a sort of ‘serves you right’ to his smug attitude about stealing your drink.

Dazai knows this though, and pouts at you, setting the glass of water down beside the hot chocolate. He beckons you down to sit on his lap, and he loves how you do so without question.

“It still stings,” he remarks, trying to earn your sympathy. A minor burn like this means nothing, really, to Dazai. But he likes teasing you, making you nervous. And that’s his goal for the current situation — to fluster you.

“Kiss it better?”

He loves how you didn’t expect it — he can see it, just from the way a pretty champagne pink colors your cheeks. A faint tremor of amusement graces his lips. He loves how you hesitate for a moment, probably out of embarrassment. For the few months the two of you’ve been together you’ve never been the one to initiate it.

Dazai almost expects you to fall back, to shy away, but he is pleasantly surprised the moment your lips brush his. He’s always liked kissing you. Your kisses are always soft, gentle, especially so now. Today it’s slightly chapped, understandable. Considering you haven’t had anything to drink yet. It’s a mix of the chocolate lingering on his tongue and the spearmint of your toothpaste.

Your kisses never fail to light his brain on fire, sending a warmth throughout his body. It ignites a conflict within him — like they’re both his salvation and also his torment. He lives for your kisses, but he’d gladly die with just the memory of them.

It’s gentle — gentler than usual. He relishes in your utmost concern for him. You’re afraid to hurt him. But he knows you never could. You’re everything he’s not. You have a compassion so perfectly angelic.

And when he pulls away, he sees a mix of emotions in your beautiful eyes. Love, and desire. Dazai’s smile deepens as he tilts his head, his long fingers on the side reaching for a single piece of marshmallow floating at the top of the drink, feeding it to you. He moves closer once again, his faint “I love you” being drowned out by the thunder.

But you don’t need to hear it. You already know it. And he’s about to show you just how much he really does.

@yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[soukokuwu]

! urgent! Hello Rachel Can I request just an comfort cuddling in bed scenario with Dazai? I'm so done with everything at the moment Everything is too much, the work , the school I'm so stressed out. My best friend (TW self-harm & suicidal thoughts/attempt?) told me she cut her self again and swallowed like 15 tablets..... I wouldn't say that it triggers me anymore but I'm feeling so bad because I don't know how to help her. 😔

THE PERFECT ESCAPE.      genre. fluff, just pure fluff      synopsis. he strives to be everything you give to him.      word count. 1.4k      author notes. hi! i’m so sorry to hear that, i really hope that on your side that you can find comfort in this. my fluff isn’t too good but i do hope it makes you feel at least a little better. and i know the overwhelming feeling all too well, if you ever need to vent/talk my dms are open okay, anony? <3

favourite book in one hand with the other twirling in his own brown locks, he hums a tune he’s made up in his head while his eyes gloss over the page he’s flipped to. it’s a book he’s read countless times and he already has the whole thing memorised by now.

still, he’s addicted.

one other thing he’s addicted to?

your love.

it’s been on the back of his head for a while now — what makes him so attracted to you? it’s different with you. how is it that someone like you, who’s so simple to understand, so, in lack of better vocabulary, ‘layman’, manages to pique his interest? he thinks of it all the time. everyone is normal in his mind, with the exception of ability users, of course, but then, why is it that only you manage to retain his interest?

more often than not, you’re the only thing that remains a constant in his mind, occupying a permanent spot in every thought that crosses it.

it had taken a while, but how is it that you’ve managed to stop making him question how much he deserves every ounce of happiness you’ve bestowed upon him? sure, people might find dazai osamu a remarkable man, one they’d both fear yet crave as an ally. but the man in question finds you absolutely exceptional.

when he thinks of you he thinks of jovial footsteps skipping across the hardwood floors of your shared apartment. he thinks of cotton candy smiles accompanied with contagious laughter. he thinks of bright, alluring eyes brimming with determination. he associates you with the sun in winter, and how good the warmth feels against his skin. he associates you with the calm after the storm, the reward for every hardship he’s been put through.

which is why the moment he hears the keys jingling outside the door, his eyes shoot up, staring up ahead at nothing in particular; at the random dust motes floating through the air. something is off about the way you unlock the door. it’s you; there’s no question about it, he can hear the familiar click-clack of your heels as they uncharacteristically trudge in, any of their usual mirth missing.

and when he watches you pass through the bedroom doors, flinging your purse harshly against the dresser, he knows he’s right. something’s happened with you — he can usually tell at one glance what it is, but today the possibilities find themselves all jumbled up in his mind, like information overload.

oh, that must be it, isn’t it?

your habits are usually followed through each day, but not today. today you don’t even make an effort to get a change of clothes first before heading for the bed (where dazai’s usually already waiting before you get home). so now, dazai doesn’t let you slump down onto the bed. he catches you before you hit the mattress, allowing your head to find purchase on the comfort of his chest.

just like a switch, instead of overflowing determination, tears start spilling from your eyes, dissolving into the cotton of dazai’s plain white shirt; the one you got him as a moving-in-together present. he had felt bad about not getting you anything (he didn’t even think it was a custom to, which you agreed, but you had just felt like you wanted to give him something). it’s very soft and comfortable, which is why he wears it almost everyday.

soft and comfortable — just like you.

now he wants to be that for you. to be the warmth that you envelop and let yourself go in. the safety amongst unknowns and the shelter from the storms. it’s hard considering he’s typically known for being the exact opposite — the one who stirs trouble instead of soothing anyone from it. but for you he tries, because you’re the only one alive capable of making him want to bring out the good in himself.

but he knows better than to ask you about it, he knows it’ll just make you even more frustrated. besides, he’s smart enough to realise the ‘information overload’ he felt earlier is the catalyst for your mood. dazai always knows, and in this moment it is no exception. he can hear from your suppressed sniffles and the subtle clenching of your jaw that you’re trying to hold it in, trying not to cry so much. now this, he doesn’t understand why. do you not feel comfortable around him to let yourself go?

“cry as much as you need to, belladonna, i’ll be here for you, all the way.”

you’re receptive to it, as he can tell by the way you clutch on to his shirt tightly, your nails bound to leave crescent-shaped indentations on your palms. you continue to pour your emotions out through your eyes, with dazai patiently waiting, one arm round your back and the other pulling locks of your hair away from your face.

he never once thought that he would ever associate tear-stained cheeks and humid heat with perfect, but that’s what he thinks now. but no, that’s inaccurate. he thinks the crab dishes you make and the way the sun hits your face is also second to none.

“hey,” dazai calls out your name, planting a kiss upon your eyelids before flashing you a confident grin, “whatever it is, i know you’ve got this, okay?”

in comes your self-deprecating laugh, a sign of your inherent doubt in your own abilities, or rather, the lack thereof. “i just feel like i’m screwing everything up and that everything’s just piling one on top of the other and…”

dazai lets you ramble on, lets you get that weight off your chest. doesn’t interrupt you with pointless, empty sugar-coated consolations. instead he makes sure you tell him of every single thing that’s bothering you now (of your own volition, because he never forces you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with). and when you finally fall silent save for the sound of your heavy breathing, he knows that there is something that’s still stuck in the back of your head. something that surpasses the average problems that school and work proposes.

but he doesn’t press. instead, you find him baring his soul. a different kind of comfort, the most effective one in your book, and it’s still comfort all the same.

“i think, despite everything i’ve been through,” he lets his digits caress down from your temple to your chin, curving his index finger and tilting you upwards so he can look into your eyes as he tries to tell you of something important, “you’re one of the strongest people i’ve ever met.”

your mouth is slightly agape, as though you wanted to say something but you decide against it midway. dazai chuckles knowingly, “you know i’ll never say things i don’t mean, belladonna —” a peck on the lips, and he licks the saltiness away — “never to you.”

everyone can remind you of how strong you are, but none of them will ever carry the weight that dazai’s brings. with him you know he means it, you know he’s serious. because he never takes these things — or you, for that fact — lightly. and you can’t seem to think of how good you must have been in your life to deserve someone like him; someone who knows to be patient and makes you an exception although he’s not one to be known for doing so.

you feel special, wanted, significant.

and he doesn’t let up on it for the rest of the night. he leaves you for just a moment, so you take the chance to slip out into something more cosy. this means oversized sweaters and shorts. and you are pleasantly surprised when your boyfriend comes into the room armed with snacks and hot chocolate, which, in his head, represents a delectable heat to shelter through the storm.

he even has all your favourite movies and series lined up in a folder on your smart television, choosing one at random to start with while he lets you settle into his arms. all through the shows, he does subtle things like feed you a piece before feeding himself, and lightly squeezing your arm in a constant pattern (which you later learn on your own is morse for ‘i love you’). it’s in these little things that surprisingly touch you the most.

it’s in how he doesn’t — despite knowing many things — actually know how to be the least bit comforting yet he tries anyway, even to go so far as to act like he knows what he’s doing. it doesn’t escape your notice. you know that dazai osamu is many things; a suicidal maniac, a feared enemy, a questionable lover (to others but never to you). but one sure thing is, to you, he���s a perfect escape.

he’s perfect.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @smoochi-dazai @animatedarchives please ask me to be added/removed! <3

[soukokuwu]

Hi there, I really love your writing. Can you write a scenario where Dazai's black fem s/o who works at the ada and is encountered with a racist client who makes it pretty obvious that she doesn't want the s/o there because of her skin colour and s/o is feeling pretty down at it. Something similar recently happened to me so I kinda just wanna read some damn scenario about it, thanks.

HOME IS NOT A PLACE.      genre; pairing. fluff; dazai x reader      word count. 1,675      synopsis. dazai comforts you after an unnecessary hardship.      warning. brief discrimination      author notes. i’m so sorry to hear that happened to you (& i know i took very long with this, i apologise.) i’ve had similar discrimination inflicted upon me too so i hope you don’t have to experience it again & that you’re feeling better by now. <3

The nerves of some people.

A pair of chocolate beads observe silently, intensively, as the callous words spill out of thin, dry lips.

“I don’t want someone like her to serve me.”

Sip.

The old woman eyes you top to bottom.

“I demand someone else, someone... normal, at least.”

He catches the disdain in her voice. He’s sharp as a tack. Beside him the weretiger watches, cowering as he feels the ominous energy emanating from his superior. He’s seen Dazai angry, furious, but never like this. Never... silent. In this moment, the brunette is absolutely livid.

Dazai’s hands are placed on the table, balled tightly into fists. His eyes are trained on the client you’re trying to appease — she’s too wrapped up in her own head to notice him glaring. As he expects. People like that are often ignorant.

Normally he’d hate to get caught up in things like this, prefers to leave it to Kunikida, but the blonde isn’t around and it’s you she’s speaking to. He’s not going to keep mum when it comes to you. How dare someone insult his girlfriend for something that shouldn’t even matter?

Dazai loves you, he knows you’re way too nice to stand up for yourself, and Naomi is already killing herself trying to appease this witch. He notices the way your nervous fingers are fumbling with each other, the way you press your lips together to stop them from trembling, even the way your feet are tucked under the table brushing against each other. You’re scared, and your head is hung so low... you’re ashamed?

The line has been drawn a while ago. But now he absolutely can’t stay still. Not when it’s leaving you feeling so horrified.

He stands up, forcefully kicking the chair back against the wall with his knees as he does, and everyone in the room goes quiet.

All eyes are on him. His bangs are messy, covering his eyes, and lucky they are, because whatever expression lay under there it isn’t for everyone to see. Even the usually chirpy Kenji is stunned into silence, a wave of fear flashing across his features.

“Oh? Has the whiny granny finally shut up?” Dazai hums.

He’s fully aware that everyone in the room feels even more uncomfortable than before. As they should be; he doesn’t use this tone much, if at all, around them. It’s a tone most associated with who he used to be, a tone that incites a flashback to his port mafia days.

But in the midst of everything, you snap out of your seat and scurry off, your head in your hands. And Dazai watches as you run out of the office. Should he deal with the lady first? Or should he get to you? He doesn’t much know the ‘right’ ways of a relationship, but a nudge comes in from Naomi.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this,” Naomi assures him, a newly invigorated motivation after seeing his strong reaction.

Dazai mumbles a “thanks” before he excuses himself to find you — shooting one last warning glare at the old lady — and he knows just where you are.

Something cold is pressed against your cheek and you jolt. Dazai pulls it away with a chuckle and waves the cold can of juice in your face.

His features are much softer now than it was before, and you ease up a little when you realise he must be so worrried to have come up here to find you. When you take the can from him, he settles down quietly beside you and looks out at the view, and you two sit there wordlessly.

You are on the rooftop of the building right beside the ADA office. This is your hideout, a safe, convenient space for when you really need an escape from anything. And today is one of those days. Rare as they may be, you expect some people to react that way. Because sometimes humanity is flawed in the worst ways possible.

In an ideal world you wouldn’t be feeling this way. In an ideal world, everyone here would be able to accept you for who you are — not what you look like, not where you’re from. In an ideal world, you’d be free from the judgemental, free of the discrimination.

But this isn’t an ideal world. This is earth. This is life. What can you do but accept it? What else can you do other than tolerate what’s thrown at you? You think back to the harsh words spewed by the woman before — the one targeted at you because of your skin tone.

A rush of memories flood your mind.

Unwelcome looks from classmates. Sneers wherever you went in school. The way your name was associated with the sentences “why is she here?” and “she looks weird”. It was like sentencing you to be a social outcast over something you couldn’t control. You’d been forced to spend most of your schooling days alone, project groups being the bane of your existence. Where you thought it’d be an opportunity to make friends, it just gave the other kids additional chances at mocking you. The worst part was you couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. You had your doubts talking to school counsellors, they could easily be one of them. You didn’t even dream of telling your mother either, being a single mom was hard enough, you didn’t want to pile on more problems.

But it lightened up as you got older and people got more mature. Didn’t mean it stopped completely, though. You still had to welcome several unwanted glares and finger-pointing. But at least the name-calling stopped. And what you didn’t hear wouldn’t hurt you. It got better when you finally stepped out into the adult world. People were generally more accepting now, and you didn’t once feel left out in the ADA. They were all kind, for the most part, and never once did they discriminate against you. All they cared about was your work ethic, and they all generally accepted you for who you are. They didn’t give a damn what you looked like.

They accepted you for you, and that was the greatest gift they could have bestowed upon you. To the others it may have been nothing, but to you it meant everything.

There had never been a day where you were forced to confront your old fears. Until today. When that lady ever so subtly insulted you. It was like every doubt that ever crossed your mind since you were a kid came flooding back to you, the questions of whether you really belonged here, whether you should just give up and move away. But where? This is your home, for as long as you can remember.

“I love your eyes.”

Dazai’s sudden declaration stuns you, and you tilt your head towards him with a curious gaze. He isn’t teasing you, you knew that much. If he was, he would wear that wide, silly grin of his. No, this time his smile is… endearing, comforting.

“I love the way your smile reaches your eyes.”

A pair of hands reach out to cup your cheeks, and you can feel yourself getting nervous. He usually never speaks his feelings. Why is he doing this now?

“Look at me, belladonna,” he coaxes, and you listen. You’re met with earnest chocolate eyes, and you keep looking into them, even as they inch closer and closer towards you. He stops the moment the tip of his nose touches yours, and you feel your breath hitch at your throat.

“You are a beautiful person, my love,” he assures you, voice low and steady. His eyes are still staring straight into yours, and you can just make out his beautiful hair flowing in the breeze. “I’ve thought that ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

You chuckle, remembering the first day you stepped foot in the ADA office. Dazai had stumbled over all googly-eyed and took your hand, already confessing his future love with you. And he was right, because look at you now. And all the sounds muffle together as you continue gazing at your boyfriend as he lists down all the things he loves about you. From things as small as how your hands feel in his to the way he absolutely loves how he can be completely himself (or as much as he can be) around you.

“Shut up.”

Without even thinking, you find yourself tilting heavenward, pressing your lips onto his. It’s something he welcomes, by the way, his hands moving from your cheek to your neck and kissing you deeper.

You know exactly what he means by saying all of that. And you find it cute, how his way of comforting you is quite a roundabout, yet why does it still work? But you find the answer when you pull away, that first moment when you open your eyes — really open your eyes — and meet his. He’s right.

That lady’s opinion didn’t matter. It hurts, you know he’s not invalidating it, but he just knows talking about it further would just frustrate you more. Besides, he’s been with you long enough to know; if you want to, you would talk about it, and he would listen. As he always does. Even when it’s about things you considered trivial or stupid, he always gives you the time of day, always tries to make everything better.

He’s right — she doesn’t matter. To you, the one that matters most, is him. And you’re grinning silly just thinking of just how much he loves you, and how easily he makes you feel better with just his words. The lady and her biting remarks are well behind you now, as he envelops you in his arms, giving you an important confirmation: Dazai would always have your back, would always protect you.

Because you can have a myriad of doubts, but one thing is for sure.

Dazai is your home.

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @smoochi-dazai @animatedarchives