#Osamu dazai

[starlightshadowsworld]

You know it’s bad when the baby is side eyeing you.

Soukoku uncles be trying their best

Clicks contribute to donations 🍉 Palestine Children Relief Fund 🍉 CareForGaza campaign 🍉 eSims for Gaza

[crumbledtoast]

Beast Dazai

[drlqra]

i'm back with another skk cuddling ;>

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

[milky-aeons]

— TO LOVE ME

౨ৎ . . . in which DAZAI OSAMU apologises for being a little too rough.

warnings: semi-nsfw, f!reader, hair-pulling, flashbacks to sexual activity, rough!dazai (he pulled your hair a little too hard), soft!dazai, slight angst, comfort, fluff, non-established relationship, w.c 1.6k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ november — mahalia ft. stormzy ꒱ ˎˊ-

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍.

It was a type of awareness — a fond little quirk, if you will — that you had developed a few months into dating the Armed Detective Agent. Or as far as dating someone like him would go; he never really liked the label, after all. You were both stuck in that chaotic, intoxicating limbo of not quite lovers, but too far gone from friends. Because friends did not stay the night and wear each-others shirts as you washed the dishes, friends did not hum softly into the empty apartment he owned as you waited for him to return with your favourite take-away coffee.

As if your souls were already intertwined, protesting at even the slightest distance, your whole body sang to life when Dazai Osamu tried to sneak through his front door unnoticed.

With wet fingers, you reached over to turn the faucet off just as his airy voice sifted through the air.

"I'm home~"

"Welcome back." You beat him to it.

Dazai made a wrangled sound. "How do catch me every time I try to sneak up on you?" He moaned, his voice coming closer until he rounded the little alcove of his small, one-walled kitchen. "It's almost like you have a sixth-sense, you know? Oh! We should put this unique talent of yours to the test!"

You hummed, following his playful line of thinking. Does his blood thrum to life underneath his skin when you breeze through the Agency offices, you wonder, does his mind eddy of all thought when you cast your eyes his way — just like it does yours?

You did not know. You would probably never know. But he remembered your exact coffee order perfectly, every single time.

"I'm almost afraid to wonder what that would entail." You muse, drying off your hands and leaning back on the countertop. He handed you one of the take-away cups. "But not for me. If I know you at all, Osamu, then you would definitely tie Kunikida-kun up in this elaborate experiment just to set him back a few days on his schedule."

"Pft. A few days?" He echoed, incredulous. One of his eyebrows raised. "How you insult me. If I don't set Kunikida-kun's precious schedule back by at least one month at a time, then why would I even bother at all?"

"You're absolutely right. My ignorant mistake."

"And yes, you do."

"Hm?" You hummed, uncapping the coffee to take a greedy inhale.

"Know me." Dazai finished.

Those two words jarred you a little. Your eyes flickered up to meet his, wordless, the coffee cup held just an inch from your parted lips. Dazai was looking straight at you with that ever-present unreadable expression, but it was a little softer around the edges, a little less impenetrable this time. This was familiar. This is what you two were; you took each other's hand and danced around the truth. You let things hang in the air, unsaid, untouched, staring at one another in his apartment while you wore his shirt like you were both in love — but not quite, not yet.

"Do I?" You said softly. You reached for that thing left unsaid and used it to challenge him.

He tilted his head, amused. Letting you rock the boat. His unkempt curls slid across his forehead when he did. But as always, he said nothing. He danced. He changed the subject.

Do I know you, Osamu?

Instead, he let his dark eyes wander to the dishes you had stacked on the drainage rack. "Wah, [Name]!" He exclaimed with exaggerated shock. "Did you clean the dishes while I was gone?! If you keep doing things like that I'll seriously have to marry you, you know!"

Precarious. A tease. Oh, but he loves to twirl with you close to the fire.

You stayed silent, opting to take a sip, instead. A small, bashful smile fought its way onto your face — you hid behind the disposable cup, but you knew he caught it. Dazai Osamu caught everything, but only with you, did he wear that boyish, self-satisfied grin when he saw the effect he had on your heart.

The sunlight was soft and choppy as it filtered through his broken shutters that barely gave any privacy to the kitchen. It was winter time; Yokohama was bustling, as it always is, but this corner of the city was delightfully sleepy. It was just you and him, enjoying the silence of two people almost in love. A car horn beeped in the distance. You noticed the smattering of freckles on his nose when he stepped forward into one of the balmy sunbeams.

Quietly, Dazai reached towards you. You didn't move — how could you? — as his long fingers half-hidden in bandages danced across your exposed shoulder. A shiver broke out across the skin he barely touched. He noticed. He grew bolder, slyer, letting his lazy touch flutter across your skin; the column of your neck; tickling the nape of your neck and burying into the mussed tresses of your hair—

"Ow—!"

You winced.

Dazai jerked his hand away. "What's wrong?"

You placed your coffee cup down and lifted your fingers to where his own had just been. With ginger movements, you traced the tender spot, your face souring into a grimace at the little shoots of pain that resided there. It was still sore, you noticed. And so did Dazai. When you glanced up at him, his brows had knit together. Not quite a picture of concern — but pressingly curious, his eyes wide and imploring.

And for the first time that lazy morning, you found yourself averting your gaze from him. You stayed quiet for a pregnant moment, searching for the right words as Dazai too, placed his cup down. He dipped his head, trying to meet your eyes. "Bella?" He called again, his voice soft and coaxing.

"Sorry," You chuckled quietly, smiling small. You gave the tender spot another rub before releasing your hand from your hair. "It's just a little sore, that's all."

Dazai's lips tugged down into a frown. "Sore—?" A bell chimed on some astral plane of recognition. His words died on his tongue, his expression halting. You saw the shutter in his eyes then; his mind moving, racing, taking scintillations of the night you two shared and meshing them back together.

You had let him do it before — fisting his lithe fingers into your hair while you were both caught in the throes of passion. As a matter of fact, you quite liked it. He'd bow your head back and decorate your lovely neck with a multitude of bruises, just for you. Or during those times where you took control — settling between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. You'd start slow first; taking the length of him into your mouth, licking, kissing. But as you picked up the pace and worked him right to a fever pitch — Dazai would wind his hand into your hair. Around, around, until he had a decent grip, and guide your movement just the way he needed it.

It had been an accident last night — but you still had not mentioned it; had not wanted to draw too much attention as you knew he did not mean it. It was a frenzy on both parts. But he had gripped your hair and tugged it a bit too tight. A bit too rough. Leaving the spot at the crown of your head tender as you passed a brush over it once you two were done.

He remained so uncharacteristically silent — staring at you like he was meeting you from a previous lifetime again after searching for so long. You tilted your head, suddenly worried. It wasn't like you were upset with him — so why did he look like that? Like he had revoked any and all permission to touch you? Like he was suddenly afraid?

Dazai was not acquainted with words of apology. He had went his whole life posing as a shadow, looking in on people and never being a part of them. But standing there looking down at you with the realisation that he had hurt you, that he — by his hand — had brought harm to someone like you — a sudden paralysis took hold of his body. He stared at you with wide eyes. He couldn't speak. He felt like he had lost all privilege to be near you — that for the first time in his life, he had met someone so bright and so genuine, and he had succeeded at tainting that, too.

He was abominable. He had always been, it was part of his makeup, ingrained into the lining of his very bones.

And yet, to him, he was also selfish. Because he had the gall to ask for your forgiveness.

"I'm," Dazai started. It wasn't like him to be at a loss for words. "I . . . [Name] I didn't realise . . . "

"Osamu, really — it's okay," You implored, your expression honest. "I know you didn't mean to. I'm fine! Just a little sore, is all." Smile turning lopsided, you turned to fully face him. "How about next time, we just don't pull as hard? I do really like when you play with my hair, but not that rough. Hm?"

Dazai opened his mouth to speak — but whatever he wanted to say got lost between his head and his tongue. He blinked once, twice. Then, in such a quiet voice, he whispered, ". . . I apologise. I'd never try to hurt you, beautiful [Name]. It will not happen again."

It was so resolute. In a tone you have never heard Dazai Osamu speak with before; not quite unsure, but lacking the perfectly precise way he would usually choose his words with. It speared into your chest and made your heart lurch. Such a raw, clean-cut promise. Like he'd burn his own hand before he let himself cause any such harm to you, ever again.

The smile that softened the sides of your lips no longer belonged to someone who was almost in love.

You reached out suddenly for his hand before he could react. You guided his palm to your face, nuzzling into his warm touch, delighting in the soft scratch of bandages against your cheek. "I know. I'm sorry too, for not mentioning it sooner."

I love you, it was the three words you still left unsaid. Because not quite, not yet. Although the way Dazai's fingers curled against the shell of your ear, the way he stepped forward to tug you into his sturdy chest — something about it all whispered the words I love you, too.

from this lovely nonnie // writing requests!

[juicebox72664]

“What happened to not leaving?” Chuuya said aloud.

three weeks, three weeks, since he had seen Dazai, apparently he defected, he wasn’t mad about that though,

He was mad he didn’t tell him.

That he left without a word.

he was the only one he had, the only one who understood.

He got up, going to the kitchen; he needed a drink.

He turned on a random romcom, hoping it would help him take his mind off things,

It didn’t.

He ended up passing out on the couch, fast asleep, and alone.

When he woke up, there was a blanket over him, a glass of water.

He didn’t have any proof it was Dazai, nor did he plan on asking anyone.

But he knew, he did promise to not leave, and he may have lied, but he knows he still cares.

“Chuuya Is a Sore Loser” needs a special edition, Dazai thinks one day, a genius prank idea brewing in his head. He’s not gonna lie - he’s really proud of this plan. He’s the best strategist of the Port Mafia for a reason - and his talents span further than planning missions. 

Step one - install a hidden camera in Chuuya’s kitchen.

Step two - get Chuuya drunk on some shitty wine and watch him embarrass himself, every single bit of his drunken delirium caught on tape. 

Step three - send the video to everyone in the Port Mafia and have a good laugh. With the nature of the prank, he won’t even have to bother with printing the newsletter out. Saving trees AND humiliating the hat rack? 

Sounds like a perfect plan. 

Installing the camera is a piece of cake - Dazai had messed with Chuuya’s apartment so many times, that he’d probably be able to do it in the dark with his eyes closed. 

Luckily, Chuuya immediately agrees to Dazai’s proposal to come over with a bottle of wine, his text message read and answered within seconds. Silly slug - he makes it so easy. Too easy, even. 

Just to be sure the plan works out, Dazai shows up with two bottles. He knows Chuuya has a very low alcohol tolerance, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?

After the third glass, Chuuya’s cheeks get all red, a sure sign that he’s almost had a little bit too much. With his brows furrowed and speech slurred he already looks hilarious, but Dazai just knows it’s about to get even funnier. What is Chuuya going to do today? Dance to some obscure Eurodance music? Sing anime openings from the 90s? Tell some trashy story from his Sheep days?

Dazai has no idea and it makes him vibrate with excitement. He glances at the camera and pours some more wine into Chuuya’s glass. He takes a sip and puts the glass on the table with a loud thud. 

The show is about to start, Dazai thinks triumphantly. 

Chuuya makes a strange sound and Dazai giggles internally - seems like the Port Mafia will have the pleasure of seeing the “best” martial artist, the gravity manipulator Nakahara Chuuya throwing up all over his kitchen floor. Perfect. 

Another sound escapes Chuuya’s mouth. And another one. And another, until Dazai, to his horror, realises that Chuuya is sobbing, his shoulders jerking up and down, tears streaming down his red face as he desperately tries to wipe them away. 

“I have no one,” he wheezes through his tears. “They are all gone.”

Dazai takes another glance at the camera, immediately looking back at Chuuya. His eyes are red, his hair sticks to his wet cheeks, and the look in his eyes is eerily unnerving. It’s so raw that it looks like Chuuya can see right through him. Dazai opens his mouth but no sound leaves his mouth. What can he even say?

“I only have you, shitty Dazai,” Chuuya sobs. “You are the only person I have left. Don’t you leave me, too.”

The breakdown as well as the excessive amounts of wine seem to have drained Chuuya of the last of his energy. With his head on the kitchen table, he falls asleep, soft hiccups interrupting his even breathing. 

For a few minutes, Dazai sits still, watching Chuuya’s back go up and down, his wailing still ringing in his ears: “You are the only person I have left”.

He takes the camera and turns it off. 

Chuuya is way too heavy to be carried all the way to the bedroom, so Dazai lays him on the couch in the living room and covers him with a blanket. Tiptoeing around the kitchen, he cleans up, places a glass of water on the coffee table and quietly leaves. 

When Dazai gets home, he breaks the SD card in half. 

He doesn’t sleep that night.

The next day Chuuya doesn’t show up to work. The Port Mafia meetings are even more boring without him, and Dazai wonders if he should go and check on him. 

He doesn’t. 

Chuuya is back the following day. It’s as clear as a day that he tries his best to avoid Dazai, and when he can’t, he averts his gaze and doesn’t react to a single taunt Dazai throws at him. 

Naturally, Dazai comes to Chuuya’s apartment in the evening.

Usually, Chuuya throws something at him, or yells abuse, or kicks him down the stairs when Dazai breaks in. This time, Chuuya’s reaction makes Dazai’s blood freeze. 

“Leave me alone,” he whispers, his face full of horror and… shame?

Dazai takes a step forward.

“Leave me alone,” Chuuya stubbornly says again, stepping back. “Or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Unfazed by the empty threats, Dazai crosses the room and looks into Chuuya’s eyes. He can still see the flames hiding in them behind the crippling shame, and he has to admit that the raging fire looks gorgeous with icy blue, contradiction as bright as Chuuya himself. 

“Lea-”

Dazai cuts him short, wrapping his arms around Chuuya’s shoulders and pulling him close, instantly feeling the tension in Chuuya’s body disappear as he slowly raises his arms and wraps them around Dazai’s waist. 

He doesn’t know how long this moment lasts — it could be seconds. Minutes. Centuries. All he knows is that it’s more than enough time to say what he wants to say without using any words. 

Although… There is something that he’d like Chuuya to hear.  

Chuuya’s hair smells of peppermint, and when Dazai leans down to Chuuya’s ear, he thinks that it might easily become his new favourite smell.

“I’m not leaving you.”

Thank you for reading! Nezu on twt made the loveliest artwork for this little story, make sure to check it out!

[mackerel22]

Fyodor: You're dead for that!

Dazai: Do it...

Dazai: Pussy.

Fyodor: I will enjoy this.

Chuuya, getting in the way: Hey, Elsa!

Chuuya: Get your icy hands off my bottom, bitch!

[juicebox72664]

Yes, Dazai’s jealous

Dazai was a possessive man, especially of Chuuya, and he wasn’t even trying to hide his glare at the man talking to Chuuya.

They’d been talking for just a little too long.

Sitting just a little too close.

And touching just a little too much.

He wanted to kill the guy; but Chuuya would be mad if he blew the mission; he might make him sleep on the couch.

So he stayed where he was.

That changed very quickly.

It changed the second Chuuya looked uncomfortable.

He knew Chuuya could take care of himself.

He also knew Chuuya would do whatever it took to get the mission done.

So he marched straight over there, interjecting himself into the conversation without hesitation, covering up his distain for the man with a very fake smile; and he’s sure the man knew it was fake because he gave a similar one.

“Sorry; I really must borrow Chuuya for a moment.”

He didn’t miss the glare that Chuuya shot him; this might be the only chance they have to get the intel they needed.

That didn’t stop Dazai from forcibly pulling Chuuya away.

Once they were far enough away from the man, Chuuya pulled wrist away. “What the fuck, Osamu? I had him.” He would be yelling, but he didn’t want to attract attention.

“We can ‘have him’ another way.” Dazai remarks, his jealousy, and not to mention his hatred for the man, lacing his voice.

Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest. “I cannot believe you.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’m going to try to salvage this.”

Dazai grabs his wrist before he can leave, pulling his back against his chest.

“Osamu.” He says evenly. “Let go.”

Dazai hold only tightens. “I don’t want him around you.” He grumbles.

“I know.” Chuuya turns around in his hold, cupping his face. “I just need to get the information, and when we get home, you can have me all to yourself.”

Dazai groans, but relents, letting Chuuya go. “I expect your full attention.” He pouts.

Chuuya laughs and pecks his lips. “You got it.” Then he turns heel and heads back to the man that Dazai hopes he’ll be allowed to kill after the mission.

[nooodlegod]

Skk date!

[3nedolena]

At last decided to share my Dazai cosplay pictures over here.

Really happy with how they came out, hopefully will be able to do a PM!Dazai cosplay at some point as well.

[shirohua]

Hi guys. With the influx of AI art, please take a moment to examine people's art before you like/reblog it. If you see someone with an oddly inconsistent artstyle, who can't seem to draw hands despite the "excellent" rendering (alongside other things) and make mistakes normal artists usually wouldn't, please block them and find real artists. Supporting AI is taking away from real artists who put real emotion, passion, and time into their work instead of taking a couple seconds to write in a prompt or submit a picture and click a button.

If anyone would like a list of some (BSD) artists I personally like on Tumblr, let me know and I'll make a separate post so you can go ahead and support them instead of people who use AI to make soulless "art" that is really just stolen from thousands of different talented artists to feed nothing but a machine for fake image generation. Thank you.

[nihilo-sensei]

Something else I noticed that I haven't seen anyone talk about: I think Oda saw himself in Dazai to an extent. Oda didn't tell Dazai to go into the light to honor his memory, he did it because he knows "better than anyone" that the path he wants his friend to walk is better than the one he's on. That's, I hope, common knowledge in the fandom. But I don't think it's just he and Dazai's circumstances that Oda saw parallels in. The descriptions of Oda back when he was a teenage assassin are very similar to descriptions of Dazai when he was that age: Lifeless eyes and voice, detached demeanor, and bleak philosophical outlook.

Oda was as cold-blooded as they come when he was a contract killer. He went from that to being someone he took care of orphans and sincerely loved them to the point where losing them destroyed his will to live. If he could change that radically, why do some people still assume that Dazai hasn't despite all evidence to the contrary?

I’ve finally gotten around to reading the BSD light novels besides 55 Minutes. (I’m starting Storm Bringer today!) After marathoning them, I’ve never been more confident in my assessment that the people who think Dazai is a cold-hearted psychopath who doesn’t care about anyone but himself or that he hates Akutagawa or that doesn’t see himself in Aku or that he doesn’t care about the Agency or that he only does good to honor Oda have no textual ground to stand on.

[lotus-pear]

SIGHHHH BSD REREAD…................I MISS THEM SO MUCH :(((

[crumbledtoast]

I wanted to draw another chibi Dazai, it turned out less Chibi-like than I expected

[thornedarrow]

keep it in your pocket

[zzzx009]

they match each other's freak