#Self-Aware Dazai Osamu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 1 month ago

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ᡣ𐭩 WE WERE BORN SICK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: that sinking feeling that's been looming over you both has finally come to fruition. truths are revealed, questions are answered, but one big one remains: is love enough for you and dazai's relationship to survive this?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy fridayyyyy, i can't believe we only have one chapter left of civzai, it's actually makin me emotional </3 this chapter was quite a doozy to write, and i hope it's equally a doozy to read HAHAH no no jkjk , i hope you enjoy. also do u guys want to add an arcane au to the dazaiverse .. ive been thinking heavily about it. comments & reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. angsty chapter. explicit depiction of suicide (past recollection of dazai), implications of past self-harm (dazai), very toxic thought processes at certain parts (dazai), past (and a bit of current) suicide ideation (dazai), manic behavior (reader).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“I’ve been eager to meet you for quite a while. In all of the years I’ve known her, my little hime has never let something as trivial as a boy come between her and our work… I knew you must be special, but I never could’ve imagined just how special. I’m so pleasantly surprised.”

Dazai’s head throbs as he comes to his surroundings. He’s laying in an uncomfortable bed—a hospital bed, he thinks, he can smell the unfortunately familiar scent of antiseptic, but the walls aren’t the typical white he’s used to. He winces as he sits up, unable to recall where he is or what happened to him. Everything is too fuzzy, he remembers being with Fitzgerald, the car ride to the tea house, and-

And he remembers you.

He remembers you.

He lets out a shaky breath as he recalls the way you’d pulled him into your arms, cradling him close as soon as you got him back from Fitzgerald. God, he only got to be with you for what felt like a second. It wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t nearly enough time. You sent him off, he remembers—you sent him with two of your subordinates, the weretiger and that freaky little girl, and then…

“Shhh… Don’t speak. I want to get this done and over with.”

The gun to his back, Atsushi and Kyouka’s cries of shock, the baton to his head.

“No can do, weretiger. On orders from the boss.”

His mind tracks back to the words that had been spoken as he was teetering on the edge of consciousness, mouth going dry and eyes widening as he becomes acutely aware of the other person in the room with him. His gaze flicks up to where a vaguely familiar man sits at a desk watching him—straight chin-length black hair, inquisitive purple eyes, a long black coat, Dazai isn’t sure where he recalls this man from but he knows that they’ve met before.

“Who…” Dazai asks, voice wavering as pain shoots through his head with every little movement. “Who are you? Have we… met before?”

His wrist hurts. His mother’s nails dig into his skin so deep that it draws blood, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’d just been sleeping—is he still sleeping? He isn’t sure. He’s stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with her, he keeps asking her what’s going on but she doesn’t answer him.

They turn a hall and his mother stops so suddenly that he slams right into her, nearly tripping over onto the ground. He doesn’t even regain his footing before his mother is pulling him back the way he came, he looks over his shoulder trying to figure out what caused his mother to panic so badly and he looks at—a man?

Who is that?

Why is he coming from grandfather’s room?

Is that-

Blood?

“Shuji! Shuji, don’t look back! Keep moving!”

Shuji? Who’s Shu-

“I think you know the answer to that already.” Dazai is startled out of the memory—was that a memory?—by the man’s voice. He sounds amused, and from the way that his eyes are glittering, Dazai can tell he’s finding great entertainment out of this situation. It pisses Dazai off. “Don’t you?”

“Tane-chan, you know you won’t be able to hide him forever. You’re just making this harder on yourself.”

Dazai’s breath catches. He shifts backward on the bed to press his back against the wall. Everything is wrong—the air is too cold, his bandages are itching, his head hurts, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. Who is Shuji? Why is he thinking of his mother after all of these years? And what… what was he remembering?

Memories of his youth have always been sparse and fleeting—he can vaguely recall the faces of his siblings, the anxiety he felt around his grandfather, the loneliness—but something like this… The panic on his mothers face, the pain in his wrist, the way she was dragging him around, the fear in her voice when she screamed at Dazai—was he Shuji? But then why—to not look back, to keep moving. He would remember something like that. That would be… crazy to forget, right?

What is going on?

“You’re Mori,” Dazai breathes out, clearing his throat. He hopes he doesn’t look as disconcerted as he feels, but he thinks he must. “You’re…”

The leader of the Port Mafia.

The closest thing you have to a father.

So, how does Dazai remember him from years ago? It doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen, maybe fourteen in that memory. What did he forget? When did he meet him? What’s going on? Dazai wants to scream, his mind is still slow from just waking up—he doesn’t even know how long he was unconscious, it couldn’t have been that long.

Mori’s smile widens as if Dazai just walked right into whatever trap that had been laid out for him, violet eyes flashing with a type of cruel amusement that makes Dazai sick to his stomach. Dazai has to circle back to remember what he just said, he needs to snap out of the daze he’s in. He needs to think. He made a mistake—Dazai made a mistake. He shouldn’t have admitted that he knew Mori. That was a mistake.

How does he fix it?

Can he fix it?

“You do know,” Mori says, like he didn’t actually expect Dazai to admit that he knew him. Like he’s pleasantly surprised. Again. Like Dazai just made things much easier for him. Shit. “Interesting.”

He’s going to use it against Dazai. Dazai knows it. He’s going to use it against him to hurt you. He remembers everything he’s learned about your relationship with Mori—how he pit you against that other girl, Yosano, to get results from you. And he already said it. He already said that Dazai is getting between you and your work, he’ll do the same thing here. He’ll pit you against him.

He’s going to tell you that Dazai knew who Mori was, and that Dazai is someone that he’s not—who is Shuji? Why doesn’t he remember his own name? Is that really his name? How does Mori know all of this? Who is Dazai?—and Dazai needs to be able to say something. He needs to be able to explain. How does he explain this when he doesn’t even know what’s going on? Dazai needs to remember; he needs to remember now, he needed to remember yesterday, because if he’s not the one to tell you this… If he can’t explain this…

This cannot be happening—it can’t. Right when he thought everything would be okay, when he would be with you. His throat starts to clog as anxiety clouds his head and weighs on his chest, a panic attack that he can’t afford right now. He needs to think, he needs to figure out what’s going on—Mori knows something about Dazai that he doesn’t know himself, and he’s going to use it against him to drive a wedge between the two of you. He’s going to tell you, and-

Dazai’s world feels woozy. Why can’t he remember? How does he know Mori? What was happening that night with his mother? He needs to snap out of this, needs to think, but he can’t even breathe. Fear—the mind killer.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Dazai rasps, his voice is hoarse, and he feels sick, and he hates admitting that he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he needs Mori to believe it so that he doesn’t tell you something that’s not true. “I don’t know how I know you. I don’t-”

“You might believe that,” Mori says amused, “but will she?”

Dazai stares at Mori, his stomach churns violently and his vision swims as the answer becomes abundantly clear to him.

He doesn’t know.

———

The gun in your hand weighs heavily.

You hid it in the inside of your blazer to get up to the conference room. No weapons are allowed up past the thirty-fifth floor unless you’re one of the Boss’s hand-picked personal guards—even executives are forced to disarm themselves before going up, but security is much more lax for the upper echelon. Because you’re you—the hime, second-in-command, the Boss’s daughter—the guards outside of the elevator that goes directly to the top floor wave you past the metal detectors to go on up.

A mistake.

(Who is Tsushima Shuji? It can’t be Dazai. You know Dazai. Mori must be wrong.)

The smile on your face is bland and doesn’t meet your eyes as you walk down the hall to the conference room attached to Mori’s office. You greet the guards, and they don’t notice how off your demeanor is, too starstruck over the fact that they’re being acknowledged for once. They also don’t notice the way your hand is curled around the grip of your gun in your blazer.

A mistake.

(Mori is never wrong. Do you really know Dazai?)

When you reach the end of the hallway, you toss them one last brilliant smile. This one is a bit more genuine because you’ve realized that you’ve gotten through the top notch security of the upper levels of the Port Mafia headquarters without a hitch. That you’re one step closer to finishing this. They’re so blinded by the beauty of your smile that they don’t realize your teeth have sharpened into knives and the floral perfume you wear masks a putrid bloodlust.

A mistake.

(It’s always been odd, hasn’t it? The way he approached you. The way he was so insistent on pushing himself into your life. You always questioned it. There was a sinking feeling that something wasn’t as it seemed. Why didn’t you question it more?)

You keep your back turned as you slip into the room. You can feel four presences behind you—Kouyou, Piano Man, Chuuya, Ace. No Mori. No Dazai. That’s fine—you have something to take care of before they show up anyway. The conference room is soundproof; Mori designed it that way because he didn’t want the guards outside to overhear any discussion of sensitive topics. Even if he handpicked them for their loyalty, he understands that money can make the most devout man’s faith waver. Still, it’s not them rushing in that you’re worried about—it’s the people in the room with you rushing out, so you very carefully twist the nub of the lock and then reach up to fix the deadbolt. It won’t stop them, but it will slow them. You can feel their eyes on you as you make sure the door is locked, but none of them call you out for it or try to stop you.

A mistake.

(Mori always told you that the Tsushimas were like cockroaches. If they all weren’t killed, one would eventually return to reclaim their grandfather’s empire. There’d be a power struggle between the factions loyal to the new regime and the ones that still hid in the shadows believing that the Tsushima blood belonged at the head of the organization. Everything the two of you had built would crumble to ashes.)

You turn to make your way over to the conference table where the four of them are sitting. You haven’t decided how you want to go about this yet. You don’t know who all was aware of what Mori did, and because of that, you don’t know who needs to die. Treachery has always faced a death penalty—you don’t care if Mori ordered it, you don’t care that the Boss’s word is absolute, you have bled and breathed for the Port Mafia. You’ve sacrificed everything you’ve ever owned and wanted for the Port Mafia. You have made the Port Mafia into what it is today with your efforts abroad and at home—foreign governments, foreign criminal organizations, the Japanese government and other domestic mafias, all of them are just puppets that you pull the strings of to ensure the Port Mafia stays on top. Treachery against you will face the same penalty one would receive if they betrayed the Port Mafia, because you are the Port Mafia—Mori has made sure of that.

Chuuya and Piano Man share a look with one another as you approach the table. Neither of them say anything—is it confusion? Is it guilt? Did they know? Were you the only one unaware of the schemes going on around you? Were you the only one loyal? The only one you could trust?

Did they know?

(No one could ever love you without your ability at work influencing them. You’ve known that since the very beginning, but you were so quick to forget that when you discovered Dazai’s ability. You should have had more questions, you should have been more suspicious. Mori had been right from the very beginning. You were emotionally compromised. You were weak.)

Ace opens his mouth to speak.

A mistake.

“It was nice meeting your-”

Ace’s head hits the conference table with a hard thunk, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth open around the words you didn’t let him finish speaking. Blood seeps from the bullet hole in his temple and pools around his head and the ground beneath his chair, staining the glass table and the white floors.

Instead of lowering your arm, you shift it so that the gun is pressed against Piano Man’s temple next. Chuuya says your name—it’s awful, something caught between a gasp of shock and confusion, he’s never said your name like that before. Like he doesn’t know what you’re doing. Like he doesn’t understand you. Like you’re something unfamiliar. Unrecognizable. You ignore him anyway, and the pangs that come along with it, and instead, you keep your gaze trained on Piano Man’s face.

He’s not as panicked as Chuuya, but you can tell that he’s just as caught off guard from the way his lips are twisted. He watches you carefully, waiting for you to say whatever you’re going to say—if you were going to pull the trigger, you would’ve done so immediately, he knows that. He’s always been good at reading you, better than even Chuuya sometimes.

“Did you know?”

Your voice is steadier than you expect it to be. Cold almost. Distant. You don’t recognize it yourself, you suppose it’s no wonder that Chuuya’s staring at you with such a foreign expression. You watch him just as carefully as he does you. He has a tell when he lies: he squints. Not an obvious squint, just the barest hint of his eyes squeezing shut like he’s calculating exactly what he wants to say, in what tone and with what fluctuation he wants to say it.

A subtle tell, but a tell nonetheless.

“No.”

He stares at you steadily as he says it. There’s no squint—he’s telling the truth. You don’t let out a breath of relief, but you certainly feel the weight off of your shoulders. You lower the gun, satisfied with his response, and then you walk over to where Chuuya is sitting.

You don’t raise the gun to his temple immediately. He looks up at you, you look down at him, a whole conversation is had in the silence between you, and eventually he lowers his lashes in resignation, telling you to do what needs to be done for you to feel more at ease.

He’s always put others before himself.

You lift the gun at the same time he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He could activate the Tainted Sorrow and end this before it starts, but he doesn’t—you know in your gut that if you pulled the trigger right now, he would accept the fate you delivered. Probably would take it as a better one than he deserved—it being at your hands rather than Arahabaki.

“Did you know?” you ask. The words taste bitter, rancid—they don’t belong there, Chuuya would never betray you, but you had to hear it from him.

Chuuya doesn’t have many tells when he lies—he’s a good actor, much better than people give him credit for. If he wanted to lie to you, he might be able to get away with it. But he won’t lie to you, not when he’s looking you in the eye.

“No,” he says, voice soft and raspy like he can’t believe he has to say it.

You let the gun drop to your side. It weighs heavier now—heavier than it did in the elevator, heavier than it did in the hallway leading to the room, heavier than it did when it was pressed against Piano Man’s head. You can hardly bear to keep holding it, but you’re not done yet.

Slowly, your gaze turns to Kouyou. Her expression is cold and unreadable, gaze pinned on you in the same way a lion stalks its prey through the tall grass… No, that’s not right. She stares at you with the same look in her eyes that a snake does when it’s curled in a corner, rattle shaking and hissing to try to scare off the predator that has it trapped.

“You knew,” you breathe out softly in disbelief. Your voice hardens and tightens as you repeat, “You knew!”

Before you can raise your gun—before you can pull the trigger four, five, six times, before you can riddle her body with holes because how dare she know, how dare she know and not tell you after what the previous boss did to her—the door that separates the conference room from Mori’s office opens, and your attention is drawn to the one person who caused all of this.

“Oh my,” Mori says airly, looking between you, Ace’s body, and Kouyou with an expression that is frustratingly amused. “I see you’ve been busy.”

You don’t even know what to say to that. You almost want to laugh. You think you do laugh, actually—someone does, and you think it’s you, because you feel yourself walking away, you lift your hands to your head to tug at your ears in frustration. Your vision is blurry—are you crying?

“You betrayed me,” you finally say, voice quieter than you intend, so you raise it as you repeat yourself. “You betrayed me. You. Of all people I never thought you would be the one to-”

You can’t even finish the sentence, your voice cracks over the words. It makes you feel sick, it makes you angry, it makes you want to crawl out of your skin, because how could he? To you? You don’t know why you’re so angry, why you’re so betrayed. Mori has always made it clear that his priority is the Port Mafia, but still, to do this to you. To do this to his-

To his what?

You’re not his daughter. You hate when people imply that you are, you hate being called hime, you hate being called ‘Miss Mori’, you hate when people give you respect because of your perceived relationship to him.

He’s the only father you’ve ever known. Almost every decision you’ve made has been with the motive of making him proud of you. When he seeks out your opinion specifically during meetings, your chest becomes warm with pride.

You don’t love him. How could you? Look at what you’ve become because of him.

Then why do you feel so betrayed? Why did you think he would be the last person to do something like this to you when you know the type of person he is? Why does your chest feel like it’s caving in? Like your heart’s been ripped right out of it? Why does this hurt as much—why does this hurt more than Dazai’s potential betrayal?

And he certainly doesn’t love you. He never would have done this if he did.

He’s killed people for disrespecting you—he hardly ever gets his own hands dirty, but he does when it’s you and your dignity on the line. He spends hours meticulously picking out birthday presents that he knows you’ll like. He gets sad when he invites you for lunch and you don’t join him, reminiscing about the days where you clung to the back of his coat.

He touches your shoulder, and your finger twitches on the trigger of the gun. You want to lift it, press it to his temple and pull the trigger just like you did to Ace, but you can’t. Your arm feels like lead, and when his hand slides down to your bicep to force you to turn around and face him so that your back is to the rest of the executives, you dutifully follow along.

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you, violet eyes swimming with an emotion you’ve never seen in them before. He lifts his hand to wipe away one of the tears that had spilled over your cheeks with his knuckle, and then taps your cheek twice, chiding you silently.

Do not cry here, little hime. Not here.

“You have always been so dramatic,” Mori hums just loud enough for you to hear, but the words are fond, and the corners of his lip curl up as he looks down at you. “I would not betray you. Not ever, dear.”

You look at Ace pointedly in response and then back to Mori, the man sighs dramatically and gives you a disappointed look. The nerve, you think bitterly, narrowing your eyes on him as you wait for his explanation.

“I told you,” Mori says. “I did this to protect you. I wanted to get ahold of the boy-”

“Because you have some mistaken belief that he’s a Tsushima,” you interrupt coolly. “How did you even manage to come up with that ridiculous theory?”

Mori’s eyes flicker with something akin to interest, but shifts quickly into pity—you can’t tell if it’s genuine or mocking, and you don’t know which would be worse. He must be mistaken, he has to be. You don’t think you can handle the implications of if he isn’t, of what it might mean for you. For Dazai. Your whole relationship with him. How much was manufactured for him to get information about the Port Mafia? So he could get a foothold in the organization? Get in contact with the remaining loyalists to his family?

“Sit,” he tells you, guiding you over to the seat at the right of the head of the table. “I’ll explain everything, but first… Shuji-kun, why don’t you come out and join us?”

Your breath catches at Mori’s words, gaze twisting to the side over to the door that he’d come out of. You watch as the door creaks open, and the achingly familiar sight of his face finally comes into view. You’ve missed him—you’ve missed him, and you hate this. You should be back at your apartment with him, you should have him curled up in your arms, you should be listening to him complain about how long he was stuck with the Guild.

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be sitting at the executive roundtable with Ace’s dead body a few feet away, and Dazai entering the room, questions of his identity, of whether or not he’s been using you for information and opportunity to take back his grandfather’s legacy.

You hoped that Dazai would enter the room angry, irritated by the kidnapping and the accusations, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai look like this before. He looks a mess, fidgeting, brown hair matted to his forehead, dark eyes wide and swirling with emotion. When he seeks you out, they’re pleading, imploring, like he already knows that whatever is about to be said is going to be bad for him.

He looks… frazzled. Nervous. Confused.

He looks guilty, and you know that Mori is telling the truth.

How much of this was a lie? All of it?

Your throat feels uncomfortably tight, gaze sliding from Dazai back to Mori.

“Tell me.”

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

———

Despite his body being wracked with a strange sense of guilt, Dazai pushes open the door to enter the room where he assumes you’ll be waiting. You’re not the only one there sitting at the table—there’s five… no, four others—but Dazai can’t help the way he immediately seeks you out. He recognizes his mistake instantly. That highly unwelcome, and highly misplaced, guilt amplifies the moment his gaze meets yours and he sees how crushed you are by all of this. His face twists into something that he knows condemns himself more. and from the way you instantly look away from him, directing your full attention to Mori, he knows he has.

Now, you won’t meet his eyes at all.

Dazai sits stiffly across from you to the left of Mori. Nakahara Chuuya is on his opposite side, glaring holes into the side of Dazai’s head, but he can’t drag his gaze from you. He’s never seen you like this before—even back at the beach house when you’d been so close to breaking down under the weight of everything on your shoulders, you’d held yourself together as best you could.

You’re unraveling now; he can tell you’re still trying to hold yourself together, but it’s as good as trying to pick up water with your fists, your emotions spill out through the cracks carved into the walls you used to hide yourself behind. Mori hasn’t even begun talking, yet your breath is unsteady and your eyes are swimming with emotion; your fingers are still wrapped tight around the grip of your gun, and Dazai is very acutely aware of Ace’s dead body slouched over the table not even a few feet away.

And you won’t even meet his eyes.

Maybe it’s a good thing, he realizes, because Dazai isn’t sure what you might see if you do. You clearly didn’t like what you saw the first time. He just feels so guilty, and he doesn’t even know why he feels guilty because he’s not-he didn’t do any of what Mori implied. He didn’t use you, he didn’t know who you were before meeting you, it wasn’t all some scheme to try to take over the mafia. That’s ludicrous—he’s a literature student at YNU, not some gang lord. He just-

He loved you. Loves you. No ulterior motives. No strings attached.

“I said tell me,” you snap when Mori doesn’t immediately begin talking. “You love talking, so why are you holding back now? Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

Dazai feels a bit sick to his stomach when you say ‘I’ with no implication of taking him with you. He tries to get you to look at him again, silently pleading with you to just spare one glance in his direction, but you’re irritated now. He can see it in the way your fingers flex around the gun, knuckles whitening and finger twitching on the trigger—it’s pointed at the woman sitting next to you, who is very acutely aware of the fact from how stiff she is.

“Do you remember the night we took over the Port Mafia, dear?” Mori asks her, voice a low hum.

“What kind of question is that?” you answer tightly. Your lip curls up in irritation, Dazai can see you become more and more antsy and angry—he’s never seen you so out of control before. “Of course, I do.”

“And you, Shuji-kun?” Mori turns his attention to Dazai and he wants to spit in his face—his name is Dazai—but his voice fails him when he sees the way your face twists at the sound of the unfamiliar name. He stares at Mori instead, hating how amused the man becomes at his silence. “I’ll take that as a no, allow me to refresh you.”

“Eight years ago, a coup was staged against your grandfather’s regime,” Mori says, and Dazai feels like he’s being studied under a microscope. All eyes are on him now—even yours, but now, he can’t bring himself to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’ll find, and he’s scared it’s going to be something he doesn’t like. “Your grandfather was mad, killing civilians and mafiosos indiscriminately, something had to be done, and nobody was willing to do it, so we did.”

“We had to wipe out the whole family, and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s grandaughter…”

Dazai’s gaze drags over to you. You’re staring ahead now, gaze listless and expression eerily blank like you’re slowly starting to realize what this means. Dazai hasn’t come to terms with it yet, because if even a little of what Mori is saying is true then…

“We wiped out the whole bloodline and as many loyalists as we could,” Mori continues, “or we thought we did, at least. My dear hime was who I sent to kill the heirs, I trusted in her to make it quick and painless. We didn’t realize one of the grandchildren were missing until it was too late—he wasn’t in his bedroom, apparently liked to wander around at night because he couldn’t sleep. His mother was able to swoop in and get him out of the estate before our men took over the building… Tsushima Shuji, the youngest of the previous boss’s grandsons. Does this sound familiar yet, Shuji-kun?”

He has the best view of the night sky from an alcove on the fourth floor of the estate—his grandfather’s floor. It’s where he likes to go when he can’t sleep at night, and ever since his cousins and siblings started fighting over their grandfather’s legacy, that’s been just about every night: half because of fear now that things have started escalating to violence, half because he’s not even sure why he’s still here.

His knees are tucked tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them and head resting against the cool glass as he looks up at the stars. He hears a commotion happening somewhere downstairs, but there’s always a commotion happening at the estate, so he thinks nothing of it. He submerges himself in the darkness instead, letting his mind float away as he stares up at the sky—it’s the only time he’s able to relax, escape from the shadows of his own mind.

He’s not sure how long he sits there admiring the night, time passes immeasurably when he’s lost in the stars—he’s only snapped out of it when he hears feet slamming against the ground in his direction. He stiffens, eyes wide, wondering if another one of his cousins has finally turned to bloodshed as the way to inherit their grandfather’s legacy, but instead his mother turns the corner, her smooth face contorted in a type of panic he’s never seen on her before.

“Mothe…” he starts to say, confused, but he doesn’t even get a chance to finish the word, gasping as his mother grabs his wrist and yanks him off the cushioned seat in the alcove.

“Shuji, we have to go,” she gasps, “we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

He stumbles after his mother, struggling to keep up with her quick pace and longer legs. Her grip was painful, nails digging into the bandages around his wrists, right into the fresh wounds they covered. He grimaces in pain, breathing heavy as he follows his mother down the hall, assumingly toward the steps near his grandfather’s room.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What about Bunji? Akane? T-”

His mother chokes over what sounds like a sob and his eyes widen—he’s never heard his mother cry before.

“There’s no time,” she chokes out, “we have to leave without them. We-”

They turn a hall, she skids to a stop and-

“It seems that it does… Allow me to continue then,” Mori hums, drawing Dazai out of the memory. He sounds unbearably amused, and Dazai would be angry if he wasn’t so shaken. He pulls his hands off of the table to rest them in his lap to hide the way his fingers are trembling. “Your mother was able to hide you from us for half a year, I warned her that she wouldn’t be able to for long and since she didn’t share your grandfather’s blood, promised to spare her life if she gave you up to us, but she refused. She tried to take you out of the Kanagawa Prefecture, but our men were catching up to her, and she took… drastic measures to ensure we couldn’t track you down. That I’m sure you remember.”

“Mother,” he whispered, staring up at the rope, her limp body, gaze trailing down to the kicked over chair. “Mother, I don’t… why did you…”

He takes a step closer. A step back. Another step closer. He reaches out, fingers brushing the white nightgown she’d worn the night before while getting him settled in bed, but he snatches them back instantly like he’d been burned, clutching his hand to his chest.

He’s not breathing, he realizes when his lungs start to burn. His eyes sting painfully, unable to draw his eyes away—unable to even blink—is it a nightmare? Is he hallucinating? She sways—sways like when she used to distract him when he was settling into a depressive episode by putting on music and forcing him to spin with her in the kitchen, sways like the wind chimes she keeps outside because the house doesn’t feel homely enough without him, sways-

“Shuji! Shuji, get away from there!” The voice that calls to him is familiar—Aunt Kiye? Why is she here? “God, I tried to get here earlier. Nee-san, forgive me.”

Aunt Kiye grabs his wrist, yanking him away from his mother, dragging him out of her bedroom and down the hall. His voice is hoarse as he screams, he doesn’t know what he’s screaming, if he’s even screaming anything intelligible. He doesn’t stop until he’s out of the house and she’s kneeling in front of him, shaking him out of his panic.

“Enough, Shuji! We have to go, we can’t stay here, they’ll be here soon,” Aunt Kiye shouts at him, expression twisted and eyes pooling with tears that she doesn’t let spill over. “We need to go, and we-we need to change your name, change everything. I promised I would hide you, I-”

“We can’t leave her there,” he argues, voice shrill. “I don’t understand, why did she do that? What did I do? It was my fault, It was my fault, wasn’t it? It-”

Aunt Kiye doesn’t answer his question. She looks bitter, angry, hateful. “We have no time. We have to leave,” she whispers, dragging him to the car despite his protests. She continues talking, more to herself than to him, but the words make his chest cave in. “I told her not to get involved with that family. Their blood is black, cursed. Everyone knows nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

His fault, he realizes, breath becoming thin and shallow. It’s his fault, his blood, his fault that his mother-

“Yes, quite the unfortunate scene we walked into,” Mori says dismissively. “She was smart for it though, she never would’ve survived a night with our sweet hime interrogating her. You should see what she did to that despicable journalist. Of course, she wasn’t as fine-tuned with her ability back then, but that would’ve been at your mother’s expense—her first few attempts at conditioning were quite… unfortunate for her test sub-”

“Enough,” you spit out, interrupting him. Dazai wants to believe that it’s because you can see how uncomfortable he’s getting, but he’s not even sure that you care. He’s not even sure you remember he’s in the room. “Get to the point. You think he’s the Tsushima kid we missed—that doesn’t prove shit. It doesn’t mean-”

You don’t finish what you’re going to say, but you do look at him, and Dazai’s breath catches when his gaze finally meets yours again. He can’t tell what you’re thinking—the expression on your face is entirely indecipherable, something caught between being accusatory and guilty. Dazai doesn’t know if he’s going to make it out of this room alive. Even if by some miracle, you decide to believe him, there’s a good chance that Mori will order his death anyway, and he’s not sure if you’ll pick him over the Port Mafia.

That being said, Dazai doesn’t even know if he wants to make it out of here alive. His brain is fogged with memories that he locked so deep within him that they never should’ve resurfaced—every time Mori speaks, Dazai’s recalling something new, something awful, something that proves that he’s every bit the freak people have always claimed him to be. Every bit as bad. Every bit as wrong. Not like other people. A monster whose mother killed herself because of him, a monster who's been cursed since the day he was born.

“... blood is black, cursed… nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

More than that, he doesn’t see how the two of you are going to be able to come back from this, and that scares him more than anything. You’re the only good thing left in his life, and he doesn’t think he’ll make it without you, but he doesn’t think that after all of this things are just going to work out. You killed his siblings. His cousins. And yeah, Dazai was never close to them—they thought he was too quiet, too strange, all of the things that the other students at school whispered, his family was the first to—but… they were still his family, and if Dazai had been in his room that night, he would’ve been just as dead at your hands as the rest of them.

You killed his family. You would have killed him. The Port Mafia is the reason his mother killed herself, the reason why he walked into her bedroom and saw her hanging from a fan. The Port Mafia is the reason his aunt hated him so much that she couldn’t even bear looking at him, the reason why he was left to die in Suribachi City.

Would you ever be able to get over the guilt of that? Would Dazai be able to accept it? You had a heavy hand in ruining his life, is it enough that you saved him years later? He doesn’t know, he’s hardly even processed it, he just knows that he has to cling to what little he has left, dig his nails in and not let go even if it makes you choke on guilt, even if it makes him sick with shame. He won’t let go.

“So impatient,” Mori sighs. “Your aunt hid you for almost another half a year, but she wasn’t able to move out of the Yokohama area. She did well though, I’ll give her that. We had our best trying to find you, but she was very careful. It was partially our own fault that we didn’t get our hands on you back then—some loyalists to your grandfather snuck under our radar, told her when we were closing in on the two of you. She got rid of you before we got to her… but we did get to her. Kouyou-kun was the one who handled her, if I recall it got quite… messy. I can’t imagine how it must feel knowing that your mother and aunt sacrificed themselves to protect you only for you to throw it all away in an arrogant attempt to reclaim your grandfather’s legacy.”

Dazai doesn’t even zero in on the last bit of what Mori says because he’s too busy trying to wrap his head around the rest of it. Aunt Kiye didn’t… die for him. Aunt Kiye hated him. He remembers that clear enough—he remembers how she could hardly stand to look at him, he remembers the way she was always so cold and rough with him, he remembers-

“You have to go, Osamu.” Aunt Kiye is shouting at him, and he’s sitting in the passenger seat of her car. He doesn’t move, he thinks maybe if he sits still enough, she won’t see him there and won’t make him leave. “Osamu, get out of the car and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

The name is still unfamiliar—he’s not used to it, and he doesn’t know if he likes it, but Aunt Kiye insists that Tsushima Shuji is dead and that name can never be uttered again. She gets mad when he doesn’t immediately answer to it, tells him not to let his mother’s death be in vain, and that’s usually enough to get him to stop being stubborn over it.

“Osamu, go!” She grabs his bicep hard to try to get his attention, but he flinches and squirms out of her grip, still not responding to her. He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken—he thinks maybe since they left the cabin that morning. “You-”

Aunt Kiye sounds angry now, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. It’s only when he hears her unbuckle and feels her start reaching over him that he starts to panic. He reaches up to grab her bicep, trying to stop her from grabbing the handle of the door to open it, but she’s stronger than him. He’s hardly been eating lately, and he’s never been particularly strong—he was always the smallest among his siblings.

It takes no effort for her to bat his hands away, pushing open the door and unbuckling his seatbelt. He struggles against her as she tries to push him out of the car, and she’s still speaking—shouting at him, begging him, he thinks she might be crying too, but he can’t even tell. His mind is fogged with panic and fear—he doesn’t want to be alone in Suribachi City, he doesn’t want to be alone at all. He wants to stay with Aunt Kiye even if she hates him because he doesn’t want to be alone.

Eventually, Aunt Kiye wins the fight—even with him fighting tooth and nail, she manages to push him out of the car. He hits the ground hard, gasping when he lands poorly on his elbow. He’s stunned for a moment by the shock and pain, and Aunt Kiye takes the chance to toss out a backpack from the back seat and close the door behind him, locking it quickly.

“No!” His voice is raspy from lack of use over the past few months. He scrambles to his feet and tries to pry the door open but can’t. Aunt Kiye won’t even look at him, she stares ahead as she switches the car into gear and he slams his hands against the window. “Aunt Kiye! Aunt Kiye, don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me here, please, I’ll be better, I’ll do better, just don’t-”

He stumbles back as she pulls the car away, falling when he trips over the backpack onto the asphalt, scraping up his hands and forearms. He’s not sure how long he sits there staring after where the car disappeared waiting for her to come back for him.

She doesn’t.

She didn’t die for him, Dazai thinks again, nails digging crescents into his palm. She didn’t die for him, she couldn’t have. Dazai won’t believe it. Aunt Kiye hated him, she abandoned him in Suribachi—none of this can be true. It can’t. His mother killed herself to be free of him, not to protect him; and Aunt Kiye abandoned him because she hated him, not to save him.

That’s the truth. It has to be. They couldn’t have died for him—for him. It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t want to remember all of this—he was better off thinking that they hated him, that they wanted to be free of him.

He can feel you looking at him now, but Dazai is back to being unable to look at you. He’s staring down at the glass table looking at his reflection, his eyes are wide and dark and far too black—he looks warped, inhuman almost. His expression is blank, none of the turmoil within him is reflected on it, and he doesn’t even understand why. He thinks it’s probably just making him seem more guilty.

“We figured she left you somewhere in Suribachi City, but we weren’t able to track you down,” Mori says flippantly. Dazai wants him to stop talking, but he has a sick feeling things are only going to get worse from here. “Not until you ended up with Oda Sakunosuke, at least, we…”

Dazai’s ears ring at his old friend’s name. Mori is still talking, but his words become a distant buzz. Everything starts coming back to him at once—his time alone in Suribachi City, the weeks he spent rationing the little food he had, getting the shit kicked out of him by some low rung gang who stole his mother’s ring from him. He remembers giving up, questioning the point of his own existence with a detached logic that left him with only one answer—there was no point to his existence, so he was as good dead as he was alive.

He remembers seeing on a sign that it was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and he remembers dropping himself in the bay during a storm, hoping that the tide dragged him so far beneath the surface that he’d never see the light of day again.

He remembers waking up the next morning to an unfamiliar face at his bedside, brows knit in disapproval and lips turned down, and he distinctly remembers feeling put out by a stranger looking at him that way.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Dazai couldn’t remember anything but the name Aunt Kiye had drilled into him over and over again the past few months.

“Dazai Osamu.”

“Hm. Oda Sakunosuke. You got a family, Dazai?

Odasaku brought him in.

Odasaku saved him.

The doctors said he’d been dead for almost three minutes when Odasaku found him washed up on the beach—said his memory might return over time, but it might not—but Dazai didn’t even care, because Odasaku brought him in. He gave him a roof over his head, food to eat, and a reason to live. He sent him to school so he could feel like a normal kid his age. He played board games with him and didn’t even care when Dazai was a sore loser and quit mid-game when he realized he wouldn’t win. He humored Dazai when he faked being sick because he didn’t want to go to school. When Dazai was going through bad depressive episodes, Odasaku would sit with him silently and write his book so Dazai never felt alone. Odasaku introduced him to Ango and they were-

They were his friends.

Family, maybe.

They were all he had, and they were all he needed.

And then-

“We were the ones who killed him.”

Dazai’s gaze drags up from the table to focus on Mori. The man’s lips are curved into a cruel smile, his eyes are sharp, and Dazai is moving before he can stop himself. He lunges across the table, but Mori doesn’t even flinch because Nakahara Chuuya grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back down into his seat.

“You-” Dazai spits, voice raspy and angry.

“Don’t look at me like that, we were trying to get to you,” Mori says casually as if the words don’t shatter Dazai’s entire world. “We would’ve loved to have Oda Sakunosuke amongst our ranks. His death was unfortunate. Collateral damage. He was an assassin for a long time—one of the best in the world. He was pretty much unkillable, his ability allowed him to see six seconds into the future. I never understood how our sniper managed to get him that day, but now I do. He saw you getting shot with his foresight and tried to pull you out of the way, but your ability is nullification, so when he touched you to save you, he damned himself. In those split seconds when he was pulling you to safety, he couldn’t see the future, and couldn’t see the bullets aimed for you that lodged into his chest instead.”

Dazai can’t do this anymore. He tries to push himself up to his feet but his legs are numb and uncooperative, and he can’t move his hands or arms. Mori’s lips part to continue speaking but Dazai can’t do this, he can’t hear anymore of this. He’d always known in his heart that Odasaku’s death was his fault even if he couldn’t remember much about his mother and Aunt Kiye and their desperate attempts to hide him from the Port Mafia. He’d known, but hearing it-hearing the confirmation, it’s too much for him.

Before Mori can say anything, Dazai is startled from his spiraling thoughts when you stand up so abruptly that your chair goes flying back. Your expression is haunted and you’re not looking at him again, but Dazai is glad for it, because he thinks he’s about to throw up.

“I… I need a minute. I just need a minute,” you say shakily before fleeing the room into Mori’s office so quickly that you almost trip over the chair you knocked over.

The room is silent in your wake, and after a few impossibly long moments, Mori stands to follow you into the other room. The three Port Mafia executives left in the room don’t say anything for a moment, and Dazai is just trying to breathe. He’s trying to breathe and process what Mori just said, but he’s failing miserably at it.

It’s the woman, Kouyou, who speaks first.

“She’s going to kill me for knowing about this,” she says simply, sparing a glance down at the dead body on her opposite side. “I’ve never seen her like this before. Even when Chuuya-kun went missing for a few days, this…”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have conspired against her,” Piano Man sings, looking entirely unperturbed. “I mean honestly, after what the previous boss did to you, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic. Silly me to think you aren’t a cold-hearted bitch.”

Dazai tries to pay attention to what they’re saying, he tries to ground himself with the conversation happening so he can forget the feeling of Odasaku’s blood all over his hands, staining his clothes, smeared on his face. He tries to replace Mori’s echoing words with what they’re saying but he can’t.

“We were trying to get to you.”

“It has nothing to do with sympathy,” Kouyou snaps, but she does look ashamed. “It’s a security threat, it’s bigger than love. This boy could spell the end of everything we’ve built.”

“She won’t kill you, Ane-san,” Chuuya finally speaks up, his knuckles are tight around the armrest of the chair he’s sitting in. “I’ll talk to her, I just-”

“When he touched you to save you, he damned himself.”

“Chuuya-kun, she almost killed you,” Kouyou says so dryly that the words almost don’t even register to Dazai, but when they do, they’re the only thing that effectively draws him from his spiraling thoughts. He looks at Chuuya sharply to see if what Kouyou said was true, and his eyes widen when he only grimaces and looks down. “You and Piano Man. She didn’t even hesitate before pulling the trigger on Ace. She’s unstable right now, there’s no talking to her.”

“But she didn’t,” Chuuya says tightly. “I’ll talk to her, but first…”

Chuuya looks at Dazai so suddenly that he almost wants to snap his head away and ignore him, but he can’t. The ginger studies Dazai so intensely that it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Did you know?” Chuuya asks, voice low. He’s angry, Dazai can tell from the way a dark red color starts to flicker around his hands, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Tell me. Did you know who she was and use her to get closer to the Mafia for revenge? I’ll spare her the pain of having to put a bullet through your fucking head and kill you myself right now. Did you know who she was and purposely-”

“No,” Dazai interrupts, voice hoarse. “No. I didn’t-I didn’t know.”

Chuuya stares at him for a few seconds, studying him like he doesn’t know if he actually believes him, but after what feels like an eternity, he finally shakes his head and looks away, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Fuck, this is such a mess,” Chuuya breathes out, voice strained. “Fuck. She-”

Chuuya doesn’t finish his sentence because the door to Mori’s office reopens and you step back into the room, Mori at your heels. Your eyes are red, but your expression is withdrawn now, void of the tumultuous emotions that had been raging across it just a few minutes before. You settle back in your seat. Your eyes flit over Dazai like he’s not even there before focusing on Mori.

Dazai suddenly has a bad feeling.

“I’m not quite sure how you escaped us after that,” Mori continues where he left off, and Dazai is so sick of the man’s voice that he almost wants to rip his own ears off. “Probably Sakaguchi-san from the SDUP, I recall him and Oda-san being close… but that brings us to the present, doesn’t it? Four years later, you stumble into our lovely hime… Come, dear, let me tell you my running theory, and you tell me how accurate I am, yeah?”

Mori is looking at you now, eyes glittering as he waits for your response. Dazai has his own serious issues with the man, but he thinks it’s sick the way he’s enjoying your clear discomfort and increasing distress. Your jaw tightens a bit, but you nod, signaling for Mori to speak. Dazai’s nails dig into his pants as he waits for Mori to continue. Neither of you look at him, and Dazai’s lips part to speak so he can preemptively deny whatever Mori is about to accuse him of, but he can’t push a single word out.

“Your first meeting with him wasn’t by chance. A cafe, maybe… a bar?” Mori offers, watching your face carefully for a reason. You look away at the second option, and the man’s lips curve up. “A bar, then. One you frequent, I bet. The one in Hodogaya-ku, perhaps? Your first meeting, but not Shuji-kun’s first time seeing you. Ui Koutarou—his journalism professor at YNU—wrote his first article implicating the Mori Corporation’s connection with the Port Mafia in February of this year, around a month before rising fourth year students register for classes. Shuji-kun, naturally, has been following anything related to the Port Mafia closely, so when he sees a class being offered in the fall by the same man who has been openly targeting the Port Mafia, he sees an opportunity and signs up for the class.”

No, Dazai tries to say. His lips form the word, but the sound doesn’t come from his lips. No. No, no, no, no. You look haunted suddenly, and Dazai remembers the argument he had with you during the government event in Tokyo. How cold and withdrawn you’d become. How when he confronted you next, you accused him of working with Ui Koutarou and blackmailing you for money. Mori is reigniting all of the initial fears you once had.

“Ui-san has had his sights set on you for quite a while, dear. You don’t need me to tell you that, you’re very well aware of the man’s hatred of you… When Shuji-kun started classes in the fall, Ui-san roped him into his plans, and you became his project. That wretched man had many documents on you. I had the Black Lizards raid his apartment after we captured him—most were harmless, detailing places you frequented and people seen around you, but when Shuji-kun became involved, he started using that information to manufacture meetings between you. I imagine that after you met him that first time, he started appearing around you rather regularly. Bump-ins at that cafe you like in Minami-ku, on the streets—he even started renting an apartment on property that we own after he realized the opportunity he had with Ui… he’s only been living there since the summer, you know?”

His last apartment wasn’t close enough to the school, Dazai wants to argue desperately. He’d been lucky that a cheap apartment opened up in Hodogaya-ku before the semester started—he’s been trying to get one since his first year. It has nothing to do with-

Dazai suddenly feels nauseous again, everything is spinning around him—he still hears Aunt Kiye screaming at him, he still hears the creaking of the rope his mother hung himself on, he still hears Mori’s confirming that Odasaku’s death was his fault. And now this, and you’re not looking at him again, and he’s not saying anything, why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn’t he denying this?

“He attached himself to you quickly, didn’t he?” Mori asks rhetorically. “Too quickly, I’m sure you had doubts—not even your ability makes people reliant on you as swift as he became. How long did it take for him to start prying for information? Trying to make you slip up and implicate yourself with the Mafia? Confess yourself as an ability user?”

The night of the earthquake when you showed up at his apartment, he remembers dizzily. He started pressing you on your political opinion because he remembered Ui saying that all of the criminal syndicates in Japan are going to do whatever it takes to prevent the military bill from passing. But he wasn’t… doing it to prove anything? He just wanted to know more about you, he was curious, he was finally putting the mystery that you are together. It wasn’t malicious—he just wanted to know you. That’s all it ever was, he’s only ever wanted to know you.

“When did you tell him about your ability? More about our organization? Around when the Guild started making their move in Yokohama, I’m sure. He never told you about his ability until his hand was forced. In fact, I’m willing to bet he lied and said he didn’t know he had one, but tell me, do you really think an assassin of the caliber of Oda Sakunosuke would not realize his ward had an ability that negated his own? That he wouldn’t be trained in how to use it… Most importantly, if all of this wasn’t a scheme of revenge—if he really did love you—then why did he never get rid of the flash drive that contained the proof that his journalism house published? The proof that got you thrown in prison?”

You’re crying.

Dazai’s throat swells when he sees the tears silently tracking over your cheeks. At once, he realizes that he’s never seen you cry before; he itches to reach over to you, to grab your hand or wipe away the tears. He doesn’t—partially because he doesn’t think he could move if he tried, but mostly because he knows that he’s the reason you’re crying.

He wants to assure you that none of this is true. He had nothing to do with the Guild—they kidnapped him for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know about his ability, he didn’t even know Odasaku was an assassin. And he was just… careless with the flash drive, and he shouldn’t have been, but there was always so much going on, and he was so new to having someone in his life that really loved him that he was quick to bask in it and forget everything else.

He doesn’t assure you of anything, instead he watches as Mori reaches out to do what Dazai wants to do. He brushes away your tears and turns your face to look at him, a disgustingly sympathetic look on his face.

“I know you were eager to believe that someone could love you without your ability at work influencing them, dear,” Mori murmurs, “but people like us will never find a love that pure. There will always be other factors at work sullying it—wealth, revenge, threats. You understand now what this was, don’t you?”

No, Dazai wants to scream at you. He does love you, this wasn’t some ridiculous revenge plot for family he hardly remembered until this meeting, that-

“I do.”

Dazai finally is able to make a noise when those two words leave your lips. It’s weak—something caught between a wheeze and a whimper that sounds too loud in the silent room. He feels eyes on him—Chuuya and Kouyou’s in particular. Not yours. You stare down at the table.

“Ogai-dono,” Kouyou clears her throat. “If I may… perhaps we could… send the boy away. Abroad. Ensure he never comes back to Japan so we don’t have to risk him coming back and disrupting things.”

“We could give him a seat at the table,” Chuuya interrupts, ignoring the wide-eyed look both Kouyou and Piano Man give him because of the radical idea. “We’re down an executive anyway. We tell people who he is, that he supports the new regime. It’s what you wanted to begin with, right, boss? You wanted one of the grandchildren to legitimize the passing of power. We could make it work.”

“It’s too risky.” Mori isn’t the one to speak, Piano Man is, but he doesn’t look happy to do it. “Maybe back then it could’ve worked, but the Port Mafia killed his friends and family, and hunted him down. Too much has happened, he’s an unpredictable variable that we can’t risk. We can’t trust that he’ll just accept it all, that he won’t work behind the scenes to take us down. Giving him any leverage in the organization is the last thing we should do, but what Kouyou-”

“Leave him alive and we risk everything we’ve built falling apart—a civil war igniting, Yokohama being caught in the crossfires and all of our foreign enemies crawling into the city to reap the benefits of our fall. It’s one life or hundreds—thousands, even,” Mori interrupts, voice cool. He turns his gaze onto you. “I trust you know what has to be done, dear.”

Your expression is resolved, a heavy emotion in your eyes that tells him your answer before you even speak. “Yeah, I know.”

You stand up, and Dazai knows that it’s over. When you look down at him, it’s with a type of apathy that makes his stomach twist—he’d rather hate than nothing. His lips part to speak but he pauses when you shake your head slightly, so subtly that he almost doesn’t even notice it.

“Get up,” you say flatly, and then glance at Chuuya. “Chuuya, will you…?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya replies without you even needing to finish the question. His voice is hoarse, he looks more than a little disturbed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Chuuya rises to his feet and then grabs Dazai’s bicep to pull him up to his feet too. Dazai doesn’t even have the heart to give him a dirty look in response, following along as he leads him out of the conference room and into the hallway.

For a split second, Dazai really believes that maybe you’re just trying to fool Mori, you made him think you were taking Dazai to have him killed so that you can get him out of here safely, but even once you’re out of the conference room without Mori’s eyes carefully watching you, you don’t look at him.

“Get one of the clean up crews up here,” you tell one of the guards waiting in the hall instead as you frown at your phone, typing out a quick text to someone. You pointedly ignore how alarmed they are by the offhand comment to click on the button to the elevator.

When you look back at the two of them, it’s not to look at Dazai—it’s to look at Chuuya. The two of you are having a conversation, Dazai can tell that much, and he thinks that maybe he should be putting in the effort to figure out what’s going on, what you have planned, but he’s just… tired. He’s not even sure if he cares what happens to him anymore, and he figures the worst case scenario is that he dies at your hands, and of all of the ways he could go, he thinks that would be the most preferable, because at least you would be the last thing he saw.

He doesn’t try to speak again until the three of you are in the elevator and the doors have closed.

“I-”

“Stop.”

Dazai is startled by the sharpness in your voice. He looks at you, but you’re still not looking at him, your lips are curved down as you stare at your phone, typing furiously. He glances up into the left corner of the elevator, noticing the cameras—maybe that’s why, he thinks a bit unsurely, deciding to stay quiet until out of the building.

When the elevator doors open, it’s Chuuya that urges him to keep walking by nudging his shoulder. You don’t touch him, don’t look at him. There’s nobody in the main entrance of the building, which Dazai thinks is a bit odd, but he bites back any comments he might have when he sees a black car waiting outside the building.

The doors to the building open at your approach, and Dazai inhales the crisp, fresh air greedily, not even having realized how stifled he’d felt in that room with Mori, you, and the other Port Mafia executives. He thinks maybe that you’ll sit in the backseat with him and he’ll finally be able to talk to you, but you don’t. You open the door to the passenger seat and sit there without even sparing him a glance.

Dazai’s throat starts to swell again, stopping in his tracks as he stares at where you disappeared behind the car door. Chuuya pushes him forward, not letting him linger for long—he opens the door to the backseat and pretty much manhandles Dazai into the car before taking a seat next to him.

He recognizes the person at the wheel—Albatross, your friend. He’s driven you and Dazai around before, every time Dazai gets in the car with him, he makes a sharp comment aimed to embarrass you in some manner. This time, he doesn’t even look at Dazai through the rearview mirror. He just puts the car in gear and starts driving.

A pit starts to form in Dazai’s stomach. Dazai tries to initiate conversation with you again now that you’re outside of the Port Mafia headquarters within closed quarters, nails scraping against his pants as he decides what he wants to say.

“I d-”

“Stop.”

When you cut him off now, Dazai’s stomach flips. He stares at the side of your face, trying to understand why you won’t even listen to him. You can’t actually believe what Mori was saying, you can’t. You were faking him out, tricking him into thinking you fell for it—you had to be, you have to be. You can’t possibly believe him.

“You won’t… even hear me out?” Dazai asks you quietly.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

Oh, Dazai thinks to himself, withdrawing. He stares at you for a moment before turning away stiffly, expression tight and strained as he stares out the window, watching the buildings pass by as they get closer and closer to the ports.

You believe it, he realizes dully. You believe that it was all just a scheme. You believe that everything was manufactured, that he used you for some fantastical revenge plan, that he never loved you. You believe it.

But it doesn’t make sense, he thinks desperately. He doesn’t understand how you’re not seeing through it, and if you are, why aren’t you at least giving him some hint? He should try to say something again—he knows that, but he finds himself unable to. He’s a smooth-talker, quick on his feet, but never when it comes to you—since the day he met you, he’s been fumbling over words awkwardly, but now it’s costing him everything. He finds ash in his mouth preventing him from salvaging anything he might’ve had with you.

Dig your nails in and cling, he reminds himself, but his nails have become rounded out and blunted from how long he was scratching at his pants and skin while remembering all those memories he locked away. He tries to dig his nails in and cling, but his voice fails him and his nails can’t even find purchase on your skin, you slip out of his hands as easily as an eel.

He’s going to lose you. He might’ve lost you already.

Dazai thinks that’s worse than the realization that he really might be about to die.

The car comes to a stop much quicker than Dazai had hoped, and he stiffens when you waste no time before getting out of the car. He makes no move to join you outside, and Chuuya sighs next to him.

“Get out,” Chuuya says flatly. When Dazai doesn’t budge again, Chuuya snaps, “Get out of the car-”

“-and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

Dazai draws his knees to his chest, breath becoming a bit labored as his aunt’s voice echoes in his ears. He doesn’t even realize that Chuuya has gotten out of the car until Dazai’s car door is pried open. For a split second, he confuses the executive with his aunt as he’s yanked out of the car—he’s fourteen again and being abandoned by the only person he has left, and he can just barely bite back the “don’t leave me here!” that almost spills from his lips as his knees hit the ground hard.

Dazai is instantly hit with a thick scent that makes him gag. It’s noxious, almost entirely unbearable, clogs his throat to the point he almost struggles to breathe—a blend of rot, acrid chemicals, and something he doesn’t recognize, but it’s sickeningly sweet. As he pushes himself to his feet, he notices you pass your gun over to Chuuya, but in that moment, Dazai is more concerned with figuring out where he is, and when he does, his stomach drops.

The dumping grounds by ports stretch endlessly under the heavy, overcast sky. Mounds of trash rose like grotesque hills patched with scraps of torn plastic and suspicious lumps that Dazai doesn’t have to get close to know what they are. The ground is uneven and treacherous—a mix of sticky mud and sharp shards of discarded glass and plastic, and pools of murky water shimmering with oil slicks.

It’s disgusting, and Dazai has a feeling it might be his final resting place.

He trails over to the side of the road and his gaze tracks down to the ground directly below him. It’s not a far drop, hardly a foot or two, and certainly less gross than some of the other parts of the area, but that’s a low bar to meet. He tears his eyes away from the scenery around him to look back at you, lips parted to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

You’re leaning against the front of the car, watching him with an expression that Dazai can’t describe. Sad, maybe, resigned. Chuuya is back in the car, from what Dazai can tell, he's still fiddling with your gun—he wonders if this is his way of letting the two of you say goodbye in private.

“I do love you,” Dazai says. His voice cracks over the words. “No ulterior motives. No schemes. I just loved you. Love you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, eyes drawing from him somewhere over to the side like you’re looking for something, but after a moment, you look back at him, your face a little softer than it was before.

“I know,” you tell him quietly. “I know, Osamu.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something back—he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, because confusion fogs his mind. If you know, then why-

Why are you doing this?

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. The car door opens and Chuuya steps back out, he passes your gun back to you and Dazai sees you subtly slide something into his hand too, but he can’t tell what it is. You sigh as you look down at the gun before looking back up at him again, he holds his breath as you make your way closer to him.

His lashes flutter shut, expecting to feel the cool barrel of the gun against his forehead, but his breath hitches when he instead feels the familiar warmth of your hand cradling his cheek. Your fingertips are flaked with Ace’s dried blood, but Dazai still leans into your touch, eyes sliding back open to look at you.

Up close, your expression is twisted with regret and… is that fear? Dazai can’t tell, he doesn’t care, he’s more preoccupied with memorizing the image of you before he runs out of time to.

“Forgive me,” you whisper so faintly that Dazai almost doesn’t hear you.

“I do,” he replies just as softly.

Your face crumbles as you look away. You take a step away from him, and your hand drops down from his face. Dazai instantly mourns the loss. You let out a heavy, shaky breath, sparing one last look down at the gun in your hand, one to Chuuya who stands half a step behind you, and then you look at Dazai again.

“Forgive me,” you say again, this time as you lift the gun—your voice is raspy, breath uneven.

Your fingers tremble so violently that the whole gun is unsteady, but Dazai doesn’t even care to look at it, gaze focused on your face instead.

“I do,” Dazai repeats.

You pull the trigger.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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literatureloverx · 3 months ago

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BSD MEN x their first time meeting their darlings

Characters: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Nikolai Gogol, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

BSD MEN x fem!reader

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You and Fyodor met at the museum.

He noticed you from a distance, intrigued by your beauty as you stood before a painting for longer than most would.

Drawn by an irresistible curiosity, he approached you to hear your thoughts on the artwork.

To him, you resembled a beautiful doll, exquisite and delicate, with a mind that radiated compassion toward his complex moral code and a heart that was both truthful and sincere.

Your gentle smile captivated him, sparking an interest that went beyond mere admiration; it stirred something deeper within him.

The full scenario is HERE

Dazai Osamu

You met Dazai either in his Port Mafia or in his Armed Detective Agency era. I will go with the second option, because PM!Dazai is more complicated.

Dazai encountered you on the beach at dawn.

It had been another sleepless night for him, and he was wandering aimlessly, as he often did after consuming alcohol without a care for the consequences.

The cool sea breeze tousled his hair, and the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore provided a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

Thinking the fresh air would help ease his slight headache, he walked at a slow pace, allowing the serenity of the beach to wash over him.

Scenario

As he wandered, he spotted a bench facing the beautiful water, where the dawn reflected brilliantly like molten gold. Without a moment's hesitation, he settled onto the bench, feeling the rough wood beneath him as he gazed at the horizon.

The sun began to rise, casting warm hues of orange and pink across the sky, but even that beauty couldn't quite pull him from the fog of his thoughts.

He yawned, a weary reminder of yet another night spent in restless contemplation, unable to escape the burdens that always seemed to find him.

A few moments later, someone sat beside him on the other side of the bench. His eyes widened in surprise as he turned to see you, a soft smile gracing your lips, almost apologetically.

The way the morning light played with your features was mesmerising, and for a fleeting moment, Dazai forgot the weight of his troubles.

Your gentle, melodic voice cut through the sound of the waves and reached his ears, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. "I hope it's okay for me to sit here? I also came to watch the sunrise."

The sunrise cascaded across your angelic smile, illuminating your hair as if each strand were made of stardust.

Dazai felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest, a sensation he hadn't expected. He studied you, taking in the delicate way your eyes sparkled with the early light, and the calmness that radiated from your presence.

It was as if you were a breath of fresh air amidst the heaviness that often surrounded him.

"Of course," he replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. "I can't say I mind the company of such a beautiful young lady, especially at a moment like this."

You smiled, but didn’t answer.

As you both sat in silence, watching the sun rise higher into the sky, Dazai's mind raced.

The tranquility of the moment was refreshing, and he felt drawn to you in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling.

He was self-aware enough to know that this was no simple attraction he was feeling; it was something deeper, something he didn't quite know how to handle.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya likely knows you either from his childhood—perhaps through the sheep—or your family has loose ties to the Port Mafia, and you happen to cross paths by chance.

I prefer the second option because it excites me more and is easier to write. (I’m really excited about this and want to write a full story with various chapters, but unfortunately, I have too many requests to finish right now.)

You know those Wattpad stories where the main character's dad has ties to the mafia, deeply indebted?

One day, the handsome mafia boss appears out of nowhere, demanding the money back—or worse, the daughter of the man. Well, this is not how Chuuya operates. He is a gentleman, after all.

Due to certain circumstances, instead of Akutagawa, Chuuya—the mafia executive himself—takes on the mission to collect the debt.

The jewelry mart of the mafia is under his care, and he decides to handle the matter personally this time.

It's a rare move for him, but something about the situation tugs at his instincts.

He circles your house, a sleek black car parked discreetly down the street, as he assesses the scene with a discerning eye.

The neighborhood is quiet, almost too quiet, and he can't shake the feeling that something is off.

The thought of confronting someone who owes the mafia money doesn't faze him, but he feels a sense of responsibility creeping in.

He pushes the thought aside; his focus is on the task at hand.

Storming in with a show of force, Chuuya enters your home, flanked by eight other men meant to intimidate.

But everyone knows that Nakahara Chuuya is a one-man army.

Scenario

The tension in the air is palpable as he strides toward your father, who stands pale and trembling.

Without hesitation, he forcefully pushes your father to the pavement, making him bite the concrete.

"You've made a grave mistake," Chuuya growls, the weight of authority lacing his words.

Your father stammers, trying to explain himself, but the panic in his eyes only fuels Chuuya's anger.

As Chuuya raises his gun, ready to make an example of your father, a pleading voice interrupts him.

You, a young woman, are being held back as you desperately try to reach your father.

"Please, don't!" you cry, your voice breaking.

Your teary eyes strike right through his heart, leaving him momentarily dumbfounded. Here's someone ready to sacrifice herself for her family.

You.

In that instant, he feels something shift within him—a stirring he hasn't experienced before. He doesn't understand what is happening; he can swear he's never felt this way before, and it unnerves him.

"Who are you?" he asks, trying to mask his confusion behind a façade of coldness.

"I'm his daughter! Please let him go! Take me! Take me instead!"

Your words are infused with desperation and bravery, resonating deep within him.

Everything else—the chaos, the noise—fades into silence. He is entirely focused on you, captivated by your beauty and your courage.

Chuuya can't help but admire your spirit. You're not begging for mercy out of fear; you're standing tall in the face of danger, ready to take your father's place. It strikes him as both foolish and incredibly brave. The dichotomy fascinates him.

As he lowers his gun, the gravity of the situation begins to weigh on him. He looks at your father, then back to you, and realizes he doesn't want to be the monster in this story. Not before your eyes, at least. Not now.

"Enough," he says, his voice steady but softer than before.

He knows he doesn’t need to be doing this. He can take the debt in more than one way. He has many options, but he chose this one because it was the quickest. However…things changed.

Without a second thought, he lowers his weapon and releases your father, taking a step back. The shock in your father's eyes mirrors the confusion swirling in Chuuya's mind, but he knows he's made the right choice.

As you rush to your father's side, Chuuya feels an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him. You’re so…mesmerising.

The way you move, the way you talk, the way you cry…he could stand there and watch you for hours, maybe even days. In fact, he felt like he could watch you for all eternity.

He tries to shake this weird feeling off.

"Consider this your lucky day," he adds, turning on his heel, his heart pounding in his chest. "But next time, you won't be so fortunate."

Nikolai Gogol

He either encountered you during a mission, where you were merely an unusual target that intrigued him, or he met you before he joined the Decay of the Angels.

For the narrative, I would lean towards the idea that "he met you on a mission where you were an odd prey."

For Nikolai to become interested in someone (be it romantically or platonically), he would need to sense a connection between the intricacies of his mind and your understanding of this complex moral system.

You were likely an unassuming office worker, perhaps even a part-timer, blissfully unaware of the corruption that plagued your workplace and why it could become a target for a terror attack.

How naive of you.

When he sees your innocent, almost silly face, he would smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he prepares to do something whimsical.

Scenario

Nikolai approached you, flashing his trademark grin—one that held a hint of danger mixed with playful charm.

"QUIZ TIIIME!!! Guess what I'm about to do to youuuu, little dove?!—“

He moves forward, his nose almost touching your cheek. His theatrical chuckle echoes through the halls left behind.

The floors are covered with blood and shards of glass, and you’re the only one remaining alive—together with this madman.

“—Yes indeedy! I'll make you feel free like a true bird! Free from everything! I’ll free you from the cage of your emotions, so that you can live as a credit to our race, a truly free homo sapiens!!"

His voice danced with mischief as he leaned against the doorframe, tugging slightly at the ropes bound around your wrists.

"P-please..." you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying your anxiety. He ignores your quiet plea.

"Do you happen to like birds, little dove?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. Your startled expression was delightful to him.

You nod, and he follows up with, "Why is that?"

You have no idea what this strange clown wants from you. The only thing you want now is to flee—to run away, to go home, to survive. You’re not sure how you’re going to reach that goal, but you’re willing to do anything.

That’s why you start making up excuses to occupy him with your chatter for as long as possible. You’re hoping to get rescued… or at least to receive his mercy.

"Some birds are free in that sense, while others are made to remain in their cages…"

Nikolai leaned closer, intrigued by your perspective, his whole presence threatening every fibre of your being.

"So you believe that some birds are meant to be clipped, little dove?"

"N-no," you replied, trying to steady your voice despite the flutter of panic in your chest. "They are meant to be free. But even if the bird is free to go wherever it wishes, freedom is nothing but an illusion.—“

You were scared, and you didn’t know if what you were doing was the right thing to do in this situation. Your voice trembled.

“—Because even if the bird is freed from its cage, it won’t be truly free to go wherever it wishes. The laws of nature still apply—it can’t abandon its flock.”

Your heart raced, and you felt exposed, as if you were revealing too much of your own fear. His unnerving heterochromic eyes scare you, you're trying to make something up, to avoid his gaze.

"—A bird that has never known freedom won't long for it; it is simply content with its cage and the comfortable life it provides—“

You aren’t sure if this is working, but he isn’t hurting you, and he’s certainly listening. You gasp as he tugs at the ropes again, speaking in his usual whimsical manner.

“Can you think of any reason why a bird born in a cage would crave freedom? A reason for the bird to detest its own—“

He giggles.

“…’comfortable’ cage?”

“I…I don’t see a reason for that to happen…unless that comfort turns into terror—"

His façade seems to crumble for a moment. Your voice wavers, the weight of his gaze amplifying your anxiety.

"—unless the bird has been abused in its very cage, sir..."

He stepped back, contemplating your words. The thought was foreign, yet it resonated with an undeniable truth.

Too real.

It felt way too real for him.

"You're quite insightful for someone so naive.”

"Please... just let me go," you whispered, your heart pounding.

He giggles again. It’s just one of the many unnerving qualities he possesses, as you recognize.

"I can't do that," he said softly, his tone shifting. "But I can promise you this—your voice matters to me now, little dove."

"After all," he added, his grin returning with a hint of mischief, "what fun would it be to let you go without revealing some of my tricks first? Riiiight??!!"

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

He either met you during a pivotal, life-altering event, like when he was gravely wounded (edgy and intimate), or in a more everyday setting, like a grocery store or shopping mall (wholesome and adorable). I’ll go with the second option, just as you’ve chosen.

He coughs as he takes the shopping bags into his hand, nothing more than some snacks placed inside.

He feels particularly weak today, and he knows it’s best if he returns to a safe space.

It’s time to go home.

As he walks, his thoughts swirl with a familiar frustration.

Weakness gnaws at him, contradicting everything he knows he needs to know—survival of the fittest, strength above all.

He can’t even enjoy something as simple as crisps without feeling the sting of inadequacy, a reminder that he constantly strives to prove himself strong despite the frailty he sometimes feels.

However, a certain someone might change this mindset of his at some point. It’s you.

Scenario

“Excuse me!”

The soft voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns around, annoyance bubbling to the surface.

He dislikes attention, especially in public spaces. It serves no purpose, and as a mafioso, he values his ability to blend in, to move through the world unnoticed. Drawing any kind of attention to himself, especially when he feels vulnerable, is the last thing he wants.

He scans the area, irritation rising when he realizes there’s no one in sight. His first thought is that he’s hallucinating—another sign that he needs to retreat to his quarters before the nausea overwhelms him.

But then, out of nowhere, you appear. Right in front of him.

His eyes widen slightly, just enough to betray his surprise.

His shock is mild but undeniable as he takes in the sight of you, someone warm and inviting, standing confidently before him. What could someone like you possibly want from him?

Akutagawa’s gaze flickers over you, searching for a reason, a threat, something to explain why you’re in his path. The unfamiliarity of the encounter makes him uncomfortable, and his guard instinctively rises.

“You dropped this…”

Your voice, kind and genuine, takes him off guard for the second time. Two moments of confusion in a single encounter—he’s already feeling off balance.

It would be a sight to behold had you known who he truly was—one of Yokohama’s most feared mafiosos.

You’re holding out his handkerchief. The one he uses to cough into.

His gaze shifts to the cloth in your hand, then back to your face. The urge to dismiss you rises quickly, but as he looks away, something unexpected happens.

Your eyes meet his. His cold, grey stare, which normally repels others or leaves them frozen, meets your gaze, and for a brief moment, something inside him stirs. The sensation is strange—something between discomfort and intrigue—as if, for just a second, he sees you differently. Not just as a stranger, but as something… more.

He’s not used to this. The feeling tingles at the edges of his awareness, unsettling and foreign, making him question what it is about you that sparked this unfamiliar warmth in his chest. In that instant, he feels the weight of his ideals—the relentless pursuit of strength and dominance—shift slightly, as though something in him yearns for connection despite the ferocity with which he clings to his principles.

Akutagawa hesitates, caught off guard by the genuine kindness radiating from you. He can feel the knot in his chest tightening as he grapples with the implications of your presence.

He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “… Thanks,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper.

The handkerchief hangs awkwardly between you, and he feels a surge of irritation at the vulnerability it represents.

You smile at his gratitude, and he can’t help but find the expression both refreshing and irritating.

“You didn’t have to bother. It’s nothing important.”

You tilt your head to the side. What could he mean? Nothing important as in ‘just a handkerchief’? It looked expensive. It definitely didn’t look like something you’d throw away after using it once.

“I wanted to,” you reply, your tone light and genuine. “I couldn’t just leave it there.”

He narrows his eyes, instinctively defensive. “Most people wouldn’t bother,” he retorts, his annoyance flaring up.

Oh, he wasn’t trying to blend in at all. He was being impolite.“They don’t care about things that don’t concern them.”

Your gaze wavers slightly, making him feel uncomfortable, which catches him off guard.

“But I do care. Sometimes, it’s the little things that matter.”

He scoffs, an edge to his voice. He mumbles, ready to leave any moment. “Little things? They mean nothing.”

You either survive or you don’t.—Is what he told himself. He recognised that he stepped out of the line. The nausea surely wasn’t helping him.

“Maybe,” you say, unfazed, “but that doesn’t mean we have to give in to that. We can choose to be different.”

Akutagawa’s chest tightens at your words. What were you yapping about? Like that stupid weretiger. He shifts his weight, irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

“You think you can change anything?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone. He wants to leave. Your presence is making him feel uncomfortable.

“I believe we can,” you answer, your conviction steady. “Even if it’s just for one person at a time.”

His heart races, battling against his instinct to retreat into his shell. He studies you, trying to dissect your motivations, to find the weakness in your resolve.

“And you think you’re that person?” he challenges, his eyes cold.

“Why not?” you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you’re open to it.”

His cheeks flush slightly. He feels an unexpected pull toward you, and he knows that he needs to leave. Now.

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ethereal-blossom · 8 months ago

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Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent."

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor."

#dazai x reader #kunikida x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #dazai x you #kunikida x you #bsd scenario #bsd dazai #bsd kunikida #dazai x y/n #kunikida x y/n #dazai smut #kunikida smut

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osamucide · 1 year ago

Text

nsfw alphabet - osamu dazai . . . .ᐟ

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 2.1k

cw: gn!reader - no explicit anatomy mentioned, switch leaning sub!dazai, nicknames “pretty,” “honey,” and “babe” for reader, one instance of “daddy,” brief mentions of choking/spitting/slapping/marking/collaring/edging/dacryphilia, graphic mentions of cum, cum eating, CUM, degenerate!dazai my beloved

reid: no one asked for this i just be thinking uwu enjoy

. . . .ᐟ

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

it’s dazai - he’s lazy and kind of a princess. unless cleaning up is absolutely necessary (read: you both and the sheets are drenched in sweat and/or cum) he will just want to stay where you are and cuddle and be loved on

usually chatty afterward. loves to chit chat. if you’re too sleepy to hold a conversation, he’ll play with your hair and you can listen to him talk about the fall of the byzantine empire

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

dazai is aware that he has attractive hands. there isn’t a single part of himself he’s not at least a little conscious of, but he knows his hands are both pretty and skilled, so he might as well try to be proud of them!

can’t pick a favorite body part on his partner. it changes by the day. one day it’s your waist, the next it’s your hair, wednesday it’s your thighs, most fridays he prefers your hands, sometimes it’s your stomach, other days it’s your ass. . .

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

i know it tastes like sulfuric acid

cums so much. like an obscene amount.

he definitely has a thing for seeing you covered in his cum - whether it’s on your chest, face, back. . .

filthy nasty when it comes to cleanup. you made a mess on his fingers? he made a mess in your hands? your hole is dripping with his cum and yours? his mouth is on it. shameless

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

less dirty and more just embarrassing for him - he usually cries after make-up sex.

if you argue and then fuck it out, tears will be rolling down his face while he cums - he loves you so much! he doesn’t want a petty argument to ever make you rethink your relationship with him

if you notice this, no you don’t. to him it’s a fucking secret okay

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

while i do think he probably hoed around toward the end of/after his mafia days, i don’t think he’s as experienced as anyone expects him to be.

liked the feeling but hated the vulnerability. it was a tradeoff he wasn’t willing to make anymore at some point. eventually realized he needs to build up a level of trust with potential sexual partners

once that trust is built up though. hooo boy

that genius brain of his isn’t just for detective work

he’s intuitive and a quick learner. absolutely knows what he’s doing.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

spoons.

lazy man loves to wrap one arm around your neck and play with you with his free hand while he thrusts into you from behind <3

really partial to any position that lets him bite your neck and kiss your face and groan in your ear (hopes you do the same to him)

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

can’t help the occasional one liner. he’s a natural comedian

dazai rather enjoys more playful sex where you both can laugh and talk throughout - sometimes it feels more intimate than serious, stone-faced sex

takes on a more serious air if he’s feeling jealous or insecure

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

will adhere pretty firmly to whatever your preference is!

if you have no preference, he just trims when he’s unruly - maybe once every two weeks or so

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

physically extremely sensual and aware of your body - little touches and breaths on your skin, lingering eyes, things that would get glossed over by anyone who isn’t a romantic at heart

tries (and succeeds) to swoon you verbally, too.

“need to feel you, please.”

“fuck- we fit s’ well together, don’t you think so?”

“‘m all yours, honey.”

“c’mon, pretty, fuck me like you own me.”

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

pillow humper.

he’s lazy! don’t get the idea that he’s above stroking himself because he’s not, but sometimes he just doesn’t feel like it

just imagine him in the first light of the morning waking up before his alarm with an unforgiving hard on. . .he was probably dreaming about you! and if you’re not there, what else is he supposed to do other than fold a pillow between his legs and grind on it until he cums in his boxers?

nnnnhhnmnmghshdhd pillow humper dazai <3

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

choke. this. man.

whether he’s topping bottoming subbing domming whatever he cums 10x harder when your hands are anywhere near his neck

likes fingers in his mouth uwu since he’s confident in his hands, he’s definitely into you sucking on his fingers too

pry his jaw open and spit on his tongue. he will gladly return the favor, if you wish

slap him if you’re comfortable. he’s down for it. he usually hates pain, but if it’s supplemental to pleasure?

big fan of biting and scratching too, both ways if you’ll indulge him.

likes having matching marks <3

leash and collar this man while he’s on his knees and tell him it’s where he belongs. he’ll agree!

edges the hell out of you when he doms. maybe likes to see you cry a little bit <3

on the softer side, he adores being praised - bonus points if you can mix in some subtle and tasteful degradation. loves being told how good he feels, how good he’s letting you use him, how good of a boy he is. . .

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

he prefers the privacy of your bedroom so he can completely let go of his reservations

buuuuuut also gets excited about car sex uwu something about how the windows fog up, and how desperate and feral it can feel. . .

at the end of the day, he’s never met a flat surface he couldn’t fuck on. if he wants you, he’ll find somewhere to have you

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

when you get intense about anything. discussing something you’re very passionate about? someone or something is visibly pissing you off? you’re road raging? dazai’s ready to drop ‘em

oh lord about to get the works cited page going. next bullet point references this post by user cqthqrtic (not tagging as to not surprise them with random nsfw content in their notifs, however if you see this, legend, and want tagged do let me know!), who pioneered my favorite degenerate!dazai and i think about him OFTEN

so with that, on a less wholesome note than the first one, i fully agree that calling him names like sicko, perv, freak, etc. gets him going like you would not fucking believe. he lives for your half-disgusted little reactions when he whispers filth in your ear in public or proposes some depraved shit like eating his own cum out of you. god forgive me

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

heavy, intense degradation. he’s already hyper-convinced that he’s a piece of shit. keep it to the classics; he likes being your dumb slut, your fucktoy, your brat, etc. and mix it up with praise. he does not like being called useless, bad, good for nothing else, etc.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

a real eater. a proud munch. so fucking smug about it too

his mouth + his hands? you’re seeing god

cannot however deny how much he loves your mouth on his cock. he’ll almost never ask for it, but he’ll also never say no to it.

might get carried away and fuck your throat a little - don’t worry, he’ll compensate you. ride his face til he can’t breathe

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

almost always wants to take his time with you! he’s got a lot of self control and he uses that to his advantage

he can’t get over how tender it feels to bury his face in your neck, wrap his arms around you, and feel your nails in his back while he’s fucking you deep and unhurriedly

he loves slow, sleepy, lazy sex where his hands can just roam every inch of your body.

don’t get it twisted - dazai will absolutely fuck you fast and rough if you just say the word

want him to go faster and harder? give his hair a good tug <3

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not his favorite methodology, last letter considered.

won’t decline if it’s to get out of work <3 bring him lunch at the office and he might just bend you over the bathroom sink

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he’ll try just about anything once.

this man spent his most formative years in a front row seat to observe humanity at its filthiest - anything that happens with mutual consent and good intent between you two in the bedroom can’t be that horrible.

besides, he loves discovering new kinks of his with you <3

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

only one or two rounds, maybe three on a good day, but he manages his time well.

spends anywhere from 15-30 minutes on foreplay on the first go around

will let you rest between rounds but continue kissing on you and teasing you lightly so it all just feels like one dreamy and continuous round

with his insane self control he could easily drag a couple rounds of sex out for hours. many hours.

however, he won’t usually keep you longer than three or so hours; on the flip side, he rarely spends less than 45 minutes on you.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

not opposed to you bringing toys to the table, but no, he doesn’t own any.

he can makeshift some handcuffs out of a belt so quick - what would he need to buy them for?

not a fan of having toys used on him, but he’ll go to town on you if you want <3

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

oh brother

will hold off on cumming himself just so he can draw your orgasm out longer. sensing a theme here? when i tell you his self control is insane.

beg him all you want - he goes into it knowing exactly how long he’s going to edge you for <3

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he can hold himself back and be quiet. . .does not like to, though!

high quality triple x this-shit-rated-porn ass moans, sighs, grunts, and whines coming out of him regardless of his position. he was meant to be LOUD. he likes to let you know how good you make him feel!

cusses so much.

whatever he’s babbling gets so breathy and growly when he’s close

“thank you thank you thank you fuck thank you” while he cums <3

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

wanna make him bust on the spot? call him daddy while he’s in you <3

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

average thickness but god he’s long

we’re talkin pushing eight inches

no curve, very few veins, blushy pink tip

sticks straight up and twitches when he’s hard <3

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

contrary to popular (?) belief, i think his sex drive is average if not a little lower

mostly just up for it whenever you are! you bring it up? sure, he’s game <3

about who initiates sex: 60/40, you/him respectively.

if he’s not in the mood will say some really lame and uncomfortably silly shit like “i think mr. pinky’s asleep right now babe” 👎

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

no he wants. to. CHAT

has enough trouble sleeping at night as it is! kind of just wants to go back to snuggling and hanging out when you’re done

again if it’s bedtime and you’re sleepy, he’ll just talk softly about whatever until he hears you snoring.

might pick up a book for an hour or so before joining you in the dream world <3

always smooches you goodnight whether you’re awake or not.

#bsd dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai headcanons #dazai hcs #mdni #nnnsfw.ᐟ #with love—reid

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irazai · 6 months ago

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. . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 MY EYES ARE GRATEFUL, THEY BOW INFRONT OF YOU ; a dazai osamu fic. ❞

SUMMARY . dazai is a coward. he knows it. and he is damn sure the universe hates him to put him in this predicament -- a rainy day, you and your flirty mouth, alone in one house with his heart beating and stomach churning in desire. he only has so much self control to refrain himself from pouncing onto you when you ask him to teach you to dance.

❛ ━━･❪ my brain always cowers in fear ;

when the heart of a lover is near.

and why do i still feel shame?

when even my heart ignites in flames.

flames of resistance light me up ;

oh, how do you resist the line separating you from inanity?

drown with me and frown at me ;

you are insatiable, really you are.

the sight of a lover fills me with regret ;

and i drown in the river of love.

for this love of your's is a desire.

had i resisted it any longer,

would i continue to cower in fear at the sight of a lover? ❫ ･━━ ❜

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . um i tried writing poetry yet again and if no one appreciates me and especially on dazai's bday then i will be very sad \●o●/.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . tw ; bestfriends's older brother!dazai, fem!reader, angst, nsfw, slow burn.

desires. hidden or not, everyone has some or a certain kind of desire to some extent which should never be revealed to a second party or acted upon due to our own conscience and morals labeling this desire as 'scandalous', 'forbidden', 'wrong'.

but humans act. we act. on desires too tempting, we act.

and if the desire is a man named dazai osamu, it's hard to not act on it.

the man is wrapped with temptation, oozing with illicit desires everytime he opens his mouth or as much as looks at you.

yet funnily enough, you always find yourself waltzing between the border of temptation and desire, on the line of conscience. everytime you somehow find yourself in a situation where you are alone with dazai.

you smiled as you thank him before even entering the car ; for going through the hassle of picking you up from your viola lessons as the weather isn't ideal for a pedestrian.

with a sheet of grey covering the sky and asking the clouds from nearby to gather and be its audience, the winds blew in a chilly excitement yet that didn't affect you as soon as you closed the car door, smiling at dazai as you were about to thank him again. but he is aware of your habits and personality by now.

so dazai leaned a bit near you to place his index finger on your lips, gently silencing you as he smiled charmingly, "uh uh, not another word out of those preety lips darling. you don't gotta thank me, you know i would never mind doing anything for you, right?"

he says to move your heartstrings to his likings but your brain knows not to let your heart fall for this. he has been doing this ever since you first knocked on their house door, a innocent smile on your face as you told the charming boy that you were here for his younger sister due to being partnered up for a project. and at that time, you were naive and blinded by childish innocence to not notice the charming smirk laced with flirtation was the only sign to identify him as the devil.

that was then when you were fourteen and he was sixteen and the present is now when you are nineteen and he is twenty one.

you part your lips a bit to let your tongue out and licked his finger, you watched with mirth how his eyes widened and he immediately pulled his finger back though the faint pink which settled on the shell of his ears isn't a detail you can ignore now, not after spending years admiring him.

"looks like you have no self control darling." dazai muttered, grinning a bit as he turned the key to start the car again and you scoffed playfully, shaking your head to let go of the hesitance that's holding you back.

". . . if it's for a man like you, i don't have self control or resistance then." you smile as you flirt in an attempt to gauge out his reactions. one hint is all you need to retreat or continue with these feelings you have been harbouring since so long. one hint at whether he feels the same or not and you will be content till your heart aches once again for your fantasies to become true and till your brain pities your heart enough to go against its usual rational ways to go with the flow of feelings and emotions.

"keep speaking like this and i am sure to melt." dazai continued to grin yet that grin faltered soon when you raised your hands slightly over your head to strech them, bending to the side as much as the cramped space of the car allows and a deep sigh left your lips the moment you felt your stiff muscles being streched, the pleasantly specific sensation had taken over your body for a mere few seconds.

and in those few seconds, hands of temptation that dazai always holds, now began to wonder all over his own body.

it had been definitely the work of the sweater you wore above the black bodycon dress reaching just a bit above your knees. the sweater was loose and hanged loosely by your shoulders but when you stretched your hands a bit, it moved up to reveal your covered clevage a bit. maybe it was the bold dress itself or maybe the fragrance you used -- either way, something made dazai fall on his feet and the hand offered to help him on his feets were you, dressed in temptation.

swaying him by tilting your head, you waltzed and led him deeper into your web of temptation while he let you, watching you dreamily.

"you are staring." you point out after finding him nor his gaze faltering away from you and truthfully, as much as it's making you nervous, it's also making your stomach and lower abdomen feel tingles of joy.

"mhm." he hummed.

"you do that alot."

maybe it's the weather letting you two be carefree or perhaps the frustrations finally breaking. desperation taking charge of the revolution which is the confession of the state of the heart, prepared to overthrow the brain and its tyrannical ways of controlling the heart by throwing fears and doubts towards it. fear and doubts who were birthed from insecurities.

"do what?"

"stare at me. why?" you look at him curiously and dazai furrows his eyebrows as he too thinks on why he does this. what exactly makes him do this.

he slowly parted his lips as he stared at his bandaged hands, eyebrows still furrowed due to focusing on trying to decipher each and every feeling and thought of his.

"i just do . . . i can't really help myself. whenever you walk in our house as well, it's like i just can't look away from you. i don't know why but it's like you are a magnet. my eyes always find you." dazai quietly and lowly admitted. to him and to you.

"always?" you tilt your head. goosebumps rised on your arms to bid goodbye to the dictatorship of the brain and insecurities which took a step back.

dazai looked at you and gulped. he stayed quiet for a few seconds as he let temptation in the form of you to wrap your arms around him in the ballroom and allowed you to pull him towards you till your noses bumped.

you are temptation. he is tempted.

he looked at your features quickly and nodded, whispering, "always."

oh! eyes are the beholder of the truth and lies,

and staring at you would perhaps be dazai's demise.

"that's good to know." you softly tell as you look out of the window and at the same time, dazai too looks away from you as he stares at the road ahead and begins to drive.

you lean your elbow against the window as you cover your mouth with your palm, smiling shyly at the way his words repeat in your mind and makes all your cells to celebrate in joy.

dazai glanced at you when you had rolled down the window and he felt his heart stop beating for a mere second when he watched you, the way the wind from outside had you closing your eyes ; he truly can never take his eyes away from you.

tragedy it is!

he has to drive the car or else he would've loved to sit in silence and mindlessly admire you, once again memorize the curve of your nose and jaw, your eyebrows and eyelashes and your cheeks which he wants to cup and caress with his fingers.

dazai shook his head a bit to get rid of these tempting thoughts and looked forwards though the way his heart had lifted the ends of his lips into a small smile isn't something he could or would get rid of. letting the serendipity of this moment convince his brain to let his heart control for once and to give priority to emotions rather then rationality for this one moment.

a romantic tragedy!

how his hands itch and twitch to grab yours which lays on your lap yet he can't.

why?

because some desires should not be acted on, ever. or that's what a coward says to himself.

but humans act! the world is our stage. a man performs till he dies and when he dies, his successors perform!

and no human lived without performing. without acting.

acting to hide oneself. acting on one's desires.

dazai lifted one of his hands and placed it on top of yours, watching from his peripheral vision as you looked startled and looked down at his hand on top of your's. your breathing quickened a bit but soon it went back to normal again and you relaxed even more then what you were before.

dazai felt himself getting relief in exchange of the breath he exhaled when you didn't say anything or try to push his hand off. you just looked out of the window and dazai focused on driving again.

yet he felt blood rush to his cheeks and settle over there in the form of a faint pink blush when only a few seconds later, you lifted your other hand and placed it on top of his, squeezing it lightly.

this must mean you share some feelings for him too, right? should he take a step forwards or should he stay in this lane and just continue to playfully flirt and tease you?

but what about the coil of confession in his throat that is begging to be let out right now, begging to be uncoiled and let you hear his words of vulnerability.

but a step forwards initiates a change and dazai would hate if the change between you two and the relationship you share now is bad.

so he stays. like the human he is, he hesitates and he acts!

not on his desires but by wearing the mask on self restraint.

for a few minutes in the chilly and descending into chaos like weather, you and dazai sat in silence as you idly caress his knuckles with the pad of your thumb before you remember something and you softly gasp, making dazai look at you as he hums at the sudden noise.

"i have a dance on next friday. my professor said if i danced at the freshers party with another senior, she'll give me extra credits points." you tell as you raise your head to stare and dazai and he hums, telling you silently to continue.

". . . i dont know how to dance. never did it." you admit quietly and watch the first flower bloom when spring approaches and in the same sense, dazai's lips curve upwards as he throws a quick glance at you.

dazai looks good no matter what. and only if your eyes could look past the nonchalant exterior, you could've seen bitter jealousy take over him at the thought of you dancing with someone else and being in the arms of another man who isn't him.

dazai looks good no matter what he is feeling though.

but you decided that you prefer him the way he is now. quiet yet sincere and a bit of a coward to face his feelings head on but this has dazai. a charming loser.

"you want me to teach you?"

"yeah."

"why?" dazai asked and it was your turn to go silent now but unlike him who did so to search for the right words, you went quiet to search for courage to tell what your heart carved out of its flesh.

"because you . . are like a breath of fresh air which burns my lungs." raw and sincere, words spoken without fear then why are your words so confusing.

"pardon?" dazai looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as he stops the car infront of a red signal. "what do you mean?"

you take a deep breath as you stare at him, the soft frown on his face as his eyes are filled with confusion.

he must've made amends with gravity or the one who controls it. because you have no other way to explain why you are leaning towards him slowly. dazai found his eyes staring at your face and then your lips and then at your chest which was rising and falling and he loved how you were always so open and easy to read yet at the same time so hard to reach and touch and to cherish.

"you burn me because . . ." you trail off. the words to end this sentence are hanging from the tip of your tongue but they refuse to fall and ruin the glass surface of this relationship you two have, the words are afraid to break the glass and discover what is hidden under it in fear of being rejected. you stop leaning closer.

dazai didn't like your sudden stop and so, he continued on the journey you abruptly stopped on, leaning near you as he lowly spoke, "because? complete your words darling."

"because . . ." you breath out as you see him leaning near and your eyes nearly fluttured shut when the tip of his nose bumped into yours but he still did not stop and so you softly called, "dazai?"

"osamu. don't call me dazai, it's osamu for you." he corrected you and the moment his lips lightly touched your's, hearing your incomplete words didn't matter anymore. dazai wanted to close his eyes, to grab your face and pull you closer, to explore your body and tightly grab and squeeze your hands but the red light turning green from his peripheral vision stopped him. it woke him from his dreams and told him to get a grip of himself.

and when he turned around to focus on driving again, you leaned back on the seat with widened eyes. you wonder till how long can you control your desires anymore.

. . . you can't. not when the situation played out in your favor in such a weird way.

to put it simply, a chain of events took place once dazai parked the car infront of his house.

it began with light drizzle as you stepped out of his car and by the time you and dazai jogged towards his house, the drizzling turned into full blown rain. the moment dazai opened the door and allowed you inside first, his hand brushed against your ass or maybe that was your imagination. maybe he didn't actually touch your lower waist as he gently pushed you inside the house and maybe his ring and index finger didn't graze over your ass due to his outstretched hand.

that may have been your imagination but the next moment wasn't. you immediately made your way into his sister's room as you've been here many times before to recognize the creak of the stairs beneath your feet immediately. you did not imagine it when you saw your bestfriend's room void of her presence and you certainly did not imagine when dazai entered the room while you were trying to remove the wet sweater.

and this is certainly not a fragment of imagination for no amounts of imagination can mimic the actual feeling of dazai's cold fingertips sliding up your arms as he silently stood infront of you and helped you lift the wet sweater.

you couldn't look at him and so, you closed your eyes but dazai did the opposite as he refused to close his eyes, intensely staring at you.

"mom and dad are stuck with the little brat. they went to a relative's house . . . and won't be returning till the weather turns a bit less violent." he told you in a low voice, void of his usual playfulness and that cherry tone but instead his voice holds a volume of calmness and sincerity and its seducingly dangerous.

his voice reached your ears and the sound waves which traveled through your ear to your brain strayed a bit, reaching to your heart to smile at it. and the way your heartrate accelerated was a clear sign for your brain on how seductive dazai is.

"do you have any idea when they'll return?"

"why? do you not like the idea of being alone with me?" dazai smiled at you as he leaned down after helping you remove the wet sweater, his hands gripped your wrists as he tilted his head.

"that's not what i meant." you try to defend yourself as you gulp at the close proximity and you had spoken up so slowly and nervously that it gave dazai sufficient time to eye you up and down.

"be careful darling," dazai muttered as he raised his eyes to stare at you again, "you are hurting me alot here."

he grinned boyishly at the way you had stiffened up nervously at the beginning of his sentence and the way you blinked after being caught off guard with his joke.

"shit, you are so cute. just wanna kiss you." dazai flirts again yet the way he does so is by using his genuine words and wrap them with the tone of playful flirting.

the line between resistance and desires is the one dazai dances on.

you shake your head as the smile becomes hard to be hidden on your face and away from his sharp eyes. you raise your hands (his hands are still gripping your wrists) and place them on his shoulder before gently pushing him.

"get out, i want to change."

"and? do it infront of me. what's stopping you?" the boyish grin didn't leave dazai's face the way your own amused one didn't leave your's as you continued to talk to him.

and when you two talked it always became hard to keep a track on when a playful banter turned into a confession disguised as flirtation.

"what's stopping you from undressing me?" you reply back but the way his grin faltered as the exact reasons of what is stopping him comes to mind makes him loose the playful aura, like it always does.

your own shoulders dropped when you saw dazai standing straight as he smiled in a flirtatious manner once again but you knew the way he is smiling now and the way he smiled before are very different and this one is far less sincere.

"i'll wait for you in my room." dazai said and oh, why act like nothing happened when a lot clearly did?

"why?" you didn't mean to snap but it happened, since your heart held onto a thread of hope which snapped and now, the heart grew hopeless.

"didn't you say you wanted me to teach you how to dance?" dazai slowly spoke, he watched the temptation dressed in you running away from him and he hopelessly watched you go.

"i changed my mind. i don't want you to teach me . . . anything." you say as you take a step back from him, feeling your knees about to give up. why do you two find yourselves in this predicament every single time? every time when you feel as if you two will develop something and change something, he always takes a step back.

dazai osamu is the biggest coward when it comes to facing his own feelings and emotions.

and who is the fool who said indirect rejections hurted less?

they hurt less? but they are crushing your shoulders under the weight of sorrow and your knees can no longer support your body and carry it.

"are you sure?" dazai quietly asked as he looked at you even when you had turned your head to stare at the curtain flowing due to the windows being opened and letting in the harsh breezes before you slowly looked at him again.

"very." you whisper out as you take another step back while dazai took one forward.

"who will teach you to dance then?"

"i will ask any other guy." you tell the thought which began to plague his mind.

he stood at the entrance of the venue and watched temptation dressed as you stop on your way out to talk to another man, the man began to lean towards you as if with the intention to kiss you and dazai immediately snapped back into the possibilities of reality.

the thought of another guy wrapping his arms around your waist and pull you closer as the two of you waltz and what if your knee brushed against his and this makes the guy lean towards you?

won't dazai be absolutely crushed?

"change. and you will come to my room. am i making myself clear?" dazai demanded and somehow his low tone which is void of any playfulness makes him sound more intimidating and hot.

he reached for your hand to grab your wrist and pulled you towards him, glaring at you but not in anger, his soft eyes told that he isn't angry at you. he is merely jealous at his own imagination and irritated at the possibilities of them becoming the truth in the distant future.

you gulp. why are you feeling butterflies right now?

you could only nod and do nothing else. even after dazai smiled a bit at your obedience and patted your cheek before leaving you.

it took nearly ten minutes for you to change into a oversized t-shirt and some shorts. changing out of your partially wet clothes wasn't what consumed most of your time. rather it was the process of gathering courage and preparing yourself to face the man who makes your heart beat fast and also somehow its him who makes your heart sink too.

you knocked on his door with the back of your knuckles once and entered as you heard him tell you to come in, you closed the door with your leg as your eyes stayed on him as he too had changed into more comfortable and dry clothes which consisted of brown sweatpants and a beige oversized t-shirt.

you aren't supposed to stop in your steps and stare at him but you do because when dazai looks at peace and comfortable, there is no better sight to admire.

"come here darling, you know i won't bite." dazai mocked but he did it so gently that you couldn't even think about getting offended.

you can't bring yourself to take a step forwards and when one becomes unresponsive, the overthinker thinks over and over again.

"i am sorry." dazai slowly begins as he takes a step towards you, "was i being too mean? did i scare you?" dazai asked as he continued to walk towards you and when he stood infront of you, you raised your eyes to look at him as if you are hypnotized.

dazai runs a hand through his hair before he leaned down to kiss your forehead and he stayed there to whisper, "i am sorry darling. please forgive me?"

"do you always apologise this sweetly?" you ask as you smile at him to let him know you don't hold his words or action against him and that he can stop overthinking because most geniuses overthink and this is a disease.

"i don't even apologise much." dazai snickers as he grabs your wrist, taking a step backwards so you would be forced to take a step forwards.

"then why me?" you ask as you continue to smile and relish in the feeling of his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist in such a gentle manner, it made you feel as if you are made of fragile glass.

"because . . ." dazai began as he stopped walking and freed your wrists from his grip. instead, he wrapped his arms around your waist and clasped them around your back, letting his clasped hands rest dangerously near your butt. "i don't want you of all people to hate me."

"but i can never hate you." you answer immediately as you understand his intentions and raise your arms to wrap it around his neck. dazai raised his eyebrows as he muttured a small, "why?"

"because i love you --" you abruptly stop speaking and quickly try to save yourself from your self impaled fear of being rejected, "-- your company. i love your company."

you look up at him as you nervously smile and hope he didn't catch on your lie but is he dazai osamu if he doesn't notice the smallest shift in someone's muscles or the change in their tone?

dazai doesn't speak though. he smiled as he pulled you closer to him, you pursed your lips as you felt his hands grab your ass but when you looked at him, he looked so nonchalant that you felt maybe you are overreacting due to overdosing on the ecstacy of him holding you in such a way.

you barely registered the wink he threw in your direction before he pulled you even closer and gently began to move your body along with his as he hummed, making you sway to the rhythm of his hums.

"many people tell me my company is valuable. what makes you any different?" dazai tried to provoke you as his hands came to rest on your hip and he used your hips to guide you to move in the same direction as him as he noticed your stiff movements.

"because i am funnier?" you say in a confusion as you are unsure yourself on what would make you different from others.

"that's a shit excuse.'" dazai snickered before he winced a bit as you pinched his shoulder and in return, he turned you around using your hips and pressed himself against you,

"but if it's from you, it's the best shit excuse i've heard." dazai leaned down to whisper and you snicker as you look at him over your shoulder with a amused smile.

"if you are trying to be romantic then sorry to say but romance isn't for you." you tease as you feel your chest flutter when he pushed himself closer to you and you could feel his length against your ass and thigh.

dazai leaned down near your ears to reply back while at the same time he wrapped his arms around your lower stomach to pull you back towards him, making you two press against each other even more and he spoke only after he heard and smiled at the quiet gasp you released, "you want to talk about romance with me? you'll never find a guy as romantic as me."

"everyone knows you aren't romantic osamu." you quietly reply back as you take a shaky breath while his fingers teasingly tapped and trailed up and down your stomach.

"i can be for you darling." dazai muttered as he rested his chin against your shoulder and you scoffed in amusement, "why?"

"because i love you --" dazai smirked as you cursed him under your breath for mocking you, "-- your company. i love your company darling."

"very funny." you grit your teeth as you try to move away from him but dazai's tight grip doesn't let you and rather, your movements of trying to get free makes your ass brush and bump against his length and it was when he released a low shaky breath, that you stopped and widened your eyes a bit.

"fuck no, don't stop please." dazai murmured and grabbed your hips again to move them and hid his face against your shoulders at the nimble pleasure your soft grinding is providing him with.

". . . osamu?"

"yeah?" dazai whispered out. the temptation dressed as you stopped and turned to look at him, smiling seductively and he gulped.

"you are like a breath of fresh air that burns my lungs bec --" you stop as he thrusted forwards towards you, leaning your head back on his shoulder, you turned your face towards his ear (as his face was still hidden against your shoulder) and you whisper out, " --because i love you."

dazai felt himself stopping momentarily as your words repeated in his mind and with a unstable tone, dazai asked, "can you repeat that again?"

you tightly close your eyes as it feels as if repeating your words a second time is harder then when you had first spoken them but with a lot of efforts and courage, you do nevertheless, "i love you osamu."

your words hang in air and the impact of them makes your heart sink as you felt your throat tightening when your mind immediately assumed the worst.

it's over now, the change is in motion and things will never be like what they were before between the two of you.

dazai raised his head and gripped your hips tightly, turning you to face him once again as he stared at you, "repeat it again." he rasped out.

he took a step towards temptation dressed in you and you extended your arm for him to grasp.

". . . i love you." you whisper for with every minute, his voice grows strained while yours grow weaker.

dazai blinked, a faint pink blush began to coat his cheeks as he stared at you and seeing the man look so flustured and out of his usual element or arrogance gave you a temporary confidence boost.

you took a step near him, your body pressing against his as you slowly cup his jaw and rub your thumb on the underside of his jaw. you look down as you can't look at him but repeat yourself for the last time, "i said i love you, will you please give me an answer?"

you speak with a tone of urgency in your voice but dazai's lips were sealed and his ability to talk was stolen. to understand dazai's current situation better, one should think of what they desire the most and then imagine they are slowly working towards achieving it but then suddenly one day, due to random course of events, the thing they desire the most is infront of them and waiting to be claimed.

it feels surreal and confusing and dazai wonders if this is one of his daydreams which just looks super real so would his subconscious laugh at him if he made any moves under the influence of joy?

you begin to feel cold dread and it's tentacles slither up your legs and wrap around your thighs, making your knees go slightly shaky at the sudden amount of weight kept on it but you try once again to speak your feelings out and get an answer.

because sure, rejection may hurt but it doesn't hurt as much as being left in confusion without even getting a definite answer.

the temptation dressed as you smiles as dazai grabs your hand and pulls you closer to him before he leaned down to kiss you.

"i said i love you osa --" your words stopped, caught on the edge of your tongue when dazai seemed to suddenly wake up from whatever confused trance he was in, he leaned down to press his lips against your's while he raised one hand to cup your's (which was on his jaw).

you stood motionless for a few seconds as he just stood with his lips pressed against yours incase you wanted to pull back but when you did not, he took a step ahead by beginning to slowly move his lips against your's and this snapped you out as your grip on his jaw tightened, pulling him closer.

you feel dazai's hand grab your ass as he pulls you even closer to him while he tilted his head to be able to kiss you better, parting his lips to pull at your bottom lip. your grip on his jaw tightens while you part your lips for him and feel his tongue entering inside.

your other hand slithered down to rest above his crotch as you slipped it inside his t-shirt and began to rub your thumb over his slightly toned stomach, making him shiver as he felt sensitive.

dazai pressed his lips even harder against your's as he licked at your tongue before he gathered some saliva and spitted into your mouth. the action definitely took you by surprise as you loudly gasped.

dazai pulled back to look at you with a grin as he licked the saliva on his lips while you panted before moving your (which was still inside his t-shirt) hand downwards and slipping it inside his sweatpants. your other hand left his jaw to wipe the saliva dripping down the ends of your lips and down your chin but dazai stopped you by grabbing your wrist.

"wanna see something fucking dirty darling?" dazai whispered as he leaned near you, you nodded. you watched as dazai maintained eye contact with you while leaning down and parting his lips, licking the saliva dripping down before he tilted his head down to suck at your jaw and at the same time squeezed your ass.

"dirty osamu, you are so disgusting." you breath out as you whimper, the action of his making your core drip wet and dazai snickered as he nodded his head in agreement, tilting his head back to look at you again with a smug grin to which you replied by squeezing his dick through his boxers.

"you are the dirty one -- stop it darling." dazai hissed out and you did it again, rubbing your palm against his length.

"you are playing with fire right now." dazai hissed again yet you once again squeezed his dick as you smiled innocently at him, "but osamu. i'm not even doing anything."

dazai scoffed as he looked down at you while you squeezed his length again and again and again till he groaned. dazai's hand tapped on your ass while the other gripped your hip and he lifted you up a bit as he made you wrap your legs around his waist.

he turned around to walk towards his bed while carrying you.

"you have been tempting me a bit too much darling. thinking i will let you do as you please." dazai whispered with desire being thick in his tone, the low and seductive tone making that apparent.

you look at him as you bite your lips, the raindrops hitting the pavement outside making it more harder for you to think of anything else other then the obvious route the (approaching) night will play at.

"have i?" you whisper up and dazai hummed, cocking his eyebrow before he made you lay down on your back, pressing his semi hardened dick against the inside of your thigh and the feeling of it, the obvious pain he is going through due to having to restrict himself from acting on his urges and desires, you felt it all.

"definitely. i never felt so pathetic." dazai snickered before he leaned down more to whisper in your ear, "my fist felt so pathetic while i was trying to chase my high. isn't it enough to be on my mind during the day that you won't let me rest even at night?"

your breath hitched at his words though a wave of euphoria traveled from your feet and all the way to your heart at this revelation.

"then why did you never do anything about it? were you scared?" you softly scoff.

dazai's slender fingers slithered down your sides till they rested at the edge of the t-shirt you are wearing ; his which his sister had borrowed once and never returned as she claimed it to be the perfect oversized shirt to sleep in. curling his fingers, he lifted the t-shirt up slowly to reveal your skin to him. he looks at you for a few seconds to watch you staring at him with anticipation and with a small smile, he leaned down.

"you don't know how scared i was." dazai muttured against the skin of your stomach and planted a peck, your breath was once again stolen from your windpipe as you let out a shaky sigh, "what if you rejected me? it would've been so awkward between us after this. how could i live without seeing your preety face and without hearing your preety voice call my name?"

dazai muttured again and the impact of his words along with his lips moving along your stomach, kissing it and letting his tongue out every few seconds to lick your skin to tease you ; it had you being a withering mess underneath him.

"rejected? you love me?" you ask with wide eyes and watch as dazai hums against your skin.

"more then you can comprehend though i didn't know if you felt the same or not." he nibbled lightly on your skin while humping against your inner thigh.

"were my lovesick puppy eyes not obvious?" you ask with a smile as you find this situation to be entertaining, you grabbed the hair on the back of dazai's head to pull him towards you, bringing his face closer to your's for a kiss as you gently cupped his jaw.

"you look so cute all the time, how was i supposed to find a difference?" dazai smiled, laughing when you tried to raise your knee to knee him on the stomach, he immediately grabbed your knee and wrapped it around his waist while he leaned down to kiss you.

it happened somewhere in the kiss that dazai's fingers slipped down to remove your pajamas (which were not really your's but his sister's) and he rubbed his knuckles in circular movements against your clothed clit to enjoy the sound of you whining and shuddering as his lips still stayed connected to your's. he then went on to hook his finger under the waistband of your panties and remove it too, separating his lips from your's despite a weak beg from you not to and he looked at the wetness that stayed on your panties.

he swiped the pad of his thumb to gather some on his thumb and raised it near your lips but you scrunched your nose as you looked at him, "ew no. i am not tasting this."

"you are seriously no fun." dazai pouted and teased, bringing his thumb near his own lips as he kitty licked your wetness while not breaking off his eye contact with you and this sight made you want to clench your legs but he immediately placed his leg between your thighs.

"you are a disgusting man osamu." you huff out as you look down at his leg which refused to bulge, you looked at him again and by the way he smiled smugly, you knew he would go hours and hours to tease you.

"told ya, i am a dirty man." dazai smirked and looked down to catch your eager hands from undressing him, smiling when you whined. "so impatient, aren't you darling?"

he tsked when he saw that despite him grabbing your wrists, you tried to get your eager hands on the waistline of his sweatpants to tug it down. dazai raised his eyes to stare at you again, smiling at the way you immediately stopped clawing upon seeing him look at you with raised eyebrows, as if you are embarrassed or shy.

"you know how i don't have the ability to tell no to you? so why not try asking me nicely for what you want?"

"why don't you tell me what you want?" you throw his words back at him with the intentions of getting an answer to your still unanswered confession.

"you."

"you have to be more specific osamu." you tell as you lean your head up a bit, he stopped gripping your wrists and so you leaned on your elbows.

"how?"

"i don't know. perhaps by giving me an answer for my confession? do you know how hard it was to confess? and you aren't even giving me am answer. shit. i feel like i'll die of a heartattack . . . why are you looking at me like that?" your complaints come to a stop as you grow shy under his soft stare and dazai tilted his head, his lips curling into a smile.

"like what?"

". . . like you always do." is all you tell for you cannot grasp this look he gives you. it looks so soft and he looks calm yet the gaze is so intense it makes you shy.

". . . and? does it not ring any bells?" dazai raised his eyebrows and watched you furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you stare at him in disbelief before it turned to you pondering and then you finally realised.

you realised how you always looked past his unspoken and silent confession.

"exactly." dazai nodded. he leaned down to kiss your chin and then went down from there. "i love you. loved you since a long time, oblivious little darling."

he muttured as dazai removed his leg from between your thighs and grabbed one of them instead as he gripped it, squeezing the fat.

dazai looked up once his kisses traveled till your chest and smiled as he blushed a bit for words so sincere were something dazai is a sucker for and these sincere words only come to the tip of his tongue when his eyes land on you, "i love you."

you got your answer. your body relaxed as your head fell back on the pillow and you closed your eyes while you calmed down, feeling as if the nervous and anxious feelings in you were for no reason. you feel lightheaded now that the weight of anticipation was lifted.

dazai's lithe fingers slipped under your t-shirt while he kissed your collarbones and left open mouthed kisses, his fingers traveled up and he used his other hand (still gripping your thigh) to tap on your thigh as he looked up at you and you got the hint, lifted your upper body up a bit for him to have access to remove your bra.

dazai gripped and pulled your bra along as he pulled his hand out of your t-shirt.

your legs tried to close when dazai kissed your breast over your t-shirt before he parted his lips to encircle them around your clothed nipple, licking at it. his hand on your twitching thigh stopped it from closing as he wanted you to feel how he gets you wet and how your hole sucks in air in anticipation.

"osamu." you moan out his name as he nibbled very lightly at your nipple though once he heard you calling him, he raised his eyes to look up and once he saw your bothered face, he grinned. without having to exchange any words, dazai's hand left your thigh, light pink prints of his fingers displayed on your skin.

he rubs his thumbs across your inner labia to feel your wetness before he inserted his index finger into your hole which sucked his finger eagerly.

dazai pushed his head to lick at your other breast before he looked up and spoke, each word of his was accompanied by a thrust of his fingers, "sorry darling but you are a little girl. don't think you are ready yet for me."

"a-asshole." you spat out with great difficulty as he added a second finger and scissored you to loosen you a bit, both of his fingers pulled out before he thrusted them inside again and he pulled them out again. he added a third finger and watched your walls squeeze his fingers making him nibble on your perked nipple as he watched the wet patch on the t-shirt where your breasts are.

"you are the one who's an asshole darling." dazai snickered as he raised himself and leaned on his elbow, looking down at your greedy hole now sucking in three of his fingers and he looked up, seeing you about to reply and so, he added a fourth finger and watched as you let out a cry and closed your eyes immediately.

"i mean, look at you. imagine if my sister came home to see her close friend spreading her legs for her older brother." dazai mocked you as his fingers sped up, the sound of his palm hitting against your ass and the wet sound produced every time he thrusted his fingers inside.

dazai watches as you brought your legs closer to yourself and tried to close them but he used his knee to pin one of your legs to the mattress and this position enabled his fingers to reach even deeper.

his middle finger touched that one spot and you moaned loudly to which he thrusted his fingers again and this time, two of his fingers brushed against that spot. dazai looked at you to see your chest heaving up and down and pulled his fingers out. immediately watching your body twitching due to being denied of the on-growing pleasure. he looked at his glistening hand covered with your slick and sighed out lowly.

you frowned and raised your head and watched dazai sit back as he fumbled with the knot on his sweatpants, raising himself on his knees to push his sweatpants and boxers down.

"come here darling." dazai told but didn't look at you as he pushed his boxers down, his dick springing up and hitting against his abdomen. he grabbed his t-shirt and raised it over his chest, grabbing the cloth with his teeth as he rubbed his hand covered with your slick on his length as a natural lube.

he looked at you again and you shakily leaned up on your elbows before crawling towards him a bit as you looked up at him, he leaned closer and grabbed your hands, wrapping it around his waist while he used his hand to grab his dick and brush it past your stomach and down your thighs to let the slick and precum on him get smeared on your skin.

"osamu please." you whisper as you lean up to peck his adam's apple and dazai immediately pushed you down, grabbing your legs and parting them open. his hands left your legs to grab his dick and position it at your entrance.

"i love you." he whispered before he inserted himself inside and the prepping from before had no use as you remained tight and he cursed before he slowly thrusted deeper and deeper.

"osamu." you let out a breathy moan as you feel him pierce your walls as he tries to go in deeper and deeper and dazai hummed as he closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed.

"please let me darling. i don't know when i'll be able to say this to you the next time without feeling scared so let me tell it all i want right now." he rasped out in a throaty tone and you nodded.

dazai didn't speak anything till he was bottomed out in you. after which he grabbed your waist with both of his hands and raised himself on his knees and told you to part your legs.

"i love you." dazai confessed again as he looked at you and slowly began to thrust in and out, his length penetrating your walls.

dazai grabbed your hips instead to lift you up and began to quicken his pace and soon felt his dick rub against your g-spot. your legs shook and he raised one of them towards his waist to make you wrap it around him and yet you wrapped both of your legs around his small waist to give him more angle to thrust in, this new angle provided him more access and his dick touched your cervix as he thrusted.

dazai raised your t-shirt up to your collarbones to be able to watch your breasts bounce with his thrusts, a bandaged hand coming up to fondle with one of your breasts as he tilted his head back.

"i love you." he repeated himself as he leaned down to press his chest against your's, burying his face against the crook of your neck and he muttered out, "i love you. fuck i love you. i love you."

its important for us to know that every word of his was accompanied by a peck on the skin of your neck, below your jaw.

dazai's thrusts sped up, bullying and abusing not only your g-spot but also continuously hitting your g-spot and you wrapped your legs even more tightly around his waist when you felt your orgasm approaching.

dazai squeezed your breast, the fat spilling from between his fingers and he shuddered, using his other hand to grab your ass and push you up to push his dick even more deeper into you. your ankle hooked around one another as you let out small whines and cries of pleasure.

dazai hissed as he thrusted into you again, watching you crumble beneath him as you cum, your body shaking as you do so and he thrusts again and again to help you ride out your orgasm.

after which he leans his head up to look at you with a tired smile but gasped instead when you tried to move yourself on his dick. you looked at him when you heard him gasp and panted out, "it's not fair osamu. i wanna watch your fucked out expression. i want to make you feel good. i want . . . to be the cause of your happiness for once."

"for once?" dazai laughed as he thrusted into you again as he lowered you and himself on top of you so that now you both laid on the bed with a pillar of comfort hiding you two and your act. "you make me want to laugh at midnight due to joy. joy i feel whenever you pop up in my thoughts."

dazai told and his hands left your hip and breast to cup your jaw with both hands as he slowly yet deeply thrusted into you.

"a man dreams. dreams make a man. you are my dream." dazai muttered softly and closed his eyes and he thrusted again before letting out a loud moan. thick ropes of white sprouted out of his dick and coated your walls and you felt your walls clamping around him again as it happened, your body shaking as you came for a second time.

his body relaxed immediately as the pent up pleasure was released and dazai slowly rested his body on top of your's, grasping your hand as he brought it closer to his lips to kiss the back of your hand. "i love you."

and when you smiled, the hair on his nape stood up while he closed his eyes, smiling back shyly as he hid his face against your neck again as if bowing and he repeated, "i love you darling."

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