#dazai angst

[nori-draws-sometimes]

I need to stop. at what point does my obsession with beast become self destructive?

[awoogayanderes]

“sometimes you’re just hard to love,” you say, looking out into the night sky, with tears in your eyes, an argument pushed you over the edge.

he simply looks at you, despite the breath he was holding, he didn’t want to make your life harder than it was but he couldn’t help it.

“then leave, i’m not stopping you,” his mouth moves faster than his thoughts.

he sees the light leave your eyes as he says that, immediately regretting what he said, swallowing the dry spit in his mouth.

so you do as you’re told, you leave. ‘i’ll apologize in the morning, it’s fine’ your lover thinks to himself. he will never see you again.

OSAMU DAZAI | chuuya nakahara | XIAO | diluc | sanemi shinazugawa | eren yeager | levi ackerman | sasuke uchiha | ban

[moomuzan]

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝖔𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊 𝖏𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖊

ᴛᴡ

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ they find out about your eating disorder

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ chuuya , dazai , akutagawa

The red-haired had always admired your strength. Carrying yourself like a quiet fire that seemed impervious to the storms of life, unyielding under the weight of the underworld’s chaos. You were his protégé, the one he poured himself into, the one who embodied everything he once longed to be but couldn’t. His pride. His light. The proof that even in the darkest corners of the world, something radiant could exist. But even the brightest flames can flicker, and it was in the faint tremors of your hands, the tight smiles, and the hollow laugh that he began to notice cracks in the armor you wore so well.

When you were alone, the emptiness gnawed at you. It was a beast you couldn’t tame, one that whispered lies into your ear about control, about worth, about the ugly truths buried in your reflection. Those nights, after the world fell silent and your facade could finally shatter, you found yourself in the kitchen, hands trembling as you pulled open cabinets, rifling through anything you could find. Bread, chips, sweets, anything to fill the void, anything to quiet the roaring need that felt like a punishment and a salvation all at once. You ate until you couldn’t breathe, until your stomach screamed in protest, until shame curdled in your veins like poison. Then came the guilt—a black wave that crashed over you, suffocating, pulling you under. And so, you purged, desperate to rid yourself of the weight, of the regret, of the proof of your failure. It was a ritual of suffering, one you endured in silence, hiding it from the world because no one could ever understand.

Therefore, food had always been the battlefield. Chuuya had no words for how your face tightened whenever a meal was placed in front of you, how your laugh sounded strained when he joked about how little you ate. At first, he thought it was preference, something trivial. But then came the patterns. The way you’d push food around your plate, the careful excuses that masked avoidance, the too-frequent trips to the bathroom after meals. He dismissed it, once, twice, too many times, unwilling to shatter the image he had of you—unbreakable, invincible, beyond fragility.

Until one day, he couldn’t.

Upon a quiet night, after a grueling mission, the two of you were eating together. He had cooked, something rare, almost celebratory. He wanted to see you smile, to hear your laugh ring genuine, unguarded. But the moment was stolen by the slight twitch in your brow, the way you forced yourself through each bite like it was a penance. And then you were gone, chair scraping against the floor as you muttered some excuse about needing the bathroom.

The mafia executive wasn’t sure why he followed. Perhaps it was the gnawing pit in his stomach, the accumulation of every unease he’d ever felt about you but hadn’t wanted to name. Or perhaps it was the way you hadn’t looked at him when you stood, the way your eyes seemed fixed on something far, far away. Whatever it was, it pulled him from his seat, silent, careful, until he stood outside the bathroom door.

A choked sob, raw and jagged, as if your chest was being ripped apart—the sound hit him. Then came the gagging, the frantic, broken attempts to purge what little you’d eaten. His heart clenched at the sound, a violent, suffocating force that left him frozen for a moment too long. When the retching stopped, there was silence, and then another sound—one that would haunt him far longer than any gunfire or scream. You were crying, but it wasn’t the kind of crying he could soothe. It was feral, unrestrained, the sound of someone drowning in their own skin.

He pushed the door open, and the sight gutted him.

You were on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, fists clenched so tightly your knuckles were white. Tears streaked your face, mixing with the remnants of your futile attempts to purge. Your shoulders shook violently, your breaths ragged and shallow, as if the weight of existence itself was pressing down on you. too lost in whatever storm was tearing you apart from the inside, you didn’t even notice him at first.

As he called your name, his voice broke, soft but weighted, you flinched as though struck. Your head snapped up, eyes wide and wild, filled with a mixture of shame, fear, and something he couldn’t name.

“Don’t—don’t look at me,” you choked out, your voice shattered, hands scrambling to shield yourself from his gaze as though his presence alone was enough to destroy you.

But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. How could he, when the person he cherished most in the world was falling apart in front of him? When the strength he admired so fiercely had been a mask for a torment so profound it left you hollow? His hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling—not with anger, but with helplessness. Chuuya Nakahara, the Port Mafia’s finest, a man who had survived horrors most couldn’t fathom, didn’t know how to fix this.

And yet, he moved. Slow, deliberate, he crossed the space between you and knelt down, ignoring the mess, ignoring everything but you. He didn’t speak. What words could possibly touch the depth of what he felt? What comfort could ease the anguish that had been festering in your soul long before he’d ever noticed? Instead, he reached out, his gloved hand trembling as it brushed against yours.

Although you tried to pull away, he held on, firm but gentle, grounding. Your protests were weak, broken, crumbling under the weight of his quiet persistence. Eventually, you stopped fighting, your hand going limp in his as the sobs wracked your body anew. He pulled you into his arms then, holding you like you might shatter, like the world itself would crumble if he let go.

Heavy and suffocating a silence followed. Though in it, there was an unspoken promise. A vow etched not in words but in the way he held you, in the way his gloved fingers gently stroked your hair, in the way his own shoulders shook with the weight of what he’d just realized. You weren’t invincible. You weren’t unbreakable. But you didn’t have to be. Not with him.

Truthfully, chuuya didn’t know what came next. He didn’t know how to help you, how to fix the cracks in your foundation. But he did know one thing: he would never let you face this alone again. You were his pride, his light, the fire he’d chased his entire life. And no matter how fragile that flame might be, he would protect it with everything he had—even from yourself.

,

Dazai had always known how fragile you were, even when you didn’t realize it yourself. It wasn’t just your body, though the sharp lines of your frame had always seemed on the verge of disappearing, as if you weren’t fully of this world. No, it was something deeper—a fragility that resided in the quiet spaces between your laughter, in the way your eyes lingered on the edges of mirrors as though you feared what might look back at you. He had been drawn to it, at first. That strange contradiction of strength and delicacy, the way you carried yourself like a wisp of smoke in a room full of storms.

But even smoke can suffocate.

It began so subtly that Dazai almost missed it. The way you picked at your food with a practiced indifference, your careful avoidance of meals disguised as nonchalance. He watched you fold excuses into your routines like origami, delicate and precise—“I already ate,” “I’m not hungry,” “I’ll grab something later.” Lies so thin they barely held their shape, but he let them pass because he thought he understood you. You were his quiet escape from the chaos, a tether to the normality he so desperately sought. But now, as the days turned into weeks, and your sharp edges grew sharper still, he realized your fragility wasn’t simply a part of you—it was consuming you.

The obsession, your obsession, was was unsettled him the most. The way you clung to control, as if it were the only thing keeping you alive. He saw it in the numbers you counted in your head, the mental calculations that flickered behind your eyes whenever food was near. You moved constantly, restless and relentless, as though standing still would unravel you. And yet, despite your need to escape the shape of your own body, he saw how you lingered in front of mirrors, tracing the lines of your collarbones and ribs with trembling fingers. You hated what you saw, yet in that hatred, you found power. A twisted kind of triumph.

Dazai, for all his sharpness, didn’t know how to confront it. How could he, when you had built your cage so carefully, so intricately, that he feared any wrong move might trap you further? He watched in silence, a ghost hovering at the edges of your pain, his own heart growing heavier with every meal you skipped, every lie you told, every step that carried you further away from him. Naturally, you didn’t know, couldn’t know, how much he had come to love you—not in fragments, not as something fleeting, but entirely. Utterly. You thought you were a passing indulgence, something temporary to fill the void in his life, but you were so much more than that.

Fighting demons, he waited until the night he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

You’d spent the day evading food with a grace that was almost artful, your avoidance so practiced it might have been rehearsed. By the time evening came, you were a shadow of yourself, moving through the room like a ghost. Dazai sat at the edge of your shared space, watching as you ran your hands over your arms, up and down, like you were trying to prove to yourself that you were still there. Your fingers brushed against the sharp jut of your bones, and for the briefest moment, your expression flickered—triumph, control, and then disgust, so fleeting he might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking.

“You’re hurting yourself,” he said, his voice soft but resolute.

Hands lingering in the air before it dropped to your side, you froze “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmured, the lie falling from your lips like ash.

He stood then, crossing the room in slow, measured steps. There was no anger in him, only a sorrow so deep it felt like drowning. “You do,” he said simply. “You’ve known all along. You’ve been counting every bite, every step, every ounce of control, but you can’t see what it’s doing to you.”

While your chest tightened your eyes darted away from his, searching for an escape. “I’m fine,” you whispered, but the words rang hollow, as brittle as your frame.

“No, you’re not.” His hand reached out, but he stopped just short of touching you, as though afraid you might break beneath the weight of his concern. “You think this is control, don’t you? That if you can keep shrinking, you’ll finally be enough. But you’re already disappearing. You’re fading, and I…” Being the first sign of the turmoil raging beneath his calm facade, his voice cracked, “I can’t lose you to this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, spilling over as the dam finally broke. “I don’t know how to stop,” you confessed, your voice trembling with the weight of your admission. “I don’t know how to be enough for you, for anyone, for myself.”

Closing the distance between you then, his arms reached around your trembling frame. You felt impossibly small against him, as though you might dissolve entirely if he held you too tightly. “You’ve always been enough,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low, raw. “I didn’t fall in love with you because of how you look, or because of the shape of your body. I love you because you make me want to live. Don’t you see? You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive, and I can’t lose that—not to this, not to anything.”

Then you collapsed against him, your sobs muffled against his chest as his words sank into the hollow spaces inside you. For the first time, the control you clung to felt less like power and more like a chain, one you weren’t sure you could break alone. But in Dazai’s arms, in the steadiness of his voice, there was a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

And for a moment, in the fragile quiet of that night, you allowed yourself to believe it.

,

When you came back from the hospital, Akutagawa thought you were better. Not whole—he knew better than to believe anyone could walk out of that kind of war unscathed—but better. You were quieter, more restrained than before, but he chalked it up to the aftershocks of what you’d endured. He wasn’t one for excessive concern or sentimentality, so he gave you space, trusting that your resilience would guide you forward.

Working alongside him, just as you always had, you carried out the ruthless tasks of the Mafia with precision and poise. But there was something in your movements that had changed—something more deliberate, almost rigid, as though you were holding yourself together through sheer will alone. At first, he dismissed it as adjustment. You’d been through a storm, after all, and even the strongest took time to rebuild.

What he didn’t see was how the storm had followed you.

In the dead hours of the night, when you were alone in your quarters, the thoughts crept back in—quiet at first, like whispers. You’re too much. You’ll fall apart if you let go. Control is the only way. They slithered into your mind, wrapping themselves around the fragile progress you’d made, and you welcomed them like old friends. You told yourself you’d stop before it went too far, that it was just temporary, just a way to feel steady again. But control was a ravenous thing, never satisfied with half-measures.

Like an old, repeating pattern, you began skipping meals—not all at once, but enough to convince yourself it wasn’t dangerous. A missed breakfast here, a lighter dinner there. You avoided eating in front of Akutagawa whenever possible, claiming you weren’t hungry or were too busy. When you couldn’t avoid it, you picked at your food, calculating every bite, every calorie, with a precision that bordered on obsession.

Of course, you thought you were hiding it well. Learning to wear looser clothing to disguise the weight you were losing, staying late in the training rooms, pushing your body until exhaustion numbed the gnawing hunger, you told yourself this was strength, that the growing sharpness of your cheekbones and the hollows beneath your collarbone were proof of your control. But the truth was, you were spiraling, and you were too afraid to stop.

Akutagawa, on the other hand, didn’t notice at first. He was consumed with his own duties, his own battles, and you were careful to keep your mask intact around him. But as the weeks passed, he began to see the cracks. The way your energy faltered during missions, the unsteady tremor in your hands when you thought no one was watching. He noticed how your voice grew quieter, how your laughter—rare as it was—disappeared altogether. And then there was the weight.

Now you looked fragile, as though a strong wind might shatter you. He told himself it was stress, that you were still recovering, that if it were serious, you would tell him. You had promised him once, after all, that you wouldn’t keep him in the dark again.

But you didn’t tell him.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, he caught you lingering in the shadows of the Mafia’s base. You were leaning against the wall, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. He approached silently, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the gauntness of your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“You haven’t been eating,” he said bluntly, his voice low and steady.

Stiffening, you didn’t turn to face him. “I’m fine,” you replied, your tone carefully controlled.

“No, you’re not.”

Heavy and unrelenting, his words hung in the air. Slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, and for a moment, he saw the truth in your eyes—the fear, the shame, the desperation you’d been trying so hard to hide. But just as quickly, you looked away, your mask snapping back into place.

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice sharper this time. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

He stepped closer, his presence as unyielding as his gaze. “This isn’t about need,” he said. “It’s about what I see. And what I see is you killing yourself.”

As your hands clenched at your sides, your nails were digging into your palms. “You don’t understand,” you said, your voice breaking despite your efforts to keep it steady.

“Then make me understand.”

For a moment, the room was filled with silence, heavy and suffocating. And then, like a dam breaking, the words spilled out of you.

“I thought I could handle it,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I thought I was past it, that I could stop whenever I wanted. But it’s always there, Akutagawa. The need to control, the fear of letting go. It’s… it’s like drowning, but I’m the one holding myself underwater.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, slowly, he reached out, his gloved hand resting gently on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly. “You never have to be.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “But what if I can’t stop? What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not too late,” he said firmly. “And even if it takes everything I have, I’ll make sure you remember that.”

There was no grand gesture, no dramatic declaration. Just the quiet promise of someone who refused to let you fall. And for the first time in weeks, the walls you had built around yourself began to crack.

a/n: i‘d like to leave a few words actually, i got this request around midnight but i wrote it on sitting and got pretty emotional (yikes) i never wrote something like this so it might come off as stiff. i had anorexia myself, and am now still dealing with bulimia. help. i spent all my teenage years counting calories. i still do , sometimes. this disorder leaves you with nothing but despair. i don’t mean to romanticise it so i tried making it realistic — though it probably sucks. well whatever. if anyone is struggling with this, please get help—even if it’s just online, reaching out won’t make it disappear but easier. love you all so much!

[thewickedjazzy]

𓍼𝑽𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑶𝒇 𝑴𝒚 𝑶𝒘𝒏 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚𓂃

➵ 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : Beast! Dazai osamu x f! reader

➵ 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸: You are Dazai's favourite—an executive who avoided unnecessary bloodshed, preferring to strategize behind the scenes. With your cunning plans, you helped the Port Mafia flourish after Mori's death, and under Dazai's leadership, you became vital in securing the organization's power.

➵ 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽: NSFW minor dni, smut, angst, dazai is controlling, yandere dazai?, character death, abuse, guns, blood, SA, dissociation, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, let me know if I forgot any Xx.

➵ 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮: Helloooo, this fic took me 3 weeks to finish, I'm always down with angst stories cause, let's be real, no bsd fan doesn't like angst, right? also, ice cream man by raye inspired me to write some parts uwu I hope you enjoy it. xoxo -dividers credits to @anitalenia

➵ 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 6.8k

You shouldn't be crying. You already did beat the man up till he was shaking, but you couldn't help it. You can still feel his ice-cold hands marking your body, a sensation that sends shivers down your spine. How you wish you could express how you feel, how you felt in that moment when your strength faltered. You long to explain why you’re silently blaming yourself, why the guilt gnaws at your insides like a relentless parasite.

You put on these faces, pretending you're fine, wearing a mask of strength that you desperately want to believe in. But in the privacy of the bathroom, you press rewind, playing the events over and over in your head. His fingerprints, like invisible stains, linger on your skin, a cruel reminder of how he made you frame yourself for his sins. Such a pathetic, dead excuse of a man.

The man in question wasn’t just some random thug—he was your crazy ex, the one who had haunted you for years, refusing to let go, even after everything had ended. You hadn’t told anyone about the encounter. What would they think? What would he think? Dazai, with his sharp eyes and sharper mind, would see right through you. He always did.

You straighten up and hastily wipe your tears away as you hear a knock on the door. The sound sends a jolt through your body, and you quickly compose yourself, trying to erase any trace of vulnerability from your face.

Seated at your desk, you take a deep breath and call out, "Come in."

The door opens, and it's Chuuya, greeting you with his usual smile. But the moment his eyes land on you, the smile drops, concern filling his gaze as he takes in your red nose and puffy eyes.

“Hey, you okay?”' he asks with a low and gentle voice.

You force a weak smile, shaking your head. "Yeah..just... pmsing," you lie, the excuse feeling hollow even to you. You get up walking towards him before adding quickly, "Please don’t tell Dazai."

Chuuya hesitates, his eyes searching yours, before he nods, accepting your words without question. He hands you his handkerchief, his expression softening with sympathy as you take it from him.

You dab at your eyes, feeling the wetness seep into it, and then take a deep breath. You can’t afford to break down, not now. Not in front of him.

He escorted you to Dazai’s office, his presence a quiet comfort. At the door, he gave you a final, soft look before turning away.

The office door creaked open, and you stepped inside, the chill of the room amplifying the coldness you already felt. Dazai looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your disheveled state.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice so velvetly soft that it could melt you.

You tried to muster a casual smile, but it felt hollow. “Just had a run-in with some old... baggage. Nothing to worry about.”

Dazai’s eyes didn’t leave you, his expression shifting to something more serious. “You know I don’t buy that ‘nothing’ act. What’s really going on?”

You took a deep breath, struggling to keep your voice steady. “It’s really not your concern. I’m handling it.”

Dazai’s gaze was sharp as he looked you up from his desk, his usual lazy posture replaced by a steely focus. “Come here,” he said, a command wrapped in casual tones.

Reluctantly, you approached, his eyes never leaving you. He patted his lap, a gesture both familiar and unsettling. “Sit.”

You shook your head, trying to avoid his intense stare, oh god how he toys with your emotions. “I’m fine standing.”

Dazai’s expression darkened slightly, his patience wearing thin. He reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist as he pulled you closer. The touch was feather-light but unmistakably commanding. He guided you gently onto his lap, his hands resting on your waist.

You stiffened, trying to keep your breathing steady. “Osamu, really, it’s nothing.”

Ignoring your protests, Dazai’s lips brushed against your neck, his kisses soft but insistent. You tilted your head, a soft whimper escaping your lips. The sensation was like a nicotine hit after a long withdrawal; you had been away on a mission for three days, and you had missed his touch more than you cared to admit. As his lips continued their tender assault, he pulled your shirt down slightly, revealing the fresh bruise that marred your skin.

Dazai’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint reflecting in them. The bruise was vivid, a stark contrast against your pale skin, and his expression darkened as he took in the sight.

“Who did this?” he asked coldly, his voice remained low.

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s not important.”

Dazai’s hand tightened on your waist, his grip firm and unyielding as he tilted your head back. His kisses turned sharper, more insistent, and you couldn’t help but let out soft whimpers. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips pressing harder with each passing second. “I said who did this..”

You swallowed hard, the pressure of his words mixing with the lingering sting of the bruise. “It’s nothing. Just...someone from my past.”

His grip remained unyielding, his gaze piercing. “I don’t like secrets. Especially ones that involve you getting hurt.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the weight of his expectations pressing down. You felt cornered, unable to escape the intensity of his scrutiny. “I said it’s nothing. Please, just let it go.”

Dazai’s expression remained impassive for a moment, then he simply nodded. The acknowledgment was neither reassuring nor dismissive, leaving a cold tension in the air.

After a few seconds of silence Dazai's voice cut through the room, his fingers still brushing against your skin. “The thing is, my love, you don’t have to tell me anything.” He turned to the intercom on his desk, his tone shifting to a cold, commanding edge. “Atsushi, you can bring him in now.”

Your eyes widened in shock, your legs going weak as you tried to turn your head towards the door. It creaked open slightly, and Atsushi rushed in, dragging your ex behind him. Your ex’s hands were bound tightly, and he was unconscious, a cloth over his mouth. Atsushi tossed him roughly onto the floor and announced, “I brought him alive, just as you ordered.”

“Good work, Atsushi,” he said calmly. “You can leave now.”

Dazai’s gaze remained on you, his smile twisted with a cruel satisfaction as Atsushi closed the door behind him. He lifted your legs lightly, forcing you to stand as he moved toward the prone figure of your ex, who was beginning to stir. Dazai’s fingers traced along your ex’s jawline with an unsettling gentleness.

Horror gripped you as you watched, understanding what was about to unfold. You begged, your voice trembling, “Please, Dazai, don’t kill him.”

He merely tsked in response, his eyes cold and unyielding. “I’m not going to kill him.”

Before you could take a deep breath, his voice sliced through the tension like an arrow. “You are the one who's going to do it.” He gently grabs your hands placing a gun between them.

Your hands trembled as you held the gun, the cold metal biting into your palms. The room was deathly silent except for the faint, ragged breaths of your ex as he began to regain consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a mix of confusion and fear as he took in his surroundings.

Dazai’s cold eyes were locked on you.“Go on,” he urged softly. “You wanted him to suffer for what he did. Here’s your chance.”

The gun felt impossibly heavy, and your heart pounded in your chest. You glanced at your ex, his eyes widening in terror as he realized what was happening. “Please,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

Dazai’s smile widened slightly. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted. You’ve been given a choice. What will you do with it?”

Your mind raced, grappling with the gravity of the situation. You thought of the pain he’d caused you, the fear he had instilled, and the bruises that still stung. Yet, the thought of ending his life filled you with a profound dread. You felt trapped, the decision crushing under the weight of Dazai’s expectation and your own turmoil.

“Do it,” Dazai said, his voice a soft command, almost a caress. “Or I’ll do it for you. But if I do, you’ll have missed your chance to decide your own fate.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you faced your ex, his terror and confusion mirroring your own. Choked sobs left you lips Dazai’s gaze followed every movement with a sick interest.

“Please, Dazai..don’t make me do this,” you pleaded, your voice cracking.

Dazai’s expressionwas stoic as ever. “You’re not being asked to make a choice you can’t live with. You’re being given the chance to claim control over your own life.”

With a final, desperate look at your ex, you closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. The gun felt like a lead weight in your hand, the gravity of your decision pressing down on you. Finally, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, you raised the gun.

You closed your eyes tightly, the room spinning as you tried to steady your racing heart. The gun trembled in your grip, the weight of the decision nearly unbearable. You heard Dazai move behind you, his footsteps silent against the floor.

His presence was almost soothing as he came closer, but you knew better than to trust the comfort of his proximity. Dazai's hands settled on your outstretched arms, his touch both firm and unsettlingly gentle. His fingers caressed the metal of the gun, guiding it with a measured pressure.

“You don’t need to hesitate,” Dazai murmured softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve already made the decision. Now, you just need to follow through.”

The sensation of his hands on yours, the intimate pressure of his grip, made your breathing shallow and uneven. You felt a dark, twisted sense of helplessness as his fingers guided the gun, aligning it with your ex’s trembling form.

“I’ll count to three,” Dazai continued, his voice was steady “And when I reach three, I want you to pull the trigger. Don’t let yourself falter.”

You felt his breath on your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. The intimacy of his touch contrasted sharply with the gravity of the moment. You wanted to pull away, to escape the suffocating pressure, but his grip held you firmly in place.

“One,” Dazai said, his voice calm as he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

Your tears fell silently as you fought against the urge to drop the gun.

“Two,” Dazai’s breath was warm as he pressed another kiss.

You could hear your ex’s shallow breaths, his eyes pleading as they met yours.

“Three,” Dazai said, his voice now a commanding whisper.

With a final, shuddering breath, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the world as you pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed painfully in the room, and you felt the impact of the action resonate through your very core.

You opened your eyes, your arms fell limp as the gun slipped from your grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow clatter. You staggered back, your legs barely holding you upright, and turned away from the grim sight before you.

Dazai’s grip on your shoulders was a cold anchor as he held you steady, his touch paradoxically soothing yet possessive. You could feel his breath against your neck as he leaned in close, his voice a chilling murmur. “Well done,” he said placing soft kisses again as his arms wrapped around your waist pulling your back against his chest. “You’ve proven your resolve.”

You felt a wave of nausea and despair wash over you, your emotions a tangled mess of guilt and horror. The room spun as you tried to make sense of the scene in front of you. The body on the floor was now still, the weight of your actions sinking in with a heavy finality.

Dazai’s hands slid down to your wrists, his touch now insistent as he forced you to look at the aftermath. “Do you see what you’ve done?” he asked softly, his voice a mix of praise and dark satisfaction. “You’ve taken control of your own fate.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, his presence an oppressive force that left you feeling trapped. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for any semblance of escape, but all you found was the unyielding gaze of Dazai, his face reflecting a mixture of cold pleasure and calculated dominance.

His fingers gently traced your jawline, his touch both tender and unsettling. “It’s done now,” he said, his voice almost affectionate. “You did great, my love.”

The finality of his words echoed in your mind as you struggled to come to terms with what had just happened. The tears streaming down your face were a testament to the turmoil within you, the depth of your inner conflict clear as you fought to keep yourself composed.

Dazai’s hands gently turned you around to face him. His expression, though tinged with satisfaction, softened as he wiped away the tears streaming down your face. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as he carefully brushed away the last remnants of your distress.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The tenderness of the moment was jarring against the harsh reality of what had just occurred. His lips moved gently against yours, and he licked your bottom lip before drawing it into a passionate, consuming kiss.

The warmth of his kiss contrasted sharply with the icy numbness you felt inside. You felt his fingers trace your face, lingering on the slight traces of blood that you hadn’t even noticed. His touch was delicate, almost intimate, as he wiped away the remnants with careful precision.

Dazai pulled away from the kiss, his expression unreadable as he reached for the intercom on his desk. “Atsushi,” he said with a cold, commanding tone, “bring in the clean-up crew. Dispose the body.”

Atsushi entered the room, his eyes shifting between you and Dazai. He bowed slightly, acknowledging the order before moving towards the body. As he lifted your ex’s lifeless form, the finality of the situation hit you with renewed force. You stared blankly, more tears streaming down your face, as Atsushi carried the body out and closed the door behind him.

The room was filled with the soft hum of Dazai’s presence as he moved back in front of you. He gently placed his hands on your cheeks, shushing you softly as your sobs grew louder. “Shh, it’s alright,”he murmured, his voice almost soothing.

You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, your sobs escaping in ragged bursts. Dazai’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. His embrace was both comforting and suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a murmur against your hair. “I know it was hard.”

You could barely respond, the weight of your own emotions too heavy to articulate. All you could do was clutch at him, your sobs muffled against his chest as the realization of what had happened continued to sink in. You hated him, and yet, in the chaos of your emotions, you felt a desperate, confusing affection for him—a love that seemed to only grow more complicated in the aftermath of his actions.

Dazai’s fingers gently combed through your hair, his touch soothing despite the circumstances. “It’s all over now,” he said softly.

His lips brushed against your forehead in a tender kiss, “He should've known better than to touch what's mine.”

The room was filled with the constant contact of your colliding bodies. Your body arched against the rumpled sheets as his thrusts filled you completely, each stroke hitting exactly the right spots.

" Mmm.. that's it my love, take my cock all the way inside this pretty eager pussy of yours" he growled softly against your skin.

You relished the way every thrust brushed against your cervix, sending waves of pleasure through you. The intensity of his movements left you feeling utterly consumed, your mind hazed and eyes glossy with desire. Your fingers dug into his back, desperately clutching him as he moved with a raw intensity.

His lips traveled down your neck, biting and kissing with a fervent need. One hand cupped your breast with a possessive grip while his mouth hovered over the other, teasing with gentle flicks of his tongue and playful nips at your nipple. The mix of sensations was overwhelming, your moans filling the space between you.

Yet, even in the midst of this passion, your mind began to wander. The memories of the past few days—the confrontation, the guilt, and Dazai’s chilling command—flooded your thoughts, turning the intense pleasure into a distant murmur. You felt a growing disconnection, your body reacting while your mind struggled to stay present.

Sensing the abrupt change, Dazai felt as if he were thrusting into a lifeless body. He slowed his movements and pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with a rare softness. “What’s wrong, my love?” he asked, concern filling his lustrous gaze.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself as your voice, though shaky, was firm. “It’s fine,” you reassured him, forcing a weak smile. “I just... got lost in my thoughts for a moment. It’s nothing.” You reached out to gently touch his cheek, trying to convey that the issue was more internal than it was about him.

Dazai took a deep breath and shifted to sit upright, his concern still evident. “You're still thinking about it, right?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine worry.

"Please, just forget about it." you said, pulling his wrist with a firm but gentle grip. Before he could respond, you pressed your lips against his, kissing him deeply to steer your focus back to the present.

Dazai gasped into the kiss, his breath hitching as your kissed him with fervor. He gently pinned your wrists down with a possessive grip, his lips trailing soft kisses along your chest. He positioned himself again, his cock pressing against your throbbing cunt, his voice a low murmur.

“We can stop if it’s too much, my love,” he whispered as his chest moves up and down with each breath.

You locked gaze with his eyes, “Just fuck me already,” you breathed. You wanted to reclaim the moment, to bury the past beneath the intense passion that bound you both.

He slams his cock into you again, filling you completely. A growl escapes his lips as he watches you squirm beneath him, clearly enjoying the sight of your reactions. His thrusts become more powerful, and he showers your neck, chest, and breasts with fervent kisses.

"So addict to my cock, love? Hmm?" he continues to taunt you with his words and delivers a firm slap to your ass, making you shiver from his touch.

You gasp, arching your back as his thrusts hit all the right spots. “It feels so good, 'samu” you breathe, trying to steady yourself.

He slaps your ass again, making you shiver and whimper. “Say it again, my love haah~ I need to hear you say how good ugh~I’m making you feel.”

“s'good,” you moan, your voice breaking.

"Good" with a satisfied growl, he pulls out. “Now, ride me.”

You nod, your legs trembling in anticipation. As you position yourself over him, he hisses at the sensation of your cold hand guiding his hard, leaking cock to your eager, wet cunt.

As you sink down onto him, your walls stretches to accommodate his size, a deep moan slipping from your lips as you take him in fully. The feeling is overwhelming, your inner walls tightening around him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you.

His long slender fingers grip your hips, helping you find a rhythm as you begin to ride against him. Each roll of your hips sends waves of pleasure through you, the friction making you shudder.

You lean forward, your fingers fumbling as you carefully remove the bandage from his eye. Your breath is hot against his neck as you whisper, “’Samu, I love you.” Your body presses against his, and with a surge of passion, you begin to ride him at a faster pace, each movement gaining a growl from him.

His eye, now fully exposed, darkens with lust as he gazes up at you. “I love you too, darling,” he murmurs through soft gasps. He meets your rhythm with powerful thrusts, each one driving deeper into you, matching your pace perfectly.

Feeling the pressure building within you, your moans grow louder. “I’m... close, ‘Samu,” you gasp, your trembling hands held onto his shoulders for support as you ride him faster, rolling your hips against his perfect sized cock feeling him hit every spot with his thrusts against you.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he groans in pleasure. “Oh yeah? Come all over my cock, love,” beads of sweat rolling down his temples, his words sending you spiraling closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, guiding you through the overwhelming waves of pleasure as your body trembles in his grasp.

The coil inside you finally snaps, releasing a wave of ecstasy that washes over you. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m coming, ah~ hmm~,” you cry out, your body going numb from the overwhelming pleasure. Your juices flow freely, spilling down and coating his cock as his thrusts become more intense, shaking your body upwards.

Dazai's growls of satisfaction mix with your moans as he thrusts upward forcefully, riding out his own climax. His body shudders with the release, and he moans loudly, his pleasure echoing through the room.

As the intense waves of pleasure begin to subside, Dazai slowly pulls out, his breath heavy and ragged. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close tenderly. The warmth of his embrace soothes you, bringing a sense of comfort and safety as you both calm down from your shared high. His fingers gently caress circles on your back, his breathing gradually steadying as he murmurs softly into your ear, “God, you did so well, my love.”

You watch him as he gets up, stretching slightly before heading towards the bathroom, the soft hum of water barely filling the room as he turns on the shower. The warmth of the bed still lingers around you, but it does little to quell the chill creeping into your thoughts.

Your mind drifts back to that moment a few days ago. The weight of the gun in your hand, the resistance of the trigger as you squeezed it—it's all so vivid, so real, that it feels as if you're still there, frozen in that moment. You can almost hear the echoes of the shot ringing in your ears, see the flash of surprise in his eyes as life slipped away from him.

You shake your head, trying to dispel the images, but they cling stubbornly, refusing to let go.

He calls your name from the shower, his voice gentle, inviting, yet tinged with concern when you don’t respond immediately. The sound is almost enough to pull you back, but your mind remains caught in that dark place, replaying the scene over and over.

"My love?" another call, softer this time, as he pushes the already ajar bathroom door further open to check on you. His presence pulls you back just enough to acknowledge him, to let the past slip away—at least for now.

His eyes meet yours, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, forcing yourself to sit up. “I’m fine,” You managed to get off the bed, the cool air brushing against your naked skin, grounding you somewhat.

As you step into the bathroom, your body moves on autopilot, but your mind remains distant. You tell yourself that in a week or so, the memory will fade, that the guilt will lessen, that you’ll forget. But deep down, you know it's just another lie you’re feeding yourself, another attempt to bury the truth under layers of denial.

He steps aside to let you join him under the warm cascade of water, his arms wrapping around you as he senses your unease. “Hey,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you’re safe with me, my love.”

You nod, leaning into his embrace, but the words feel hollow, the comfort fleeting. The water washes over you, warm and soothing, but it can’t cleanse the darkness that lingers within.

You stood in front of the mirror, the dim light casting shadows on your face. Your reflection stared back at you, hollow eyes and a face pale from sleepless nights. The trauma of the past week weighed heavily on you, the memory of the blood-soaked room and the desperate cries of your ex replaying in your mind over and over again.

It had been a week since that horrifying event, but still the memory still clung to your mind like a stubborn stain. Dazai had been more affectionate than usual since then, uncharacteristically tender in his way.

The intimacy between you had taken on a new, softer turn, the moments shared tinged with an almost fragile gentleness. His eyes, once so sharp, now held an unsettling softness, as if he were trying to erase the darkness with his own brand of twisted comfort.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were trapped—caught in a web he’d spun so intricately that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

You had tried to bury the memory, to push it away with every ounce of strength you had. But it never really left, lurking in the corners of your mind—what you had been forced to do.

You needed a break, a breath of fresh air, anything to push back the suffocating fog that had taken over your mind. So, you grabbed your coat, slipped into your favourite boots, and stepped out of your apartment, clinging to the hope of finding some shred of normalcy.

The bar was a refuge, a place where the world’s harsh edges seemed to dull. It was where you went to forget, even if only for a little while. As you walked through the door, the familiar clink of glasses and murmur of conversation welcomed you. The warmth inside, the smoky haze and soft jazz music they all played a part into easing you up even for a bit.

You made your way to the bar, your usual seat already occupied. The bartender greeted you with a nod, his understanding gaze a small comfort. You ordered your drink and settled into your chair, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness from the past week.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You picked it up and saw a message from Chuuya: "Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? I’m worried about you."

You typed back: "I’m fine, just needed some time to clear my head. At the bar now, trying to relax a bit." You hit send and put your phone down, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

That's when you heard a familiar voice. You looked up and saw Kaito standing there, a surprise that made your heart skip. It had been years since you last saw him. He was the one who had helped you escape from your ex's grip, the only person who had reached out to pull you from that nightmare.

“Hey..." he said, his voice warm but edged with worry. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You gestured to the empty seat beside you. “Sit. I could use the company.”

Kaito slid into the chair, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You look... different. Is everything okay?”

The question was like a trigger, a floodgate that opened the dam of your emotions. You looked away, taking a deep breath. “It’s been... a rough week.”

He looked at you concerned, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he ordered a drink, and the two of you sat in silence for a while, before he broke the silence.

“I heard your ex went missing. I just wanted to check in...uh...make sure you’re alright. I know how much he hurt you.”

The mention of your ex was like a punch to the gut, the memory of that night resurfacing with cruel clarity. You struggled to keep your composure, taking a sip of your drink to steady yourself. “I... I don’t know what happened to him.”

Kaito’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. “I just wanted to make sure he’s not plotting anything or trying to reach you again. I know what he put you through.”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. “Thank you...but seriously I don't know anything about him.”

Before Kaito could respond, your phone buzzed again. You glanced at it and saw a new message from Chuuya: “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

You were about to reply when Kaito’s voice broke through your thoughts. “ You okay? You seem a bit lost."

You forced a smile, brushing off the concern. “It’s nothing. I just needed a bit of air.”

You stood up, glancing at Kaito. “It was really nice seeing you after all tonight.”

You placed a few yen on the bar as a tip and offered Kaito a final, appreciative look before heading towards the door. Stepping out into the cool night air, you took a deep breath, hoping the walk would clear your head. Hearing the door swung shut behind you.

The crisp breeze brushed against your face as you began walking down the pavement, each step attempting to ground you in the present, you tried to focus on the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, letting the chill seep through your coat and numb your thoughts.

Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the soothing cadence of the night, a familiar voice cut through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine. It was a voice you knew too well, one that you loved the most—Dazai’s.

Turning slowly, you saw him standing there, his figure framed by the dim streetlights.

“Out for a late-night stroll?” His voice was low and smooth so so smooth.

"Osamu" You whispered his name, barely audible over the street noise, as he approached you. His tall frame seemed to shield you from the harsh cold breeze that had been nipping at your skin.

His arms reached out, pulling you into a desperate, intense embrace. The warmth of his body pierced through the biting cold of the night. You closed your eyes, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his captivating perfume that you were addicted to.

“How are you feeling, my love?” the vibrations of his soft voice soothed you.

You murmured a reply, “Fine,” nuzzling your face into his warm chest. His coat offered a cocoon of comfort against the cold. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that both soothed and troubled you. His soft, cold lips brushed gentle kisses against your hairline, each touch leaving you wanting more.

Dazai’s gaze softened as he tilted your head gently, his fingers brushing against your cheeks with tender.

His lips, still cold from the evening air, found yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. The sensation was electric, a jolt of warmth that spread through you, making you forget the cold that had been clinging to you just moments before.

Your lips parted slightly, and you felt his bottom lip against yours, his kiss deepening as he traced a path of warmth across your mouth. His hands roamed softly over your body, every touch sending shivers down your spine.

When he pulled away, his eyes bore into yours filled with affection. “I’ve got a surprise for you, my love,” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

“A surprise?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper as your heart fluttered. The night’s chill seemed to dissipate as you gazed up at him, eager to discover what he had under his sleeve.

Dazai’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he said, “Follow me, my love.” He guided you through the city streets, leading you to his penthouse—an opulent space you were intimately familiar with. As you entered, the familiar strains of soft jazz filled the room, its soothing melodies filled your ears.

You shrugged off your coat and sank into the nearby couch, glancing up at him curious.

“You know how much I cherish you, don’t you?”

You nodded, a shiver running down your spine. What is he intending to do?

“And you remember when I swore to protect you with my life, back when we shared our first night together?” His eyes bore into yours, searching for affirmation.

Again, you nodded, feeling a knot of unease tightening in your stomach.

He reached out and took your hand, leading you to a door you had never entered before. He typed in a series of digits, and the door slid open with a soft whoosh. What lay beyond sent a jolt of shock through you: Kaito, tied up against the wall with chains, his eyes wide with fear.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you stared at the scene in disbelief.

Dazai’s gaze on you never wavered. “You recognize him, don’t you? The one who claimed to be your savior,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of derision. “Kaito, the one who helped you escape. Such a noble act, don’t you think?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the sight before you. “No... no, this can’t be real,” you stammered, the words spilling from your lips in a disbelieving murmur. “This isn’t happening. Not again.”

Dazai stepped closer, his expression both smug and infuriatingly calm. “Isn’t it? How often have you been deceived by those who promised you protection and safety? This was no different.”

You shook your head, trying to process the absurdity of it all. “But Kaito—he was different! He helped me when I needed it most. You don't understand he's the only one who saved me from my ex.”

The disillusionment in your voice only seemed to amuse Dazai. “And you think that makes him any less of a threat? How easily you’ve been misled. Did you ever consider that he was simply another pawn in your ex’s game? A way to keep you within his reach?”

Your gaze shifted to Kaito, who was now looking at you with desperation. The realization that Dazai might be telling the truth hit you like a physical blow. “No, he can’t be. He was... he was kind to me. He never hurt me.”

Dazai’s gaze was unrelenting, his tone dripping with cold logic. “Kindness can be deceiving. Sometimes, it’s just a means to an end. Kaito’s actions were a calculated move, meant to keep you under control, to make you trust him while feeding information to your ex.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you faced Dazai, the weight of his words crushing you. “You’re... you’re insane! You can’t do this to me again. STOP IT STOP HURTING ME!”

Dazai’s hand reached up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold and unyielding, the warmth of his voice now a sharp contrast to the icy anger in his eyes. “I’m not insane. I’m showing you the truth, my love. Kaito was never your friend. If you don’t make a choice now, I will choose for you.”

The room seemed to close in around you, your heart pounding wildly. You were ensnared between the echoes of your past and the oppressive reality Dazai had crafted, desperately searching for an escape from the nightmare he had ensnared you in.

Dazai's lips curved into a passionate smile as he placed the cold, heavy gun into your trembling hands. The weapon, tainted with the blood of your ex, seemed to burn with its own malevolent energy. His eyes gleamed with a twisted sense of pride.

“Come on, my love,” he urged, his voice laced with a seductive intensity. “Take control of your own life. Show everyone that you’re not someone to be trifled with. Make them fear you. No one dares to hurt you again.”

His words echoed through the room, mingling with the suffocating tension that surrounded you. The weight of the gun felt like a cruel burden, a symbol of the power Dazai was forcing upon you.

As you looked at Kaito, bound and vulnerable, a storm of emotions raged inside you. Dazai’s gaze remained unwavering, his expectations clear: the choice was yours to make, but his influence loomed over every decision.

The gun felt like a leaden weight in your hands, the reality of the situation crashing down upon you. Tears streamed down your face as you crumpled, the gun slipping from your grasp and clattering to the floor. Your voice, choked with despair, broke through the oppressive silence.

“I can’t do this again... not again,” you sobbed, shaking your head furiously. You pulled your legs to your chest, curling up in a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the cruelty of Dazai’s demands.

Dazai’s expression shifted from steely determination to a weary sigh. With a resigned shake of his head, he stepped forward, reclaiming the gun from where it had fallen. His movements were deliberate, almost tender, as he aimed it at Kaito, who stared back in terror.

Three shots rang out, each one echoing with finality. The sound was deafening, reverberating through the room and drowning out your anguished cries. The finality of the act left you in stunned silence, your body trembling as you remained huddled on the floor, the gravity of what had just occurred sinking in.

“No... you didn’t...” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your eyes were fixed on the lifeless form of Kaito, disbelief and anguish washing over you.

Dazai’s sigh was heavy with disappointment as he shook his head slowly. “I’m disappointed in you, my love,” he said, his voice carrying a cold edge. “You couldn’t take control of your life this time. You think I’m the one hurting you? They’re the ones who’ve been hurting you all along.”

His gaze was unwavering, a mixture of pity and resolve in his eyes as he stepped closer. “I did this to protect you from them, to ensure that you’re never vulnerable again. It’s always been about keeping you safe from those who would harm you. I did what was necessary to shield you from your past.”

You shook your head violently, the world around you spinning as you scrambled to your feet. Adrenaline surged through your veins, propelling you to the door. You flung it open and sprinted down the hall, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Where are you going my love, please come back.” His footsteps pounded after you. “Don’t do this. I love you! This is meaningless—everything I did was to protect you!”

But you couldn’t bear to hear him anymore. “I want to stay away from you!” you screamed, your voice cracking with raw desperation.

You burst out of his penthouse and into the cold night air, the chill biting at your exposed skin. Your vision blurred with tears, making the city lights shimmer and swirl. You fumbled for your phone, dialing Chuuya’s number with trembling fingers.

The line rang a few times before a sleepy voice answered, muffled by grogginess. “Chuuya...” you gasped between breaths. “I—I'm leaving. I—will run away from here. He did it again, Chuuya.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by Chuuya’s urgent voice, now fully awake. “Where are you? Are you safe? Just stay on the line. I’m coming to get you.”

Your voice trembled as you spoke into the phone, trying to keep your words steady despite the panic swelling inside you. “Chuuya, no… don’t come. Please. I don’t want you to get into trouble. I’ll… I’ll manage to get away by myself.”

Chuuya’s voice was firm and insistent. “Don’t be stupid. I’m coming. Just tell me where you are.”

You forced yourself to keep moving, trying to steady your breath despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “Chuuya, listen to me,” you said, your voice shaking. “I just called to let you know. I need you to stay out of this. It’s too dangerous. I can’t risk you getting hurt because of me.”

“I don’t like this at all. You’re obviously not okay. I need to be there with you.” You could hear the sounds of him hurriedly getting dressed in the background.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya, but I can't-” you said firmly.

Before he could protest further, you ended the call, the sound of the disconnect echoing in the quiet of the night.

You made your way through the winding streets, heading towards a nondescript building nestled away from prying eyes. It had been your refuge years before, a place where you could escape the chaos and find peace in solitude. Now, it was the final sanctuary you turned to as you prepared to leave everything behind.

The old studio was just as you remembered it—dusty but comforting, filled with the quiet hum of memories. You approached the closet where you had stored a suitcase, its worn exterior a testament to its many years of service. You opened it, the familiar smell of old leather and fabric greeting you.

With calculated movements, you began packing the clothes you’d kept from simpler times—soft sweaters, faded jeans, and a few cherished pieces that held fragments of your past. Each item you folded and placed into the suitcase carried a piece of who you used to be, the person you were before the mafia and before Dazai.

As you worked, the thought of leaving Dazai behind gnawed at you, filling you with an intense, suffocating agony. Despite everything he had done, the idea of severing ties with him was a painful wrenching of the heart. Yet, the realization that staying would only bring more torment drove you to continue, each movement of packing a silent affirmation of your resolve.

You zipped up the suitcase, the sound of the closure echoing in the empty room. The decision to leave the city and all its shadows behind was a heavy one, but necessary. With a final glance around the studio, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the journey ahead. The train would take you far from this place, and despite the heartache, you knew it was the only way forward.

Before you could make another move, a voice cut through the silence of the studio. "My love, are you leaving me?" The words were laced with a deep sadness, sending a jolts all over your body.

You spun around, disbelief etched across your face. "How did you find me?" you demanded, your voice trembling.

Dazai stood in the doorway with a hurt expression written all over his face.

He stepped closer sighing, "The bracelet,” he said quietly, holding up your wrist to reveal the piece of jewelry you had thought was a mere token of affection given to you two years ago. “It has a tracker embedded in it. I had it activated in case you were ever in danger.”

The weight of his words hit you like a physical blow. The realization that he had been monitoring you all along, even in your attempts to escape, left you reeling. You stared at him, your resolve faltering but your heart aching with an overwhelming confusion.

“Why did you have to follow me?” you asked, your voice cracking. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

He took another step closer, his gaze pleading. “Because I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I know you're probably thinking that I’m just some insane man who’s only hurting you. But you have to understand, my actions come from a place of deep love. I need you to see past the madness and understand how much you mean to me.”

"Is this how you show love, Dazai? By trapping me and manipulating me?" you said, your voice trembling. "You don't get to decide what's best for me by controlling every aspect of my life."

Dazai's expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I’m twisted and flawed, but I thought... I thought that if I could keep you close, I could protect you from everything else. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You shook your head, the finality of your decision settling in. “You’ve hurt me more than you know. I can’t stay here. I can't stay anxious, wondering who you’ll force me to kill next.”

Dazai’s eyes grew darker, his voice tainted with desperation. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. Everything I did was to keep you safe in comtrol of your own life, even if it means making terrible choices.”

You scoffed, “Safe? You forced me to kill my ex! And then Kaito?”

Dazai’s face tightened. “He was a traitor. He manipulated you all this time. I told you.”

“Even if!” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think I wanted them dead? I never wanted any of this! You think you’re protecting me, but all you’re doing is turning my life into a nightmare, forcing me to make impossible choices.”

He reached out, but you flinched away. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice cracking with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I know I’ve gone too far. I only wanted to protect you, but I see now that I’ve lost sight of what’s right.”

The realization hit you hard. “Lost sight of what’s right? You’ve lost sight of everything that matters. I’m leaving, Dazai. I can’t stay here any longer.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with pain, that you've never seen before, “Please, don’t go. I’ll do anything to make this right. Just... stay and let me fix this.”

You shook your head, “It’s too late. I can’t trust you anymore. I need to get away from this life, from you. Goodbye, Dazai.”

Turning around you held the suitcase tightly, your hand shaking as you reached for the door. Just as you were about to open it, the sharp click of a gun safety being disengaged froze you in place.

You turned slowly, your eyes widening in horror as you saw Dazai standing there. The cold, manipulative mafia boss you had come to fear and loathe was now a broken man, his usual confident demeanor shattered. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the sweat of his desperate resolve.

The gun was pressed against his temple, his hand trembling slightly. His gaze was locked onto you, the anguish in his eyes more raw than you’d ever seen. The sight was a gut-wrenching contrast to the man you had known—this was not the calculating Dazai but a man at the edge of his sanity, driven to an extreme.

“Don’t... don’t do this,” you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper. “Dazai, put the gun down.”

His tears fell faster, “If you leave, I can’t bear it. I’d rather end it all than live with the fact that I lost you.”

You took a step toward him, the suitcase slipping from your grip as fear and heartbreak twisted inside you. “Dazai, please. Put the gun down. We can figure this out.”

His voice trembled, a fragile whisper on the brink of breaking. “I never valued life until you entered mine. If you choose to leave, then I too must follow.”

You rushed towards him, heart pounding with desperation. As you approached, you gently took the gun from his trembling hand, lowering it to the floor. His body crumpled, and he collapsed into your embrace, clutching you tightly as if afraid you might vanish.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you whispered soothingly, your own voice trembling as you tried to calm him. You stroked his brunet soft hair gently, your heart aching as you held him close. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’ll figure this out together.”

His sobs were muffled against your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven as he clung to you. " I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry I'm sorry.”

You continued to soothe him, the weight of his despair pressing heavily on your chest. You could see through his anguish, past the facade of his calculated mind to the raw, broken man beneath. Even as his twisted personality had driven him to force your hand, there was no denying the genuine love he felt—a love that, despite its darkness, was deeply real.

The room, dim and cold, was filled with the sound of his muffled sobs, each breath a testament to his remorse and anguish. You held him tightly, trying to offer comfort, though your own heart ached with uncertainty. You knew too well the manipulative games he played, but in this moment, you could see the truth in him. His despair was not a ploy, but a genuine expression of his torment and love.

Gently, you reached up and removed the soaked bandage from his eye. His gaze locked onto yours, filled with a sorrow so profound it was almost unbearable. His face was etched with the pain of his past actions, and as you held him, you admired his beautiful brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw and fragile. “I’ll never do this again. I promise. I never wanted to hurt you. I was desperate, and I let my own twisted mind control me. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll do everything to make this right. Please... stay with me.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerable man who had been pushed to extremes. The cold dim room seemed to shrink around you, the shadows of his past mistakes lingering but overshadowed by his sincere apology. You took a deep breath, your own heart softening despite the pain.

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your voice was soothing him.

He nodded against your shoulder, his sobs gradually subsiding as he clung to you.

“Despite everything... despite your scheming and the cold, manipulative persona you put up, you have no idea how much I love you,” you whispered, the words heavy with the depth of your emotions.

Dazai’s eyes softened as he met your gaze, his voice trembling as he replied, “I love you too, my dear.”

With those words, he kissed you softly, his lips warm and tender against yours. The delicate caress of his kiss pulled you closer, making you surrender to the embrace he offered. In that fleeting moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the solace of his arms and the twisted love you shared.

➵Want more of Osamu Dazai ?

[osachiyo]

˖ 𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 ! — dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & jouno

𔘓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — n/sfw content (mdni), hurt + comfort, degradation, tit slapping, use of safe word, ooc in fyodor’s but idc let a girl dream, spanking, rough sex, face fucking, sadism, dacryphilia, toys, role-playing in jouno’s, overstimulation, reader doesn't actually use a safe word in chuuya's (its not possible with a mouthful of cock i promise), cunilingus, one of my only fics where fyodor isn't a toxic little shit so 🤷🏽‍♀️ ps. don't steal my headers !!

𔘓 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — here it is, the bsd version ! sorry for taking so long to finish this, there were some.. distractions 😓 i honestly did not expect this many people to request it *sob* anyways, happy reading and i hope ya'll enjoy ! NOT PROOFREAD !!

like this post? then view my masterlist for more !

“ ‘samu—!” You squealed, tugging on your boyfriend's hair as he moaned into your cunt, doing nothing but giving you more of that toe-curling pleasure.

"Mmh - don't interrupt my meal, darl'," he leaned back for some air only before spitting on your puffy cunt and driving back in. Large, bandaged hands were pushing your hips down on the bed to keep you in place— to let him have his favourite meal in peace, as he told you.

You couldn't recall how many times you came on his tongue— absolutely drenching his beautiful face with your juices, and he loved it. But you, on the other hand, were starting to get exhausted - no, you were exhausted, chest heaving as you tried to keep up with the hot coil in your lower tummy, threatening to snap any moment.

Dazai would know your limits if it were any other day - he'd know just when to stop, but today was exhausting for him too— and the entire day he was thinking of burying his face between his pretty little girlfriend's thighs - it never failed to melt all of his stress away and fuck did it work like a charm - all thoughts but the taste of your pretty cunt left his mind once he finally tasted you. Including the fact that you had your own limits and needed a break - no matter how pleasurable the feeling of his tongue felt against your swollen cunt— you needed a break.

You hesitantly moaned out the safe word, sinking into the mattress in exhaustion as you watch Dazai blink in confusion, before immediately pulling away from you. The bandaged hand that was previously pinning you down with fervor was now caressing your thigh gently.

"Are you alright, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?" He was calm, eyeing you for any sign of hurt or discomfort. You only shied away from his gaze, fingers fingers fiddling with the satin sheets as you shook your head - "no.. just tired, 'samu." He nodded, a pout gracing his lips - the pink muscle glossy from your combined slick and saliva, "aww, was that too much for my pretty baby?" You only rolled your eyes, playfully hitting his chest as he laughed, planting a kiss on your temple with a soft "I love you so much."

"I love you too," You giggled as Dazai buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the bruises he gave you earlier that night as an apology.

Chuuya had a rough day, his underlings being "fucking dumb and not getting shit right as usual," in his words. So like the good little girlfriend you were, you were generous enough to offer your hard working boyfriend some "stress relief".

That's how you ended up on your knees in front of the ginger haired man— who was still fully dressed, seated on the fancy black leather couch as you choked on his cock.

Loud growls and words of praise left his chapped lips in hurried curses, a gloved hand pushing your head down to take his cock in fully, basically making you deepthroat him. "God, pretty f-fuckin' girl, my good girl - such a good fuucking- argh—! fuckfuckfuck! Just like that baby, take this fuckin' cock.." He threw his head back against the headrest of the couch, hips now thrusting erratically up to your mouth, fat balls slapping against your chin as you gagged around him. Tears streaked freely down your stuffed cheeks, making him hiss out curses— fuck, you were such a pretty crier.

If he were only more focused and not drunk off of the pleasure of your warm and inviting mouth swallowing him whole, he'd notice your panicked whines, the way you dug your nails into the muscle of his thighs - scratching and trying to pull away from his cock, even slapping them in panic.

You couldn't breathe— you felt lightheaded and if Chuuya kept going, you'd surely faint from the lack of air.

As if right on cue, Chuuya finally remembered that you needed to breathe— hurriedly letting go of your hair and pulling you off his cock, his heart broke once he saw you coughing and sputtering on the floor, your face scrunched up in pain as air finally entered your lungs.

"Shit— doll, are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby," he sounded genuinely guilty, and he was! He'd never want to actually hurt you unless you asked for it, and he felt so fucking bad. You nodded in response, leaning your head against his thigh as you finally breathed normally— tears, snot, drool and his precum dripping down your chin.

" 'm sorry for ruining this, Chuu. I know today was stressfu—" Chuuya cut you off with a click of his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown gracing his pretty lips, "What're you talking 'bout, baby? You didn't ruin anything," he sighed, "c'mere."

He put his hands under your arms before tugging you up in his lap, gently wiping your face with his gloved hands before pressing sweet kisses on your whole face while whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves you— how good you are for him. The ticklish feeling of his kisses made you giggle— sounding like sweet music to his ears.

After all, no matter how much he likes to see you crying and sniffling for him, he'd always prefer your adorable little giggles.

"Slap!"

You choked out a moan at the harsh impact of your husband's hand cracking down on your ass— his hand gently rubbed the heated skin as an apology, but you knew it was only a facade. "How many was that, dear?" He mused, tone nothing but unkind and condescending. It make you feel small, and ashamed— but you also couldn't deny the way your pussy gushed out more and more slick with each hit— and he made sure to belittle you for it.

"T-twenty six?" You stuttered, thighs twitching in anticipation as Fyodor ran a slim finger up and down your soaked folds, collecting the slick on his finger before shoving it inside.

"Mmh—! Fedya p-please.." You begged, which inly made him grin devilishly— god, he was so handsome. "Please what? You have to be more specific than that," he muttered as he shoved a second finger in your drooling cunt— his free hand kneading the battered skin of your ass but you could care less about the sting.

"P-please! Make me cum—!" You gasped when another brutal smack was landed on your poor ass, the soft fat rippling as his hand met your skin. "And who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" His voice grew stern. You flinched when he flipped you on your back, basically throwing you on the pristine white mattress of your shared bed.

You landed on the bed with a soft "oof!", it wasn't long before Fyodor joined you in bed, basically ripping your cute little babydoll dress off of you as greedy hands cupped your tits, his gaze ferocious— you've never seen him like this. "You're such a naughty girl, aren't you?" He growled— kicking your legs apart to nudge a knee between them - against your bare, sopping cunt. "Fedya—" You got cut off by your own pained yelp as Fyodor tangled his fingers into your hair, yanking your head back to reveal your throat— the soft and sensitive skin just begging him to bite it - mark you up as his.

"Hush now, slut." He scoffed, harshly biting down on the column of your throat— as you let out a pained gasp. It hurt like hell.

You don't know what happened but you didn't like this anymore, you didn’t want to be treated roughly anymore, didn’t wanna be called mean names— you weren’t even processing the harsh words coming out of his mouth, you just wanted it to stop.

“Red, S-stop— red!” You whimpered, sniffling as Fyodor’s movements came to a halt. He let go of his tight grip on your hair— instead gently scooping you up in his arms and cradling you, hushing your little whines.

He silently scanned you before saying anything, dry lips pulled into a frown. You certainly didn’t look hurt… was it something he said? “What happened, darling?” He questioned, voice calm and soothing— a contrast to your own broken one. “Too rough,” you pouted up at him, burying your face further in his chest.

Oh.

“I’m sorry, love. I should’ve been gentler, huh?” He brushed a stray hair from your face, before gently massaging your scalp— easing the burn from him pulling it earlier. “ ‘s okay, fedya,” you sighed, he was so good with his fingers (in more ways than one).

“I love you, dear,” kissing the crown of your head, a soft smile tugged at his lips. “I love you too!” You smiled back. A moment of silence passed as you stayed in his embrace, before speaking up again,

“You’re doing the dishes tonight, by the way.”

“…Fair enough.”

"You're so cute when you get like this," Nikolai cooed, voice drowned out by the sound of his hips smacking against your ass. He had you in a full nelson, your back flush against his chest, strong arms hooked under your knees to hold you up in the air as he thrusted into the warmth of your spasming cunt. "Ngh— 's too much - kolya—" you slurred, head falling back against his shoulder. God, his stamina was no fucking joke— you thought, jaw unhinged as you let out wanton moans. His thighs were absolutely drenched with a nasty mixture of your slick and his cum from the previous rounds— making a "pap! pap! pap!" noise everytime they met your ass. The whole thing was dirty, messy and so fucking lewd— his favorite combination.

"Oh hush now— you say it's too much but—" he gave a mean slap to your bouncing tits, making you squeal and kick your legs at the pained pleasure. "You're just gushing all over me— how am I supposed to believe it's too much for you, hm, dove?" His breath was hot against your ear, making you shudder— "ca— can't! please!" You sobbed, but your tears did nothing more but get him more fired up - shit, you looked the prettiest when you cried.

But the thing is— you actually weren't lying, it was really getting too much for you. But apparently Nikolai was too pussy drunk to recognize the exhaustion on your face. He was going too fast - too hard, you could barely process anything he was saying or even think straight. It was practically a miracle that you even remembered your safe word— "c-clown— clown!!"

It took Kolya some time to process the words falling out of your mouth— brutal thrusts coming to a halt as soon as he realized you just said your safe word out loud. As much as he wanted to ask you what was wrong, he knew he had to place you somewhere comfortable first - make sure you're doing okay. He gently pulled out of you with a wet 'pop!', hissing as your tight walls kept clinging onto him.

Being as soft and gentle as possible, he unhooked his arm from under your knees, flipping you to carry you bridal style - before placing you down on the bed and kneeling in front of you.

"Are you okay, pretty?" His voice was soft— a surprising contrast to how he was manhandling you just seconds before. You nodded, fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks, which he gently wiped for you. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he pouted - brushing some stray hair out of your face and planting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. " 'm okay," you rasped, cringing at the way your voice cracked. Nikolai nodded, getting up and quickly getting a glass of water for you.

You gratefully took the glass from him, the cool water immediately calming your burning throat. "Are you hurt anywhere, baby?" He questioned, taking the empty glass from you, before placing it on the nightstand. You shook your head, "no, jus' tired, is all."

"So does that mean we can continue late—"

"Kolya!"

“Well, aren’t you just pathetic?” Jouno grinned, holding the wand vibrator against your clit while pumping the bright pink dildo in and out of you, making you squeal and kick your legs— hips bucking up to meet the toys.

“Please, officer— wanna cum s’ bad!” You sobbed, wrists straining against the leather restraints he had put on you. Jouno hummed, his hand speeding up, thrusting the toy even harder and faster in and out— as he rubbed the wand in circles on your throbbing clit.

“Oh, I bet you do— but, I don’t know if you deserve it yet..” he had a faux pout of his face, pressing the vibrator even firmer against your nub - making you see stars.

He had been at this for hours— getting you so close to reaching your peak before cruelly ripping it away from your grasp, only giving you fragment of the mind-numbing pleasure that you so desperately wanted to feel— and let’s not forget about the mean, degrading words falling from his lips - calling you a worthless slut, who’s only purpose is for his pleasure and his pleasure only. You felt like slapping the cocky grin off his face.

It didn’t feel good for you anymore— instead made you feel terrible, really. The continuous edging with the cruel words took a greater toll on you than both of you had imagined, which led you to eventually sob out the safe word.

Jouno stopped immediately after you blurted out the safe word, quickly but calmly pulling the dildo out of you before removing the wand, placing both of the toys on a nearby table.

He went over to unclasp your restraints, heart tugging at the way you sniffled and hiccuped— fuck, he took it too far.

A frown graced his lips once he felt the marks on your wrists from pulling at the restraints for so long— but before anything else, he had to make sure you’re okay. After all, your safety is the most important to him.

“Are you alright, darling?” He leaned closer, pulling off his slick-coated glasses and chucking them somewhere— wiping your tear soaked cheeks with his now clean hands. You let out a pitiful whimper before nodding, “ you’re too mean and— i still.. w-wanna cum..”

Jouno’s lips quirked up to reveal a cocky smirk— but he couldn’t be more relieved that you were okay - not that he’d ever show it. “Of course, pretty girl— my little crybaby wants to be treated nicely, hm?” He grinned, hand reaching down to flick at your nipple.

“Don’t tease!” You whined, but you still couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Okay, okay— I’ll treat you like the princess you are,” He snickered, kissing the top of your head before picking you up— taking you to the bed to take you like he had been aching to all this time.

©sachiyoh — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

tags ・ @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia

@sorasushik1 @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @osaemu @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @poisonedslop @sukiischaotic @squigglewigglewoo @boba-is-good @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter @4xxxv @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @qqingque @lunaeheroine18 @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @leftrunawaybanana @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @otakudul @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch

[sume3luvv]

April Doesn't Wait.

synopsis: if he could trade the world for just a few more moments with you, he would.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ o.dazai x fem!reader

A hospital is a place of contrasts—where life began and ended, where grief and hope existed side by side. Time feels different here—either dragging endlessly or slipping away to quickly when moments are precious. Some find the hospital a temporary space of healing before returning to the outside world, while others find it their final resting place.

You hated the hospital. Boring, white halls, the quiet humming of machines mixed with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and distant murmurs of doctors nearby. The weird, unfamiliar smell of antiseptic—sharp, clean, and almost metallic, like the alcohol wipes and disinfectant lingering in the air that would always give you headaches.

"What a beautiful day. Isn't that right, Y/n-chan?" a rather annoying voice said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Too exhausted and frail (at the moment) to get out of bed, you turn your head towards a man standing at the window by your hospital bed. He gazed outside with a calm smile, causing you to scowl.

"Whatever." you muttered, turning your body away from him.

Dazai Osamu. You didn't know where he came from, or what made him want to stay in your room and annoy you half to death. He was twenty-two, but had such a childish and happy personality, which made you jealous. You were jealous over the fact that he didn't have to spend his whole life in the hospital. Jealous over the fact that he can look forward to a long existence, to seeing life at seventy—maybe even more.

The brunette could only chuckle to your bad attitude, finding it amusing even if others didn't. "Don't be such a downer, Y/n-chan! Spring is a chance of growth and new beginnings, so cheer up!"

"And yet here I am, too weak to even move a finger." you retorted, eyebrows furrowing.

"You're acting as if you're going to die any second now, Y/n-chan." Dazai shook his head and turned to face you.

You looked at Dazai, shooting him an irritated glare—one that only made his smirk widen. "Would it kill you to shut up for once? You're like an annoying fly."

"You know, have you ever considered smiling? That pretty face of yours would look much more charming if you did." teased Dazai as he leaned in closer, the close proximity causing your cheeks to turn a light hue of pink.

Dazai chuckled at your flustered expression, tilting your chin up. "Falling for me already, Y/n-chan?"

Your eyebrows creased together in irritation and began to protest in defense. Just then, a nurse walked in with a wheelchair and a sickening smile that you disliked so much.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," The nurse said with her normal, sweet tone. You rolled your eyes in annoyance and swatted Dazai's wrist away. "Shall we go outside for some fresh air, L/n-san?"

You sighed, nodded, and watched as the nurse helped assist you into the wheelchair. As you were pushed towards the door of your bedroom, you turned your head to Dazai with a death-glare.

"You better be out of my room by the time I'm back." you threatened. Dazai flashed you an amused smile, waving to you as the nurse wheeled you outside.

Of course, Dazai got bored within minutes of your absence. And, of course, he couldn't resist following you outside—just so he could pester you like always.

As Dazai finally made it to the courtyard, his attention was caught when he saw you sitting at a bench while gazing at the garden, hair blowing gently in the light breeze.

"Hey." Dazai spoke up with a calm expression and sat down next to you, though he kept a distance.

"Hey." you replied, not taking your attention off of the garden. You took a deep breath of the fresh air, savoring its purity—a stark contrast to the sterile, antiseptic smell of the hospital room.

And, for a fleeting moment, you forgot about your heart disease. You felt as if you could do anything without being held back. You felt free.

Dazai's gaze lingered on you for a moment before he found himself caught in the trap of your beauty. The way the gentle sunlight played with your features, seeming to make you shine. You were absolutely ethereal to Dazai.

He was quiet for a moment, just watching you. After a beat, Dazai spoke up again, his voice soft. "You look happy for once." he noted, lips quirking up into a small smile.

You blinked at Dazai's blunt compliment, your face heating up as you turned to him—only to quickly look away, brows furrowing. "S-Shut up! Do you always have to ruin the moment by pointing things out?"

By your annoyed response, it only filled Dazai's amusement more as his smile widened. "Ruin the moment? I didn't do anything, I just stated the obvious." he said, crossing his arms and leaning back on the bench.

"Maybe keep your 'obvious' thoughts to yourself, then." you retorted, glancing back at Dazai.

Dazai let out a dramatic sigh, resting the back of his hand against his forehead. "Ahh, but where's the fun in that? Watching you get flustered is the highlight of my day."

Your cheeks burned hotter, and you huffed, turning away. "You're impossible."

He chuckled, tapping a finger against his chin. "Impossible? No, no, I'm quite real. But if you keep looking that cute when you're annoyed, I might just start thinking you're the one trying to fluster me."

You let out a groan and buried your face into your hands. Did he have to be like this?

Dazai smiled innocently at your flustered state. "You know, you're much more pleasant when you're not trying to sew my mouth shut." he sighed, watching you with an unreadable expression. "Can you at least try and enjoy the moment, for once?"

You scoffed. "Easy for you to say."

"Oh? And why is that? Because I don't dwell on unfairness at all? Because I don’t waste my energy being angry at a world that won’t change just for me?" He asked, his voice teasing as always, but the was an unmistakable sharpness behind it.

You stiffened. Dazai took that as a invitation to press on. "Tell me, does your anger make anything better? You could keep glaring at the world all you want, but it won't glare back. It won't apologize, it won't make things fair."

Your gaze fell onto your lap, gripping your hospital gown tightly. As much as you hated to admit, Dazai was right.

"You're right." you replied quietly. "But, with so much I wanted to do and such little time now—you'd start to lose hope. You start to lose happiness and feel angry at the thought of missing out on a life you could've lived to the fullest."

"I know I'm pathetic because I'm whining over the unfairness of the universe, but can you blame me? My heart is failing, and I can't even get up properly without somebody's help. I can't even live to see the world at twenty-five." You said with a hint of bitterness behind your tone. Dazai's eyebrows knitted together.

"But it's better than not doing it at all, right? Make the most of what you can. That way, when it's time, you can pass peacefully knowing you at least experienced a bit of that thrill." Dazai said. He couldn't believe he was encouraging living, of all things. "There's still things to enjoy, even if you only have a year left."

He grinned. "And think about it—if you play your cards right, this could make your most dramatic, tragic art yet. A beautiful, fleeting existence... like a candle burning both ends."

"Wow, Dazai. What an uplift way of putting it." you stated, shooting him a flat look.

"You know me, I have a knack for making things grim things sound poetic." Dazai chuckled and leaned closer. You blinked, feeling your cheeks grow hot. "Besides, imagine all the fun things we can do! Swapping files in the doctors office? Slipping silly notes into other patients foods? How about sneaking out of your room late at night to stargaze?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You really know how to turn my life into a novel, huh?"

Dazai beamed. "Exactly! And who better to co-star in this final chapter than me?" He winked, his tone teasing, but underneath it all, there was something more sincere—like he truly meant to make your remaining time something worth smiling about.

You couldn't help but smile warmly at Dazai's antics, letting out a small chuckle at the thought of all the scandalous and fun moments you guys could share together.

Wow. Dazai's nonexistent heart did a few jumps at your beautiful smile. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he wondered if you could hear his heartbeat—or feel it, too. But he quickly masked the turmoil and returned your smile.

"That's what I'm talking about." he whispered, his gaze softening in admiration. Not only did he feel happy for you, he felt proud of himself for finally making somebody smile, instead of staring at him in fear.

After that day, your behavior did a complete backflip. You were seen giving compliments to nurses, thanking your doctor, got out of bed frequently, and smiling more often. You tried make an effort to clean up your attitude, something that didn't go unnoticed to Dazai.

"My, my, look at you! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're turning into a model patient." Dazai smirked as he leaned against the doorframe of your room.

You rolled your eyes, returning Dazai's smirk. "Maybe I just got tired of looking like a disaster."

Dazai chuckled, approached your bed, and sat down beside you. He stared at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "That's a shame. I was beginning admire your bedridden aesthetic. You're cute when you're angry."

You ignored Dazai's playful compliment. "Well, maybe I found something or someone I look forward to seeing everyday." You countered.

For a second, Dazai's teasing demeanor faltered slightly, his brown eyes softening. Then, he returned to his charming and teasing personality. "Ah, you mean my visits, don't you?" He clasped his hands together in a mock delight. "I knew it, my wise words finally knocked some sense into your thick skull!"

Your eye twitched in annoyance to Dazai's words. Did he always have to ruin good moments like these?

Dazai leaned forward, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he watched you. "I'm glad to see you like this, though. It's almost... refreshing." You felt your cheeks grow hot and you turned your head away in attempt to hide your embarrassment. Dazai's lips curled into a small smile. "I was right, a smile does suit you much better."

"Y/n-chan. Y/n-chan, wake up." A soft voice coaxed you, tapping your cheek.

You grumbled and slowly opened your eyes, the sot glow of the moonlight bleeding through the curtains and casting delicate patterns across your room. You turn to your side, deadpanning when you were met by Dazai, who flashed you the dumbest smile you've ever seen.

"Dazai? What the hell are you doing here?" you asked gruffly and turned your head towards the alarm clock. An vein popped on your forehead when you read the time. "Dazai, it's four fucking am. What could you possibly want at this time?"

Dazai kept his innocent smile, as if he didn't ruin your peaceful slumber. "I was feeling a little... restless, you know?" he raised an eyebrow, his usual mischievous glint in his eyes. "And I thought, who better to share the night sky than you?"

You blinked in disbelief. "You woke up at four in the morning to stargaze?"

"Bingo!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance and irritation. "Are you always this rambunctious so early in the morning?"

"Maybe. But it's still dark outside, and the stars won't wait forever. What do you say?" Dazai chuckled.

"Fine."

"Great! Let's go before the stars change their mind." Dazai cheered while helping you into a wheelchair.

As Dazai wheeled you out in the courtyard, the cold air hit your cheeks, causing you to shiver as you clung to your cardigan in desperation for body warmth. Dazai pushed you to a bench and helped you sit down before taking a seat next to you. He gave you a sideways glance, his mischievous smile softening when he noticed your discomfort.

"You look cold." he commented.

"Thanks for noticing, genius." you huffed, pressing your lips together as the wind blew past you. "Can we go back inside?"

Dazai smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Why? We're getting to the best part of tonight! It's highlight in your life before you, well... pass on."

"Way to make this memorable." you shot Dazai a flat look. The brunette chuckled and took off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders.

You blinked as you look down, holding the sleeve. Huh. His choice of sweaters were awfully soft and cozy. "I didn't ask for this."

"Yeah, but I figured you'd rather be warm than cold." Dazai replied plainly, tilting his head up to gaze at the stars, his brown eyes reflecting the twinkling lights.

You did the same, turning your head up to gaze at the stars. Your expression softens at the breathtaking sight. The night stretched out before you, filled with the kind of stillness that made you forget the passage of time.

"Not so bad, huh?" Dazai asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You finally relaxed, leaning your back against the bench, letting the chill of the air and the warmth of his coat mix together. "Yeah, not so bad."

As the moment the two shared together progressed, what seemed like minutes turned into hours, and the black canvas of the night slowly faded into the pastel colors of orange, blue, and yellow.

Dazai blinked as the sun hit his view, peaking from over the horizons, its light spilling across his face, softening his features for a brief moment before the familiar smirk returned to his lips.

"I guess it's morning. Perhaps we should head back inside—" Before Dazai could finish, he felt a mass weighing down his shoulder. He turned his head to see you sleeping against his shoulder. Dazai's eyes softened as he observed you, the gentle rise and fall of your chest with each steady breath.

Dazai wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer towards his side as he continued to watch the sunrise. "You know, sometimes I feel this strange, unsettling feeling at the thought of you dying so soon."

Dazai paused before continuing. "Crazy, isn't it? How even a fleeting person can leave a mark on me."

Minutes turned into hours, and hours faded into days. As time progressed, you began to feel more exhausted than usual, each moment began to feel heavier than the last. A constant dizziness clouded your senses and the uncomfortable feeling of nausea creeping onto you. Even the simple act of breathing felt like a struggle, each inhale more labored than before.

Even then, Dazai stilled stayed by your side, even when moments fell into silence, filling the small hospital room with an almost unbearable stillness. Of course, he kept his usual playful, teasing personality with relentless antics—but beneath it all was a fear he refused to voice. The fear of losing you to far soon.

"Hey, Dazai?" you called out, turning your body to Dazai, who was seating in a chair next to your bed.

Dazai hummed in response, not taking his attention off his book. You sighed at the lack of attention and flopped back down on your back while staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm bored." you stated plainly with a blank expression. "Can you read to me?"

Dazai exhaled softly, but nonetheless cleared his throat and began to read aloud. Just as his voice settled in the rhythm of the words, you suddenly interrupted him.

"Y'know, as much as I hate to admit it, I think I'd miss your stupid face when I pass..." you muttered.

Dazai paused, his grip unconsciously tightening on the spine of the book as his gaze flickered toward you. For a moment, the usual playfulness in his expression wavered, replaced by something quieter—something unreadable.

"Don't say that."

You chuckled, though there was no hint of humor behind it whatsoever. "Sorry."

Dazai pressed his lips together and looked back down at the pages of his book. He then turned his head to you, his shoulders hunched. "If I could trade the world for just another year or two with you, I would."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?" you murmured, trying to mask the warmth creeping into your painful chest.

A lopsided smile tugged on Dazai's lips, his eyes holding none of their usual mischief. "Dramatic? Maybe. But for once, I'm not exaggerating." he tilted his head back. "The world is overrated, anyways."

You snorted, smirking at Dazai. "What happened to Mr. Optimism himself?"

"What's the point of having if it means losing you?" Dazai countered, his voice quieter.

You blinked, caught off guard by Dazai's words. A warmth crept up to your cheeks as your fingers hesitated gently resting over his.

"You're not losing me just yet, you know," you said softly, avoiding his gaze. "I'm still here, Dazai."

Daziai's usual playful facade had cracked, leaving behind something far more vulnerable—something he rarely let anyone see. You bit the inside of your cheek before continuing. "You always act like you have to carry everything alone," you muttered. "But you don't. Not with me."

Dazai was silent for a moment, then letting out a small chuckle. He turned his hand over and intertwined your fingers with his. "How cruel," he mused, his voice now gentle. "Comforting a man who specializes in deception.

You met Dazai's gaze, a faint smile stretching across your lips as you gave his hand a small squeeze. "Even you deserve it sometimes."

Dazai smirked and leaned closer, wiggling his eyebrows. "How sweet, my Y/n-chan is being so kind to me, finally!"

You rolled your eyes. "Don't get use to it."

Dazai chuckled. After a small moment of silence, Dazai broke it by sneakily planting a quick kiss on your lips. It was short and sweet, but you savored the feeling of Dazai's soft lips against your chapped ones. You touched your lips where Dazai had kissed you, blushing furiously.

"You!—"

"Stop acting like you didn't like it, Y/n-chan. We both know how we feel about each other." Dazai interrupted, sending you a playful wink.

"W-Whatever! You're so annoying..."

Dazai let out a light laugh in response, then pressing a kiss onto your cheek and forehead, only causing your face to grow hotter.

"Stop it, you weirdo!" you flushed.

"Why though?~ I can't help it. It's not everyday when I get the privilege to kiss such a beautiful goddess." he teased, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His lips curling into a mischievous grin as he leaned back, watching your face turn even redder.

That night, Dazai held you close, his head resting gently on your chest as he listened to the soft, uneven rhythm of your heart—each beat a reminder of how fragile time was. His grip remained firm, his eyes scanning for any shift in the familiar pulse, his mind alert to the slightest change. He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, ensuring you were safe. Soon after you drifted into a quiet sleep, the weight of the night finally pulled him under as well, his breath steadying in time with yours.

The next morning, the soft morning glow of the sun bled through the fabric of the curtains, landing on Dazai's face. The brunette stirred from his sleep, slowly opening his eyes as he sat up. Dazai let out a yawn and stretched his arms over his head, turning back to look at your peaceful sleeping figure.

Something felt... off.

Dazai gently took your hand, his fingers brushing against your skin. But the moment his fingertips made contact, a chill shot through him, and the blood drained from his face as he felt just how cold you had become. His grip tightened instinctively, his heart skipping a beat as panic gripped him. He quickly raised your hand to his lips, pressing them against your skin in a desperate, unconscious attempt to warm you. The coldness seeped deeper into him, his mind racing, but he kept his composure, determined not to show the fear that was bubbling just beneath the surface.

That's when Dazai realized. You had finally departed from Earth, and it hurt him more than he wanted it to. Dazai let go of your hand, letting it flop back down to your side limply as he stared at you with unspoken tears.

You were gone, and you weren't going to come back.

Dazai wanted to shout and scream, curse the universe for making his life so unfair and unfortunate, but he held himself back. He reminded himself that it wouldn't change the fact that you had passed.

After that day, the world appeared more dull and lifeless to Dazai, as if the colors had faded away. Everything felt empty without your presence, each moment stretching on in muted shades of gray.

a/n: i think you'll need these... passes tissue box. anyways i love you guys! (≧ڡ≦*)

[ranpazz]

ARE YOU DEATH OR PARADISE? ft. Dazai Osamu

synopsis ; He thought he could prevent your inevitable death. How foolish he was to believe that he'd succeed where he failed in every world.

cw ; beast!zai, character death, angst/no comfort, gn!reader, not proofread (it's me.), someone needs to take Billie Ellish away from me.

Death.

Humans fear two things. The inevitable, and what they dont know. The first thing is what most humans tend to try and avoid, knowing that it's impossible. Some fear it, some wish for it. To Dazai, it was something that he felt the duality of. He feared it– only when it prayed and caught onto those he cherished most, yet he wished for it to the point it was not sane.

In this world, the very one he fabricated every tiny detail down to the wire, he assured himself that nothing could truly avoid his watchful eye. He even brought you along with him to ensure that fact. You're something precious, possibly even otherworldly, to Dazai, even in the realities that he's a mere spectator of. The memories of you that plague his mind like flies swarming food.

He wanted to believe that, even just for a moment, you were his. That you didn't belong to the versions of him from another world– you were solely his. Dazai protected you, he has the resources in this world to save you from the very fate that found you in every universe– death. You were supposed to be safe. You were not supposed to be lost. This wasn't supposed to happen again. Then again, Dazai knew better.

So why did he hope that you were any different?

Why did he believe that when he witnessed you die on the CCTV footage, killed by a threat greater than himself, you were merely playing a game? Why did he, for once, pray to a God that this was not the horrid reality it was meant to be? Why was life so far away from fair, taking away the only string of sanity that kept him going in this world?

It was simple, really. He was Dazai Osamu. Everything he wants is lost the moment he obtains it.

Which led him here, hovering over your body, clutching you tightly in his grasp as if you'd vanish the moment he let you go. He was trembling, your blood was staining his hands, tainting the bandages he wore a deep shade of scarlet. Dazai had never cried before, but he could feel his tear ducts stinging, his vision blurring.

Chuuya’s shouts were ignored, all Dazai could focus on was how at peace you looked. Your hair was disheveled, yet it framed your face with the upmost delicacy, your lifeless eyes were closed, thick lashes mocking him, causing him to ponder that you might just be toying with him. Unfortunately, the lack of a heartbeat in your ribs, the paleness of your skin, and the way no air entered nor left your body, said otherwise.

The pages of that godforsaken book tunneled his vision, the sentences that spelt out your death tantalizing him. He knows, so stop it. Stop reminding him of what he lost. Dazai knew he was reckless, stupid for bringing you into this life when he should have left you alone. He should have learned from those other versions him that it's best not to become attached. The original version learned from Oda, so how come he just had not learned his lesson from you?

It could have been that he did not want to accept the truth of your demise. You had loved him so tenderly, accepted every one of his flaws, remained patient with him no matter what occurred. You were practically his safe-haven in each universe. Maybe it was your understanding that led him to forgetting the reason why he told himself to stay away. Or possibly it was the sheer love that he refused to acknowledge until the last minute.

.

.

In the next life, he'll try again. You'll stay safe, you'll stay alive. He'll do whatever it takes for you to stay by his side.

Next time, he'll do things differently.

divider by @kodaswrld

[starcollectorsilas]

something I feel like people miss while reading stormbringer is this line from the second chapter when Dazai and Verlaine met:

'Nevertheless, Dazai continued to slaughter his enemies and serve the Port Mafia in order to force himself into an even darker place.'

So, "why does Dazai stay in the mafia for so long?"

Because he wants to be in a bad place. He wants to commit these atrocities to further dehumanise himself. He wants to alienate himself and is determined to convince both himself and everyone around him that he is a terrible thing, the 'black wraith of the Port Mafia' who had no empathy or sense of humanity.

That's why he stays in the Mafia, that's why he works so hard in the Mafia, that's why he does what he's told. He's an automated killing machine capable of planning out and causing mass destruction, and his fuel is self-hatred.

He doesn't take pride in his 'accomplishments' in the mafia because, again, he doesn't actually want to succeed in the mafia, he wants to prove he's a bad person. He's not in the mafia to try and find a reason to live anymore, his reason for that is Chuuya, he's realised he's not going to find it in the mafia, even if he's not going to admit it until the dark era.

He probably feels a sense of guilt and disgust, but refuses to acknowledge it because he thinks that as something inhuman, he isn't meant to feel things like that, and the more he does, the further he removes himself from any sense of remorse, until he doesn't feel it any more, and probably still hasn't processed even in the ADA.

He stays in the mafia, and does the things he's told with such accuracy and deadliness because he thinks it's the only thing he can do, and he can use it to prove he's no longer human.

[yayll]

Soo umm maybe angsty request but a reader who works at the agency but misses her old life? Like, family or her old self. If you wanna and like the idea!! Have fun💕

i know this is a thousand yrs late and i am so sorry abt that but also. thank you for trusting me w this request i rlly took it to heart and i cracked these damn knuckles and hopefully wrote something you'll like :') i had fun, angel. MWAH.

- a little something about emotions and Dazai's way of perceiving yours ~

"Aughhh..."

You're groaning at your desk again, face down and resting your forehead on the cold wooden surface. Lately, it's been the same cycle. You come to work and the day goes by in a blink of an eye, and suddenly... There is nothing else to look forward to but to do it all again tomorrow. It's been tough, with the agency constantly bombarded with cases and quite literally saving the world, you've forgotten to call home every week like you used to. Now it's every other month, if at all.

There are times when you go on your lunch break and think about how ordinary your life used to be, how you used to spend your time doing the opposite of what you do now. Joining the agency was a wonderful turning point in your life and you wouldn't trade it for the world, but sometimes it felt like there was too much happening, you were falling behind and not connecting enough with the foundations that made you, you. It was an overstimulating nightmare.

Your co-workers were so talented and caring and it felt like a family with the way you all worked as a unit and watched out for each other, yet the intrusive thoughts about you never quite fitting in wouldn't leave your mind. Or your face, for that matter.

This is where Dazai knew he had to get involved.

He could tell your mind was elsewhere, and he hated that. You were supposed to be wherever he was, even if you didn't fully know it yet. He constantly perceived you from across the office where he slacked off work as usual, but this time it wasn't to await his next grand revelation... It was to figure out why you seemed so distant. So far, yet so close. You always laughed at his jokes and antics, all a part of his attention seeking persona around the agency, but he could hear the way your laugh seemed to die down in your throat as if it burned to even make a sound. He recognized it as the kind of burn whiskey left behind in his own throat when he had his occasional drinks at Lupin after a particularly hard day. Dazai knew the feeling of ruminating, of feeling stuck in the past and how it could keep you from existing in the present if not dealt with properly. But he wasn't exactly the shining example of dealing with one's feelings, not when he was a walking contradiction, which is why he hesitated to bring this up to you directly.

Of course, that didn't stop him from trying, not when you're groaning so adorably within earshot.

Not when he would do anything for you to drop that fastidious attitude that won't give him the proper time of day. It was pathetic and selfish of him, but it was sincere. With a fixed smile like a Cheshire cat, he prances towards your desk and stands there for a solid minute before you realize the familiar entity looming over you.

You slowly look up, dark under eyes are the first to properly greet him, along with that cute clip in your hair that's barely holding it all together. He thinks you look even cuter this way even if you were at your worst, and that made him feel a tad guilty... just a tad. He clears his throat softly as a deceptively cheerful voice pours out of him.

"Hi! You're looking awfully exhausted today."

You hum, a weak smile adorning your lips. You didn't want to smile at all, but it was a force of habit, so why not use it on the biggest clown you knew?

"Yeah? That's real observant of you, Dazai."

His heart races as you poke back, what a precious creature you were. He responds with faux indignance, rolling his eyes and the whole bit.

"Uh yeah, of course! It's why they pay me the big bucks, silly. You should try being like me sometime."

"Ah, is that the only thing I should try being? Not very original of me, I must say."

His smile drops to a more sly smirk as he shrugs, sighing dramatically while casting his gaze elsewhere for a moment.

You should try to be mine, he thinks to himself.

He doesn't deserve that honor, but it's the truth and he can always count on delusion.

"Eh, who cares about originality? That's what writers use as an excuse to torture themselves. It's no fun, You might as well jump off a bridge with me instead."

You raise an eyebrow at that, your fake smile becoming a bit more genuine now.

"I think I'll pass on that, Dazai."

He pouts, and you hate that he resembles a puppy with the way his eyes comically droop.

"Such a shame. I was hoping we could share that experience together. It would be quite the work bonding exercise, don't you think?~"

You nod, your voice laced with what he hopes is a playful retort, but it is much too deadpan.

"I'm sure it would."

"You know, you're surprisingly hard to torment."

You hum once more, shrugging as you look back down at the files on your desk, unable to hold his dark eyes that seem to penetrate your very soul.

"... Well I suppose I could say the same about you."

Before you know it, you feel his warm breath against your cheek, having leaned down to your level to murmur in your ear. It's velvety and far too intimate for the middle of the workday, tempting like the devil himself.

"Like I said, we could always drown our sorrows in the river. That always helps."

You slowly turn your head to meet his gaze, a slight flush begins to burn your cheeks and you wish you hadn't turned at all. It's sick the way every once in a while he'll test your boundaries to see if you'll let him in, if you'll see past the charm and the self destructive tendencies that might just seal his fate one day.

But you need him right now! And you clearly need a bit more of a push rather than just jokes, so he makes a point to grill you until you have no choice but to run into his hypothetical arms. In that instant, he catches your phone light up, the word 'MOM' is as clear as the red that spreads through your face.

Ah, so that's it.

"Seems like you should take that."

Your eyes widen as you flicker between him and your phone. Shit.

"Maybe later. I'm not really in the headspace for a call right now... Might go out for some lunch and get some air."

"I like air. Perhaps we can get some together? You might have too much and need someone to resuscitate you."

You snort softly and immediately feel embarrassed for being so casual out of your own human weakness. Yet somehow Dazai's ridiculous jokes always manage to get you to play along and forget that very embarrassment.

"CPR involves air, Dazai. You'd kill me in the process."

He clutches his chest, letting out a dreamy breath.

"Ahhh. Romantic, don't you think? I'd follow you immediately, of course~"

You shake your head as you stand up to walk out for your much needed reprieve from the inescapable thoughts you can't shake.

"You're impossible."

He stands back to give you your space and sticks his hands into his coat pockets, beginning to follow right behind you. He taps your shoulder when your back is fully turned to him, clearing his throat as he says your name in the most sinful way.

"Ahem. You forgot your phone."

You freeze in your tracks. You want to so badly do what your mind is screaming to do, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The battle between wanting to grab that bit of normalcy you miss and wanting to avoid it like the plague is the fear of the commitment to acknowledge it. You slowly turn to face him holding out your phone for you and yet again... It stings when he looks at you like that. Like he actually cares. It makes you feel drunk on the sensation of being seen on a deeper level, the butterflies in your stomach keep saying so. You sigh, and mumble back.

"Leave it. I don't need it right now."

He steps a little closer, way too close for comfort. His voice drops to a more serious tone, yet it's nothing but gentle, firm. It's a Dazai you don't think you've ever heard except when on a mission. Even then it always felt performative. But not now. He takes your hand in his bandaged one and holds it out for a moment with your palm facing up. His desire for you to make amends with your troubles is far more important than proper customs, so he needs to do this and do it now before you drown any deeper and he loses his self control.

He can save you even if you're too stuck in your own self pity to see the brightness of your own future. How you shine like a diamond in the rough, if only you'd just let yourself live in the now. He whispers to you.

"I think she'd like to know how you're doing. Family, they're the only normalcy you can have sometimes... Especially in this line of work. I think you know that."

You gaze into his dark eyes, and for the first time are not afraid to hold eye contact as you realize you actually want to hear more. Finally, a real piece of him is being shown to you?

"... Is that something you relate to, Dazai?"

He almost winces at that, a flashback of two friends he once considered family flash into his mind. Maybe today is a Lupin day. He could imitate your angelic laughter as the whiskey burns his throat. He hides all of this with a nasty little smirk, elusive as ever as he lies through his teeth.

"Absolutely not."

You seem a bit disappointed at first, but before you can dwell on it too much, your thoughts flicker back to the phone call you realize it might be time to make. Your mood is instantly different. Hopeful, even. Dazai places your phone in your palm, slowly closing your hand into a small fist. His hand lingers on top of your knuckles for a second too long, and you realize you are, in fact, unable to keep looking him in the eye like this or else you might just collapse knowing he'd catch you. The concept alone is intoxicating.

"I'm gonna take this, okay?"

His smirk softens, almost boyish with the way he instantly relaxes and reverts back to his usual self. The mood shifts back to how it felt before, and Dazai nods in reassurance.

"You go get some air. I'll be here."

He waves you off as you flash him one last smile before exiting the office. That'll keep him going for a while, he thinks. You look so beautiful when you're full of life, he hopes it rubs off on him too. He stands there for a long time in deep thought, simply smiling at the floor. At some point your hair clip fell out without you noticing, and so he picks it up, pocketing it. He'll consider this the consummation of your relationship.

An hour passes by and you walk back into the office, eager to tell Dazai about your call back home and how refreshed you feel. That he was right, and you wanted to share this new found perspective that he helped you approach and conquer. You find the office is completely empty, and when your eyes glance at your desk, there's a sticky note left on one of the many trinkets you display on it. You read it out loud to yourself.

"You long for the past, so perhaps we can recreate it. Maybe a nice long walk by the river, or we could always try a more private solution.

Either way, I'm at your mercy.

- Osamu"

You can't help but want to kick your feet at the little heart he doodled next to his messy handwriting and make a mental note to properly give him your contact info next time. You'd make sure to take a call from him, because you know he'd make it worth your while.

He always does.

[cruel-seduction]

hello! Can you write about fem reader saying "is that all you got?" In the middle of sex for dazai, akutagawa and chuuya? I'd like to see their reactions 🫦🫦

I wrote this in metro so it took me almost 2 days to complete it. I hope you like it.

(Pic taken from Pinterest)

Is That All You Got

Content Warning: This fic contains explicit adult content, including rough sex, degradation, dominance/submission dynamics, explicit language, and sexual themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Intended for mature audiences only (18+).

1. Osamu Dazai

You lay beneath him, your body trembling with pleasure as Dazai’s sharp eyes bore into yours, but you’re not quite satisfied yet. His fingers curl inside you, teasing, building the tension—but it’s not enough. You meet his gaze with defiance, your chest rising and falling as you breathe out, “Is that all you got?”

The smirk on his face vanishes, replaced by a darker, more predatory look. He leans in closer, his hand gripping your jaw with an almost bruising force. “You really think you deserve more, huh?” His voice drips with disdain, each word like a lash against your pride. His fingers suddenly pull out of you, leaving you gasping at the abrupt loss.

“You’re just a desperate little slut, aren’t you? You don’t get to make demands,” he growls, his grip tightening as he forces your gaze to meet his. “You think you can handle me? I’ll ruin you.”

Without warning, Dazai flips you onto your stomach, forcing your knees up as he positions himself behind you. You feel him press against you, teasing at first, before he thrusts in hard, making you cry out. His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you up against his chest.

“You like that, don’t you?” he whispers darkly in your ear, his thrusts deep and punishing, filling you completely. “That’s what you wanted. To be fucked like the little whore you are.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make you gasp for air. He pounds into you relentlessly, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. But it’s his filthy words that send you spiraling. “You’re nothing but a toy for me to use, and you’ll take every inch of me until I say you’re done. Understand?”

You can’t speak, can’t think, only feel the raw power of his body dominating yours. His hand moves down to your clit, rubbing hard in time with his thrusts, pushing you over the edge. But even as you come undone, he doesn’t stop. “You’re gonna come for me again,” he commands, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll keep fucking you until you’re shaking, begging for mercy.”

2. Akutagawa

Akutagawa’s cold, dark eyes are fixed on you, his movements precise and unyielding as he drives into you. His hands grip your hips, hard enough to bruise, his sharp nails digging into your skin. The pain only heightens the pleasure, and yet, you still push him, challenging him with a breathless, “Is that all you got?”

His lips curl into a sneer, his grip tightening painfully. “You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he snaps, his voice icy and cruel. He yanks you up by your hair, pulling your head back so you’re forced to look into his eyes. “You think I’ve been going easy on you, Baby? You don’t deserve mercy.”

Akutagawa’s hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur slightly, but he doesn’t stop. His thrusts become brutal, unrelenting, each one sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, venomous tone.

“You’re just a filthy little thing, aren’t you? Begging to be fucked harder because you can’t get enough. You’re nothing more than my toy. I’ll break you if I want to.”

He thrusts even deeper, making you cry out, but he doesn’t relent. His fingers move down to your clit, rubbing rough circles as he forces you to feel every inch of him. “Look at you,” he sneers, his voice full of contempt. “You’re already falling apart. You’re not even worthy of my time.”

Your body betrays you, trembling and on the verge of release, but Akutagawa isn’t done. He pulls out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching, and you let out a desperate whimper. “Pathetic,” he spits, flipping you over roughly so you’re on your knees in front of him. He thrusts back into you with a force that nearly knocks the wind out of you. “You don’t get to come until I say you can.”

He drives into you hard, fast, each thrust designed to punish you for your insolence. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back as he leans in close. “You’re going to beg for me, slut. Beg for me to let you come.”

3. Chuuya Nakahara

Chuuya’s body is pressed against yours, his hand tangled in your hair as he thrusts into you with relentless energy. You can feel the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds you in place, driving you wild with every movement. But still, you meet his eyes and smirk, your voice dripping with defiance as you taunt him, “Is that all you got?”

Chuuya’s face darkens instantly, his eyes narrowing as a wicked grin spreads across his lips. “You’ve got some nerve, talking to me like that.” His voice is low, gravelly, filled with dangerous promise. His grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so you’re forced to look up at him.

“Maybe I need to teach you some fucking manners.”

He pulls out abruptly, leaving you gasping, but before you can even think to respond, he flips you onto your back and slams into you with brutal force. The intensity of his thrusts leaves you breathless, your body writhing beneath him.

“You think you can handle more?” he growls, his voice rough and filthy. “I’ll give you more than you can fucking handle.”

His hand slides between your legs, fingers finding your clit with expert precision as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. The combination of his hard thrusts and the relentless pressure on your clit sends shockwaves through your body, the pleasure building to unbearable heights.

“You’re gonna fucking scream for me,” Chuuya snarls, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make sure everyone knows what a dirty little slut you are. Is this what you wanted?”

Your body tenses, the orgasm building so fast you can barely keep up, but Chuuya isn’t done with you yet. He leans down, biting the sensitive skin of your neck hard enough to leave marks. “Come on, scream for me. I want to hear you beg.”

You feel yourself unraveling, the sensations too much to handle, and just when you think you can’t take any more, Chuuya’s pace quickens, his thrusts becoming erratic and wild. His fingers work in tandem with his movements, pushing you over the edge, and you scream his name as you fall apart in his arms.

But Chuuya doesn’t stop. He keeps going, riding out your orgasm with a grin on his face. “That’s right,” he pants, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re mine now.”

[riiwrites]

𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐒 & 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

I have included a ‘daily click’ with a link that sends you to a site where you can help to deliver support to palestinian refugees with just a click. please take the time to click on the link each day to help and do what you can, thank you.

summary : in which you walk in on dazai and one of his unexpected habits.

genre : angst to fluff, comfort

warnings : mentions and links to overthinking, sad dazai :(, not proof read.

a/n : hi my beauties, it’s been a while since i’ve wrote anything so i hope you all enjoy this in honour of chapter 114 :3

dividers belong to @/benkeibear!

masterlist | main page | daily click

Dazai was a man of many things. He had many demons. Ones that would sometimes crawl up his back at night like a pitiful insect that could cause a shiver up one’s spine as they lay awake at night thinking of the things they could’ve done better. A perfect way to describe Dazais night as he stares at the naked ceiling with dull eyes as you sleep right next to him ever so peacefully.

He had dragons he couldn’t possibly dare to slay as they were just too undefeatable even for someone as calculating and conniving as Dazai. No matter how many plans ending in alphabetical order he tried to create, those dragons would always somehow manage to slide and slither like a snake into his mind. They were fake, the dragons of course. He convinced himself that most nights. ‘These worries will pass’ He’d tell himself, and most nights they did.

But not this time, this time it was much worse. Like a wave crashing on the shore, so did Dazai’s mental state crash as it crumbled before him like a king on his heavy throne without a protective shield to protect him from the things he hated.

It was a stressful day for you. This morning had been an absolute disaster for you as you had woken up way past your alarm and your lover was nowhere to be found. Sure, he might have just been doing his daily errands or doing whatever but for one, Dazai wasn’t quite the morning person and two, he was acting awfully..odd last night, and it was the kind of odd that you wouldn’t consider to be your lovers.

“Don’t you ever think that we..were born to die..?”

You furrow your eyebrows as you turn on your side to face your lover in the twin sized mattress you two were both quite comfortable on.

“Elaborate?” You ask.

“We as humans, live for a while, and then die..isn’t that our only purpose?”

“What, just to die? I don’t know maybe..” You answer, propping your head up with your arm, pressing your elbow into the soft material of the mattress.

“Hm..” He answers mindlessly. It was short and abrupt, but you could feel the tense aura in the room as he stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“..Something on your mind..?” You ask in a soft tone. Reaching your hand out slowly to brush some messy hairs back from his face. He always looked better with his hair off his face anyway.

He turns to you with a smile, but not one of the sweet and sunny ones, oh no. This one had sorrow.

It was such a sad smile. One of woe and pain that not even words of the finest lips could speak to convey such torment.

“Just peachy.” He replies, but you both knew that was such a lie.

“Y/N.” Kunikidas curt voice snaps you out of the reigns of your own sorrow. “You’re free to leave.”

“Huh..?”

“I understand you are not in the correct mindset to resume your work duties. So please, feel free to head home.”

Your eyes widen as you furrow your eyebrows in sympathy at the man. Were you that readable?

“Oh, Kunikida there’s no need really-“

“It’s an order.” He interrupts, not a single change in his expression as he tells you so. “It’s an order from me that you go home and take care of yourself.”

Silence fills the small work space you two find yourself in as you can only nod, standing up in the same silence as you quickly gather your things and turn to the door.

“And Y/N.” Kunikida speaks again, to which you turn your head over your shoulder to see that his expression had changed just a little bit, to one of concern.

“If you ever need to speak to someone. I’m here.”

You smile, a short but sweet one that shows you appreciate his kindness.

“Thank you.” You whisper. Kunikida returns the favour with the same short kind smile you gave him, before returning to his same demeanour and professionalism as he says one last thing.

“And tell damn Dazai to come in for his paperwork also..I’m getting worried about the bastard.”

This makes you frown as you turn to leave. Dazai hasn’t been in the whole day? Then just where the hell is he..?

You walked home with an umbrella over your head as the weather spat rain from the skies. ‘What a perfect way to capture the mood’ you thought as you looked down at your feet splashing against the wet tiles of concrete on the ground as you walked on the sidewalk.

You soon reach home after the boring walk to your apartment. You jingle the keys into the lock before walking into your ‘homey home’.

That’s when, you noticed something on the shoe rack. Shoes of the man you loved oh so dearly. Dazai was here! You can’t ignore the jump in your heart when you recognise his presence.

Given the fact that you couldn’t hear any footsteps or sounds coming from the kitchen or living room, you can only imagine that he was upstairs in the comfort of your bedroom you two shared together. You look up the staircase and began your adventure upward.

Once you head upstairs, you head towards your room, you could hear the sounds of..shuffling? which you could only assume was your lover doing whatever it was he was doing in your room. You expected something stupid, as that’s what he was normally known for doing. So you expected something of the sort.

What you didn’t expect however, was to find said lover rolling along the carpet of your bedroom floor.

But, here he was - rolling. What an odd thing to say..

Silence fills the room once he realises you’re in the room. He abruptly stops and leans up to see you.

“..Hi.”

“..Hi my love.” You say, still in a bit of shock after seeing this..delightful sight.

“..So you probably have questions..” He begins to say, looking off at the wall beside you to avoid eye contact from this awkward exchange. You only smile at him, before shaking your head.

“I do, but not related to what you’re doing.” You say, before closing the door and making your way over to him.

He snaps his head to look at you, furrowed eyebrows and a look of confusion pair well together as he looks at you with bewilderment as you stand above him, suggesting to the floor.

“May I?” He smiles at this.

“..You may.” He replies, scooting over to make room.

Your smile remains as you shimmy off your coat and place it on the bed before you sit on the floor and lay down next to him, turning your head to face him with the same kind smile.

“Are you alright?” You ask in a soft tone, the same soft tone you use with him that he loves so dearly.

“Just peachy.” He replies, and you recognise this conversation all over again.

“I know that’s a white lie.” You reply, urging to push further. Dazai hates to lie to you, but sometimes he does to protect you. But he knows now he simply can’t lie another time to you. His heart knows better.

“Just a little..” He replies, smiling mischievously as you flick his forehead playfully.

“Please talk to me.” You plea, furrowing your eyebrows in a rush of worry. He mirrors your expression as he realises just how concerned you actually are.

“I’m worried about you.”

Well, this was new. To Dazai atleast. He knew you cared and worried of course, but to hear you say such words awakened a type of emotion he didn’t have in him. It was a little punch in the stomach that made his insides churn with warmth, he didn’t know what to call it.

“..I’m sorry.” He begins with a soft tone, grabbing your hand gently and holding it to his lips as he presses a gentle, apologetic kiss to the knuckles of your hand.

“Oh, why are you apologising my love..? You mustn’t..” You whisper as you take his same hand that was holding yours and press it to your lips, now kissing his knuckles also.

A moment of silence passes before he takes a deep breath to answer. This would be a hurdle, but he knows he’ll need to jump for you.

“..I get like this sometimes.” He answers. “I get these thoughts. I like to think of them as dragons..because they’re like big and powerful. That’s what my thoughts are like.”

You nod in understanding, beckoning him to continue.

“..and sometimes they just get..too much for me to handle.”

You furrow your eyebrows in concern again, to which Dazai reaches his finger up and rubs your crease away.

“Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” He teases as a way to cheer you up from this confession. You let out a chuckle, reaching out to brush his messy hair off his face.

“You always look better with your hair off your face..” You say, to which you can see him smile. But not a sad one, oh no, this one was a genuine one. You could tell.

“I have been trying to control them, I don’t just let them haunt me.” He reassures and continues. “That’s why I’ve been away the whole day. I tried to go out for a walk early in the morning.” He shrugs.

“It’s also why I’m laying down here.” He confesses. “It..somehow relaxes me, calms me, helps me to organise my thoughts.”

You smile. “It’s unexpected, but healthy. I’m glad you’re finding better ways to cope, Samu.”

“Thanks my love.” He responds as he leans forward and kisses your forehead, to which you pull him in for a big hug, rubbing his back gently.

“..I’ve had a shit day..” You whisper.

“I’ve also had a shit day..” He whispers back.

“We’ve had a shit day.” You laugh into his shoulder, he laughs with you as he presses a kiss to your head.

He pulls away as he sits up, holding your hands to help you sit up too. You face him at the same eye level as you finally ask the dreaded question.

“..Why didn’t you tell me..?”

To this his smile slowly fades, but he smiles softly as he rubs your hands.

“To protect you, I guess. I don’t want to drag you down. Don’t want the dragons getting to you.” He jokes with the last part, to which you smile and say.

“I’ll slay dragons with you anyday.” You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back in return.

“But!” You swipe your hand away from his, to which he’s a bit taken back with.

“No lies next time. If you’re feeling down, please turn to me if you need a helping hand, okay?”

He smiles at your face, the face he loves so much. He takes your hand and presses one last kiss to your knuckles.

“No lies, only truths.” He promises, before he leans in to give you a sweet but firm kiss on the lips. “and kisses.” He smirks and gives you a cheeky wink.

“Oh wow.” You sarcastically reply, rolling your eyes as you can’t hide the smile you have on your face. “You’re adorable.”

At times like these, Dazai cherishes. He cherishes so hard that he feels that if you took his brain out he’d have memories literally ingraved inside his mushy brain of things he cherished.

You were the most kindest, selfless, and loveable human being Dazai could have ever asked for. He was so grateful for you.

Not only does he have a lover, but a friend, and also a partner he can slay dragons with any-day and night. No dragon was too big for the both of you.

✿ riiwrites 2024 ; please refrain from copying, plagiarising or reposting my work anywhere else without crediting.

TAGLIST : @hopefulpain @forgotten-blues @texas-bitch-yee @lvstyangel @is-therelife-onmars @atlasnessie @101strawberries101 @reesesnieces @suzurans-world @mackereland-slug @heartsfourdazai @iratherowan @onlinewhisper14 @nomnomventi @silverbladexyz @inojuuy @boarcide @poedostoevsky11 @kissesmellow21 @star-light18464 @aliyahgracedrawing @chuuyathehatrack @boredwithwrath @akutagawasimp87 @rainy-dazie @lone-ray @ishqani @fun-cats @wefureko-blog @hoicacti @endy917 @dazaiiiosamuu @seikkoh @famousfoxkingdom @morrie-rose @underscoredaniii @skk-lover @monmush @night-dazai @s1eepybunny @minomikn @pinkdaises @atheistbsd @lalalanddddddddd @mayaaluvvvv @probablyzombiedinosaurs @rinismahname @starrs20 @just4notherhumanbeing

[nori-draws-sometimes]

More pm dazai angst 🫶🫶

[awoogayanderes]

beast ! dazai who never really gets over the face of disgust you make at him when he slaps you across the face.

“if i knew the person you really were, i would have never fucking married you !” you screamed at him, before the back of his right hand struck your left cheek.

this wasn’t supposed to be something emotional on his part, but your last comment tipped him over the edge.

he abuses, extorts, tortures, and kills those around him, he was used to doing that, but when he slapped you ?

he sucked in a breath as his uncovered eye slightly widened when he realizes that your relationship can’t turn back from this.

you don’t cry, you refuse to but your eyes instantly water at the tingling sensation as your hand goes up to your face.

he lowers his hand to his side as he clenches it into a tight fist. he tells himself in his mind that his intentions did work, you did shut up after he slapped you.

that’s what he wanted, right ? for you to stop spouting out shit about him just because he hurt someone you cared for.

what he didn’t want was how repulsed you looked. he could deal with it if you were mad at him, anger is easy to manipulate.

but this wasn’t anger, this was full on hate. to think that just a few weeks ago, you were giving him kisses on his face as your fingers scratch at his scalp.

but now, weeks after the incident, you lightly flinch when he grabs you suddenly, he can’t even properly hug you anymore.

it angers him, because it’s his own fault but he can’t help but keep blaming you, if only you just shut up when he told you to.

and you did shut up, you stopped talking to him, even when he brought you home luxurious gifts everyday.

all of the progress he had worked up for, had gone to waste because of a single action, but it’s not your problem, because you won’t forgive him.

[moomuzan]

— 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖎𝖊𝖘

you two had a fight… :( , chuuya , akutagawa , dazai , kunikida x gn! reader , angst with happy end , req.

The fight began in silence. It was always that way with AKUTAGAWA—his sharpness spoken not with words but in the jagged edges of his movements. You had been arguing for what felt like hours, though in truth it had been minutes, the air thick with unspoken things. He stood near the window, his back to you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he tried to contain himself.

“You never listen,” you muttered, your voice trembling as you forced the words past the lump in your throat.

At that, Akutagawa’s head snapped toward you, his eyes like shards of glass. “And you never understand,” he bit out, voice low and dangerous, yet quivering with something beneath the anger. He didn’t raise his voice—he never had to. The quiet violence in him was enough.

Though the weight of his words dug in deep, you didn’t flinch. Instead, you turned away, shoulders slumping. “Maybe I don’t,” you murmured. “But it doesn’t feel like you want me to.”

Those words hung heavy in the air, more final than either of you realized. Akutagawa’s breath caught—briefly, sharply—but he said nothing. He couldn’t. He watched as you walked past him, your form fading down the hallway, your steps too slow, too heavy, and the sound of the door closing behind you hit him like a gunshot.

Then there was silence.

Your voice echoed in his mind, repeating itself like a haunting refrain. He thought of the way you looked at him—tired, unsure, something fragile about you that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. His hands, once trembling with frustration, fell limp at his sides as the truth settled into him like a blade.

All this time he had been pushing you away. For weeks. Months, maybe. And now, the distance he had been creating out of habit—the wall he had built to keep himself safe—threatened to swallow you both whole.

When Akutagawa finally moved, it was sudden. He grabbed his coat and left without thinking, his steps quick and uneven as he navigated the streets. He didn’t know where you had gone, but that didn’t matter. His mind screamed at him that he had to find you—not to fix everything, because he didn’t know how, but to try.

He found you hours later, sitting on a bench in a quiet park, your head bowed and hands folded tightly in your lap as though you were holding yourself together. Akutagawa paused, watching you from a distance, unsure how to approach. He wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t good at people, at love, at softness. But you… you were his, even if he didn’t know how to show it.

Slowly, he stepped forward, the gravel crunching under his boots. You glanced up at the sound, and your expression—tired, tear-streaked—knocked the wind from his lungs.

As he sat down beside you he didn’t speak. There were no words in him that could fit, no perfect apology, so he let the silence settle between you instead. It was the same silence you had both been drowning in for so long, but this time, it felt different.

Akutagawa reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his handkerchief—neatly folded and immaculate. Without a word, he handed it to you. You stared at it for a moment, confused, before you took it with trembling fingers, pressing the fabric to your face to wipe the tears you hadn’t realized were still falling.

Similar to a man trying to learn something foreign and unfamiliar, he stayed still, hands on his knees, his posture stiff and uncomfortable but resolute. You noticed the faintest tremor in his breathing—too shallow, too quick.

“I…” He swallowed hard, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t want you to go.”

Clipped words, barely there, landed with the weight of a confession. You turned toward him, searching his face, and saw the unspoken things in his expression—the desperation, the regret, the quiet fear of losing you.

“You’re always pushing me away,” you whispered. “I thought maybe you wanted me to leave.”

Akutagawa’s jaw tightened, his fists curling against his knees. “I don’t.”

“Then why—”

“Because I don’t know how,” he snapped, his voice cracking just slightly before falling into a harsh whisper. “I don’t know how to keep you close. I don’t know how to be… what you need.”

Ultimately, the honesty in his words shocked you. Akutagawa, who had always hidden himself behind barbed wires of anger and distance, looked broken now—cracks forming in the mask he had worn for so long.

The mafia executive turned to look at you, for the first time in a long time, there was no anger in his gaze, only vulnerability. “But I’ll learn,” he said, his voice so soft you barely heard it. “If you let me.”

Letting out a shaky breath, your chest tight with the weight of his words, you believed him—not because his words were perfect, but because they weren’t. They were raw and uneven and full of the effort he didn’t know how to put into love but was trying to find anyway.

Tentatively, you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing his knuckles before settling into the spaces between them. He stiffened slightly at the touch, as though it startled him, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let your hand rest in his, holding it as though he was afraid of squeezing too hard, of breaking something precious. In the quiet weight of his touch, you felt his intent—steady, unsure, but determined.

,

The fight was inevitable. A slow-burning thing that began weeks ago, ignited by small moments—the unanswered questions, the quiet neglect, the way he seemed farther away even when he stood right beside you. KUNIKIDA was always consumed by purpose, always looking ahead to the next task, the next step, the next ideal, but you were slipping through the cracks of his perfection.

Like a chasm neither of you knew how to cross, you stood in the middle of the living room, the space between you vast.

“You’re never here, Kunikida,” you said softly, your voice strained, though you fought to keep it steady. “You’re with your notebook, with your plans, with your work—but you’re not with me.”

Kunikida, standing stiffly by the desk, lifted his gaze toward you, his brows furrowed in irritation—or maybe confusion. “Do you think I’m not trying?” he said, his voice calm but cold, too sharp. “Everything I do, everything I plan, is for the future. For us.”

You flinched—not at the volume but at the way he sounded like he’d already lost you.

“I don’t want plans,” you whispered, your hands clenching at your sides. “I want you.”

Those words cut deeper than you realized. Kunikida stood there, silent, his expression unreadable, though you could see the faintest tension in his shoulders. You waited for him to say something, to move, to do anything. But he stayed where he was, his silence stretching like a weight across the room.

So you turned away. You grabbed your coat, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t say goodbye.

Feeling heavier without you in it, the apartment seemingly collapsed. Kunikida remained frozen where he stood, his gaze fixed on the space you had occupied moments before. It wasn’t until the sound of the ticking clock broke through the silence that he moved, sinking down to the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands.

“I want you.”

As the words replayed in his mind, like a record skipping back to the same refrain, he could see it now—the weariness in your eyes, the way you had been pulling away, not because you wanted to, but because he had left you no choice.

By the time you returned, the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of a lamp. You stepped in cautiously, expecting more silence, but what you found made you pause. Kunikida was sitting at the dining table, his glasses pushed to the bridge of his nose, papers scattered in front of him.

But these weren’t work documents. They were lists—half-scribbled, messy things that you’d never seen from him before. You squinted, your eyes catching glimpses of his handwriting.

“Dinner together—at least three nights a week.”

“Put work away by 9 PM.”

“Ask her about her day. Listen.”

Painfully, your throat tightened as you stepped closer. Kunikida looked up, his expression soft and open, uncharacteristically uncertain. He held the notebook in his hands as though it might break.

“I stayed up thinking,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with something you couldn’t place—regret, maybe, or guilt. “You were right. I’ve been… absent. I thought I was doing what was best, but I was leaving you behind.”

You swallowed hard, words escaping you as he stood, stepping carefully toward you. His movements were deliberate, as though he was afraid of scaring you away.

“I don’t want you to feel alone,” he continued, his voice low, steady—different now, like he was peeling himself back just for you. “I’ve been so focused on building a future that I forgot to be present with you, here, in this moment. And I swear to you, I’ll fix that. I’ll fix us.”

Looking down, your eyes stinging with tears as his words settled over you like a balm to an old wound. When you didn’t respond right away, Kunikida exhaled a shaky breath and reached out—tentatively, carefully—until his hand cupped your cheek.

“Please,” he said, his thumb brushing against your skin, gentler than you thought him capable of. “Let me try again.”

For once, Kunikida let go of everything else. His ideals, his plans, his need to control every outcome—none of it mattered now. He held you like you were the most fragile thing in the world, his hand cradling the back of your head, his lips pressing softly to your hair.

,

The fight began with fire, as it always did with CHUUYA. It started with sharp words, thrown back and forth like daggers. You were yelling, your voice hoarse with frustration, while Chuuya paced the living room like a caged animal, his boots heavy against the floor, his anger a storm threatening to break.

“You never listen,” you shouted, your chest heaving as tears burned behind your eyes. “All you do is shut me out. Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out like I don’t matter!”

In a matter of seconds Chuuya’s eyes snapped toward you, his temper flaring, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t shut you out!” he barked, his voice rough, defensive. “I’m trying to keep you safe! You don’t understand what it’s like to have—”

“To have what?” you cut in, your voice cracking. “To care about someone who won’t let you in? You think I don’t know what that’s like? I’m right here, Chuuya! I’ve been here, and you’re the one who keeps pushing me away!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chuuya froze, the words sinking in like stones, and you could see the flicker of something breaking in his expression. His anger, once so loud, melted into something quieter—something heavier.

“I’m done,” you said finally, the words trembling as you turned toward the door. “If you don’t want me here, I won’t stay.”

Chuuya didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. He stood there, his hands trembling, his breathing uneven as the door slammed shut behind you. The echo of it hit him like a physical blow, a hollow ache spreading through his chest.

And then the silence swallowed him whole.

“You’re the one who keeps pushing me away.”

You were right. He knew it. He had spent so long building walls—walls made of iron and pride and fear—that he hadn’t realized how much it was hurting you. How much it was pushing you out of reach. Chuuya thought keeping you away from the darkest parts of himself was the only way to protect you, to keep you safe in a world that had always been cruel to the people he loved.

But instead, he was losing you.

The thought made something snap inside him. Chuuya was not a man who sat still when something he cared about was on the line. His love was not quiet or patient—it was fierce, reckless, and alive, and he couldn’t let you walk away believing he didn’t care.

He grabbed his coat and left, the door slamming behind him.

It was raining when he found you. The sky had opened up, and the streets were slick with water that pooled along the curbs. You sat on a bench under the dim glow of a streetlamp, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you stared at nothing. The rain soaked through your clothes, your hair plastered to your face, but you didn’t move.

Slowing as he approached, Chuuya‘s boots splashed through puddles. His chest ached at the sight of you—so small, so still, like the fight had drained every last bit of you.

“You’ll get sick sitting out here,” he said quietly, his voice soft in a way it rarely was.

You didn’t look up. “What do you care?”

The words cut him, sharper than any knife. He swallowed hard, stepping closer. “I care,” he said, kneeling down in front of you, his gloved hands hovering near your knees like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I care more than I know how to say, and that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Finally, you looked at him, your eyes glassy, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “Then why do you keep shutting me out?”

As Chuuya’s jaw tightened, he stared at you, the words tangled on his tongue. He hated this—hated how raw he felt under your gaze, how exposed he was now that he couldn’t hide behind his anger. But you deserved the truth, even if it was ugly.

“Because I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice low, unsteady. “I’m scared of what happens when I let you in, when you see all the things I’ve been trying to hide. I don’t want to lose you, and I thought… I thought pushing you away would keep you safe. But all I did was hurt you.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the crack in his voice, by the way his shoulders slumped as though he was finally letting himself break.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his head lowering. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I swear to you, I’ll try. I’ll try to let you in—to be the person you need me to be. Just… don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the rain falling steadily around you, cold and endless. And then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his soaked coat before curling into the fabric.

Melting into him, your tears finally fell freely, though the rain washed them away before they could linger. Chuuya held you as though he could hold the pieces of you back together, his warmth seeping into you despite the cold.

,

Pacing the apartment, your frustration swirled in your chest like smoke. Dazai sat in the armchair near the window, his coat draped lazily over the back, his posture slouched in that same infuriating way—as though nothing could touch him, as though nothing mattered.

And that’s what broke you.

“Do you even care?” you asked, voice trembling as you stopped mid-step.

Dazai’s eyes flicked to you, dark and unreadable, the faintest quirk of his brow betraying his surprise. “What do you mean?”

The casual tone of his voice—the utter detachment—sent something sharp through you. “This,” you said, gesturing to the space between you, to the invisible walls you couldn’t tear down. “Us. Me. Do you even care, or am I just another distraction to you?”

Something flickered across his expression then—gone too quickly for you to name it. He stood slowly, his movements calculated, measured. “That’s unfair,” he said quietly, though there was an edge to his words now.

“Unfair?” you echoed bitterly, your chest tightening. “You shut me out, Dazai. Every time I try to get close, you laugh it off, or you disappear, or you pretend like none of it matters. I can’t keep reaching for someone who’s not even there.”

Instead of answering, he stared at you, his silence louder than any scream. And just maybe it was the silence that hurt most of all.

Letting out a shaky breath, your hands trembled as you wiped angrily at the tears spilling over your cheeks. “I can’t keep doing this. If you won’t let me in, then… then maybe I shouldn’t be here at all.”

Dazai’s eyes widened just slightly, but his lips pressed into a thin line, his mask sliding perfectly back into place. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he said softly.

It was meant to be a shield—to protect you from him, to protect himself from the possibility of losing you. But the words struck like a knife, and you staggered back as though he’d hit you.

You grabbed your coat, ignoring the way your breath came in broken gasps, and you left without another word.

But he didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. As he stood there, staring at the closed door, the silence of your absence rang in his ears.

All this time Dazai had been good at pretending—at wearing masks so convincing that no one could tell where the act ended and the man began. He could laugh, charm, and lie his way through anything, weaving a persona that fit any moment, any room. But when the door closed behind you, the mask cracked, and the emptiness that lived in his chest reared its head, gnawing at him like it always did.

The mafia executive found you a few hours later, standing alone at the edge of the park, your figure small under the dark sky. He hesitated for a moment, guilt settling in his chest, but he couldn't stay away. Slowly, he approached, his footsteps quiet against the pavement, unsure of what to say. When you turned, your eyes red but calm, his heart sank. He knew this was his last chance.

“I’m sorry. I… I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to keep you close. I thought I could keep pretending that I didn’t need anyone, but that’s not true. It’s you. It’s always been you.” His words were raw, unguarded in a way he had never allowed himself to be, and the vulnerability in his eyes mirrored the openness in his heart. He took a step toward you, his voice thick with sincerity.

In the quiet of the night, under the gaze of a thousand stars, you closed the distance, your hands gently cupping his face, soft and warm. “I won’t leave you,” you whispered back. “But you need to let me in. You have to trust me, Dazai.”

Nodding, his eyes brimming with a kind of quiet desperation, as if you were the last thing that made sense in a world that had always been confusing to him. “I will,” he promised, his voice rough, but certain now. “I will.”

And for the first time in a long while, Dazai felt like he wasn’t alone.

<3

[thewickedjazzy]

𓇢𓆸𝑰 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𓂃 ִֶָ𐀔

➵𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: beast dazai x f! reader x beast chuuya

➵𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: beastzai is intensely toxic and manipulative towards you, treating you as his puppet. despite his twisted behaviour and control, you unexpectedly start developing feelings for chuuya.

➵𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 : sfw, 11.3k of pure angst, hurt/no comfort? slight fluff, abuse, toxic relationship, dark themes, unaware relationship, falling out of love, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, intense themes, dark romance, psychological trauma, death mentioned, guns, mafia themes..*lord have mercy*

➵𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: hi hi! I spent a whole month working on this fic, and it was really tough trying to come up with fresh ideas that didn’t feel like my other stories. But I decided to try something different this time—totally unexpected! Just a heads-up, it's super emotional, so you might want to have some tissues nearby because it even made me tear up, I swear!

The ink had barely dried when you realized you had sold your soul.

You felt your pulse in your throat, even muffling your ears as the contract lay between you, the elegant script of your name stark against the cold, white paper. It was supposed to be a testament to your love, an act of devotion that was meant to bind you both in a bond unbreakable until death parted you. You had signed it with trembling hands, convinced that this was the key to a future you had always dreamed of—a future by his side, where you would be cherished, protected, and loved.

But love was never part of the deal.

The first few months felt like a dream. His touch was warm, his words like honey that poured into the empty spaces of your heart, filling them with sweet illusions. He had promised you the world, and you had believed him. You had wanted so desperately to believe that this contract was a symbol of your bond, that it meant he saw you as an equal, a partner.

But as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, the honey began to taste bitter.

His warmth turned cold, his touch became a chain, and the promises—oh, the promises—revealed themselves as lies dressed in silver and silk. You were no partner, no equal. You were a possession, a carefully crafted doll that danced to the tune of his commands, your strings pulled tighter with each passing day.

And now, with you on your knees in the dim lit room, the truth finally sank in. The contract wasn’t a bond of love; it was a cage, a cruel joke that only he was in on. You had signed away your freedom, your life, to a cunning man who had never intended to let you go.

The ink had barely dried, but your heart had already started to bleed.

In the lavish confines of Dazai’s private quarters, shadows stretched long and sinister across the opulent velvet drapes and intricate furnishings. The room, a testament to decadence with its flowing silks and priceless relics, exuded an atmosphere of icy desolation and stifling tension, where every corner seemed to whisper of unspoken dominance, a reminder of the dark authority that presided over this space.

His hand gripped your hair with a cruel twist, yanking your head back forcing you to look at him. His eyes, piercing and cold, drilled into yours with an expression of bitter disappointment. The smirk that curved his lips was devoid of warmth, a chilling mask of control and disdain.

You knelt before him, every muscle in your body straining to maintain a rigid posture despite the tremors that coursed through you. The hem of your burgundy silk robe had slipped off your shoulder with each harsh jolt of his grip, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His fingers, entwined cruelly in your hair, wrenched your head back further, forcing you to lock eyes with his merciless gaze.

“Do you think this is some sort of game, darling?” He hissed, moving his face closer to yours. “Did you actually believe you could act against my orders and escape unscathed?”

"Every time you go against my commands, you only prove how little you understand your place." He tugged at your hair, a harsh reminder of his control, his eyes never leaving yours. "I could have shown you mercy, but you seem to believe that you’re entitled to something more than the role I’ve given you. You’re nothing more than a toy to me, and toys that malfunction need to be fixed."

The chill in his voice was palpable, made your mouth go dry. "If you dare to disobey me again, I won’t just deal with you harshly. I’ll make sure you remember your place with every fiber of your being. This is your last warning. Test me again, and I’ll enjoy watching you break."

He released his grip on your hair, the finality in his gesture echoing through the room. His gaze lingered, a final reminder of the cruel power he wielded over you, as he turned away, leaving you alone with the sting of his words and the weight of your broken dreams.

You took a ragged breath swallowing heavily and trying your best to hold back your tears. You replayed the scene in your mind. Dazai had called a critical meeting, standing in the middle of the meeting room as he outlined the plan to dismantle the rising organization that threatened their dominance in elaborate detail. You, seated at the long mahogany table, had grown increasingly restless, the grandiose vision he painted beginning to grate on your nerves.

As Dazai spoke, your patience wore thin. The more he elaborated on the intricacies of his plan, the more it seemed like a house of cards built on shaky ground. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you let out a scoff, a sound that cut through the room's uneasy silence.

“Seriously, Dazai?” you had said with a tone dripping with derision. “You really think this convoluted plan is the best way to handle this? It sounds like you’re trying to win a chess game against an opponent who’s only playing checkers.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The members, who had been intently listening, now turned their eyes to you, their expressions a mix of shock and disapproval. Dazai’s gaze, which had been focused on the plan, snapped towards you with a chilling intensity. His eyes, normally so unreadable, burned with a cold fury and with the bandage that covered his left eye made his eyes more unreasonable. Chuuya, seated across from you, cast a sharp, warning glare in your direction. His expression was a silent but unmistakable message: you had overstepped, and you were about to pay the price.

His lips curved into a predatory smile, though it was devoid of warmth. “Is that so?” His voice was eerily calm, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the surface and you knew it, you knew whats about to come. “And pray tell, what do you suggest we do instead? I’m all ears.”

The meeting continued and you couldn't voice any thoughts, but you could feel the change in the atmosphere, a very noticable shift as if the walls themselves were closing in around you. Every word from him seemed to carry a weight of barely concealed menace, like he was waiting patiently for you to overstep the boundaries once again. The laughter and whispers that had once followed his speeches had turned into a deafening silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of a pen or the shuffling of papers.

As the meeting drew to a close and the room buzzed with the murmurs of dismissal, you rose from your seat, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere without getting noticed. But just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the noise with an icy edge.

“Not so fast,” he clicked his tongue. “Go to my quarters,” The command in his voice made you freeze, “Wait for me there.” Your hand gripping the back of the chair as you turned slowly to face him.

Chuuya, who had been observing the exchange with a deepening frown, cast a final, concerned glance at the unfolding scene. His brows knitted in worry. Despite his desire to act, the circumstances of the situation and his own status kept him paralyzed.

You nodded silently and turned to leave, each step felt like a descent into a personal hell. The cold, opulent halls of the mafia headquarters seemed to stretch endlessly, each corner echoing with the oppressive weight of what was to come.

And there you are, in his private quarters, the aftermath of that meeting lingered like a dark cloud. You were acutely aware of the weight of the contract you had signed, its promise of a future that now seemed like a cruel joke.

You had thought that by challenging his plan, you were asserting your own intelligence and capabilities. Instead, you had laid bare the depth of your disillusionment, sparking a fury that only served to reinforce his dominance.

You rose from the floor, your hands trembling as you rubbed at your neck, the marks left by Dazai’s grip still stinging and visible in the mirror's harsh light. Each trace of his touch seemed to burn with a reminder of your entrapment, and the sight made you nauseous. The reflection staring back at you was a cruel parody of the confidence you had once worn so easily.

An hour had passed in a blur of anguish, your mascara-streaked face a testament to the emotional storm that had ravaged you. You had cried until your tears ran dry, your sobs echoing off the cold, opulent walls of his quarters. Now, with your back against the tall windows, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across the room, you waited in tense silence.

You were trapped, not just within these walls, but within the labyrinth of your own emotions. Love and hate twisted together in a grotesque dance, each feeding off the other, until you could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began. Dazai was your captor and your saviour, your tormentor and your solace. You hated him with every fiber of your being, yet you couldn’t imagine life without him. The cruel paradox of your existence, a twisted love that both sustained and destroyed you.

The soft click of the door opening jolted you from your thoughts. Dazai entered the room with a quiet grace, his presence filling the space with an oppressive authority. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew he held all the power, who knew you were his and his alone. As he settled into a nearby chair, his gaze fell upon you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

"Have you had time to think about your little outburst?" His voice was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm. His eyes were fixed on you as if waiting for your reckless response.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "I just wanted to provide my input, to help…"

A scoff escaped him, and though his expression remained unreadable, the shadow of a smirk remained the same on his lips. "Embarrass me? In front of my subordinates? Do you think that’s something I take lightly?"

You flinched, his words sinking deep into your chest. "I didn’t mean to—"

Dazai sighed, the sound heavy with a weariness that wasn’t lost on you. His hand lifted, a silent command for you to come closer.

Your heart kept pounding in your chest as you slowly pushed yourself away from the window, your legs trembling with each step. You fell to your knees before him, the cold floor biting into your skin as you looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. His gaze was surprisingly gentle now, his eyes softening as they met yours. He reached out, cupping your cheeks in his hands. The warmth of his touch was unlike the earlier brutality. How could he be so cruel yet so gentle at times? You'd never know.

“Look at you, darlin’,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against the traces of mascara that had smudged your face, “you look much better when you’re obedient, hmm?”

His eyes drifted to the marks on your neck, and a sigh of regret escaped him. Did he even feel remorse? "I’m sorry," he whispered, though the apology felt like a mere formality, a concession to the damage he had inflicted. “I didn’t mean for it to get so rough,” 

Before you could fully process his change in demeanor, he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. You found yourself cradled in his arms, the sudden shift from cold distance to warmth disorienting always confused you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he carried you toward the bathroom, the opulence of the room giving way to the sterile, clean environment.

In the bathroom, he set you down by the sink and you stood there, staring at your reflection in the mirror, the sight of your broken self almost too much to bear. You were never like this—never so vulnerable, never this fragile.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression unreadable as he gently grabbed a damp washcloth and wiped the smudged mascara from your face. The tenderness in his touch was a jarring hypocrisy compared to the cold cruelty he had shown you earlier, and it made your heart ache with a confusion you couldn’t untangle. meticulous, as he tended to your appearance.

“Darlin’,” he said, his tone lighter, "I expect a lot from you. I always have. But I also need you to remember you're not just a toy. I'm sorry for what I said earlier. You mean a lot to me, even if I don't always show it the way you need."

You loved him. God, how you loved him. Despite everything, despite the pain and the humiliation, you were obsessed with him. He was your world, the center of your universe, the one person who could make or break you with a single glance. But that love was a double-edged sword, cutting you deeper with each passing day. The same hands that caressed you with such care were the ones that left bruises on your skin. The same voice that whispered sweet nothings in your ear was the one that tore you apart with venomous words.

"I hate you," you thought bitterly, even as your heart cried out for him. "I hate you for what you’ve done to me, for making me love you like this."

But the truth was, you hated yourself more. For being so weak, for letting him break you, for still wanting him even when every part of you screamed to run away. You were trapped, bound to him by invisible chains, a prisoner of your own twisted desires.

He finished cleaning your face, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before he set the washcloth aside. He turned you to face him, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you with an expression that was almost...tender.

"Don’t make me hurt you again, my love," he said softly. Was it a threat or a plea? Again, you could never tell. "I don’t want to break you... but I will if I have to."

You nodded numbly, the words sticking in your throat as you tried to find your voice. "I won’t," you whispered finally, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You didn’t know if you could keep that promise, didn’t know if you could resist the urge to push back, to fight against the suffocating control he had over you.

But for now, you would pretend. You would play the part of the obedient porcelain doll, the perfect little puppet that danced to his tune. Because despite everything, you still craved his approval, still wanted his love, even if it was nothing more than a cruel illusion.

And that was the worst part of all.

He took a step back, his eyes scanning your now-clean face, as if searching for something. Perhaps he was looking for the woman he had first fallen for, the one who had signed away her soul in the name of love. Or perhaps he was looking for a sign that you were still his, still willing to endure whatever torment he decided to inflict, just for the chance to be by his side.

“I know you hate me,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And yet, you can’t help but love me too, can you?”

You didn’t respond because there was nothing to say. He knew the truth as well as you did. The love was there, intertwined with the hate, a poisonous cocktail that you drank willingly every day.

His hand reached out, his fingers tracing your cheekbones before settling on the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “You’ll always be mine,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “No matter how much you hate it, no matter how much you love it. You belong to me.”

And you did. You hated him for it, but you loved him even more for it. It was a twisted, toxic love, one that had consumed you whole. But it was the only love you knew, and so you clung to it, even as it tore you apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. “I’m so sorry.”

His lips curved into a smile, one that was equal parts gentle and cruel. “Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s put this behind us, shall we?”

You were his, for better or worse, until the end. And you would endure, because that’s all you could do.

But deep down, you knew—one day, the weight of that contract, of your love, would crush you completely.

And when that day came, you wondered if Dazai would even notice.

Dazai’s arm was draped over your waist, his warmth enveloping you in the stillness of the night. His breathing was steady, but you could feel the tension in your own body, a restlessness that wouldn’t let you surrender to sleep. You stared at the ceiling, your mind restless, unable to quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

The memories of the day replayed themselves, his harsh words and the sting of his hand still fresh. Yet, for all the pain, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more—something you had long since buried under layers of survival.

Carefully, you began to slip out from under his arm, moving slowly to avoid waking him. You had become an expert at this over time—perfecting the art of leaving unnoticed. You dressed quickly in a plain outfit, something that would allow you to move quietly through the mansion.

Just as your hand touched the door, Dazai stirred, his hand reaching out to the empty space where you had been. His fingers brushed the sheets, searching for your warmth.

“Darlin’...where are you going?” His voice was soft, laced with sleep but edged with that familiar sharpness. Even half-awake, Dazai’s awareness was something to be reckoned with.

You turned back to him, keeping your voice calm and steady. “I can’t sleep, Osamu.” you murmured, brushing a hand through your hair. “I’m going to the studio. Just need to clear my head and paint for a bit.”

He blinked at you, still half-asleep, and nodded slowly. “Alright darlin’,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he sank back into the pillows. “Don’t stay up too late.”

You offered a faint smile that he wouldn’t see in the darkness, even though doubt lingered in your heart. He trusted you, not because he was careless, but because this was routine—something you’d done many times before. Painting in the middle of the night was your escape, the one place where he let you be without question. Maybe because he knew you needed it. Or maybe because he thought there was nothing to worry about.

You watched him for a moment longer, ensuring his eyes were closed again before you quietly slipped out of the room. The door closed with a soft click, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The penthouse was silent as you made your way through it, the city lights filtering through the large windows. Your art studio wasn’t far—just a few blocks away from Dazai’s penthouse, nestled in a quieter part of the city where you could find peace.

The streets were quiet at this hour, the city’s usual bustle replaced by a serene stillness. You breathed in the cool night air as you walked, the distance from the penthouse helping to clear your mind. The studio had become your sanctuary, a place where you could escape from everything, even if just for a little while.

When you arrived, the studio was just as you’d left it, an oasis of creativity nestled in the heart of the city. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the scent of paint and canvas greeting you like an old friend. It was a small space, cozy and cluttered with half-finished projects, but it was yours. Here, you could breathe—here, you could forget.

You turned on a single lamp, the soft light illuminating the canvas that awaited you. It was an abstract piece full of dark swirls and sharp lines, a reflection of the turmoil inside you. The brush felt natural in your hand as you began to paint, your strokes quick and deliberate, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Yet, despite the comfort of the studio, a weight lingered in your chest—a heaviness that had nothing to do with the late hour or the paint fumes. It was Dazai.

Your thoughts kept drifting, your concentration wavering as you replayed the events of the past months. Dazai had always been a mystery—a man who treated you like a prized possession, something to be admired, controlled, but never truly acted like he loved you. He had his moments, of course—moments of gentleness, fleeting glimpses of a man who could care, who could be kind. But those moments were always followed by something darker—a harsh word with a bruising grip.

You weren’t sure if what you had with him was even a relationship. The lines between affection and possession had blurred long ago.

And yet, despite everything, you had stayed. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. But now, with each passing day, with each secret meeting at the studio, you felt your resolve wavering. There was someone else who occupied your thoughts more and more—someone who had never hurt you, who had only ever offered you kindness, warmth.

Your hand faltered on the canvas as your thoughts drifted to Chuuya. Over the past six months, your late-night meetings had become the one thing you looked forward to, the one thing that felt real. Chuuya was different—gentle in ways Dazai could never be, caring in a way that wasn’t calculated or fleeting. He never asked questions about the dark bags under yours that you tried your absolute best to hide with your concealer, never pressed you for answers. He was simply there, offering a quiet comfort that had slowly begun to fill the cracks in your heart.

You dipped your brush in a deep crimson, the colour bleeding onto the canvas in a sharp, harsh shade. It was the shade of blood—Dazai's hands, his clothes, stained night after night. But with a gentle shift, you softened the stroke, blending the red into the backdrop until it faded, becoming something warmer—something closer to the warmth you found with Chuuya.

But as you worked, you became aware of another presence in the room. It was subtle at first—the faint echo of footsteps, a soft rustling that barely disturbed the silence. You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you turned towards the secret passage that led to the back of the studio.

And then he was there, stepping out from the shadows like a memory made flesh. The mafia executive who had effortlessly stolen your heart.

His ginger locks caught the dim light, and he offered you a small, knowing smile. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I couldn't, It’s not finished yet,” you murmured, though even you could see how close it was to completion. The image on the canvas was abstract but familiar—an echo of your life, your feelings, laid bare in strokes of colour and shadow.

Chuuya crossed the room in a few quick strides, his hands finding your shoulders, gloved fingers gently massaged your tense muscles as he looked you over, his gaze lingering on the faint bruise peeking out from under your sleeve...he didn’t say anything—he never did—but the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened, told you enough.

You knew he noticed, with a soft sigh you reached up, placing your hand over his. “It’s fine,” you lied, though you both knew the truth.

He shook his head slightly, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing a path that was both tender and protective. “You shouldn’t have to say that,” he murmured, his voice carried a sadness he rarely allowed himself to show.

There was so much more you wanted to say in that moment—words that lingered on the tip of your tongue, feelings that you had tried so hard to bury. But instead, you simply leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his presence, in the safety he offered without ever needing to say it.

The two of you drank some wine as the night deepened, a bottle that Chuuya had brought with him, a quiet indulgence in a world that offered so few. You picked up your brush again, continuing the painting you had started, the colors flowing more freely now, less restrained.

Chuuya watched you as he always did, with a quiet admiration that never failed to make your heart flutter. How could someone like him exist in this world? So gentle, so pure, so loving? You never told him how you felt. There was no need to. Chuuya was perceptive, far more than he let on. He knew. And as much as he cared for you—more than he probably should have—he never acted on it. He knew the consequences, knew that you were Dazai’s. And yet, here you were, night after night, finding solace in his presence.

But tonight, the wine loosened your inhibitions, the brushstrokes on the canvas becoming bolder, more expressive. You could feel Chuuya’s eyes on you as you painted, a silent observer to the emotions you were pouring out onto the canvas.

When you finally stepped back, you studied the painting with a critical eye. It was abstract, filled with swirling colours and dark, chaotic strokes. But there, in the centre, was a figure—a man with fiery ginger hair, his back turned, and beside him, a woman, her features obscured but unmistakably you.

Chuuya approached, his eyes tracing the lines of the painting, his breath catching as he realized what you had done. You could see it in the way he tensed, in the way his eyes softened with something that looked like pain.

“Is that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to. The realization was there, hanging in the air between you.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile.“It is,” you replied simply, the words hanging between you like a quiet confession. Instead, he slipped off his glove, revealing the bare skin of his right hand, and gently reached out. His fingers ghosted across your cheek, a delicate touch, hesitant, as if you might vanish beneath his fingertips.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Chuuya’s gaze flickered between you and the painting, his heart fluttering with a confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to say so much to ask why, to tell you how much this meant to him. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I…” he started, but the words trailed off. What could he say? That he was touched beyond measure? That he didn’t know how to handle the feelings you stirred in him?

You placed your hand over his, leaning into his touch. “It’s okay, Chuuya,” you murmured. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Chuuya's hand lingered against your cheek for a bit longer, his touch as soft as the brushstrokes you had just painted. His thumb traced the outline of your face, so delicate, velvety even it almost felt like a whisper, like he was afraid you might shatter under his touch. But you didn’t. With him, you never did.

There was a warmth in Chuuya that didn’t demand, didn’t seize more than you could offer. Instead, his gentleness defied everything you had been taught to expect, everything you had come to accept as inevitable. It was a tenderness that stood in defiance of everything you had known with Dazai. Where Dazai’s hands were icy, sharp with toxic edge of possession, Chuuya’s were a haven—soft, steady, and sure, grounding you even as the shadows of your past threatened to consume you.

His fingers, calloused from years of battle, should’ve been rough, yet the way they caressed your skin was anything but. It was a tenderness that made your breath hitch, your heart fluttering as his presence filled the cracks of your heart. The weight that had clung to your chest moments ago seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something that made the air between you feel light as a feather.

"You're always too good to me," you whispered, barely audible, afraid that if you spoke too loudly, the moment would shatter. But he heard you, and you noticed how his gaze started softening even more as his fingers curled slightly against your skin.

"You deserve someone to be good to you," he murmured in return, his raspy voice made your stomach sink "I will forever protect you, won't let anyone take from you what you truly deserve."

"You don’t need to protect me, Chuuya," you sigh softly, “I’m a woman who’s been through too much to need protecting. I can handle myself.”

His gaze sharpened as he shook his head firmly. “No, I will protect you,” he replied, his voice brooking no argument. “Not because you need saving, not because you're a woman, but because you’re ‘my woman,’ and no one—not even Dazai—will take from you what you truly deserve.”

“Your… woman?” You stuttered, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. The idea felt foreign, surreal even.

The dim light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, and the flame-red strands of hair that framed his features like something out of a dream. You found yourself captivated, as you always were, by how someone so dangerous could be so gentle with you.

And then, his eyes—those deep, stormy blue eyes—locked with yours, a silent question hanging in the air between you. You knew what he wanted to ask, what he had been holding back for months, and you answered before he could even speak. Your hand, still resting over his, gave a small squeeze, your own heart pounding in your chest.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade until there was nothing but him. The ginger leaned in slowly, hesitantly, as if giving you a chance to pull away—but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time stopped. The kiss was soft, tentative, and filled with a sweetness that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t thought possible. His lips moved against yours like he was afraid of breaking you, but there was a passion simmering just beneath the surface, one that spoke of everything he had kept buried for so long.

With Dazai, kisses had always been possessive, demanding, like he was trying to stake a claim, to remind you that you were his and his alone. There was never any softness in them, only a dark, consuming hunger that left you feeling hollow. But with Chuuya—oh, with Chuuya, it was different. His kiss was tender, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make you feel wanted, cherished, safe.

You melted into him, your hand slipping up to tangle in his hair, tossing his hat aside and pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, grounding you in the moment. The world outside ceased to matter, the chaos of your life fading into the background until there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you shared with him.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. Chuuya’s eyes searched yours, his breath warm against your lips, and you could see the question there again—an unspoken plea, asking if this was real, if it was okay to want this, to want you.

“It’s okay, Chuuya,” you whispered, echoing the words you had said earlier, but this time, there was more behind them. There was a promise. A promise that, with him, you didn’t need to be afraid.

Chuuya's hand slid to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse. “You don’t have to stay with him,” he said quietly, his voice shaking with the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. “You deserve more than what he gives you.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing against the lump in your throat. He was right. You knew it, had known it for a long time. But leaving Dazai wasn’t as simple as walking away. There were consequences—ones that could ripple far beyond just you.

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into him, finding solace in the steady beat of his heart against your chest. “But it’s not that easy.”

Chuuya didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Instead, he held you close, his arms wrapping around you as if shielding you from the world, from the pain that had become all too familiar.

You gentely pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the desperation building inside you. The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, but there was something heavier pressing against your chest—something you could no longer ignore.

“We could leave,” you whispered suddenly, your voice barely audible but heavy with the weight of your plea. “We could run away from all of this. Together. Far away. Somewhere Dazai can’t reach us.”

The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw something flicker in Chuuya’s eyes—hope, maybe, or the brief illusion of escape. But then, just as quickly, the reality of the situation settled over him like a dark cloud. He sighed, his hand sliding down to rest on your arm.

“You know we can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Dazai won’t take it lightly. He’s... not someone we can just leave behind.”

You knew he was right. You knew it the moment the words left your mouth, but still, the thought of staying in the suffocating grip of Dazai’s control was unbearable. You couldn’t live like this anymore—not with the strings he had wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like you were choking. You had been his puppet for too long, forced to dance on command, every move dictated by his whims, every decision manipulated to suit his goals.

“I can’t do it anymore, Chuuya,” you choked out, your voice trembling as the words tumbled from your lips. “I can’t stay with him, a slave to whatever sick game he’s playing. He’s made me do things—things I can’t even live with anymore. I’m not... I’m not myself anymore. I’m just another one of his puppets.”

“I know,” he sighed, eyes frowning. “I know what he’s done to you. And I swear, if I could—” He cut himself off, his hands trembling slightly as he reined in the fury threatening to spill over. “But we can’t just run. Dazai... He’s too smart. He’d know. He’d find us, no matter where we went.”

But of course again you knew Dazai, he was no ordinary man. He was calculated, methodical, and always one step ahead of everyone around him. He weaponized his false incompetence, using it to manipulate people into underestimating him. It was a clever façade, one that hid the dark and twisted brilliance beneath. He knew exactly how to pull the strings, to twist every situation in his favour. Running from him wasn’t just difficult—it was impossible.

“He’d hunt us down,” Chuuya continued, his voice a strained whisper. “No matter where we went, no matter how far we ran, Dazai would find us. And when he does...”

Chuuya didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. You both knew what Dazai was capable of. There were no limits to how far he’d go to maintain control, to remind you that you were his, body and soul.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness of your situation sank in. You bit your lip, trying to steady the storm brewing inside you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Dazai had this much control over your life, that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t break free. But staying wasn’t an option anymore. Not after everything you had been through. Not when you had finally allowed yourself to feel something for someone else—someone who treated you like a person, not a pawn.

“We have to try,” you whispered, your voice pleading. “Even if it’s dangerous, even if he hunts us down, we have to at least try. I can’t keep living like this, Chuuya. I can’t be his toy anymore.”

Chuuya stared at you, his expression softening as he saw the desperation in your eyes. He knew you were serious. He knew how much you had suffered under Dazai’s thumb. And though every instinct in him screamed that running was a death sentence, he also knew that staying would break you in ways even he couldn’t fix.

“Alright,” he said quietly,“We’ll try. But we have to be smart about it. He's not someone you can just escape from without a plan.”

You nodded, relief washing over you as you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’ll plan it,” you said, your mind already racing with possibilities. “We’ll find a way. Somewhere, he won’t think to look. Somewhere safe.”

The night ended peacefully, the two of you spending the remaining hours in quiet companionship. Chuuya left the studio with a lingering look as if he was trying to commit the memory of this moment to heart. You watched him go, your heart heavy yet light all at once, knowing that you would return to the embrace of the man who tore you apart.

When you slipped into bed later that night, Dazai was already there, his presence was unlike the warmth you had felt with Chuuya. He hummed softly as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

“Did you drink tonight?” he asked slowly with a low and deceptively gentle voice.

“I needed to relax,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. Dazai’s lips moved to your forehead, where he placed a soft kiss, a gesture so tender it almost made you believe in the facade he presented.

Your mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, urging you to be more cautious. How did you even end up here in the first place? What were you thinking—did you really believe he’d love you? You scoffed bitterly at your past self.

How do you make this vicious cycle end? Convinced yourself to like the bed you shared with him while crying, going numb and lying bare. You did it all for him and more, with all your body getting sore.

How could you be so brutal to yourself?

Finally, after what felt like hours, you drifted off to sleep, knowing that tomorrow the cycle would begin again—Dazai’s cruelty followed by hollow apologies, his grip on you tightening with each passing day But in the quiet of the night, your thoughts drifted to Chuuya, and your heart fluttered with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. It had been months, yet the excitement you felt was just as strong as the first time.

The next evening, you slipped into a cami top and jeans, your movements careful and deliberate. When you approached the door, you saw Dazai at his desk, yawning and eyeing you with his empty, hollow gaze. The bandage over his left eye only heightened your simmering anxiety, but you forced yourself to remain calm as he asked, “Are you going to the studio to paint? Darlin’,”

You nodded, hoping your nervousness didn’t show. Dazai got up from his desk and walked over to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’ll come with you then,” he suggested, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent that made your heart race in fear.

This is bad—so, so bad!

As Dazai moved to slip on his coat, you seized the moment, your fingers moving swiftly over your phone's keyboard. The message to Chuuya was short, urgent: "Mission 006." It was the code you had agreed upon, a signal that he should stay away from the studio tonight.

You hit send just as Dazai turned back to you, "Ready?" he asked. There was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral as you followed him out the door. The walk to the studio was silent, the usual chatter between you two absent. Dazai’s presence was as suffocating as ever, but tonight, there was something more—an intensity that made your skin crawl. You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew if he had somehow pieced together the secret you and Chuuya had been carefully guarding.

When you arrived at the studio, the familiar scent of paint and canvas did little to ease your nerves. You unlocked the door, and the two of you stepped inside. Dazai paused at the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the small space as if he was seeing it for the first time.

"It's cozy," he remarked, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real interest. He wandered further in, his steps slow, as if he was taking stock of every detail.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything but the cold sweat forming at the back of your neck. "It’s my little sanctuary," you said, forcing a lightness into your voice that you didn’t feel.

Dazai walked over to the easel where your unfinished painting stood, his head tilting slightly as he studied it. You could feel his gaze on the canvas, lingering on the dark swirls and sharp lines. His silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, he spoke.

"What were you trying to express here?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to decipher your painting.

You hesitated, your mind racing to come up with a safe answer. "Just… emotions," you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor. "I paint what I feel."

Dazai didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, his fingers tracing the lines of the painting with an almost careless touch. "It’s dark," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Like a storm brewing."

You forced yourself to nod, though your throat felt tight. "It’s been a… difficult time," you said, the understatement almost laughable.

Dazai finally turned to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss. As he pulled back slightly, his gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You know," he murmured, "sometimes I wonder what goes on in that pretty little head of yours."

The words were light, almost teasing, but you knew better than to believe that façade. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your expression neutral. "Nothing special," you lied, offering a small, strained smile.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before he let out a low hum, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced but didn’t feel like pressing the matter further. "Well, let’s see what you can create tonight," he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the canvas with a casual wave.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to pick up the brush with steady hands. As you dipped it into the paint, you could feel his piercing eyes on you, watching your every move with a calculated gaze that made your skin prickle.

The brushstrokes felt heavy, each one a struggle as you tried to focus on anything other than the man standing behind you. But all you could think about was Chuuya, hoping against hope that he had gotten your message in time, that he would stay away, that tonight wouldn’t end in disaster.

Just as you began to settle into a rhythm, the soft buzz of your phone vibrating in your pocket broke your concentration. Your heart leapt into your throat as you hesitated, knowing it could only be Chuuya. Dazai’s eyes flicked towards you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he noticed your sudden tension.

"You should get that," he said, his tone almost too kind.

With shaky hands, you pulled out your phone, the screen lighting up with a message from Chuuya: "Understood. Be safe."

You breathed out a sigh of relief, quickly typing back a short reply before slipping the phone back into your pocket. "Just Chuuya making sure I received the files earlier from today," you lied, hoping to deflect any suspicion.

Dazai didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t entirely fooled. He stepped closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "You have such a pretty face," he murmured, his fingers against your cheek lingering a bit too long. "It would be a shame if anything happened to it."

You stiffened at the veiled threat, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced yourself to stay still, to not flinch under his touch. "I’ll be careful," you whispered, though your voice wavered.

Dazai smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Good," he said, his hand dropping back to his side. "Now, continue your magic darlin’."

You turned back to the canvas, struggling to concentrate as your thoughts swirled in disarray. The weight of the evening pressed down on you, with tonight promising its own set of trials.

Just then, Dazai's phone rang, the sharp sound breaking through the quiet. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to one of urgent concern.

"I'm sorry, darlin’," he said, "I have to go. There's an emergency I need to handle."

He stepped closer, cupping your face gently in his hands. His lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss—tender and bittersweet at first, but slowly growing more possessive, as if he were kissing you for the last time. As he pulled away, he offered a reassuring smile.

"I will wait for you at my penthouse" he promised, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he turned and walked toward the door. With a final glance back, he slipped out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the dim light of the studio.

Once Dazai had left, you quickly grabbed your phone from your pocket, and typed a message to Chuuya: "Mission 006 is complete. Head to the HQ now."

You quickly gathered your things, taking one last look around the studio to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything—a gun, your favorite painting, and a few clothes for emergencies. With a deep breath, you slung your backpack over your shoulders, stepped out the door, and made your way to the headquarters.

The streets were eerily quiet as you walked, your mind racing with what you were about to do. When you reached the mafia headquarters, you slipped inside through a side entrance that you had memorized for emergencies like this.

The headquarters was still, the usual hustle and bustle of the mafia's operations eerily absent. You made your way to the main floor, your heart pounding in your chest. you approached the central hub where most of the mafia members were stationed.

With trembling hands, you took a deep breath and activated your ability—the one you had kept hidden for years. Phantom mists, a memory fog that could cloud the minds of everyone around you, except for Dazai. It wasn’t going to be effective against him, but against the mafia? It would create the perfect chaos. The pendant around your neck warmed as you focused, pouring your energy into the ability.

A swirling mist began to spread from your fingertips, a soft fog that permeated the air. You could feel the tendrils of your ability seeping into the minds of everyone in the vicinity. The effect was immediate—confusion and disorientation began to take hold.

Voices started to rise in panic, shouts echoing through the hallways. "What’s happening? I can’t remember..." one mafioso cried out.

You could imagine it clearly—the mafia’s best, their subordinates and leaders alike, suddenly unable to remember who they were supposed to trust, who their allies were. They wouldn’t even remember Dazai was their boss.

You slipped into the dimly lit maze beneath the headquarters, the fog of your ability still working its magic above. The soft echo of your footsteps against the cold stone ground was the only sound as you navigated the narrow tunnel that led to the next step in your escape. Your pulse raced with adrenaline, knowing the chaos you had unleashed would buy you just enough time.

As you approached the end of the tunnel, your beloved mafia executive appeared from the shadows, waiting by the ladder leading to the manhole cover above. His familiar silhouette, though tense, brought you an unexpected sense of relief. He glanced up at you, his sharp eyes softening the moment they met yours.

"About damn time," he muttered, but his tone lacked any real bite. You knew him well enough to recognize the relief in his voice.

You gave him a quick nod, stepping forward as he reached out, placing a steadying hand around you. For a moment all that mattered was Chuuya Nakahara just 'him' with his short temper and rough edges, he had always been there for you. It was a truth neither of you had ever said aloud, but it didn’t need to be.

"Are you okay, hun?" His voice was so velvety gentle. He didn’t meet your eyes, his attention seemingly fixed on the ladder. But his hand remained at the small of your back, his thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle against your clothed skin.

You nodded, trying to control your breath. "I’m fine," you whispered, though your heart was still racing. "It’s done. We have a window."

He exhaled, finally letting his shoulders relax. "Good, we need to move fast," he said as he positioned himself beneath the manhole cover. "This will take us closer to the station."

With a grunt, the mafioso climbed up the ladder and pushed the heavy metal cover aside, the cold night air rushing down to meet you both. He climbed up first, then reached down to help you out, his fingers gripping yours tightly as he pulled you up onto the street. The city was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

You glanced around, quickly regaining your bearings. "The train station is close, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, already starting to walk, picking up his pace. "I arranged a train to Kyoto. It'll give us enough distance, at least for a little while."

After a few minutes of fast walking, you approached the station, the faint glow of the train's headlights illuminated the platform in the distance. Chuuya glanced at you, his hand briefly finding your wrist, pulling you back for a second. His captivating azure eyes met yours, filled with something deeper than his usual intensity.

"You did good tonight," he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. "But… you know he’s not going to let this go. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."

"I know," you murmured, stepping closer. "I have everything planned."

He just gave a small nod and released your wrist, his hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with yours in a fleeting gesture of reassurance.

"Come on, we don’t have time," he said, his tone regaining its usual bite as he pulled you toward the station.

The two of you boarded the train, slipping into one of the empty compartments as the doors slid shut behind you with a soft hiss. The train rumbled to life, and the gentle sway lulled you into a momentary sense of peace, though you knew it wouldn’t last.

The mafia executive sat across from you, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he leaned back. He tried to act casual, like everything was under control, but you could see the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers drummed restlessly against his knee.

"Are you going to pretend you're not worried about me?" you teased lightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Chuuya huffs dramatically. "Shut up," he muttered, though his lips twitched slightly with amusement. "You’re not as helpless as you look. Who would have guessed you had such a powerful ability hidden up your sleeve?"

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere," you joked, watching the man beside you shift in his seat.

The man in question leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost as if the empty train could somehow betray his words. "I mean it, though. No matter what happens… I’ll keep you safe." He parts his lips slightly as if he was hesitant. "He’s not laying a hand on you again."

You knew the moment of peace was fleeting, a temporary respite in the chaos that would inevitably catch up to you both. He’d find you—of course, he always did—but this soon? You weren’t expecting that. Still, you had a plan, a counter to his twisted, manipulative games. After all, you knew his mind, how he bent and twisted reality to his will. So, you played dirty, just like him.

The sudden jolt of the train hitting something, the screech of metal twisting and crashing, sent a shockwave through the entire train. Chuuya’s arm wrapped around you, his ability immediately activated shielding you from the impact. Through the dizzying haze, your vision blurred, but you saw him—a familiar silhouette in a dark coat, red scarf flowing behind him like a warning. He was walking toward you, his figure growing clearer as the dust settled.

There’s no time left. You had to move now, or it would be too late.

Your heart raced as you saw him clap his hands, the sound mocking in its slow, deliberate rhythm. He was amused. Of course, he was. The familiar twisted smile, painting the corners of his lips as he spoke, his voice sounded like something that could’ve been approval—or maybe it was just a new layer of threat. "Good job," Dazai drawled, eyes gleaming with that familiar, unnerving intelligence. Was he proud of you for finally releasing your ability for blanketing the entire mafia headquarters with the dense, confusing memory fog? Or was this his way of saying you’d only managed to amuse him, that your effort was nothing more than a brief diversion in his grand scheme?

He always knew, somehow. It was as if he could sense it every time. The thought gnawed at you as the devil in question stepped closer. Of course, Dazai had known about you and Chuuya all along. No matter how careful you were, how meticulously you avoided suspicion, he had always been one step ahead. Because he's the cunning devil himself, he's Osamu Dazai, the demon prodigy that was never left in the dark—not where you were concerned.

And now, you were trapped in his web again.

You saw him as he moved with the same old unsettling calm, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence as he found a seat among the debris, settling down as if he were nothing more than a bored spectator to the carnage.

A crooked smile curled on his lips, his eyes gleaming with that disgustingly cold amusement. "Finally," he let out a breathless chuckle. "You’ve let your ability take control. I was beginning to wonder how long you'd hide it." His gaze flickered toward you, sharp as a blade. "I must say, I enjoy it just a little bit. Tell me darlin’, does that make me insane?"

Chuuya, of course, wasn’t about to sit idle. The moment Dazai’s words slithered into the air, he shot up, standing between you and Dazai, "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you have all of us under your command?" he growled, "You’re wrong, Dazai. I don’t give a damn about your twisted games or the Port Mafia. If it means keeping her safe, I’d watch it all burn."

The mafia boss's lips curled into a cruel smile, "Ah, Chuuya," he mused, tilting his head with a condescending air. "How touching. Such devotion. You’re so willing to throw away your morals, your loyalty—everything you’ve stood for—just for her. And here I thought you were just a pawn, but it seems I’ve underestimated you."

"You want to talk about misplaced loyalty? How about you look at her. Look at how you’ve torn her apart. Do you think you’re protecting her? Loving her? It's not an act of love if you force her, " Chuuya spat, shaking his head with disgust. How could he act like he didn't destroy you, tore you apart?

Dazai leaned back, unperturbed." Chuuya, you misunderstood everything, ehh? Everything I did was to protect her, to train her to conquer her fears and take control of her life. And look at her now—she’s in control, free from her own constraints. I’d say I’ve succeeded."

He leaned in closer, smiling like a maniac that he is, "If you think your misguided sense of protection is better than what I’ve done, then perhaps you should reconsider your own humanity. After all, it seems you’re more concerned with playing the hero than understanding what real strength and freedom look like."

You cut through the tension, drawing the gun that was placed in your backpack and aiming it at Dazai. "Enough." Your voice was steady, but your heart was not. "You’re right about one thing—this is my plan. I know you’re not as unfeeling as you pretend. I’m here to make you pay for what you’ve done."

Dazai scoffed, his eyes dismissive. "You can’t muster the courage to kill me, darlin’."

You clenched your teeth, the gun steady in your hand. "It’s not about killing you. It’s about making you feel the pain you’ve inflicted. Two years of this twisted mess, of apologies from my tongue but never yours, just endless torment."

You stepped closer, your voice trembling with rage and exhaustion. "Tell me, Dazai, if we had a daughter? I'd watch and could not save her. The emotional torture? from the head of your high table... she'd do what you taught her. She'd meet the same cruel fate.

"So now I've gotta run, so I can undo this mistake... At least, I've gotta try" your breath hitched in your throat.

For the first time in your life you saw Dazai's expression stripped of its usual layers of detachment. It was almost readable—though, in truth, it had always been so readable, you were just too hurt to see it..he seemed genuinely vulnerable, a rare sight for someone who usually masked their feelings so well.

"Do you really believe that, after everything," he voice dripping with a sadness he could no longer hide. He knew he had inflicted profound pain that his actions had not succeeded as he had claimed. He saw the woman he cherished, distancing herself from him, and it shattered him in ways he couldn't admit.

You fought to keep your tears in check, swallowing the rising tide of anguish.

The mafia boss, now a broken man, rose from his seat and moved closer with the same pained expression on his face that was too unfamiliar to you. For the first time, you didn’t flinch as he approached. Maybe your plan had worked—maybe now, he was the one truly hurt.

He gently took your hands, still gripping the gun so desperately, and aimed it at his heart as you stood there unshaken. You had emptied the gun, knowing that the real weapon was your words, not a filled barrel. You were fearless, no longer afraid of what Dazai might do, because the true pain was already inflicted.

"Go on, my love," he demanded, “Shoot me,” He pressed lightly against your finger on the trigger. Still, you didn’t move, you remained utterly still.

Time seemed to stretch, seconds dragging as Chuuya stood by, his eyes widening in shock. 'Is he out of his mind???' This can’t be happening!!!

Chuuya began to step forward, his ability ready to activate. But his shout was too late. “NO! THIS ISN'T YOUR GUN!!!”

You felt the pressure on your finger intensify, bewildered by the urgency in Chuuya’s voice. He knew the gun was empty—why was he stopping you? What does he mean this is not your gun?

Your confusion wavering as the trigger pressed down with an inexplicable force. Time seemed to distort, the moment stretching into a surreal blur. A bullet, as if conjured from the void, shot forth with a chilling precision, piercing the veil of reality and leaving you numb, detached from the gravity of what was happening.

As the bullet pierced Dazai’s chest, everything around you felt unreal, a dreamscape where the laws of cause and effect seemed suspended. The sound of the gunshot echoed in your ears, dissonant...distant, like a harsh reminder from another world.

Your eyes widened in horror. You were sure you had emptied the gun. How could this happen? Your heart raced as you screamed in agony. “NO, OSAMU!!!”

You reached out, your hands trembling as you tried to grasp the enormity of what had just transpired. Dazai's body fell forward against yours, a warm, crimson stain spreading through your clothes.

You collapsed to the ground in a haze, disbelief clouding your mind. This can’t be real… it feels like a cruel illusion. His shallow breaths brushed weakly against your skin, barely there but enough to hold onto.

Chuuya rushed forward, gently cradling Dazai's head beside you, his eyes betraying a depth of sorrow that he struggled so hard to contain. The train car, once a mere backdrop to your confrontation, now felt like a tragic stage for this final act.

Dazai's breath was shallow, as he slowly tilted his head, his eyes locked with yours, a fading smile painted his now blood stained lips.

“Finally, my love,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re free from my grip… free from my control.”

His gaze shifted to Chuuya, and he managed a weak, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

His heartbeat faltered, the rhythm of life slowing to a stop. With a final, shuddering breath, Dazai’s eyes closed, and the warmth faded from his body.

You could not control your sobs, the anguish tearing through you like a relentless storm. You had hated him, yes, but never wanted this. Never wanted to see him die, to feel this unbearable void where his presence had been.

Chuuya, his face etched with profound sorrow, held back his own tears as he watched his boss and former partner slip away. “You were always such an idiot, Dazai.” He managed a sad smile through his tears, a silent acknowledgment of the complexities of their shared history. He knew now, all too late, what Dazai had truly intended and the extent of the manipulation that had led to this tragic end.

The wrecked train car felt like a distorted realm, every sound and motion warped by the intense grief that filled it. Your loud sobs echoed eerily through the wreckage, the sound reverberating in a way that made time seem to stretch and slow. Each cry was a jarring note in a symphony of desolation, creating a haunting melody that seemed to hang in the air.

A day had passed since Dazai's tragic end, whether it was death or a calculated suicide. The weight of his absence still lingered in the room.

The sun cast a dim, melancholic light through the window as you sat next to Chuuya on the couch in your room, holding a burgundy envelope. its edges slightly crumpled from the many times you had picked it up and set it aside. The elegant cursive writing on the front, "𝑇𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝐼 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 :D" the absurdity of the smiley face—silly and oddly incongruent—making you hesitate even more.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m here,” Chuuya whispered, placing his gloved hand on your thigh and rubbing circles to sooth you down.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and carefully peeled open the envelope.

"𝑇𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠,

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝐴ℎ, ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ���𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠.

𝐵𝑦 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤, 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛.

𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑦, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝐼? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒—𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛—𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑗𝑜𝑦. 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑦.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠: 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑠𝑘.

𝐶ℎ𝑢𝑢𝑦𝑎, 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠.

𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑. 𝐼𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦, 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑠𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐼 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝐼𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡—𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒. 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒. 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒, ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠. 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼’𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑡.

𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒,

𝒪𝓈𝒶𝓂𝓊 𝒟𝒶𝓏𝒶𝒾,

𝑃.𝑆: 𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑔𝑢𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐷𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ—𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜."

As you finished reading, your sobs erupted uncontrollably, the grief of his words and the weight of his absence overwhelming you. Chuuya encircled you with his arms, drawing you close and planting gentle kisses on your temple.

“It’s okay,” he whispered repeatedly, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

As your cries began to subside, the room remained shrouded in a mournful silence. The letter had left a new reality for you both to face.

The ink had indeed dried, but it was not your ink that marked the paper; it was Dazai's.

A/N: If you’re still with me, high five! You’re just as wonderfully tormented as I am, haha. Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think! *KISSES*

-Heavily inspired by the songs "Labour" by Paris Paloma and "Will I Ever Love?" by Anya Nami

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

[cheriecoke]

˚☽˚｡⋆ shining like gunmetal

dazai x f!reader, 3.0k words

summary — dazai comes home late, covered in someone's blood

contents — pm reader & pm boss dazai, references to violence / torture lol, sfw !!, the plot is basically cleaning blood off dazai

notes — i thought this would help me get pm dazai out of my system, but i fear i may have to write another nsfw piece for that

Each turn of the clock became longer and longer as you watched the seconds tick down, signaling that another minute had passed. The sun had long since set; your dining room was illuminated only by candles, creating a romantic ambiance throughout the penthouse.

Across from you, an empty seat sat, its usual inhabitant absent. An array of food scattered across the table, far too much for just one person to eat. Perhaps, even, there would be leftovers for days after.

Your housekeeper, Izumi, set the last plate of hot food on the table, her eyes nervous as she flitted back to you, then to the spot where Dazai usually sat. While her usual duties did not include cooking, you’d recruited her that evening, hopeful that she could help you prepare all of Dazai’s favorite dishes. 

You'd just wanted to do something special for your beloved, and he wasn’t even there to enjoy it. 

Steam lingered on each of the platters, but it was quickly wafting away, evaporating into the cool air of the Yokohama evening. All of your hard work over the past few hours would seem insignificant if the Port Mafia's boss didn’t return before the meal cooled completely. 

You drummed your fingers against the table, trying hard not to give in to your annoyance. 

“He’s late.” You spoke the words to no one in particular, an observation that anyone could discern with their own two eyes. 

Still, you kept your gaze harsh on the empty seat, as if willing Dazai to materialize from thin air. 

The comment still seemed to shake Izumi from a trance, even if it had been nothing more than the obvious. She twisted her fingers together, flattening her top farther over her waist band. Although she was one of the only people in the mafia that saw the softer side of Dazai, the one he reserved just for you, she was still overwhelmingly intimidated by him. 

“I’m sorry, miss,” she said, even though you always reminded her that it was fine to address you by your name. “I can take it back into the kitchen and—”

You stopped her with a sigh, shaking your head before letting it drop into your hands. “No need. I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” you assured her, but it was already ten minutes past seven—the hour that Dazai had said he’d be back for dinner. 

Usually, you wouldn’t have minded. You knew that Dazai was busy, that the tasks piled onto him were unending and overwhelming. Even though you hated seeing him overwork himself, it was always alright. He never took his stress out on you and always showered you with affection upon his return from a long day. 

Tonight, though, he’d promised that he’d be there, right on time, for dinner. You agreed upon that hour beforehand, and he still hadn’t showed. 

Izumi looked at your disappointed expression, knowing how much the small moments with Dazai meant to you. You never doubted that you were the most important person in his life, and you never would. 

Despite that steadfast belief, you still ached when his work began to cut in on his time with you. 

“Give him a couple more minutes,” Izumi said, smiling as she squeezed your arm gently. She was just a few years older than you, but there was a motherly glint to her eyes when she regarded you, her affection just barely veiled. 

Over the past few years, you’d persuaded her to see you as more than just her employer, at the very least. There would always been a thin shield of professionalism between you, but now, you considered her something of a friend. 

You dispelled all your irritation on a steady exhale and did as she suggested, waiting five more minutes. The heat began to dissipate from the cooling food, the plates and bowls no longer hot to the touch. 

The time reached 7:15. Izumi returned from the kitchen again with a frown, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?” She asked, sympathetic to your spoiled night, her usually bright eyes dimming. 

You stood, the chair screeching as you pushed it away. Though it seemed like such a small issue compared to all the other dilemmas you’d faced with Dazai, the burning desire of tears began to make its way up your throat.

You shook your head, standing taller, trying to remind yourself that someone proud enough to stand next to Dazai wouldn’t cry about something so inconsequential.  

“I’ll take it to my room, if you don’t mind,” you said, and Izumi nodded, smiling at you, softly, but without the pity that she knew you hated. 

She made her way to your seat, to gather up a plate to bring to you in a moment. Though, she didn’t get far in her task, and you didn’t make it out of the room. Seconds later, Dazai was pushing open the door, his footsteps sharp in the otherwise quiet hall. 

You looked up at him, frowning, a complaint already parting your lips as you assessed his appearance. 

Dazai’s shirt was undone, his hair a mess, stands stuck to his forehead, creasing at unusual ends. He was covered in blood from head to toe, the deep color staining his crisp white top. It had splattered against his cheek, his suit, even on his shoes, creating an intimidating vision of gore. The bandages around his wrists had loosened, soaked a muddy brown from the oxidation. Dazai’s tie had also been discarded, the dark silk peeking out of his pocket. 

Despite the violence of his appearance, his eyes were soft as he headed to you, unbothered by anything else in the room. “I’m so sorry I’m late, my love,” he apologized profusely, his voice low and gentle, eyes crestfallen in a way that had you forgiving him on the spot.

Still, you pinned him with your gaze, letting him feel every second of those fifteen minutes you'd believed that he’d forgotten his promise. The distance between you felt cold, even when there was hardly any of it between you.

“You told me you’d be here,” you said with a frown. The food had continued to cool. All you’d wanted was to give him an ounce of kindness in his world of endless hurt.

“I know.” Bloodied, delicate fingers were on your elbow, barely grazing your skin as he attempted to ease you into him. “I really am sorry. I got caught up with something.”

You were no stranger to his definition of something.

Dazai began to lean in, hopeful that he could erase your worries with a kiss, but you held an arm out, keeping him away.

“Don’t kiss me with blood on your face,” you said, the bite only reaching the end of your sentence, even if it didn’t fully reflect your emotions. A desperate desire to be near him battled every move you made. 

“It was an apology kiss.” Dazai's bottom lip curled into a pout. 

You refused to be swayed by the vulnerability in his wide brown eyes. “I don’t want it.”

He glowered for a moment longer, trying to topple your pride. When he got nowhere, he gestured towards your seat, hoping you'd take your place once more.

“Fine,” he said dramatically. "I’ll pretend that didn’t hurt my feelings.” 

You wrinkled your brow, displeased by the insinuation that you would carry on as normal. 

Wearily, Dazai leaned against the chair, and waited. When you did nothing, he pushed it back in, eyeing you skeptically. “Do you not want to eat anymore?” He asked, frowning. It seemed he was not upset, but unsure of where you stood on the matter.

You made a face. “I can’t sit across the table from you and have a cheerful dinner conversation while you’ve got someone else’s blood coating your entire body.” 

Dazai looked down, as if only realizing for the first time that he was stained ruby red. “The food will get cold, darling.” 

“You should’ve been on time, then.” It came out more clipped than you meant it to, and Dazai just stared back, his expression terse as you communicated silently. 

Izumi, finally, made her presence known as she cleared her throat, directing both of your attentions back to her. “I can warm it,” she said, darting her eyes away when Dazai’s piercing gaze reached her. “If you’d like.” 

Dazai began to object, but you spoke over him, knowing his abrasive words would only upset her. Instead, you laced your fingers with his to drag him out of the dining room. “Thank you, Izumi. We’ll only be a minute.” 

You shuttled him into the bathroom, and Dazai remained uncharacteristically quiet, gauging your mood as you shut the door behind the two of you.

“Sit,” you said, perching him at the edge of the sink. Dazai blinked, but said nothing. His long legs stretched against the cabinets, feet reaching the floor, even as he rested his weight on the countertop.

You maneuvered around the bathroom, opening cabinets and shutting drawers, feeling Dazai's watchful eyes on you.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling, allowing his infatuation to consume him completely, now that you were alone. “As always. That dress looks particularly stunning on you, though. You should wear it more often.” He tried to lure you in by the waist, but you dodged him once more, letting him huff in annoyance. 

"Thank you," you said, barely above a whisper, and left him sitting in the bathroom alone.

Hastily, you returned to your bedroom, rummaging through his closet for a clean top. Though he had so many of the same styles, you settled on a silk, black button-up, one that would pair nicely with your own evening gown.

When you returned, Dazai was leaning against the mirror, eyes closed, the dirtied and discarded bandages ripped from his face.

Over the past few weeks, his hair had grown longer, curling around his jaw and over his eyebrows, thick and tangled from whatever damage he’d inflicted before coming home to you.

Yet, you softened at the sight of him so open, wishing you could take even an ounce of that stress off his shoulders. 

As he breathed, evenly and slowly, you ran a washcloth under the water, warming it. You could feel Dazai’s eyes on you as you hummed, busying yourself with the task at hand.

“I can’t tell if you’re actually mad at me or not,” he said, and though he forced out a laugh, the concern in his eyes was more real than he wanted you to believe. “I really am sorry.”

It was almost amusing that this was the man everyone in the city feared. When people looked at Dazai, it was never with affection, never with the deepest humanity within your own heart. Even when he’d always had so much love to give, just nowhere to put it until he'd met you.

Perhaps, in another universe, life had been kinder to him. 

You exhaled and relaxed, offering him the smallest of smiles. The wash cloth foamed with soap as you poured it, a fresh aroma of honey and vanilla fusing into the space between you. 

“I’m not mad, Osamu,” you said, and he visibly relaxed, hooking his ankles around yours while you stood between his thighs. “I was more disappointed than anything. I hate missing out on time with you.” You frowned and brushed the hair off his forehead, tucking longer strands behind his ears. “Will you take a break every once in a while?” 

Dazai melted under your soft touch, preening with a cheeky grin. “Of course I will.” He brushed his thumb over your cheeks, dark eyelashes fanning the sharp bones of his face as he stared, astonished by your care. “I’ve been busy this week, and I apologize. Just say the word, and I’m yours for a day, a week, a month.” He exhaled, unsteadily. “All you have to do is ask.” 

You smiled, and though you wouldn't ask for so much time with him, not when things were so hectic with the mafia, it was nice to know that you could.

Slowly, you ran the cloth over the splattered blood, wiping it off inch by inch. His skin tone returned to normal, the deep red stain erasing. 

“What happened this time?”

Dazai sighed, dropping his chin to his chest, releasing every ounce of cruelty from his being. It was so hard to reconcile the two sides of him. He was sweet to you, caring and gentle. But you’d seen him when he was out of your embrace, faced with an enemy, a subordinate that hadn’t followed rules. He so swiftly morphed into someone that was cruel, merciless, offering them a smile only in mockery. 

“Some idiot was leaking information to another group,” Dazai said, tracing patterns on your hips. “If he would’ve been smart, he would’ve realized he never had access to anything of substance. I don’t know why risking his position with us was worth some extra pocket money.”

You frowned. “It took you this long to figure out his plans?” It seemed impossible that anyone could have something to hold over Dazai.

He laughed darkly, no humor within in. “I had a few eyes on him, but I was waiting for some definitive proof. He’s been here for quite a while, and he questioned why he never promoted.”

Dazai rolled his eyes, never understanding how people could be so foolish, could let emotions rule their decisions over logic. 

You nodded, understanding as you wiped his lips clean, erasing all traces of blood from his pores. Once his skin was fresh, he leaned forward, capturing you in a kiss that nearly had you dropping the cloth back into the sink. 

Dazai pulled away, smoothly, even when you had been left breathless. “Don’t worry about it, my love.”

“The mafia is important to me too." You scrunched your features. “If something’s going on, I want to know.”

Dazai smiled lazily, leaning back onto the counter, the picture of nonchalance. “If I really thought it was worth getting worked up about, I’d tell you.” He curled a piece of your hair around his finger, playing with it idly. “Why? You think I don’t trust my favorite girl?” 

You stiffened, defensive, before releasing your shoulders once more, dropping your gaze to his chest. Slowly, you began to undo the buttons of his top, the threads so stained that it was beyond repair. “I don’t know, Osamu. You keep so many secrets. Sometimes I’m not sure.” 

Dazai was quiet, eyebrows raised as he assessed you. When you reached the fourth button of his top, he grabbed your wrist, forcing your attention back to him.

“I don’t keep secrets from you, sweetheart.” He tugged you closer, curling the other arm around your back, skirting between your shoulder blades. Dazai dipped his head, tenderly kissing your fragile collarbone, the touch so airy that it sent your heart racing. “You’re the only person I really trust. If I thought you actually wanted to know every gory detail about the torment I inflicted, then I’d tell you.” 

You breathed in, closing your eyes to steady yourself. It didn’t take much for Dazai to remind you of every reason you’d ever loved him.

“I don’t care about that,” you said as Dazai rested his forehead against your own, keeping his eyes on yours’ even when your gaze was pinned to his chest. He released his soft grip to let you continue your task, and you were swallowing, onto the fifth button. “It was just a passing comment.” 

“Maybe so, but I don’t ever want you to think that I’m hiding things from you,” he said, fiercely.

You shrugged. “I would understand if there were things you couldn’t tell me. It doesn’t upset me.” When the shirt finally became undone completely, you slid it off Dazai’s shoulders, wadding it up into a ball to discard. 

He straightened, replacing the dirtied white top with the darker, softer one. “I can tell you whatever I want.” He scoffed, sliding the black buttons through the holes. “I’m the boss.”

“I just assumed the boss would have highly classified information that had to be contained to a select group of individuals.” 

Dazai made a face at you, like your statement was completely ridiculous. He stood to his full height, tilting your chin up towards him with one long, slender finger.

“Well then, someone should’ve told you that the boss’s wife is never excluded from that group." Dazai smiled at the flush on your cheeks when you allowed yourself to indulge in his touch. “You are my equal. There is nothing in this world that’s more important to me than you. Nothing of mine that doesn’t belong to you as well.” 

Sometimes, you felt undeserving of his affection. It was hard to believe that the man who owned half the city would hand that power over to you willingly, if only you asked.

Though, that grain of doubt lingered in your mind was poison, and you would fight it for as long as Dazai loved you truly. Instead, you smiled, cupping his cheek before standing on your tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Forgive me if I forget from time to time.” 

Dazai laughed and shook off your grip so he could sling an arm around your shoulder. He was still wearing the dirtied pants, but the blood had dried, and your stomach longed for the meal that you knew was waiting for you. You could let it slide, if only this one time.

“I’ll try to remind you more often,” he said, lips grazing your temple. “I really am sorry I was late for dinner, angel. It won't happen again.” 

You laced your hand with his own free one. The touch was backwards and awkward, your palm cupping the back of his knuckles. You just needed to be closer to him, to feel the touch of his warm skin and know that, for now, his time was only your own.

With a honeyed look, you whispered the words close to his ear, slow and seductive. “I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.”