#i like that dazai speaks aloud about what hes thinking

[orangewsunglasses]

i was thinking abt the new chapter and yes its a little worrying that fyodor is very possibly alive (icanttakethisanymore) but its also kind of funny to see dazai genuinely panic a bit for once and chuuya's just. there. he could literally not give a rat's ass. dazai's leg is broken and he's choosing to sit there and do nothing as dazai tries to drag out a dead body from under a wreckage. i literally cant help but love him

[nxtsnw]

Hello I saw you opened request. Can I have how Dazai and Chuuya act when they have a crush on someone? Thank you💕

— a.n. hihi, I am sorry for my lateness; my hiatus lasted a little longer. hope u will like it<3

— gender: fluff !!

— characters: chuuya, dazai

୨୧ CHUUYA NAKAHARA ୨୧

. If he had a crush, it would be clear to everyone but him. Every single time he tried to deny it, it would only serve as further evidence of his feelings.

. He will deny as much as possible that he has feelings for you. He will get to the point of being about to lose the opportunity, or even he would only realize his crush after losing it...

. Despite this I think he would yet be "jealous" when it comes to you and would keep any possible admirer keeping clear -Even with strong manners if necessary - He would do it almost unconsciously.

. He will likely try to get as close to you physically as he can. Simple greetings from a distance, hugs at first sight, and even hand-to-hand touch as you get closer all count as greetings.

. Chuuya would try his hardest to look you in the eye for as long as he could, but he would end up flushing more and avoiding his gaze instead. Uncontrollable blushing, especially on the tips of the nose !!

. Anonymous gifts! You can even get the impression that they are made by him. Who else would gift you a bottle of wine so pricey and rare?

. He'll reveal to you a side of himself that he usually keeps hidden. I don't mean to say that he would allow himself to be perceived as weak by you on the opposite. He would be happy to show you what he so jealously guards.

It's late at night and you've been dreaming for a while. The light slumber was, however, broken by a knock at the door. Who knows, maybe he missed you because he was the one that came to see you.

He'll invite you to go for a walk with him under the excuse that he can't sleep. Hence, you would find yourself walking side by side on a night when only the moonlight prevented the sight from causing you to fall somewhere. Nothing about it was romantic. You were still wearing your pink unicorn pajamas and seemed to be mostly sleeping.

The figure of the red-haired boy sparkling in the moonlight captured your half-closed eyes. He would confess his feelings when your head was still fogged with sleep and the only sound you could hear was the wind rustling. He might murmur something to himsel and he would clear his throat several times, before speaking aloud. Imagine trying to grasp what your friend was muttering when you already had trouble understanding where you were. So you smiled and nodded, unaware of his repeated confessions.

You were aware of his lack of patience. 

"Listen. I like you"

Soon after, maybe dreading your response, he would turn to go back. Chuuya had even considered the possibility of tricking you into thinking it was all a dream if you refused...

୨୧ OSAMU DAZAI ୨୧

. I thought a lot about how he would act around his crush even though we know "dazai likes all women". I think it would take him a long time to truly understand what exactly that particular emotion that everyone refers to as love is.

. He might have even tried it, but in such case, he would basically be lost and uncertain of what to do. I can imagine him admiring his crush with a gaze that is something between lost and frightening.

. I believe it would take some time for him to consider her feelings to be real, sincere, and concrete. "Oooh so I'm in love," he might think, and then break out in hysterics or simply widen his eyes in disbelief.

. He might spend long periods away from you before returning as if it was nothing; eventually, when his feelings for you grow, he might start to talk about them with you and give you kind of "explanations".

. It would be difficult to tell his feelings apart because he would be flirting with you nonstop and, as we all know, his first technique of approach would be double suicide (again, I don't think he understands them all that well either).

. When he becomes aware of his feelings, he stops flirting with you, almost as a sign that his sentiments were genuine?. Yeah,,,it would be a bit confusing to actually deal with him...

. He wouldn't reveal his emotions until you took the initiative. "Oh I like you too, I think I love you y/n".

Well, as I have already said, I think you would confess first. 

You know, hiding and denying your emotions will only cause them to increase, which will cause a maximal eruption of them. 

It was late at night when you decided to reveal to Dazai your true feelings the following day. 

You liked to think of the night as a friend, as the one who offers the truest, most seek advice from the depths of your heart.

Your confession should have been nothing extravagant or ridiculous; it had to be something natural and spontaneous. It was important to liberate yourself from the enormous burden you had been carrying for far too long.

The day passed quickly, yet you didn't even catch a glimpse of that boy's shadow. You searched all over for him, but in the end, you gave up and returned home defeated. You thought a lot while you sat in your room, you were genuinely persuaded that this was the right day. 

After that, until dusk, this thought remained. Until you heard the bell you reached the door at 8.34 p.m, and there you saw your friend, Dazai, waiting for you with two boxes of pizza.

There was no specific reason, he simply wanted - these were his words to your astonished expression. So you ended up in your room, where you and your friend lay in the fading light of a few candles and stared at the ceiling. Every shade was distorted because you were exhausted. Yet it wasn't scary; it was the opposite. The sound of your crush's laughter was the backdrop to those visions you had because you were tired. You were over the moon at the time, so what on earth could go wrong!  You wished that you could continue to live forever and repeat that same moment.

You said, knowing the consequences: "Sometimes it feels so nice when you're in love." He gave you a quick glance before responding: "So you are in love?? Who is the lucky person who has caught your heart??"

You spoke all of "you" in one breath.

After that, you then looked away, you wouldn't have made eye contact for a second longer.

"Oh, my dumbass y/n I've liked you for a long time already." was his only reply..

[klutzyroses]

Hello, dear roses that you are so beautiful... I am impressed by your work that is so charming and so poetic, and also I was inspired by one of these anon:

who requested a beautiful and seductive female kitsune lady as they're s/o..

may I ask so, with Vincent van Gogh, Theodorus van Gogh, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Isaac Newton, Johann Georg Faust. Pretty please🥺

Hihi, your words bring smiles to my face! Here you, dear~

IkeVamp HCs: Kitsune!SO

How would they react to their s/o being a beautiful kitsune?

Suitors: Mozart, Vincent, Theo, Isaac, Faust

Warnings: Slight NSFW

Mozart

Upon their first meeting, the musician unsure what a kitsune was, nor did he particularly care.

She doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. She seems a little overly cocky, but otherwise not entirely unusual.

She is incredibly beautiful, yes, he noticed. Disturbingly beautiful with large phoenix eyes, soft full lips that seemed to call to him with her melodious voice.

He initially tries to resist but he can't help but be drawn to the strange seductress until she has him completely-and willingly- ensnared.

Even after they are together, he becomes subject to her seductive teasing and torment.

She knows what she's doing. And she is not sorry.

The pianist will find himself in many situations where his tempting lover lay strewn across the piano he is trying to play...half clothed, in case she wasn't stretching his sanity enough.

One of her many tails brushes against his cheek while he is trying not to lose focus until he slams his fingers down all at once on the keys and glares into her playful gleaming eyes.

Yes, he will certainly get her back for it and he wasn't going to go easy on her.

"You best be ready, Little fox."

Vincent

He was in awe of her, very quickly.

She was lovely, so strange, so foreign to him, how could he not be?

He has no idea what a kitsune is, but from what he understands, it has something do with foxes?

He can't help but picture her with fluffy ears now...

He doesn't always catch on to her rather lascivious or flirtatious innuendo,(regardless of how scandalized Theo usually looks) but he thinks she is interesting to speak to nonetheless.

And she is so beautiful...very beautiful. The sweet artist can't help but watch her sometimes, how her hips sway as she walks, the glint in her eyes when she finds something amusing.

Even when they are together, he finds himself in awe of her at times. And she does go out of her way to surprise him.

One such example is when he wakes one morning to the sensation of fluffiness surrounding him. When he gathers his senses somewhat, he realizes he is surrounded by soft white tails, not one, two, not even five, but nine of them. And at the center of it all, lay his beautiful sunflower by his side, a sweet smile curled on her perfect lips, a pair of fluffy fox ears peeking through her thick locks.

He is floored for a good moment before he finds it in himself to stroke on one of the tails, the one closest to him as it dances around his wrist in an affection gesture. His heart swells at that. At her.

"You are...so beautiful, scatje.."

Theo

So she really IS a hondje, huh?

He is rather dismissive and cocky about it, mostly because, according to Dazai, a kitsune is a fox...which is a type of dog, so now he has even more validation to keep up the nicknames...

She was a...really pretty hondje, he'd give her that.

...Okay she was stunning. Infuriatingly so.

There is just something so intoxicating about her bright eyes, her seductive gaze on him as she teases as hard as he teases her. Which he would never admit aloud but it excites him just a bit. Just a bit.

This of course gets even more heated and sensual when they become a couple. A lot of suggestive teasing and quite inappropriate jokes between the two.

However, when her teasing gets a bit...risque he knows he has to knock her down a few pegs.

An example of this is when she lightly and surreptitiously brushes herself against him in the middle of one of his meetings, sending delicious shivers up his spine as her plump breasts press into his arm, her sultry gaze on him and his every reaction.

He returns her gaze out of the corner of his eye, promising her absolute hell upon getting home. His warning gaze is met with her pupils sharpening just a tad into slits and her sharper canines glinting only for him to see. Clearly, the beautiful fox has every expectation of him upholding that suggestive promise.

"You're going to regret playing this game with me, hondje."

Isaac

What on earth...?

He has never come across anyone like her, anywhere.

He surreptitiously scans her sharp and large eyes, glowing ever so faintly, her full lips curled into a seemingly perennial smile.

He isn't too sure what a kitsune was, but if what Dazai says is true, he best stay out of her way...

He can't help be drawn to her though. She is just so beautiful, so alluring, beguiling, enthralling...he could go on.

It us a bit unnerving how she seems to be able to capture people with her sharp gaze, pulling people in and bending them to her will with just a pretty smile.

Even when they are couple, she baffles him time and time again with her sultry femininity and lustful teasing. The red flush on his face soon grows to be nearly permanent because of the daring beauty.

She seems to just love teasing him to death, which is...not really what he needs, especially with her special brand of teasing meant just for him.

Such teasing usually occurs when she wants him to take a break from tinkering and she is behind him, "innocently" brushing his red cheeks with one or two of her tails, coiling around him like a hug, tickling him until he can bear it no longer.

He takes her in his arms to keep her in place, his adorable face a similar color to a certain fruit, set in a pout and grumbling.

"Fine, fine! I'll take a break just please stop teasing me!"

Faust

Fascinating.

He wasn't incredibly versed in Japanese lore, nor had he been particularly interested until he met her.

But now, upon meeting her, and in her kitsune form no less...

She is quite the intrigue indeed. He simply must know more. Seems vampires aren't the only supernatural entities he can study...

The unearthly beauty, the silken, almost dozen tails, the glowing mesmerizing eyes...there is surely none like her.

He will surely want to know more about her about her kind. Anything she tells him, even of irrelevant, will be noted.

What her lifespan was, what her diet was like, what are her strengths, her weaknesses, what limitations does she have?

As a couple, their dynamic doesn't change much outside of her flirting with her observer incessantly. The difference is that it ends with alot of noise coming from Faust's room at night.

He may not say it but he simply adores watching her, his lovely specimen, her full physique swaying by him, her sleek tails surrounding her like petals dancing in the breeze, her soft red lips curved into a sexy simper as she holds out her hand to him, beckoning him closer to her form. He slides his larger hand into hers and places a kiss on the back of her hand.

"You're purposely tempting me, little fox? You only have yourself to blame when I don't let you go."

🌸

[dnangelic]

@longerhuman asked: 🕯️ haaaayyyy ….☺️ // send me 🕯️ to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.

it's a little scary , right ? not just dazai-kun's personality , but the uncrossed , untouchable sense of distance split between them . sometimes it felt like someday , any day , all-of-the-sudden and without any generous warning , dazai would quietly turn his back and silently vanish , taking everything else with him --- their friendship . daisuke's own quiet happiness . the sense of company that could only have been born between two people , the presence of their bodies and their very own live souls . was it really that easy for some people to vanish and let go ? ( does that mean i'm still nothing , then ? have i been able to make you happy too , at all ? at least ... even by just a tiny little bit ? )

--- was that the sort of thing he wanted to ask ?

no , it wasn't , even if he didn't expect a clear or honest answer either way . what he thinks is --- even if you're lying to me , i still want to trust you . even if i can't get a clear grasp of what i'm seeing , i still want to try to reach out . anything was fine as long as dazai knew that he was there . it's just like your artwork , too . half-finished before being cruelly ( carelessly ) tossed aside , harsh and intimidating sometimes in subject or brushwork , pieces and pieces-in-progress perpetually horrifying in a raw , vulgar way that would make anybody ask why anyone would ever want to keep something like this around ...

but even then --- i really like it .

at least this was something that he could hold close to his chest and warm alone . for all of the other boy's eccentrics there was still something about dazai that seemed to know far more than daisuke could ever even imagine himself knowing . someone who might have understood him even better than he understood himself . but then , the rest . bullets and bandages and the lonely-seeming agony of someone who supposedly hated it . the sense of a dire human piece missing . there's no guarantee that dazai would ever listen were he to speak his thoughts out aloud , but daisuke thinks it all the same .

... dazai-kun , i don't know if anybody's ever told you this before , but i don't think you can put someone into debt for friendship . it wasn't how it worked . people's feelings couldn't be controlled like that , or at least not the niwa's own . what he gave , he both willingly and readily allowed . did dazai understand that ? or was it incomprehensible to someone who didn't seem to want to ever keep anything for himself , or to have anything of his own ? not even their own life ?

you'd hate me for wanting to know you more , too . daisuke was sure of that much , already capable of imagining another instantaneous outburst , the flail and whine and verbal thrashing , but it had already become something unique and precious to him . another cut into a stark canvas , another harsh brush-stroke . dazai-kun was just like that . what did it mean , then , to helplessly cherish the existence of someone who helplessly didn't want it to be cherished ? what did it mean to be sincere in the face of someone who wanted to turn away , if not tried to make him turn away with harsh words , and sometimes even harsher acts ?

i don't want to let go --- even if he had to dodge death in order to reach dazai , vaulting over carefully plotted obstacles while twisting around razor edges and bullets . as long as dazai was there at the end of every gauntlet , laughing and applauding in a way that even daisuke might have gambled to consider sincere , then he couldn't let the other down . no matter what , he had to live , if only to prove dazai wrong : i can do it . even if he wasn't any intelligent . even if he was a clumsy , no good fool otherwise . they were friends , and he'd prove it as many times as it took until someday , it might have reached dazai's heart .

[sweetleaf-cafe]

Dazai x reader w/ repressed memories

Warning: Pure angst, ooc Dazai, bad writing

(reader's memories were repressed using an ability after extreme trauma)

Why couldn't he be selfish? He's never hesitated to take from others, not their lives, nor their happiness. (Y/n) can never remember their life from before, that was the cost of their freedom. A single brush of his hand or bumping into them in the streets of Yokohama, that's all it would take.

The human mind is only equipped to handle so much. Dazai knows that all too well. Still, he wishes he could lead them by the hand and hold them close, even as the weight of the memories crush them and they try desperately to pull away. To forget.

As he watches (Y/n) compare prices for their favorite drink, a stray hand reaches toward them. If only he could at least speak to them once more. When his hand is inches away from their shoulder, he's stopped by another who pulls him back and drags him out of the store. The sound behind them causes (Y/n) to turn around, their eyes bearing no familiarity towards him. Dazai lets himself be taken from the store, the same one he'd visited many times with his belladonna.

"You know you can't, you damn bastard." Chuuya's voice is stern but lacks the same viciousness that he normally exudes towards him. Pity, and understanding.

"Of course." Dazai smiles painfully, walking swiftly away. He'd already known Chuuya would stop him. After all, that day, he forced him to promise he would. And Chuuya, true to his word, always kept an eye on him. Although, someone like Chuuya probably would've done so anyway, for (Y/n)'s sake, at least.

In these moments, Dazai always goes to the same place. Sitting by a gravestone overlooking the ocean. Being a good man certainly made his life more beautiful. But that beauty is easily snatched away, as it is with anything that is worth having.

"So this is where you've been." Atsushi thinks aloud, already accustomed to finding him here, just as he did moments ago. "Kunikida is looking for you, you know. Seems like he's about ready to kill you."

Dazai chuckles, "Classic Kunikida. But I have more pressing matters to attend to," he adds.

"Like what?" Atsushi questions.

"I read about a new method of suicide! I just have to try it out!"

"Of course, why am I not surprised?" Atsushi asks himself.

Getting up and silently bidding Oda goodbye, Dazai heads off to his next destination.

I hope that you are well, belladonna. Thank you for the memories, even if they are for me alone.

[ikemenlibrary]

Home is Where You Are (Ikemen Vampire)

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x MC

Summary: There are a few things that remind her of her old life, but she doesn’t regret choosing to stay in the past - her new present.

Warnings: General feelings of homesickness

Dazai hadn’t come back to the mansion yet. She wasn’t waiting for him, not exactly, but she couldn’t help miss his presence when he wasn’t around.

It had been a year since she had come to the mansion, and she felt herself getting drawn into her thoughts of her Japan. The residents of the mansion sometimes reminded her of being there: Isaac’s eyes were like the cherry blossoms that bloomed on trees around this time of year, Sebastian’s cooking sometimes made her tear up because it was a smell from her childhood, Leonardo would drop books off for her that he thought she may like, much like her elementary school librarian.

And Dazai was the most wonderful comfort overall. Everything about him was just so calming. When he smiled at her, it was like a wave of serenity washed over her and she could breathe deeper again.

She was sitting out in the garden. It was a bright sunny day and the wind wasn’t too strong. She had a book placed in her lap and was trying to read, but kept being pulled back into her thoughts. She felt like she was treading in deep treacherous waters.

“Your head seems stuck in the clouds today,” Dazai quietly sat down next to her, looking to meet her eyes. “What’s going on, Toshiko-san?”

As soon as their eyes met, she was pulled onto shore and wrapped in a warm fluffy towel that had been heated by the sun. Dazai brought her back to reality. “Just thinking about how different life would have been if I had gone back home.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Dazai had brought his head to her lap and closed his eyes. She longed to look into his eyes while she told him about her version of home, and how everyone here reminded her of it in some way or another.

She wasn’t sure how long she took to tell him about it all, but when she sighed out, Dazai’s eyes opened and she felt another sense of calm wrap around her. “But it doesn’t really matter in the long run if I miss home or not.”

He furrowed his brows but she was quick to soothe out those wrinkles with a gentle thumb. “And why’s that?”

“Because,” she replied. “The thing that makes a home is the people you’re with. If I went back to Japan, it wouldn’t feel right. Not without you.”

Dazai didn’t respond with words. He instead cupped her cheek in a large slender hand and guided her lips to meet his own. That kiss said more than anything he could have talked aloud, but most importantly it told her that he felt the same way she did.

They were home in each other’s arms.

Later that night, the pair found themselves in the dining room alone.

“Do you ever miss it?” Dazai’s head was bowed against her own and they were speaking in hushed whispers. They were sitting at the dining table after everyone else had finished dinner.

Dazai had wanted to join the rest of the residents for dinner but she had told him to hold off, that she had a surprise for him. She had quietly led him to the table after everyone had retired to their room and presented a plate of Agedashi Tofu she had worked to prepare for him.

“Hmm?” She replied, rubbing her nose affectionately against his own and making Dazai smile softly.

“Do you ever miss home?”

“I don’t regret choosing to stay here.” She replied, picking up another piece of the dish with her chopsticks and feeding Dazai another piece.

“That’s not what I’m asking, Toshiko-san.” He talked around the bite he took. “Do you miss home?” He leaned back slightly, tapping her nose with his finger affectionately.

“I miss Japan, yes.” She took a pause, a moment to think. “But home is where you are.” She ate the last piece of tofu off the platter. “But things like this, moments with you and cooking dishes from Japan connect me back to my roots.”

“Home is where I am, hmm?” He replied, setting down his chopsticks and pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I like the sound of that.”

She didn’t reply, instead opting to press a soft kiss to his lips. Dazai smiled as her lips touched his own and he held her just a little tighter.

[anxietysslave]

Nakahara Chuuya X Heartbroken! Reader

(Y/N means your name, L/N means last name. This is also just the first part! Here is the second part: https://firemercyqueen.tumblr.com/post/659197494555803648/nakahara-chuuya-x-heartbroken-reader-2

Summary: You and Dazai were very close, but when he leaves, you’re left heartbroken. Did you really think Chuuya wouldn’t notice?

*A few hours before Dazai leaves...*

Y/N’s point of view:

I chuckled. “I mean, Mori might have some things to commit suicide. But, I hardly doubt he’d give anything to you. You are one of his favorite members.” I pointed out. He sighed. “You’re right. But I don’t really want anything from him..” Dazai admitted. I glanced at him. “Eh? Did something happen?” I questioned. “Nothing happened. Just... Be careful, okay?” He questioned. “Dazai being serious? This is new.” I joked. I was about to add something else, but... That look in his eyes said I shouldn’t... 

I smiled. “I’m always careful. Tell me when I haven’t been.” I replied. He rose an eyebrow. “There was that one t-” He started, “Okay okay! Shush! I get it!” I cut him off. “But in all seriousness, I will be careful. If you’re the one telling me to be careful, then it’s best I listen.” I admitted. He smiled. “Thank you.” He replied. 

“Could you also take care of Chibi for me? He doesn’t always listen to me, but he seems to listen to you. If I told him to be careful, you know he’d instantly do something dangerous.” He requested. “Of course!” I agreed. “Oh, speaking of which, aren’ t you going to the bar tomorrow?” I asked, “I don’t think I’m going to. I have some work to do.” He lied. 

“Ah, okay! Let me know if you want to go! I’m probably going to go tomorrow as I have nothing better to do.” I explained. He chuckled. “Are you going to get wine again?” He asked, “Yes! What else do you think I’m going to get?” I asked, “I’m not sure. But you’re like Chibi! Completely obsessed with wine.” He muttered. 

“Hey, that’s because wine is good!” I defended. “Mhm, sure it is.” He replied sarcastically. He gently placed his hand on my head and messed up my hair. “Oi! Do not mess up my hair! It already gets messed up enough!” I exclaimed. He laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Your hair just needed a bit of fixing.” He joked. “Shut up!” I groaned. 

*Time skip...*

“W-What? What do you mean? Dazai should be at home!” I whispered. “He isn’t, L/N. I was hoping you’d know where he went...” Akutagawa muttered. “I-I’m sorry... I don’t. He didn’t seem to go anywhere other than home...” I whispered. He sighed. “Thank you, L/N. But I got to look for him.” Akutagawa concluded, as he bowed. 

“Wait! Let me look with you.” I begged. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to work with someone else.” He dismissed. “Wait!” I tried to stall. But Akutagawa was already walking away. I sighed in frustration. “Fuck!” I exclaimed as I stepped back into my apartment. “Why the fuck would he go somewhere...? He said he was going to be there... Unless...” I whispered. 

‘Just... Be careful, okay..?’

I froze. “He didn’t leave The Port Mafia, did he...?” I whispered. “I know he didn’t like Mori, but...” I whispered. “He wouldn’t leave me, right...?” I whispered as I closed the door. I rushed towards my bedroom and opened the door. I rushed towards my phone and quickly sent off some texts. 

(Y for Y/N, C for Chuuya)

Y: Dazai, where the hell are you? People are looking everywhere for you! 

Y: Please, just answer. Some things are missing from your apartment, like essentials. So please, please at least tell me what’s going on. 

Y: You wouldn’t leave me, right...? 

I stopped texting him, as I got a text from Chuuya. I taped on the conversation, which revealed the familiar conversations we’ve had in the past, along with the new ones. 

C: Hey, do you know where Dazai is? He isn’t in his apartment, nor is he in any of the places he normally goes to. I was hoping you’d know where he is, as he has some paperwork to finish. I can’t be doing everything for him, you know?

Y: I’m sorry... I don’t know where he is... Akutagawa came to my door a few minutes ago asking me where he is. 

Y: Where’s Oda? Normally he’s with Oda, or possibly Ango. They were the other people Dazai talked to.

C: ....

C: You didn’t hear...?

Y: Hear what? 

C:..I’m sorry to be the one to say this, but earlier today, Oda was killed... And Ango, he’s betrayed the Mafia. Did Dazai not tell you that?

Y:..What...? You’re joking, right? I just saw Oda earlier today!

C: I’m not... 

C: I thought you’d know, as it spread through pretty quickly... 

C: Are you there? 

C: Hey, Y/N! Pick up the phone. 

C: Y/N?

C: Hellooo?

C: I’m coming over. 

I stood up and rushed towards my computer. I pulled up a new email and quickly sent something over to Mori. “There’s no way... how could Oda die...? He has kids! He wouldn’t do something too stupid! And Ango... He always seemed to work... Was all that a lie? Or did he just get sick of it?” I muttered aloud. 

‘Just... Be careful, okay..?’

I clenched my fists. “He knows something... But why wouldn’t he tell me? I work in the same organization as he did... So... he would’ve told me, right? I mean something to him, don’t I?” I muttered aloud. I heard the bedroom door swing open, which caused me to jump. I glanced in the direction and saw Chuuya standing there. 

“Y/N, why didn’t you respond??” Chuuya asked quickly. “I-I’m sorry... I didn’t... I didn’t think about that.” I muttered. He sighed. “You don’t think Dazai would leave, right...?” I whispered. He opened his mouth before closing it. “I think you need to rest. You’re clearly not doing okay.” he whispered as he walked over to me. 

“You know something too, don’t you?” I asked, “About why Dazai isn’t around.” I added. He took a breath. “Y/N, I saw him. He explained, but I don’t think you’re in the right mindset t-” He tried to say. But I stood up. “I don’t care.” I spoke bluntly. “I want to know why he left.” I spoke clearly. “I-How about you sit down first? It might b-” He tried to speak. 

“No.” I interrupted. “I want to know what’s so important, that he left me and everyone else with no explanation.” I explained. Silence took over for a moment. “Mori... He got Oda killed. He was told he’d get an oracle if someone could take down this organization. Mori knew they both had the same ability, so he chose Oda. But Oda wouldn’t fire for no reason, so Mori got him mad. That... Leader... Killed all of Oda’s kids, and he couldn’t save them. So... In the end, Oda died because of Mori.” Chuuya whispered. 

“Oda said something to Dazai. He didn’t tell me what Oda said, but it made Dazai want to leave the Port Mafia. So that’s what he’s doing.” Chuuya explained. I growled and slammed my fist on the table. “Why the hell would he not tell me though!? We’ve been friends for so fucking long now!” I exclaimed. 

“All he said was to be careful.” I whispered. “Okay, I think we need to calm down...” Chuuya whispered as he placed his hands on my shoulder. “Did that whole friendship mean nothing to him?” I questioned gently. I felt tears form in my eyes.

“Hey, no. It meant something to him. That’s why he didn’t bring you along. He doesn’t want you hurt, Y/N...” Chuuya whispered as he gently pulled me back. He turned me around and brought me into a hug. “Safe? Please! Being in the Mafia is still dangerous! Especially if Mori doesn’t care about his members...” I pointed out. 

Chuuya didn’t respond. Instead, he brought me down to the floor and cradled me. “Even if that’s the case, I’ll protect you. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.” He whispered. “I’m always here for you.” He added. 

(Okay! There’s a small start to a new thing I’m doing. This is basically just some prologue before the next chapter. I don’t think this is going to be a full series, but I don’t know- I didn’t even expect to split this up into different parts, but it’s happening anyway. I hope you enjoy this new thing! Thank you for reading!)

[nolongerwrites]

Hellooo! I really loved the one with the drunk reader who doesent regonize the boys, can i please have the same headcannons for atsushi, akutagawa, mori and fukuzawa? (I hope 4 charackters are not to much) I looove your writting so much and I hope you are doing good!

Oh thank you so so much for reading! I’m struggling a lot right now but I’m trying to get back on my feet and pick up my writing again! I hope your doing well anon and I’m sorry this took so long 💕💕

Akutagawa, Atsushi, Fukuzawa, and Mori with a drunk F!reader

Akutagawa

꧂ poor aku left you alone with chuuya for 10 minutes. ONLY 10 WHOLE MINUTES and he came back to a drunk Y/N.

꧂ Chuuya had only offered you a glass of wine with him, that then turned into a game of seeing who could drink the most in under a few minutes. So in reality akutagawa came back to a drunk Y/N and a drunk chuuya

꧂ you were giggling uncontrollably, even spilling wine all over the place. Aku decided that was enough and you needed to go home before you start throwing up everywhere like you usually did

꧂ he placed a hand on your shoulder and took the glass out of your hand, “I swear you act like a child everytime I leave you two alone-“

꧂ “whooo the hell do you think you arrre? Give me that back you ass your not mmmmy boyfriend”

꧂ he twisted his head and confusion. You two had been together for 3 years already and you never mentioned anything about breaking up. So that meant that you were so drunk off your ass that you couldn’t even recognize your own Boyfriend. I mean yeah he didn’t have his coat on but that shouldn’t make him any less recognizable. He was gonna speak up until your blabbering interrupted him again

꧂ “I have a boyfriend thank you very much! He’s a lot more intimidatinnnnng than you and he’s much more handsome. He acts all hard and mighty but on the inside he’s such a little baby” you slurred. And then chuuya’s drunk self chimed in

꧂ “yeah fuck off you skinny asshole, I’m here to make sure she’s gonna be okay.. she’s not some kind of two faced bitch” he yelled. As you shouted a ‘yeah’ really loud, akutagawa slipped on his coat as quietly as he could before coming back into your view

꧂ both you and chuuya lit up instantly and laughed. “aku my love!!! Have a drink with us!!” You happily shouted before handing him a glass. He pinched the bridge of his nose before setting it back down on the table and taking your hand in his “no. Y/N you’ve had enough for tonight. I can’t even leave you alone with these fools without you getting yourself in trouble-“

꧂ “heeey your not my dad let me liiiive. Aku no I’m not going. Leave me alone! I said nnnnNNO”

꧂ in the end he had to use rashoumon to restrain you until you got home safely

Atsushi

꧂ it was at a party the ADA decided to throw in celebration for your birthday where Dazai decided to share too many shots with you

꧂ so everyone dressed nicely. Suits, party dresses, etc. Atsushi has come back from bringing you your gifts when he noticed your face was flushed and you were kind of swaying in your chair. Dazai mimicking the same actions next to you

꧂ Atsushi knee that you were definitely drunk but he wasn’t going to tell you anything since it was your birthday. He smiled and walked over to give you your gift and you instantly went into defense mode

꧂ “who are you and what are youuu doing here? What’s that? Is this annnnn attack on the ADA?? Try me BITCH!!!”

꧂ Atsushi started to freak out. We’re you talking to him??? Everyone else looked around in confusion as you started throwing sloppy punches and kicks at Atsushi. Dazai, being just as drunk as you were, joined in. So now you both were stumbling around giggling and ‘fighting’

꧂ “back off bitch I’ll get my boyfriend! He’s gonna beat your ass because he’s stronnng”

꧂ “Y/N I am your boyfriend! I’m Atsushi?!”

꧂ “your not my Atsushi, my Atsushi is handsome and loving and he would never try and hurt the ADA unnnlike you! You white haired son of a bitch”

꧂ Atsushi sighed as he continued to dodge your punches. Everyone thought it was pretty amusing so they didn’t bother stepping in to try and stop either you or Dazai. That’s when Dazai has snuck around Atsushi and grabbed him underneath his arms and held him in place “got him Y/N!!”

꧂ somehow Atsushi managed to escape from Dazai’s grasp and dart out of the room before either of you could activate your abilities. He came back 30 minutes later in his regular cloths hoping that maybe you’d recognize him now

꧂ “Atsushi honey be carefuuuull some asshole was trying to attack us, but don’t worry I’ll protect you,” you said before enveloping you in a big hug and patting his head.

꧂ everyone in the ADA snickered and atsushi promised to keep a better eye on you when you decided to drink.

Fukuzawa

꧂ This was at a party the ADA threw after the fight with the guild

꧂everyone was in formal wear, even fukuzawa who chose to match your flows olive green dress. He instead wore a suit instead of his signature Yukata and you wore a floor length dress with a sheer Shaw over your shoulders

꧂ you are a grown woman, he shouldn’t have to tell you that maybe 4 bottles of sake was too much for you to handle. Yet here you are about to start your fifth one with ranpo before fukuzawa snatched it out of your hand

꧂ “Y/N I don’t need you getting yourself sick or having me clean up your vomit in about an hour, that’s enough for you tonight”

꧂ you turned around and faced him with the most terrifying glare anyone had ever seen. The anger practically radiated off your body in massive waves that it even scared ranpo a little

꧂ “who the fuck are you? And who gave you the right to talk to me like that??”

꧂ ranpo even started sweating a little. He basically viewed both you and your husband as parental figures so he knew how scary you could be when you unleashed your wrath

꧂ fukuzawa pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing damn well you were going to make a scene

꧂ “DONT make me get my husband, actually you know what? I don’t need to get him. I’ll fucking take you down myself you motherfucker,” you said through gritted teeth

꧂ “Y/N please sit down-“

꧂ “how do you know my name? Who are you..? Are you here to hurt my husband like that other asshole? Try me bitch, I’ll protect him evennnn if it kills me! Ranpo darling help me please”

꧂ ranpo didn’t help you. In the end all you managed to do was land a sloppy punch to fukuzawas shoulder before he literally threw you over his shoulder and carried you out of the room

꧂ you protested and shouted, making everyone else in the room laugh at your drunken state

꧂ you managed to further embarrass yourself when you threw up on fukuzawas back-

꧂ long story short- anytime the ADA threw parties you were not aloud to have a single drop of alcohol unless fukuzawa was by your side

Mori

꧂ you loved drinking with mori. You loved tasting many fine and expensive wines and mixed drinks with him like it was a hobby. So he wasn’t exactly surprised when he found you trying to shove large gulps of wine down chuuyas throat when he came back from shopping with Elise

꧂ so he was wearing simple clothing and Elise stood next to him in her brand new sparky dress

꧂ “boss please help I think she’s trying to kill me-“

꧂ “Elise sweetheaaaaart you look so adorable in your dress!! Who is that man next to you? Is he trying to hurt you?!?”

꧂ you quickly stumbled over to Elise and picked her up, holding her protectively to your side, “who are you? Where’s mori??”

꧂ all while this was happening chuuya was in the back gasping for air on the floor and mori watched the scene in front of him play out. You were drunk, chuuya was probably over exaggerating, Elise had the biggest shit eating grin on her face, and you currently didn’t understand that your husband was standing right in front of you

꧂ “Elise honey I’ll protect you, I won’t let this bad man hurt you anymore,” you said as you hugged her to your chest tightly “I’ll make sure no one ever lays a finger on you again!”

꧂ “Y/N darling it’s me-“

꧂ “back off you imposter!! I’ll make sure you have a slow painful death when my husband gets here” you shouted before taking off down the hallway with Elise still in your arms. Elise turned and stuck her tongue out at mori before she disappeared into the darkness

꧂ mori found you passed out on the couch back at your shared home. How you managed to get home by yourself heavily intoxicated amazed and confused him for days but he still made sure you didn’t hurt yourself. You apologized to him before hurling up the contents of your stomach on the floor

꧂ when he told you about your little incident the next day you told him that you’d never drink again. And that you’d apologize to chuuya when you saw him next

꧂ well that promise went right out the window, because not even 5 hours later you were drunk again running around the port mafia base with Elise as mori watched through the cameras

[soukokuwu]

Hey! I really love your writing, you're really good at capturing the characters personalities! Could you do headcanons for Chuuya, Dazai, and Fyodor with a Male S/O with anxiety attacks? They particularly get them while trying to be intimate. Thanks!

➤ i- thank you so much 😿 hope you like these sweet anony!! ^.^

male!s/o with anxiety attacks

you’re both on his sofa when he first tries to get intimate with you — he only found the courage for it after a glass of wine, so he isn’t too sober. but he immediately tries to get a grip of himself when you start to get super uncomfortable.

he is a little lost when he sees you panicking; he doesn’t exactly know how to be comforting. he isn’t very good at talking or getting his feelings out into words, so he’ll just sit quietly next to you, rubbing your back and making sure you calm down. it’s in these situations that he’s the one hugging you, a role reversal, given he’s more petite than you are and is usually the one getting hugged.

learns quickly after that, makes sure to google tips to calm you down, he just wants to be reliable for you.

should you ever decide you’re okay with it, he’ll take it slow for you, since you’re still prone to anxiety attacks. and despite his rough appearances he’s more than gentle enough with you. if you get one halfway when he’s getting intimate with you he’ll stop there and switch to cuddling you instead, hoping that it can help ease your mind, chuuya is more than okay with taking it slow — your health comes first to him after all.

“i wish there was something i could do to help you,” he wishes aloud one night while his arms are wrapped around you. but then you tell him something that he needed to hear, “just you being here is enough for me.” chuuya gets better at being there for you after that, knowing that his presence helps more than anything else he tried to think up of.

he probably can tell you have a weird aversion to any form of intimacy from the first few times you two went on a date. too observant you can’t hide it from him.

dazai will always be patient with you throughout the anxiety attacks. why? he’s more than aware that some people resort to unhealthy coping methods like alcohol. he’d rather you relied on him instead of liquor, so he tries his best to relax you.

so he settles for stopping wherever you left off and just holds your hands, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles, telling you that it’ll be okay, and reminding you not to be apologetic because he knows you feel bad, even though you shouldn’t be. it isn’t your fault, and he doesn’t blame you one bit.

he tries to actually narrate to you what he’s doing so that you might (hopefully) feel less anxious. things like, “let me put my hand on your thigh, okay? i’m going to run my fingers up, doesn’t it feel good?” dazai can actually tell since he can spot your bulge, but talks you through it nonetheless. and when he finds that it does help slightly, he’ll keep at it, taking it from small things to even more intimate areas.

but until you’re able to be completely calm while he touches you, kisses you, dazai will keep assuring you that you’re doing good, that everything will be okay — anything so that you won’t feel pressured into doing it.

fyodor is very aware that there are times the human brain forms irrational thoughts, so once your anxiety attack starts he tells you that it’s completely okay to be feeling that way and that it will only be temporary.

wraps an arm around you to get you through the panic attack. he isn’t a man of much words, so he’ll let his actions communicate his feelings. and even a small gesture like that tells a lot because he knows you’re strong, but he also figures that you don’t have to do this alone. not when he’s there for you.

after the anxiety attack is over, he’ll praise you for handling it so well. sometimes, he’ll actually force himself to speak up while you’re having an attack, because he figures praise works well for you.

“i like how you’re so much stronger than me,” he’ll start, and you’ll be confused — but you can feel your breaths subtly start to slow, so you let him continue. “i like how deep your voice is, it’s soothing.”

basically fyodor will keep listing down everything he likes about you, big or small — he’ll make it something intimate toward the end since that’s what you’re always so anxious about. it’s something he doesn’t do at all, but he makes an exception for you as he lets you lie in his arms on the bed, hoping his steady heartbeat and compliments will help you.

[cognitivefunk]

A Steamy Encounter

Based loosely on the steamy encounter event. Alright it’s been a rough 4 years since I’ve written any sort of fanfiction and it’s my first time writing in second person POV so be gentle~ I wanted to give Dazai a little love because I really like his character and can’t wait for his route!! 

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Character: Osamu Dazai Rating: M to E, I didn’t get crazy explicit but it’s 18+ Warnings: Mild Choking, mild dark themes, sexual content, mention of blood Word Count: 6,067

 A deep sigh filled the cavernous room, echoing softly against the walls of the lavish thermae as you sank into the water. Your shoulders and lower back ached from doing laundry for a better half of the afternoon, and internally you reprimanded yourself for ever thinking doing laundry in modern day was a chore since throwing it into the washer and dryer was much easier than scrubbing out the sheets and linen by hand. But you couldn’t find it in you to complain since it did help pass the time and the fresh air outside in the spring sun was a much healthier alternative to the way that you usually spent your days indoors on your computer or on your phone when you weren’t working. While the sun had felt warm on your face at the time, the chill of the evening sank into your bones as you finished up your task for the day, bringing in the laundry before the frost set in for the night. Faintly, you could hear the sound of freezing rain pelting the roof as you close your eyes, focusing on the hot water melting the pain away from your tired muscles, oblivious to your surroundings.

This time of year could be beautiful as buds began to sprout and tiny signs of life from a long winter emerged. It was strange how the seasons matched up when you had walked through that door weeks ago. You may have travelled through time, but some things remained the same. However, maybe it was the lack of big city lights, but the end of winter here seemed harsher than back home. Lost in your reverie, a part of you felt bad for the buds which emerged to the deceitful warmth of spring only to die once night fell, encapsulating new life in a frosty glaze. But such is life, fleetingly beautiful and temporary. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, tilting your head back until the fine hairs at the nape of your neck barely grazed the water, mindful not to let your messy bun touch the water. The fatigue must be getting to you. Living in a mansion full of vampires had you thinking of your own mortality lately, and it was starting to get to you.

Unbeknownst to you, watchful golden eyes examined you from across the bath. He had been sitting still as a statue since he saw you enter the bath, wondering if you had noticed him in the slightest, but realizing that you were off in your own little world. A soft exhale left him as you climbed into the water, relishing in its warmth, your expression was tired and he wondered if Sebastian had worked you too hard today. ‘So tired, poor little bird…’ He was content watching you from afar until that lonely expression crossed your face as you began your mild existential crisis and his body began to move on its own accord.

…Slosh…

               The sound of water startled you from your inner monologue and you clutched your chest out of reflex, eyes scanning the bath, searching for the source of the noise. You could have sworn that this was your bathing block; did you read the schedule wrong?  It hadn’t even occurred to you that somebody else could be using the bath across the steam on the other side; you hadn’t thought to check before sliding in. Internally, you scolded yourself for your carelessness. “Hello?” the greeting lingered in the air, heat creeping up your neck and flushing across your face. ‘Hello? Really, that’s what you think to say in this situation??’ you cringed slightly, wishing you had thought of something a bit more coherent then an informal greeting to the man who was coming closer now.

You hear a faint chuckle before a lilted voice spoke. “Ah, Toshiko-san~ You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to interrupt you!” the lively voice carried well in the thermae. How long had he been sitting there without making any noise? “D-Dazai?” your voice cracked in embarrassment, but part of you was thankful that it was him, as you found him less threatening than some of the others, such as a certain foul-mouthed Dutchman who would likely make you want to change your identity and flee the country if he found you in here. The sound of water rippling and splashing filled the bath again as he crept closer to you, his form becoming clear as he emerged from the steam. A breath hitched in your throat at the prospect of him coming closer, but you didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already felt by moving.

“I was wondering who had come to join me~ But isn’t your bathing block earlier in the evening? Did you not realize the time Yumiko-san? It’s already so dark…” he questioned playfully, golden eyes shining with a hint of amusement. You sank down again, both arms holding your breasts from his wandering gaze. “Sachiko-san,” he was disarming you, calling you every name under the sun except for yours, “no need to feel self-conscious! I can hardly see anything through all this steam!” He was lying through his teeth, maybe that was true when he was across the water but now that he’s so close it couldn’t possibly be true. But his words sounded so soft and assured with that breezy smile of his, so you chose to believe him anyway. At least that’s what you told yourself. Golden eyes trailed away pointedly as he stretched languidly and situated himself against the wall again, so close that you could reach out and touch him if the fancy struck. But you buried that thought and awkwardly uncrossed your arms, the misty water cupping around your chest, hiding your secrets.

When you lifted your gaze to look in his direction, you could see he had closed his eyes, a serene expression painted on his handsome face. He had been lost in his own reverie when you wandered into the bath, completely unguarded and candid as you were. He found you interesting, someone who wore their heart on their sleeve, with an emotional purity that both enraptured him and made him want to dissect to see what emotion he could provoke. It was for this reason that he felt incredible guilt when he thought about you. He wished that he could have watched you for longer from across the bath, at a distance, but he could not bring himself to sit idly by when you looked like the world was troubling you. What kind of man would he be to leave a girl alone with lonely thoughts to keep her company?

“I’m sorry, the time must’ve slipped from me, I was so focused on laundry that I didn’t think to check the time before I came over..” you reasoned, getting ready to exit the bath until you realized you hadn’t brought the towel over to the edge since you weren’t planning on company. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks and you stalled, speaking your thoughts aloud “I should really get going.” You hoped he would offer to leave instead, so you would have time to grab your towel before anyone else came in.

Ever observant as he was, Dazai watched you through a cracked eye from a sidelong glance, enjoying the moment you tried to slink off to the edge only to freeze as panic spread across your features. His laughter filled the air, turning your attention back to him. “No need to feel self-conscious. Back in Japan we bath in mixed baths all the time, right?” He paused, turning to look at you once again, eyes focused on yours with an emotion you could not read. “You know, speaking with you like this reminds me of home…” there was a hint of sadness in his words, a glint of sorrow slowly drowning, replaced by another playful face so quickly you thought you had imagined it. “Besides, if someone else walks in I can hide you behind my back~” he mused, eyes deliberately trailing to the door of the thermae before locking back on your face. The dusty pink color deepened on your cheeks at the thought of anyone else walking in on you like this. You already felt very vulnerable, but at the same time somewhat thankful for Dazai’s offer. Your gaze fell upon his broad shoulders at his suggestion and your throat felt dry suddenly, at the prospect of hiding behind him. You’d never noticed how muscular he was before under that Taisho-style kimono he always wore. The way the water beaded down his chest, dripping off of his hair as his smile deepened and the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement. You tried to clear your parched throat and reasoned that it was due to the heat of the bath. You must be getting dehydrated.

“It’s cold tonight, isn’t it…” his voice reverberated in a lower register this time, his eyelashes lowering into an alluring glance, which, despite the heat made you shiver. Or maybe it was wishful thinking; you could never quite understand what was going through that man’s head. You cast your eyes down as a reflex, suddenly feeling very small. As an unintended consequence, you came face to face with his abdomen, momentarily becoming entranced by the way the water clung to his toned abs before realizing he had shifted closer soundlessly. How was he able to move through water without you noticing, or was it that your heart rushing through your ears was blocking out the sound of the water around you. The water was misty enough to mask his more private area and your eyes frantically scanned the water looking for somewhere else to focus your gaze on. Your flustered stare did not go unnoticed, stirring a darker emotion within the man. His fingers twitched at his side, you were so close, and your scent was starting to intoxicate him. For a fleeting moment, his eyes glazed over as he pictured capturing your lips beneath his as he slowly drug the both of you under the water, gasping painfully as the water filled both of your lungs—No. He chased away the haunting thoughts that threatened to consume him, a hollow feeling spreading across his chest. He wanted to drown in you yes, maybe fall a little, drenched in desire… but not drag you down into the abyss. Not you. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, lost momentarily in the darkness that consumed his soul.

“Yeah, it is,” you responded, completely oblivious to the war raging on inside the man beside you, and you began rubbing at your left shoulder as another nervous habit, working at a knot that was relaxing from the heat. Your voice ripped him from his mental prison, and his gaze locked onto the hand on your shoulder, and suddenly you were being turned away from the man beside you, your eyebrows knitting together in a confused expression. “Dazai?”

That’s right he wanted to play with you, to paint your face a pretty red and make you tremble in his grasp, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He wasn’t sure if he could handle you running from him. If you were to look at him with fear in your eyes it would not only crush him but would affirm the spiteful, seething voice in his head that reminded him of his own worthlessness. But you, you were such a pretty thing; he couldn’t pluck your wings and taint you with his darker impulses. Not now.

“Shh, relax Sochiko-san! You worked so hard today, you’re such an honest girl aren’t you?” his words had a playful innuendo that you couldn’t miss and you made a squeaking noise when you felt his firm touch on your shoulders, slowly kneading away your fatigue. You were about to push him away but his touch felt fantastic after the long day you had endured. “There, there. Now, isn’t that better? Just like that, relax into me. Let me help,” As he spoke, he pressed into a particularly sore spot and a soft moan escaped your lips. You felt him pause behind you and could have sworn you heard him take in a sharp, soft breath before continuing. “Such an honest girl…” His words felt like electricity in your lower abdomen, lighting you up from inside. Your face was burning as stifled the sounds coming from your traitorous mouth as he worked his magic on your shoulders.

A shudder went through his spine as he listened to your gentle voice, echoing off the walls, the only other sound being the soft ripple of the water and your breathing. He let out a sigh, his jaw tightening as you let your guard down around him. He trailed his fingers up your neck, kneading at the base of your skull, relishing at your closeness. It made his heart ache. He didn’t deserve such sweetness, but he craved it, pined for it. Why were you letting him touch you like this? Did you not realize that he was a man with selfish desires? “You know…rainy nights are my favorite,” he changed the topic, hearing the freezing rain outside blow against the windows of the thermae. For a moment you thought you heard the soft rumble of distant thunder and sighed, contentedly.

“Yeah? I like it when it storms. The sound of thunder makes me happy,” you admitted, too embarrassed to explain that strong storms gave you a sense of arousal akin to fulgarophilia, especially lightning storms. It gave you a sense of adrenaline that you couldn’t quite explain, but you were also fond of dark rainy nights. They made you feel safe.  And right now, you felt safe with Dazai, even if a part of your brain told you that this was a risky situation. You fought the urge to lean into him, when you felt him maneuvering you to face him again.

“Y/n…” again, his voice took on a low, almost sultry tone as he leaned toward you, easily towering over you. It almost felt like whiplash when you realized he said your actual name and not the nicknames he throws around on a whim. Suddenly, you became a lot more aware of the intimacy of your situation.  He lifted your chin with such gentleness it was as though he thought he would break you if he didn’t handle you with utmost care. The heat in his gaze made you feel dizzy, and you closed your eyes instinctively, anticipating his touch when you felt him shift toward you. But instead of feeling lips graze against your parted mouth, you felt his teeth ghost over your ear, his hot breath feeding the flame in your belly. “Dazai?” you whispered, afraid your voice wouldn’t work.

When had your hands betrayed you by resting on his taut, muscular chest? Your fingers curled against his skin and it hadn’t registered that the only thing keeping your bare breasts from being flush against his chest was your hands resting there. His breath was hot on your ear as he murmured, “Do you not see me as a man, y/n-chan?” His question felt heavy in the air, the tension was almost suffocating. “Or can I take it that you want me?” You shivered, taking a gulp at what saliva remained in your mouth and you gasped as you felt his tongue dart out, tracing your earlobe with a wet trail that almost sent you over the edge right then and there. You closed your eyes, daring your voice to speak, “What if s—“

And just like that you were interrupted, and your thoughts were scattered again when you felt his hands wrap around your shoulders, slowly shifting you behind him, all the while murmuring against your ear, “Someone’s coming, Kimiko-san~” You wanted to scream for two reasons. One, being that you were almost caught with Dazai in the bath, which carried several implications but also that you were interrupted from one of those implications becoming reality. You couldn’t deny that you had a crush on the eccentric man, who up until moments ago was massaging you in such an intimate way; you almost thought you would wake up any moment now. But the spell was broken, and the change of name hit you right in the gut with a sinking sensation. A quiet chuckle filled the air, as he studied your reaction, hiding you behind his large frame.

The sounds of footsteps were approaching from down the hallway when Dazai leaned closer, silently cursing the situation and for letting his guard down. He wished he could have heard you sing a little more before letting his little bird go for the night. His lustful desires almost put you in a compromising situation and he chastised himself for nearly losing control. His fangs ached from teasing the shell of your ear before informing you of the incoming guests. Standing from the water, he took his towel and wrapped it around your waist, giving you some cover and warmth as he backed out of the water carefully, making sure you were flush behind him, pressed firmly against his back. “Ayaka-san,” he chimed, seemingly back to the silly nicknames as though nothing had happened, “Do exactly as I say, unless you want Vincent and Theo-kun to see you~”

It was hard to breathe, feeling your soul temporarily exiting your body as you moved, pressed against Dazai’s completely naked form. He had given you his towel for a shred of decency as he maneuvered the two of you toward a back wall of the thermae. You could hear the voices of the two brothers approaching as they laughed among one another, clearly enjoying each other’s company. He snagged his kimono which was draped over a pillar nearby an unlatched window and wrapped it over your shoulders before opening the window to the outside. “It’s cold outside Yumiko-san,” he chided, hoisting you up onto his back as he crouched to carefully crawl out the window with you in tow. “What are you doing!?” you exclaimed, clasping a hand over your mouth when the approaching laughter paused. You had to keep your voice down or they would find you in an even more ridiculous position than just being found naked in the bath.

Dazai made a shushing noise with his finger pressed against his lips and continued to crawl out the window, letting it latch as it shut behind the two of you, locking you both outside. At night. In the freezing rain, half naked. You nuzzled closer into Dazai’s back, relishing in his warmth as he guided you expertly to his room, in all his naked glory, without running into a single person. Part of you was astonished at the audacity of the situation, while the other part was thoroughly impressed. It would seem this wasn’t his first stint, and another blush formed at the thought that this was probably the first time he’d roamed the mansion naked. Wait, he was still naked! Your eyes worriedly looked up at him as he set you down gingerly on his futon, and you were once again reminded of the intimate nature of your position. He stared down at your face, ‘so completely unguarded’ and a soft smile broke out on his face as he brought his hand down to pet your hair affectionately. “Safe and sound Sochiko-san!” he beamed at you and it was all too much.

Laughter bubbled up in your throat, startling him for a moment before he broke out into a soft laughter of his own. He loved the sound of your laughter, but the sound almost too bright for him to handle in this state. Never in a million years would you have pictured anything close to this happening in your life. You wiped a tear from your eye before touching Dazai’s arm to see if he was as freezing as you thought he must be, running around with you on his back in the freezing rain. “You better not catch a cold!” you scolded him, a few bouts of laughter still escaping your exasperated form. You worried about his health, unsure if a vampire could even catch a cold, but just the thought made you feel guilty since you would have played a part in it.

“Then why don’t you keep me warm?” there was a huskiness to his voice again as he crawled over you, forcing you to lean back to look up at him. You licked your lips, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly thirsty and you weren’t sure it was for water. His gaze was so intense you thought it would set you ablaze right then and there, struggling to think of a response you floundered for a moment before his mask slipped back into place and he poked your nose with his finger, teasing you. “Just kidding~” he lilted, leaving you feeling flustered and embarrassed. You opened and closed your mouth several times, completely at a loss of how to respond to the whirlwind of emotions Dazai was putting you through tonight. You frowned, this wasn’t good for your heart, but you didn’t want to come out and say that you’d like to spend the night in his bed if he didn’t feel the same. Was he just messing with you?

That look of frustration tempted him. He wanted to devour you head to toe, watch you squirm beneath him and cry out his name. Just the thought of you showing him your wild side was working him up and he was a mess of contradictions, with an incredible feeling of shame for capitalizing on the situation. He kept trying to convince himself that he didn’t deserve this moment, that you were too untainted for him to drag down to his depths. If you let him hold you like this, he would never let you go. Another sound of frustration escaped your lips as you try to find the words that seem to be at the tip of your tongue, wanting to hide your face until you could compose yourself enough to speak like a normal person. Although normal in this situation wasn’t exactly warranted.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, studying your face, “Oh? Toshiko-san, your face is becoming redder than an apple, careful or I might have to eat you up,” his playful voice was strained with lust as he leaned in toward you, his cool skin brushing the nape of your neck as his lips ghosted over the sensitive skin. Another soft moan escaped your throat and you wriggled beneath him, freezing when you felt something hard pressed against your inner thigh. “My, my…” he breathed against your neck, inhaling your scent as he murmured against you, “What a naughty girl, working me up like this. Bad, bad girl.”

His gentle reprimand made the heat pool in your nethers, and you shivered in response. You gathered your courage to speak, trying to sound sultry through the nervous rasp of your voice, “Why don’t you stop joking around and let me keep you warm then?” There it was, that dark shadow of lust that clouded over his eyes again, mixing with an unimaginable sadness that tugged at your heartstrings, nearly drowning you in his bewitching gaze. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything; you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries with him after all. You opened your mouth to apologize when his lips came crashing down on yours. “Mmph!”

A pallid thumb brushed against your lower lip and pulled down, giving entrance for his greedy tongue, twisting and dancing alongside yours as you moan into his mouth. Your heart felt like it was going to leap right from your chest, the way it was beating, the blood rushing from your head to places further south. “Dazai!!” you gasped, arching subconsciously into his groin as he peppered your jaw with gentle nips and kisses, earning a low groan from the eccentric man above you. “Y/n…” he slipped down your body, pulling at the towel he had carefully wrapped around you, admiring you sprawled out on his futon with his kimono forgotten underneath you, your body exposed as he tossed the damp towel to the floor. He gently took one of your legs in his hands, delicately running his hands down to your ankle before lifting it to his mouth, his golden eyes almost glowing in the dimly lit room, daring you to look away as he sensually licked your ankle starting with the top of your foot to the soft fleshy divot where the joints bend.

You stared, wide eyed, and started to close your legs, feeling exposed under his raw, hungry gaze, but he used his free hand to push your knee open again, nestling himself on his own knees between yours as he worked his way up to your thigh, running his tongue along your inner leg, causing you to shiver and reach out, grabbing a handful of his hair and tugging slightly. His eyes nearly rolled at the sensation, a shudder rolling over his body as he looked up from his spot between your legs. He nuzzled his face against the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh, sighing almost erotically.

“Y/n…silly girl. Don’t you know you should run? I told you before, all men are wolves my dear…and I am no different,” the words spilled from his lips but he made no move to stop. His eyes bore into yours, looking for any sign of doubt before sinking his fangs into you. “Aaahn!!” your voice rang out, loudly, into the night. The freezing rain picking up outside the window, thunder in the distance drowning out your sweet cries from the other residents. Dazai nearly trembled from excitement, moaning into your thigh as your sweet nectar of life spilled onto his tongue, lapping every drop up greedily. The pain was a ghost of a memory, replaced with a pervasive heat that consumed every fiber of your being with an electric pleasure. If you thought you couldn’t form words before, they were lost to you now. The only sounds escaping you were wanton moans, stirring on the man between your legs.

“If you keep on like that I won’t be able to hold back…” his eyes looked pained and you felt a pang of guilt for not noticing it earlier. “Don’t you know how badly I want you?” He puffed air against your wet heat, his gaze following to your glistening folds, already wet for him. He groaned and the lust returned to his stare, but he was holding himself back.

“Dazai—“ you gasped, reaching down to touch one of his hands as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “What if…what if I don’t want you to hold back?” your face was on fire, you could feel your pulse in your temples as you panted softly. “I want this too…I trust you,” your tender expression nearly broke his heart. ‘You don’t know what I would do to you, how could you trust a man who would break you?’ he lamented to himself, beginning to get lost in his own sorrow when you shifted forward, shifting your weight to gently push him back onto the futon, where you could straddle him. “Do you trust me?” you breathed, wanting to reach through and pull that sorrow from him, if only for a little while.

His eyes softened, reaching up to cup your cheek with his large hands. They felt warmer than before. “You’re honest to a fault, Y/n. It makes me want to swallow you whole…” as though your light could shine from inside him. Leaning down, you placed a tentative kiss on his chest, nipping at his collarbone, hearing him gasp beneath you. There was a dangerous glint in his expression as you turned your attention to him. You wanted him to feel you, to feel your heart. “I’m willing to let you,” you trailed down his abdomen, placing lovingly tender kisses until you were kneeling off the futon in front of him. He lifted his head to look down at you, confused by your motive until he felt your warm mouth around him and watched his painfully hard member disappear behind your lips. “Y/N!” his startled exclamation ended in a throaty moan as his head fell back and he became overwhelmed by the sensations you were delivering to him. Had he died a second time? If so, maybe death wasn’t so boring after all.

You hollowed your cheeks, applying the right amount of pressure as you sucked his length, your own juices beginning to drip as you got excited from getting him off. You were thankful for the blanket of rain outside, pelting the window to hide some of the lewd noises that came from your actions. Hands wound their way through your hair, pulling you down onto him, his previous reservations snapped away the moment your wet heat enveloped him. He couldn’t resist you anymore. He didn’t care if you both fell at that moment. He couldn’t get close enough, the pleasure overtaking his senses. You felt the tug at your hair as he pulled you back with a pop as he left your mouth empty and wanting. You shivered from the sudden roughness and he smirked, guiding you down onto the futon again.

“Naughty girl~ Do you want me to lose control?” he breathed, climbing between your legs again, hoisting you up by hooking his arms beneath your knees. “I warned you I would devour you…” he moaned as he flattened his tongue against your dripping heat, making you fall against the bed, arms suddenly too weak to hold your weight anymore. You could tell you had broken the dam on his self-control, the way his tongue skillfully entered you, working his way up to your clit, grazing his fangs against your lowers lips. Your head was swimming, the erotic noises he was making made your sex tighten, begging for more. “Please—“ you begged, but you weren’t entirely sure for what. All you knew was that you wanted more.

“Please?” he echoed, working his middle and index finger into you, pumping and curling them until you saw white, bucking against his hand, not caring what you looked like anymore. “Dazai please!! I need you, please!” Tears were beginning to prick at your eyes and he sat back, sighing with smile spreading across his handsome features. “Beautiful..” he whispered, climbing over your heated body. His lips found your ear again as he nibbled playfully, brushing the tip of his manhood against your clit, slowly. The tears threatened to fall as they blurred your vision, your hips twitched toward him, and you felt empty without him in you. “Dazai—“ you gasped again, feeling frustrated and earning a lighthearted chuckle from the man above you.

“What do you want me to do? I want you to tell me,” his breath was hot against your cheek, his fangs pricking your earlobe and shooting another wave of pleasure as he soothed the love bite with his tongue. You screwed your eyes shut, panting loudly and attempted to reach down to guide him into you when your hands were restrained in his and held above your head with surprising strength. “Ah, ah~” he tsked, applying pressure to your wrist under his grasp. “Look at me,” he commanded. The weight of his words caused your eyes to open again, your eyes wet and face flushed. He teased himself against your sensitive spot again, meaningfully, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

You bit your lower lip, chewing on it while you tried to think of the right way to phrase it so that you could both get what you wanted. “I..I—“ you started, his mouth was trailing along your jaw again, letting his fangs drag across your soft skin without piercing the flesh, encouraging you to say the words he was waiting to hear. “Yes?” he egged you on, slowly rotating his hips to give you a preview of what you were in for.

“Please—I want to feel you inside of me, Dazai..” your submissive admission was all it took and in seconds he buried himself into you, hissing at your tight heat as your head fell back and you arched into him, hard. It stung, but he stayed still, allowing you to adjust before he began to rock with shallow thrusts, panting words of encouragement. “Y/n, you’re so tight,” he murmured against your neck, his tongue and teeth marking a hickey into your skin. You’d have to wear a scarf over the next couple days or a shirt with a high collar to hide his mark from the others. But a part of him wanted them to see it. He was moving slowly, rolling into you with sweet and deliberate motions. You couldn’t help but buck against him, craving a faster pace.

He let go of your wrists, letting you wrap your arms around his neck, digging your nails into his shoulders. For good measure, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him in closer. He moaned low, shifting to take a perky nipple into his mouth while his fingers played with the other, making a mess of you. “Y/n, you’re such a naughty girl… pulling me close like that, is this not enough?” he chuckled against your breast, delighting in the frustrated groan that came as a response.  “Please, h-harder,” you pleaded. His mind went blank, hearing you plead to him in such a vulnerable way, it snapped his hips forward and his pace quickened, angling you so he could pound you into the futon, hand leaving your nipple to dance circles around your clit.

You all but screamed at the sudden change of pace, as a thin trail of drool escaped your lips and trailed down the side of your mouth. Fingers brushed against the sticky liquid and pushed into your mouth, which you gladly took inside, swirling your tongue and sucking, sending shudders down the man’s spine as his thrusts started to become more erratic. His eyes were positively glowing in the dark room and his hand left your mouth to rest on your throat, applying a light pressure, but enough to send a pleasurable shock through your body. He guided your hands to his own throat, showing you the kind of pressure he wanted you to apply. “Just a little, yeah?” he whispered, groaning when you pressed into his throat tentatively, reaching back down to give you a reward, applying increasing pressure to your clit, watching you struggle to keep your arms up as he pleasured you. His eyes rolled in his skull and you could feel his adam’s apple bob when he swallowed before he grabbed your wrists and thrust them above your head again, burying his fangs into your neck.

Your cry mixed with a hoarse moan as he drank from you, the pleasure sending you over the edge and you quivered as your orgasm ripped through your body, tightly convulsing around him as he reached his own climax, spilling his hot seed into you. It was overwhelming feeling him drink from you as he emptied his cum into your willing body. When he was finished he kissed the wound that was already starting to close, and moved to kiss your nose, still nestled inside of you. Your body was overstimulated and you moaned softly at the movement, earning another chuckle. “Hey..was I too rough with you?” he questioned sheepishly, still basking in the afterglow of your shared orgasm.

You didn’t think he could look anymore handsome than he already did, but the way the sweat clung to his hair and the loving gaze he was giving you right now made your heart melt. “It’s ok, I liked it,” you admitted, knowing that you would be sore tomorrow, but it was well worth it. A mischievous glint shown in his eyes this time, “You know I won’t be able to let you go, right?” he cooed, tracing his fingers along your neck again, paying special attention to the hickies he left behind. “I won’t be able to hold back now that I’ve had a taste of you…you better prepare yourself.”

[snowingstarlight]

Slip and Fall

AO3 Pairing: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya Tag: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending TW: Suicide Attempt Chapter Two: Watch You Drown

I know words won’t take away your pain. But I’m here for you. When you feel like no one cares, I do. I’m here for you. When others judge, or criticize, or roll their eyes, I won’t. I’m here for you. If it’s 3 am and you don’t want to burden anyone, call me. I’m here for you. If it seems so dark and the walls are closing in, I’ll be your light and guide you. I’m here for you. If you feel like no one understands, I do. I’ve been there. And I’m here for you. When you can think of nothing good to say about yourself, I have a long list of good I see in you, right here for you. When you can think of no reason to go on, I will be your reason. I need to be here for you. When you are upset for no reason, you don’t need to give me a reason to be here for you. When you don’t want advice or a lecture, and you just need someone to sit with you, I’ll sit here with you. When you feel like you have failed, you haven’t. You were here for me. Now I’m here for you.

"I'm Here For You"

Author Unknown

Stark and blinding white was what greeted him when Dazai opened his eyes. For a few mute moments it seemed like reality had left, had he finally done it? But- the steady sound of a heart monitor beeped suddenly, breaking the silence and waves of disappointment and heartbreaking anguish washed over him as he registered that he was staring at the ceiling of a hospital room.

How? Why? He wanted to ask, but his throat hurt and his chest ached even more, and he couldn’t find it in him to voice it aloud even as he forcibly sat himself up. Dulled amber eyes looked around the room and his heart audibly thudded in surprise when Dazai realized he’d been in this hospital room before.

Many times before, in fact. For years Chuuya had dragged him to this hospital in the middle of Mafia territory - and with that realization did a choking noise leave the startled detective. Chuuya had saved him?

Why?

After all he had done to Chuuya, in the Mafia and after - why save him?

He was nothing but a cruel, twisted, and manipulative partner to Chuuya. Ever since they had met he'd done nothing but play the elder like a puppet on strings.

And Chuuya had let him, just as he had let Sheep parade him around as their leader when he'd been no such thing.

Dazai had expected to get bored of the smaller teen after a while, what he hadn't been expecting had been to actually care for Chuuya. He’d buried his budding feelings down far beneath as many masks and personas as he could, but the redhead always had a way to tear them down and so Dazai lied and lied and-

How long had he been lying to Chuuya’s face, and the other had known? How long had he been lying to himself?

In truth, leaving Chuuya behind had been Dazai's only regret in leaving the Port Mafia.

He hadn't known if Chuuya's loyalty to him or his loyalty to the Mafia had been stronger, and Dazai, the coward he was, had been too scared to find out. So, he’d left in a haste of emotions he didn’t know how to control and had planted a bomb in Chuuya’s car to convince Mori his partner had nothing to do with his disappearance, because Dazai didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to Chuuya because of him.

It was with great reluctance that Dazai let the nurses fuss over him for a minute after they had finally realized he was awake; he’d been staring dully out the window for far too long by then, lost in his own thoughts and wrapped up in - how’s, why’s, if’s, and so on.

Why had Chuuya chosen this hospital in particular? They would release Dazai without a care, after making sure he had enough strength to get on his feet; he’d broken out of his hospital too many times before for them to bother trying to put him on suicide watch any longer.

In fact, it was less than an hour later that Dazai was signing the release forms and stepping out into the Mafia territory he knew better than any other place in Yokohama. If his memory served him correctly - and indeed it did - then Odasaku’s grave was only a few blocks from here.

Dazai supposed he should tell his friend the good news, but it sat heavily in his stomach (which hurt like hell already, the twisted knots and aches of hunger only adding to the weight) as he padded down the streets. The world was as dull as it had been the day before; the colors blurring and greying as he followed the steps that his feet knew far too well. Idle chatter from the people around him was almost mute, the cars soundless and even the sun was nothing but a dot of light.

Oda’s grave was perhaps the brightest thing in his world as he finally allowed his tired legs to stop in front of it; Dazai nearly swaying on his feet as the exhaustion from the past twenty-four hours hit him, and yet… yet Dazai couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Oda.

Sorry for failing? I’m going to succeed next time? I’ll play the good detective until then?

Yet, when was going to be next time? As tempting as it was to throw himself off of the nearest and tallest building in the area, something twisted inside of his heart let him know that he wouldn’t -he’d been a burden on Chuuya with trying to kill himself yesterday, and Dazai… Dazai didn’t want to be a burden.

How long he stood there, the tree branches above him swaying in the breeze and rustling, he didn’t know… His legs ached, his stomach hurt, and his heart was beating far too loudly and quickly for his own comfort; taunting him, repeating over and over I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m-

Dazai jumped when a hand made contact with his arm, and turning swiftly he couldn’t help but sag a little in relief at seeing Chuuya standing there.

And suddenly Oda’s grave wasn’t the brightest colors in his life at the moment - Chuuya’s hair was so painfully bright Dazai had to fight the urge to close his eyes at the sight of the red hair, although it helped that Chuuya’s clothes were dulled in color. Mafia black, after all.

He still couldn’t find the breath to speak, but a soft tapping on his wrist had a wavering chuckle drawn out of him. He’d taught Chuuya Morse Code back when they were fifteen and learning to be partners; it had been something small between them that only they knew, and over time they’d gotten to quick and quiet at tapping to each other from across the room that they’d done it during meetings with Mori or Ane-san without getting caught.

Hirotsu had been the only one able to keep up with them, and even then it’d been a struggle for the many, they both knew. Yet, still, Morse had been their language, tapping wherever they could - walls, desks, plates, each other’s skin-

‘Come.’ Chuuya tapped onto his wrist now, soft but repeated,, and feeling like a newborn calf trying to find his legs, Dazai stumbled after the mafioso as Chuuya began to lead him away from the gravesite. How many turns and side-streets they took Dazai would mentally catalogue later, instead keeping his attention ahead of him - on Chuuya himself.

That stupid hat sat on his head, and from what Dazai could see of the Executive’s face, his lips were pressed together tightly and Dazai’s heart tugged uncomfortably in his chest - and it took a moment for him to recognize the feelings causing the pains as regret and guilt; it was his fault that look was on Chuuya’s face.

He was being a burden again, on the person he wished to be one the least.

‘Stop.’ Was tapped suddenly on his wrist, and Dazai startled as he realized that Chuuya was looking at him from the corner of his eye. It took a second for the man to realize they had both stopped walking, and the redhead was turning his head to stare Dazai down with lips pressed into a thin line. But Chuuya’s eyes were always honest no matter the expression the Executive had on his face, and hesitantly did Dazai let his amber meet soft grey. His heart stuttered at seeing the concern in them, and feeling ashamed and unworthy of such concern he let his gaze drop.

If there was anyone who knew Dazai as well as himself (and, quite honestly, probably better than) was Chuuya. Of course the chibi would know where his thoughts were drifting to, and automatically his lips curved to offer a smile, but a sharp and singular tap that was obviously a scold had the mask he'd begun to put up fall right back away.

Inhaling slowly, Dazai let a silent sigh fall from his lips as he nodded mutely; a silent agreement to not put up any of his masks in front of Chuuya, just like before... and there was a softer tap to his wrist before they started to walk again.

They were in front of an apartment building soon enough; and it took Dazai only half a second to realize it wasn’t one that he had known. So Chuuya had moved after Dazai had left? Well, that was expected, he supposed- he had placed the bomb underneath Chuuya’s car in front of the apartment building. The bomb had been big enough it’d destroy the car, but not the building or the people around it; now if the bombed car’s shrapnel had hurt anyone, well, that wasn’t directly his fault, yet the idea of it had begun to plague his mind after he’d start to grown to care about the public.

The building was one of the tallest in the area, and Dazai eyed the electronic lock for a moment as the redhead entered a passcode that Dazai knew he’d guess easily the next time he would visit Chuuya’s apartment - for now he knew where the chibi lived and undoubtedly he’d show up to annoy Chuuya - and the door beeped in conformation before opening.

Chuuya didn’t let go of his wrist as he led Dazai into the building, nor when they slipped into the elevator; there weren’t anyone in the lobby, and just by glancing around the building did Dazai doubt there were many people living in anyways - while it wasn’t Mafia territory, it was one of the richer parts of Yokohama that few could afford, and those who did likely used it as a vacation apartment.

Of course Chuuya lived in the penthouse, Dazai mused as he watched the elder hit the button for the top floor before he turned his head to look out of the glass windows in the elevator. The world seemed so small from up here, as the floor whizzed on by; would jumping from the roof kill him before he hit the ground?

It was a sudden itch to test the stupid thought that entered his mind, and Dazai shifted his wrist to instead grasp Chuuya’s hand - ignoring the sharp look Chuuya spared him - and quickly advereted his gaze from the windows, focusing instead on the numbers as they continued up.

Sixty-six floors later, they stepped out into the hallway; there was only one doorway in sight. A key was fished from Chuuya’s pocket, and he stepped first into the apartment before tugging Dazai in as well. It was furnished lavishly, the entryway and into the living room that Dazai could see; famous works of art hung on the walls, the couches looked so soft and were likely velvet in upholstery- a rack of hats stood just outside of the entryway but not quite into the living room, and that was where Chuuya settled his before finally tugging his hand away from Dazai.

It was like a lifeline had suddenly been cut away; immediately his chest began to hurt and it was getting hard to breathe, blood rushing into his ears as his eyesight darkened... before hands were pushing at the jacket on his shoulders and Dazai gasped as the cold of the door behind him registered against his back and those soft silver eyes were watching him in concern.

“Shit.” He could hear Chuuya mutter; the first words he’s heard from the chibi since their phone call and guilt washed over Dazai as it hit him again that Chuuya was concerned for him.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but a gloved hand clamped itself over his lips before he could- Chuuya was standing on the tips of his toes, scowling up at him. “Stop it, Osamu.” His body quivered at hearing his given name, and a whine left his throat before Dazai could fully stop it.

He didn’t deserve Chuuya’s concern, he didn’t deserve any pity… where was his pity when he had hurt people, when he had killed people so easily? So easily… he cared not, back then, nor could he fully feel remorse now for what he had done during that time; except for how he had easily and willingly hurt and used Chuuya.

Chuuya didn’t deserve to have a partner like him.

Slowly the gloved hand fell away and Dazai could register Chuuya saying something about needing to undress; and he let the other finish pushing away his jacket, focusing on merely breathing normally as Chuuya maintained contact this time, even if it was just the brushing of his hands against his sides or arms.

Dazai merely blinked and they were in Chuuya’s bedroom, the redhead’s own jacket and weird little half-coat discarded somewhere. He was stripping himself of the grey vest he wore over his dress shirt and Dazai was sitting on the edge of the large bed; he blinked slowly as he took in the sight of Chuuya’s bedroom - a large king-sized four-poster bed (so Chuuya’s style) dressed to the nines in what Dazai could only assume was egyptian cotton and oh the blankets were so soft…

When had he been stripped of his own shoes, pants, and shirt? Chuuya had left his bandages on, something Dazai would always be grateful about, and his boxers as well - speaking of such underthings, there was a hand on his chest pushing him back against the bed and suddenly Chuuya was straddling him.

His lips were still set into a frown, but there was more concern poured into his expression than earlier, and although Dazai could still feel the guilt washing over him in droves his own exhausted mind finally wore out what little strings had still yet to have been cut; and his world was blurry a moment later as tears stung in his eyes.

Hands gently pushed him further back onto the bed, softly prodding his side until Dazai was lying on his back and just a moment later the heavy weight of the Executive was lying on his chest and arms tucked themselves awkwardly around Dazai’s waist; the man’s breath hitching and a few hiccups escaped him as he recalled the very first time they’d done this.

It had started less than a month after Chuuya had joined the Mafia, the mafioso showing up at his bedroom door, beet red and grumbling something about not being able to sleep alone. Apparently Sheep had been one of those groups where people often bunked together - Chuuya had been mumbling something about roommates and snoring - and certainly Dazai had known his partner hadn’t been getting enough sleep, if the bags under his eyes weren’t enough of a clue, Chuuya had been on the edge of falling asleep at meetings more than once.

For some reason or another, he had let the redhead in and they ended up in Dazai’s full-sized bed on the opposite sides of the mattress, tossing half-hearted insults back and forth; although Dazai never teased him about needing this comfort.

For someone who flinched away from touches, who avoided skin contact as if it were the plague (he’d rather have the plague in truth) Dazai was touch-starved. Neither of them said anything or even acknowledged how they usually ended up cuddling in the morning - Dazai latched on to Chuuya like an octopus - or how Chuuya usually ended up sleeping well enough to drool onto Dazai’s shoulder.

It was something they fell into easily, when their missions ramped up and the migraines Chuuya got after using Corruption were soothed by having Dazai near; and whenever Dazai’s own mind ran circles around him and screamed so loud that he tried to kill himself to end them, Chuuya would drag him into his apartment and his bed and they’d stay there until they could slowly piece Dazai Osamu back together.

No Longer Human silenced the god in Chuuya’s head and Dazai got some human contact he didn’t completely hate; it was a win-win situation for the both of them on the better days.

Until Dazai had left, and there had been many sleepless nights for the both of them. How often had he ended up drinking sake until he fell asleep? Dazai couldn’t black out, and rarely did he get to the point he would’ve, but the alcohol made him sleepy and it helped; but it was a terrible coping mechanism.

He couldn’t imagine what Chuuya had gone through.

Even now, Dazai's arms had moved upwards, hands hovered uncertainly over Chuuya's shoulders as he was torn between pushing the Executive away, or pulling him close. Chuuya didn't deserve to be tainted by his inhumanity; yet, a little traitorous part of his mind whispered that Chuuya was already tainted. For The Tainted Sorrow was his ability, he housed a literal God inside of his body; and yet how many times had they found themselves like this?

How many times before had Chuuya drug him into his apartment and done what he was doing now? How many times had Chuuya been patient and far too kind, piecing his mind back together without even a single complaint?

As if sensing his hesitation (and undoubtedly he did), Chuuya shifted suddenly, rolling off of Dazai and onto his side on the bed, legs and arms pushing himself upwards. Dazai felt a hand gently prod his own side, and he rolled over to be met with Chuuya’s chest, blurry as it was as the man fought to keep from crying.

He hated losing control of his emotions - hell, he still didn’t know half the time how to cope with them, they were always so overwhelming and crushed him underneath their weight.

"Osamu." Chuuya's hands had moved along with the redhead. One hand came to cradle his head whilst the other ran its fingers through his hair. "Do… do you want to talk about it?"

No, he wanted to answer; how could he? He still honestly didn’t know fully what he was doing here, and perhaps that was the worst of these days - when he didn’t know how to function and needed a guiding hand and he still didn’t know why Chuuya was letting him do this nor why Chuuya was there and- and Dazai's brain whirled too fast for him to try and comprehend, and all that came out was a pathetic whimper. He buried his head into Chuuya’s chest and shook it, ears ringing loudly.

This was wrong. His mind insisted, the whispers and multiple voices slowly getting louder over his own screaming thoughts. He didn’t deserve compassion, he was nobody, nobody couldn’t trust anybody, and nobody ever needed comfort... but it was Chuuya.

Chuuya was one of the two people he’d always been able to open up to. You don’t deserve him. He could talk to Chuuya, but how would Chuuya react? He’d only confirm what you already know.

He doesn’t care about you.

He cares about No Longer Human.

He-

Fingers were suddenly pressing into a certain spot on his neck that Dazai loathed, just touching casually made it hurt like hell and it certainly hurt now, worse than it ever had before. Dazai whimpered aloud again, turning his head to bite into Chuuya’s sweater to keep from crying out and making anymore pathetic noises.

However, as Chuuya rubbed the tight knots out of his neck Dazai could feel the tension begin to leave his shoulders; it was like a wave of relief hit him as the pain slowly eased away. As things he hadn't realized he was tensed about melted away, eyelids drooped as the steady sound of Chuuya's heartbeat thumped beneath his ear, drowning out his own thoughts and the angry voices that’d been screaming.

Chuuya’s hand moved from his neck to slowly stroke down his back, and normally Dazai would flinch away from such contact - but it was Chuuya, and as much as Chuuya couldn’t deny him, Dazai couldn’t deny his partner either.

The darkness that claimed him tonight was welcoming and warm, the steady sound beneath his ear chasing away any nightmares that thought to plague him; leaving Dazai in blissful and swift blackness.

-

The bed was cold when he awoke, body aching and heart thumping too loudly for his own comfort as Dazai jolted awake. The sheets around him were soaked with sweat and Dazai felt nauseous as he sat up, biting his cheek as bile rose in his throat; belatedly he realized that he hadn’t eaten since the day before his latest attempt. 

A growling stomach seemed to agree with him, and even if food still didn't have an appetizing sound to it, Dazai reluctantly rolled over and slipped out of the bed. The spot next to him was cold, meaning Chuuya hadn't been in bed for a while. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was the middle of the night - even if the darkness surrounding him and pale moonlight bleeding through the curtains hadn't already.

The late evening and deep into the night was the best time for the higher-ups in the Mafia to act; less people milling around to catch them in whatever job Mori had given them.

Chuuya had left him for work, hadn't he? Dazai didn't blame him, and wouldn't admit aloud the way his stomach twisted now wasn't because of his hunger.

The chili was a workaholic after all, was it really that surprising?

Dazai shuddered as he stepped into the hallway, the sweat from being overly warm as he swept made his skin damp and the air conditioning must've been left on, chilling him.

Hadn't Chuuya been fond of freezing out his apartment? Even if his bed had been stacked with an inhumane amount of blankets, and any seating in his apartment draped with a blanket or throw.

The detective was regretting not seeking out his shirt as a light coming peering out from underneath the cracks of a doorway just down the hall caught his attention and Dazai froze mid-step.

His mind was still not functioning properly - if it ever, he mused - and Dazai decided that, well, might as well face the music and if it was an intruder in Chuuya’s house, maybe they’d shoot him and put him out of his misery.

Worse was the idea that it was Chuuya. It wasn’t the bathroom, was it? No, he remembered there was an ensuite bathroom he hadn’t minded much attention to other than a passing glance as he had left the bedroom and without giving it too much thought he slowly stepped through the hallway before he opened the door.

Ah, the kitchen… it smelled heavenly, and the sound of Dazai’s stomach growling must’ve been loud enough for Chuuya to turn around and away from whatever was sizzling on the stove when he paused in the doorway - because Dazai knew he had opened the door silently not to get caught - and soft grey met melted amber.

“Hungry?” Mutely Dazai nodded, moving to sit at the carved mahogany table that had a few dishes already set upon it, and his stomach twinged at the idea of eating a full plate. “Good, get something to eat. I’m almost done with the eggs.”

“It’s not healthy to eat in the middle of the night, chibi. Aren’t you scared of gaining weight?” It was a gentle tease, and his lips twitched faintly at hearing Chuuya snort - and imagined him rolling his eyes - as Dazai looked over the options.

Oh? French breakfast this time? He mused as he snagged a few croissants off of one plate before pulling over the butter dish, eyeing his options of jam. Eggs were swiftly deposited onto a plate by the sounds of it, and only a moment later Chuuya joined him at the table while Dazai finally plucked a jar of strawberry preserves out of the small lineup to top on his croissant.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, the scraping of forks and knives against plates and dishes doing the most of the talking. It was… almost painfully awkward, and Dazai couldn’t help the thoughts that dug through his mind.

Was Chuuya regretting helping him? Why had Chuuya saved him in the first place? Wouldn’t his life be quieter with Dazai out of it? Certainly he wouldn’t have a way out of Corruption, but they’d gone four years without it, Dazai had no doubts that Mori could continue to find ways to avoid using the last resort.

"Chuuya." Dazai suddenly called out the other's name when the redhead had moved to deal with his empty plate, and it had just been placed upon the counter when Chuuya’s head snapped up. Deciding to no longer drag out the inevitable question, Dazai asked, "Why?"

It was the question he had asked each time Chuuya had stopped or saved him from his own serious suicide attempts; each time they ended up here, in Chuuya's apartment, eating breakfast as if Dazai hadnt had a mental breakdown less than twenty-four hours ago, or that he had spilled his heart out to Chuuya.

Each time he'd been given the same answer from a very furious redhead, "Because we're partners, bastard."

It was truthful enough, even if Dazai saw that it wasn't the complete truth by the way Chuuya's lips pressed tighter or the concern Dazai blatantly ignored that seeped into Chuuya's grey eyes and tone.

But, they were no longer partners; Dazai had betrayed the Mafia, shut Chuuya out of his life - even if only to try to protect his dog - and only once since the awkward and unstable truce had been made had Chuuya and Dazai seen each other: the night that Double Black had made an encore.

"Do I need to answer that?" Wasn't the answer Dazai was expecting, and the detective fell silent; which was confirmation enough, he felt, his eyelids slipping shut and lips twisting into a false smile. What he was expecting was the sound of a harsh exhale and maybe some ludicrous answer, what he wasn’t expecting was for a bare hand to be suddenly pressed against his cheek. 

He didn't dare open his eyes, heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest; he could feel it momentarily stop when the thumb brushed lightly against his cheek.

“If you didn’t want help you wouldn’t have used our codeword, Dazai.”

They had certain phrases and codewords that made sense to little others unless explained. Just like how “O’Granters of Dark Disgrace, you need not wake me Again,” was the trigger for Chuuya’s Corruption, so was “Rest now, Chuuya,” to destimulate his body after such a harrowing act to it.

Goodnight; it was to let Chuuya know that Dazai was exhausted - not just physically, but mentally as well. Goodnight; was a word that gave Chuuya a good warning that Dazai was about to try and take his life again. Goodnight; was never something they’d say directly to another - it was their version of goodbye, and they never said goodbye, only “See you later.”

Which may have been the reason that Dazai had teased the other by mentioning Snow White after being awakened by Chuuya during the whole scenario they called Dead Apple - because if his ex-partner hadn’t come when he did, well, Dazai wouldn’t be sitting across from him at the moment.

“I hadn’t meant to.” Dazai sighed, truly meaning it. In those last moments, he had wanted to say goodbye in the only way he knew how - he hadn’t had any intentions of letting Chuuya save him, he thought he’d been too far gone by that time, or that Chuuya had been far enough away.

“Doesn’t matter,” Chuuya said dismissively, thumb still brushing against his cheek. “It happened, and I’m taking the next week off and so are you.”

“Mori won’t let you,” Dazai warned as he finally allowed his eyes to open, heart racing at how close Chuuya was to him at the moment. The redhead was frowning at him, looking at him as if he was some odd puzzle he couldn’t quite solve even if they both knew Chuuya knew him so well and-

"Mori won't mind, not if it's for taking care of you." Dazai couldn't breathe, taking in the genutine answer from Chuuya - Mori should mind, Dazai was a traitor to the Mafia and even despite his many attempts at getting Dazai back, the man should’ve had his jaw crushed and three shots fired into his chest a long time ago so- so why?

Nobody cared about him- right?

But Chuuya saved him and now-

His sight was shaking and it took a second for Dazai to realize that he was shaking his head. “No,” he gasped, moving away from Chuuya and an almost hysterical laugh left the man. He had to get away- but he didn’t want to leave, he just… he… he needed space. “No… no… no.” Dazai’s back hit a wall, and he shuddered as the freezing wood met his bare skin, but he couldn’t help himself as he whimpered “No.”

It was too much.

"Osamu." It's soft, almost a whisper, like a prayer made for no one but him.

"Mori cares." He didn't expect him to-

"Hirotsu cares." -but was it beyond his fondness for just Soukoku, or the old boss?-

"Ane-San cares." -he audibly snorts at that, but a… a look from Chuuya silences him immediately-

"Akutugawa cares." -that look had Dazai trembling, heart racing in his chest and that weird burning in the corners of his eyes were back-

"I care."

-a sound like a wounded animal echoed around the room, and it took Dazai a full minute to realize it’d been him to make the noise.

The look Chuuya was giving him; a soft, oddly gentle look on the mafioso’s face, the way those steel grey eyes softened into something like liquid silver… he didn’t deserve such a look- he didn’t deserve to be looked at like he was something to be cared for - about - like a treasure.

Dazai felt like an animal trapped in a corner with no way out, and the urge to lash out was almost overpowering his deeply buried urge to be wanted.

But this was Chuuya, of all people, and Dazai knew he could… he could trust Chuuya. 

Another wounded sound left him as Dazai slid down and onto the floor, hands twisting into his own hair and tugging at it desperately. The thud of him hitting the floor suddenly startled Chuuya and the redhead was there in a moment, kneeling just in front of Dazai, his lips twisted into a frown and the way his brows furrowed was almost too cute-

“Chuuya.” Dazai didn’t know what to say - what could he say? “Chuuya.” Tears were rolling down his cheeks now, undoubtedly fat and ugly, salty and hot too as they reached his lips. Arms wrapped around him as Dazai’s fingers dug painfully into his own skin, nails digging deep enough to scratch and leave marks that would stick around for a few days.

“Osamu.”

Chuuya shouldn’t care about him - Dazai had done far too much bad to the elder for him to ever expect forgiveness… but Chuuya did. Chuuya cared for him - he could read Chuuya like an open book and vise versa; and he wasn’t lying about it.

Why?

When?

How?

The words echoed in his mind but his lips couldn’t move to form the questions, instead the detective repeated Chuuya’s name like a prayer as he was pressed against a hard chest with the gentlest of hands, one curling around his neck and the other pushing his hands away from his head (those hands which moved to bury themselves into Chuuya's clothing as Dazai's arms wrapped so tightly around Chuuya it must've been painful) and softly began to card his fingers through Dazai's messy locks soothingly as the man pressed his head against Chuuya's shoulder and allowed himself to fall apart in his partner's arms, tears continuing to fall.

His mind was falling apart again, shattering into pieces with these bits of knowledge - at knowing Chuuya cared - but deep within his mind there lay something Dazai hadn’t seen in… as long as he could recall.

Hope… hope that…

That in the end…

Everything would be okay.

Maybe not perfect, but… but Chuuya was there… so it would be okay. He’d patch him up like he always had…

And everything would be okay...

Because, at least, Chuuya cared.

[joeys-piano]

The Story of A Name

Rating: General Word Count: 1,113

A/N: I was jotting down some miscellaneous blurbs and ideas for my Kitsune & Seer concept/AU and the idea of Oda and Dazai talking about given names was something that I wanted to flesh out. I thought it’d be a sweet, kind of adorable story to show their dynamic with each other in an organic way. It’s my first time writing a story like this, so I hope y’all enjoy~!

For the past two hundred years or so, Dazai never understood the pleasure of a given name. For a youkai, there simply wasn’t a need as long as one had a moniker to disguise their true name already. The truth of the matter laid dormant, somewhere in the depths of Dazai’s heart. Hidden yet not hidden beneath the winding set of bandages that never unraveled from his skin. Because a name held power, to create another one to burden himself with seemed counterintuitive to the kitsune when Oda initially brought it up.

Perhaps the man had foreseen something through those peculiar eyes of his after parting his lips from his smoking pipe. Holding it loosely, as if it were a spider’s web dangling in his hand, not a breath nor stir of an underhand tactic seemed discernable as Dazai listened to Oda’s train of thought.

If Dazai was to wander the earth under the guise of a human, wouldn’t a given name solidify the rest of his masquerade?

It seemed logical. Naturally, humans were typically given two names and perhaps a third if their caregivers felt so inclined. It would make sense to have a second, but to wear and use one felt as foreign as trading bandages for wings. Not only that, it was a matter of appeal if a given name was even needed. Loads of humans have only shared one of their names with others so not much of a sore thumb would be noticed if Dazai followed in suite.

However, the kitsune kept these thoughts to himself as he treaded carefully near Oda’s side. Dazai needed to know more about why he brought this up. If the man was to bestow a name upon him, it would be akin to shackling a ball and chain around Dazai’s ankle and forcing him to drag it behind the folly of his steps. It would signify some sort of contract between them — whether formal or not — and Dazai felt himself pause in mid-breath as he searched for another motive from Oda.

The man must’ve been blessed with good fortune in a previous life for there was nothing for Dazai to read when he stole glimpses into Oda’s eyes. Just as there was a straight path from the hilt to the tip of a sword, there were no lies nor omitted agendas for Dazai to find. Perhaps ‘honesty’ was one of Oda’s names for the man was true to his word.

He didn’t seem perturbed nor angered that Dazai didn’t quite trust him. On the contrary, Oda told Dazai that he could think about it if he wished and wouldn’t press the matter on him any further. After all, names were a personal and special thing. They were more than just a means of identification; they were like the covers and titles bounded to the story of one’s soul. Whether that analogy made any sense or not, Oda apologized and mumbled that he was thinking too deeply into this.

“There’s no need for you to apologize.” Bouncing from one step to another, Dazai could feel the breeze fingering between the threads of his bandages.

Perhaps, there was a loose end somewhere on him. Before he could reach for it, Oda had already taken care of it. Patting down the loose threads and folding them under the tighter ones so they wouldn’t get caught in the wind. It was almost as if Oda had acted on instinct, as if he had done this before for someone else. Whether that was the case, Dazai didn’t ask. He merely mouthed his thanks and walked a little closer to Oda as they descended down the dirt road.

“I guess a given name wouldn’t be so bad,” Dazai mumbled, aloud. “I just can’t think of any.”

“I’m sure that whichever you choose would suit you well.” Again, that streak of honesty was a little too pleasing to Dazai’s ears. But instead of moving away, Dazai leaned in.

“You must know a lot of names, Odasaku. Maybe, you can help me.”

“I guess I will.”

For about five minutes or so, perhaps every name in existence was spouted from the edge of Oda’s mouth. For a man that didn’t speak very much, Oda’s voice only grew with strength and clarity with every name that fell from his lips. It was warm and inviting, much like a basking spot on a rock to nap the afternoon away. There was a comforting hum that seemed to accompany Oda’s voice, sort of like the rustling antlers of a deer as it emerged from the undergrowth of wood. No matter how many names Oda had already said, there was still a list and three more left to recite before he was done. Afterwards, he slowed his pace by just a bit so that Dazai could catch up and consider the dozens of options he had before him.

To be honest, Dazai hadn’t paid much attention to the lovely list of names. Only catching snippets, here and there, as he found himself lulled by the gentle hum of Oda’s voice. But now, that lack of attention had caught up with him and Oda was patiently waiting for his response. Of course, Dazai didn’t have to choose one now. Nor, would he have to. This game of choice had always been his to consider, and it was a freedom that a human wouldn’t normally give to a youkai.

But then again: Oda wasn’t a normal human. It didn’t take five minutes to figure that out.

“What was the second to last name that you said?”

“Daisuke?”

“No, the other one.”

“Mitsuki?”

“No, I believe it started with an ‘O-’ and ended with ‘-samu.’”

Finally catching on to what Dazai meant, Oda paused in mid-step and turned around. “Osamu.”

A smile that could rival a dozen suns radiated from Dazai. “I can’t think of a more perfect name.”

It was punctual yet soft when it rolled from the tongue. The name, itself, sounded like it could drift and unfurl with the wind. Perhaps it was sweeter than honey in the way there was a skip to every step beneath Dazai’s gait as he murmured the name quietly to himself. Truly, there couldn’t be a more perfect given name, but the truest perfection came in the way Oda had said it. If a tone could paint what the eyes couldn’t see, Dazai imagined that he was surrounded by the height of summer when he heard Oda call out his name.

The call was unlike a command or an order, but like an old friend visiting another as they stood equally in each other’s paths.

[no-longer-tainted]

What about 70 ?

70 - Locked in a Room 

Jumping up the vaulting box, Chuuya groaned for what feels like the tenth time in the last thirty seconds. Being locked up in the tool shet of the school wasn’t what he planned for today’s afternoon.

Of course, neither of them had their phone with them because they just brought some stuff back from the P. E. lesson back when the wind shut the door with a loud crash. 

“Do you have any plan?”, Chuuya asked and looked at Dazai who just stood in the middle of the small room, his arms crossed, looking like he was thinking about how they could escape from here - but to Chuuya’s displeasure, he shook his head. “Great, so we’re here until someone finds us?” That P. E. was their last lesson of the day didn’t let his hope grow higher. 

“I agreed on walking home with a girl today so-”

Chuuya’s heart ached painfully. Not that they were the closest friends but he enjoyed hanging out with Dazai and may have developed a crush on him. Not that he planned on telling him about it. “She’s probably glad you don’t come and ask her for a double suicide,” Chuuya snipped at him.

Dazai chuckled. “Are you jealous?”

His eyes widened and his cheeks heated up in only a few moments. “Of-Of course not, shitty Dazai!” Chuuya was pretty sure he didn’t speak his thought out aloud so how did he know?

“I don’t like her that way, you know?” Dazai shrugged his shoulders. “She asked every day until I gave in.” 

Chuuya hated himself for feeling relieved about that fact. “So? Why do you tell me this?”

Another shrug with his shoulders was Dazai’s answer. “Figure it out yourself. You have enough time to think about it here.” 

Squeezing his eyes slightly, he looked at Dazai. “As if you would tell me if I hit a bullseye anyway, tsk” His thoughts jumped right to the conclusion that it was because Dazai liked him but he would rather die than say that out loud. “On another note, why are you shivering like hell?”

“Because it’s winter and cold inside here. Not everyone is a human heater like you.” Dazai rubbed his arms to warm up a little but Chuuya just sighed and opened his arms for him. 

“Come here, I warm you up before I get accused of murdering you.” Not able to cope with the fact that Dazai agreed on the offer within a second even more without any teasing comment, Chuuya hid his burning face while wrapping his arms around Dazai’s slim figure. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“Your heart beat fast,” Dazai said and Chuuya took everything back. 

“Just shut up, mackerel.” 

[ko-shichi]

Where’s My Breath?

"Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you?" Dazai had asked Chuuya, his eyes sluggish in comparison to how they usually were. Those same eyes bore holes into Chuuya’s own. The question came across as somewhat sincere. That was a stark contrast to the constant sarcasm and lies that otherwise spewed from his lips.

However, Chuuya wasn’t certain that Dazai was being sincere. Oftentimes, Dazai would come across as sincere and would only be speaking falsehoods.

"What-"

Though, understandably so, the question startled Chuuya in the most interesting of ways. As a sigh escaped the hole of his mouth, Chuuya scoffed. He kind of found it funny. Why would he, though?

Ahah.

"Maybe you're fucking allergic to me. Maybe you'll die the death you always wanted," he mentioned tauntingly. The brunette stared at the Mafia Executive for a few solid seconds, his eyes showcasing the mixture of emotions that were swirling within his chest, his mind, and his heart. To Chuuya, Dazai looked as though he was having some sort of a crisis. His eyes rarely depicted features of true emotion. Seeing him like this, it almost scared Chuuya.

Almost.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, void of any humour that the notorious 'waste of bandages' always carried about him; the charisma was gone. not an ounce of hilarity present.

A deep sigh suppressed itself from escaping him. "...I'd suppose you're right. Not as beautiful as I'd hope, but it's at least not going to cause a mess for anyone to clean up, right~?"

Chuuya recognized a tinge of melancholy underlying Dazai’s otherwise calm voice. Chuuya wondered if he had truly struck a nerve with Dazai. Which would be an almost new experience, if not for their childhood.

Dazai opened his mouth again, the tone in which his voice came out was bittersweet. "So, I suppose I'll just keep thinking about you 'til the bitter end, Chuuya~."

The Mafia Executive had apparently thought too soon.

The thought of Dazai dying by anything but his hand, despite in this situation how it would be his nonexistent ‘allergy’ to Chuuya causing death, angered Chuuya vividly. Chuuya’s wish to annihilate Dazai into smithereens was a subject built upon the grounds of how they met, and how Dazai had manipulated every single aspect of his life when they were in each other’s presences. Not to mention the fact that Dazai thinking that no one would have to clean up was blasphemy. “No, Dazai, I would have to clean shit up because it would happen around me,” he snarled through obvious frustration. Chuuya was utterly disgusted by the words that he had been bearing witness to. Yet, in the depths of his heart, he was seemingly joyed with the idea that Dazai would think about him until the bitter end, regardless of whether or not it was the truth. It was the thought that surrounded it that mattered the most to Chuuya.

Would he ever admit these thoughts aloud though? Under no circumstance. That would only justify Dazai more to taunt Chuuya. He’d never subject himself to something of the sort with any great reason. Instead, his delayed response came in the form of a reddened face, but only displayed for a few seconds before gasping out of the sole reason of spite, “Thinking about the ex-partner you betrayed must really suffocate you, shitty Dazai. You must feel pure fucking ecstasy from it. Huh? That makes one of us.”

[goddamnitdazai]

Survival is a Process {1}

Characters: Oda Sakunosuke/Mafia!Dazai Osamu (platonic), Port Mafia, Armed Detective Agency, Ango. Rating: Teen and Up Genre: Angst, canon-divergence  Pairing: (platonic) Odazai Warnings/Tags: Mentions of suicide, suicide attempts, alcoholism, depictions of violence, canon violence, language.  (AO3 link)

Hospital 01               There are little pieces of him everywhere. Carmine splatters clinging to Dazai’s pants and shirt sleeves. The tips of his hair are dip-dyed scarlet, crusted to the back of his neck. His coat, beige and smelling like gunpowder and smoke, sits draped over Dazai’s knees. Two holes frayed at the edges where the sash ties to his waist like two blossoming flowers. Dazai’s hands feel warm from the scrubbing and his bandages are still wet from the sink over flowing.                 It’s been eight hours now, nine if you count the screaming on the phone and the car ride and the twenty-two minutes Dazai spent with his gun down a doctor’s throat. The blinds are drawn shut but sunlight finds its way through and scatters over the off-white tiles. It’s too bright for him, Dazai thinks, but Dazai can’t move. There’s safety in this miniscule space by the bed. He’s been here since the start and nothing terrible had happened. The thought pushes a sarcastic snort through his chapped lips.               Except everything was terrible.

               Seconds drag by. The edges of his teeth grind on his bottom lip until it begins to bleed. Hours become unrelenting demons taunting him with deafening silence. Pale fingertips scrape the tattered fabric burnt onyx by two bullets; Dazai can hear metal tearing through the air as his thumb slides over a single burnt thread. Automated machines click in patterns; Dazai has them memorized. Dripping IV fluids become environmental reminders that Odasaku is still breathing. Plastic tubes stretch from his dry, spit caked mouth down to a mess of wires and lines hardwired into boxed machinery. Up and down and up and down the life line of luminescent green bounces to the drumbeat of a broken heart (still alive). Dazai loses control of his breathing and gags on oxygen. Trembling lips fight to inhale; the memory of smoke and charred flesh returns like a reel of an old horror film stuck on a loop.                  Dazai’s fingers curl to his palm at the sound of his cell phone ringing for the tenth time in half an hour. The garbage can rattles against the floor as the phone drops, he should have crushed the thing. Yet the consistent ringing battering against his over-sensitive ears poses as a miniscule distraction. Moments slip away too quickly; within a minute the quiet beeping of medical devices consumes the air. Dazai fidgets and switches his left leg with his right. The ball of his foot bounces over the tile. Exhaustion tugs at him to close his eyes just for a minute.                   But what if he dies while I’m sleeping?                   He can’t hold on to air. Fervency causes his fingers to shake as he pulls the black tie from his neck. Dazai counts the tiles on the floor, but his heart refuses to fall back to a natural rhythm. He can feel the overstrained muscle pounding in his ears. Bloodshot eyes flit from corner to corner; Dazai tries to laugh at himself—his throat is too dry. Anxiety crawls on him, leeches. He can feel them holding on to his skin, scurrying beneath his bandages, making his heart beat louder. It’s a war drum pounding in his head. The taste of blood fills his mouth, his bottom lip is throbbing. The muscles in his legs squeeze as he eyes the corner of the bathroom.                   If he moves the world will end.                   Bile rumbles in his stomach. It’s been twelve hours; he can’t feel his entire body. The edges of the world start to shimmer. He counts the spots of colors rapidly changing in front of him. Part of him, a quiet part that used to rule the forefront of his mind, tells him to breathe—there’s no oxygen going to your brain, you’re going to pass out. Dazai tries to pull the voice forward. Reality has become unrecognizable. He reaches for Odasaku’s hand as his head falls to the fluffy white blanket covering his friend’s lower half. Odasaku’s fingers twitch under the touch.                  Dazai counts to five, exhale.                  The mattress groans but Dazai can no longer hold himself upright. There is a weight resting on Dazai’s chest trying to drag him down like quicksand. Immovable, untouchable, unrelenting. A hand reaches to touch the back of his neck. Instinct screams at him to move, but there is no strength left in his legs. Half-heartedly he reaches for the gun at his side. The nurse backs away at the sight of metal. Dazai smirks a bit as his hand falls to his side, empty.                  “You should rest s-“                 “I don’t want to hear your voice unless you have information on why he hasn’t woken up yet.” Dazai says coldly.                                                              ______________________                   He counts the tiles again, but by twos this time. Then four, and then he counts backwards from the bathroom towards the front of the room. The door shuts quietly; nothing has changed. He shifts his knees up to his chest as he counts. He’s far too tall to fit comfortably like this, but he can’t stand the way the cold hospital floor feels under his feet. Brilliant orange fills the window as violet trickles down from the highest part of the sky.                  Odasaku once mentioned he loved this time of day, the combination of remaining daylight and growing twilight. Brilliant swirls of dark blue contrasting through puffy cotton-candy clouds—Dazai couldn’t understand his fascination with it. Odasaku was never one to prattle on about the vitality of a sunset (he mentioned it once but Dazai changed the subject), yet his nature to stare in awe at the swirling hues did not leave him. Silently as they walked Odasaku would glance up every few minutes at the sky until the moon hung lover over the city. Dazai always thought it was the alcohol that fueled Odasaku’s child-like lust for a painted sky of oranges and blues.                   But now he wondered if his friend just enjoyed something brilliantly simple, and Dazai was not a good enough friend to listen.                   Dazai was the mouth piece, that fact he knew, but it never occurred to him the bulk of conversations revolved around Dazai’s subject of choice. Relentlessly picking on Chuuya, over-dramatizing situations where he nearly died (he waited and waited but it never happened), the affections of a woman he met at a bar the previous night. There was an endless list of things forever growing in the back of Dazai’s mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint when that list first formulated. He could recall the first time he bothered Chuuya about his hat when they were younger, and it made the boy turn red instantly. Chuuya punched him hard in the stomach (Kouyou made him apologize right after).                   It had been the first time Chuuya talked to him on his own volition. He was shy, quiet, and always hiding behind Kouyou especially when Mori was around. At times Chuuya would wander through the hallways but never spark conversation, and he called Dazai weird one time under his breath. He liked the way Chuuya’s face strained when he was angry; he could understand it. And so he kept going and going and going. So much that now Dazai could map out the way Chuuya’s eyes narrow when he’s really angry, or how one brow twitches when he’s trying not to let Dazai get under his skin.                                       At least it was something—he was a person to Chuuya; even if Chuuya hated the person he was. Forced partners, but it was okay sometimes.                     Mori never showed the slightest bit of emotion on his features regardless of what happened; except once. The knife in his hand glimmered beneath the moonlight, and his eyes had grown just as wide as the source of the light. Dazai watched his face contort to a man who had finally found the grasp of power he’d been searching for. His motive, his movements, they were calculated down to the finest detail. Mori knew Dazai would never speak of this, yet he found it necessary to mention it aloud. His voice was cold iron against Dazai’s skin. It had been the first and last time Mori made his skin crawl.                    There was nothing left after that—Mori and himself weren’t people, to each other, to most. Prodigy and master, as expected from Dazai (the demon). That was okay, he supposed.                     Odasaku—he was simple; but Dazai still found him puzzling. The sheer blasé words that came from his mouth sounded incredibly strange given his background. A man in the Port Mafia, a killer who chose to stop, to adopt orphans, to be good. But, he still rested on the side of darkness. He drank with the prodigy of Yokohama’s criminal elite, but spilled no blood. An oddity of the Port Mafia, like Dazai, perhaps this is what fused them. But, Dazai could never understand the motives behind pure selflessness. What it felt like to breathe life for someone else, for anything else, was not something Dazai bothered to miss. For as long as he could remember he never had a thing in the world to hold close to his heart. What would he even want?                     Humans were endlessly selfish, and that he understood. The logistics of self-elevating, self-serving. Of winning. Dazai always won—he was good at it. Perhaps Odasaku’s simplicity allowed him to choose the manner in which he lived, or maybe he was too good at hiding from people who would have taken him in. Would Mori have brought him to the Port Mafia if he’d found Odasaku at that age?  Dazai shivers at the thought of a young Odasaku covered in blood with empty eyes staring back at him. Would he have seen past Dazai’s demonic reputation? Doubtful. Their encounter was chance, or fate, because fate was always an incredibly cruel beast.                    Weakness is not a familiarity. The waning strength in his shoulders and ache in his back do nothing but irritate him even more. As the clock ticks forward Dazai’s mind continues to dwindle down to a blank canvas. The simplest of movements take extreme amount of energy to even put forth minimal effort. Heavy ink-colored bags hang below his eyes. It’s close to ten pm. He fights the urge to glance towards the garbage where he’d thrown his phone earlier. Surprisingly it had remained eerily silent, and none of Mori’s subordinates had stopped to talk to Dazai or tell him to leave.                      Nobody had come by at all.                      It was better this way. Just the two of them suspended in time; waiting and waiting and waiting. Dazai’s arms cross over each other as he leans his cheek onto his left wrist, elbows expanded over Odasaku’s stomach. For a man who’d been sleeping for over a day, Odasaku looks overly exhausted. Even from a distance Dazai can see the drooping beneath his eyes like someone had come and tugged the skin hard enough to permanently alter its elasticity, leaving behind saggy darkened bags. Instead of his usual soft expression there is a hardened furl of his bottom lip that drags wrinkles across his chin. The look he wore, a man with anger and with guilt, when he left Dazai in the parking lot of the restaurant remains etched in his features even as he sleeps.                        Fragile moonlight streaks over Dazai’s back illuminating the gentle rise and fall of Odasaku’s chest. The warmth from his skin begins to lull Dazai into a half-sleep, but something inside him snaps. A siren, a rush of fear sweeping him up like a tidal wave pulling him to the blackest part of the ocean. Air is sucked from his lungs leaving him gasping with trembling shoulders and enclosed hands. Nails dig crescent moons into his palm; get a fucking grip. Dazai counts the ticking of the clock by twos until his vision levels out and the fog clogging his mind dissipates. He matches every miniscule inhale with Odasaku’s until their heartbeats syncopate.                        Memories fade in and out like ghosts. Dazai’s state wavers on the line of conscious dreaming and exhaustion. He can hear the music playing softly through the worn speakers. Low hanging lights casting a halcyon glow over the amber liquid swirling in his glass. Ango’s blood-red tomato juice filling the cup; Odasaku’s genuine interest in Dazai’s experience with a machinegun mounted truck. The picture they took resides in his pocket still; he can hear it crinkle as he slumps further on to Odasaku’s stomach. Haunting him. Fueling him to burn the entire city to the ground.                          The scent of death mixes with whisky. Ango’s office felt musty and dark. Rows and rows of books neatly organized on shelves with far too much dust collecting on the edges. Odasaku let Dazai prattle on about Ango’s odd habits without rolling his eyes or telling him to quit. Ango’s nose scrunched up the closer Dazai got to his desk. Immediately Ango furled back into his chair shouting that he smelled terrible and how could he go to a bar with all this work? But what if he smelled like us? Odasaku played Dazai’s game happily (even if it was childish).  Their tab was enormous and the night was warm. Summer had sprawled over the city and Dazai had thrown his jacket in Odasaku’s fridge before passing out on the couch.                            “Because he is my friend.”                            Mori’s eyes narrow but every other detail remains upright. He can see through Dazai’s bandages and skin and façade of childlike antics as the cogs in his mind start churning. Problem solving was something Mori enjoyed unfolding. Like a paper crane deconstructed back to its original form. Dazai worked backwards from the simple words Mori spoke to the events from days and days before.                            Sunlight burns red over Yokohama. Dazai’s men drive too slowly for his liking. His heart pounds as his shoes smack against blood soaked tile. The scent of metal and burning flesh overtakes the natural musk of the forest. Heat scorches up his back and constricts his throat; a ball of smoke lodges itself in his lungs. Door after door there are bodies littered on the floor wailing in pain, calling out to him, to Gide, to death. Shards of glass decorate the floor in shimmering glitter as the moonlight gleams in from the cracked skylight.                             “He is my friend.”                              Dazai jolts upright. Panicked hands crawl to Odasaku’s stomach and his chest, eyes strained and blurry from fighting against relenting darkness. His lips tremble, the name falling from them as though the mere utterance of it would send the entire world crashing down on him. The resonating beep from the monitor does little to satiate Dazai’s blossoming anxiousness. He only recoils his hands after counting Odasaku’s heartbeat twelve times. Two am and there is no more light peeking through the blinds. Shadows overlap as Dazai’s eyes adjust to the darkness. He buries his head on Odasaku’s stomach once more. Cheek turned slightly to feel muscle twitches and radiating thumps of his heart pumping blood through his organs. His eyes retrace Odasaku’s wearied expression.                             A good man forgives, and Odasaku was a good man. Better than Dazai could ever hope to be. There would be no situation in the entire world where Odasaku would not have stopped Dazai from chasing revenge. He would have stalled him, stopped him, helped him. Dazai was not a man of righteousness or selfless acts of kindness. He was not the type to see pain and reach out to help. Instead he allowed his friends to blindly go and rely on their own skill, much like Dazai relied on his own skill to keep him alive (ironic).                           Dazai was not a good friend to Odasaku. He was not a good man; he was not a good person (or a person at all). Bred into darkness with sadism threaded in his blood. Their friendship was neither fate nor chance it was a fluke in every way possible. Blossoming only to wither and die on the vine. Had he chosen to follow instead of retreat they could have ended their lives together, but even the thought of lying with Odasaku in death’s grip did not sit well in his stomach. Self-sacrifice was not in Dazai’s nature either. Born to play puppet master in a devil’s playground. What else could he possibly offer Odasaku?                             He was never bothered by it all. By the radiating sadistic nature in which Dazai performed. The Spartan-like training Dazai heaved at his subordinates and their casual disposal when their talents never came to fruition. Friendship was unethical, but the truest form of care. Or, what Dazai presumed was the care from one human to another. A gentle breeze following a storm; a radiant glow of new life forming after a fire destroys an entire acre of land. Perhaps this mixture of the two of them sought to balance out the roles of their paths; but all that seemed entirely too simple of an explanation. No, Dazai thinks, there is nothing deeper than the random encounter of two men finding themselves in the same place at the same time.                           Then why did it feel like a hundred knives were plummeting into Dazai’s chest at the thought of never meeting Odasaku? The image of him writing Dazai off as an annoying, pessimistic devil built for nothing but destruction? King of death, ruler of Yokohama’s underworld. He did not rightfully merit Odasaku’s unfathomable devotion. Wandering aimlessly to the void of nothing, searching for any retched sliver of something to grasp, only for it to be pulled from him the moment he discovers its worth. This was the end he’d always seen, always experience. He deserved it; but Odasaku did not deserve this ending.                           Pained sobs clog up his chest. Teeth burrow to the bottom of his lip and tear open old scars from hours before. A mess of exhaustion and turmoil Dazai flattens his face against the blanket and bites at his lip. His toes curl inside his shoes as every muscle contracts. Exhaustion tapers off to vehemence. Teeth grind hard enough to crack. The barrel of his gun is beginning to look extremely appetizing.                         Odasaku begins to cough. The tube down his throat chokes him; Dazai freezes. A world stuck in slow motion abruptly speeds up. Dazai feels dizzy as he stumbles from the chair to press the button to call a nurse. They swarm him. Without realizing Dazai walks backwards towards the window, the chair he’d been residing in for a day left on its side near the doorway. Saliva drips from the clear tube as it’s pulled from Odasaku’s throat. Silence is broken by questions and strained coughs. Nurses move like ethereal beings leaving trails of their existence like blurred starlight.                          Dazai sinks to his knees. The door shuts behind the last nurse as she reminds Odasaku to rest. Bandages cover his upper half and wrap lazily down his right arm. A new scar buried under stitches sits on his left cheek. Odasaku’s eyes are hauntingly empty. For once Dazai is hyperaware of the sound of his own breathing. Like a child discovering movement Odasaku experimentally wiggles his fingers. His eyes roam over his legs; Dazai swallows a lump in his throat and averts his eyes to the clock hanging on the wall. Four am.                          Odasaku peers at Dazai as if he’s trying to reconstruct him from the ground up. Piece by piece memories reconnect like building blocks. Dazai watches the way his eyes grow from grey, hollowed ashes to burning whips of emotion. Odasaku’s back straightens. Dazai can’t figure out how to move back to his feet. Hidden instinct forces Dazai to reach his hand forward though the distance between them leaves nothing but space for his fingers to touch. Shadows blindly run over Odasaku’s face leaving slivers of fading moonlight striped down his torso from the blinds. His eyes bore into Dazai’s but he’s looking passed him, at something, at nothing. His voice is heavy and raw, it scrapes over Dazai’s ears.                       “You should have let me die.”                      

[avoresmith]

interesting dazai quotes

So I read The Setting Sun and No Longer Human recently, and each has characters that probably inspire Asagiri’s version of Dazai a lot. In the Setting Sun Naoji (the MC’s brother) is the Dazai-like, and in No Longer Human, it’s the protagonist himself. 

I read about both books on Wiki and honestly wasn’t interested in them at all. the bullet points of the stories just sound kind of boring. But Dazai’s writing is honestly lovely, and his character work is great. But I only realized that once I saw some of the author’s own work. I won’t give context for many of these, but if you get curious, I highly encourage you to check them out!

Oh and CW for some very pro-suicide stuff. Uh. Dazai writes it better than Asagiri does. And additional CW for some reference to CSA.

Also, spoilers, obvs.

First, Naoji in The Setting Sun:

I want to spend my time with people who don't look to be respected. But such good people won't want to spend their time with me.

When I pretended to be precocious, people started the rumor that i was precocious. When I acted like an idler, rumor had it I was an idler. When I pretended I couldn't write a novel, people said I couldn't write. When I acted like a liar, they called me a liar. When I acted like a rich man, they started the rumor I was rich. When I feigned indifference, they classed me as the indifferent type. But when I inadvertently groaned because I was really in pain, they started the rumor that I was faking suffering.

The world is out of joint.

Doesn't that mean in effect that I have no choice but suicide?

In spite of my suffering, at the thought that I was sure to end up by killing myself, I cried aloud and burst into tears. 

Solemnity = feeling of idiocy 

It is painful for the plant which is myself to live in the atmosphere and light of this world. Somewhere an element is lacking which would permit me to continue. I am wanting. It has been all I could do to stay alive up to now.

When I entered high school and first came in contact with friends of an aggressively sturdy stock, boys who had grown up in a class entirely different from my own, their energy put me on the defensive, and in the effort not to give in to them, I had recourse to drugs. 

I became coarse. I learned to use coarse language. But it was half—no, sixty per cent—a wretched imposture, an odd form of petty trickery. As far as the “people” were concerned, I was a stuck-up prig who put them all on edge with my affected airs. They would never really unbend and relax with me. On the other hand, it is now impossible for me to return to those salons I gave up. Even supposing that my coarseness is sixty per cent artifice, the remaining forty per cent is genuine now. 

It may be true that in any society defective types with low vitality like myself are doomed to perish, not because of what they think or anything else, but because of themselves. I have, however, some slight excuse to offer. I feel the overwhelming pressure of circumstances which make it extremely difficult for me to live.

“What’s all this rationalizing for? Anyone can see that he’s a playboy from way back, a lazy, lecherous, selfish child of pleasure.” Up to now when people have spoken of me that way I have always nodded vaguely in embarrassment, but now that I am on the point of death, I would like to say a word by way of protest. I have never derived the least joy out of amusements. Perhaps that is a sign of the impotence of pleasure. I ran riot and threw myself into wild diversions out of the simple desire to escape from my own shadow — being an aristocrat.

Undoubtedly you will weep when you learn the news—apart, of course, from such ornamental sentimentality as you may indulge in—but if you will please try to think of my joy at being liberated completely from the suffering of living and this hateful life itself, I believe that your sorrow will gradually dissolve.

Any man who criticizes my suicide and passes judgment on me with an expression of superiority, declaring (without offering the least help) that I should have gone on living my full complement of days, is assuredly a prodigy among men quite capable of tranquilly urging the Emperor to open a fruit shop.

This is actually a character speaking about Yozo in the prologue of No Longer Human:

He is a student in this picture, although it is not clear whether it dates from high school or college days. At any rate, he is now extraordinarily handsome. But here again the face fails inexplicably to give the impression of belonging to a living human being. [. . . ] And yet somehow it is not the smile of a human being: it utterly lacks substance, all of what we might call the “heaviness of blood” or perhaps the “solidity of human life”—it has not even a bird’s weight. It is merely a blank sheet of paper, light as a feather, and it is smiling.

The rest of these will be from Yozo:

I have been sickly ever since I was a child and have frequently been confined to bed. How often as I lay there I used to think what uninspired decorations sheets and pillow cases make. It wasn’t until I was about twenty that I realized that they actually served a practical purpose, and this revelation of human dullness stirred dark depression in me.

It drove me indeed to the brink of lunacy. I wonder if I have actually been happy. People have told me, really more times than I can remember, ever since I was a small boy, how lucky I was, but I have always felt as if I were suffering in hell. It has seemed to me in fact that those who called me lucky were incomparably more fortunate than I.

I simply don’t understand. I have not the remotest clue what the nature or extent of my neighbor’s woes can be. Practical troubles, griefs that can be assuaged if only there is enough to eat—these may be the most intense of all burning hells, horrible enough to blast to smithereens my ten misfortunes, but that is precisely what I don’t understand: if my neighbors manage to survive without killing themselves, without going mad, maintaining an interest in political parties, not yielding to despair, resolutely pursuing the fight for existence, can their griefs really be genuine?

If that is the case, their sufferings should be easy to bear: they are the common lot of human beings and perhaps the best one can hope for. I don’t know ... If you’ve slept soundly at night the morning is exhilarating, I suppose. What kind of dreams do they have? What do they think about when they walk along the street?

[. . .]

The more I think of it, the less I understand. All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it?—I don’t know.

This was how I happened to invent my clowning. It was the last quest for love I was to direct at human beings. Although I had a mortal dread of human beings I seemed quite unable to renounce their society.

I managed to maintain on the surface a smile which never deserted my lips; this was the accommodation I offered to others, a most precarious achievement performed by me only at the cost of excruciating efforts within.

Again, I never once answered back anything said to me by my family. The least word of reproof struck me with the force of a thunderbolt and drove me almost out of my head. Answer back! Far from it, I felt convinced that their reprimands were without doubt voices of human truth speaking to me from eternities past; I was obsessed with the idea that since I lacked the strength to act in accordance with this truth, I might already have been disqualified from living among human beings.

I thought, “As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be all right. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be nothing, the wind, the sky.”

Whenever I was asked what I wanted my first impulse was to answer “Nothing.” The thought went through my mind that it didn’t make any difference, that nothing was going to make me happy.

At the same time I was congenitally unable to refuse anything offered to me by another person, no matter how little it might suit my tastes. When I hated something, I could not pronounce the words, “I don’t like it.” When I liked something I tasted it hesitantly, furtively, as though it were extremely bitter.

I acquired my reputation at school less because I was the son of a rich family than because, in the vulgar parlance, I had “brains.”

I had succeeded in escaping from being respected. My report card was all A’s except for deportment, where it was never better than a C or a D. This too was a source of great amusement to my family.

Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and menservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit. But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings.

I smiled in my weakness. If I had formed the habit of telling the truth I might perhaps have been able to confide unabashedly to my father or mother about the crime, but I could not fully understand even my own parents. To appeal for help to any human being—I could expect nothing from that expedient. Supposing I complained to my father or my mother, or to the police, the government—I wondered if in the end I would not be argued into silence by someone in good graces with the world, by the excuses of which the world approved.

It is only too obvious that favoritism inevitably exists: it would have been useless to complain to human beings. So I said nothing of the truth. I felt I had no choice but to endure whatever came my way and go on playing the clown.

I also have the impression that many women have been able, instinctively, to sniff out this loneliness of mine, which I confided to no one, and this in later years was to become one of the causes of my being taken advantage of in so many ways. Women found in me a man who could keep a love secret.

The ensuing days were imprinted with my anxiety and dread. I continued on the surface making everybody laugh with my miserable clowning, but now and then painful sighs escaped my lips. Whatever I did Takeichi would see through it, and I was sure he would soon start spreading the word to everyone he saw.

If it were possible, I felt, I would like to keep a twenty-four hours a day surveillance over Takeichi, never stirring from him, morning, noon or night, to make sure that he did not divulge the secret. I brooded over what I should do: I would devote the hours spent with him to persuading him that my antics were not “on purpose” but the genuine article; if things went well I would like to become his inseparable friend; but if this proved utterly impossible, I had no choice but to pray for his death. Typically enough, the one thing that never occurred to me was to kill him.

During the course of my life I have wished innumerable times that I might meet with a violent death, but I have never once desired to kill anybody. I thought that in killing a dreaded adversary I might actually be bringing him happiness.

Even Takeichi seemed not to be aware of the hypocrisy, the scheming, behind my actions. Far from it—his comment as he lay there with his head pillowed in my lap was, “I’ll bet lots of women will fall for you!”—It was his illiterate approximation of a compliment.

I have always found the female of the human species many times more difficult to understand than the male. In my immediate family women outnumbered the men, and many of my cousins were girls. There was also the maidservant of the “crime.” I think it would be no exaggeration to say that my only playmates while I was growing up were girls.

Nevertheless, it was with very much the sensation of treading on thin ice that I associated with these girls. I could almost never guess their motives. I was in the dark; at times I made indiscreet mistakes which brought me painful wounds.

Women led me on only to throw me aside; they mocked and tortured me when others were around, only to embrace me with passion as soon as everyone had left. Women sleep so soundly they seem to be dead. Who knows? Women may live in order to sleep.

[. . .]

These and various other generalizations were products of an observation of women since boyhood days, but my conclusion was that though women appear to belong to the same species as man, they are actually quite different creatures, and these incomprehensible, insidious beings have, fantastic as it seems, always looked after me.

The pictures I drew were so heart-rending as to stupefy even myself. Here was the true self I had so desperately hidden. I had smiled cheerfully; I had made others laugh; but this was the harrowing reality. I secretly affirmed this self, was sure that there was no escape from it, but naturally I did not show my pictures to anyone except Takeichi.

[. . .]

On the other hand, I was equally afraid that they might not recognize my true self when they saw it, but imagine that it was just some new twist to my clowning—occasion for additional snickers. This would have been most painful of all. I therefore hid the pictures in the back of my cupboard.

I soon came to understand that drink, tobacco and prostitutes were all excellent means of dissipating (even for a few moments) my dread of human beings. I came even to feel that if I had to sell every last possession to obtain these means of escape, it would be well worth it.

(At this point Kindle got mad at me for copying and pasting too many excerpts to a friend (I wonder why!!) and so I stopped doing it, there was only one other thing I wanted to share enough to type it out myself:)

[. . .] I knew that the facts were certain to be discovered, but I was afraid to state them as they were. One of my tragic flaws is the compulsion to add some sort of embellishment to every situation - a quality which has made people call me at times a liar - but I have almost never embellished in order to bring myself any advantage; it was rather that I had a strangulating fear of that cataclysmic change in the atmosphere the instant the flow of a conversation flagged, and even when I knew that it would later turn to my disadvantage, I frequently felt obliged to add, almost inadvertently, my word of embellishment, out of a desire to please born of my usual desperate mania for service. This may have been a twisted form of my weakness, an idiocy, but the habit it engendered was taken full advantage of by the so-called honest citizens of the world.

Some final notes:

Dazai (the author) writes with a lot of character, and he tends to have characters who echo a specific miserable perspective on life which is widely believed to be informed by Dazai’s own thoughts. However, they are different characters. Naoji speaks of playing the clown out of genuine love and Yozo persistently is completely dispassionate about just about everyone in his life, even the people he behaves in loving ways towards. 

Dazai (the character) is certainly going to be his own as well, since he does and acts in many ways unlike either character. For one, while Dazai acts the buffoon he deliberately does it to antagonize, which is a complete 180 from Yozo’s motivations and how he is perceived by just about everyone. Making people constantly irritated at him would have sent Yozo into a regular state of panic. 

But there is certainly A Perspective here, which I think is hugely influential in how Asagiri portrays Dazai and also probably very #relatable to a great many people. 

I know it seems like I quoted a lot but there is also plenty more where that came from, so if you found it interesting, please read the novels!