#beast osamu dazai x reader

[osachiyo]

༅ "wrap your legs around my waist" ༄ | beast!dazai

.pairing ➺ beast!dazai x assistant!reader

.notes ➺ n/sfw content (mdni), fem!reader, cockwarming, office sex (if you see a pattern here no u don't), praise, name calling (slut, whore etc)

not proofread throughly don't come at me lovelies 🙏🏽

➺ event details & m.list

"be a good girl and sit pretty f'me," dazai whispered, thumb circling your pretty clit as his cock was nestled deep inside you. you felt borderline delirious, being impaled on his cock without any movement− it was so, so cruel of him.

"samu... wanna move s'bad," you sniffed, pretty pink nails clawing at his crisp button up as you tried your very best not to grind down further. "shh, I know baby, I know. must be so hard for a slut like you huh?" he tilted your chin upwards to look at him, heart squeezing at the little tears clinging to your lashline. god, how he loved seeing you cry. only for this though− if anyone even thought about making you, his darling, cry− they wouldn't see the light of day again granted.

"just a few more moments, 'kay? i'm almost done, pretty," he kissed the top of your head before going back to his paperwork, fingers still playing with that cute little clit of yours and you could only sit there and take it. little whimpers and soft moans came out of your mouth everytime he shifted a little− you couldn't tell if he was doing this on purpose or not. either way, it drove you insane.

you weren't the only one being affected by this though, osamu would hiss out a curse whenever you clamped down too tightly around him, your slick dripping down his cock to his balls��� completely ruining his trousers. he was resisting the urge to just bend you over his desk and fuck you stupid on his cock and he knew that's exactly what you needed− but he had to be patient. had to resist your sweet cunt clenching and unclenching around his length. you swear you could feel him throb inside of you, the feeling making butterflies erupt in your tummy.

after a few moments, you heard the soft click of the pen and osamu's slightly strained voice, "done." one moment you're cockwarming your boyf− boss, and the next moment you're being hoisted up and slammed against the wall, osamu's hushed voice hitting your ears, "wrap your legs around my waist, need to fuck you now." and you complied− jumping as he picks you up, your thighs separated by his torso while he kisses you feverishly. his teeth tugged on your bottom lip and you moaned softly, letting him in your mouth as he suckled on your tongue, hips rutting into the heat of your soft cunt, nearly slipping out from how eager he was. yeah, you definitely weren't the only one desperate to have him slamming into you.

"f-fuck− feels s'good, baby," he buried his head into the crook of your neck, hips still not slowing down− his pelvis grinding against your clit with every fast thrust. your hands clawed at his back, whining for him to take his coat off, you wanted to touch him so bad. he only chuckled, squeezing your ass between his long fingers, "wanna touch me, yeahhh? beg for it, sweet girl."

of course he'd make you beg, he always does. "wanna touch you s'o baaad− p-please!" you babbled, pulling and tugging on his jet black coat, your words breathy as you gasped, bouncing back to meet his thrusts halfway and he moaned, immensely turned on by your eagerness.

"c'mon, please don't tell me that's the best you can do? I'm sure a whore like you can do better~" he huffed, playfully smacking your ass, "now, beg. properly."

"samu! please− wanna touch you," you gasped, tugging at the hair on the back of his neck. "wanna feel you− pleasepleaseplease let me touch you−!" your cries got cut off by osamu hoisting you up again, holding you up with one arm as he hurriedly took off his coat and threw it across the room− popping the buttons off his white button-up and throwing that away aswell. his attention quickly went back to you, running his cold hands up and down your sides as he shallowly thrusted into you.

your hands immediately flew to scratch at his bandaged back, not too hard though− you know there'd be a punishment awaiting you if the bandages were damaged− and you just wanted to be osamu's good girl today.

his thrusts grew deeper, lithe fingers reaching between your bodies to play with your clit and you moaned, tightening around his cock. the brunette let out a guttural growl at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him so deliciously, the feeling was downright addicting to him− he needed to feel you cum around his cock.

his hips were slamming into you now, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that you knew they were gonna leave marks. you didn't care though− not when getting your brains fucked out by the port mafia boss.

your vision was hazy, drool dripping down your glossed lips− but you could still see how damn pretty he was. how fucking pretty osamu looked while fucking your lights out− thick brown locks disheveled, face flushed as tiny beads of sweat gathered on his forehead− some of his bangs sticking to his skin and fuck− you could almost cum from the sight alone.

what you didn't know, though, was that he was thinking the same things about you. oh, how your pretty face scrunched up in pleasure everytime he rubbed against a particular spot− it made him abuse and hit that spot over and over again, just to see your eyes slightly roll back as chants of his name rolled off your tongue. he loved the way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his unforgiving hips, made him want to bite and suck on them so much that they'd be left red and swollen. god, the mere image made his cock twitch inside of your velvety walls.

you gasped when his fingers sped up with his thrusts, ripping out gurgled mewls and moans out of you, your head lolling back against the wall as he encouraged you to cum− and you were close.

"cum on this c-cock− fuuck−!" he got cut off by his own growl, hips moving at an erratic pace− "soak this fuckin' cock, angel, now." and you did, right on queue− spraying him with your juices, now dripping down your ass cheeks as you wail from the burning overstimulation− only to get muffled by the palm of your boss. your body was completely slack in his hold, jaw unhinged as your thighs burned from the constant friction.

with one final thrust, he shuddered before flooding your insides with his seed, balls pressing against your ass and head thrown back− exposing the column of his slim throat, you wanted to bite down on it.

he slowly pulled out shortly after, pulling your panties back up and letting the waistband snap against your heated skin before smacking your ass playfully. what a damn tease. you could feel his sticky release pooling in your panties, the sensation was uncomfortable but you didn't dare disobey his wishes.

"alright, off you go now. I'm sure you have work to do, no?" osamu smirked, patting your ass softly before pushing you forward.

you wanted to wipe that little smirk off his face so bad− you were so gonna get back at him for this.

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

a/n: sorry if this is ooc y'all I haven't read beast fully </3 kinda hate this but wtv, promise the next one will be better

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[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 ALL THINGS END

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: all of dazai's carefully calculated plans come to an abrupt halt when you run into him at a club. he thinks fate is a funny thing, that despite all of his desperate attempts to stay away from you, it still leads you right to him. one night, he decides, is all he'll allow. one night of indulgence, and then things will go back to how they were. that's how it has to be to keep you safe. {wordcount: 11.8k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow we're starting side b—side b can be read separately from side a but you’ll get some neat references if you read both (｡♡ ‿ ♡｡). i'm so nervous actually HAHAH i put my heart and soul into side b and trying to characterize beast!dazai properly. it was really hard because the majority of the fic is from his pov and getting into his mind is a lotttt harder than canonzai imo. anyway, reblogs are always appreciated! thank you guys & i hope you guys love this as much as i enjoyed writing it

GENERAL WARNINGS: dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book, it's going to be a common theme throughout the series so i'll leave the heads up now. + as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings!

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai Osamu thinks that his touch might be noxious, indiscriminately rotting all he comes in contact with until only putrid remains are left of what had once been lively souls. His gaze drags across his fingers from where they’re splayed on top of the table, absently tapping out a familiar name over and over again, the only thing grounding him to the meeting taking place around him in one of the second-floor VIP rooms of the Port Mafia’s most elite nightclub. If he looks hard enough, he swears he can see that the tips of his fingers are blackened, ready to lay the curse of decay upon the next person he brushes them against. 

He can feel eyes on him—the impatient glares from the foreign emissaries and the tense stares of his executives, as they wait for him to respond to the offer, laid out to him by the top brass of the Russian kingpin called Nabokov, an old ally of the Port Mafia courtesy of the previous boss. Dazai was already annoyed coming into this meeting, thinking that the Russians were presumptuous for assuming that the Port Mafia should come to their defense in the three-way territorial war going on in their motherland, but the fact that Nabokov couldn’t even bother to come speak to him himself after Dazai’s executives insisted that he be the one to personally handle this only made him even more bitter and irate. He hates having to leave the headquarters.

He takes a long drag from the cigarette hanging between his lips, lifting his free hand to pull the end from his mouth before putting it out on the table in front of him. The buzz of the nicotine isn’t enough to keep him present anymore. He keeps tapping, steady and controlled, the same bunch of letters again and again—everything around himself feels hazy and blurry. The only thing clear that he can focus on is the uniform drumming of his fingers, his voice doesn’t even sound like his own as he speaks: 

“Why should I even entertain your offer when Nabokov couldn’t bring it to me himself?” 

The first words that he speaks during the entire meeting are cold and harsh, as they should be in response to the disrespect shown by the Pale Flame, but Dazai just wants to be done with this and return to the base before anything can go wrong. His executives are vaguely pleased by his words, evidently taking more offense to Nabokov’s failure to show than Dazai himself does, and the three emissaries of the Pale Flame bristle, sharing looks as they try to figure out what to say in response to Dazai’s remark. Dazai doesn’t even care to hear what they have to say, lost in his thoughts as he glances up at the ceiling. 

He thinks that if his touch isn’t entirely noxious, as there have been a few people who haven’t faced ruin after being exposed to it, then his presence makes up for it in its draining effect. The black hole in his chest is just as indiscriminate as the corroding touch of his fingers, emptying people of hope and exhausting them of energy. A part of Dazai mourns over the fact that those who can survive his touch are drained by the void—(chuuya. atsushi. their names weigh heavy on him, knowing that he’s dragged them so far down with him in this life)—while those who can withstand the void are inevitably killed because of their proximity to him—(you, odasaku, your names ring through his head, cruel and taunting. he pushes away the longing that rips at his chest, as he always does.)

His fate is to be alone, a cruel design drawn out by whatever sadistic gods reign above.

In every universe, it’s proven to be true. Even in this one, he can’t spare people from the effects of his existence. Atsushi, Kyouka, Chuuya—as years have passed their eyes have become dull and their souls have become as black as the blood that he forcibly injected into their veins. He considers whether or not he might just be better off dead, that way he can give those who have been the most affected by him, in this life and all of the others, a much-needed reprieve from him. But he can’t, not when he’s unsure over whether or not those who’ve been condemned by his touch will actually survive if it means he’s gone. 

“... okov sends all of his reg…”

The tapping becomes a bit harsher, faster. If he was writing out the name rather than tapping it, the script would be jagged and unclear. His surroundings start to fade out again, Nabokov’s executives are speaking but the words are going in one ear, out the other. His head feels fuzzy and his free hand is starting to go numb.

Odasaku. You. He’s sure that there are plenty of others, but you two are the only ones that matter to him. He doesn’t know if killing himself would mean that the two of you could live out your lives to the fullest. You could both die anyway, for all he knows, and then he would’ve died for nothing and he can’t risk that, not when this is the only universe where he’s aware of the fate that you and Odasaku face in every other world.

He can work to protect the two of you in this world; he’ll do what must be done from the shadows to ensure that you and Odasaku can finally fulfill your dreams. A life without you, and a life without Odasaku, is a small price to pay if it means that you two can actually live out your lives. You’ve granted him enough good memories from every single other universe that the least you guys deserve is one without his presence bringing you ruin. 

“... the previous b…”

Sometimes, he longs so badly for a life with the two of you that it makes him sick. A world in which Odasaku lives and Dazai can be with you, a world where he’s untouched by the shadows and the tarry substance corrupting his blood. He thinks that Odasaku would adore you if he’d ever been given the chance to meet you—you both have a similar dry humor and an intrinsic desire to help people, even those who decidedly don’t deserve it. On nights that are a bit too dark and a bit too heavy, Dazai imagines dragging you to Odasaku’s place so he can introduce you to him and he imagines how his face would flame up in embarrassment when Odasaku tells you all of the humiliating stories of Dazai’s youth that he knows the man has stocked up. 

Moments like this, when everything feels a bit too far away and his mind can’t connect to the present, lost in the pages of all of the other worlds he’d seen, he swears that he can feel the ghost of your touch running across his skin as you trace patterns along his arms and brush kisses against his jaw. He thinks it’s cruel that his mind tortures him with the unattainable; taunts him with the knowledge that the only person he’s ever entirely given himself to, and was accepted by, is out there waiting for him, but the moment Dazai gives in to the aching in his chest, it’ll be ripped away from him again. 

“… disorder in the motherl…”

He can’t feel his left arm, and that awful numbness is starting to spread across his chest to his right arm; with nothing left to consume, the black hole in his chest is devouring him again. Now is not the time, not when his executives are around, and especially not when outsiders are around. He taps more intensely—your name, over and over and over again, the only thing that can ever pull him out of these states. It’s the reminder that you’re out there, alive, and that even if it’s not in this world, you love him in every single other one, no matter how absurd the idea is. 

“... will not be contained to…”

He needs to focus. He knows what the Pale Flame emissaries are saying even if Dazai can’t actually hear and process the full conversation—whatever is happening in Russia will spread, and it will spread to Japan, certainly, if Dostoevsky comes out on top. This conflict never occurred in the other universes and Dazai doesn’t know what exactly he did in this one that caused this change. Figuring it out and adapting needs to be his first priority because Dostoevsky’s arrival in Yokohama will put everything he’s built at risk. 

It will put you at risk. 

How many times have you died at his hand? Too many. Too many for him to risk this. 

He was able to handle Odasaku’s fate years ago when he got ahold of that painting and convinced him to join the Armed Detective Agency. Odasaku’s fate was easy in comparison to yours, that painting and the Port Mafia have been the cause of his death, removing them from the equation will be enough to keep him safe until Dazai follows through with the final phase of his plan. 

Your fate is always more arbitrary—Fyodor Dostoevsky will be the first trial he has to overcome to ensure your survival and then depending on how things play out after that, Agatha Christie will be the second trial. They’re the two leading causes of your death besides Dazai himself. Once the two of them have been taken care of, Dazai can move on to Phase Three, the beginning of the end.

The darker part of him, the one that has festered and corrupted and spread to every inch of his soul without the light you and Odasaku had brought to him in all of his other lives, wonders if he should have you kidnapped and tucked away until he can make sure that Dostoevsky is six-feet-under and unable to disrupt the world he’s built for you and Odasaku. Unlike Osasaku, you have no ability to protect yourself with if everything starts falling apart. You’ll be the most vulnerable, the most at risk. 

But he knows he can’t for the same reason that he knows he’ll never be able to approach you in the same way he did Odasaku so many years before: Dazai has never had any sort of self-control when it comes to you and he doubts it’ll be any different in this universe. Even when he knows you’re better off, even when he knows that each second he spends in your life is slowly destroying you, he can never bring himself to part from you. He fears that even the slightest look of you will condemn him and all of the work he’s done, that even just the knowledge of where you are will tempt him into wandering the area in hopes of running into you.

He’s done everything he can to ensure that he never has any contact with you or any information about your life. He assigned Kouyou to look over you, being the best suited for such types of missions. She’s spent years making sure that you’re safe and nothing from the underground disturbs your studies or everyday life. The woman was naturally curious about the request, even more so when Dazai instructed her to never give him any updates on you unless it was a life-or-death situation, but she knew better than to question him. 

At this point, only the hand of god and sheer chance could lead him to you, which is why he’s particularly against meetings like these where he’s forced to leave the shadows of his towers and dally into the public. Dazai doesn’t beg, and he certainly doesn’t pray, but whenever he has to leave the Port Mafia base for extended periods, he gets damn close to it because each moment in the light risks everything. 

“... oevsky and Tolstoy…”

The ice spreads to the wrist of his right arm and just as Dazai thinks he’s about to be fully swallowed by the void, his gaze drifts to the window looking down on the main floor of the club and he catches sight of a figure leaning on the bar, and it’s ludicrous, really, because how does his gaze tunnel on one person in the sea of hundreds before him. But his mouth goes dry and his body stills as recognition floods through him, replacing the numbness so quickly that his body is almost palpitating in the sudden shock of it. Flames burn through his veins and the fingers that had been steadily tapping out your name jerk so abruptly that Chuuya, Kouyou, and Gin are all casting him hesitant looks. 

He rises to his feet suddenly, ignoring the fact that all eyes are on him and that he’s completely disregarded whatever the Pale Flame emissaries had been explaining. He waves Gin off as the girl instinctively moves to follow him, the room is spinning and closing in on him so swiftly that he doesn’t even think he’ll be able to make it out of the room before his mind and body collapse in on themselves. 

If there is a god, Dazai realizes, then he’s abandoned Dazai since the moment he was born, because standing there with glittering eyes and a smile so painstakingly familiar and foreign at the same time is you. 

There’s a hazy smile on your face as you stumble out of the main room of the club, and down a side hall toward where you’re pretty sure the restrooms should be. You lean against the wall as you try to regain your bearings, inhaling the air greedily—you hadn’t realized how deprived of it you’d been in the stuffy club, where there were more bodies than pockets of air, and even those were smogged with thick, floral perfume and sweat.

You think you’re having a good night—for the most part, at least. You and your coworkers have been at the club for an hour already celebrating your acceptance into Waseda’s prestigious graduate program. You’d been pressured into inviting one of your more unsavory coworkers, having been told you would seem rude and ill-mannered if you invited everyone else except him. You think now that it really shouldn’t have mattered to you, you’re leaving the office soon to prepare for school anyway, but you suppose you’re easily peer pressured. Sometimes. 

But you’re free now, momentarily, at least. One of your friends had distracted Takeda so could sneak off to the restroom to freshen up. God knows he probably would’ve tried to follow you there if he didn’t.

You push yourself off the wall with a sigh, wishing that you’d tied your hair back before coming to the club because you can feel it sticking to the back of your neck. Maybe you’ll run into a girl in the bathroom who has a spare tie for you, but you frown as you look around, noticing that the hallway is a bit too empty for it to lead to one of the club’s restrooms.

You pout when you realize that you must’ve gone down one of the halls leading to the VIP suites on the second level, but as you turn to make your way back into the main area of the club, your eyes catch a figure leaning against the wall dressed in a long black coat and sleek dark suit that probably costs more than your life savings. 

He’s tall, you note absently, drawn to the man a bit more than you probably should be for no good reason, handsome, too. He hasn’t noticed you standing there, so you just observe for a moment—he has dark hair and smooth, pale skin, partially covered beneath bandages. He’s struggling to light a cigarette, frustration twisting his face; his lighter won’t light no matter how many times he tries, and you think it’s a bit funny that for all of the expensive clothes he wears, his lighter won’t work. 

Finally, you take a few steps forward, moving closer to him and fishing into your purse for your own lighter before you hold it up and ask, “Need a light?” 

The man freezes, gaze cutting toward you—his eye is so dark and so empty that it almost chills you, an endless abyss that threatens to consume you. You swear the black is so intense that it seems to be swallowing the dim lighting of the hallway, and you watch as something akin to recognition flashes deep within it. He hardly reacts to your presence otherwise, only his gaze shifts as it roves over you, vaguely reminiscent of a parched man in the desert setting eyes on a distant oasis, unsure if it’s just a figment of his imagination. You raise your eyebrows, feeling a bit exposed underneath his stare, and wave your lighter pointedly. 

He doesn’t make a move to reach for your lighter as you hold it out to him. You can’t tell what the expression on his face is as he watches you, it’s entirely indecipherable, his lips are pulled flat but his eye is swimming with emotions that you just can’t quite place. Just as you’re about to take it as rejection and put your lighter back in your purse, he suddenly closes the distance between the two of you, leaning his head down, cigarette dangling between his lips and gaze trained on you, expectant. 

Oh, you think to yourself a bit breathlessly, throat spasming as you falter under his gaze. He looks amused, watching you carefully, and you can’t help but notice that the dark pit of his eye starts to lighten as he watches you get flustered. When you struggle to light it the first time, you want to blame it on the martinis you’ve been drinking with your friends, but you know from the way your cheeks feel extra hot and your fingers shake that it’s definitely because of the man standing in front of you.

The scent of his cologne floods your senses, you can almost taste the old whiskey on his warm breath, which you can feel fanning lightly across your fingers, making goosebumps rise to your arms—you pray he doesn’t notice, but from the way his eye flickers up a bit to your arm and the corner of his lip quirks up, you think he probably does. 

You thank every god that might be listening when your lighter finally lights, catching the end of his cigarette. Your breath catches as he makes eye contact with you and you think you might be able to get lost in his gaze if you’re not careful; your lips part a bit as if to say something to occupy the silence but no words leave them. 

After what feels like eternity, he finally stands straight and you can breathe again, watching as he leans back against the wall next to you, head falling to the side a bit as he takes a long drag of his cigarette.

His gaze doesn’t leave you once. 

“You smoke?” He finally speaks, and his voice is low, raspy, and hoarse as if he doesn’t use it much. There’s a lilt to his tone, something caught between subtle criticism and surprise, reminiscent of a disapproving old friend who’s taken aback that you’ve picked up such a bad habit. 

“Sometimes, why?” you answer, a bit defensively when you catch the edge to his tone. 

You don’t smoke—you carry around your brother’s old lighter as a memento, safekeeping for if he ever decides to come back to you, you’re honestly surprised the thing still works as well as it does—but you feel like you have to prove a point now because he sounds a bit judgmental about it.

He only shrugs lazily. “Don’t look like the type.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Is there ‘a type?’” you ask sarcastically.

He pointedly looks over you, gaze raking up and down your body once in a slow, borderline sensual way. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, you curse your body violently for betraying you. 

“Yeah,” he drawls after a few moments. “Not you.” 

You scoff loudly, looking away, and you blame the alcohol when you find yourself admitting, “… I don’t smoke.”

The man smiles thinly at the three words, a triumphant spark shooting through the brown of his eye and an expression on his face that tells you he somehow knew it without you having to say it out loud but appreciated the confirmation.

“Told you,” he says. “Don’t look the type.”

“Hmph,” is all you respond with, flipping your lighter shut and slipping it back into your purse. 

You don’t leave right away; you don’t think you could even if you wanted to, you feel like a deer caught in headlights beneath his gaze, feet glued to the ground. But the problem lies in the fact that you don’t want to leave, there’s something about him that has you drawn in like a moth to flame and you don’t even know why because you don’t even know his name yet. And you probably shouldn’t be, you’ve always had a keen sense of self-preservation and there’s a dangerous edge to this man that should concern you—you can see it in the way he looks at you, the way he dresses, and the way he holds himself. 

Dangerous, you think to yourself, but you’re charmed by it—you know you should probably get back to the bar where your friends are, but your feet don’t budge. He’s watching you curiously, not making any move to say anything, just observing you and you feel like you might crumble beneath his gaze. You can’t tell if he’s searching for something or if he’s just looking at you to look at you; the air between the two of you is tense but not in an awkward way. But you decide to break the silence with: “What’s your name?”

He hesitates, gaze narrowing just a bit as if he’s considering whether or not he should tell you, and you feel a bit embarrassed, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth as you anxiously wait for his response. 

“Dazai,” he finally says, and you can’t help but notice he sounds a bit breathless. “Dazai Osamu.”

The name feels so achingly familiar that it almost makes you question whether or not you’ve ever met this man before even though you’re sure that you would remember if you did. You give him your name in return and watch as his lips curve upward slightly as he repeats it out loud, making your chest feel warm and your mind a bit foggy. He says your name as if he’s spoken it dozens of times before, the intimacy of it nearly has you reeling.

It has you reeling so badly that you speak without thinking, longing to drag the conversation out. 

“Would you… maybe want to have a drink with me?” The words spill from your lips before you can stop them and instantly, you want to swallow your own tongue, shifting a bit nervously on your feet. Usually, when you drink you’re more outgoing, but with this man, you feel like a teen girl fumbling over words with her school crush.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them, conflict swims in his gaze so flagrantly that it makes you a bit embarrassed, realizing he’s probably trying to figure out the best way to reject you. You notice, distantly, that some other foreign emotion flashes on his face and it’s so brief that you almost miss it, but you swear that it’s something akin to a reality slap from the way his eye widens and lips part a bit. 

Heat rises to your cheeks as you wait for the inevitable rejection, he casts a look backward, in the direction of the steps that lead to the second floor’s high-end VIP rooms that only the most elite of Yokohama can afford and you realize that this man is probably a bit more important than you thought if that’s where he came from, throat a bit dry. 

You start to try to make up some excuse and rush back to your coworkers with your tail between your legs but then he finally says: 

“We can get a drink.” 

Your eyes widen a bit, a smile splits across your face. You catch a sour look crossing his face as soon as the words escape him as if he regrets them right as they’re spoken. For a second, it’s almost as if he’s fighting an internal battle, and you wonder if he’s trying to figure out if he should take back his words. You hardly think anything of it in your tipsy state, too excited to even fully register it all. 

“Yeah?” you ask so eagerly that you want to rip your own tongue out because the last thing you want is to seem desperate.

But clearly, he loses the battle, because his dark eye only softens a bit at your enthusiasm. The corner of his lip curls upward and you swear you see something else in his expression—something caught between grief and longing that makes your throat swell even with the alcohol clouding your mind.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

You hold your hand out to him; you’re not really sure why and you think you might’ve just embarrassed yourself again when his gaze cuts down to it intensely. You withdraw your hand with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly. “Got ahead of myself, I guess.”

Dazai doesn’t respond for an agonizing amount of time and when you’re about to head back to the main part of the club and hope he follows you, he decides to hold his hand out to you. 

“No need to apologize,” he tells you, voice a bit more hoarse now. 

You reach out to take his hand, fingers brushing his bandaged wrist, where his suit jacket is riding up his arm just a bit. His pulse is erratic and rapid beneath your touch, a complete 180 from the calm, aloof expression on his face. His fingers intertwine with yours as you lead him back into the club—his grip is a bit too tight, but you don’t mind. For some reason, it feels a bit comforting.

You and Dazai make your way back down the hall in the direction of the main room of the club. As soon as he pushes open the door, he pulls his hand from yours but before you can even process the action enough to pout at the loss of contact, he’s slipping his arm around your waist to tuck you into his side to not lose you in the crowds of drunken clubgoers and you think you might feel a bit faint at the way his fingers press into your lower hip through the thin cloth of your dress.

You can’t help but notice the way people seem to part for the two of you, even with the majority of them drunk out of their minds, it’s like they catch one glance of Dazai and move out of his way. It seems instinctual, almost, as if he’s exuding an aura that no one can bring themselves to come near. 

You peer up at him curiously, watching his eyelashes flutter as he looks down at you as if he can feel you looking at him. Your face is hot when he catches you looking at him so you immediately avert your gaze; you can feel him let out a puff of amusement, but he doesn’t say anything as the two of you finally reach the bar.

“A gentleman,” you tease when he pulls out the stool for you to sit. He waves the bartender down and you watch, a bit surprised, when the man instantly makes his way over to you, gaze flickering to Dazai. 

It had taken you twenty minutes to wave the man down earlier to get your drink. 

You also can’t help but notice that he doesn’t even ask Dazai what drink he wants, pouring him whiskey on the rocks, a luxury brand that probably costs more than your monthly rent. 

You feel a bit embarrassed ordering your cheap martini after, distracting him with idle conversation.

“Do you come here a lot or something?” you ask him curiously, lifting your drink to your lips to take a sip of your drink once the bartender passes it over—it tastes better than it did before. Smoother.

“Or something,” Dazai agrees cryptically, the corners of his lips tilting upward as he looks over you. “Why?”

“So mysterious,” you say playfully, before shrugging. “I’m just curious, he seemed to know you… maybe I’m also trying to figure out if I’d be able to run into you again here.”

You watch him hesitantly, wondering if it was a bit weird to add that, cursing your lips once again for moving before your brain can process. But Dazai doesn’t look weirded out by your comment—he looks a bit surprised, yes, but in a pleased way rather than a disturbed way. 

“Already trying to plot out meeting me again?” he drawls, watching you from the corner of his eye with an indecipherable look that doesn’t match the curl of his lips. “What if you decide you don’t like me? If I end up being dangerous?”

“Oh, you’re definitely dangerous, Dazai Osamu,” you say firmly with a laugh, eyes glimmering. “I could tell that from the moment I saw you. I’m not that drunk.”

His eyebrow raises a bit as he tilts his head to the side. “And yet you invited me for a drink anyway,” he notes, his index finger on his free hand thrumming steadily on the bartop. 

“Maybe I like danger,” you say, leaning in a bit closer just to test the waters.

Dazai doesn’t pull away, your heart races in your chest as his gaze traces your face, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips. You think you might’ve been wrong before when you compared the color of his eye to an abyss—now, beneath the lighting of the club, you think they’re far more reminiscent of a starry night, just as endless as the abyss, but not quite as dark and hopeless with the celestial bodies glittering within them.

“Maybe you should be more careful,” he murmurs, and there’s an odd shift in his voice—a warning, as if he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you agree idly, “or maybe I enjoy living life on the edge. It’s short enough as it is, isn’t it? I’d prefer to live it to the fullest than die having barely lived at all.”

“Living life to the fullest involves inviting shady men to drink with you and scheming out a second meeting without even having decided if you like them?” Dazai questions, voice low and amused.

“Shady?” you grin. “Well, I guess you said it, not me. Anyway, I’ve decided that I already like you, Dazai Osamu, so, of course, I’m going to scheme out a second meeting—hopefully, one where I’m not quite as drunk so I can actually charm you, I’m very charming when I’m sober, I’ve been told. I don’t fumble over my words quite as much, or lighters, for that matter.”

You’ve literally never been told once in your life that you’re charming when you’re sober, so you don’t know where that came from, but you decide to roll with it and hope for the best. 

“I’ll have you know that I’m quite charmed already,” Dazai says, lips tilting up into a smile that seems a bit more genuine, reflecting in the way his eye curves up too. “If you get any more charming, I might just be in danger.”

“Well, do you like danger then?” you ask, resting your elbow on the bar so you can prop your chin on your hand, looking up at Dazai through your lashes. “We’ve already established that I enjoy it, are you going to join me on the edge, Dazai?”

For some reason, for a split second, it seems as if you’ve asked Dazai the most difficult question in the world—the space between his brows creases and the easy smile on his lips flattens, the starry sky painted in his eye dulls back into the terrible abyss. Your lips part to say something, because even with the fuzziness of your drink clouding your head, you know you made a mistake somewhere. 

“I usually stay far from the edge,” he admits quietly, “... too much at risk for that.”

“... Usually?” you press, latching onto the word quickly as you toss him another teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Am I enough to tempt you closer to it, then?”

“You have no idea,” he breathes out so quietly that you think you’re not meant to overhear it. As if he realizes he might’ve said it a bit too loud, he tilts his head to the side and gives you half of a smile as he asks, “What makes you so sure you like me already, anyway?”

You match his smile, making a show of humming, dramatically thinking long and hard about it. Then you shrug, smile widening, “Don’t know. Maybe I just decided. Or maybe, I’d like to think it’s fate.”

Andddd you’ve made a mistake again. You falter when you see how his expression closes off instantly and you wish you could bite your own tongue off because, of course, it’s just your luck to have misspoken twice in a span of two minutes. This is why you don’t socialize with people.

“I don’t believe in fate,” he finally says, voice a bit tighter than it was before.

“Why?” you ask curiously, brows furrowing a bit.

He hesitates, gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns his gaze away, lifting it to the ceiling instead. All he says is: “I don’t like the idea of my life being predestined by some higher power—if there’s a fate, then I’ll exhaust everything I have trying to defy it.”

“Okay,” you agree, still not entirely understanding why he’s so against the idea of fate—you think it’s rather romantic but to each their own. Either way, you raise your glass to him, waiting for him to click his against yours. “To defying fate then.” 

His throat bobs as he swallows at your words, an odd look in his eye as he repeats quietly, “To defying fate.”

Dazai is in trouble. 

He thought he could indulge himself just for one night. If it’s his fate to meet you, then let it happen only once so he can be done with it—one night, and then everything will return to how it should be. He’ll fall back into the shadows and you’ll live your life in the light, a long and fulfilling life where he isn’t putting you in danger just by being around you. But he’s realizing, very quickly, that he severely overestimated his self-control, which is a feat in itself, really, because Dazai knew that his self-control would be abysmal when it comes to you but he still somehow managed to critically misjudge just how abysmal it would be.

He thinks he probably looks like a fool—you’re rambling about your work and the graduate school program you’d just been accepted into, you’re switching between topics so quickly that Dazai can hardly keep up, but he doesn’t care, he’s content just hearing your voice, slurred and excitable as it may be.

It’s different hearing it in person than it is in all of the vague memories of the other worlds—you’re different. You’re brighter. More alive. A shining star in a sea of midnight. The warmth of the sun giving life to a rotting corpse. For the first time in twenty-two years, Dazai Osamu feels like he’s finally breathing. The misty memories didn’t do you justice in any regard, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to return to the shadows alone after having felt the brief glow of your light, warm and comforting against his skin, because Dazai already can’t seem to get enough of it. He thinks you must be like a drug or something because there’s no other explanation for the way he’s so utterly entranced by the sight and sound of you. 

A part of him wonders if all of the other Dazais have met this same fate at your hands: bewitched and spellbound, unable to draw their eyes away from you, hardly even able to remember to breathe in your presence. He thinks that they must have—he can see flashes of their lives and feel echoes of their emotions, and it’s always most intense whenever it involves you. 

It’s a struggle just to remind himself to play the part of the ordinary man with you around so as to not scare you off, pretending he's like any other human being and not a monster wearing the skin of a man, like you haven’t been the object of his obsessions since the moment he came in contact with the Book. He tries to keep himself pliant and inviting with a loose posture and warm gaze, free of the intensity curdling through his body. He keeps his smile small and gentle, hiding the sharp and bloodied teeth decorating his mouth, and he keeps his touches brief, hardly ghosting your skin in fear that you’ll start rotting beneath it. He doesn’t know if he succeeds. He honestly doesn’t even know if you notice, you’re way more intoxicated than you originally made yourself out to be; he can tell from the way your ever-present smile is lopsided and the way your eyes are a bit glazed over, if it wasn’t abundantly apparent by the slur to your words.

“... and then, Hinata kept talking even though everyone else was… Dazai Osamu, are you even listening to me?”

He hums quietly as you abruptly turn your gaze back onto him and for a moment, Dazai is breathless—his name rolls off your tongue with the familiarity of a pair of lovers who’ve been together for years, and he swears that your eyes glitter beneath the lighting of the club as you look at him, and he doesn’t think anyone in his life has ever looked at him the way you do in this moment. Dazai Osamu has always been a name that no one would rather hear, attached to a man that no one would rather see. He’s not used to being talked to like this. He’s not used to being looked at like this. 

He wants to be used to it. 

He so, so desperately wants to be used to it. 

You lean in when he doesn’t respond to you, a bit too close because he can smell the faded scent of your perfume and the gin on your tongue when he takes in a sharp breath to respond—it goes straight to Dazai’s head, his words dying before they can even formulate in his mouth. Everything feels fuzzy and light and Dazai thinks he might actually pass out. You’re such a far cry from the numb void that he’s used to, overwhelming his senses with the sight and touch and scent and sound of you, overwhelming his mind with emotions that he doesn’t know how to cope with and he just can’t get a handle on himself no matter how hard he tries. Every time he thinks he does, you throw another curveball at him like leaning in so close that Dazai swears if you were any closer, his lips would be brushing yours. 

He’s never yearned like this before, not when he found himself in Odasaku’s house years ago as he tried to get ahold of that wretched painting and not during the long, dark nights when he found himself gasping awake, torn from dreams of lives he’ll never experience, the ghost of your lips still smiling against his skin. He can feel it deep in his chest, clogging his lungs and throat. He feels like he’s fighting the strings of a marionette as his fingers twitch at his side, begging him to reach out and feel the skin of your cheek beneath the palm of his hand, cup the side of your face just to see if you’d lean into his touch, craving it the same way he craves yours. 

He yearns and Dazai Osamu doesn’t know if he has the strength to deny himself of you now that he’s finally gotten a taste of what he could have. He tries to remind himself of what’s at stake, he tries to conjure the images that have plagued his nightmares so many times before—the sight of you crumpled in his arms, cold and still, and the sound of your cries for help, jarring and agonizing to his ears. But all he can muster is the sight of the wide and genuine smile that only you have ever directed toward him in all of his other lives and the sound of your bright laughter ringing in his ears, two things that he’s been deprived of entirely in this life until now.

“... if the phone call is that important, you can take it, y’know? You don’t have to sit here pretending to listen to me when you’re focused on that.” 

Dazai is hardly able to drag himself back to the conversation at hand, your words processing slowly, as if his thoughts are being dragged through thick tar, but he forces himself to focus because even in your drunken state you sound a bit irritated. 

He glances down at the bartop, where he had placed his phone down after taking a seat next to you, watching as it vibrates against the hardwood and as Chuuya’s name flashes across the screen. A few seconds pass, and his phone goes still and the missed call notification pops up on his screen—evidently along with nine others. 

Dazai winces. He wishes the phone call had been what was distracting him—unfortunately, it’s impossible to tell you that he’s spiraling because of you without sounding psychotic. 

As soon as the call ends, his phone is buzzing again, Chuuya's name flashing across the screen once more, persistent as ever. Dazai’s gaze cuts backward to where the two of you had come from, up to the windows on the second floor that look down on the main floor, and then he glances back down at his phone.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Dazai tells you quietly, reaching for his phone.

You toss him an easy smile that nearly has him faltering, whatever irritation you may have felt is gone in an instant. 

“I’ll be waiting,” you tease, and Dazai’s heart is in his throat as he hesitates for just a second too long, as familiar words echo through his head, memories that aren’t his own from a life that he’d never be able to experience. 

“I’ll wait for you.”

He lingers too long evidently because you shoo him away, spinning on the bar stool to face the bartender as you try to flag him down for another drink that you probably should not be having, seeing how you’re swaying a bit on the stool. Dazai only shakes his head as he makes his way away from the bar closer to the edges of the club, where it’s a bit quieter, if only marginally. 

As soon as he leaves your presence, the familiar cold numbness returns, spreading like ice through his chest and he’s desperate to be back in your vicinity already, missing the warmth. Oh, this is trouble, he laments to himself, trying to push away the longing feeling spreading through him and instead turns his attention to purposely waiting until the last ring to answer Chuuya’s call, if only to be a bit spiteful because the other man’s persistence is the reason he had to leave you.

Lifting his phone to his ear, he asks coolly, “Do you need something, Chuuya?”

“Where the hell did you go?” Chuuya immediately hisses back, fury dripping from his words. He’s speaking quietly and Dazai can’t hear any conversation in the background, so he can only assume that Chuuya had stepped out of the room where the rest of the Port Mafia and Pale Flame executives were having their meeting. “You’ve been gone for forty minutes, Kouyou and I have been handling the meeting. Do you even have anyone with you right now? Hirotsu? Tachihara? Atsushi?”

“I’m sure you and Ane-san have been conducting the meeting perfectly fine without me,” Dazai says dismissively, leaning against the wall as his gaze cuts through the crowds to the bar he’d left you at but he can’t catch sight of you through the masses of people. He frowns, pacing a bit down the room to try to get a better angle.

“Bastard,” Chuuya spits out with a venomous type of disrespect that he only attacks Dazai with when he’s exceptionally frustrated. “Answer my question. Where the hell are you? Do you have a protection detail on you? What are you doing?”

“I’m in the club still,” Dazai says distantly, and he’s sure Chuuya can tell that he’s barely paying attention to the conversation because the man lets out a noise caught between a snarl and a growl, much like the dog he is. “I’ll be fine, we have men stationed all over—you’re always so uptight, Chuuya, you should pull out the stick every once in a while.”

“You-” Chuuya says loudly and sharply, cutting himself off abruptly, evidently having realized he’s let himself get too loud. Dazai is hardly listening at this point, getting increasingly more agitated as the masses of crowds block his line of sight to where you should be sitting. “I’m coming down there.”

That catches Dazai’s attention.

“Do not.” The two words leave his lips, a command so cold and cutting that he can practically hear Chuuya jolt in surprise at the sudden shift from the absent tone he’d been speaking with before. He forces his voice to take upon a more teasing lilt as he says, “I met a girl, Chuuya. If you come down here, your ugly mug will scare her right off.”

“What?” Chuuya sounds so baffled it’s almost comical. Dazai might’ve found amusement in it were he not so irritated with his current predicament. “I-you-what?”

“You sound so shocked, Chuuya. Some of us talk to more women than just Ane-san and Gin-chan, you know?” Dazai drawls, noticing that there’s a gap in the crowds up ahead that should give him a direct view toward the bar, beelining toward it immediately.

“Shut up,” Chuuya seethes. “Who the hell would even give you the time of day? And since when do you seek out women? You’ve never shown any interest before.”

“Are you jealous?” Dazai croons. “It’s an ugly look on you, Chuuya.”

Chuuya splutters. “The fuck is wrong with you tonight?” he demands. “You’ve been acting like a damn freak ever since we left the base. Mood swings left and right.”

“You know I don’t like…” Dazai trails off as he finally gets a direct view of the bar, dark eye focusing in on where you seem to be arguing with an unfamiliar man. The smile that had been curling to the corners of his lips falls flat and his gaze goes cold—ice spreads through his chest again but this time it isn’t a result of the numbness, rather it’s a much more dangerous emotion that threatens to erupt. “I have to go.”

“Bastard, if you hang up on me-”

Dazai doesn’t wait for him to finish the sentence, hanging up the call and slipping his phone into his pocket, ignoring it when it immediately starts buzzing again. He doesn’t waste a second before he makes his way back across the club to the bar.

If people had avoided him before, it was nothing compared to now, watching them scramble out of his way even in their drugged-up and intoxicated states. He doubts that most of them even know the significance of who he is, they can just feel the cold fury rolling off of him in waves. It’s a bit impressive, honestly, how quickly he’s able to get back to you, and his hand darts out quickly, fingers wrapping tightly around the wrist of the man who was grabbing your forearm, if his grip was any tighter, the man’s bones would be cracking beneath his touch. 

The reaction is instantaneous. Your gaze draws up to him, relief flooding your eyes at the sight of him—distantly, Dazai notes that he thinks that this might be the first time in his life anyone has ever been relieved to see him, but he’s more preoccupied with the man who was bothering you, who’s now turning toward him with an irritated expression.

“Look, man.” Dazai’s hidden eye twitches at the casual address, but he makes sure that the annoyance doesn’t show on his face. “Just trying to get her home, the rest of our coworkers left already.”

Dazai’s vice-like grip doesn’t budge, but his mind races. This is his out. If he lets you go home with your coworker, then he can go back up to the meeting taking place on the second floor and he can try to scorch his mind of the yearning that’s been plaguing him so intensely. Things can go back to normal—his one night of indulgence over, no matter how agonizing the thought of that is. He can return to the Port Mafia base, back in the shadows, and he can use the memory of this night with you to fuel his dedication to his grand plan of protecting this world. It’s a perfect setup, honestly, if he disregards two critical issues: 1) he’s probably incapable of scorching his mind of the yearning you’ve brought on and 2) more importantly, you’re staring at him with an expression nothing short of pleading, seemingly begging him not to leave.

The words escape his lips before he can think to stop them: “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take her home.”

The faux-concern that the man had been directing toward you disappears as soon as Dazai speaks, shifting into an expression that probably would have been concerning to anyone who wasn’t a literal mafioso, and Dazai is not just a mafioso, he is their boss and he has dealt with people who were objectively much more powerful and concerning than a regular civilian who thinks he’s tougher than he is. So Dazai only tilts his head to the side a bit, the corner of his lip curves up in amusement as he pointedly looks over the man once. The cool metal of the gun hidden in his jacket weighs heavily as a reminder that it’s there and ready for him to use; his fingers twitch toward it, but instead, he pockets his hands, deciding against it, if only because he thinks pulling out a gun might scare you away. He doesn’t want that.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asks furiously—Dazai wonders, a bit absently, if this is that Takeda fellow you were complaining about earlier, he certainly fits the picture with the beady eyes and weaselly face. 

“An old friend,” Dazai drawls—not entirely a lie, just in a different life, and definitely more than friends, but he doesn’t need to know that. “We’ve been catching up. You can go.”

It’s not a request, and evidently, the man isn’t stupid enough to keep pressing Dazai because his confidence falters as he takes a step back, letting go of your arm. Or more probably, he caught a glimpse of the glint of metal hidden by his coat when Dazai shifted to look at you. Either way, Dazai doesn’t care because the man stutters out a few words and a ‘see you Monday’ to you before turning tail and leaving. 

Dazai doesn’t bother correcting him—he definitely will not be seeing you on Monday. He ensures that through the silent order in the sharp look, he gives Tachihara Michizo, who’s been lingering on the outskirts of the club for five minutes now, no doubt trying to keep an eye on him under Chuuya’s command. Tachihara doesn’t hesitate as he nods his head, gaze following the retreating figure of the man before he slinks right after him.

He thinks you have bad friends. Coworkers. Whatever. All of them leaving you drunk and alone with someone who’s a stranger in their eyes. Yes, he scared the only one that tried away, but if it was Dazai in his position, not even god himself would be able to scare him away from making sure you get home safely. 

They don’t deserve you, he decides firmly, and those dark thoughts from earlier return, whispering that he should just take you for himself, tuck you away in the tallest towers of the Port Mafia base. He’d keep you safe. He’d make you happy. You’d never have to want for anything ever again, he’d give you the entire world if you so pleased. He shuts off the train of thought before it can become any more tempting, knowing that his thread of self-control concerning you is waning at best.

Dazai promptly turns his attention back to you and all of the irritation that he might’ve been feeling about your coworkers and that man washes away when he catches the dazzled look on your face as you look up at him, elbow propped on the bartop and chin resting in your hand. 

“Thanks,” you say so softly that Dazai barely hears you over the thundering music and clamoring people around the two of you. “That was Takeda… I don’t know, maybe he didn’t mean any harm but… I just don’t want him to know where I live, I guess.”

You look sleepy now, eyes a bit heavy and shoulders slumped; the alcohol must’ve worked its way through you already. Dazai also can’t help but notice that the front of your dress is drenched with what looks like the rest of your drink; it must have spilled in the brief struggle between you and your coworker. 

“You’d rather a stranger know, then?” Dazai can’t help but ask, making sure to keep his voice teasing, watching you carefully for a response. 

He’s curious to know if you feel even half as drawn to him as he is to you, to know if this really is a mutual bond that transcends worlds or if it’s a sick obsession on his part triggered by the revelations of the Book. Or it could be both. It’s probably both. Dazai is pretty sure what he feels for you isn’t normal or healthy, and he’s not sure if it’s any healthier in any of the other universes or if every other Dazai is just as twisted when it comes to love as he is. 

“You don’t feel like a stranger,” you admit quietly, looking up at him through your lashes and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat, clogging his airways and threatening to suffocate him. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Dazai breathes out instantly, the confirmation that your words give him lights a dangerous fire in his chest, one that he needs to put out but can’t bring himself to. “I feel the same.”

Your expression softens, eyes tracing his face, and Dazai thinks he would set the entire world on fire just for you to look at him like that again. Then, he realizes, throat a bit tighter now, that the words are not quite the empty promise that they would be coming from anyone else’s lips—he might just be setting everything he’s built on fire just for you, and your warmth is not enough to push away the cold awareness that suddenly spreads through his body, putting out all of the fires that his time with you has set within him. 

He reaches out, knuckles grazing your cheek. Your lashes flutter as you lean into his touch and instantly, he’s set aflame again, it’s raging through his chest and melting the ice and Dazai thinks he doesn’t care if this is a bond that transcends worlds or a sick obsession. He thinks it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he needs you so desperately that it might kill him if he doesn’t have you. 

It might kill you if he does have you. 

Fire and ice wage a brutal war within him, a futile battle because no matter how much the ice tries to spread, the flames melt it away, and he realizes that he can’t be around you when the war is inevitably won because he’ll never be able to drag himself away from you. 

One night, he reminds himself, sharp and scolding, one night of indulgence. That’s all.

“Come on,” Dazai murmurs. “Let’s get you home.” 

Dazai wonders how a place he’s never been to can feel so much like home. 

Or, well, he assumes this is what a home would feel like, it’s not like he’s ever actually had one to compare to. The penthouse suite of the Port Mafia base is closer to a prison than something he can consider a home. He doesn’t remember enough of his childhood to know if he lived somewhere back then that he considered a home. The shipping container he lived in during his teenage years is probably the closest thing he has to compare to and even then, he never felt safe or warm or comforted there, he just had the distant reassurance that no one would ever bother him while he was there and that was more than he had anywhere else. 

And this is… 

He doesn’t really know how to describe it, the words just won’t come to him—a rare occurrence, considering Dazai’s always been known to have a tongue of the purest silver, acquiring the most lucrative deals for the Port Mafia despite egregious odds and hostile parties solely because he’s learned to read and charm people to the best of his ability. His brain and his tongue have been the driving force behind the Mafia’s rapid and exponential expansion across Japan and into the mainland, yet both fail him now. 

Courtesy of you and your influence, naturally.

The curve to his lips is fond as he trails his fingers across the back of the couch in your living room. It’s all so achingly familiar, as if he’s been here a thousand times before—if he lets his eye flutter shut, he can almost picture you cross-legged on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate tucked neatly between your hands, dozing off as he regales you with nonsensical stories. 

Everything is just how he remembers it from the vague memories. Your desk is set up near the window on the far side of your room, next to the bench where he would sit and watch you while you study, pouting until you finally decided to give him attention. Papers are strewn all across your coffee table; he flips through them idly, realizing that they’re all study materials for the entrance exam to the graduate school you’d just been accepted into—he makes sure to leave them in the same order that you’d left them in, recalling how often you’d end up yelling at him for messing up your piles. A picture hangs on your wall near the door of you and your brother—familiar, why is he so familiar? His gaze lingers for a moment, brows furrowing before he shakes his head, putting the thought in the back of his head as he wonders if he ended up passing in this universe too. 

He wanders over to the kitchen and his eyes narrow just a smidge, noticing that there are two dirty mugs in your sink, the ones you’d always use to make those fancy hot chocolates of yours. He hums to himself softly as he traces his finger along the rim of one, recognizing the same shade of lipstick you wore tonight staining the brim. The other mug has no such stain. His throat tightens a bit, gaze flickering up to the cabinet he recalls you usually putting your ingredients and when he opens the cabinet, he thinks he might feel a bit sick, seeing them all up on a shelf too high for you to reach on your own—you always put them on the lower shelves. 

His jaw tightens as he pointedly puts them all back down on the lower shelf before shutting the cabinet, a bit more tense now than he was a few moments before. His gaze cuts across your apartment, searching for any sign of who you might’ve been having over—someone important enough for you to make your favorite hot chocolate for—but he finds none until his eyes land on a jacket crumpled in the corner of the room that’s definitely not yours, hidden halfway beneath one of the pillows on his window bench. He has to remind himself that it’s not his and he’s never been here before now so he has no claim over anything.

He makes his way over to it, yanking it out and lifting it to his nose. It doesn’t smell like you, it’s an unfamiliar woody scent that makes his stomach churn for more than one reason—the most primary one being that he doesn’t know whose it is and why they’re leaving clothes at your apartment. It’s a man’s, certainly, he can tell that much from the scent and the size and Dazai thinks he might feel a bit light-headed at the idea of you having other men over your apartment. His only solace comes in the fact that there doesn’t appear to be any other signs of his presence, but it’s a small solace at best. 

He has to leave. The longer he lingers in your apartment, the more he’s struggling to decipher the already blurred line between the lives he remembers and his unfortunate reality. 

One night of indulgence, he reminds himself for the nth time because the night is over. You’d passed out long before even arriving at your apartment, after you gave the address luckily because for better or for worse, that had been one of the few things Dazai hadn’t retained from the vague memories he has of the other universes. 

He trails back over to the door that leads to your bedroom, a heavy feeling settling over his chest as he leans against the frame. His gaze draws to where you’re fast asleep beneath the covers, still dressed in the outfit you’d worn to the club because although all of the other Dazais would have changed you into something more comfortable when you’re too drunk to do it yourself, he does not retain that privilege in this world. The last thing he wants is for you to think he’s some perverted creep. 

Dazai sighs, eyes sliding shut as he lets himself bask in the moment for just a little longer, dreading having to return to the harsh reality of a life without you, fated to be alone until he’s sure that he’s secured the safety of this world when he can take the final step in guaranteeing that you and Odasaku will be able to live out your lives peacefully. Without him. 

He wants to touch you one last time, brush his fingers against your cheek, enjoy the way your warmth spreads through him, but he thinks he’s tested his self-control too much for one day. He fears that if he pushes it anymore, he’ll never be able to go back to how it was, so it’s with a heart that pleads for him to reconsider and a body that resists his every move that he turns away from your bedroom, making his way over to your kitchen counter to grab the key that he fished out of your purse. 

It takes all of his restraint to not look back, jaw clenched so tight that he thinks his teeth might grind down to dust. He steps outside and the fresh air feels like poison to his lungs, he wants to step back inside, drown himself in the familiar scent of you, the familiar scent of the only home he’s ever known in any lifetime, the one he has to deny himself of for the sake of preserving this world, for the sake of saving Odasaku and saving you. 

His fingers tremble a bit as he slides the key into the lock and turns it, checking twice to make sure it locks properly so no one can sneak in while you’re sleeping, before kneeling down to slide the key beneath the crack of the door back into your apartment. 

As soon as the key is out of his reach, Dazai feels cold and empty; the black hole within him expands now that he’s vulnerable again without your presence fighting it off, and the force of it is ten times as lethal now that he’s experienced what life might be without it constantly consuming him. He stares at your door for a second after rising to his feet, his mind and heart and body all at war with each other. The parts of him that haven’t festered and withered over the years beg him to just go back to you, tell you everything, and crumble in your arms and pray that you don’t think he’s delusional and call the police on him; the parts of him that have been corrupted by the time he’s spent in the darkest parts of the world whisper more dangerous words, telling him to go back in and take you back with him, it doesn’t matter what you want if it means he can keep you safe, and he knows that one day you’ll understand why he did it, you’ll even be happy because you’re meant to be happy with him, no matter how it comes about. 

And he thinks he’s a fool because the only fortunate thing about his circumstances had been that no matter how vividly he remembered you and your apartment, the Book had not passed on the knowledge of its location, so he’d never been tempted to “accidentally” seek you out by wandering in locations that you frequent because he had no idea where you were. Yokohama isn’t a small city and he was never going to cross the line of purposely seeking you out through the use of Port Mafia resources because that meant he was purposely putting you in danger. 

But now, he’ll have the knowledge of your location dangling in front of his face for the rest of his life, however long it may be. Every day will be a struggle to resist the urge to seek you out, as if everything isn’t hard enough for him already. 

Frustration builds in his chest as he makes his way down to the parking lot of the apartment complex. Realistically, Dazai had plenty of options that would have objectively been better than this. He could have sent you with his driver alone, but the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Albatross, the Flags remain among the most loyal members of the Port Mafia, but Dazai doesn’t think anyone is worthy enough to lay their hands on you. He thinks that if Albatross had reported back to him that he had to carry you into your apartment and put you in your bed, he might’ve put a bullet through his skull and then he’d have to deal with mutiny and he can’t afford a mutiny when things are already so tenuous, stability in the Port Mafia has to be paramount until he can get through all five phases of his plan. 

But even if he didn’t send you with Albatross, he could have had Kouyou handle this. Kouyou already knows of you, she’s the one that he assigned to make sure you’re never threatened by Yokohama’s underground, and she knew where your apartment was already. It still leaves a sour taste in his mouth but not as strong as the thought of sending you with Albatross. He could’ve had Kouyou take care of this and he could’ve been free of the temptation already looming over him but-

But Dazai is selfish. Dazai is selfish and reckless when it comes to you; even when he knows what’s at stake, even when he knows the destruction that he brings. Fate, the word rings through his head, mocking him. Fate, fate, fate. It’s his fate to always be drawn to you, like a bee to honey and a moth to flame, irresistible and inexorable. He can’t avoid it and he can’t control himself no matter how hard he tries. You’re tied together by threads that the gods shorten with every passing second and they laugh down at him as they watch him trying to resist it. 

It’s his fate to be drawn to you. 

It’s his fate to be your destruction.

Dazai slips back into the backseat of Albatross’s sleek black car, shutting the door just a bit too harshly, gaze immediately drifting back toward the apartment complex, up to the closed door on the second level where he’d left you. He waits for the car to pull away, but it doesn’t. Irritated, he turns his gaze to the rearview mirror in the front of the car, catching Albatross staring at him curiously, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose. 

“What?” Dazai asks, voice low and icy. 

Albatross is unperturbed—of all of the members of the Port Mafia, only he and Chuuya never flinch at his unapproachability. “Ya gotta girl now, boss?” he asks curiously, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Dazai’s response.

“No.”

“Hm.” Albatross only hums as if he’s disappointed by the answer. “You seemed happier, s’all. Never seen you like that before. Was nice.” 

Dazai’s jaw tightens again at the man’s words, biting words threatening to escape his lips but he swallows them. Instead, he becomes acutely aware of the jacket that he’s still holding in his left hand. His expression twists and then he tosses it into the front seat at Albatross, who blinks and catches it, looking down confused.

“Whadya want me to do with this?” he asks, baffled. 

“Burn it.” Is all Dazai responds with. “Take me back to the base.”

“... You got it, boss,” Albatross murmurs, and he still sounds disappointed, but an order is an order so he doesn’t hesitate as he starts the car back up and pulls out of the complex’s parking lot. 

Dazai’s gaze doesn’t leave your apartment door once until Albatross finally turns down a street out of sight of the building. 

One night of indulgence, he reminds himself for the last time. One night of indulgence and then he’ll never encounter you again. For better or for worse, that’s how it has to be. 

[atlasnessie]

or — loving beastzai

cw: mild mentions of blood

the text you’ve gotten from chuuya wasn’t anything new. dazai had come back to the port mafia headquarters late, far past midnight, soaked with blood that was both his and not. the executive urges you to come and take care of him.

the walk inside the building didn’t concern you. people took a step out of your way as you went up the elevator and into the office of your lover, the doors swinging open with a swift tug by a few guards you were posted by the room. there, dazai stood in the middle of the room gazing out one of the large windows and into the streets and port of yokohama, clothing stained with scarlet red, his bandages discolored with an unrecognizable shade you swore you’ve never seen on bandages and gauze.

the doors close behind you as you stand silently, your nightwear making you feel slightly out of place of osamus rather professional attire. without turning to face you, dazai cracks his dry lips open, words barely a whisper.

“you should be at home.”

you can’t respond, unable to find the words that you should say. instead, as if it was a routine set by destiny and fate, you walk past dazai with the soft shuffle of your shoes on the red carpet and go behind dazai’s desk and open a large closet, crouching down to find a first aid kit that you had placed for occasions such as this. you stand up with the kit in your arms, then look towards your lover, who’s eye is locked with yours. your soft, tired eyes tell him to take a seat, words without the struggle of saying them.

dazai walks slowly to the desk, sitting on his seat with his back straight. you place the kit down on the large dark wooden table and slowly peel off his coat with your sleeves rolled up. crimson stains your hands slightly as you do so, dropping the coat on the ground and opening the kit with a hand. you pull out a small towel, wiping any blood that was yet to be dried and crusted on the exposed parts of his back, shoulders, and neck. you stop and look at osamu with a gentle look, tugging on the bandages on his neck gently.

“can i ..?”

“you know you can. don’t need’ta ask.”

“just making sure.”

with soft, feathery hands, you peel off the bandages off his neck, the blood making the fabrics heavier than usual. as dazai’s neck and body unravels, you pick the towel up again, wiping the sweaty blood off.

“youre gonna need to take a shower when we get home. not everything is coming off …” osamu hums in response, his breathing shallow and simple.

home. he hasn’t been home in a while. most of his nights resided in the grim darkness of the port mafia. he hadn’t been home to you and your embrace in a few week, his arms had nearly forgotten your touch, warm and gentle, like another to their newborn child.

dazai lifts a hand up to his bandages eye and tugs on it, unraveling it and allowing it to fall on his lap. shifting your eyes, you peak to see both of his eyes. dark and void-like. you couldn’t read them as well as he read your own.

“we don’t have to talk about it. i know you’re trying to think of an excuse, osamu.”

he whispers a sorry.

after a few more minutes of wiping off any blood you could, you place the towel down and sigh. your hands smell metallic and osamu reeks of death. silently, you start to clean up, separating unused things back into the medical kit and blood soaked towels and bandage rolls out of the way.

“you should be at home,” osamu starts again. “you hate the port mafia headquarters. you hate the violence here.” his head shifts to you, lifeless eyes staring into yours.

“so why are you here ?”

“because,” you said with a matter of fact tone. closing the kit, you place it back into the closet and close the doors to it. “i love you.”

“don’t do any of this out of love.” with the shift of the chair, dazai is now face to face with you. a cold, shaky hand reaches out for your warm cheeks.

“i don’t wanna make you uncomfortable with all this, love.”

his voice is soft and mellow, different from how he usually speaks to you. you can’t help but shake your head, a slight smile on your lips.

“i’m okay as long as you’re okay.”

the room goes silent once again. dazai can’t bring himself to respond back, a foreign tug of guilt twirling with his heart. your hands are stained with red, dazai can see. there are dark shades of crimson under your nails and slightly staining your nightwear. he feels terrible. he can’t help it. and yet …

to see a soft smile on your face as you clean him up, the blood soaked coat staining the red carpet below him, he can’t help it but feel as if you being in this world, with him as you are in the other, is fate. destiny itself.

[heycharrr]

«There's such beauty inside of me»

[hopelessdazai]

✿ 》I'll have you muzzled and caged, ill put you right in your place, you want it.

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; this was in my drafts for a period . I actually finished it tho so be proud of me ( reblogs appreciated !!! )

╰⧼ ☀️ features.. ⧽ ; beast dazai x gn!reader x beast chuuya ( reader is afab but only a cunt is mentioned ) WC : 1.5k

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; smut, petplay, buttplug (but it isnt used), handcuffs, chuuya is soft and dazais a little of a dick, it kinda gets right into it so be warned, actual smut begins after the divider.

“..puppy ears?”

the velvet headband was clutched between your fingers. a gift box on the table in front of you from the boss of the Port mafia. Dazai, your personal trainer. He didn't reply at first, simply smiling down at you - before stepping beside you and taking a layer of crinkled tissue paper off.

“There's a tail in there too.”

and that there was. your eyes caught specifically on the glint of a metal plug on one end. He would pull a stunt like this, you thought. to the side was a bone gag, a crystal white with a pink ribbon to tie around your head. shit, and there's matching handcuffs? How much was in here? You look up at him for a moment, your mind reeling.

he'd said you worked like a dog before this, but wasn't this a little self indulgent?

“..is this a joke?” You look up at him. wishing for some resemblance he was holding back a laugh. hoping this was some gag to mock you, that you don't have to actually wear these things. but there was nothing but a smile.

“a joke? I don't think so.” he hummed, taking the headband out of your hands and gently placing it into your hair. “I picked colours that would suit you, you know? it'd be a shame if you were to waste my money and not make use of them.”

you scoff, picking out the tail and holding it idly in your hands. It was soft. nothing you would've been into, nor what you'd wear for your boss when you're in the damn mafia. and for a moment you found yourself wondering if quitting without a notice was allowed here.

“I can help you put everything on.”

a laugh escapes your throat, one which you couldn't stop the bubble from popping. He had to be kidding, there was just no way someone like him had the nerve.

But he wasn't laughing, he wasn't even smiling anymore.

shit, he was serious.

“I discussed it with chuuya beforehand,” He begins, walking around the desk to sit himself down, one leg crossing over the other. “He wishes to see you in the getup too, if you don't mind.”

“This wasn't in my contract.” You frown, placing the tail on the table - the plug end making a small clatter. “When i signed up to work here, there wasn't anywhere that said I needed to prance around in sex wear.”

“Did you not read the fine print?”

there was a fine print?

you hesitate, shaking your head. “I don't see how that matters. this has to be some human rights thing ..” your voice trails as the door to the office opens, familiar ginger hair in your peripheral vision as he strolls over to stand beside you, giving you a smile. you smile back.

“Chuuya, it seems we're having some obedience problems..” Dazai begins, his hands coming to rest in his lap. “the outfit we so carefully chose for them, they refuse to wear. isn't that cruel?..”

You glance at Chuuya, and he looks back for a moment. no words are shared. but there's a mutual understanding of why you might be hesitant - a human response.

Dazai continues, “You've always spoken about wanting a dog, haven't you, chuuya? and you've certainly spoken more than once about wishing how (name) was with us during our sessions.”

Chuuya chokes on his spit, there's a strange silence afterwards.

“..I suppose.” He mumbles, crossing his arms and looking away from the both of you. Dazai stands up, walking around the desk to where you are. His hand rummages in the box for a moment, taking out a collar and clipping it around your neck.

“It suits them. don't you think, chuuya?”

he turns to look at you, mumbling something under his breath as he steps forward to twist the collar to suit your neck better. you mentally thank the fact you're stuck between two people who even each other out, at the least.

Chuuya gently pulls you close by the waist, holding your hands behind your back as he nuzzles himself into the crook of your neck. you feel dazai clip the handcuffs around your wrist, all happens without a word spoken.

The gingers lips encase a small area of your neck, gently sucking as you let out a light whine. you feel dazai slip closer behind you, his hands on your hips and an unmistakable bulge pressed against the curve of your ass.

shit, what have you gotten yourself into?

you would've done more if your hands weren't tied, and if you could do anything but let out a guttural moan as chuuya's tongue collected the slick off your cunt, you're sure you would've asked them to be gentle.

you blinked a hazy eye open, met with dazai's tip smearing precum against your cheek. a smirk on those lying lips of his. bastard. the clasp from the bone gag in your mouth clicked open, dropping to the floor with a thud. It almost made you flinch.

“Now, do you promise to behave?” The brunette hummed, his voice an almost patronising sing-song tone. You felt Chuuya grip your hips from behind, pulling you back onto his face. it prevented you from having any response but a whine. Dazai simply scoffed, slapping your cheek before forcing your lips apart with his thumb ; resting it on your molars. your drool escaping the side of your mouth.

“I expect a response when I speak to you.”

you did try, but with chuuyas tongue deep inside you and with dazai's thumb in your mouth, you could barely even think straight, let alone make any stupid promises.

“you're giving me the silent treatment, hm?.. bad dog ..”

you let out a whine, shortly cut off as the back of your throat was blocked by Dazai's cock. your nose pressed against the bush of pubes he hadn't even bothered to shave. He stayed deep as you gagged and your throat closed around him, your eyes tearing up.

“there we are..” He muttered, gripping the back of your head behind your faux puppy ears, forcing you to take his cock into your mouth as he practically used you as a human fleshlight. you could barely even let out any sound, your airflow practically fully cut off as your throat was rammed full.

chuuya’s thumb swiped your clit, rolling gentle circles that contrasted the brutal pace dazai used your throat in. it was just too much, letting out sounds you didn't even know you were capable of making. drool glossing your lips as tears run down your cheeks. your mascara had to be ruined.

“hah- look at you. pretty little thing .. the sounds you're making now ..” Dazai whispered, a low rumble of a chuckle leaving his throat. “It’s the smartest I've ever heard you be, you know?.. keep making noise for me, just like that..”

the rustle of fabric behind you as chuuya laid himself down under you, gently rubbing circles on your ass as your thighs shake from keeping yourself up.

“sit down f'me. be a good pup.” you hear him mumble. and you can feel his temper grow as you hesitate, dazai tugging on your hair hard enough for you to look up at him, eyes glazed over from tears.

“You were given an order, were you not? sit. down.” you gradually obey, feeling chuuyas mouth enveloping your wet cunt again.

it's too much, everything is too much. dazai’s pace on your throat increases, the gasps leaving his throat become louder. as do the shaky grunts against your clit as chuuya makes lewd slurping sounds, obviously to provoke the room further. you can barely even fucking breathe, the knot in your stomach is so tight. so close.

“swallow.” Dazai mumbles, letting out an involuntary whimper as he buries himself deep in your throat, the bitter taste of his cum of which you had no choice but to swallow down. and you swear you might drown in it, almost blacking out as you cum on chuuyas tongue.

everything is quiet for a while, save for the sound of heavy panting coming from both you and dazai. chuuya crawls out from under you, wiping his mouth from your fluids and leaning back slightly. you can see the wet patch on his slacks, he came untouched from taste alone?

“That's better..” dazai mumbles, pulling his cock out of your mouth and letting go of your hair, not sparing a shred of sympathy as your front half hits the ground. your body stings, the exhaustion hurts. you can't process anything other than chuuyas warmth as he gently tugs you into his lap, your head to his chest with his hand running through your hair.

he's always been gentle with you, anyway.

“well, I think that was a rather productive usage of our time, no? wouldn't you agree, chuuya?” dazai looked down at the pair of you, a smile on his lips. You couldn't speak, your throat hurt. But chuuya pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and nodded.

“I certainly enjoyed it.”

[cheriiyaya]

💌 @saelique asked: mkay this has been in my mind 4 too long now but... beastzai taking care of ur wounds :( AGHHHHHHH 💌cheriiyaya answered: beastzai is just sooo ugh !! i need him sb :((

Contents: Beast au, lowkey not my best work at all, mentions of wounds and blood, established relationship, hurt/comfort, I have zero medical knowledge so dont come after me lovelies!!

you swung your dangling legs back and forth as you slouched on dazai's desk, teeth digging into your cheek as you tenderly touched the scarlet wound that bloomed against the delicate skin of your shoulder.

"I could've fixed it up myself, y'know that right?" You looked over to dazai as he placed disinfectant and bandages beside you on his mahogany desk. His pretty lips quirked up at the corners as he tugged the sticky, red stained shirt down to pool at the swell of your hips

"And tire you out even more?." He gasped dramatically, pressing his lips against your shoulder. "Just what kind of lover do you take me as?" Dazai chuckled as you rolled your eyes and huffed. He pulled away, squeezing your biceps once before soaking a handkerchief in disinfectant and wiping in across the wound. He shushed you softly as you winced and squirmed in discomfort, dragging the thumb of his free hand over the curve of your collarbone.

Your eye twitched a bit from the burn, forcing back tears as you took in a shaky breath and loosely gripping the lapels of dazai's coat, resting your forehead on his chest. You squeezed your eyes shut and focused on the sensation of his calming hums and his gentle touch.

The handkerchief pulled away from the wound, and you felt the pain slowly fuzz away to a whisper tingling your nerves. "See? S'not that bad is it? Quit being a baby, sweetheart." Dazai kissed your temple, the presence of a teasing smile felt on your skin.

"Shut it 'samu..." You huffed as he stifled a laugh, bandaging up your wound. It was strange, even to you. Seeing the feared boss of the Port Mafia switch into this gentle lover with you sent butterflies fluttering up your stomach.

You thought back to when you first came back from the mission, how Gin told you to head to Dazai's office rather than the infirmary. Scrunching up your nose, you inquired. "Why did you send for me to come straight to your office?"

He pouted. "What? I just didn't want some old man's ugly hands on you!" Dazai flicked your forehead, giggling childishly as you rubbed the spot he hit.

"Riiight. That's the only reason, right?"

Dazai hummed nonchalantly, but you knew better. His eyes held that familiar glint of trouble in them- the one you knew from a number of nights waking up to his face contorted in worry as he traced your features as if you weren't there- and his giggles and jests didn't hold the same teasing tone to them, as if he wasn't trying to make you adorably annoyed or humored for once.

"You were worried, weren't you?" It sounded less like a question and more like a statement.

Silence persisted.

His sighed and secured the bandaged over the wound, his smile shifting into one that held more of a sorrow to it. Dazai dipped his head down to and pressed the softest of kisses against the dip of your clavicle. You felt one of his hands slide down to plant on your hip, the other carding through the soft strands of your hair.

The answer was obvious, even if dazai wouldn't say it.

©Cheriiyaya 2024

tagging: @little-miss-chaoss @hanging-wisteria @atzuhi @lovesick-fairy @adoredazai @pinky-99 @tabathastan @ravencincaide @dazaikinniess @nyx-prodigy @himikoslove @teddirika @hyacinth-venom @kaitoluver @dydrem @starracoonagain

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

How to hug your Port Mafia Boss

Self-Aware! BEAST! Dazai Osamu x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Dazai Osamu

Description: He can't sleep at night. He ended up on your doorstep.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Short and fluffy.

You bit the end of your pencil. This word cross was hard. Technically, you were supposed to be in bed already, but, you still have half of this word cross to finish. You won't have time to finish it tomorrow, and you don't want to leave it unsolved.

"Will you finally get to bed?" grumble Osamu, glaring your word cross. He was laying on your bed. He came here earlier, wanting to cuddle tonight.

"Iris Flower, I need some cuddles!" whined Osamu, holding his hands towards you.

Before you can answer, you heard that noise again.

You heard steps, coming from outside your room. Normally, you won't bother to pay attention to the sound. There is no curfew (except for the kids), and some members of the Cast enjoyed midnight snacks or going to a nightclub.

Yet, there was one thing that bothered you.

This someone was walking from one side of the corridor to another for fifteen minutes already.

And you were sure, that it was the same person. Of course, your hearing won't be as sharp as Jouno's, but after his lesson you could tell, if the sound of steps were the same or different.

After this, someone walked outside your door again. Your curiosity took the best of you. You put word cross to the side, stand up from your chair and went to the door.

You opened the door.

And came face to face with Dazai. Whose left eye was cowered in bandages.

He stepped on the side, startled. He looked guilty.

"Sorry, [Y/N]. Did I wake you up?" Port Mafia Boss whispered.

You shook your head. Your words were soft.

"Don't worry, Dazamu, I wasn't sleeping."

Dazai frowned. He knew why he was called either Dazai or Dazamu (Osazai sounded too silly for him). He wasn't used to have a nickname. Dazai spoke, his voice was quiet.

"You shouldn't stay up late."

You whispered in return.

"You also should be in bed. Did something happened?" After a pause, you put your hand on his shoulder.

"You can tell me."

Dazai looked away, hiding his gaze. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He looked like, he was ready to snap, if you tried to pry further.

You weren't planning to do it. You still were building your relationship with BEAST Gang.

But something you can do now.

You stepped closer to Dazai and hugged him.

He was thin. He was tall. He was stiff.

You run your fingers through his hair and squeezed him slightly. You pressed your cheek against the side of his neck.

"If you say so. Just, remember, if you need someone to hear you out, I will be here."

Dazai didn't move. Then he slowly put his arms around your shoulders.

He was embarrassed. Yet, he didn't move away.

You stay like this for a few moments. Then you let him go.

"Good night, Dazai."

Before you could close the door, Dazai whispered.

"Can I stay?"

You turned towards your bed, wondering why Osamu was quiet. Turned out, he was finishing your word cross. He looked up from it and stared at you. Without breaking an eye contact, he wrote down the last word. Then looked at his double. And nod.

You glance at Dazai.

"You can stay. And you..."

You looked at Osamu and rolled your eyes.

"Fine, you won. Scoot over, don't hog all the place."

It took time, but you three managed to get comfy on your bed. You felt the embraces of both males from both sides of you and knew that it was the safest place in the world to be.

Osamu was hugging you from behind. Your back pressed against his chest. Osamu loves to be a big spoon.

Your cheek is pressed against Dazai's chest. You can hear the soft, rhythmic beating of his heart. You rub his back caringly up and down.

Warmth, heartbeat, breathing...

All if you drift off...

This night, Dazai Osamu, Boss of Port Mafia, had a good rest. Without dreams. But he felt safe.

And he was sure in a next day.

[withabroken-heart]

INTERROGATION

dazai x reader

beast! dazai

afab! reader

smut, minors DNI (ageless blogs will be blocked)

had a dream about this and had to write it. dazai gets you to talk the best way he knows how to

bondage, candle-play, overstimulation

you had lost track of how long you had been on that bed.

he cuffed your hands above your head, attached to the bed frame. he left them just loose enough for you to squirm and struggle, but tight enough to draw the line at just that. the only thing he had bothered to cover were your eyes; the rest he had stripped bare. every touch felt like fire against your skin. your senses were heightened and every part of you was shaking. like a puppet on strings, he had left you helpless.

dazai reached out and traced a finger along your exposed skin, down your chest and dangerously close to the in-between on your thighs. he relished in the tremble that ran through your body, letting out a chuckle at your reactions. his breath slowly traced down your neck lower, lower, and lower. he made sure his lips abstained from contact- for now.

he continued to tease and touch you, enjoying your reactions. but even as he took pleasure in the moment, he never lost sight of what he needed from you.

"come on, angel, give me something. anything. i promise, i'll make it worth your while." he whispered into your ear, his tongue making the slightest contact with your neck. your head jerked back at the feeling, dazai ghosting his mouth over your neck and completing it with a heavy lick.

"fuck you." you grit your teeth. you were going to play this game. dazai could get anyone to talk, and you loved being the first to achieve things.

he chuckled. "stubborn little thing, aren't you?" he suddenly removed his contact, and you let out a breath of relief. luckily, your blindfold hid the ever-increasing hunger in his eyes. "i was almost hoping you’d hold out. lets see how long you can last when i do this…”

you suddenly feel a hot, liquid burn on your breasts. he must've lit a candle, letting it drip down you at an agonizingly slow pace. dazai's eyes observed with satisfaction as you gasped at the burning sensation. the flickering flame of the candle illuminated the room, casting dancing shadows that added to the intensity of the situation. but you were unaware, and could only focus on the mental games he played with you.

"poor thing, if only you had just talked….. this would all be over so soon." dazai teased you as you bit your lip. he continued to pour the hot wax down your body, moving down from your chest and to your thighs. he strategically avoided your most sensitive areas, for now. "i only save the best for last, angel."

dazai revelled in the power he had over you, watching the mix of pleasure and agony on your face. each droplet served as a testament to your willpower. he wanted to be impressed, but he knew he had more in for you.

after what felt like forever, you heard a clunk! on the table as he set down the candle. you gasped for air, the burning feeling lingering even after he finished. “i'm impressed, but we're just getting started."

“i-i’m not telling you shit.” you gasped.

"then don't." he slipped his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck. "i wanted to play with you more anyway.”

he moved his fingers in and out of your mouth, playing with your tongue and basking in the desperate noises you made. finally, he abruptly pulled out and left you to gasp. without warning, he pressed the two fingers to your clit. you cried out, feeling as he circled your folds before slowly spreading you out. he watched as your fluids ran down your pussy, admiring the sight as your wrists rattled furiously against the headboard.

slowly and deliberately, he pushed one finger inside of you. you screamed.

"how sensitive you are angel... i wonder what else i can do to you..”

he pushed two more fingers inside you, admiring how you dripped around him. your walls clung to his fingers as he slowly moved in and out of you. you felt everything, every inch of him as he fingered you at a torturous pace.

"its almost like you're enjoying this.. come on, tell me what i need to know angel.”

he grabs a chunk of your hair and yanks it, forcing your head to tilt. his tongue meets the skin of your neck once more as the pace of his fingers begins to increase. your body is on fire, your pussy clenches around his fingers as he drags his tongue down to your collarbone. his mouth finally reaches your breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. he sucks the sensitive bud, rolling it between his teeth before moving to the other side of your chest and repeating.

dazai moves in a messy pattern, licking and biting down all over your breasts as his other hand works diligently on your clit. your reaching your limit, but he isn't even close to being done. your wrists rattle against the cuffs as your legs shake like an earthquake had occurred.

"my my angel... are you ready to speak for me?"

he grabs your chin and forces you to face upwards. his thumb drags your lower lip down, daring you to talk for him. you want to spill your guts, to tell him everything. but right now your mind is blank, only focusing on the sweet nectar that dripped down your thighs. your speechless.

all is still for a moment.

that is, until you feel his the tip of his cock tease your folds.

you want to scream but he slaps his hand over your mouth, subduing your moans.

dazai drags the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, daring to push himself inside. you hands clutch the cuffs as you moan against his hand.

"awh, my poor little slut wants to talk now?" he leans in, whispering into your ear.

"too fucking late."

you feel him slowly, agonizingly slowly push his cock inside of you. you scream a moan against his hand as he begins to fuck into your pussy. he pounds into you with no mercy, the sound of slapping and your gagged moans fill the room.

your mind is completely blank. the feeling of his cock pulling out all the way before slamming right back into you is all you can comprehend. dazai fucks you with a savage hunger, gripping your hips as drives his cock inside of you ruthlessly. he lets his hand off from your mouth, allowing you to scream and moan to your heart’s content.

"such a good fucking slut you are.. taking my cock for me so well. beg more. beg for more." he commands.

"f-fuck, fuck. please. please, please." you cry out, forgetting how to speak entirely.

dazai grips the blindfold and pulls it off from you, allowing him to make eye contact with you for the first time.

he looks down at your body. covered in wax, breasts bouncing, wrists tied and your pussy full of him.

"lets interrogate you further, shall we?"

[awoogayanderes]

“do you think we’re together in another universe,” you ask osamu, stirring the pot on the stove. the said infamous fierce mafia leader was clinging onto you from behind. “we’re together in every universe,” he says, digging his face into your neck. you smile at his words.

your husband was always a secretive person, when you found his suicide note four months later, you just wanted to scream. five years of pledging your loyalty and trust to him, and he couldn’t even tell you the truth of his suicide.

a/n : sorry y’all been obsessed with beast dazai, this is extremely short, but i have no time to write an actual fic

[chuuyasfanboy]

Heya^^ feel free to ignore this request but I'm dying to see more of beast Dazai that isn't angst so I'd like to request some headcanons about beast Dazai finding out that in every other universe where he lives he has the same s/o, aka reader, I just wanna hear out how he is gonna react to such news.

Anyways, love your writing! Hope you have a wonderful day or night and don't forget to hydrate! (I'm so sorry if my expectations are weirdly worded)

I have 3 matchups and another request to do but OH MY GOD BEAST GUYS FINALLY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR MY MOMENT I LOVE BEAST

Also you're so right, we do need more non-angsty Beast. As much as I eat the FUCK up of sad Dazai, I love happy Dazai too, lets give him attention!!!!! Let's also totally ignore the gif I chose is seconds after he just stabbed himself- he's smiling, it's fine guys, he's fine

Beast!Dazai x Reader

Dazai has gone through many worlds, all in the sake of keeping one man alive

Though, he'd be lying to himself if he said there weren't consistencies

It was strange, no matter how different the circumstances were, some things stay the same regardless

His bandages, for one

Whether he took them off later, wore them differently, or drowned himself alive in them, they always remained in some capacity

In the original, he wore them more as a child, but took off a majority of them as he grew and changed

In another, he developed completely, and removed them altogether as a show of improvement

And in the current one, they remained on the opposite side of his body, proving that things must be different, even just a bit

But those weren't the only consistencies either

Chuuya was also there, always

Whether an enemy or righthand man

Once he took the other with him to the ADA

In another world he died

And in another they never met, only watched from a distance

And then, of course, there was you

Only, yours was far different from the many other similarities he'd documented

While his focus was always on Oda, he couldn't deny an attachment he'd formed

You were always by his side. Never an enemy, never leaving, never changing

You were just you

It was almost strange, how you always seemed to trust him no matter who he was, no matter how he acted

But it made him feel truly wanted, it made him almost reconsider certain measures he decided to take for the sake of his goals

Almost

Humming a soft melody into his ear as you worked the stressed knots out of his hair

You brought a light to his life that only Oda could compare to, something intangible, something he hoped he wouldn't lose

And he hoped all his visions of his other lives proved that he couldn't

Because, as stated, you were always with him

You were always there to calm his nerves, to give him sweet kisses and a loving embrace

Once, in another life, he'd stressed himself to much that he got a terrible nosebleed and passed out for hours

And when he awoke, you were the only face he was greeted with

Not a nurse, not Chuuya, not even Oda

You

Perhaps he could consider you a second goal

It would be a nice side effect to keep you alive as well

He tried the same approach he did with Oda in this world, avoided meting you altogether

Maybe if you never interacted, you'd be saved from the whims of fate

He'd almost been convinced you were aware of the realities as well

Because somehow, you still found your way into his arms

And he into yours

[sproutzai]

beast dazai who can't have you so he resorts to stealing your used sex toys while you're asleep, clasping a hand over his mouth to silence himself - and fucking himself in the corner of your room while you're clueless .

[yandere-romanticaa]

I need to talk about ADA! Dazai and Beast! Dazai because Beast ruined me beyond repair.

ADA! Dazai is like a beautiful red rose which caught your eye - you wish to have it, to pluck it, but it's so easy to forget that roses have very, very sharp thorns. Dazai has many people around him but a tiny few he can confidently say he trusts.

Which is why he might just be a bit prickly at the start.

Don't get me wrong, he is still the same old Dazai you first met. Confident, flirty, intelligent, a giant tease! Life is a breeze with him, there isn't anything in the world which Dazai can't do or crack wide open. It's so easy to spill all of your deepest, darkest secrets to him, so easy to open up and become dependent on him.

But just when you think you have him figured out, you're right back to square one.

ADA! Dazai, who does not know what to do with himself or you for that matter. How fun and cute you are, your crush is so obvious. He can't help it, he just has to tease you, you always give him the best reactions. He chooses to be careful with you in the beginning, think of dipping your toes in cold water for the first time.

Time passes and Dazai opens himself up to you. You are finally allowed to caress his scarlet red petals albeit with his thorns still in the way. They prickle and hurt, they may even leave a scar or two in their way but you don't care. Loving Dazai is like a drug, once you get a taste you can never get enough. The constant need for his attention and validation is just too intoxicating and Dazai is none the wiser.

Beast! Dazai though... Where do I even start?

This man and his love, to me at least, kind of feels like the lyric "Here comes the sun, she's the brightest star of them all." from the song Sonne by Rammstein.

There is absolutely nothing this man won't do for you and I mean it.

Beast! Dazai is terrifying and he knows it. He regularly uses and manipulates his authority and throws threats around like candy, particularly if his subordinates decide to question why on Earth would he settle for someone like you. You, his sweet, precious, darling, addicting little you, the reason why his heart beats and why he decides to take a breath and live the life he wants to live... As much as he can, that is...

Beast! Dazai uses your fear as a leverage and toys with you in a similar fashion to ADA! Dazai but there is a grim feeling to it, kind of like sticky black tar, it never leaves your person. He never allows you to breathe because he simply must be with you all day, every day. The sheer intensity of his stare alone is something worthy of the history books as even some of the most seasoned and battle hardened mafiosos can't help but to be off put by their boss. Everything is crystal clear right from the get go, anyone who messes with you messes with him, the Port Mafia boss himself and they will answer for their crimes no matter how miniscule they may be.

Beast! Dazai, who is desperate for you and your love but never manages to tell you. Instead he chooses to isolate you, to make you dependent on him so that you can have no one to turn to other than him. ADA! Dazai is at least sensible enough to understand that yes, personal choice actually does matter even if he will have it play out how he wants to in the end but Beast! Dazai does not have the time for that shenaniganary! He hides his despair and need for you like a true master of all lies and trickery. He tells you he could kill you immediately, put a bullet in your head and find someone else to screw with and you believe him.

How can you not?

Never in a million years could you predict that this man was ready to destroy the world for you and create it anew, that no one else in this world, this universe could ever replace you.

You, his sun, moon, star, his heart. His everything. And you will never know. But that's okay because Dazai knows. And he will always keep you close, forever and always.

🕊️ TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @itssara-chan

[laivi]

— " SKYSCRAPER KILLS MY GHOST IN YOUR MEMORY "

｡ ㅤꕤ ㅤ PAIRING: beastzai & reader.

SYNOPSIS: dazai had been always painfully aware of his inability to obtain the things he wanted.

tags ➜ alternate universe—beast, beast spoilers, pining, gender neutral mc, kinda angsty, no happy ending, one-sided love, author is sleep deprived & may or may not have badly executed this work, lowercase as always. ‹𝟹

⋆ author's notes: another part of beastzai brain rot... this work was inspired by someone's else work, check out their account since it rlly gave me more motivation! also PLEASE give me ur thoughts abt beastzai since i rlly wanna write more abt him

send an order!! → guide ❀ flowers ←

"get away from me."

your words were harsh, accompanied with an abrasive tone which emphasized the words that elicited from your lips.

dazai's breath hitched, his expression distorted and his line of sight drawing meaningless figures in the air. he parted his lips open yet no words elicited from his lips, as if fighting against something invisible, as if he was a fish desperately wanting to say something but with the lack of vocal chords, they are unable to. his hands quaked, lowering his head to avoid the gaze piercing through his soul.

it wasn't the same. it was nowhere close, not even the slightest. the emotions reflecting on your eyes, your tone, your feelings towards him, everything about you. your eyes which would often reflect deep fondness and lenience were filled with cold bitterness, there was no single glimpse of love in your eyes, it was merely pure hatred. the look on your eyes stung him, as if his heart was being pierced by multiple glass shards leisurely, each one of them digging in slowly into the piece of flesh to agonize him and making sure he felt the sensation of each piece.

your love for him, or at least to him in another universe, was sweet as a sprig of mignonette. you showed extreme tenderness to him, so much that it brought queasiness to him with intense warmth engulfing his chest to the point it made his knees buckle underneath him yet all the traces of that love you always held for him was gone.

it wasn't the same.

he abruptly began to laugh, you blinked, tilting your head to the side, feigning your confusion as his soft laughters began to fill the tense atmosphere. he couldn't blame you, if someone suddenly laughed in front of him for absolutely no specific reason, he'd think they lost their mind the sound of his laughter slowly began to ebb away, his shoulders shaking, he was idiotic. how could he forget? he always have been conscious of it ever since the reality of his life had unfolded in front of him, dazai was never meant to be happy. he had no right to, he was in no position at all to deserve happiness, not with the pure blood that tainted his hands, everyone was better off without him and it was proven by the existence of this universe.

he was so distracted at the bright sun he saw for the first time in years upon discovering your presence, the luminance he witnessed left him too struck to the point when he stared at it, he forgot his own ugliness. 

he was so preoccupied with the warmthness that enveloped his chest he forgot his own destiny.

it was never meant to be the same.

he had always known that, he was utterly foolish for believing he could at least be with you, even for a moment.

with his head drooped, the sounds of his shoes stepping against the tiled floor was hushed, walking slowly to your frame. you took a step back, slightly. you were entirely befuddled by the situation unwrapping before you, that was a thing for certain. who wouldn't? you didn't know this person nor did he give any sort appearance of familiarity, however, he knew you wholly, he knew your name, your likes, your routine, but he was merely a stranger to you, nothing more, nothing less. the moonlight shone over your figure, making every single bit of features visible, his head still lowered, sticking in with the darkness—It truly looked as if he was already with it for ages, It suited himself.

his hands precipitously reached out to you, attempting to catch a piece of misty clothes, you initially planned to step back, afraid he would do anything that would harm you, nonetheless, all he did was grasp onto your murky clothes. he loathed it, he detested it, your guard was up, you were cautious and alarmed, you didn't trust him at all. you were petrified of what he was scheming when all he wanted to do was hold you and feel your warmth, in hopes it would make him forget his own reality momentarily even if he disliked being completely vulnerable and exposed. you blinked in surprise as his hands clutched onto your clothes, you couldn't see what he was thinking, he was hiding his eyes away from you. strangely, how he did so felt familiar in spite of you having no recollection of him.

he parted his lips once again, finally opening his mouth after a while, "I won't do anything." he assured, he wouldn't be able to handle it if he hurt you in any sort of ways, he wouldn't forgive himself. you remained silent, like a cold, uncomfortable.

"I won't hurt you, It would be imprudent to do so." he reaffirmed once again, despite knowing his affirmation wasn't most likely gonna be effective especially since you barely recognized him. 

all he wanted was just to get a single hold of you, after all, no matter how much he desired you to look at him with pure fondness, to hold his hand, to feel your hand caressing his face, to wrap your arms around his shoulder, and say some kind words to him like you used to, there was one thing for certain; you wouldn't, It's irrational, a stranger would have no right to feel all those, especially when the said stranger is an enemy of yours.

feeling the uneasiness grow further, you lightly placed your hand onto his bitterly cold hands, feeling his excoriated palms—completely besparred with feculent mire—with your thumb. you withdrew his hand away from yours clothes tattered with specks of dust. you were wholly fazed by his actions, it weirded you out. he understood what you were conveying and he backed away from you, lifting his once drooped head up slightly.

his gaze was kept on the ground, as if he was afraid to see the look you held for him. his eyes were swirling with sorrow and melancholiness, small tears swelling up on the corners of his eyes, It reminded you of a all mudded up mutt left in the streets—attempting to domesticate a monster into a lovable thing.

"I apologize for wasting your time." he spoke, and with that he turned around and left, never to be seen again.

It was pointless to meet up with you once more when he knew better than anyone else that you were completely disturbed by him, after all.

It would be the best option to not show himself to you again and accept you would forever hate him.

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ @saelique ,, taglists are open everytime.

[prttykittes]

i forgot to type this but it would be preferable if you did the beast dazai smut with an afab reader!!! many kisses to uu :3

The request said :: "dom! beast! dazai with subordinate! reader maybe? ^_^ ". ＼⁠(⁠◎⁠o⁠◎⁠)⁠／ yeah I can do that for you! Also many kisses to you as well (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)

๑ Dom!Beast DAZAI x Afab!Reader [you/your]

— Synopsis:: you were late and he needs to punish his subordinate.

CW. Reader is dazai's subordinate, choking, desk sex, blowjob, rough sex, P in V, he puts a gun to your head for fun (he's so silly), punishment sex, dubcon(?)

A/N :: Beast dazai hmm (⁠>⁠0⁠<⁠；⁠) — written by a minor

[MASTERLIST] — (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）works all of them !

You were called to his office by your boss, Dazai Osamu. He was sitting down on his chair, his jacket was off. His hair was covering your face, you let out a deep sigh as you walk towards him. "Your finally here?" He says, he lifts back up his head and his head tilts to the time on the clock. You can see that you were late to be meeting him, he sighed as he taps on his desk. You walk towards the desk, he stared at you. "Your late" Pointing out the obvious, you nod your head and you kneel down. "For a subordinate I thought you would be more on time..." He says, he has a creepy smile. "I sorry, boss.." He slams his fist onto the desk, you jolt up as you look at him. "Come here" You get up and walk over, his glare never leaving your body. You gulps as he gets up and he is standing tall over you, you lean against the desk as he leans more closer towards you.

"You know your punishment, don't you?" He tilts his head, you blush and nod. You understand what he means, you get on your knees. You are now kneeling infront of him, he looks down at you. "We'll get started" he says, you unzip his pants and pull his pants down its around his ankles. You can see a chubby bulge in his underwear, you gulps and pull down his underwear enough so his dick hits your face. You stare at it before dazai grabs your hair and opened you mouth, you grab his thighs as he forces you to take his cock in your mouth. The taste of his cum fills your mouth, you close your eyes. His dick immediately hits the back of your throat, he grips your hair as he moves you back and forth. You moan and you can feel his dick twitch that the virbration of your moan after some time you can feel his dick leaking out so much pre-cum, you can feel your cunt getting wet while you continue to suck him. He pushes your head until your nose touches his abdomen, you can feel his white liquid filling your mouth. "Make sure nothing comes out your mouth" he says with a stern voice, you lift up your head in hopes that you won't spill any of his precious seeds. You swallow everything and you open your mouth showing him that everything was swallowed. "Good job~!" He pats your head, he leans down and grabs you hips as he throws you in his desk. Your back hurts, you groan and lift up your head. "I can't wait for this?" He lets out a small laugh, he pulls down your lower clothing and his smile widens when he sees your damp panties. "Your so wet" he says and he takes it off, he throws your panties somewhere in the room. He didn't shove his fingers in you but instead he just aimed his cock at your dripping entrance. He shoves his dick in rough and hard, you gasp loudly. "Ngh" you managed to get out, your heart felt like it was caging in more. He rams inside of you, his rough movements never slowing down. You can feel his hands around your neck, your eyes widen and you stare at him. He has a smile on his face, his hands began to tighten around your neck. You gasp for air as you can feel his dick hitting at your spots inside of you, his cock never missing it. "Agrh!" You say and he finally takes his hand away, some juices dripping down his cock into the floor. "Fuck—" he says and you can feel a hard metal object against your temple, you open your eyes and you see a gun. Your so out of it that you don't mind the gun at your temple. You can see his finger on the trigger, he continues to ram inside of you. His dick twitches inside of you, your pussy twitches as you cum all over his dick. He grunts and his hips slam against you, you can feel his cum dripping out of you. "I think you enjoyed your punishment..." He smiles and lifts back up his underwear and lower clothing.

[anqelically]

GOODBYE, MY DARLING | BEAST!OSAMU DAZAI

SUMMARY. you’ve set up a meeting with a member of the port mafia to gain information, yet the man that greets you treats you like an old friend from the past

WARNINGS. fem!reader, 2.8k words, beast!au spoilers, angst, you take oda’s place

NAVI | BSD MASTERLIST

you were never too keen on the idea of meeting someone whose face you’ve never seen. as a cautious woman, who also worked as a detective for a living, you’d normally deny a meeting with someone unfamiliar. however, to deny a gathering in your current situation could cost the life of a boy you took in as a subordinate.

the lives of those younger than you were of the utmost importance.

ryunosuke akutagawa was your subordinate, who, blindly, stormed into the headquarters of the most dangerous organization in yokohama. in order to save his little sister, akutagawa broke into the port mafia’s building by himself to get her back.

since he was a member of the agency, it was part of your mission to rescue him. as you walked towards a lone bar in ginza, you never forgot that. a cigarette burned away in your dominant hand as you walked towards bar lupin.

your aim was to aid akutagawa in what would happen after his escape from the port mafia. the reason you were meeting with the person in charge of of monetary security for the mafia was to gain information. with a threat dangerous to the port mafia, a bargain can be made. the akutagawas can be safe from the port mafia, and the port mafia can be safe from the government.

the cigarette in your hand was put out when you rubbed it against the brick wall. you threw the unfinished product into the trashcan nearby before you took quiet steps down the stairs towards the bar. you were sure it was the location based on the sign outside.

the moment you had opened the door, the mellow, low tune of jazz reached your ears. your e/c eyes scanned the almost empty bar in front of you. at the actual bar itself sat one lone man. from his stature, he was definitely not the old man you were expecting.

his hair, dark as coffee beans, covered his face before he turned around. a smile adorned the unfamiliar man’s face as he looked at you with a shine in his rich, brown eye. the other one seemed to be wrapped in bandages, just like the ends of his arms. he was handsome, if you had to say. but for someone dressed like a port mafia hitman, he greeted you like you knew each other well.

“n/n, it’s been a while,” he spoke, voice soft. “were you smoking again? i can smell the stench from a mile away, you know.”

“i suppose it’s not unusual for you to smell it,” you responded. “but you say it’s been a while... have we met before?”

the man closed his eye, an almost silent sigh escaping his mouth. once you could see his uncovered eye again, the shine that was once there seemed to dull. it was still there, but harder for you to see in the dimly lit bar. he pushed down the sphere of ice in his drink.

“no, we haven’t met yet. this is the first time. the first time i’ve entered this bar, first time i drank here, first time we’ve met here, in this crazy world. a whole lotta firsts, wouldn’t you say, n/n?”

“yeah, it’s a lot.”

you found yourself sitting one stool away from the man. a bittersweet silence was draped amongst the two of you and for some reason, you felt the urge to change it as soon as possible. you wanted to fall into light conversation you’d normally have with someone close to you. it was odd, really. you were here for a purpose, yet you sat by idly.

“hey, i’ve got a question.” if the man wasn’t going to speak first, you would. you asked, “if we’re going to sit here, what should i call you? i doubt you’d want me to call you mister bandages.”

“well, calling me yours would be just fine,” he playfully smirked at you. “darling wouldn’t be bad either.”

“so it’s going to be like that?”

“of course it is. i have a nickname for you, and you have one for me. it’s only fair, isn’t it? but, i have a question for you. if we’re going to be here, what would you like to drink? pick your poison, belladonna.”

you let your chin rest on your hand, “well, i usually only drink with my coworkers and when i’m tired. i always have a lime margarita, if you can make that for me, darling.”

he smiled as he went behind the bar, “hm, i suppose i can make it. but since you’re here with me for the first time, how about we drink something else for the first time too? i can make a mean french martini, surprisingly. i’ve watched it get made plenty of times.”

“if you insist, go ahead. if it tastes bad, don’t be surprised when i give you 0 stars.”

“ouch, how low.”

dazai, to your surprise, began to create the drink as if he knew the bar like the back of his hand. he grabbed the right drinks from their respective places without even looking at the labels to create the cocktail. it was as if the bar was his.

while he was at it, you asked him something that had been bothering you from the moment he first talked. “you called me n/n when i entered the bar, so it’s safe to say that it refers to me. why call me that?”

“why?” he hummed. “i should ask you that. do you not like it?”

“it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. it’s just… no one has ever called me that before. everyone just calls me y/n, but not you, clearly.”

he lowered his gaze and the corners of his lips turned up. that smile of his, you could read it clear as day. you were able to tell that this man wasn’t smiling from what you’ve said, not even genuinely smiling. he smiled for the sake of himself. you didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling, but you were sure it had to do with yourself. there was no way it didn’t.

“and no one’s ever called me their darling until you have, n/n. it’s another first for the both of us, and we did it together. but hey, i have some stories i’ve been living to tell you. can i?”

after giving him the go-ahead, he excitedly talked about dealing with a bomb and giving his underlings firm tofu. the way he told his stories was like a little child coming home from the first day of school and telling their parents about their new friends.

once he was done, he slid the drink right in front of you and took a seat. however, it was not the seat he was originally at when you walked into the bar. getting closer that he was, he sat on the stool to your left. he held up his drink and, as if it were engraved into your body, you clinked your glass against his without a thought.

“well go ahead, taste it! let’s see if it really is worth 0 stars,” he urged you.

the way he stared into your eyes with anticipation, it was another strange thing you’ve noticed. he was genuinely happy. he was probably the strangest person you’ve ever met, and you’ve met some odd people.

after having a thought, you picked up the glass. you pressed it against your lips and took a sip, aware of the eye on you. once you swallowed and set the drink down, you could see a satisfied smile in your peripheral vision.

“good, huh?” the brunette asked.

“it really is,” you confirmed. “not 0 stars.”

“see? what did i tell you, belladonna? a french martini suits you, though. you can always ask me to make you some if you want.”

“maybe. i’d ask if you can cook as well, but your firm tofu says otherwise.”

he chuckled, “yeah, i’m not much of a cook. i always had someone else cook for me. it was edible too. she was much better than i was at cooking. at a lot of things, actually.”

“she seems like a woman of talent.”

“that’s right, she was. i’ve missed her… i’ve missed her a lot these past years.”

“a mother?”

“nope, my mom had been long gone from my life. this woman… she was much more than that.”

you couldn’t find anything else to say, so you remained quiet. that was, until the bandage-wearing man brought up why you two even decided to meet in the first place. he asked for more details.

“a subordinate of mine is in danger, and i want to cut a deal. it’d be a miracle if he came out it one piece, let alone with the person he’s been searching for. if he makes it out, i have no doubt that the port mafia will hunt him down. i want to cut a deal that’ll benefit us both.”

after contemplating, he murmured, “akutagawa’s lucky to have come across a good teacher like you.”

“excuse me?”

“you don’t need to worry about akutagawa. after today, the mafia will never lay another finger on him. there’s no catch; he’ll be able to live the rest of his life in peace... besides, this is what i’ve had planned since the beginning... if he makes it out of the mafia headquarters alive, that is.”

what he told you was was confirmed your suspicions. taking another sip of the martini, you looked him straight in the eye. you’ve let yourself come off as laid back, but now your expression was stern. he was caught off-guard.

“tell me, why did you lure him? why did you lure akutagawa into your headquarters, osamu dazai?”

it went silent, so much so that the music didn’t reach either of your ears.

“guess you’ve figured it out. i can’t fool you, can i?” he quipped. “you’ve always been quite intelligent.”

“you’re the gave out the hints. when talking about the tofu, you talked about underlings. you spoke like you had a lot of them. then, you talked about akutagawa without me even saying his name. not to mention how you’ve had plans from the beginning. only the port mafia’s boss would know, and be able to plan much. you’re the reason akutagawa is searching for his sister in the first place. this is over.”

“no, wait-!”

dazai reached out his arm, but he halted at the familiar click of a gun. his eye widened and he could only look at you with a horrified expression. he didn’t even have to look down to know your trusty pistol was in your hand.

“please put the gun away,” dazai begged, his face contorting to an expression of sorrow.

“i’m sorry, but i’m afraid i can’t do that. if i do, who knows what’ll happen to me? but then again, i’m already screwed if this is a trap. the port mafia’s boss is cunning, so i’m done acting like we’re close.”

“i didn’t want to become the boss! i… and i didn’t think of it as an act, not at all. it’s the truth, i swear.”

he looked at you so sincerely that you almost dropped the gun from your side. raw emotion was behind his words, or so you thought. maybe he could still be lying to you? maybe lying to himself. after all, there are liars so good that they’ve deceived themselves.

you looked down at your lap, “i guess that i’ve got to come up with another plan for saving akutagawa. well, if i can leave this establishment alive, that is.”

dazai insisted, “this isn’t a trap. i would never even dream of doing something like that to you, n/n.”

“my name is l/n y/n, not n/n.”

another shot to the chest.

“right, y/n. you asked me why i lured akutagawa to the mafia headquarters, right? well, i did it to protect this world.”

you raised a brow, “this world?”

“this is but one of countless worlds. and in another world, the original world, you and i were- we were—”“

“i love you,” he recalls the light touch of your fingers burning up his skin, “and there’s nothing in any universe that would change that.”

“—we were friends. you and i were friends in the original world. we drank at this bar and spent time together talking about the most insignificant things.”

dazai can also remember your last moments. you were laying in your own pool of blood when he finally caught up to you. when you spoke to him, you spoke in that same calm voice you’ve always had. and then, the smoke of the cigarette in your hand had dissipated into nothing, just like the light in your eyes.

“even if that were true, that doesn’t change what you did to akutagawa and his sister. you separated them, and now here we are,” you reminded dazai. “we may have been close in the original world, as you call it, but we are enemies now.

“i love you—“

dazai’s eyes searched for something the air that wasn’t there. his eye darted around, and his lips would slightly part and shut after a few seconds. his face twisted as he continued to remember everything.

“—and there’s nothing in any universe that would change that.”

“it was hard... it was really hard fighting mimic without you in the organization. i had no choice but to take over for mori and make enemies of everyone around me to expand the business,” dazai finally looked back at you. slowly, his hands reached for your cheeks. “everything i did was for this world’s- for you. i needed a world where you can sit here, happy with the people around you again.”

for a reason you couldn’t decipher, the hand that held your gun began to tremble. well, maybe it had been trembling for a long time and you were only now just recognizing it. dazai’s hands, cold and soft at the touch, held your face as if you were the most delicate thing in the world.

it was a touch of a lover.

coming down to that conclusion, everything made sense to you. dazai always looked at you like you were closest thing to him, a lifeline if you may. his nicknames, the flirting, it was all because...

“we were in a relationship, weren’t we?”

dazai would’ve missed your words if the proximity between the two of you wasn’t this close. the way he froze in his spot had answered enough, and you could only sigh. slowly, you put your gun back into your jacket and rested your hands on dazai’s.

you gently pried his hands off of your face and held them between your own. you felt no specific feelings from the action, but you were sure dazai did based off of how his face softened.

“i’m sorry, but you have to leave your feelings out of this. i don’t know how you know what happened in the original world, and i won’t ask. i just have to tell you that i don’t feel what you do. like i said, you and i are enemies here. as long as you control the port mafia and i’m part of the armed detective agency, it’ll remain this way.”

“nothing in any universe that would change that.”

“i see,” dazai took his hands back and rested them on his lap. “well, the reason i invited you here in the first place was to say goodbye.”

“you really don’t plan on ever seeing me again?”

“you said it, didn’t you? we’re enemies as long as we’re associated with the organizations we’re in. so after today, i won’t see you again. it’ll only hurt more if i do.”

“then this makes this a goodbye,” you watched as he stood up from his stool, hands in his pockets.

“yes, it does. a life with someone you can say goodbye to is a good life, especially when it hurts so much to say it to them. am i wrong?”

“i guess you wouldn’t be... i haven’t said goodbye to anyone and have it pain me,” you replied, feeling bad for the port mafia’s boss.

“i hope you don’t for a long time. but one day, that time will come. you won’t be prepare for it, but all i can tell you is to let it in. feel everything, and see where it takes you.” dazai faintly smiled before he turned his back to you and began to walk away, “goodbye, n/n.”

“goodbye, my darling.”

painfully, dazai grit his teeth and resisted thew urge to look back. in goodbyes, that’s what they always do. they turn around and crash into the person they’re supposed to be leaving. he didn’t want to do that. this was his goodbye to you, even if it didn’t mean much. if he was going to keep this world functioning, he won’t leave it with you in any pain.

‘be happy, okay? even if it’s without me, be happy. as long as you’re alive, somewhere, i’ll be happy too’

it was a final thought he kept to himself.

NOTE. this remains one of my favorite fics i wrote (i <3 beast!dazai) so i had to bring it over first 🤞🏻

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[riiwrites]

summary

synopsis : when you find yourself in a rather unfortunate debt situation you manage to tangle yourself in not only one of the best paying jobs but also one of the most hellish ones. when you’re in the palms of a cruel dictator, you don’t realise just how many layers you’re ripping off of the one and only beast of a man — dazai osamu.

{ DOES NOT HAVE ANY CORRELATION TO BEAST }