HAAAIIE haaii guess who🩷
okay so get to this at your own time don't stress urself queen lauv yuo & your writjng it makes tears fall from both my eyes and in between my legs💕
okayso. basically part 2 of the clueless pet but MORE praise and MORE breaking our legs!!!!! and is it really a request from me if there isn't lace & pink involved in Some way.
also - if it isn't a bother - do you think you could add in some dacryphilia.... like user is also a big crybaby during sex because she's stupid and dumb and has no thoughts in her head except for the dvd logo bouncing around in there. OOH also could you lean into more cat-like motifs with the petplay and whatnot....... hello world i need to be sent to the looney bin
Obedient Little Thing
Nsfw
Omg I read “is lace and pink” not isn’t😭😭😭 I tried to go back and edit it out, sorry😭 you don’t need to read part one but feel free to check it out!
Warnings: smut, pet play, dacryphilia, begging, praise, teasing, toys, collaring, other sexual acts.
Summary: You’ve always been Dazai’s favorite distraction. Bringing him lunch, finishing his reports, curling up beside his desk like you belong there. But tonight you want more than his smile. You want to be his pet again. And Dazai is more than happy to teach his kitten how to purr.
𖤐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𖤐
The scent of miso drifted down the halls of the Armed Detective Agency long before you did. In a city overrun with gifted chaos and rising death counts, the warmth of a homemade bento box felt like a rebellion against the cold. Today, like most days, your rebellion was wrapped in pink cloth and tucked lovingly under your arm.
You paused outside the main office door, balancing a Tupperware container of freshly cut fruit in your hands. Your heart pulsed erratically in your ears. You had made lunch for everyone, technically. But you’d only packed salted plum onigiri for one person. Only added extra caramel in the fluffy egg rolls for one man. Only tied a ribbon around the chopsticks for someone who pretended not to notice your devotion—yet noticed everything with those eyes like liquid molasses.
Head down, cheeks warm, you slid the door open. "Good afternoon!" You chirped, as if you hadn’t triple-checked your hair outside in a café window just ten minutes ago. Lightning-struck silence met your arrival.
Kunikida didn’t even look up. “If this is another unauthorized team lunch attempt, I’m confiscating it.”
Dazai Osamu was sprawled half across the desk, limbs like vines curling through a stack of unsorted case files, eyes lidded and dangerous. He didn’t lift his head, didn’t blink. Nothing to indicate life beyond the lazy flick of his lashes. But the moment you crossed the threshold, his fingers twitched.
You walked to his desk, the desk you cleaned weekly even though you’d never once been told to, and set the bento down. Two tins. One with chirashi sushi, edamame, and jelly strawberries carefully molded into cartoon cats. Another with rice mixed with pickled daikon and thin slices of pork belly glazed in mirin. "I made extra," you said, ignoring the way Kunikida muttered under his breath about boundaries. “In case you were hungry.”
It was his smile that undid you. That damned, decadent smile like cracked honeycomb. Slow. Sticky. Dangerous. Dazai sat up slightly, his eyes catching on the velvet ribbon tied prettily around the lunch set. "Extra?" he murmured, reaching out to tug the ribbon. It loosened with a hiss. He didn’t look at the food. He looked at you. "You always bring me something indulgent. Am I your favorite?"
Your heart stammered. You couldn’t look at him for long—his gaze was made of touch. It scorched worse than his fingers ever could. “You skip meals,” you whispered, and it was part excuse, part confession. “It worries me.”
He tilted his head. “So you look after me.” You nodded. He leaned forward. “That makes you mine, doesn’t it?”
The words were like static blooming under your skin. You felt your breath catch, fingers curl into your sleeves. Dazai’s games had rules written in invisible ink and punishments crafted from silence. Yet… you wanted to play.
Heat bloomed in your belly. He was watching the way a cat watches curtain strings. Lazy, patient. Predatory.
Kunikida slammed a folder shut. “You’re a goddamn employee, not a pet, not an assistant, and not his personal housekeeper. I swear to God, woman, if you alphabetized his case reports one more time—”
“I did!” You beamed, turning and pointing to the newly stacked files. "I even color-coded the ones still pending."
Dazai laughed, raspy and low and full of approval. Kunikida stormed out. The door clicked behind him, leaving the room oddly muffled. Heat swirled in the empty space. Not from the sunlight, but from the sheer focus of Dazai’s attention. He scooted the bento aside and crooked a finger. His hand, still wrapped in faint medical gauze, beckoned you closer. “You’re very good at obeying,” he said.
You froze. He patted the space beside him on the couch like he was inviting a kitten to lap from his dish. “Come sit.” You sat. Too close. Not close enough.
He reached for you, slow and unhurried, unraveling the ribbon from the lunch box and curling it around his fingers. It looked obscene, the way his fingers slid along the silk. He brought it to your neck and gently looped the ribbon behind it, then back forward, pulling it taut in his grasp like a leash. “Velvet suits you,” he murmured, his finger brushing your jaw. “Soft. Shivery. Adoring.”
The bento box sat, entirely forgotten. “I… I just wanted to make sure you ate. That's all,” you whispered, though your pulse jackhammered at your temple.
He leaned in so close you could smell the faint scent of singed paper and cotton from his coat. “Liar,” he breathed. “You love feeding me. You love when I praise you. Don’t you?”
You swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed to look away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you nodded.
Then his hand caught your chin, not rough, not soft. Commanding. He tilted your face higher, studying your parted lips, ragged breath. His dark gaze shimmered, deepened. And then, so softly you almost didn't catch it: “Good pet.”
Then your phone buzzed. You jolted, breath crashing, ribbon slipping. Dazai—ever the dramatist—pouted. "Always interrupted. And I was just getting hungry."
For the food, or something else?
You stood on trembling legs, cheeks burning, and tried to collect the bento. Dazai’s hand brushed yours deliberately. “Don't go yet,” he whispered.
The door to the office creaked open again. Kunikida’s voice followed, gruff and annoyed. “Mission briefing. Now.”
Dazai stood, stretching with feline laziness. “Duty calls,” he sighed. Then, glancing down at you with maddening warmth, he added for her ears alone. “But later, pet, you’ll finish feeding me properly, won’t you?” He walked away, laughter in his wake, victory curling in every step.
The ribbon was still in your pocket. You'd folded it carefully the moment Dazai vanished from the office with a wink and the scent of cedar still hanging in the air. You turned it over in your fingers a hundred times since. Silky. Heavy. A promise. It was almost midnight now.
Outside, Yokohama shimmered with loneliness. The sounds were softer: the distant hum of streetcars, the hush of city lights blinking in rhythm, and her pulse stuttering beneath your dress. You stood in front of the mirror and breathed slowly.
You had picked the softest thing you owned, just barely decent—sweet ruffles, ribboned. Something too delicate to wear in front of anyone but him. The thought made your thighs clench. Months of stolen glances, of laughing too hard at his jokes, of finding excuses to tidy the chaos of his desk.
The knock on his door came quieter than expected. It opened faster than you’d prepared for. Dazai leaned lazily against the frame, in slacks and the same pale shirt. His coat was slung over a heap of undone buttons, and his expression went still for just a breath when he saw you. Then those caramel eyes lit up with something rich and wicked. "Oh?" he said, voice soaked in amusement. "Back to play already? And here I thought I’d ruined your innocence too fast."
You could barely meet his eyes, but stood straighter anyway, cheeks burning. “I…” you licked your lips. “I want to play again.”
Dazai’s smile curled like smoke. “Do you, now? That pink is very flattering on you, little dove." His gaze dipped, dragged, devoured. “Although I don’t know if doves make good pets. Maybe you want to be a kitten?”
Heat bloomed over your chest. Your fingers wrung the hem just above your thighs. His teasing was too soft, too dangerous. He stepped aside, and you forced trembling legs forward. The door clicked shut behind.
Inside, the air was dark and thick: the windows drawn, the lamp low and amber. His apartment was like you remember. Elegant disorder, books stacked in uneven towers, shadows lingering in the edges where glass touched ink. He circled you, studying. Then again. Just slightly closer. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
“And so you thought…” Fingers brushed the side of your waist, collecting a ribbon and tugging it loose. “You’d come over and mewl at my door like a little stray.”
“I’m not mewling,” you protested faintly, voice cracking delicately.
“No?” Dazai fingered the lace strap teasing your shoulder. “I think you are. Just a little.” He drew closer then, slow and feline, until his nose grazed your temple. Your knees almost buckled. “I wonder,” he whispered, hot against your skin, “how deep that need of yours goes. Hmm? You like to serve, don’t you? All those little lunches. All that purring for praise. I barely have to command you. You offer yourself so sweetly.”
You shivered. Body aching without moving. The heat between your thighs bloomed steadily, mercilessly.
His kiss landed just below your ear. “Tell me,” he murmured. “Did you dress like this for me, pet?”
“…Yes.”
Your honesty stunned your own ears. But it made Dazai exhale thickly, hand rising to cup your jaw, thumb dragging slowly over your flushed-lip bottom. “Say it again.”
“I dressed like this… for you.”
“Good girl.”
It shouldn’t have made your knees tremble so violently. But it did. Every praise, every look, every command tightened something deep and helpless at the center of you.
He led you forward by the chin this time, toward an armchair nestled into a book-lined corner. A coffee table sat beside it, and with a slow flourish, he reached beneath and retrieved something you’d never seen but somehow fully expected: a deep red box. “You came back, kitten. That’s very brave.” He said, voice dark silk.
He pulled the lid free, and inside—
It was black, sleek, elegant: a collar stitched with gold thread and fitted with a soft metal ring at the center. Dazai unfurled it spine by spine, like a pianist preparing his fingers. The buckle gleamed.
Your breath snagged. His eyes found yours. “Well, now,” he said languidly. “Are you going to be a good kitten… and let me put it on?”
Heat coiled low and trembling in your belly. Your mouth opened around shaped words that wouldn’t come.
“You’re trembling,” Dazai said, voice softer now, thumb stroking along the edge of your jaw. “But you walked all the way here in that little thing just so I’d see. Just so I’d… own you.” He lowered the collar between you, held it open. “Say it, pet,” he said. “Your answer.”
But before you could whisper, before you could yield or challenge or beg, the sharp buzz of his phone cut through everything. Sharp. Angry. Repeating. Dazai’s hand stilled. His eyes flicked to where the screen glowed. His grin vanished. He didn’t move—not yet.
You hadn’t yet answered.
The buzzing of his phone cut across the thick silence. His eyes fixed on you like a wolf cornering a trembling rabbit. But then, that sound. The shuddering sigh you released was involuntary, your chest still rising and falling too rapidly from the weight of what you had almost said.
Dazai checked the screen, brows drawing together in the shadowed light of his apartment. A grimace twisted the edge of his mouth. One finger tapped the Dismiss button. Then, slowly, he turned back to you.
The collar still lay in his hand. “You were about to say something before we were rudely interrupted,” he said, voice like silk soaked in sin. “It would be a shame to lose the courage you’ve been gathering all night.”
You swallowed, the motion tight and nervous. Your pulse fluttered high in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered. A breath. Then firmer, though your voice trembled. “Yes, Dazai. I want to be yours.”
His eyes flared with something neither kind nor soft. Hunger stripped of its disguise. He knelt in front of you, fingers finally moving. The black collar clicked open in his hands, gold embroidery catching the lamplight. You tilted your chin up for him, palms curling into the hem of your lace to keep them from shaking. His touch was warm as he circled your throat, slow and reverent. Then, with a quiet snap, it locked closed.
“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.” Another pause, his gaze traveling over your flushed, figure from collar to toes. Then, sharply, “Now kneel.”
The command sizzled through you, as if the whole world narrowed down to that one word. You obeyed, lowering yourself to the floor with slow grace despite your shaking limbs. The carpet dug into your knees, grounding you. Your breath came in shallow pants.
You heard his steps retreat behind you. A drawer opened, then closed. Leather shifted. A rustle of sorts. He returned. Dazai held out the pieces in front of you like offerings. A tail plug, sleek stainless steel with a long tail, black and plush. Furry ears on a headband, dark and delicately tipped.
Your mouth parted around a gasp that never quite came. Your thighs pressed together. He crouched to your level, voice teasing but steeped in warning. “You want these?” You nodded, lips trembling. He tsked. “Nuh-uh. You know the rules already, pet. You’re going to have to ask nicely. Very nicely. And I want to hear you say what you are. What you need.”
Humiliation flickered in your eyes and then melted into something darker, wetter, warmer. One hand braced on the carpet, the other fisted against your own thigh. You looked up — wide-eyed, red-cheeked, collar high and proud. “Please…” Your voice cracked. “Please, Master. May I… may I have my tail and ears?”
Dazai tilted his head not satisfied. “Why? Use your words, my little kitten. Be honest. What do you want them for?”
A whimper escaped you. Your pride twisted with arousal. Embarrassment clung like heat to your skin. And yet… “I want… to look pretty for you. I want to be your pet. I—” You swallowed. “I want you to use me. To make me be good. I want to please you. I want to—”
He brought a thumb to your lower lip to silence the spiral. “Good girl.” The words lit up every inch of you. You trembled harder. “You don’t know what that does to me, do you?” he murmured, pushing the ear headband onto your scalp with slow, precise hands. It nestled into your hair perfectly. He stepped around you then crooked one finger. “Bend forward. Arch your back. Let me see.”
Shame made you hesitate a moment then you did it. Your upper body lowered gently onto the carpet, backside tilted into the air, soft lace rising up your thighs. Dazai pressed a hand against the curve of your back, held you steady. He knelt behind you like a sculptor examining his masterpiece. There was a moment of stillness. Reverence in the silence.
Then cool fingers tugged gently at the waistband of your panties. “You remember your safe word?”
You nodded. “Velvet.”
“Good girl.”
The lube came first. Then the plug eased in, inch by slow inch, and the stars exploded behind your eyes. Fire licked through you, curling at your core as your shoulders shook with gasped moans.
“Perfect,” Dazai murmured as he palmed your tail, brushing his fingers through it like petting a real animal. “Just look at you. On your hands and knees… mine.”
You buried your face against the carpet, body trembling with every shuddering breath. Embarrassed tears clung to your lashes, strange and sweet. You had never felt so exposed, so claimed. And yet you couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so cherished either.
The knock on the door drew Dazai away from you, leaving you with a simple command. Stay. You did and you heard Dazai answer the door.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Kunikida,” he said smoothly from the doorframe, “but if you insist on dropping by unannounced, don’t be surprised when you find me in… compromising moods.”
Disbelief sputtered into indignation on Kunikida’s face, and a hurried explanation followed — something about the mission report being wrong, or maybe not urgent after all — before the door shut with a quiet, biting finality.
Silence returned like falling snow, too still, too perfect. You were still kneeling, as he had left you, tail swishing faintly with every shift of your thighs, breath sharp in your chest. The collar clung delicately to your throat, and the ears felt heavy.
Dazai just smiled, dark eyes glittering. He toed off his shoes slowly, every movement deliberate. Predator calm. Master precise. “You waited.” A hum of approval, thick with heat.
You nodded. “Yes, Dazai.”
His gaze slithered down your body, dragging over the arch of your spine, the dip where the tail met lace. “You didn’t even whimper when I went to the door. Such a loyal little pet.”
Warmth bloomed in your chest. Pride and praise melting into need. Your hips rocked back, the movement involuntary, shamefully hungry. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Crawl,” he ordered softly. “Come here.”
You obeyed instantly, palms meeting cool floorboards as you crawled on all fours toward him. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. With each inch, the air thickened not with fear anymore, but tension.
He didn’t move, merely circled you slowly once you reached him, fingers trailing lightly over the pink ribbon at your hips. His thumb grazed the base of the plug where your tail flicked, making you tremble. His voice dropped. “Follow me like a good girl.” And so you did.
He didn’t hurry. Every step toward his bedroom was purposeful, the sound of his feet tapping the wood a metronome to your crawling shame. Your skin flushed beneath the collar. He said nothing more, but every few steps, his fingers beckoned or brushed behind your ear. Each featherlight touch set your nerves alight.
The bedroom was warm. Dimly lit with amber lamplight and carrying the scent of cedarwood and ink. He unbuttoned his coat with little effort, discarding it across the back of a chair. Then he sat not lounging, but sprawling with careful elegance at the edge of the bed. His knees parted, giving you space. “Here,” he said approvingly. “Kneel.”
You did, settling between his legs, hands folded onto your thighs like prayer. Your cheek was flushed, lips parted slightly. Not in confusion, but in desperate anticipation. He cradled your chin, tilting your face up.
“Look at you,” he purred. “Wearing my collar, crawling on command, waiting to serve like a perfect little thing. You’re so eager to please me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Dazai,” you whispered.
He leaned forward, the curl of his smile sinful. “Undo my pants. Slowly.”
Trembling fingers worked at his belt, the metallic clink whispering over your skin. The zipper made your breath hitch. He wasn’t even touching you, but you were falling apart under the weight of his words. “Good girl,” he murmured, and your thighs pressed tight together. “Do you like this?” He let his forefinger trail down the bridge of your nose. “Touching me like this? Serving me on your knees like the pretty little pet you begged to be?”
You nodded, lips trembling. “I love it, Dazai. I want to be yours.”
“Oh,” he cooed, tilting your face again so your gazes locked. “You are. Completely. Do you think I’d let anyone else hear those needy little whimpers? See your sweet little tail curl when I praise you?”
Your mouth opened but he pressed his thumb to your lower lip and watched you melt around it. His other hand ghosted through your hair, down your shoulders, tracing your leash where it joined the collar. “I like you this way,” he whispered. “Obedient. Wet. Bearing my name between your thighs.”
You whimpered, letting your forehead press against his knee for a moment, breath shuddering. Your lower body ached. Heat pulsed through you in waves, and still hadn’t moved more than a few subtle touches.
“I want you to remember how this feels,” he said. “Every time you look at your desk at work. Every time you kneel behind mine to organize my files. I want you thinking about this. About how easily you’ll drop to your knees when I say the word.” He cupped your cheek gently, reverently. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Dazai.”
He leaned down, closer, his lips ghosting against your forehead. “Then be good for me again.”
Just as you took him into your hand, breath heavy, a soft buzz pierced through the haze of heat. His phone — again. His jaw ticked with restraint, but he didn’t move. The ringtone was distinct. Agency line. But Dazai’s eyes were on you. “Don’t stop,” he whispered.
You looked up at him, eyes wide. “But—”
“I said don’t stop.”
You obeyed. And he answered the phone with lazy coldness, one hand tangling in your hair while your mouth closed over him, slowly, reverently. “Dazai speaking,” he said, voice smooth while decadence bloomed in his lap.
Outside, the world waited. But in the warmth of the bedroom, on your knees between his thighs, you felt something far more important press against your tongue. His possession. His approval. His praise when the call ended.
You watched his hand lower the phone slowly, like a judge announcing the final verdict. And just like that, all focus turned back to you. “No more distractions,” he murmured.
His hands moved with sudden, decisive speed that made you gasp. One moment you were kneeling, breath fragrant with the taste of him, the next you were airborne. Lifted and flipped with the grace of a dancer into the plush, neatly made bed. The collar at your throat tugged slightly as you landed on her back, knees spread, arms trembling with the rush of anticipation. “Dazai—” you breathed, but his mouth caught yours in a kiss that silenced all doubt. It wasn’t gentle.
He kissed like a man snarling gold from between his teeth, possessive and all-encompassing. Your body curled toward him automatically, even as his weight pressed you down, pinning you like prey beneath the hands of something much, much hungrier. “You want to be good,” he said against your ear, fingers unhooking the clasp at your hips, lowering delicate lace until it bunched at your ankles. “I know you do. So here’s how it works, kitten.”
His dark eyes bore into yours. There was no teasing mischief now. Just heat, low and hooded and entirely in control. “To be a good girl… you stay right where I put you. You take everything I give you. Even when it makes you sob. Even when your sweet little body tries to run.” A sound rose in your throat, needy. You bit your lip to catch it, and Dazai noticed. Of course he noticed. He always did. “Don’t hide from me now,” he whispered. “I want to hear every sound. Cry for me, kitten.”
Then he braced one hand above your head, the other along your waist, and pushed into you without warning. The jolt sent stars through your skull. Your entire body arched, breath catching in a ragged gasp as your walls fluttered in surprised surrender. You whimpered—no, keened—and Dazai hissed in approval to feel how tightly you clung to him.
“Already crying?” he groaned, grinning against your throat. “Poor thing. So sweet, so soft. You were made for this, weren’t you?”
His rhythm set immediately. Hard, fast, unrelenting and matched the thunder of your heartbeat. He worked your body into shapes it shouldn’t have known so instinctually. Pleasure and pain blurred until you could no longer tell if the tears streaking your cheeks were from pain or pleasure.
You were blushing, wet and wrecked, a mess beneath him and he adored it. “There we go,” Dazai whispered when your sob dissolved into a hiccupping cry. “Such a good kitten. Let me hear your heartbreak on my tongue.”
You whimpered again, eyes brimming as the pressure inside you tipped from unbearable to entirely sublime. “Dazai—Dazai, I c-can’t—!”
“Yes, you can. You will.” He thrust deeper, his hand wrapping into your hair like chains, guiding you back into the curve of his shoulder. “You don’t get to decide when it’s too much. That’s my job. Yours is just to take it.”
You cried. Broken little sobs that made your breasts shake and thighs tremble against his unrelenting pace. Yet every tortured sound only seemed to stoke the fire in his eyes. Flushed and gasping, you clung to him like a ship in a storm, mouth open in a silent plea.
“Say it,” he coaxed. “Say you’re mine. Show me how a kitten thanks her master.”
“I—I’m yours,” you choked out, the leash tightening where it looped in his hand. Every pull on the collar forced your gaze back to his. “Yours, Dazai. Only yours!”
He bit into your neck just then, a claiming mark sharp enough to deepen your sob, but your hips surged toward him anyway. “Good girl,” he said raggedly. “My good little crybaby.”
You cried harder at that because it was true. You were falling apart for him. Letting him use every inch, every nerve, every fluttering moan until pain became pleasure, and pleasure became devotion. And he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen it,” he muttered into your throat, breath grinding with effort. “The way you shiver when I tighten the leash. The way you cry when I say you belong to me. My darling kitten’s never been more honest than when she’s sobbing around my cock, isn’t that right?”
A ragged whimper was your only answer, broken open like the softest secret. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Only feel—feel how he filled you. How the tears streamed helplessly down your cheeks while the rest of you clung to every inch of him in greedy, overwhelming surrender.
“I love you like this,” he whispered. “Cracked wide open. Sweet and tear-stained and ruined. My perfect little pet.”
You broke again. Shuddering. The orgasm rolled through you like a hurricane. Pulse sharp, heart stammering, mouth parted in a silent scream against his shoulder. Dazai groaned deep as your walls clenched around him. Stringing him tight until he bucked through his own release.
Aftershocks stole your breath, thoughts. All you could do was grip the front of his shirt like it might be the only thing anchoring you to the earth. But you smiled through the tears. A small, dumb smile full of something new. Because something had shifted.
Not just in your body. Something inside your mind twisted. You didn’t want anything else now. Not dignity, not privacy, not even pride. You just wanted the leash. And him at the end of it.
As your eyes fluttered open, dazed and dreamy, Dazai looked down at you. Still inside. Still keeping you full. “You understand now, don’t you?” he asked softly.
You blinked slowly, tears fresh at the corners, lips quivering. “Understand what?” You whispered.
Dazai leaned down and kissed you again. This time tender and slow, almost reverent. “That you’re not just wearing my collar.” His palm brushed your cheek. “You’re becoming exactly what I want.”
Master list
