I forgot if your mini fics were open or not but uh, i think they were, idk, if yes
Then could you do a fem maid reader that dazai keeps flirting with and she gets super annoyed, sprays his face repeatedly to test his patience now, and he continues annoying her, so she just gives up and hands him the cleaning stuff, telling him to clean if he wont shut up
Feel free to ignore this like im a ghost..boo...
⌯⌲ hi there sweetheart, mini fic requests are currently always on, so i will definitely take this. i think i remember seeing this req from you before & you mentioned pm!dazai? i’ll have to make him at least 18 for this, since it might be a little suggestive, i hope you don’t mind~
“Oh~, if it isn’t my favorite worker,” that soft voice taunts behind you, usually one that would make anyone else swoon, but you’ve heard it so often that it’s flat out irritating at this point. A near constant that makes you want to quit, but the money is just too good to pass up — because where else are you going to make stacks upon stacks of cash for simply doing maid services? You sigh inwardly, ignoring him, continuing to wipe down the counters, doing your best to not let him know you heard him. “You always look like you know what you’re doing with your hands.” Dazai continues, leaning against your perfectly clean counter with his soiled clothes, and you side eye him — he has specks of blood on his shirt collar and bandages, and his nose is bleeding. “Forgive my appearance, I try to look nothing but the best for you, but I just returned from a rather difficult job and, quite frankly, you are all the medicine I need.” His overactive fingers reach out to twirl a piece of your hair around, and you just lightly swat his hand away.
“And if it isn’t the walking HR violation,” you greet sweetly with a tight smile, before turning back to your work. "What do you need now? Me to do your dry cleaning... again?" You sigh, gently nudging him out of your way as you re-wipe down the surface to avoid any remnants of his dirt and blood getting everywhere.
"I'd like for you to take me up on my offer," his wrist comes up to carefully wipe under his nose, eyeing the deep sanguine riddled on the gauze, and he can't help wondering if you think I look hot like that. However, without an initial reaction, he may have to try a different approach. Again. You stop to sigh heavily, rolling your eyes, then toss the towel at his chest before turning to walk toward your cart of cleaning supplies. His hand barely catches it, watching after you with his lone eye and a slight smirk dancing along his lips. "C'mon, what's it gonna take to finally get you to say yes?" He continues, following behind you and chucking the rag on the top as you start moving. Ignoring him.
"There isn't enough money in the world to get me to be your personal maid to clean a shipping container," you emphasize. "Heaven knows you'll put me in one of those dumb outfits." You sneer at the thought, shaking your head and trying to push farther to get away from him.
"I'll have you know, mi bellisima," his steps float along the floor, spinning him around to be in front of your cart, hands coming down to grip it to prevent you from going forward. "I have moved up in the world. I have an apartment now." He tells you, proud, definitely trying to show off now since part of the reason you wanted nothing to do with him since the jump is that he seemed like the type to absolutely free load. You didn't want him to try moving into your place, invade your space, and eat all your food.
"Wow," you drawl, faux impress, but your expression is a blank slate of absolutely not caring. "I'm sure that hurt your heart and wallet to break away from your precious container." You try being more forceful when pushing the cart, but he is shockingly stronger, it hardly budging, and he is still sporting that infuriatingly boastful smile as he gazes at you. "Please let me through. I have more of the building to clean, and I'm the only one on staff today so I need to hurry."
"See? If you were working for only me, you'd have one floor to clean," he purposefully entices, propping his elbow on the cart's surface, other hand out in a form of offering. "It's a simple two-bedroom, two bathroom, but it has an expansive living and kitchen area. Luxury, of course, all shiny, hardwood flooring or tile, and I don't own any pets." He rattles all of this information off to you, as if trying to sell it to you, and you merely continue to stare at him blankly.
"Dazai, are you trying to play that your penthouse is a simple apartment?" You ask, blunt, taking a guess. Anything "expansive" typically means it is more than an apartment. Though, two bedrooms and two bathrooms don't seem like much for a luxury living space that most higher-up mafia members live in. You had heard a rumor that Chuuya's place has at least three bedrooms and is a bi-level.
"Now, I wouldn't call it a penthouse, per se," his voice is airy and nonchalant, head tilting as his cheek rests in his palm. "Why don't you come home with me tonight to see for yourself?" His tongue pokes out between his teeth when he grants you a cheeky smile, and your shoulders slump from agitation. You adjust your grip on the handle before aggressively and roughly jerking it backwards, causing him to stumble forward, and you turn around to find a different route.
"Why would you leave me alone in my time of need?!" He laments, overdramatic. "I'm injured and in need of medical attention!"
"I'm a maid!" You yell back over your shoulder. "Go to Mori if you're in the much pain!" You turn your nose up, a soft 'hmph' following when you round the corner and disappear from his eyesight. He sighs, pouting, and folds his arms as he tries to think of other methods to get your romantic attention.
"Mori's not even anywhere remotely like a cute maid though," he grumbles, trudging down the hall with his head hung as he makes way for the boss' office for pain pills and fresh bandages.
All day, Dazai had followed you around the building while you were just wanting to get your job complete, already discouraged since you were working alone, and he wasn't making it any better. He would put his hands on stuff you just wiped down or polished, mess with the supplies in your cart, take things from your hands when in the middle of using them, and at one point, he hoisted himself up on your cart to sit comfortably. You are incredibly used to his antics, his annoying tendencies, his overall overbearing and intruding personality, but this is the most insistent he has ever been, and you're overwhelmed. You typically leave Mori's office for last, since he'll be gone by the time you get there and won't be in his way, but you're one more comment from the executive about 'how cute you'd look in a maid dress' away from storming in there and quitting on the spot.
"What do I need to do to get you to be my maid?" He sighs heavily, leaning on your cart beside the windows, cheeks propped on his fists, and wearing an extremely pathetic pout. Your finger stills mid-squeeze of the window cleaner in your hand, and you faintly make out your reflection in the glass as the sun is setting. You've been there since five in the morning, and it is way after five in the evening, and this smooth-talking teenager has been talking your ear off for hours, bitching and complaining about how he doesn't like cleaning his own place, the maids he did hire aren't 'nearly as thorough as you' or 'aren't as cute either', droning on and on about how he just doesn't have the time or energy to do much in general — but apparently having 'mi bellisima' there every day would surely 'make everything better'. Why does he think he has the right to call me that anyhow?!
"Dazai, this is your only warning," you begin, hands gripping tight to your bottle and wiper, staring straight ahead with your eyes starting to shake in your sockets. "Shut up, go away, and leave me alone, or you're going to be the one finishing cleaning this building." He blinks a couple times, his visible eye widened some at your octave, and he can't help a small smile inching on his face at your hostility. What can I say, he's a sucker for a woman that's mean to him. His teeth briefly bite down on his teeth, gently dragging them back and bats his lashes, you unaware that he is gearing up to call your bluff.
"Oh~, mi bellisima," he softly swoons, his cheeks suddenly beginning to flush. "Have I ever told you how stunning you are when you're angry?" The worst part: he means it. What an outdated and overused line! Your jaw tightens, lids dropping for a long moment, taking in one long inhale, then slowly exhale through your nose — almost resembling a bull preparing to run through the matador in the ring.
You abruptly turn, smile sickeningly sweet, and his features drop. One thing he has learned with all the ways he has tormented you is that expression means the opposite: you're livid. You walk over, steps slow and calculated, and his eye darts to your spray bottle as he gradually straightens himself up, taking a small step backward. "Don't leave now, we were having such a great conversation." You say, voice dripping in honey, and you're honestly sending him mixed signals.
"I think you were right earlier, I have so much stuff I need to do," he tries, but it's wasted breath now. The rag drops on the cart when your other hand reaches out — swift like a cobra — to snatch at his tie to yank him closer. "Hey, remember, I'm your superior." He reminds, but for once, his voice is shaking and none of those words are steady.
"Like I care!" You shout, spraying his face repeatedly with the window cleaner, his eye squeezing shut and biting down on the inside of his cheek as his lips stay tightly closed together. His bandage around his head soaks up some of the liquid, the smell permeating his nose, and you only release him when your finger starts to hurt. You chuck the bottle to the side and storm off without another word, leaving him there drenching in lemon-scented window shine, confused about his feelings toward the incident, and conflicted with chasing after you to make you regret doing that.
Much to Dazai's dismay, his partner happens to be passing by, gloved hands in his pockets, and his feet come to a slow stop as his blue and brown gawk at the state of him. Chuuya stands beside him, eyeing him up and down, silent, the chain of his hat lightly rattling with his head movements, and he suddenly snorts without hiding his grin. A dark brown eye glides in his direction, jaw tight, and he exhales through his nose just as you did. "Do not say a word." He whispers, threatening, as if that would have any affect on Chuuya.
"How much more cleaning supplies getting dumped on you until you learn women don't like being harassed?" He laughs, throwing his head back while he returns his journey off elsewhere in the building, taking patrol, and leaving behind his counterpart the way he found him. Dazai's arms come up to fold over his lightly damp chest, the lemon overpowering, and starts wondering if his "magical charm" has worn off since it doesn't seem to work on you. At all.
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch
