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(Dazai taking off his bandages in front of you, for the very first time)
Characters: Dazai Osamu.
pairing: Dazai x reader
gn! reader
genre: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, implied sexual content. (honestly, it's only at the end, and it's not even that explicit, but I preferred to specify).
warnings: hinted past abuse, non graphic description of violence. word count: 3437 words.
A rustling of clothes; the flickering of a golden light; the moon outside colored the city in a silver shade, the night left room only for the silence. During the darkest hours, only two people could be awake: the devilish ones, who dirtied the streets in crimson, and the souls who had something to say; and there were mysteries only the moon could witness, the sun, wasnât made for them.
The silhouette in front of you, quietly folded his clothes beside him, taking his time, as to delay the moment he had to speak, to explain what was going on inside his head.
You said nothing, waiting for him. Dazai rarely talked about himself: he always shied away, when someone tried to look under his skin, and he almost found a masochist pleasure, in it. He was a controversial human, who wished to be understood, but at the same time, was afraid of letting someone in.
He took off his bolo tie, and went to unbutton his striped shirt, you observed every action. That night was different: he was going to take his bandages off, completely.
 That afternoon, the brunet laid on the floor, whining about the warm weather of summer: he rolled on his back, on his belly, and then, on his side, only to repeat the sequence after some moments.
-What are you doing?
You asked him, he huffed, changing his position again,
-Today is hot, too hot, - he lamented, pinching at his shirt, -I feel like Iâm going to burn alive.
You rolled your eyes, smiling: he was always dramatic to the extreme.
-Couldnât you wear something lighter?
He sighed, putting a hand on his chest, as to enlighten his desperation.
-Ah, how much I wish it was true, my beautiful love, - he rose an arm to show you the bunch of bandages that he wore, -but the real problem are these, theyâre like a second skin, and theyâre eating me alive, - he concluded, still swinging his arms in the air.
You didnât answer immediately, since you felt, he was trying to tell something more serious, than a silly joke about hot weather. Dazai had always been like this: when he wanted to open up, he always hid behind his dorky antics. You didnât know if he did it out of habit, or because he felt uncomfortable acting like his true self. But each time you wondered, your mind always brought you to the first option; after all, neither Dazai knew how his true self was, and that was one of the many thoughts that kept him up at night, eating him on the inside, adding to the bunch of crises he hid from everyone.
Initially, you didnât understand, why he behaved like that, but as time went by, you realized that, despite his straightforward nature, talking about himself, was always difficult. He was a genius, a strategist, but where feelings became the major topic, he often had a hard time explaining himself.
You looked at him: locking your pupils with his.
-Are you⊠telling me you want to take them off?
You whispered, searching on his face for any sign of uneasiness.
He held your gaze for a while, resting his hands on his abdomen. For a moment, he said nothing, but you could clearly distinguish the turmoil of feelings he was experimenting: he wanted to dismiss it as a joke, and he was truly tempted to do it; but at the same time, another part of him, was aching to share the deepest sides of him with you.
He turned his head, to stare at the ceiling, a pair of fingers tapping on the belly.
-Do you want me to take them off?
-Donât try to dismiss my question with another question, - you huffed, getting closer to him, -your tricks are getting old. â you joked.
His lips stretched out in a smile, but it was so small, it was barely labile as it.
-Youâre mean, you know?
He tried to change the subject again, but you didnât answer him, showing no sign to let this topic slide that easily.
He closed his eyes, defeated; you could see him swallowing thickly. The wind moved his hair, warming the room wit its warm blow. You inhaled the bunch of air that pervaded your face, intertwining your hands with the ones of the brunet.
He grinned again, this time wider,
-Actually, y/n, - he murmured, his voice was uncharacteristically low, -Iâve been wanting to do it for a while.
Dazai never apologized, or admitted his defeat, instead, he preferred to avoid all the pleasantries and common places to directly arrive at the heart of the discussions. That was another thing you learnt about him, through time.
-Then do it, take your time, Iâm here with you.
He didnât answer, but his smile, spoke a million words.
So, there you where, hours after, sat on the futon, in front of him, waiting for the brunet to remain only with his bandages on.
His expression was blank, almost apathetic, but it was clear, that too many thoughts were clouding his mind: you didnât miss the trembling fingers, missing the buttons of the shirt a few times, you didnât miss his too heavy breath, and you didnât miss how his eyes looked restless, flickering from left to right. But you chose to say nothing: it was better not to startle him, to avoid making him feel ashamed of his feelings.
Dazai was battling with himself, resisting the urge to hide again: he sighed, staring at his bandaged arms: he wanted to back off, to tell you that he didnât feel like doing it anymore, but he was tired, exhausted even, to keep some things only for him. During the first times, he thought there would have been things he could have never told you, since he was too afraid of scaring you. But as time went by, as you spent more and more time with him, he fell in love a little more; and each time his heart beat faster, he felt the need to give himself away to you, to let you uncover small little parts of him, that maybe outside appeared insignificant, but for him, and for you, where everything.
Sometimes he laughed at himself, at how easily he let his guard down, and let you take care of him. But then, he repeated at himself that you didnât want to hurt him, that this was fine, and at times, he almost believed it. It wasnât like he didnât trust you, but his defenses had been built by several years of training, and his mind was, somewhat used, to think in a certain way.
It was a long road, but he was working on it. Starting from that night.
He stared again at his arms, hid behind the cloth. What if you felt disgusted by them? What if you just ran away from him? He didnât want it, he didnât want to lose you, he couldnât lose you.
He huffed, feeling the need to puke, a headache taking over him.
-Dazai, ehy, - you called him, sensing his confusion, -whatâs wrong?
You brought a hand stroking his cheek, his eyes flickered in the moonlight.
His trembling pupils ran all over your face, disoriented, then after a while, he settled for your eyes, huffing.
-I thought it was easier, - he held the hand you were resting on his face, kissing the palm, -but I donât even know where to start, hehe. â He let out a little, ashamed laugh.
The truth was, he was burning because of anger. He had only to tear that annoying white envelope away from his skin, why it had to be that difficult? He was capable of threatening and manipulating tons of people out there, and he couldnât get rid of a few stripes of bandage? He wrinkled his nose, bothered.
Ignoring the blush that was crackling on your own cheeks, you answered him,
-Breathe, take your time, - you kissed the tip of his nose, he jumped a little. -I wonât force you.
He nodded, returning to his wrists, finally taking off the small pins, that held the bandages together. He unraveled the arm, then the forearm, he let the soft cloth falling onto the ground. He still avoided your eyes, feeling as if his soul had been at your complete mercy.
The warm breeze, was foreign on his skin. Sometimes, he didnât care to change his bandages; it always took a long time, taking them off, then putting on the new ones. There were days in which he was too tired to even move or to simply breathe, every limb ached, feeling like lead. So, he just let the old ones stay on him. Furthermore, he didnât enjoy looking at his body, his past was written all over him, and every time he peeked at one of his scars, he ardently wished to forget everything. But he always had a strong memory, and all the reminders were there, each scar, each wound, he remembered everything, how he got them, how painful they were.
The last bits of bandage fell from his arms, and he had never felt so anxious in all his life. Your eyes never stopped roaming all over him, digging your pupils in each scratch, in each cut; they were so many, his body looked like a canvas of some abstract artist.
Noticing he stopped, you directed your gaze on his face, seeing he was looking back at you.
-What is it?
You asked, whispering.
He shook his head, making his soft hair move from left to right. You held back the urge to pat him.
-I was just, thinking that you could help me, you know?
You widened your eyes, not expecting such tender offer. You stood there, speechless for a while.
Hearing you didnât answer, he urged to add:
-Oh, but if you donât want, donât worry I-
-No, I want to, I want to. â You sighed, -I wasnât expecting you to tell me to help you.
A shy grin appeared on his face, he adverted his eyes, looking downcast.
-Well, itâs not like I can unravel my bandages on my back on my own.
-Oh, right.
You giggled. Then, still smiling, you got up, to help him.
You settled on his back, unpinning the roll of bandages on his neck, that apparently, was linked to the one on his back.
The room was silent again, and you were left with your thoughts; while unravelling the cloth, you couldnât help but to keep smiling: obviously, what Dazai said before, was nothing but a mere excuse. He was a subtle man, and multiple times, he just hid his true thoughts behind an apparent and obvious reason. But you learnt to read him, and you could bet that often, he took them off alone, since he didnât want anyone to notice. Why suddenly he needed someone to help him? Simple, he didnât need someone to help him, he needed you to help him; and this sudden realization hit you in the stomach, filling it with butterflies.
You freed his neck from the bandages, already looking at his long wounds. You kissed his nape, gaining a small shiver. You lingered on his skin, inhaling his scent.
Another tender smile made his way on your lips: behind that silly phrase, the truth was as tender as embarrassing:
I thought that it would have been easier, with your hands on me.
After a while, Dazai was deprived of all his bandages, there werenât any: on his tights, on his neck, on his arms, his belly too, was totally exposed. You were again in front of him, trying to get your eyes used to the image of him without any bandage on. He was him, obviously, but somewhat different: when we get used to something, for a long time, even a little change, can make us feel disoriented.
Just like his neck, and arms, the rest of is body was full of wounds, cicatrized. There were long ones, like the two on his shoulders, the enormous one on his chest, and others that looked more serious, like the few scratches on his knees and wrists. What surprised you, was the exaggerated number of white dots all over his body, that made his skin appear dappled. Â
You wished there werenât any. How much pain had he to endure, to collect all those wounds on his skin? Â
-Theyâre a lot hehe, - he tried to break the silence, -and theyâre ugly, I know.
-I donât think theyâre ugly at all.
-But you wished I didnât have them, right? It was what you were thinking.
You stared at him, as your heart sunk a little: for once, just for once, you wished he couldnât read your mind.
You got on your knees, lifting his head to look at his eyes: they trembled, his last defenses falling, in front of you. He tried to cover the scars on his neck, scratching his nape, but you stopped his hand, holding it in yours.
-Donât. Donât cover them.
Donât hide from me.
He hinted a little nodding.
-Yes, I wished you didnât have all those wounds on your body, but not because theyâre ugly, or because they disgust me. â He sucked his breath a bit, you held back the urge to smile, opting for a more serious expression: -instead, I was thinking that theyâre a lot, and many of them seem deep and painful.
-I wish you didnât suffer that much.
A soft crimson shade colored his cheeks. It was a rare sight, but you considered yourself lucky, to witness whenever Dazai got flustered a little. He seemed so small, defenseless even. You had never seen him like that.
Feeling the sudden need to protect him, your lips moved alone, forming a question:
-Can I hug you?
Can I touch you?
He nodded, weakly.
In no time, your arms went to envelope his small figure, holding him tight. He rested his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to sigh. His wavy hair tickled your skin, giving you goosebumps, but you ignored it, kissing the top of his head.
You two stayed like that for some moments, without saying a word: in moment like that, words werenât important.
When you were about to release him, a small noise, came from the space between your shoulder and your neck:
-Keep hugging me.
Please.
It was lower than a whisper, so gentle, so fragile, it looked almost like a beg. You held him in your arms, stronger than before. He trembled, almost avoiding to breathe. You looked at him, for a moment, for once, he seemed so young, so lost, it made your heart weak.
It was hard to remember at times, that Dazai too, was human. He was good at hiding it, behind his cheerful behavior, behind his witty mind, and when faced with hard times, with his blank expression; sometimes, even you, got fooled. But now, in your arms, all those things didnât exist at all: in your arms there was Dazai, the human one, the young man who hid himself from everyone, to avoid suffering. The same one that now, was letting you see how much he needed someone to talk to.
You carded your fingers through his soft locks, inhaling his scent. He adjusted better on your shoulder, sighing.
Caressing his neck, you peeked over his back, the pale moonlight reflected on his skin, as if it was the calm surface of the ocean. The small, lighter scars, marked his flesh, looking like small ripples. They formed a lot of abstracts drawings, interrupting in many different points, branching out in other ones, almost like cracks on a wall. You smiled: there was no way you could be disgusted by him.
-Youâre beautiful, you know? Â
It almost came out naturally, you didnât think too much, you just wanted to voice out your thoughts.
He stiffened in your hold, probably taken aback by your sudden confession.
-Are you sure your eyes are working well?
-Iâve never been surer in all my life.
Your voice let out a hint of laugh.
You kept observing his back, tracing meaningless drawings on his skin, following the rotten pattern of his scars. Dazai closed his eyes, finding the tickling sensation utterly pleasurable. He tried to hold back some sighs, but as you continued to trace his flesh, he couldnât hold back the shy puffs that left his mouth. It was so embarrassing, and yet, pleasurable. Your hands were gentle on his skin, almost scared of hurting him, as if he was made of porcelain.
Then, you noticed the small scars on his shoulders, they were lighter than his already pale skin, and they ripped the surface just like small seams. You peaked at one of them, noticing how the brunetâ skin was boiling.
Then, the small silhouette in your arms shivered.
-Sorry, does it hurt?
He shook his head, adjusting his position in your arms,
-No, some of them are just sensitive, I, - he waited, wondering if he had to finish the sentence or not, -I liked it.
You felt your cheeks warming, he was adorable.
Having received his consent, you kept kissing him, not stopping to caress his back. You peaked at each scar, each wound, even the small dots, lingering on his skin to make him feel your touch. Sometimes small, subdued sighs left his lips, other times soft groans and small puffs.
Once you were done with the scars on the shoulders, you passed at the ones on the neck, tracing a timid line of kisses on his skin; you went to hold his nape, brushing the small locks at the base of his head. He tilted the latter to the left, giving you more space. You reached his jaw, leaving some peaks also there; your hands went to trace the long wound on his chest, gaining a shy gasp from the owner.
He arched his back, pushing your head on his neck, to bring you closer. That long scar was probably the most sensitive one, and he couldnât hold back the various quiet gasps that his mouth was threatening to produce. He had never been that flustered in all his life, he was usually the one to do all the teasing, but now, he had never thought that being the teased one was that comfortable.
You stopped for a moment, looking at him: his cheeks were of a deep red, and his glassy eyes reflected the moonlight fervently, looking like small iron bits. His lips were slightly parted, as he kept panting weakly. He hardly held your gaze, too flustered to look at you in the eyes, but too stubborn to lower them. You dove, kissing him deeply, slowly. He received you completely, holding your head, keeping you close to him. His lips were uncharacteristically hot, burning yours. Not even the time to part, to breathe, that both your lips were sealed together again. You continued to caress him, swallowing all his gasps, and hums; smiling a little, you noticed how much he was trying to hold back, the small trembles of his limbs.
You didnât know which heart was beating faster, if his or yours.
Parting again, you laid him on the soft futon, never leaving his embrace.
-Happy birthday Osamu, - you left a peak on his forehead, -I love you.
He peeked at you, with his uncombed hair and red lips; the soft rays of the moon, kissed his skin gently, making look almost ethereal. It was paradoxical, how him, labeled as a demon, looked like an angel. But you knew it too well, that Dazai was way far from being an angel, and at the same time, you knew he was way far from being a demon too. He was just a lost human, who desperately searched for himself, too tired for his age, too clever for the world where you lived in.
Nothing could outweigh his mind, nothing could bring him release, from his burning thirst for a solution for his black hole inside. There was no solution, and you knew it. But that night, between your arms, he looked a bit content, a bit quieter, his mind a little free, from all the demons he fought during the day.
And you wished, to bring him, at least a bit of peace, like the raindrops of a downpour in the middle of summer.
He hugged you again, tighter than before.
-I love you too.
For once, take care of me.
There we are. That's just a tiny thing I've wrote for his birthday, I hope you enjoyed it. đ
Sorry if I'm being a lot inactive recently, but i'm barely having the time to sleep and eat, exams are getting closer and I'm starting to feel anxious; to be brief, I will finish to write all your requests as soon as possible, (I hope to finish them in July). Thank you for your patience, really! đ
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