Yu

“sorry,” you smile shyly, but he swallows the words, not wanting to be apart for another second. he doesn’t even feel it anyway; he thinks if you pulled out a gun and shot him at this moment, he might’ve even thanked you.

you intertwine your fingers with his as you lead him into the dark of your room, and he’s suddenly surrounded by everything that is so quintessentially you. he commits it all to memory: the title of the book on your nightstand, the delicate splay of jewelry on your dresser, the pajama shorts hanging over the side of your hamper in the corner. he wants to belong here with you so badly, to forcefully carve a space for himself in your life, even if it was jagged and splintered.

he jolts out of his thoughts when you cup his cock through his trousers, grinning when you feel he’s already hard. you kiss a line across the sharp edge of his jaw to the delicate curve of the column of his throat, remnants of your lipstick staining his bandages a pale pink. you place a kiss on every new piece of exposed skin and cotton as you unbutton his shirt, your lips traveling down his chest and his stomach until you reach his waistline. the sight of you on your knees for him, paired with the warmth of your palms sliding up his thighs feels like enough for him to cum all over your pretty face. he forces himself to think of anything else as you unzip his pants: that meeting he canceled yesterday, chuuya and his stupid hat, anything. this had to last.

he slips the more you touch him, practically throbbing against your hand as you pump his cock. you lick up a stripe up his length, catching the pearly drops that leak from its head on the tip of your tongue. he watches, pretty brown hues seeped in adoration as you let his balls settle in your palm, fondling them softly as you press wet kisses along his length. you suckle on the tip, leaving him slicked with your spit as you stroke him steadily.

he cups your jaw with a trembling hand, running his thumb along the plush of your bottom lip as his cock pops out of your mouth. you flutter your lashes up at him, kissing the tip of his finger. everything that’s happened these past two daysーbut especially thisーis so much more than he deserved; even still if he doesn’t get more, he swears he’ll die. he slips his thumb into your mouth, past your teeth until he presses down onto the cushion of your tongue, pulling your jaw open.

you keep your eyes locked on his visible one as he pushes inside you. your lips wrap around him pliantly, tongue soft as it rubs along the underside of his cock. your hands stay on his thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing strokes along the sensitive skin beneath his hipbones as you engulf him in your mouth as best as you can. he strokes your hair as you bob your head up and down his length with care, swirling the tip of your tongue around the head of his cock before you take him the slightest bit deeper.

he feels himself getting closer towards the point of no return embarrassingly quick, inhibitions melting away into sizzling hot need like butter in a pan. he thrusts his hips forward, moaning as he feels the tips of your nails dig into his skin and hears your soft gag. your eyes are dilated, the blacks of your pupils glistening with tears the further he pushes and the more he takes from you, bumping against the back of your throat.

he closes his fingers around a bunch of hair at the crown of your head, feeling you constrict around him as you try to breathe around his length. it’d be so easy to cum down your sweet little throat just like this, but he can’t let this end already, not when he’s so close to making you his.

“wait,” it takes everything in him to pull you back, your hair still wrapped around his palm and tangled in between the gaps of his fingers. there’s a string of saliva connecting you to the head of his cock, and he watches as it snaps when you lick your lips, parted and panting. “let meー i want to…please?”

“you’re so cute like this,” you lean forward and kiss his tip, and he tugs at your hair softly. you rest your cheek against his thigh as you press little kisses to his hips lazily. “tell me what you want.”

you’re still wearing your clothes, and his eyes trail down to your chest, watching the rise and fall of your heavy breaths. he can see the rhythm of your heart in the dip of your breasts, racing so fast it beats through your skin.

he trails his fingers through the ends of your hair, brushing them over your shoulder. his thumb catches on one of your straps, and he slides it down your arm, exposing one breast and then the other, watching as they drop from the fabric of your dress. your nipples perk against the chilly air, only hardening more under his attention as he skims the pads of his thumbs over them, squeezing your tits in his palms greedily. he swallows, feeling the saliva pool in his mouth, indulging in the dreamy exhale that falls from the back of your throat as your shoulders melt beneath his touch.

he’s never held something so soft in his hands before. he joins you on the ground, knees pressing uncomfortably into your hardwood floors. he takes one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other between his fingers. he keeps your nipple rolled between his teeth with just enough pressure to have you instinctively arching forward, and he soothes it with his tongue, circling the delicate peak of your tits. he matches your soft whimpers when you dig your fingers into his messy hair, nails scratching against his scalp and sending sparks shooting down his spine. your skin glistens with spit as he pulls back to squeeze your tits together, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the nook of your cleavage.

he trails his hands down your back, peeling the rest of your dress off your body as he sucks the pretty pink of your other nipple between his lips. you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you by your ass, spreading you open just enough to pull a moan from your lips, dropping you onto the edge of your bed. you look down at him with hazy eyes, letting out a breathless, blissed-out giggle as you brush his bangs out of his flushed face.

he traces the lace edge of your panties, delicate enough that he could sink his nails into the silken fabric and tear them right off your body. he brushes his finger over your crotch, elated in the knowledge you picked them out for his eyes alone. they’re beautiful, covering your most intimate part with translucent fabric, the small bow threaded into the waistband like you were a gift for him to unwrap, but all he needs now is for them to be out of his way.

he drags the elastic down your hips, finally revealing your glistening pussy, and he nearly moans out of sheer desire. he presses you back into your bed by your thighs, kneeling before you like an altar. he’s lost count of how many times he’s fantasized about you, spread out in front of him like this, in the dark of his room beneath his sheets, or behind the locked door of his office, cock fisted in frustration.

“you’re the most gorgeous woman i’ve ever seen,” he says, pressing a kiss to the soft, delicate skin of your inner thigh, resisting the urge to skin his teeth into you. he strokes his thumb along the curve of your ankle as he pulls your legs open even further. “can you keep those pretty eyes on me?”

you nod frantically, mapping the shape of his skull beneath your palm as he presses his lips against your swollen clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. he grins as he watches your dreamy smile melt away into lips parted in bliss, inhaling sharply. he presses his tongue flat against your cunt, dragging it down meticulously. he lets the spit collect in his mouth as he circles your dripping entrance, drawing his tongue along your folds. your brows pinch, lashes fluttering, but you keep them open obediently, staring at him with glassy eyes.

he eats you out like the two of you didn’t just come back from dinner, lapping up everything you give him greedily and then coming back for more. he wants to push you over the edge so badly, if only to prove to you that he could make you feel so much better than anyone else. you taste so much sweeter than any dessert he could’ve ordered, like honey down his throat. the soft mewls that fall from your lips caress his ears and tighten the knot growing in the pit of his stomach.

the tip of his nose rubs against your clit as you grind your hips down onto his face. his eyes roll back as you tug on his hair desperately, the firm grip on his roots almost as deliciously painful as his throbbing cock, weeping and begging to be touched between his legs. he considers dropping his grip, letting you suffocate him between your thighs until he cums all over the unstained white sheets hanging from your bed.

he feels your muscles twitch and tense beneath his palms, and watches in awe as you finally break his gaze to throw your head back and gasp out in euphoria. your cunt flutters against his mouth, leaving remnants of your pleasure dripping down his chin like nectar as you push his head away weakly.

“dazai,” you whine. he trails his lips upward, kissing your stomach, feeling the way it expands and collapses with each shaky breath. “i need you so bad. i want all of youー inside me, please.”

your legs are still trembling when you crawl backward on your bed, switching positions to get onto all fours. you spread your knees wide, arching your back, taunting him. his thighs bracket your own as he gets behind you, hands shaking as he rubs his cock through your folds and soaks up the remnants of his spit and your slick.

“i’ll give you everything,” he whispers. “anything. i’ll give you the whole world.”

he watches as you split open around him, impatiently pressing your ass back to ease him inside, dropping your head toward your chest with a satisfied sigh. inch by inch of his cock disappears into your cunt, engulfing him in wet, sticky warmth. your gummy walls feel like heaven, molding around him perfectly; you really were made for him, weren’t you?

he smooths his hands down the space between your shoulder blades, urging you down onto your stomach until you’re completely at his mercy, laid flat beneath him with only your ass lifted and pressed against his hips. his chest is flush against your back, bandages loosened and sticking to him sloppily. he slides his palms down your arms until he reaches your hands, intertwining his fingers with your own and pinning them down against your pillows.

he wants to go slow and give you the proper, passionate moment he knows you deserve, but you’re squeezing around him like you want to pull him in even closer, and he just can’t help himself. his body moves on its own, fucking into you with harsh snaps of his hips. his body covers yours completely, pressing you deeper into the plush of your mattress. he wants to keep you like this forever, sheltered against his chest, always within his reach. he can barely hold back the i love you that threatens to fall from his lips, and he presses a searing kiss to your shoulder to keep it inside, teeth nipping at your skin.

you hide your pretty face in your sheets, muffled whines and the steady slap of his skin against yours like a symphony created just for the two of you. he keeps his ankles hooked on your shins, holding you open for himself to take. the years of yearning for you, the numbing despair that he never would’ve chosen this life for himself, he lets it all out inside you, and your cunt clings to him with every stroke.

“dazai,” you cry, nails digging into his skin as you squeeze his hands desperately. he hopes you do it hard enough to break through his skin, make him bleed, and leave a scar; he needs a permanent reminder that this happened to him. he wants to fuck you hard enough that you’ll feel it afterward and remember him, too. his thighs ache as he tries to thrust even deeper, almost scared you’ll disappear from right beneath him like a mist, but you’re squeezing around him too tightly to be anything but real.

“call me osamu,” he whispers, forehead falling to your neck. “please.”

“osamu.”

the syllables of his name break around a moan, but he thinks it sounds even better that way. he pries his hands out of your grip to cling to your waist, hand splaying against your stomach, trying to pull you even closer, even deeper, as his lungs ache and heave. his nails dig into the soft skin of your hips as the pressure behind his eyes builds and overflows, and he cums inside you with hot, thick spurts, shuddering against you with breathy whines. he can hardly breathe, completely overwhelmed by the sheer emotion he feels swell in his chest after years of feeling nothing at all. his tears melt into your skin, dripping off his chin as he presses his lips wherever he can reach; he kisses up the curve of your shoulder blade, the pulse point on your neck, the warmth of your cheek, the baby hairs stuck to your temple. he meets your lips when you lift your head, looking over your shoulder.

“dazai…?”

he sniffles pathetically, finally relaxing his hold on you. he’s still halfway hard as he slips out of you, letting you sit up and cup his face. the pads of your thumbs wipe at the tears pooling down his right cheek, the other stroking the damp cotton of his bandages.

“it’s okay,” he buries his face into your palm, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist. you tuck his hair behind his ear, touching him more softly than anyone else ever has in his entire life, and it makes him convulse with another sob. “you’re okay. was that too much?”

he looks away, instinctively hiding behind his messy, overgrown bangs. you always were the only one who could make him feel so stripped down, able to look past his layers and see the bare essentials of the mess of a man he was. he lets his gaze drift down lazily to the sheets, drawn to the pretty pink of your cunt between your thighs, slightly parted as you sit back on your ankles. he watches, memorized as his cum drips out of you in small, pearly beads.

you follow his eyes, hips jolting up in surprise as he collects it with the tip of his cock, catching on your clit. you let out a whimper as he presses back into you, still sensitive. you let him lay you back down against your pillows, and he sighs dreamily as you flutter around him. you looked like an angel with your smooth back so prettily arched, your hair splayed across your shoulders, and your ass bouncing off his thighs, but what he really wants to see is how your face melts in pleasure beneath him, because of him. he sighs in satisfaction as his hips rest flush against yours, sheathed completely inside of you once more.

“wait,” you push against his chest when he leans down to kiss you, and his heart stalls; did he ruin this? “are you sure you’re up for this right now? we don’t have to. i promise it’s okay.”

it wasn’t the look of contempt or fear that he was so used to receiving; it was concern, pure and genuine in your furrowed brows and big eyes. when was the last time someone had been truly worried over his well being? maybe it was that morning when odasaku had found him on his front steps six years ago.

“yes,” he whispers. “i can do it. let me make you feel good,” he kisses the corner of your mouth pleadingly. “i’ll take care of you. i need itー i need you.”

your cautious gaze is blurred through his watery eyes, already obscured by his bandages. you take in his long, damp lashes, his rosy cheeks still dewy with tears, and he resists the urge to hide again. you drag your nails up his chest until you reach his bandaged shoulders, curling your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down and pressing your lips against his.

“even if it’s just for tonight,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his torso. “i’m yours.”

his heart stalls again for an entirely different reason. something instinctual burns bright in his body, and he kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue against yours as he thrusts his hips forward. he can feel his own release inside you as he starts to fuck you again, so soft and wet and fucking perfect. he grips the plush of your thighs between his fingers, pressing them open toward your tits, bouncing with each of his movements. you keep his cheeks cradled between your palms, licking into his mouth and tracing your tongue along the edge of his teeth.

he drops onto his forearms, angles his cock a little deeper, and you gasp out, toes curling as you dig your heels into his lower back.

“there,” you nearly yell, voice pitchy. “keep doing that, osamu, please.”

you fall into the act of making love with him so well; he has a desperate, delusional hope in the back of his mind that maybe you really did feel the connection the two of you shared, so deep it spanned universes.

he slips his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit in steady, pressured circles. he moans when you suck his bottom lip between your teeth, velvet walls clenching around his cock so tightly, it almost hurts. he knows he’s pushing himself, his most sensitive nerves burning from sheer pleasure, but nothing makes him ache more than the thought of being away from you. he doesn’t even remember how he survived without you before yesterday morning.

your ankles hook around his lithe waist, trying to force your legs even wider, keeping him completely anchored inside you. your breasts squish against his chest, perked nipples grazing the fabric of his bandages. you cling to him desperately, and he watches with hearts floating in place of his pupils at the way your eyes glaze over and water with pleasure, breathy cries falling from your lips as your muscles release all of their building tension, trembling against his torso. your cunt gushes around him as you melt into his body, and he feels that warmth bubble up inside him again: i love you.

he wants it all with you; every lingering touch and fleeting look, every inside joke and bite of food stolen off your plate, starting every early morning with your body against his and ending every late night the exact same way.

no one would ever take you from him again. there was a string of fate tying the two of you together, even if he had to fight the powers that be and tighten the knot around your finger himself.

his control crumbles, peeling away piece by piece like wet pieces of paper. he doesn’t bother to ask where he should finish this time, but it hardly matters anymore, and you don’t seem to care either, lifting your hips in time with his as he feverishly thrusts into you. your soft moans melt into a whine as he stalls inside you as deeply as he can, indulging in the nasty little voice in his head, chanting a mantra of mine, mine, mine as he cums inside of you for the second time.

it’s quiet in the afterglow, just the two of you in the universe you created in your small apartment bedroom. the soft cotton of your sheets is threaded with stardust, the lingering trails of your perfume orbits around him, and the sound of you, living and breathing beneath him as your lungs expand and constrict, ebbs and flows in your own personal tide. you smile up at him so fondly, he wants to melt between your fingers and let you put him back together again.

he collaspes, forehead falling to your collarbone. he shakily finds your hand, dropping it on top of his head, greedily wanting as much intimacy as you’ll be willing to give him. his eyes flutter close in bliss as you thread your fingers through his strands, indulging in that touch he’s only ever felt the ghost of in his sweetest dreams. laying with his nude body against yours, only a few strips of cotton seperating the two of you, feels so intimate, it was as if he wasn’t a complete stranger to you. the realization prickles at him like the biting winter air, and he feels something desperate tighten against his ribs.

“would you believe me if i told you that in another life, we were lovers?” he waits for you to pull away in confusion; maybe you’d even be disgusted, throw his clothes at him and tell him to get out. the only thing more painful than being haunted by the memories of his other life would be knowing he was so close to getting what he wanted and failed, letting you slip right between his fingers. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to recover from the rejection.

“yeah, i would,” your answer is almost immediate, and he can’t remember the last time someone has taken him by such surprise. he lifts his head from your chest, one visible eye wide as he looks down at you. you meet his shock with a shy smile, still massaging the crown of his head beneath your fingertips. “there’s just something about you. i don’t know if i can explain it. is that weird?”

his nose bumps against yours as he dives down and kisses you, tilting your jaw upward to slide his lips between your own. he has so much lost time to make up for, but he’d give you the rest of his life, he swears it.

“you have no idea what i had to go thorugh to get back to you,” he whispers, pulling back and letting his lips just barely brush over yours, breathing you in. you couldn’t possibly understand, but he tells you anyway, about the you and him that exists in another universe, the one where everything is different. he spares the detail about him being the leader of the port mafia, but he promsies himself he’d tell you the rest later on, when he truly knows you won’t run from him. maybe over breakfast at your favorite café a few months from now; a proper coffee date, with footsie under the table and vanilla flavored kisses. “there’s a piece of you with me in every universe, my belladonna.”

you’re at a loss for words, he knows. all you can do is stare at him, eyes big as he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing each fingertip.

“i know i’m not the same man you fell in love with,” he presses his cheek into your hand. “but i’m still just as selfish as he is. i’m not sure if i’ll be able to let you go after this.”

“i don’t really know what you’re talking about,” your lips curl into a sympathatic smile, and they’re magnetic; all it takes is you brushing his bangs back for him to kiss you again. he pouts when you pull away from him. “but i know that i really like you.”

“really?” he asks, voice almost childlike in its disbelief.

“really,” you skim the edge of his bandages curiously, fingertips slipping beneath the first layer. he doesn’t stop you from slowly unraveling them, leaving his face completely bare. he has so much love for you, and it overflows and shines through his eyes as they both look down at you for the first time.

“you’re really pretty,” you stroke your thumb beneath his eye, and his skin tingles from not being touched for so long. “so, so beautiful, osamu.”

your lips are so soft, kiss-bitten and plush beneath his own. you hold as much of him as you can in your hands, caressing his face like he was something worth being gentle with.

“you’ll stay, right?” your eyes flutter open, hopeful and pleading.

“i should be the one asking you that question,” he smiles bittersweetly. you tilt your head, wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him down next to you.

he lays back on your sheets, as if he truly belonged there. he’s quick to touch you again, cautiously draping his arm around your waist. you really are there, physically beneath his hand as he splays his fingers against the soft skin of your tummy.

he doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a single moment, watching as you slowly drift off to sleep against him. he smiles, knowing you felt so safe around him already. you should; he’d guard you with his life, and no one would ever dare to take you from him now.

“are you awake?” he whispers after what could’ve been hours of mapping your every feature to his memory, watching for any signs of consciousness. your lashes rest against your cheeks, breath coming out in even, warm beats against his chest. his heart throbs as you let out a small, sleepy noise, instinctively curling closer toward him as he brushes a finger across your forehead, pulling back the strands that fall too close to your eyes. once he’s completely certain you won’t hear him, he tilts his neck down, pressing a kiss between your eyebrows. he whispers the words against your skin as if he could imprint them into you. “i love you.”

he feels like he can rest easier tonight than he ever has. he always knew you’d be there, keeping him company in his dreams, those flashbacks of another life with you. now, he almost dares to hope you’d stay long enough by his side for there to be memories of his own making. you’re the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes; for the first time, he knows for certain you’ll be the first thing he sees when he opens them in the morning.

p.s.! ⊹ ࣪ ˖ wow i can’t believe it’s over !! i poured so, so much love into this series, it’s the longest fic i’ve written so far & something i’ve worked on for a long time. it’s v much a love letter to beast dazai who i adore w all of my heart. i can’t put into words how grateful i am for every comment, rb, & ask i’ve gotten regarding this series, but pls know each one means the world to me. i truly hope u enjoyed reading atu as much as i enjoyed writing it ᰔ

BSD MASTERLIST

he giggles, swarms of butterflies fluttering against his ribs and tickling his stomach. he wonders what you’ll wear; he recalls an image of you in a strappy little black dress during a night out with your friends a few months ago, and twirls himself towards his desk to search through his locked drawer, the one with the false bottom.

his phone rings from inside his coat pocket, and he doesn’t even look at who it is before he answers, his smile still on his face as he rummages through old notebooks and files. “yes?”

“you ‘won’t be available’?” chuuya scoffs. “what?”

dazai sighs dramatically, like the sound of his voice exhausted him. “i have a date to prepare for.”

“the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, voice curious despite his choice of words. “a date?”

“yes, chuuya. are you unfamiliar with the concept?” 

“shut up. you’re going out with a stranger? without anyone to protect you?”

“she isn’t a stranger,” his voice turns cold, a stark contrast from his teasing tone.

“who the hell would ever go out with you?”

“don’t worry,” he grins, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder, rustling through the drawer with more control. “you’ll meet her soon enough.”

he hears a muffled freak before the phone line goes dead.

he finally finds what he’s been looking for. he pulls a large envelope out, carefully unraveling the twine that holds it closed. he opens it, filled with all of the images he’s collected of you: sunbathing at the beach with your friends, picking up takeout after a late night at work, the wind blowing your hair into your eyes just as you’re leaving the bookstore. he sifts through them all with care before he finally finds the one he was thinking of. he sighs dreamily, tracing the curve of your body with his finger. his eyes never leave it, even as he presses the call button on his desk.

“actually, gin-chan,” he hums, still smiling at the photo. “one more thing. order a bouquet. have it delivered tomorrow afternoon. fourーno, five dozen red roses.”

he wears a suit; not one used for work, this was far too special for that. this one is untainted, only brought out of his closet and into the light of day to be freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. it’s not black the way his other suits were, this one is a deep chocolate brown with a wrinkle-free white button-down shirt and a black tie tucked beneath a sage green vest.

he lingers in front of his mirror, draping his coat over his shoulders, then sliding his arms through the sleeves. he tilts his head, he pulls on his collar, he straightens his tie. he’s never been so critical about his appearance before. he brushes his hand through his hair, glaring at his reflection when his fingers catch on knotted, neglected strands. he suddenly recalls a moment that isn’t his; it was before a gala for the agency when you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his cheek, brushing his hair back and whispering affectionate words about how handsome he was against his lips. he decides to tuck his bangs behind his ear.

even before he sends his driver off, he checks himself one last time in the reflection of the tinted car windows. he stands before the finest restaurant in the port mafia’s territory; it was no problem to request it be closed down for the two of you, being under the mafia’s protection. 

when he sees another familiar black car arrive, he perks up. you step out, looking a bit dazed. you’re not wearing the black dress from the photo; no, he’s never seen this one before. it hugs your body perfectly, and the way the fabric contours your curves leaves him absolutely enchanted. he grins, imagining you picking it out to wear just for him. 

“i can’t believe you got a fancy car to pick me up from the train station,” you laugh breathlessly, more out of shock than amusement. “this is the craziest first date i’ve ever been on.”

something suffocating crawls up his throat as he imagines you going out with someone other than him. he exhales shakily, but conceals it with a smile as he holds the bouquet out for you.

your eyes widen at the sight of the roses, scarlet petals and emerald stems bundled in smooth matte paper and tied with a silk ribbon. your fingers brush against his as you take it from him, and he beams as you cradle it in the nook of your arm.

“thank you,” you smile up at him nervously, the bouquet nearly engulfing your form. “you look handsome. i’m not sure if i dressed fancy enough for this.”

“you look perfect,” he smiles, offering you his elbow. you are perfect.

your pretty fingers wrap around his arm, and your touch seers his skin through his clothing as he guides you inside. the ceiling is lined with glistening chandeliers, soft spots of light illuminating the velvet black that coats the restaurant. soft linen hangs off all the tables’ corners, plated with shiny porcelain dinnerware and delicate crystal glasses. he leads you to the one enveloped in flickering candlelight, tucked away intimately in the corner of the large dining room.

“oh my god,” you gasp, the sparkling light reflected in your wide eyes. “what exactly do you do for a living?”

he holds a finger up to his grinning lips, reaching for a menu. it’s only a single, thick page and you take it from him gingerly. he pulls a bottle of champagne from its home in the metal bucket at the corner of the table, ice cubes shifting to fill the gap it left behind. he pours your glass before his own, catching your gaze as you eye him shyly over the top of the edge of the menu.

“i’m not sure what to get…” you say softly. “i’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

“don’t worry,” he rests his chin on his folded hands. “i’ll pick something i know you’ll love.”

the food comes and goes. he couldn’t tell you what it tasted like, all he could focus on is the pretty girl in front of him. he’s the most dangerous man in yokohama, the puppeteer of its underworld; he has anything he could desire at his fingertips yet all he could possibly want is you, looking at him like this forever.

your eyes never leave him, and he could swear there’d be stars glistening in your pupils like their own secret universe if he looked close enough. you hang on to his every word, and you don’t even mind when he reaches across the table and slides his fingers in between your own. he thinks your palms fit together like two puzzle pieces; not molded around each other over time, but made with the purpose of being bonded to one another.

“you know, your hair looks really good like that,” you say softly, your eyes trailing over his face. he hopes the reason your pupils are dilated isn’t just from the dark lighting. it’s the same enamored look he catches glimpses of in his memory, when you’re hidden beneath the dim lighting of bar lupin, both of you too young to be drinking but doing it anyway.

“oh! i almost forgot to tell you!” he taps the edge of the table in lieu of clapping, not wanting to let go of your hand. he knows you won’t remember, but he can’t help but get excited at the thought of seeing that fond yet exasperated look on your face with his own two eyes. “i’ve been trying to make the firmest tofu. i finally succeeded!”

“really? maybe i can try it next time.”

next time. you want a next time with him. he wonders if you know he’d give you the rest of his life if you asked for it.

you were more than happy to talk to him, and it almost made it feel like you weren’t just two strangers eating dinner together. it didn’t matter to him that he already knew everything you were telling him. he loved listening to the sound of your voice.

your cheeks dimple as you smile, playing with his fingers as you tell him about how you finished your degree last month. he can’t help but swell with pride; he already knew, of course. the file he had personally made on you had only grown over the years with all of the little details he’d secretly collected about you.

it’s when you’re talking about a book you recently read that he begins to lose focus. he watches the way your lips shape around every syllable, but he can’t help but think about odasaku, how you two would’ve gotten along so nicely. it didn’t seem like you’d get the opportunity to meet him in any universe. 

“are you okay?” you ask softly, your nails tracing the soft indent of his heart line across his palm.

“of course i’m okay,” he smiles so quickly, it’s as if nothing was ever wrong. quieter, he says, “how could i not be when i’m with you?”

“talk to me?” your voice is so sweet, and he inhales deep enough that he feels his stomach expand against the waistband of his pants. “i’m a good listener.”

“i have a friend,” he starts, his gaze falling down to the table. “he wasーis a writer, a really good one.”

“has he published anything?” you ask around a sip of your glass. “i’d love to read something of his.”

“me too,” he sighs, and you tilt your head curiously. “i’m afraid we…don’t speak anymore.”

your sympathetic gaze makes his chest tighten, something invisible constricting around his lungs until it’s hard for him to breathe. the last thing he wanted was for you to pity him, not now.

“it seems like he had an impact on you,” you squeeze his hand between yours once more. “i’m sure he still thinks about you and misses you as well.”

he had to resist every desperate instinct in his body that told him to throw the table aside and kiss you right there.

you’ve made it to dessert, and dazai swears he’s never been happier in his miserable life than right now; this was all going so much better than he could’ve ever imagined. you brighten when the waiter places a small plate in front of you, carrying a piece of cake cut into a perfect rectangle and drizzled with sugary sweetness. he watches the way your pretty lips curl into a smile against the prongs of your fork as you taste it. some frosting smears against the corner of your mouth. he reaches across the table and swipes it away with his thumb, grazing your lips.

you freeze, eyes wide and blinking as you stare at him. the warmth of your cheeks spreads against his palm, and he greedily lets his hand linger as long as he appropriately can before he pulls back.

he thought it’d be painful to say goodbye at the end of the night, unsure how many more moments like this the universe would allow him to indulge in before it ripped you away from his grasp, but he can’t stop himself from smiling as you wrap your arms around him when you walk out of the restaurant, cheeks rosy from the champagne and the winter breeze.

you tug his hand gently, trailing your own up his arm until you can tug on the lapels of his coat and pull him to a stop. when you push your lips to his beneath the glittering lights of yokohama, he nearly bursts into tears. all his hair raises against the cotton of his bandages as you slide your arms across his shoulders, and he presses against your lower back until you’re flush against him. he can’t believe this is really happening to him; he waits, ready to wake up alone from some cruel dream, but he doesn’t. there’s no chill from the empty sheets next to him or the plush of his pillow against his head. it’s only you, with the sweet smell of your perfume and your soft tongue trailing along his bottom lip.

you pull on his tie, wrapping the fabric around your palm until your thumb is close enough to smooth against the knot, the tip of your nose brushing against his.

“would it be too forward of me…” you kiss him again, pulling away just enough to mumble the rest of your sentence. “...to ask such a pretty boy back to my apartment?”

he grins, cupping your cheeks and pulling you back to his mouth.

BSD MASTERLIST

he giggles, swarms of butterflies fluttering against his ribs and tickling his stomach. he wonders what you’ll wear; he recalls an image of you in a strappy little black dress during a night out with your friends a few months ago, and twirls himself towards his desk to search through his locked drawer, the one with the false bottom.

his phone rings from inside his coat pocket, and he doesn’t even look at who it is before he answers, his smile still on his face as he rummages through old notebooks and files. “yes?”

“you ‘won’t be available’?” chuuya scoffs. “what?”

dazai sighs dramatically, like the sound of his voice exhausted him. “i have a date to prepare for.”

“the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, voice curious despite his choice of words. “a date?”

“yes, chuuya. are you unfamiliar with the concept?” 

“shut up. you’re going out with a stranger? without anyone to protect you?”

“she isn’t a stranger,” his voice turns cold, a stark contrast from his teasing tone.

“who the hell would ever go out with you?”

“don’t worry,” he grins, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder, rustling through the drawer with more control. “you’ll meet her soon enough.”

he hears a muffled freak before the phone line goes dead.

he finally finds what he’s been looking for. he pulls a large envelope out, carefully unraveling the twine that holds it closed. he opens it, filled with all of the images he’s collected of you: sunbathing at the beach with your friends, picking up takeout after a late night at work, the wind blowing your hair into your eyes just as you’re leaving the bookstore. he sifts through them all with care before he finally finds the one he was thinking of. he sighs dreamily, tracing the curve of your body with his finger. his eyes never leave it, even as he presses the call button on his desk.

“actually, gin-chan,” he hums, still smiling at the photo. “one more thing. order a bouquet. have it delivered tomorrow afternoon. fourーno, five dozen red roses.”

he wears a suit; not one used for work, this was far too special for that. this one is untainted, only brought out of his closet and into the light of day to be freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. it’s not black the way his other suits were, this one is a deep chocolate brown with a wrinkle-free white button-down shirt and a black tie tucked beneath a sage green vest.

he lingers in front of his mirror, draping his coat over his shoulders, then sliding his arms through the sleeves. he tilts his head, he pulls on his collar, he straightens his tie. he’s never been so critical about his appearance before. he brushes his hand through his hair, glaring at his reflection when his fingers catch on knotted, neglected strands. he suddenly recalls a moment that isn’t his; it was before a gala for the agency when you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his cheek, brushing his hair back and whispering affectionate words about how handsome he was against his lips. he decides to tuck his bangs behind his ear.

even before he sends his driver off, he checks himself one last time in the reflection of the tinted car windows. he stands before the finest restaurant in the port mafia’s territory; it was no problem to request it be closed down for the two of you, being under the mafia’s protection. 

when he sees another familiar black car arrive, he perks up. you step out, looking a bit dazed. you’re not wearing the black dress from the photo; no, he’s never seen this one before. it hugs your body perfectly, and the way the fabric contours your curves leaves him absolutely enchanted. he grins, imagining you picking it out to wear just for him. 

“i can’t believe you got a fancy car to pick me up from the train station,” you laugh breathlessly, more out of shock than amusement. “this is the craziest first date i’ve ever been on.”

something suffocating crawls up his throat as he imagines you going out with someone other than him. he exhales shakily, but conceals it with a smile as he holds the bouquet out for you.

your eyes widen at the sight of the roses, scarlet petals and emerald stems bundled in smooth matte paper and tied with a silk ribbon. your fingers brush against his as you take it from him, and he beams as you cradle it in the nook of your arm.

“thank you,” you smile up at him nervously, the bouquet nearly engulfing your form. “you look handsome. i’m not sure if i dressed fancy enough for this.”

“you look perfect,” he smiles, offering you his elbow. you are perfect.

your pretty fingers wrap around his arm, and your touch seers his skin through his clothing as he guides you inside. the ceiling is lined with glistening chandeliers, soft spots of light illuminating the velvet black that coats the restaurant. soft linen hangs off all the tables’ corners, plated with shiny porcelain dinnerware and delicate crystal glasses. he leads you to the one enveloped in flickering candlelight, tucked away intimately in the corner of the large dining room.

“oh my god,” you gasp, the sparkling light reflected in your wide eyes. “what exactly do you do for a living?”

he holds a finger up to his grinning lips, reaching for a menu. it’s only a single, thick page and you take it from him gingerly. he pulls a bottle of champagne from its home in the metal bucket at the corner of the table, ice cubes shifting to fill the gap it left behind. he pours your glass before his own, catching your gaze as you eye him shyly over the top of the edge of the menu.

“i’m not sure what to get…” you say softly. “i’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

“don’t worry,” he rests his chin on his folded hands. “i’ll pick something i know you’ll love.”

the food comes and goes. he couldn’t tell you what it tasted like, all he could focus on is the pretty girl in front of him. he’s the most dangerous man in yokohama, the puppeteer of its underworld; he has anything he could desire at his fingertips yet all he could possibly want is you, looking at him like this forever.

your eyes never leave him, and he could swear there’d be stars glistening in your pupils like their own secret universe if he looked close enough. you hang on to his every word, and you don’t even mind when he reaches across the table and slides his fingers in between your own. he thinks your palms fit together like two puzzle pieces; not molded around each other over time, but made with the purpose of being bonded to one another.

“you know, your hair looks really good like that,” you say softly, your eyes trailing over his face. he hopes the reason your pupils are dilated isn’t just from the dark lighting. it’s the same enamored look he catches glimpses of in his memory, when you’re hidden beneath the dim lighting of bar lupin, both of you too young to be drinking but doing it anyway.

“oh! i almost forgot to tell you!” he taps the edge of the table in lieu of clapping, not wanting to let go of your hand. he knows you won’t remember, but he can’t help but get excited at the thought of seeing that fond yet exasperated look on your face with his own two eyes. “i’ve been trying to make the firmest tofu. i finally succeeded!”

“really? maybe i can try it next time.”

next time. you want a next time with him. he wonders if you know he’d give you the rest of his life if you asked for it.

you were more than happy to talk to him, and it almost made it feel like you weren’t just two strangers eating dinner together. it didn’t matter to him that he already knew everything you were telling him. he loved listening to the sound of your voice.

your cheeks dimple as you smile, playing with his fingers as you tell him about how you finished your degree last month. he can’t help but swell with pride; he already knew, of course. the file he had personally made on you had only grown over the years with all of the little details he’d secretly collected about you.

it’s when you’re talking about a book you recently read that he begins to lose focus. he watches the way your lips shape around every syllable, but he can’t help but think about odasaku, how you two would’ve gotten along so nicely. it didn’t seem like you’d get the opportunity to meet him in any universe. 

“are you okay?” you ask softly, your nails tracing the soft indent of his heart line across his palm.

“of course i’m okay,” he smiles so quickly, it’s as if nothing was ever wrong. quieter, he says, “how could i not be when i’m with you?”

“talk to me?” your voice is so sweet, and he inhales deep enough that he feels his stomach expand against the waistband of his pants. “i’m a good listener.”

“i have a friend,” he starts, his gaze falling down to the table. “he wasーis a writer, a really good one.”

“has he published anything?” you ask around a sip of your glass. “i’d love to read something of his.”

“me too,” he sighs, and you tilt your head curiously. “i’m afraid we…don’t speak anymore.”

your sympathetic gaze makes his chest tighten, something invisible constricting around his lungs until it’s hard for him to breathe. the last thing he wanted was for you to pity him, not now.

“it seems like he had an impact on you,” you squeeze his hand between yours once more. “i’m sure he still thinks about you and misses you as well.”

he had to resist every desperate instinct in his body that told him to throw the table aside and kiss you right there.

you’ve made it to dessert, and dazai swears he’s never been happier in his miserable life than right now; this was all going so much better than he could’ve ever imagined. you brighten when the waiter places a small plate in front of you, carrying a piece of cake cut into a perfect rectangle and drizzled with sugary sweetness. he watches the way your pretty lips curl into a smile against the prongs of your fork as you taste it. some frosting smears against the corner of your mouth. he reaches across the table and swipes it away with his thumb, grazing your lips.

you freeze, eyes wide and blinking as you stare at him. the warmth of your cheeks spreads against his palm, and he greedily lets his hand linger as long as he appropriately can before he pulls back.

he thought it’d be painful to say goodbye at the end of the night, unsure how many more moments like this the universe would allow him to indulge in before it ripped you away from his grasp, but he can’t stop himself from smiling as you wrap your arms around him when you walk out of the restaurant, cheeks rosy from the champagne and the winter breeze.

you tug his hand gently, trailing your own up his arm until you can tug on the lapels of his coat and pull him to a stop. when you push your lips to his beneath the glittering lights of yokohama, he nearly bursts into tears. all his hair raises against the cotton of his bandages as you slide your arms across his shoulders, and he presses against your lower back until you’re flush against him. he can’t believe this is really happening to him; he waits, ready to wake up alone from some cruel dream, but he doesn’t. there’s no chill from the empty sheets next to him or the plush of his pillow against his head. it’s only you, with the sweet smell of your perfume and your soft tongue trailing along his bottom lip.

you pull on his tie, wrapping the fabric around your palm until your thumb is close enough to smooth against the knot, the tip of your nose brushing against his.

“would it be too forward of me…” you kiss him again, pulling away just enough to mumble the rest of your sentence. “...to ask such a pretty boy back to my apartment?”

he grins, cupping your cheeks and pulling you back to his mouth.

BSD MASTERLIST

he giggles, swarms of butterflies fluttering against his ribs and tickling his stomach. he wonders what you’ll wear; he recalls an image of you in a strappy little black dress during a night out with your friends a few months ago, and twirls himself towards his desk to search through his locked drawer, the one with the false bottom.

his phone rings from inside his coat pocket, and he doesn’t even look at who it is before he answers, his smile still on his face as he rummages through old notebooks and files. “yes?”

“you ‘won’t be available’?” chuuya scoffs. “what?”

dazai sighs dramatically, like the sound of his voice exhausted him. “i have a date to prepare for.”

“the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, voice curious despite his choice of words. “a date?”

“yes, chuuya. are you unfamiliar with the concept?” 

“shut up. you’re going out with a stranger? without anyone to protect you?”

“she isn’t a stranger,” his voice turns cold, a stark contrast from his teasing tone.

“who the hell would ever go out with you?”

“don’t worry,” he grins, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder, rustling through the drawer with more control. “you’ll meet her soon enough.”

he hears a muffled freak before the phone line goes dead.

he finally finds what he’s been looking for. he pulls a large envelope out, carefully unraveling the twine that holds it closed. he opens it, filled with all of the images he’s collected of you: sunbathing at the beach with your friends, picking up takeout after a late night at work, the wind blowing your hair into your eyes just as you’re leaving the bookstore. he sifts through them all with care before he finally finds the one he was thinking of. he sighs dreamily, tracing the curve of your body with his finger. his eyes never leave it, even as he presses the call button on his desk.

“actually, gin-chan,” he hums, still smiling at the photo. “one more thing. order a bouquet. have it delivered tomorrow afternoon. fourーno, five dozen red roses.”

he wears a suit; not one used for work, this was far too special for that. this one is untainted, only brought out of his closet and into the light of day to be freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. it’s not black the way his other suits were, this one is a deep chocolate brown with a wrinkle-free white button-down shirt and a black tie tucked beneath a sage green vest.

he lingers in front of his mirror, draping his coat over his shoulders, then sliding his arms through the sleeves. he tilts his head, he pulls on his collar, he straightens his tie. he’s never been so critical about his appearance before. he brushes his hand through his hair, glaring at his reflection when his fingers catch on knotted, neglected strands. he suddenly recalls a moment that isn’t his; it was before a gala for the agency when you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his cheek, brushing his hair back and whispering affectionate words about how handsome he was against his lips. he decides to tuck his bangs behind his ear.

even before he sends his driver off, he checks himself one last time in the reflection of the tinted car windows. he stands before the finest restaurant in the port mafia’s territory; it was no problem to request it be closed down for the two of you, being under the mafia’s protection. 

when he sees another familiar black car arrive, he perks up. you step out, looking a bit dazed. you’re not wearing the black dress from the photo; no, he’s never seen this one before. it hugs your body perfectly, and the way the fabric contours your curves leaves him absolutely enchanted. he grins, imagining you picking it out to wear just for him. 

“i can’t believe you got a fancy car to pick me up from the train station,” you laugh breathlessly, more out of shock than amusement. “this is the craziest first date i’ve ever been on.”

something suffocating crawls up his throat as he imagines you going out with someone other than him. he exhales shakily, but conceals it with a smile as he holds the bouquet out for you.

your eyes widen at the sight of the roses, scarlet petals and emerald stems bundled in smooth matte paper and tied with a silk ribbon. your fingers brush against his as you take it from him, and he beams as you cradle it in the nook of your arm.

“thank you,” you smile up at him nervously, the bouquet nearly engulfing your form. “you look handsome. i’m not sure if i dressed fancy enough for this.”

“you look perfect,” he smiles, offering you his elbow. you are perfect.

your pretty fingers wrap around his arm, and your touch seers his skin through his clothing as he guides you inside. the ceiling is lined with glistening chandeliers, soft spots of light illuminating the velvet black that coats the restaurant. soft linen hangs off all the tables’ corners, plated with shiny porcelain dinnerware and delicate crystal glasses. he leads you to the one enveloped in flickering candlelight, tucked away intimately in the corner of the large dining room.

“oh my god,” you gasp, the sparkling light reflected in your wide eyes. “what exactly do you do for a living?”

he holds a finger up to his grinning lips, reaching for a menu. it’s only a single, thick page and you take it from him gingerly. he pulls a bottle of champagne from its home in the metal bucket at the corner of the table, ice cubes shifting to fill the gap it left behind. he pours your glass before his own, catching your gaze as you eye him shyly over the top of the edge of the menu.

“i’m not sure what to get…” you say softly. “i’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

“don’t worry,” he rests his chin on his folded hands. “i’ll pick something i know you’ll love.”

the food comes and goes. he couldn’t tell you what it tasted like, all he could focus on is the pretty girl in front of him. he’s the most dangerous man in yokohama, the puppeteer of its underworld; he has anything he could desire at his fingertips yet all he could possibly want is you, looking at him like this forever.

your eyes never leave him, and he could swear there’d be stars glistening in your pupils like their own secret universe if he looked close enough. you hang on to his every word, and you don’t even mind when he reaches across the table and slides his fingers in between your own. he thinks your palms fit together like two puzzle pieces; not molded around each other over time, but made with the purpose of being bonded to one another.

“you know, your hair looks really good like that,” you say softly, your eyes trailing over his face. he hopes the reason your pupils are dilated isn’t just from the dark lighting. it’s the same enamored look he catches glimpses of in his memory, when you’re hidden beneath the dim lighting of bar lupin, both of you too young to be drinking but doing it anyway.

“oh! i almost forgot to tell you!” he taps the edge of the table in lieu of clapping, not wanting to let go of your hand. he knows you won’t remember, but he can’t help but get excited at the thought of seeing that fond yet exasperated look on your face with his own two eyes. “i’ve been trying to make the firmest tofu. i finally succeeded!”

“really? maybe i can try it next time.”

next time. you want a next time with him. he wonders if you know he’d give you the rest of his life if you asked for it.

you were more than happy to talk to him, and it almost made it feel like you weren’t just two strangers eating dinner together. it didn’t matter to him that he already knew everything you were telling him. he loved listening to the sound of your voice.

your cheeks dimple as you smile, playing with his fingers as you tell him about how you finished your degree last month. he can’t help but swell with pride; he already knew, of course. the file he had personally made on you had only grown over the years with all of the little details he’d secretly collected about you.

it’s when you’re talking about a book you recently read that he begins to lose focus. he watches the way your lips shape around every syllable, but he can’t help but think about odasaku, how you two would’ve gotten along so nicely. it didn’t seem like you’d get the opportunity to meet him in any universe. 

“are you okay?” you ask softly, your nails tracing the soft indent of his heart line across his palm.

“of course i’m okay,” he smiles so quickly, it’s as if nothing was ever wrong. quieter, he says, “how could i not be when i’m with you?”

“talk to me?” your voice is so sweet, and he inhales deep enough that he feels his stomach expand against the waistband of his pants. “i’m a good listener.”

“i have a friend,” he starts, his gaze falling down to the table. “he wasーis a writer, a really good one.”

“has he published anything?” you ask around a sip of your glass. “i’d love to read something of his.”

“me too,” he sighs, and you tilt your head curiously. “i’m afraid we…don’t speak anymore.”

your sympathetic gaze makes his chest tighten, something invisible constricting around his lungs until it’s hard for him to breathe. the last thing he wanted was for you to pity him, not now.

“it seems like he had an impact on you,” you squeeze his hand between yours once more. “i’m sure he still thinks about you and misses you as well.”

he had to resist every desperate instinct in his body that told him to throw the table aside and kiss you right there.

you’ve made it to dessert, and dazai swears he’s never been happier in his miserable life than right now; this was all going so much better than he could’ve ever imagined. you brighten when the waiter places a small plate in front of you, carrying a piece of cake cut into a perfect rectangle and drizzled with sugary sweetness. he watches the way your pretty lips curl into a smile against the prongs of your fork as you taste it. some frosting smears against the corner of your mouth. he reaches across the table and swipes it away with his thumb, grazing your lips.

you freeze, eyes wide and blinking as you stare at him. the warmth of your cheeks spreads against his palm, and he greedily lets his hand linger as long as he appropriately can before he pulls back.

he thought it’d be painful to say goodbye at the end of the night, unsure how many more moments like this the universe would allow him to indulge in before it ripped you away from his grasp, but he can’t stop himself from smiling as you wrap your arms around him when you walk out of the restaurant, cheeks rosy from the champagne and the winter breeze.

you tug his hand gently, trailing your own up his arm until you can tug on the lapels of his coat and pull him to a stop. when you push your lips to his beneath the glittering lights of yokohama, he nearly bursts into tears. all his hair raises against the cotton of his bandages as you slide your arms across his shoulders, and he presses against your lower back until you’re flush against him. he can’t believe this is really happening to him; he waits, ready to wake up alone from some cruel dream, but he doesn’t. there’s no chill from the empty sheets next to him or the plush of his pillow against his head. it’s only you, with the sweet smell of your perfume and your soft tongue trailing along his bottom lip.

you pull on his tie, wrapping the fabric around your palm until your thumb is close enough to smooth against the knot, the tip of your nose brushing against his.

“would it be too forward of me…” you kiss him again, pulling away just enough to mumble the rest of your sentence. “...to ask such a pretty boy back to my apartment?”

he grins, cupping your cheeks and pulling you back to his mouth.

BSD MASTERLIST