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He wonders if he can stay in this moment with you forever. Just a little too much to drink, just a little closer, just a little more touch of vulnerability. This feeling is foreign and Dazai doesn’t know if he can risk this before you will inevitablely be snatched away from him—he doesn’t know if he can risk loving you out loud.
So for now, you’re both sixteen years old and tangled up in a world of violence while your hearts reach out to one another. His bandaged fingers slip between the knots in your hair while your face hides away in the crevasse of his neck and your eyes flutter close for the blessing of twilight.
Dazai is sure, these violent delights have violent ends. Nothing will last forever. His hands are stained forever with the bloodshed under moonlight, yet, he still reaches out to intertwine limbs with yours on a shitty sofa. A small smile creeps upon his cracked lips. Dazai reaches up towards his own face for the first time this evening and pushes the bandages wrapped around his face to the side. Let him admire you closer with his whole heart for a night.
synopsis : dazai has questions and fyodor has answers (sort of).
author's note : omg please, please, PLEASE give any feedback you may have on this. this is a little rushed probably but i really wanted to put this out.
dazai had an interesting relationship with regret, he thinks.
for as long as he can remember, he hasn't found an instance he regretted. even with his early childhood filled with quiet halls and neglect, his teens filled with bloodshed, he couldn't remember a time where he wouldn't pull the trigger.
it wasn't that it didn't affect him — if anything, it affected him too much — it was that even despite it, he would do everything all over again. every skull cracked, every kick he'd hit, every damn thing. could he really say he felt regret?
he couldn't say that for guilt either. he could, can and has stared dead in the eyes of people he's hurt and he can't say he's ever felt any different about his actions.
his ability was no longer human, a title he felt was at least somewhat incorrect. that implied he was human at some point, he can't remember when. not even here, in the dice room, with almost echoing silence, he couldn't think of a time he could be.
“dazai, dear. what are you thinking? you've been ... unusually quiet.”
ah, right. fyodor. he'd forgotten the man was there, in a small yellow tinted bubble right across him. there were many ways to describe the man in front of him. most used demon, some frighteningly intelligent. he, however, simply chose ... equal. it was against his will, really. a begrudging acknowledgement. among the many firsts he'd have in his life, fyodor managed to snag the one of being his equal, or as the ravenette put it, “his other half”.
“fyodor, what do you have to say about regret?” this was blurted out, of course. since when did he, osamu dazai, talk about his feelings; and since when was it with what was essentially his enemy?
if fyodor noticed this sudden discomfort in dazai, he didn't show it.
“regret? how interesting. what brings this up, mm? having some yourself?”
“none that you'd understand.” he retorted.
“calling me heartless, are we, dazai?”
“answer the question.” the black haired man could only chuckle.
“well, i believe it's a painfully human thing, regret. it's unnecessary pain, to cry over something that can't be changed, to realise the permanence once it's occured. it is unnecessary, but that is — in a way — why it's human.”
silence.
pure, heavy silence. dazai could only let it sink in. at last, he said, “talking about humanity as if you'd know ...”
“i know as much as you would,” fyodor replied with a casual shrug.
“not much?”
“just enough to get by.”
dazai snorted. “whatever you say. i can't judge. not regretful enough to be human, it seems.”
“is that what this is about?”
“what do you think?”
“regret doesn't make you human, despite humans feeling regret. that's all i have to say on the matter.”
“how comforting.”
fyodor merely swings one leg over the other, picking up a book from the shelf.
“you're welcome.”
and despite everything, when dazai lay back on the sad mattress he called a bed, he felt a little lighter in his chest.
Yknow....I'm super sleepy rn, but....minific idea of dazai with a fem s/o who ain't putting up with his flirting. not that I rlly think he would do that, necessarily, maybe he just wants to make her jealous or see how much she cares....but she ain't brushing it off nor amused. Just storms off, cries, won't talk to him for days. It's not just me who likes dazai having to make it up for once, is it....? feel free to ignore this request ehe.
𝐵𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹
⌯⌲ i'm purposefully rooting through my inbox for stuff that's angst or hurt/comfort because of my mood today and found this. let's skip most of the sad stuff since we wanna make up with him ૮◞ ‸ ◟ ა they're a little toxic here.
"Babe, I'm not gonna argue with you through the door and your friend!" Dazai huffs, side of his fist pounding on the front door of your best friend's apartment, where you have been staying for the past few days. For the first time in your entire relationship, he made you feel insecure, and instead of fighting with him about it, you sobbed. Threw things at him as you packed a bag whenever he tried going near you to stop you. Didn't listen to whatever excuses he came up with to explain away what he had done. And you stormed out the front door, stomping down the sidewalk to hail a taxi that would take you to your friend's. Who is the combative type and was on the phone the entire time adding to the fight between you and your boyfriend. She didn't even know what he had done, she just doesn't like him and tells you every chance she gets to dump him.
"Beat it, bum ass wannabe emo loser!" She shouts back at him, leaving you sniffling on the couch. You haven't stopped crying, fresh tears springing forward whenever you think about it, and hearing her call your boyfriend names doesn't help nearly as much as you thought it would. "She doesn't want anything to do with you anymore or she'd be the one yelling at you right now!" She continues, banging on her side of the door, and you have secondhand embarrassment at the two of them fighting back and forth like this, worried to death one of her neighbors will get sick of it and call up the police. Which is the last thing you need happening to Dazai.
"You're so tough running that damn mouth with the door closed!" He falls for her provocations, completely blinded by his irritation and anger and confusion on the entire situation to not recognize she is trying to rile him up so she can call the police. "Let's see you say it to my face!" His fist hits harder on the surface, making you jump in place, and you furiously wipe at your eyes as you get to your feet.
"Quit pissing him off!" You hiss, jerking her arm to turn her around, and her face is red with fury. "He hurt me, not you!" You roll your crimson eyes, feeling as though you are watching their breakup instead of your own.
"Hey, we are best friends," she folds her arms, huffing some from her prior screaming. "That asshole hurts you, he deals with me. That's how friendship works." She reminds, gearing up to turn back toward the door that he hasn't stopped hitting, you internally worried he'll ram it down if he doesn't get his way soon. However, you grip her shoulder and turn her around again. "What?" She almost whines, the audacity dripping off of her that you can't believe she has.
"Just go away," you scoff lightly, gently pushing her off toward her room - not without her protesting every step of the way until you are having to shove her into her own bedroom and closing the door in her face. She gasps, offended, and instead of following you out, she just pouts on her bed with arms folded. You sigh heavily, scratching at your forehead, trying to collect yourself, but Dazai is still aggressively arguing with himself on the other side of the door, and this is probably the first time you have ever witnessed him acting like this.
A hand rests on the knob, clearing your throat and raking your fingers through your hair, you prepare yourself, readjusting your expression and features to be semi-neutral, put together, as if you hadn't been crying to three or four days straight. He bangs on it once more before you yank it open, standing there with a furious impression, and your brow lifts. "Oh? Was the girl from the market not enough?" You ask, rhetorical, voice pitched. He stands there in silence, eyeing you up and down, his bright red hand slipping away in his pocket. Girl from the market?
"What are you talking about?" He has the audacity to play dumb, but he truthfully doesn't understand what you're talking about. "What girl?"
"The girl! The market girl that was all over you that you were flirting and giggling with and she twirled her hair and you-you touched her!" You rush out, all of the words spilling together, the pain you've been holding tight and close to your chest, about ready to explode. He blinks, giving you a sincerely confused look, whoever you're talking about someone that never got the opportunity to take up residence in his brain quite like they did with yours. "You tucked her hair! You were... You were flirting with her! In front of me! While were together!" You emphasize, actually hating the fact he is pretending to not know what you're saying. He does listen to you though, eyes scanning and bouncing around as people he's seen all his life are flying through his mind and behind his eyes, trying to pinpoint the root of the problem, some girl at the market.
With the both of you acting overdramatic for days, Dazai hadn't remembered what it was that upset you so much, the only thing on his mind being trying to get you back home. Until now, blinking rapidly when he vaguely remembers some girl that bumped into him at the market, made a passing comment that she thought he was cute - and he thought nothing of her until he saw you on the other side, not caring, and for whatever dumb reason, that bothered him. It bothered him that you never seemed worried about others going near him, the potential possibility that you could lose him. It bothered him you weren't the jealous type, not like he is. So, stupidly, he thought that maybe he could try to see if you actually cared about him and your two's relationship, and he flirted mindlessly, meaningless, back with the girl whose face isn't even coming back to him. A blank slate of a person. He doesn't even recall the color of her hair he supposedly touched.
But he remembered your face, the twisted expression as you watched him, and a strange emotion stirred up in him when you both locked eyes, one he didn't experience often: guilt. He has been riddled and cursed with guilt after noticing the heartbreak visible in your tear-filled eyes, and he hated himself more than ever for doing something so idiotic. Something he didn't remember doing because his brain had been shrouded with a thick smog of rage that was only self-induced from his own inability to comprehend not everyone needs to be put through a loyalty test.
"It wasn't..." He starts, lightly shaking his head. "It seriously wasn't like that. I don't want her; I don't even remember her!" He defends, weak, and your eyes roll. "I was being an idiot! You never seem bothered by the idea of me being with someone else, and that bothered me! It's not fair that I have to walk around with you, worried some other guy might come along wanting you and very capable of taking you away from me but you don't have that same fear!" Your brows knit together at that blatant confession, definitely not under the impression this was something he "feared", considering he never made it known outwardly. A hand comes up, gradually, to rest on your hip, staring at him, and your tongue clicks after a painfully long period of silence as you replay what he just said over and over again.
"That's what you're turning this into?" You question, valid, reasonable. "You did what you did because you're insecure? You needed some other girl's attention because I don't give you enough? I don't make you feel like I want only you?" Each new inquiry thrown at him feels like daggers to the heart, and he winces with the end of every sentence.
"I'm not justifying it," he murmurs, suddenly not wanting to yell anymore, not needing to. No long in a place to. "I'm just explaining why I did it."
"Well, it's a shitty explanation and doesn't fix anything," you tell him, point blank, beginning to shut the door on him before his forearm shoots out to stop you. The impact jerks you backward, startling you, and his jaw is tight as he stares at you; you both have a stare down, you waiting for whatever it could possibly be he feels the need to tell you, and him trying to buy himself more time to convince you to go home. "Dazai, just go-"
"I'm sorry," a faint whisper. The words lost to the wind, a last-ditch effort to prove to you he means everything he said before. What were once empty sounds with letter jumbled together int fits of anger and irritation are now laced with sincerity. A man's final hope is the thing he has always avoided saying - no matter if he should have long before this. He swallows, biting down on the inside of his cheek before his lips part. "I'm sorry." He repeats, louder, steady. Your eyes widen in skepticism, disbelief, and you eye him up and down.
"Did you just apologize?"
"Yeah, twice. I can do it a third," you hold up a hand and shake your head, waving him off.
"No, I couldn't live with myself if you dropped dead from your ego shriveling up," you comment, more under your breath, but he hears you and the corner of his mouth twitches. "You must mean it if you're saying you're sorry."
"Like I said, I'm just an idiot," he shrugs, daring to step one foot over the threshold, getting closer to you, and fight with yourself from taking a step backward. "I don't want anyone else but you. Everyone else is a blank slate to me, not knowing or caring enough to remember what they look like. But I can pick your face out in any crowd, even when you're purposefully hiding from me." You sigh, listening to him, knowing deep within your heart and soul he is telling the truth, but you're still hurt - which is understandable.
"I guess I can come home," you mumble, folding your arms but avoiding looking at him directly. "You have a lot of making up to do, though. And I mean a lot. I'm going to think every girl now wants you."
"Don't worry. Apparently, all I have to do is just open my mouth and they run off," he grins when your eyes narrow, now glaring at him, and his head tilts. "Not that I would ever dare looking in another woman's direction, let alone speak to them. I'll wear blackout glasses so I can't see anyone and duct tape my mouth shut under a face mask so I won't talk. And then no girl can see my stunning good looks because I will be in disguise." You lightly hit his chest, the absurdity of it all making a smile finally appear on your lips.
"That's a good start," you agree, letting his arm drop down to wrap around your waist. "Especially the taping your mouth shut. That might be an added bonus for me." He takes the proximity as an opportunity to lean down and place a kiss on your cheek, grateful you aren't running away again.
"How am I going to kiss you if my mouth is inaccessible?" He hums, brows raising as he waits for an answer, but you don't give him one - just another narrow-eyed glare. "You have nothing to worry about. I know you're out of my league." He kisses your nose, engulfing you fully in his arms for a hug, hiding his face in your hair, and your arms follow suit to breathe in his cologne and clean clothes.
"Gross," your friend's voice groans behind you, but Dazai doesn't lighten up to set you free to look at her. "If you're back together, get out of my apartment." She huffs, holding your packed bag in her fist. Her and him share an equally hateful glare, her tongue sticking out at him, and he flips her off. "Get loss before I call the cops." His eyes roll then, leaning down to lift you off the ground and throw you over his shoulder, legs kicking in the air with your protests falling on deaf ears while he reaches to grab your bag.
When he turns to go, careful not to have you hit anything, you are faced with your grumpy friend that you offer a sympathetic but gracious smile, waving goodbye. "Bye. Thank you for letting me stay here."
"Any time," she sighs, waving back and watching you two begin to disappear. "I hate your boyfriend!" She adds, standing in the doorway, and you shrug, dangling in his hold.
"Yeah, I get that a lot, actually."
brought to you by my strange sadness and the tortured poets department.
- ghxst
mini fic masterlist
tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch
➵ Dazai x gn!reader one shot. He clings to you when the suicidal thoughts become too overwhelming.
➵ Discussions of suicide and depression, established relationship, unhealthy dynamics, implied codependency, alcohol consumption (dazai is drunk), fluff and angst, can be read as platonic
Dazai's hands are cold. He puts them beneath your shirt whenever he hugs you, and the contrast between the heat radiating from his chest into your face and the freezing palms on your lower back gives you goosebumps.
"Stop that!" You giggle. And he lets you go immediately. You grab him back by the lapels of his coat, narrowing your eyes at him.
"Didn't you want me gone?" He chuckles. Your playful scowl turns confused, and his eyes widen when he realizes how out of orbit his question was. "Nevermind... Just let me hold you. Please?"
You huff. "... Don't say that. I want you here. Annoying hands and all."
His favorite way to hug you is from behind. Face buried on the crook of your neck, arms crossed on your chest and gripping your shoulders, leaving little crescent moons on your skin when he forgets to trim his nails.
"Relax, Dazai, I won't disappear," you'd comment sometimes.
To which he gives you a smile and an apologetic shrug. And you don't know it, there's no way for you to, but that's exactly what he fears the most in those moments.
He whines your name from the other side of the office, dramatically dragging his feet until he reaches your desk, and plops down with his head on your lap, arms tight around your middle.
"There's a new suicide method I want to try," he states plainly.
You smack him on the head before resuming your disentangling of his wavy locks, a frown darkening your features. "Don't say that."
"What? I was planning to invite you to join me." He pouts.
"Don't. I'm not killing myself. You're not killing yourself."
You scratch at his scalp. One of your hands wanders down to feel the pulse on his neck. Steady, warm. Alive. His eyelids flutter. You care that I'm alive.
"Supposedly, electrocution doesn't hurt too much," he goes on. "It's not a great method for a double suicide though... Oh, but if we-"
"Why don't we try out that bakery I told you about instead? I don't think Kunikida would mind if we went out for an hour or so..."
Dazai's hands are usually cold. They turn even colder when he gets scared. You notice that when you drag him into your room, when his usually graceful steps are unsteady and bewildered.
You notice that he's scared before he does: The child-like look in his eyes, like he lost his favorite teddy bear; the slight tremble of his fingers he believes to be hiding well; the hesitation in his movements when he knocks on your door at night, smelling of sweat and booze, feeling a little more hollow than usual.
He says your name like a plea; a plea to be let in, a plea to take away the guilt and the emptiness and the hurt, a plea to be forgiven for using you like a lifeline.
He sits by your feet, doesn't allow himself to go any closer, but he grips the hem of your pajamas like the railing of a bridge, counting the floorboards and the circles you make on his back.
"I know what it's like," you mutter towards the ceiling. "The hopelessness, the... pfft. The hope for something better on the other side, because you're unable to find anything on this side."
He tugs on your clothes, searching for your face with burnt eyes. "Don't say that..." he whispers. You let out a heavy sigh and continue.
"Sometimes, I get so lonely it's as if I don't exist at all, and then you startle me with that heavy head of yours and those freezing hands and... And it's like- like my brain is a little... Less loud."
You finally meet his gaze, and the intimacy of it knocks the air out of your lungs. Your words turn quieter, your eyes turn glassy.
"... But I don't know what to do to make your brain a little more bearable to live with. I can't do anything at all. I wish I could. I truly do."
He gives you one of his charming smiles, calculated and bright, accompanied by a single tear rolling down his cheek, glistening with the lamplight.
"It's alright. You do yours and I'll do mine."
Oh, but he wouldn't ever forgive himself if you took that jump without him.
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Your day at the Armed Detective Agency has been mundane. Perhaps even peaceful - you spent the morning organizing files with your favorite drink beside you and the sun warming your face through the window. There were no sudden emergencies, no disruptions, not even a suicidal brunet looming over your shoulder and pulling ways to get on your nerves out of his ass.
But of course, that last part was too good to be true.
You heard him before you saw him, footsteps in a light, carefree cadence carrying him past the shelf you were pulling files from. You knew it was him when the end of his trench coat brushed your calf, his rich, mischevious voice far too close to your ear.
"Good puppy."
You whirl around to gape at him, but he's walking away as if nothing happened, not even glancing back to see your reaction. You clutch the folders to your chest, cheeks heating up.
Good puppy??
You weren't sure what you were more upset about - the fact that he basically called you a dog, or that your stomach twisted in a way that wasn't entirely disgust.
You're about to march over and demand an explanation when Fukuzawa calls you into his office. Of course, now he needs something. You sigh, following his orders and walking to his office - definitely not beating the obedient dog allegations.
After talking to Fukuzawa (it turns out you forgot to put the date on some paperwork - you distinctly remember Dazai talking your ear off when you filled it out, clearly distracting you from remembering to fill in the box) you find Dazai resting his head on the stack of paperwork he should be attending to. He perks up when you all but slam your hands down on his desk, face settling into that familiar mischevious grin.
"What the hell was that all about?"
He just blinks up at you with an air of innocence so convincing you would believe him if you didn't know any better. "I have no idea what you mean."
You groan, not in the mood for games. "When you walked by me, you called me something. Why?"
All of a sudden, false recognition spreads across his face.
"Oh! Are you talking about when I called you a good puppy?" He asks, words punctuated by a shit eating grin.
You frantically check to make sure nobody heard that - thankfully, no one seemed to be paying attention.
"Yes, Dazai. What else would I be talking about?!" You hiss.
Dazai just laughs, leaning back in his chair. "It's just so cute how attentive you are to your job, like a puppy obeying its owner."
You blush furiously, mouth opening and closing as you try to come up with a way to defend yourself. Dazai's eyes widen, taking advantage of your silence to embarrass you further.
"Oh. You liked it, didn't you?"
"Wha - no I didn't!" You argue. "I'm not a freak like you are."
Dazai chuckles with the satisfaction of a man who knows he's won, his voice unfairly deep. "Then why are you so red, puppy?"
You stand there in shock, effectively flustered, before cursing him out and fleeing to the hallway for some air. Dazai watches you leave, still simpering.
Ah, puppy's embarrassed... I'm so using this later
-- ♡ -- ♡-- ♡ -- ♡-- ♡ -- ♡-- ♡ -- ♡-- ♡ -- ♡--
This shit is inspired by my coworker saying 'good boy' walking past me literally just doing my job😭😭 He pisses me off (i want him). At least call me a good girl. (please please please i need it - what who said that?)
i really do hate the ship. not even because of my yumeship with dazai. it's more of the fanbase behind it and just how much it's shoved in my face. i love fyozai, however.
that, and a oneshot about the guilt, remorse (or the lack there of) and how it's inherently not moral to lack it, and how it does not imply that they're inhuman. i want denial, reluctant acceptance, begrudging agreement, whatever the fuck.
HIIII thinking about just an angsty pm!dazai with female reader. Theyre both horrible depressed, self harming, etc. Would love to see smth like a late night cig talk on the balcony outside and theyre both melancholic and edgy af. Also, got an interesting take on dazai and reader abusing substance, could totally see them addicted to drugs, be them hard drugs or just pills they stole from mori lol. TYYY :3
author’s note : i am SO sorry for taking this long. i have been very, very busy these days. i genuinely do hope you enjoy. it's been months since i wrote so it should be rusty.
tw : drugs, death. no sh for this one
the world was a harsh place to live in. unkind, hostile for those who truly knew it. the port mafia was a prime example, a place where pain was exacted with precision and bodies left to die unnamed, unremembered. It was no place for children, especially for the two young souls who'd barely hit eighteen, left to deal with the cruel realities of life. it was hardly a surprise to anyone when those two took every opportunity to escape it, however dangerous it may be.
all this to say, you and dazai were in the infirmary again.
not because either of you were injured — you'd hardly gotten a scratch this mission — but you were out stealing a good old morphine, an old habit you both had acquired. dazai was only fifteen when he'd gotten his hands on some, after a particularly hard mission. a lot of gun wounds, and in turn, a heavy dose of painkillers. unfortunately for mori — and probably everyone else there — this had proven to be a mistake, as he'd only grow to be addicted to the substance.
and it was at sixteen when you'd shown up, innocence freshly ripped apart, rose tinted glasses violently shattered. you were one of the ability users the mafia managed to scout out from the slums. you, much like him, wanted to numb the pain of seeing the world in it's true colours, the dark and bloody red. so, when you asked him for a bit as well, he let you have it, and subsequently sealed your fate.
years had passed since then. you'd grown accustomed to the pain and misery. long gone were the days you had the decency to pretend to be sick to steal out the pills. but yet, you never grew out of the habit. you continued taking it, downing as much of it as you could fit in your palm, so deep into the addiction, you could hardly be bothered with recovery now.
dazai cracked the door open, ignoring the slight creak that followed. no response. he slid in, you in tow.
“do we have to steal them?” you whispered. you knew the circles you two frequented. drugs would hardly be difficult to acquire and yet ....
“shhh, trust me. it's worth it from here, won't have to pay.”
you weren't entirely convinced but you merely gave a one shouldered shrug and continued.
mori’s office was definitely sizeable and well-spaced. enough to fit at least 3 patients in one go. you knew from experience, often the two patients that visited, chuuya being the third.
you knew the place like the back of your hand. a cupboard in the corner, a desk at the side with three drawers. picture frames on the walls and a small couch with childlike drawings littered across. must've been elise, you think.
you reach for the cupboard, dazai looking through the drawers. together, you managed to raid most of the drugs present. you knew this would bite your ass later but you'd long ceased to care.
you looked to dazai, who looks right back with a grin. and in a flurry of fabric and giggles, the two of you rush out.
†
all that teenage fun and giggling had long faded away by now. you wondered how you'd mustered up all that laughter. sitting on the balcony of your apartment — dazai insisted his shipping container wasn't ideal — you could only stare up at the stars as your brain buzzed with nicotine. you head lolled back, resting against the wall. you felt drowsy, even dissociated from your current body in a way you couldn't quite describe.
you loved it.
dazai seemed to be staring at you with a wistful look, head against his palm.
“you seem at peace, bella.” he said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “what are you thinking of?”
you take another hit of the cigarette in your hand. “do you wonder that maybe, in a better world, we could die here like this?”
he takes his moment to wonder, eyes drifting.
“many times.” he does not elaborate further, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. his head falls onto your shoulder. “in a better world, we'd die in eachother's arms.”
taking another drag, you let words hang in the air in all their weight.
“what's stopping you in this world?”
“i don't think i could bear to see you die.” he mumbles. “let me ammend my statement.”
“hm?”
“if I ever, for any reason, were to die, i need you to hold me as i do.”
for the first time, you looked to the other. truly looked at him. his brown eyes that looked inside your soul, long lashes, soft white skin you were tempted to touch.
“is that all?”
“yes. that is all.”
you finally put down the cigarette, flicking off the excess ash, putting it out.
“i promise you, no matter what, i will hold you as I die even as your body goes cold. I will do so till my own grave is filled beside yours.”
i really do hate the ship. not even because of my yumeship with dazai. it's more of the fanbase behind it and just how much it's shoved in my face. i love fyozai, however.
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author’s note : happy birthday, dazai, my sweet boy and love. i genuinely have risen from the grave just to post for his birthday. late but whatever.
WARNING! smut written by a minor. I am too lazy to wait till 18. I am almost there anyway.
thinking about pm ! zai who carries himself like a tortured soul. hair a mess, tangled with bandages, eyes heavy with lack of sleep, he looks beautifully in pain, holding through the weight of the world on his shoulders.
thinking about pm ! zai who holds you like you're the only reprieve he has from this world, eyes softening as he rests his head on your shoulder, you on his lap, calloused hands on your waist.
thinking about pm ! zai who pressed kisses to your neck, smiling against it as you giggle, going higher and higher till he reaches your ear. “c'mon bella, let me have this. you're all i have in this world.”
thinking about pm ! zai who lays you down soft on the couch, his weight pressing down on you as his lips meet yours. His hands roaming as they grab onto you as if you'd slip away, just like everything else he's ever lost.
thinking about pm ! zai who kisses the insides of your thighs slowly, savouring the moment. He looks you in the eyes as he does this, watching your fingers twitch around gripped sheets. He can't help but smile against you skin, watching you unravel under his minstrations.
thinking about pm ! zai who kisses your clit before eating you out. He buries his head in like it's his salvation. He forgets about everything, every loss and transgression, every time he's had to mourn. Sometimes, he believes if he just does it enough, it might save him.
thinking about pm ! zai who stays that night. He does not leave for his shitty shipping container, does not sneak out after you sleep. You see him asleep beside you the next morning — a rare sight. He doesn't move away when you kiss him on the temple, nor does he shrug it off when you wish him happy birthday this year. For once, he believes this year might be worth living.
I was thinking something with the reader who’s part of the Guild (we’ll have to ignore Zelda oops), perhaps at a masquerade ball or a party of some kind (New year perhaps?), I think that’d be something fun to write about!
author's note : OMG THIS TOOK SOOOO LONG BUT I TRIED. ┐(´ー｀)┌ either way, i really hope you enjoy!
cw : fluff, francis fitzgerald, guild employee gn reader. tell me if i miss something.
the guild was known to be extravagant in all goals they ever conceive. no expenses were spared as long as said goal was achieved; in this case, it was a gorgeous new years ball set at three hours before midnight, hosted by the one and only francis fitzgerald, leader of the guild. while it wasn't his idea — it was actually a offhand suggestion by margeret mitchell— he certainly put the effort and cash into the event. he was practically the strongest in the room with how much cash went into it, his ability being what it was.
⠀⠀⠀as for the rest of the members, margeret mitchel sure seemed elated, and lucy seemed excited too, you thought. margeret sat on your desk chair, all prim and proper as she watched you rush around the room for a proper dress.
⠀⠀⠀“c'mon, darl’. you needn't worry so much. it's hardly as if the sky will fall.” she muttered, stirring her tea. it was easy for her to say, she had all the flouncy dresses ... lucy, it seems, was going through your accessories drawer.
⠀⠀⠀“oi, you! no, not mitchel, you! you have less accessories that even i do! where are you bracelets, your rings?!”
⠀⠀⠀you mumbled your frustration incoherently.
⠀⠀⠀“lucy, dear. no need to add salt to the wound. i guess we have only one solution ...” mitchel muttered ...
⠀⠀⠀both you and lucy look up from your rummaging.
⠀⠀⠀“we, ladies, are going shopping!”
⠀⠀⠀ by the end of this escapade, all three of you had your outfits and were decked up for the night. lucy had picked a soft red dress, full with frills, layers of petticoats and a cute romantic vibe. despite her initial hesitation to spend, she seemed more than happy in her outfit. she enjoyed spinning in it.
⠀⠀⠀ margeret's however was far more sofisticated. a long, simple periwinkle dress with embroidered lace and a pair of satin gloves. she even had a parasol to go with it.
⠀⠀⠀ you had a sage green dress, soft and pleasing to the eye. the fabric hugged your waist, cinching it tight. the dress flaired slightly from there to your ankles, the leaf and white flower design adorning the cloth. lucy had been particularly elated about the accessories. hair pins, bracelets, a ring and a two layered necklace, all in gold.
⠀⠀⠀“there, darling. better?”
⠀⠀⠀ you were too busy staring in the mirror to actually hear it. you actually looked ... pretty. beautiful even. you weren't sure of then last time you looked this nice. you remember expensive dinners, silver cutlery and jewelry as a child but it all changed by eight. your father's business went bankrupt and as you grew, you'd come to forget most of those days. you hadn't remembered a fancy dress in all those years.
⠀⠀⠀ “thank you, marge, lucy ... thank you so much.”
⠀⠀⠀ margaret merely waved you off with a flick of her wrist and a dainty scoff. lucy gave out a triumphant hmph.
⠀⠀⠀ “told ya.”
⠀⠀⠀ you brushed it off with a giggle.
⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ★
⠀⠀⠀ it's is half past eleven you're on your way to the ball, sneaking through a small secret passage you'd found when you'd first joined. the whole organisation is in high spirits with red, green and gold all over. while the christmas decorations arent entirely out yet, there was clear thought and planning behind the organisation of the even, poe and louisa were clearly working overtime. even the guest list was larger than you'd anticipated. roughly a thousand people were said to attend! you knew the guild had allies this was far more than you'd expected. you almost had to respect it.
⠀⠀⠀grabbing onto your dress, you rushed through the narrow corridor, past the numerous paintings on the wall. you'd swore you'd almost reached the end when you bumped into something. something solid. but it wasn't a wall or even a door.
⠀⠀⠀“ah, ah. careful, wont wanna ruin your dress now, eh?”
⠀⠀⠀eyes wide as saucers, you stared at the man you had quite literally fallen for.
⠀⠀⠀francis scott fitzgerald.
⠀⠀⠀he chuckled at the the look of surprise on your face, his face illuminated by his amusement. his blonde hair — warm from the candle lamps — was slicked back, with only a small strand falling on his forehead.
⠀⠀⠀“don’t worry, i use these paths too,” he said.
he stared at you for a moment, at you with reddened cheeks and a slack jaw. with a soft giggle, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.
he walks right past after that.
⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ★
⠀⠀⠀you still hadn't recovered from it. standing in the massive ballroom, you stood to the side, near the drinks, all to yourself. you could see the warm lighting, red velvet curtains, green ribbons. it was almost magical, in a way.
⠀⠀⠀interrupting your reverie, you heard a familiar voice ask, “may i have this dance?”
turning around, you saw the blond haired man with a hand outstretched, waiting to take yours. with what courage you could muster, you muttered the only thing you could.
ᯓ feat. osamu dazai, fyodor dostoevsky ( sepreated )
contains. fem!child!reader, platonic, fluff, stealing their clothes, copies them
word count. 0.5k
based on this request
bsd m.list - main m.list
𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
You started with the bandages.
It was subtle at first, just a strip of gauze wrapped around your finger, then around your wrist. Dazai didn’t comment. He only raised an eyebrow and hummed like he always did, pretending he hadn’t noticed you staring at his arms while he changed his wrappings.
Then came the coat.
You dragged his long, beige trench coat through the hallway, drowning in fabric. The sleeves swallowed your hands; the hem brushed the floor. You strutted into the living room like it was a runway, chin lifted.
“Dazai-san,” you announced, voice serious, “I am mysterious now.”
He nearly choked on his tea.
“You’ve always been mysterious,” he said lightly, but his eyes softened. “Though I don’t recall being that short.”
You tilted your head, mimicking the way he did when he pretended to be thoughtful. “It’s because I am still loading,” you decided.
After that, it escalated.
You tried tying your own tie (crooked, obviously), copied his lazy slouch, even practiced his dramatic sighs. Sometimes you’d sit beside him on the couch, legs crossed the same way, staring into nothing like you were contemplating life’s tragedies.
“Are you brooding?” he asked once.
“Yes,” you said seriously. “I am brooding about snacks.”
He laughed, a real laugh, not the light, hollow kind.
One day, he found you asleep on the couch, wrapped in his coat like a blanket, bandages peeking from your sleeves. Your tiny hand clutched the edge of his notebook like it was precious.
He sat beside you quietly.
“…If you keep copying me,” he murmured, brushing hair from your forehead, “you might end up with my bad habits.”
You stirred. “Then I will copy your good ones too.”
He froze.
He didn’t move for a long time.
𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐄𝐕𝐒𝐊𝐘 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
You started stealing his coats.
Fyodor owned far too many, long, dark coats with high collars, gloves always neatly folded in the pockets. You began wearing them around the apartment, the fabric trailing behind you like a royal cape.
One morning, he walked into the study to find you sitting in his chair, his coat draped over your shoulders, his gloves on your hands.
You were reading upside down.
“…Is that comfortable?” he asked calmly.
“Yes,” you said, not looking up. “I am you.”
He paused.
“You are… me.”
“Yes. I must observe quietly and judge people.”
You stared at him over the book’s edge, eyes narrowed in your best imitation of his unreadable gaze.
“…Very well,” he said, sitting across from you. “What is your judgment of me?”
You considered. “You need more snacks. And more naps.”
He stared.
Then he adjusted his gloves and continued reading like this was completely normal.
You copied everything, how he folded his hands, how he walked silently, how he tilted his head when analyzing something. Once, you even tried speaking in his calm, low tone.
“Tea is optimal at this temperature,” you said solemnly, while holding a cup of juice.
He corrected you gently. “Juice is not tea.”
“It is emotional tea.”
He decided not to question that.
One night, he found you curled up on the couch, wrapped in his coat like a cocoon. You had placed his gloves neatly beside you and folded your hands on your stomach like him.
“…I will protect like you,” you mumbled sleepily.
He turned off the lamp.
“And I,” he said quietly, “will ensure you never need to.”
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
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ᯓ feat. osamu dazai
contains. teenager!fem!reader, teenager!dazai, fluff, sheep era, confession
word count. 1k
based on this request
bsd m.list - main m.list
You were part of the Sheep, not the loud, chaotic type, but the quiet one who handled errands, watched the younger members, and occasionally had to drag Chuuya away from trouble. So when Chuuya dragged you to the arcade to “blow off steam,” you didn’t expect to meet him.
A boy with bandages and a lazy grin, leaning casually against a game machine, caught your eye. Dazai Osamu.
He froze the moment he saw you. Chuuya noticed immediately.
“Hey, are you even listening-?” he started, but Dazai ignored him completely.
“Hello,” Dazai said brightly. “You’re very cute.”
You blinked, and Chuuya sputtered. “HEY?? DON’T FLIRT WITH MY FRIEND RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!”
Dazai tilted his head, as if studying you. “Is your name ‘my friend’? That’s adorable.”
You hid your face, mortified. And just like that, Dazai decided he liked you.
After that day, he started showing up everywhere: the arcade, convenience stores, street corners. And every time, he shamelessly flirted. “Ah, there you are, my beloved.” “We should run away together.” “If you ever need a partner in crime, I’m available.”
Chuuya would throw his hands up, yelling, “STOP SAYING WEIRD STUFF LIKE THAT!”
Dazai would just smile at you, totally unbothered. “But she could be,” he said with mock seriousness.
One afternoon, you were sitting on the arcade steps with a juice box, watching Chuuya and Dazai argue again. Dazai plopped down beside you.
“Do you like arcades?” he asked quietly.
“They’re fun,” you shrugged. “I like watching Chuuya get competitive.”
He poked his straw at his drink and hummed. “…What do you like?”
No one had asked you that in a while. You told him about books, little hobbies, stray cats you liked, and dreams of seeing the ocean again someday. Dazai listened, resting his chin on his hand.
“You’re interesting,” he said after a while.
“You already said that,” you laughed.
“I meant it in a serious way this time,” he added, and you could see his cheeks tint slightly pink.
From that day, tiny moments began to sneak into your routine. He’d bring you candy “by accident,” sit next to you during Sheep meetings pretending he was bored but listening intently, and even let you doodle on his bandages, refusing to take them off. Every time he told Chuuya, loudly, “She laughed at my joke. I think we’re destined,” Chuuya groaned and threatened to throw him out a window.
One evening, you found yourselves on the roof, city lights glowing below. “Hey,” you asked, “are you just flirting with me to annoy Chuuya?”
Dazai was quiet for a long moment. “…At first,” he admitted, then added softly, “but now I just like talking to you.”
You handed him a piece of candy without a word. He smiled, taking it carefully. “I’ll keep annoying Chuuya, though,” he said, and you groaned but laughed.
And for once, Dazai Osamu wasn’t plotting anything. He wasn’t being dramatic or mysterious. He was just a fifteen-year-old boy, completely lovesick, and absolutely smitten with the way you laughed.
─
Dazai decided he was going to confess.
This decision lasted approximately three minutes before he started treating it like a grand theatrical production.
You noticed something was off the moment he showed up to the Sheep hideout with flowers. Actual flowers. Slightly wilted, probably stolen from a convenience store display, but still—flowers.
Chuuya stared at them like they personally offended him.
“…Why do you have flowers.”
“For romance,” Dazai replied, beaming.
“WE’RE FIFTEEN.”
You pretended not to hear and sat down with the others, but Dazai immediately dropped into the seat beside you, bouquet in hand, leaning way too close.
“These are for you,” he said, placing them on the table like he was proposing.
“They’re kind of dead,” you whispered.
“Love is fleeting and tragic,” he said solemnly. “Just like these flowers.”
Chuuya kicked his chair.
─
He spent the entire meeting trying to impress you.
He volunteered to take out the trash.
He helped the younger Sheep members with homework.
He even listened when someone explained a boring plan instead of zoning out.
Every time he finished something, he’d glance at you like, Did you see that? I am a functional human being.
Chuuya noticed.
“So this is what it takes to make you responsible??”
Dazai nodded proudly. “I am a changed man.”
You quietly handed him a juice box.
He stared at it like it was a sacred offering.
─
Later that night, he found you sitting outside, leaning against the railing with your phone.
“Hey,” he said, sitting next to you, suddenly quieter than usual.
“Hey.”
He held out the flowers again. “You didn’t take them earlier.”
“I didn’t want to steal them from you.”
“They’re for you,” he insisted, a bit awkward now. “Confessions are supposed to come with offerings.”
You took them carefully, even though they were a little droopy. “Thank you.”
He stared at the ground. “So, um. I like you.”
You blinked.
“I know I joke a lot,” he rushed, words tumbling out in a way you’d never heard before, “but I wasn’t joking about that part. Talking to you is fun. And you don’t look at me like I’m weird or dangerous or something.”
You smiled a little. “You are weird.”
He laughed quietly. “Yeah. But you stay anyway.”
You thought about that. About arcades and candy and doodled bandages and him showing up everywhere just to sit next to you.
“…I like you too,” you said.
He froze. Completely. Like someone had unplugged him.
Then he burst up, dramatic as always. “CHUUYA! SHE LIKES ME BACK!”
Chuuya’s voice echoed from inside. “I DON’T CARE! STOP YELLING!”
You laughed as Dazai sat back down, cheeks flushed, trying to look cool and failing miserably.
“So,” he said, trying to regain composure, “does this mean we’re dating?”
“…If you want.”
He stared at you for a moment, then gently held your hand like he was afraid you’d disappear if he moved too fast.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll try to be a good boyfriend.”
You squeezed his hand.
From the window, Chuuya watched you two, sighed, and muttered, “This is the worst timeline.”
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
comment here is you want to be added to my taglist!
🏷️ @melisaqqu , @chrispychuya , @chocolatemilk4hara , @stellas-starry-sillies13 , @techimochi , @bladeyose , @adamesmermarryme , @dinhnguyenphuongmy , @angelofdarkness2 , @peanut-butter-pancakez , @crowconfetti , @lillyinfandoms , @secretlyasnail , @willowbsd , @kpopmultistans , @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred , @fedyacheese , @softjelly , @virag-creations , @xiaos--wifeyy , @chuuyashatdust
Hihi dear yvonne, may i offer you 15!dazai who meets reader (his age) for the first time, n shes all emo n edgy with piercings n stuff n gets this absolute enlightenment abt himself. Like "omg this is truly how i feel" n she introduces him to like emo music and he immediately clicks w it cuz hes an angsty 15 yo. lol
AUTHOR'S NOTE · omg thank you SO MUCH for requesting, i know this took a while but i swear im getting to the requests! MWAH! i loved the idea honestly. i only know that punk rock comes under emo and i listen to mcr and p!atd. so there's that too.
15 ! dazai who never cared for aesthetics. he was far too busy with something or the other to care about his appearance. he was beating chuuya at video games! who cares if his hair is messy? he just got finished with another mission, does it really matter is his socks don't match? he was far above this sort of thing, you see. that was until he met you.
15 ! zai who heard of you through chuuya, apparently both of you got along through the overlap of your music taste. rock music, punk, that sort of thing. chuuya said you were cool and he'd brushed it off. he didn't care who slug made his friends with, he didn't need them! and yet ...
15 ! zai who finds himself staring at you when he first saw you. he finds you ... interesting. your hair parted to the side, the bright coloured hair dye, the earphone dangling off your ear, the small snakebites you'd gotten ... the sheer edginess you carried yourself with drew him in like nothing else. it was only hell from there.
15 ! zai who takes it upon himself to follow you around like a lost puppy. he doesn't know how to approach you per se, he somehow has gotten the nerves ... so he chose to tail you everywhere you went. after missions, in the mornings, even at night when you'd stay up, he'd show up at your door. and when you'd ask him what the hell he was doing, he'd simply look at you with largest brown eyes till you relented. he began to grow on you in a way.
15 ! zai who eventually gets closer to you. he knows your favourite band is panic! at the disco, he knows you steal hair dye from the local shop sometimes for you hair, he also found out you diy your clothes sometimes. but one thing he knew for a fact was that you loved your music. you had at least one earphone in at all times. so, of course, he brought it up.
15 ! zai who just had to ask, “just what the hell do you play that requires you to keep your earphones on so often?” you weren't expecting the blatant question, usually he hovered more than he talked, but it seems he had more to say today. you merely handed him an earbud.
15 ! zai who had his world turned upside down listening to the guitar rifts of the song you currently played. from the glazed eyes and blank face, you could tell he was having a few ... realisations. and after exactly 3 minutes and 43 seconds of the song later, he says, “my fucking god.” you know he's been changed forever.
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
amandla
yousharknotpass
2087
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
