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desc. Dazai comes to tell you goodbye before he goes underground. cw. nsfw, explicit sexual content (penetration), angst wc. 3.0k
The apartment was drowning in the heavy amber of a dying sun. Shadows stretched across the floorboards like ink spills as Dazai came stumbling in. He was disheveled, his chest heaving, clear adrenaline in his eyes. Your brain raced, concerned he was seriously injured or that the violence of his world had finally followed him to your doorstep, but he only pulled you into a tight hug. He smelled of smoke, old iron, and rain. It was then he confessed that Oda had died at Mori’s scheme and he was leaving. His voice was a ruined thing, cracking under the weight of a grief he didn't know how to carry.
You couldn’t help but notice the bandages at his wrists were gone, seemingly ripped off in a fit of manic desperation, exposing rarely presented battered skin, raw and pink against the pale hue of his arms. The wrap around his eye was missing too, allowing you a full view into his gaze, unobscured and terrifyingly open, like seeing another part of his soul.
He told you that he was leaving tonight, that he had some underground connections but he had to see you first. He spoke quickly, as if the silence of the room would swallow him whole if he stopped.
He felt something tug at his inhuman heart when he saw stray tears spill from your eyes. His hand came to gently wipe them, his thumb rough against your soft skin. As if unable to withstand the distance, Dazai took another step closer, invading your space until there was no air left between you. His head was angled towards yours, his eyes swimming in a depth of emotion that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before, a terrifying mixture of grief and hunger.
Your breath was caught in your throat, welling uncomfortably. The moment seemed to stretch forever, suspended in the dust motes dancing in the final rays of sunlight.
Dazai’s cold, lithe fingers cupped around your cheek to brace the physical and emotional weight of whatever he had stirred up in your head. There was a flicker of something regretful in that pensive stare that cut right through you.
“I can’t go without letting myself have this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I can’t leave without…” His eyes flickered over every feature he could find on your face: eyes, brows, cheek, dimple, crease. “Without letting myself know you.”
His fingers pressed a little harder onto your cheek to test the warmth of the flushed skin beneath it. Ever so slowly, he moved closer until he let his eyes shut. Yours shut too.
His lips were on you. Partially chapped, dry, but somehow soft enough to let your lips melt against him. His kiss was gentle, an unexpected softness from him, tasting faintly of salt and despair.
Once he moved away, you were left with only his hot breath and a heavy sense of desire beating down on you. When your eyes shuttered open, his were already staring down at you and drinking in every twitch of an expression.
When he saw no resistance, his fingers weaved into your hair just above your scalp, tightening almost painfully. His fingers burying into you like you might disappear if he let go.
His lips crashed against yours now. He was starving and only you could satisfy him. His other hand found your waist, drawing your body near until your hips collided with his. He leaned over and into you, as if his figure could shelter you from the passing time. His grip was hard, his mouth gasping for whatever softness and pity you’d give him.
Your tentative hands finally reached towards him, finding purchase on the top of his hips and to his sides, steadying both of you. Dazai was only more encouraged. His hand on your head tipping it closer and closer.
His breaths were hot gasps of air as he tried to breathe you in. You felt a warm shock travel up your spine when you pulled away for air. “Dazai—”
He opened his eyes to expose them blown black, pupils dilated so wide they swallowed the iris. Dazai stared down at you, fearing you might pull away. “Call me Osamu,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the seam of your lips as if to seal the name there. It sounded like a prayer, or perhaps a confession.
You could only peer back at him. “Osamu,” you repeated, feeling the words settle heavy on your tongue.
His mouth was on yours again as if you commanded it. He let out almost a whine when he felt the warmth of your lips. “God,” he cried. “You are so, so precious to me.” His words were soft against your lips, muffled by the contact. His other hand traveled up your side to cradle your other cheek now. “I want you. Entirely. I want to burn this memory into my mind.”
Your lips parted to speak, but nothing seemed to come out. Dazai’s gaze was heavy, anchoring you to the floor. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he rumbled.
You gave a small nod.
His eyes swept you once more. “Would you let me?”
After a moment, you nodded again.
His thumb slowly swiped over your cheek. “I want to hear you say it.”
A hot spark. “I would let you. I want you to.”
There was a moment of silence and then there was no space between you. Dazai pressed against you, holding onto your waist with a deadly grip to keep you close. His tongue traced your lips. His cold fingers moved under the hem of your shirt, skimming over your ribs, his touch icy against your heated skin.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself up to reach him. You allowed your body to meet the warm press of his own with the softest sound off your lips.
His gentle finger tips pressed into your warm flesh, as if to test just how real you were. You weren’t sure you could’ve ever recalled a moment where desperation felt like hot coals were trying to escape your body. Every nerve alight with pinpricks.
He pulled away only to steer you to your bedroom. His guiding hand on your back was more directing than suggesting, urgent and possessive.
The bedroom was darker. The sun had finally surrendered, leaving the room in the bruised, violet-grey of twilight. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cool stillness.
He gave his trademark smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, as he pressed your knees to the back of the bed and watched as you allowed yourself to sit back on the mattress.
Dazai’s hands rested firmly on your hips as he sat over your legs, crowding you to lean back. One knee between them, the other along your thigh, creating a friction that made your breath hitch. You laid breathless before him and he drank in the sight before leaning down to press a heavy kiss to your neck, right over your pulse point. He enjoyed how your head lolled away to allow him better access. His hand pushed up the hem of your shirt.
“I’ll be good to you,” he whispered hot into your neck. “So good. I'll make you forget everything else.”
You watched as his face moved back to examine your dazed expression before pressing his knee against your clothed core. He watched as you seized up and grabbed onto his arm with a moan. He was drunk off the look in your eyes.
“Osamu—” you breathed. His lips were on you again, bringing your shirt just under the swell of your chest.
He sat back and began to undo his own shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly—a rare sign of his trembling hands. His knee was still pressed against you, providing a thrum of pleasure despite it all. You watched through heavy lidded eyes as his shirt came off.
The broad pale expanse of skin was intermittent to the bandages across his body. Scars, bruises, and abused skin peeking out from the bandages. There was a sort of vulnerable look in his eyes, or at least as vulnerable as he let himself be. You couldn’t help but notice the long gash from the center of his chest towards his stomach or the way his bandages on his arm seemed to uncomfortably choke his skin. He looked like a mosaic of broken things glued back together.
To comfort, your hand reached out and ran across his torso, pressing gently into the scar with a sense of honest curiosity. Dazai flinched visibly at the reaction, expecting revulsion, and leaned back down. “I hope I’m not a frightening sight.”
You gave a gentle smile then, tracing the jagged line of the scar. “No. No, you could never frighten me.”
He gave a warm puff of breath back against your skin, the vibration traveling through your chest. It wasn’t long before he peeled the fabric away from your body as if unwrapping a fragile gift. His hands were trembling slightly as he started on the waistband of your pants. He hooked his thumbs onto it, his knuckles grazing your hipbones, and slid them out from down your legs.
You tried not to watch as he removed his suit pants, feeling a sudden, shy heat rise to your cheeks. When Dazai sat back down on the bed, the both of you were in underwear, looking up at each other in the dim, blue-grey light of the apartment.
His body was cold against yours when he pressed close again, coming to embrace your open arms like a salvation he didn’t know he needed. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply, trying to memorize your scent. Your hands traced along his neck and shoulders, dancing just along the binding of his bandages, feeling the rough texture of the gauze against the smooth and pale skin. His lips and teeth pressed gently against your skin, leaving ghosting marks, like he wouldn’t dare mar your perfect flesh.
His gaze was heavy like his breath. Slowly, his hand traveled from your side and to your core, pressing over the fabric just to watch you seize up so sweetly for him.
"Beautiful," he breathed, the word cracking in the middle. He didn't rush. He wanted to see you.
He peeled both your final layers off, his fingers lingering on the skin he exposed, chasing the shivers he created. He leaned back over you, his hair falling forward to curtain you both off from the rest of the room. The air in the room felt suddenly cooler on your bare skin, but Dazai was there to shield you from it.
His gaze was soft on you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any reason for him to stop. “You alright?” He murmured, his voice rough with a need he could barely contain.
“I need this,” you whispered, the confession hanging heavy in the small space between your lips. “Please, Osamu.”
The tension in his shoulders broke. When you affirmed, he continued, fitting his body against yours until there was no space left for the shadows to intrude.
He moved to position himself, his knee nudging your thighs wider apart. The mattress dipped under his weight, the springs groaning in the quiet room, giving a harsh, mechanical sound against the soft rush of your breathing.
He didn't rush. He couldn't. He hovered over you for an agonizing second, the tips of his bandages grazing your skin, scratchy and rough against the softness of your inner thighs. He looked down at you, his hair falling into his eyes, watching you unravel before he even touched you.
“Look at me,” he whispered, a desperate command. “Don’t close your eyes.”
When he finally pushed into you, it was a slow, heavy drag of friction. He let out a shattered breath, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. You felt the tension leave his frame all at once, melting into you like wax.
“Osamu…” you breathed, the sound punched out of you by the snap of his hips.
“I’m here,” he gasped against your skin, his sweat mixing with yours, slick and hot. “I’m right here.”
He paused there, trembling, overcome by the sheer reality of you encompassing him.
“I imagined this,” he choked out, his voice a wrecked whisper against your skin. “God… you feel better than anything my mind could ever imagine.”
Your hands, seeking purchase, reached around him. Your fingers splayed across the expanse of his back, finding the bare skin between the bandages.
When your nails dragged down his spine, digging in sharp and deep, Dazai didn't speak. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, and arched.
The twinge of pain seemed to flip a switch in his brain. He shuddered, an intense pleasure rolling through him that silenced his thoughts completely.
He drove his hips forward, driven by the scratch of your nails. There were no more words, just the wet heat of the friction and the broken, needy sounds tearing from his throat every time you dug deeper.
The shadows in the room seemed to lengthen, wrapping around the bed, but neither of you noticed. There was only the sensation of him burying himself in you, chasing the sharp bite of your nails, and the way he looked at you when he finally lifted his head, exposing eyes blown wide, terrified and worshipful.
Dazai shifted his weight. Abruptly, he changed the pace. He didn't stop, but he slowed the rhythm down to a heavy, rolling grind that was infinitely more torturous.
Dazai leaned back, his hands catching your knees and pressing them wider, opening you completely to his gaze. Even in the shadows, you could feel his eyes tracking every twitch of your muscles, every gasp that escaped your lips. He was studying you, memorizing the exact shape of your pleasure.
“Don’t look away,” he rasped, his voice rough with strain. “I want to see the moment you go.”
He drove into you deep and slow, hitting a nerve that made your vision blur. The sensation was too much. It was a heavy, molten heat that pooled in your belly and spread through your veins like fire. You tried to arch off the bed, but his weight kept you pinned, forcing you to feel every inch of him.
“Osamu, please,” you begged, your head tossing back against the sheets. “I can’t—it’s too much.”
“You can,” he promised, leaning down to bite gently at the sensitive cord of your neck. “I’ve got you.”
He picked up the pace again, a frantic, punishing rhythm that gave you no room to breathe. The friction sparked into a blinding white light behind your eyelids. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until snap.
The release hit you with the force of a landslide. You cried out, a raw, uninhibited sound that Dazai swallowed with a bruising kiss. Your body convulsed around him, waves of pure, unadulterated bliss washing away the pain of the day, leaving you floating in a sea of white noise.
Dazai followed you into the dark a second later, his body going rigid, a harsh groan vibrating against your chest as he spilled himself into you.
Then, he fell against you, his breathing ragged, his skin slick with sweat and cold to the touch. For a long moment, the only thing tangible in the world was the thudding of two hearts trying to find a synchronized rhythm.
Eventually, Dazai stirred. He pulled away slowly, the loss of his body heat making you shiver. He didn't speak as he moved. He simply reached for the duvet and pulled it all the way up to your chin, cocooning you in warmth.
He laid back down beside you, but he didn't close his eyes. He pulled you into his chest, one arm draped heavily over your waist to hold you still.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.
You felt heavy, your limbs turning to liquid. The intensity of the climax had drained every ounce of energy you had left. “I feel…” you slurred, your eyes fluttering shut against your will. “I feel float-y.”
“Good,” Dazai murmured. He pressed his cheek to the top of your head, staring blankly at the wall across the room. “That means you’re relaxed, you’re safe.”
“Stay with me?” you asked, the words barely a whisper. “Just until morning?”
Dazai’s hand paused on your back for a fraction of a second before resuming its hypnotic rhythm. “I’m not going anywhere,” he lied, his voice steady and soft. “I’ll be right here holding you. Just close your eyes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
The weight of his arm, the warmth of the duvet, and the lingering hum of satisfaction were too much to fight. You let the darkness take you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dazai waited. He lay there in the silence, listening as your breathing slowed, counting the seconds until you were truly gone. The room was dark, only the ghost of streetlights seeping through the curtains existed.
When he was certain you wouldn't wake, he carefully slid his arm out from under you. He replaced his warmth with a pillow, tucking it against your back so you wouldn't feel the empty space.
He dressed in the dark, his movements silent and practiced. He paused at the door, looking back at the shape of you under the covers, the only peaceful thing he had ever touched. With a final, silent exhale, he turned the handle and stepped out into the night, leaving a life and an unlocked door in his wake.
★ masterlist
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New bsd bunkobons The Last Years by Osamu Dazai and Paradoxes of Youth and The Literature of Possibilities by Sakunosuke Oda, with cover illustrations by chief animation director Nobuhiro Arai. To be released on June 17th.
odango getting together and dazai is aghast, all "wait why am i thirdwheeling now?? you're not going to kiss in front of me right?? are you going to HOLD HANDS???" and just to be silly oda does kiss ango in front of him (much to both ango and dazai's chagrin)
then mori, who as of recently had been getting a lot of rants about odasaku this, ango that, gets bombarded with agonized complaints about how the two won't leave dazai alone anymore, and it's torture, worse torture than he could ever come up with!
The Burden of Knowing Everything: Why Dazai and Ranpo Needed to be Hit
I re-read The Dark Era light novel last night and i was thinking about the parallel between how Odasaku reacts to Teenage Dazai’s suicidal behaviour and how Fukuzawa handles a young Edogawa Ranpo. (im not sure if someone has said this before but if they have let me know i would love to read their analysis <3)
Both Ranpo (im specifacaly going to be talking about 14-year old ranpo from the untold origins of the detective agency) and 18-year-old Dazai suffer from the exact same problem, their intelligence makes the world entirely predictable and boring. They see dangerous situations as a game or something that is easy because they can out-wit anyone else, completly disregarding safety. making them feel untouchable.
But because they feel untouchable this is why they also act entirely reckless.
1. Fukuzawa’s Slap
In the end scene where Fukuzawa slaps Ranpo across the face (after ranpo brags about being able to solve the case and how he knew he wouldnt get hurt because fukuzawa would come to save him), it isn’t out of cruelty or being "annoyed". Ranpo had just pulled a dangerous stunt to prove his "flawless logic," treating a real threat like something not worth caring about.
That slap shocks Ranpo, he freezes for atleast five seconds and it shocks him out of his brain and forces him back into his body. It’s a harsh, physical reminder that he is just a child. Fukuzawa doesn't care about how smart Ranpo is; he cares about whether Ranpo survives the day. Its a beautiful scene that highlghts fukuzawas care for ranpo and its the moment the mask of the "untouchable genius" shatters, Ranpo immediately breaks down into tears because for the first time, he is just a kid being scolded by someone who actually loves him. (awww)
2. Odasaku’s Urge
Odasaku felt that exact same protective urge towards Dazai during the sniper scene.
When Dazai casually steps towards a man with a gun, says a line about wanting to die and be realeased, lets the bullet miss him by centimeters, and then smugly explains the mathematical trajectory of why he knew he wouldn't die, he is showing off. He’s a lonely kid bragging to his friend, wanting Odasaku to admire how clever he is.
But Odasaku geniunelly did not give a shit about Dazai’s intellect in that moment. He thinks: "I wanted to punch him. I would have, if Dazai were not an Executive."
Odasaku wanting to hit him is the ultimate sign of care. He wanted to break through Dazai's arrogant, suicidal facade and violently remind him: Stop treating your life like a chess game.
The Hierarchy
This is where the parallel is split. Fukuzawa was Ranpo's care taker he and was making sure ranpo was safe, he had the authority to slap him back into reality. But because of the Port Mafia's rigid hierarchy, Odasaku was a grunt, and Dazai was his "higehr up". so if odasaku was to slap dazai the other grunts would of shot him, or he would of been ordered to death.
Not only that but dazai would not of broke out into tears like ranpo, he would of laughed it off and just said "fufu, how cruel" or something weird like that. But atleast it would remind him of odasakus care for him.
Odasaku’s nonchalance and the mafia rules held him back from delivering the physical "slap of reality" that Dazai so desperately needed. Dazai was left standing there with his flawless logic, completely unpunished, ungrounded, and entirely alone in the dark.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Well, everyone remembers when a lot of people said Goosework had leaked an audio clip? Well, many said it sounded like someone was opening an exit door. Okay, in the trailer there were some images showing a bucket full of keys, an exit door with audio similar to the supposedly leaked one (which is near the end), and the mysterious voice saying they found a way out. Maybe it's all related. Also, in the Glitch live stream we saw a bit of episode 8, which were images that looked like the real world. This could mean that some people might get out, and I say some because of the theory about the intervention in episode 5, where many said that those who got cake might be abstracted. But anyway, hopefully this ends well, but considering it's inspired by "I have no mouth and I must scream," maybe it won't. Just my theory, tell me if I'm crazy.
