#trying a new formatting style | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaegersdevil · 6 months

Text

red carnations [dazai x reader]

cw: 1.5k wc, alcohol, one mention of dazai's suicide book

“Oh, shit,” Dazai laughed, stumbling over his own feet as he stood.

You paid no mind to him, digging your face further into the couch to shield your eyes from the sun's glare. Groaning, you squinted through the daylight to peek into the kitchen, where Dazai tried his best to fill up a glass with water from the sink.

“How did we end up out here?” He asked, rubbing his eye with his knuckle and taking a sip from the cup as he walked back toward you.

“Pretty sure it was Kunikida’s cheap ass rosé,” You said, face twisted in disgust. “Why did you make me drink that again?”

You took the glass from Dazai’s outstretched hand and ignored him when he jumped onto the couch beside you. His hand circled your thighs and brought them onto his lap, his fingertips rubbing softly on your skin.

“If I recall correctly,” Dazai puts his forefinger in your face. “You were the one who forced it down my throat. I took no part in stealing Great Kunikida’s favourite alcoholic beverage.”

You shook your head, sipping water from his glass and raising your hand to run your fingers through his messy hair. “Never let me steal it again.”

“Mhm,” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand, tilting his head into your touch. “It’s hard to sway you when you’re set on something.”

You rested your head on the back of the couch and looked at him. His cheeks were still tinted deep red from when you last saw them last night, but you were unsure if it was from the hangover or something entirely different.

“Are we gonna clean the candle wax off the shelf?” You mumbled, eyes flickering between his dark irises.

Dazai sighed loudly, turning his face forward, breaking your staring competition. “Nah, we’ll clean it up next time.”

You raised your eyebrows, nails grazing the top of his bandages at the back of his neck. "You'll clean it up next time."

Dazai glanced at you, fingers running higher up your leg. If he wasn't so entranced by you, maybe he would've declined.

“Have you heard from Dazai lately?” You asked Yosano as you walked into the ADA.

Yosano turned to face you from her desk, eyebrows knitted. “Yeah, he was just here, like, 20 minutes ago.”

Your mouth opened slightly in disbelief. “Really?” The question came out in a whisper, and you were too caught up in your thoughts to notice her calling your name.

“Why?” Yosano asked, now standing in front of you with her arms crossed. It seemed everybody else in the office was out, so it was deathly quiet while you contemplated what to say.

Nonetheless, you felt your face heat up at the memory. “He came over on Sunday night, and we–“

“Don’t tell me you–” Yosano shook her head, eyes locking onto the fading maroon bruise on your neck.

“No!” You gasped, body tingling with embarrassment. “No, just let me explain.”

The universe only gave you 12 minutes to explain your current predicament before Atsushi and Kyouka walked in, confused looks on their faces when they saw you waving your arms around.

“What’s going on?” Atsushi asked, placing his black gloves on his desk.

“Where’s Dazai?” Yosano inquired, raising a single eyebrow at the younger boy.

“Oh!” Atsushi looked at Kyouka, who turned away and pretended to shuffle papers on Kenji’s desk. “Uh, he’s… around, you know how he is.”

“Uh, huh,” The physician nodded, tongue pressing on the inside of her cheek. “Kyouka?”

The teenager paused her hands, dropping the documents. “He’s downstairs.”

Atsushi groaned softly while you and Yosano shared a glance. “Thanks.”

Dazai had always gotten a kick out of begging various women to die with him; that much was true. And you didn’t mind – why would you? You weren’t exclusive, and he could go after anyone he wanted. At least, that’s what you told yourself when you saw his cheeks were still burgundy – you could see that much. But what you couldn’t see was the face of the waitress who sat with her back to you.

The pain on your face must’ve been obvious because it was enough for Yosano to call his name, venom dripping from her words.

Dazai popped his head up at the sound, a smile spreading across his cheeks when he saw you. “Belladonna!” But his expression then morphed into one of panic. “You need to leave!”

You were taken aback. “What?”

The brunette stepped around the waitress and walked toward you, eyes bouncing around the room. He finally stopped before you, hands reaching out to take yours, gaze locked on the woman beside you. “Yosano, take her upstairs.”

“Dazai–”

“Please,” His dark eyes were pleading, yet they twinkled with something close to mischief. “I’ll let you know when to come back down.”

“No, I don’t want to go upstairs. Tell me what’s going on,” You argued, snatching your hands out of his.

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” Dazai added.

You tore your gaze away from him and fought against the tears in your eyes but let Yosano guide you back to the office anyway, a look of abrupt understanding on her face that you couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Upon returning, Kyouka looked regretful, and Atsushi had his head in his hands.

“Get over it!” Yosano announced, rolling her eyes when the pair jumped in surprise.

You were at a loss for words and tired. “I’m just gonna go home.”

“No!” Atsushi sprung up from his chair, clearing his throat when Kyouka glared at him. “I mean,” He coughed. “Just stay here a while. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

But you shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor where you’d left it when you arrived. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

A knock at your door was the last thing you wanted to deal with. Covered with two blankets and a tea in your hand, you grumbled when the knocking didn’t stop.

So, you got up, paused the episode you were watching and opened your front door.

Your breath hitched when you recognised Dazai’s shoes on your doorstep, a bouquet of red carnations covering his face. “What do you want?”

Dazai violently shoved the flowers to the side, his face visible now. “What do you mean ‘what do you want’?” He pushed past you to enter your apartment and placed the bouquet on the kitchen counter. “I’m here because you left the office.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, irritation simmering in your veins. “I’m going to ignore the fact you just invited yourself in.”

“Whoa!” Dazai taunted, shrugging his coat off his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong with me?” You questioned mockingly. “You!”

“Me?” He tilted his head.

“Yes, you!” You stepped in his direction, skin heated and blood pumping quickly. “You told me to leave the cafe, so I left! Dickhead...”

Dazai treaded slowly toward you, palms facing upwards. “I told you to stay in the office until I called you.”

“What am I?” You laughed bitterly. “A dog?”

Dazai sighed and shook his head. “You know what, you’re right. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but you didn’t have to leave.”

“You’re impossible, Osamu.”

Dazai raised his eyebrows in shock at the use of his name. “Oh, okay. I’m the impossible one.”

“Yes!”

“What if I said I asked you to leave because I was planning the best date of your life in the cafe?”

This made you pause. “Huh?”

Dazai took your hands in his, but you wouldn’t pull away this time. “I wanted to ask you out properly. But, someone had to open her big mouth and ruin the surprise.”

“Kyouka did nothing wrong,” You laughed. “You should’ve just told me.”

“Do you know the definition of a surprise? Or should I get the dictionary for you? Perhaps send you back to first grade?”

You slapped Dazai’s bicep and twisted your lips in thought. “Were you really going to ask me out?”

“Do you think I would subject myself to a florist for fun?” Dazai joked, nodding his head back at the flowers on the counter, placing his hand delicately on your cheek. “Of course I was! I like you.”

“Oh, Dazai,” You mumbled, voice thick with emotion.

And for the first time in the entirety you’d known him, Dazai was speechless, awaiting an answer that you’d soon give him. He chewed on his bottom lip, never fearing drawing blood because the thought of rejection was more painful than anything he’d ever tried from his book of suicide.

But when you smiled, pinching his pink cheek between your thumb and forefinger, Dazai knew it would be okay. “You’re so cute.”

“Wha–What?” He pouted. “I’m bearing my soul to you, and that’s all I get?” Shaking his head, Dazai let a smile slip out. “Lord, give me strength.”

“Shut up!” You laughed, hand on the back of his neck to pull his face closer to yours. And when his nose bumped yours, his hands found home on your waist. “I adore you, Osamu.”

#maroon u have my heart 4eva #😋#trying a new formatting style #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #osamu dazai x reader #osamu x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fanfic #— ann writes!

381 notes · View notes

undermine-the-instinct · 3 months

Text

[ IF NO ONE HAS EVER TOLD YOU ABOUT YOUR FATE, I WILL BE THE FIRST | pathologic ]

This is my entry in the Seraphiism '23 event! By of course, the lovely @seraphiism . I'm trying out a new format/writing style, so lemme know what you think <3

WARNINGS: A little blood, nothing graphic WORD COUNT: 3.2K (This got away from me)

{ I.THE BOUGH KEEPER IS SACRIFICE FIRST, SOLDIER SECOND, AND LAST OF ALL MAN}

And least of all, yours. The weight of eternity weighs heavily on his shoulders, but he presses on, and you mourn him for it. He pays the price of honor enacted by a far lesser man of his past, takes up arms and spills blood in the scorn of the divine. Because of Destiny’s decree.

You try to imagine it–eternal penance for a crime you could hardly remember. You imagine bearing a sword and a curse, one and the same, for hundreds of years, and your heart recoils at the misery that wraps around it. You can hardly believe that that is to be his fate-you refuse to. It cannot truly be his choice, not one made in any good faith at least. Or perhaps any faith at all.

You suspect he lost it ages ago.

“Do you ever think…” You begin hesitantly. “That you could leave it behind? All of it?”

Dainsleif, your lover, sets down his book. It's one of the ones you’ve kept around, and it seems he finally has time to peruse them, however borrowed that time it is.

“All of it?”

“...Yeah.”

“No. No.” He reiterates. And he smiles for you, because he knows how much it makes your heart warm.

“I can't abandon my duty, neither can I abandon you. They are one and the same. You are…woven into me. Cutting you off from my life would be cutting away the fabric of my soul. I could never.”

“...Why do you feel they’re one and the same?” A weight on his heart. Perhaps.

He fingers the worn pages of the book, his eyes dark in thought.

“I have a responsibility to the world, and you are a part of the world.”

“Those two sound so very far removed. I'm just one person, but if I could decide, my sole desire would be just to rest with you.”

He chuckles, good naturedly, like always. “If the world was ruled by our desires, I'd have been forever and solely yours already. And there would be no gods, but you.” For a man who rages and detests the divine, you’re not sure how to feel about that.

“But alas, the world often ignores our most fervent desires, unless we force it to acknowledge us that is.” A weight tugs his brow down, and his features buckle under it. Something like grief. “And that…is a very hard thing to do.”

“Alas.”

You nod, and return to your wayward gaze out the window. You imagine a life where he lives for you, and nothing else. You try to deny in your mind that he would want anything else. What could he find out in the world that he cannot find in your arms? A cursed man, believing himself content in penance and self flagellation, of service to the world at large.

But he is yours. You deny the world in his place.

{II.THERE IS A ROT THAT REPLACES THE MARROW OF HIS BONES}

It is woven into him, and he cannot escape it. He has long stopped trying.

It wears and tears at his soul, and marks his skin in scars, and he continues on. Fate has decreed that he will do so forevermore, until the day the abyss drags him down into its depths, its spindly fingers already grasping at him in twisting, molted blues. But he tries, because when you kiss the expanse of cursed flesh, a blissful smile on your face, a sudden rush of heat makes his skin prickle. It’s not love, though he loves you. It's rage.

Its disgust, and sick vitriol. You deserve better, you deserve more. You don't need this broken tapestry of pieces clinging onto some semblance of humanity. You don't need your nights interrupted by his nightmares, or his form clinging to your doorway, bloodied and offering the only tribute he knows to your altar.

He does not worship the Gods, but he knows something more divine, having long since slipped into the pews of your chapel.

“...I’m sorry.” You rush towards him, and he leans into the shoulder you offer him, letting you pull him into your bathroom where he stains the white porcelain.

“If you were sorry–” you huff as you set him down. “You wouldn’t get hurt so often.”

You pull out the first aid kit, and set to patching him up, removing layers of clothing to see the hurt beneath. He hardly winces, but his heart tugs.

“...You know I can't help myself.”

“You’re just one man, Dainsleif, there's too much for you to do on your own. And we both know this is about more than just your honor, or duty.”

“...Yet I am beginning to wonder,” he mumbles as you wipe away the blood. “Whether it has always been my fate to deny Fate.”

“What do you mean.”

You sound too upset for it to sound anything like a question. A demand, perhaps. He sighs. He is tired. So tired. He’s always been.

“Whether Fate is truly something we can overcome, or whether my rage is just a by-product of providence. If it was all preordained.” He shuts his eyes.

“The Gods that cursed us, the people and the nation I failed, my curse, my duty and obligation; I wonder if you too are foredoomed, just another predilection.”

“Is that why you do all this? To prove, what? Fate wrong?”

He doesn't answer, but he does open his eyes to see your mouth flatten. You continue patching him up, taking care of him, but he sees the way your eyes tremble.

“...Or perhaps just self-actualization?”

“...I have an obligation to the world, and to you–”

“Don’t say that, don’t pretend that this is for me, this is not for me. You’ve been doing this long before I was a thought on the breeze.” Centuries wear down his memory, but the tug of your mouth and brow pulls at him like a drawn bow, piercing through the fog of his fatigue.

Your shoulders shake next. “So if I asked you to stop, would you?”

He doesn't answer, even when the tears spill from your eyes.

“I don't care for fate, destiny or whatever. I care about you. Keep your honor, keep your anger, but stay with me. Is that not enough?”

“....It’s for you, too.”

“...I don't appreciate being your excuse, Bough Keeper.”

Celestia always watches, but even he cannot help but utter a prayer to some unknown god, that their eyes do not fall on this wayward moment.

He is fine with cursing the stars, his fate, with breaking body; he is fine with letting the heavens bear witness to his rage.

But not his grief.

It settles, thick and cloying on his tongue. The sour tang drowns out everything else.

{III.HE WILL NOT CHOOSE YOU. WHEN DESTINY TUGS AT HIS CLOAK AND BIDS HIM LOOK, HE WILL TURN FROM YOU}

You know he wishes he never met you. That he never fell in love with you. You try to take it as a compliment.

You would give anything to remove the burden on his shoulders, if only he were not so adamant on carrying it. You do not see the reason why–you would rather love a coward than mourn a legend. You would rather he stays home with you, in your arms, than leave and come back, over and over and over and over again.

You know he wishes he never knew you.

Dainsleif, he holds you, works in the garden with you, bathes with you, loves you–but his hands are tense, and his eyes stray to the world outside your window. You at least know that when he is gone, that he leaves because he is thinking of you, that he cannot handle being perceived by you for too long; It renders him asunder.

“Like a predator, staring at the open carcass of my soul,” he once said. “You just make me feel so…”

‘So what?’ You had wanted to ask, but you had known better, didn't he just tell you? So you acquiesce, but on the inside you ache. You plead and you beg, and you don't let the words spill past your lips; You hold them in your chest and your eyes and watch him leave.

You trade chaste kisses for letters in your mailbox, blissful sighs for dandelion fluff on the wind. Your love is like a hot air balloon, you cannot keep him close but you can keep him tethered even as the rope frays and tears at your hands.

Welcome him back with them open, and settle for apologetic kisses on your knuckles, from your knight, for a ring on your finger. No god would hold your marriage sacred, anyways, despite your tears.

“And what knowledge have you gleaned from your travels this time, my love?” You smile. Please don’t leave me again.

“Nothing that I don’t already know dearest.” I’ll do anything. Just give me the word. Just give me the knife.

“Which is?” Why don't you ever ask me? You know I'll do it.

His eyes, so deep and somber. They know, but they don't answer. “Fate has foretold that I will return here, as always.”

“Of course.” And he will always leave.

{IV. WHAT IS IT LIKE TO LOVE SOMEONE WHO IS ALWAYS RUNNING, ONE FOOT OUT THE DOOR? TIME DOES NOT SIT STILL, FOR NO ONE.}

Celestia is always watching.

Even here in this quiet moment, where the night holds vigil to the stars' homily, as they drag their forms past that pale corpse of a moon.

It's a still moment. He has removed you from his arms and you continue to sleep peacefully, your chest rising and falling, your heart the drum that starts off all his nights and days.

He is going to lose you, but before that he will lose himself.

Even now, he could feel the curse, like an ever burrowing parasIte, slowly consuming him. It replaces him. Eats away at him, fills him with rot, and he has the audacity to find solace in your garden. You dig out the rot and replace it with something far kinder, but that doesn't stop the curse from growing.

He is like an inteyvat flower. Hardened and unable to wilt unless placed back in the soil of his home. You’ve decided to love a dying man, and stand vigil, always, at his never ending wake.

Sunshine from a past life. Peers who trusted him and stood at his side and back, carrying the weight of honor. He doesn't remember them, but he remembers the sunshine. He remembers how he failed them. He remembers only what he can and only knows what he should. And he knows this tale like the back of his hand, the curve of your cheek.

This was fated to end in tragedy.

You move in your sleep and he startles. You roll over, and Dainsleif waits until you settle, to breathe easy again.

He can not reconcile who he is with the man he was before he met you. He doesn’t wish to go back, but he muses on how much easier it would be. He could deny the Gods, defy Celestia, the Archons, even Heavenly principles, even Destiny. But he cannot choose to remain alongside you as well.

He mourns this indecisive fool you turned him into. He will not survive without you, but that is alright because it has to be. Not every story has a happy ending, but every story needs a narrator. He'll re-read your scripture and memorize your chapters for as long as you remain, and even after.

And he will remain long after you are gone.

{V. IF NO ONE HAS EVER TOLD YOU ABOUT YOUR FATE, I WILL BE THE FIRST}

The sunlight paints the fields honey and gold, and soon it will be time to return to your little cottage. There will be cherry wine waiting on the table, and some mending you still need to finish, but beyond that you take in this moment, drink it down greedily; an open bud unfurling like a fist to an open palm, demanding the world its due.

Your lover on the other hand does not share the same attitude. His head rests in your lap, but you feel the restless energy in him, and stay still in the hopes of encouraging him to do the same. It doesn’t work.

“Settle down, Dain.”

“I am calm.”

“No you’re not. You’re fidgeting.”

“...I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave soon.” Ah. As always.

“Then all the more reason to relax now, while we have the time.” He scoffs at that word, time. He rises to meet your eyes, and you smile at his mussed hair.

“I might be away longer than I usually am. I’m not sure how long I'll be away for.”

You crack a knuckle in anxiety. “But you’ll be back, of course?”

He only pauses for the slightest of breaths. “Of course. Will you still want me back?” Your face takes on an exasperated look, but he waves it away.

“Do you not get tired of waiting, always? Are you not tired of constantly grieving, of having to love this broken piece of tapestry?” You are shaking your head before he's finished.

“No. If you are torn I will mend you. If you’re just a piece of tapestry then I’ll stitch you onto something better.”

“Leave behind these metaphors and poetry. I would rather believe you pity me rather than actually love me.”

The words hit a chord deep inside you. It carves a gorge, and anger rushes in to fill it.

“So what? You would rather me love a stranger? Someone who would understand me less than you do?“ You stare him down.

“..If I must–”

“‘Must’? Well you don’t. And by whose order? Whose words? Is that truly something you would allow, or what you tell yourself you should let happen?” His face doesnt twist, but you know the tint of misery that spreads under his skin. It's blue-black, like a bruise, like the stretch of his right arm.

“No. You will truly be damned thrice over if you allow that. You are so content to let the world, to let fate, decide how things are and should be–I don't believe in that. My fate will be what I say it is, and I say you will be with me forevermore. If you must leave, then leave, but come back to me, don’t let go of me!”

“I am ruined,” A wave rustles the grass, like a crowd gone silent. “I am ruined, cursed, damned as you say. You do not want this. You should not want this.”

“I don't believe that, and you shouldn’t either. Who has told you this, has Celestia personally decreed your fate? Or do you continue to let tragedy be the narrator of your life?” You grasp his face, pull him closer to your eyes.

“I have you. I want you. And it is reciprocated, As long as that is, things will not change. I refuse anything else.”

His eyes go back and forth between yours, and he sighs.

“As long as I breathe, I will return to you. But that does not change the fact that this was never supposed to be. If not by destiny’s nature than my own; It is only a matter of time before this too, ends.”

“Then forget what fate or destiny has told you. I am your fate, I am both your penance and redemption. If no one has ever told you about your fate then I shall be the first.”

Ans he is drawn, he listens like your words are rapture, like the first believer in the front pew of a sermon. So you smooth back his hair, and speak a prophecy.

“We will go home, and pick the tomatoes in the garden. They’re ripe now, and we’ll use them in our dinner. We’ll wash the dishes, unwind. Bathe. I’ll wash your hair and you’ll scrub my back. The sun should have set by then, so we can go to bed. As it gets darker I could read to you by candlelight, or, we could make love.”

“We’d need another bath, and to change the sheets then,” he mumbles, the slight pink hue high over his cheekbones.

“So would you rather we make love earlier? Or in the bath to save time?” You grin, and it draws soft breaths of laughter from your lover. You go on with your spiel.

“We’ll go to sleep together as always, and in the morning you’ll be baptised by the morning dew and the fresh brewed coffee. Much like today, you’ll laze in the fields with me, and when the time comes for you to leave, I'll give you my blessing, and my hopes as always, for you to come back to me.”

“So forget duty, when you are with me. If you are cursed I will be your balm. If there is rot in you I will scrape it out, and use it as fertilizer for my garden.“ He scoffs under his breath.

“You think this is a burden easy to unlade.”

“Yes, if you would only just let it. For by my decree, the Twilight sword shall be laid to rest in my presence, for I will be it's sheathe.” You only half jest and he looks at you quizzically.

“Did you just make an innuendo–”

“--And your words shall always be sweet, for my kisses shall honey your breath.” You kiss him to emphasize, or to quiet him, and he leans into you with a shudder, like a cat seeking affection, only something more desperate.

“If you care not for starlight, I will fasten you a crown of dandelions,” you continue. “And garb you in silks and sighs.”

“Fanciful daydreams,” He mutters, eyes closed. You trace the faint veins on his eyelids , violet blue in the dappled sunlight. 'Like crocuses.'

“Not when I’m with you,” you shake your head. “I’ll make them a reality, I swear. On all the love I have for you.”

He shakes his head in answer, a denial ready on his lips.

“The Twilight sword––”

“As I said– Shall be laid to rest in my presence.” You look at him as if to dare him to refute. He doesn’t.

You turn tender. You scot closer, practically in his lap now, if only to see his lashes flutter, pupils dilating.

“If you do not worship a god you may worship me, as I do you. That is your fate.”

“...Alright.” He sighs then, shakes his head, as to rid himself of the trance you put him under. He stands, and offers a hand to you.

“Alright then. Let your words be what I live by–I am yours, if you so say.”

You take his hand and head home.

#Seraphiism '23 #seraphiism '23 #events - seraphiism '23 #writing event #omg this is so late #but its here!#my stuff #my writing #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif x reader #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif genshin impact #dainsleif x you #I'm trying out a new writing style and format #let me know your thoughts

38 notes · View notes