Tethered In Red - Dazai X Reader

tethered in red - dazai x reader

bound by a deepening obsession, the story follows a mission gone wrong—an ambush laced with betrayal, bloodshed, and the terrifying possibility of loss. as the world around you burns, dazai holds you like it’s the last time—loving you with a desperation only born from death. its raw. its unhinged. its the kind of love that destroys and saves at the same time.

warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic violence,injury, blood, obsessive love, breakdowns, nsfw, angst, betrayal, possessiveness, mentions of death.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

the cigarette between chuuyas fingers burned low, the ash hanging off the end like a whisper away from collapse. you were sitting on a rooftop just outside the port mafias southern compound, the wind stirring strands of your hair across your face, the dying sun bleeding out behind the yokohama skyline.

your back ached. your ribs were still sore from last week’s assignment. but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.

it was him.

dazai sat beside you on the ledge, one leg dangling, the other pulled to his chest, his chin resting atop it. his eyes were fixed on the city, but you knew he wasn’t seeing it. he was far away. somewhere in the dark, fucked-up parts of his mind that not even you were allowed to follow.

chuuya flicked the ash off his cigarette, exhaling a long drag. “he’s been like that since yesterday,” he muttered, nodding toward dazai. “ever since Mori called you in.”

your stomach twisted. you knew the pattern. the summons. the silence. dazai always shut down right before something bad.

you reached for him anyway.

“osamu.”

his eyes didn’t move. but he answered.

“hmm?”

“is something wrong?"

a pause.

and then, softly, “no.”

⸻

the elevator to moris private chambers always felt like a descent into the underworld. your stomach dropped as the lift sank below the normal levels, into the depths where sunlight and mercy couldn’t reach.

the hallway outside his office was cold. clean. the kind of sterile that hospitals tried to mimic but never quite captured. like a morgue pretending to be a sanctuary.

you knocked once.

the door opened itself.

inside, mori sat behind his desk, tea steaming gently beside an untouched chessboard. elise stood nearby in her doll-like form, eyes unblinking, mouth curled into a cruel half-smile. the air tasted faintly of antiseptic and copper—like blood scrubbed just a little too late.

“come in,” mori said, gesturing.

dazai walked ahead of you. his shoulders were tight, his hands buried in his pockets. you followed in silence, every instinct screaming at you to turn around.

“you’re both here because i trust you,” mori said, steepling his fingers. “there’s a traitor. a former associate named yanagi. he’s been leaking intel to the government. we believe he’ll be at a decommissioned shipyard tonight. the location is secure, minimal risk.”

you frowned. “then why us?”

mori smiled, and it made your skin crawl.

“because i want to be absolutely certain he doesn’t walk away.”

that was the first red flag.

the second came when dazai asked, “you said minimal risk. you're sure?”

mori didn’t blink.

“positive.”

but dazai didn’t believe him.

you could see it in the way his fingers flexed. in the flicker in his eyes. in the silence that followed.

“fine,” dazai said at last, before adding on coldly, “but if anything happens to her, ill ensure you regret it."

moris smile never changed.

"oh. i'd expect nothing less.”

⸻

the docks were drowning in mist. the air was wet, thick with salt and steel. you and dazai moved like shadows through the decaying ruins of what used to be a shipping port — cranes long dead, containers left to rust like forgotten coffins.

something felt wrong.

the silence was too complete.

your heart thudded in your chest as you scanned the area. “we are being watched,” you whispered.

dazai didn’t answer.

then the fog shifted.

masked figures on the rooftops. behind the crates. lurking in the shadows.

too many.

far too many.

it was a setup.

you didn’t have time to shout before the first bullet shattered a pipe beside your head, spraying steam and fire. dazai tackled you to the ground as a barrage of gunfire tore through the air.

then came the knives.

the screaming.

the blood.

⸻

the world erupted into hell.

bullets split the fog, hot lead searing through steel and air. your body moved on instinct—rolling behind a rusted crate, your breathing ragged, ribs screaming. dazai was already on his feet, two guns drawn, eyes wild like a cornered wolf. not a strategist. not a trickster. a killer

you counted eight, then ten.

too many.

this wasn’t a takedown.

It was an execution.

your fingers shook as you reloaded. “they knew we were coming,” you hissed, throat raw.

“no,” Dazai spat, his voice lower than you’d ever heard it. “mori knew.”

that truth tasted worse than blood.

the first wave came fast—black masks, gleaming knives, footfalls like thunder on wet steel. dazai moved like water, bullets slicing through skulls, a knife in his off-hand spinning a man’s body into the air like a ragdoll. blood sprayed across your cheek—warm, thick, coppery.

you didnt have time to think.

you stabbed upward into a chest, felt the rib crack. pulled free. kicked. shot. the violence was mindless, primal. you didn’t know who you were killing anymore. only that it was you or them.

and then it happened.

a blade slid into your side.

you gasped—eyes wide—as warmth flooded your ribs.

you turned, instinct firing too slow, too late.

the masked man grinned behind blood-stained teeth—his knife lifting again.

but dazai screamed.

the kind of scream that tears through your spine and nestles in your bones.

it was raw. animalistic. like something in him snapped.

he was on the man in seconds. tackled him. pinned him. punched him. over..

and over.

and over.

blood coated dazai’s knuckles like war paint. the man’s skull caved in before he was even dead.

and dazai didn’t stop.

you reached out, voice trembling. “osamu—stop—”

but his eyes were gone.

gone.

lost in a place no one could reach.

you had to grab his wrist to pull him back to the surface.

he blinked.

breathed.

his chest heaved like he’d been drowning.

and then he saw you. really saw you.

the blood at your waist.

the pain in your eyes.

his hands were shaking.

“oh god,” he whispered, “you’re bleeding—you’re bleeding—”

you collapsed into him, darkness curling at the edges of your vision.

⸻

you came to in the back of a black sedan, the engine roaring like a beast through the night.

rain lashed against the windshield in violent slashes, the sky sobbing above Yokohama.

dazai was holding you, cradling you.

one hand pressed against your side, the other brushing your damp hair back from your face.

he was covered in blood.

yours. theirs. his own.

you blinked, throat dry. “…are we dead?”

chuuya barked a laugh from the front seat. “not yet. almost wrecked my car picking your dumbasses up, though.”

you tried to sit up. dazai stopped you with a gentle but firm hand.

“don’t move,” he whispered. his voice was wrecked. hoarse. strained. “you’re still bleeding.”

you looked at him.

really looked.

his eyes were wild. his pupils too wide, his jaw clenched tight.

you reached for his face. “you saved me.”

his hands tightened on you like he was scared you’d vanish. “no. i failed you. i let him send us into that trap. i didn’t see it. i should’ve known.”

your vision blurred again—not from pain this time, but the sheer weight of his guilt.

“it’s not your fault,” you murmured.

but he didn’t answer.

just held you tighter.

⸻

The Safehouse — 3:02 a.m.

the room was warm.

quiet.

the chaos was gone, but it lived inside your skin now.

the safehouse was nothing more than an old warehouse in the outskirts of the city—converted into a loft with makeshift walls, one bloodstained couch, a mattress on the floor, and a single bulb casting soft yellow light.

you lay on that mattress, wrapped in clean bandages, sweat still clinging to your skin from the fever. your side ached like hell.

dazai sat beside you, shirtless, arms slicked in dried blood and fresh bruises. he hadn’t left your side in hours.

“why are you still here?” you whispered.

his head tilted, eyes tired. “where else would I go?”

you looked at each other

and in that silence, something broke.

he leaned down—slow, unsure at first—until his forehead pressed against yours.

“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it cracked. “i thought you were dying in my arms and i couldn’t do anything.”

his lips brushed your brow. your temple. your nose.

“i wanted to kill them all. i did. and it wasn’t enough.”

your hand rose to cup his jaw. “i'm still here.”

his eyes closed.

and when they opened—something unhinged glowed behind them.

“you don’t understand,” he murmured, “i need you. if you ever die, i die with you.”

you shivered.

not from fear.

but from knowing he meant it.

⸻

dazai hadn’t stopped touching you since the moment chuuya dropped you off. he hadn’t let you stand, hadn’t let you breathe without his hand ghosting your skin like he needed confirmation that you were still real.

his fingers trembled where they rested on your hip, just above the edge of the bandage that wrapped your ribs. he looked down at you like you were a dying star, burning too hot—too bright—and about to vanish.

you saw it in his eyes.

that brittle kind of love that turns to ruin if it’s not touched back.

you shifted, your palm brushing over his bare chest. "osamu,” you whispered. “im here.”

that’s all it took.

he kissed you.

not gently.

this wasn’t a kiss, it was a collapse.

a collision of everything unsaid—all the times he didn’t say he loved you because he thought he’d lose you anyway. his lips bruised yours, frantic and deep, his body already pressing you down into the mattress like he needed you to anchor him to earth.

his voice was hoarse against your mouth. “i need you. i need you right now.”

You nodded silently.

that was all the permission he needed.

⸻

nsfw

touch like prayer.

dazai stripped you slowly, even though his hands were shaking. he pulled your shirt over your head like he was peeling back armor, revealing battle wounds he blamed himself for.

his fingers ghosted along your side, where the gauze clung tight. his lips followed, kissing everything except the wound. reverent. careful. like if he touched it, it would kill him.

“i almost lost you,” he murmured, breath hot against your ribs. “and I haven’t even—god, i haven’t loved you enough yet.”

you cupped his face. “then love me.”

and oh. he did.

he kissed your neck like it was sacred. bit lightly beneath your ear, then soothed it with his tongue. he pressed his mouth to your shoulder, down your collarbone, until your skin was flushed and trembling beneath his touch.

and then—your back.

he guided you onto your stomach with a tenderness that broke you.

his mouth followed the line of your spine.

one kiss at a time.

vertebrae by vertebrae.

a trail of heat and worship.

“you don’t understand,” he whispered, voice shaking, “you are the only thing in this world that makes me want to stay.”

and when he pushed inside you—it wasn’t slow.

it was urgent.

raw. desperate.

his breath hitched in your ear, hands digging into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.you gasped, body arching into him, feeling everything.

the stretch. the fullness. the emotion.

he moved like he was memorizing you.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned. “perfect. i don’t deserve this— i don’t deserve you.”

your hand reached back to find him, to tangle in his hair, to ground him.

“'samu” you whispered. “please. i need all of you.”

he lost it.

thrust harder. deeper.

your breath caught with every snap of his hips, every low, desperate moan he pressed against your skin. he worshipped every inch of you—your back, your neck, the shell of your ear—like he was imprinting himself onto your body.

abd you—you burned.

your body sang for him, trembled beneath him, opened to him like he was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

when the first wave hit, it shattered you.

you sobbed his name, nails clawing at the sheets, as your orgasm ripped through you—hot, sharp, endless.

but he didn’t stop.

he couldn’t.

bot when he was this close to losing everything.

he flipped you gently, kissed the tears from your cheeks, slid back inside while you were still sensitive and trembling.

round two was even worse.

even deeper. slower. but devastating.

he looked into your eyes the whole time.

watched you come undone again.

held you while you cried into his mouth.

and still—he didn’t stop.

your legs shook. your throat was raw from moaning his name. yoy couldn’t think anymore—couldn’t speak. you just felt.

he finally came with a gasp like a man dying.

your name on his tongue like a last prayer.

he held you after. breathless. sweating. shaking.

his voice cracked against your neck. “youre mine. i don’t care if it’s selfish—i need you to be mine.”

you nodded.

“always.”

and in the silence that followed—he kissed you again.

softer this time.

but no less desperate.

⸻

thank u for reading!! if u made it this far lmk what u thought as this is the first fic ive ever wrote 🙏🙏