Dazai's Playful Grin Falters As You Chastise Him Once More, The Words Punctuated With His Name. His Last

I'm a new follower of yours that recently went through your entire blog, even though you didn't know this and I'm basically exposing myself, I love your entire blog so much that I actually payed attention to something for more than 5 minutes (simply going through your blog) and didn't get bored🙃. I love all your Dazai posts, even the ones I don't relate to, I find it sweet how you cater to everyone's feelings and headcanons, everyone's adoration for him in every way, its so sweet and beautiful how non judgemental you are, anyway just decided to send a quick ask like this before I go back to liking and lurking 😅

-🥺❤️

OMG 🫣🫣❤️ thank you so much !!! you're so sweet 😭 i'm glad i could help cure your boredom for a little bit :) i will try my best to write a lil smth for everyone 🫡

hai deer how was ur day ?!

hi anon!!!! i enrolled for classes for my final semester today wooo !!!!!!! but i have a big essay due tmr tho that i gotta start LMAO but it's been really good !

thank you for asking anon :) please tell me about your day!!!

Ofc you only have to answer my request if you wanna!!! Please take care of yourself :33 💞

you're perfect tbh i promise it's there somewhere!!! just gotta dig it back out when i have the time

i think user @stuffeddeer likes dazai

giggling kicking my feetsies fluttering my lashes twirling my hair what gave it away

A soft smile pulls at Dazai's lips as he watches you grab your phone. The bright light illuminating your face in the dark kitchen makes you look ethereal, yet he can't stop himself from making a joke. "You know I don't know how to do this."

"You know better than I," you say softly, an amused smirk pulling at your lips as you press play. Nocturne Op. 9, No. 2 begins to softly play from your shitty phone speakers as you place it on a counter, walking towards Dazai.

"I'd probably be better with the lights on," he tries joking again. You don't reply as you place your hands softly on the back of his neck, pulling yourself close as you begin to sway.

Back and forth, back and forth, you continue to step, and Dazai follows each move perfectly. It's no waltz by any means, but it is yours to share. A moment together, a moment of quiet vulnerability in the late hours of the night when everyone else is asleep is sometimes just what he needs - and you always know it.

The peaceful piano piece and the warmth of your body near his makes Dazai's eyes flutter closed, his head moving to rest on your shoulder as yours falls onto his. He hadn't realized just how tired he is, physically and emotionally. His throat begins to sting, and his eyes feel dryer than normal. He feels like crying. And yet, no tears slip past his eyes - they never do - as his hold on you tightens.

The music swells, hitting the part you'll always say is your favorite, and he feels you give him a gentle squeeze, a reassuring touch that causes him to loosen his hold. You aren't going anywhere, neither of you are.

A small this is my favorite part is whispered into his shoulder and Dazai wants to laugh. You're so predictable, and yet that predictability brings a sense of ease and comfort to him that he hasn't felt in a long time. He keeps quiet, his head moving further into your neck as he continues swaying with you.

I've never been one for classical music, I can barely see in the dark, you know I can't waltz, all excuses to stop himself from being vulnerable with you. But the second you pull him close, holding his face to your shoulder and rocking him like a baby on the wood-paneled floor of your shared apartment, he wonders why he fought it in the first place.

As the last note fades out, Dazai's face is fully buried into the crook of your neck, grasping onto your body loosely and tiredly. You aren't going anywhere, neither of you are. And the two of you continue to sway for minutes more, nothing outside of the occasional floorboard creek to interrupt as you embrace each other under the moonlight.

imagine mistaking beastzai as your usual dazai (you thought he wanted to be emo for a day) and like did usual silly cute things with him then dazai came home and he’s like HUH WHO IS THIS GUY R U CHEATING ON ME :(( but in the end you have… double boyfriends but one’s moody and one’s fucking annoying

anons that think alike omg telepathy … use ur powers for good!!! two asks in one btw i feel so productive

alsooo beast!dazai would be giddy like a child to be in the main tl w his love… he’d be twirling you around and enjoying what could’ve been before he has to go back!!! all dazais are cringy and in love w u it's true they told me themselves !!!!

“What’s with the outfit?” You spoke bluntly, clearly a little put off by the reappearance of the black coat and red scarf. “Dude, you look like Mori.” Harsh, sure, but your boyfriend worked so hard to walk alongside you in the light, so the last thing you wanted was to see what would’ve been, if not for — 

Dazai smiled, seemingly amused. “Ah, love, it’s merely a costume. Thought you’d get a kick out of it,” he replies easily, pulling off the long red scarf: a staple of the Port Mafia’s boss.

His words help to relax you, letting out a small sigh as you push the coat off of his shoulders. “Let me grab you your coat, I know it’s around here somewhere…” You flittered about your shared apartment, pulling a backup brown coat from its spot buried underneath your closet. “This better suits you,” you speak under your breath as Dazai pulls it on. The fit seems a little… different. Is it somehow looser than normal? You frown.

“Thank you, love,” he repeated the same pet name. It felt as though he missed saying it, which doesn’t quite make sense.

You choose not to dwell on it — maybe seeing him in black again just rewired your brain for a moment. He’s alive and well in front of you and nothing else matters. A nod is all the reply Dazai gets before you slip on your shoes.

“I thought you might have headed to work early when I didn’t see you in bed this morning, but I guess that’s my fault for assuming the impossible,” you decide to tease.

Dazai easily slips behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin against your shoulder. “Mm… I love you, you know that? Let’s skip work today. We can spend time together, ‘kay?”

He’d always been unpredictable and spontaneous, so you merely laughed in response. “I don’t have work today, remember? But you still do.”

Shaking his head, he pouts — there’s the Dazai you love. “Nope!~ I refuse to go into work today. I’m spending my whole day with my love!” He practically jumps for joy, hands moving to gently hold your waist. “Let’s bake cookies.”

There isn’t much you can do, watching with an amused grin as Dazai unties your shoes before dragging you to the kitchen.

“It does not take two hours to make cookie dough…” you sigh, trying to jostle the white flour from your hair. “We baked cookies together, like, two weeks ago! How could we already have forgotten everything…”

Dazai grins, planting kiss after kiss on your cheeks, melted butter staining your skin from when he accidentally tried to drink from the cup you’d used to soften it. “Hard to remember much when I’m with you.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You chuckled, grabbing a towel from the counter to wipe both your face and his lips.

“Yep!~ It’s like.. my love is so pretty I can’t think when I’m around them! Oh, I could just die in… No! I don’t even want to die! I could live in your arms, grow old together and watch you get all frail and saggy,” Dazai speaks dreamily, swooning over the idea of growing old with you. How sweet.

You push him away gently and begin balling up the chocolate chip cookie dough, pressing it onto the silver pan you made Dazai buy when you first started staying over. “Saggy? No, I’ll be young and beautiful forever,” you joke, but Dazai only nods in response.

“It’s true! No one holds a candle to my love. Why, I wish I could spend every day just staring at you.” Dazai’s voice always sounded teasing when he was with you, but even as you put the last of the cookie dough onto the tray (only had enough to fill one, since Dazai kept spilling, throwing or eating the ingredients..) you could feel the genuineness in his words.

Oven preheated, you slid the sheet in to bake (making sure to start the timer) before turning to Dazai. Before you could get a word in, the front door to your shared apartment creaked open. Heart dropping to your stomach, you grabbed the closest thing to you: a whisk your boyfriend had licked clean. Said boyfriend only seemed to sigh, falling into a more somber mood, head hanging before he sent you a sad smile.

“I think the jig is up, love…”

Your name is called from the front door, the voice… suspiciously familiar. “Are you in there? You weren’t answering your phone and I got worried...” Dazai stepped into your apartment, hanging his keys by the door before turning around (an addition you made, since he tended to forget his and jumpscare you by picking the lock every few days).

The three of you stood still, no words spoken and the only sound being that of your metal whisk dropping to the floor. Spinning from one Dazai to the next, you wiped a splotch of flour from your shirt collar. You felt guilty for some reason, like you were at fault for not recognizing an imposter Dazai, and wanted to make yourself look more presentable.

“Awww, love!” The Dazai at the door pouts, throwing his coat on the floor as he quickly heads over to you. “Are you cheating on me?” He continues, slouching over you to impose as much of his weight as he can. You struggle for a moment, his bone crushing hug enveloping more than you expected.

Guilt still apparent as your tummy twisted, you shook your head. “I didn’t— “

The other Dazai, the one wearing a black tie and covered in various cookie ingredients pouted as well. “Maybe she’s cheating on me! I mean, I can’t believe my love moved in with another man…”

God, this was too confusing. You gently pushed Dazai A off of you, stepping back from the two. “I don’t— “

“I can’t believe this… I head to work early one time and now you’re making cookies for someone else!” Dazai A whined, face smooshed against the oven door’s glass in longing. “I’ll never be on time again! In fact, I think I’ll always have to be late.”

Dazai B pulled Dazai A back towards him by his collar, whispering obnoxiously, “I’ll share the cookies if you share the beautiful partner.”

Dazai A nods in approval, eyes closed and arms crossed like it was the easiest decision to make in the world. “I want half the sheet. And, I want a kiss…” He pouts towards you. Ugh, how annoying.

You deadpan towards the two, no longer feeling guilty. These two were just as much Dazai as they could get. Arms spread, you let Dazai A pull you into a hug so you can give him a proper welcome home kiss. “Both of you are obnoxious. Is that all I’m worth? Half a sheet of cookies?”

“Half a sheet of your cookies,” Dazai B grins. “That’s not something either of us would give up lightly.” The other Dazai nods in agreement.

Both of your stupid, annoying, clingy boyfriends tug on your sleeves, forcing you over to the couch so they can both receive your affections while the cookies bake.

the timer goes off after a while but they both whine about not wanting to let u get up. once you threaten letting the cookies burn they're quick to let go. i hate them both.

beast!dazai is our silly guy but he’s sadder :( i’d like to barge in his office while he’s working to put hairclips in his hair so he will be slightly less sad :)

The large and heavy doors leading to the boss’s office slowly creaked open. Dazai looked up with a harsh glare, about to tell off whoever just entered without knocking.

“Osamu!” You sprinted across the long office, hands clutching a small bag to your chest as your feet thudded against the long, regal carpet decorating his floor.

His glare fell, a smile taking its place as he stood up from his desk, widely spreading his arms out. “Hey— “

All of the air in his lungs is forced out as you run right into him, his arms wrapping around your frame as you both fell to the floor. Giggles emerged from your lips that brought a serene smile to the Port Mafia Boss's face, still holding you to him as you both lie on the ground.

"Okay, okay — get up! I come bearing gifts!"

Dazai chuckles at your words, arms falling lax around your frame so you can squirm out of his hold and stand up. "Gifts, hm?" He follows suit, moving to sit back on his desk chair. 

"Well, not gifts, really. I lied! ..Maybe. Sit down, though,"

"I'm already seated— "

"and get to work!" You set your bag on the corner of his desk, waiting for him to fall back into his paperwork and strategizing.

A sigh pulls from his chest, shoulders slumping as he decides to follow your orders. He'd love to focus all of his attention on you, asking about your day and why you're here so early, what you've had to eat and if anyone was mean on your way up (absolutely not, not after that one guy... what was his name? No one's heard from him since) — but Dazai knew that once you were set on something, there was little he could do to change your mind. You clearly had an agenda with your visit, something nestled into your small bag you didn't want to tell him about just yet.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long to find out.

Small, plastic butterfly clips. Three of them, in differing pastel colors, were clipped into his dark hair. He paused only for a moment before remembering your words and focusing on his work. Next were chunky pink barrettes, followed by a bunny clip resting on the side of his head. You brought out small bows of various patterns and colors, either tied into his hair or clipped in along with the rest.

A few more butterfly clips spilled out of your bag and Dazai could no longer contain the giggle he'd been trying to swallow since you started. "Is this your gift to me? Decorating my hair?"

You pinned a flower clip onto his coat with a playful grin.

"Ah, my mistake. Decorating me."

You nodded and pulled a few colorful paperclips from your bag as well, setting them on his desk. "You work so hard... I just wanted to add some color to your day," you shrug sheepishly. "I was gonna bring some of my cute pens, too, but I thought those might go unused. It's one thing to get all dolled up in private, but I thought you might not want reports written in purple ink."

Dazai knows you put a lot of thought into this, even if you're playing it off like it's no big deal. You wanted to make him happy without going too overboard — something small that wouldn't impede on his work.

His hands grabbed your waist and, in one sudden movement, he stood up and brought you into a hug. No words were shared, just a small moment of affection that would definitely help him get through the day so he could finally come home to you.

CONTAINS: mentions of a fictitious car crash, the occasional threat of death, gender neutral reader

While some may disagree, nothing is as painful as boredom.

Now more than ever you believed this, seated in the back corner of your classroom, cheek resting in the palm of your left hand. You didn’t even want to take this class; World Music has nothing to do with your major. However, it fulfilled some stupid university credit that everyone needs in order to graduate. Glancing down towards your empty notebook, you grabbed a pen with your free hand.

big drum = big sound

You scrawled the four words down before lazily looking back up at your professor. He had spent the last 20 minutes explaining the difference between the same two drums, and you weren’t excited to listen to the rest of his lecture… So, you didn’t. Your focus shifted from the tall, orange-haired man in the front of your class to the bickering just outside it, head tilting slightly to the side. The walls in the basement of your university’s Fine Arts building were thin, so even though your seat was situated at the other end of the classroom’s closed door, the pattering of footsteps still made its way through. Along with that, you could hear the tick of the clock that was hung up above the teacher’s desk at the front reading 1:27 pm—you still had 23 minutes left of this horribly boring class. What that also meant is that any student walking through the halls must be from a class that was let out exceedingly early.

Only two pairs of footsteps echoed outside the classroom, a pair of bickering voices accompanying them. If a class got out early, surely there would be more—both in terms of footsteps and voices. Maybe two students were arriving to a class early? This far in the semester, it was safe to say this would be a common occurrence if true, however, you had never heard anyone pass by at this time before today. These two weren’t students arriving early to a class, or leaving early from another. Two people wouldn’t be arriving 30 minutes late, at that point they’d skip the class. You put the tip of your pen between your teeth as you thought.

Maybe the pair had been getting out late? The basement of the fine arts building does house just about all of the campus’ art classes, maybe they had a project coming up and decided to stay and work late. No, all of the art classrooms are situated to the left of the basement, these two were coming from the right. Perhaps they were lost kids, visiting colleges for the following year? Maybe professors, bickering over lazy students and assignments they had yet to grade. Or maybe, piggybacking on your earlier idea, the two had come early to work on a project outside of class…

“Are you still with us?” You realized Mr. Patrick had stopped banging his drums when he called out your name. Oops, you zoned out. Your coworkers always warn you that you tend to zero in on one thing and need to work on being more aware of your surroundings. A small smile pulls at your face. Maybe you should drop out of school: you’re learning more from your current part-time job than your stupid World Music class.

“Yes, sorry. Just listening to the difference in the drums.” I’m listening to the muffled conversation happening in the halls, you thought to yourself. The pen you were chewing on a moment earlier was placed next to your notebook.

Your teacher hummed in response. “Is that so? Then maybe you can explain the difference for the rest of your classmates.” Maybe you can explain the need for this class— you held your tongue, choosing to clear your throat instead of being gifted a lecture from your professor.

“I’m willing to try,” your voice was lighthearted and playful as the hand that was holding your head up dropped to cover your suspicious lack of notes. “While both drums are marketed the same and share the same size, the one on the left has a richer, deeper sound when played,” You almost let an embarrassed smile slip as you improvised your explanation. “I would guess that there was a miscalculation during its production, and the left drum is likely a tiny bit bigger than the right, creating said deeper sound.” By the end of your explanation, your cheeks were slightly tinted. While you had coasted through school by bullshitting answers, you truly had no idea if you could get away with this one. Damn those two outside of the class, this wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t been here.

The longer the teacher didn’t respond, the worse your red cheeks got—and your cruel professor remained silent for what felt like a while after your little speech (which, in reality, had only been a few seconds).

“So you had been listening, glad to hear it. Yes, the difference is…” as Mr. Patrick went back to explaining the drums, you let out a sigh of relief, head dropping ever so slightly as your eyes closed. The confidence you had just shown as you gave your answer was an act, one you weren’t sure you could’ve kept up if he had urged you to continue. You couldn’t afford to zone out again: you had to let the strangers outside go.

With newfound determination, you grasped your pen once more and looked back up to your ginger music professor. Paying attention isn’t that hard, you can do this.

At least, that’s what you hoped, until the same strangers that had helped soothe your boredom for a moment stopped just outside the door to your classroom. You clicked your tongue in disdain—it felt as though they were tempting you, telling you you’re so close, just think a little harder! Those assholes—no way would you do that again. You had a feeling Mr. Patrick wouldn’t be as kind if you were caught zoning out for a second time. Besides, it hadn’t even been five minutes. Whoever was bickering outside your classroom could choke for all you cared, as long as they stopped distracting you.

“Fine, then let’s just ask!” was the first full sentence you could make out from the pair before the cheap wooden door on the back left corner of your small white classroom swung open.

This was definitely distracting you.

Glancing over from your place in the back right corner, you finally got to see the people that caused you to anxiously ramble in front of your whole class even if you’d done so correctly and confidently, the assholes you’d end yourself.

Holy shit.

Your eyes widened when you noticed who had burst into your classroom: a bandaged brunet and a bespectacled blond, two of your coworkers. You wondered if you had ever looked away so quickly before this moment. It suddenly made sense, why the bickering seemed so familiar and why you couldn’t pinpoint the reason for the pair’s appearance. They weren’t supposed to be here, and you made sure to scratch a quick fuck you into your notebook so you’d remember this later. After all, if you forgot, how could you make sure to complain to your boss?

“May I help you?” Mr. Patrick was careful to put down the two drums he had been cradling very delicately as he addressed the two men that had barged in.

Feeling embarrassed, you placed your hand flat against your cheek, turning your head down and hoping your face was hidden. You can’t believe these two would pull such a stunt as this, especially the blond. Wasn’t he a teacher at one point? Shouldn’t he know not to interrupt a class?

“We’re sorry to-“ before the aforementioned blond could properly explain the situation, his brunet partner started talking over him.

“I believe you can help us, you see, we’re looking for a student that goes here,” he punctuated the sentence with your full name. Seeing as the teacher had recently said your name to humiliate ask you a question, every student in the class turned to the back right corner, directly to where you sat—or, rather, where you slouched, as you had curled your body in on itself in an attempt to hide.

“Is that so? May I ask why?” You silently cheered, hoping Mr. Patrick would scare these two morons away so you wouldn’t have to deal with all of your peers’ eyes directed towards the safe back corner you resided in.

But of course, nothing was that simple. The tall brunet you had come to occasionally appreciate at work started tearing up, ready to give the performance of a lifetime.

“It’s hard to vocalize,” he started by stuttering. “You see, we came to tell them that their dear sister has…” the man paused briefly as you peaked through your fingers with an amused smile, ready to see how this would play out. “Their sister got into a car crash,” and he burst into tears. Quite the actor, but it’s a good thing you are, too.

You didn’t really have a choice but to play along. What were you supposed to say? ‘No, he’s lying; Please resume your boring ass lecture?’ So, you contorted your face to make it seem like you were about to cry (fake crying was something you had yet to master) and pulled your hands down your face. “She what?” Spinning from your spot, you looked directly at the two.

“We need you to come with us, so we may escort you to the hospital where she is being held.” The blond did not look comfortable with the brunet’s show, and simply walked out of the classroom as he continued.

You’re the worst, you wanted to say. Instead, you stood up, packed your nearly empty notes into your backpack, and followed your blond coworker into the hall.

“You see, sir, they need to visit their sister. If you can excuse their absence this once…”

“Of course, I won’t take any points off; This is an emergency.” You rolled your eyes as you overheard your teacher’s voice. You were supposed to save me, Mr. Patrick.

The tall brunet slipped into a hallway and immediately his eyes dried, a cocky smirk appearing on his face.

“I hope you get into a car accident,” you whisper, swinging a backpack strap over your shoulder as you start following the blond, who now stood at the end of the hallway. He stood impatiently, as was indicated by the tapping of his foot and him checking his watch repeatedly.

“Not the first time I’ve gotten that.”

“I find that extremely easy to believe.”

The two annoyances in the hall were none other than Kunikida Doppo and Dazai Osamu: employees at your part-time job.

AKA: the only people that could make you miss the torturous boredom.

the swapping dazais idea was from kaeyxs blog I swear

sorry anon mayb im dumb but idk what u mean by this 😭 the beast & ada dazai rq?

"Of course I knew you were watching me," you giggled. The sound would have had Dazai swooning had he not been confused at your reply.

"This whole time?" His bottom lip juts out into a pensive pout, clearly thinking back to the way you'd glance at the bear... He guesses it makes sense.

"It's cute. A guy who likes me so much he stalks me? Kinda sweet." You shift slightly in the harsh wooden chair, wrists aching from the tightly woven rope keeping them restrained. "But, I didn't realize you'd take it this far..."

"Why wouldn't I? You're mine, aren't you?" Dazai asked genuinely. "I keep my things in my home — the last thing I want is for anyone to take them from me." His answer made sense to him. Replacing you was out of the question, so he'd have to ensure your safety.

You shrug as best as you can while restrained. "Yeah, I guess I see that, but I don't want to be tied up. Free me, then you can ask me out on a real date."

"We no longer need real dates. You're mine, didn't you hear me? I can— "

"I heard you, Dazai," you cut him off. "But I'll be returning to my apartment before morning. I deserve to be courted, don't I? So you can watch me through your little bear, and ask me out properly tomorrow. Then I can be yours publicly," you explain, shifting your no-doubt reddened wrists once again. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

It did — it does. As much as Dazai doesn't want anyone else laying their undeserving eyes on you, parading you around sounds so much sweeter. But, "I can't untie you, love. Not 'til I know you're mine."

"And I can't be yours until you untie me. Guess we're at a standstill."

"I guess we are."

y!dazai buying plushies and clothes for you :) but since he’s a massive douchebag he ended making you cry about it (probably didn’t feel bad either bleh)

he feels like he need to coddle you every single minute of the day or else he’ll go batshit crazy

anon i thought this said MAKING clothes for u i was about to cheer imagine dazai with his precise and nimble fingers hand sewing clothing for himself during the two years he spent underground, patching holes in his jacket and such ouughhh.. his darling gifts him a sewing machine after seeing his dodgy sewing set up utilizing a single bent needle and a lot of patience that he doesn’t normally have… ARE YOU ALL SEEING THIS TOO…… tbh tho he’d prick himself one (1) time with the needle and never pick one up again he’s such a baby or he’d swallow one

Kidnapper!Dazai who drones on and on about how hard he works to provide for the two of you, the least you can do is cuddle the plushies he got you if not him. That’s money that could have gone towards the betterment of your forcibly shared apartment, rather than some childish plushies just to keep you placated. Stop crying, that’s why he got them for you, remember?

wait hold on

He tries and be all sweet and doting, dropping the plush on top of some cozy pajamas he’d purchased for you that day. With a delusional smile he’d pull you into a hug, tugging at the hem of your pants claiming he wants a fashion show. At least the pajamas are modest — long pant legs and sleeves that at least cover your shoulders. The worst offender has a low neckline, but he’s sure you’ll appreciate that he didn’t go for anything too crazy. You’ll gently push him away, picking up the stuffed plush from the thick paper bags instead: It looks just like the one you had as a child. Dazai knows this, of course, like he knows everything else about you. He sits back with a smug grin, watching as you gently push it from one hand to the other.

The difference between this plush and the one sitting in storage at your parents’ home is the life brought into it: fur that is no longer matted from love and eyes that aren’t scuffed and scraped from kicking it off your bed at night… Wow, you missed those days. You missed your mom. A frown crosses your face as you turn towards your shared bedroom, deciding to spend sometime on your own. Before you can enact these plans, however, Dazai plucks the stuffie from your gentle grip, holding him high above your head. Your eyes widen and your face immediately drops. Hadn’t he already taken so much from you? Tears begin falling before you can even register it, too caught up in the sudden fear that you’d lose another part of yourself. Your parents, your friends, your life before this: it was all imprinted onto that stupid stuffed toy Dazai had gotten as an afterthought.

Yet, he continued to dangle it over your head. “You’ll get this little fella back when you answer me. Don’t you wanna make me as happy as I’ve made you?”

Happy? You couldn’t help but feel sick. With how long you’ve been in Dazai’s home, you knew expressing that wouldn’t get you the plushie back. The sleeve of your current outfit helps to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. “Fa-fashion show, right? Okay, okay,” you mutter while dropping to your knees, digging through the bag of clothing for the first set.

This is not your prompt but Dazai who bought a cam stuffie. Unbeknownst to you, the eye of the cute little teddy your dear friend gifted you fed video straight to his laptop at all hours of the day. He spends his nights watching you sleep peacefully; the rise and fall of your chest soothing him and giving him something to focus on other than the negative thoughts on his mind. Something about the way you’d pat the little bear on the head every morning had him swooning, as though you were doing the action to him. Weirdly enough, you always seemed to turn the little teddy away before changing… Oh well — Dazai would have plenty of time to see everything he wants to once you’re finally together: something he envisions happening soon.

this is not proofread bc i have soo much due rn... classes are kicking my ass!!! hope you like it anon :)