notes: slight blood kink, drugs, slight dubcon, blowjobs, bondage, some other shit

you let the red silk gown slip off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor by your feet. eyes rake over your body hungrily as you stalk towards the bed. the port mafia boy stares at you as you crawl up to him. you subdue any protest he has with a saccharine kiss ripping off the bandage around his eye.

you pull away, fingers trailing down his cheek as you stroke his lip that was now stained burgundy. iron shackles rest on his wrists, held above his head. his ankles are tied, spread out. his eyes watch you carefully as your fingers effortlessly unbutton his pristine white shirt, fingers brushing over his bandaged chest.

"gorgeous," you whisper, lips brushing against his as you place a mockingly chaste kiss at the corner of his lips. he tilts his head back with a languid groan. you chuckle. "like a wounded angel." you kiss his adam's apple when it bobs as he gulps down his gasps.

your touch is tantalising, barely touching his clothed cock that was straining painfully against the coarse material of his slacks. "what...do you want..." his words slur, his tongue seems heavy and you chuckle again but offer nothing in response.

"a monster whose actions are spurred by desperate hedonism," you mumble against his chest, you hands lazily fiddling with the buckle of his belt. you press another gentle kiss against the white bandages, trailing them down his stomach. he lets out a low moan, a hint of need lacing the throaty noise. "untameable, unstoppable," you slip off his belt and pull down his trousers. your eyes meet his as you smirk, kissing the clothed tip. "unloveable."

his eyes hold unabashed challenge and he manages to look bored despite the hotness very evidently affecting his being. "you talk too much." his come out cocky and bored and you feign a pout, stroking his erection.

"you love it, though." you move the bothersome material out of the way. you press your lips against the side of the shaft and he shudders, goosebumps spreading across his body. you work at a torturously slow pace, your tongue dragging up the length at a lethargic speed.

your gaze remains on his. you drink in any minuscule crack in his composure, any moan that sounds a little too desperate, any tug against the restraints that's a little too forceful. you giggle around his length, making him whine a little too loudly. good.

you pick up the pace, bobbing up and down, sucking harder, dragging him closer and closer to the edge until you stop. the mafia boy lets out an annoyed noise and you chuckle, muting him with a kiss. he almost melts against you. "unrestrained," you muse in a soft murmur, watching his eyes search you for something. "must be nice." you kiss him again, this time for longer and sweeter. less to pacify him and more entice him. you bite his lip and he bites back with as much force, drawing blood. yours mixes with his and he hisses in pain. by the time you pull away, your lips are sore. he tries to sit up, wanting another kiss but you push his chest down, forcing him to lie back down.

the mafia boy looks up at you. blossoming hickeys peek our from his bandaged neck, bright burgundy lipstick dotted around his face and body, lips bleeding and swollen. his bright with lust, challenge and hunger. restrained, forced into submission and he wants more. you want more.

you grab his messy locks, fingers twisting into the curls as you kiss him again, roughly and in frustration, pushing your slick core against his hard cock. your control is crumbling and so is his as he growls against you. you slip him into you, setting a rough pace, bouncing hard and fast as you pant, throwing your head back. your nails claw against his chest as you press your palms down onto him, trying to steady yourself.

you find yourself hungry. you want more. there's an insatiable lust growing, and you know he feels the same way, but you can't. instead, you focus on your climbing orgasm as he cums. you continue to ride him until you cum all the while enjoying his filthy moans. after a few seconds, once you've calmed down, you move off him, picking up his black blazer and fishing out a usb drive. you put your dress back on, fixing your makeup before turning to look at him. "bon soir , mister dazai."

you close the door and dazai sighs. his mind was still foggy from whatever drugs you used on him, his lips sore from the rough kisses. he picks the lock on the handcuffs around his wrists and his arms fall freely to his sides, feeling heavy. his vision is somewhat fuzzy around the corners but he knows hes in a love hotel. the neon signs outside illuminate the room and he struggles out of bed, trudging into the bathroom. he cleans himself up, hoping it'll grant him some mental clarity.

he massages his wrists as he fixes his appearance in the mirror when the phone suddenly rings. "where the fuck are you? you were meant to be at the drop point an hour ago!" chuuya yells through the phone and dazai groans in pain. his voice sounds like a shrill chihuahua bark.

"what drop point?" he asks, his words still somewhat slurred. his tongue still feels weighted but not much.

"huh? the fuck's wrong with you? you high or something?"

dazai switches on the lights, squinting in the sudden brightness. "something like that," he mumbles, picking up a stray feather-shaped diamond earring. it must have fallen from her.

chuuya grunts. "anyway, they didn't show. elusive bastard."

"did you get the information, though?" dazai asks, rubbing his eyes.

"yeah, it was on top of a dumpster." dazai goes through his pocket. his wallets gone, and so is the usb containing the information for the hand off. "did they get the informations then?"

dazai looks around, trying to find any remnants of you that may have been left behind. were you with the trade off or were you an imposter and a thief? he concludes you were authentic, since you knew what to take. "i think so." he ties the bandage back around his eye, sighing tiredly. "anyway. i'm impressed you didn't fuck up without supervision. well done chuuya!" he tries to put on his superficial cheerful voice, but he's too tired.

chuuya starts screaming at him and dazai hangs up, collapsing onto the bed. he looks at the paper on the bedside. a phone number written in fancy script that smelt vaguely of perfume and a burgundy kiss mark in leu of a sign off. he types it into his phone and sends a vaguely witty message that he doesn't remember before throwing the number away and falling asleep.

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totally don't wanna write a story based on this now hahahaha