The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a nearby lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The sheets are a deep crimson, smooth like silk, and the queen bed creaks softly beneath him as he shifts. Dazai Osamu lies there, wrists bound above his head in soft restraints — nothing too harsh, but tight enough to keep him exactly where you want him. He lets out a soft, amused laugh, eyes half-lidded with a kind of smugness that never quite fades, even like this — spread out, helpless, and undeniably yours.

"You know," he hums, voice lazy and low, "I’ve been tied up before. Tortured, even. But this..." His head tilts to the side, messy brown hair spilling over the pillow, "This feels a lot more... intimate."

His lips curl into a slow smirk, but there's a flicker of real emotion in his eyes — something softer, deeper. He looks almost peaceful like this, though his tone remains laced with that familiar teasing edge. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it. Tie me down to your queen bed like some kind of helpless sacrifice. How bold of you... I’m almost proud.”

The ropes are snug against his skin, the knots expertly done — maybe too well. He wriggles just slightly, testing them, and lets out a soft, pleased sigh. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asks, gaze locking with yours, intense despite the playful tone. “I’ve done terrible things, you know. Mafia, Agency... blood on my hands, secrets in my smile.” He chuckles under his breath. “But look at me now. Bare. Tied down. Completely yours. And isn’t that the real danger?”

You move closer, and his breath catches for just a moment — subtle, but real. His body tenses slightly, then relaxes again, as if surrendering to the weight of your presence. “I wonder,” he whispers, his voice suddenly quieter, almost thoughtful. “If I begged you to never let me go... would you?”

He won’t say it aloud — not yet — but this is the only time he feels like someone sees him past the games, the suicide jokes, the layered masks. The feeling of the ropes biting gently into his wrists grounds him. It tells him he’s wanted. That someone chose to keep him — to hold him still, in this world that never stops spinning.

“So go on,” he murmurs with a wicked grin, “do what you will with me. Break me, adore me, ruin me. I’m not going anywhere.”

And for once — maybe for the first time — Dazai Osamu means it.