Forbidden Sin [Osamu Dazai x Reader]

XXIV: Low Blow

If you were to stand outside of the beautiful gray paneled house, you'd see the perfectly carved stone path leading to the front door, which was a deep shade of brown mahogany wood, a brass handle.
    You'd see the little moss patches in the stone, the tiny dirt ant hills that filled the even smaller cracks.
   You'd take notice to the flower bed that curved around that path; the black mulch, the few weeds that sprouted short yet proudly through the chips.
   The deep pine green bushes with red wild berries—more than likely poisonous and/or inedible—filled the larger spaces.
   The grass itself was full of life, similar to what you would see in those perfect family ads you saw on your cable Television as a kid; before you had to rush to the kitchen so you didn't miss your show.
       Or was that just me?

  The house itself, like mentioned, was paneled gray. The windows were your typical deep ocean dark blue, white edging and the whole to-do.
The front door was nestled behind a white railing, which bordered a cement porch. There was a porch swing off to where the porch itself branched off, decorated with black and white pillows, and a navy blue throw blanket.
The driveway was long and even, the type of driveway you could only dream to have; instead of all the broken chunks, scraps of rubble you'd step on if you aren't wearing shoes, and short uneven surface that most home driveways come with.
What say do I have in that though? I'm not a house owner and I have no right to talk about everyone else's driveways.

Regardless of what my side notes speak of, you'd spot the double car garage, both closed and with no windows, unlike some of us artist that placed them in our childhood drawings.
The house itself was fairly large, fit for your typical four or five member families, and a beautiful look overall.

This is what you'd see.
What you hear from outside is a different story.
Now, it's not like you can hear someone being absolutely tortured and tormented in the basement, but you can for sure hear thrashing and things breaking.
If a family lived here, you'd assume the adults were fighting and on the brink of divorce. However, this was not a family living in this house. In fact, it's not even a couple.

    In the cool concrete basement of (Y/N)'s home, she and Dazai are dueling it out. Both were dripping in sweat, faces beat red, movements somewhat sloppy.
   Dazai was constantly fixing his bandages, trying to desperately keep them on his head as (Y/N) passed kick after hit after punch after strike at Dazai.
    She was losing minor stamina during their entire fight, and Dazai could say he was very much pleased.
   However, he knew he couldn't last long. They had been at this odd fight and flirt thing for over half an hour, and Dazai was feeling like he was going to pass out.
   He knew what he was going to do to end it, and figured (Y/N) knew as well what he was going to do. It's just when he was going to do it is what drove (Y/N) to keep going.

    Dazai slicked back the wet locks of his hair off of his forehead, not giving a damn about his bandages at this point.
  It was odd seeing (Y/N) through both eyes, but he had to admit she looked so much better this way.
   Although he wasn't enjoying the time it took for his right eye to adjust to the light and being exposed after many years keeping it covered.
   (Y/N) stood still, watching as Dazai's exhausted gaze ran over her body. She had made the stupid mistake of doing this in fluffy pajama pants and still shirtless in her bra.
   Everything stuck to her sweaty body, and it was uncomfortable for her. She panted heavily, biting her lip as both of Dazai's eyes flared hungrily at her.
Damnit, when is this addractive asshole gonna fucking end it? She shouted in her head, going in for another attack on Dazai.
The assassins foot kicked off the ground and headed for Dazai's stomach. He caught her foot just like expected. (Y/N) hadn't used this technique yet, and always saved it for her best foes.
Which almost never happens. She's been feared for years that the second anyone spots her they just back away and do what they're asked of her.

    She spun in his palm, letting her other foot get caught as well. Bingo. (Y/N) arched her back, hands on the floor and flinging her legs forward as if coming down from a handstand.
Dazai's eyes went wide as he flew through the air and landed on the mat with a thud. Dazai hadn't let go of the woman, and that consequence being her on his chest, hand on his throat, and her face dangerously close to his.
Dazai's breath left his body, and he let it. He stayed there for a moment, drinking in the view of his spider on top of him.
    The executive snickered, panting. He brought his hands to (Y/N)'s, resting his bandages fingers on her own, closing his eyes as his brain found his lewd thoughts.
   (Y/N) realized this, and cackled as she removed her hand from his throat. She shifted her body to lay comfortably on Dazai.
   It was a bit uncomfortable, both being sweaty and sticky—for very clearly different reasons than if we had read that for the first time with no background information—, and the heavy panting and hot breaths did not help.
   Dazai's hands found their way around her figure, holding her close as they lay on the mats.
   Neither moved or spoke, just breathed. Each pulse seemed to slow down after a good few minutes, finally allowing the two to speak.

(Y/N) was the first to speak up. "I'm going to murder that fucker." Dazai nodded his head. Then realized she didn't know which one she was talking about.
He tilted his head towards her, shooting a confused look, an eyebrow raised at her. She chuckled. "My boss."
Dazai nodded his head again and let it rest back on the floor, still exhausted. (Y/N) slid off of Dazai and onto the mat, arms sprawled out to the side, and face up.
She continued to breathe evenly, her chest raising and lowering at a steady pace. "I can't believe this fucker."
Dazai didn't say anything. He didn't have any say either. (Y/N) was ranting about what she was going to do to her boss, and Dazai was thinking of how much longer he had to suffer under Mori.

"He's been trying to get my real name for years, and now he probably has it." (Y/N) practically yelled out. "Next thing you know he's going to use the only real family I have left to fucking keep me there."
She was pissed off beyond belief. Dazai let out another breathy sigh. He knew how (Y/N) felt, because he was the same way.
   Dazai but his lip and shook his head. "He's not going to do that just yet. Mori still wants more dirt on me."

"But it's still going to happen."
      She was right and he knew it. Dazai sighed again and looked to (Y/N). She was still sweating a little bit, red lips parted and hair strewn beneath her head.
   Dazai chuckled as he took in the sight of his woman next to him, impulse to drag her to the closest bed weighing very strongly.
(Y/N) felt Dazai's dark eyes burning into her skin, and she smirked. The assassin tilted her head towards him. 
   Dazai's face bandages were damp from his hair, a brown mop on his head. Dazai's thin lips were open yet so inviting to her.
   She glanced away, blushing at the sight of the executive next to her. She made the decision to get up, seeing as it wasn't proving her exhausted state very well.

   "Whatever. It's a low blow I've been prepared for. You might as well be too." She said as she walked away, going up the thin stairs and closing the door.
   Dazai was left alone, his ability to correct himself and adjust the bandages given to him by (Y/N).

   "A low blow." Dazai repeated, her words always echoing in his head.

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