#Yokohama apartments | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 3 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 LOST IN THE DARK (THEN I FOUND YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with a blizzard rocking yokohama, you find yourself seeking refuge in nakahara chuuya's apartment because, somehow, his building is the only one that has working generators... yet you find yourself becoming a bit suspicious (and concerned) when you realize the one person you expected to be there isn't. so you decide to go looking for him yourself, forcing chuuya to come along, and you end up maybe biting off more than you could chew.

wordcount: 8.2k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i don't think any other warnings necessary but lmk if i've missed any

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ughhhhhhh i was not going to post today BUT 1) i remembered that it was ghostienon's birthday yesterday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!) and 2) sophie said she was sad so i forced myself out of bed to edit and format. i hope you guys enjoy the background to how reader and dazai started living with each other ;) i love being able to write them as stupid teens HAHAH if u guys can't tell. we also get some hints as to mori's opinion on her and dazai's growing relatioship in this installment, though that will have its own dedicated fic <.<

“God, it’s fucking cold.” Chuuya shivers, tucked beneath a blanket in his apartment, scowling out the tall windows looking over the city. “When will this storm end? I swear it's never ending."

A blizzard has been tearing through the entire Kanagawa prefecture the past two days, and right now, Yokohama is taking the full force of it, has been since three am. The harsh winds knocked the power out hours ago, and none of the building’s generators are working. The easternmost building, the one where you live, was the first to go, so you dragged yourself all the way across to the westernmost building to force your way into Chuuya’s apartment, the only building that’s power was still holding strong by the time you made your decision.

Evidently, you were not the only one that had that idea. Ozaki Kouyou sits primly in a bundle of furs as she reads through mission reports from her subordinates, Hirotsu Ryuro flips through files on an upcoming mission for the Black Lizards, and the Colonel is berating one of his subordinates over a walkie-talkie in the corner of the room. You and Chuuya are huddled on the couch with each other, trying to keep each other warm as you wait for the worst of this to pass.

“Says you,” you say bitterly, burrowed in three of his blankets as you glare at him. “You’re like a furnace, I think I’m going to freeze to death.”

The power in his building had gone out an hour ago, and being on one of the upper floors, his apartment became chilly quickly. Chuuya scowls at you and his hand darts out to press against the back of your neck. You shriek and give him an accusing look at the feeling of his icy fingers against your bare skin, slapping his hand away hard. He snorts, looking thoroughly smug at his actions and you have half a mind to beat him to death with a pillow.

“Better than being out on the streets, hm, boy?” Kouyou says idly, glancing up from her papers, raising her eyebrows.

You watch as Chuuya’s gaze flickers down to the ground, a guilty expression crossing his face. You don’t know much about what happened last year that led to Chuuya joining the Port Mafia—you do know that evidently he’d been monikered ‘King of the Sheep,’ a small organization of teenagers that had stupidly taken to trying to siphon off territory from the Mafia, and he’d been exiled by his kingdom of orphans courtesy of Dazai. You think maybe he’s probably wondering if they’re still out there, trying to wait out this storm in whatever back alleys they can find.

You nudge your shoulder against his, trying to draw him out of his thoughts, and he gives you a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

At least you guys don’t have to worry about any attacks until the storm passes.

The Dragon’s Head Conflict has been raging for a month now, you came back to Yokohama at the start of it and it's only continued to escalate with each passing day. There are so many foreign organizations trying to get footholds in Yokohama for the money that started this conflict, the entire city has become a bloody battlefield. You’ve hardly slept the past few weeks trying to work with Mori to figure out a game plan for handling Strain, the biggest threat of this conflict by far, but it’s hard when the Mafia’s warehouses and ports are getting assaulted day after day.

Chuuya’s been taking on the brunt of the attacks, single-handedly pushing them back, but you know he’s getting tired. You see the exhaustion on his face and the bags beneath his eyes—the storm, as awful as it is, is bringing him a break that he very much needs. And Dazai-

“Dazai.”

You sit up straight, blankets tumbling off of you as your eyes widen. Instantly, you can feel all of the eyes in this room on you.

“What about that bastard?” Chuuya asks irritably.

“Where is he?” you demand. You haven’t seen him since the storm started, don’t know where he is; you don’t even know what building he lives in. You figured that he would have wormed his way into Chuuya’s apartment too when he realized his building lasted the longest with power, but you didn’t even think anything of it until now just because of how cold you were. “Where does he even live, actually?”

A month you’ve been in Yokohama and you’ve never been to Dazai’s apartment. You spend a lot of time with Chuuya up in his, and Dazai usually pops in too whenever you’re there; they come up to yours once in a blue moon. But you’ve never been to his.

“Out in some shipping container in the yards in southern Naka-ku,” Hirotsu answers your question and you turn to look at him, appalled.

“What?” you ask bluntly. “A shipping container?”

“The Boss offered him a nice apartment in the central building,” Kouyou hums. “He refused many times.”

“I wouldn’t want to live in the same building as Mori either,” you say snippily. “He’s out there now? In this storm?”

Kouyou lifts her shoulders in an elegant shrug, raising her eyebrows as she finally looks up at you, there’s something chilly in her eyes that you don’t like as she studies you. Chuuya doesn’t meet your eyes when you give him a pressing look.

“Those containers aren’t insulated,” you continue. “He’ll freeze to death.”

Kouyou scoffs. “That boy won’t be killed by something as mundane as the cold,” she says dismissively. “He will be fine.”

You give her a dismayed look. You’re not too close with Dazai, you’ve only known him for a month, and in that time, you haven’t really had the opportunity to spend much time with him besides the occasional invasion of Chuuya’s apartment. The two of you always seem to have missions scheduled at opposite times of each other—whenever you’re free, he’s gone and whenever you’re gone, he’s free. Sometimes, you think Mori does it on purpose, but you don’t know why.

“It’s blizzarding out there,” you argue. “He’s stick and bones in an uninsulated piece of metal that’s probably buried in snow. We can’t just leave him out there.”

“Leave him be,” Kouyou says sharply, and you’re almost taken aback by her tone, giving her a cool look. “Don’t involve yourself with that boy.”

You draw back at the sternness—you and Kouyou have been on good terms, so you don’t really know where this is coming from, and it pisses you off a bit, but that might just be because you’re cold and already irritable.

“Excuse me?” you gape, looking between her and Chuuya, noticing how Chuuya immediately averts his gaze from you. “Chuuya?”

“You heard me, girl,” Kouyou tells you firmly. “Keep away from him.”

“Why?” You’re half convinced you’re not hearing her correctly because what does that even mean. Your voice rises as you become more incensed. “What do you even mean? Chuuya hangs with him all the time-”

“Mori has forced the two of them into a partnership,” Kouyou interrupts. “Chuuya has no choice in the matter. You-”

You bristle, about to rise to your feet, but before you can say anything, Hirotsu speaks up: “Kouyou-san is right, hime. The Boss has that boy on a tight leash for a reason, he does not like anything trying to interfere with it. Even you. Especially you.”

Chuuya gives you a look from the corner of his eye. “The Boss is weird about him,” he agrees quietly, but he does seem distinctly uncomfortable, like a part of him wants to go out searching for Dazai. “You’ve had to have noticed.”

Of course, you have. It’s impossible to miss the way Mori hangs over him. He has Dazai shadow him everywhere he goes, never far out of sight. He’s harsher with Dazai than he was even with you back when he first took you in years ago, has impossibly high expectations and refuses to accept failure from him. You think maybe it’s part of the reason why he’s always so careful to ensure that you’re on missions at opposite times—Dazai has shown interest in you since your arrival in Yokohama, becoming giddy like a kid whenever he runs into you, and Mori already warned you not to distract him.

You rise to your feet, shaking your head. “I’m not leaving him out there to freeze.”

“Girl,” Kouyou says, voice tight, finally looking up from her reports again to give you a stern look. “I won’t say it again-”

“Or what?” you ask coolly. “What is he going to do to me? I’ve known Mori longer than any of you. I know what he’ll do if he doesn’t like what I’m doing, it’s not worth leaving Dazai out there alone, especially in this weather.”

You toss off the blankets and storm over to where you’d hung your jacket up, looking back at Chuuya over your shoulder. “Are you coming?” you ask, annoyed.

Chuuya glances between you and Kouyou nervously before sighing and tossing his own blankets off. “Whatever. You’re bringing him to your apartment. I don’t want his shitty ass here.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know why the fuck I agreed to this,” Chuuya spits out complaints as the two of you trudge off the road through knee deep snow to the slope leading down to the shipping yards. “You’re insane. Dazai would not do this for you.”

“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to be in this situation,” you scowl, tossing Chuuya a dirty look before your eyes trail across the shipping yard. “Do you know which container is his? They all look the same.”

“That red one out there, I think,” Chuuya says, pointing out across the shipping yard to one of the few containers not falling apart. You grimace, it’s all the way out in the center of the yard in the deepest parts of the snow. Chuuya sees your displeasure and rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You yelp when he grabs your arm and yanks you closer to him. The Tainted Sorrow is an ability you’ve become well acquainted with over the past few weeks, but it’s still jarring to feel it wash over you so suddenly. Chuuya gives you a sharp smile when he feels your grip on his arm tighten as he uses his ability to launch the two of you in the air; your stomach lurches at the sudden feeling of weightlessness that spreads through you.

It takes a total of maybe five seconds for him to get the two of you in front of Dazai’s supposed shipping container, and you shiver when the two of you land in the knee deep snow, casting him a dirty look when he keeps himself floating right above it.

“Asshole,” you mutter, ignoring his smug look as you trudge forward to the door of the shipping container. “Dazai! Dazai, are you in there?”

Your voice strains as you shout over the howling wind, grimacing and blinking rapidly at the snow pelting your face. You get no response from inside the container and you give Chuuya a scowl.

“Are you sure this is the right container?” you demand as your fingers enclose around the bitterly cold metal handle.

Chuuya shrugs. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I can’t stand you,” you snap as you try and fail to yank open the container, the deep snow preventing it from budging even an inch.

“Here, move,” Chuuya says, coming to stand next to you, finally dropping down into the snow as he nudges you out of the way to use his ability to pull open the heavy, jammed door.

You squint as you look into the dark container—it’s mostly empty and you’re about to turn on Chuuya for having the wrong one before you notice a chair and a desk in the far back corner. The snow spills into the container as soon as Chuuya gets the door open and you yelp as you slide in, nearly slipping to the floor.

Chuuya snorts.

You glare at him, but you have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Dazai,” you call again, frowning when you don’t see him in the container, wondering if you came all the way out here for nothing. Chuuya would kill you. “Do you see him?”

“I’m gonna kill you if we came all the way out here for nothing,” Chuuya says, voicing your thoughts. You wince as he jumps down to stand next to you. “Maybe he went over to those other friends of his? That low ranking guy?”

Maybe, you think, taking a few steps further into the container, eyes straining in the dark to try to make sure he’s not there before facing Chuuya’s wrath and leaving. Just as you’re about to give up, you spot a lump covered by a thin blanket in the corner of the container and you frown. You think at first it’s a pile of dirty clothes until you draw a bit closer and see that it’s moving, a slow and steady rise and fall that could only be Dazai huddled beneath it.

“Dazai?” you repeat again, making your way over to the corner of the container and kneeling next to the lump. Chuuya trails a few steps behind you slowly, pausing when you reach out to snatch the blanket off of the lump. “Jesus, Dazai…”

He’s sleeping beneath the blanket—sleeping or just straight up unconscious, you’re not sure. He looks small curled into a ball in the corner of the container, his skin and lips are paler than usual, breath concerningly slow. You reach out to press your hand against his cheek, feeling how cold and clammy his skin is.

“And you wanted to leave him out here,” you hiss at Chuuya, shooting him an accusing look. To his credit, he does look guilty as he looks down at Dazai, brows twisted and lips curled down, an unreadable look in his bicolored eyes. “Help me get him up.”

Dazai is lighter than you expected—he’s tall and gangly but there’s so little meat to his bones that you can almost lift him up on your own but it’s just awkward because of his height. Chuuya grabs his feet, you grab under his arms; his body is limp, like you’re carrying a corpse and not a living, breathing human being.

“Chuuya, hold on, I’m gonna put him down,” you say before the two of you get to the entrance of his shipping container.

Chuuya grunts as the two of you lower him to the ground, giving you a questioning look. You ignore it, pulling off your thick fur coat and wrapping it around Dazai, trying to warm him up even just a little because you fear that if you bring him out in his thin button-up and slacks, he’s just going to get even more sick.

“You’re gonna freeze,” Chuuya says with a sigh, shaking his head. He pulls off his own jacket and tosses it at you. “I run hot anyway. Take it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, shrugging it over your shoulders and then looking back down at Dazai. “Ready?”

“Yup,” Chuuya agrees, leaning down to grab Dazai’s feet again.

You grimace as the harsh and bitter winds immediately sting your face, a shiver running down your body. You glance over at Chuuya, whose face is already becoming red with the cold, he looks distinctly uncomfortable although he’s trying to hide it, and you feel a bit guilty. You look to the side, all the way across the shipping container yard up the hill to the road the two of you had come from, all of it covered in several feet of snow.

You realize, a bit dreadfully, that Chuuya will not be able to use his ability while carrying Dazai and you give him an agonized look.

Chuuya looks just as harrowed.

“This is going to suck.”

“Give me your blankets,” Chuuya demands, shivering violently once the two of you get Dazai up to your apartment.

Luckily, the backup generators had come back on while the two of you were out so you didn’t have to walk up literally nearly forty stories to get to your apartment. The heat is still off though, so it’s freezing and you really need to change into something warmer, but you’re more concerned with the boy curled up beneath your covers, still breathing but still also concerningly slow.

“He’s not looking too good,” you say quietly, reaching out to pull the blankets tighter around him. You brush your fingers across his cheekbone, trying to see if he’ll stir at all, but he remains frighteningly still. “Do you think maybe I should call Mori?”

You don’t want to call Mori and you’re pretty sure Dazai wouldn’t want you to call Mori, but you think that if he doesn’t move or show some kind of life in the next ten minutes, you’re going to have to. As much as you don’t want to get the man involved, you want Dazai to die in your bed even less. You sigh as you take a seat at his bedside, pulling out your phone to try to figure out what exactly you should do if he’s hypothermic.

“Yo, I asked for blankets,” Chuuya says irritably, rifling around your clothes closet for blankets. “Where are they?”

“Downstairs,” you say dismissively, “I thought you weren’t staying.”

Chuuya’s shoulders slump as he scowls at you. “Only long enough for you to figure out if he’s gonna live,” he mutters and then storms downstairs to find blankets as you finally find a website that will load so you can figure out what to do with Dazai.

Be gentle. When helping someone with hypothermia, handle them gently. Only move the person as much as is necessary. Don't massage or rub the person. Vigorous or jarring movements may trigger cardiac arrest.

Move the person out of the cold. Move the person to a warm, dry location if possible. If moving is not possible, shield the person from the cold and wind as much as possible. The person should be kept in a flat position if possible.

Remove wet clothing. If the person is wearing wet clothing, remove it. Cut away clothing if necessary to avoid too much movement.

Cover the person with blankets. Use layers of dry blankets or coats to warm the person. Cover the person's head, leaving only the face exposed.

Monitor breathing. A person with severe hypothermia may appear unconscious, with no clear signs of a pulse or breathing. If the person's breathing has stopped or appears dangerously low or shallow, begin CPR right away if you're trained.

Supply warm beverages. If the affected person is alert and able to swallow, give the person a warm, sweet, nonalcoholic, noncaffeinated drink. Warm drinks can help warm the body.

Well, you think, he’s not conscious for a warm drink and Chuuya changed him into a warm pair of your thick sweatshirts and sweatpants. He’s piled under the blankets in your room and he didn’t go into cardiac arrest from the two of you jostling him out of the shipping yard and into your apartment, so you think the only thing really left for you to do is make sure he keeps breathing.

You can do that.

You turn your attention back to Dazai, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look down at him. You shift into a cross-legged position, hesitantly reaching out to touch his cheek. His skin is cold under your touch but your breath hitches when he finally moves on his own; you almost draw your hand back like you’ve been burned when you see his lashes flutter, but you don’t. Your lips part when he unconsciously leans into your touch, a soft puff of air escaping his lips as he shifts into a more comfortable position, pressing his face into your hand.

You’re only snapped back to reality when Chuuya walks back into your bedroom, your fluffy blanket from the couch downstairs pulled entirely around him. He gives you a judgmental look, eyes drawing from where you’d very inconspicuously yanked your hand back into your lap before looking back up to your face and your cheeks heats up.

“I was checking his temperature,” you hiss, lying through your teeth. “Don’t look at me like that when you look like an egg.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chuuya rolls his eyes as he waddles over to you, sitting on the bed next to you as the two of you look over Dazai. “How is he?”

“Alive,” you say with a shrug. “There’s nothing else to really do but make sure he keeps breathing. Give him warm water to drink when he wakes up. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” he replies awkwardly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Don’t want to go back so Ane-san can scold me anyway…”

You think it’s more that he feels guilty over wanting to leave Dazai out there while he was suffering but you don’t shatter the facade he’s putting up because if he feels bad, it’ll be easier for you to make him do the things you don’t want to do while he’s here.

“Yeah, she’ll probably be mad,” you agree, glancing down at Dazai again, some of your tension easing when you see that his chest is rising and falling a bit more steadily and much more deeply now. “I’m not happy with her.”

“Why?” Chuuya asks.

“What do you mean why?” you ask. “You know why.”

“She was just trying to look out for you,” Chuuya says with a frown. “She’s right, the Boss gets weird about Dazai. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself but you haven’t been here the past year. I always thought it was weird that he never introduced Dazai to the Flags like he did for me but… I just don’t think he likes it when people get close to Dazai.”

It is weird, you won’t deny that, but it’s not worth leaving him out there to die. Plus… you remember the day you first met him, his excitement at having someone else his age around, his disappointment when he thought you didn’t like him… he’s just a boy, a lonely one at that, and Mori is cruel for trying to keep him isolated.

“I don’t care what Mori wants,” you say tightly.

It’s a lie—the thought of doing something that pisses him off chills you to the bone. Your throat spasms as your mind is drawn back to the warzone he found you in; the way he’d give you small smiles and pats on the head all the while telling you that if you couldn’t get a hold of your ability, he’d send you back where you came from. The thought is cold and haunting, a constant reminder that if you can’t prove your worth to him he’ll discard you like a useless tool, but…

Your gaze drifts back over to Dazai, still shivering from where tucked underneath your blankets, but he looks much more comfortable. Much more at peace. You think again of the way he was so happy to meet you. The way he was so bothered by the thought of you not liking him. The way he constantly tries to seek you out even though Mori ensures that the two of you have opposite mission schedules. The way he so instinctively leaned into your touch.

But maybe just this once you’ll do what you want regardless of Mori’s wishes.

Chuuya gives you a heavy side eye before shaking his head. “Wanna play cards?”

“... Yeah, sure.”

The first time Dazai wakes up, he’s not even coherent.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, doesn't know who you are, and is panicked over something. Chuuya had left hours ago once the two of you were mostly certain that Dazai wouldn’t suddenly die, going back to his apartment to face the wrath of Kouyou for disobeying her. You’re starting to doze off when you feel him jerk up next to you; he thrashes under the covers as he tries to free himself, nearly knocking you off of the bed.

“Dazai,” you gasp, startled. You shift around to try to get him to calm down and nearly end up with a fist to the face. “Jesus, Dazai, chill.”

You grab his hand and try to pin him down to the bed but it only ends with him thrashing harder, eyes wild, more panicked. You let go of his wrist and he scrambles away, tripping off the bed and onto the floor, yanking the blankets with him. You curse as you follow after him, kneeling on the floor next to him as he scuttles back into the corner like a frightened animal.

He looks… terrible, actually. His skin is pale and clammy, you think he must have developed a fever from the cold. He looks half delirious, his visible eye is glazed over and full of fear and your throat tightens as you lift your hands to try to show you mean no harm. Dazai doesn’t calm down, kicks his feet out when you try to get close and you sigh before stopping a few feet away from him.

“Dazai, calm down, it’s just me,” you say quietly.

When he finally starts to calm down, you shift forward to place your hands on his ankles, stopping him from kicking out again if something sets him off. When he doesn’t immediately start thrashing under your touch, you take it as an okay to come closer. Scooting against the floor, you come to sit next to him, pressing your shoulder against his. Dazai instantly is leaning into you, body exhausted, head falling against your shoulder.

“We have to get you back up on the bed,” you tell him but you feel him weakly shake his head from where it’s resting on your shoulder. “We have to, Dazai. You can't stay on the floor.”

“Why are you here?” he croaks out. “... Why am I here? Is this your apartment?”

“You were going to freeze to death out there,” you tell him. “I-”

“But why? Why do you care? I don’t-no one cares so why…” Dazai doesn’t even finish the question, tongue loosened in his half-delirious state. He sounds distressed but more than that he sounds confused, like he can’t understand why you would go out of your way for him. Him.

“C’mon, Dazai, back in bed,” is all you say, voice quiet as you shift into a kneeling position, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him stumble back to his feet.

He’s light, but his limbs are awkwardly long so you stumble a bit when he leans his full body weight onto you, nearly tripping over one of his legs as you help him onto the bed. As soon as you get him situated, you reach back over onto the floor to grab the blankets he’d pulled off the bed and tuck him back under them.

His eye tracks you—big and black and empty as you leave his side to grab the chamomile tea you’d brewed when he finally started stirring thirty minutes ago. It’s not as hot now but it’s warm enough.

You sit at his side, shoulder pressed to his and back against the headboard as you lift the mug to his lips. He stares down at the mug for a moment, making no move to drink it, but then he lets his head fall on your shoulder again, pressing his lips to the rim of the mug.

You tilt the mug back, using your other hand to keep his head steady, watching as he takes a few sips before stubbornly turning his head away, pressing his face into your shoulder so that you can’t force him to drink anymore.

“You should take a few more sips,” you tell him quietly. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled against your shirt. It’s only when he hears you put the mug back down does he finally lift his face. He still looks entirely out of it, but his gaze still somehow manages to take upon a more accusing look. “Why am I here?”

“I told you why,” you frown, side-eyeing him.

“Why am I really here? Did Mori tell you to come check on me? I don’t need-”

“I came because I wanted to,” you say as you become increasingly more irritated. “I’m not Mori’s lapdog. I do what I want.”

Dazai stares at you, more withdrawn now and an uncertain look in his eye. “But why?” he asks, a bit quieter this time like he can’t possibly fathom why someone would come for him because they wanted to. You almost want to reach down and grab his hand but you refrain. Instead, you knock the side of your head gently against his.

“I told you back when we met that I wanted to know you. Wanted to be your friend,” you say, honestly.

“You didn’t say that,” Dazai accuses, averting his gaze. “That you wanted to be my friend. You didn’t say that.”

“It was kind of implied,” you reply, rolling your eyes and that add a bit more quietly, “I do. I do want to be your friend. And friends look out for each other.”

Dazai’s entire expression shifts at your words, expression crumbling. Just as suddenly as his expression changes, he throws himself back into a laying position, turning away from you and lifting the covers up above his head to hide himself from you. You stare at him, unsure of how to take his reaction—a rejection? Or maybe he’s just flustered? He murmurs something that you can’t hear because it’s smothered by the layers of blankets on top of him.

“Huh?”

“I said that I’m allowing you to be my friend,” Dazai raises his voice, pitched and wobbly, like he’s trying to make it come across more snooty than it actually does. As if it’s a bother for you to want to be his friend. It’s almost funny but you can’t help the way you roll your eyes again. “Be grateful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say sarcastically, “for gracing me with this most honored title.”

You hear him sniffle and then sneeze beneath the lump of blankets. “It is an honored title. You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes. Again. But you don’t respond this time, resigning to just leaning back against the headboard and grab the book you were starting before you’d started dozing off. You think maybe he might be right—it is an honored title. Dazai doesn’t have many friends, doesn’t let people get too close and certainly doesn’t let them think they mean anything to him. He’s very selective with the people he chooses to associate with.

“The next time you wake up, as your friend, I’m forcing you to eat some soup.”

You hear him grumble but you think he must be too tired to protest because he doesn’t even get any words out before you notice that his breath has evened out beneath the blankets. You sigh and pull them down a bit so that he doesn’t accidentally smother himself to death in his sleep, ignoring the small smile that twitches to your lips as you turn your attention back to your book.

The second time Dazai wakes up, he’s much more alert and entirely more difficult.

“You need to eat something,” you hiss, trying to wrangle Dazai up out of bed. “And you need to drink something, you’ve sweat so much that my sheets are soaked through. You’re going to be dehydrated and then you’re going to feel worse.”

“Go away,” Dazai shrieks, nearly smacking you in the face as he tries to push you away. “Go away, I don’t want your help, just let me go back to the shipping container to die. I don’t-”

“Oh, would you just shut up?” you hiss, taking the pillow he was laying on and whacking him over the head with it hard. Dazai flops back on the bed hard, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. You raise the pillow again threateningly. “Get up and eat soup or I’ll hit you again.”

“You just whacked me with a pillow while I’m dying of fever,” Dazai says, voice riddled with shock. “I can’t believe you just-”

“Eat the soup,” you demand, winding back your arms again as you prepare to hit him again.

Dazai gives the pillow a wary look before sitting up and scooching across the bed to the nightstand, staring at the now lukewarm soup with a contemplative expression. “Do you eat or drink soup? It’s liquid, isn’t it? Wouldn’t I be drinking the soup?”

You stare at him flatly. “There’s carrots in it. You’re eating the carrots, so you’re eating the soup.”

Dazai’s face twists in disgust as soon as the c-word leaves your lips and you know you’ve made a mistake. Everything happens in a split second—you see him look at you from the corner of his eye, you see his gaze dart to the door, and you see his body tense as he prepares to make a break for it.

He doesn’t get more than an inch before you’re bringing the pillow back down on his head, sending him sprawling back down against the mattress with a loud ‘oof.’

“You can’t just beat me until I eat the soup,” Dazai protests loudly, disgruntled as he looks around trying to figure out if he can try to make another break for it, casting the pillow a wary look. Luckily, even if he is more coherent now, his brain and body are still sluggish from the fever. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” you say, and just for good measure, you whack him with it again.

“Stop! I didn’t even move that time,” he cries out. “Now you’re hitting me just to hit me!”

“You’re not eating it fast enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!”

Dazai bristles like an irritated cat as he stares at you, but his shoulders slump as he drags himself back over to the nightstand. You’re almost insulted, honestly, considering you spent an hour trying to figure out how to cook it properly for him, but you simmer down when he lifts the spoon from the bowl.

He blinks suddenly, eyes wide and owlish. “This spoon is large.”

You stare at him. “It’s a soup spoon,” you say flatly.

“Can I keep it?” he asks, twisting it around to look at it more carefully.

“No, Dazai, you can’t keep my spoon.”

Dazai pouts at you but then lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh as he gives the soup one last wary look before taking his first spoonful of soup. For a split second, you watch with bated breath to see his reaction to it, but then his face lights up as he spoons up another mouthful of the soup. You pretend that you’re not entirely pleased and smug that he likes the soup you made him, but you can’t help yourself from making a snide comment.

“So after all of that, you like it,” you say dryly.

Dazai scowls. “I’m just hungry,” he disagrees, but his cheeks are flushed pink. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” you agree blandly.

“It’s true.”

You don’t say anything else after that, staring at the wall as Dazai scarfs down the entire bowl of soup because whenever you look at him, he stops mid-spoonful and waits for you to look away again. You think he’s ridiculous and want to roll your eyes, but you also can’t help the fondness that blooms in you as you pull your knees to your chest and wait for him to finish.

It’s not long before you hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl. When you look over at him, you see the frown on his face as he looks down at the bowl—as if he hadn’t realized that he’d finished all of the soup already. You nudge his shoulder with yours, drawing his attention away from the empty bowl.

“There’s more in the pot if you want it,” you offer, watching as a conflicted expression crosses his face as he looks back down at the bowl. “It’s gonna go to waste if you don’t. I ate earlier.”

Finally, Dazai mutters, “Only because you’re forcing me.”

You give him a flat look but don’t say anything else, taking the bowl from him and making your wait out of the bedroom to the kitchen. It’s been a little over a day since you first got him in your apartment. It’s dark again, the moon high in the sky and stars glittering prettily—you pause at the towering windows in your living room to look up at the sky and you find yourself thinking of Dazai.

Or, of his eyes that is.

When you hear people talk about Dazai, they mostly talk about his mass of terrifying feats. They talk about how he’s sixteen and already in command of one of the Port Mafia’s most elite combat squads, they talk about how he’s sixteen and rivaling the Colonel’s success rate on operations, they talk about how he’s on track to be the next promoted executive whenever there’s another opening. They talk about how his blood is blacker than anyone else in the upper echelon, they talk about how he was born to be one of them. You can never tell if they’re scared of him or if they admire him—probably both, and you think they’re probably more scared than anything.

They also talk about his eyes. Eye. Whatever. Too dark, too emotionless, too dull. Soulless, hollow, creepy. They’re uncomfortable meeting his gaze—they say he’s inhuman, that only a demon could have eyes so hauntingly empty.

You think they’re wrong, they remind you more of the night sky than anything else.

You love the stars.

You sigh as you walk over to the kitchen and pour the rest of the soup into the bowl. You heat it back up in the microwave for a few seconds before bringing it back over to the spare bedroom where Dazai is staying. You think you’ve probably not been gone for more than two minutes, but by the time you’re back, Dazai is curled up beneath the covers again, dozing off.

He doesn’t notice you enter the room and you watch him for a moment, tilting your head to the side as take note of the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes flutter as his eyes droop shut. There’s still sweat beaded on his forehead, a faint flush over his cheeks that proves the fever is still running him down—you find your lips curving up, you think he’s much more pleasant when he doesn’t speak.

He only jerks back awake when you take a few steps closer to him, eyes wild with panic as if he was surprised by your presence. He doesn’t seem to recognize you for a moment but when he does, he visibly relaxes, brows furrowing in confusion as if he didn’t realize he’d started falling asleep.

“You can sleep if you’re tired,” you say as you place the soup down on the nightstand and take a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I can heat up the soup later.”

Dazai stares at you with an unreadable expression, he looks like he wants to ask you something or say something but his lips remain sealed shut. After a few moments, he sits up silently and shifts into a sitting position. Your shoulders brush and his thigh is pressed against yours as he starts to eat the soup carefully again, slower this time.

Too slow, you realize almost a second too late when Dazai’s head lolls to the side and he nearly drops a whole spoonful of soup onto the bed. Luckily, you’re quick enough to grab the bowl and catch the spoon and soup before it hits the sheets. His head drops on your shoulder and that fondness in your chest starts to spread again.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai so at peace before, and yes, it might be because he’s half dead with exhaustion, but you think it’s a welcome difference from the tight expressions you’ve seen from him when you happen to cross paths with him at headquarters. When he’s not Dazai Osamu, but the Demon Prodigy, the Black Wraith, cold and distant, intimidating and cruel, not a sixteen-year-old boy who dislikes carrots and has a fascination with soup spoons. You think back to his refusal to believe that you were helping him of your own free will and you can’t help but frown a bit.

You let him lay on your shoulder for a second longer than necessary before shifting him back into a lying position and tucking him beneath the comforter. You sigh as you take a seat next to him, back against the headboard as you pull out your phone to shoot a text to Chuuya so you can let him know that Dazai is doing better.

You yawn as you think to yourself that you’ll stay a bit longer—watch over Dazai to make sure he doesn’t get worse again before heading back up to your own room… but you find yourself sinking into the mattress, a bit too sleepy and a bit too comfortable…

Dazai feels better the next time he wakes up.

He yawns as he shifts in bed to nuzzle into the thick blankets and soft pillows. He feels warm, comfortable, surrounded by a familiar and pleasant scent that leaves his defenses dangerously low. A bit alarmed by how at ease he feels, Dazai’s eyes fly open, trying to figure out where the fuck he is and why the fuck he feels so good.

He tries to sit up, but there’s a weight pressed against his side that makes him pause, so he turns his head to the side slowly, unsure of what he’s going to find. He freezes when he sees you propped up against the headboard next to him, fast asleep, neck turned at an uncomfortable angle.

“Friends look out for each other.”

At once, the past day or so comes back to him—most of it is a fog but he vividly remembers him waking up a few hours ago and you whacking him around with pillows until he got some soup in him. He finds his lips curling up into an amused smile as he looks down at you, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest that makes him feel almost… Dazai doesn’t dare to admit it. He’s never had someone take care of him like that before.

He sighs as he reaches out to shift you into a more comfortable position. Carefully, laying you down against the mattress and placing your head on the pillow where his had been resting. He pulls the covers over you and watches as you let out a sleepy hum of appreciation, rubbing your face against the pillow before settling back down into a deep sleep.

His hands drop back down to his lap and he stares at you for a moment, wondering if you meant what you said, wondering if you were telling the truth when you told him Mori hadn’t been the one to send you to check on him, wondering if maybe…

Wondering if maybe you really did want to be his friend.

Dazai doesn’t have many friends. He has Oda, but he pretty much forced himself into Oda’s life by almost dying on his doorstep—literally—so he doesn’t think that really counts. Chuuya… well, he pretty much coerces Chuuya into hanging out with him by antagonizing him into video game challenges, so he doesn’t think that really counts either.

Dazai might not have any friends, actually.

He decidedly doesn’t like the emotion spreading through him now. It's light and airy and it clings to his black heart dangerously. It blooms in a way that nothing should be able to bloom in the dark. It’s too… feels too close to hope and Dazai knows better than anyone that hope is a dangerous, dangerous emotion—one that he shouldn’t allow to take root in him unless he wants to be hurt in ways that he’s tried to carefully guard himself from.

He should leave.

He should leave now.

He’s feeling better, there’s no reason for him to stay now that he can move around and think but…

But this bed is so much more comfortable than the floor of his shipping container… The sheets and comforter are warmer than the thin and ripped blanket he uses to cover himself at night… The pillows are so much softer than the clothes he props behind his head as a pillow. Dazai has never slept so well in his entire life—the nights that he is able to sleep are restless and plagued with faces he’d rather forget and voices that haunt him. This is the first time in… well, forever, that he’s been able to sleep peacefully, that he actually feels rested when he wakes up in the morning. The thought of going back to that metal box almost makes his body itch with discomfort.

He’s just so warm and so comfortable and you smell so nice… and Dazai... for the first time in his life, he feels content.

As soon as Dazai is awake, he feels his eyes drooping back shut just as quickly, breath evening out again as he drifts back to sleep.

“So he’s just… living with you now?” Chuuya asks, baffled.

“I mean, I guess so,” you shrug helplessly. “He just… never left after we brought him there that day.”

Never left and brought his few belongings into the spare room he’d been staying in when he was sick, but you don’t add that part. Honestly, you don’t mind that Dazai has usurped your spare room—your apartment is too big for just you to be living in, you don’t mind the company after spending two years alone in Kyoto and Dazai is fun to be around despite the awful movie he picked on Friday and his terrible taste in food.

Plus, you think it’s a bit of a much deserved, subtle rebellion from Mori, who has seemed to do everything in his power to make sure that the two of you never have time to interact with each other. You’re still not quite sure why he seems to be against the idea of you and Dazai becoming friends—probably something to do with a future plan of his, or maybe he really is just worried that you’ll distract Dazai from the carefully constructed path Mori has set him down—but you’ve decided that you like Dazai and you want to be his friend whether Mori likes it or not… which is saying a lot, considering you don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more than you want to impress Mori.

He’s not happy with you—you can tell by the disapproving stares and the disappointed comments that make you want to curl in on yourself, and you have a feeling that as soon as this conflict is over with, he’s going to send you right back to Kyoto, but that’s an issue for you to deal with in the future.

For now, you’ll enjoy not being alone. Not having to watch your back and sleep with one eye open. Having people to rely on.

Having friends.

“And you didn’t tell him to get the fuck out?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” Chuuya demands. “What’s wrong with you?”

“He lived in a shipping container, Chuuya,” you defend yourself, “and I have a spare bedroom, it’s not a big deal.”

Chuuya stares at you for a moment, gaze sharp and accusatory, and then his expression shifts into one of disgust. “No.”

“Excuse me?” you demand, baffled.

“No. No, no, no. No.” Chuuya shakes his head, taking a step away from you. “You need to see a goddamn shrink. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Something wrong with me? What are you even talking about?”

Chuuya doesn’t even respond, looking severely disturbed as he storms off in the opposite direction, leaving you standing there, perplexed and slightly insulted.

“What’s the pipsqueak crying about this time? Is it his height or his terrible taste in clothes?” A familiar voice mocks from behind you.

You brighten a bit at Dazai’s voice, feeling him hanging over your shoulder as he looks over to where Chuuya had left. His cheek brushes yours from how close he is—he has no concept of personal space, you’ve realized in the past few days he’s decided to make himself at home in your apartment, but you don’t really mind.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answer. “Just ran off mid-conversation.”

Dazai clicks his tongue. “Stupid slug is always getting emotional about something,” he says. “Whatever. More popcorn for me. I finished my assignment early. Movie?”

“You’re not picking this one.”

“What? My movie was great.”

“Hah! If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I have another that you’re gonna looooove.”

“You will literally have to tie me down and clamp my eyes open to make me watch another movie of yours, Dazai.”

“...”

“... Stop looking at me like that.”

“...”

“Dazai!”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you

488 notes · View notes

tirasamu · 4 months ago

Text

02. SOMETHING I WAIT FOR . . . dazai has a close call (not close enough, in his opinion). he barely makes it to your apartment, but you're there just in time to patch him up, in more ways than one.

ft. pm!dazai + pm!reader, possessive behavior, descriptions of blood, injuries and suicidal thoughts, requited crushes, 3.6k w.c.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai hates pain.

If the idiot who shot him would’ve aimed just a little bit higher, it might've been a fatal wound. Instead, all he did was graze his shoulder. It wasn’t enough to cause serious harm, but just enough to make him bleed in miseryー just his luck.

The man must’ve been dead by now, taken care of by one of his subordinates. He didn’t stay long enough to find out, slipping from the scene before anyone could try to force him into the Mafia’s infirmary. He knows your apartment is close.

He’s nearing the point of being injured where the pain fades and melts into pure exhaustion. He hates the way his blood feels against his hands, and he uses it to ground himself. It’s already soaked through his shirt, wet and warm as it seeps between his fingers and drips down his arm, absorbing into the bandages around his wrist. His already obscured vision is fading, white stars glistening from beneath the edge of his lashes, but he keeps his eyes trained ahead on your building. He swears you used to only have one apartment door, his vision doubling and growing hazy.

Just a few more steps. That's all he needs to make it to you.

He huffs as his hand slips from your doorknob, sliding off the metal from his weak grip. He falls forward, blood smearing against the doorframe where his palm flattens as he tries to steady himself, pressing his forehead against your door with a quiet thump. You have to be home right now. Right? Please be home right now.

As soon as you open your door from the other side of your apartment, he collapses, landing against your chest. He curls against you, inhaling the scent of your skin with the desperation of a man who’d just been saved from drowning.

“Dazai?” you stumble backward, but he doesn’t weigh nearly enough to make you fall. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and he grips your shirt in his hands, trying to press himself impossibly closer to you. He can feel the moment you realize he’s bleeding, your chest stalling mid-inhale. “Oh my god, Dazai.”

His jacket slips from his shoulders, falling to the floor limply as you carry him inside, kicking the door closed with your foot. His feet drag against your carpet as he tries to walk, but he’d rather use his waning strength to snuggle closer into your side than keep his balance. Even with your body supporting his own, he plops unceremoniously onto your couch.

“It’s okay,” he shivers when you start to unbutton his shirt, pulling back the bloody, frayed fabric stuck to his skin. He can’t tell if you’re talking to him or yourself. “You’re okay.”

His bangs are damp, Yokohama’s humidity and his own sweat gluing them to his forehead. You push them back, stroking your thumb along the edge of his bandage over his cheek tenderly.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He tilts his head to press his face into your palm and smiles at you. You’re so pretty when you frown at him like this.

“I'll be right back,” you squish his cheeks between your hands, making his lips pucker. “Don’t try to move.”

He has to stop himself from reaching back out for you when you let him go. He squeezes the fabric of his trousers instead, watching you disappear past the couch’s limited view. He wants to pull you on top of him and beg you to ignore the blood leaking out of his body, to just wrap your arms around him and hold him until there’s nothing left between the two of you. It still wouldn’t be close enough; if he had the choice, he would shrink down and make a home inside your chest.

He tries his best to relax into the cushions beneath him. He'd much rather be in your bed than on your couch, but it was still yours, and that made it enough for him to want to sink into it until it absorbed him whole. Your apartment was nothing like his hollow shipping container, the metal walls suffocating in the summer heat.

He could’ve dragged himself there instead. Maybe he would’ve finally died from blood loss if he was lucky. That's what he wants. Really.

So then why did he drag himself here? Because you felt safe?

Dazai came to a realization a few days ago, one more painful than the wound in his shoulder, or the fact he has a mission with Chuuya a few days from now. Ever since it planted its dirty roots in his brain, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

It grew deeper every time his chest tightened around you, or his heart fluttered at the sight of your smile, or his stomach churned in jealousy when someone else touched you.

This, his mind taunted him, is what people say love feels like. Worst of all, when he whined to Odasaku and Ango about how annoying you were, they didn’t stop talking about his “crush” for the rest of the night.

His body protests as he sits up, vision swimming as the walls of your living room tilt. He tries to blink it away when he hears you sigh as you come back from down the hallway. He makes his one visible eye big and pouts his lips when he looks at you.

“Dazai,” the medical supplies you always keep on hand are cradled in your arms as you walk back toward him. “I told you not to move.”

“You took too long,” he whines. “I'm dying, you know.”

“You wish.” you guide him back down gently, your hands leaving tingles beneath his skin in their wake. He watches you kneel beside him, organizing the little bottles and boxes on your coffee table. You press down on one of the white lids with the heel of your palm, twisting it and knocking it upside down. You hand him one of the pills that fall out, and he swallows it dry.

You open another one of your bottles, and the familiar, sterile smell could be nothing other than saline. It’s cold against his skin, but your touch is what makes him shiver and his hair raise. You squeeze his leg softly, running your fingers against his thigh. It ignites something warm in his stomach, but it fades to white pain when the liquid absorbs into his wound. He jolts, and you murmur an apology, squeezing his thigh a little tighter. You’re trying to distract him, and it works pathetically well.

When you get closer to clean the drying blood off his skin, he can’t help but let his eyes fall to your lips, slightly parted in concentration. You’re close enough for him to kiss, and against the ache of his shoulder, all he can think about is how you might taste.

He wonders how soft you’d feel if he traced the shape of your lips with his tongue. He imagines the sweet sting of you pulling his hair as he memorizes every inch of you he can, taking everything you give him and more. It’d be different from the other people he’s kissed, he knows it; using his mouth to get information out of theirs did nothingー if anything, he felt more numb when it was over.

He can see a familiar box from the corner of his eye: it’s the brand of bandages he always uses, the only kind that doesn’t irritate his scarred, sensitive skin. He watches your fingers as they delicately pull the beginning of the roll, imagining the feeling of you wrapped around his bare body instead of the cotton he adorns himself with.

You turn him on his side to wrap the bandages around his shoulder and under his arm. Once the ends are tied, nice and snug around him, you sit back on your heels.

“Can I have your hand?”

He gives you both, trying to hide the way they tremble. You grab the one covered in blood tenderly as you begin to clean it off.

“I guess you weren’t lucky enough to die this time,” you smile teasingly, but he knows it isn’t real. It doesn’t look right on your face, like a mask that’s too big. He can see the worry you try to hide, clouding your eyes like murky water. He hates it. “Sorry.”

“I never get what I want,” he sighs. “I think I'm cursed. Do you have something to cure that in one of those little bottles too?”

“I don't know if you’ll ever die, even when you become an old man,” If, not when, he wants to correct, but holds his tongue. “You’re like a cockroach.”

“Yeah?” he reaches up to poke your face with his bloody fingers as you try to hold him still. “You’re like a little kid.”

“You’re more like a kid than I am.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, catching his hand back in your own. You wipe down each of his fingers, gently scrubbing the spaces in between. “You are.”

When he speaks again, he’s surprised by how quiet his voice is. He almost hopes you don’t hear him, afraid of the answer. “How?”

“Because,” your voice softens, holding his now clean hand. You trace over one of the lines on his palm with your thumb. “You want to be loved.”

He feels like he can’t breathe as he realizes that for once, he doesn’t have the upper hand. All of his walls he’s so carefully built, it’s like they’re made of glass around you. The possibility that you see him more clearly than he sees you terrifies him.

The painkillers are starting to kick in, drowsiness creeping up on him and making his eyelids heavy as he melts against the cushions despite his pounding heart. When was the last time he slept? He can't remember. Your fingers are gentle as they brush his bangs back. Your touch makes his eyes fall completely closed before he feels something soft and warm pressing against his forehead. He hears a whisper of his name, a quiet sweet dreams, and then he’s asleep.

It only really feels like he blinked. when he opens his eyes again, it’s dark. The light from your kitchen leaks through the hall, permeating the living room in a soft glow. He wiggles his toes, feeling the soft blanket you draped over his legs while he slept.

He gets up slowly, creeping off the couch and across your floor. He peeks past the kitchen doorway, grinning when he sees your back facing him. You’re halfway bent over the counter with your chin resting in your hand, staring absently at the tea kettle on the stove, waiting for it to boil.

He keeps his steps quiet, walking on the tips of his toes. He sinks his teeth into his lip to bite back his smile as he leans closer, taking advantage of the fact you’re completely zoned out.

“Boo.”

You flinch, hand closing around a butterknife on your counter, still smeared with jelly from a late-night snack. You turn sharply, pointing the dull blade in his direction. He grabs your wrist before it grazes him, smiling innocently.

“Dazai,” he thinks his name sounds so pretty when you sigh it out like that. You drop the knife back onto your counter. “Should you even be standing right now? Go lay back down. I can bring you something to eat.”

The thought of you taking care of him like this ignites that warm feeling in his stomach again. An image of you as his personal nurse forms in his mind, and his insides flip at the thought. He wonders if being an executive would give him enough leniency to put you in a little white dress; surely there was one lying around somewhere at headquarters.

“What, did you hit your head too?” he whines when you poke his forehead, hard. “Are you feeling better?”

He pouts at you, gaze drifting over your shoulder to a bottle of sake on the counter. It definitely wasn’t there the last time he was here.

“Oh〜” he perks, holding the bottle up by its neck, eyes sparkling. “This is fancy! What did you get this for, hm? Some secret date I don't know about?”

“Ane-san,” your eyes narrow as he flicks the stove off, breaking the seal on the bottle excitedly. “It was a gift from her after we finished that raid in Kyoto.”

He sniffs it, then takes a big sip straight from the bottle. It leaves a pleasant sting along the inside of his throat as he swallows.

He sits himself down on your kitchen tiles, pressing his back against the cabinets, cradling the sake in his arms. There's something angelic about the way your kitchen light haloes around you as he looks up at you from the floor.

He holds the bottle up, sloshing the liquid as he wiggles it back and forth. He pulls it out of your reach each time you try to grab it until you have no choice but to sit next to him, stretching across his lap to take it from him. You follow his lead and take a small sip from the mouth of the bottle, sighing as you sag backward.

“What happened this time, anyway?” you tilt your head toward him lazily, gaze dipping down to his bandaged shoulder.

“Someone had bad aim,” he sighs, holding a finger up to his temple. “Missed my head. Unlucky, right?”

You take a bigger, longer sip.

“I don't like when you get hurt, you know.”

He's relieved your head is on his bandaged blindside; he doesn’t know if he wants to see the look on your face right now. He takes the bottle from you, taking a longer sip of his own.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the beach?” he can hear the smile in your voice, and it makes his own rise on his cheeks. The two of you would always go after missions, bodies bruised and hair knotted. It was always early enough to watch the sunrise from the shore, eating a breakfast of shared instant ramen and candy stolen from the konbini down the street.

He can only ignore the way the edge of the counter presses into the back of his head for so long, leaning his cheek against your hair and listening to you breathe. He can tell you’re getting tipsy when you start to cling to him, clumsily crawling into his lap. You insist on being the one to rebutton his shirt, swatting his hands away when he tries to do it himself.

“Can we go now?” the curl of your lip hits him like an arrow through his heart. “To the beach? please?”

You’re so close again, looking up at him so prettily through your lashes. Your hands are warm as they rest above his heart, like you could go right through him and steal it for yourself, and he knows he could never possibly say no.

You pick his coat up off the floor before you leave, draping it over his shoulders. You tug it a little tighter around him, nodding to yourself in satisfaction before you grab his hand, intertwining your fingers and tugging him out the door.

The nighttime air is warm and sticky, but it gets cooler the closer you get to the shore. He keeps your smaller body close to his, guard raising as you approach the edge of port mafia territory.

The sand sinks beneath his feet with every step, and he pulls his shoes off by the heel. The waves lap calmly, dancing back and forth with no audience to watch as they tease the shore. He breathes in deep, feeling his lungs expand, inviting the salt and sand inside.

You drop limply onto the ground, laying your head on his shoulder when he sits next to you. It’s quiet, only the distant sound of traffic and the soft splashing of water.

“I wish it could be like this all the time.” you sigh. There’s a determined glint in your sleepy eyes when you look up at him. “Let's run away.”

He smiles, tilting his head toward you until your noses are close enough to brush. “And just where would you take me?”

“I don't know,” you mumble. “I don't care as long as I'm with you.”

He always thought he was born with an empty cavity in place of where his heart should be, but around you, it felt so full he could explode. He thinks if he tried to say anything right now, something icky, like the pile of seaweed he can see rotting by the water, would come out of his mouth instead.

A particularly big wave draws your attention away from him, and he frowns when you look away. It only deepens when you stand up and leave him, walking towards the ocean. He watches as you stumble down the wet sand, squealing when the water splashes against your feet. You don’t stop walking until the water is deep enough to cover your shins.

He follows you to the water, hopping on each foot over the big rocks. He’s careful not to slip, crouching on the furthest one out to keep a closer eye on you. He keeps his weight on his ankles, spreading his knees and resting his arms between them. He feels drops of salt water hit his face as the waves crash against the sea stacks, gently blowing the fabric of his jacket.

You turn back and smile at him, holding your hand out. The moon is large and eternal behind you, taking up nearly all the space in the sky and casting a pale blue glow over the dark water. It reflects onto you, illuminating your body in soft light, and he swears he’s never seen someone look so beautiful. You open and close your hand impatiently when he doesn’t move.

“What are you doing over there?” you tilt your head. “C’mere. It’s warm.”

He doesn’t bother to pull up his pants as he slips into the ocean, letting the waves move the fabric as they ebb and flow. He looks down at himself; he nearly blends in with the water, looking black in the night. He almost thinks he’ll dissolve into it like ink and wash away into the sea.

You beam at him as the water laps at your knees. He wiggles his toes into the wet sand and waits to feel the unbridled joy that standing here seems to cause. All he feels is goop between his toes, and he sighs in disappointment. He wants to understand why something like this made you so happy. He wants to feel it too.

“Isn’t it nice?” you smile up at him, and he wishes he could bottle it up and keep it for himself. That smile was just for him.

Don’t.

He leans closer. He can’t help it; there’s alcohol still warm in his veins, and you’re magnetic.

Don’t.

Even closer, until he can feel your soft exhale against his face, eyes big. He always thought you were the prettiest up close.

You’ll lose her once you have her .

He freezes. He doesn’t have time to completely change his mind and forget this little slip-up ever happened before you close the gap, pressing your lips against his. You’re just as soft as he imagined, gentle even when you kiss him, like he was something worth handling with care.

You pull back all too soon, looking down at where his legs disappear beneath the water.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and the watery way your voice comes out makes something ache deep inside of him. “I…I don't know why I did that.”

Oh.

He didn’t kiss you back.

He didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe. He almost wants to laugh; you really like him too. You, with your stupid smile, making his heart flutter and his stomach hurt when it’s directed toward him. You, letting him sleep in your bed when he breaks into your apartment, holding his blood-soaked hands and letting him get close, despite knowing what he was. You were so, so stupid.

He cups your cheeks with trembling fingers, bringing you back to his mouth. This could be the biggest mistake of his life; the fact he wants you could be your death sentence, but he’s never wanted anything else so badly before in his entire, sad life.

He thought it’d be weird to touch you like this, but it only feels right. When his hands hover over your waist, you press them into your skin, and he can’t help but think they fit perfectly there, like you were made to be held by him.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers brushing against his nape, and his knees nearly buckle. He thinks if they did, if he fell into the sand right now and washed out to sea, he’d be content, but you’d never let that happen. He wouldn't even be mad if you resuscitated him; nothing would be better than your lips breathing life back into him. He wonders how mad you’d be if he tried to pull that as an excuse to have another kiss.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, and then tilts your chin up to kiss you properly again, swallowing the giggle you press against his lips. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get enough of you now that he’s had a taste.

“Is this really okay?” you’re looking up at him with eyes bigger than the moon, glittering just as bright.

“Yeah,” he can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. “It’s okay.”

#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x you #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader #bsd fluff #dazai fluff #𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝒾

443 notes · View notes

petitesmafia · 6 months ago

Text

if i was a regular bsd yokohama citizen i'd be mad as hell like i just paid off my mortgage on this condo after busting corporate ass for 10 years what the FUCK is ur problem

spent 10k on interior design only for a fucking blender piece to slice through my apartment on a random Thursday...u WILL pay for these crimes. wrap this shit up by 5PM TODAY and have the compensation deposited in my bank account by Monday i'm NOT playing

#enas.txt #bungou stray dogs #bsd spoilers #bsd 116 #regular ppl living in the city like what the FUCK man #my life savings...sliced and diced #i'd be FUMING

873 notes · View notes

oceaneyesinla · 3 months ago

Text

Coming Home

I needed some soft Chuuya, so I wrote some soft Chuuya. This is VERY self indulgent and very fluffy

Slightly suggestive at the end - nickname used: angel

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Chuuya can’t help but release a tired, relieved sigh as the door to his apartment swings open. He’s been away for a week, and that’s a week too long when he knows just what’s waiting for him at home. You’ve ruined him for missions that take him away from Yokohama - how can he spend even a second away from the brightest star in the sky of his life? If you weren’t so important to Mafia operations in the city, he would bring you with him every time he leaves. Alas, it’s not to be - your biochemical knowledge and connections to the local hospitals make you too valuable to lose.

Instead, the two of you spend all hours of the day and night on the phone; 3AM video calls, lunchtime phone conversations and good morning messages having to suffice even though all he wants is to wrap you in his arms and never let go. For now, he’s home, and the boss promised him at least a couple of days rest in return for going on this mission. It was an important one, and there were very few people Mori would trust such a task to.

The patter of footsteps pulls him out of his thoughts, and he can feel a smile tugging at his lips. Clearly, you heard him open the door. He makes quick work of taking off his shoes and he’s just depositing his bag off to one side to deal with later when you round the corner. Your face lights up as you skid to a halt, almost sliding straight into the opposite wall. The laughter that bubbles out of him is soft and affectionate, as if his body needs some way to release all the love he feels for you before his heart explodes with it.

You look cozy, all wrapped up in one of his sweaters and fluffy socks on your feet, and you look like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He opens his arms, already knowing what your plan is, and he’s absolutely right. You barrel down the hallway, jumping into his arms and clinging to him with all your strength. Your legs lock around his waist, and you burrow your face into the crook of his neck, leaving little kisses that he swears he can feel even through the all the fabric of his clothes.

“Hey angel.” The last remnants of tension bleed out of him as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your favourite body wash, the one you started using when you decided it reminded you of him. Now, it just reminds you both of home.

“Missed you.” You’re pouting when you pull away to meet his eye, but it doesn’t last long when he peppers your face in kisses, reducing you to a giggling mess in moments.

Kicking the door shut with his foot, he carries you further into the apartment, bypassing the couch and heading straight for the bedroom, “Missed you too. Did you do anything fun while I was gone? Spend the money I left you?”

You launch into an animated description of all the things you bought while he was gone and Chuuya could feel the fond smile growing on his face. This is what he misses most when you’re apart - the light in your eyes and the excitement in your voice is never the same through a phone screen.

The squeak you let out as he drops you onto the bed makes him laugh once again, and he quickly strips out of his work clothes and changes into something more comfortable. You’ve already tucked yourself under the covers by the time he’s done, and he joins you, immediately pulling you practically on top of him. After he’s been away, he likes to have you as close as possible. If he could crack open his ribcage and tuck you away in there, safe and sound, he would.

“What’s the plan, Chuu?” Your sweet voice is music to his ears, and he leans in to press a kiss to your head.

“First, we’re taking a nap, because I want to cuddle and I know you do too.” He lets his hand slide down your back, trailing down to the plush of your ass and giving it a light squeeze, “Then I’m going to show you just how much I missed my pretty angel.” He moves his hand back up to rub along your spine, smiling when he feels you relax into him, “Then we’re going out for dinner.”

You shift a little, dropping a couple of kisses along the sensitive skin of his neck before you snuggle back into his chest, “Okay. Love you, Chuu.”

“Love you too, angel.” The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is your soft smile, your features nothing short of angelic as you rest on him, content in his hold and infinitely trusting. His final thought before he slips into sleep is that heaven must feel like the love you share.

@pixelcafe-network

#rox writes #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader

270 notes · View notes

pinkchwrryyy · 2 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐒𝐃 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 (●’◡’●)ﾉ

✦𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Bungou Stray Dogs

✦𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Dazai Osamu x Afab! reader

✦𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭: You’ve just got home from a very tiring day at the Agency when you see someone sprawled onto the couch, and that someone is, of course, your colleague Osamu Dazai.

✦𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: one-shot, prompt

✦𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, hurt/comfort

✦𝐓𝐖: none

✦𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: none

⚠️𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭⚠️

You are my new pillow!

Yokohama at night always had a certain charm to it—the streets quieter, the neon lights casting a soft glow over the sidewalks, and the occasional sound of a distant car cutting through the stillness. It was moments like these that you found peace, when the city’s usual chaos dimmed to a low hum, giving you a chance to catch your breath.

After another long day of working alongside the Armed Detective Agency, you were thankful to finally get some rest. The latest case had been exhausting, a wild chase involving rogue ability users, more than a few close calls, and—of course—Dazai Osamu’s endless antics.

As you walked back to your small apartment, your mind wandered to the enigmatic man who had become a constant presence in your life. Dazai was… difficult to pin down. He was brilliant, yes, but also frustrating beyond belief. One minute, he was solving a life-or-death situation with calculated precision, and the next, he was trying to coax you into some absurd suicide pact, wearing that maddeningly charming smile of his.

But despite his quirks—perhaps because of them—he had grown on you. There was a sadness beneath the surface that you couldn’t ignore, a darkness he hid behind jokes and flirtation. And somewhere along the line, you had started to care for him more than you ever intended.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you reached your door. With a tired sigh, you unlocked it, stepping inside the familiar warmth of your home. You flipped on the lights, planning to head straight to your bed for some well-deserved sleep.

But as you took off your coat and walked into the living room, you froze.

There, sprawled out on your couch like he owned the place, was Dazai Osamu.

His coat was draped lazily over the armrest, his dark hair tousled as if he had just woken up from a nap. One arm was thrown over his eyes, while the other rested against his chest. He looked completely at ease, as though he had been waiting for you.

“Dazai!” you exclaimed, startled by his sudden appearance. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

Without bothering to lift his arm, Dazai replied in a lazy, sing-song voice, “Ahh, you’re finally home. Took you long enough.”

You glared at him, even though you knew by now that he was impossible to stay mad at for long. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He peeked out from beneath his arm, flashing you a playful grin. “I got bored, so I let myself in. You weren’t home, and the couch looked so comfortable. I couldn’t resist.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. “You can’t just break into people’s homes, Dazai.”

“I didn’t break in. You gave me a spare key, remember?”

“That was for emergencies,” you shot back. “Not for you to use whenever you feel like taking a nap on my couch.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, finally sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. “Well, in my defense, it was an emergency. I was exhausted after today’s mission, and I needed a place to rest my weary head.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “And what exactly was wrong with your own place?”

Dazai gave you a sly smile, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Your couch is much more comfortable than mine. Plus, it’s closer to you.”

That last comment made your heart skip a beat, though you tried not to show it. Instead, you huffed, walking over to the couch and pushing his legs aside so you could sit down. “If you’re going to be here, at least don’t take so much space.”

Dazai’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he shifted his position, moving closer to you until his head rested comfortably on your lap. “Ah, I see. You just want an excuse to stay closer to me?”

“Actually, no,” you said, though the blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I want you to stop using my apartment as your own.”

He chuckled softly, making himself more comfortable by nuzzling into your lap. “Too late. You are now officially my new pillow.”

You stared down at him, half exasperated and half amused. He had closed his eyes again, a contented smile playing on his lips as if he had just won some unspoken battle. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the shadows of the dim living room light accentuated his sharp features. There was a strange serenity in his expression, one that you rarely saw in him—like for once, he wasn’t trying to hide behind his usual mask.

For a brief moment, you let yourself relax, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair. You had no idea how this had become your life—sitting in your apartment with Dazai Osamu using you as a pillow—but somehow, it didn’t feel wrong. In fact, it felt nice.

“So, is this what you had planned for the evening?” you asked, your voice softer now, teasing but genuine.

“Mmm,” Dazai hummed, his eyes still closed. “I didn’t have any specific plans, but this is much better than what I could’ve come up with.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied with a lazy grin.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, the comfortable silence only broken by the occasional sound of the city outside. It was strange how natural this felt—being here with him, his head resting on your lap as if it were the most normal thing in the world. There was no pretense, no need for words. Just the quiet understanding that came with spending time together.

But as the peaceful silence stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder what was really going through Dazai’s mind. He was always so guarded, always keeping people at arm’s length. Yet here he was, allowing himself to be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

“Dazai,” you began hesitantly, your fingers still gently combing through his hair, “why did you really come here tonight?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. You thought he might ignore the question or deflect with another joke, but when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before.

“Because sometimes… it’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t expect anything from you,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. “Someone who lets you be… just you.”

His words caught you off guard, and you felt a tightness in your chest. You had always sensed that Dazai carried more weight than he let on, that beneath his playful exterior was a man burdened by his own demons. But hearing him admit it—admit that he sought out your presence for comfort—made your heart ache for him.

“Well,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Dazai opened his eyes, looking up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. For a moment, the playful mask slipped away entirely, and you saw the loneliness in his gaze. It was fleeting—gone as quickly as it appeared—but it was enough to remind you that, beneath it all, Dazai Osamu was just as human as anyone else.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he closed his eyes again, his voice returning to its usual playful tone. “Good. Because I fully intend to keep using you as my pillow.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Of course you do.”

But even as you laughed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this moment than either of you were willing to admit.

And as Dazai settled in your lap, content and at peace, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—you had become something more than just a comfortable pillow to him.

#dazai osamu #bsd #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x you #oneshot #writing prompt #fluff #comfort

192 notes · View notes

rentlifeagency · 1 year ago

Text

The RL Tanmachi Station Front 502 unit is a furnished 1K studio apartment with 22.00 m² of space that is located in Kanagawa Ward, Yokohama, and is within a 4-minute walk of Tanmachi Station on the Tokyu-Toyoko Line. Rent is ¥112,000 and is currently available from October. Contact Rent Life for details.

Details: https://english.rent-yokohama.com/monthly/detail/23029001160001.html

#Rental apartment in Yokohama #Rental flat in Yokohama #Foreigner housing in Yokohama #Rental studio in Yokohama #Rental property in Yokohama #Home for Rent in Yokohama #Foreigner-Friendly Real Estate Agency #English-Speaking Real Estate Agency #Rent Life #Furnished apartment #Furnished flat

4 notes · View notes

with-my-calamitous-love · 1 month ago

Text

trying to put it into words / shining just for you

osamu dazai x reader

thoughts about helping dazai change his bandages. for the yail series 🫧

inspired by mirrorball

he is always running back home to you.

well, not always running. most of the time, he’s in a cab after a night drinking alone. or, he’s walking through the dimly lit streets of yokohama, something he can do as a man. simply put, he’s always returning to you.

he only gets an hour or two of sunshine each day. but its fine by him, if it means he stays handcuffed to you. he adores that smile, and wonders why you go to such great lengths to even catch a glimpse of it- a genuine one, at that.

he’s used to the perfomances, to calling you his pretty baby and giving you kisses on the forehead. he’s used to wrapping his arms around your waist while you cook, whispering some filthy thing about double suicide while complimenting you’re new perfume. he smiles, jokes, and acts for the masquerade revellers around him. he’ll get you out on the floor, shimmering beautiful, all to hide the pain that resides beneath the surface.

and sometimes, you’ll watch even as his shattered, bloodied edges glisten. he’s smart, and calculated, and a good man- at least, thats what he wants people to think. when he breaks, its in a million pieces.

however, late on a hush night, when no one is around, you can catch a glimpse of his vulnerability.

“what happened to you!?” you scold, heaving him into the apartment. he can walk fine, but you need him in your arms to know he’s alive. blood stains your clothes and your floor, but mostly his wrists, soaking into the white gauze that covers his arms.

“i have a lot of enemies, bella.” he chuckles, hoping you didn’t see the way his eyes wince in pain when you examine his injuries closer. he’s either hazy from blood loss, or lightheaded from seeing you so worried. maybe both.

he’s hoping to avoid the inevitable. you’ll have to replace his bandages.

but he’s in too much pain to complain.

“samu.” you whisper, catching his attention. normally, he’d answer with a ‘yes, beautiful?’ or something flirty along those lines. but right now, he’s wounded, coming to you only half his weight.

you place a hand in his cheek. yes, the blood is bad. but the sadness in his eyes, the pure defeat, is so much worse.

“i’ll take care of you.” you say as you slowly begin to unravel the fabric.

he takes a deep breath, feeling the bloodied gauze peeling off from his skin. you’re about to see the labour, the locks and the pain he tries to keep hidden. he just wants to make you happy. and he worries this’ll do the opposite.

examining the injuries on his arm, you surmise a few stitches will do. but the multiple scars, faded with time and littering his skin, isn’t lost on you.

you tilt your head, lips quivering as you look at him. his eyes are looking downwards, head tilted avoiding your gaze. he’s trying to control his heartbeat like could do so easily in other intense situations. his hand squeezes yours tighter every passing minute.

he’s scared.

he ignores the sting of water and soap when you wash away the blood. he feels like the end is near, but he’s still on his tiptoes just wanting to shine for you and for everyone. he doesn’t want to be vulnerable. whether its a demon prodigy or a changed, good man, he’s afraid of being hurt.

but your touch calls off the circus and burns the disco down, gently handling his injury as you stitch it up. even when he’s still on that tightrope, still doing everything to keep you laughing at him, you stay. you stay for the charades and help him find himself afterwards.

he isn’t used to this.

but he won’t reject it.

dazai blinks staring at his injury, now tended too. he’ll have to let yosano check it in the morning, but for now, its enough.

he opens his mouth to make a joke about his near death experience. anything to avoid emotions, anything to keep you looking at him. he’s never been a natural. he just wants to try, try, and try.

but for once, he doesn’t feel like he needs to stay on that trapeze. with you, he can step down, and take a break from the show.

“thank you.” he whispers, hugging you with his good arm. “you saved my life.”

he makes sure to bury his face in your shoulder so you can’t see the pain, that true pain, etched on his face.

the calculations in his brain, the puzzles that told him vulnerability hurts you, didn’t add up to this. he showed you his weakness behind the circus show, and he was met with something else.

love. he concludes, feeling your arms hug him back.

“you scared me.” you sigh, kissing his cheek. “don’t do that again.”

he chuckles, and smiles. “no promises, belladonna.”

218 notes · View notes

retroaria · 1 month ago

Note

hiii!!!! congrats on 1.5k omg!! could i get the dialogue nsfw no. 4 with chuuya (and maybe dazai if u feel like it) with sub!fem!reader please? tysm!!

₊˚⊹♡ Chuuya Nakahara x sub!fem!reader

a/n: cliffhanger lol bc i love leaving the smut up to your imagination 😌

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

There was an uncanny stillness in the air surrounding Yokohama tonight. It was thin, breezy, serene - the streets were quiet and clean. “Chuu~ did you have something planned for us tonight?” you leaned against your door as you held it open, your eyes flickered up and down Chuuya’s figure before you. “It’s awfully quiet out…”

A sly smirk spread across his face as he reached out to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, “Wouldn’t want anyone dying on date night, all operations are at a halt. You’ve got me all night darling.” he cooed at you, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into your sides. “Are you ready to go?”

“You lead the way.” you tilted your head up and spoke into his ear, teasingly. His hand shifted to your lower back, guiding you out the door.

Chuuya didn’t get to spend nights like this with you often. His position in the mafia demanded his full devotion, and you knew this when you decided to entangle yourself in his madness. You meet with him in shadows as he passes through, or you’ll wake up some mornings in his arms, left to wonder how he snuck in the night before. He often would apologize profusely for his shortcomings as a partner, though you both know you couldn’t leave each other no matter how distant you felt.

On occasion, life would slow down, and Chuuya would find a way to arrange a single night where he isn’t needed. He’d call you in the morning, tell you to dress up as nice as you please, and by nightfall, there he was at your doorstep - roses in hand and a smile on his face. These clandestine meetings gave you time in between to yearn and long for each other. It made every touch feel electric, and every teasing word that melted off his tongue pool into your panties.

The night was beautiful as always, Chuuya Nakahara wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything less than extravagant for the woman he loves. A candlelit dinner, a piano playing softly throughout the room, a bottle of his finest liquor, and his hand holding yours across the table as he gazes into your eyes and listens to you speak. You spent the evening getting blissfully lost in each others presence, your temptations aided by the alcohol.

Eventually you found yourselves stumbling slightly through the streets back to your apartment, hand in hand, clingy closely to each other. He recounted a recent mission, pride and righteousness laced in his words. Chuuya was nothing but a punk who made it big in the criminal underground, surely no one in your life would approve of your relationship with him, but that only made it all the more fun. No one could rile you up this much, keep you on your toes and at the edge of your seat - ready to release every inhibition upon his command. As you neared your building, he wrapped his arm snug around your waist and pulled you close, excitement and anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You fumbled with your keys as Chuuya pushed his body up against your backside, his warm breath trailing down your neck as he nibbled playfully on your ear. “Someone’s antsy…” you said just above a whisper as you finally pushed the right key in and opened the door.

“I only have but so much time with you doll, I think we better to make the most of every second…” he said, lacing his fingers with yours as he let your guide him into your apartment. As soon as the door shut he practically yanked you into his arms, his fingertips tilting your chin up to face him, “…that is, if you’ll allow me?” he smirked at you expectantly, his thumb tracing down your jawline before moving to gently rub your cheek.

“Whatever you want…” you muttered out, entranced by his seductive touch and gaze. You aren’t even sure how it happened, he wrapped you up in his cloud of lust, and you came back to as your back fell softly against the bed sheets. Chuuya kneeled on the bed before, sat perfectly between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips.

He slipped his hands under your shirt, smoothing against the skin of your body underneath as he hummed in delight. You sat up slightly and lifted your arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head and toss it to the side, his hands supported your back and he pulled you into a passionate kiss as you worked on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You both worked your way through each others clothes, you pulled down his boxers and watched his cock perk up against his stomach- his tip slightly leaking in anticipation. Chuuya stopped abruptly once he had you in your bra and panties. He took in the view before using his hands to pray open your legs, squeezing gently at the fat of your thighs. His fingertips grazing down until they met your clothed core, pressing slightly through the fabric of your panties. Your breath hitched and his eyes darted up at you. “Is this where you need me baby?” he said to you softly, playing with the hem of your panties teasingly.

You hummed in approval, shaking your head a bit as your hips gently grinded up further into his touch. He pulled his hand away and placed it firm against your chest, sliding up until his fingers were wrapped loosely around your neck. “Use your words doll, tell me where you need me.”

He’s barely even touched you and he’s already taken your breath away, your hips buck slightly again, “Hmph~ anywhere chuu, please…” you pleaded. His eyes darkened a bit.

“Anywhere I want?” the devilish smile he flashed down at you was painfully hot, you wanted to instinctively shut your legs for some amount of friction as you felt your wetness pooling in your panties.

“Anywhere…touch me anywhere chuu~” your approval was all he needed to finally begin playing with you as he pleased. He pulled your panties down, lifting your legs above his head so he could pluck them off and toss them to the ground. He kept one hand wrapped around you neck as he trailed the other down your thigh, feeling the gentle pulse of your nerves the closer he got to where you needed him most.

Finally, his fingertips made there way down to your heat, pushing through your folds and rubbing against your entrance, collecting your arousal to spread up towards your clit. As he drew slow circles on your bundle of nerves you let your eyes flutter shut in pleasure. You could feel his hand around your neck tighten.

“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.” he said sternly, increasing the pressure of his fingers rubbing against your clit. Your eyes met his and you were immediately pulled into his lusty gaze, your vision locked on him as you whimpered at his touch. He released your neck hesitantly, only to use his other hand to plunge two of his slender fingers into your gushing entrance. You rolled your hips into his hands, egging him on to speed up his thrusts. He curled his digits into your sweet spot and prodded at it roughly, continuing his movements on your clit and nearly pushing you over the edge. “I want you to look at me while you cum all over my hands princess, let me see how good I make you feel.”

Your eyes darted down to watch his hands work your cunt and you could see his cock hanging eagerly over the sheets, his tip red and plump, a subtle white glaze precum dripping down into his shaft. Your mind filled with dirty visions of his cock pumping rope after rope of his hot seed into your weeping cunt. Your body squirmed and tosses under his touch and you looked back up at him, brows furrowed and rolling slightly back. He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he sped up all his movements.

Chuuya groaned as he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head. He removed his hand from your clit and brought it back up to wrap around your neck, his other hand continued finger fucking you so rough you could feel yourself tipping over the edge. You stomach fluttered and your hips lifted slightly. You brought your hand up to wrap around his bicep, your nails digging into him as your orgasm washed over you. You moaned out and he watched you fall apart beneath him with his mouth slightly ajar, looking at you like he was ready to devour you whole.

He rode you down from your high, removing his fingers from your hole and rubbing gently through your folds. He leaned down and kissed your neck, trailing his kisses up until he reached your soft lips. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away, quickly replacing his mouth with the fingers you came around moments ago, pushing them past your lips and swirling them around your tongue. “Mmm~ good girl, taste all that cum I fucked out of you…”

He reached his other hand down to slowly pump his throbbing cock, swiping his thumb over his leaking tip with a low groan. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and gripped your hip firmly, he rubbed his cock through your slick folds and moaned, his tip swiping back and forth against your clit. You squirmed beneath him, overstimulated, and he chuckled down at you.

“I’m hardly done with you baby, I know you can take it all for me tonight, isn’t that right?” he said as he lined his tip up with your entrance.

“Y-yes, Chuu~” you cooed at him. He reached one hand up to caress your cheek gently as he looked down at you with a mixture of lust and adoration.

“Good girl, now let me make you feel good princess…”

#chuuya nakahara smut #chuuya nakahara headcanons #chuuya headcanons #chuuya smut #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bungo stray dogs chuuya #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs fanfiction #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs headcanons #chuuya nakahara x you

158 notes · View notes