#akumanoser writes

[akvmanoko]

hi loves, i recently finished watching bungou stray dogs and the hyperfixiation was so strong that it prompted me to write something, more specifically some d/s dynamic between dazai and chuuya. when i write about characters i've never written about before the first drafts are mostly to assess the characters themselves, since i like to keep them canon with just a few twists of mine here and there, at least at the beginning and especially if the universe they're in is the same as their novel of provenience

a little scared posting this (says, as an ao3 writer) but here i am i guess!

enjoy some (soft and definitely unspoken) dom/sub dynamic between dazai and chuuya featuring a first kiss and dead apple references ☆

~1.7k words

— note: i haven't reread this, be patient

Trust? (How beautiful...)

«You looked pretty, you know, Chuuya.» Dazai’s face is relaxed, beholding that smile that has quite the number of meanings to it, really – however, it always stays unreadable, until the very last moment.

«What’s wrong with you?» he scoffs, looking up at him from where he's sitting on the stairs of the abandoned basement.

They met up because Dazai said he had urgent information to share, and a plan – he always had a plan, and quite spectacular deductions that would make anyone wonder his powers; if they went beyond what everyone was aware of.

Now, in the humidity of the place, heavy with danger – not between them, not this time, but rather of the situation that seems to be escalating quickly and worryingly by the second, judging by the just acquired news – they're across each other. Dazai is standing at a couple metres distance, Chuuya sees his right side where he's resting against the wall, arms folded to his chest.

«What are you even talking about?»

«That time you fought against the Dragon. Your Corruption is beautiful.»

«Right.» Chuuya says, stern, because he can tell Dazai is being elusive.

«I’m not lying.»

«You’re not telling the full truth, either.» he counters. «You know what?» he stands up, then, brushing the dust off the back of his coat when he walks towards him, one hand on his hip. «I don't want to know. You're weird.»

Dazai chuckles, he shakes his head softly and only then he looks up at Chuuya. «You’re right, I’m not. Ah… I guess you know me too well after all these years.»

«You’re just not too hard to read when you don't want to hide something. It depends on if you want to be understood or not.» Chuuya sighs, crossing his arms to his chest when Dazai’s hands fall inside his pants’ pockets.

«See? You know me too well.»

Chuuya dismisses him with a wave of his hand in the air, a brief flick of the wrist, before placing it back on his arm. «So what, do you plan on telling me any time soon or do I have to kick it out of you? If you want to be punched you can just say so, I’ll gladly do it.»

«How acidic, you know I don't like pain.»

«Whatever.» he begins to step away, but then Dazai finally speaks.

«You looked gorgeous... drowsy, after I stopped you.»

Chuuya’s nose scrunches in annoyance, he looks away. «You’re insane.»

«You looked even more beautiful with my hand on your cheek, with your face between my legs.» Dazai carries on, and he steps away from the wall, enough to get closer – closer to the point Chuuya can't turn around to look at him, or else their faces would be too close. «Below me.»

The addition renders Chuuya warmer, redder under Dazai’s attentive scrutiny. He's thankful for the poor lighting of the basement. His breathing loses its rhythm – it's ridiculous, he thinks. A ridiculous power play. And it's even worse, he realizes, the fact it makes his heart run up to his throat.

«What the fuck is this.» Chuuya’s voice is rough and strained when he speaks.

«What do you want it to be?»

The question takes him aback.

What does Chuuya want it to be?

Does he want it to be anything at all, really?

«You don't have to answer.» Dazai tells him like he's reassuring him – and he is, Chuuya realizes, when he takes one step back that allows him to breathe easier.

They don't move.

For infinite seconds they just stand in front of each other, tension tight as a violin's string. Chuuya doesn't look back, but he knows Dazai’s gaze never strays away from his face. He feels it.

Below me.

The words resound through his chest in this thrum that is both pleasant and unsettling, overwhelming either way when he moves unconsciously to sit down on the last step of the staircase. He looks down to his gloved hand dangling between his thighs, and then he takes his hat off, gently placing it next to him.

An offer.

«Chuuya…» his name is whispered, and it sounds like a warning that he doesn't listen to, however. It takes a long time for Dazai to follow his cue, as if he's only now hesitating – halting because Chuuya did first, and even if he always does what he wants, anyway, he would never dare overstepping where he knows he would be cut off. He thrives on breaking confinements, on acting like the uncontainable presence that he is, but even then he does have limits that he only ever surpassed when he didn't have any care for them, himself, or anyone else, for that matter.

Dazai steps in front of him quietly.

Chuuya closes his eyes.

Dazai’s fingers are cold when they graze the skin of his cheek.

It's a déjà-vu.

Bittersweet.

He tilts Chuuya's face upwards, to watch him, to properly hold the weight of him in his palm when his head lolls to the side, indulging him. Vulnerable, weirdly so. Out of character, if Dazai didn't know any better. If he didn't know him any better.

«Is this what you meant�� earlier.» Chuuya's hushed question is interjected by an exhale, something soft that betrays him when it leaves his mouth.

«Yes.»

Dazai sounds calm. He is, Chuuya believes, even when he feels the ever so slight tremble of his fingers as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear before holding his jaw once more.

«Why.»

Dazai stays silent for a beat, he doesn't immediately respond, like he's thinking if he should confess it – like a sin, really, something so unspeakable that it'd make his crimes grow paler in comparison to the scarlet emotion that swirls within him.

Within them.

«I enjoy having you in a position where you can give up your power to me.»

Chuuya’s eyebrows pinch together when he speaks. «You want me to submit to you.»

«Sort of, but not quite.»

«How so?»

Dazai hums, reflective. Then he sighs, and emits a soft sound once more, deep in his throat, something pleased. «I don't want you to, not really. I wouldn't make you. It only makes sense if you do it willingly, do you understand?» Chuuya only barely shakes his head. Dazai thinks that he does, really, he understands, but that's Chuuya's only way to get more words out of him, so he complies. «I wouldn't force you to allow that power into my hands. I would want you to do it of your own accord, consensually. Like that time.»

«You get more insane each time we meet.» Chuuya doesn't mean a single word of what he speaks.

Dazai knows it, and he chuckles, breathy. «It’s the unbounded, blind trust. The way you let me in control, over something delicate and crucial, like your life.»

«It’s because I know you’ll be there.»

Dazai shakes his head, even though Chuuya still has his eyes closed and can't see him. «You didn't know, back then. The chances I had already died were high. But you still did it.»

«I knew.»

«How?»

«I just did.» and it's resolutive, leaving no space for further countering.

«Alright.»

Dazai’s tone is gentle.

Chuuya is unusually pliant, especially when he's asked to open his eyes and obeys only after a few seconds of hesitation.

Dazai's head tilts to the side, and slowly he sinks, bending his knees until one of them is on the ground and he's kneeled between Chuuya's legs. His palm never left the side of his face. One of Chuuya’s hands is curled around his wrist.

«Dazai.»

Chuuya is the warning one, now, but the terrified tilt to it – unnoticeable, but then again Dazai does know him intimately – makes it ring dangerously between his eardrums like ultrasound.

«Oh, Chuuya.»

They breathe slowly, deeply, in unison.

Chuuya shivers and the goosebumps reach the top of his throat, below Dazai’s fingers. He feels them prickle and then disappear under the bandages around his wrist.

«Don’t.» Chuuya doesn't plead, but that's how he sounds. «Unless you mean it.»

Dazai's gaze flickers downwards, letting it wander loosely enough for it to be untamed. Chuuya's hold becomes tighter.

«Dazai.»

The sole name stands as everything he represents altogether.

Dazai nods, and leans closer.

Chuuya's mouth parts to ask again, to remind him, to make sure he's not playing – because Dazai is always fucking playing.

Not this time.

Warmth washes over him, making him tremble when he blinks, too close to Dazai’s to see his face. Too close, together in a kiss. He melts, suddenly, as he realizes. His eyes flutter close and his lips embrace Dazai’s, following his lead, because he doesn't know what he's doing – not because he has never, that wouldn't be the case. Rather, he's entranced. Lost, perhaps. Somewhere between that and given up.

It hits him, then.

How Dazai is cherishing him – him and the way he's allowing him to direct, to guide them through the intimacy they're sharing, until it's over.

They part and Chuuya feels tired. His head feels heavy, clouded, and he sighs before his forehead rests against Dazai’s humid lips, like it had over his thigh that night.

«Thank you, Chuuya.»

The words are whispered, begging to not disrupt the precarity of the delicate instance they're in.

Chuuya doesn't reply. However, his other hand also moves to touch Dazai. His fingers slip over the bandaged throat, they skim over the front until they hang around the back, below the nape, anchoring himself there.

It is, he thinks. Beautiful.

[akvmanoko]

got into a big argument with my father over something ridiculously stupid and insignificant that progressively escalated into stuff that had nothing to do with it. while i was replying to him bringing my volumes down, showing how little i cared, i felt and saw my own wrist and hand tremble in the air, the betrayer. so i wrote somewhat of a poem from it, even though i am not a poet and i haven't written poetry in literal years — more like, i wrote one or two poems last year after a lifetime, but those were prompted by love and i guess it inspired me better

all bark and no bite, but i bite

and i love biting

but if i bite that is all i do, no barking first

no telltale signs

if i bark, then i cannot bite

and i bark loud

ridiculous

how my fist still trembles in the air

while yours hits the table

still

the apple just does not fall far from the tree