#bsd angst x reader
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ËËËê° đ by anonymous user ê±. . . hello ! I really like your works, could I please request an insecure!reader with chuuya? and him fucking some sense into her? don't feel pressured to do this btw and feel free to ignore :D
ËËËê° đ note ê±. . . here u go, nonnie ! I really liked this idea and sorry for taking so long on this request đ anyway, hope you enjoy ~~
ËËËê° đ c/w ê±. . . (18+) n/sfw content, mentions of insecurities, body worshipper chuuya, praise, lowercase intended, hints of dumbfication, overstimulation, fingering, mirror sex, cunnilingus, chuuya eats it from the back !! đŁïžđŁïž& more + not proofread
summary. . . you've been feeling insecure about your body and started to wonder if you were really good enough for someone like chuuya? but no worries, your lover doesn't mind reminding you how much he loves your body and more importantly, you.
you sighed, staring at your reflection in the fancy full-body mirror in front of you; god, you looked horrendous. you didn't know how chuuya, one of, if not the most beautiful man you've ever met, love someone like.. you.
what you also didn't know, though, was that your beloved chuuya had been standing in the doorway the entire time, slender figure leaning against the doorframe as a dull pain throbbed in his heart while he watched, heard you pick apart your body like it was the ugliest thing you had ever seen. he watched as you ran your fingers up and down the parts you hated the most, a frown tugging at your lips as you muttered something about "not being pretty enough". he didn't understand why you'd say such things about your bodyâ all of those beautiful parts of yours that he cherished wholeheartedly.
you whipped your head around hearing the sound of the once slightly ajar bedroom door shut, your boyfriend entering the room. "hey doll, what're you up to?" chuuya's voice was heavy, laced with something you couldn't exactly put a finger on.
"hey, chuu," you smiled, though the action didn't meet your eyes. and chuuya could tell.
his eyes narrowed, gloved hands found their way around your waist, tugging you closer to himâ your back flush against his chest. when did he walk all the way across the room?
"y'know, I heard everything right?" he muttered into your neck, strong arms tightening around your figure as you gulped nervously. "chuuya Iâ" "you're fuckin' beautiful. so don't say hurtful shit about yourself 'cause it for sure ain't true," he cut you off, now pressing soft kisses on the back of your neck to your shoulders, gloved hands reaching up your shirt to knead and gently caress your soft skin.
a whimper caught in your throat as chuuya's hands found your breastsâ pushing your bra up to grope them under your shirt. "i love all parts of your body. fuck, you're so pretty. i'll fuckin' prove it to you if i have to."
"you see that, baby? see the way this pussy sucks my fingers in?" chuuya mused, now bare fingers plunging in and out of your sopping cunt as he had you spread in front of the giant mirror. "mm-! fuck, chuuâ!" you were cut off by your own moans, beads of sweat forming on your forehead, making the little strands of your baby hair stick to your skin. "shh, baby. just focus on the way i finger fuck this pretty cunt, yeah?" your lover's voice was muffled by the soft kisses he was busy pressing all over your nape and shoulders, moving your hair out of the way to make it easier.
you could see everything in the mirror, from the way chuuya's slim fingers disappeared inside of your pussy to how much of a mess you've already becomeâ glossy lips parted as loud moans and whines escape from your throat, the way your tits bounce and jiggle with each thrust of his digits. and hell, was it embarrassing. you jolted up when the tips of his appendages rubbed against that one spongey spot inside of your gooey wallsâ your jaw slacking as your eyes shut. only to receive a gentle but firm slap on your face from chuuya, "nuh-uh, baby. you're gonna watch how I please this beautiful body of yours," he growled lowly in your ear, fingers speeding up their pace as you twitch and whine in response. your vision was blurryâ but you could still make out the way your face contorts to one of pure bliss in your reflection.
"yeaahâ cum on these fingers, sweetheart," the ginger groaned as you soaked his fingersâ your slick running down his wrist and staining the bed sheets underneath, soft curses and his name spewing out of your mouth as his fingers slowed down, aiding you to ride out your orgasm.
you gasped when he abruptly pulled them out of your still sensitive cuntâ only to pop them in his mouth as he moaned from the taste of your juices melting on his tongue. "fuck, dollâ I gotta taste you, need'a make you cum on my tongueâ" he pushed you on your hands and knees before even finishing his sentenceâ a large hand pressing your back to a perfect arch, face down ass up.
"such a nice fuckin' ass," he groaned, fingers digging into the soft fat and spreading them as you whimper, pitifully clawing at the bed sheets. he playfully bit one of your globes, earning a whine in return which made him chuckle. chuuya's greedy hands ran down from your ass to your thighs, only to go back up to knead at your ass, "and these soft thighsâ god, I could kiss 'em for hours."
and as if to prove himself, he started littering kisses all over your inner thighs, hands still kneading your ass before giving it a firm spank, making you jump. "hah, and of courseâ" he smirked before making his way to your pussy, "this pretty fuckin' pussyâ prettiest one I've ever seen," he growled before diving in between your legsâ hungry lips wrapping around your clit as you gasp out from the feeling.
"fuâck! chuuyaâ!" you babbled, pussy still sensitive from your orgasm from earlier, his nose bumping against your slit as he runs his tongue in a zigzag motion across your clit. his fingers were spreading your ass apart for him, to get easy access to your sweet pussy that he wanted to devour so bad.
shamelessly nasty slurping noises came from between your parted thighs. your slick was already dripping down chuuya's chin as you tried your best to keep your gaze on the mirror, watching yourself getting eaten out from the back. fuck, your hair was a messâ your bare figure covered in bites and bruises that your boyfriend gave you, claiming it was his way of showing you were his. your makeup had been completely ruined; mascara running down your cheek in inky streaks, lipstick smudgedâ you looked utterly debauched, chuuya's favorite look on you.
a gurgled moan came out of your mouth when two fingers pushed inside of your sloppy pussy, the mafia executive's tongue now writing his name on your clit. a deep groan rumbled in his chest when you tried to run away from the feeling of his tongue and fingers on youâ pulling you back before harshly cracking a palm down on your left globe, before curling his fingers further into you. tears were falling freely from your eyes at this point, mouth dropped to an 'o' as you chanted his name like a prayerâ "chuuâ please, fuck! s'too muchâ!" you cried out, if it weren't for chuuya's death grip on you, you'd already have fallen face first into the matress.
"you canâ fuuckâ take it, sweet girl," chuuya moaned into your pussy, the vibrations of the sound making your toes curl and apparently that was the last straw for youâ "fuckfuck! 'm cummin'â cumminggâ!!" your eyes rolled back into your skull as you squirted all over chuuya's face, his own hips rutting into the mattress as his eyes widenâ he wasn't expecting you to do that.
chuuya gave your messy cunt a few more licks before kissing your clit, then pulling away. you looked back to see his face completely drenchedâ him licking his lips as he gave you a lopsided grin. "holy shit, baby. that was..." he muttered, still dazed as he ran his clean hand through his sweaty orange locks. you were still panting, chest heaving as you tried came down from the euphoric high before looking away in embarrassment, fingers fiddling with the sheetsâ then suddenly, you got slammed back against the bed. face down, ass up, again.
you heard a metal clinkâ likely his belt. the sound of expensive leather hitting the floor snapped you back into reality, he must've tossed the belt somewhere. it wasn't long before your thoughts got quickly cut off, chuuya's heavy tip slapping against your clit a few times as you whined, begging him to give you a rest but noâ he wasn't gonna stop until he was sure he fucked all those negative thoughts out of your mindâ wasn't gonna stop 'till all thoughts but his left that pretty little head of yours. you just had to sit still and take it, like the good girl you were.
©sachiyohâ do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated âĄ
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#bsd smut#bsd x reader#bsd x reader smut#bsd angst#bsd x reader angst#bsd#bsd imagines#bsd fics#bsd fanfic#bsd chuuya#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs smut#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader smut#bungou stray dogs x reader#chuuya smut#chuuya x reader#chuuya x reader smut#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya nakahara#chuuya#bsd chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara smut#chuuya nakahara x reader smut#bungou stray dogs chuuya#ËËá chiyoh's works áËË
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Once More to See You
A/n: I still suck at endings :â( iâm half asleep and sick so this might not be that good!!
If you liked this please like and reblog <333
Tw: gn!reader(only reffered as you), possibly ooc, hurt with no comfort.
Men whose reputations were everything to them. They had to keep up the pristine and perfect persona. They kept your relationship hidden from everyone. Shameful over daring to even converse with someone as lowly as you. Yet despite the harsh words, they enjoyed every second with you. To be seen with a standard human like you would surely damage his image.
One night the fear of ruining his reputation hits an all time peak, and he loses his cool. Yelling at you that youâre not worth losing anything for. That this all needs to end; that itâs been a waste of his time to be pursuing a useless relationship. When he finally cools down and you leave, will he realize what heâs just done. No matter what he sees or hears he tell himself that it was worth it. His reputation is no longer at stake and you can be happier not needing to pay pretend anymore.
They wish they could just leave everything behind and live a life with you two. No worries of work, reputation, or enemies. Maybe in the next lifetime. But in this lifetime they hope youâd forgive them somewhere down the line for leaving you.
As years go by and he gets older, the only hope he has is that one day youâll be back so youâll be able to grow old together. Every marriage proposal he turns down because he can only imagine spending his life with you. He thought his reputation was everything, now he realizes you were actually everything thing to him.
doppo kunikida, Ayato, pantalone, Sunday, alhaitham, Fyodor, Angel Devil, dr. ratio, Barbatos, Saigiku Jouno, blade.
©2024 fisshbones do not translate, copy, modify, nor repost.
#bungou stray dogs x reader#bsd x reader#obey me barbatos x reader#barbatos x reader#fyodor x reader#kunikida x reader#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#blade x reader#dr ratio x reader#ayato x reader#al haitham x reader#alhaitham x reader#pantalone x reader#angel devil x reader#jouno saigiku x reader#obey me x reader#genshin x reader#hsr x reader#mouse speaks#obey me angst#obey me barbatos angst#sunday angst#blade angst#dr ratio angst#ayato angst#kunikida angst#honkai star rail angst#genshin impact#mouse writes
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I love how the bsd fandom was celebrating chuuyas birthday being happy, joyful, a bit of angsty JUST yesterday and then fyodor just comes to ruin the party like that one auntie that no one of the family likes.
#Why does he still look kinda...#đđđłđł#OLAY GUYS DONT HATE ON ME-#hes just silly guys#bsd chapter 114 spoilers#Bsd chapter 115#bsd new chapter#Bsd#Bsd manga#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs fyodor#bsd fandom#bungo stray dogs#bungou gay dogs#bsd x reader#dazai x reader#dazai#Dazai Osama#bungou sd#bungou stray dogs angst#Bungou stray dogs anime#bsd spoilers#bsd manga spoilers#bsd theories#bsd memes#bsd analysis#Bsd fyodor#fyodor dostoyevsky bsd#fyodor bsd#bungou stray dogs x reader
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bad arguments
how these bsd characters are after a bad argument
pairing; dazai osamu x fem!reader, chuuya nakahara x fem!reader, ryunosuke akutagawa x fem! reader
word count; 916
content warning; unedited, angst, fluff, arguing, miscommunication
a/n; just something random i wrote while taking a break from my dazai fic!
DAZAI OSAMU:
arguing with dazai was exhausting, this man would rather die a painful death than admit he was in the wrong about anything, it was usually why your fights got more out of hand than they ever needed to be. you hated how he tried to deflect from a situation instead of just owning up to his mistakes.
one particularly heated argument had you so riled up you had to leave your apartment, no longer wanting to look your lover in the eye until he was ready to apologize. he didnât even spare you a glance as you left, a smug expression on his face.
you make your return to your apartment many hours later, it was now nighttime and much too late to be out, especially alone. the first thing your eye catches when you walk through the door is dazaiâs fluffy head of hair resting on the couch. you huff, putting your coat up before walking over to the couch.
âare you ready to apol-â you stop mid-sentence when you realize dazaiâs asleep.
he looked uncomfortable, heavy eyebags and his head resting at an awkward angle on the arm rest. you couldnât help it, a soft coo leaves your lips and it wakes him instantly. those honey eyes were everything but smug this time around.
âmy flower, youâre back.â he mumbles, large hands reaching up to caress your face.
âi am..â you say, he smiles.
you continue to stare into his gaze for just a little longer, the silence draping over the two of you like a warm blanket. he knows that what youâre truly waiting for is his apology, he was more than happy to give it to you.
âiâm sorry, for everything. forgive me?â he says at last in his usual supple tone.
of course you forgave him, you always would.
CHUUYA NAKAHARA:
fights with chuuya usually didnât last long, you two actually pride yourself on your communication when it comes to your relationship. he would never try to hurt you intentionally, youâre the most important person to him and he makes sure you never forget it.
but this one fight had you both out of control. you donât remember who started it but no one was willing to end it, anything that came out of either of your mouths was only more fuel for the fire. if you were being honest with yourself, it terrified you. it wasnât chuuya and his capabilities that had you so scared, you knew he would never bring any harm your way, it was the reality that this fight could be the ending to your relationship.
you didnât want it to end like this, it couldnât end like this. he was all you had and you would never forgive yourself if this was how it ends. so caught up in your own frightened mind, you didnât even notice that chuuya quieted down and was staring into your eyes.
âey, why are you crying?â he didnât mean for the question to come out as harsh as it did, he was just so taken aback.
when you didnât reply he really started to worry, his mind no longer focused on whatever you two were bickering about.
âcome on doll, please donât cry. iâm sorry.â his voice only made more salty tears spill from your eyes, in your opinion you didnât deserve such tenderness.
he wrapped his arms around your frame, his hand on the back of your head and his face buried in your hair. he let you sob your heart out, even if it made his own heart ache. when you finally calmed down you were ready to speak.
âam i still the most important person in the world to you?â he smiled.
âof course you are.â
RYONUSUKE AKUTAGAWA:
you knew your boyfriend wasnât good at communicating, a part of you had accepted that wholeheartedly. he made his efforts because of how deeply he cared for you and you felt that was enough most of the time. your arguments were mostly about his carelessness when it came to his own personal safety, his nonchalant attitude to your concerns irritated you down to your core.
âif youâre going to act stupid and put yourself in avoidable danger then iâm leaving, i canât take this.â you misspoke, his eyes widened.
what you truly meant was that you were leaving for a moment to calm down, not leaving him entirely. you could only stare in shock at what nonsense you just spewed from your mouth, guilt weighed down your body, preventing you from taking even one step towards him. it took seeing the fear in his eyes to finally break you free from your mind.
âiâm so sorry, i didnât mean it like that i swear.â you tried to mend, now wanting nothing more than to put this whole argument behind you.
he let you pull him into a hug, you held his waist tightly to you. when you felt his hand holding the back of your head you breathed a sigh of relief.
âi know you didnât mean it that way, but it scared me.â you nodded, understanding.
you mumbled a few more apologies and once you both had calmed down you were able to talk about some of your frustrations. it was mostly you talking and him listening, but it felt good knowing he was listening with such care. he promised to be more careful for you, and you promised to watch your wording when youâre upset.
#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs x reader#dazai osamu#dazai osamu x reader#dazai x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader smut#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara#akutagawa ryunosuke#akutagawa x reader#ryunosuke akutagawa x reader#bsd x reader angst#bsd angst#bungo stray dogs angst#bungo stray dogs fluff
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Bonus Level: Blood lust and Terror for Kinktober.
vampire!chuuya & ghost face!nikolai x afab!reader. -two drabbles-
ᥣđ©warnings: nsfw mdni, smut, blood kink, biting, marking up, possessive! chuuya, unhinged vamp! chuuya, bloody sex, slight knife play, shower sex, ghost face! nikolai, teasing, cum mentioned, unprotected sex, the list goes on and on ofc.
ᥣđ©word count:2.5k
ᥣđ©a/n: i know i'm late, sorry pookies, proofreading took longer than expected and I still think that I didnât do it thoroughly, anyways! this bonus fic is for @chuuminn âchuuya's drabble & @violetfruity ânikolai's.
ᥣđ©-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus ficsÂŽ-
1. [vampire! chuuya: bloodlust]:-
âyou sure about this?â
chuuya stands at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving as he looks down at you, sprawled out so perfectly in the lavender lingerie that he adores. the soft fabric clings to your skin, drawing his eyes to every curve, every inch of you thatâs his. he has never marked you with his fangs before, always so gentle and carefull not to press hard enough to draw blood but dazaiâs words from earlier still echo in his mind, making his nerves boil with possessiveness.
you nod slowly, biting your lower lip as he throws his head back and takes a deep breath. he slips off his gloves, unbuttons his dress shirt and disregards the rest of his clothes, then crawls onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as he leans over you, his hot breath grazing your neck so perfectly, anticipation pooling in your stomach. âiâll show that asshole who ya belong to... iâll mark every inch of you.â
your breath catches in your throat as his lips meet your skin, soft at first, teasing even, as he drags them from your neck down to your collarbone. his hand trails slowly over your side, fingers tracing the delicate lace that barely covers you, and you shudder beneath him, sweet whimpers slipping from your glossy lips.
âmore..chuu-â you breathe, voice trembling as your fingers tangle in his fiery curls, tugging gently. he sucks gently at your skin, not bitingânot yet. his mouth is warm, tongue flicking out to taste you as he moves lower, leaving a trail of wet heat across your chest. your body arches instinctively into his touch.
a low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating against you as he pulls back just enough to admire the bruise forming on your skin. âI want him to see this,â he murmurs, âi want that bastard to know that yer' mine.â
his hands slide lower, tracing the lines of your body, you let out a breathless moan as his thumb brushes over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
chuuya's red eyes glowâ jealousy simmering just beneath the surfaceâas they lock onto yours for a moment longer before his fingers slip beneath the lace of your panties, pulling it aside with a sharp tug. the cool air hits your bare skin for a split second before he pushes his deliciously girthy cock into you with a breathless moan, lips trembles slightly as his head lolls back.
the stretch has you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders as you struggle to catch your breath. he doesnât ease into it, doesnât give you the slow build youâre used toâno, this time itâs different. his hips snap forward with a force that makes your body shake beneath him, a soft cry falling from your lips.
for a vampire, youâre aware that he can go fast, but not this fast. itâs as if something has taken over himâ obviously drunk by dazaiâs taunt, and the need to prove something, to leave no doubt that youâre his. his fingers dig into your waist, holding you in place as he pounds into you. the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs.
âchuuâmngh.. slow downâ you gasp, your voice breaking as your head falls back, exposing your neck to him. his gaze flickers to it, and for a moment, pace slowing down for a bit as his thrusts become more controlled, more intentional. he leans over you, breath brushing against your throat as he brushes his pretty lips across your skin.
âready, doll?â his voice is almost raspy, and you can feel the sharp points of his fangs just barely grazing your neck.
âyesâplease mmphâ you whimper
he responds with a groan, his grip on your waist tightening, and with one final snap of his hips, he sinks his fangs into your flesh. the sharp sting makes your body jolt beneath him, a gasp caught in your throat as the heat from the bite spreads through you like wildfire. It's overwhelmingâthe sensation of him buried deep inside you while his fangs pierce your skin, claiming you in every way possible.
your nails rake down his back, your body arching into his as a rush of euphoria crashes over you. he growls against your neck, his fangs sinking deeper as he drinks from you, the pain and pleasure blur together, your senses completely consumed by himâhis scent, his taste, the feel of him everywhere.
his pace slows, hips rolling languidly against you as he draws back, his lips brushing over the fresh bite mark now blooming on your neck, licking over it, to sooth the sting with his hot tongue, he pulls back to meet your gaze.
âmmphâthere...â he murmurs, his voice rough, breathless. âonly i get to see you like this... only I get to make you feel like this.â
chuuya lifts his fingers to your neck. and you feel the slick warmth of blood from the bite as he carefully smears it across your skin. he watches you intently, a smirk tugging at his lips, as he drags his fingers downwards, leaving a vivid crimson trail that leads to your stomach. and with slow precision, he begins to inscribe his name on your skin, branding you in a way no one could deny.
you catch a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he admires his handiwork, the sight of his name etched onto your skin, his gaze zeroes in on the bulge forming beneath the very letters he just traced on your stomach, a visceral reminder of how completely heâs claimed you. "f-fuck.. ahh, look at that," he pants, "every part of you belongs to me."
he leans over you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, the metallic taste of your blood mingles with his, creating a tantalising flavour that sends your senses into overdrive, making your brain momentarily short-circuit.
pulling back just enough to catch his breath while still pounding into you, âi fuckinâ love how you taste, doll~â he murmurs before grabbing your hips to bounce into you harder, âffuck..ngh~ youâre worse than nicotineâsâpretty.â
2.[ghost face! nikolai: terror]:-
âready or not, here I come, dove.â his voice echoes from the hallway.
you can hear the rustling outside, the faint sound of leaves brushing against each other, and your heart races inside your ribcage. 'itâs just a game, its just a game' you remind yourself, a thrilling night of hide and seek with nikolai. but tonight, the stakes are higher than ever.
you can hear him moving around the house, the light clatter of a knife against the wooden table as he pretends to search for you. the thrill of it all makes your pulse quicken.
you dart into the nearest room, quickly slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. breathing heavily, you slide into the bathtub, pulling the shower curtain closed to shield yourself from view. you close your eyes, straining to hear any sign of him.
footsteps thud against the floor, echoing through the house. you can hear him getting closer, the way he purposefully scrapes the knife against objects, creating a haunting soundtrack to your little game. a giggle escapes your lipsâthis was all so exhilarating.
just as you think you might win, a chilling sound reaches your ears: the window creaking open. your breath catches in your throat. no, he wouldnât dare. you peek through the thin fabric of the curtain, your heart pounding as you watch him slide effortlessly through the window, his ghost face mask obscuring his features but doing nothing to hide the playful glint in his eyes.
he lands silently on the porcelain floor, the knife held loosely in one hand as he scans the room. âoh sweet dove...where could you be?â he taunts, pulling back the curtains with a dramatic flair, revealing the empty bathtub. âhhmm, not here...â
but you canât hold back a gasp of surprise, your heart racing as he turns, eyes narrowing in on you. âah, there you are, my pretty dove,â he grins, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he strides towards the bathtub. âfound you just in time.â
panic and excitement surge through you as he grips the edge of the bathtub, leaning in closer. âyou know what that means, hmm?â he purrs, the knife now resting against your thigh, its cold steel sending tingles across your skin. âyouâre mine now.â
in a swift motion, he puts the knife down on the counter. then, with a playful smirk, he removes his mask, revealing his handsome faceâchiseled features framed by white tousled hair and piercing eyes that promises nothing but a good time.
he strips off his clothes first before his slender hands work deftly to undress you completely, trailing soft caresses along your skin as he strips away your clothes piece by piece, revealing your bare body to his hungry gaze.
he turns the shower on, the water spilling forth in a cascade of warmth, creating a sultry mist that envelops you both. he adjusts the temperature, ensuring itâs just right, then steps back to appreciate the sight of you standing there, water trickling down your body like liquid silk.
nikolai always takes his time to admire you, captivated by the way the water makes your bare skin glow under the soft moonlight streaming through the window. each droplet glistens like a jewel, accentuating your curves and casting a radiant sheen across your body. he canât help but notice how your hair falls delicately over your shoulders, a few wet strands framing your pretty face, enhancing your beauty in a way that leaves him utterly breathlessâyouâre so beautiful, so undeniably exquisite.
âyou look absolutely divine, my dove,â with that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss. the kind that makes your head spin. the thrill of the game shifts gears into something much hotter as he leans in closer, whispering, âtime for your punishmentâif you can handle it.â
you smirk, breathless against his lips. âpunishment? is that what weâre calling this now?â you tease, raising an eyebrow.
âonly for the prettiest ones,â he replies with a cocky grin, his hands roaming your sides, tracing circles into the soft surface of your skin as the water cascades over the two of you.
with a sudden surge of strength, he lifts you effortlessly, and you gasp as he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. the world around you blurs, everything feels incredibleâthe warm water, the scent filling the air, your body fitting perfectly in his grasp as he squeezes your plushy ass. he presses you against the cool tiles of the shower wall, the contrasting sensations send a delicious tingle that dances across your skin.
he peaks over shoulder, staring down to your breasts. he licks his lips before leaning in to kiss along the swell of your breast. a pleased whimper echoes between your pink lips, and you shudder when he sucks hard at the sensitive skin.
he pulls back, resting his hard cock against your front, dragging it slowly down between your slick folds, teasing you until your breath breaks into shaky gasps.
his voice hums with pleasure, each whimper like a melody, as your skin feels so warm and impossibly smooth beneath him. the wetness coating your folds, making his precum glisten at the tip before the water washes it away.
âkyolaâmmph please,â you whine.
but he doesn't listen only teases you further, brushing against your entrance but never quite pushing in, the need almost unbearable as he keeps you right on the brink. his lips curve into a sly grin against your skin as you plead.
âgoddammit! kyola..fuck me please,â you plead, your voice breaking as you try to grind against him.
âso eager?â he murmurs, his breath like hot feathers brushing against your skin as he finally presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, but he still holds back, making you wait just a little longer for a bit.
he finally pushes in, keeping a slow, agonizing pace. the sensation rips through you, and a broken gasp escapes your throat. your walls clench around him, immediately welcoming him deeper as your head falls back, mouth open in a silent plea. the stretch is overwhelming, every inch of him filling you completely until you can't hold it back anymore.
"kyoâaagh~" his name tears from your lips, louder than you meant. he buries himself inside you and his grip tightens on your hips, steadying you as his cock sinks deep, he leans in to murmur filthy praises in your ear.
"there it is," he breathes,"thatâs what i wanted to hearâah yes keep clenching around me like this..hmm" he doesn't wait, pulling back only to thrust in again, harder this time, making your body arch against him.
each push driving you closer to the edge, your voice breaking as you scream his name again, this time louderâyou can feel him everywhere, the slick heat between your legs driving him over the edge as he grunts against your neck, his control slipping. "ffuckânnghh..you're perfect," he growls, picking up the pace as your moans grow louder, each sound only spurring him on.
you clung to him desperately, each upward thrust of his hips sending you bouncing on his thick cock. your nails dig down his back, leaving deep marks that he knew would form jagged red lines across his pale skin by morning.
you cry out as he keeps his relentless, punishing rhythm, your body shaking as you finally reach your release, tears rolling down your cheeks. he presses tender kisses against your damp skin, whimpering your name as he follows right after, his cock continues sliding in and out slowly, riding out the sweet waves of his own release.
he gently sets you down, wrapping his arms around you as your legs tremble beneath you. his cum mixed with yours slowly drips down between your thighs.
âwe should definitely play these kinds of games again.â you chuckle.
TAGS: @a-smol-bean @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @alyszuha @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing
#bungou stray dogs#bsd x reader#bsd x you#chuuya nakahara#bungou stray dogs chuuya#bsd chuuya#bsd angst#bsd dazai#chuuya x reader#bsd smut#bsd x reader smut#chuuya nakahara x you#chuuya#chuuya bsd#chuuya nakahara bungoustraydogs#chuuya x reader smut#chuuya smut#chuuya x fem!reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya nakahara smut#chuuya nakahara bsd#bsd nakahara chuuya#bsd nakahara#chuya nakahara x reader#nikolai gogol#bsd nikolai#nikolai x reader#nikolai x you#nikolai x reader smut#nikolai bungou stray dogs
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Fanfic writers say âbad writingâ and drops the most toe curling mouth watering shit ever
#Lynx.thoughtsđ#bsd x reader#jjk x reader#sukuna x reader#megumi x reader#gojo x reader#gojo angst#nanami x reader#inumaki x reader#aku!! <3#bsd x you#bsd x reader smut#bsd x y/n#bsd akutagawa drabbles#genshin x reader
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beast ! dazai who never really gets over the face of disgust you make at him when he slaps you across the face.
âif i knew the person you really were, i would have never fucking married you !â you screamed at him, before the back of his right hand struck your left cheek.
this wasnât supposed to be something emotional on his part, but your last comment tipped him over the edge.
he abuses, extorts, tortures, and kills those around him, he was used to doing that, but when he slapped you ?
he sucked in a breath as his uncovered eye slightly widened when he realizes that your relationship canât turn back from this.
you donât cry, you refuse to but your eyes instantly water at the tingling sensation as your hand goes up to your face.
he lowers his hand to his side as he clenches it into a tight fist. he tells himself in his mind that his intentions did work, you did shut up after he slapped you.
thatâs what he wanted, right ? for you to stop spouting out shit about him just because he hurt someone you cared for.
what he didnât want was how repulsed you looked. he could deal with it if you were mad at him, anger is easy to manipulate.
but this wasnât anger, this was full on hate. to think that just a few weeks ago, you were giving him kisses on his face as your fingers scratch at his scalp.
but now, weeks after the incident, you lightly flinch when he grabs you suddenly, he canât even properly hug you anymore.
it angers him, because itâs his own fault but he canât help but keep blaming you, if only you just shut up when he told you to.
and you did shut up, you stopped talking to him, even when he brought you home luxurious gifts everyday.
all of the progress he had worked up for, had gone to waste because of a single action, but itâs not your problem, because you wonât forgive him.
#written by terra#sincerely terra#bsd#bsd manga#bsd x reader#bsd manga spoilers#bungou stray dogs#dazai x reader#osamu dazai x reader#bsd dazai#bsd beast dazai x reader#beast dazai#bsd beast dazai#beast dazai x reader#bsd beast#dazai bungou stray dogs#dazai imagines#dazai bsd#dazai#dazai osamu x reader#bungou stray dogs dazai#dazai angst#dazai osamu#dazai x y/n#port mafia dazai x reader#pm! dazai x reader#dazai x you#osamu dazai angst#bsd osamu dazai#osamu dazai
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Ëââ§ê°á cold embrace (provenance) â fyodor dostoevsky
đđđđđ¶đđ. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.
đžđđđđđđđ. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k
đđđđđ. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy
part of my summerween series !
A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. Heâs grown used to it nowâevening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.
There are a million things in Fyodorâs life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he canât pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.
Heâs certain hell is better than this. Itâs something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.
Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. Theyâll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.
The centuries old dĂ©cor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didnât live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.
Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.
Although now, itâs been a while since anyoneâs tried to move in, and heâs certain the only reason the house hasnât been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.
Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, heâs forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when thereâs nothing left of the foundations but soil.
He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. Itâs been so long that heâs used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which heâd come to understand quickly, is no match for him. Itâs far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.
Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman heâs never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.
Heâs been through this before. Itâs a miracle the realtor hasnât given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.
âHere it is,â she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. âIt was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; itâs safe⊠enough.â
The two of you chat, but he doesnât bother to listen in. Itâs all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? â things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.
Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. Itâs clear that youâre impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.
That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.
âIâm truly sorry,â she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. âBut I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I donât even want to tell you about.â
You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. âAre you telling me itâs haunted?â
The realtor shrugs. âThatâs what people say.â
âI donât believe in ghosts,â you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. Itâs been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.
He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he canât remember the last time heâs ever seen anyone with such beauty.
Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesnât matterâit canât, and it wonât. Youâll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodorâs eternal torment and quiet existence.
Still, he canât help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.
You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses youâve traveled a long distance to get here, and youâve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.
A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.
You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.
You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that wonât be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.
When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.
Itâs the time heâs been waiting forâa moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.
While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he wonât be able to tell you more about it.
You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.
Heâs forgotten how long itâs been since heâs seen a woman, how long since heâs touched one.
Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.
Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesnât plan on becoming one now that he is dead.
He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.
Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.
You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, youâre sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.
Itâs the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. Itâs the same blade heâs killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.
He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women heâd met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.
Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?
He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.
You donât awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. Itâs a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.
You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.
Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.
He canât stop looking at you, canât stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if youâd sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when youâre asleep.
Surely, he can find a better use for youâit would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.
As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He canât tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasnât seen pictures of, the one that heâs certain someone as lovely as you must have.
The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.
The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.
Itâs almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping youâll pay attention.
You almost think nothing of it; things can move, canât they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight⊠Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.
Itâs strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you arenât inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.
You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.
Itâs the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. Youâre meeting a friend for lunchâthe only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that youâd been desperate to escape to.
Still, the board wonât leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.
Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.
The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.
Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like heâs never read it before.
You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question youâve been dying to know.
âDo you believe in ghosts?â
Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. âDid something happen?â
You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. âNo, butââ
âI told you not to move into that house,â he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. âOver ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?â
âNo particularly,â you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. âBut Iâve made it one night already. Iâll be fine.â
A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. âThatâs what they all say, isnât it? Then they all die.â
âVery dramatic.â You take a long sip of your water. Sigmaâs features donât crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. âIâm not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not⊠Because I donât.â
Sigmaâs eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. âWhether you believe in ghosts or not doesnât matter. Thereâs something evil about that house, and youâre putting yourself in danger by living there.â
The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as youâd left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.
You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, thatâs all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and youâd been too tired last night to notice it.
Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.
Itâs a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.
You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. Itâs old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.
For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. Youâll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.
That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesnât get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.
It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.
You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.
The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.
You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesnât slow down.
Shit.
Tomorrow, youâll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. Itâs not ideal, but thereâs so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.
You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. Itâs irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.
It doesnât take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, youâve lost twiceâhavenât even gotten close to winning.
He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you canât submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.
You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when youâre not suspecting it.
If heâs trying to scare youâit isnât working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like heâs a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.
You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. Thereâs a copy of the painting thereâyour painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.
Beside it, thereâs a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.
You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this wayâuntil a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.
He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.
Fyodorâs rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.
You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge youâd gained or not.
The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.
You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name nowâFyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than heâll ever know about you.
And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself itâs just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that heâs really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.
The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. Itâs getting hotter outside â youâd almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though youâve lived many.
Just as youâre getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.
Itâs a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. Itâs enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although youâve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, youâre paranoid in this aged mansion now.
A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. Itâs just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that youâre far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.
Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.
You canât move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, youâre frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.
Itâs all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.
One that you donât wake up from.
Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you arenât sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.
Itâs quiet. Thereâs no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.
After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isnât what youâd put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think⊠or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.
âWhoâs there?â You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. âWhat do you want?â
Thereâs no response â of course there isnât. Youâre talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. Youâd checked more than enough times, just as you always did.
âI live here now,â you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies youâd watched as a teenager had been any indication. âBut Iâll leave, if you want me to.â
Thereâs no answer to that either.
You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as youâd made yourself believe that everything the âghostâ had done before was just a game, innocently played.
Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.
With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your witâs end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?
The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?
You shiver. Itâ s been a while since anyoneâs looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.
That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?
This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right â you never shouldâve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.
Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.
The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghostsâhow they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.
Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and itâs just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.
There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.
Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. Youâll move in with Sigma if heâll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.
That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.
He says your name â itâs no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. Itâs spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, youâve never said a word to him, even if all this time, heâs gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.
You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.
No sound emerges.
Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you canât seem to snap out of it; maybe you donât want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if itâs coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.
âFyodor,â you mouth, instead of the scream that youâd anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.
You should hate him â thereâs something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.
But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didnât do him justice⊠or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.
âIâm too tired.â
Youâre not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.
He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you canât quite understand why.
âI know,â he replies.
Itâs the first time youâve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.
You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if heâd let you. After the hell youâd been through the past week, well â was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.
âWhy are you here?â you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.
Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. Heâs there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one thatâs dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If itâs a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.
âYou wanted to leave,â he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. âI couldnât let you do that.â
âHm?â You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it shouldâve â youâre so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. âWhy?â
Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. Itâs slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.
Your clothing is thin â it wouldnât take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. âItâs been so long.â
It doesnât make sense, but you canât muster up the effort to question him, not when heâs contemplating every word, like heâs hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.
âI thought youâd be like all the rest,â he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. âThey were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. Itâs a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.â
You blink. âItâs my home, too,â you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.
Fyodor doesnât move â there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didnât think a ghost capable of revealing. âOf course it is, darling,â he says, so softly, it couldâve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. âThatâs why I couldnât let you leave. Itâs your home. You belong here.â
âRight,â you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. âMy home.â Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as youâd left them, nothing out of place. âWith you?â
The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. âWith me,â Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.
He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesnât feel unfamiliar, instead, itâs as if youâre coming home, like the man youâve never seen until now was always meant to find you.
A thought that shouldâve scared you, even though it doesnât.
Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. âYou should rest,â he replies, keeping you at a distance. âIt might take some time to adjust.â
âHm? What do you mean?â you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.
There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it wouldâve killed you instantly.
The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isnât really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.
âWhat did you do?â you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you canât feel them, can only see them in the mirror. âWhat did you do to me?â
Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. âI told you,â Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. âI couldnât let you leave.â
thank you for reading !
#bsd x reader#fyodor dostoevsky x reader#dostoevsky fyodor x reader#bsd x you#fyodor x reader#fyodor dostoevsky x you#fyodor x you#fyodor x y/n#fyodor dostoevsky x y/n#bsd x y/n#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you#fyodor imagines#fyodor dostoevsky imagines#fyodor doestoevsky x you#fyodor x fem reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#fyodor#fyodor angst#bsd imagines#bsd fanfic#rylie writes âËđ§
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your boyfriend has been acting weird lately (various yandere characters x gn reader) (ANGSTOBER DAY 2)
"babe are you-"
"can you quit talking? seriously, you're so damn annoying."
"...i only wanted to ask whether you were hungry..."
you stare at your boyfriend, lips pursed as he continues to type away on his phone. he's been like this for three weeks now. getting mad at you for no reason, cursing at you... did you do something wrong?
all you ever wanted was to be a good significant other and he's acting like he's on his period or something! jesus, can't he be a little bit more mature too?! picking fights with you for no reason, making a big fuss over nothing... and not even telling you why?!
...
you know what?
you had it with him.
"hey, what's your problem huh?! why are you so edgy nowadays huh? did i do something wrong?!"
your once loving boyfriend stares at you, eyes and mouth wide at your sudden outburst. he takes a moment to compose himself, eyebrows furrowing the second he thinks things through.
"god you're so damn stupid. I've been repeatedly telling you, haven't i? i hate you. what can't you understand?! this is why I'm always getting mad, damnit!"
you scoff at him, arms folded in front of your chest as you try to keep your cool... only for your anger to get the better of you, resulting in a screaming festival between you and your boyfriend.
"hate me? you can't expect me to believe that. not when you were literally obsessed with me up till three weeks ago?!"
"i-"
"you used to threaten people just for looking at me! you even tried to kill someone because they asked for my number! and now you want me to believe that you hate me? stop with your bullshit."
".. actually-"
"oh. are you seeing someone else? is that what this is? you're trying to make me break up with you, is that it?"
"n-... you know what? yeah, yeah it is. i want to break up with you. I've found someone else that i love more than you."
your boyfriend states, eyes dead as he stares straight at you. he breathes calmly, as if he weren't affected by this at all. meanwhile, your heart felt as though it had shattered into many tiny pieces. tears fell from your eyes, unable to be held back any longer as you broke down, falling to your knees as the male just stares at you stoicly.
"let's never see each other again."
he mumbles, turning on his heel, swiftly leaving you alone to wallow in your sadness in the once lively apartment. shit... you hadn't expected things to end like this.
"he's a fucking jerk..."
you think through your tears, vision blurry as you clutch your chest. you really loved him and he just?? left?? how could he be so heartless?
if he didn't love you he could've just said something about it. he didn't have to be so mean and hurt your feelings before finally bringing up another person! god damnit, why did you have to fall for such a person?!
you cried, wailing as you cursed your now ex-boyfriend.
"fuck! i hate you! i hate you so much! i hope i never see you again! just disappear from my life! you just left me to die here! stupid ex-boyfriend! i hate giving you my love!"
what you didn't know however, was that your 'heartless' boyfriend had stood outside your door, frowning at your every word, regretting everything he had done up until that moment. because he had loved you too. truly.
he loved you so damn much that he wanted to tear out his hair every single time he was mean to you. he wanted to tell you that he didn't mean any single one of those hurtful words. he wanted to cry and beg for your forgiveness every single time he did anything hurtful to you.
but it was for your own good. it was to keep you safe. and if he needed to hurt you to keep you safe, he'd do it. because he loved you too much to see someone else hurt you.
and being with him meant that there was always a risk of you getting hurt. so how could he allow that to happen when it could be prevented? how could he let his selfish feelings get in the way when you were such a precious little thing? sure, he loves you and he'll do anything in his power to ensure your safety but what if he can't protect you one day?
what if one day you just... get used against him? he's a dangerous man and has a lot of enemies. surely they'll find out that you're his weakness. of course he has gotten rid of anyone who might harm you now but who's to say that there won't be more in the future?
which is why he has to severe all ties with you now. he can't risk it. because he may be strong, but he may not be strong enough for whoever may come in the future. that's why he's been doing what he's been doing-making you hate him so that it hurts less when he decides that it's time to leave. he assumes that it's working wonderfully, after all you've never once noticed his puffy eyes in the morning.
"at least... they'll be safe now."
and disappear he will, for he has too many regrets welling up in the depths of his soul from what he did to you. he'll make sure to never come across you again, instead lurking in your shadow, observing you from afar.
a star like you need not be dirtied by his presence anymore.
dazai osamu, akutagawa ryunosuke, megumi fushiguro, blade, scaramouche/wanderer, your faves<3
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere angst#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere bsd#yandere bungou stray dogs#yandere jjk#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere hsr#yandere honkai star rail#yandere genshin#yandere genshin impact#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting#suiana's angstober 2023
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áŻœ one more hour âą chuuya nakahara
synopsis âą you finally find out who chuuya is after months of him lying to you. unfortunately, for chuuya, youâre not the only one that figures out the identity of your boyfriend and that makes you a target.
warnings âą intentional lowercase, angst, fem!reader, mild/medium language, verbal arguments, depictions of violence/gore, mentions of guns/knives, depictions of panic/anxiety attacks, hospital setting, mentions of injury/blood, chuuyaâs an idiot
wc âą 6.2k
a/n âą iâve been in the biggest writing funk. ofc this loser ginger was the one to drag me out of it wiriwiieiwieiqi
âhow long did you plan on lying to me for? were you ever going to tell me the truth or were you going to hope i just never figured it out and let me live in complete ignorance?â you pace around the ginormous penthouse you find yourself in for the first time since your relationship with chuuya had started.
that was almost 7 months ago now. you canât believe the amount of times youâve almost said âi love youâ to the man standing a few feet away from you in just the last month alone. itâs comical, actually. chuuya isnât even that person to you anymore, you donât no longer even know who he is. you knew him as this above average guy that was an executive for some sort of multinational conglomerate. the adoptive son of the ceo. some form of a nepo-kid. thatâs how you rationalized him being so successful at such a young age.Â
you didnât even know he had an ability.
you were delusional to think that this relationship was going so well because you had found the perfect guy. the perfect guy doesnât lie to you about being a mafioso executive.
you stop pacing. youâre the most idiotic person on this planet. you canât believe this is your reality.
âgod, i cannot believe you hid something like this from me, chuuya. i cannot believe i fell for it.â
you have to give chuuya some credit. while youâve been pacing and practically yelling at him he has annoyingly kept his composure with a straight face. unfortunately for him, that pissed you off even more. you turn to him finally and stare at the man in silence. his composure doesnât budge. he gazes back but itâs as if heâs looking right through you. you donât think youâve ever seen him this emotionless before.
youâre desperate now, trying to rationalize your relationship even after finding out he isnât who you thought he was. because, for better or for worse, even though you havenât outwardly said the words to him you had, in fact, fallen in love with chuuya nakahara.Â
you feel your stomach churn and waterline burn, you needed him to say something, anything. âare you just going to stand there like a fucking statue all night? or are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?â
âhow did you find out?â his voice is tight but unfeeling, expressionless and cold.
how frustrating of him. instead of answering your questions he asks one of his own. you shouldnât give him the satisfaction he clearly wasnât going to give you. you shouldnât. but you have a bad habit of reacting before thinking about it fully.
âyou attacked the armed detective agency at the hospital i work at? how do you think i found out, chuuya? you know how many times youâve picked me up from there? just because i donât work in that wing doesnât mean my coworkers donât know who you are. they sent me videos of what happened. i had to pretend that wasnât you. i almost convinced myself of it.â your breathing is becoming erratic and uneven, only shallow and short breaths escaping you.
chuuya looks to the side as if heâs thinking something over then he looks back to you, gaze unchanged. âso other people know?â
âyeah, iâm sure not everyone believed me that it wasnât you.â you let out a frustrated sigh, âwhy does that even matter? you should be focusing on the fact that i know.â
âit mattersâŠâ the ginger doesnât give you any further explanation as he pulls out his phone and starts typing.Â
you want to pull your hair out. heâs ignoring you almost â actually, you think him ignoring you would be less frustrating. heâs completely dismissing your concerns, questions and feelings on the matter. and now heâs texting someone?
thatâs it. you were done with this conversation and you were done with him. maybe for good. you walk away to your belongings. chuuya clearly notices your movement and watches intently as you put your coat back on.Â
panic finally settles deep within his chest and his voice cracks with desperation as he asks, âwhere are you going?â
you notice the change and look back at him from the elevator doors. his face is still expressionless, however, your eyes wander down to his gloved hands and take note of the way heâs gripping his phone just a bit too tightly. you shouldnât, but you give him one last chance to explain himself, he just needs to give you anything to make you stay. it doesnât need to be big, it could be the most vague explanation. just something enough that you can grasp onto.
âiâm leaving, unless you plan on answering any of my questions?â you look at him with wide and expectant eyes â theyâre hopeful even.
chuuya just stands there, again. his bicolored eyes are filled with regret but he keeps his mouth shut. you let yourself sit in the silence thatâs been created for a few moments. letting yourself get worked up. he was really willing to let you go, rather than just tell you whatâs going on.Â
you let out a shuddered and wet breath, tears welling up in your eyes and lips trembling. âi didnât think soâŠâ
with that you leave his apartment with a tight chest and damp cheeks.
that was 4 days ago and it has been radio silence on your end. chuuya tried calling you later that night but you didnât answer. since then, there has been no further attempts on his end either. you werenât sure if he was giving you space or still didnât know how to answer your questions, but you think youâd prefer him blowing up your phone with no answers as opposed to nothing at all. youâve been crying over a quart of ice cream all afternoon. you felt pathetic, sitting on the couch in pajama shorts and a hoodie of chuuyaâs that youâre pretty sure was left behind on purpose.Â
you lean over to set the now empty ice cream container down on the table of your kotatsu. a whine is heard from your lap and you look down to see your previously sleeping cat glaring up at you with an accusatory look in her eye. your movement had clearly disturbed her umpteenth nap of the day. you look at your little companion with an apologetic smile and pet her as an sorry for moving around so much. the torti is quick to be appeased as she starts purring loudly.
mochi, your cat, was the only thing that got you through this entire debacle. without her, you think you may have let yourself wither away into an empty shell.Â
mochiâs ears perk up and suddenly sheâs on high alert. the cat leaps off of you and investigates something in the kitchen. you hear her hiss and then a sort of bang. your brows furrow and you let out a sigh, thinking about how she probably just made a big mess in the kitchen as she scurries back in the room to hide underneath the kotatsu, bushy tailed and, oddly enough, growling.Â
you shimmy yourself out from under the warmth of the kotatsu yourself and get up to investigate the mess you probably had to pick up. as you near the kitchen you feel a draft â funny, you distinctly remember closing the window in the kitchen.Â
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chuuya isnât even pretending to listen to whatâs happening in this meeting. he could feel the concerned gaze heâs getting from kouyou but his nerves are far too shot for him to even pretend to care. all he cares about is you. how you desperately wanted him to open up and be truthful, how betrayed you looked leaving his apartment with tears running down your face, how you wouldnât answer his phone call that night and how you still hadnât contacted him to make another attempt at getting him to explain.
chuuya would answer the phone in the middle of this meeting if you called at this very second. he had made up his mind when he finally came to his senses later that night. he always seemed to be one step behind when it came to relationships. being one step behind may be enough to ruin yet another relationship that he cherishes deeply.
the executive canât comprehend what youâve done to him. heâs felt on edge since the moment you left the penthouse. his fingers twitch in irritation, his skin crawls, his breath feels constricted. itâs like heâs coming down from a long lasting high. he was having withdrawals. he hasnât felt this tense and unfocused since he tried to quit smoking a few years back when gin got on his ass about finishing a whole pack in one day.
actually, a cigarette sounded damn good right about now. mori would have a fit though, of course heâs always been a doctor to the core. so, the ginger falls back on tapping his foot incessantly and checking his phone obsessively.Â
this meeting feels like itâs dragging, time moving in slow motion almost. itâs only been 30 minutes but to chuuya it feels like 30 hours. itâs agonizing to sit here when what he needs is a distraction. a mission where he can let out his frustration on some opposing force. heâs never been one to complain about meetings but itâs never too late to start.
the executive is ready to leave, literally 30 seconds away from standing up and walking out, but then something happens. one of kouyouâs subordinates urgently walks in and makes a beeline for her. an emergency, clearly, because everyone knows not to disturb an exec meeting otherwise.
kouyouâs eyes widen and flit to chuuya. this worried glance is different from her previous ones. it makes the gingerâs blood run cold and hairs stand on end. if he thought he was on edge before â that was nothing compared to this.Â
kouyou wastes no time in reporting the issue as she shoos her subordinate away. âthere was activity from one of our many opposing organizations. my people are working on pinpointing which one but⊠they broke into and vandalized several apartment buildings in the naka wardâŠâÂ
kouyou looks at chuuya again. her brows are furrowed in concern, it makes his stomach churn. why is she looking at him like that? what did she even say? chuuya wasnât focused. he was on the verge of getting up to leave just two minutes ago.Â
he was going to leave.
he needed a better distraction from his stewing thoughts of you. the longer he sat here the more time he spent thinking about how he should really just show up at your apartment door. surely, you wouldnât turn him away if he was willing to finally explain things, right?
âthey were all within a 2 kilometer radius of the yokohama city minato red cross hospital-â
mori interjects, âyou mean the one you all took the liberty of storming while i was ill due to that cannibalism ability?âÂ
if chuuya wasnât paying attention before, he is now. he thinks a knife to the eye would be better than this. physically: the executive is composed and stoned faced â but internally? chuuya is sinking in his seat wishing he would simply disappear. theyâre all used to moriâs snide comments, his tongue always being quick and made of silver. sometimes, like today, his comments hit a little harder.Â
so, even though they all try to stay composed, chuuya doesnât miss the way kouyou flinches and once again her eyes flit over to him.Â
âyes, mori-san, the same hospitalâŠâ the woman sounds almost pained as she talks, her internal panic slowly seeping out through the cracks. âmost civilians were unharmed⊠but there were a couple women who were targeted and are now in critical condition at the same hospital. one of them was pronounced dead by the time she got to the hospital.â
mori hums, eyes cutting over to chuuya. âinteresting. chuuya, donât you have a little friend that lives in the same area?â
there it was. the reason kouyou was so concerned and fidgety. chuuyaâs heart sinks and stomach drops to his feet. everything unfocuses, his vision going blurry and swirling. the ginger visibly turns pale and his blood runs cold. his whole body twitches, the need to get up and leave far too strong.
chuuya feels physically ill. how had he not thought of you the second kouyou said what ward it was? he was so busy thinking about himself and wallowing in self pity that he didnât even think to second guess the information he was being fed. kouyouâs glances tell him it was bad too, or worse, she had no information on your status.Â
this was chuuyaâs fault. he has this sinking feeling that you were the target. he shouldâve known you werenât safe when you told him people at your work had connected who he was. he should have been more insistent on talking things out. he should have had you come over to his and stay over until he knew you were safe. hell, he should have at the very least set up a detail in your neighborhood.
this was all his fault.Â
chuuya abruptly stands up, hands slamming on the table. âi should check on the situation. may i be dismissed, boss?â
âi donât see why you shouldnât. report back when youâve got a handle onâŠthe matter.â mori raises his eyebrows, not bothering to hide his obvious amusement at the executiveâs reaction.
chuuya doesnât notice, he doesnât even give any of them a second glance as he practically flies out of the room to find the nearest exit to this god forsaken building. he finds an open window and easily hurls himself out of it, using his ability to hurdle himself through the sky. chuuya didnât even think twice about, maybe, taking a vehicle. his mind was far too muddled to even register what he was doing.
this was all his fault.
he wasnât looking for practicality right now anyway, he was looking at what would get him there the fastest.
âthereâ being your apartment. he didnât want to assume you were attacked. maybe itâs just wishful thinking on his part. chuuya makes it to the average looking building in record time â which heâd boast about in any other situation, but now was not the time.
the gravity manipulator is about to circle your apartment to get to the front but notices something odd. the window at the side of your kitchen was wide open. you never did that, you only left it cracked open when you were cooking. chuuya enters your apartment the same way he left the port mafia building: through a window.Â
what he sees next confirms his deepest fears. heâs had actual nightmares about this â or at least he thinks he has, having never actually been able to dream. but heâs woken up in cold sweats, throat raw from screaming, and a pit in his stomach with you on his mind. this was more like a waking nightmare, he imagines this is what the ones he canât recall are filled with.Â
thereâs blood on the floor and also splattered across the walls and kitchen utilities. broken kitchenware is scattered across the wooden slats, your oven and fridge are out of place too. an obvious sign of a struggle. you clearly fought back. of course you fought back. chuuya had tried to teach you some self defense but with further observation he had learned that you grew up taking mixed martial arts classes. something about letting out your bad temper in a healthy way.
all the fighting skills in the world couldnât save you from a bullet though. there was one lodged in your fridge and wall. as chuuya nears the other side of your kitchen he notices the front door is also wide open, two holes in it indicating more shots were set off.Â
then chuuya sees it. his stomach churns violently, so much so that he almost doubles over and retches at the sight. a trail of blood that ends at the front of your apartment and thenâŠ
a bloody handprint.
your bloody handprint.
chuuya would recognize it anywhere. heâs memorized every detail of your hands from the size down to the swirls in your fingerprints. you had to have dragged yourself out of your home for help.Â
chuuya is glued in place. he feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. the edges of his vision going white as the color falls from his grasp. his ears are ringing, the white noise becoming louder as his mind runs wild.Â
you werenât here.
there was so much blood.
the smell of iron stuck to his nostrils.
where were you?
did someone take you to the hospital?
the hospital.
one of the women that was brought there was pronounced dead. even if that wasnât you⊠all of the other women were in critical condition. he couldnât imagine you being okay after seeing the scene laid out before him.Â
chuuya was going to be sick. a wave of nausea crashes over him. he feels the bile clawing up his throat. he scrambles over to your kitchen sink, almost slipping on your blood. he doesnât let anything out at first, just gags and dry heaves. then his eyes sting and what little contents he had sitting in his stomach are released. this time he really does vomit.Â
the executive's breathing is shallow and labored. he looks down to where his hands are gripping the sink and realizes theyâre now covered in your blood. he holds them up and his breathing quickens. his stomach churns and he shoves his gloves off. stumbling back as he stares at his trembling hands. it was too much. this was different from all of the gore and violence that comes with being in the port mafia.Â
it was you, you were in danger and he wasnât there. he couldnât help you. he should have been there to help you. he should have kept you safe.
the only thing that brought chuuya back to reality was a high pitched mewl that came from further inside your apartment. chuuya would recognize that little noise anywhere. mochi. he whips around to find the small feline peeking out from under your kotatsu. the orange glow indicating that it was still on. chuuya lets out a sort of wet and shaky breath.Â
the ginger gently approaches the clearly spooked creature. heâs never been particularly fond of cats but for some reason yours took a liking to him and he couldnât help but fall head over heels for the torti. much like he couldnât help the way he fell for her mother. chuuya reaches out a finger and mochi hesitantly sniffs it. her eyes light up at the gravity manipulatorâs familiar scent and nudges his finger with her nose.Â
after getting the clear go ahead from the cat, chuuya leans in and picks her up. the torti nuzzles into him and she was still shaking â or maybe that was chuuya. he reaches down and turns the flammable item off before straightening himself and greet the small feline.
âhey, sweet girl, you scared for your mama too?â chuuyaâs voice cracks and he knows he needs to get to the hospital but he feels a little guilty just leaving mochi here in this disaster of an apartment.
chuuya sighs and letâs the torti down. he pulls out his phone and sends out a quick message to kouyou, asking her to send a cleaning crew and to pick up the small creature and take her back to the gravity manipulatorâs place. her response is sent mere moments after his own. he doesnât bother responding.Â
the ginger strides over to the front door. he makes sure to close it behind him so mochi doesnât get out then makes a beeline for the hospital.
áŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâą
âiâm sorry, sir, i pulled up her chart but you arenât on her contacts list. unfortunately iâm unable to give you any further information.â the patient services rep behind the counter holds firm on her statement by giving the man a tight lipped smile.
chuuyaâs bicolored eyes narrow in frustration. he knows, he knows, that the lady is just doing her job but sheâs doing it so infuriatingly well. heâs desperate to know your status and his sanity is slowly losing its grip on him, heâs slipping away with each obstacle. as if answering a silent plea, a tap on his shoulder catches his attention.
the executive swivels around and is met with the sweet old lady that lives next door to you. she was always checking in with you. making sure you had enough to eat and were getting enough rest. you once compared her to your own mother, who is no longer with you but even when she was it was nothing like what the older woman does for you. when you introduced the woman to your boyfriend she was awfully judgemental of him at first, she was making sure he was good enough for you. he didnât think so but apparently your neighbor thought otherwise, seeing something in him he didnât see himself.
her usual smile is replaced with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. she was frowning at chuuya, something akin to scolding. the ginger felt oddly accosted by the woman standing before him. sheâs never looked at him with so much contempt before.
she folds her arms across her chest and she lets out a huff, âwhat are you doing here, boy?â
chuuya flinches at her tone like she had just physically slapped him in the face. the ability user quickly recovers though, realizing if she was here that would meanâŠ
you had to be here and you had to be alive, if not your neighbor wouldnât be standing here in front of him scolding him. no, instead her face would be filled with grief. this was a good thing.Â
you were still alive.
âwhere is she? i need to see her.â chuuya lets out a breath heâs been subconsciously holding in.Â
the old lady bristles at his blatant disregard for her own question. âand why should i tell you? yâknow, sheâs been miserable the last few days because of you? she wouldnât tell me you were the reason but i could just tell. what did you do to her? is this all your fault?â
chuuya actually takes a step back at her words. he felt like the woman had just punched him in the gut. the older lady packs quite the punch for how small she is, not even standing at 5 feet tall. sheâs right, of course, this was all chuuyaâs fault.Â
it was all his fault.
âi didnât mean to⊠she was supposed to be safe. i didnât tell her anything to keep her safe.â he was rambling now, desperation seeping into his voice. âi just need to see her. please, please, maâam, you have to tell me.â
the old lady falters, her scowl dropping and a pang of pity spreads across her chest. it doesnât last long though. the implication of chuuyaâs response, meaning he did have something to do with the fact you were in emergency surgery and would be in there for a few more hours.
youâd been rushed to the hospital. thanks to your neighbors, you assailants were scared off by the ambulance and police they called. after the first gunshot went off they were quick to make the call.Â
you were brought in with a plethora of injuries. blunt force trauma to the head, 3 gunshot wounds (2 of which were still lodged inside of you), and several lacerations littering your entire body. all of which resulted in severe blood loss and unfortunately for you, since you werenât the only one to sustain these kinds of injuries, the hospital was on a low supply of blood by the time you came in.Â
the old woman is winding up to scold chuuya some more but sheâs interrupted by a nurse walking up to her. the woman in scrubs looks exhausted, she must have been in the operating room with you. the nurse also looked worried, she must be a close coworker.Â
ânakamura-sama? the surgeon wanted to give you an updateâŠâ the nurseâs eyes trail over to chuuya and her demeanor goes from concern to nervous, she nods at chuuya quickly, âplease excuse us⊠nakahara-sanâŠâ
oh. she knew who he was. had she been one of your coworkers that he knew? chuuyaâs guilt grows as he thinks he should remember who this woman is. this was all so frustrating. no one would tell him anything even if they knew who he was. the executive desperately wants to argue, to stand his ground and find out what was going on.
something occurs to him in that very moment. is this how you felt that day? when chuuya wouldnât budge, wouldnât tell you anything. shutting himself off. this was some sick and twisted karma. the universe was laughing in the gingerâs face and he only has himself to blame for it.Â
a manâs voice speaks up, âthe boy can stay. now why donât you tell my wife and i how our dear granddaughter is doing?â
the nurse hesitates, looking to the older woman for guidance. mrs. nakamura squints at her husband for an uncomfortably long moment. however, the older man doesnât seem bothered at all, he must be used to this type of scrutinizing glare from his wife. if chuuya wasnât so distracted by your status he would be able to acknowledge that he wants that. he wants a future with you and he may be willing to give anything up for that.
mrs. nakamura clicks her tongue. âfine. the boy can stay.â
the nurse eyes chuuya for another moment before explaining your situation. she explains the injuries you sustained. that youâre still in surgery and probably would be for at least a couple more hours. you were doing surprisingly well, a fighter. of course you are. a warmth pools in the gingerâs chest. it was pride.Â
âwe have hit a small road block. due to the multiple victims being brought in⊠the blood supply is in the reserves. we have contacted other hospitals in the area and theyâve agreed to deliver us their extra supply. but itâs a process and it may take hours to receive any of it. do any of you know if youâre a match or a universal donor?â the nurse looks at the 3 of them hopefully, her gaze drifting to chuuya more than the other two.
chuuya freezes. he knows that he has type b blood, thatâs not the problem. the problem is that he has no idea what your blood type is. he should know that, right? heâs sure you know his, sure youâre in the medical field but itâs common to know your partner's blood type. he should know this.Â
he should know this.Â
hanged, drawn and quartered. maybe a firing squad or even the guillotine. chuuya lists the ways he thinks he should be executed in his head. heâs had his head so far up his ass with trying to keep you in the dark about who he is that he hasn't even learned the most basic things about you. does he even know your favorite color? your favorite meal? your favorite song?Â
this was the most criminal act heâs ever committed and thatâs saying something considering the horrific things heâs done for the port mafia. this was bad. unforgivable even. this was all his fault and he couldnât even tell the damn nurse if he was a match for you or not.Â
what the fuck.
what the fuck?
what the fuck was wrong with him?
what does he even say? how does he tell the nurse and the old couple standing next to him that he has no idea if heâs a match for you? he supposes he can play it off. plainly state what his blood type is and leave it to the nurse to figure it out. maybe that could work. it would have to, he doesnât have another choice.Â
but before chuuya can even open his mouth the older man speaks up first. âi'm a universal donor, young lady. you can take some of my blood, i canât possibly be using it all, iâm sure i have some to spare.â
the older man tries to lighten the situation as he chuckles at his own joke. his wife isnât amused and even whacks him on his bicep with the back of her hand while clicking her tongue again. the nurse letâs out an uncomfortable laugh and looks to chuuya one last time. of course she would want to take a donation from a healthy young man.Â
chuuya shakes his head and hopes to god heâs right when he says, âno, iâm- iâm not a match.â
âi see. mr. and mrs. nakamura, follow me please.â
áŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâąáŻœâą
your head feels light, like a morning fog had somehow managed to roll in and settle in your mind. everything was so numb and heavy, your entire body felt like lead. you wanted to keep sleeping. you wanted this annoying light behind your eyelids to go away. who the hell left the lights on?
did chuuya forget to turn them off again? why were they so bright? these werenât your lights at home, they couldnât be.
where were you?Â
why did you feel like you got hit by a bus?
most importantly, where was chuuya?
âŠchuuyaâŠ
oh.Â
you remember now. chuuya was an ass. he told you a sugar coated version of his truth. twisted who he was to fit your ideals even though you had never asked that of him. then he ignored you, refused to tell your anything and left you to the solitary confines of your apartment. and thenâŠ
your eyes fly open and you gasp for air. you were assaulted in your own home. someone had broken in and attacked you. they had guns and knives. you were shot.Â
where were you?
did they take you? no, they were trying to kill you. youâre sure of that. if it hadnât been for the sirens that scared them away, youâre sure they would have finished you off.
mochi. your poor mochi. she must have been terrified. oh god, they wouldnât haveâŠshe hid right? she was safely under the kotatsu. she had to be unharmed physically. she had to be. you couldnât be here right now, wherever you were. you had to get home and make sure she was okay.
distantly you hear this annoyingly incessant beeping and⊠someone's voice? what is it saying? are they speaking to you? your name. theyâre calling for you but-Â
who is it?
no. it wasnât anything intelligible, it was screaming. it was your screaming. you were screaming. why were you screaming?Â
a wave of fatigue crashes down on you, drowning you in darkness as you sink back into the depths of slumber.
the next time you wake up, youâre less confused. whatever anesthesia you were previously under obviously had worn off by now. the fog was certainly lifted and you were thinking much clearly now.
you havenât opened your eyes yet but just by hearing the beeps coming from the monitors next to your bedside, you could piece together you are in the hospital and therefore you are safe. more importantly youâre alive. you try to bring your hand up to rub at your eyes but thereâs a weight holding it down.
your brows furrow at the restriction. you stir only slightly, any movement you made right now was agonizing. you let out a grunt as a shooting pain courses through the entirety of your body. this wasnât good, something like this was going to take a lot of time and physical therapy to recover from.Â
how frustrating-
âare you awake?â his voice is gruff, filled with exhaustion but it was clear who was speaking to you.
you could pick out his voice from millions others. even worse, his voice never fails to soothe your soul. instantly your body relaxes from whatever tension itâs been managing to hold onto. traitor. youâre supposed to be upset with him. you should yell at him, kick him out.Â
but⊠he stayed. he was here, he found you and stayed. how unfair. youâre tired, too tired to deny yourself the comfort he brings you. because despite everything, itâs still him.Â
you think it will always be him.
so instead of crying or yelling or getting upset you simply give in. âyeah. iâm awake.â
you open your eyes, finally, to look at him. he looks like shit, it would be funny under any other circumstance. his hair is a mess, clearly he had been tug at it, nervously running his fingers through it. his usual under eye bag had bags. the dark circles a stark contrast against his porcelain complexion.Â
if it werenât for the fact that you were the one in the hospital bead, youâd think you two were here for him. after you examine him you look at his expression. itâs grim, he looks truly pathetic. you can only describe it as being akin to a wounded puppy.Â
you let out a sigh but before you can even get another word out, heâs speaking. âi should have told you. i wasnât thinking about you- i know i wasnât but i convinced myself i was. i convinced myself that i was keeping you safe by not telling you but- i was a damn fool for that. this is all my-â
âchuuya, shut up.â this was so painful, you didnât want to hear any of this.Â
you are tired. you just want him to be there for you. you want him to comfort you. you just want your boyfriend. at this point you couldnât care less about the bullshit he kept from you. at the end of the day it was his character youâve fallen in love with and that was more than enough for you.
chuuya looks at you stunned. his words catch in his throat and he thinks he might actually cry. itâs been a while since heâs had the urge to cry like this. was this it? he almost lost you to death. now he was going to lose you in another way and he only had himself to blame.Â
the ginger canât even blame you for your decision.Â
after all, this was all his fault.
âi donât give a shit about who you are. tell me. donât tell me. whatever. you found me and youâre here now. i just need you to be here. i-â you choke on your words, you hadnât realized but youâd started crying and it hurt. âi love you. i need you to not blame yourself for this because you need to be here for me and show me you can do this. please show me you can do this, i wont ask for anything-â
you canât finish your thought. your lungs are constricted as you're held in his vice grip. you missed him. god, you missed him so much. his embrace is home. heâs your home and thatâs terrifying. despite what you said you still have so much to learn about him. chuuya scares you but only because you feel so incredibly safe with him.Â
youâve never had that before and something tells you heâs never had that either.Â
âiâm here. hell and back, i will always be here for you.â it wasnât a direct admission but you donât question it. this is the closest youâll come to a declaration of love from chuuya for now and youâre okay with that. truthfully, you didnât expect him to say anything.
you try your best to return the hold chuuya has on you. you get an arm around him loosely and rest your forehead on his shoulder. youâre still crying, like a baby. it would be embarrassing if it was anyone else. his hand is holding your head gingerly. itâs comforting and you manage to calm yourself down. you pull back, still sniffling but eyes no longer producing tears.Â
your eyebrows furrow, something pressing returning to the forefront of your mind. âdid you stop by my apartment? has anyone checked on mochi? is she okay?â
chuuya finally smiles for the first time in what feels like days â it might have actually been days since he last did. he pulls out his phone and produces a picture of the torti that kouyou had sent him. he hands the phone to you and you smile fondly as you let out a small puff of air, relief spreading throughout your chest.
âi asked kouyou to bring her to my apartment for the time being. i think sheâs taken a liking to it.âÂ
you look at the picture then back up at chuuya, entirely unamused. âhave you seen your apartment. i could fit like five of mine in it? of course she likes it there.â
something warm spreads across chuuyaâs entire being. this scene is oddly familiar. reminiscent of the older couple from earlier. this was pure happiness, this is what it felt like.Â
chuuya was going to make sure to cherish it deeply and keep it safe at all costs.
#chuuya x reader#chuuya angst#bsd x reader#bsd angst#bungo stray dogs x reader#chuuya x you#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x you#chuuya x fem!reader#bsd x fem!reader#bungo stray dogs x fem!reader#bsd chuuya#áŻœ. banners/dividers made by @/cafekitsune#áŻœ. Ă©li originals
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Ë đđđđđ đđđ đđđ
đ đđđđ ! â dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & jouno
đ đđđđđđđđ â n/sfw content (mdni), hurt + comfort, degradation, tit slapping, use of safe word, ooc in fyodorâs but idc let a girl dream, spanking, rough sex, face fucking, sadism, dacryphilia, toys, role-playing in jounoâs, overstimulation, reader doesn't actually use a safe word in chuuya's (its not possible with a mouthful of cock i promise), cunilingus, one of my only fics where fyodor isn't a toxic little shit so đ€·đœââïž ps. don't steal my headers !!
đ đđđđđđâđ đđđđ â here it is, the bsd version ! sorry for taking so long to finish this, there were some.. distractions đ i honestly did not expect this many people to request it *sob* anyways, happy reading and i hope ya'll enjoy ! NOT PROOFREAD !!
like this post? then view my masterlist for more !
â âsamuâ!â You squealed, tugging on your boyfriend's hair as he moaned into your cunt, doing nothing but giving you more of that toe-curling pleasure.
"Mmh - don't interrupt my meal, darl'," he leaned back for some air only before spitting on your puffy cunt and driving back in. Large, bandaged hands were pushing your hips down on the bed to keep you in placeâ to let him have his favourite meal in peace, as he told you.
You couldn't recall how many times you came on his tongueâ absolutely drenching his beautiful face with your juices, and he loved it. But you, on the other hand, were starting to get exhausted - no, you were exhausted, chest heaving as you tried to keep up with the hot coil in your lower tummy, threatening to snap any moment.
Dazai would know your limits if it were any other day - he'd know just when to stop, but today was exhausting for him tooâ and the entire day he was thinking of burying his face between his pretty little girlfriend's thighs - it never failed to melt all of his stress away and fuck did it work like a charm - all thoughts but the taste of your pretty cunt left his mind once he finally tasted you. Including the fact that you had your own limits and needed a break - no matter how pleasurable the feeling of his tongue felt against your swollen cuntâ you needed a break.
You hesitantly moaned out the safe word, sinking into the mattress in exhaustion as you watch Dazai blink in confusion, before immediately pulling away from you. The bandaged hand that was previously pinning you down with fervor was now caressing your thigh gently.
"Are you alright, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?" He was calm, eyeing you for any sign of hurt or discomfort. You only shied away from his gaze, fingers fingers fiddling with the satin sheets as you shook your head - "no.. just tired, 'samu." He nodded, a pout gracing his lips - the pink muscle glossy from your combined slick and saliva, "aww, was that too much for my pretty baby?" You only rolled your eyes, playfully hitting his chest as he laughed, planting a kiss on your temple with a soft "I love you so much."
"I love you too," You giggled as Dazai buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the bruises he gave you earlier that night as an apology.
Chuuya had a rough day, his underlings being "fucking dumb and not getting shit right as usual," in his words. So like the good little girlfriend you were, you were generous enough to offer your hard working boyfriend some "stress relief".
That's how you ended up on your knees in front of the ginger haired manâ who was still fully dressed, seated on the fancy black leather couch as you choked on his cock.
Loud growls and words of praise left his chapped lips in hurried curses, a gloved hand pushing your head down to take his cock in fully, basically making you deepthroat him. "God, pretty f-fuckin' girl, my good girl - such a good fuucking- arghâ! fuckfuckfuck! Just like that baby, take this fuckin' cock.." He threw his head back against the headrest of the couch, hips now thrusting erratically up to your mouth, fat balls slapping against your chin as you gagged around him. Tears streaked freely down your stuffed cheeks, making him hiss out cursesâ fuck, you were such a pretty crier.
If he were only more focused and not drunk off of the pleasure of your warm and inviting mouth swallowing him whole, he'd notice your panicked whines, the way you dug your nails into the muscle of his thighs - scratching and trying to pull away from his cock, even slapping them in panic.
You couldn't breatheâ you felt lightheaded and if Chuuya kept going, you'd surely faint from the lack of air.
As if right on cue, Chuuya finally remembered that you needed to breatheâ hurriedly letting go of your hair and pulling you off his cock, his heart broke once he saw you coughing and sputtering on the floor, your face scrunched up in pain as air finally entered your lungs.
"Shitâ doll, are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby," he sounded genuinely guilty, and he was! He'd never want to actually hurt you unless you asked for it, and he felt so fucking bad. You nodded in response, leaning your head against his thigh as you finally breathed normallyâ tears, snot, drool and his precum dripping down your chin.
" 'm sorry for ruining this, Chuu. I know today was stressfuâ" Chuuya cut you off with a click of his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown gracing his pretty lips, "What're you talking 'bout, baby? You didn't ruin anything," he sighed, "c'mere."
He put his hands under your arms before tugging you up in his lap, gently wiping your face with his gloved hands before pressing sweet kisses on your whole face while whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves youâ how good you are for him. The ticklish feeling of his kisses made you giggleâ sounding like sweet music to his ears.
After all, no matter how much he likes to see you crying and sniffling for him, he'd always prefer your adorable little giggles.
"Slap!"
You choked out a moan at the harsh impact of your husband's hand cracking down on your assâ his hand gently rubbed the heated skin as an apology, but you knew it was only a facade. "How many was that, dear?" He mused, tone nothing but unkind and condescending. It make you feel small, and ashamedâ but you also couldn't deny the way your pussy gushed out more and more slick with each hitâ and he made sure to belittle you for it.
"T-twenty six?" You stuttered, thighs twitching in anticipation as Fyodor ran a slim finger up and down your soaked folds, collecting the slick on his finger before shoving it inside.
"Mmhâ! Fedya p-please.." You begged, which inly made him grin devilishlyâ god, he was so handsome. "Please what? You have to be more specific than that," he muttered as he shoved a second finger in your drooling cuntâ his free hand kneading the battered skin of your ass but you could care less about the sting.
"P-please! Make me cumâ!" You gasped when another brutal smack was landed on your poor ass, the soft fat rippling as his hand met your skin. "And who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" His voice grew stern. You flinched when he flipped you on your back, basically throwing you on the pristine white mattress of your shared bed.
You landed on the bed with a soft "oof!", it wasn't long before Fyodor joined you in bed, basically ripping your cute little babydoll dress off of you as greedy hands cupped your tits, his gaze ferociousâ you've never seen him like this. "You're such a naughty girl, aren't you?" He growledâ kicking your legs apart to nudge a knee between them - against your bare, sopping cunt. "Fedyaâ" You got cut off by your own pained yelp as Fyodor tangled his fingers into your hair, yanking your head back to reveal your throatâ the soft and sensitive skin just begging him to bite it - mark you up as his.
"Hush now, slut." He scoffed, harshly biting down on the column of your throatâ as you let out a pained gasp. It hurt like hell.
You don't know what happened but you didn't like this anymore, you didnât want to be treated roughly anymore, didnât wanna be called mean namesâ you werenât even processing the harsh words coming out of his mouth, you just wanted it to stop.
âRed, S-stopâ red!â You whimpered, sniffling as Fyodorâs movements came to a halt. He let go of his tight grip on your hairâ instead gently scooping you up in his arms and cradling you, hushing your little whines.
He silently scanned you before saying anything, dry lips pulled into a frown. You certainly didnât look hurt⊠was it something he said? âWhat happened, darling?â He questioned, voice calm and soothingâ a contrast to your own broken one. âToo rough,â you pouted up at him, burying your face further in his chest.
Oh.
âIâm sorry, love. I shouldâve been gentler, huh?â He brushed a stray hair from your face, before gently massaging your scalpâ easing the burn from him pulling it earlier. â âs okay, fedya,â you sighed, he was so good with his fingers (in more ways than one).
âI love you, dear,â kissing the crown of your head, a soft smile tugged at his lips. âI love you too!â You smiled back. A moment of silence passed as you stayed in his embrace, before speaking up again,
âYouâre doing the dishes tonight, by the way.â
ââŠFair enough.â
"You're so cute when you get like this," Nikolai cooed, voice drowned out by the sound of his hips smacking against your ass. He had you in a full nelson, your back flush against his chest, strong arms hooked under your knees to hold you up in the air as he thrusted into the warmth of your spasming cunt. "Nghâ 's too much - kolyaâ" you slurred, head falling back against his shoulder. God, his stamina was no fucking jokeâ you thought, jaw unhinged as you let out wanton moans. His thighs were absolutely drenched with a nasty mixture of your slick and his cum from the previous roundsâ making a "pap! pap! pap!" noise everytime they met your ass. The whole thing was dirty, messy and so fucking lewdâ his favorite combination.
"Oh hush nowâ you say it's too much butâ" he gave a mean slap to your bouncing tits, making you squeal and kick your legs at the pained pleasure. "You're just gushing all over meâ how am I supposed to believe it's too much for you, hm, dove?" His breath was hot against your ear, making you shudderâ "caâ can't! please!" You sobbed, but your tears did nothing more but get him more fired up - shit, you looked the prettiest when you cried.
But the thing isâ you actually weren't lying, it was really getting too much for you. But apparently Nikolai was too pussy drunk to recognize the exhaustion on your face. He was going too fast - too hard, you could barely process anything he was saying or even think straight. It was practically a miracle that you even remembered your safe wordâ "c-clownâ clown!!"
It took Kolya some time to process the words falling out of your mouthâ brutal thrusts coming to a halt as soon as he realized you just said your safe word out loud. As much as he wanted to ask you what was wrong, he knew he had to place you somewhere comfortable first - make sure you're doing okay. He gently pulled out of you with a wet 'pop!', hissing as your tight walls kept clinging onto him.
Being as soft and gentle as possible, he unhooked his arm from under your knees, flipping you to carry you bridal style - before placing you down on the bed and kneeling in front of you.
"Are you okay, pretty?" His voice was softâ a surprising contrast to how he was manhandling you just seconds before. You nodded, fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks, which he gently wiped for you. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he pouted - brushing some stray hair out of your face and planting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. " 'm okay," you rasped, cringing at the way your voice cracked. Nikolai nodded, getting up and quickly getting a glass of water for you.
You gratefully took the glass from him, the cool water immediately calming your burning throat. "Are you hurt anywhere, baby?" He questioned, taking the empty glass from you, before placing it on the nightstand. You shook your head, "no, jus' tired, is all."
"So does that mean we can continue lateâ"
"Kolya!"
âWell, arenât you just pathetic?â Jouno grinned, holding the wand vibrator against your clit while pumping the bright pink dildo in and out of you, making you squeal and kick your legsâ hips bucking up to meet the toys.
âPlease, officerâ wanna cum sâ bad!â You sobbed, wrists straining against the leather restraints he had put on you. Jouno hummed, his hand speeding up, thrusting the toy even harder and faster in and outâ as he rubbed the wand in circles on your throbbing clit.
âOh, I bet you doâ but, I donât know if you deserve it yet..â he had a faux pout of his face, pressing the vibrator even firmer against your nub - making you see stars.
He had been at this for hoursâ getting you so close to reaching your peak before cruelly ripping it away from your grasp, only giving you fragment of the mind-numbing pleasure that you so desperately wanted to feelâ and letâs not forget about the mean, degrading words falling from his lips - calling you a worthless slut, whoâs only purpose is for his pleasure and his pleasure only. You felt like slapping the cocky grin off his face.
It didnât feel good for you anymoreâ instead made you feel terrible, really. The continuous edging with the cruel words took a greater toll on you than both of you had imagined, which led you to eventually sob out the safe word.
Jouno stopped immediately after you blurted out the safe word, quickly but calmly pulling the dildo out of you before removing the wand, placing both of the toys on a nearby table.
He went over to unclasp your restraints, heart tugging at the way you sniffled and hiccupedâ fuck, he took it too far.
A frown graced his lips once he felt the marks on your wrists from pulling at the restraints for so longâ but before anything else, he had to make sure youâre okay. After all, your safety is the most important to him.
âAre you alright, darling?â He leaned closer, pulling off his slick-coated glasses and chucking them somewhereâ wiping your tear soaked cheeks with his now clean hands. You let out a pitiful whimper before nodding, â youâre too mean andâ i still.. w-wanna cum..â
Jounoâs lips quirked up to reveal a cocky smirkâ but he couldnât be more relieved that you were okay - not that heâd ever show it. âOf course, pretty girlâ my little crybaby wants to be treated nicely, hm?â He grinned, hand reaching down to flick at your nipple.
âDonât tease!â You whined, but you still couldnât help but lean into his touch. âOkay, okayâ Iâll treat you like the princess you are,â He snickered, kissing the top of your head before picking you upâ taking you to the bed to take you like he had been aching to all this time.
©sachiyoh â do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated âĄ
tags ă» @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia
@sorasushik1 @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @osaemu @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @poisonedslop @sukiischaotic @squigglewigglewoo @boba-is-good @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter @4xxxv @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @qqingque @lunaeheroine18 @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @leftrunawaybanana @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @otakudul @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch
#ౚৠâ archiveă»#bungo stray dogs#bsd#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd smut#bungo stray dogs smut#bsd x reader smut#Dazai x reader#Dazai smut#Dazai fluff#Dazai angst#Chuuya x reader#Chuuya smut#Chuuya fluff#Chuuya angst#bsd fluff#bsd angst#Fyodor x reader#Fyodor smut#Fyodor angst#Fyodor fluff#Nikolai x reader#Nikolai smut#Nikolai fluff#Nikolai angst#jouno x reader#jouno smut#jouno angst#jouno fluff
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oh my fucking god.
this is chuuya nakahara coded. i repeat CHUUYA NAKAHARA CODED. heavy ahh texts
(credits to st4r.1una on tiktok)
#chocsra#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd chuuya#bsd x reader#chuuya nakahara#chuuya x reader#15 chuuya#chuuya x you#chuuya x y/n#chuuya angst#chuuya nakahara x reader#bsd x you#bsd x y/n#chuya x reader#chuya x you#chuya x y/n
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underdog
when you and your boyfriend work for the port mafia, spending time together isnât always going to be a top priority, especially when heâs an executive and youâre just an underdog.
pairing; chuuya nakahara x fem!reader
word count; 2.5k
content warning; heavy angst, fluff, cursing, lots of mentions of alcohol, bestfriend!dazai, miscommunication, unedited, slightly suggestive if you squint, chuuya is a sweetie pie who i love with my whole heart
a/n: my second post on here! iâm working on my masterlist and stuff right now but formatting that stuff can be so boring so it takes me forever.
you woke to the feeling of the cold morning breeze against your shivering body. the bed felt empty on chuuyaâs side, as it always did. he usually left for work earlier than you did, claiming it was moriâs request that he be there at the crack of dawn but some days it felt like he did it by choice.
while chuuya was an executive under port mafia, you were simply an underdog, taking on miniscule tasks that donât require the attention of any higher up. you tried to reason with your bitter feelings on the title, it was better to be out of the spotlight. so why did you want to be in it so badly?
your phone that laid on your bedside table rung, chuuyaâs contact name stared back at you. with a sigh you reached for the phone and accepted your loverâs call. âhello?â you start, a moment of silence before chuuya speaks.
âhey, mori said thereâs a job for you.â of course, mori wouldnât waste time calling someone of such low importance so chuuya was tasked with it.
chuuya explained the details of the mission. it was simple, as they all were. you needed to collect missed payments from someone the port mafia worked with. you were also informed they werenât hostile, that it was just to collect money.
âif you donât feel comfortable going alone i can send akutagawa to go with you.â his concern was noticeable even through the phone.
âno, itâs fine. these kinds of jobs bore him anyways.â and they bore you too, but you never voice your complaints.
âokay, just.. be safe.â you agreed, ending the call immediately after.
you got ready in the time it took for the cab to arrive at your apartment. there was no small talk on the ride there, just the silent hum of lost radio signal on the stereo. this would take maybe an hour or two tops and then you would have nothing left on your schedule for the day. thatâs how it typically went, no work of any importance.
âweâre here.â you thanked the driver and stepped out.
-
it took an hour and a half, only because the shop owner who owed money did not want to cough up the cash to pay his debts. eventually you had to threaten him, and he finally agreed to pay what he owed.
with the money in hand you headed for the port mafia in the same car you came here with. the same silence, same boredom. when you arrived there was no one to greet you so you decided to take the money up to mori yourself.
you passed akutagawa on the way there, he stopped you. âare you going to see mori?â you nodded, motioning to the suitcase that held the heaping amount of money. âjust let me take it, iâll let him know you went home after finishing the job.â he said, snatching the suitcase from you quicker than you could comprehend.
of course, you could never see the boss yourself. the higher ups had to always be the ones, why couldnât it ever just be you delivering your work to your boss? it wasnât fair, but you didnât dare speak out.
âthanks, akutagawa.â he nodded, turning back to moriâs office.
when you reached the entrance again there was the same driver, you sat in the same seat.
âgoing home?â you thought about it for a second.
âno, take me to the nearest bar.â he complied without saying another word.
the nearest bar happened to be one you frequented, when you entered you were greeted by the bartender who was currently cleaning off glasses from previous customers. you took your usual spot at the center of the bar, ordering what you usually do. you drank in silence, playing with the hem of your coat while you thought to yourself.
the coat was chuuyaâs gift to you after he noticed how much you loved wearing it. even after he handed it over to you, sometimes you would still put it on his side of the coat rack so it smelled like him when you wore it. he used to tease you about it, saying you could just start wearing his cologne too if you liked the way he smelled so much.
the coat that once kept you warm felt colder now. maybe it was because it had aged significantly since it was gifted to you and was now littered in holes, or maybe it was because you hadnât properly seen chuuya in weeks and the coat doesnât smell of him anymore.
he was always busy, always having missions to go on while you rotted away at home like the useless underdog you were. could being a higher up and risking your life be worth it, if it meant you could see him more?
âhey, stranger.â you knew that voice anywhere.
âhi, dazai.â you didnât look up to meet his eyes, only feeling his presence sitting beside you.
even with dazai being in the agency now, he was still your closest friend. you still frequently saw him, usually to drink but sometimes to just talk. chuuya didnât like it whatsoever but never made an effort to stop you. he would remind you that port mafia doesnât meddle with the agency if it doesnât have to, and you would reply with the same âi knowâ as you left.
he ordered a drink on his never ending tab and hummed a tune to himself. he was awfully quiet, so unlike him.
âyou know iâm gonna ask you whatâs wrong, right?â he broke the silence, and for the first time since he arrived you looked him in the eye. he saw the tears welling in your eyes and it hurt him to see you like that.
âis it chuuya? are you two fighting?â the only reason he could think of.
you let out a huff, taking the last swig of your drink.
âwish we were, at least weâd be talking to eachother.â you wiped your mouth, motioning to the bartender that you wanted another.
you could see the gears in dazaiâs brain working in real time, deciphering your words like a case. you knew he would figure it out eventually, but all you needed right now was comfort so you gave into his curiosity.
âi want to ask for a job promotion, iâm so tired of being seen as a weakling in the port mafia.â you admitted, pulling your newly filled drink closer to you.
dazai didnât seem the slightest bit surprised, his eyes held sympathy for you, you hated it. he cleared his throat, as if he was about to tell you the world was ending right then and there.
it felt like it was, you were losing your one and only love to a merciless job and no one in the port mafia took you seriously no matter how hard you tried to prove to them you could get work done.
âcorrect me if iâm wrong but.. is this really about wanting to move up in the mafia? or is it about wanting to see chuuya more?â he solved the case, just like that.
you didnât bite back your tears any longer, letting them fall into your crossed arms as you sniffled. you were just about to take another gulp of your drink but dazai stopped you, giving you a knowing look, you didnât handle your booze well and he knew it.
the alcohol wouldnât solve your problems but maybe it would dull the pain in your heart. ignoring dazaiâs pleading look, you drank again. nothing mattered right now, not even the hangover youâd feel in the morning.
dazai knew he couldnât stop you, but at least he could watch you to make sure you were safe.
-
a couple of hours later and a few drinks down you were feeling the effects in full, your tears morphed into giggles and you felt on cloud nine. dazai had a few drinks in him as well, but not nearly as many as you. continuing to ignore his looks of concern you tried your hand at the dart board mounted on the wall ahead of you.
you were just about to take your shot when dazaiâs ringing phone startled you.
âhey! i wouldâve gotten it that time!â you shouted, slurring your words.
dazai rolled his eyes and accepted said call, already knowing who was on the other end without having to check the caller id.
âwhere is she?â chuuyaâs harsh voice rang through the phone.
âthe bar next to the port mafia building.â he replied calmly, ignoring the slew of curses from chuuya.
âiâll be there in a second, make sure she doesnât have anymore to drink.â
when chuuya arrived at the bar he walked onto the scene of you fighting dazai for a bottle of wine and the bartender watching with an unreadable expression. you wouldnât have even noticed he was there if dazai didnât greet him.
âwhat are you doing here?â you frowned, snatching the bottle of wine at last now that dazai was distracted.
âtaking you home, put down the bottle.â he could tell you were shitfaced just by looking at you.
âiâll go with you, but iâm taking the wine.â you reasoned, knowing chuuya wouldnât be leaving this bar without you.
he agreed, sighing whilst digging in his pockets for his wallet. he slammed a wad of cash onto the counter, apologizing to the poor bartender who had to deal with two idiots the entire evening.
âiâm sorry about that, this should be enough to cover both of their tabs and the bottle of wine.â the bartender offered a smile of gratitude and wished chuuya a good night.
dazai followed the two of you out of the bar, hands stuffed deep in his pant pockets.
âdo you.. need a ride?â chuuya asked, already regretting the simple act of kindness. you stood at his side, eyes trained at your feet with your bottle of wine tucked tightly under your shoulder.
ânah, iâve got someone coming. iâll see you around.â he took his leave, and chuuya quickly ushered you in his car.
the car ride home was silent, the only thing to be heard was your fiddling fingers. you wanted to say something, anything to break the tension but your brain felt like a melting pot of emotions. you were mad, yet you also yearned for him.
âi-â you began, he stopped you.
ânot right now, we can talk when iâm not driving.â if that wasnât a dead giveaway that he was angry you didnât know what was.
it was quiet the entire way back to your shared apartment. the anxiety bubbling inside you helped you sober up, you were still long gone. despite his obvious frustration, he still opened the car door for you and guided you up the steps into your home.
the second the door shut his mouth was moving.
âwhy didnât you tell me you were going to be gone? do you have any idea how worried i was?â his voice raised and fired up, it sparked your own rage.
âwell, iâm sorry i want to do something other than be your housewife.â a confused grunt left chuuyaâs lips, never had he thought of you as his housewife.
his confusion only made you more upset, he truly had no idea how you felt.
âiâm sick of being here, never having anything to do.â you complained, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass for your wine.
chuuya followed you, a stern expression on his face as he quietly listened. he could see you were hurt in a way he desperately wanted to understand, but hearing you say you were sick of being home was like a bullet to the chest. this place was supposed to be a safe place for the both of you, had he done anything to give you the impression of otherwise?
âand no one in the mafia thinks iâm useful, not even you.â you mumbled, fumbling with cork screw that sealed the wine shut.
chuuya suddenly grabbed the bottle from your hand, now looking you dead in the eye. the grip on the bottle made the veins in his hand bulge, you werenât sure how the glass hadnât shattered from the force.
âwho said that?â he asked, an unnerving calmness in his voice that worried you.
âsaid what?â you gulped, no longer worried about your wine.
âsaid you were useless.â silence on your part.
âno.. no oneâs said it but i can feel their judgement. hell, even akutagawa thinks iâm useless.â
âakutagawa thinks everyone is useless.â he argues.
ânot you, he respects you.â chuuya releases his hold on the wine, instead occupying his hands around your waist.
his touch is gentle, almost cooling against your flushed skin. he leans his head into your neck, breathing in your scent which youâre sure smells of a mixture of all the alcohol youâve consumed. âand.. itâs not just that i want to be recognized more in the port mafia. i also want to see you more.â
your confession makes him smile, you can feel his lips curving upwards on your neck.
âis that was this is about? you miss me?â youâre half tempted to push him off of you now, his ego undoubtedly stroked. âwhy didnât you just say that, sweetheart.â
âitâs hard sometimes, youâre always busy and i barely see you.â he hums in agreement, pressing light kisses your shoulders.
it was hard to stay mad at him for too long when this was his way of apologizing, drowning you in physical affection that melts not only your heart but your body.
âwell, if you really donât like where you stand in the port mafia right now, I'll talk to mori. no one thinks youâre useless, hell i thought you liked staying out of the dirty business.â the mafia itself was all dirty business, but you understood what the meaning was in this context. âand iâll try my hardest to be home more, i never mean to be gone so long darlinâ, work is just hectic sometimes.â
you turned to look at him, his beautiful eyes looking at you with all the softness in the world. âi know, iâm so sorry i made a big deal out of all of this. i just felt so lost.â
he understood, âdonât be sorry, you were hurting and i should have seen it. iâm sorry, i love you more than anything.â
âitâs okay, but i think that booze is catching up to me, i need to sit down now.â with a soft laugh he guided you to your shared couch.
the rest of the night he spent pampering you, making you two dinner and putting on a movie for you to watch in the living room. you laid there in peace, your head resting against his chest while his heartbeat lulled you to sleep.
for the first time in weeks, when you fell asleep beside him you woke to him in the morning.
#bsd#chuuya x reader#chuuya#chuuya nakahara x reader#bsd x reader#chuuya fluff#chuuya x reader fluff#chuuya x reader angst#bsd x reader angst#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungou stray dogs#chuuya x you#chuuya nakahara x you#bsd fluff#bsd angst#bungo stray dogs fluff#bungo stray dogs angst
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Tease Or Please? : Kinktober Masterlist
â°ââ€Featuring: Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke
[Kink Coin & Winners Scoreboard]
đ Character 1: Chuuya Nakahara
ăSystem Malfunction: All Levels Set to Maxă
(insert your kink coin)
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 1: [Aphrodisiac] [posted]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 2: [shotgunning] [posted]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 3: [Shibari/public sex] [posted]
đą Character 2: Osamu Dazai
ăSystem Malfunction: All Levels Set to Maxă
(insert your kink coin)
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 1: [Erotic asphyxiation][posted]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 2: [Katoptronophilia/mirror sex][posted]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 3: [breeding] [posted]
đŁ Character 3: Fyodor Dostoevsky
ăSystem Malfunction: All Levels Set to Maxă
(insert your kink coin)
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 1: [Cybersex/Cyberstalking] [20th of Oct]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 2: [Wax play] [22nd of Oct]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 3: [Dry humping] [24th of Oct]
đ€ Character 4: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke
ăSystem Malfunction: All Levels Set to Maxă
(insert your kink coin)
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 1: [Sex Pollen] [27th of Oct]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 2: [Praise Kink] [29th of Oct]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș level 3: [Auralism/voice fetishism] [31st of Oct]
đ Bonus Fics: Kink Coin's Masterlist:
ăSystem Malfunction: All Levels Set to Maxă
(insert your kink coin)
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș week 1: [Bloodlust & Terror] [vamp!chuuya & ghost face!nikolai]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș week 2: [âYou Lookinâ?â] [beast!soukoku]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș week 3: [âwhen worlds collideâŠso do the sheets.â] [unspecified]
âșâ§ââ±ââ§âș week 4: [unspecified] [unspecified]
A/N: Hello, pookies! This is my first kinktober, and IM SO EXCITED ALREADY!! If you'd like to be tagged for a surprise, don't hesitate to drop me a comment, and I will make sure to tag you Xx. [make sure to include your age in bio to be tagged] **check credits**
Important: This list contains explicit NSFW content, including hardcore kinks. It is intended for mature audiences only. Minors and anyone uncomfortable with such material, please do not interact or proceed further.
©2024 @thewickedjazzy âââ please do not copy, translate, or post on any platform.
#bungou stray dogs#bsd x reader#bsd x y/n#bsd x you#bsd angst#bungou stray dogs chuuya#chuuya nakahara#bsd chuuya#bsd dazai#bungou stray dogs dazai#chuuya smut#osamu dazai smut#fyodor smut#akutagawa smut#chuuya nakahara smut#dazai osamu smut#kinktober 2024#fyodor dostoyevsky x reader#chuuya x reader smut#osamu dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#akutagawa x reader#fyodor x reader smut#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya nakahara bsd#dazai osamu x reader#fyodor dostoyevsky bsd#chuuya bsd#bungou stray dogs smut#chuuya nakahara bungoustraydogs
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ᥣđ© DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should doâtraitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?
(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments
Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.
You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where heâd landed.
Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground.Â
You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where heâs still struggling to get off the ground. He doesnât even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.
You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. Itâd be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than heâd ever give himself, and not even half as painful as itâll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him.Â
Youâd be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.
And itâs what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you.Â
But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger.Â
âYouâŠâ His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what heâs going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where youâre standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. âYouâre not real.â
Your eye twitches in irritation.Â
You pull the trigger.Â
If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but heâs not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesnât look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused.Â
âYou shot me,â he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at youâtoo pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.
âYeah,â you say, voice rough with irritation. âReal enough for you?â
Dazai blinks, you donât even think your words are registering and you donât know what the fuck youâre doing.Â
Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You wonât move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deservesâheâs a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what heâd do to himself.Â
He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you canât give yourself the same excuse; you donât wait for his words this time.Â
You pull the trigger again.
But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what youâd almost just doneâwhat you tried to do.Â
Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving nowâthereâs enough bile around him for you to realize heâs probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying.Â
You just tried to-
You think youâre the one who feels sick now. The dinner youâd had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes heâs wearing now, heâs back in the dark suit youâre accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because heâs drunk because heâs been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldnât have to.Â
You just tried to kill Dazai.
Dazai, whoâs been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohamaâs foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives.Â
You almost killed Dazai.
Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Aceâs head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didnât care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.
You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck.Â
Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy whoâd never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that heâs never kissed anyone before. The two of youâd spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.
He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags.Â
Then thereâs you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.
When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy.Â
When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.
You try to convince yourself that itâs different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.
Your head spins and you take another step away, you donât know where you dropped your gun and you donât want to know. You donât want to look at it. You donât want to touch it. Youâll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up.Â
âWait,â Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. âDonât leave again.â
Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness thatâs poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him.Â
Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him.Â
âI need to-â he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. âI need to tell you this time. I need to-â
He doesnât finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconsciousâin a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. Youâre already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, itâll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesnât die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then heâll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didnât wander out in the open.Â
He should know better.Â
He does know better.
A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that heâd stumble into Port Mafia territory and heâd run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamuâs executioner.
If thatâs the case, he nearly got his wishâthat thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time youâve touched him since the night he left.Â
You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You canât stay out in the open with him for long otherwise youâll risk someone seeing you with him, and thatâll open a can of worms youâre not prepared to deal with.
Youâll drop him off somewhere safe, and then youâll get back to base.
Thatâs all.
That is not all.
The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the groundâyou remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said youâd take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor.Â
Heâs woken up several times, you donât even know what heâs saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, heâs calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. Itâs irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what heâs saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didnât try to get up again.
You donât know why youâre still here.Â
You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where heâs lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself itâs because you donât want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but itâs a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. Itâs not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, itâs not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, itâs not your job to look out for him.Â
He left you, not vice versa, You donât owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You donât owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-
But you wonât.
Your gaze drifts back over to him. Heâs still out coldâcleaner now, because it had never just been âget him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,â as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.
Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if heâd managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likelyâDazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when heâs alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where itâd sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they donât rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.
You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and heâs shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, thatâs for sure. You tell yourself thatâs why youâre not leavingâyou donât want to leave before youâre sure heâs pulled through the worst of it. Youâre not going to admit to yourself that you donât want to leave because youâre worried itâll be the last time you see him for real this time.Â
You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.
What the hell are you doing?
If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, youâd be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right nowâand not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because youâre a fucking idiot. Youâve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didnât even care enough to tell you goodbye.Â
You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuyaâfrom the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray youâbut you canât. And you think itâs pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you canât utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?
If Chuuya were here right now, heâd drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. Youâd told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that shouldâve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartmentâyouâd moved in with him after Dazaiâs betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.
Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but heâd never admit that.
You shouldâve been back an hour ago. Youâre sure that heâs getting suspicious and itâs only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You donât think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldnât be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other meansâsomehow, he always seems to know everything.Â
You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know youâre not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize heâs awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed.Â
His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if youâll even understand it.
âYou⊠came with me. You never come with me. Are you⊠really here?âÂ
Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think thatâs a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you donât even know what that means: you never come with me.Â
âYes, Dazai,â you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, âYes. Iâm here.â
Dazai looks at you like he doesnât believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.
âYou donât call me Dazai.â He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. âYou never-â
You turn away because if you donât, you think you might lose your temper. Heâs drunk, you remind yourself, but heâs still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-
You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal youâve felt the past seven months but now that youâre confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.
Your heart feels like itâs about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing canât go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down.Â
This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake.Â
Just as youâre about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you canât bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.
His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldnât be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that youâre back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. Youâd have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.
You hate that you donât push him off right away, that youâre letting yourself indulge in his touch again. Youâve moved on from thisâfrom him. Itâs been seven months. Youâre over all of this.
âYou⊠understand, donât you?âÂ
You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you canât help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks youâd pulled on after getting Dazai showered.
Itâs all so familiar that it could make you sick.
âHow could I?â you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldnât take out your resentment on him while heâs so drunk; he probably wonât remember any of this in the morning anyway. Thereâs no point, youâll just be wasting your energy.
His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. âI had to, Odasaku-â
The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasakuâhe was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered himâbut after all of this, you canât help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.
âOdasaku wasnât your only friend,â you say tightly. âYou had me. Chuuya. You-â
âItâs not the same,â Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadnât just driven a knife right through your back into your heart.Â
This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. Itâs not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that heâs so drunk he probably doesnât even know what heâs saying, but you just feel so angry that itâs hard for you to keep that in mind.Â
You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.
You donât.
âDonât leave,â he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. âI didnât-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.â
âHow did you mean it then?â you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.
âI just-I didnât mean it like that.â Youâve never heard Dazaiâs voice crack before, but it does now. âDonât leave. I miss you.â
âYou miss me?â you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at himâa mistake, of course, because heâs on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. Heâs drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesnât stop you from snapping at him. âYou left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.â
âBut I do.â His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. âI miss you so much, I think about you all the time.â
His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You canât even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that youâll give into him if you look at him now and he doesnât deserve that.
âI couldnât go to you before I left,â Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know heâs not. âI wouldâve asked you to come with me.â
For some reason, that hurts worse than if heâd just admitted he didnât care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I wouldâve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didnât want you with him? Why wouldnât he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he wouldâve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.
âHow terrible that wouldâve been,â you say, and youâre proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.
âI wouldnât have been able to handle it,â he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. âOdasaku had just died and-â
He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldnât even matter to you anymore. Youâve moved on. You have. Itâs been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?
âYou wouldnât have come with me,â he says, shaking his head. âYou wouldâve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.â
Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-
âYou canât even bring yourself to deny it, can you?â Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you canât help but notice that heâs starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when heâs about to throw up. âYou never would have chosen me.â
You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. Youâd follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and youâre entirely irredeemable, but you canât follow him into the light.Â
You canât choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, thereâs no way of having both anymore. The boy youâve come to love or the only home youâve ever known. The only family youâve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you donât belong with the Port Mafia, you donât belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone whoâs always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.
You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, â... If thatâs really why you didnât say goodbye, then Iâm glad you didnât put me in that position.â
The expression that crosses Dazaiâs face is something caught between ruin and shockâand you canât help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you mightâve chosen him if heâd given you the option. That heâs been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that heâs finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, youâve crushed it.
Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because itâs true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didnât have to know thatâespecially not now, when heâs drunk and vulnerable in a way that heâs never allowed himself to be before.
You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesnât remember any of this in the morning.
His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and youâre cursing, reaching for the trash bin youâd brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.
âI wouldâve-â Heâs still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.
You donât want to hear what he has to say.
âDazai-â
âI wouldâve chosen you,â he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and youâre not sure if itâs a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. âIf the positions were reversed, I wouldâve chosen you.â
Oh.
The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it wonât do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that heâs full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you donât think heâs capable of lying right now and you donât think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone youâve ever metâin the two and a half years youâd known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he mightâve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.
You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you offâangry, upset, you donât know what he might be feeling because youâve never seen him like this beforeâbut your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.
He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water youâd managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after heâs finished vomiting.
âWill-â he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. Heâs desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but heâs fighting a losing battle. âWill you be here in the morning?â
No.
You donât want to say it, you think youâve done enough damage for the night, but thereâs no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.
You donât linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesnât wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.
You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your wordsâthere are a million things youâd like to say to him before you leave, but you donât have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.
Instead, you tell him softly, âI hope you donât remember any of this in the morning.â You donât move your hand from where itâs caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that donât spill over. âWeâll meet again one day.â
Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.
He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he isâthe last thing he remembers isâŠ
The bar?
His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up againâitâs one thing vomiting when heâs too drunk to remember, itâs an entirely different thing to vomit while heâs sober and conscious.Â
Dazai thinks he might rather die.Â
He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where itâs tickling his ear and-
Ouch.
Dazaiâs eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where heâd touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. Heâs used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isnât it?
Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and itâs only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room heâs in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.
The safehouse in Sakae?
His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on togetherâjust the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, heâs sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts itâs from the hangover this time.
How did he get here?
He needs another drink desperately.
But first⊠Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirrorâa bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping inâhe lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-
What?
His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing.Â
What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. Heâs suddenly stumbling down an alley, heâs lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until heâs sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafiaâs territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.
He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-
Just enough to see you.
Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because heâs missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And⊠and Dazai isnât quite sure what the other emotions are. Theyâre heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chainedâitâs a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be hereâŠ
âWill you be here in the morning?â
The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the doorâscared that heâs going to open it and you won't be there, scared that heâs going to open it and you will be there. He doesnât remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that heâd been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he mightâve said to you when given the chance.
It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door.Â
It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.
The safe house is empty.
Youâre nowhere to be found.
Dazaiâs feet are moving before heâs fully even registered whatâs happening.
He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesnât pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinetâhe goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one youâd asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and youâd be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that heâd have betrayed you by then.Â
He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.
The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.
He can almost imagine that heâs tasting it off of your lips instead.
He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He canât. He never can. He hasnât been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.
With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesnât dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.
Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night.Â
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you#dazai angst#bsd angst#bungo stray dogs angst
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hello! Can you write about fem reader saying "is that all you got?" In the middle of sex for dazai, akutagawa and chuuya? I'd like to see their reactions đ«Šđ«Š
I wrote this in metro so it took me almost 2 days to complete it. I hope you like it.
Instagram I'd - @chaotic_lailaa
(Pic taken from Pinterest)
Is That All You Got
Content Warning: This fic contains explicit adult content, including rough sex, degradation, dominance/submission dynamics, explicit language, and sexual themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Intended for mature audiences only (18+).
1. Osamu Dazai
You lay beneath him, your body trembling with pleasure as Dazaiâs sharp eyes bore into yours, but youâre not quite satisfied yet. His fingers curl inside you, teasing, building the tensionâbut itâs not enough. You meet his gaze with defiance, your chest rising and falling as you breathe out, âIs that all you got?â
The smirk on his face vanishes, replaced by a darker, more predatory look. He leans in closer, his hand gripping your jaw with an almost bruising force. âYou really think you deserve more, huh?â His voice drips with disdain, each word like a lash against your pride. His fingers suddenly pull out of you, leaving you gasping at the abrupt loss.
âYouâre just a desperate little slut, arenât you? You donât get to make demands,â he growls, his grip tightening as he forces your gaze to meet his. âYou think you can handle me? Iâll ruin you.â
Without warning, Dazai flips you onto your stomach, forcing your knees up as he positions himself behind you. You feel him press against you, teasing at first, before he thrusts in hard, making you cry out. His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you up against his chest.
âYou like that, donât you?â he whispers darkly in your ear, his thrusts deep and punishing, filling you completely. âThatâs what you wanted. To be fucked like the little whore you are.â
He doesnât give you time to respond, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make you gasp for air. He pounds into you relentlessly, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. But itâs his filthy words that send you spiraling. âYouâre nothing but a toy for me to use, and youâll take every inch of me until I say youâre done. Understand?â
You canât speak, canât think, only feel the raw power of his body dominating yours. His hand moves down to your clit, rubbing hard in time with his thrusts, pushing you over the edge. But even as you come undone, he doesnât stop. âYouâre gonna come for me again,â he commands, his voice low and commanding. âIâll keep fucking you until youâre shaking, begging for mercy.â
2. Akutagawa
Akutagawaâs cold, dark eyes are fixed on you, his movements precise and unyielding as he drives into you. His hands grip your hips, hard enough to bruise, his sharp nails digging into your skin. The pain only heightens the pleasure, and yet, you still push him, challenging him with a breathless, âIs that all you got?â
His lips curl into a sneer, his grip tightening painfully. âYou have no idea what youâre asking for,â he snaps, his voice icy and cruel. He yanks you up by your hair, pulling your head back so youâre forced to look into his eyes. âYou think Iâve been going easy on you, Baby? You donât deserve mercy.â
Akutagawaâs hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur slightly, but he doesnât stop. His thrusts become brutal, unrelenting, each one sending a shockwave of pain and pleasure through your body. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, venomous tone.
âYouâre just a filthy little thing, arenât you? Begging to be fucked harder because you canât get enough. Youâre nothing more than my toy. Iâll break you if I want to.â
He thrusts even deeper, making you cry out, but he doesnât relent. His fingers move down to your clit, rubbing rough circles as he forces you to feel every inch of him. âLook at you,â he sneers, his voice full of contempt. âYouâre already falling apart. Youâre not even worthy of my time.â
Your body betrays you, trembling and on the verge of release, but Akutagawa isnât done. He pulls out abruptly, leaving you empty and aching, and you let out a desperate whimper. âPathetic,â he spits, flipping you over roughly so youâre on your knees in front of him. He thrusts back into you with a force that nearly knocks the wind out of you. âYou donât get to come until I say you can.â
He drives into you hard, fast, each thrust designed to punish you for your insolence. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back as he leans in close. âYouâre going to beg for me, slut. Beg for me to let you come.â
3. Chuuya Nakahara
Chuuyaâs body is pressed against yours, his hand tangled in your hair as he thrusts into you with relentless energy. You can feel the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds you in place, driving you wild with every movement. But still, you meet his eyes and smirk, your voice dripping with defiance as you taunt him, âIs that all you got?â
Chuuyaâs face darkens instantly, his eyes narrowing as a wicked grin spreads across his lips. âYouâve got some nerve, talking to me like that.â His voice is low, gravelly, filled with dangerous promise. His grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so youâre forced to look up at him.
âMaybe I need to teach you some fucking manners.â
He pulls out abruptly, leaving you gasping, but before you can even think to respond, he flips you onto your back and slams into you with brutal force. The intensity of his thrusts leaves you breathless, your body writhing beneath him.
âYou think you can handle more?â he growls, his voice rough and filthy. âIâll give you more than you can fucking handle.â
His hand slides between your legs, fingers finding your clit with expert precision as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. The combination of his hard thrusts and the relentless pressure on your clit sends shockwaves through your body, the pleasure building to unbearable heights.
âYouâre gonna fucking scream for me,â Chuuya snarls, his lips brushing against your ear. âIâll make sure everyone knows what a dirty little slut you are. Is this what you wanted?â
Your body tenses, the orgasm building so fast you can barely keep up, but Chuuya isnât done with you yet. He leans down, biting the sensitive skin of your neck hard enough to leave marks. âCome on, scream for me. I want to hear you beg.â
You feel yourself unraveling, the sensations too much to handle, and just when you think you canât take any more, Chuuyaâs pace quickens, his thrusts becoming erratic and wild. His fingers work in tandem with his movements, pushing you over the edge, and you scream his name as you fall apart in his arms.
But Chuuya doesnât stop. He keeps going, riding out your orgasm with a grin on his face. âThatâs right,â he pants, his voice dripping with satisfaction. âYouâre mine now.â
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