#if you can guess the dish the s/o served send me an ask and i'll write you any request you want ;)

[nkhrchuwuya]

local specialty

bungou stray dogs | G | 902 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc

longing for the food from your home, you decide to try cooking it up for yourself in the penthouse. you’re a little worried about how chuuya will react to it. (chuuya with an s/o who isn’t from japan)

“do you mind if i do something crazy for dinner?”

you ask, one hand on the phone and the other on the rail of the shopping cart. chuuya laughs from the other side of the line.

“you asked me to call so you can ask about dinner? stupid,” he cackles. “you know i’ll eat whatever you feed me.”

“hey!” you scoff. “i just wanted to make sure you’d have no complaints—i’m not cooking a separate meal for you, asshole.”

you can hear him grin through the phone. “yeah, yeah, sweet. cook up whatever you want. i love you. i’ll see you tonight.”

“take care, chuuya,” you say, and the call ends just after chuuya murmurs something about being embarrassingly domestic.

pocketing your phone, you push the cart into the store, listing the ingredients down in your head.

-

moving to yokohama was the most life-altering decision you’ve made in many ways. and you would not undo it even if you were offered a supernatural chance to.

but that doesn’t mean the nostalgia for the places you once called “home” entirely goes away.

you hum a melody from your early teens as the penthouse kitchen begins to fill with familiar scents and flavors. it’s like a part of you that rarely showed has burst clear to the surface and is now manifesting itself into a delicious meal.

would chuuya like it, you wondered, would he enjoy it, would he at least tolerate it? for a flash of a moment you daydream of bringing chuuya back home. how he’d stand out, what ways he’ll fit right in. would he delight in it? would he want to take part in it?

you hum happily, dreaming as you tend to the broth.

-

“i’m home—woah.”

chuuya watches, entranced, as you swiftly move to bring a serving bowl of something unfamiliar to the dining table. you sigh once you put the heavy plate down, smiling as chuuya wraps his arms around your waist.

“something crazy, huh?”

“not too crazy, i promise,” you laugh, and chuuya kisses your apron-clad shoulder.

“i’ll get dressed down, then let’s eat, yeah?”

“yeah.”

you fiddle with the spoons and forks—no chopsticks!—and shiver a little bit in fear as you set the table. wringing your hands around the apron as you hang it, you wonder if you should make something normal, something usual, something japanese just in case. but before you can pull out the salmon from the fridge, chuuya is already out the bedroom door.

“ready,” he grins, leaning against the doorway. you nod, following him to the dining table.

chuuya “oohs” at the dish as he sits down, inspecting it curiously. “looks delicious,” he remarks, as you take a seat across him.

“i didn’t have all the right ingredients,” you say, twiddling your fingers. “i had to make replacements… i mean, not out of lack of trying, i scoured the city’s specialty markets… i think it still tastes close enough, but—”

“baby,” chuuya coos, placing one hand on yours, unfurling your clenched fist. “relax. i know you gave it your all. come on, let’s taste it.”

you watch as chuuya eagerly scoops out a serving. you watch as the beef cuts jiggle in their softness as chuuya lifts them; leaving them to boil in the broth long enough has made it beautifully tender. another scoop, and he takes some soup, catching some of the vegetables—radishes, potatoes, string beans, cabbages. you wonder if you’d put enough fish sauce, staring closely as he fills his bowl.

your heartrate flats as he brings a spoonful of the dish to his mouth and—

his eyes widen as he chews a little more eagerly and—

“woah, that’s crazy good.”

“really?”

your voice a small squeak. chuuya goes for another mouthful, and something in you glows. you turn to your own plate and take a bite too, enjoying the explosion of such a homey flavor in your mouth.

“you should cook this more often, when—hey, what’s the waterworks for?”

chuuya gets out of his chair and embraces you. you’re not crying, not yet, but you feel the tears brimming around your lids. you sniffle against his shoulder as he pats your back.

“miss home?”

“a little, yeah,” you admit. “mostly… thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“why would—?” chuuya frowns. “you’re thinking of troublesome things again.” he sneaks a kiss to your lips, and you can taste the pepper in the broth when you do. “food’s great,” he says. “didja really think i’d find it weird? i’m not in the port mafia f’nothing, yanno? i’m used to unusual, to exotic, to unconventional.”

you smile. that makes chuuya smile.

“well, if you like the food so much, i wouldn’t mind cooking local specialties for you more often,” you say, and chuuya pumps his fist. “maybe even one day—”

“you better bring me home,” he finishes, a flush rising to your cheeks. “if food tastes this great where you’re from, why’re we holing up here in yokohama, no?” when you finally break into a laugh at his eagerness, chuuya grins. “there’s my angel. look, i’m really hungry—feed me a lil, won’t you?”

you pinch his nose and chuuya stumbles backward, cackling. he kisses you on your knuckles before he gets back on his chair, enthusiastically filling his mouth.

watching him eat, you think to yourself—well, he’ll fit right in.