#timeline:serious

[nkhrchuwuya]

nightmares

bungou stray dogs | G | 736 words

 nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

despite nightmares plaguing your sleep, there’s always someone warm to wake up to.

the nightmare is something else. there's someone chasing you with a knife first, before the scene shifts and instead you're faced with something more threateningly personal. it twists and turns into a horror show and the you in the dream can only duck and hide or run. except there's only so many places to hide in or go.

"-by. hey."

the monster lurks in the corner of your eye, and you're sure this time it's going to get you. you can almost feel it's slimy limbs encircling your wrist, and just the thought of it sends a shiver down your spine.

"-ke up. baby."

the floor creaks underneath the monster's weight and you close your eyes, accepting your fate. you hear its breath hovering so close to you. and just as it's about to open its cavernous mouth-

"baby. hey. come on, wake up."

the first splash of oxygen into your lungs jolts you awake. the room is dark, but familiar; nothing like the long hallways or dim streets you were traversing much earlier. there's a warm heat along your shoulders and on your hand, but it's comforting rather than revolting. slowly, the nightmare dissipates as you sink backward onto your savior's embrace.

"wanna talk about it?" chuuya asks, rubbing your shoulders and squeezing your hand.

you take a deep breath. "i don't remember all of it. just a lot of darkness and running around from monsters and people that weren't... safe."

"well you're safe now," he assures, presses a kiss on your temple as your breathing slowly evens. he takes his time with you, never rushing, knowing how much these nightmares shake you so deeply. you do your best to focus on his warmth and his company instead, letting go of the disturbing imagery that tried to sear itself into your brain.

once you're calmer, you turn to bury your head into chuuya's chest. the sound of his heartbeat is clear and steady, the one thing you need right now. he combs through your hair with his fingers. you're safe now, his voice echoes in your mind. you're safe now. you always are, when he's around.

noticing you licking your lips, chuuya offers you: "water?"

and you instantly feel how dry your throat is. had you been shouting while you were dreaming? is that how you'd gotten chuuya awake? the nightmare creeps along the edge of your mind again.

"that'd be great, but..." you say, drifting off. "i don't want you to leave me."

chuuya smiles. "that's easy to solve, princess."

carrying you with one arm, you feel the warm touch of his ability surround you as he carries you off to the kitchen. you know that he could carry you with both arms right now if he wanted to, but he knows that the heat of tainted sorrow around you will envelop you in a comforting embrace. which works exactly as he thought it would. you lean against his shoulder as he walks.

when you get to the kitchen, he places you gently onto the counter. when he lets go of you to get you water, you grab onto his wrist suddenly, still shaken.

chuuya presses a hand to your cheek. "i won't leave ya. i promise."

gently, you let go. he turns to get the pitcher of water from the fridge. the water tinkles faintly as he pours it into a glass. you watch him closely, like he'd disappear if you look away for one moment. when he hands you the glass, you take it, but you quickly take his hand in yours as well.

"see?" chuuya says, softly, his voice still slightly deep from sleep. "still here."

"still here," you echo, before finally taking a sip from the water. the cool washes through your mouth and down your throat, a grounding sensation. you're here now. chuuya is, too. and you're safe. you empty the glass, relieving the parched feeling.

chuuya lifts his other hand to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. "think ya can try to get some more sleep?" he asks, concern in his tone. "too early."

you nod. "as long as you're with me."

"stupid. i'm not going anywhere," chuuya assures you. "i'll protect ya. so you can sleep easy."

together, you return to the bedroom, which you're sure is now devoid of nightmares. forever and ever, for as long as chuuya is by your side.

[nkhrchuwuya]

slow mornings

bungou stray dogs | G | 527 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

you’re trying to get to work but chuuya is but a sleepy cuddlebug.

“chuuya, i have to get up.”

“five more minutes…”

sleep still weighs chuuya’s voice down, but the tight wrap of his arms around your waist is relentless despite his drowsiness. you take a glance at the clock again and sigh, knowing you’ll be late to the early meeting if you don’t get out of bed this instant.

“baby, you can sleep in. literally only i have to go.”

“dun want ya to go yet,” chuuya whines, pressing his face against your shoulder. “too early.”

“they’ll fire me.”

“then make them, you don’t need the job anyway.”

you laugh at chuuya’s insistence. it’s almost hard to resist, actually. he hasn’t been home early enough at night the past few days because of work to actually catch you awake, and in the mornings, you’re out of the door usually before he can wake up.

to say you’ve been missing each other is an understatement.

“okay,” you say, finally giving in. the first ten minutes of a morning meeting is probably something you can miss. you’ll just say you were having coffee. “but just five, nothing more.”

“that’s my good baby,” chuuya teases, because of course he does. you turn around to settle back into his embrace, grumbling at his praise while at the same time your irrational heart pleased to have his arms around you if just a little while longer.

slow mornings in the penthouse are almost always spent like this. the soft sunlight streaming in like golden thread through the curtains, illuminating your two forms on the bed under the blanket. it’s hard to tell where one ends and another begins. chuuya’s got his arms around you, pressing you flush against him, and you reach out to intertwine the fingers of a hand with his.

one of you hums a song.

today, it’s you. a slow, gentle melody that’s been stuck in your head since you’ve woken up this morning, a song that’s nearly half lullaby that you purr against chuuya’s sleep-warm skin. he sighs at your touch against his, and the sound and feeling of your voice against him is enough to lull him back to sleep.

a part of you wishes you could stay like this a little longer. to let the warm morning pass over you quietly until the clock paves its way to noon and then afternoon. but the sun is higher than it is five, ten minute ago, and you know if you don’t leave now you never will. besides, chuuya’s already deep asleep once more.

you disentangle yourself from his hold with an embrace, pressing a kiss to the hands you put aside. chuuya looks most at peace when he is asleep, no lines on his brow, no frown on his face, his mouth slightly open from where you can hear his little snores. a part of you fills with pleasure at the thought that he’s comfortable enough to share this with you. you want to hold him tight forever.

but this morning, there is work.

“see you later, baby,” you say, pushing his hair away from his face so you can sneak a kiss onto his forehead. “i love you.”

[nkhrchuwuya]

too much

bungou stray dogs | G | 1092 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

sometimes someone can care too much and it becomes knives.

sometimes life gives you knives.

"i just want you to stop coddling me! god! i'm an adult, leave me alone!"

it doesn't matter how you get the knives, what kind of knives they are.

"i just fucking care about you, and you're going to make it a problem?"

what matters is who you point your knives at.

"well i don't need your babying! i know what i'm doing!"

what matters is who you're injuring.

"then fucking fine! do whatever the hell ya want! i'm not going to make it my problem anymore."

(the door slams behind chuuya, leaving you alone in a bedroom you would rather not be in.)

but he's outside, and he's staying outside for the night, likely curled up in the couch nursing a glass of wine, so all you have left is to stick it out. he'll be gone in the morning, for work. for now all you have to do is set up fortress in your little bedroom.

at least you've got the bathroom, you think. chuuya will need to go all the way down to the gym to do his business.

just as you expected, it's lonelier than you imagined it would be, to hole up here. you're lucky you kept a few gadgets in your bedside drawer, something to distract you while you still can't sleep, still too antsy to lie down, but they prove to be of little help. the feeling still gnaws deep inside your heart.

the traitor inside your head begins to rebel. maybe chuuya was right. he was only looking out for you, after all. he wasn't stopping you from doing the things you want, just asking for you to do it in moderation. no staying up late. no sleeping too much. no drinking too much. no skipping meals. maybe all he was asking was for you to stop overindulging, at the cost of... yourself.

hours pass.

outside, you are correct in your guess that chuuya is nursing a glass of wine. a red, one of the more expensive ones he prefers to share with you. but tonight there is only him and remorse sitting on the couch, lights all turned off, the only illumination coming in the room the bright lights of yokohama city coming through the window.

had he overstepped a line? he wasn't your parent. he wasn't even your guardian. he was your partner, and sure maybe he could get away with a few reprimands sometimes, but maybe he wasn't in the right to demand something like that. the wine leaves a hot stripe down his throat that feels too close like burning damnation.

he was just worried- as he always is. you've been looking a little sunken lately, after all. dark circles under your eyes, an appetite that turned on and off, the heavy footsteps. maybe you hadn't noticed it, but he did. and maybe it was nothing to you- fuck, maybe this was even still in the range of "normal"- but was it so wrong for him to step in?

it is at this point that you come out of the bedroom, your water bottle in hand, the blanket a cape around your figure. you make eye contact for a brief moment, one that sends a wave of disdain over the both of you.

"water," you say by explanation, before walking away from him, headed to the kitchen.

and that would have been more dramatic if the living area had not been overlooking the kitchen, but instead chuuya is still there, gets to watch you pull out the pitcher from the fridge and pour the cold water into your bottle.

he catches your hand shaking and it's the end of it for him.

no more of this.

he gets up off the couch and heads to the kitchen where you are, plopping himself over the counter. you try not to look at him as you refill the pitcher. it doesn't matter- he speaks.

"still mad at me?"

his tone is so casual, like he'd asked if you wanted ice cream, instead. but you know that's what he does when he's bracing for rejection.

"i don't know, chuuya," you answer, and it's the truth. the pitcher is still only half-full. you want to run.

"i was serious when i said i wouldn't bother ya about it anymore," he says, fiddling with the longer end of his hair. "if it makes ya so upset."

"i don't-" you say, turning to him, but once you see the gray of his eyes, you can only turn away. three-fourths full. "i don't want you to stop caring, if that's what you want to hear from me."

"i don't have anything i want to hear from ya," he clarifies. "just want to fix this."

you turn off the tap and the water stops. you place the pitcher on the counter, buying time by putting the lid back in its place. chuuya waits patiently as you put the pitcher back in the fridge, watches as you lean against the opposite counter to face him, all of your blanket cape behind you.

a deep frown goes to your face. "i didn't mean to yell at you."

chuuya raises his eyebrows. "and i didn't mean to be so suffocating."

the curl of the words on your lips feels... not wrong, but hard to say. deep in your heart you are still struggling with the argument, still not settled even if it's been hours since. but you know you have to say it. you have to say it or else-

"i'm sorry," chuuya finally speaks up, saying it before you can. there's a solemn regret in his eyes, one that you quickly realize doesn't have to be there.

"no, i'm sorry," you say back. "i shouldn't have turned you down like that. you were only looking out for me... i could have at least taken it gracefully."

"i shouldn't have been that forceful," chuuya adds on to his apology. "both at fault?"

"both at fault."

chuuya hops off the counter. he comes to you, but doesn't touch you until you give him permission to; in the form of taking his hand. and when you do, you feel gravity lift as he burritoes you with the blanket and you both float into the bedroom.

that is now much warmer.

sometimes life gives you knives.

it doesn't matter how you get the knives, what kind of knives they are.

what matters is who you point your knives at.

what matters is you learn how to keep them away.

[nkhrchuwuya]

tipsy

bungou stray dogs | EXPLICIT | 861 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

alcohol does things to chuuya. you do things to chuuya. put together…

“hahahaha! chuuya, you’re such a silly little man.”

chuuya doesn’t even register the last three words as the alcohol’s effects swirl around his brain like a beautiful fog. all he hears is the sound of your near-erotic laughter, echoing in his ears as you straddle his waist like a fever dream.

he said he was going to get blackout drunk tonight. tough day at work. but he’s not blackout drunk, not yet at least. though you’ve taken away the wine bottles anyway because you’d rather avoid a hungover chuuya. but he’s passed several stages of drunk at this point, and you know that by experience.

it starts with loud chuuya. chuuya on his first glass is always extra loud. talking about anything, really. hobbies, stuff in his work, gossip from within the port mafia, ranting about ex-colleagues—his mouth runs a mile a minute as he drinks. which you don’t really mind—it’s endearing—but a lot of times it’s just much easier to usher him quickly into his second drink.

that leads him straight to quiet chuuya. chuuya who is deeply contemplative and has a lot of angst inside of him begging to come out. while he still has the ability to talk as he did prior, he’s now much quieter, and only drops heavy one-liners every time he does speak. it’s a good barometer to see how he’s been feeling the past week, except every line is at least twice as miserable as it really is in real life. quiet chuuya sits in a corner nursing his glass of wine until it’s empty and he’s near in tears.

which leads to the third-glass horny chuuya.

really, like something snaps. he goes from tense and silent to one that’s crossing the room with heavy footsteps headed straight to your warm embrace.

third-glass horny chuuya gives very, very eager consent. nosing at your neck, murmuring your name and little whines of “please, please, i need you right now” as his hands are going down your body. give him a push and he’ll back off—no problem, not hard at all—but if you continue to let him, the more enthusiastic he gets.

until he’s so desperate for you no more words come out, just grunts and pants and grinding.

he’s already midway through his third-glass tonight and you know if you wait any longer he won’t even be able to get hard at all, so you decide to give him what he wants.

chuuya makes slacks look extra beautiful, especially on his lithe frame, but by god does it look painful when tented with a dick as massive as his. you pop the button free and pull the zipper and shimmy it down his shaking hips.

you can’t help the laugh that comes out of you. “chuuya, you have to calm down a bit.”

which you’re sure he doesn’t understand in words but he does in spirit, because he whines a complaint, a sound that goes straight to both his dick and your core.

you take him into your mouth, a practiced gesture of tongue and hidden-away teeth. a groan that’s filled with relief exits his mouth, and you grin as your tongue goes further down his length. he sighs, a heavenly sound.

chuuya loves oral. giving, receiving. he can spend hours with you between his legs or him between your legs and he wouldn’t mind one bit. something about the adoration, the worship in the act gets him off so hard that you know it won’t take him more than two minutes right now to blow his load all over you.

but you don’t rush it, don’t push on forward because you want to enjoy this as much as he’s enjoying it. take the base of his dick in your hands and gently pump it as you soothe the head over with your tongue like a salty lollipop. the shivers of his hips are sensations that go straight down to your now-wobbling legs.

his hands suddenly fly to your hair, and so you decide to finish him off. all the way in your throat, so nothing goes to waste. his murmurs and moans finally escalate into a choppy, garbled version of your name, so sweet in its surrender, and the pain in your jaw dissipates as you hear him release one final sigh before his hips fall to the bed with a creak.

you look up at him, grinning, delighted in your handiwork and are about to tease him for round two when—

instead, you see chuuya snoring happily away against his pillow, mouth slightly open, drool falling out.

the anger and sexual frustration that broils in your gut at the sight disappears at his pleased, relaxed expression, such a contrast to the displeasure in his face earlier that night.

well, i guess that was worth it.

you wash yourself up quickly before coming back to bed with him, tucking you both under the blanket. you kiss his cheek, then pinch his nose, grinning as you lay down next to him.

“you better pay me back tomorrow.”

[nkhrchuwuya]

spare keys

bungou stray dogs | G | 511words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

the penthouse used to be just a place to return to after work. now it’s something else entirely.

the thing about the penthouse is that it’s a symbol of everything chuuya stands for.

his jazz collection hides in the shelves of his penthouse. his various wines sorted by year in their special cupboard. his diversity of suits. the books he’d bought that meant the world to him. souvenirs from around the world. mementos from missions.

and of course, the beautiful view of yokohama out the floor-to-ceiling windows, the main reason chuuya is in it at all.

for the city. his city.

and for the longest time, the penthouse is just the penthouse, the place where all of chuuya’s existence lives, until… well, until it no longer just is.

casual. the two of you had agreed to keep it casual. no strict attachments. no commitments. just testing out the waters between the two of you, seeing how far you can go.

it creeps in slowly, like love dripping out of a small puncture in the tube, quietly soaking the floors.

chuuya doesn’t realize how much space you’ve taken over until it is too late. his heart is full and his only escape—his penthouse—now has traces of you everywhere.

the red-rimmed mug you always drank from whenever you were there. that one specific brand of wine whose name you can’t pronounce for the life of you but you swore was the best you’ve ever had. the vase on his round dining table you always replace with a flower from the bouquet he’d bought from you.

he doesn’t notice it until it’s all over the place.

your side of the bed. your spot on the couch. your seat on the table. your favorite spot in the balcony. the corner in the shoe rack for your pair of the day. your spot on the coat rack. the slot in the fridge where you’d keep your water bottle.

and then it seeps everywhere.

your favorite food. your good morning texts. the hour of the day when you and him get to text the most. the hour of the night when you’re more fragile than usual. your perfume. your clothes in the laundry. your toothbrush on his sink. your hair fanned on his pillow.

yours, yours, yours.

when chuuya first started seeing you he didn’t imagine it would become something like this. there was only a flash of attraction, a hint of a grin on the corner of your lips after he’d first met you that drove him to reach out to you even when he knew from the bottom of his heart that it would be better to not do that at all.

and yet look at what following his heart got him?

so, months and months after you’d first started taking root in the garden of his mind, in the carpeted floors of his penthouse… he decides he is way better off sealing the deal.

“…what’s this for?” you ask, gasping at the sight of the copy of the penthouse key in his hands, the one he was offering to you.

“nothing,” chuuya says, solemn smile on his face. “just yours.”

[nkhrchuwuya]

dolled-up

bungou stray dogs | T | 665 words nakahara chuuya x reader/OC

chuuya likes dressing you up. and when someone has something bad to say about it? well...

you and chuuya get a lot of looks when you’re walking down the street. especially after he started dressing you up. at first, chuuya would always volunteer to drive you in a car or at least on a motorcycle, to avoid prying eyes, and for your own safety. but after a certain amount of time, it became dull, monotonous, and really, a little restricting.

so you made a compromise. you wear your “regular, commoner clothes” (your words) when you’re out alone, and when you do have to wear your “stylish, chuuya-approved clothes” (your words still) you’ll have to be out with him, so he can assure that no one dares to do anything more than look. and he’d agreed to that. and you’d agreed to that, not knowing the level of how far “assuring” chuuya meant when he haggled it into the explanation.

until today.

“chuuya!”

the man stumbles backwards, falls on his ass to the ground with a yelp clutching his cheek. chuuya had aimed for the center of his face, but moved it sideways when he heard your clarity-inducing voice. he doesn’t have time to deal with lowlifes like this. he just had to land a blow and then the both of you can go.

so dislocating the man’s jaw was enough. he didn’t even need to use his ability.

your instinct is to rush toward the injured man, the very same man who, just seconds ago, had insinuated you might be some sort of gold-digging whore with a dirty, scheming boyfriend. all because the two of you were just the slightly dressed up above average for a little dinner and then a chill planetarium date because there were shooting stars tonight.

a whore?

“i dare you to fucking say that again with your face like that,” chuuya growls, the only thing holding him back from throwing another blow being your hand around his wrist. the orange of the sunset illuminates his face in an angry glow that makes his features light in an intimidating glow. “wanna find out what i’m going to do to you next?”

you tug at his wrist again. “chuuya, he’s had enough. let’s go.”

really, you’re the only voice of reason when he gets like this. with a huff, chuuya snaps out of it and you gratefully pull him next to you. you try to look regretful at the “poor victim” while inside boiling him alive for what he’s said to you and chuuya. with a deadpan look at the nearest bystander—because of course there are people watching—you say, “please call him an ambulance.”

and then, with one last look at the man, the two of you leave the scene without another word.

once you’ve gotten far enough, the sunset giving in to twilight’s violet glow, you hit chuuya at the shoulder with your hand. you understand why he reacted like that, and inwardly you are thankful because you wouldn’t have had the courage to do it yourself, but at the same time… “did you have to act so violently?”

“didya think i was gonna tolerate that?” he huffs, remorseless. “can’t let him think he’s right.”

you frown. “i get it, but you don’t have to make a scene every time.”

sensing your upset, chuuya turns to you. “can’t promise, love, but i’ll try.”

“good. you should try your best.”

“maybe i won’t try as hard.”

you glower. “chuuya!”

chuuya laughs unapologetically as the two of you turn the corner to the restaurant. he links his arms with yours and you lean, for the slightest of moments, against his shoulder. he doesn’t give one shit what other people think about you, of the both of you. he’s going to make sure his highness is dressed exactly the way they want in the most beautiful of ways no matter how simple or extravagant. and he’ll make sure no one has any negative things to say about it.

[nkhrchuwuya]

intimacy

bungou stray dogs | G | 492 words nakahara chuuya x reader/OC

sometimes, it’s all about the little things.

chuuya really hasn't known "intimacy" in the short span of his life. and he admits this to you, early on in your not-yet-relationship, that while he knows how to be a gentleman in theory- the concept of being someone's boyfriend is a territory he hasn't really explored.

sure, he's had a few trysts himself, he's no saint. and the mafia makes it easy to get ahold of warm bodies. but he's smart enough to figure out that none of those really counted for the definition of "intimacy" he's had in his head.

nevertheless, chuuya's surprisingly good at it.

which is so annoying because he doesn't see how good he is at it, no matter how hard you try.

you tell him, and he'll say, "isn't that just... basic boyfriend things?" and when you say, "no, you're like, way better than half the male population of the world", he'll say, "okay, what the hell are you buttering me up for?" even when you aren't!

so you decide- a final act of retaliation- that whenever he does something intimate, loving, caring, for you, you would give him a little kiss. less a reward, and more of an acknowledgment of what he's doing, maybe until he finally connects the dots.

(and he doesn't, not at once, but...)

he notices.

like when you're watching a movie seated on the couch and he grabs your hand. he does it for comfort, really- he knows you're pressed against his side already but having your hand in his is always an extra level of warmth. he's just running his thumb over your hand as the movie goes on, when you turn to press a kiss on the corner of his shoulder. a little kiss, not much, and you lean your head back against him soon after.

or like when you're venting to him about a hard day, and he cradles you in his arms until the pain goes away. and when you're done rambling, or crying, or shouting, you are there, lying with your back to his chest, the comforting scent and warmth of him around you. you pull his one hand up to your mouth to give it a kiss.

sometimes it's not even something as tender as that, sometimes you are out having a date at the amusement park and chuuya comes with you to all the rides you want to try but are too scared to go to alone. he holds your hand the entire time as the both of you yell for your lives, the rollercoaster dipping into an exciting drop. when you're done, breathless, you press a kiss to his cheek in thanks.

it's all the little things, really. and chuuya has a hard time believe you are content with only this. when really, only this is all and more than you could have ever wanted.

chuuya really hasn't known "intimacy" in the short span of his life.

that is, until he's met you.

[nkhrchuwuya]

sunblock

bungou stray dogs | G | 699 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

you and chuuya are on a weekend getaway trip, and you can’t reach your back to put the damn sunscreen on.

"can you help put sunblock on my back, chuuya? I can't reach it."

you ask, innocently waving a bottle of sunblock at his face. the two of you had rented out a little hut by the beachside, where you'd enjoyed a delicious lunch together and are now enjoying the afternoon sun and breeze in the shade.

"going for a dip, babe?" he asks, taking the bottle from you as you walk towards the reclining chair. he shakes it to listen for its contents; still half full. he'd used it to cover himself up earlier, too. you shake your head.

"not really, just gonna lie in the sun a little. maybe get a nice tan."

"you're already pretty tanned from our stay here, yanno?" he says, raising an eyebrow. he uncaps the bottle and squirts a good amount on his hand.

you put your tongue out. "well, i wanna enjoy the sun a little bit more, is that so bad?"

somehow, chuuya's managed to persuade his boss out of letting him take friday and monday off, leaving you two a beautiful four-day weekend out by the beachside. he'd booked the absolute most beautiful resort- of course- with the best amenities known to man. the private (section of the) beach was one of those.

chuuya's hands on your shoulders are heavy but comforting, and you feel the cool of the sunblock against the sea breeze spreading throughout your back. you don't hold back the little groan that comes out of you as he massages the lotion into place, all while keeping a very heavy, massage-like touch over your back.

"damn, and a private masseuse too?" you tease, and chuuya only laughs and gives your (tender, achy) shoulders a good, welcome squeeze. you let out another sound of approval.

"maybe instead of being out at the beach you should be in the spa," he offhandedly mentions, putting another blob of sunscreen onto his hand. this time for your exposed lower back. "you're so tense everywhere."

"but i wanna enjoy the beach," you frown, as his hands trace the dip of your spine and gently go over your sensitive sides. "i can go there at night."

"we can go together, i don't mind one go," chuuya says, now letting his fingers press tantalizingly along the line of your spine. something in your back feels like it's clicking into place, being pressed back to where it belongs, and you sigh at his touch.

chuuya claps his hands once he's done and you flip over in the reclining chair, grinning. "if ever you quit the port mafia, you've got a second career going in that."

"putting sunblock on people?"

"being a tease of a masseuse," you laugh, pinching his nose. chuuya frowns until you let go, but it bears no weight.

it is only then that chuuya finally gets a clear look on you, your two piece swimsuit's deep color stark against the tone of your skin in a beautiful contrast. your hair tied up in a messy bun on top of your head, sunglasses resting just above your forehead. the necklace he gave you once and you never took off still hanging on your neck. your skin glowing ever so lightly from the thin sheen of sunscreen.

suddenly, he's left with a desire to pounce.

he jumps over you, tumbling you back into lying position on the recliner, towering over you with his hands by your sides. a flash of surprise comes over your eyes before it becomes recognition. behind him, the sun is a beautiful golden glow, reflecting off of the red strands framing his face.

you waggle your eyebrows. "see something you like?"

"want my dessert," he grins, and you grin back.

"have a taste then."

the kiss he leaves on your neck is wet and sloppy and so full of sunblock that chuuya has to lift himself back up and make a face of disgust. you'd expected the reaction and you laugh as he wipes his mouth with his hand.

"silly chuuya," you grin, taking his hand and tugging him into the waiting water. "come on, let's rinse it off?"

chuuya doesn't half mind licking saltwater off your flesh later on.

[nkhrchuwuya]

downpour

bungou stray dogs | G | 502 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

sometimes taking shelter from the rain just isn’t the best option. 

"you'd think being right next to yokohama we'd have the same weather."

chuuya steps closer to you where you're looking out the hotel room window. here at the topmost floor, tokyo's nighttime city sprawl unravels before your eyes, dripping with rain. it's not quite night yet- the sky breathing its last blues- and something about the streetlights below makes you want to go out.

"scared of the rain, chuuya?"

"what kind of a stupid question is that?"

chuuya's got something to do in tokyo- not dangerous for once- for the next few days. something about contracts being signed and welcome gifts being exchanged. after assuring that there won't be any action-packed drama, you asked to come along so you can be with chuuya in the downtimes, and he quickly agreed.

tonight is one of those downtimes.

"i was just thinking of doing something kinda stupid."

you flip your wrist to reveal the gold wristwatch chuuya had bought for you- a birthday gift. there's still two hours left for your dinner reservation, you've got time to burn. and really, there's something about those streetlights...

"i'm listening."

-

"yanno, in hindsight, this is kinda embarrassing."

"what? there's no backing out now, chuuya!"

when you get to the street below your hotel building, the downpour has turned into a downpour, the footpaths chattering with rain. little pools of water have gathered in certain dips in the pavement, reflecting the streetlights in a hazy golden glow.

"you're gonna get a fever like this," chuuya says, gripping the umbrella's handle tightly in his hand. "i don't want ya sick."

"we're gonna be drenched like a minute tops," you say, squeezing his hand tighter. "please? it's been a little dream of mine for a bit."

and just like that, chuuya's in for it. for what is he if not the one who makes your dreams come true?

you're lucky he's gotten some dance lessons from kouyou.

in five seconds, the pedestrian crossing light finally turns green, and chuuya drops the umbrella as you pull him to the center of the crossing lane. thankfully, there's only you and him, and you've got the stage to yourselves.

you start to dance.

to music that no one but you can hear, the raindrops cold against your exposed arms, the beep-boop of the crossing timer the only beat you move to. chuuya feels a little out of his element on his own, but when he's finally got you in his arms his feet begin to get lighter. a sway there, a dip there, a little spin-

it's everything you've wanted and more. the laugh that comes out of you comes straight out of your heart.

and when the timer is about to die down, chuuya pulls you into a kiss before pulling you back to safety on your side of the street.

you grin at him like he'd given you the world.

and, although shyly, he smiles back, knowing there's nothing better in the world than granting you a smile like this.

[nkhrchuwuya]

patience

bungou stray dogs | G | 401 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

chuuya is willing to be patient for you. 

chuuya has a patience unrivaled by many.

it’s a skill honed by years and years of being in the mafia, and the need to be diplomatic when it comes to negotiating and trade deals. he’s not exactly the bloodthirsty mafioso in television. chuuya would like to argue that that trope is overused and so far from the truth. but that’s not the point here.

if he has to wait, he will.

that’s why it took so long for him to actually confess his feelings for you. and even longer for him to “make it official.” the two of you had taken the slow, slow, confusing, maze-like route to what is now the most stable thing you know. and it’s all because of chuuya’s patience.

but he can’t… not all the time. there are times he just gets at the tail end of his patience.

like in the port mafia headquarters in a meeting late in the afternoon about some subordinate’s job being completed, which he doesn’t really care about but has to because he’s the one overlooking the mission. he’d really much rather be home, but he has to sit through this for a little while longer.

or when he’s in mori’s office listening to him say something or the other about dazai again or elise. he has utmost respect and patience in this man, for teaching him a lot of valuable lessons, but god—sometimes he just wants him to shut his trap and let him walk out the office door instead, maybe call you if you’re not busy.

sometimes it’s not even as complicated as that. don’t get chuuya to go in line for you at a café—unless there are only two people max in line—because he is going to be so grumpy at the barista by the time he gets in front that they will have to escort him outside. (you learned this the hard way).

but chuuya understands that there are things he has to be patient for. for it to be perfect. for it to be just right. and the wait will be worth it. the frustration will be worth it. the held breath, the focused gaze, they will all be worth it.

and he reminds himself this, as he thinks of the ring hiding in the far end of his closet, watching you nap as the yokohama mid-afternoon glow reflects over your face.

-

(this is how he proposed)

[nkhrchuwuya]

patiently

bungou stray dogs | G | 546 words nakahara chuuya x reader/OC

sometimes you get grumpy at chuuya while you’re sick, but he never turns his back on you.

the sniffles quickly turn into an unrelenting fever.

god knows what kind of bug you’ve caught, but you’re sure as hell not letting chuuya 1.) know 2.) catch it. so in a last bid of survival, you call the front desk and ask for a bunch of anti-fever pills, two litres of apply juice (for comfort), and the 10-pack of cupped soup. the lady on the other end of the line asks if they’ll charge it to chuuya’s card, and, half-delirious, you say yes.

the next thing you know he is calling.

“do ya have a fever?”

“no.” (you sound miserable.) “aren’t you on a mission?”

“i swapped with someone.” a beat. “it’s just surveillance, don’t mind it. why didn’t ya tell me ya were sick?”

“and?” you’re grumpy from the fever. you just want to sleep, not get scolded. “it’s not like you’ll come home..” silence. “look—i’m sorry for charging it to your card. and—i’ll be fine in a day.”

“no you will—”

“goodnight, chuuya!” (it is 1:00pm.)

click.

you really don’t want to argue. he doesn’t call or text. you pull your blanket up from the floor and go to bed.

-

delirious; your order arrives; meds get taken; dinner somehow happens, soup in a bowl. the penthouse is cold. your bed is warm. suddenly it is 9pm. you look at your phone and find no missed calls, no new texts. somehow your heart breaks even if you’ve done it to yourself. you curl around a cool pillow, and sleep.

-

by the time chuuya gets home it is 5:00 am.

the sun is still hiding but the sky is already turning brighter. he’ll have the morning to himself to rest, but he’ll have to report in the afternoon.

for now he’s got a job to do.

off comes his work clothes as he slips into casual wear. he’s bathed and dressed by 5:30. when he comes out of the bathroom, you look up at him blearily from the bed and he approaches to kiss you on the forehead. you have the audacity to swat him.

“you’ll catch it!”

“i won’t, i’m healthier than you.”

you put your tongue out at him even if he’s right and he exits the room. when he comes back, it’s with the sweet aroma of breakfast.

on two floating trays comes a pair of delicious japanese breakfast meals—grilled fish, rice, miso soup, and the imperfect yet endearing slices of the tamagoyaki you had painstakingly made him learn to make.

“you shouldn’t have.”

“and go hungry? no thanks.”

you chew the salmon slowly as chuuya (leisurely) scarfs down his own food. when the effort of eating becomes too much, you lean your head against his shoulder and chuuya takes the hand you’ve got resting on your thigh into his.

“sorry for cutting you off.”

“you were lucky i really was homebound today.”

you snort. “i would’ve managed without you.”

“sure you would,” chuuya says with a roll of his eyes, but he looks on at you so tenderly anyway. he knows you can. “but i’d rather be here by your side. and you?”

he takes your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. there’s no resisting him like this.

“yeah… i like this better too.”

[nkhrchuwuya]

enamoured

bungou stray dogs | G | 1108 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

the three times chuuya secretly fell in love with you, and the one time he decided to tell you.

i

the first time chuuya falls in love with you is a few dates after your first.

past the initial talking and getting to know each other phase, the two of you have finally gotten into the deeper questions about each other. chuuya brings it up fully expecting you would be turning him down at the end of it.

“how do you feel about the port mafia’s reputation?”

it’s a question that’s not only directed at the port mafia’s standing to yokohama citizens, but also to your own perception of him—what kind of person he is, to be part of such an organization.

and how do you answer him?

“i don’t think you’re all evil, you considered,” you say, weighing your words carefully, “but that doesn’t mean i will not be against any and all acts of violence on your part.”

chuuya nods, deadpan, even if his heart is flip-flopping in his chest. “that’s only fair.”

“i understand where you’re coming from, chuuya,” you continue. “you’ve told me enough for me to know it’s not just for fun. i’ll respect what you do. but that doesn’t mean i won’t stand by my morals.”

“and i wouldn’t ask for anything less,” he agrees, stupid lovestruck smile on his face. beautiful, open-minded, and willing to compromise? “that’s exactly what i wanted to hear.”

ii

the second time he falls in love with you is the first time you show him your most vulnerable side.

he’d given you a call to invite you to hang out a little bit, only for you to answer in the weakest voice he’s ever heard—

“i’m not too good company right now, but i’d love to stay by your side, if you don’t mind.”

he’s at your apartment in fifteen minutes.

and true enough, when you greet him at the door, you’re wrapped in a bathrobe over your pajamas nursing a cup of tea, looking worse for wear. bags under your red-rimmed eyes. no pretenses; no makeup, no dressing up, no preparations, just you as you are right there in front of him.

“what can i do for you?” he asks, on instinct, as you take his hand to usher him in, lead him to the couch.

“you can have some of my misery soup and watch a movie with me,” you tease, curling up next to him once he’s seated himself. he lets you rest your heavy head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you comfortingly.

“how long have you been like this?”

“meh. not that long,” you say without clarifying. “don’t worry about me.”

“too late,” he responds, and you let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “i’m gonna worry about you anyway.”

the movie is—chuuya thankfully notes—lighthearted in nature. you have your arms snaked around his the entire time as you quietly observe the plot unfold. and at the end, when the family is happy and the main pair is reunited, you press your face against his shoulder so hard he can feel the smile that’s growing on your face.

and when you finally look up at him, the smile still there, the quiet “thank you for hanging around” on your lips—

chuuya decides he’d like to protect that beautiful expression forever.

iii

“have you ever thought of… you know, kids?”

the questions comes out of nowhere, over dinner while you’re both having bowls of wonderfully home made ramen. chuuya’s in the middle of slurping his soup when you voice the question, and he nearly chokes on what he’s got in his mouth.

“like, our kids?”

you shrug. “yeah, maybe. or just kids in general, you know?” you take a sip of your soup as chuuya eyes you. “i actually think you’re good with kids, chuuya.”

“i’d like a pair,” chuuya says, after a contemplative silence. “one would be lonely. at least two would be good.”

“yeah, a pair might be good,” you answer, smiling as you take a sip of your canned beer. “one right after the other, so that they don’t have problems with getting along.”

a small smile grows on your face, and chuuya is—to say the very least—enamored by it. he wonders what you’re seeing in your mind—do you see a future as bright as the one he’s imagining? do you know how far he’ll go to give you all that you want and need?

do you know what you’ve planted deep in his brain with what you’ve just told him?

chuuya swallows the butterflies, lets them rest inside of him, as he leans against his arm to look at you with eyebrows waggling. you’re laughing before he’s even gotten to the punchline.

“feel like getting onto making them after dinner?”

+i

it takes chuuya months of preparation. nothing but non-stop brainstorming and booking places and buying what he needs from the moment his heart has decided on it. because it’ll be nothing less than perfect, he thinks to himself.

he’s dreamt it all up in his head and it’s beautiful. the moonlight reflecting on the deep blue waves, starlight shining down on the both of you, an outdoor restaurant booked for the both of you alone, and he’ll pop out a ring once it’s the perfect time.

until, he realizes, the meaning of perfection is something else entirely.

that sometimes it’s not about the elaborate set up. none of the spotlights, none of the spectacle involved. sometimes it just is.

like right now. sitting on the back of the sofa while sipping your morning coffee, looking out at the view of yokohama from the penthouse window. your hair tied in a loose bun on your head. an old shirt of his hanging from your frame. some coffee still in the maker, the portion you’d made for him. the penthouse feeling warm despite the chilly night.

sometimes perfection is when all the things that matter are all together in one place.

so before he can even think about it, chuuya’s got the velvet box in his pocket. he runs his hand through his hair nervously and tugs at the hem of his shirt and his boxers he’s slept in.

and then he’s knelt down next to you.

“chuuya?”

“fuck, i don’t even have a speech ready. but marry me. please. marry me?”

-

bonus

“chuuya… oh my god, hahaha, chuuya…”

“that’s not a yes or a no, baby.”

“baby, it’s always been a yes. it is and will always be. in fact i’ll even take the ring now. but by god…”

“…what? ya got complaints?”

“just one.” (a chuckle.) “can you please try again, a little more dressed next time?”

[nkhrchuwuya]

masseuse

bungou stray dogs | G | 818 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

you learn how to do a simple massage for your boyfriend. you don’t realize how big a deal it is for him.  ⚠ suggestive themes at the end 

when you learn acupressure therapy, nakahara chuuya is as good as dead.

it starts out a few “spa dates” into your relationship. you notice, entirely by coincidence, that while chuuya always suggests for you to try their recommended or new treatments, he tends to follow up any fancy spa service with a usual dose of a 60 minute acupressure massage.

he always hops out of it looking a little more refreshed, so you contemplate: why not learn it?

secretly, you buy a few books on acupressure and read up on how it’s done. you also spend a bit of time every day learning some techniques from videos you find online. it’s a challenge to learn it all on your own—and in hiding, too—but you persevere. practicing on your arms until you can get the weight right. memorizing the points down the back and legs until you know them like the back of your own hand.

and then, finally, a few weeks later, it is time.

chuuya stumbles home from work grumbling about something under his breath. you look up from the book you’re reading, and frown in sympathy as he shuffles towards you on the sofa. tucking him into your arms, you gently run your hands down his hair until he hums contentedly.

then, unable to resist, you begin to press more meaningfully down certain points on his head.

the sigh that comes out of him is involuntary, and so is the way he collapses against you at the first firm touches onto his scalp. you laugh lightly as he nuzzles into your neck, breathing deep. “where the fuck did you learn that?” he asks.

“here and there,” you answer, continuing with your actions. “should i give you a massage, baby?”

“ya don’t have to,” he murmurs. half-heartedly. “although that’s really killer, babe.”

you nudge him. “c’mon, i’ll do it for you.” guiding him so you can see his face, you kiss his nose and squeeze his cheek, a little motion to cheer him up. “the bath should still be hot. get soaked a little bit then i’ll wait for you in bed, yeah?”

he smirks. “i knew massages were always precursors to—”

“—to a good sleep,” you insist. “come on, up!”

and so he obeys.

it’s a good 30 minutes later when chuuya rises from the bath, his skin pink from the heat of the water. he looks just a little bit more rested than he did earlier, but the fatigue still dims the glow in his eyes. spotting him enter the bedroom, you reach out your hand to him to guide him onto the bed, face on the soft pillows.

“ya really don’t have to,” chuuya still insists, even if you’re already stretching your fingers.

you kiss the nape of his neck to soothe him. “i want to. now just sit there and melt.”

and melt he does.

seeing chuuya’s bare body isn’t new to you in any way, but like this, rosy from the bath and all surrender to your touch, it feels quite different. in a good way. you just love how you’ve managed to pry him open now—how easy it has become for him to ask for your assistance, to welcome your care, unlike during the very early stages of your relationship.

you run everything you’ve learned down your head like a checklist. focusing on his limbs first then his torso. listening to the sound of his voice to gauge where you should pay more attention to; assessing for pressure control with the hitch of his breath. when you switch from deep presses to more gentle stretches to relieve any aches and pains, you relish the way he leans to your touch as if by instinct.

it’s so nice to be able to treat him gently like this.

chuuya isn’t selfless in the sense that he doesn’t forget to take care of himself. he has a bare minimum of upkeep that he holds as a standard to himself at the very least. but to be able to pamper him like this with your own hands? to feel him dissolve into the mattress like all the hurts from carrying the port mafia on his shoulders were dissipating into the air with your every touch?

you wouldn’t mind doing this more often.

you spend an adequate amount of time indulging chuuya—before your fingers give in—enjoying the soft noises of pleasure that comes out of him. and when you finish, you press a kiss at the center of his back, expecting him to be asleep.

except he isn’t, and you realize that once he flips you over, caging you underneath him in the covers with a smile on his face. his eyes brighter than it had been earlier.

“your turn, princess,” he grins, kissing your collarbone.

why do you feel like you’ll feel more soreness than relief after this?

[nkhrchuwuya]

chicken soup

bungou stray dogs | G | 645 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

chuuya catches the flu. you make him some chicken soup and try to make him feel better.

“ahh… ahhh…. achoo!!!”

chuuya sniffles sadly from the bedroom as you’re stirring the soup in the kitchen. through the open door, you can hear him grumbling to himself as he probably pulls the blankets over his shivering form.

nakahara chuuya isn’t one to get sick. not with his impeccable routine, at least, that keeps him in tip-top shape, ready for mafia work no matter the weather. but the flu this year seems to be more intense than it ever has, and no amount of enough water, vitamins, healthy food, and exercise seems to have kept chuuya’s immune system strong enough to keep the sickness out.

“i’ll be there a minute!” you call out to him, turning off the heat on the stove so you can start to serve it. nothing quite like a good macaroni chicken soup to warm him up and get some much-needed nutrients into his body. you pour it into a bowl and bring it with a glass of water on a tray to the bedroom.

chuuya’s face is all red from the fever, and he looks absolutely miserable. he’s slouched where he’s seated on the bed, wrapped in a extra fluffy bathrobe over his clothes to keep him even warmer. all that while he’s underneath the blankets.

“i’m going to die,” he says, the words half clogged up his nose. you shake your head, placing the tray on the bed, careful not to jostle it.

chuuya scooches over to the other side so you can sit next to him. “you’re not going to die,” you say, pulling the thermometer out from the bedside drawer. “come on, let me take your temperature.” you wait patiently for it to read and when it comes out—"38.2°c, lower than last time. you’re getting better.”

after you’ve kept the thermometer away, you turn to face chuuya pouting at you. “i hate being sick,” he says, voice hoarse.

you make a mental note to give him something iced to soothe his throat a little. “you’ll get better,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “for now—soup?”

chuuya huffs but he nods anyway. with a smile, you brush his bangs back to clear his face before you begin to feed him. he very well could do it on his own—at least by now, since his hands aren’t shaking anymore—but he lets you do it for him anyway. he sighs with every sip of the soup, mumbled praises for your cooking under his breath as he lets the comfort of its warmth into his system.

for chuuya, this is more than just asking for help—this is a prayer, a surrender to you. the usual roles get reversed; he who protects becomes the one that demands protection, company, attention. when he’s like this, all he wants to do is to be held by you.

and hold him you do.

by the time the soup is finished, the exhaustion in chuuya’s body has finally caught up to him, and he slumps backward onto the pillows, depleted of energy. you put the soup and the tray away next to the bed and settle next to him under the covers, only for him to gasp and pull away.

you frown at him rejecting your embrace. in response, he says, “you’re going to catch it.”

“then it’ll be your turn to take care of me,” you tease.

he pouts. “i’d rather ya don’t get sick, doll. how about this?” he turns so he’s on his side of the bed, and then reaches out a hand over to your side. “i’ll keep ya company.”

“silly,” you tease, but take his hand anyway. chuuya, ever so needy, and yet never quite so honest about his feelings. “i’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“good.” chuuya says, curling into the sheets, eyes closed, smiling. “because i’ll need ya by my side forever.”

[nkhrchuwuya]

safety

bungou stray dogs | T | 862 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

chuuya catches you in the middle of a panic attack. ⚠ detailed description of an attack

you feel it in your throat first.

closing in on itself like a flower blossoming in reverse. you start to heave, an instinct to desperately try to get air back into your lungs, but there is no use. it takes five seconds for it to finally click.

there’s a clatter as you drop the mug you’re holding. a splatter of the hot coffee against the tiled kitchen floors.

you fall downward soon after.

you don’t even feel the pain of having fallen; the only thing you can feel the throbbing of your heart inside your chest. all you can hear is the sound of your shaky breaths and your heartbeat inside your ears, inside your brain, pounding like loud knocks against a locked door you can’t get out through.

“chu…uya…” you gasp, the last forming word in your mouth before the trembles begin. you curl up into a ball, knees and arms folding into yourself as it becomes hyperclear that the world is finally crumbling in on you, that the walls of the penthouse are going to crash against you, that this is all your fault.

for what seems like eternities, there is nothing. just nothing but your wordless gasping and the certainty of death hanging over your head as you shiver and shake, your brain rushing a million miles a minute trying its best to rescue you, but also ending up sabotaging any of your efforts to calm down. for a moment, it feels good. familiar. like you’ve been here before. there’s a flicker of a memory that it always passes that gives you hope, at least before the fear that this time it won’t starts to take over.

finally, a blur of red through your curtain of tears passes by your eyes, and you feel the tender touch of someone’s hand on your face, cupping your cheeks.

the person—your savior—is saying something, but you do not understand them. none of their words get to your ears. the touch of their skin against yours is so overwhelming, like a blazing fire, that you flinch backward when they try to reach your hand. they let go and all is cold again. freezing almost. you suddenly want to feel them again, but do not know how to ask. you let out a whine.

a soft sound like the shush of a wave. and then the floor falls from underneath you.

except it doesn’t; you’re not falling through the floor, you’re flying above it. your brain makes a desperate attempt to make sense of it but it finds no answers. you go from a place filled with bright white lights to one that is much darker, and when you land it is not on hard concrete floor but on something soft to the touch.

your brain focuses for a moment and you register that you’re on a bed. and that the warm, heavy, fluffy sensation surrounding your shoulders is probably your weighted blanket. clarity erupts slowly, like a fog getting cleared. the bed becomes your bed. the dark place becomes your bedroom.

the red figure kneeling next to you becomes the love of your life.

“easy,” you hear, though staticky, through your still sensitive-ears. his hand is placed on the edge of the bed like an invitation. meekly, you reach out to put your hand over it; he turns it over so he can intertwine your fingers.

it feels like an anchor.

“focus on me,” chuuya says, and you do. “breathe in… and then hold… then let go. just like that, baby, you’re doing so good. one more? breathe in… and then hold… then let go.”

you don’t know how long he guides your breaths, but you figure it’s long enough to have been straining. but he makes no complaints. eventually, after what seems like four, five cycles of the universe being reborn, your head begins to sink back into calm. your skin still feels tingly from everything, but at least your head is in place, and everything is not so loud anymore.

“you there, babe?”

you nod. “sorry, chuuya,” you say instinctively. “thank you.”

“i’m just glad you’re better.” he gets up from the side of the bed to sit next to you. you lean on his shoulder. “ya do feel better, right?”

you hum against his skin, feeling too feeble to talk. you feel him pat your head, and you sigh.

“any cause?”

“…not really.”

“s’that so. well, then i’m just glad it’s over.”

you squeeze his hand, still intertwined in yours.

chuuya once promised you that even if and because he’s part of the port mafia, he will never be afraid of fighting the monsters that haunt you. the ones that have caused you pain, and the ones who haven’t paid for their sins. he’s kept that promise for the entire time you’ve been dating. but most importantly—the monster he fights with the most is the one that rattles your head, and not once has he faltered in dealing with it with a sword’s swing from his own heart.

feeling the touch of his lips against the crown of your head, you bask, in silence, in being safe.

[nkhrchuwuya]

honeymoon suite

bungou stray dogs | G | 1022 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc

chuuya’s trying to book a for-married-couples-only suite for your holiday trip. his methods are rather unconventional.

“really? you think i’d let you marry me with something as simple as this for a wedding ring?”

a frown. “i’m not—this isn’t your wedding ring so stop complaining! do you want to go on this trip or no?”

a hand on the hip. “hey, i do, okay! i just wished you went for something a little more realistic!”

a squeeze to the nose. “it looks like a wedding ring, stupid! not one i’d get for you, but a ring nonetheless! now give me your hand!”

it starts with a promised getaway vacation to maldives for a week. after much haggling with mori for a week off, it doesn’t take much for chuuya to prepare for the rest of the trip. he’s got you first class tickets for the flight there, a various new collection of swimwear and other beachy clothes for you to wear during your trip.

what doesn’t pan out as easily as he wants—despite all the money in his card to manipulate things easily—is booking that beautiful honeymoon suite in that one resort he’d been dreaming to stay in.

back when the resort wasn’t as well known yet, it was rather easy to book their limited honeymoon suites. but now that people are flocking over to stay, the hotel just can’t keep up with the demand and have to tighten their regulations about who gets to stay in their prized cabins.

that is: only married couples.

“to preserve the experience of luxury we have curated in these suites,” the notice read, “we’ve decided to require all potential guests to provide a copy of their wedding certificate before registration.”

you’re not, unfortunately, getting married in a week.

sure, marriage is definitely on the table. you might not have discussed it openly yet, but you’ve had a few conversations about how life would proceed for the two of you in the future—about children, about living spaces. marriage was definitely in the horizon.

but not within a week, to book a resort’s fancy ass suite.

luckily chuuya’s a master of cheating the system.

with a forged marriage certificate in one hand and your fake matching wedding rings in another, chuuya’s ready to book the suite of his dreams for a week. you’ll just need to act the part.

and damn would you please act the part, because now you’re in maldives with your fake documents and your fake rings about to face the receptionist and if you don’t get into that honeymoon suite it’ll be hard to find a resort to match what chuuya’s found in here.

the receptionist has a practiced smile that leaves you a little unnerved. “welcome to the pearl luxury resort! may i please have your names to confirm your reservation and booking?”

chuuya fidgets with the collar of his shirt, pretending it’s from the heat. “of course. it’s nakahara, for the honeymoon suite.”

“ah, the lucky couple who got the last suite, i see. may i please see your wedding certificate?”

“honey,” chuuya says, all part of his act. you hand him the folded envelope where your marriage certificate is, and he hands it to the receptionist. “two versions—one in english, for you.”

“thank you. i’ll just need to confirm the details then you’ll be good to go.” you take a deep, nervous breath as the receptionist scans through the document, comparing it with what was on the database.

“what’s got you so nervous, honey?” chuuya teases, fully enjoying your tension. of course he’s gonna dare mess with you when this was all his idea.

you pinch his arm a little, laughing. “maybe this is how i find out we’re not married at all,” you quip back, unfazed.

chuuya chuckles. he lifts your left hand against his mouth and presses a kiss on your wedding ring. “then i guess i’ll just need to get married to you again.”

the receptionist chuckles at your exchange, lifting her eyes from the screen for a moment. “how has married life treated you?” she asks, before turning back to the paper. “…four years, that’s quite some time.”

chuuya made the length of your relationship the length of your marriage. of course he did. “there’s nothing quite as exquisite as getting married to them,” he says. “but maybe your honeymoon suite could top that.”

you frown, hands on your hips. “hey!”

“well, it does have quite a view,” the receptionist agrees, after which she returns the envelope to chuuya. “looks like all the documents are in order. i’ll call another staff member to guide you to the honeymoon suite, please wait here a moment.”

it is only when the receptionist is finally gone that you feel your stomach unclench. “oh my god, i really thought we’d get caught.”

“get caught what?” chuuya teases, kissing your cheek. “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“right,” you say, rolling your eyes. you press a kiss onto his cheek as well. “you really are something.”

“well. i wouldn’t be your husband for no reason.”

the honeymoon suite is just as beautiful as it is in pictures. no less—and yet definitely more. the placement of the windows would let the beautiful sunrise in through one side and the sunset on the other. the bed is spacious and with pristine white sheets, accents in light blue. the bathroom has a luxurious bathtub that can easily fit two people.

you roll your luggages to the side where they belong before you flop happily onto the bed, enjoying the beautiful blue sky and sea from outside the window. chuuya grins as he sits next to you, stroking your hand with his.

“worth it, wasn’t it?”

“gotta say.” you nod. “but there’s one thing…”

“yeah?”

“i feel like we’re missing on half the experience.”

chuuya raises an eyebrow, as you sit up. “missing on what exactly?”

you raise your left hand at him, waggle your fingers so that the wedding ring shimmers in the passing sunlight. “might be different when we’re actually married.”

that sends a flush up chuuya’s face, a delightful red glow like sunsets.

“guess we’ll have to find out then,” chuuya says, grinning.