"I am not what happened to me. I am who I choose to become.” Carl Jung 26 | INFJ | ♋ | Mexican American Bonjour à tous! Proud Ravenpuff here! This is a multifandom miscellaneous blog. Quotes are big here. Currently working through BNHA and KNY. Trying to get back into Hunter x Hunter. TG is over, but I still care about it. You'll find some Harry Potter, some BSD, and some batfam/DC occasionally. Header by: me
pairing. various x fem!reader
↳ featuring: dazai, chuuya
based on this request
꒰ osamu dazai ꒱
“don’t open your eyes yet.”
you laugh softly as dazai guides you forward, both of his hands loosely covering your eyes, though his fingers keep parting because he’s nosy enough to peek at your reaction early.
“you realize this defeats the purpose if you keep looking at me.”
“i need to see if you’re making a cute face,” he says seriously.
“dazai.”
“you are.”
you can hear the grin in his voice.
finally, his hands fall away.
your eyes open to a tiny seaside café tucked along the boardwalk, white umbrellas, little flower boxes on the windows, warm yellow lights glowing even in the afternoon sun. beyond it, the ocean stretches endlessly blue, waves glittering under the light like scattered glass.
you turn to him, surprised. “you planned this?”
“of course.” he puts a hand dramatically over his chest. “for our anniversary, i can be thoughtful at least once every fiscal year.”
you snort.
inside, it’s quiet and cozy. dazai insists on sitting beside you instead of across from you, claims couples sitting across from each other is “far too tragic.”
which really means he wants to lean on you.
and he does.
halfway through coffee and little pastries, his head is resting on your shoulder, cheek squished there shamelessly while he steals bites off your plate.
“that was mine,” you mumble when he takes your strawberry tart.
“what’s yours is mine,” he replies.
“that’s not how sharing works.”
“what’s mine is also mine.”
you stare. he beams. hopeless.
afterward, he drags you down to the beach barefoot, shoes in one hand, your sandals dangling from his fingers because he insisted on carrying those too.
the water is cold where it kisses your ankles.
the breeze is soft.
your fingers are laced together.
dazai suddenly stops walking.
you blink. “what?”
he looks at you, not teasing, not joking. just warm. open.
“i’m very happy,” he says quietly.
your chest tightens.
“with you, i mean.” he smiles a little, softer than sunlight on water. “life feels… nice. i didn’t think i’d care for nice this much.”
you squeeze his hand.
“good,” you whisper. “because i plan on staying.”
his expression melts into something unbearably fond.
then, he picks you up and runs straight into the waves.
you shriek.
“OSAMU-”
his laughter rings over the ocean, bright and wild and full.
and even soaking wet, clinging to him while he nearly trips in the surf, you think this might be your favorite anniversary yet.
꒰ chuuya nakahara ꒱
“dress nice,” chuuya told you.
that was all the warning you got.
so when he picks you up, sharp suit, hair brushed back, faint expensive cologne wrapping around him like smoke, you nearly forget how to speak.
his eyes flick over you.
then he goes pink at the ears.
“…you look beautiful.”
your heart does a stupid little flip.
“you too,” you manage.
his hand finds the small of your back immediately, warm and steady as he guides you to the car.
he takes you to a little café overlooking the coast—quiet, elegant, tucked away enough to feel like it belongs only to the two of you.
fresh flowers on the table.
candles, even though it’s still early evening.
your favorite dessert already ordered.
you blink at him. “you remembered.”
chuuya frowns slightly. “obviously i remembered.”
“every little thing?”
“yeah.”
he says it like it’s stupidly simple.
like remembering how you take your coffee, what sweets you love, what flowers make you smile, like loving you in details is the easiest thing he’s ever done.
your chest aches in the sweetest way.
dinner turns into slow conversation.
shared bites. quiet laughter.
his thumb brushing over your knuckles whenever he holds your hand like he can’t help touching you whenever he gets the chance.
later, you walk the beach together under a painted sunset—pink and orange melting into gold.
the sand is cool beneath your feet.
waves hush softly nearby.
you stop to admire seashells scattered near the shoreline, crouching down to pick up a pretty one.
when you stand, you wobble.
heels sinking awkwardly in sand.
before you can even react, chuuya catches you.
one arm around your waist.
the other steadying your hand.
“careful,” he murmurs.
you laugh, embarrassed. “i’m okay.”
he looks at your shoes, then at the stretch of beach ahead.
clicks his tongue.
then suddenly lifts you.
“chuuya!”
“what?” he says, holding you bridal style like you weigh nothing. “you’ll twist your ankle.”
“you cannot just pick me up!”
“already did.”
your face burns.
his smirk tugs at one corner.
“…besides,” he says quieter, adjusting you closer, “i like holding you.”
your entire brain short-circuits.
he keeps walking, carrying you down the shoreline while sunset glows around him like firelight.
one arm loops around his neck.
your head settles against his shoulder.
his heartbeat is steady beneath your cheek.
“happy anniversary,” he murmurs into your hair.
you smile softly.
“happy anniversary.”
and wrapped up in his arms, with the ocean singing nearby, the whole world feels small enough to hold.
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ᯓ feat. osamu dazai
contains. wife!reader, sahd!dazai, fluff, identity spiral, grocery store incident
word count. 1k
sahd!dazai m.list - main m.list
It happens in the cereal aisle.
Tsukki is strapped snug against Dazai’s chest, bundled in soft layers, tiny fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. His eyes are wide, observant, deeply serious for someone who still needs help holding his bottle.
You’re debating granola.
Dazai is holding a box upside down.
And then—
“Oh!” A stranger smiles warmly. “He looks just like you.”
Silence.
Dazai freezes.
Slowly—very slowly—he lowers his gaze.
Tsukki blinks up at him.
The stranger beams. “Same eyes. Same expression. It’s uncanny.”
Dazai turns toward you like he’s just been handed devastating news.
You raise an eyebrow.
He looks back at Tsukki.
He squints.
Tsukki squints too, mostly because the fluorescent lighting is aggressively bright.
“…Do I look like that?” Dazai asks quietly.
“Like what?” you reply, already amused.
He gestures faintly at the baby attached to him. “Like I am silently analyzing the moral implications of breakfast foods.”
Tsukki pats Dazai’s collarbone and makes a small, thoughtful sound.
The stranger laughs. “He’s your twin.”
Twin.
Dazai’s internal monologue explodes.
It gets worse in the parking lot.
Tsukki sits in his stroller, bundled and calm, staring at drifting clouds like a miniature philosopher king.
Dazai crouches in front of him.
“You see,” he murmurs gravely, “this is what I present to the world.”
Tsukki blinks.
Dazai blinks back.
Same eyes. Same faint downturn at the corners. Same unreadable expression.
You lean against the car, watching them with fond exasperation.
“He’s adorable.”
“That is not the issue.”
Tsukki kicks one foot.
“The dramatic leg movement,” Dazai whispers. “Inherited.”
You fix Tsukki’s blanket. “You’re spiraling.”
“I am reflecting.”
Tsukki grabs his sleeve.
Dazai immediately softens.
“…He has my face,” he says more quietly now. “But he doesn’t look tired.”
Your teasing expression fades.
“No,” you say gently. “He looks safe.”
That hits him harder than the cereal aisle comment ever could.
At home, the investigation escalates.
Dazai pulls out an old photo album.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch. Tsukki is propped in Dazai’s lap, wobbling slightly but stable.
Dazai flips to a childhood photo of himself.
Messy dark hair. Big eyes. A strangely serious expression.
He holds the photo next to Tsukki’s face.
“…This is deeply concerning.”
Tsukki reaches forward and tries to grab the picture.
“Do not destroy historical evidence,” Dazai mutters, pulling it back.
You lean closer.
The resemblance is there. Undeniable.
But Tsukki’s eyes are softer. Open. Curious instead of guarded.
“He looks happier,” you say quietly.
Dazai goes still.
Tsukki leans back against his chest and hums softly, content.
“…Good,” Dazai murmurs.
The next morning, you wake up to chaos.
Dazai is sitting on the bed.
Tsukki is in his lap.
They are both wearing matching outfits.
Striped shirt. Soft cardigan. Tiny dark socks.
You blink.
“…Why do you look coordinated?”
Dazai looks deeply serious. “I am conducting a visual experiment.”
Tsukki blinks at you from Dazai’s lap, hair slightly sticking up.
“You dressed him like you.”
Dazai nods gravely. “The resemblance must be evaluated under controlled stylistic conditions.”
Tsukki suddenly drools down the front of the matching cardigan.
Dazai freezes.
“…This,” he says slowly, “is also accurate.”
You laugh into your pillow.
Later that afternoon, you catch Dazai holding Tsukki in front of the hallway mirror again.
“Observe,” he whispers to the baby. “We are allegedly identical.”
Tsukki studies the reflection.
He reaches out and pats the mirror baby’s face.
Dazai rests his chin gently on top of Tsukki’s head.
For a moment, they line up perfectly.
You watch from the doorway.
They really do look alike.
But the difference is subtle.
Tsukki’s expression doesn’t carry weight.
It’s just curiosity.
Dazai notices your silence.
“…You’re staring,” he says.
“You’re beautiful,” you reply simply.
He blinks.
“That was not part of the experiment.”
“You’re beautiful,” you repeat. “And so is he.”
Tsukki suddenly tips sideways.
Dazai catches him instantly, arm wrapping around his tiny body without hesitation.
Tsukki relaxes immediately, pressing his face into Dazai’s chest.
Trusting. Safe.
Dazai goes quiet again.
“You don’t look like that anymore,” you say softly.
“Like what?”
“Lonely.”
The room stills.
Tsukki grips his shirt tighter in his sleep-heavy way.
Dazai exhales slowly.
“…If he looks like me,” he says, almost to himself, “then I want him to inherit the parts that learned how to stay.”
You step closer and rest your hand against his back.
“He already has.”
The final crisis comes at dinner.
Tsukki is sitting in his high chair, very serious about mashed vegetables.
A bit of food ends up on his cheek.
Dazai leans forward to wipe it off.
Tsukki frowns in concentration, brows knitting in that exact same way Dazai does when he’s thinking.
You gasp softly. “Oh.”
Dazai stiffens. “What.”
“He made your thinking face.”
Dazai slowly turns toward Tsukki.
Tsukki blinks, then smacks the tray once with sudden enthusiasm.
Dazai places a hand over his heart.
“It’s official,” he says dramatically. “I have reproduced.”
You laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink.
Tsukki startles at the sound, then lets out a surprised little giggle of his own.
It’s sudden. Bright.
Dazai freezes.
The serious expression melts into something open and delighted.
Tsukki giggles again.
And suddenly—
He doesn’t look like Dazai contemplating the world.
He looks like a baby discovering joy.
Dazai’s expression softens completely.
“…Ah,” he murmurs. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The difference.”
Tsukki grabs at his hand, smiling.
Dazai squeezes his tiny fingers gently.
“He may have my face,” Dazai says quietly, “but he has your light.”
You walk over and press a soft kiss to Tsukki’s head.
“And he has your heart,” you reply.
Dazai pretends not to react dramatically.
He fails.
He leans forward and presses his forehead lightly against Tsukki’s.
“No loneliness,” he whispers. “That part ends with me.”
Tsukki responds by grabbing his nose.
You laugh.
The crisis, officially, is over.
For now.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
comment here is you want to be added to my taglist!
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The second you pull the vacuum out, the entire apartment shifts.
Dazai is first to react.
His long brown body freezes mid-stretch, tie dangling dramatically from his neck. His ears twitch. His pupils widen.
Then—
He vanishes.
You don’t even see where he goes. One second he’s there. The next he’s a streak disappearing under the couch like a cowardly cryptid retreating to the shadows.
Chuuya, however—
Chuuya does not run.
He stands in the center of the living room like a compact orange war general. Small. Dense. Hat perfectly in place. Tail flicking with controlled irritation.
The vacuum makes a low mechanical hum as you plug it in.
Chuuya’s back arches.
His fur fluffs up instantly.
The monster roars to life.
And that’s when he moves.
You barely get the vacuum upright before Chuuya launches himself in front of you, planting his tiny body between you and the machine like he’s shielding you from incoming artillery.
“Chuuya?” you blink.
He hisses.
Not at you.
At it.
The vacuum shifts slightly when you adjust your grip.
Chuuya’s entire stance changes. He lowers himself, paws planted firmly, tail puffed to twice its normal size. A growl rumbles from his chest—small but fierce.
From beneath the couch, Dazai peeks out.
Absolutely not helping.
Chuuya glances back at you briefly, golden eyes sharp.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s just the vacuum,” you say gently.
He does not believe you.
The machine growls again.
Chuuya immediately steps closer to your leg, pressing against you as if to push you behind him.
Behind him.
He is maybe nine pounds.
You are not.
But the sentiment is there.
You try to move the vacuum forward.
Chuuya swats it.
Hard.
The plastic thunks.
The vacuum, unmoved by his bravery, continues roaring.
Chuuya hisses louder.
From under the couch, Dazai calls out in the most pathetic tone imaginable—
a small, offended meow like he is personally betrayed by the existence of electricity.
Chuuya flicks an annoyed look toward the couch.
Coward.
Then he refocuses on the threat.
You attempt to vacuum a small patch of carpet.
Chuuya follows every inch of movement, walking sideways in front of it, batting the front edge repeatedly like he’s trying to intimidate it into submission.
“Chuuya, you’re going to get run over,” you laugh.
He stands taller.
Run over?
Over his small, compact, incredibly muscular orange body?
The vacuum inches closer.
Chuuya does the unthinkable.
He jumps.
Not on the vacuum.
On you.
He clings to your leg with surprising strength, hat slightly askew, eyes wide but determined. His entire body is rigid, but he refuses to abandon his post.
You shut the vacuum off immediately.
Silence floods the room.
Chuuya stays attached to your leg for three more seconds.
Then—
Slowly—
He releases you and drops to the floor like nothing happened.
Dazai slides out from under the couch, miraculously cured of fear now that the monster has been defeated.
He saunters over, long tail swaying, and inspects the vacuum cautiously.
Then he nudges Chuuya with his head.
Chuuya swats him.
Dazai flops dramatically onto his side beside the vacuum like he single-handedly conquered it.
You kneel down, setting the machine aside.
“You protected me, huh?”
Chuuya refuses to look at you.
His ears flick.
You scoop him up before he can protest, pressing a kiss to the top of his hat.
“My brave little guard.”
He makes a soft, grumbly noise that is definitely not pleased.
Dazai jumps up onto your lap too, because of course he does, draping his long body across both of you like he deserves shared credit.
Chuuya immediately pushes at his face.
Dazai retaliates by grooming the top of Chuuya’s head.
Chuuya freezes.
You pretend not to notice.
“Guess I’ll vacuum later,” you murmur.
Chuuya relaxes fully against your chest at that.
Victory secured.
The monster has been defeated.
And if it ever returns—
The small angry orange will be ready.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
comment here is you want to be added to my taglist!
🏷️ @melisaqqu , @chrispychuya , @chocolatemilk4hara , @stellas-starry-sillies13 , @techimochi , @nakathara , @bladeyose , @adamesmermarryme , @dinhnguyenphuongmy , @angelofdarkness2 , @hyunasangel , @peanut-butter-pancakez , @crowconfetti , @lillyinfandoms , @secretlyasnail
could i request chuuya x gn!reader who finds him extremely adorable & cant help but smother him in kisses and cuddles anytime theyre alone , no matter the place 🥹
ꪆৎ ˚⋅ i’m not cute anymore !
ft. chuuya nakahara.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: chuuya’s a really adorable fella and you can’t keep to yourself when he’s around.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: gender neutral reader.
# wc, 0.8k
chuuya is the most adorable person to have ever graced this planet in your humble opinion.
he’s just so cute you could smush his cheeks between your hand anytime of day.
but he does not understand why you always go crazy about him, calling him ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’.
he doesn’t get it, he’s not cute. or adorable. or anything relevant to those words
it’s always thoughtless bickering between you two, going back and forth about if he’s cute or not.
you say he is, he says he isn’t, you say he’s the cutest person ever, he looks away with a blush creeping on his cheeks.
this goes on for ages, until he reluctantly admits defeat. and admits he is indeed, cute.
you’re always kissing this man’s face like your life depends on it. but only in private, cause boy does he get extremely flustered.
i’m talking his face fully red, lips swollen from repeated kisses, and attempting to release himself from your iron strong grasp.
completely breathless and brain entirely turned into mush, but you keep going at it.
‘—baby.’ kisskisskiss ‘shush,’ you’re not even letting him get a singular word out, constantly shutting him up by kissing his lips on repeat.
your hands are holding his face in place. so he won’t dare to make a move.
he can definitely move away from your hold, but he doesn’t want to.
he’s kind of enjoying this, and he’s smiling like such a lovesick idiot whilst he’s getting smothered in kisses by you.
you do this to him anywhere, as long as you two are alone. you’ll be completely over him until someone comes in.
but when you’re at home, there’s no end it.
you’ll be smothering in affection from head to toe for hours on end, only when it’s time to sleep you tone it down.
but you don’t entirely stop.
you hug him as close to you as possible, maybe even coax him to be the little spoon. which very, very rarely happens.
but you’re always hugging him like a koala, all your limbs around him.
and then before you both drift off to slumber, he’ll still feel your lips all over his face, until either of you fall asleep.
he’s just so adorable you can’t help yourself.
it takes a whole man army to drag you off of him. you refuse to let go of this absolute cutie pie.
and you call him the cheesiest nicknames known to man, according to him. even if these are quite mild in comparison to some other nicknames.
‘cutie’ ‘lover’ ‘cutie pie’ ‘chuu’ and the worst one in his opinion, ‘pretty boy’.
that nickname always cracks him.
you’ll call him pretty boy in a teasing tone, and he will melt to a puddle.
he’s such a sucker for that nickname it’s comical.
one ‘pretty boy’ out of your mouth and he’s at your beck and call in a flash.
if he were a dog he’d be wagging his tail like crazy.
and you constantly calling him cute and adorable, breaks something in him.
it always catches him so off guard every single time, no matter when, or where, he will always have to do a double take before proceeding whatever he was doing before the words flew out of your mouth.
you don’t call him those words on purpose, just to see his reaction.
it simply comes naturally. you’re so used to calling him cute, it’s become habit to call him that atleast 5x a day.
but his reaction stays the same every single time, and it’s so amusing to see.
chuuya nakahara, one of the mafia’s top men. has the power of gravity in his hands, probably the top executive of the port mafia.
short circuits at being called ‘cute’.
you say it so many times, he thinks he has to have become immune to it at some point. but no, he’s very wrong in that.
he can’t figure if it’s the word itself that makes him rethink everything, or because it’s you saying it. more specifically the tone you say it in.
he doesn’t know, and won’t ever know. because no one else will ever call him cute, aside from you.
you don’t think you’ll ever stop calling him cute, even when you’ll both be old and wrinkly. he’ll still be the cutest human on this earth.
you’ll keep on kissing his face until you pass out from lack of sleep, keep on clinging to him like a baby koala, and keep on calling him cheesy things.
he’s just really stinkin’ cute you can’t help yourself.
and chuuya will stay helpless under your smothering.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: he’s so fucking cute i wanna eat him
ノ want to check out my writing? ⤦
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
🏷️: @peanut-butter-pancakez, @thatonemangapanelfrombeast, @vampviia, @bunniihyuna, comment to be added to my taglist!
HIIIII i TOTALLY understand if your busy but could i request sahh Dazai and Chuuya WHERW Dazai takes Chuuya to meet the stay at home mother group with the twins and its Chuuya being exposed to drama and gossip that he latter on shares with reader whos like “NO SHUT UP” and “FR OMG tell me. EVERY SINGLE THING” while their laying in bed
Idk I KNOW U DOING THE VALENTINES FICS AND HAVE A LIFE SO PUT THIS IDEA AT THE BOTTOM OF UR TO DO LIST AND HAVE A GOOD VALENTINES DAY hope ur FAV fictional character comes to life and gives u roses 🌹
-🐚
the group chat wars ─ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
ᯓ feat. chuuya nakahara
contains. wife!reader, sahd!chuuya, baby indie, baby ivan, fluff, cafe meet up, gossip, you being dramatically invested, light humor
word count. 1k
𑣲note. hiii 🐚 !! I know this was supposed to be at the bottom of my list but since its you birthday (even if I’m a little late 😭), I decided to do it for you (˶>⩊<˶)
sahd!chuuya - main m.list
Chuuya knows something is wrong the moment he walks into the café and realizes he is the only man in the room besides Dazai.
Strollers line the wall like luxury parking.
Soft instrumental music plays.
A long table is filled with mothers mid-conversation.
Dazai, traitor, waves cheerfully.
“Hi! We brought reinforcements.”
Reinforcements.
Chuuya resists the urge to turn around and leave.
Indie is strapped securely to his chest, small fingers fisted into his hoodie. Ivan sits upright in the stroller, wide-eyed and silent, observing everything like a tiny executive assessing a board meeting.
Several mothers turn.
They smile warmly.
“Oh! You must be Chuuya!”
Chuuya blinks.
They know his name.
Dazai pats his shoulder. “I talk about you.”
“…Why.”
“Because you’re impressive.”
This does not calm him.
Five minutes later, Chuuya is seated at the long table with a latte he did not order and a front-row seat to suburban warfare.
Indie hums softly against his chest.
Ivan kicks once in the stroller, perfectly content.
One of the mothers leans forward, lowering her voice.
“So apparently she left her off the birthday invite list.”
Collective gasps.
Actual, synchronized gasps.
Chuuya looks at Dazai.
Dazai looks delighted.
Another mother shakes her head. “After what happened at the pumpkin patch? Bold.”
Pumpkin patch.
There is lore here.
Deep, generational lore.
Chuuya adjusts Indie slightly.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” he mutters under his breath.
Dazai leans in calmly. “You’ve joined mid-season.”
The information keeps coming.
Snack duty betrayal.
A suspicious group chat emoji.
A passive-aggressive sign-up sheet incident.
Ivan drops his toy.
Chuuya bends to grab it—
And misses a key detail.
“Wait,” he says before he can stop himself. “She said what?”
Silence.
All eyes turn to him.
A mother nods gravely. “Exactly.”
Dazai presses his lips together, barely holding back a smile.
Chuuya sits back slowly.
“This is about themed cupcakes.”
“It’s never just about the cupcakes,” Dazai whispers sagely.
Indie pats Chuuya’s collarbone rhythmically.
Ivan stares ahead, absorbing drama like a sponge.
Chuuya realizes—
He is invested.
Against his will.
It escalates when someone mentions the group chat.
“There are sub-threads,” a mother confesses quietly.
Sub-threads.
Chuuya feels like he’s stumbled into classified documentation.
“Who’s in the sub-thread?” someone asks.
A tense pause.
Names are exchanged.
Chuuya’s brain is trying to categorize alliances like battle formations.
Dazai sips his coffee peacefully.
“Oh,” Dazai adds lightly, “you haven’t told them about the Halloween costume situation.”
Gasps again.
Chuuya turns slowly toward him.
“You knew about this.”
“I’ve been attending for months.”
“Why didn’t you warn me.”
“I wanted your unbiased reaction.”
Indie snuffles softly.
Ivan lets out a small, approving hum.
Chuuya feels like he’s in a social intelligence briefing he did not consent to.
By the time they leave, Chuuya looks shell-shocked.
Indie is asleep against his chest.
Ivan is perfectly calm.
Dazai walks beside him, hands in his pockets, pleased.
“…There are factions,” Chuuya mutters.
“Yes.”
“There are alliances.”
“Correct.”
“There is a spreadsheet.”
Dazai smiles. “Of course.”
Chuuya stops walking.
“A spreadsheet.”
“It’s color-coded.”
Chuuya stares at nothing for a long moment.
“I have seen things.”
Dazai pats his back sympathetically. “You handled it beautifully.”
That night.
The twins are asleep.
The house is quiet.
You’re lying in bed scrolling on your phone when Chuuya walks in.
He closes the door.
Slowly.
You look up immediately.
“…What happened.”
He gets into bed beside you and stares at the ceiling.
“There is a war.”
You sit up instantly.
“Between who.”
“The mothers.”
You gasp.
“NO.”
“Yes.”
“Shut up.”
“I wish I could.”
Your phone drops to the mattress.
You turn fully toward him.
“FR. OMG. Tell me. Every. Single. Thing.”
He blinks at your sudden intensity.
“You just said ‘shut up.’”
“Metaphorically. Continue.”
He starts with the birthday party incident.
You slap your hand over your mouth.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She did NOT.”
“She absolutely did.”
You roll onto your stomach, elbows propped up, fully invested.
“Okay. Continue.”
He explains the pumpkin patch lore.
You gasp dramatically.
“This is insane.”
“I know.”
“And the cupcakes?”
“Strategic.”
You stare at him.
“Strategic cupcakes.”
“There were themes involved.”
You grab his arm.
“What about the group chat.”
He exhales slowly.
“There are sub-threads.”
You freeze.
“NO.”
“Yes.”
“Sub-threads are deadly.”
“That’s what I gathered.”
You clutch the blanket like this is high-stakes drama.
“Who’s winning.”
“Unclear. But alliances are shifting.”
You make a strangled noise of excitement.
“This is better than my entire work week.”
Chuuya looks mildly betrayed.
“I was emotionally ambushed.”
“And you survived.”
He rubs his face.
“Dazai thrives in this environment.”
You nod immediately. “Of course he does.”
“He said he was ‘observing patterns.’”
You gasp again.
“He’s gathering intel.”
Chuuya groans quietly.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Because it’s harmless and dramatic and not my office politics,” you reply instantly.
He considers that.
“…Fair.”
You scoot closer.
“Did they like you?”
He pauses.
“…I think so.”
“You think so?”
“One said I have ‘calming energy.’”
You smile softly. “You do.”
“And apparently Ivan has ‘leadership presence.’”
You grin. “He absolutely does.”
“And Indie was described as ‘dangerously charming.’”
“That tracks.”
He finally relaxes against the pillow.
“It was chaotic,” he admits quietly. “But they were kind.”
You nudge his shoulder gently.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For surviving fairy wing discourse?”
“For putting yourself out there.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.
You prop yourself up again.
“So. When are you going back.”
He turns his head slowly.
“You want updates.”
“Yes.”
He sighs deeply.
“…Fine.”
You beam.
“Next time, ask about the PTA email thread.”
He stares at you in disbelief.
“You are unbelievable.”
“FR omg tell me everything,” you whisper dramatically again.
He laughs despite himself.
And in the quiet dark of your bedroom—twins sleeping down the hall, house peaceful and warm—
Chuuya continues recounting suburban political strategy like he’s debriefing after a classified mission.
And you listen like it’s the most important intelligence in the world.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
comment here is you want to be added to my taglist!
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Hiiii this is just a day dream I had because the whole sahd Dazai with breed winner reader is taking over my mind
But I was day dreaming about reader in labor? But like she’s so used to working or doing something she’s walking around the hospital room being annoyed
IDK it doesn’t need to be a fic or oneshots maybe a little skit IDK I just wanted to share this with you🥹
𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 ─ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. wife!reader, sahd!dazai, newborn tsukki, childbirth, emotional dazai
⟶ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 osamu dazai
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 0.6k
𑣲𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. hiii!! I hope you like it!!
𝐬𝐚𝐡𝐝!𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
The hospital room smelled like disinfectant and quiet panic.
Dazai was the one panicking.
You were not.
You were walking laps around the room like you were waiting for a meeting to start, IV pole rolling beside you like an assistant.
“Okay,” Dazai said gently, “you’re doing that thing again.”
“I’m managing,” you replied flatly, pacing past him.
“You’re in labor.”
“Yes. And I hate waiting.”
The nurse walked in, stopped, blinked, and watched you walk past her again.
“…She’s very mobile.”
“She’s like this with deadlines,” Dazai whispered back. “This is normal.”
You stopped pacing just long enough to glare at both of them.
“Why does everyone keep telling me to sit down,” you muttered. “This is inefficient.”
Dazai gently guided you to the bed anyway, hands warm and steady. You sat, but only because the contraction made you reconsider your life choices.
He brushed your hair back, voice low and calm. “You don’t have to be productive right now.”
You crossed your arms. “I hate that sentence.”
He laughed softly and kissed your forehead.
Hours later
Dazai hadn’t left your side once. He held your hand, whispered jokes, counted your breaths with you. Every time you tensed, he was there, grounding you.
At some point, the room filled with doctors and nurses, and the world narrowed to you, Dazai, and the quiet urgency of everything happening at once.
“Dazai,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.
“I’m here,” he said immediately, voice softer than you’d ever heard. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And then—
A cry filled the room. Small, sharp, and very real.
For a second, Dazai forgot how to breathe.
The nurse gently placed your baby in your arms.
Tsukki.
He was tiny. Wrinkled. Loud. And staring at the world like he already disapproved of everything.
You looked down at him, expression softening in a way only he could cause.
Dazai leaned closer, eyes wide, lips parted like he couldn’t believe this was real.
“That’s… that’s him,” he whispered.
Tsukki squinted up at him, brows furrowed—already carrying your intimidating aura.
You huffed a tired laugh. “He looks like you.”
Dazai froze. “He does not.”
He absolutely did.
The nurse smiled. “Would Dad like to hold him?”
Dazai’s hand twitched. Then he carefully took Tsukki, holding him like glass.
The moment Tsukki’s tiny hand wrapped around his finger, Dazai’s composure shattered.
His eyes filled instantly. He turned his head slightly, pretending he wasn’t crying.
“I’m not—” he sniffed, “I’m just… tired.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re sobbing.”
“I’m not sobbing.”
A tear landed on Tsukki’s blanket. Then another.
He stared at his son like Tsukki had personally rewritten the universe.
“He’s… so small,” Dazai whispered, voice breaking. “How am I supposed to keep something this small alive?”
You reached over and rested your hand over both of them. “You’re already doing it.”
Tsukki yawned, then immediately resumed his judgmental stare.
Dazai laughed through his tears. “He’s judging me.”
“He’s your son,” you said. “Get used to it.”
Dazai gently pressed a kiss to Tsukki’s forehead, then to your hand.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For… choosing me to do this with.”
You squeezed his hand. “You’re stuck with me now.”
He smiled, eyes still watery. “Good.”
Later, when it was quiet
The lights were dim, Tsukki asleep between you. Dazai sat beside the bed, one hand resting protectively on your baby’s tiny chest.
He thought you were asleep.
You watched him trace Tsukki’s cheek with his finger, whispering things like:
“I’ll read you books.”
“I’ll take you to the café.”
“You’re going to be so spoiled.”
And then, very quietly:
“I’ll be better. For you.”
You reached over and squeezed his hand.
“You already are.”
He pretended his eyes weren’t watery again.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
comment here is you want to be added to my taglist!
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𐔌 sloppy sex 𐦯 n. chuuya ⋆ mdni ⋆ original request here
you’re exhausted, body and sheets slick with sweat and cum after drawing numerous orgasms from each other. chuuya’s on his third, and you’ve stopped counting of how many times you’ve lost yourself in him. hours have gone by, you think, but you haven’t pulled yourself away from your boyfriend long enough to check.
you’re on your back, unable to stop the quivering in your thighs as chuuya presses them against your chest with his body weight. his movement is sloppy, desperate, as he chokes back sobs from the overstimulation. it doesn’t stop him from pounding into your swollen pussy, each drag of his cock sending overwhelming waves of movement throughout your body. you feel him everywhere from your scalp to the tips of your toes.
tears dripped from chuuya’s eyes onto your cheeks, mixing with your sweat as they slid into the crook of your neck. you dug your nails into his back to ground yourself as chuuya pummeled into you. he pressed his face into your shoulder to muffle his sob-like moans, teeth sinking into your dewy skin when it wasn’t enough.
when you clenched around him, orgasm nearly threatening to spill over, chuuya pressed open-mouth kisses against your throat and jaw. he wanted to kiss, but he was so stimulated that he ended up gasping his hot breath against you.
he slowly dragged his hips back until only the tip was still inside of you, pushing in shallowly and jabbing against the spongy spot that made you squirm. “ch-uuuya,” his name was broke up between two languid exhales, and you felt your thighs grow slick with juices as you squirted all over him with a broken whine.
chuuya pressed wet, sloppy kisses all over your mouth, swallowing your guttural moans when it all became too much. “one more,” he begged, eyes glittering with unshed tears as he bottomed out. you felt electric, digging your heels into the dips above his hips to hold him steady.
he pumped as you rocked, desperate to make him cum despite the shocks you felt every time your clit brushed his pelvis. “ah, ah,” he cried, fisting the sheets so hard you could feel them shaking beside your head. with the last of his strength, chuuya pulled out and spilled himself all over you, painting your stomach with his cum.
chuuya sinks onto you, red hair damp and tickling your chin as you try to catch your breath. there’s some resistance when he tries to pull away, strings of his cum connecting his stomach to yours.
“in me, next time,” you breathed, voice still hoarse. chuuya kissed your forehead despite the sweat and smiled.
Chuuya is the first to investigate, tiny orange body stalking over with suspicion written all over his face. Dazai follows behind him, long brown tail flicking, already convinced this is about him.
“It’s just a gift,” you say, kneeling on the floor.
They do not trust you.
You pull out the tiny hat first.
Chuuya freezes.
It’s black, small, and perfectly sized for his head.
You gently place it between his ears.
He stiffens like a statue.
Dazai stares.
You stare.
Chuuya slowly turns his head toward Dazai, eyes narrowed, expression humiliated. The hat sits perfectly on his compact little head, making him look like a furious tiny gentleman.
Dazai chirps.
Chuuya swats him.
The hat stays on.
You cover your mouth, trying not to scream.
Next: Dazai.
You tie the little brown necktie around his neck. He sits patiently, smug, like he understands fashion. Then you gently wrap a few soft bandages around one of his paws.
He immediately flops over.
Full dramatic collapse.
He stretches out on the floor like he’s been grievously wounded, one paw lifted, looking at you with wide, tragic eyes.
“Dazai, you’re fine,” you laugh.
He meows pitifully.
Chuuya, still wearing the hat, walks over and stares down at him.
Judging.
Dazai reaches out and taps Chuuya’s hat with his paw.
Chuuya bites him.
You laugh so hard you nearly cry.
In the end, Chuuya keeps the hat on (because you said he looked handsome), and Dazai keeps the tie (because he likes attention).
The bandages mysteriously vanish within the hour.
But for a moment, your apartment looks like a very fashionable disaster.
And you’ve never loved them more
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
comment here is you want to be added to my taglist!
🏷️ @melisaqqu , @chrispychuya , @chocolatemilk4hara , @stellas-starry-sillies13 , @techimochi , @nakathara , @bladeyose , @adamesmermarryme , @dinhnguyenphuongmy , @angelofdarkness2 , @hyunasangel , @peanut-butter-pancakez
tags: smut, oral, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, crying from pleasure, jealousy, a little rough at the start but sweet at the end, lots of kisses.
summary: a night fueled by a little bit of jealousy, in which chuuya fucks and eats you out like service from heaven </3
It started with jealousy. a fleeting moment that Chuuya would normally dismiss. but tonight, it lingered—a remark from someone at a party, a glance that lasted too long, a compliment that wasn't theirs to give. It shouldn't have bothered him, but it did.
The room was dim, the only sound was the ragged breaths, muffled cries, and the sinful rhythm of wet, obscene squelches echoing off the walls. you lay sprawled on the bed, your body trembling, your pretty legs spread wide and pinned firmly against the mattress by Chuuya's strong hands. It had been hours—hours of him breaking you down, piece by piece, into nothing but his pretty, shaking, overstimulated mess.
his pretty face was buried between your thighs, his tongue had explored every inch of your pretty little pussy, lapping at your slick and teasing your puffy clit. his red puffy lips were shiny and glistening with your juices. and two of his fingers, index and middle—were thrusting deep into you, abusing your tight walls repeatedly, curling to hit the exact spongy spot that made you see stars. making you cream on his tongue and fingers over and over, until you had lost track of how many times you had cum. and every cry, every arch of your back, every pleading whisper of his name.. only seemed to spur him further.
your voice was hoarse from how much you were moaning and crying out, the flush on your cheeks trailing down to your neck and chest, and your lashes wet with tears.
"Chuuya.. baby, please," you whimpered, hands weakly gripping the sheets beneath you. you couldn't tell if you were begging him to stop or for more—your mind was too clouded to think straight anyway—your body too overwhelmed to distinguish between the two.
Chuuya only hummed, the vibration making you twitch. you could feel him smirk slightly against your pussy. fucking bastard. as if anything, that sweet whimper made him switch from patiently start making out with your clit, to fast flicks, lapping slightly more messily now. causing you to throw your head back with a sharp, whiny squeal, grinding your hips more onto his face. his jealousy burned in his chest, not at you, of course. but at the thought of anyone else ever making you feel this way, of anyone else hearing the sweet, desperate moans that were spilling from you lips. of anyone else getting this sweet pussy. you was his, and he was going to make sure to remind you of that.
"please, what?" he said, his voice low and raspy, slightly muffled, as he pulled back just a bit, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh; his fingers plunging into you faster and deeper, pumping in and out repeatedly. the dirty, the sinful squelchings your little pussy made got louder, making him bites back a groan. "you were fine teasing me earlier.." he said, pressing another slow, wet kiss to your clit, "weren't you doll? teasing that man like a little brat. now look at you.. can't even form a sentence."
you could only sob prettily, your head tossing back against the pillow. stars exploded behind your eyes, unaware of how he was watching you, of how beautiful you looked right now while your entire body tensed for a second as a fresh, stronger wave of pleasure built within you. your velvety walls fluttering around his calloused fingers, almost making him grunt out loud, his mind drifting to the thought of his rock-hard cock—that he was slightly rutting into the mattress—being buried deep inside your tight cunt instead of his fingers.
your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, chest heaved, your nipples taut and flushed, "Chuuya.. fuckfuck.. I can't... I'm gonna-" your words dissolved into a high-pitched, helpless cry as he latched his lips onto your swollen, overstimulated clit once more—sucking hard like a starved man while his fingers continued their merciless assault on your g-spot, your juices dripped all over his hand, the hot knot in your lower belly becoming unbearable.
"c'mon baby.. cum on my tongue, cum for me yeah? give it to me sweetheart.." you felt his smirk widen against you, his tongue flicking over your throbbing clit one last time before his fingers pressed firmly against your g-spot, just the perfect combination to push you over the edge.
you back arched prettily off the bed as your vision went completely white behind your closed lids, your hand flying to his copper locks-tugging hard as your swollen lips parting in an O shape. a loud moan of pleasure teared from your throat as your orgasm hit you fully.
a gush of slick came from you as you squirted—soaking his hand and the damp sheets beneath you completely, making him moan loudly—the force of it leaving your thighs trembling, the wet spot on the bed slowly growing; tears streamed down your pretty face as your incoherent cries echoed in the room like a melody Chuuya would never forget. he won't. ever.
"fuck doll.. fuck," he breathed, pulling back just enough to admire the sight of you. your chest heaved, going up and down fastly as you tried to catch your breath. small, helpless pretty little moans leaving your parted lips as you struggled to catch your breath, your skin glistening with sweat. your thighs were soaked, and your expression was one of pure, fucked-out exhaustion—pupils blown wide, eyes glazed and your lips parted, a bit of drool running down the corner of your mouth. oh, you didn't know how fuckable you looked to him.
the sight alone made him throb painfully, though he himself was also a fucking sight—his hair was messy from your hands, lips slick—your pussy juice running down his chin. a lazy smirk was on his lips like making you gush around his fingers was getting him high. though his length was aching for your sweet, tight hole. but he wasn't done. not yet.
"don't think you're getting off that easy," he murmured, leaning over you and brushing your damp hair out of your face. he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before trailing his lips down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, pressing firm, lingering kisses, languid and indulgent—his tongue occasionally peaking out to lick on the dark purple and red marks he had left before.
"y'look so fucking beautiful like this dollface.. I could fuck you all night long—make love to you in every single position ruin you over and over and never get tired of it." he mumbled between kisses, his tone softer. you whimpered weakly at his words, your body too sensitive as his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips to pull you closer. "Chuuya.. I... I can't..." you lied, your voice trembling with the aftershock of your release.
"yes, you can baby," he said firmly, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he positioned himself between your legs, which you were too blissed-out to actually notice "and you will."
".. love.. plea- ohh.. fuuuuck..." you barely had time to process his words—or the way his leaking tip brushed against your sopping hole, before he thrust into your dripping pussy, slow and deep, filling you up completely in one smooth motion, your leftover cum making his cock slip in almost too easily, swallowing him with a sloppy plap, making him let out a moan that was enough to make your guts twist.
the stretch was perfect, making you cry out, your warm, welcoming walls fluttering around him as the aftershocks of your last peak melded with the new wave of pleasure he was building, now with his cock.
Chuuya groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he just took a moment to focus on the way you felt around him, the tightness of you making his own composure falter. "oh fuck baby.. fuck you feel so fucking good," he rasped, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you in place as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, just as slow, just as deep, drawing another breathy moan out of your puffy lips.
your nails dug into his back, your lashes fluttering as your body arched into his, your nipples grazing his chest as he leaned down to kiss you messily—tongue sliding into your mouth and tangling with yours, suckling on your bottom lip, drinking in every single one of your whimpers, getting you into that hazy heaven where everything feels good as long as his lips are on yours and his cock inside you.
every thrust sent a new ripple of pleasure through you, your mind too hazy to think, your body too overwhelmed to do anything but feel, feel the big length of his cock, the way it made you feel so full, how it kept hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that made your legs tighten around his hips. and when his hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your sensitive clit again, kissing you through your sudden gasp—not letting you pull back—you knew you wouldn't last long.
"come on, pretty girl," he whispered against your lips, his voice soft and filthy. "one more. give me one more, and I'll let you rest. you can do that for me, can't you?" and despite the exhaustion in your body screaming for you to rest, you nodded weakly, the pleasure too good to say no.
".. that's it.. look at you taking me so well.. drunk on my cock yeah?.." Chuuya groaned, his voice thick with awe and need as he picked up his pace and locked his hand with yours, pressing your joined fingers onto the mattress. no matter how rough he went, he never forgot to love you through it too. the wet, slick sounds of skin meeting each other, plap! plap! plap!, rose in the air as his hips harshly slammed into yours.
".. so pretty.. fucked out and dripping, just for me.. god.. 'm so close baby.. gonna fill you up so good.. fuck.." Chuuya continued, whispering sweet nothings as he kept going, his cock rudely disappearing into your sweet little cunt again and again until he pressed his hips flush into yours, cock kissing your cervix—burying his head in the crook of your neck as he came with an unholy, desperate moan—painting your pretty walls around him white, filling you up with hot, slow, full ropes of his seed.
and when his thumb pressed down just right, and his cock hit that devastating spot deep inside you while he kissed you into your orgasm. you shattered again, your cries filled his ears as you reached your climax. you moaned his name sweetly into his mouth, hand holding onto his harder while you're other hand trembled on his jaw from the intensity—legs locking together, letting out a low, cock drunk, satisfied moan while your hole slowly creamed around his cock, that mixed with with his own.
minutes pass. he didn't pull out right away. he never did. why should he? he kept his cock sheathed inside you, still swollen and sensitive, and just kept kissing you lovingly, nothing but low groans and soft moans came from you. his cock still pulsing softly, your cunt still fluttery, both of your cum slowly starting to leak out around his shaft in warm, wet trickles down, dripping onto your thighs and his abdomen, making him subconsciously thrust deep again.
after what felt like hours, you finally pulled with a soft gasp, and just looked at him. he looked pussy-drunk. eyes soft but burning with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "..filled you up s'good doll.. can feel this pretty hole still leaking around me.." he said while looking down at you, eyes half lidded like he was savoring the way you were still shaking from it. before you could respond, Chuuya dipped his head again, capturing your lips in one more slow, lingering kiss that stole the breath from your lungs—unable to resist the taste of your lips. his hand coming up to your tits, massaging, thumbing your nipples—making you curse into his mouth, which he swallowed up gratefully.
you smiled, glowing. "mad at me baby?" you mumbled, still breathless a bit, a harmless attempt at teasing him. he let put a small chuckle, bringing your tangled hands to his lips to press a soft kiss onto the back of yours. "f'course not.." he mummered, his voice still a little rough, the sound of your voice.. the sight of your body so thoroughly undone beneath him taking his breath away for a second. his hand slid down to gently rub circles on your hips and thighs, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. and you felt shy all of a sudden.
"y're lucky you're so damn irresistible," he whispered against your mouth, his hands sliding down to cup your hips, slowly massaging the soft flesh. he pulled back to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "so fucking perfect, rest now baby, yeah?" he murmured, his voice filled with affection. He pulled the blanket over your exhausted body, his fingers brushing your hair back as he pulled you into his arms, your arms sneaking up his lean back, face buried in his neck, his chin resting on your head as you both drifted off into a well-deserved sleep.
chuuya is divine in sin, so much so that sex with him feels holy.
secret admirer
pairing: chuuya nakahara x fem!reader
wc: 1k
Chuuya Nakahara prided himself on awareness.
In the Port Mafia, survival depended on it—knowing when something was off, when danger lurked just out of sight, when someone was watching you a little too closely. He noticed patterns. He noticed habits. He noticed everything.
So when a single rose appeared on his desk one morning, he noticed.
It was fresh, dew still clinging to the petals, its stem trimmed neatly and placed with deliberate care. No thorns. No note. Just a deep red bloom resting against the dark wood like it belonged there.
Chuuya stared at it for a long moment, expression unreadable.
“…The hell?”
He scanned the room. Empty. His office door was locked, just like he always left it. No open windows. No signs of forced entry.
Someone had gone out of their way to get in—and out—without being seen.
He scoffed, grabbing the rose and turning it between his fingers. “Real funny,” he muttered, already assuming it was a prank. Maybe one of his subordinates trying to get a rise out of him. Maybe Dazai, if hell had frozen over and he’d decided to be poetic.
Chuuya tossed the rose into the trash and moved on with his day.
He shouldn’t have.
The chocolates showed up three days later.
This time, they were sitting on the corner of his desk when he returned from a meeting—an elegant black box tied with a red ribbon. Imported. Expensive. The kind you didn’t just grab from a convenience store.
Chuuya frowned.
He didn’t open them right away.
Instead, he checked the room again. Then the hallway. Then the security logs.
Nothing.
No trace of anyone entering his office during his absence.
His jaw tightened as he finally lifted the lid.
Inside was an assortment of chocolates, carefully arranged. Dark, milk, filled—each one pristine. Untouched.
He recognized the brand immediately.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.
They were his favorite. Not that many people knew that. He rarely indulged, and when he did, he kept it quiet. Too sentimental, too indulgent. Not exactly a habit he advertised.
Chuuya closed the box slowly.
This wasn’t a joke.
Someone was paying attention.
After that, the gifts didn’t stop.
They didn’t come every day—never predictable enough to catch—but they were consistent.
A pair of gloves left on his chair before a particularly cold evening.
A thermos of warm coffee waiting on his desk during an early morning briefing.
A scarf folded neatly beside his coat, dyed in a shade of red that matched his hair almost perfectly.
Always thoughtful.
Always precise.
Never excessive.
And always anonymous.
Sometimes there were notes.
Stay warm.
Eat something today.
You don’t have to carry everything alone.
The handwriting was careful. Slightly slanted. Familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place.
Chuuya found himself staring at those notes longer than he wanted to admit.
He tried to ignore the warmth that spread through his chest every time he found one.
By February, he was irritated.
Not angry—unsettled.
The Port Mafia was not a place where secrets survived long, and yet here he was, being watched and cared for by someone who knew how to slip through his defenses without triggering any alarms.
He tried everything.
He stayed late, pretending to drown himself in paperwork. Nothing appeared.
He came in early, catching even his subordinates off guard. Still nothing.
He even enlisted help—discreetly, begrudgingly—but no one had seen anything suspicious.
It was like his admirer existed only in the spaces he wasn’t looking.
And that scared him more than he cared to admit.
Not because he felt threatened.
But because he didn’t.
Because instead of dread, he felt anticipation.
Valentine’s Day arrived quietly.
The city was wrapped in gray clouds, rain falling in a steady, unrelenting drizzle that soaked into everything. Chuuya returned to his office late that afternoon, coat damp, mood foul, already bracing himself for the usual nonsense that came with the date.
He stopped short when he saw the envelope on his desk.
No decorations.
No hearts.
No flourish.
Just his name, written clearly across the front.
Chuuya’s fingers tightened around the paper.
He opened it slowly.
Inside was a simple card.
Meet me on the rooftop at sunset. Please.
That was all.
For a moment, he considered ignoring it. Considered tossing it aside and pretending none of this had ever happened.
But his heart was already pounding.
“…Damn it,” he muttered, grabbing his hat and turning on his heel.
The rooftop was quiet.
The rain had softened into a light drizzle, the city below glowing with scattered lights as the sun dipped beneath the skyline. The air was cool, damp, heavy with that familiar city scent of concrete and rain.
Someone stood near the railing.
Back turned.
Shoulders tense.
They turned when they heard his footsteps.
And Chuuya froze.
“…You?”
They flinched, then let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Hi.”
It was you.
Someone he knew.
Someone he trusted.
Someone he’d never once suspected.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Chuuya exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’re tellin’ me you’ve been doin’ all this?”
You nodded, fingers twisting together. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just—didn’t know how to tell you. So I thought… maybe this would be easier.”
He stared at you, searching your face.
All the pieces clicked into place.
The handwriting.
The thoughtfulness.
The timing.
“…You know you’re insane, right?” he muttered.
You winced. “Is that bad?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Depends.”
Silence settled between you again, heavier this time.
You took a breath. “I like you, Chuuya. I have for a while. I didn’t expect anything—I just wanted you to know someone cared. Someone noticed.”
His expression softened.
“…You should’ve just told me,” he said quietly.
“I know,” you admitted. “I was scared.”
He stepped closer, rain pattering softly against the concrete. “I get that. But next time… don’t hide.”
You looked up at him. “Does that mean—?”
Chuuya reached out, resting a gloved hand over yours.
“…Yeah,” he said. “It does.”
The city hummed below you, the rain finally easing as the moment settled into something warm and real.
For the first time, Chuuya Nakahara didn’t feel like love was a mystery.
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chuuya is small.
not delicate—compact. dense. built like a tiny brick of attitude.
he has short legs and a low center of gravity, giving him permanent “dwarf cat” energy (munchkin/british shorthair mix vibes). his fur is a rich copper-orange, plush and warm, with darker stripes along his tail and back. his eyes are a sharp, intense blue that always look like he’s judging something.
he always wears his little black hat, sitting perfectly between his ears like he was born with it.
personality-wise, he is loud, stubborn, and fiercely loyal. he hisses first, thinks later, and will absolutely try to fight animals twice his size. he acts like he hates everything, but he’s incredibly protective of his owner and dazai, even if he’d rather die than admit it.
he:
yells when mildly inconvenienced
guards doors and windows like a tiny security system
gets jealous easily
pretends he hates affection but melts when scratched behind the ears
will stand his ground against literally anyone or anything
overall vibe: small, angry, loyal, and terrifyingly brave.
𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄
dazai is long.
Not just tall long in every possible way.
he has a slender, flexible body, long legs, a long tail, and moves like he has no bones (oriental/abyssinian mix vibes). his fur is a warm brown with subtle tabby patterns, and his eyes are golden and expressive.
he always wears his little tie, and sometimes bandages for extra drama.
he is dramatic, smug, affectionate, and absolutely aware he’s annoying. he causes problems on purpose, steals attention, steals space, and deliberately pushes chuuya’s buttons just to see his reaction.
he:
flops dramatically when touched
sits directly on people and refuses to move
invades Chuuya’s personal space constantly
pretends to be helpless for attention
is secretly very smart and deeply attached
overall vibe: clingy, chaotic, affectionate, and an instigator
𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐒!𝐒𝐊𝐊 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂
they are bonded.
they fight. they cuddle. they share sunspots. they steal the same lap.
chuuya pretends he hates dazai.
dazai never pretends.
chuuya guards the house and their owner.
dazai guards their owner by physically occupying her.
they are always touching—tails brushing, paws overlapping, foreheads pressed together after arguments. chuuya is the angry protector, dazai is the clingy menace, and together they are completely inseparable.
𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒 ─ 𖧷
the menace & the meatball
two strays, one home
the battle for your lap
chuuya is small.
not delicate—compact. dense. built like a tiny brick of attitude.
he has short legs and a low center of gravity, giving him permanent “dwarf cat” energy (munchkin/british shorthair mix vibes). his fur is a rich copper-orange, plush and warm, with darker stripes along his tail and back. his eyes are a sharp, intense blue that always look like he’s judging something.
he always wears his little black hat, sitting perfectly between his ears like he was born with it.
personality-wise, he is loud, stubborn, and fiercely loyal. he hisses first, thinks later, and will absolutely try to fight animals twice his size. he acts like he hates everything, but he’s incredibly protective of his owner and dazai, even if he’d rather die than admit it.
he:
yells when mildly inconvenienced
guards doors and windows like a tiny security system
gets jealous easily
pretends he hates affection but melts when scratched behind the ears
will stand his ground against literally anyone or anything
overall vibe: small, angry, loyal, and terrifyingly brave.
𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄
dazai is long.
Not just tall long in every possible way.
he has a slender, flexible body, long legs, a long tail, and moves like he has no bones (oriental/abyssinian mix vibes). his fur is a warm brown with subtle tabby patterns, and his eyes are golden and expressive.
he always wears his little tie, and sometimes bandages for extra drama.
he is dramatic, smug, affectionate, and absolutely aware he’s annoying. he causes problems on purpose, steals attention, steals space, and deliberately pushes chuuya’s buttons just to see his reaction.
he:
flops dramatically when touched
sits directly on people and refuses to move
invades Chuuya’s personal space constantly
pretends to be helpless for attention
is secretly very smart and deeply attached
overall vibe: clingy, chaotic, affectionate, and an instigator
𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐒!𝐒𝐊𝐊 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂
they are bonded.
they fight. they cuddle. they share sunspots. they steal the same lap.
chuuya pretends he hates dazai.
dazai never pretends.
chuuya guards the house and their owner.
dazai guards their owner by physically occupying her.
they are always touching—tails brushing, paws overlapping, foreheads pressed together after arguments. chuuya is the angry protector, dazai is the clingy menace, and together they are completely inseparable.
𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒 ─ 𖧷
the menace & the meatball
two strays, one home
the battle for your lap
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: skk!cats x owner!fem!reader (platonic)
𝐰𝐜: 0.4k
It starts innocently.
Which is how you know it won’t end that way.
You’re sitting on the couch, blanket over your legs, phone in hand, when Dazai decides the world is ending because you have not touched him in at least five minutes.
Without warning, the brown menace launches himself onto you.
Full body. No hesitation.
He lands sprawled across your lap like a dramatic fainting Victorian child, back pressed to your stomach, paws in the air, tail flicking lazily. He immediately starts purring—loud, smug, triumphant.
“There you are,” you murmur, scratching his chest.
Dazai melts.
This is when you feel it.
A presence.
You look up.
Chuuya is standing on the arm of the couch.
Very still.
Very small.
Very, very angry.
His blue eyes are locked on Dazai like he’s assessing the best angle to commit murder.
Dazai notices him too.
Instead of moving—of course—he stretches. Slowly. Excessively. Taking up more of your lap, pushing his head further under your chin.
Chuuya’s tail lashes.
“Mrrrp!” he snaps.
Dazai doesn’t even look at him.
You, unfortunately, do.
“Oh—hey, Chuuya,” you say gently, patting the empty space beside you.
Chuuya glances at the spot.
Then at Dazai.
Then back at you.
His ears flatten.
He hops down and stalks over, hops up… and finds there is no space. None. Dazai has arranged himself like a crime scene.
Chuuya plants a paw on Dazai’s side and pushes.
Dazai goes limp.
Full dead weight.
You snort despite yourself.
Chuuya growls, a tiny rumbling sound that vibrates through his whole body. He pushes harder.
Dazai responds by rolling slightly and hooking one long paw around your wrist, pulling your hand back to his chest like, no, you live here now.
That’s it.
Chuuya climbs onto you anyway.
He wedges himself between your ribs and Dazai’s side, ignoring the fact that Dazai is at least twice his size. He shoves his head under your chin, forcing Dazai’s face away.
Dazai finally looks at him.
They lock eyes.
The tension is thick.
Chuuya hisses.
Dazai… presses his forehead against Chuuya’s.
Silence.
Chuuya freezes like he’s been unplugged.
His ears twitch. His body goes stiff. He looks furious—absolutely betrayed by his own reaction.
Dazai purrs louder.
You watch, breath held, as Chuuya slowly exhales through his nose, grumbling. He does not pull away. Instead, he shifts—just a little—and settles with his head tucked against your collarbone.
Claiming you.
Dazai, unbothered, drapes himself over both of you, paw resting possessively on Chuuya’s back like he’s won something.
Chuuya glares at him.
But he stays.
You wrap your arms around both of them, smiling softly.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: cats!skk
𝐰𝐜: 0.2k
𑣲𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I HAVE BEEN BRAINWASHED BY 🐚 !!!
Dazai was the kind of cat that made you question your life choices.
One moment he was draped dramatically across the back of the couch, long limbs spilling over the edge like he’d been placed there by a careless god. The next, he was dangling halfway inside a cabinet he definitely wasn’t supposed to open, batting at something unseen with far too much enthusiasm.
He knocked things over on purpose. Maintained eye contact while doing it. Then had the audacity to yawn afterward.
Chuuya, on the other hand, was small.
Compact. Perfectly round. A tiny ball of orange fury with a permanent scowl etched into his little feline face. He sat upright on the table like a judge, tail flicking in sharp, irritated movements as Dazai attempted—again—to fit himself into a box that was clearly two sizes too small.
“Get out of there,” Chuuya hissed, ears flattening.
Dazai, of course, responded by slowly stretching one paw out and tapping Chuuya on the head.
The scream that followed could’ve shattered glass.
Chuuya launched himself forward with a furious yowl, all claws and righteous anger, tackling Dazai off the couch in a blur of orange and brown fur. Dazai accepted his fate with a delighted trill, rolling onto his back like this had been his plan all along.
They tumbled across the floor, a storm of hissing, chirping, and indignant growls—until Chuuya emerged victorious, standing triumphantly atop Dazai’s chest, puffed up and seething.
Dazai just blinked up at him, tail swishing lazily.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: skk!cats x owner!fem!reader (platonic)
𝐰𝐜: 0.8k
𑣲𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I fell in love with cats!SKK and I’m not stopping anytime soon ≽(•⩊ •マ≼
You hadn’t planned on adopting any cats that day.
You were just “looking.” That was the lie you told yourself as you stepped into the shelter, the smell of disinfectant and kibble hitting you immediately. Looking. Browsing. Definitely not emotionally bonding.
That plan died approximately thirty seconds in.
Because the first thing you heard was hissing.
Not the scared kind—no, this was offended hissing.
You followed the sound to a small enclosure where a tiny orange cat was standing on top of his food bowl like it was a throne. His fur was fluffed, tail lashing violently, bright blue eyes blazing with pure fury as he spat at a much larger brown cat in the neighboring enclosure.
“HEY! I WAS HERE FIRST, ASSHOLE!”
…okay, he didn’t say that, but you felt it in your soul.
The shelter volunteer beside you sighed tiredly. “That one’s been returned three times.”
Your heart sank. “Why?”
She glanced at the orange menace, who immediately chose that moment to bite the bars of his enclosure like he was trying to escape prison. “Aggressive. Loud. Territorial. Very… opinionated.”
The orange cat locked eyes with you.
Something about his stare felt personal. Like he was judging you. Like he’d already decided whether you were worthy.
“…he’s perfect,” you said weakly.
The volunteer snorted. “You say that now.”
Before you could reply, a sudden THUMP echoed beside you.
You turned just in time to see the medium-to-large brown cat in the next enclosure fling himself dramatically against the bars, flopping onto his back with exaggerated grace. He stared at you upside down, golden eyes half-lidded, expression far too smug for an animal that had just body-slammed a wall.
“Oh,” the volunteer muttered. “And that one is a problem.”
The brown cat rolled, stretched, and reached one long paw through the bars—booping the orange cat’s tail on purpose.
The orange cat SHRIEKED.
“DON’T TOUCH ME—”
Hiss. Spit. Tiny orange rage.
The brown cat purred.
Your fate was sealed.
You adopted the orange cat first.
He refused to be carried, climbing your shoulder like a furious scarf while glaring at everyone who dared look at him. You named him Chuuya, because it felt right—short, sharp, and a little dramatic.
He spent the entire car ride yowling insults at traffic.
At home, Chuuya immediately claimed your couch, your bed, and you. He curled up on your chest that night like a heated brick, growling softly whenever you shifted, as if daring you to move him.
You were completely in love.
Then, three days later, you went back.
You told yourself it was just to check. Just to see how the brown cat was doing.
He remembered you instantly.
He pressed his face to the bars, tail flicking lazily, and let out the most pathetic little meow you’d ever heard. The volunteer crossed her arms.
“He refuses to eat unless someone’s watching him.”
“…of course he does.”
“He also opens cabinets. And doors. And once, the ceiling tiles.”
You blinked. “The ceiling?”
The brown cat winked.
You named him Dazai.
Introducing them was a mistake.
Chuuya puffed up to twice his size the second Dazai stepped into the apartment. He planted himself in front of you, back arched, like a very small, very angry guard dog.
“Back OFF. This human is MINE.”
Dazai sat down calmly.
Then he slowly, deliberately rolled onto his back and exposed his stomach.
Chuuya screamed.
You expected fur to fly. Claws. Bloodshed.
Instead, Dazai gently tapped Chuuya’s forehead with one paw.
Chuuya tackled him.
They tumbled across the floor in a chaotic orange-and-brown blur, knocking over a lamp, a shoe, and your dignity. When they finally stopped, Dazai was lounging on his side, tail flicking lazily, while Chuuya sat on his chest like a victorious general.
“…are they… okay?” you asked.
Dazai purred.
Chuuya hissed.
They were inseparable from that moment on.
Life with them became a constant battle.
Chuuya was your alarm clock, screaming in your ear at precisely 6:00 AM because breakfast was late. He perched on high places like a gargoyle, judging you. He bit Dazai whenever Dazai breathed too close.
Dazai was worse.
He knocked things off shelves while making direct eye contact with you. He pretended to fall dramatically just to get attention. He waited until Chuuya was asleep to steal his favorite spot—then acted innocent when chaos ensued.
They slept together anyway.
Every night, you’d find them tangled up on your bed: Chuuya tucked against your side, Dazai sprawled shamelessly across your legs, purring loud enough to shake the mattress.
One evening, as you sat on the couch with a book, Chuuya hopped into your lap with a gruff little chirp. Dazai followed, squeezing himself in like he belonged there too.
Chuuya growled.
Dazai purred louder.
You sighed, smiling as you stroked both of them. “I didn’t even want one cat.”
Chuuya headbutted your chin.
Dazai licked your hand.
Your heart felt full in a way you hadn’t realized it was missing.
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"i'd give the world to her, as long as my heart's still beating, as long as she's next to me, because I like her." -> 20191009 i like her by (mac demarco)
2.7k words
notes: use of pet names sweetheart/doll (for reader) and love/darling (for chuuya), established relationship, a lot of flirting and teasing on both ends because they love each other and can handle it, chuuya cursing, chuuya being head over heels for reader, gifting giving as a love language taken to the MAX, just two people being bookworms :3 i hope you enjoy! the bookstore they go to (spoiler alert) is very much based off of a bookstore i went to while visiting my mango anon, so i dedicate this work to her <3
nakahara chuuya who never had time to read or stop to take a breath until he met you. in the sheep, even when he was first taken in, he soon began to help on food runs. once they found out about his ability, there was never a day he got to catch a true break. then joining the mafia kept him busy, and what he few things he did read were half-assed reports or those typed by someone who obviously should have been a novelist rather than a mafia lackey.
for him, there was no middle between never reading and reading something that made him want to set the paper in his hands on fire. but that didn't mean he outright hated the idea of it. he liked the idea of books and the stores and libraries that were filled with shelves of thread-bound tens or hundreds of sheets of paper from every decade of the world; some having recently found their way onto a shelf while others had been printed, placed on shelves, and traded hands for centuries. he liked the idea of the worlds each of the books contained, the different stories they all told, and the inferences and messages people would take with them after finishing a book.
once, he’d been trailing a target who'd entered a nearby bookstore to browse their selection. he'd done his own bit of wandering, mainly to fit in with the atmosphere until it became less of an act and something more genuine—a few covers would catch his eye and he’d felt tempted to pull them off the shelf and buy them right then and there before he remembered what he was here for. but that interaction had been his first experience with the allure of books; it wasn't really something he'd learned in that moment, but, more precisely, from you.
you, who would get too caught up in a book until he'd called your name for the umpteenth time, not angry, but worried about why you weren't responding to him. he'd feared you were purposely ignoring him and was unsure of what he’d done until you’d silenced his concerns with a laugh. when he'd settled onto the couch next to you after finally getting your attention, you'd climbed on top of him, pressing a kiss to his lips, "i'm not mad. i was just reading a good book, i promise."
a book had the ability to distract you that much?
"i just get lost in books sometimes—too focused on what’s happening in the world within them. that's what a good book does," you explained further, his hands trailing down to settle on your sides, pulling you close and flush against him.
he hummed, processing your words. it sounded like an interesting experience and anything you liked he was bound to like, right? the only kind of book he didn't want to read was a mystery. he had enough of that kind of shit in his everyday life when he had to figure out where the hell his rookies went off to every day–not to mention that cursed book he'd been trapped into by that detective boy from the agency several months ago.
a few days after your explanation, he was taking you out on his day off when you both passed the bookstore he'd previously found himself in on that last mission. recognizing the sign that hung on the wall above the store, his feet almost stopped as if he was feeling a pull to return back to the store before he ignored the feeling. noticing his interest in the bookstore, you’d squeezed his hand. "hey, I wanna go in there. can we?" you asked, tilting your head while pointing to the store.
he'd never been able to resist that sweet smile of yours and this is–of course–his day to spoil you, but he still can’t help but tease you a little bit first, "huh? you don't have enough books already?"
you pout, already settled on your decision as you begin tugging him towards the entrance of the store, "how rude! never say that to a bookworm. there's no such thing as having too many books."
"yeah, yeah, sorry." he rolls his eyes half heartedly, but he doesn’t put the effort to tease you above making it to the door before you do, holding it open before walking in after you.
the bookstore is worn, the small bell at the edge of the door more of a dusty bronze than a gold, showing its age. the floorboards have started to bow with how many seasons of cold and warm temperatures they’ve been through and they creak loudly, flattening back into their original flush position whenever he steps on them. there's a large dark walnut wooden ladder reaching the shelves of the store's abnormally high ceiling, looking as cliché as it gets, yet it was the first thing he noticed upon entering the store weeks ago and it’s one of his favorite touches to the store even now.
he almost protests when your fingers slip out of his as you run off to admire in awe a row of books that adorn the top of a piano, but he smiles at the look of wonder in your eyes that only grows when you turn to the left to see a staircase descending down.
"chuuya! look! they have a lower floor!" you say, straightening back up to point at the stairs, looking at him.
he's shoved his hands in his pockets, finally making it back to you after you’d run off and now he's staring you down with a look in his eyes that makes you melt and drop your arm shyly under his adoring gaze, "yeah, you just noticed, sweetheart?"
"well– not a lot of bookstores have something like this," you purse your lips, looking down at the floor, "you're acting like you've been here before."
"i have," he replies, arm coming around your shoulder to guide you to the staircase, where he knows you want to go. you look up at him in surprise as you begin descending the broad wooden planks and he shrugs, "was following someone last week and they came in here. spent like an hour walking around...they must've been a bookworm like you."
you giggle at his words, leaning closer into his touch, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw, nuzzling your nose into the side of his neck before pulling away. "well, now you're going to have to watch me wander around this bookstore. don't go too far, alright?"
"says you," he sighs, shaking his head as you run off the moment you reach the bottom of the stairs to the nearest bookshelf. while you spend a few minutes observing every spine lined up in front of you, he begins to wander around on his own, trying to find the books he'd looked at last week. there was no harm in it, right? it looked weirder if he just stood around in the middle of the store waiting for his sweet partner to be done. although, another unique touch to the bookstore was a small projector that hung from the ceiling of the basement of the bookstore. it was casting an old black and white film onto a side of a wall, where a few rows of seats had been placed for anyone wanting to sit for a moment.
but he didn't need to pretend he was here for a reason, he’d wanted to come in here just as much as you did even if he wouldn’t admit it. he soon found himself searching the shelves too, gloves trailing along the edges of several book's spines, ever so often stopping to pull one that stood out to him.
a blow against the shell of his ear makes him jump and he spins around to face you, his cheeks a little pink, "shit, you scared me, doll."
you only give him a teasing smile and laugh, your eyes flickering down to the book in his hand, "did you find something you liked?"
he turns the object around in his eyes, looking at its back as if the answer to your question was supposed to be there. the entire cover was made out of blue thread, and the gold text that had been etched into it had grabbed his attention. "i don't know, i think i just liked how it looked. what about you?"
he can see you holding your hands behind your back and at his prompt, you flash him a grin before revealing a pile of books balanced nicely on top of each other.
the large stack isn't what makes his eyes widen and lips part slightly–it's how familiar all the covers of the books look to him. "did you–?"
"you fell right into my trap, chuu," you keep teasing him and it pieces together.
you had plenty of books, and yeah you could always have more but you hadn’t wanted to come here for you. you'd noticed his slight trip up at the sight of the store, and brought him in here for him. so that he could look at books. you'd been secretly paying attention to what books he'd picked up out of the corner of your eyes. and once he'd finished talking himself out of buying a book and placed it back where he found it, you trailed behind him to pull the book right back off the shelves.
you'd snuck up on him at the end of an aisle, where there were bookshelves on all three sides of you both besides the way you'd come from. he used that to his advantage, suddenly pulling you in by the hip to press you against the bookshelf facing the opposite end of the aisle. to anyone else, he probably only looked like he was browsing the selection this shelf (unless they were unfortunate enough to look just a little bit closer, to the pair of shoes trapped between his own).
you'd exclaimed at the sudden pull, tightening your grip on the books, shuddering when you felt his breath on your neck.
"you're sly, you know that? when'd you start behaving like this?" the words went straight to your stomach where you felt a flutter, and you reached out a hand to grip the sleeve of one of his arms.
"well, i learned from you, of course," you fired back, your mouth immediately going dry at the trail of kisses he left down your neck.
"you're too cute for your own good, you know," he murmured, pulling away, leaving you a blushing mess. "are you done? should we keep going?" he asked, looking at you like nothing had happened.
"i– um– just want to buy these books and then we can leave," you fixed your clothing, trying to cool down.
he quirked a brow, "were you actually interested in those books too? in that case, let me pay–" he reached for the books in your hands but you dodged his attempt, shifting your arms to hold them out to the right.
"no, i'm buying them for you, silly!" you teased, already walking past him before he could process your words and catch you.
"[y/n]—"
"i know what you’re thinking. you didn’t want to buy them in the first place because ‘i’ll never have time to read them... what if I don't like them... blah blah blah…’ but that all changes today. starting now, i'll be taking you on reading dates at least once a month. got it?" you turned to face him on the stairs you were climbing back up and he stopped behind you, a look of surprise on his face. "you'll never know if you like them until you try, chuu."
"i–"
"good, it's settled," you winked before turning back towards the top of the stairs, walking over to the counter.
once you got there? chuuya fought with you to pay, the both of you whipping out your cards while the cashier in front of you continued to stare forward with a smile on their face as if the couple in front of them wasn't shoving at each other, cursing one another out as their arms got tangled up, grabbing at each other's wrists.
your card won in the end, and you laughed triumphantly before placing the books in his hands while he muttered something you couldn't quite catch. when you made it out the door, he'd pulled you by the waist to bring your back flush against his chest again, face pressed into your shoulder, his new books still held at his side. "thank you, doll," he whispered, face slightly muffled by your shoulder.
but you heard it still, turning to place a gentle kiss to the side of his head. "of course, love," you smiled, reaching your arm back to find his free hand, intertwining it with yours. "now, where were we going again? before we got sidetracked by the books?"
"i was going to treat you to coffee," he came back to your side as you both began to walk again.
you bobbed your head at the reminder, "ah, right! although i think you're mistaken. i was going to treat you."
he looked at you from the side, brows furrowed, "hell no. especially not after you paid for these books. you're not gonna win this time, i'll pin your feet to the ground with gravity if i have to."
"you wouldn't dare," you stuck your tongue out at him before looking forward and refusing to say anything else. and he didn't argue back, because you were right. he'd much rather wire his entire savings into your account or pay you back a hundred times over before ever even thinking about using his ability on you in such a way. "hey," you suddenly perked up again and he hummed in response, waiting for you to continue, "do you wanna read at the cafe? or just go home? don't tell me it's up to me, tell me what you want."
he sighed at how quick you were to shut down his default answer, taking a second to think through his answer. "i think i just wanna go home. don't wanna hear anyone's voice but yours."
the way he smirked at you afterward, seeing your face warm at his comment told you that he was flirting on purpose to get a rise out of you. but you also knew by this point that his compliments came from an honest place, it was just for his entertainment that he’d word them in such a way to leave you a blushing mess.
"alright then," you mumbles back, cheeks flushed, "we'll grab something and go home."
and that day off had started a routine. "reading dates" as you had called them.
you.
you.
he loved you.
he loved coming home, no matter the time, and seeing you on his couch, knees pulled to your chest where a book was nestled. he loved the way you beckoned him with a hand and a soft call of his name, carded your fingers through his hair as you changed your position, just to accommodate him, so that he could rest his head in your lap.
sometimes you seemed to read his mind and had the current book he was reading on the other side of you and would hand it to him so that he could read as well. sometimes, you simply rubbed his scalp, telling him, “just rest, darling. how was your day?”
maybe it was because he was always so busy, always on the move, always out of the house and returning home late, but he much preferred staying inside with you on his days off to going out if you didn’t want to. he liked it when you both lay against opposite sides of the couch, legs intertwined where they met in the middle, or when he was nestled between your legs, head resting on your middle as you both read in a peaceful silence.
he liked best when neither of you even made it the couch, but woke up in each others arms, and stayed in bed the whole day. or when he woke up, an arm still slung around your front, keeping you close, but you were sat up, resting against the headboard of his bed, book in hand.
he loved you, it was that simple. it was the root of his life, his purpose for living, the feeling in which everything else could stem from.
perhaps you were a kind of book yourself, always able to take him to another world, where he could be separated from his problems and just focus on the beauty of creation and humankind. and he could do that all just by tracing the side of your face every morning.
I Will Stay Strong. @owlsfleur - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
