alyszuha

[alyszuha]

The kiss was a cover, right ?

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

Warning: Fem! Reader, Fake Marriage / Undercover Mission, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension, Suggestive Content / Heavy Making Out, Mature Themes, Violence Mentioned (Assassins, Missions, Guns implied), Swearing / Strong Language, Chuuya Being Possessive

Mature – Contains heavy romantic tension, suggestive physical content, and implied violence. No explicit smut, but strong intimacy and language.

Word Count: 1,085

The ballroom glowed with decadent golds and crystal whites, music swirling from the grand piano in the center like perfume in the air. Laughter bubbled like champagne flutes, swirling around silk dresses and men in pressed suits. And through the crowd, you moved gracefully, your arm looped through Chuuya Nakahara’s, the faintest of smiles tugging on your lips, perfectly faked. He leaned in, murmuring low against your ear, voice coated in faux fondness for anyone watching: “If you step on my foot again, I swear I’ll make you regret choosing stilettos.” You turned your head, eyelashes fluttering like you’d just been complimented, lips barely moving as you hissed back: “If you keep breathing down my neck, they’ll think you’re obsessed. Try to act like you don’t hate me.” His smirk was sharp. “Not possible, doll.” You smiled wider, teeth gleaming, and leaned closer just to keep up appearances. “Shut up and walk like you’re in love with me.” You’d been through countless missions with Chuuya. You’d been shot at beside him, argued in blood-soaked alleys, patched each other up with half-hearted gratitude, and always always, ended up shouting at each other before anything close to a thank you was said. But this was different. This mission wasn’t just danger. It was silk, closeness, and the unbearable heat of proximity. Of pretending. And now the two of you had slipped away from the crowd, down a velvet-lined corridor toward the suspected storage room. The door was locked, of course it was, and you were crouched down in front of it, dress bunched around your thighs, fingers working bobby pins into the lock. “Any day now,” Chuuya muttered from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His voice was low but annoyed, laced with that usual fire. “You break necks faster than you break locks.” You didn’t even look at him. “Do you want to do it in this dress, dear husband, or do you want to let me work?” He scoffed. “I’d do it faster.” “Yeah? Then shut up and be the lookout.” He opened his mouth to retort—but that’s when he heard it. Footsteps. 

Multiple. Approaching fast. Chuuya’s head snapped toward the hallway’s curve. Whoever it was, they were too close. If they saw you crouched at the door, the cover would be blown. No time to explain. No time to drag you away. So he did the only thing he could. In one swift motion, Chuuya grabbed your wrist and pulled you up. You gasped, your bobby pins clattering to the floor, the lock still unpicked. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, your mouth parting in protest just as he crushed his lips against yours. And kissed you. Hard. His gloved hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as if he owned you. The other pressed to your waist, pulling you into him like he was shielding you- no, like he was claiming you. You stiffened for half a second, shock crackling down your spine. But then— Your hands tangled in his jacket. Your mouth opened beneath his. You kissed him back, angry, breathless, like you’d been waiting for an excuse to do it for years and you weren’t going to waste a second of it. The footsteps grew louder. Slowed. Two guards rounded the corner. Chuuya’s hand slid down to your waist, drawing you even closer. Your leg lifted slightly from the slit in your dress, brushing against his hip. His lips moved over yours again, slower this time, deeper, like he didn’t even care who was watching anymore. One of the guards groaned and muttered with distaste, “Newlyweds. Gross.” The footsteps retreated. They were gone.

But neither of you moved.

Not when the guards disappeared, not when the hallway fell quiet again, not even when the threat had passed, the kiss didn’t end.

It only deepened, his mouth pressing harder against yours, your fingers fisting in his coat like you needed him to keep you standing. The world narrowed to heat and friction, to the silent, reckless language of lips and hands that had no business lingering this long.

It wasn’t for show anymore.

They didn’t stop until the burn in their lungs made it impossible to keep going. Even then, they pulled away slowly, reluctantly, breathless and dazed, like surfacing from a dream neither wanted to end.

And when their eyes met again, everything unspoken screamed louder than words ever could.

Chuuya’s forehead pressed against yours, breath heavy, the warmth of his body caging you in. Your fingers still gripped his lapels, his thigh settled between your legs. His hand had found the bare skin of your thigh through the slit in your gown, and neither of you were thinking about the mission anymore. Your noses brushed. “You could’ve warned me,” you whispered breathlessly. “I did,” he said, smirking faintly. “Told you to hurry up.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh, but it was heavy with something else. Heat. Want. His hand didn’t leave your leg. In fact, his thumb stroked slowly over your skin, sending goosebumps spiraling down your spine. “You kissed me like you meant it,” you said, voice quiet. Uncertain. He didn’t deny it. Instead, Chuuya leaned in again, lips brushing your jaw, and muttered: “Maybe I fucking did.” You froze. So did he. Something between you cracked open. No masks. No pretending. Just raw, heavy tension and the truth buried under years of insults and close calls. “I should go back to the door,” you whispered. He didn’t move. “You should.” Neither of you moved. And then his hand still on your leg, slid higher. Dangerous. Possessive. His body pressed flush against yours, and you were suddenly very aware of the hardness pressing against your core. Your stomach clenched. He tilted your chin toward him. “Unless you want to stay here a little longer, Mrs. Nakahara.” You bit your lip. “You’re impossible.” “You like it.” You did. God, you did. And you hated that you couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. Or the way he looked at you now, like the fight was over. Like he’d already won. You turned back toward the door. “We’ll talk about that kiss later.” He gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah? I’m counting on it.” And as you crouched again, this time unlocking the door with trembling fingers and his body heat still clinging to yours, you knew one thing: You were in way deeper than this mission ever planned for.

[alyszuha]

PM boss: nakahara chuuya

[alyszuha]

masterlist

fluff - 💐 ; smut - 🌺 ; angst - 🌷 ; etc - 🍬

BUNGOU STRAY DOGS

🌸 what they would buy at the gas station - 🍬

🎀 domestic chuuya blurb - 💐

to be continued ✧.*

uploaded on 7/17/25

[alyszuha]

This dotty brush i made is so fun 🤩

[alyszuha]

“𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜, 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.”

—Angel!Kazuha x Human! Reader (yes, I did make this based off of Kaworu from NGE)

“Do you believe in angels?”

The question came softly, carried by the wind like a whisper in a dream.

You turned your head, half-lost in your thoughts, and there he stood, barefoot on the grass, white hair catching the pale morning light, his eyes like an ocean at dawn.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

He had appeared in your life without explanation, without origin. He was just there, as if he had always been part of your story but only now stepped into focus. You met him in the quiet places: rooftops, empty parks, the space between your breaths.

You didn’t know what he was. Not at first. Only that he didn’t quite fit into the world around him.He walked like silence and spoke like poetry.

“You’re... not normal, are you?” you asked once, half-joking, half-afraid.

He smiled then. That strange, beautiful smile that made your chest ache.

“I am many things,” he said, “but human is not one of them.”

✧━═══⁢══⋆⊱✦⊰⋆═════⁢━✧

You laughed at first. But he wasn’t joking.

There was something otherworldly in the way he moved. How his footsteps never crunched the leaves beneath him, how his eyes never lingered too long on pain, as if it was too human for him to truly grasp. And yet, he looked at you like you were art. Like you were everything he wasn’t allowed to touch.

“I was sent to observe,” he told you one twilight evening. “But I stayed because of you.” His words weren’t flirtatious. They were honest. And honesty was the one thing he gave you, even when it hurt.

“Why me?” you asked, the wind wrapping around your body like a shield from the answer. Kazuha tilted his head, white strands floating weightlessly. “You feel things I cannot. You love even when it wounds you. That... fascinates me.” You swallowed hard. “You make it sound like I’m a puzzle.”

“You are,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking. “And I am terrified of solving you, because once I do… I will no longer be permitted to stay.” That was the first time he touched you.Just a single finger brushing your cheek. Warm. Barely there.

But in that instant, you knew, he wasn’t just an angel. He was something closer to a falling star.Beautiful. Ephemeral. Destined to disappear. The world began to change the more you loved him.Dreams bled into reality. You heard music where there was silence. Your heart hurt in strange places, like it was being gently pulled toward something higher, something you couldn’t name.

And he… he began to break.

“I was never meant to feel,” he said one night, his voice shaking. “But I think... I am.”

You reached for him then. Finally, completely. And for the first time, Kazuha let you. His hands trembled, holding yours as if you were made of glass and fire at once. “I don’t want you to leave,” you said, tears falling freely. His eyes shimmered. “Then I will stay until I am no longer allowed.”

But angels aren’t made for forever. And love, in its purest form, sometimes asks for sacrifice.

✧━═══⁢══⋆⊱✦⊰⋆═════⁢━✧

Masterlist

[alyszuha]

untouchable gojo x f!reader x choso

synopsis: the strongest has one weakness, not that you'd know it. gojo cuts it off before it can break him - not realizing he might break you in the process.

content: mdni, canon-divergent au where they are all sorcerers/teachers, angst, light smut, breaking up, moving on, emotional hurt, new relationships, jealousy, intimacy, piv sex, awkward conversations

maybe breaking up was for the best.

you barely talked anymore anyway.

none of your friends know you were dating. a secret you kept in stolen moments and soft kisses. grabbing drinks and dinner with the group and tallying the glances he'd give you like they were wilting roses.

five.

even less than the number of words he'd sent in the unceremonious text dumping you.

don't think we should keep sleeping with each other.

since when had your relationship been stuck in reverse? where dating turned into seeing each other to simply sleeping together? how did love twist into longing? and why were you the only one left behind?

it was the sorry text he sent the next day that really sealed it for you, stamped the heartbreak into your soul and signed it with his signature. satoru gojo, the man who stopped wanting you.

and started seeing other people practically the next day.

okay, well, showing up a month later a party with a pretty girl smiling and attached to his side like a glittering accessory.

he didn't look at you at all that night.

you were just embarrassed that you cared to count when the total was zero.

so you transferred schools. switched to teaching at kyoto and tried to ignore any news about everyone's favorite subject. scrolled past every photo he was tagged in, thumb preemptively swiping at the faintest flash of white. not fast enough to not note the fact there was a new girl with him every time.

and when the first school goodwill event came up?

you faked a family emergency and went on vacation instead just to avoid seeing him.

but it wasn't him who sent the text saying he wished you were there. no, it was someone who you were surprised even had your number.

who bothered to call when you didn't text back.

you'd never known choso kamo that well.

only met him a few times through his brother back when you still taught at tokyo. but apparently that was all it took for you to leave an impression on him. enough for him to miss you and do something about it.

enough to ask you if you were available - and if he could change that.

one date turned to three. by the third, you were bringing him back to your apartment, tugging off his pants by the threshold and letting him into your life in more ways than one.

his hands were rough. calloused and calculated, every touch deliberate and harsh. spreading your thighs open and shoving two fingers inside before he fucked you, taking in every shudder of your body like he needed to savor them.

you'd forgotten what it felt like for someone to not hesitate. to let every expression show. open and honest instead of hiding every hint of sentiment behind cheesy lines only meant to cheapen the moment. to be connected.

choso guided your own fingers to touch him and trace his tattoos with his free hand. whispering how much he liked you between thrusts, conspiratory kisses decorating your collarbone, compliments that'd stick in your head long after he left the next morning.

somewhere after the six month mark, you stopped thinking he wouldn't come back.

a drawer of his stuff slowly accumulating, his favorite foods in your fridge and a second toothbrush on your counter. long distance meant weekend getaways, early mornings spent on trains coming home or staying up late to chat when you couldn't see him.

sometimes though, he'd mention missions, and you'd be a little too aware of how different he was from gojo when you had to face a fresh set of worries wondering if he was okay until the next time you heard from him. he wasn't the strongest. not the weakest, but by no means, was he invincible either.

not untouchable.

you loved that almost as much as you hated it about him.

"move in with me," he murmured, buried to the hilt inside you, his voice thick, gravelly in your ear. throbbing as he stalled, on the edge of cumming, heavy body tensing on top of you. "come back."

"c-can't," you groaned, nails taking down his shoulder blades, head thrown back on the pillow. it smelled like his shampoo, traces of his warm cologne sticking to the sheets.

he didn't push it, didn't try to break down your boundaries, but you could feel the want in his eyes. the quiet request to reconsider when he cradled your head against his chest and combed through your hair. in his soft whispers that he'd miss you on his next mission they had him flying to some middle-of-nowhere town for.

what would it be like, you wondered?

to return to where your heart shattered and face the constant reminders of the reason you had to move hours away to sweep it all up?

to see him again.

you just hadn't expected to find out two days later.

all it took was an emergency call, choso panicking over yuji getting hurt and being too far away to make sure he was safe, and you were on the next train to tokyo.

and yuji was fine, limping around and a little loopy from a concussion, but fine, when you picked him up and used the spare key choso had given you just in case to let him back into his big brother's apartment.

helping him climb up the stairs and making him comfortable in the guest room, settling in like it was your second home too while you waited for choso to call again. until you felt the charge in the air. familiar energy buzzing around you before he was there.

"yuji! shoko said-"

gojo froze.

you cringed.

cold blue eyes scrutinizing you, scanning over your stiff frame. assessing the situation like you were just another curse.

he stepped closer and all you could think of was the endless space between you even when he was only four feet away.

"wow, guess it's been a while," he grinned, easy. simple. it didn't hurt anymore to see it. but it itched. made you want to scratch him out. "did yuji call you?"

"no, um, choso did," you swallowed the spit pooling in the back of your mouth. would he notice your tendons twitch? care to look hard enough to see the way you reflexively softened when you said his name.

confusion flashed across his face.

he didn't understand. didn't want to.

"didn't know you guys kept in touch," he casually said. accused with a carefully crafted smile.

"okay," you blinked. indulging him was a game you'd lost a long time ago.

yuji popped out to greet his teacher, and you slipped out into the kitchen, digging through the mostly-empty fridge.

a hand held the door open for you, a body that was close and far away.

gojo was still good at sneaking up on you.

"hungry?" he hummed. "want me to get you guys something to eat? doubt choso will be back tonight or-"

"no thanks," you coldly cut him off.

"why not?" gojo whined, like he didn't know.

"don't think he'd appreciate my ex buying me and his brother dinner," you dryly muttered. why would he care? wasn't there some gorgeous girl just waiting for him to call her back? to treat her to dessert? or like one?

"don't tell me you're dating him," gojo groaned. every word was disgusted. dripping with dramatic disdain.

"does it matter?" you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

you should've though. you might've seen the regret burning in them, the paralyzing hunger racing through him. maybe if you listened hard enough, you could've heard his pulse.

"yeah," he scoffed. "it does."

tempted to make a part two no promises though lol

[alyszuha]

— STRIP POKER

౨ৎ . . . in which you and general CHUUYA NAKAHARA celebrate the success of a recent mission over a bottle of wine. somehow, you decide to test each other's skills at a game of poker.

warnings: alcohol intake, criminal themes, sexual content, gambling, strip-tease, biting, pet-names, praising, mdni, w.c 2.6k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ omen — sam smith ꒱ ˎˊ-

𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑, as any seasoned master would tell you, was a game of bluff.

Strip-poker, however, was an entirely different playing field. It was a game of control.

The intimate hue of the lights down here in one of the many holds of the Port Mafia was a warm gold. It glinted against the cache of wine you both had raided in lieu of the recent events. A money heist, executed even smoother than the original draw-up had expected. So smooth, in fact, that both you and General Chuuya Nakahara had set the Port Mafia ahead of the game for months. Not only was Mori immensely pleased with your work, he had gone further to give you both a hefty bonus, too.

As well as permission to take your fill of the fine stock of red wine waiting to be illegally exported in the basement of the organisation.

"Call." Chuuya's voice filled the small, humid room. His clear blue eyes flicked up to you from behind his two cards — and you felt them, the sheer weight of them, all along your exposed skin.

He was winning. You never knew how good the General was at poker, because what reason did a mafioso mainly working out in the field have for such a game? It wasn't like you had stellar holding skills either, but you liked to believe you were good enough to call his bluff when he started gloating how badly he'd kick your ass at it.

"Oi, oi, you sure about this, princess? Don't go makin' statements you can't stand upon." "Please. I'm a mafia crook, Nakahara, I don't make statements I can't live up to." "Then why don't we have a game? I'm sure there's a dusty pack somewhere around here." Perhaps it was the liquid courage running through veins that sparked the idea in your mind. The expensive limited edition California Cabernet still sweet and cool on your lips. They tugged into a sly smile when you said, "Oh, I have a better idea."

You fidgeted a little under his unwavering stare — feeling the pebbling of your flesh across your shirtless collarbone. You chewed your lip, looking at the flop he'd dealt, then to your cards.

"Raise."

Chuuya's eyebrow cocked. "You're bluffin'."

The score in the present moment was tipped in his favour, but that was not to say you hadn't won a couple of rounds that had cost him his small brown jacket, his tight-fitting waistcoat and the black leather harness usually criss-crossed at his chest. He sat cross-legged before you in nothing but a loose white shirt and pants.

You, on the other hand, was suffering a bit more from your choice to wear less layers that morning.

Your satin blouse had been discarded after his victorious hand in the last round, leaving you sitting before the man in nothing but your lacey red bra and form-fitting pants. There was a rose flush against your chest as your breasts pebbled and strained a little, not used to being under the watchful eyes of a General who commanded swaths of terrifying mafiosos.

Keeping his eye-contact, you picked up your glass of wine and took a greedy sip. "Am I?" You hummed, batting your eyelashes innocently.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at you, his sharp canines poking from between his lips. He leaned back and threw his hand down. "Full house."

Glee was a thousand racing sparks through your body when you mirrored him, slapping your cards onto the cobblestone. "Straight flush."

"Fuck!"

You grinned at his loss like a silly teenager, leaning so you could cradle your face in one of your hands. "Boo-hoo! Eat shit, Nakahara."

He looked absolutely adorable when he grumbled like that, you thought in a haze when he cursed another blue streak of profanities and began unbuttoning the upper half of his shirt. Unveiling a sliver of his ivory-white skin with each pop, his deft fingers working quickly. It was not warm down in the Port Mafia's storage bunkers, solely because it had been built into the stone and had no access to general plumbing or heat, but you couldn't help the lick of flame that cascaded down your back the longer you stared at him.

All power and lean muscle, littered with little scars that echoed to the place he must have come from, your mouth went a little dry when he undid the last button and began shrugging the shirt off. His shoulder muscles flexed when he pulled the sleeves off, throwing it behind him somewhere. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every breath, every movement you made when he turned back to look at you.

He scowled. "What?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring."

Regrouping your composure, you covered it up with a taunting expression. "Just revelling in your embarrassing loss."

"Shut up and deal, princess."

"Sore loser."

A handful of rounds later and you had Chuuya stripped down to only his boxer briefs and gloves he always refused to take off — for obvious reasons. The latest article of clothing he had deigned to shed after you had thrown down a four-of-a-kind to his flush was the leather collar he always bracketed his neck with. You were not used to seeing the long column of his throat so exposed — it elicited deep, wild feelings in the pool of your stomach. Like how you wanted to drag your tongue from the base of his pectorals up to his mouth.

Stop—you're not going there.

Chuuya dug his hand into those wild red locks of his and ruffled it, annoyed. "There just ain't no way you've been this lucky so far. You've got to be fuckin' cheating, or somethin'."

You brought the deck before you to give it another shuffle. "One day, you'll live up to my greatness. But for now, I think it's safe to say that I'm the better player at poker."

"No way," He thrust his hand out so you would give him the deck. "We're playing one more round."

Your eyebrows raised at his boldness. He had no more pieces of clothing to give — save for his gloves, the man was practically naked if you disregarded his briefs. There was little objections on your part for another round as you still had your bra and your pants on, just as before, but him—

"Chuuya," You started, flickering your eyes down his bare body. It was a hard feat to try and hide how dry it made your mouth, the sheer beauty of him. "Seriously. You've got nothing left."

He cocked his head. "'Course I do. I've still got one more." And flicked his eyes pointedly to his briefs. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. It occurred to you that he was a stubborn, competitive man, and that he definitely wasn't going down without a fight.

Swallowing, you unpasted your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Cleared your throat as your heart had lurched right up into it.

"If you say so." You said quietly. In a voice that had become lower, thicker. You handed the deck over to him and watched him deal.

You felt your stomach bottom out at the two cards that looked at you with their glossy surface when you checked them. Two aces. His long fingers burned the first card and dealt three, showing you the black and white faces of an ace, a king, and a three of hearts.

The river card; another ace. The remaining one of the deck.

Fuck.

"What's your call, princess?" Chuuya murmured, not looking at his cards when you glanced his way.

The dim lights that illuminated your space flickered, just like your pulse, at the type of stare he was pinning you to the spot with. Like he knew exactly what cards you held, but instead of getting angry like you expected him to that you had stole another round of victory from him, he was expectant. Leaning forward a little, the girth of him evident and so inviting in those boxer briefs.

Your mind went a little foggy. You nibbled your lip again, your body going warm.

"Can I fold?" You whispered with the slightest tremour of tease.

He smirked, then threw his cards down — a king, a five of spades. You had the winning hand. Chuuya then leaned back, placing both hands behind him so his chest appeared broader, his eyes looked up at you, and he said, "If ya want. We can call it quits."

This was madness. The way the room was now so stifling it was almost hard to breathe — the open invitation he was giving you, the sudden, fire-crackling electricity igniting the air between you both. You hesitated with your deck, wondering if this would be a mistake. If you'd both wake up in the morning with a headache and the sick feeling of what the hell had you just done?

There was a quiet slap when you revealed your two ace cards; four of a kind, decimating his own.

You didn't care.

"I win." You whispered, letting the sound trail off. Expectant and pregnant.

And, by the looks of it, neither did he.

Chuuya's keen eyes flashed. He lifted his hand, but not to push down the last article of his clothing. Instead, he crooked a quick finger to you. "C'mere."

You almost melted into a heap on that floor amidst the cards and the wine. But you complied. You pitched forward so to go on all fours, your breasts exposed and swaying when you took calculated, predatory crawling steps over to him.

"Do you need some help there, General?" You teased him.

He snarled a little at the title you used to coo at him. Prideful bastard. He shifted his long legs so as you could see the large, hard shape of him through the boxer briefs. He reached out to catch your chin in his leather-gloved hand, tilting your head up so as to look at him.

He looked like he was just about ready to devour you.

"Come collect your prize, pretty girl."

It was about all the instruction you needed — shaking off your hesitancy and replacing it with a burning, chaotic desire.

You had leaned up to your full height and reached back, unclasping the bra that had been chaffing your agonisingly sensitive breasts. You pulled it loose and let it fall, exposing to the General and his eyes that burned a wicked blue flame.

He reached for you — bringing you close, close enough to collide your two bodies and latch a hungry mouth around your nipple. The other, he kneaded with his free hand, pinching and grounding against it so hard it was almost painful. But a pleasurable type of pain — the type that made you throw your head back and groan. His mouth was hot and wild, and his teeth, they nipped and suckled and made all thoughts eddy out of your fuzzy mind.

"Fuck—ah—!" You moaned, rocking your chest into his face, coming to clutch the back of his hair. Chuuya was ravenous. He had curled his fingers into the waistband of your pants and ripped. Throwing the ruined material to the side and pushing you down. Letting your damp underwear grind up against him, creating friction against his cock that strained underneath you.

He cursed. He pulled away, looking down where you two grinded together, effortlessly rolling his hips up to you and meeting halfway. "Shit, you're incredible." He growled out, and reached down to replace the friction of his cock with two fingers. He traced the seam of your underwear, murmuring, who's a good girl? Who's so wet and needy for me, hm? Such a sly little thing, trying to strip me bare.

"Chuuya—" You were bucking into his hand. "I need you, fuck, I need you." You needed him inside you now, right now.

Of course, he wasn't going to give it to you right away. "You need what, princess?" He moaned, teasing you, killing you. He was pressing the pad of his thumb against your apex and drawing slow, tantalising circles. "C'mon, use your words."

You gripped his face and crashed your lips on top of his — and he groaned. Deep and rumbling from the back of his throat, gripping you tightly to him by clasping his fingers hard into your ass.

"I need," You snarled through the kiss, the bites, the tongue tasting you. "I need you — I need you to fuck me."

Chuuya chuckled a sound so intimate you could almost feel it vibrating down to your pulsing core. "Atta girl." He praised, and you could feel him parting your underwear to the side and the press of a hot, leaking cock against your heat. He found your opening and slid inside — fast and quick, hot and unstoppable — just like he always was. "Atta fucking girl."

"Shit!" You cried in ecstasy as he pumped into you. Holding you against him on the floor as he rose up, down, up, down. Unbothered by the fact he was lifting your whole body weight with each thrust. He rocked his hips up, taking yours with two hands and pushing down, fucking into you roughly.

"You feel so fuckin'—" His teeth flashed, and then you watched his eyes swim, knocking his head back when he groaned. "Christ, princess, you feel amazing."

You dug your nails into his pectorals and matched his rhythm. Your breasts bouncing, mouth falling open and taking in short, gasping breaths every time he slammed back into you. There was something feverish in the way you two had come together — something wild. Like this unspoken strain had existed between you both until something finally gave it life. And when your pleasure crested, swelled, came to that tip of the apex, you handed it all over and fell. You screamed out his name, letting it bounce against the walls and the stones and the wine bottles left emptied. Until it mixed with his own when he came after, pumping into you slowly and tenderly to drag out your pleasures for as long as he could

requested by the lovely [ @ringsofsaturnnnn! ]

[alyszuha]

⋆˙♱ 𓆩♡𓆪 cn: explicit sexual content [nsfw / 18+]. loss of virginity. finger-fuck. attachment and abandonment issue. dirty talk. anger issues. fluff. mention/description of physical abuse. 6k+words.

fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

pairing: Ryunosuke Akutagawa x Reader

Akutagawa is a difficult person, with a ruthless, vicious nature feared by both ally and foe. He receives obedience from the Black Wizard subordinates mainly out of fear. Fear of his short temper and his general intolerance for incompetence.

Still, that’s how people saw him. And it makes you laugh every time. Because you know Akutagawa very well and that’s only half correct.

Despite the rumours—hostile as he is towards the weak—he says he “dislikes” meaningless torture and prefers to kill in one strike whenever possible, but that’s far from the truth. He would never hurt innocent people.

The core of that anger comes from his past, from being an orphan in the brutal slums of Yokohama.

But that makes two of you. He wasn’t completely alone, both of you had been thrown into this world of poverty and neglect, without parental love. But you had each other. And you made your own definition of “family.”

You always tried to pull him out from under Dazai’s manipulation techniques, the ones designed to crush his self-esteem. Sometimes, you thought your opinion didn’t weigh as much for him as his did for you, because he still kept chasing Dazai’s approval.

But that’s far from how Akutagawa sees it. Because of you, he lives in a complicated state of mind.

He hates himself and everyone around him. But then there’s you. Always here for him. Always understanding, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

And that drives him mad. Because it’s fine to disappoint himself, but you? The guilt is unbearable.

He never was expressive with words. Only actions. Sacrificing his life for you in a heartbeat, protecting you from others even if you never asked for it. And you tease him for that (he hates that side of you).

Also, on rare occasions he talks to you calmly, openly before detaching himself again.

After the exhausting fight with Atsushi—his new rival, for some reason you don’t want to understand because it would just create more problems—it was impossible not to tease him a little when he came back to the shared place you two have. Separate rooms, shared kitchen and bathroom.

You swirl your tongue over the cherry-flavoured lollipop, leaning against the bathroom door while Akutagawa cleans wounds that go far too deep. Sometimes, you swear he’s a masochist.

“Did you know Higuchi likes you?”

Your smirk already irritated him. It showed in the furrow of his brows, and the quick side glance he gave you before focusing back on disinfecting, hissing slightly.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Do you like her?”

He scoffs while lightly tapping the damp cotton against his skin.

“Not in the mood for your stupid questions.”

You roll your eyes playfully.

“Are you ever in the mood?”

He shoots you another threatening glare. You wiggle your eyebrows, twisting your own words into something suggestive, which makes him instantly ignore your words.

“Do you mind? Don’t you have anything better to do?” He nods toward the door for you to leave, but your smile remains glued to your face.

Watching him struggle to pull the bandage with his teeth to wrap around his hand, you interrupt him.

“Here, let me.”

He wants to complain, but suddenly you step into his personal space with your stupid, intoxicating perfume. He swears you didn’t smell like that before. Suddenly, the thought terrifies him. Because why the hell did he notice that?

Your hands were too delicate for his taste. Almost foreign. He wasn’t used to being treated like this, even though you used to do it often when he got into fights with anyone who threatened him—or especially, threatened you in the past.

He didn’t realize he wasn’t breathing right until you dropped down on your knees.

“What the fuck are you doing—” His eyes widen, looking down at you, but his body freezes.

“Oh, shut up already.” You mock him, while your gentle hands bandage his right side of his leg too.

A faint blush appears on Akutagawa’s cheek. Normally, he would talk back—but instead, he swallows, trying to distract himself by watching the crows outside, circling the window.

“All done.”

You smile at your own neat work, poke his cheek, and walk toward your room. You leave behind an embarrassed Akutagawa.

He doesn’t know you also let out a soft breath, biting your lip.

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It took you a few years to realize you had feelings for Akutagawa. With nothing to compare it to, you thought that was just what friendship felt like. Like a brother and sister. Even though there were other people at the orphanage who tried talking to you, none of them felt like a match.

You thought that when you used to ask him to hold you when you were too scared to sleep, it was just because you didn’t know what it was like to be held by a parent—not because his entire presence calmed your whole being.

It only became clear when you turned thirteen—and so did Akutagawa. In the years that followed, you never felt anything close to what you felt for him. You met plenty of interesting people. Expecially boys.

Like Karuma, who kind of stalked you because he was antisocial and didn’t know how to talk to a girl.

Or Arthur Rimbaud. That man was a one-time experience. A beautiful but annoying man who complained constantly about the cold.

Well, you offered to help him feel warmer. Not by sleeping with him—no. You stopped just before it happened, because another man’s face was already in your mind. At least he was your first kiss.

With your life constantly at risk, you didn’t want to go without at least experiencing those things. You remember how exasperating Akutagawa was back then. Bullying Arthur so you couldn’t hang out with him. You think he still believes you slept with him. You preferred that way—because even if you told him, you would’ve only given him half the reason why you didn’t go through with it.

You liked to think Akutagawa was jealous that time. But you couldn’t be sure without feeling delusional. After all, Akutagawa never showed interest in any woman. Or man.

Well, maybe just you. But you think it was just embarrassment when he invaded your space that time he accidentally walked in on you in the bathroom.

You remember it clearly.

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He had just turned eighteen that day. But he was gone, out on another mission. Not that he cared about his birthday. Still, you always tried to surprise him every year,

It was past midnight. You went to take a bath, thinking about what to get him, something that might actually get a reaction. You’d done it before.

You had just wrapped your naked body in a towel when Akutagawa walked straight into the bathroom, not bothering to knock. He didn’t expect you to be awake at 3AM.

You froze, already staring straight at him. Your hand was frozen too, holding the towel that covered only half your body.

Akutagawa’s life flashed before his eyes. His mouth dropped open in shock, eyes widening, hand trembling slightly on the doorknob. His primal instincts kicked in, his eyes betraying him badly. He sized you up in an instant before noticing your flushed face.

He raised his voice, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it.

“Are you out of your mind, Y/N?! Why the fuck aren’t you sleeping?”

“I, I—” You couldn’t find the words. You didn’t even know what bothered you more—that he saw you like that, when he wasn’t supposed to? Or that the first time he saw you, you hadn’t shaved?

“For fuck’s sake! S-sorry.” His breath was irregular, eyes closing in frustration as his head rested lightly on the door. The apology was uncharacteristic. Not because he lacked manners, but because he never let himself end up in these kinds of situations.

He left. He couldn’t wait for your reply.

But in the morning, yawning and scratching your head, you walked to the coffee machine to make for both of you. At least that way, you could surprise him if your plan failed last night.

You didn’t know Akutagawa hadn’t slept well. He was deeply ashamed for replaying what he saw too many times. So ashamed he almost did something terribly wrong. Disrespectful. Something he knows you’d hate him for. Right?

So he felt a mix of guilt and annoyance toward you. That’s why he stood there, staring at the two cups of coffee he had already made.

“Oh? Morning, Ryu.” You pouted. “You ruined my plan again.”

Calling him that name was rare; it stirred something in him he couldn’t place. He gave you a side glance and slowly pushed one of the cups toward you.

“Plan?” he muttered, deciding not to act like an asshole for once—his guilt was heavier than his pride.

“Yeah. You think I forgot or something?” You smiled. “I wanted to make coffee at least, since last night I also wanted to go find a birthday present. Maybe surprise you.”

You smirked. His eyes were anxious, avoiding yours—especially avoiding glancing at your body again—but he acted unbothered.

“Don’t need it.”

“Hah? I can’t hear you.” You teased him because his voice was too low. He seemed in a calmer mood, so you caught him off guard, hugging him from behind and resting your head on his back.

“Y/N, get off—”

He couldn’t finish. You caught him too off guard. His heart nearly dropped, then began pounding in his chest. His muscles tensed. His hands, which had started to push yours away, dropped instead. His face turned red.

“Happy birthday, Ryu.” You murmured softly, smiling as you let out a deep breath, comforted by his warmth. One you missed too much.

Several minutes passed before Akutagawa finally whispered a soft “Thanks.”

You let go of him, tilting your head and grinning at the shy boy.

“Or maybe I already gave you a surprise last night?”

His eyes widened before he yanked your hands off of him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

His voice dragged at the end as he scratched his head, stressed, and walked away.

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The only time something like that ever happened. Not that you never thought about it again. Far from it. And he’s no exception either. The sad part is that neither of you knows how the other feels. Maybe that night wouldn’t have been so awful if you had.

Kōyō Ozaki.

She acts like a mother figure to your friend Kyōka. You should like her, right? Until you saw something you didn’t want to.

You know she has a sadistic side. Everyone does. But one day, you saw your friend being psychologically broken into submission by her. That was the first strike.

And the second? Your Akutagawa.

She became a mafia executive and eventually started caring deeply for your friend. You and Akutagawa weren’t neglected either. That woman supported both of you whenever needed. Especially when Akutagawa caused trouble in the past. Kōyō would speak to Ōgai Mori and just like that, he’d be excused or punished less severely.

But that’s low, even for her. Today’s events.

You walked down the corridor, dragging your fingers absentmindedly over the jagged wooden walls, painted here and there in a red that looked too much like blood, whistling a tune whose melody you barely remembered. Your hand froze at the same moment your body did, upon hearing their voices.

“I heard you did a good job in the last mission, Akutagawa Ryonosuke. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you, madam.”

“I’m sure you know what to do to show your appreciation. Am I right?”

You frowned. Thanks to your stealth training, your presence was barely detectable, so they didn’t notice when you peeked near the door.

Kōyō’s eyes glinted with mischief as she gently gripped an uncomfortable, but obedient Akutagawa. Tilting his chin towards her.

What the fuck is this?

You thought it. You didn’t mean to say it out loud so you don’t realize. Not until their heads turned in your direction all at once.

I’m fucked.

Well. At least to finish it.

“What’s happening here?”

“Oh? Y/N L/N? To what do I owe the pleasure of you being somewhere you clearly don’t belong?”

You swallowed hard as her eyes slowly sized you up. A restrained, but dangerous gaze.

You risked a glance at Akutagawa, who looked completely disappointed? That stung more than it should have.

“What are you doing to him?”

She raised her brows in surprise, then slowly started walking toward you.

I’m probably going to die.

“Nothing that concerns you, darling.” She stared at you with that infuriating, sharp superiority. “But I suppose a discipline lesson will.”

Akutagawa stepped between you and her, disappearing without a look back. She smiled afterward.

“Looks like your boyfriend doesn’t want to watch. That’s fine. I have time reserved with him anyway.”

You’re going to kill her.

Or not.

You were too exhausted and bruised after that ongoing “discipline” lesson to even care about either of them. Apparently, she enjoyed pushing your limits. You now felt even more sorry for your friend than for whatever twisted version of motherly love she received.

You were on the floor, barely conscious, when someone caught you just before you fainted. His touch was warm against your cold, trembling skin.

Akutagawa didn’t speak to you for days. He does that sometimes. But this felt different. Like he was avoiding you as much as humanly possible. Especially since even in the morning, all you heard was the door slamming as he left. He never left that early.

On the third day, his hand was already on the doorknob when you shouted his name. He paused for just one more second before slamming it harder than usual.

And that was it.

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Until Akutagawa was severely injured during a mission to recover a large sum of money and submerged cargo from a ship. You found him unconscious, gravely wounded in the ocean after the mission.

Giving him mouth-to-mouth, your tears covered his cheeks until—finally—he woke up.

Seeing you, he groaned from the pain. But it wasn’t just pain. With the last bit of strength he had, he pushed your hands off him.

“L-leave.”

Your eyes widened, overwhelmed with relief at seeing him alive.

“Akutagawa, oh my fucking—I’m so glad you’re—”

“I said leave.”

You furrowed your brows in pain. That was the final straw. You said nothing more. You forced him to lean on you, despite his constant protests, though he kept hissing in pain so he couldn’t do anything but get dragged by you.

You asked Higuchi to treat him then. You even showed her the special treatment you fought to get your hands on, to ease his brutal coughing.

And… you switched both of your apartments. Mori was against it, but Kōyō approved faster than expected. You wonder why.

Akutagawa felt relief when he woke up and learned you were done with him. Finally, he no longer had to carry that constant anxiety of losing you. Of disappointing you. Of worse, seeing you tortured because of his fucked-up life. He cried that night, lifting you from the floor and bathing your weakened body. The strongest person he knew, fallen apart in front of him. And because of him.

You need to hate him. Fast.

Except life only got worse without you. He didn’t realize how hellish it would be, being treated like the piece of shit he truly was. You wouldn’t even cooperate in the missions you were both assigned to.

You nearly got yourself killed because you refused to act like “an obedient dog” like the others who followed his orders. That’s how he’ll lose you completely.

And today was a rough day. He felt like destroying his own room. Still, he didn’t want to be tormented by Higuchi’s questions either.

So he had to destroy yours. Or at least your door. He barged into your “new” apartment. What a joke. You chose to live near that rat Arthur Rimbaud. That bastard better not be close or he’ll destroy him too.

You didn’t flinch when you saw him storm in, slamming the door shut.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You looked at him with a completely unreadable expression. That enraged him even more. You never looked at him like that. Like he was nothing.

“Do you need something?”

“Y/N, stop this fucking game.” He kicked the table beside the couch, shoving it aside violently. “I fucking get it. You hate me. Good. But do you want to fucking die?”

His breath was ragged, his voice aggressive. He tried to calm himself as you gave him a bored stare, putting down the knife you were holding. No dinner tonight, apparently.

“Did you fuck her?”

Akutagawa thought he misheard.

“Did I what?”

“I asked if you fucked her, Akutagawa.”

Your voice was faint.

“No?! Not that it’s your fucking business who I fuck or don’t.” He felt himself boiling over, especially at the pained look on your face—a look he couldn’t understand at all. “Why the fuck does it matter? You sound like some jealous idiot.”

Your heart dropped. Biting your lip was the only thing you could do as it trembled. You can’t cry in front of him. Not even him. No. No.

Akutagawa felt his ears ring. He couldn’t feel his body. Not even his own heart.

Impossible.

“Y/N, tell me it’s not true.” His voice was shaking. Flashbacks of sweet but painful memories of your childhood flooded in. “Right fucking now.”

He realized he was yelling only when he saw that same awful expression on your face again. Tears on your cheeks.

“I can’t.”

You weren’t lying. It showed in your eyes. Akutagawa felt like dying. How didn’t he see it? How could someone like you, like someone like him?

He groaned, holding his head, pacing back and forth while staring at the ceiling.

“So you don’t like me.”

Your quiet voice shocked him again. He hesitated to lie and you definitely caught it, because your face lit up slightly. Your heart was pounding like mad in your chest.

“Akutagawa?”

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not, Y/N. It will never happen.”

“Why? Is Kōyō a better option?”

“Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.”

He stormed toward you, his voice laced with venom. You swallowed. You could admit he scared you sometimes. Very rarely—but still.

He laughed, irritated that you almost flinched. He felt insulted. Like he was being pushed to say the next words.

“What, sweetheart? Do you think about me fucking her at night? Does it turn you on?” His fake smile vanished. “That’s low. Even for you.”

You shoved him.

“Fucking asshole. You never cared about me. You were just waiting for a reason to get rid of me! Just say it and I’ll fucking leave you alone.”

Akutagawa’s head throbbed. He wasn’t thinking clearly anymore.

“Y/N, she’s fucking old.”

You stared at him in confusion. Was that… supposed to reassure you?

“You think I’m some kind of slut? Just taking whoever gives me attention?”

“I don’t know, Akutagawa. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

That hurt. Too much. He couldn’t breathe. The past months blurred in his mind. Reality hit him. He’s going to lose you completely. Whether by death or whatever this was.

You felt so shattered you knew you’d cry for days again. Like you had been doing these past months. The only strangely comforting part was that Akutagawa looked just as broken as you right now. His eyes were nearly red. And not from rage.

“I never wanted you to suffer because of me.”

A step closer.

“And I never want to hurt intentionally.”

Another one.

“That’s why I didn’t want you near me anymore.”

One more.

“Saying I don’t care about you is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

His eyes screamed pain and guilt, but his voice carried accusation.

You didn’t trust your voice. His presence overwhelmed you, made your skin burn.

“Who are you to choose for me?”

Akutagawa grabbed your chin. Gently, still.

“Someone who wants you so badly, he’d make you completely miserable.”

You gasped at the sound of his voice, hoarse and whispered so close to your face. His eyes never left yours.

“And what if I want to be miserable?”

Akutagawa’s glare could cut like blades. Your mind went blank while only one impulse echoed relentlessly inside his.

He grabbed you by the legs and lifted you up, setting you on the round kitchen table, drawing a startled sound from your lips.

“Ryu—”

That damned name. His lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“You drive me fucking insane. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Your mouth went dry.

“Mhm.”

You could only feel the side of his face until he moved directly in front of you to look. He planted his hands beside your raised body, towering over you. Akutagawa had never lingered in your personal space for so long. You figured the adrenaline had numbed his sense of awareness. Your gaze betrayed you, slipping to his mouth. His intense, storm-grey eyes were no longer empty. No, they brimmed with dangerous possibilities he had long tried to suppress.

You didn’t know whether to move or stay perfectly still, afraid he might change his mind. Your mouth hung slightly open, breath heavy. Your eyes, vulnerable and steeped in lust, were far too honest for Akutagawa and only spurred him further.

He leaned in slowly, barely brushing your lips before finally kissing you. You felt like you might combust when he began tasting you—slowly, like he was afraid to want it this much. You kissed him back gently, praying he wouldn’t stop and that’s when he deepened it, pressing in harder, making you gasp. At the sound, Akutagawa stilled for a moment, breathing against your lips, watching you closely. Your heart felt so small. But to your relief, he didn’t pull away.

The kiss didn’t stay gentle for long; it escalated fast. He chased your mouth, guiding your head deeper into the kiss with his own. And once his tongue slid in, curling against yours, you were done for. You moaned. A sound Akutagawa had only imagined until now. It shattered something in him. Instinct took over. He pulled your hips flush to his and brought one hand to your cheek, steadying you so he could kiss you harder.

He tasted incredible—a bitter, layered flavor you knew you’d get addicted to. His kiss grew rough, fervent, mirroring his unrelenting temperament. Especially when he bit your lip, just enough for a tang of metal to hit both your tongues. You hissed, but the protest meant nothing. You were still moaning, still opening for him. And though he dominated your mouth entirely, the slender hands exploring your body remained careful, purposeful.

“Please… touch me more, Ryu.” Your voice was a broken whisper against his mouth, both your arms wrapped around his neck.

The hitch in your breath brought him back to his senses; if only briefly.

“It’s not right—” he started, but your boldness cut him off. You leaned into him, inch by inch, chasing his body. That warmth blooming inside you, those overwhelming feelings—he could see it all. Not to mention the sheer magnetism you felt toward him.

“Then why did it feel so good, Ryu?”

You were cruel. So cruel, in fact, that when your trembling hand reached down to his most sensitive spot, rubbing over the fabric, he groaned and seized your wrist. You gasped when you felt how hard he was. At least your embarrassment about how wet you’d gotten from just his kiss was slightly eased.

“Stop. We should stop, Y/N. We’re not thinking straight.”

Your face was obscene to him. Parted lips, flushed skin, and an expression so sinful it made you impossible to resist.

“You don’t want me, Ryu?”

The weakness he felt made him furious. So he did what he knew best—wrestled back control.

Akutagawa murmured against your ear, his lips twitching at the end.

“Fine. I’ll show you how much I want you—but you won’t get to complain.”

You shivered when he grazed your earlobe between his teeth. Not enough to hurt—just enough to make you need his tongue afterward, to soothe it. But he didn’t stop there. His mouth descended to your neck, leaving trails of burning heat. And despite your whines, he silenced you the second he cupped your breast, rubbing and squeezing it repeatedly until his movement grew impatient. His hand slipped under your shirt, then beneath your bra.

“F-fuck…”

This was maddening. He still felt too far away from you. He needed to be closer. His fingers tore your shirt open.

“Akutagawa, what—”

“Shut up.”

He leaned into your chest, and his short, jagged black hair was tugged by your fingers for support. The white tips clung to his sweat-dampened face, but you brushed them aside while arching into his mouth, moaning at his kisses that raised goosebumps across your skin. A soft hiss escaped your lips again when his mouth latched onto your nipples, sucking until bruises bloomed across the tender skin.

You weren’t sure if you’d heard him right when he pulled back to look at them, cupping them in his hands and murmuring in a low, almost reverent voice.

“Beautiful.”

Your breath barely existed anymore. And when you tried to reach under his now-wrinkled dress shirt, your fingers sliding carefully beneath it, he grabbed the torn shirt off the table in a swift motion and tied your hands behind your back.

You felt docile beneath him, maybe because you trusted him with your entire being. You didn’t even think of protesting. That sight alone did something irreparable in Akutagawa’s brain.

He looked at you. Really looked. Splayed out for him like this, on the kitchen counter, wrists bound, breasts swollen and marked with him—and your face? God, infuriatingly beautiful, like always. His own flush mirrored yours when he took it all in. Your very existence beckoned him, pleaded with him, and he didn’t have the heart to resist anymore.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t recognize himself when he muttered:

“No one was ever supposed to see this but me.”

You spoke through shallow, trembling breaths, your heart completely bare as you watched his eyes widen.

“No one has.”

Akutagawa thought you were lying. Because—

“Not him. I couldn’t. I was thinking only of you.”

His world flipped upside down when he heard that. His obsession had taken root the moment he first said it aloud. But now? Now he was utterly lost. And you… you were dangerously close to becoming just as obsessed as he was.

His fingers ghosted over your body, between your thighs, then above them, until he pulled you closer by the hips and cupped your neglected pussy. Your mouth fell open in surprise, already trembling under his touch—and embarrassed by just how wet you were.

“I—I haven’t done anything. Just… touched myself sometimes.”

At least he wasn’t the only one inexperienced.

He managed to maintain control over Rashōmon even in this state. A small black thread with streaks of white shaped itself into clawed ribbons—some tilted your chin toward him, others brushed against your throat. You gasped, utterly caught off guard by the most arousing moment you’d ever lived through. A buried fantasy. You were clearly just as unhinged as him—and maybe that’s why it worked.

“You touch yourself sometimes?”

“Yeah. Thinking about you.”

You were so openly aroused by his ability that he trailed the shadows to your breasts, overstimulating you. “So filthy.” His voice was barely recognizable, eyes tinged faintly red from the technique. “But don’t worry. I do too.”

Your head fell back, moaning under Akutagawa’s touches that began through your pants.

“Since when?”

“Bet you want to know.”

He pulled your pants down, eyes locked on yours as he crouched. When he finished, he spread your legs apart with his black tendrils.

“Please.”

He shot you a glance, then lowered his gaze. His mouth parted slightly at the sight. You were soaked. He pulled your underwear aside to touch you more directly, entirely focused now; his response was short, deliberate:

“Years.”

“F-fuck—”

He toyed with you, edging and teasing until he returned to where your body responded best—your clit. His movements were steady, consistent, though they had started off erratic. You weren’t hard to read. He looked at you when his fingers dipped lower, but your eyes begged him for more, giving all the consent he needed.

There wasn’t much resistance left in you. Just a faint ache here and there, but you were no stranger to it. Especially not after all the nights you imagined yours were his fingers.

His long, elegant fingers touched places you never dared reach yourself. He eventually released your wrists, noticing the strain in your posture, but the moment you tried to touch him, his shadows stopped you again that this time tightening around your throat, just a little.

“It’s not fair! Ryu—I want you undressed too!”

“Not now.” He silenced your protest, leaning in to kiss you while keeping one hand firmly pressed to your lower back. The other thrust into you faster, adding a second finger. “Cum for me first.”

“Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You couldn’t stop now. You were sure the man Akutagawa had once been jealous of could hear you if he was still in his room but somehow, that only turned you on more.

“Ryu, I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! Don’t stop, please!”

Your voice broke, incoherent and desperate. But that was enough for Akutagawa. He circled your clit with his thumb, just a little more, just enough to push you over the edge.

He tilted your face toward him, wanting your eyes on his when you came. As your body convulsed, he turned off his ability and held you up himself. You gripped his clothes, your legs trembling as he cradled you, resting the lower part of his face against your neck while slipping his fingers out from your throbbing heat.

Then he lifted you by the thighs, still shaking, holding them up since you couldn’t wrap them around him yet. His gaze zeroed in on one thing, one place: your room.

He let you fall onto the bed while you pushed yourself back on your elbows, crawling slightly. His eyes were entirely possessed that he looked at you like you were sacred, like what just happened had wrecked something inside him. Not that he had past experiences to compare. Nor did he want to.

“You haven’t fucked anyone else, right?”

He undressed, revealing a pale, slender frame—lightly scarred at the abdomen, matching your own. You both remembered how you got them, but not at the same time. You reached out and touched him with a kind of worship that made him avert his gaze after only a minute. He bent over you, still in his pants, leaving soft kisses over the scars and you nearly cried at the softness.

“N-no—”

Your voice cracked, but Akutagawa didn’t answer. He just watched you fall further under him. His kisses trailed down your legs, then—without warning—pressed a short kiss between your thighs.

He sat back on his knees and awkwardly removed his pants, feeling exposed. But you didn’t have time to look. He didn’t let you. Whether out of embarrassment or something else, you didn’t know. But now, the head of his cock brushed against your soaked folds, slick with your arousal.

“Swear it.”

When you felt him push in, slow and careful, both your mouths opened in tandem, your expressions frozen in shock.

“Oh my God—No, never. It was always you—”

He was focused solely on not finishing too soon. It was already painful, how long he’d waited. But it was definitely worth it. Still, he had to move slowly, the look on your face told him it hurt more than a little.

“Good.”

Akutagawa saw your reddened eyes but you didn’t stop. You were fine with the pain. You wanted him so badly, you locked your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper.

He groaned, stopping instantly.

“Fucking slow.”

He pinned both your wrists above your head with one hand and began moving slowly, gentle thrusts. He didn’t want to hurt you. Not now.

Your walls clenched so tightly around him he felt like dying from the effort of holding back. But he couldn’t risk finishing inside you recklessly. He wasn’t that careless.

“Please, Ryu—”

Akutagawa saw your begging expression and his breath grew ragged. He thrust deeper, finding a steady rhythm. He lifted your legs slightly for better leverage, releasing your hands so you could clutch at the sheets.

“More, more. I can take it—I swear, Ryu! I fucking love it—”

He groaned, fucking into you harder, deeper, over and over.

“So good. You feel so fucking good.”

You whimpered a breathless, “Yeah?”, grinding up to meet him. He seized your wrists again, locking them behind you, and leaned down, driving even deeper.

“Yeah.” His breath was erratic, and it only made you fall harder for him. He wouldn’t last. That much was certain.

Akutagawa’s gaze made you cry; it was like he poured everything into you through those dark, widened eyes. He wanted to pull out. He really did. But you stopped him.

“I have an IUD. Don’t! Don’t! Cum in me. Please, Akutagawa—I need to feel it!”

What the hell is that? he wondered—but he trusted you. You were more responsible than him. He gave two final, brutal thrusts before releasing inside you. As he came, his mouth found yours and you swallowed his moans and then some.

“I love you so much.”

He cupped your cheek again as the words slipped free, his climax fading in shaking limbs. His eyes stayed on yours, even as tears streamed down your cheeks. He tried to steady his heartbeat, his breath.

“Please don’t leave me again. Please, please.”

He shook his head and licked his dry lips. His mouth stayed parted, his breath warm against you.

Akutagawa leaned in and kissed your tear away, then your lips—softly, again. The kiss was languid, almost reverent. He was still inside you, and the intimacy of the moment made your chest ache. He kissed your face again and again—until you curled into him, burying your face in his neck.

Eventually, he pulled out gently, steadying your shaking legs as you instinctively tried to hide yourself. Your glassy eyes made him speak, even though his voice nearly failed.

“Wait a second, okay?”

You couldn’t speak either.

Then he came back with a towel and cleaned you—entirely unaware he was still naked. Somehow, it felt too natural now. The moment was too real, too tender for his mind to shatter it.

You watched him, trembling with love and fear—enough to scare you. Especially when he lay behind you, avoiding your gaze, but still letting his fingers trace your skin.

Akutagawa was terrible at this part. He wanted to leave right then and there—but he couldn’t. So instead, he hid his vulnerable eyes when he whispered, barely audible.

“I love you too.”

You felt your heart split open. You couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him, seeing him finally say what you never thought you’d hear. You felt bad that he hadn’t said it sooner but you’d never expected him to in the first place.

You draped your leg over his, pulling him close. Your naked bodies now fully pressed together. Both your heads tucked into each other’s necks.

After a while, reality set in. You knew it had hit him too, your bodies were tenser now than they were before. Eyes staring into the void, even if you weren’t looking at each other.

“Ryu… what are we going to do?”

Your voice was muffled in his neck. So was his.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, voice rough. “But we’ll figure it out. Just like we always do.”

You smiled at that.

You were so glad you met him. And for the first time in his life, Akutagawa felt something close to hope.

Maybe the world wasn’t as cruel as he’d once believed.

[alyszuha]

the first note appears on your fridge.

"don't forget to eat today. or i'll cry. seriously. i'm very sensitive.” it's signed with a doodle of satoru's sunglasses and a dramatic stick figure with tears.

you roll your eyes, toss it in the junk drawer, and forget about it.

but then you find another one. this time it’s on your bathroom mirror.

“you look hot today. but also brush your teeth please.” there’s a tiny cartoon of you with... vampire fangs?

you groan internally, "gojo…”

oh, it escalates fast.

within days, you’re finding sticky notes in increasingly stupid places. inside your cereal box “good morning, cereal thief 🥣^_^ ”, on your shampoo bottle "your hair smells really good, but i promise i'm not a weirdo about it.”, on the ceiling above your bed "dream of me or else >:( "

you confront him the next time he pops by unannounced, which is basically every other day.

“why,” you demand, shoving a handful of neon sticky squares at his face, “are you turning my apartment into a scrapbook?”

he feigns innocence, pushing his sunglasses up dramatically. “aw, you found them all? you’re so diligent, baby!”

“i'm serious!” you sputter. “one of these was inside my shoe.”

“hah- oh yeah, that one said, ‘don't step on my heart.’ cute, right?”

you threaten to throw him out. he refuses to stop.

but you start saving them.

you tell yourself it’s just because they’re funny, who wouldn’t keep a note that says “drink water or you’ll shrivel up like a sad raisin 💧” next to a crude drawing of a raisin with your face?

but some start to get weirdly sweet.

"hope today’s nice for you, even if i'm not there to annoy you.” or, “if you’re sad, open the freezer.” (inside your freezer was a note that said, "there, now your sadness is frozen.”)

then one night, you find the motherlode.

you drop your phone behind your tv stand and when you drag it out, there’s a single sticky note stuck to the back of the screen.

different handwriting. rushed, messier than his usual.

“if you ever get bored, piece them together.”

you spend the whole next day on your floor, surrounded by neon scraps of satoru's idiocy. it's like building a conspiracy board. arrows, tape, strings of doodles.

it hits you- numbers hidden in the corner of some notes, a doodle that matches another, words that line up when you overlap them.

hours later, your living room looks like a detective’s office and you’re staring at a single final message, pieced together from a dozen random half jokes.

“hey dummy. i love you. don't throw this one out, okay?"

you sit there for a minute, cheeks burning, surrounded by all his stupid doodles, and for once, you can’t even find it in yourself to be mad about the mess.

you hear your door unlock (he made himself a spare key). he pokes his head in, grinning.

“so?” he calls out. “did you figure out my puzzle, sherlock?”

you launch a sticky note at his face. he catches it in his mouth.

“you’re an idiot,” you say, heart hammering in your chest.

he crosses the room in two strides, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and spins you around until you squeal.

“yeah,” he says, burying his face in your neck, “but i'm your idiot, huh?”

on your wall, the final note stays up for good.

even satoru doesn’t dare peel that one down.

[alyszuha]

new fanfic idea: chuuya dies on reader's birthday

i will never get over the fact that the real life counterpart of one of my favorite characters ever (chuuya) died on my fucking birthday.

[alyszuha]

i will never get over the fact that the real life counterpart of one of my favorite characters ever (chuuya) died on my fucking birthday.

[alyszuha]

Chuuya Nakahara

The style reference, the pose, and an angel.

As always, thank you for looking ^_^

[alyszuha]

Would you be willing to write a story that's Dazai x reader who keeps "accidentally" interrupting his suicide attempts by trying to drag him into silly or distracting arguments?

a/n: i could NEVER say no to writing dazai this was soo fun for me to write hope u like it:3 /cw:mentions ofsuicide,mdni

<𝟑 .ᐟ fire escape, 3:47 am.

you find him perched on the rusting fire escape, legs dangling into the night like he’s flirting with gravity.

a faint breeze pushes at the hem of his shirt, ruffling his hair, but he doesn’t move - doesn’t flinch, even as you kick open the window with all the subtlety of a freight train.

he looks like a painting that’s been left out in the rain, all smudged charm and casual disaster.

you climb out beside him with a plastic bag in one hand and something annoyingly determined in your posture.

“i brought snacks,” you announce, letting the bag crinkle just loud enough to be obnoxious.

his eyes flick lazily from the bag to your face. “are you bribing me out of suicide with convenience store melon pan?”

you hand him a drink. “no, bribing would imply you’re useful.” he takes it anyway, because of course he does.

you settle beside him, your shoulder brushing his. his body is warm, and his skin smells like whatever soap was closest to the sink. he doesn’t lean in, but he doesn’t move away either.

“also, i need to know - if i legally adopt a pigeon, does that make me a single parent?”

he pauses mid sip, then glances sideways, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “only if you’re prepared to fight the father for custody in a dramatic courtroom scene involving feathers and emotional testimony.”

you snort. “osamu.”

“fine,” he sighs, leaning back until his spine rests against the cold iron railing. “i suppose dying can wait until after your avian custody battle is won.”

you grin, victorious, and he lets you have it.

<𝟑 .ᐟ the train tracks, 11:11 pm.

you catch him sprawled across the train tracks like a victorian heiress in the third act of a melodrama, limbs loose, coat spread out beneath him like a makeshift funeral shroud.

he looks absurd.

“seriously?” you ask, stepping over the gravel, your breath fogging in the cold night air,

his head turns slightly. “i was waiting for fate.”

“you missed the last train by forty minutes.”

he groans dramatically and flops back down. “then let fate reschedule.”

you nudge his ribs with the toe of your shoe, not unkindly, but harshly. “get up. i brought your laundry.”

you didn’t mean to, truly. you were halfway through folding it on your bed when the silence in the apartment felt wrong - too still, too sharp. something in your chest had twisted, pulled taut with a sick kind of instinct.

you ran without thinking.

he probably saw it - the flush in your cheeks, the breathlessness you tried to hide, the way your voice came out a little too hard.

he lifts his head just enough to peer at the bag slung over your shoulder. “and here i was - hoping to meet a tragic end, tangled in steel and regret, belladonna.”

you let the bag drop beside him with a soft thud. “your socks are all gone. are you eating them in your sleep again?”

he blinks up at you with infuriating ease, his face upside down from your perspective, “you think i’m charming even like this, don’t you?”

“i think you're high-maintenance and way too annoying.” he grins, bright and completely unbothered. “ah, love.”

you roll your eyes but don’t move until he stands. you wait, hands in your pockets, as he stretches and yawns like this was just a nap with extra drama.

you walk home side by side - him humming a dumb, off key tune about suicide, swinging the laundry bag like it weighs nothing at all.

<𝟑 .ᐟ the riverbank, 6:12 pm.

he’s standing knee deep in the river, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the evening light casting long shadows across the water. his coat is folded neatly on the grass behind him, almost reverent in its placement - like he couldn’t bear to let it drown with him.

the river moves slow and shallow. barely up to his calves. it wouldn’t take him, not really. but he stands there like he’s daring it to.

you spot him from the top of the slope and make your way down with careful steps, boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. when you reach the edge, you stop just shy of the waterline.

“you left your phone unlocked on the office desk,” you say. “kunikida’s sent you about seven messages. one of them might be a restraining order.”

he doesn’t turn around. “how tragic. the world will move on without me - and kunikida’s blood pressure will finally stabilise.”

you shift your weight, watching the way the current curls around his ankles. “they’re short staffed. he wants someone to follow up on a missing girl in yokohama.”

a beat passes.

then he glances at you, over his shoulder. “why would they send me?”

“because you’re good at it, obviously.”

his mouth tilts into something that’s almost a smile, but not quite. “flattery? how manipulative. are you trying to lure me out with responsibility?”

“no, just reminding you you’re not as disposable as you keep pretending to be.”

that sinks deeper than most things you say, even you surprise yourself. he turns back to the water. the surface glows with the last of the sun, soft orange and bruised violet.

“do you think the girl’s still alive?”

“i think if anyone can find her in time, it’s you.”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment. the water runs past, indifferent. still, he steps out.

there’s no grand decision, no announcement. he just walks out of the river like it never wanted him in the first place.

you wait while he brushes off his coat, his expression unreadable. he slips it back on, shaking out the damp at the hem.

“fine,” he says, voice low. “but you’re buying dinner.”

“deal.”

he looks at you then - longer than usual. and for once, he doesn’t smile. doesn’t joke. just watches you like he’s trying to commit something to memory, you don’t ask what it is and he doesn’t jump.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[alyszuha]

drops realistic dazai portrait and runs

this is kinda ass i won't lie but i like the 'power's shot and we got a phone flash' vibe

click for better quality

[alyszuha]

suggestive content / nsfw

STOP WHAT UR DOING RN AND LISTEN TO ME.

imagine u (reader) and chuuya both work in the port mafia but you both lwk hate each other because you’re exes (but you both want each other) and you have to attend an event undercover together so basically yall are lwk forced to pretend to be a couple but you guys act like it’s the worst thing to ever happen when in secret you are happy abt bcs HELLO?? why TF not??

so u guys arrive and do what needs to be done, totally trying to ignore the fact how bad you want each other, the ‘fake’ touches that made both your hearts flutter and the ‘fake’ flirty whispers to rile the other one up. u guys step outside for a while to discuss smth or fight idk and then you heard footsteps and to not look suspicious, chuuya picks u up to pin you to the wall and kiss you, yk, to make it seem like the two young lovers who couldn’t stay away from each other NEEDED a minute to makeout or smth idk.

once that one person left after feeling dirty for walking in on you both, you expect chuuya to let go, to put you down and look disgusted, but this man is HUNGRY. after MONTHS of trying to convince himself that he didn’t miss or need you— that he was just fine without you— he just couldn’t STOP kissing you, kissing you like you never broke up in the first place. and what do you do? exactly, nothing. you let him because you ALSO couldn’t deny that you were over him in any way, holding onto him tighter as he deepened the kiss, tongues getting involved now and his grip on your thighs slightly growing tighter.

after making out for a while, you guys had to leave because the event was over and you had to go back to the pm anyways to report everything back to mori. you were in the hallways of the pm trying to go home but got dragged into some random office. you heard the door lock as you felt familiar lips on your neck kissing their way up to your ear to whisper—

“I can’t do this anymore, I tried everything to get over you but I can’t. You’re too damn addictive, baby.. How am I supposed to stop wanting you when you’re giving me more reasons to make me yearn you harder? Fuck, I know you missed me too, let’s just.. let me show you how much I missed you, ‘kay?”

(this got a lil longer than i expected but idc pls tell me u get ts)

[alyszuha]

its so weird seeing people i followed (which would have popped up as my normal account user) follow THIS account. i also find it very flattering though bc it means they just like my posts teehee

[alyszuha]

a/n: i wanna write some chuuya headcanons that have come to mind but this is very random and sloppy, good luck.

content: domestic chuuya 🩷 , gn!reader

i feel like chuuya would be the type of guy that's very old fashioned in some respect when it comes to romance. especially music. i think he would really like frank sinatra especially. loves to slow dance with you, holding your hands in a gentle grasp as you both take slow steps around. i think he would be a good ballroom dancer too, like he definitely took classes for it and WILL show it off to you. he would finally let loose with you, letting his shoulders un-tense after a very long, hard day of work.

god, imagine just doing a slow thoughtless dance with each other in the kitchen, his clothes disheveled, and you say a little funny quip that makes him chuckle oh so quietly. the side of his head rests against yours and you both just sit, enjoying the soft music playing on your speaker.

he craves this domesticity soooo much, and for once he tries to push away his paranoia and fears. terrified to commit to someone because what if something happens to them too? he wouldnt be able to live with himself. but when your hands move to wrap around his waist and hug him close, it melts away. even if only for a short moment.

alyszuha ; july 2025