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[anaxiphiliiaa]

⟢ ︳i bite / bet on losing dogs ⟡ ryūnosuke akutagawa

𝜗𝜚 ·˚ ༘ the first time he recoils at your touch, one of the times he allows it, and a time when he fully embraces it. cw: fem!reader (no prns are used but some descriptors lean fem). reader has an ability that can stabilize vitals (there is more to it but i don’t need to explain it for this). aku swings in a cornered/panicked type of way. quite a few dog references. centered around aku’s illness. v self indulgent/selfshippy. pls lmk if i missed anything! wc: 3k~

SIX YEARS AGO. 

He’ll lash out. You kept hearing it from several people within the Port Mafia, including Oda himself. You trust Oda more than anyone, but you don’t think you can take his word for it when it comes to the boy that Dazai brought into the Port Mafia’s ranks shortly after you. Most of your seniors– which was practically everyone since you had been taken in under Oda’s wing– often compared this boy to a rabid dog. You don’t think that it’s fair considering you probably could be too. After all, you were also another stray that had picked up off the streets. 

Perhaps that is why when you first meet Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, you decide he is more than what people said he was. Sure, he acts cruelly toward anyone who approaches him, but there is more to him that meets the eye. You nearly learn this the hard way. 

It’s something that happens out of pure coincidence. It hadn’t even been three months since Dazai gave you an offer to join– which was probably an offer for Oda’s sake so he wouldn’t have to carry the weight of you undergoing one of the Mafia’s interrogations with him– and you know every hall of the headquarters like the back of your hand. Maybe it’s survival instinct telling you to memorize the ins and outs and the plausible short cuts that you may need to know in dire situations, or maybe it’s boredom from having nothing to do after your training with Oda. He’d been delaying your entry into the Black Lizards, claiming your form still needed work and that your techniques were see through. Regardless, your knack for wandering about leads you right to Akutagawa at a particularly bad time. 

He’s the only one standing in the hall, hunched over with his arm pressed against the wall as if it were holding him steady. You freeze upon seeing him, the stories you’d heard about him coming to mind along with the quickest decision you had ever made in your life. You’ll simply walk by, greet him with respect and go about your business. At least, that was until you heard his horrid coughing and the light wheezing that’s tangled within it. 

Your feet move quicker than you anticipate, nearly tripping to reach out to him. But, it’s as if he can sense your presence, turning his body and trying to strike with the hand he’d been using as a support and keeping his mouth covered with the other. On instinct you catch his fist in the palm of your hand, and he gasps in a large breath of air– almost like he’d been deprived of oxygen. 

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, yanking his hand away once he’s caught his breath. “Revolting.”

You place your hand on your hip, “You could say thank you, you know? If I didn’t lower your blood pressure and stabilize your respiratory system you could have coughed up a lung and died in this hallway with nobody noticing until Hirotsu-san comes this way to aquire his afternoon tea around three o’clock.”

He turns away as you talk, but you don’t miss the pained expression he makes when you bring up medical information. He doesn’t dignify you with a response, continuing in the direction he was originally heading in. Unfortunately for the two of you, you’re also going the same way. Akutagawa glances at you over his shoulder but remains silent. You keep your distance until you reach the elevator, knowing that saying anything more about what happened was just asking for an argument– if not a fight. 

You feel a bit awkward as you both enter the elevator, frustration written clearly on his porcelain features. You go to push the button for the floor you want when you pause just slightly as an idea crosses your mind. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

It’s too late. You have already run your hand over every button by the time he gets the words out– an exasperated sigh pushing past his lips when he realizes that it is no use. You turn to him with a proud smile, only to be met with a harsh glare. You step back, shoving your hands into your pockets and looking away. You’re certain you would kill to know what he’s thinking– probably how much you’re getting on his nerves– because he simply scoffs and then says, “You’re awfully skittish for someone who is supposed to be a potential assassin.”

“A fighting dog is still a dog when it’s not serving its purpose,” your tone doesn’t match the previous smile you had– disconnected and almost pitiful. “Masters tend to beat them to bring out their aggression when all they really need to do is teach them to attack once they let go.”

You’re facing forward, watching as the elevator doors open and close every few seconds, but you can tell he’s absolutely shocked by what you said. The corner of your mouth turns upward ever-so slightly, and before he could question what you thought was humourous you speak again, “Between the two of us, I’d bet on you, Akutagawa-san.”

He barely registered that the elevator stopped again– and probably wouldn’t have if you didn’t walk through the open doors and wave to a tall man he’d seen in passing– leaving your words to settle in his bones as you animatedly converse with the familiar stranger. 

You don’t look back despite the incessant urge to as you tell Oda all about what happened. Even though it wasn’t the ideal way to meet someone, you find yourself wanting to see him again under better circumstances. The decision to not see him as everyone else was the smart one because you were right. He, like you, is much more than a dog. He’s perfectly human, despite his terribly wounded soul.

TWO YEARS AGO.

So much could change in so little time. Part of you wishes it’s merely a bad case of romance and whimsy but life was not that kind to you. You would much rather face a heart broken from love than a heart broken from the loss of someone who had been more than just a teacher to you. Sakunosuke Oda lost his life to bring down the enemy organization Mimic, and while you had never known any father, you believe that Oda was as close as you would ever get. After all, he’d been the one who taught you to read and write (even if you still sucked at it), he made sure you didn’t want for anything, and he shielded you from the darker sides of the Mafia for as long as he could until Mori put his foot down. 

You don’t like change that is beyond your control. 

Joining the Black Lizards’ ranks was something you had accepted shortly after being recruited– even if it did take nearly two years for it to happen. You had made friends among them, feeling more like an attack dog than a fighting dog as time went on. Now, you’re staring at your reflection in a window almost on the top floor of the HQ, patiently waiting for Chuuya Nakahara to call you in his office. You’re nervous, knowing that so much is about to change now that Oda is gone and Dazai has fled. It’s one outcome you didn’t think you would have to prepare for– at least not this soon. 

Thankfully, the meeting is over and done with before you know it– although there is a lot to process with what will be different going forward. You’re getting a promotion from lizard to dog– taking command over your own unit, moving up in the Mafia’s ranks. You want to go home and lie down, hoping sleep can help you finish digesting the information and it won’t be as overwhelming tomorrow.

As luck would have it, going straight home is not in the question. Upon leaving Chuuya’s office, you spot Akutagawa sitting on one of the couches in the lobby, leaning forward as he tries– and fails– to catch his breath. A hand is clutching at his chest, nearly wheezing as if he’d just ran a marathon. 

He’s ill. 

This is something you’ve known for a while now. He never told you, seeing that getting him to open up was more difficult than trying to pull teeth, but you knew. With how often the two of you work together, there’s been a plethora of times you used your ability on him. You’re not a healer, or a doctor, but after a while you can’t deny the obvious signs of something being wrong with his health– his constant coughing, his inability to breathe properly after a fight or even when he’s resting like he is now, or his alarming drowsiness after not doing much within a day’s work. You can’t help but wonder how long he’s been sitting there like that, hoping his lungs aren’t finally failing on him now.

You walk forward, taking a seat beside him. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, but says nothing. Slowly, you place your hand on the small of his back and ignore how he flinches at the contact before his eyes close. Years ago, you had to catch him off guard or rely on his ‘swing first, ask questions later’ mindset to be able to use your ability on him. Now he doesn’t stop you, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. This was the kind of change you preferred– subtle and not forced. 

Part of your ability allows you to soothe unrest within the body. You can quell the mind and restabilize the crucial elements that indicate the status of the body’s life-sustaining functions, but sometimes you feel it’s not enough. It’s moments like these when you wish that you can do more than just help him breathe or cease his coughing fits. 

It’s almost funny to you when you think about it, that you two have come such a long way since the day you met. He’d been so angry at everyone and everything. He still is, but he no longer tries to take it out on you. He’s learned the hard way a few times that you bite back despite how innocent and lamblike you appear to be. Slowly, you’d earned some of his respect and you thanked him by working his last nerve. Of course, you knew that each time you successfully broke through a boundary there would be another but, something tells you that he won’t allow you to take a mile when giving you an inch if he truly didn’t want it. He wouldn’t treat you differently than anyone else if it wasn’t something you earned. You like to think that makes you special knowing he’ll tell you to be quiet if you ever voice it aloud. 

The two of you never exchange words when you pull him back from what he may think will be his last few minutes on this Earth– much like an unspoken rule. It’s not like you knew what to say without bringing up what the problem is anyway. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself. For now, you’ll continue to act oblivious to the elephant in the room until he’s ready to voice what’s wrong with him. It’s the one boundary you don’t dare cross, and you sure hope he’s thankful or else you would end up annoying him more than you already do. 

You get so lost in thought, it almost startles you when he slightly edges away from you. You move your hand, knowing that meant he was feeling well enough to no longer need your ability. His eyes follow you as you stand and his mouth parts as if he is about to say something. You glance over your shoulder and give him a smile, one much too cheerful for how void of emotion you’d been just seconds ago. A mask to hide your true feelings and thoughts.

“See you around, Aku-chan.”

His mouth closes and his eyes narrow, “Don’t call me that.”

Chuuya interrupts before you can get a word out, calling for Akutagawa. You’re given a look by the red-haired man, knowing that this is not going to be an easy conversation between the two of them. You almost sigh, waiting until the two of them go into the office before you plop back down on the couch and wait. There would be no going straight home tonight because this was more than about you. You may have lost your sensei, but so did Akutagawa. The look Chuuya gave you was a warning to stay put in case you need to go in and calm him down. Starting today instead of tomorrow, apparently, you now follow his orders. Thankfully, you care more about Ryūnosuke’s well-being than you did the silent command or you wouldn’t bother sticking around.

NOW. 

Ryūnosuke Akutagawa has never truly felt human– at least, not until he had the misfortune of meeting you. For as long as he can remember, he’d been compared to a rabid dog. Even after joining the Port Mafia, those around him held the same sentiment as those from the slums. Everyone but you. 

You were the first person that didn’t treat him like some wild animal– who showed him kindness despite his aggression. Never once did you flinch when he bared his teeth or bit those around him when his anger got the best of him. At first, he hated it. He couldn’t stand being near you, he cringed at the sound of your voice, and he absolutely detested when you touched him. But, because you never cowered around him and didn’t wallow in your own self loathing he grew to respect you. 

The one thing he doesn’t understand is why, when you two were complete strangers, you placed your bets on someone like him. Perhaps at first he thought it had to do with your own self comparison of being a wounded dog, but the more he got to know you the more he saw that wasn’t the case. You naturally are not violent. In fact, you’re the perfect person to make a hitman out of. You can fool anyone you want, make them think you’re completely docile and weak before sinking your teeth into them. The perfect wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s been privy to that and all sides of you from the very start– your kindness, your bad attitude and smart mouth, along with your humor. You never once tried to fool him, and it was something he didn’t know he desperately needed. 

While he will never admit it– at least, he won’t out loud– he craves your presence. He listens for your voice in meetings and sometimes seeks out your touch while still remaining adamant that you get on his nerves. Akutagawa is not sure when he started to want you to see right through him, and he isn’t sure when the first time you did was, but it led to whatever this was between the two of you.

He’d spent so long unlearning everything he thought he knew about the world, himself, and others just be here– his head resting on your lap and nearly falling asleep as you brush loose strands of his hair away from his face. The sound of your tv is barely reaching his ears, his vision dark as he purposely keeps his eyes closed. The only reason he hasn’t fallen asleep yet is because not only is every inch of him telling him that he doesn’y deserve this, the foreignness of it is refusing to let him drop his guard. 

Akutagawa believes he doesn’t deserve it because he is guilty of not telling you the truth when priding himself on being honest, even if that honesty is harsh and hard to hear. The weight of his lung disease presses against his chest in a way it never has before. No longer crushing him from the inside, but now the outside. It wasn’t fair to you to not know why your ability made him feel so much relief, even though he never demands it or asks it of you. That’s just your compassionate nature, he’s tried to tell himself plenty of times before. But if that were true, why is it only him who gets to reap the blessings of this side of your ability? 

He opens his eyes, breaking the gentle silence when he looks up at you, “I need to tell you something.”

You look at him, seeing the determination and fire behind his dark irises. When he places a hand against his chest yours moves from his hair to his cheek. You shake your head, thumb ghosting over his alabaster skin before softly saying, “I know, but you don’t have to.”

Realization washes over him at your words, and his stomach twists with something unfamiliar. You know. You know and you didn’t say anything about it. Despite everything going through his mind as his thoughts swirl with conflicting emotions, what he feels the most is relief. He doesn’t need to feel guilty because you know– for how long he’s not sure. In fact, he nearly feels ridiculous because if anyone was going to figure it out, of course it would be you. 

While you couldn’t possibly be around for every sign of how his illness affects him, you’d been around for plenty of occurrences. You’re no doctor, but you do have some medical knowledge in order to properly use your ability. Of course you would know something is wrong, especially as his episodes gradually get worse over time. Yet, you don’t acknowledge it. You don’t speak about it to others– he can only imagine how Higuchi would behave if she knew or even Gin. You figured out his secret, and you kept it to yourself. He isn’t sure how he truly feels about that, but he is thankful.

“Would you still place your bets on me?” He questions, allowing himself to close his eyes again. He doesn’t think he can stomach any poor, visible reaction from you.

You’re quiet for a moment before answering, “I don’t think there’s a world where I answer that question with a no.”

“Then you are a fool,” he calmly chides, drowsiness finally hitting him now that the guilt he felt was no longer there.

“Perhaps,” you let out a light and genuine chuckle. “But I think that’s a testament to how utterly and disgustingly human we are.”

Akutagawa leans into your touch– as if he’s agreeing silently– before the last piece of his guard falls away. If you were dumb enough to bet on a dog that would lose, he’d do everything he could to make sure his time in the race was worth it. 

[anaxiphiliiaa]

Daydream in blue.

GIF by lucathy

Nakahara Chuuya x Y/N x Dazai Osamu (NSFW)

w/c: 2064

sypnosys: Unexpected consesquences after a night of drinking in commemmorance.

warnings: Fem Y/N, porn with (somewhat) plot, unprotected sex, alcohol, blood (mentioned briefly).

notes: established relationship(s), past relationships, polyamory.

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I dream a dirty dream of you, baby

You're swinging from the chandelier.

I'm climbing up the walls 'cause you want you

But when you reach you, you disappear.

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The mahogany door swung open haphazardly, signaling a less-than-graceful entry to the pitch-dark penthouse.

The door swung itself shut again, leaving two lovers grasping at each other in the dark, nothing on their minds except for each other in the alcohol-infused haze.

You giggled as Chūya's hand traveled over your body, grasping at whatever part of you he could get his hands on. One hand on your waist, then another on your nape, pulling you down as if he would suffocate without your breath on his own. The ginger’s lips found yours desperately, neither the alcohol nor lack of visibility could smother the burning hot desire coursing through his veins. Your lips molded against his just as eagerly, desperate to have more of him, to taste more of him.

It wasn’t too much of a rare sight - usually, it would be Chūya drunk, being the lightweight he was, and you would always be on standby dutifully to take care of your boyfriend. But today was different. Today, both were intoxicated to the point of near delirium, hands all over each other like teenagers who didn’t know better. In the dark, where you couldn’t see; in the alcoholic haze, where you could hardly register anything at all, his burning touch was like an anchor. And by how he touched you, it wasn’t hard to tell the feeling was mutual.

First thing you knew, Chūya had carried you up in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, his own hands around your body refusing to let go even for just a second. The next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the plush mattress of your shared bed. Meanwhile, Chūya fumbled with his clothes, grumbling as he stripped down the many layers he wore. Then soon enough, Chūya’s lips were back on yours, vaunting such love and passion that never failed to take your breath away. His skilled hands made quick work of the buttons you failed to undo on your shirt, tearing away each piece of fabric that prevented him from delving further.

It was as if being nearly black-out drunk awoken something primal in the redhead. On most occasions, Chūya was a gentle and attentive lover, taking pleasure in making you scream in ecstasy while foregoing his own. Yet, this time, it was as if he was starving, sucking bruises onto your neck mercilessly, marking his territory on the canvas of your skin. You squirmed under the foreign intensity, and Chūya immediately pinned your shoulders down, keeping you still with a greedy insistence. You didn’t complain, the sudden roughness only intensified the heat between your legs. Your arms wrapped around his bare shoulders, encouraging him to be harsher, rougher, more-, more-…

“God, fuck…!”

You whined when Chūya bit down particularly harshly on your neck, further fanning the fire of his desire.

Chūya wasn’t ever this rough, much so that this whole experience was strange. But in its strangeness, there was an odd familiarity.

It didn’t feel like it was Chūya at all.

Chūya wasn’t ever this rough, but…

Brown eyes flashed through your peripheral vision, nearly sending you into whiplash.

…

“More.”, you gasped, arching your back to your lover’s touch, chasing the once-forgotten feeling.

Your hand dug into his hair, grasping at his locks as he ravaged your body and sucked bruises all over your shoulders. He said something in response to your neediness, but you could hardly register it at all, drunk on chasing the sense of deja vu.

Unwittingly to you, the ginger on top of you was feeling the same nostalgia. The hand that tugged harshly at his long ginger locks sent him reeling - it had been so long since he was treated with such aggression. The alcohol in your breath and his own added to the fogginess. Beneath the redhead, slender shoulders were morphing into broader ones, the hand in his copper locks bandaged, rough, and taunting…

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Chūya growled ferally as his hips drilled into the figure beneath him, his digits a bruising grip on their hips as if fucking them into submission. “Fuck…Give me more…”, he grunted into skin, groaning when he was rewarded with another harsh tug of his hair.

You moaned brokenly when sharp thrusts were delivered to your body, pace brutal and unforgiving, barely leaving you any time to breathe. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the pitch-dark bedroom, the relentless stimulation playing further into your delirium.

A particularly harsh thrust to your G-spot sent a wave of pleasure down your spine. Your back arched, and you moaned out a single name, perhaps the first coherent word of that night.

“Osamu…!”

For a moment, Chūya was snapped from his hunger, some consciousness of the present returning to him momentarily. Did you really spill out the name of another man in this intimate moment with him? The realization twisted in his heart. He stopped, hurt clawing at his stomach. He pulled awa-

A hand tugged his ginger locks down harshly, forcing him back down. Lips crashed into his, teeth nipping at his plump muscles as if devouring him whole.

It didn’t feel like it was Y/N beneath him at all.

“Don’t fucking stop!”, you moaned, as if snapping at a certain brunette.

“Don’t fucking stop.”, a deeper, taunting voice rang in Chūya’s head. And he obliged, resuming the brutal pace he had set before, fucking for his pleasure now. “Shut it, you fucking suicidal bastard.”, the redhead snapped, hands lacing into yours, effectively pinning you down as he fucked you into the mattress.

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The liquor coursing through your veins blurred faces and voices, replacing them with that of him. Earlier today, Chūya and you had visited your frequented bar, ordering fancy wines glass after glass. It was an occasion to commemorate, after all. A year before that point in time, Osamu Dazai had left the Port Mafia, leaving his past and your hearts behind him. And now, he was back, in your bed, a ghost that had never quite left.

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“Please, Osamu…”, you whispered drunkenly, your hands all over Chūya’s body, desperate to keep him close as if the one in your delusions would disappear if you let go.

“Osamu…”, Chūya grunted as nails dragged down his back, determined to put the figure beneath him in their place, cock twitching at every gasp and groan he received.

"You like it like this, huh?”, the ginger chuckled, spreading your thighs open and pinning them down harshly against the mattress so he could be even deeper, his cock practically knocking at your womb. You cried out in pleasure, eyes fluttering as your body shook under his. His mind was running miles an hour, clinging to a memory he tried so hard to push away, yet now the pistoning of his hips was replicating it exactly. Chūya’s cock plunged into your sopping hole punishingly, as if it was a certain brunette who had set him off, mocking him to bring out his rougher side. “‘That’s all you got, chibi?’”, “You’re pathetic…”, the voice rang through Chūya’s head like a mantra, and for once, it pissed him off most pleasurably. Chūya would never, ever treat you like that (or rather, try his best to refrain from doing so), too much of a gentleman to bring himself to treat you like anything other than porcelain. But when it came to him, he could be as unforgiving as he liked.

Chūya bit down on your shoulder, probably hard enough to draw blood. “Osamu… let you fucking hurt you…”, he growled breathlessly, the liquor in his veins egging on his fantasy. “Hah…Fuck…!”, you whined, feeling hot blood trickling down your collarbones. you hadn’t registered that Chūya had called you by Dazai’s name. you hadn’t registered that the one fucking you so deliciously wasn’t even Dazai at all. “You fucking bastard.”, you cursed him out despite the thrilling waves of pleasure shooting down your spine. Your nails scratched down Chūya’s back, determined to hurt him back - like you always did Dazai whenever he got you under his thumb and pinned beneath him. Your mind was hazy, logical thoughts all gone, and the only thing you were aware of was the feeling of being filled up so fucking good. Your hand traveled down to rub at your neglected clit, the coil in your stomach growing hotter with each thrust delivered into you.

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Chūya shuddered as a pair of hands clambered over his chest before finally finding purchase on his throat. Your sweaty digits encircled his neck like a piece of jewelry, pressing down beneath his Adam's apple - enough to give him a hard time catching his breath, but not enough to do damage. “Fuck…”, the redhead gasped, the slight blockage on his throat encouraging him to fuck even harder and chase his high. No longer was the logical executive - he was now something feral, driven purely by his fantasy - his breaths were ragged and airy, moans and grunts streaming from his mouth, not even the usual curses could be made out. When he did manage to say something, it was a jumbled mess of Dazai’s name and profanities, bickering with the man still even in this intimate moment. You didn’t even notice at all - too busy moaning the same name, playing around with the same fantasy in your head as he did. Your pussy was practically clamping down on Chūya’s cock (or pseudo-Dazai, at this point), plush walls sucking him in eagerly. “More…”, you gasped, then rendered speechless again when his cock plunged into you, hard muscle dragging over your tight channel good enough to make you keen.

It was becoming harder and harder to tell what was real, and what was not. Memories of a night returned in waves, manifesting themselves in every thrust of Chūya’s hips, and every squeeze of your hand. He was replicating that memory so perfectly, so seamlessly - cock twitching at the thought of Dazai beneath him. Neither could you tell anything apart anymore as the coil in your stomach burned hot with pleasure, the feeling of someone’s (whose even? Dazai’s or Chūya’s?) hands all over your naked skin. The redhead seemed completely unaware that he wasn’t even doing this with Dazai, but rather with the woman he loved so damn much. But with how it was going, you may as well have been the brunette at that point. It was comical how that sentiment was shared - bandaged hands pinned you down in your fantasy, brown eyes piercing through your pleasure-induced haze.

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“Hng…Close?”, you tutted sarcastically between breathy moans, “Already… hah… Osamu...”. “Shut it…'m not even nearly there.”, Chūya growled in retaliation - a lie, you could tell from how sloppily he was beginning to move. His hips pushed against yours erratically, cock pulsed with need, pushing against your walls desperately for release. you laughed breathily at the banter, relishing in the playfulness you had almost forgotten. One of your hands continued the pressure on his throat, the other dug tight on his shoulders, clinging to him as you began to feel your orgasm approach. “Fuck…fuck, fuck!”, the redhead breathed shakily, “Not so tough, huh?...You’re… fucking easy to toy with…”. His hips snapped against your skin in deliberate thrusts, sloppily as his own high was imminent. “Shit…I’m cumming… hgh…oh, fuck!’, Chūya’s speech became meaningless blabberings, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside you, sending you to your own peak at the same time. Your eyes rolled back, mouth agape as your entire body shook with the blinding force of your orgasm. Ropes of his release painted your insides white, curses tumbling out of his mouth in a breathless groan.

Chūya collapsed on top of you, exhausted, hips slowing to a slow grind as he rode out his high. Your arms immediately wrapped themselves around your lover’s shoulders, holding him like a lifeline after the spine-shattering peak you shared. After a moment, he pulled out and laid down on the bed, breaths still shaky when he pulled your body close and muttered love words into your ears. You quickly fell asleep in each other’s arms, the tiredness brought by your release and the alcohol winning over.

…

Tomorrow morning was going to be awkward.

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