#bsd nakahara

[nixnephili]

Chatsu Nakahajima

I'm soo happy with him.

The Mafia's Golden Tiger. He's a fancy charmer, he...

On a side note I'm glad he's my birthday post, he's beautiful.

-Nix🌙

[weimin-n]

I wanna throw you to the hounds

yeah I gotta hurt you.

stormbringer

[k1k0w0]

Rough sketch of Stormbringer Chuuya

[officialtwindark]

meow

[zzzx009]

Wink⭐

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 1: Easy Revenge [Aphrodisiac] for Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩Chuuya Nakahara x afab! Reader

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis : rivals to fuckers! you and chuuya are always butting heads, competing for mori’s right-hand spot. done with his games, you take matters into your own hands, slipping aphrodisiac into his favorite wine.

ᡣ𐭩Warnings: mdni 18+ content, smut with plot, aphrodisiac use, rough sex, sweat sex, female anatomy mentioned, degrading, feral chuuya, creampie, missionary, fingering, list goes on and on ppft it's kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 3.5k

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

you scrunch your nose, contemplating whether this is truly the right choice. with a sigh, you light another cigarette, but the pull of smoke does little to calm your nerves. frustrated, you shake your head—maybe it's too risky. yet the memory of his smug smirk as he belittled your ability—"useless against mine"—flares in your mind, igniting rage within you...fuck it!

that’s all it takes. the decision is made. with a grin curling your lips, you slip the drug into his glass, watching the liquid swirl as it dissolves. you don’t see him as an enemy, no—rivals, more like. rivals who have been vying for mori’s approval, constantly butting heads, showing off on missions, each of you out to prove who deserves to be the right-hand executive more.

the man in question has known you for nearly four years now. he knows your strengths, your sharp wit, and how you can hold your ground. but does he know how manipulative you can be? oh, not quite.

you press your lips into a thin line, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your racing heart before stubbing out your cigarette. adjusting the fabric of your burgundy skirt, you feel the black coat draped over your shoulders, its weight heavier than usual. your fingers brush over the cool crystal of the two wine glasses, and you glance at the bottle sitting prominently on the table.

vosne-romanée aux reignots—a rare indulgence, most of your paycheck sacrificed for this exquisite temptation. But the price doesn’t matter now. the ginger is the target tonight, and the prize will be well worth it.

your heart pounds enthusiastically as you hear the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind his office's door. the click of polished shoes reverberates through the quiet corridor. perfect timing.

you take the opportunity to move quickly, gracefully settling onto the nearby leather couch, the cool material sighing beneath you as you take off your coat and place it beside you.

tou hold your wine glass between your fingers, the stem balanced delicately, your burgundy nail polish gleaming against the deep crimson of the wine. it’s a picture of elegance, one you’ve carefully curated—every detail intentional, even the way you let the liquid swirl lazily in the glass.

the door swings open, and there he is—the infuriating ginger who keeps you up at night, constantly plotting ways to put an end to his ridiculous games.

his movements heavy laced with exhaustion as he strides in, eyes closed, head hanging forward huffing in frustration, he yanks off his coat, tossing it carelessly onto the couch beside you, the leather creaking under its weight. he’s still oblivious to your presence. it’s almost amusing, really. you take in the sight—his bolo tie loosened, his dress shirt slightly untucked, his usually collected demeanour crumbling at the edges from a long day.

it’s only when you clear your throat, the sound slicing through the silence, that his eyes shoot open, narrowing immediately as he notices you lounging in his space.

“what the fuck are ya doin' here?” he snarls. classic—his sharp gaze flicks to the wine in your hand, then to the second glass on the table.

you don’t budge. instead, you take your time, tsking softly, rolling your eyes with the kind of practised nonchalance that only gets under his skin more. “is that any way to talk to someone who just bought you an expensive-ass vosne-romanée aux reignots?”

you tilt your head, letting the scent of the wine blend with the faint aroma of leather from the couch, easing you for a bit.

“are ya fuckin' serious now?” he scoffs.

clearly, he hadn’t expected you—of all people—to buy him one of his favourite, expensive wines. his gaze flickers again between you and the glass, his mind no doubt racing, trying to piece together the puzzle of your intentions. what are you scheming? he doesn’t trust you. that much is obvious, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he contemplates what game you're playing this time.

you smirk, cutting off his spiralling thoughts as you rise gracefully from the couch. with a casual wave of your hand, your so-called "useless" telekinesis comes into play, and the glass of wine—now laced with the aphrodisiac—glides through the air, hovering just before you as it rests between your fingers.

"here," you purr, stepping toward him, the glass now offered in an outstretched hand. "I’ve been thinking... about putting an end to this never-ending cycle of torture between us."

chuuya’s gaze locks with yours, fatigue etched into his features, yet despite his weariness, there’s an undeniable allure, every ragged breath only amplifies his seductive charm.

"you win, nakahara," you continue, your voice luring him like a siren. "let me make it up to you for always getting on your nerves these past four years, yeah?"

ugh, how much he hates it when someone calls him by his last name... it feels like you’re doing it on purpose.

the ginger's eyes dart from the glass to your face, his lips curling into his usual suspicious smirk. he doesn't reach for the wine right away, keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets as he tilts his head slightly, studying you. “tch, and what’s this sudden change of heart? you don’t fold that easy, especially not to me.”

“you really expect me to believe you just… gave up? that’s bullshit.”

“oh, chuuya... you know me better than that. but even rivals need to call a truce every now and then, right? a little peace offering.” You nudge the glass closer to him, the delicate scent of the wine swirling between you. “come on, take it. i’m just trying to be civil. is that really so hard to believe?”

“civil? from you?” he huffs, shaking his head slightly before finally reaching out to take the glass.

“alright, fine. but don’t think i’m lettin’ my guard down ‘round you.”

"not in the slightest," you reply with ease, watching as he brings the glass to his lips. his expression remains doubtful, but the rich scent of the expensive wine causes his taste buds to tingle and his mouth to water. You know him far too well—well enough to play your cards just right.

as he takes a slow sip, savouring the taste, a surge of triumph rises within you. it’s only a matter of minutes now before you can set the second part of your perfectly crafted revenge plan into motion.

he lets out a low, satisfied hum as the wine glides smoothly down his throat. He tilts the glass slightly, eyeing the dark liquid within, almost as if he’s trying to figure out what your angle is. but he can’t resist—his love for fine wine is too deeply ingrained, and this, of course, is one of his favourites. you can already see his guard starting to slip, just the slightest.

"not bad," he mutters, still watching you over the rim of his glass. "but i know you, and you don’t play nice for no reason. what’s really going on here?"

you flash him a coy smile, stepping a little closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the cool rim of your own glass. "maybe i’m just tired of these endless games, nakahara. maybe I’ve decided it’s time for a change. orrr maybe..." you pause, pressing your lips together, "...I just wanted to see if I could surprise you for once."

he scoffs but takes another sip, the warmth of the wine starting to flush his cheeks. unbeknownst to him, the aphrodisiac is already beginning its work, creeping through his veins, dulling the sharp edges of his suspicion. you can see it—the subtle shift in his body language, the way his shoulders loosen, his gaze softening ever so slightly, his now half-lidded eyes, the slight crease that forms between his brows as his body begins to betray him.

the countdown has begun.

"surprise me?" he says, setting the now-empty glass down on the table, a faint sheen of sweat forms at his temple, barely noticeable beneath the soft glow of the office's light.

"well, you’ve got my attention. now what?"

you take a slow breath, feigning innocence as you glance at him through your lashes. "now... we see just how much you can handle."

he narrows his eyes at you, confused, "what?" he rasps, his voice a little rougher than before. his breathing grows heavier, and you notice the way his chest rises and falls with each intake of air. sure, indeed, the drug is coursing through his veins now, the heat in his body building beyond what he can suppress.

he swallows hard, his throat bobbing, his hands twitching at his sides. you can see how his jaw clenches and relaxes in rapid succession, his mind trying to keep up with the unexpected sensations taking over. He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable as he tugs at his collar, loosening it. “what the hell’d ya do?”

without waiting for an answer, he reaches up and starts unbuttoning his vest, tossing it aside with a huff, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow.

you can’t help but giggle. "wow, I thought these things took a little longer to kick in."

"you—ngh—" he starts, but his words catch in his throat as he takes another deep breath, trying to steady himself.

you watch with a growing thrill as the bulge in his pants becomes undeniably visible. a soft, wicked chuckle escapes you as you lift your leg, pressing it against the armrest of the chair, just enough to let him catch a glimpse of your laced black panties peeking out from beneath your burgundy skirt.

"aww, what’s the matter? can’t use that oh-so-useful ability when you’re too fucked out of your mind?" you tease, giggling at the ginger-haired man caught in your little trap.

“fuck… you…” he manages as he glares deadly in your eyes, face flushed, the heat spreading from his cheeks down to his chest, which is now exposed from the hastily loosened buttons of his dress shirt. his breathing is ragged, each intake of air a struggle as the drug's effects entwine with his rage.

you chuckle, tilting your head slightly as you eye him up and down. "pathetic."

before you can say another word, he snarls, and in an instant, his gloved hand shoots out, fingers locking into your hair with a firm grip earning a yelp from you. he yanks you forward, the sudden force pulling you off balance as you fumble right into his lap.

and only then that he smashes his lips against yours into a sloppy kiss, the lingering taste of wine on his tongue melds with the intoxicating heat that surges from your mouth, flooding your veins until it pools deep in your stomach, igniting the desire you’ve fought to suppress for years. spit mingles with the remnants of your pleasure, slicking your lips and trickling down your chin. he gasps into the kiss, pulling you even closer, leaving you no space to escape.

the heat radiating from his body is unbearable, seeping through your clothes as you sit straddled on his lap and you can feel his hard cock against you, pressing against the thin fabric of your panties. his hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you at once.

you try to pull away, desperate for air, but he doesn't let up. he follows your retreat, lips chasing yours with a frantic hunger, completely lost in the desire overtaking him. his lips crash against yours again, “ch-chuuya, wa—mph” you try, but the second you say his name, his grip tightens against your hip, and he swallows your words with another kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth again, tasting every part of you like he can’t get enough.

one of his hands moved from your hips, working up your shirt, and before you even realize what he’s doing, he pulls, buttons snapping and scattering to the floor. You let out a low growl, annoyed that your favourite shirt is now ruined, but it’s clear—he’s far beyond caring about anything right now. “shut up,” he growls between kisses, “y' knew what you were doing when you started this.”

before you can respond, he yanks off his gloves with his teeth, half-lidded dark azure eyes clearly promising you of a night that you shall not forget. his hands grip your waist firmly, and without warning, he lifts you effortlessly and throws you onto the leather couch. the cool material hit the fevered heat of your skin once again, but the reprieve is short-lived as you watch him hastily unbuckle his belt, his pants falling to the floor and his boxers following suit.

the moment his cock springs free, your breath hitches—fuck, he’s thick. Insanely thick. the sight of it sends a jolt of desire straight through your dripping core, making your thighs instinctively press together. you’d thought about this before, but nothing could have prepared you for the real thing.

it’s beautiful, flushed a deep shade of pink with veins running along the sides, pulsing with the need to feel your gummy walls tighten around it. the head glistens with precum, the sight alone making your mouth water. he’s long too, but it’s the sheer girth that has your heart racing and your mind spinning, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to take him.

“you nasty girl,” he taunts, his gaze never leaving yours. “you were just lookin’ for an excuse for me to fuck you?”

you don’t deny it—not even to yourself. the truth stings in your chest. part of this was revenge for what happened earlier today, but the other part? well... you wanted this. hell, you needed this.

you bite your lip, flashes of memory crossing your mind—the number of times you walked by his office late at night, hearing those soft, lewd moans slipping through the cracks of the door. the rhythmic slap of his hand working up and down his cock as he sat behind his desk, thinking no one could hear him. but you did. you heard it all. and you couldn’t stop yourself. your back pressed against his office door, fingers working frantically between your legs as you listened to him come undone, biting down on your lip to stifle your own moans as you cum to the sound of him alone.

you feel your cheeks heat with the realization. of course, he’s right. you’d been waiting for an excuse, and tonight, you finally got one.

“you wanted to see me like this, hmm?” his voice cuts through your thoughts as he strokes himself, his cock hard and heavy in his hand. his smirk widens as he watches the way your body responds to him, the way your thighs clench together, the way your breath quickens with each passing second. “enjoyin’ how desperate you’ve made me? ngh—don’t worry, you’re gonna get exactly what you’ve been begging for.”

he climbs onto the couch, towering above you with a lust glint in his eyes. his hands waste no time yanking your skirt up, the fabric bunching around your waist as he grabs the waistband of your panties and rips them off with a low hiss. the sudden contact makes you gasp, your body betraying you as you arch your back, pressing yourself against him. his breath catches when he sees how soaked you are.

“fuck…” he breathes, a low hum of amusement rumbling in his chest. he’s still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, sweat glistening on his skin. his fingers graze your slit, feeling the wetness pooling there, and a wicked grin curls on his lips. “fuck, you’re soaking wet. look at you, maybe you're not as in control as you thought,” he growls chuckling, his ever so pale cheeks were flushing red by now, ginger locks sticking to the sides of his face.

you moan as two of his fingers slip inside you, your back arching against the couch as his slender digits stretch you. they sink deep, curling just enough to make you gasp, your cunt clenching around them as he moves with an agonizingly slow pace. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, every breath he takes coming out ragged, like he’s barely holding himself together.

"what's wrong, doll" he whispers against your lips, "can't handle it? you wanted to play this game, didn't you hmm?"

your mind is spinning. each touch, each thrust of his fingers drives you closer to the edge, and you can't help but curse yourself for underestimating him. you had thought you'd be the one in control, but now...

now, you're the one falling apart beneath him.

he pumps his fingers harder, your walls fluttering around them, and you let out another lewd moan, the wet sound filling the room and making his cock twitch with an urgent need for release “hah—fuck it, I need to feel you.”

the heat was too much for him to bear. driven by an insatiable hunger, he yanks his fingers from you, bringing them to his lips. he sucks them clean with a low, needy hum, eyes half-closed in pleasure. his cock, already glistening with precum.

obviously he isn’t in the mood for teasing tonight, fuck no. he wants to be inside you, to feel you right here and now.

he guides himself between your the soft plush of your thighs, his breath hitching as he aligns with your slick entrance. with a low feral groan, he pushes inside, feeling your tight walls envelop him completely. his body, consumed by the sheer amout of pleasure, drove him to thrust balls deep inside you, arms hooked under your legs as he lets out a high-pitched moan, "aah- FUCK!!"

“you..ahh fuck.. thought you could outsmart me?” he growls, his breath hot against your ear as he leans down, his thrusts never faltering. "you shoulda known better than to pull that kinda shit on me."

his words only make you burn hotter, your body responding to him in ways you didn’t expect. you were supposed to have the upper hand tonight, but instead you're a moaning mess at this point, sweet whimpers spill from your lips, overwhelmed by how deeply he’s stretching you causing a slight sting that quickly gets replaced by a tingling pleasure shooting through your entire body. each powerful thrust has you screaming, your mind overwhelmed by the intense pleasure that floods through you with every forceful slam against your ass.

his breaths are trembling, gasps turning into whimpers as he struggles to keep control. his eyes roll back, revealing only the whites as the heat and ecstasy take over, "nghh— fuck yess-"

hot chills ripple through his body, his veins pulsing with the relentless heat of his desire. oh, he was far too gone. the way you make him feel so good? it's illegal. but how could you complain when he was making you feel so incredibly good, filling every inch of you?

threading your fingers through his ginger locks, you tug sharply, drawing a low growl from him. he brings his lips down against yours, then pulls back just long enough to groan, “fffuck, you feel heavenly.”

he quickens his pace thursting his hips into you at just the right angle hitting all the right spots that have you cursing some nonsense, he snakes his hand down between your soft thighs applying the perfect amount of pressure against your clit fingers working rapidly while driving you wild with each thrust. your moans become a continuous cry as your orgasm finally crashes over you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. your vision blurs, your entire body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

"chuu-ya!" you cry out, your back arching off the couch as your walls clench around his cock, milking him for everything he’s worth.

chuuya groans, his rhythm faltering as your orgasm sends him spiralling toward his own release. with one final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you balls deep. his cock twitches as he spills deep inside you, filling you with his hot white ropes.

the wet slap of his cock that was thrusting hardly into your pussy became slower, sloppier as he pulls out.

for a moment, the world is silent, except for the sound of the heavy breathing. the rivalry, the tension, the mind games—they’re all gone, replaced by the undeniable truth of what just happened.

after both of you come down from the high, you push yourself up, panting softly as you gather your scattered clothes from the floor.

you glance over at chuuya, only to notice he’s already hard again, his body still betraying the intense pleasure of moments before.

“UGH FUCK!!" he curses loudly, throwing his head back with annoyance written all over his face.

you let out a soft, amused giggle at the sight. it looks like he was only getting started. Maybe you accidentally doubled the dose... purely by mistake, of course.

kouyou chuckles as she leans back in her chair, glancing at the camera feed.

"kouyou-sama... it's been an hour since chuuya went in," the technician reports shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

The ginger woman chuckles, covering her lips with the sleeve of her kimono, "well... either one of them is dead, or they’ve discovered that the desk isn’t just for paperwork anymore."

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetfruity @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @alyszuha @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro

[dreamlydrawsshit]

okay. uh. here? have some gays for your pride month?

[with-my-calamitous-love]

i apologize in advance i am ovulating

juno ♪💋 chuuya nakahara thoughts

chuuya is a very satisfying lover.

most of the time, you don’t have to explain yourself. he just gets it. he knows your subtlety, your habits and your mannerisms, and he loves you for them. he knows when you’re missing him, when you’re wanting him and needing him. its always.

he fits just right- around your waist, snuggled up to you in bed, in between your thighs. god bless his genetics- he’s like the product of all your horniest thoughts. and he’s so cocky about it, but he’s got a right to be. falling in love with him was inevitable.

you think about him late at night, mostly. ginger hair, slim but muscular arms holding you tight. and he can read your mind. whatever you’re into- so is he. he’s got standard handcuffs, and fuzzy pink ones if you’re new to it. he gives you more than just some butterflies.

and he’s so good with his hands, making you want his touch for life. the way he caresses you, making your legs fall open like a book. he’s gentle, but rough. kind, but desperate. you’ll let him lock you down so long as he treats you right. and he does. he’ll give it to you, everything he is and more.

some nights (which is most nights) he’ll fuck you in every position his pretty little head can come up with. he’ll ask if you’ve tried this one, and if you haven’t, he’ll show you just how. he is always adoring you, handles exploring every crevice of your beautiful body. and when its all over, he’ll tell you that you’re his one and only.

and he does not let go of you after.

“baby, i’m gonna get a uti.”

“it can wait. i miss you.”

“CHUUYA!”

[solfice]

chuuya and dazai scene

[literatureloverx]

Thankyou for doing the chuuya type headcanons! You didn't dissapoint at all and I totally agree that he would be much more flexible in his type than fyodor would. I can definitely see him being a bit possessive. In a kind of guard dog way haha! Please please do some dating and nsfw headcanons!!

From the Anon who asked for Chuuya

Hello, my dear. The NSFW headcanons are here, and I have also written some dating headcanons. ♥️

N A K A H A R A C H U U Y A

Dating headcanons.

Chuuya x fem!reader

Dating Chuuya is a unique experience—one that feels equal parts exhilarating and comfortable, though always with a bit of intensity.

From the moment you become his, Chuuya isn’t just dating you—he is committing to you in every sense, even if he does not always show it with flowery words.

His actions speak louder.

He is not the type to be all over you publicly or shower you with overt affection in front of others, but when you are alone, you can feel how deeply he cares.

He is incredibly observant.

Chuuya pays attention to every detail, from the way you smile when you see something you like, to the way you subtly shift when you are uncomfortable.

He may not always express it verbally, but you will find that every gift, every gesture, is a reflection of the little things you have shared with him over time.

While he is not the best at picking up on every subtle hint, he will remember the important stuff, so expect surprises that feel personal and meaningful.

Chuuya is incredibly thoughtful when it comes to dates.

Though his lifestyle may not allow for spontaneous trips or long weekends away, he will make sure that the time you do spend together is memorable.

Whether it is a quiet night in, a dinner at a fine restaurant, or an intimate getaway, he plans everything down to the smallest detail.

He is not one for extravagant public displays, but his thoughtfulness will shine through in ways that make you feel cherished and understood.

He is protective, but in his own way.

Chuuya is fiercely protective of you, though it is not always the kind of protective that is obvious to the outside world.

He will not hover, but when it comes to the people you are around, he will keep a careful eye on them.

His concern for your well-being will never be far behind, though it is often shown through actions rather than words—like making sure you get home safely, checking in with you during stressful moments, or doing little things that make your life easier.

His love is not conventional, but it is unwavering.

When you date Chuuya, you learn that his love is shown in the little things. It is not about grand gestures for him—it is about making you feel like you are the only one who matters.

Whether it is choosing the perfect wine for your dinner, knowing exactly what song will make you smile, or holding you close when the world feels too loud, Chuuya’s love is a quiet strength that you can feel in every touch and word.

He has a complex view of intimacy and affection.

Chuuya is not big on PDA, and he is not the type to publicly announce his feelings. But when it is just the two of you, he is tender and caring in his own way.

He wants you to know you are loved, and he will go out of his way to show it.

He might not always be openly affectionate, but he will often give you small touches—a hand on your back, a soft kiss on your forehead—that are enough to make you feel secure in his love.

You are the center of his world.

When Chuuya is with you, he is entirely present.

Despite his busy lifestyle, he will make sure that the time you spend together feels significant.

Whether he is planning a quiet night in or taking you out for a date, you will always feel like his first priority.

While he is often surrounded by chaos, when it is just you two, everything else fades into the background.

In a relationship, Chuuya likes to maintain a sense of control, but it is never about domination—it is about ensuring that he can protect and care for you.

He does not want you to feel helpless, but he does want to guide you, especially when it comes to navigating the challenges in his life and yours.

You will never feel like you are alone when he is by your side, and that constant support will make you feel safe and cherished.

The intimacy in your relationship will be intense, but deeply meaningful.

Physical affection with Chuuya is not just about sex; it is an extension of the trust and emotional connection you share.

He will always prioritise your comfort and pleasure, but he will also want to explore deeper levels of intimacy with you—whether that is through soft, lingering kisses, quiet moments of touch, or deeper, more intense expressions of love.

The dynamic between you two will always be filled with moments where you feel entirely seen and cared for.

He is not a fan of sharing you. (And he won’t. Ever.)

Chuuya does not like to share what is his, especially when it comes to you. While he is not possessive in a toxic way, you will feel his territorial side come out in subtle ways.

If someone gets too close to you, he is the type to step in and make sure they know exactly who you belong to.

You will feel secure, but also like you are his one and only—something that will be reassuring and maybe even a little thrilling.

[ddostoyevskyy]

GUNS N’ ROSES

Oneshot versions of the Guns N’ Roses Series.

Nakahara Chuuya

FORMERLY AGAINST THE GRAVITY

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍����𝐍𝐆𝐒... gn!reader, PM strategist!reader, he fell first and fell harder trope, quite suggestive, mostly in Chuuya’s POV, typical-canon violence, reader has no ability but is good at fighting (especially guns and fighting mid-air), crappy writing fight scenes (srry), spoilers from the stormbringer, reader is heavily in denial of feelings and Chuuya’s a bit pushover

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄... 'm gonna drop this like this and be gone for months again, bye 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ I changed the title because I feel like it was more fitting? And, y'know, reader uses guns and Chuuya's ability creates flower-like patterns to his skin so... (this was actually the oneshot version of Guns N' Roses series)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒... 5.6K words.

You gave Chuuya Nakahara the impression that he was chasing something out of reach, and he couldn't stand it. When you were around other people, you were friendly and even lively; you laughed readily, leaned into conversations, touched people's shoulders, and joked as if you were breathing. However, he felt as though a switch had been flipped. Your voice was always calm, aloof, but never impolite. The way you kept him at arm's length made his skin crawl with annoyance, even though you never disregarded him or went too far in showing disrespect.  You were courteous and succinct when he talked to you, and you only looked at him once before quickly moving on.

You never stayed or offered him the same simple solace that you provided to everyone else. He would, however, catch you doing things that spoke louder than words could. An additional umbrella, obviously yours, would always be waiting at his door on rainy evenings. During lengthy sessions, you secretly placed your coffee next to him if he casually stated that he had a particular preference. You never admitted it. Never grinned. Didn't remain long enough to ask him. He was enraged by this type of contradiction.

However, your stillness was most audible during conflicts. Just instinct, skill, and a keen mind that synchronized perfectly with his, without any talent or glitzy techniques. The last time a dozen armed men ambushed you in the industrial district, there was mayhem — gunfire, clashing steel. Chuuya recalled how you had jumped without thinking, relying on him to invoke his ability in midair and effortlessly catching your fall. He was able to manipulate space to land unbelievable kicks, slide through opposing lines, and strike out opponents with horrifying precision as you spun around him in perfect time.

Every movement flowed like choreography — unspoken understanding, flawless coordination — even though not a word was spoken. You even launched yourself off a wall nearby and slammed your heel into a man's chest, the impact resounding like thunder, using his gravitational field. You just nodded and walked by him after it was all over, bloodied, bruised, and breathing heavily, as if it didn't matter. As if you weren't a ridiculous extension of his body that moved with him.

It infuriates him. Because if you didn't feel anything, why in the world would you act that way? And why did you act as though you didn't feel anything if you did?

The warehouse was still, the aftermath of violence echoing in the silence. Faint creaks in the metal beams. The slow drip of something — blood, oil, rain. The smell of gunpowder and scorched fabric still clung to the air, thick and heavy. The storm outside had started to calm, but inside, the static between them hadn’t gone anywhere.

Chuuya stood in the dim light, watching you from across the room.

You were sitting on a crate, leaning forward, forearms braced on your knees. Your shoulders were slack now, exhaustion bleeding into your posture, the tension from the fight melting into silence. Your fists were unwrapped, bruised and smeared with dried blood, and there was a smudge on your cheek— someone else’s blood, maybe your own. It didn’t matter. You hadn’t even bothered to wipe it away.

You looked like you’d been through hell.

But God, you were beautiful.

Not in the clean, polished way most people thought of it. Not in a way that begged for attention or knew how to wear admiration. It was in the way you held yourself now, quiet and raw, like the aftermath of a storm. Your hair was damp and tousled, bits of it clinging to your skin. Your chest rose and fell slowly with each breath, your body language still alert despite the exhaustion. The sharp edges of you had softened — but only just. You looked wrecked. Real. Human.

And to Chuuya, that was what made it impossible to look away.

You didn’t glance at him once, but he couldn’t stop staring.

You always did this after a fight. Shut down. Pull inward like a closing door. Like you didn’t want anyone to see you when your guard was lowered. But he saw you. He always saw you —especially like this, when everything else was stripped away. When there was nothing left between you but sweat and blood and truth.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You good?”

Your voice came back after a beat, flat and automatic. “Yeah.”

Liar.

He moved closer, slow and deliberate, boots crunching faintly on the ruined floor. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge him. Just kept staring at your bloodied hands like you weren’t quite sure they belonged to you anymore.

He stopped in front of you. His eyes dragged down your figure — not in hunger, not exactly, but in ache. You were a vision like this, worn down and shining under the low amber light. Every mark on your skin felt earned. Every movement felt like a secret you didn’t mean to share.

“You fought like hell,” he murmured, crouching low until he was eye level. “Didn’t even flinch when I launched you into the air.”

You gave a faint snort, a breath of amusement — but no words. It was the closest thing to softness you’d shown him since the fight ended.

Chuuya let himself watch you.

Really watch you.

The way your lashes cast shadows under your eyes. The way the light hit your skin — still glowing faintly from exertion and blood loss. The gentle tremble in your fingers that you were trying to hide. You always carried yourself like a weapon — but now, for once, you looked like someone who bled. Someone he could touch.

And fuck, he wanted to.

He wanted to run his hand along the curve of your shoulder. To brush that stubborn hair out of your face. To rest his palm against your jaw and make you look at him — really look.

“You always act like nothing gets to you,” he said quietly. “Even when you’re bleeding.”

You didn’t reply. But you glanced at him then — just a flick of your eyes, nothing more. And that one look? It landed like a punch in his chest.

There was heat behind your gaze. Not sharp like anger, not soft like affection. Something else. Something heavy. Fragile. Wanting.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Anything.”

You swallowed. Your lips parted, then closed again. You looked away.

Chuuya sighed, low and frustrated — but not at you. At himself. At this whole thing. At the way he couldn’t stop caring about someone who refused to let themselves be cared for.

Still, he reached out.

His gloved hand moved to your cheek, brushing away a smear of blood with his thumb. You tensed — but didn’t pull away. Your breath hitched just slightly at the contact.

And that was all it took.

The air between you cracked open.

Your eyes locked again, and this time, neither of you looked away.

He leaned in slowly, his face just inches from yours. The space between your knees framed him. The warmth of your breath mingled with his. Your lips hovered just out of reach, close enough to count the seconds before they might touch.

His heart was hammering. He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

He just moved — closer, closer—

Your nose brushed his.

And then — Clang.

A distant crash. A pipe hitting the floor. Footsteps.

The spell shattered.

Chuuya jerked back half an inch, head snapping toward the noise. You blinked once, as if waking from a trance. The tension in your body returned like a closing door. Shoulders pulled back. Jaw locked tight.

“They’re here,” you said, voice flat again. “The sweep team.”

Chuuya cursed under his breath and rose to his feet, jaw clenched tight enough to crack. You stood too, brushing your hands on your pants, your body language closing again. Just like that, the moment was gone. Like it had never happened.

But he felt it.

The heat still burned in his blood. The way your breath had hitched. The way you didn’t move when he touched you. The way your mouth had parted like you wanted him to close that final inch.

He glanced at you one last time before turning toward the noise. You didn’t meet his eyes. But he saw it. The way your fingers flexed at your side like you’d almost reached for him.

Almost.

And that — that — was going to haunt him more than anything else tonight.

Chuuya watches you from across the dimly lit room, your figure still and reserved, like a statue carved from ice. You move through the world with precision, each step measured, every glance carefully controlled. It’s a dance of distance — not cold exactly, but deliberately kept. An artful performance of detachment that masks something deeper beneath. He’s known you this way for a long time, but lately, something has been shifting.

At first, it was subtle — a flicker in your eyes when he caught you off guard with a joke. A breath held a moment too long when you stood too close. The faintest twitch of a smile that you wiped away before he could see it properly. These tiny cracks in your carefully constructed armor are invisible to everyone but him.

He remembers the nights you spent together after missions, sitting side by side in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. You never reached out, never sought comfort, but neither did you turn him away. There was a fragile tension in those moments, like the calm before a storm — charged and waiting to break.

Chuuya feels himself drawn in, pulled closer by the mystery you carry. He knows the fight isn’t just against your enemies. It’s a war within yourself, a battle to keep the pain locked away, to deny the feelings that threaten to overwhelm you. And yet, the more he watches, the more he realizes you’re not as untouched by emotion as you pretend.

There’s a softness in your gaze when you think no one’s watching. A vulnerability that you don’t let yourself admit aloud. When you think you’re alone, your shoulders slump just a fraction, and for a heartbeat, the weight you carry shows in the curve of your neck and the tremble of your hands.

Chuuya longs to reach out, to brush away the walls you’ve built so carefully. To touch you, not just physically, but with something more — a quiet assurance that you don’t have to fight alone anymore.

It’s terrifying, he knows, to let someone in. To expose the parts of yourself you hide, the fears you bury deep. But Chuuya senses that you’re beginning to want it, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. He sees it in the way your eyes search his in moments of quiet, the way you hesitate before speaking, as if weighing the risk of vulnerability.

The night after your last mission, when you finally let yourself break —trembling in his arms, tears you refuse to shed escaping in quiet gasps — was the first time he truly believed you might let him in. The walls cracked open, if only slightly, revealing the fragile heart beneath the armor.

Since then, your connection has deepened, though you still fight to keep him at arm’s length. But Chuuya is patient. He understands that breaking through those defenses will take time. Every glance shared, every breath caught, every subtle touch is a thread weaving you closer together.

He has learned to read the language of your silence — the way you tense when he moves too close, the way your fingers twitch like they want to reach out but don’t. And with each passing day, those threads grow stronger, binding you together in a way neither of you has fully dared to acknowledge.

Chuuya knows the moment when you truly begin to feel something for him. It’s in the small things; the way you linger near him just a little longer than necessary, the softening of your eyes when your hands brush accidentally, the hesitant smile you offer when he catches you watching him.

It’s not a grand confession or a sudden outburst, but a quiet awakening — fragile, uncertain, and entirely new.

He cherishes it. Holds it gently, like a flame that could be snuffed out by the slightest breath. Because he knows how scared you are. Scared of feeling too much, of losing yourself in something you can’t control.

But he is there. Steady, unwavering. Ready to catch you if you fall, to fight by your side through whatever comes next.

Because for the first time, Chuuya understands that what you have is more than just partnership. It’s the beginning of something real. Something worth fighting for.

And he’s not going to let go.

Weeks passed.

The memory of the almost-kiss became a wound neither of you addressed nor allowed to heal. You pulled away, and not just emotionally. You started swapping out of missions — his missions — requesting Akutagawa instead. The reasons were always vague: tactical reassignment, alternate skill sets, mission chemistry.

It wasn’t personal, you claimed.

But it was.

It always was.

Chuuya watched from a distance as you walked past him in the halls without so much as a glance. When you stood silently during briefings, responding to his presence with clipped professionalism and a stiffness in your posture that hadn’t been there before. You weren’t cold. Not exactly. Just... indifferent.

It was the indifference that stung the most.

The way you laughed again—but only with others, for nameless operatives you barely knew. But not for him. Not once. Not anymore. And yet, you were getting hurt.

Every mission without him, you came back with more bruises. A cracked rib. A dislocated shoulder. Once, a gash across your thigh that bled through your uniform. Akutagawa’s reports always called them “minor injuries,” but Chuuya saw the truth behind the words. Saw the tremble in your hands, the way you limped for days without complaint.

You were burning yourself out — and it was killing him to watch.

Chuuya slammed the office door behind him hard enough that the walls rattled.

Mori looked up from his desk with his usual calm detachment, folding his hands neatly.

“I assume this is about them again,” the Port Mafia boss said dryly. Chuuya didn’t sit. He paced.

“They’re getting hurt, dammit. Again and again. And you’re still pairing them with Akutagawa like it’s nothing.”

Mori lifted a brow. “They requested it. Voluntarily.”

“They’re pushing themselves to the edge. You think I haven’t noticed? They’re not sleeping. They’re bleeding too often. They’ve stopped caring what happens to them.”

“Perhaps they’re trying to forget something.” The implication struck hard, like a slap without the courtesy of touch.

Chuuya stopped pacing. “I don’t give a damn if they’re trying to forget me,” he growled. “But I do care if they die over it.”

Mori leaned back slightly. “It’s not your job to care. You’re not their handler.”

“They were my partner.”

“They were,” Mori echoed, without a hint of remorse. “Now they aren’t. Let it go.”

But Chuuya couldn’t.

He left Mori’s office with a dangerous thought forming behind his eyes.

If he couldn’t reach you the usual way... he’d make damn sure the world did it for him.

It took a few days.

He orchestrated it carefully — worked with itelligence to plant falsified reports, manipulated field assignments behind the scenes, pulled in favors no one realized he still had. The fake mission report detailed a local uprising from a splinter criminal faction hiding underground, with rumors of ability-enhanced experimentation. A pattern eerily close to the Arahabaki program.

The moment your eyes scanned the mission brief, he saw your expression crack.

You read it again. Then again.

The words “underground testing,” “emotional triggers,” and “unclassified military research” were all designed to look disturbingly familiar. And you — strong as you were, quiet as ever — you didn’t say a word. But you accepted the assignment.

Because of course you did.

Chuuya volunteered himself for it.

When you realized you'd be paired with him again, your jaw tensed — but you didn’t argue.

You never argued. Not anymore.

The train station was long forgotten, buried beneath decades of dust and silence. Its rails had rusted to brittle threads, swallowed by overgrowth and concrete rot, and the signage above the terminal hung crooked, letters faded to ghost shapes. Chuuya stepped off the last working elevator shaft with quiet footsteps, his gloves flexing as he scanned the dark.

Beside him, you were silent. Professional. You hadn’t said much since accepting the mission — an investigation into a rumored underground facility used for ability enhancement experiments by a rogue criminal faction. The words on the dossier had been too familiar. Too deliberate. But you hadn’t said no.

That alone had been Chuuya’s first sign that you knew.

You walked ahead of him, your stance stiff, shoulders drawn back like a blade pulled halfway from its sheath. The entrance to the tunnel yawed wide, and the air that poured from it was sharp with mildew and rust. Beneath it all, there was something else — something chemical, metallic. Artificial.

He knew that smell. It hadn’t changed.

You didn't speak as the two of you descended deeper into the station. Every few meters, a busted light flickered faintly to life under emergency power, revealing slices of your expression as you walked through alternating light and dark. Even in the dimness, he could see the way your jaw clenched tighter with each level. Your hand stayed close to your weapon. Not out of fear — but readiness.

The facility was five levels underground. The deeper you went, the more decayed it became. The pristine fake research reports, the distorted recordings, the atmospheric design—it was all Chuuya’s doing. Fabricated, planted, made to mimic the hell he once lived through. The echoes of test rooms, sealed doors, false observation windows. Even the soft, repeating voice from the intercom that asked for clearance to chamber B7. He’d picked the phrase himself. It had haunted him once. Now it haunted you.

He hated himself for it.

You reached a wide hallway lined with locked doors and broken lights. The floor was slick in places, stained dark from water or something older. One of the doors creaked open when you passed it. You froze.

Chuuya stayed behind you.

“What do you see?” he asked, his voice low, cautious.

You didn’t respond immediately. Your hand hovered near the handle of your holster. Then slowly, you stepped into the room.

It was empty, save for a small child’s chair in the center of the room. Bolted to the ground. Leather straps dangled from its arms, frayed but intact. An old record player spun in the corner, emitting warped lullaby music that scratched its way into the air.

You stared at it.

For a long time, you didn’t move.

Chuuya stepped inside. "This part isn’t real. None of it is."

You exhaled — softly, but it cracked around the edges. "Feels real."

He watched your hand tremble. You curled it into a fist.

"I know what they used to do to people in places like this."

He hesitated. "Yeah. So do I."

That made you look at him, sharply. Your eyes searched his face like you were looking for something — confirmation, maybe. Or blame.

“I’m fine,” you said flatly.

You weren’t.

You walked out before he could answer.

By the time you reached sublevel four, the strain had begun to show. Your movements were still precise, still efficient, but your silence had changed. It was no longer distant — it was fraying. The hallways here were tighter, choked by hanging wires and broken piping. A deep hum came from somewhere beneath your feet, like something massive sleeping just out of reach.

This level had been designed to trigger your memories, not Chuuya’s.

The lights here cast long shadows, and every few feet, you passed rooms with viewing windows — frosted glass, impossible to see through, but lined with the impression of figures just beyond the veil. Speakers whispered garbled voices: fragmented cries, medical reports, and sharp orders. A blood-stained clipboard had been left in one of the observation rooms.

You stopped when you saw it.

Chuuya said your name quietly, but you didn’t turn.

Instead, you reached for the door handle.

“Don’t,” he said, suddenly closer, fingers brushing your wrist.

“I need to see.”

“There’s nothing behind it.”

You pulled away and opened the door.

Inside, the room was sterile white. Empty beds. A cracked mirror. Chains on the walls. And a single, scrawled message on the far wall — your name etched into the plaster, as if dug by fingernails.

It wasn’t real.

You weren’t supposed to believe it was.

But Chuuya saw your body stiffen, your breath catching in your throat.

“That’s not—”

“Did you know about this?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

You turned to him, slowly, and for the first time since the night you almost kissed, your expression broke.

“You knew.”

He looked down. "I made it."

The silence was deafening.

You stepped back like he’d struck you. The pain didn’t show on your face — it never did — but it radiated from you like heat from an open wound.

“Why?”

“Because you’re destroying yourself,” he said, his voice rising. “You won’t talk to me. You won’t look at me. You’ve been throwing yourself into missions like you want to die, and I—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish.

You shoved past him and stormed down the hallway, breath ragged, and he followed you.

You reached the end of the corridor, stopped, leaned against the wall with both hands and finally — finally — let yourself breathe like it hurt. Like it took everything not to collapse.

He approached slowly.

“I don’t care if you hate me,” he said quietly. “I don’t care if you never speak to me again. But I needed to know you could still feel something. Because watching you try to erase yourself piece by piece is worse than anything you could say to me.”

Your fingers curled against the wall.

“I couldn’t face you after that night,” you whispered. “Because I wanted it too much. And I knew if I let myself have it, I’d never survive losing it.”

You turned then, finally meeting his eyes.

“And I don’t know who I am when I’m not trying to survive.”

He stared at you.

Then he walked forward and cupped your face gently in both hands.

“You don’t have to know who you are right now,” he said. “You just have to let yourself be.”

You didn’t cry. Not fully. But the sheen in your eyes was enough. Your forehead touched his shoulder. His arms came around you.

And in that moment, the fake facility, the lies, the mission — it all fell away.

There was only the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and the quiet way he whispered, “You’re not alone.”

The hallway was dim, lit only by the fading orange of dusk spilling through tall, dust-streaked windows. Chuuya hadn't meant to linger, but something kept him rooted just beyond the corner. The low hum of voices floated toward him, carried by still air that felt heavier than it should've.

"You know it had to be done," Mori's voice — measured, amused as ever — echoed lightly.

"That doesn't mean it was right," you replied, quiet but steady. "You took it from me. Gave it to him without telling either of us."

Chuuya froze.

There was something brittle in your voice, something old and splintered, like a scar that never healed properly. And Mori, unfazed, replied, "You wouldn't have survived the transfer. And Arahabaki—" a pause, deliberate, cruel in its composure, "— was always better suited to a body that could endure destruction."

A beat of silence. Then you spoke again, softer. "It was mine."

It struck Chuuya harder than he expected. The words, the tone — not resentment, not even anger. Just a quiet acknowledgment of something lost. Something taken. Something that lived now inside him.

He stepped back before he could hear more, heart a strange thunder in his ears.

It all made sense now — the way you'd reacted to the fake mission. The way your body had locked up at the mention of containment, of being caged like something dangerous. The way you’d looked at him that night with devastation half-hidden behind that steel mask you always wore. He thought you were reliving his pain. But you were reliving your own.

Arahabaki had once been inside you.

No wonder you fought like you belonged in the sky. No wonder you moved with the kind of grace that had always felt eerily familiar. Midair combat wasn’t just a skill for you — it was instinct.

And you never said a word.

Not once.

Even after that night in the alley, when you’d clutched your fists and trembled, even after you’d told him he didn’t understand. You’d looked him in the eyes and said nothing, let him believe it was guilt that wrecked you, not recognition.

He wasn’t angry. He couldn’t be. Not really.

But, it hurt.

It hurt more than he thought it would, because for all the silence between you, for all the tension and the pushing and pulling and near-kisses, he thought you trusted him. He thought you were letting him in. And maybe you were. But you kept this — this foundational, life-altering truth — buried like a weapon too dangerous to ever be drawn.

And he didn’t know if it was to protect you, or to protect him.

You were alone when he found you, back on the rooftop of the old mission staging house. The wind was light, and dusk had fallen hard, painting the sky in shadows and violet bruises. Your arms rested against the rusted railing, eyes cast to the city below.

Chuuya didn’t announce himself. Just stepped up beside you and let the silence fill in the spaces where accusation could’ve lived.

"You knew, didn’t you?" he said finally, voice low.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t look at him. "So you heard."

He nodded slowly, then added, "I didn’t want to."

You exhaled, and something in that sound made his chest ache. Resignation. Regret. A thousand things you weren’t saying.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Because it wouldn’t have changed anything," you said, still not facing him.

"It would’ve changed everything," he shot back, voice sharper now, because the ache had turned to fire. "You think I wouldn't understand? That I couldn’t handle the truth?"

"No," you snapped. "I think you’ve handled enough. I think you already live with the burden of something that never should’ve been forced into you. I didn’t want to be another scar."

"That wasn’t your choice to make."

At last, you looked at him. Eyes unreadable, jaw tight. "You don’t get to be the only one who protects people, Chuuya."

Silence stretched between you again, crackling with something electric and dangerous. Chuuya’s fists clenched at his sides.

"So all this time, all those nights you looked at me like I meant something to you — you were just trying to protect me?"

You opened your mouth, hesitated, then said, "You have what was mine. I watched you fly with it. I fought beside you and felt it in the air like it remembered me. And I—"

Your voice broke. You looked away again, suddenly cold. "Maybe I hated you for it. Maybe I hated you because I knew I never should’ve let it go."

But Chuuya heard it. That tremor. That sharp, false edge trying to cover up something else — something warmer, sadder.

"Bullshit," he whispered.

You tensed.

"You don’t hate me. You’re just scared. You’re scared of what this means. Of what we are. You’re scared of feeling anything at all, because the second you do, it’s real and real things can break."

"You don’t know me."

"I do."

The tension pulsed between you, undeniable now. Your breathing had quickened. His eyes hadn’t left your face— not since the moment he saw it crumple just slightly.

"Say it," he murmured, leaning in. "Say you don’t feel it too."

You didn’t answer.

He reached out, one gloved hand brushing your cheek — barely there, feather-light. You didn’t pull away.

He felt your breath stutter.

His fingers lingered, then slid down to trace your jaw. You were trembling now, just barely, but you didn’t move. Didn’t stop him.

And that was all he needed.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t rough either. It was desperate — torn from weeks, months of unspoken words and restrained touches and glances that said too much and not enough. You didn’t kiss him back at first, frozen by the flood of sensation.

But then something gave.

Your fingers curled into the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer, and your mouth opened against his like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had. The tension that had clung to you like armor cracked wide, and Chuuya drank in every second of it.

The wind whipped around you, but neither of you noticed. The city below faded, and time slowed, and all that existed was heat, and breath, and you.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead pressed against his, your hands still clinging to his chest, your voice was ragged.

"This doesn’t change anything."

Chuuya smiled softly, eyes half-lidded. "It changes everything."

You didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

And he knew then — despite every wall you built, every push and pull and lie you used to hide behind — your heart had finally spoken.

And it had said his name.

But now, standing here alone again, you let the storm rise in your chest.

At first, you tell yourself it’s because of the power. That Arahabaki was all you ever knew, and when it was taken, it left you hollow. That the only reason you ever looked at Chuuya was because he had what you’d lost. That every glance, every lurch of your chest, was nothing more than phantom pain echoing through a connection long severed.

But it’s a lie.

You know it.

Because what you felt that night when he kissed you— what you still feel now just thinking about it — wasn’t tied to Arahabaki. It wasn’t tied to gravity or power or past lives. It was him.

It was the way he looked at you like you weren’t just someone strong. Like you weren’t just someone who survived.

It was how his voice changed when he said your name. How he never flinched when you were at your worst. How he never let go, no matter how hard you pushed.

You remember the weight of his hands on you, firm and grounding, like gravity made soft.

And maybe that’s what it always was.

You’ve spent your entire life resisting pull. Fighting every force that tried to tether you to something that could be taken. That could die. That could hurt.

You ran from it. Built walls from it. Let anger fill the void where love should’ve been.

And still, he found his way in, you let him and that terrified you more than anything.

Because Chuuya wasn’t gravity. He wasn’t a chain. He didn’t hold you down; he lifted you.

He fought beside you not because he had to, but because he chose to. Again and again, even when you gave him nothing in return. Even when all you offered was cold glances and short answers and carefully placed distance.

He stayed.

You look down at your hands now —bloodless, bruised, but still shaking. You remember how they looked after your last mission together, trembling from exhaustion, from fear. From feeling too much.

He took your hands that night. Held them gently. Like they weren’t weapons. Like they weren’t tools of destruction. Like they were just yours.

And he said you looked beautiful, even with blood on your skin.

He saw you. You. Not the vessel. Not the failure. Not the ghost of something that once burned brighter than it should. He saw you, and he stayed. And somewhere in that realization — quiet and slow — you understand the truth you’ve been running from since the day you watched him rise into the sky with your power.

You’re not in love with Arahabaki — the gravity.

You’re in love with Chuuya.

You’re in love with the way he carries the weight of the world like it’s nothing. With the way he softens only when he thinks no one’s watching. With the way his eyes light up when you call him by name, even if you never say what you mean.

You’re in love with someone who made you feel again. Who cracked through the surface of a heart you thought had long gone numb.

And now, you’re scared. Not of losing him. But of what it means to stay.

Because staying means surrendering to the fall.

And after a lifetime of resisting gravity, of pretending you could survive alone, you finally understand; that this was never about fighting the sky — it was about letting go.

And with Chuuya, you don’t fall. You rise —

Against the Gravity.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved 2025 © ddostoyevskyy. Do not repost without permission or plagiarized.

[nixnephili]

King of The Sheep

Long may he reign.

-Nix🌙

[weimin-n]

my grandmother smokes a pipe or your tattoos don't let me rest

[melliemell]

Pairing: Chuuya x reader

Contents: NSFW, pool sex 101; sneaking into your neighbour's private pool while drunk definitely has its perks, reader will have those tiles imprinted in their back for days, my bad. Approx 1.5k words

Public pools might have been a step wiser. 

Or not. To be honest you weren’t all that concerned. They were Chuuya’s neighbours after all. Old, rich neighbours with basement pools and a pretty weak home security as it turned out. 

You could have rented a place–a nice and cosy jacuzzi. Maybe you should do that too sometime. But why do it now when this was undoubtedly at your quickest disposal?

The water was surprisingly warm against your naked skin. It gently reflected the dim purple lighting that came from… somewhere. You couldn't remember; Chuuya had taken care of that. 

The wine from earlier was still coursing under your skin. Your face was flushed and mind mushy as you relaxed against the tiles. All the while Chuuya’s body kept you afloat and close, so deliciously close to his.

His hair tickled your neck under the water, but his mouth–oh. His mouth trailed heated, open kisses down your jaw and throat. He was biting and licking his way around your naked body leisurely, savouring every bit of exposed skin.

Jacuzzis could wait, you had more pressing matters.

Damn. You couldn’t even swim. The thought amused you more than anything. Drunk and drowning didn’t sound like a good way to go. But that was silly. 

You weren’t going anywhere with the way Chuuya held you. 

He was like a furnace even now–his hands gripping you as they sent his warmth through your body. His tongue trailed strips of saliva that had your skin prickle. He was everything around you, and more. Gentle, slow, all-consuming of your senses.

Chuuya was so filled with life and passion that the man before you now almost felt foreign. It’s rare he hit the brakes and took his merry time like this. You could barely keep your hands off each other–normally.

Not now. Now it was… calm. Intimate in a quiet type of way, but no less intense. 

You wrapped your thighs around Chuuya, drawing his attention as he looked up at you. 

“Hey,” you said, the word feeling silly on your tongue.

Chuuya cocked his head, flashing you his trademark grin. “Hey, you,” he said, and he drew you neared against the tiles. Chest to chest, you felt his already hard cock brush against your thigh. 

“Oh.” You blinked. Yeah, pool sex was definitely on the plate for tonight. “This is nice. I kind of feel like melting though.”

Chuuya cupped your cheek, brushed the hair sticking to your face. “Yeah? You look the part too, doll. You need a fan or something? Am I too much for ya?” And he wiggled his brows like he was actually funny. What a loser.

It was no joke. He was too much. 

Always. 

There was too much adoration in Chuuya’s gaze, too much teasing at times, too much love as he crawled right under your skin the harder you fell for him. Wine made you sentimental like that, and it wasn’t helping you much this time either.

“Mhm… don’t ever stop being too much,” you whispered the words. There, sincere and simple. “I think I’ve gone addicted to it.” You were aware of all of him. Every touch of skin between you. The way Chuuya stilled for a second, muscles unmoving before he sagged right into your embrace. 

He sought your lips, stealing your breath and thoughts right away with it. He always managed to coax your reservations away, letting him in easily as your kiss deepened. 

“Don’t go all mushy on me like that. You’ve no idea what you do to me,” Chuuya said between kisses. 

But you knew. You felt it as your hand travelled down to wrap around his cock. Your fingers brushed over his tip and Chuuya hissed. He didn’t move besides leaning his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your parted lips. 

“I can do a lot more to you.” You guided him to your entrance. You’ve been wet and ready long enough now. It was Chuuya’s teasing that got you like this, it would only be fair to return the favour. Albeit with a bit more.

“Fuck.” Chuuya bucked his hips, breathing deep as you shuddered against him. “ I can be just as good for ya, baby. Let me be good for ya, yeah? Come on, come on–” he moved again, brushing his tip against your pussy lips. 

Chuuya’s patience was a skill he implemented rarely. This was definitely not one of those times. Not with the way he kissed you again, desperate and wanting.

He loved it when you desired him; the way you sought his touch, his attention. He wanted you to want him. And he was going to give his all when you finally caved.

Chuuya entered you slowly, the sensation of his pulsing cock stretching you made you clutch around him even harder. It was maddening and your impatience was showing its ugly head too.

“Chuuya.” You gripped his hips with your thighs. You hoped he sensed your desperation.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, smiling at your moan as he gripped your ass, spreading you wider as he sunk fully into your heat. 

Chuuya didn’t give you time to formulate another thought. Any thought, really, as he started fucking into you. Your chest felt tight and your legs trembled as you welcomed him in. Chuuya kept you in place, hands firm around you as he pushed your back into the tiles with every hard thrust. If a man could be both gentle and absolutely wrecking your world in two–it was no other than Chuuya. He was more than ready and willing to do the job and leave you gasping from his every move. 

You were distantly aware of the sound of ripples, the water around just as restless. You were too busy gripping onto Chuuya’s shoulders, your lips on his ear as your whispered string of oh fuck fuck fuck– more, oh godd yes more, Chuuya– spilt forth and right into his brain as he delivered on your demands. 

Chuuya’s hand was on your clit in seconds, working fast as his swift fingers sent your body in shock from the waves of pleasure that travelled down your abdomen. 

“Fuck–” you gasped, bringing his face towards you. Chuuya’s eyes were on you, soaking in your every detail. He was so beautiful then. “I want you,” you whispered, the desire for him overwhelming.

Chuuya’s gaze fell on your lips. He ground his hips, aiming for that sweet spot of yours again again again. You nearly lost it then and there. “You turn demanding when you’re like this, angel. I’m right here.” He captured your lips, swallowing your moan. “Right here, babygirl.”

“I want you more,“ you said, and then laughed. You have no idea what that meant, but it felt right. You wanted more. All. 

Chuuya wasn’t too much. He was not enough. 

You didn’t give him a chance to answer. His mouth was yours to take, his lips parting instantly to let you in. Your hips moved with his, the water spilling around you like crazy. You didn’t care; you wanted him. 

And you came like that, gripping onto Chuuya like your life depended on it, his bruised lips still moving against yours as you stifled his needy grunts in turn. You felt yourself tighten as your pleasure spilt, drawing a groan from Chuuya as his thrusts became sloppy. He buried his face in your neck, biting hard as the seconds went by before he was finishing inside you, shuddering from the shock of it. 

You sagged against him a moment later, as though you were the more exhausted one. Maybe you were; Chuuya wasn’t one to spend his energy so quickly. He’d probably go for a second round if you asked it of him.

But now… your gaze lingered on the purple flicks of light dancing around you. The water calmed down as both of you stood still in each other’s embrace. The seconds went by.

Finally, Chuuya raised his head. “What’s your opinion on water beds?”

You snorted. “We buying that now?” you brushed his hair back. “Why not just a pool?”

You joked but for a moment Chuuya went quiet. He was considering it. You blinked at him in disbelief before laugher bubbled out of your chest. Chuuya looked at you then, brow raised.

“Hah? What’s so amusing, you punk?” he said. “Take it more seriously. I’m a sold man on the idea.” And he flapped his hand, sending specks of water all around you.

It took you another moment to collect yourself again. “Sure, sure,” you sighed, smiling stupidly at your silly, absurd, perfect man. “You might be onto something, we’ll see.” You tried to hide your excitement as Chuuya levelled you suspiciously. “I… might need some more convincing though.”

A bit of silence followed by Chuuya’s hands falling on your hips again. “Is that a challenge? I’m very convincing, you know.” He grinned before capturing your lips again.

You sighed against him, melting right into Chuuya’s embrace yet again. 

He might be too much to handle sometimes, but you had a knack for those things. You had the experience and practice after all.

[akuhigufan]

Slug ✨🐌

[zzzx009]

Spider lily chuu♥️