╭ ❝ @angeliczaii ❞ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ ԋҽʅʅσ, I ‘ am angel . thank you for
• ᒪOᐯᗴᖇ ᘜIᖇᒪ + 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘧𝘦𝘺 !! stopping by . I ‘ m a fanfiction writer ,
╰ ★ Female ⋆🐾°. INFP . GMT +9 and a suicidal enthusiast .
“ When i talk to you , cupid walks right through “
→ Hs! au chuuya x fem!darling
→ summary ; headcannons with hs!au chuuya ^^
↺ read the fanfic ; ✦
a/n ; muahahaha more gakuen chuuya!! (throws at your face) spam my inbox y'all I'm not tired ◡̈
✦ bf!chuuya who absentmindedly interlocks his hands with yours while walking to school ..
✦ bf!chuuya who buys you gifts even if you insist you don't need it
✦ bf!chuuya who takes you to the best cafe's and festival's
✦ bf!chuuya who treats you Dango and ice cream every chance he gets.
✦ bf!chuuya who kisses you goodbye everytime you go back home.
ძrᥲᑲᑲᥣᥱ ✦
" forced to get creative, wrote my feelings down,"
“ chuu , you okay ? “ you asked , voice above a whisper . “ m’perfectly fine babe .. “ he interlocks his hands with yours while he gives you a bite of the dango . “ almost at school . “ chuuya sighs .
“ ya’ going home straight after school .. or ya’ comin’ with me home , doll ? “ chuuya murmurs . “ actually , my parents aren’t home so i’ll come with you chuu . “ you chuckle nervously . “ really ? “ he asks . “ yeah . is it alright?- “ he nods . “ perfectly fine . i’ll make us ramen later . “
the dividers are not mine ! they belong to the original creator . i do not claim them as mine .
haii id love to request some more ranpo x fem!reader ! your writings are so flippin cute. id love a drabble of a shy / easily flustered reader with a clingy ranpo on a date, since i feel like he’d be a huge pda fan both cause he’s naturally clingy like we all know but would love to show reader off as his lover hehe!
ᴀ/ղ ; so cute haha!! ty for the anon that requested this >< based on the request here ; ✦
‘ Thought I’d never be her , quite the job you’ve done on me , sir . ‘
✦ Ranpo insists he "doesn't know anything about music," but somehow always chooses cafés with old upright pianos tucked into the corner. He claims it's because the desserts are better. You know it's because he likes watching you relax when someone starts playing.
✦ He associates you with the sound of piano keys before he ever realizes it himself. Not because you play (though maybe you do hehe ^^), but because being around you reminds him of gentle melodies drifting through an open window on a rainy afternoon.
✦ You're the type to apologize if your fingers accidentally brush his while reaching for a teacup. ( projecting srry.. )
✦ Ranpo will insist, with complete confidence, that he has "absolutely no taste in music." He'll wave off conversations about composers or genres with an exaggerated yawn.
✦ He never teases you for being quiet. Instead, he fills silences with his own commentary, knowing you'll answer when you're ready.
✦ Ranpo doesn't ask.
One day, he simply reaches for your hand while crossing the street.
"You'll get lost."
"...We're on the sidewalk."
"Exactly."
✦ Whenever strangers accidentally start talking to you—
You instinctively step half behind Ranpo.
He doesn't tease you.
He simply answers them.
By the time the conversation is over, you're peeking out again.
Like a cautious little cat.
🎐 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ ~ 🪽 ∂яαввℓє
✦ The afternoon crowd bustled through Yokohama's shopping district, conversations overlapping with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional street performer.
You tried not to bump into anyone.
It wasn't that the crowd bothered you.
You just... didn't like drawing attention to yourself.
"You're drifting."
Ranpo's voice pulled you from your thoughts.
"Hm?"
"You've walked three feet away from me."
"I have?"
"You have."
You glanced down, realizing he'd been right. Somewhere between dodging a family with shopping bags and a group of teenagers laughing too loudly, you'd unconsciously veered toward the edge of the sidewalk.
Before you could apologize, Ranpo reached over and took your hand
heh..if I can request can I req chuuya x fem reader hs au where they recently start dating and is awkward abt their first kiss or any affectionate actions👀👀.. HEH THANK YOU MOOTIE IF U WILL DO THIS!! smooches you /p
hm? gakuen au? on it!! >< the request is done so.. ✦
After months of pining through crowded hallways and shared textbooks, high school students Chuuya Nakahara and his female classmate finally make their relationship official. However, stepping across the line from close friends to a real couple brings an overwhelming wave of teenage awkwardness. When the final bell rings and a quiet moment presents itself on the walk home, the two find themselves completely flustered as they navigate the terrifying, heart-racing milestone of their very first kiss. ୨୧
a/n ; gakuen card Chuuya!! ty to my amazing moot @ver2xq for requesting this <3 request is here ✦
୨୧ ( 3:15 P.M ) ⌗
The final bell of the afternoon always brought a chaotic symphony of sliding doors, heavy backpacks, and chattering students echoing down the hallways. Usually, you and Chuuya fell into a loud, effortless banter as you walked out of the school gates together. But today was entirely different. Today was day three of officially being a couple, and a sudden, thick tension hung in the air between you.
Chuuya walked a half-step ahead of you, his hands shoved so deep into his uniform blazer pockets that his knuckles strained against the fabric. His usual confident stride was replaced by a stiff, overly deliberate march. Every time your shoulders accidentally brushed against his in the narrow street, he would flinch slightly, his gaze darting to the passing clouds as if they were suddenly the most fascinating things in Yokohama.
"Hey," Chuuya muttered suddenly, his voice cracking slightly before he cleared his throat aggressively. "You, uh... you want to take the long way past the park? It’s nice out."
"Sure," you replied, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You nervously clutched the straps of your school bag, your heart doing frantic gymnastics against your ribs.
When you reached the shaded path of the park, the afternoon sun filtered gently through the trees, casting a golden hue over everything. The quietness of the area only amplified the sheer awkwardness between you two. For months, you had leaned on each other, laughed together, and shared snacks without a single thought. Now, the simple prospect of holding hands felt like trying to defuse a bomb.
Chuuya’s left hand slowly slipped out of his pocket. His fingers twitched. He kept casting sideways glances at your hand, his face growing a shade darker with every passing second. Finally, with a sudden burst of clumsy determination, he reached out and grabbed your hand—only to accidentally hook his pinky around yours in a bizarre, tangled grip.
"D-désolé ! C'est de ma faute..." he blurted out, his face turning an instant, furious crimson that rivaled his ginger hair. He went to pull away, but you quickly squeezed his fingers, locking your hand properly into his.
"huh? , " you asked , looking down at your joined hands with a small, shy smile. "This is nice."
Chuuya let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since the last period, his grip tightening comfortably around yours. "Yeah. It is."
They walked in silence for a few more minutes until they reached the edge of the park, where a tall brick wall offered a tiny pocket of privacy from the main road. Chuuya stopped walking, causing you to turn and look at him in confusion. He was staring intensely at the pavement, his free hand coming up to tug nervously at the collar of his school shirt.
"Chuuya? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he squeaked out, before visibly forcing himself to swallow his nerves. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until you could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and mint gum on him. He looked up, his bright blue eyes wide and completely stripped of his usual bravado. "Look, I... I’ve been thinking about it all day, okay? And I don't want us to be weird about this."
"About what?" you asked, though the sudden jump in your pulse told you exactly what he meant.
"About... this," Chuuya whispered. He reached up with a trembling hand, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was incredibly soft, a stark contrast to his fiery personality. He leaned in, but stopped a mere three inches away from your face, his eyes darting frantically between your eyes and your lips. "Can I... is it okay if I kiss you?"
The sheer politeness and vulnerability in his voice made your heart melt. You couldn't speak, so you simply nodded, closing your eyes.
You felt him lean closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Because he was so flustered, his aim was just a little bit off, and his lips initially bumped awkwardly against the corner of your mouth. A tiny, nervous gasp escaped your throat, which only made Chuuya panic slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he adjusted, slanting his lips gently over yours in a sweet, clumsy, and entirely innocent first kiss.
It lasted for only a few fleeting seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. When he finally pulled back, Chuuya looked completely dazed, his cheeks burning so hot you could practically feel the warmth radiating from them. He cleared his throat again, looking anywhere but at you as he adjusted his backpack strap.
"droit," Chuuya muttered, a tiny, triumphant smile breaking through his immense embarrassment. He took your hand again, tugging you forward with a sudden return of his usual energy. "Let's... let's go get some ice cream. My treat."
translation ;
✦D-désolé ! C'est de ma faute... - s-sorry! my bad...
✦ droit ; right,
I do not claim the dividers as mine! their hard work belongs to the original creator. I do not claim it as whatsoever.
sᥙmmᥲrᥡ ; The story takes place within the chilling, absolute authority of the Port Mafia headquarters in Yokohama. Amidst this dark and ruthless environment, the reader serves as the direct subordinate to Atsushi Nakajima, who is feared throughout the city as the organization's silent enforcer, the "White Grim Reaper." While the rest of the mafia misinterprets the reader's extreme shyness and quiet nature as cold, calculated distance, Atsushi recognizes their vulnerability and knows they are simply terrified of the surrounding world.
a/n ; hi hii!! >< I was so glad to write this request! no one has ever wrote for beast!sushi ^^ I was watching beast also..based on this request here ✦
The headquarters of the Port Mafia always felt entirely devoid of warmth. Instead of light, the towering black buildings in Yokohama were dominated by chilling, absolute authority. Serving as a feared, silent enforcer for the organization was the "White Grim Reaper"—Atsushi Nakajima.
You kept your head low as you walked through the dimly lit corridors, clutching a stack of mission reports tightly against your chest. As Atsushi’s direct subordinate, your days were spent in a quiet blur of anxiety. You were incredibly shy, often stuttering over your words or opting to communicate solely through written logs. The rest of the mafia mistook your quiet nature for cold calculatedness, but Atsushi knew better. He knew you were just terrified of the world.
Stopping outside the heavy iron doors of his private office, you took a small, trembling breath. You adjusted your collar, trying to calm your racing heart, before knocking softly.
"Come in," a muted, raspy voice called out.
You pushed the door open, stepping into the sparse room. Atsushi sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, the black coat of the Port Mafia draping over his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his stark white hair. Around his neck, the heavy collar he wore loomed as a constant, dark reminder of his burdens. His gray-purple eyes shifted from his paperwork to look up at you.
"T-The logistics report from the harbor... they're finalized, sir," you whispered, your voice barely carrying across the room. You stepped forward, carefully placing the documents on the edge of his desk, your eyes glued firmly to the floorboards.
Atsushi didn't reach for the papers right away. Instead, his gaze softened—a rare, almost impossible expression for the feared enforcer of the mafia. He noticed the slight tremor in your hands and the way you tried to make yourself as small as possible. In a world where everyone looked at him with sheer terror, your quiet, gentle presence was the only thing that kept him grounded.
"Thank you," Atsushi said softly, his tone completely different from the harsh commands he gave on the battlefield. He leaned back slightly, watching you. "Did anyone... give you a hard time down at the docks? You look tense."
You shook your head quickly, your cheeks flushing a faint pink. You pulled your hands back, burying them in the pockets of your uniform coat. "No, sir. Everyone was... perfectly cooperative."
Atsushi let out a low, weary sigh, resting his chin on his hand. He hated how much this organization changed people, but he was secretly grateful that the cruelty of the Port Mafia hadn't touched you yet. He felt a fierce, protective instinct over you—his quiet subordinate who never judged him for the monstrous power sleeping within his blood.
"You don't have to call me 'sir' when we are alone in this office," he reminded you gently, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against the desk, almost like piano keys. "Just 'Atsushi' is fine. I've told you before."
"I... I know," you murmured, finally raising your eyes to meet his for a split second before looking away again. "It just feels... proper."
Atsushi's lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, wrapped pastry, sliding it across the polished wood toward you. It was a simple sweet, completely out of place in a ruthless mafia stronghold.
"Take a break after this," he said, his voice dropping to a comforting murmur. "You've worked hard today. Don't let the others push you around. If anyone tries, tell them they answer to me."
Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of warmth washing over your usual shyness. You carefully picked up the sweet, holding it like something fragile. "Thank you... Atsushi."
Hearing his name leave your lips brought a genuine, quiet peace to his otherwise chaotic mind. Even within the grim walls of the Port Mafia, the melody of your quiet voice was the only sanctuary he had left.
dividers are not mine! are of those are from the original creator. I do not claim these.
Step inside this candlelit room where the scent of old sheet music meets vintage jazz. Find a seat by the grand piano. Please glance over these performance notes before exploring the archive. My creative energy ebbs and flows like a jazz improvisation, so these rules may shift with the seasons.
“A classic melody echoing in the dark...” 𝄢
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the ivory keys are adjusted as the season changes..
summary ; fem!darling with Ranpo where she asks her out.. based on this request! ིྀ ✦
The Armed Detective Agency office was unusually quiet, save for the steady clicking of your pen against a clipboard. Across the room, Ranpo was slouched in his swivel chair, his legs draped casually over the armrest as he tossed a small glass marble up and down in the air.
You had been rehearsing the words in your head for the past three weeks—letting the courage build up like a soft melody, only to lose your nerve every time he looked your way. If you didn’t just say it out loud, you were going to drive yourself completely crazy.
Gathering your paperwork, you stood up and walked over to his desk. The shadow of your figure blocked the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the window, causing his marble to drop squarely into his palm.
"Ranpo?" you started, your voice a little softer than intended.
He didn’t open his eyes, but a small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If you're going to ask me where the extra typewriter ribbon is, it's behind Kunikida's backup planners."
"No, it's not that," you said, taking a quiet breath to steady the fluttering rhythm in your chest. You set the clipboard down on the edge of his desk. "I was actually wondering... if you would like to go out on a date with me this weekend? Just the two of us."
The silence that followed felt incredibly loud. For a second, you wondered if you had missed a beat entirely.
Then, Ranpo opened his eyes. Those brilliant green gems locked onto yours, completely devoid of their usual childish mockery. He tilted his head back, studying your face with an intensity that made your hands want to hide in your pockets. With him, there was no hiding a racing pulse or a blushing cheek; his deduction skills saw right through the rhythm of your nervousness.
"A date," he repeated slowly, tasting the word. He sat up, swinging his legs around so he was facing you completely. He rested his chin in both hands, his smirk returning, brighter and softer this time. "You know, the Great Detective Ranpo-san already knew you were going to ask that."
You blinked, the tension in your shoulders dropping slightly. "You did?"
"Of course I did! You've been staring at the back of my head every Tuesday and Thursday for a month," he huffed proudly, tapping his temple. "But I wanted to hear you say it first. It's much more fun that way."
He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a small, wrapped strawberry candy and placing it gently on top of your clipboard.
"I'll go," Ranpo declared, his voice dropping into that rare, genuinely sweet tone he only used when he was thoroughly pleased. "But under one condition! You have to let me pick the cafe. They have a limited-edition melon soda float this Saturday, and a great detective deserves the best seat in the house."
A soft laugh escaped your lips, the relief washing over you completely. "Deal. You can pick the place."
"Excellent!" He leaned back in his chair, popped another sweet into his mouth, and gave you a cheerful wave of his hand. "Then it's a promise. Don't be late, or I'll eat all your pastries too! "
so so cute !! ty for the nonnie req this !! >< exams are coming up so i may finish them sooner haha ^^
The heavy iron door clicked shut, the sharp metallic echo vibrating through the soles of your shoes. Dazai was gone, walking down the dark corridor with the same hollow indifference he used for everything else.
You stood by the frosted glass window, your arms still crossed tightly over your chest. Your breathing was shallow, a sharp, icy pressure mounting behind your ribs. Your deep shyness and guarded nature kept you frozen in place. You wanted to run after him, to grab his black coat, to shatter your own cold mask and scream that his life mattered to you. But the silence of the room held you hostage. You just stood there, staring at the empty doorway.
Suddenly, the suffocating quiet was torn to shreds.
𝖡𝖠𝖭𝖦 , 𝖡𝖠𝖭𝖦!
The deafening, erratic thunder of gunfire erupted just outside in the hallway, accompanied by the chaotic shouting of Port Mafia guards. A rogue faction had breached the lower levels.
Your heart stopped. Your cold facade disintegrated instantly, replaced by a raw, primal terror. You threw your weight against the heavy iron door, forcing it open, and lunged out into the dimly lit concrete corridor.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder and smoke. A dozen stray bullets had shattered the overhead lights, plunging the hallway into a terrifying, flickering darkness. Through the haze, you saw a figure collapsing against the stone wall, sliding heavily down to the blood-stained floor.
The crisp white bandages on his torso were instantly blooming into a horrific, violent crimson.
" 𝖮𝗌𝖺𝗆𝗎 ! "
The scream tore from your throat, a raw, agonizing sound you didn't even recognize as your own. Your limbs, usually so stiff and hesitant, moved with frantic, desperate speed. You fell to your knees beside him, your hands shaking so violently you could barely function.
Dazai’s head rolled back against the cold stone, his black coat pooling around him like a shroud. The bullet wounds in his chest were deep, bubbling with thick, dark blood. The rogue attackers were already being cut down by the arriving mafia reinforcements further down the hall, but the world had entirely narrowed down to the boy dying in your lap.
"No, no, no," you choked out, your shy, quiet demeanor entirely gone. You pressed your palms hard against his chest, trying desperately to stem the torrential flow of blood, but it leaked through your fingers, staining your skin a terrifying, warm red. "Osamu, look at me. Stay awake. Look at me!"
Dazai slowly cracked his single visible dark eye open. The empty, hollow expression he had worn just minutes ago was gone, replaced by a quiet, dazed confusion. He looked down at your hands, then up at your face.
For the first time in the entire year you had known him, your face wasn't a cold, unreadable mask. It was completely broken. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the dirt and blood on your skin. You were trembling, completely vulnerable, laying your entire soul bare right there on the concrete floor.
"Ah..." Dazai whispered, a tiny, fragile thread of a voice. A small bubble of blood escaped his lips, tracing a dark line down his chin. "Look at that... you're not a statue after all."
"Don't speak, please, just hold on! The medics are coming!" you begged, your voice cracking into a desperate sob. You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his uninjured shoulder, finally abandoning every boundary you had ever built between you. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so cold. I'm sorry I didn't hold onto you. Please don't leave me behind."
Dazai’s hand, heavy and slick with his own blood, lifted with agonizing slowness. He didn't have the strength to touch your face, so his fingers simply brushed against the hem of your coat, leaving a crimson smear.
A faint, genuinely soft smile touched his lips. It wasn't the artificial, molded grin of the Port Mafia Executive. It was just a tired, eighteen-year-old boy.
"It's okay, darling," Dazai murmured, his eye growing heavy, the light inside it rapidly dimming like a dying ember. "It's... so quiet now. I finally... found it..."
" 𝗐-𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍, 𝖮𝗌𝖺𝗆𝗎? 𝖮𝗌𝖺𝗆𝗎, 𝗇-𝗇𝗈! 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾! "
stopped its ragged heaving, settling into an absolute, terrifying stillness. His dark eye remained open, staring blankly ahead, completely empty of the brilliant, tragic mind that had once occupied it.
The medics arrived, their shouting voices echoing off the walls, but you couldn't hear them. You just sat there in the dark hallway, your hands dyed red, cradling the lifeless body of the boy who had spent his entire life looking for an exit—and had finally found it right outside your door.
The rain in Yokohama always felt heavier outside the Port Mafia headquarters. Inside Chuuya’s top-floor executive office, the only sound was the rhythmic scratching of his fountain pen against a stack of endless reports.
And, of course, the incredibly soft, nearly silent shifting of fabric from the corner of his desk.
Chuuya didn’t look up from his paperwork, but a small, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He knew exactly what you were doing.
You were currently sitting on the edge of his massive mahogany desk, supposedly organizing archive receipts from three months ago. In reality, you had finished that task an hour ago. You were just staying. You always stayed.
Slowly, carefully, you shifted your weight. You slid exactly two inches to the left. Your sleeve lightly brushed against the leather of his coat.
Chuuya intentionally leaned back in his chair to stretch, creating a gap between you. He watched from the corner of his eye as your shoulders slumped slightly. You waited exactly sixty seconds—he counted—before you subtly shuffled closer again, closing the distance until your arm was pressed flat against his side.
You didn't say a word. You didn't demand his attention, ask him how his day was, or beg him to take a break. You just needed to touch him. You were like a tiny planet trapped in his orbit, completely helpless against his pull, yet far too shy to ever ask the Executive to actually look at you.
"You're going to rub a hole in those papers if you keep organizing them," Chuuya murmured, his voice low and gravelly from hours of silence.
You flinched, your face instantly exploding into a bright, burning crimson. You pulled your hands back to your chest, looking anywhere but at him. "I-I'm sorry, Nakahara-sama! Am I crowding you? I can leave—"
You started to slide off the desk, but before your feet could even touch the floor, Chuuya’s hand shot out. He caught you by the wrist. He didn't use his ability, but the grip was firm, warm, and entirely inescapable.
"Did I tell you to leave?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No, but..." You chewed your bottom lip, your fingers nervously tightening around the hem of your own shirt. "I know I'm... I'm a lot. I don't mean to take up your space."
Chuuya let out a heavy sigh, running his free hand through his orange hair. He let go of your wrist, only to wrap his hand around your waist and pull you forward. With a gasp, you tumbled straight into his lap.
Your face buried itself directly into the crook of his neck. You froze, completely paralyzed by your own shyness, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"You're an idiot," Chuuya muttered, though his tone was incredibly soft. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. "You think I don't notice? You follow me into meetings. You sit close enough to steal my warmth. When we walk through the corridors, you literally hold onto the back of my coat so you don't lose me."
"I'm sorry," you whispered into his skin, your voice trembling. "I'll stop—"
"I don't want you to stop," he interrupted, his grip tightening. He leaned his head against yours, his breath warm against your ear. "But you drive me crazy when you just hover there. If you want me to hold you, just say it. You don't have to play a game of inches every time you want to be close to me."
You hid your face deeper into his neck, your hands finally finding the courage to grip the fabric of his vest. You held on for dear life, letting all your pent-up, clingy affection flood out.
Chuuya let out a soft huff of laughter. A faint red glow of gravity enveloped you both, making you feel completely weightless as he stood up from his desk chair without breaking the embrace. He walked over to the office sofa, tossing his fedora onto the coffee table, and lay down, pulling you right on top of him.
You curled into his chest like a cat, your head resting right over his steady heartbeat.
"Better?" Chuuya asked, his fingers gently threading through your hair, untangling the strands with a patience he saved only for you.
You nodded quickly against his chest, finally letting out a contented sigh.
"Good," he mumbled, closing his eyes and resting his chin on top of your head. "Then stay right there. Don't move an inch."
The next morning, the stormy Yokohama rain had cleared, leaving bright sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Chuuya’s office.
You woke up slowly, the comforting, familiar scent of expensive wine and leather enveloping you. It took your brain a few seconds to realize you were still completely sprawled on top of Chuuya’s chest on the office sofa. Your arms were locked around his middle, and your legs were tangled with his.
Even though you two had been dating for months, your face still burned bright red at the sheer realization of how clingy you were being.
You cautiously looked up. Chuuya was still fast asleep, his orange hair messy against the leather pillow, his sharp features completely relaxed. One of his heavily tattooed hands was still buried in your hair, while his other arm was clamped securely around your waist, keeping you pinned to him.
' I need to get up, you thought, panicked. He’s going to think I’m suffocating him. '
As much as you loved him, your deep-rooted shyness always kicked in the moment you became fully conscious. You didn't want to be a burden. You didn't want him to wake up and feel crowded by his overly attached girlfriend.
Very slowly, you began your usual routine. You loosened your grip on his vest. You shifted your hip back by a fraction of an inch. You holding your breath, trying to levitate yourself off him without using an actual ability.
You managed to slide back just enough to create a tiny gap of cool air between your chests.
Before you could slide any further, Chuuya’s arm suddenly clamped down like a steel vise. With a sharp grunt, he pulled you violently back down, flat against his chest. Your forehead bumped gently against his chin.
"Where do you think you're going?" Chuuya rasped, his voice incredibly deep, rough, and dripping with morning sleepiness. He didn't even open his eyes.
"I... I was just going to make you coffee," you squeaked, your face pressed into his collarbone. "I didn't want to crowd you. We've been like this all night."
Chuuya finally cracked one blue eye open, glaring down at you with a mix of affection and utter exasperation. "We've been dating for half a year, and you're still trying to sneak away from me in the mornings because you're too shy to just lay here?"
"I just don't want to annoy you," you mumbled into his chest, your fingers instinctively gripping his shirt anyway. Your body wanted to stay, even if your shy brain told you to run.
Chuuya let out a low groan, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He squeezed you so tightly you could feel the steady, rapid beat of his heart.
"You're my girlfriend," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. "You couldn't annoy me if you tried. If I hated you being clingy, I wouldn't have asked you to be mine. Now stop trying to escape and put your arms back around me."
Hearing his blunt, honest reassurance completely melted your anxiety. A soft smile broke across your face. You finally let go of your hesitation, wrapping both arms securely around his neck and burying your face back into his warmth.
Chuuya sighed contentedly, his grip relaxing into a warm, heavy embrace. He ran his hand down your back, pulling the blanket higher up over your shoulders.
"That's better," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. "Now go back to sleep. The Port Mafia can wait."
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