Dazai and/or Chuuya with a reader that is asthmatic or has some breathing issues?
no pressure btw feel free not to answer! Especially if you’re busy!
hello gorgeous, forgive me, this got buried in my inbox. i thought i lost it then found it again today. never any pressure - worst case scenario it apparently takes me a long time to respond TuT anyways, here's a a bit of a silly mini fic of an asthmatic/hard of breathing gn!reader with chuuya and dazai.
Oh, dear God, someone please help me. Your legs are pumping as fast as your body will allow them to, and your lungs would much rather have them stop doing that. In the distance, you see a pop of ginger farther away, completely unaware it had left you in the dust amongst the midst of a few other stray heads, and you think you're seeing spots fill the gaps.
Chuuya asked if you'd want to join him for a run around the park, and you warily but enthusiastically said "sure!" You haven't exactly gotten around to tell him that you have some breathing difficulties - not quite asthma but not operating at full capacity as you should. You do have an inhaler for emergencies, but it is supposed to only be if you're fairly certain you're dying. And right now, you think you might be and shit, I didn't bring it. You're struggling, fighting on if you want to attempt picking up more speed that you don't have in you or flop down in defeat on the asphalt and just let everyone walk around you.
Before, you were doing pretty well matching his pace, but somewhere along what you thought was a leisure job to enjoy the weather and each other's company, he decided to turn it into a one-sided race. That may be an exaggeration, but you're irrationally embarrassed at how badly you fell behind simply because your lungs decide they don't want to work normally.
"Yup, okay, I'm going down," you wheeze, knees starting to buckle, and you barely make it to the edge of the trail before tumbling down in the grass. A couple of strangers share passing glances in your direction, necks craning to get a look at you, but their interest is not piqued enough to stop and properly check on you - which is fine, since too many people crowding around and hogging the air you need would make things worse. You lay on your back, chest twisting and lungs quite literally feeling as if they have been set aflame, throat tight, coughing, and there is ironically not enough oxygen in that park to give you the breaths you need to survive. Somewhere in the distance, the faint scent of cigarette smoke wafts around, and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to ignore it.
Meanwhile, Chuuya is wondering where you took off to. He had turned to say something to you to realize you weren't beside him and a stranger was giving him a weird look, considering he called them "babe". His head whips around, brows furrowed, chest heaving some from the comedown, and thinks maybe you went ahead of him. However, he knows you aren't actually faster than he is, and he definitely would have noticed if you were zooming by. His forearm comes up to swipe away the sweat dripping down the side of his face, beginning to make his journey back to where he thinks he last saw you.
The stretch is farther than he thought, having to ask others if they have seen you, describing you, and when they all stare at him as if he's crazy for even bothering to ask them, he says with thinning patience: "They're wearing a red shirt and white shorts."
"Oh!" One snaps his fingers, turning to point in the direction you're currently dying in. "Looks like they're catching their breath." He says before tossing a mildly friendly wave then speedwalking away to continue his daily exercise. Chuuya sighs heavily, shaking his head as his thumb presses into his temple, walking toward you after multiple failed attempts at looking for you. Once he gets closer, though, he can hear how hard it is for you to breathe, the wheezing and scratching audible with each labored inhale, and your fingers are digging into the grass beneath you. Just something to hold onto, to make sure you know you're alive.
"Love...?" He kneels down, arm on his knee, and his brow lifts. "What're you uh... What're you up to?" He asks, unsure if he overworked you or if something worse is happening.
"Uh, ya know..." Your head lulls to the side, letting out a nasty cough that helps clear your airways better than before. "Just uhm... Trying to-to function like a p-person." You cough again then have to repeatedly clear your throat, chest rising high with each breath you take. "You can keep-keep going, though. I'll uh... I'll catch up." You throw a half-hearted, lazy thumbs up before your arm drops back to the ground, feeling slightly dizzy, and his hand is inching toward his pocket to pull out his phone and call an ambulance.
"Did ya overdo it? Did I go too fast?" He wants to touch you, pat your back to see if that will help, even just sit you upright, but with how you sound, he is afraid to do much of anything. "Need mouth to mouth?"
"I'd usually never... never say no to that," you shrug, delusionally considering the idea. "But realistically, I don't th-think that wi-ill help." You take in a deep breath, gradually beginning to feel as though it isn't the hardest thing to do anymore, and you clear your throat. "C-Can we be done? Pl-Please?" You practically plead, and he nods.
"Yeah, sure," his blue and brown scan over you, seeing your cheeks are red, and you sound different. "Maybe after one more mile." He suggests, not being serious at all. You have to fight a reaction, wanting badly to complain and cry, but you hold yourself together well enough.
"Y-Yeah, sure! Why... Why not?" You start hoisting yourself up, elbows propped on the grass, and you're wobbly.
"Because you're clearly not able to run anywhere, let alone another stagnate mile," he sighs, brows raising as he looks down at you. "Somethin' you might wanna tell me?" The words mull over in your head, knowing that you should have mentioned it before, but you honestly never felt like you needed to, and no other situations arose for you to say anything. You suck in a breath then hold it, realizing you can't do that still, and cough it back out. His hand is immediately on your back, trying to give you space but comfort at the same time - concern etched all over his features.
"I have breathing troubles," you rasp, sitting up some more, placing your arms on your knees. "Just dumb lungs not working like they should." He blinks, staring at you for a second too long, before huffing and getting to his feet, brushing his hands on his shorts. You watch him for a moment, wondering if that pissed him off - which would be weird, until he's effortlessly yanking you out of the grass with a small yelp coming from you.
"Why the hell didn't ya tell me? That's an important thing to know!" He scolds, his arms coming up under your legs and holding you tight, feet off the ground completely. You stare at the side of his sweating, scrunched face, unblinking, and cautiously grip his shoulder to steady yourself.
"You can't even breathe. Why would I let you walk on your own?" He rolls his eyes, continuing following the path back to where he parked his bike.
"You're so rude," you lightly poke his cheek, giving him a small but cheeky smile. He looks at your sidelong jaw flexing a bit before he merely shakes his head. "Chuuya, please, I'll swoon." You tease further, but he responds without missing a beat.
"Last thing I need is even more of your breath being taken away."
Humming drifts its way through the dorm into your tired ears, lids barely cracking and being immediately blinded by the morning sun greeting you with its invasive rays. Light shuffling and rustling go along with the tune, body curling up more under the covers and nestling into the futon. Which has a dip in it from another body making itself comfortable beside you.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Dazai whispers in a sweet greeting, placing a kiss to your temple. "You excited?" He asks, fingers brushing your bedhead away, and you lazily stare at him, huddled under the blanket. He wears a light smile, propping his elbow on the pillow. "We're gonna go on vacation, remember? You've been looking forward to it." He reminds, and you're too tired to comprehend much of what he's telling you.
He gives you some time, chuckling to himself as he watches you try to wake up fully, fingertips carefully digging themselves into your scalp that will more than likely send you straight back to sleep. "Now, now, the deal was if I packed everything, you'd make me breakfast." He coos, keeping his voice down for someone that wants you up. You let out a disapproving sound, groggy, whining in protest at him trying to get you out of the beautiful confines of your blankets and warm futon. "I know, it's so hard being you." He kisses your forehead then, brushing more hair from your sleepy and grouchy face. Your displeased expression shoots up in his direction, brows deeply furrowed and nose scrunching so he can see you don't like that arrangement at all. "I like waffles." He pokes your nose before pushing himself back up to his feet, taking off in a different direction, and you let out another sound that he knows means you aren't going to do what he asks.
He rummages around in both bags, going down the mental checklist, trying to make sure everything you told him needed to be in your bag is, and tries to make sure he has enough clothes to last him for a little over a week. You huff when he practically ignores you, in his own world of preparations, and you begrudgingly sit upright, the blanket sliding down in a small heap at your legs, and yawn. "I got all your stuff in there. Including your inhaler." He tells you, turning around to see you finally moving on your own. A fist rubs at your eye, unsure if the grogginess is making you hear things.
"My inhaler?" You repeat, unsure where he had even found it since you don't remember when was the last time you touch it.
"Yeah, got it in your personal bag," he goes back to pacing around, rooting around in the closet and drawers again, counting off how many days you guys will be gone and if he grabbed enough underwear for that.
"I don't need that, 'Samu," you stubbornly kick the blanket back completely then stand up, running your fingers through your hair a few times. He wags his finger at you without even facing you, a stern 'ah, ah, ah' coming from him.
"The last time you told me that, you had an asthma attack while walking in the park because the pollen from the cherry blossoms agitated your lungs," he recounts, turning to look at you again with his arms folded and some loose pieces of clothing over his shoulder. "And we didn't have your inhaler on you, so I had to rush you to the hospital." You stare at him, eyes narrowed. It isn't like him to be the responsible one, let alone scolding you for things. "I'm not letting you ruin my vacation because you wanna steal all the attention!" He sings, nose turning up as he marches past you to the suitcases and bags to stuff more things in them. There it is.
Your eyes roll, your body and mind and soul knowing that it is just too early in the morning to be arguing with him. You grumble to yourself, starting to shuffle toward the bathroom, when he stops you again. "Lover, I fear I cannot wait any longer for my waffles. I've been up for hours making sure we'd be ready." He says in a sort of regency tone, and your neck slowly cranes to peer at him over your shoulder, unable to tell if he's messing with you.
"Bring it up again, and I'll hold my breath," you threaten. His features drop, hands freezing mid-fold of your shirt as he stares at you.
"That's not funny!" He laments, lower lip poking out at you. "Kunikida said if you did that again, he wasn't driving us to the hospital!"
"Then I guess ya gotta shut up about your damn waffles!" You bark, storming off into the bathroom and slamming the door behind you. He stomps his foot, tossing your shirt back in your bag with the mess of everything else, and mimics your voice under his breath as he spouts off your previous words. "I can hear you!" You warn.
"Good!" He argues back. "Now quit talking! You only got so much breath you can go around using, and I don't want you dying before I go on vacation!" You take in a deep breath, calming yourself down, pressing your eyes in your sockets. It is really sweet of him to remember to grab your long-lost inhaler before taking off elsewhere for over a week, you guess, but you still can't figure out where he found it.
There isn't much time for you to dwell on it, let alone use the restroom, when you hear the familiar, dangerous sound of pots and pans rattling and clinking around in the kitchen, when you form fists near your temples. I'm gonna strangle him, then we'll both have breathing problems.
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