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The theme is: Angst/Whump
Out of 74 responses, 27% of you voted for the "Angst/Whump" theme option, making it the top voted theme Idea.
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If it pleases you, I saw this prompt on the proposal prompt list, it spoke of skk to me, and I'd love to see your take on it?
✧ “I’ve been bothering you as your annoying partner for long enough. Will you do me the honors of letting me be your annoying spouse instead?”
98% fluff and 2% freak, or something like that.
I hope you like it, just a silly fic.
I wrote the first few paragraphs on my way to work a few days ago, and the rest in a moment of madness (no, I’m not procrastinating editing eyh 8, hey, not at all, not in the slightest—there’s nothing to see in this parenthesis).
I’ll probably post it on ao3, but not today.
When their lips met, his mouth tasted like ashes.
Chuuya cupped his cheek, guiding the kiss. The pressure of his gloved palm against his damp skin kept him grounded. Even so, his mind drifted—restless, frantic—and his thoughts raced too fast, too tangled to catch before they unraveled.
He clutched at his partner’s waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and Chuuya groaned in response.
But when they pulled apart for air—before Dazai could slip into something lighter, something safer, a teasing smirk or a mock pout—Chuuya frowned. His blue eyes narrowed, sharp with concern.
Shit.
His hand slid down to cradle the side Dazai’s neck. Dazai leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut and a shaky breath escaping him. His heart pounded wildly against his ribs, threatening to break free, and fear locked his limbs in place. He barely heard the soft, “What’s wrong, Mackerel?” his stupid dog murmured.
But he did hear it—and the words coiled low in his stomach, tightening the knot already twisting in his gut. He didn’t open his eyes. He wasn’t ready to face the storm brewing in Chuuya’s gaze, the raging ocean he would dive into without hesitation.
I can’t do this.
His lips cracked into a small, uneven smile—half apology, half deflection—and a quiet, strained laugh scraped its way up his throat. It was too much. The bandages felt too tight, cutting off his circulation, his skin itched, his clothes clung wrong. Even the cool harbor breeze was unbearable against him.
Run. Run. Run.
The weight of the matchbox in his coat pocket stopped him.
He could still joke, he still had time to turn this into something harmless. Chuuya would let him. The worry in his eyes would fade, like a flame choking on damp wood.
“Talk to me, idiot,” Chuuya said, stepping closer, rising onto his toes and tugging him down until their foreheads touched. “I’ve got you.”
Dazai gasped.
Maybe it would work, the joke hovered on his tongue, but the more he tasted the words, the more wrong they felt.
For once, he couldn’t hide behind it.
He covered Chuuya’s hand with his own, his eyelids fluttering before finally meeting his gaze. The ghost of a fond smile danced at the corner of his lips, and his chest burned—right where Chuuya, long ago, maybe in Suribachi City, maybe when he fell from the sky, had taken root. So small, so loud, so full of life. His knees went weak at the sheer magnitude of his power, and it had very little to do with the god inside him.
He couldn’t take it.
“Chuuya. Chibi. I love you.”
Chuuya blinked. Confusion washed over his face in waves, but embarrassment won out—a blush spreading until it swallowed his freckles and painted over the blue of his eyes. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how vast the distance between them, Chuuya still flushed and gaped like a fish out of water.
Adorable.
Dazai leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, silencing whatever protest might come. They weren’t used to this—to softness, to honesty without lies or tricks. Chuuya’s gloved fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back in, this time with force.
“God, I hate you,” he muttered, flustered, before biting down hard on Dazai’s lower lip.
Dazai felt dizzy, his head spinning in the best way. He wrapped an arm around Chuuya’s waist, pulling him closer, letting their tongues tangle in a dance, sometimes a battle, they both knew by heart.
Chuuya shoved him against the wall, sliding a leg between his, and Dazai answered with a broken, needy moan, pressing into him.
They kissed for what felt like hours—tongues and teeth.
It wouldn’t be enough.
It would never be enough, not of that intoxicating, heady taste.
When they finally broke apart—breathless, a thin string of saliva still connecting their mouths—Dazai swayed slightly.
To hell with the mission!
He could’ve dropped to his knees at the sight of Chuuya—swollen, reddened lips, blown pupils, raw want. His, completely his.
Dazai dragged his fingers into Chuuya’s hair, tilting his head back, exposing his throat. He bit down, hard—cursing the choker under his breath when it got in the way—pulling a sharp curse from Chuuya.
Then he soothed it, slow, deliberate, lips brushing over the mark.
“Mine.”
“Bastard.”
“You love it,” Dazai purred, catching his earlobe between his teeth, shifting for a better angle, closer, always closer. He pouted when Chuuya shoved him back. “Chibi should’ve drunk more milk when we were kids.”
“Hah!?”
Dazai tugged his coat down, exposing his shoulders, grinning when he spotted the faint marks left behind.
Chuuya growled low.
“We’re not doing this here.”
“Boring.”
The coat hit the ground. Dazai’s hands slid over his partner’s shoulders, down his arms, and he shot him a look full of intent from beneath long, thick lashes.
Chuuya’s jaw tightened.
“We have a mission. Remember?”
Dazai ignored him.
“You know…” he murmured softly, deliberately dragging out the syllables, wrapping them in something suggestive.
Chuuya shivered.
Dazai spread his legs in invitation, batting his lashes in a mock innocence that fooled no one. Then, his eyes dropped and his smile widened, wicked and playful.
“All that milk you drank went straight to your—”
Chuuya clamped a hand over his mouth. Dazai didn’t waste the chance to bite down hard. The leather did something strange to his senses. Chuuya swore loudly, unleashing a string of insults that would make a sailor blush, and tried to kick him, but Dazai dodged with dancer-like grace, sticking his tongue out.
It was easy to fall back into old patterns. Fifteen, twenty-five, fifty—it didn’t matter. They’d always push each other’s buttons, get under each other’s skin.
Dazai felt lighter.
They were stuck on a reconnaissance mission, something utterly beneath them. A waste of potential, probably, but Dazai had pulled his strings—bribed Ranpo with snacks—and Chuuya, aside from a suspicious glance across the table, had gone along with it without questions.
If Dazai wanted to drag him into a mission even an intern could handle, Chuuya would just shrug and follow.
“You owe me,” he’d barked before the elevator doors closed.
And Dazai had just hummed.
Now, hours later, the mission was forgotten.
Dazai slipped his hands into his coat pockets, fingers closed around the small box—not the matches this time, but the other one. The one that had been burning a hole in him for hours, the one that had kept him awake for weeks, made him question every damn decision.
He’d never thought he’d make it to twenty-three. That he’d live long enough to want to kneel and slip a ring onto his soulmate’s finger.
He gulped. His nerves twisted his stomach.
“What are we really doing here, Dazai?”
He barely held back the gag that rose in his throat. Chuuya blinked, first surprised and then alarmed, if the way his eyes widened and he lunged forward meant anything.
Chuuya cradled his face.
“Are you okay?” His eyes scanned him. He stroked his cheek, then pulled off a glove with his teeth—as if stopping contact wasn’t an option—and pressed his knuckles to Dazai’s forehead. “Fuck, Osamu, you’re freezing.”
Dazai shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“If you throw up on me, I’m castrating you.”
Dazai huffed.
“It’s just—”
“Whatever it is, I won’t get mad. I promise.”
Dazai arched a brow, half amused. What an obvious lie. Chuuya rolled his eyes fondly.
“Okay, I’ll get really mad, but we’ll deal with it together. Mushrooms again? Pills?”
Dazai wrinkled his nose.
“Chuuya’s so distrustful.”
“Come on, big guy, spit it out.”
“Marry me.”
The silence was crushing. It forced its way in, shoved a hand down his throat, reached for his lungs, his heart.
“What—”
“I said, my deaf, stupid little dog—”
“I heard you,” Chuuya cut him off.
Dazai couldn’t read him. Anger? Confusion? Shock? Something else entirely? He didn’t know how to handle it.
“Fuck, fuck, why would you do this to me?”
Oh.
Chuuya muttered something under his breath and then grabbed his face again, squeezing hard.
“Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Don’t hide from me. Just— don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Dazai replied flatly, voice empty. He tried to pull away, but Chuuya’s warmth, his closeness, held him there. He wrinkled his nose, lips parting.
“Are you serious?”
Dazai didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.
“God, you idiot. Are you serious, or is this some stupid joke? Because I swear, if this is a joke, I’ll feed you to the fish and—”
“Does Chibi want it to be a joke?”
“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like you don’t trust me.”
This time, Dazai looked at him.
“I trust you.”
“Good.”
“But it must not go both ways if Chibi thinks I’m joking.”
“Do you…?” Chuuya swallowed, licking his lips. He was trembling—his hands on Dazai’s face, all of him. “Do you really…?”
“We could threaten some idiot into forging papers, or, you know, run off somewhere marriage is legal—make a trip out of it. I don’t need a piece of paper saying we’re married if Chibi wants to be my spouse.”
He said it fast; the words tumbling over each other, barely breathing, heat rushing up his neck, making him dizzy, because if he stopped for even a second, he might not be able to say it at all.
His shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in Chuuya’s neck, nearly panting.
He’d said it.
Chuuya’s hand came to rest in his hair.
“Idiot,” he said, soft.
“Your idiot.”
“Don’t get all clingy. It doesn’t suit you.”
Dazai tilted his head, nibbling at his neck.
“Let me show you just how clingy I can be,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to his ass. Chuuya yelped. “Chibi, Chuuya, I’ve never been more serious about anything.”
Chuuya shuddered.
Dazai pulled back, searching his stare.
“I’ve been bothering you as your annoying partner for long enough. Will you do me the honor of letting me be your annoying spouse instead?”
Chuuya let out a shaky laugh, eyes a little unfocused, a crooked half-smile tugging at his lips.
“…What about my ring?”
Dazai reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box.
“I hope you didn’t steal my credit card for that.”
Dazai clicked his tongue. “I won’t say another word without my lawyer present.”
“Bastard.”
“Does it really matter whose money it is? I called dibs first.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
Dazai tilted his head. “Are you sure?”
Chuuya’s eye twitched.
“Put the damn ring on me,” he snapped, stepping closer, grabbing Dazai by the front of his coat, “or you’re going to work tomorrow with the plug in.”
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