why is nobody writing about how zuko would use his fire bending abilities to warm his large hands and press them to your sides when you get cramps on your period/any aches in general. we are missing valuable market here guys.
desc. Dazai comes to tell you goodbye before he goes underground. cw. nsfw, explicit sexual content (penetration), angst wc. 3.0k
The apartment was drowning in the heavy amber of a dying sun. Shadows stretched across the floorboards like ink spills as Dazai came stumbling in. He was disheveled, his chest heaving, clear adrenaline in his eyes. Your brain raced, concerned he was seriously injured or that the violence of his world had finally followed him to your doorstep, but he only pulled you into a tight hug. He smelled of smoke, old iron, and rain. It was then he confessed that Oda had died at Mori’s scheme and he was leaving. His voice was a ruined thing, cracking under the weight of a grief he didn't know how to carry.
You couldn’t help but notice the bandages at his wrists were gone, seemingly ripped off in a fit of manic desperation, exposing rarely presented battered skin, raw and pink against the pale hue of his arms. The wrap around his eye was missing too, allowing you a full view into his gaze, unobscured and terrifyingly open, like seeing another part of his soul.
He told you that he was leaving tonight, that he had some underground connections but he had to see you first. He spoke quickly, as if the silence of the room would swallow him whole if he stopped.
He felt something tug at his inhuman heart when he saw stray tears spill from your eyes. His hand came to gently wipe them, his thumb rough against your soft skin. As if unable to withstand the distance, Dazai took another step closer, invading your space until there was no air left between you. His head was angled towards yours, his eyes swimming in a depth of emotion that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before, a terrifying mixture of grief and hunger.
Your breath was caught in your throat, welling uncomfortably. The moment seemed to stretch forever, suspended in the dust motes dancing in the final rays of sunlight.
Dazai’s cold, lithe fingers cupped around your cheek to brace the physical and emotional weight of whatever he had stirred up in your head. There was a flicker of something regretful in that pensive stare that cut right through you.
“I can’t go without letting myself have this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I can’t leave without…” His eyes flickered over every feature he could find on your face: eyes, brows, cheek, dimple, crease. “Without letting myself know you.”
His fingers pressed a little harder onto your cheek to test the warmth of the flushed skin beneath it. Ever so slowly, he moved closer until he let his eyes shut. Yours shut too.
His lips were on you. Partially chapped, dry, but somehow soft enough to let your lips melt against him. His kiss was gentle, an unexpected softness from him, tasting faintly of salt and despair.
Once he moved away, you were left with only his hot breath and a heavy sense of desire beating down on you. When your eyes shuttered open, his were already staring down at you and drinking in every twitch of an expression.
When he saw no resistance, his fingers weaved into your hair just above your scalp, tightening almost painfully. His fingers burying into you like you might disappear if he let go.
His lips crashed against yours now. He was starving and only you could satisfy him. His other hand found your waist, drawing your body near until your hips collided with his. He leaned over and into you, as if his figure could shelter you from the passing time. His grip was hard, his mouth gasping for whatever softness and pity you’d give him.
Your tentative hands finally reached towards him, finding purchase on the top of his hips and to his sides, steadying both of you. Dazai was only more encouraged. His hand on your head tipping it closer and closer.
His breaths were hot gasps of air as he tried to breathe you in. You felt a warm shock travel up your spine when you pulled away for air. “Dazai—”
He opened his eyes to expose them blown black, pupils dilated so wide they swallowed the iris. Dazai stared down at you, fearing you might pull away. “Call me Osamu,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the seam of your lips as if to seal the name there. It sounded like a prayer, or perhaps a confession.
You could only peer back at him. “Osamu,” you repeated, feeling the words settle heavy on your tongue.
His mouth was on yours again as if you commanded it. He let out almost a whine when he felt the warmth of your lips. “God,” he cried. “You are so, so precious to me.” His words were soft against your lips, muffled by the contact. His other hand traveled up your side to cradle your other cheek now. “I want you. Entirely. I want to burn this memory into my mind.”
Your lips parted to speak, but nothing seemed to come out. Dazai’s gaze was heavy, anchoring you to the floor. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he rumbled.
You gave a small nod.
His eyes swept you once more. “Would you let me?”
After a moment, you nodded again.
His thumb slowly swiped over your cheek. “I want to hear you say it.”
A hot spark. “I would let you. I want you to.”
There was a moment of silence and then there was no space between you. Dazai pressed against you, holding onto your waist with a deadly grip to keep you close. His tongue traced your lips. His cold fingers moved under the hem of your shirt, skimming over your ribs, his touch icy against your heated skin.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself up to reach him. You allowed your body to meet the warm press of his own with the softest sound off your lips.
His gentle finger tips pressed into your warm flesh, as if to test just how real you were. You weren’t sure you could’ve ever recalled a moment where desperation felt like hot coals were trying to escape your body. Every nerve alight with pinpricks.
He pulled away only to steer you to your bedroom. His guiding hand on your back was more directing than suggesting, urgent and possessive.
The bedroom was darker. The sun had finally surrendered, leaving the room in the bruised, violet-grey of twilight. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cool stillness.
He gave his trademark smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, as he pressed your knees to the back of the bed and watched as you allowed yourself to sit back on the mattress.
Dazai’s hands rested firmly on your hips as he sat over your legs, crowding you to lean back. One knee between them, the other along your thigh, creating a friction that made your breath hitch. You laid breathless before him and he drank in the sight before leaning down to press a heavy kiss to your neck, right over your pulse point. He enjoyed how your head lolled away to allow him better access. His hand pushed up the hem of your shirt.
“I’ll be good to you,” he whispered hot into your neck. “So good. I'll make you forget everything else.”
You watched as his face moved back to examine your dazed expression before pressing his knee against your clothed core. He watched as you seized up and grabbed onto his arm with a moan. He was drunk off the look in your eyes.
“Osamu—” you breathed. His lips were on you again, bringing your shirt just under the swell of your chest.
He sat back and began to undo his own shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly—a rare sign of his trembling hands. His knee was still pressed against you, providing a thrum of pleasure despite it all. You watched through heavy lidded eyes as his shirt came off.
The broad pale expanse of skin was intermittent to the bandages across his body. Scars, bruises, and abused skin peeking out from the bandages. There was a sort of vulnerable look in his eyes, or at least as vulnerable as he let himself be. You couldn’t help but notice the long gash from the center of his chest towards his stomach or the way his bandages on his arm seemed to uncomfortably choke his skin. He looked like a mosaic of broken things glued back together.
To comfort, your hand reached out and ran across his torso, pressing gently into the scar with a sense of honest curiosity. Dazai flinched visibly at the reaction, expecting revulsion, and leaned back down. “I hope I’m not a frightening sight.”
You gave a gentle smile then, tracing the jagged line of the scar. “No. No, you could never frighten me.”
He gave a warm puff of breath back against your skin, the vibration traveling through your chest. It wasn’t long before he peeled the fabric away from your body as if unwrapping a fragile gift. His hands were trembling slightly as he started on the waistband of your pants. He hooked his thumbs onto it, his knuckles grazing your hipbones, and slid them out from down your legs.
You tried not to watch as he removed his suit pants, feeling a sudden, shy heat rise to your cheeks. When Dazai sat back down on the bed, the both of you were in underwear, looking up at each other in the dim, blue-grey light of the apartment.
His body was cold against yours when he pressed close again, coming to embrace your open arms like a salvation he didn’t know he needed. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply, trying to memorize your scent. Your hands traced along his neck and shoulders, dancing just along the binding of his bandages, feeling the rough texture of the gauze against the smooth and pale skin. His lips and teeth pressed gently against your skin, leaving ghosting marks, like he wouldn’t dare mar your perfect flesh.
His gaze was heavy like his breath. Slowly, his hand traveled from your side and to your core, pressing over the fabric just to watch you seize up so sweetly for him.
"Beautiful," he breathed, the word cracking in the middle. He didn't rush. He wanted to see you.
He peeled both your final layers off, his fingers lingering on the skin he exposed, chasing the shivers he created. He leaned back over you, his hair falling forward to curtain you both off from the rest of the room. The air in the room felt suddenly cooler on your bare skin, but Dazai was there to shield you from it.
His gaze was soft on you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any reason for him to stop. “You alright?” He murmured, his voice rough with a need he could barely contain.
“I need this,” you whispered, the confession hanging heavy in the small space between your lips. “Please, Osamu.”
The tension in his shoulders broke. When you affirmed, he continued, fitting his body against yours until there was no space left for the shadows to intrude.
He moved to position himself, his knee nudging your thighs wider apart. The mattress dipped under his weight, the springs groaning in the quiet room, giving a harsh, mechanical sound against the soft rush of your breathing.
He didn't rush. He couldn't. He hovered over you for an agonizing second, the tips of his bandages grazing your skin, scratchy and rough against the softness of your inner thighs. He looked down at you, his hair falling into his eyes, watching you unravel before he even touched you.
“Look at me,” he whispered, a desperate command. “Don’t close your eyes.”
When he finally pushed into you, it was a slow, heavy drag of friction. He let out a shattered breath, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. You felt the tension leave his frame all at once, melting into you like wax.
“Osamu…” you breathed, the sound punched out of you by the snap of his hips.
“I’m here,” he gasped against your skin, his sweat mixing with yours, slick and hot. “I’m right here.”
He paused there, trembling, overcome by the sheer reality of you encompassing him.
“I imagined this,” he choked out, his voice a wrecked whisper against your skin. “God… you feel better than anything my mind could ever imagine.”
Your hands, seeking purchase, reached around him. Your fingers splayed across the expanse of his back, finding the bare skin between the bandages.
When your nails dragged down his spine, digging in sharp and deep, Dazai didn't speak. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, and arched.
The twinge of pain seemed to flip a switch in his brain. He shuddered, an intense pleasure rolling through him that silenced his thoughts completely.
He drove his hips forward, driven by the scratch of your nails. There were no more words, just the wet heat of the friction and the broken, needy sounds tearing from his throat every time you dug deeper.
The shadows in the room seemed to lengthen, wrapping around the bed, but neither of you noticed. There was only the sensation of him burying himself in you, chasing the sharp bite of your nails, and the way he looked at you when he finally lifted his head, exposing eyes blown wide, terrified and worshipful.
Dazai shifted his weight. Abruptly, he changed the pace. He didn't stop, but he slowed the rhythm down to a heavy, rolling grind that was infinitely more torturous.
Dazai leaned back, his hands catching your knees and pressing them wider, opening you completely to his gaze. Even in the shadows, you could feel his eyes tracking every twitch of your muscles, every gasp that escaped your lips. He was studying you, memorizing the exact shape of your pleasure.
“Don’t look away,” he rasped, his voice rough with strain. “I want to see the moment you go.”
He drove into you deep and slow, hitting a nerve that made your vision blur. The sensation was too much. It was a heavy, molten heat that pooled in your belly and spread through your veins like fire. You tried to arch off the bed, but his weight kept you pinned, forcing you to feel every inch of him.
“Osamu, please,” you begged, your head tossing back against the sheets. “I can’t—it’s too much.”
“You can,” he promised, leaning down to bite gently at the sensitive cord of your neck. “I’ve got you.”
He picked up the pace again, a frantic, punishing rhythm that gave you no room to breathe. The friction sparked into a blinding white light behind your eyelids. The tension coiled tighter and tighter until snap.
The release hit you with the force of a landslide. You cried out, a raw, uninhibited sound that Dazai swallowed with a bruising kiss. Your body convulsed around him, waves of pure, unadulterated bliss washing away the pain of the day, leaving you floating in a sea of white noise.
Dazai followed you into the dark a second later, his body going rigid, a harsh groan vibrating against your chest as he spilled himself into you.
Then, he fell against you, his breathing ragged, his skin slick with sweat and cold to the touch. For a long moment, the only thing tangible in the world was the thudding of two hearts trying to find a synchronized rhythm.
Eventually, Dazai stirred. He pulled away slowly, the loss of his body heat making you shiver. He didn't speak as he moved. He simply reached for the duvet and pulled it all the way up to your chin, cocooning you in warmth.
He laid back down beside you, but he didn't close his eyes. He pulled you into his chest, one arm draped heavily over your waist to hold you still.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his hand rubbing soothing circles into your back.
You felt heavy, your limbs turning to liquid. The intensity of the climax had drained every ounce of energy you had left. “I feel…” you slurred, your eyes fluttering shut against your will. “I feel float-y.”
“Good,” Dazai murmured. He pressed his cheek to the top of your head, staring blankly at the wall across the room. “That means you’re relaxed, you’re safe.”
“Stay with me?” you asked, the words barely a whisper. “Just until morning?”
Dazai’s hand paused on your back for a fraction of a second before resuming its hypnotic rhythm. “I’m not going anywhere,” he lied, his voice steady and soft. “I’ll be right here holding you. Just close your eyes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
The weight of his arm, the warmth of the duvet, and the lingering hum of satisfaction were too much to fight. You let the darkness take you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dazai waited. He lay there in the silence, listening as your breathing slowed, counting the seconds until you were truly gone. The room was dark, only the ghost of streetlights seeping through the curtains existed.
When he was certain you wouldn't wake, he carefully slid his arm out from under you. He replaced his warmth with a pillow, tucking it against your back so you wouldn't feel the empty space.
He dressed in the dark, his movements silent and practiced. He paused at the door, looking back at the shape of you under the covers, the only peaceful thing he had ever touched. With a final, silent exhale, he turned the handle and stepped out into the night, leaving a life and an unlocked door in his wake.
★ masterlist
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desc. After a bad date, you and Chuuya had kill time on your mission somehow. cw. nsfw, semi-public sex, explicit sexual content (fingering) wc. 3.7k
The engine had been killed an hour ago, leaving the interior of the luxury sedan in a heavy, suffocating silence. Outside, the neon bleed of Yokohama’s nightlife reflected off the wet pavement, smearing reds and blues across the tinted windows. Inside, it smelled of expensive leather, stale AC air, and the faint, smoky trace of Chuuya’s cologne.
You shifted in the passenger seat, the leather creaking loudly in the quiet. Beside you, the Mafia Executive was a statue of irritation. He sat in the driver’s seat, elbow on the car door, head resting against his fist, and his legs lounged open with a hunched posture. Great. You hadn’t even said anything and he was already annoyed.
It wouldn’t take a genius to discern the faint buzz of annoyance humming off of him not even halfway into the stakeout. It was going to be a long night.
Brushing your hair back with a sigh, you looked over to the disgruntled man. “Look, I don’t want to get into a fight tonight.” you offered in a level voice. An olive branch of sorts.
Chuuya stiffened. His gaze flickered out the corner of his eye and through his hair and then back out the windshield. “Then don’t,” he muttered, voice flat. “You always start fights.”
The streetlights flicked on above you as you bit your tongue in thought.
You held back, already biting your tongue. “Alright. I won’t.”
“Good,” he mumbled, eager to get the last word.
The silence that followed was heavy, minutes stretching by endlessly, allowing the sharp edge of hostility to dull into simple boredom. The light outside flickered methodically. You picked at a loose thread. Chuuya tapped his fingers against the car door, his earlier irritation fading into restlessness.
Eventually, the stifling quiet became more annoying than the conversation.
“You’re checking your phone every thirty seconds,” Chuuya broke the silence, not looking at you. His voice lacked its usual bite; he just sounded bored. “Expecting a call or somethin’?”
“No,” you sighed, depositing the device onto the dashboard with a little too much force. “Just hoping for a text back. Which, clearly, isn’t happening.”
Chuuya side-eyed the phone, then you. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Hardly a paradise,” you scoffed, crossing your arms and sliding further down in the seat. “More like a dumpster fire I sat through dinner with last night.”
Chuuya couldn’t help but smirk at your misfortune, but he was genuinely amused too. “How bad was it?” He asked, one eyebrow raised at you.
“Bad.” you murmured with dramatic seriousness as you pressed your head back into the headrest. “It started out alright, but did not end on a high note.”
Chuuya chuckled, taking note of your exaggerated expression. He shifted towards you, leaning closer to the console. “What happened? Did they try to put the moves on you? Get a little handsy after a few drinks?” His tone was playful, a teasing lilt to his voice.
Your head only lolled back towards him with a little knowing smile as if to tell him he was on the right track.
He noticed the subtle gesture. His head tilted in response, a hint of curiosity in his azure eyes. “He did try something, then.” He said, not quite a question. “And you shut him down, eh?” Despite his aloof facade, he found himself too invested in your little story.
You laid back into the seat with a scoff. “Yeah.” There was something a little self-loathing in your tone. Your eyes still watched him as you debated saying more.
Chuuya’s smirk softened. He could tell you had something else you wanted to say. “What is it?” he prompted, his usual sharpness gone.
“It might be embarrassing.” you lamented with a low tone, enjoying the gossip. Your eyes flickered past the windshield and back to him. “...about his moves.”
Chuuya stifled a snort of laughter, shaking his head at your melodramatic response. He loved a bit of gossip, even if he wouldn’t admit it. His fingers drummed on the car door. “Oh come on. It’s me you’re talking to, not some blushing maiden.” He leaned closer, almost eager. “Just spit it out.”
You sighed. “I’m not usually so… eager.” you prefaced before continuing. “But, just a word of advice, if you’re trying to hook up in a bar bathroom, at least have a plan on getting the girl off.” Your tone was laced with annoyance.
Chuuya blinked. Once. Twice. Then he barked a laugh - sharp, short, and unfiltered. “Wait. He didn’t even get you off? In the bathroom stall?”
“No!” You lamented, more engaged with his response. “Isn’t that horrible?” you whined. “I even paid for my drinks and everything.”
Chuuya sat back in his seat with a smirk at your comical misfortune. “You paid for your drinks and got nothing in return? That’s just sad.”
A beat. Then he continued, quieter. “...You really liked him?”
Your shoulders shrugged. “I mean, I guess I liked him enough.” you offered, but not so sympathetically. “He seemed alright, but you don’t really know until you sit down with someone for a while.”
You paused before turning your head to him, deciding on offering him some ten cent advice. “If you ever find yourself in that situation, feel free to remember you have hands.” You bemoaned.
Chuuya chuckled, a genuine sound that echoed in the small space of the car. He leaned an arm against the console, eyeing you with a sly grin. “You think I’m not aware of that?” He quipped, side eyeing you. “I know I have hands. And I know how to use ‘em.”
His gaze subtly raked over you and your position casually against the seat. You didn’t shy away from his gaze for a long moment, but you were eventually distracted by the methodical tap tap tap of his gloved fingers against the console.
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” you said in an indistinguishable tone.
Chuuya caught the flick of your eyes to his hand, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew you’d noticed, and he was enjoying the subtle banter between you. He sat back, arms crossing over his chest.
“You sound almost jealous,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. He was openly teasing you now, enjoying the rare moment of playful truce.
“Well-” you started, now peering out the window. “I am jealous in this specific, frustrated context.”
Chuuya let out a low chuckle, his smirk widened at your response. He swiveled in his seat a bit, angling himself more towards you. “Oh, I see.” he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’re frustrated.”
A car drove past slowly on the street, its headlights sweeping through the cabin. For a split second, the light caught Chuuya’s face, illuminating the cerulean burn of his eyes. He wasn’t looking at the target across the street. He was looking at you, and the playfulness had drained out of his expression.
He paused, studying you closely, a glint in his eye. Then, softer, “Need some help with that?” There was a suggestive undertone in his words, but he played it off like he was just teasing you again.
You didn’t move for a long moment, but eventually turned your head very slowly to meet his gaze. You thought he would have a teasing glint in his eye, but he didn’t. There was a somewhat serious expression on your own face too, by your own surprise.
Chuuya’s smirk faded into something serious as well, his gaze locking with yours. The tapping of his fingers against the console stopped. The air in the car felt suddenly more intense, like the banter had turned into something else entirely.
He held your gaze, studying your expression, trying to read your thoughts. He wasn’t teasing anymore. There was something in his eyes - a mix of curiosity, intrigue, and something darker. Something he rarely let anyone see. “I was only partially joking,” he murmured. “If you really are… frustrated.”
Your stare hardened with a rare sense of vulnerability and seriousness. “We’re on a mission.” you took the liberty to weakly remind him, notably not rejecting him.
“We’re on a stakeout,” he corrected, his words low and quiet. “And we've got hours to kill.” He glanced out the windshield for a moment, then back to you.
You felt a lump swallow in your throat and that familiar warmth on your cheeks. “You’re serious?” you asked. “You’re not just messing with me, right?”
He held your gaze with his subtle, self-assured confidence. He could see the flush on your cheeks and hear the hint of hesitation in your voice. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice dropping a touch.
Chuuya reached out, his gloved hand hovering just above your knee, but not quite touching.
A familiar rush went through your spine as his hand came near. You sat up more, fixing your position for whatever came next. “This is already, like, the most flattering thing to happen to me.” you whispered in a raspy, excited tone.
Chuuya’s breath hitched at the tone of your voice. It was doing something to him. His body shifted closer, his hand closing the distance and gently settling on your knee. The leather provided a thrilling, cool touch. His thumb traced small, idle circles.
“Is it now?” he purred, his gaze meeting yours once more. His hand on your knee slid slowly up your thigh. The touch was light, teasing.
Your eyes closed in a moment of anticipation as his hand pressed harder into the plush of your thigh. “Yeah,” You affirmed. “My rich, handsome boss fingering me in his luxury car.” you deadpanned as you attempted not to squirm in your seat already.
Chuuya’s gaze darkened at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Is that right?” He wouldn’t let you get away with teasing him so outright. He withdrew his hand, slowly peeling his glove from his hand, making you bear witness to the process.
His bare fingers returned to your thigh, giving you a warm sensation against your leg. Chuuya couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at the corner of his lips. “You really like the thrill, don’t you?” he teased, his fingers tracing along the fabric near your core.
You closed your eyes with a relaxing sigh, fighting, and failing, not to press your legs together to find more friction.
His warm breath was against your ear as he leaned across the console. “Anyone could walk by and see us,” he teased. “The windows are just tinted enough to give us plausible deniability.”
You peered past the windshield for a moment, as if brought back to reality for a moment. Your face turned in towards Chuuya, your faces just inches apart. With shallow breath, you stared back up at him. “I joined the Mafia for a reason,” you reminded him. “I like thrill.”
Chuuya gave a gentle chuckle at your words. His hand still traced over the cloth of your pants, his fingertips teasingly close to your warmth. “You’re a regular adrenaline junky, aren’t you?” he said with soft mockery. “But I think I’ve got you pretty well-hooked on something even better than adrenaline right now.”
When you bit your lip to stifle something, Chuuya tapped his finger against the button of your pants. “Off.” he simply commanded.
Your fingers worked quickly, unlatching the button and pulling the pants over your hips and down to your knees. When you sat down, Chuuya’s hand, now against the bare skin of your thigh, pressed down to keep you in place.
You felt your breath catch as you stared up into his eyes, his auburn locks falling over his shoulders and onto you. For a moment, there was silence in the heavy air between both of you, like he was searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, it was then Chuuya’s finger pressed over your panties to your core.
Like a jolt of electricity, you let out a little rasping sound. Your hips struggled to stay planted. With a breath, you stuttered out some words. “God- is it gonna be alright if I make noise?”
Chuuya stilled at your question, his fingers slowly tracking up the side of the underwear fabric. He studied your face - the way you bit your lip, the tension in your shoulders like you were bracing yourself.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Just don’t make it obvious.” He glanced towards the bar’s entrance, vaguely recalling why we were here.
You gave a weak, eager nod. “I’ll try.” you spoke in a hushed voice.
His smirk grew at your nod. He couldn’t quite believe the usually composed and serious you was this flustered before him.
“Good girl.”
The words were a mere breath, almost lost in the silence of the car, but it had the desired effect. He watched as your breath hitched just slightly, as your thighs clenched beneath his touch.
With a renewed sense of encouragement, his hand slowly slid under the fabric, finding your heat. Chuuya let out a quiet hiss, feeling the warmth radiating from you. It was nearly his undoing; he never thought you’d be so eager for him of all people.
His gaze was intense as looked between his hand and your expression. “Already this worked up just from a few words and a light touch. Have you been thinking about this?”
You shivered, feeling his single finger dip into you without resistance. A little choked sound came from your throat. “I can’t say that I’ve never imagined it.”
Chuuya nearly groaned at the sound you made. His finger pressed a little more firmly, tracing the shape of you, teasing but not giving you much relief. He was starting to enjoy himself. “And here I thought you hated me,” he said with a low tone, the smirk on his face only growing wider. “Now I find out you’ve been having thoughts about me this whole time.”
His finger slowly began to move, but his touch was still maddeningly light. “Tell me…” he whispered, low and heated. “Did you ever imagine it like this? In my car, parked outside a bar. In the middle of a stakeout… with just the tinted windows between us and anyone passing by?”
You released a heavy breath, nearly a moan at his featherlight touch. “No. No, not like this.”
He hummed, his finger now tracing deliberate, slow circles. Chuuya was taking his time, enjoying the way you squirmed a bit at his touch. But his eyes never wavered from your face, studying every change in expression, every hitch in your breath. He was taking in every detail of this moment with an intensity that made you blush red.
“Oh?” he murmured with a teasing rumble. “Then how did you imagine it? Where?” He leaned closer, his finger pressing just a bit harder. “In the office? On my desk? Against a wall? In the elevator?”
A moan choked you as your hips rolled forward. Bracing yourself, your hand wrapped around Chuuya’s forearm, but not pulling or pushing away. “God- Chuuya.,” you rasped. “You’re gonna turn me on too much if you keep talking like that.”
He relished the way you said his name, all breathless and needy, and the way you clutched his arm. “That’s the idea,” he murmured. “I want you all worked up and desperate. All for me.”
Your body arched off the seat with a shaking moan, pressing your hips into his hand.
Chuuya’s eyes lit up at your reaction. He liked seeing you like this, all worked up and needy. He slipped another digit in and pressed harder and quicker, giving you a taste of what he could really do.
“Shh,” he warned, a low purr. “Can’t be too loud, darlin’. Can’t have the whole bar overhear you moaning for me.”
A large moan threatened to break away from your chest. You leaned towards the console and pressed your face into Chuuya’s shoulder to muffle the desperate sound. One hand still held on weakly to his forearm, the other finding his other bicep to pull yourself closer.
He nearly moaned himself as you muffled your cries against his body. The way you clutched at him, trying to keep yourself together, it was almost cute. But he was determined to push you further, to see just how much you could take.
His fingers curled, faster, harder. He was enjoying himself and enjoying you enjoying him - almost a little too much. “Good girl,” he cooed in your ear. “You’re taking it so well. You like this, don’t you?”
Your thigh twitched in pleasure. From where your head rested into his shoulder, your eyebrows were drawn tight as you fought your ragged moans. “Yes. I do.” you nearly sobbed. “I do, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s breath hitched at the way you whined his name. His fingers stilled for a second as he glanced down at your trembling frame. “Hm. You really like it?” he asked again. The action was teasing but the words were wholehearted.
Your eyes flicked up to him with annoyance at the interruption. Your hand on his forearm took a hold of his wrist instead. You pressed his hand into your core as you ground up into his fingers. “You feel that?” you mused ironically with a desperate tone. “I really like it.” The wet, slick sound of his fingers moving against you seemed deafening in the silence of the car, filling the space between your heavy breaths.
Chuuya gulped as he watched you grind into his hand. “Yeah… I feel it.” His voice was rough. His gaze was measured, as if assessing what he could do next.
For a brief moment, his fingers curled again, but just missing that spot that felt so good. Then he missed once, twice more, before stopping altogether.
Halfway through a sobbing moan, it was stifled with an annoyed huff as you pulled away to meet his gaze again.
Before you could protest, Chuuya made his demands clear. “Beg for it.”
You bit your lip, somewhere between a feeling of betrayal and complete desperation. Your thighs pressed as you winced the words out. “Please.”
Chuuya chuckled, a quiet rumble in his chest. He enjoyed this, watching you squirm and whine for more. His finger twitched against your walls as if to keep the sensation in the forefront of your mind. “Say, ‘Please, Chuuya.” he corrected you.
You couldn’t help yourself. “Please, Chuuya.” you whined instantly. “Please.”
Chuuya wasn’t a cruel man. Now satisfied with your plea, his fingers pressed into you with a revived pace. A heavy sigh fell from him as he felt you clench on to him. You quivered a moan, a loud one, into his shoulder.
You felt a familiar knot brewing in your core as everything else began to fade away. Your eyes were closed as your body shook in his hold.
“Tell me what you want, darlin’.” he drawled low in your ear as his fingers curled just right.
“Chuuya…” you rasped. “Please, let me come.”
Upon hearing those words, he felt his self-control break down further. “Is that what you want? For me to make you come for me? Right here?” His voice dropped an octave.
You held onto his wrist and ground down harder as your head fell back towards the roof of the car. “Right here. Right here.” you pleaded. Condensation began to gather against your window, blurring the neon lights outside into meaningless shapes, hiding you away from the world.
Chuuya’s breath caught at the desperation in your voice. “Alright.” he murmured, fingers pressing deeper than before. “Come for me.”
You felt the coil snap as you let out a ragged moan. In a move of desperation, your arm pulled Chuuya closer as you buried yourself into his shoulder. When you came, your hand was fisted around his wrist as you rode out the waves of pleasure on his hand.
“...Fuck.” Chuuya muttered under his breath. He was transfixed as you reached your climax. The intensity of it nearly took his breath away. When you reached for him, he couldn’t help but feel the way his heart skipped a beat. He leaned closer, pressing his body into your side in some sort of comforting motion.
“Shh…” he whispered as free hand pulled you into his chest. “Just breathe.”
After a minute of heavy breaths, you eventually laid back into the seat with a thud. The flushed feeling from your cheeks seemed to overtake your entire body.
Chuuya peered down at your expression, slowly extracting his hand. “Feel better?”
“...Yeah.” you rasped.
He let out a hum in acknowledgement. In an almost mindless motion, he inserted his wet fingers into his mouth and cleaned the essence off with a single draw.
You couldn’t help but watch. Your eyes narrowed with a scoff. “You’re a nasty man.” But the words had no bite.
With a smug smirk, he turned to you with a pointed stare. “You’re one to talk.” he drawled. “You’re the one grinding yourself against my hand.”
With a huff, you glanced out the window and quickly adjusted your clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric. You felt exposed, your skin still humming with the ghost of his touch, while he sat there looking infuriatingly composed.
Chuuya pulled on his glove again, pressing the leather between his fingers to keep his hands busy now that they weren’t on you. The sound of the leather stretching over his fingers filled the silence.
“Fix your hair,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual, staring straight out the windshield again. “Target just pulled up. We’re making contact.”
You froze, looking across the street. Sure enough, a black van was parking in front of the bar. The mission was back on.
You quickly raked your fingers through your messy hair, your heart still pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs - half from the adrenaline of the job and half from the man sitting next to you.
“Ready?” he asked, sparing you one last, dark glance.
“Ready.”
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My name is Aielin and I am an environmental engineering student. Writing is a hobby of mine! I will primarily be writing for Bungo Stray Dogs, which I have been following pretty closely since 2020. If you have any suggestions, feedback, or just want to chat - feel free to send me a message!
desc. You weren't planning on spending New Year's on the fire escape alone. cw. cigarettes, comfort, dread. wc. 1.4k
It happens every year: the holiday festivities, the drinks, the smiles, the late nights in the company of friends, the so-called holiday spirit in the air. Yet somehow without fail, you find your own mood growing grim by the day. Perhaps it had something to do with the short days, or the way snow felt like sorrow on the pavement, or something with the way that everyone seemingly had something to smile about.
Tired of the festivities, refuge was sought and found on the Agency’s fourth floor fire escape. It was a little world in its own, overlooking the city street below and sheltered just enough. You’d pray you could take a few minutes from the New Year’s party going on inside to just think in silence. Besides, it's not like you wanted to bother anyone with your sour mood.
The jacket thrown haphazardly on your shoulders made a good companion at least. One that couldn’t offer you a pitiful smile or overly kind suggestion. It provided a much more practical purpose - to shelter you from the winter winds.
Midnight only crawled closer. Closer to another New Year. It was a typical feeling of adulthood you’d heard. That subtle weariness that seeped into your bones year after year. The worry and concern that you weren’t enough and weren’t doing enough. Only here in the reprieve of the night sky was solace found.
Well, there was another reprieve to be had. It was automatic as your hand reached into your jacket pocket and fished out a familiar pack of cigarettes. For a full moment, it was just you and the pack as you stared back at each other. Comfort outweighed risk as you extracted a single in the belief it could help you stomach your own emotions.
The flick of the lighter provided a satisfying wave of warmth as the single singed with tiny embers. The coil kissed your lips and your eyes closed in anticipation. All you needed to do was breathe in-
But there was a distinctive rustling sound of fabric in the windowsill. Like a guilty animal, your eyes widened and snapped towards the sound to be greeted by your familiar lanky coworker.
“Ah- you know you really shouldn’t.” Dazai leaned over the windowsill, his exaggerated, or aggravating, smile coming into your sights. “You know those are bad for you.” His voice was too warm to be scolding.
He stepped through the window, similar to how you had just a little earlier. For a minute, he stared down at you with a challenging stare, a single eyebrow cocked, as if to beckon you to even try and take a drag. Once he realized you wouldn’t, he reached down and snatched the cigarette from your hand, fingers brushing. There was a small glimmer of mischievous satisfaction as he brought the cigarette between two fingers and then to his mouth. Dazai inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as the smoke filled his lungs.
You watched without anything as loud as a word for a minute. As his face turned away to let out the smoke, it was hard to ignore the subtle flex of his neck under his bandages or the way his eyelashes slowly opened. Yet, you kept your expression neutral. “I’m not entirely sure I should be taking life advice from you.” You offered in jest.
Dazai’s gaze was focused on some distant point, clearly not willing to acknowledge what you’d just said. Instead, he rested his hands on the railing and leaned back effortlessly. “Something’s got you down.” His head lulled towards you as eyes met. Always omniscient.
Your shoulders shrugged, an almost awkward motion, as you crumbled under the pressuring gaze of the senior detective. “Just tired of all the socializing.”
Dazai’s gaze was unrelenting and not satisfied by your answer. His lounging posture before grew increasingly upsetting. He’d let the silence sit between you until you told him what he wanted from you: the truth.
Unwilling to back down, your eyes stared back for a few moments before deciding to concede.
“New Year celebrations are dreadful. ” You confided. “I just don’t think they’re for me.”
Dazai’s heavy gaze seemed more satisfied as he turned and took another drag before dropping the cigarette on the metal flooring and smothering it with his shoe. “That may be so.” He offered in that quiet voice. “Why don’t you think they’re for you?”
With that, your head drifted away and your throat cleared. Your words were more of a heavy sigh. “Something related to that existential dread you’re always talking about."
Dazai let out a little scoff, but it was a sound closer to a laugh. “Yeah?” He murmured, taking a step closer and coming to my side along the wall. His head tilted at you, that mischievous glint studying your features.
You met his gaze when he came close. Dazai wasn’t one to offer advice or comfort, but something about his presence somehow felt like you could breathe easier. His gaze made your blood run just a little warmer. “Yeah.”
Dazai watched you and your watchful gaze back at him for a few moments. “I get it.” He suddenly let up before looking back out to the skyline as if debating something. He turned back to you then. “I know something that might cheer you up.” His tone was lighter, performatively playful. “New Year’s themed and everything.”
You couldn’t help but dramatically tilt your head back, challenging him. “What’s that?”
Almost imperceptibly, Dazai shuffled just a little closer. His head was now more so peering down at you. “A New Year’s kiss. Just you and me.” A warm, conspiratorial whisper in your ear.
The blood pumped under your cheeks and gave way to that rose on the apple of your cheeks. You tried to keep still, but everything from the quiver of your gaze, twitch in your lips, and fidget of your fingers told Dazai everything he needed to know. He pushed. “What do you think?”
“What do I think?”
“Uh-huh.” Dazai hummed in a betraying low tone. "What do you think?”
“I think…” Your gaze was now focused on anything that wasn’t Dazai for a solid moment as the blood pumped in your ears. “I think it could be worth a try.” You rasped, composed just enough to not seem too eager.
The moment lingered as Dazai searched your expression, really searched your expression. He then huffed a smile and leaned a little closer as long fingers pressed under your jawline, prompting you closer. Your nose nearly brushing his in the process. “Alright. Let’s try.” He murmured just outside your lips in a self-satisfactory smug tone.
Ever frustrating, Dazai would not meet your lips first. Rather, he forced you to rise on your toes and shrink the distance. When you did so, his hand balanced your waist courteously, with the intention of bringing you just a bit closer. Your lips were on his - taking him in through all his warm and smoky glory. There was a gentle press and movement you had not known Dazai was capable of, but it was intoxicating nevertheless.
He pulled away, lidded eyes searching your flushed expression before standing upright and with his immovable composure. His gentle touch abandoned your side. For a moment, you wondered if the kiss had ever even happened. You blinked once, twice as you processed it.
Before you could speak up, he did it for you. “See. Not so bad.” He chimed pleased. “Better use of breath than some cigarettes.”
As soon as the moment began, it was over. He began to turn toward the window, but stopped, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The mischief in his eyes softened into something unreadable, something that looked almost like understanding.
"Don't stay out here too long," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant city traffic. "Being all sulky in the cold doesn’t suit you."
He didn't wait for a response. He slipped back through the window with the grace of a shadow, leaving you alone with the glowing skyline. The existential dread hadn't vanished, not entirely, but as you looked down at the crushed cigarette on the metal grating, the night felt a little less heavy.
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