Summary: Chuuya stumbles home piss-drunk in the dead of night. Safe to say, you were both in for a really long night.
A/N: Sorry for having to make this two parts, it exceeded Tumblr's character limit per post so I had to split it :/
MASTERLIST
The clock struck 2:13 AM.
You heard it before you saw him—heavy boots dragging down the hallway, a muttered curse under his breath, and the unmistakable jingle of keys fumbling at the door. You paused the movie quietly playing on your laptop and sighed, closing it with a soft click before slipping out of bed. The door creaked open just as you stepped into the kitchen. You reached into the cabinet for the painkillers. You were already bracing yourself for whatever version of him tonight had dragged home.
“Chuuya?” you called gently, rounding the corner into the hallway.
No answer—just the dull thunk of his coat hitting the floor and the slow, off-beat rhythm of boots scuffing against hardwood. A second later came a muted thud and a mumbled curse.
“Who the hell… put the damn wall there?”
You met him halfway down the hall.
He looked like a mess, honestly—copper hair tousled from the wind and too many frustrated fingers run through it, his hat dangling limply from one hand. His tie was hanging half-undone and hopelessly crooked. He smelled like expensive whiskey, smoke, and a little too much pride.
“Hey, doll,” Chuuya slurred with a crooked grin, blinking up at you like he wasn’t entirely sure you were real. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, cheeks flushed with more than the cold. “Miss me?”
You caught him just in time before he face-planted into the hallway rug.
“Careful,” you huffed, looping an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “You almost kissed the carpet.”
“I didn’t even see the carpet,” he mumbled into your shoulder, clinging to you like gravity itself had a personal vendetta against him.
“I’m fine,” he added, swaying like a ship in a storm. “Just got… y’know… gravity issues. S’not my fault the floor’s crooked.”
“The floor isn’t crooked, Chuuya. You are.”
“That’s rude,” he said with mock offense, attempting to point at you—but it was more of a gentle wobble in your general direction. “Y’can’t insult your handsome boyfriend. S’bad manners.”
“No, sweetheart. That’s physics.”
“Ohhh,” he drawled, like you’d just unlocked the mysteries of the universe. “That’s what that is. Gravity. She’s a bitch.”
He shook loose from your grip with more confidence than coordination—and promptly stumbled forward with a half-spin that sent him staggering into the kitchen.
“Chuuya—!”
Too late. He tripped over the rug at the threshold and staggered with both arms flailing like a marionette mid-seizure before finally catching himself—by slapping both palms dramatically onto the nearest countertop.
Which just so happened to be occupied by your toaster.
There was a beat of silence before he looked up.
Then, with all the solemn gravity of a man who believed he was making deep, meaningful eye contact, Chuuya leaned in and said, “Hey there, gorgeous. You heating things up for anyone else tonight… or just me?”
You stared, wide-eyed, as he blinked slowly at the stainless-steel appliance like it had personally proposed.
“...Did you just hit on the toaster?”
“I tripped,” he muttered, as if that explained everything. Then, with no shame whatsoever, he whispered to the toaster, “You’re hot. S’a compliment. Don’t tell my girlfriend.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose but couldn’t keep the smile off your face. “Oh my god.”
He looked affronted. “Don’t be jealous. She’s just... shiny.”
You guided him toward the bed, half-carrying, half-dragging as he mumbled nonsense between steps.
“You always smell nice,” he murmured, nuzzling into your shoulder as he went. “Like soap… and hope. And… maybe cookies? Did you make cookies?”
“I lit a candle.”
“Oh.”
He paused for a beat. “Still think it was cookies.”
He stumbled again and looked down at his boots with suspicion. “My boots hate me. Jealous, probably. Of my ankles. ‘Cause they’re perfect.”
You snorted, fighting a smile as you lowered him onto the bed and tugged his hat from his hand. His hair stuck to his forehead in wild waves. His tie looked like it had given up halfway through the night.
He groaned and leaned his head back, eyes fluttering shut before squinting back at you through heavy lids. “Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?” he asked, slurred and slow as you knelt to unlace his boots.
“Taking care of you,” you said simply.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest,” he murmured, his hand brushing your hair with a trembling touch. Somehow, he seemed slightly more sober. “Y’don’t have to do all this. But I’m glad you do. You’re soft...”
You didn’t even have time to comment before he muttered, “I think I kissed a jukebox.”
You looked up. “You what?”
“Wait. No. Might’ve been a vending machine.” He frowned, struggling to recall. “Shiny. Judgmental. Gave me a look.”
Nop. Still drunk.
You sighed, tugging off his boots. “You went too far tonight, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away—just looked at you with those whiskey-glazed eyes, full of something distant and heavy.
“They wouldn’t shut up,” he muttered finally. “About Dazai. About the past. So I reminded ’em.”
“By drinking them under the table?”
“And throwin’ one of ‘em through it,” he added proudly.
You exhaled sharply—equal parts exasperated and utterly endeared before taking a seat next to him. “Chuuya.”
“What?” he asked, suddenly innocently offended. “You’re not mad, right? You can’t be mad, I brought you something.”
You blinked. “You did?”
He patted down his coat with exaggerated concentration, fumbling through pockets before triumphantly producing… a bottle cap. He held it up like it was treasure.
“Ta-daaa~.”
You stared. “Wow. Just what I always wanted.”
“I knew you’d love it,” he said, beaming, then leaned heavily against your side. “You’re so warm. Like a bed. Or a… really fancy scarf.”
You shook your head, lips twitching. “You’re drunk.”
“You’re beautiful,” he replied without missing a beat, as if that settled the entire conversation.
You groaned and handed him the metal water bottle you had been drinking from when he’d stumbled in. “You’re going to have a headache the size of Yokohama tomorrow.”
“Already feel it coming,” he muttered, his words slurring just slightly as he tipped the water bottle to his lips, eyes fluttering closed like they were too heavy to keep open. His hand trembled slightly as he fumbled the bottle, taking a swig more out of instinct than coordination. It was a struggle for him, but he was determined to finish it, even if it meant half spilling it down the front of his shirt.
You watched him for a moment, your heart softening as he sank into the matress, his head tipping back against the headboard with a groan. You knew that sinking feeling all too well—the hangover was already knocking at his door, and he wasn’t in any condition to deal with it just yet.
You reached over and pressed two painkillers into his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers as they closed around them with far less precision than he usually had. “Here,” you said gently, helping him tilt his head back so he could swallow them. His eyes were still closed, his face slack with exhaustion, but he managed a weak smile as he leaned into your touch.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow beneath his cheek.
You hummed softly in acknowledgment, your fingers brushing the damp strands of his hair away from his forehead as you leaned in close to him. “You’re a mess,” you teased, but it was with affection, as you worked on pulling his shirt from where it had bunched up over his stomach.
The fabric was wrinkled, and the collar had been twisted all wrong. It took far more effort than it should’ve—his body limp, not quite cooperating with your hands as you struggled to remove his shirt without jostling him around too much.
He let out a half-sigh, half-groan, and managed to lift his arms slightly, giving you just enough room to peel the shirt off over his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, his voice still thick with drunkenness, and you couldn't help but smile at the familiar, lazy flirtation that was now tinged with exhaustion.
“Lucky, huh?” you muttered, finally managing to get the shirt off and tossing it to the floor in a heap.
You moved on to his tie next, giving it a gentle tug, and he made a soft, almost imperceptible sound of protest before he weakly helped you undo it. His fingers were stiff, but you guided his hands with patience, untangling the knot with ease. He let out another small groan when you finished, his head lolling to the side as he slurred, “I swear, if I wasn't so dizzy, I’d be making it way easier on you.”
“Oh, I know,” you teased back. His eyes barely opened, a sleepy, half-lidded gaze still fixated on you as you worked. It was almost sweet, the way he let you take care of him despite all his usual stubbornness. “But we both know you’re not in any condition to be helpful right now.”
He huffed, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Fine. I’ll just lay here and let you be the responsible one. I trust you with my life.”
You smiled softly as you finished peeling away the last of his rumpled work clothes, throwing them in a heap on the floor and trading his wrinkled shirt and slacks for the familiar comfort of his pajama bottoms. The task was a little more difficult than it should’ve been, but you managed to get him settled, his clothes discarded in a haphazard pile on the floor. You tucked the blankets around him, pulling them up to his chin, ensuring he was warm and comfortable before sitting down beside him on the bed.
His hand, which had been slack at his side just moments ago, reached for yours, fingers curling around yours loosely in a gesture that felt almost childlike in its simplicity. His grip was weak but steady, and you could feel the warmth of his hand as he settled into the bed, his eyes barely open but focused on you as if trying to stay present.
“Get some sleep, hun,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t respond immediately—his chest rising and falling steadily as he drifted off. But just before he succumbed to the pull of sleep entirely, he murmured, “I love you.”
You pressed a soft kiss to his hand, holding it a little tighter. “I love you too, you idiot. Get some rest.”
And with that, he was out like a light, his breath soft and even, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a steady rhythm in the quiet room.
Can I request hc of Dazai and Ranpo with an s/o who is pretty intelligent but tends to undermine her own skills due to being constantly brushed off by nearly every authority figure in her life? She loves science and criminology but usually keeps it a secret since too many ppl fussed over it. Thank you🥺
➽─{awww my soft squishy heart ~ no one deserves to feel incapable like that}─❥
dazai osamu
• it all starts when dazai leaves new ada files wide open in the kitchen.
• “hey, that’s confidential!” he shouts playfully when he walks in on you skimming through them
• “but i wanna know more about your job,” you say back, a half-truth at best.
• (he actually couldn’t care less about the client’s privacy, and does nothing to stop you)
• “you figure anything out?” he asks after a while of observing you over a cup of coffee
• “not really, i’m purely curious,” you say, even though you’ve spotted many similarities between this case and another one you’ve been following for months.
• “darling, look up. look at me.” your head shoots up as he asks: “why are you lying to me?”
• your heart drops. it takes a long time, but he manages to draw an answer out of you––an answer he clearly doesn’t like.
• “you’re kidding, right? you understand that i have impeccable taste in women, right?! of course you have a good head on your shoulders!” he cries, flirtatious as ever
• he asks about your findings with genuine enthusiasm and interest, nodding with bright eyes as you explain your theories
• at first you’re unsure of yourself, but his constant affirmations eventually lead you to focus on your passion rather than your fears. you pick up the pace, eager to finally share with someone who values your thoughts.
• when he comes home from work, he confirms that your ideas have opened up promising new leads. “though it hardly comes as a surprise,” he adds.
• dazai wants to keep you out of harm’s way, so he quickly banishes the thought of letting the armed detective agency employ you
• dazai can’t lose another loved one; not when he’s just recovering, not when he’s still in yokohama. but he’ll help you switch your career/pathway if you’d like, scouring job listings for you.
• (perhaps you’d like to become a private investigator at a more low-profile firm? or maybe use your background in science to work forensics for the police?)
• will joke about bringing you to work though, another tool in his arsenal of flattery
• “do me a favor and just do my job for me from now on? pretty pleeeeease??”
edogawa ranpo
• he noticed your potential to become a detective (or a scientist or anything you really wanna be tbh) from day one.
• though he usually keeps hush about his impressions of others (like dazai being ex-mafia), for some reason he can’t keep this one to himself.
• it’s in the way you flip through a newspaper, the way you take in your surroundings, the way you have some quiet background knowledge on every case he brags to you about, etc.
• (ha, you thought you could keep secrets from ranpo?? you may as well be screaming at him that you love criminology)
• it’s obvious you downplay yourself, and that doesn’t sit well with someone whose ego is so inflated.
• randomly, one night in bed: “you’re pretty observant, aren’t you?”
• you startle, nearly falling off the mattress because you thought he was already asleep.
• “compared to you? not at all,” you reply without so much as a second thought
• “that’s not my point,” he shoots back. “but if we’re talking comparisons, you must be on par with some of my coworkers. i’m sure of it.”
• the only time ranpo says things he doesn’t mean is when he’s being testy and childish, so you take his words at face value…
• …but that doesn’t make it any easier to absorb. you turn his words over in your head before asking how he came to that conclusion. “how do you figure?”
• “going through my process like a good old-fashioned detective? not interested,” he says, pulling the covers over his head. “bedtime!”
• “explain yourself!!” you cry, but to no avail. feel free to try again in the morning, but he literally wakes up on a mission;
• the next day, ranpo sets out to harass fukuzawa. the one-sided discussion ends quickly.
• whatever ranpo wants from the ada, he gets from the ada. in this case, it’s a job for you. not as a secretary, but as a full-fledged detective. don’t have an ability? doesn’t matter, you’re a permanent addition now.
• though you may never outshine ranpo, he will always rely on you to get to and from the office 😅😅
Summary: Chuuya stumbles home piss-drunk in the dead of night. Safe to say, you were both in for a really long night.
A/N: Sorry for having to make this two parts, it exceeded Tumblr's character limit per post so I had to split it :/
TW: Mentions of puking and hangovers.
MASTERLIST
You woke to the sound of retching.
The kind that echoed sharply against bathroom tile—all hollow force and regret. You blinked against the pale light creeping in through the blinds and instinctively reached for the other side of the bed. Empty. Cold.
Another gag. A muffled curse.
You were on your feet before your toes even registered the chill of the floor on your bare feet.
The bathroom door was half-shut, dull light spilling into the hallway. You pushed it open slowly and found him hunched over the toilet, shirtless, knees pressed to the cold tile, one trembling hand braced against the wall. He hadn’t noticed you yet—too focused on breathing between waves of nausea.
You knelt beside him, gathering his damp hair away from his face before tying it back in a loose bun. His skin was clammy. The sharp tang of bile and stale whiskey clung to the air.
“Hey,” you murmured. “You’re alright. Just let it pass.”
He groaned, eyes fluttering open just enough to glance at you—bloodshot and heavy with shame.
“I’m fine,” he rasped.
You rolled your eyes, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “If you were fine, I wouldn’t be finding you on the bathroom floor at 7 AM.”
He let out a sound caught between a cough and a miserable laugh, resting his forehead on his arm. “You didn’t have to get up.”
“You think I’m gonna let you die of alcohol poisoning alone in the bathroom?” Your tone was light, but your fingers were gentle as they traced slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Another groan. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. “I don’t even remember coming home.”
“You hit on the toaster and gave me a bottle cap like it was a wedding ring.”
A weak laugh escaped him, barely more than an exhale. “Romantic. Bet I was real smooth.”
“Like sandpaper,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours. “But at least you remembered where home was.”
You reached for the washcloth draped over the sink, soaked it in cold water, and pressed it to the back of his neck. He shuddered, then slumped against you with a defeated sigh.
For a while, the only sounds were his ragged breaths and the drip of the faucet. You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and steady, anchoring him.
Then, quietly, he spoke again
“I hate this part,” he mumbled. “Waking up and knowing you had to deal with me like that.”
You didn’t answer right away. Just reached for the mouthwash in the cabinet and handed it to him once he’d leaned back.
He took it with a shaky grip, swished, spat, then let his head thud against the toilet. He gave a breathy, miserable laugh and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. For always putting this bullshit on you.”
“You didn’t put anything on me,” you said, watching as he swished another shot of the mouthwash and spat. “I’d rather have you home and hungover than not at all.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed.
You stayed by his side as the silence settled again, your fingers never leaving his hair. It was the kind of quiet that carried weight—not tension, but something softer. Something full of the unspoken.
You stayed like that for a while, tucked into the quiet hush of the morning, the kind that only existed before the world woke up—before traffic, before sunlight fully reached the floor, before the weight of the day settled in. You didn’t rush him. Just held his hand and let him exist exactly as he was—messy, hungover, but still him.
Eventually, he shifted, just enough to press a kiss to the side of your head. It was barely more than a whisper of warmth, but it was real.
“Thank you,” he murmured against your temple. “For staying. For not hating me when I’m like this.”
You turned your head to meet his tired gaze, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I love you, even when you’re like this,” you said. “And when you’re not.”
He shifted, just enough to rest his head against your shoulder, the curve of his body leaning into yours with quiet trust. His breath was warm against your neck, still unsteady but slowing, like the worst of the storm had passed.
“You know I don’t mean to make it hard,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“I know,” you whispered, your hand finding his and giving it a light squeeze. “You just do, anyway.”
That earned you the tiniest smile.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, tilting his head enough to look at you. His eyes were still red, still tired—but clearer now. “Dinner. A real one. No whiskey. Just one bottle of wine. Flowers, maybe. You deserve flowers.”
You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his. “You don’t have to buy me flowers. Just… come home safe and sober next time. And maybe don’t flirt with the toaster.”
He chuckled—a real one this time, hoarse but genuine. “Deal.”
You helped him up slowly, easing him toward the sink. He rinsed his face while you grabbed a clean towel which he patted gently against his cheeks.
“C’mon,” you said, guiding him out of the bathroom. “Let’s get you back in bed before the hangover decides to fight round two.”
He let you lead him, head bowed, one arm slung around your waist for balance. And when you finally got him settled again—new shirt, water and bucket by the bed, the morning sun stretching golden across the floor—he pulled you in close and tucked his face into your neck.
“Don’t go so far,” he whispered, already half-asleep.
You smiled into his hair, your hand resting over his heart.
okay hello hello this is the first time do smth like this (the requests I mean) so I hope I’m doing this right but I saw the rainy day one shot/headcanon of chuuya and I loved it ugh your writing style is amazing SO can I request then oneshot headcanon thingy with Chuuya with an s/o that absolutely LOVES rainy days and will like drag him out to dance in the rain?
I sure hope I’m doing this right if requests aren’t on feel free to ignore this
Cheating Gravity I Chuuya Nakahara x Reader (Headcanons/Oneshot)
Summary: Chuuya indulges your rain-loving whims.
A/N: Hey, thank you so much for your lovely request! You absolutely did this right, and I’m so glad you enjoyed the rainy day Chuuya one-shot. Please, feel free to send in as many requests as you'd like! Sorry for the wait — I took a bit longer than I hoped to get this written, but your idea of dragging him out to dance in the rain was just too adorable to pass up. I really hope this little headcanon captures that playful, cozy vibe you wanted. I’m slowly getting to all of the requests, but I’ve been really busy lately, so things are moving a bit slower than usual. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy this! 🥰❤️ Also, I had Ma Belle Evangeline playing while wirting this and I found it very fitting for this.
Song: Ma Belle Evangeline - Jim Cummings
MASTERLIST
Headcanons:
At first, he doesn’t quite get it. He’s used to being irritated by the rain—wet clothes, the humidity, the damp feeling that clings to his skin. It’s the opposite of the way he likes things. But the first time you mention how much you love the rain, he finds it a bit… strange. You actually like it?
The first time, he instinctively uses his ability to keep the rain off you both. The droplets curve away, suspended like glass beads in the air before they hit. You don’t even notice at first—just that you’re dry despite standing in a storm. “You’re welcome,” he says with a smug grin. But when you pout at him, arms crossed, saying, “No fair, I wanted to feel the rain,” he just stares at you like you’ve personally insulted his intelligence.
“You want to get drenched…on purpose?” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re so weird.” But even as he says it, the gravity field drops and the rain pours over you both—and when you laugh, tilting your head back to the sky, Chuuya can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Weird or not, you’re beautiful when you’re happy.
Then, one rainy afternoon, you grab his hand and drag him outside to dance. You look so excited, so free, that he can’t help but laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says, but you’re already tugging him into the downpour. Before he knows it, you’ve got him in the middle of the yard, feet slipping on the wet pavement, twirling under the gray sky.
Chuuya’s the type to get all moody and grumpy about the rain, but seeing how much it means to you? He won’t argue. He’ll let you tug him out into the rain, even if he gets soaked to the bone.
He’s a bit reluctant at first, but then— something about the way you’re laughing, your joy echoing in the soft patter of rain against the ground, starts to make him relax. When you spin into his arms and pull him closer, all soaked through, he finally gets it. There’s something peaceful about the rain when you’re with someone who loves it. Maybe it’s the way the world seems to slow down, as if the rain is pulling everything into focus—just you two, and nothing else.
He’s not an expert at dancing. Let’s be honest, Chuuya’s idea of “dancing” is probably limited to some rough moves when the mood strikes him. But when he sees the way you light up, the way you’re completely lost in the rhythm of the rain, he decides he’ll give it a shot.
If you want to slow dance with him in the rain? He’ll hold you close, careful of the chill but not caring about the cold. His arms around your waist, guiding you with the kind of softness he doesn’t often show, because you make him want to be better. Even if he doesn't fully get why you love the rain, he gets why it’s you—and that’s enough for him.
By the time you’re both drenched, he’s still not convinced he loves the rain, but he’s smiling, his arm wrapped around your waist as you both stand there, catching your breath. “You’re insane, but I’ll admit... this is... fun.” He chuckles, his voice a little softer than usual. The rain doesn’t feel so heavy when he’s here with you, and somehow, that makes all the difference.
Chuuya, though reluctant, will definitely join in your playful rain-soaked antics. He’ll pull you close, spin you around and maybe even give you a playful nudge toward the biggest puddle in the street. “Go on, you’re the one who loves this mess,” he’ll tease, but secretly? He loves how happy you are. Even if he pretends not to.
Afterwards, he’ll make sure you’re warm and dry. A cup of your favorite tea in hand, a cozy blanket, and maybe even a little grumbling about how “stupid rain is” when he’s trying to get out of his soaked clothes. But it’s all done with the same warmth in his gaze when he catches you grinning at him from across the room.
Sometimes when you drag him into the rain, he’s tired or sore from a mission and not quite up for dancing on the street. So instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, touches the brim of his hat—and lifts you both gently off the ground.
The first time he does it, you gasp, clinging to him instinctively. “Chuuya! We’re— we’re flying!”
“Nah,” he says, smirking. “We’re just cheating gravity a little.”
He keeps you both hovering just above the rooftops, the skyline soft and glimmering beneath the rain. The city is muted from up here, and the rain feels gentler somehow. The two of you spin lazily in the air, suspended in your own little world as you dance midair, boots thumping softly against nothing.
He uses his gravity control to twirl you effortlessly mid-air, like some kind of magical slow-dance. One second your feet are above his, the next you’re upside down and laughing while he effortlessly rights you with a flick of his fingers and a roll of his eyes.
He starts keeping spare towels by the door. He’ll deny it if you ask, says it’s because he’s “sick of tracking water through the house,” but really? It’s because you always come in dripping and laughing, and he’s secretly started to enjoy being the one to catch you in his arms, wrap you up, and grumble under his breath while drying your hair like it’s a chore (it’s not).
Even if he’ll never admit it, he starts checking the forecast on his days off. And if rain’s coming, he’ll clear the evening. Because deep down, there’s a part of him that’s started to enjoy it, too—not the rain itself, but what it means: you laughing, spinning, soaked through and glowing, dancing in his arms like you belong there. And honestly? That’s worth getting drenched for.
Cheating Gravity (Oneshot):
The moment you heard the first drop, you were already halfway to the door. You didn’t need to check the sky—you didn’t care if it was a full storm or just a soft drizzle. You loved the rain, and that was enough. The world outside called to you like a familiar melody, each raindrop tapping in rhythm to your heartbeat.
Chuuya, as usual, was less than thrilled.
"Are you seriously doing this now?" he asked, glancing up from his seat at the table. He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm. “It’s pouring outside.”
You didn’t even answer him. Instead, you grabbed his hand, giving him a tug that was almost too gentle for his liking, but he followed without protest. You knew he’d give in—he always did, whether he liked it or not.
You pulled him to the door, a grin already playing on your lips as you swung it open to reveal the rainstorm outside. The world seemed to blur with the steady cascade of water from the sky, a curtain of droplets falling in sheets.
“Come on, Chuuya,” you coaxed, stepping out into the downpour with a carefree laugh. “Let’s dance!”
He stared at you for a moment, completely drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to his face. But there you were, twirling in the rain, arms outstretched, your laughter ringing through the storm. There was something about it—your joy, your energy—that made his own chest feel lighter, despite the dark clouds above.
“Are you insane?” he asked, though there was no real anger behind it. He was too used to you pulling him into crazy, impulsive adventures. “You want me to dance in this?”
You didn’t answer him, instead tugging him forward with surprising strength, pressing your palm to his chest. The rain was soaking through his coat, dripping down his face, but none of it mattered as you looked up at him, eyes wide and bright with that familiar spark of mischief.
Chuuya’s mouth twisted into a small smile despite himself. “I’m not going to—”
Before he could finish, you spun him around, pulling him with you into the rhythm of the rain, and just like that, his hesitation melted away. His hand found your waist, holding you close as you both moved together under the storm. It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t perfect, but there was something freeing about it. About the way the rain made everything else disappear. And for a moment, Chuuya forgot about everything else.
He forgot the cold, the irritation, the way the storm pulled at his coat with impatient fingers. He forgot how much he hated getting wet, how much he hated being dragged into your whims. Because right now, looking at you like that—drenched in moonlight and rain and joy—his chest felt lighter. Like something inside him had let go.
The two of you swayed under the storm, shoes splashing in puddles, hair stuck to your faces. The rain drowned out the world, reducing everything else to a distant hush. There was only the sound of your breath, your laughter, the way your bodies moved in tandem like you’d done this a hundred times before in dreams.
Then, without warning, his arms tightened slightly around you—and suddenly, the ground was gone.
You blinked, startled, as your feet lifted gently off the earth. The motion was slow, smooth, like rising into a dream. Raindrops followed but didn’t quite reach you anymore, instead hanging around you in suspended glimmers, like the stars had descended to dance with you. The city lights below blurred into a smear of gold and silver, flickering through the storm clouds.The earth was several feet below, blurred by rain and night, but up here—it was quiet. Peaceful.
You looked at him, wide-eyed. “Chuuya…”
He smirked faintly. “You wanted a dance,” he said softly, voice low and rich as the wind curled around you both. “Might as well do it properly.”
And so you danced in the air, floating above the world, held in his arms as gravity bent and bowed to his will. Your limbs moved as one, your laughter mixing with the hush of falling rain, echoing in a sky that had never known anything like this.
He leaned down, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. “You’re a menace,” he teased, but the large grin on his face betrayed the affection behind the words. He couldn’t help it; there was something utterly intoxicating about the way you loved the world—so purely, so completely.
And when you looked up at him, drenched and glowing, he found himself not caring about the rain anymore. He found himself laughing along with you, his lips curving into a genuine joy. It was infectious, your happiness.
The rain continued to fall, the world outside still dark and misty, but in this small moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, with the storm swirling around them, the world felt right.
You stopped dancing, breathless but still in the air, with that smile still lighting up your face. “See?” you said, leaning into him. “Isn’t it fun?”
Chuuya looked down at you, shaking his head in disbelief, but his heart was warm, full. “You’re crazy,” he muttered, and kissed the top of your head, his arms pulling you in closer.
“You love it,” you replied with a smirk, knowing full well how true it was.
There was no fear, no weight, no past or future—only the warmth of his hands, the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the knowledge that he would never let you fall.
And far beneath the storm, the city kept sleeping, unaware of the two souls moving through the sky like a whispered secret.
Hiiiiii hope your doing well and love your writing.♥️ may I request a OneShot/Headcanons ( or anything of your choice.) of Chuuya with reader who becomes gloomy on rainy days? It’s been raining almost all week and it’s affecting my mood 😭😭😭
Grow Light I Chuuya Nakahara x Reader (Headcanons/Oneshot)
Summary: Chuuya comforts you when you're gloomy on rainy days.
A/N: Hi, love! Thank you so much for the kind words💖 Here's a headcanon/oneshot thingie of Chuuya comforting a gloomy reader during rainy days. Hope you like it! ♡ ～('▽^人)
MASTERLIST
Headcanons:
The first time he caught on, he didn’t say anything—just silently watched you press your forehead to the glass, eyes distant.
After that, he’d subtly rearrange his schedule on rainy days if he could. If not, expect a flood of “you okay, doll?” texts and various calls with subtle concern.
He absolutely shows up with your favorite comfort food, still half-soaked from the rain cause he literally bolted over, “This is the one you liked, right?”
If you have to leave the house for whatever reason he’ll use his ability to keep you both dry on the way.
Chuuya might grumble about the weather himself, but he’d fight the sky if it meant cheering you up.
He starts lighting candles on rainy days — the cozy, warm-smelling kind. Cinnamon, cedar, even that one vanilla one he secretly likes but will never admit to buying.
Will sit with you in the quiet—no pressure to talk. Just an arm slung around your shoulder and his soft hums filling the silence. He’s surprisingly good at just being there.
As soon as he got home he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine and a pair of glasses.
You raised a brow with a small smile. “Is this your solution to everything?”
He gave you a crooked grin. “Only the things that matter.”
Makes you tea if you’re not up for wine, even if he's not good at it. (He had your favorite blend shipped out once, and always keeps it stocked in the pantry.)
Grow Light (Oneshot):
Your apartment was dim despite it being noon, the sky outside a dull gray blanket that pressed against the windows, thick and unmoving. You stared out. Rain streaked down the glass like the sky was slowly melting, dragging the light with it. You hadn’t turned on any lamps. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been sitting there—half-curled up on a kitchen chair, a forgotten mug cooling in your hands, your phone face-down on the table like you were trying to punish it for buzzing too many times. The TV prattled on in the living room but the volume was too low to really make anything out.
You didn’t hate the rain.
It was just… heavy.
There was something about the way it fell that made your chest feel tight. As if the sky itself was weeping. The gray light dulled the colors in your home. The air felt thick. Your limbs, heavier.
Some people found it cozy.
You just felt stuck.
So you sat curled up on a chair next to the dining table in silence, half-wrapped in a blanket, watching the droplets slide down your windowpane like they were racing each other to the bottom. You couldn’t remember how long you'd been sitting there.
You didn’t realize you’d zoned out until a voice cut through the hush.
“Hey.”
You looked up, and there he was. Chuuya. Damp around the edges, a few strands of red hair sticking to his cheek, and a plastic bag clutched in one hand. He kicked the door shut behind him without looking. You hadn’t even heard him open it in the first place.
“Rain’s a pain in the ass,” he said, shaking a bit of water off his hat. “Figured you wouldn’t be feelin’ great.”
“How’d you know?”
He gave a half-smile as he shrugged off his coat, flinging it over the back of a chair without a second thought. “You’re kind of like a houseplant, sweetheart.”
You blinked. “A what?”
“A houseplant,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You need sun. Otherwise, you get droopy.”
You snorted—quiet, but real. He smiled a little more at that, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“Don’t worry, though,” he murmured. “I’ll be your grow light or whatever.”
“That… might be the worst romantic metaphor I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet, you’re smiling.”
You laughed, caught off guard. It wasn’t much—just a soft, single note—but it cracked something open. The tiniest shift in the weight of the day.
You couldn’t argue. And honestly? It helped. He helped.
Chuuya looked pleased with himself, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. He always looked a little smug when he got something right. He placed the plastic bag down, pulled out your favorite snacks one by one, and set them on the table with a kind of casual precision that said he’d done this before. Lastly, he takes out a bottle of that wine you liked and pours two glasses.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like it was more of a suggestion than an order, though you knew it would be hard to say no.
He didn’t wait for you to answer, just set the glasses down on the coffee table. He leaned forward and gently pulled the blanket from the edge of the couch, nodding towards the couch. The soft rustle of the fabric seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room, like it was marking the shift, the moment when the silence would be replaced by something softer, warmer.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he repeated, his tone a little lighter now, teasing as he got closer again. “Couch, blankets, and a movie you’ve seen a hundred times.”
You allowed him to tug gently at your arm, coaxing you to stand, and though your muscles ached from the stillness, you followed without protest. As soon as you moved his hand brushed your lower back, steady and warm. Not much, just enough to remind you he was there, a quiet reassurance you didn’t realize you needed.
He led you to the couch, his hand not leaving your back as he guided you to sit, his touch feeling extra warm in the haze. The storm outside had picked up its pace, the rain now coming down in thick sheets that rattled against the windows. You could feel the dampness in the air, the cold creeping in through the glass. But inside, the space was warm. Familiar. Safe.
Chuuya tossed the blanket over both of you, a little clumsily at first, but soon settling it like it was an old routine. He didn’t fuss; he didn’t need to. He made it clear he wasn’t in any rush. Not today.
“Movie time,” he said, opening a bag of your favorite chips, grabbing one, and handing you the bag. Chuuya had a way of being present that never felt demanding. He didn’t try to fix things or drag you out of your own head. He just sat there. Close, but not suffocating.
He clicked a button on the remote, and the soft flicker of the screen lit up the dim apartment. You didn’t even need to check the title. You knew it by heart. The lines, the characters, the scenes. It was one of those movies you had watched so many times, it had stopped being about the story and became about the comfort it offered. The nostalgia. The sense of returning to something familiar.
Chuuya leaned back, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side without asking. You went easily, resting your head against his chest as he exhaled slow and steady.
The storm outside showed no signs of stopping. The world beyond the windows was still a shade of gray too wide and quiet to name. But here—on the couch, wrapped up beside him, beneath a blanket that smelled like his cologne and the lavender detergent you always pretended not to like—it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
He’d thrown one leg over yours somewhere during the movie, arm still around your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy shapes into your sleeve. You hadn’t noticed when your hand found his, but now it was curled between his fingers like it had always belonged there.
And somewhere between sipping wine and a half-eaten meal, you realized:
You were breathing easier
Chuuya’s lips brushed your forehead in a gentle, fleeting kiss. “Told you I’d be your grow light,” he whispered, his voice soft and teasing, but full of warmth.
And for the first time that day, you felt lighter. Even with the rain still tapping against the windows, you couldn’t help but smile a little, content in your soft little corner of the world that felt just right now now that he was in it.
Ok omg so what about some Headcanons for Dazai with an S/O that has a younger sibling who "hates" him, so their always pranking each other and all that jazz
➽─{yesssss more fodder for dazai to foil ✨✨}─❥
• your sibling’s excuse is that dazai is “stealing” you away from them
• dazai’s excuse is that he’s dazai
• sometimes you come home to a house that’s wayyyyy messier than you left it
• you could swear a tornado went thru everything tbh
• the two always point fingers at each other saying “they started it! >:0”
• last time your sibling had custard pie on their face and in their hair, and dazai was almost completely mummified in toilet paper
• you often tell dazai to “knock it off, they’re just a kid”
• to which he always insists “but they enjoy it too!!!” (and he’s right ofc)
• neither of them ever get physically hurt
• (dazai is very very careful about that)
• (dazai would let your sibling break his knee caps and elbows before ever laying a finger on them)
• (at which point he would be a limp noodle anyway)
• dazai will show up to your sibling’s school unannounced
• your sibling will show up to your dates unannounced
• the whole situation makes for such a clusterfuck of an environment
• dazai’s inventiveness is obviously rubbing off on your sibling and that is never a good thing in any universe
• if your sibling ever meets kunikida they will BOND for sure
• if marriage is in the cards, your sibling collaborates with dazai on one final prank, pretending the rings are missing at the wedding
• your heart nearly stops but at least it’s proof they actually get along
Headcanons for Dazai or Chuuya your choice (Not sure what the character limit is) with a S/O whose ability is something like luck and it shows because there were times were they barely escaped death thank you~
➽─{another familiar face!! gladly; i tried my hardest to do chuuya as well, i really did, but my brain short-circuited}─❥
dazai osamu
• when you visit him at work he loudly proclaims “oh look, it’s my lucky day!!” while everyone else, including you, rolls their eyes
• his favorite thing to call you is “my lucky lady”
• dazai jokingly calls himself your “bad luck charm” because of his nullifying ability
• if it’s normal for you to have good luck, then his removal of that good luck is like giving a normal person bad luck... right?
• he’s actually a little scared to hold your hand in public because of this
• he’s caused plenty of people misfortune in the past, and if you were caught up in a similar fate, he would never forgive himself.
• hell, he himself was regarded as ill-fated by his own best friend (read: ”nothing in this world can fill that lonely hole you have. you will wander in darkness for eternity.” -oda sakunosuke)
• such ruminations lead him to wonder if you’d be better off without him....
• still, he pretends like he hasn’t a care in the world, and just pays extra close attention to your surroundings when you’re out together.
• like suuuuper duper high-alert close attention.
• plus he pulls protective boyfriend stunts like wrapping his arm around you when someone’s been looking for a little too long
• thankfully, the two of you are never attacked in broad daylight or anything
• but uhh, you still have waaaay too many close calls for his comfort ಠ_ಠ
• like that time you were going home alone at night, barely outrunning a criminal twice your size
• or when a car ran through a red light and almost ran through you on the crosswalk, too
• if you thought he was dramatic before, well, you haven’t seen anything yet
• dazai goes ballistic over any story, old or new, where you find yourself in peril
• “this must be the world’s way of telling to me hurry up and convince you to commit a double suicide with me..!”
• when you recall such narrow escapes, he forgets about the whole “bad luck” shtick and just holds you tightly, vowing to never let go
• he traces and kisses your scars and bruises from your brushes with death if you let him 😰😰
• “we’re birds of a feather, huh? if there’s a god up there, he just won’t let the two of us die.”
• most of dazai’s lovers/flings/etc. don’t get to see under his bandages, but for you.. maybe..
