“Baby its cold out”
You had said while walking in the forest, the forest which was covered in a thick layer of snow, like a fluffy white blanket that fell on top of the ground. The smell of the trees..the noise of the small animals…the sight of the snowflakes…the feeling of nature. The only warmth being your partners hand, which was holding on to you like it would never let go. You felt something warm and soft being placed around your shoulders. Looking up you saw them putting their own fluffy jacket on you. You shook your head and started to take it of but they held your hand, tighter than before and smiled, their eyes telling you to keep it on. “Love you will be cold” you said looking at the tip of their nose which was now pink. “Its alright, there is a fire in my heart right now”.
Them holding you close to their chest. Hearing their heart beat, that being the only sound that fills your ears. Imagine them running their hands through your hair and pulling you closer to their them, holding you tight, like it was your last night together. The only thing you can smell is their cologne/perfume, the way the scent matched their personality perfectly. Feeling safe in their arms..knowing that they will keep their promise of being with you till death.
bungou stray dogs | G | 629 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc
chuuya wants to hang out but you’re busy. luckily he’s more flexible than you think.
“like, right now? chuuya, i’m sorry—i’d love to come over, but i’m currently dogsitting for a friend, so i can’t exactly leave…”
“what kind of dog?”
you blink. was that… excitement in your boyfriend’s tone? you were really, really sorry about having turned down his offer to laze around in his penthouse, and there’s really little in the world you can think of that could top that on a day like today, but…
you take a look at the giant ball of fur next to you. “a samoyed puppy?”
“turn on your location,” chuuya mutters, and you hear the sound of jangling keys. “i’ll be there in five.”
how could you have forgotten that your boyfriend is a dog person?
chuuya is nearly in tears after you tell the story of your friend picking up the dirty, sad, fluff ball at the adoption center. he holds onto the dog for dear life, as if it were his own, petting and smoothing its fur as you tell the story.
“he was really small then—i got to see him!—he was so dirty and malnourished we couldn’t even tell what breed he was. that is, until he grew up.”
“what a big boy you are,” chuuya says, and the samoyed puppy jumps around him. “so brave and so strong. you like out here, huh? should we take him out for a walk? maybe give him some treats? i bought some on the way here, so—”
the laugh that comes out of you is uncontrollably free. “oh my god, chuuya!”
your two friends were due to come home in the late afternoon, so the three of you get to spend four hours together lounging in the house. chuuya lets the dog eat all the treats he’s gotten in exchange for multiple tricks, his smile widening with each successful sit, down, roll over, and shake.
“so why’d he need a caretaker today?” chuuya finally asks, once he’s settled down, lying with his head on your lap, one hand in yours and another on the puppy’s fluffy thigh.
“he’s still young, so he gets separation anxiety, which is why my friend needed me to come over,” you explain, petting the dog behind the ear. “they’re working on it, of course, but somehow today he was being more difficult…”
“guess i get that. your friend’s all the dog knows to be safe, yanno?” chuuya muses, closing his eyes. “must be scary in a world where that leaves you.”
“she’ll only be gone a few hours today—”
“still!” chuuya insists. “sometimes all you need is their company.”
you look down between your boyfriend and the puppy and find no difference.
“maybe we should get a dog like that,” chuuya muses while the both of you walk to the parking lot to his car. “a big one, the kind that’ll drive away creeps while you’re walking out in the street.”
you laugh. “a samoyed? i think more creeps would come over trying to steal our dog!”
“ah, s’right. such a friendly dog, too. i think it’ll love laying around at the penthouse, no?”
“haha, i don’t want to get stuck dogsitting all day!” you say, elbowing him lightly. chuuya comes back closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist.
“no you won’t. we’ll drop him off at doggy daycare sometimes, yeah? besides…” he whispers against your ear, “think of it as training for when we have a baby.”
you feel the flush run from your cheekbones all the way down to the tips of your toes. “wh—”
“kidding,” he grins, that carelessly boyish one that makes you fall in love.
chuuya laughs when you pout. it’s not much of a reaction, but, well, you think—
you didn’t say no.
woke up to this today, thank you so much! i didn’t expect to get much (or any, for that matter) so this was pretty cool ✨
thank you so much, and you’ve all been so kind to me. i’m usually pretty busy so i don’t get time to reply to everyone, but know that i read all your tags and comments once a day and they make me beam! and that i love you all. i hope you guys stick around and continue to enjoy what i make!
i’m not really big on events or anything, but please know that my ask box (and inbox!) is ever open for requests / ideas / brainrot and i will gladly listen to every single one of them! 😊 again, thank you for coming along and sharing with me a love for bsd's favorite part-god (in more ways than one) redhead.
Mssg me on discord !
Warning: Yandere, stalking, obsession, poision
Why..why was she with them. No no no no no..their mine..their mine forever and ever. Right? Thats what we agreed too..remember? I watched them from the stairwell laughing a little too much around each other. HA HA HA HA! See, I can laugh too!? So why..why were they giving her compliments but not me?? Its alright.. he will forget she existed soon enough, gladly she left her lunch open for long enough for me too slip a little something in there. Thats what she gets. They are mine and only mine! Nothing can come between us!
N O T H I N G A T A L L .
bungou stray dogs | G | 862 words nakahara chuuya x reader/oc
the insecurity gnaws at you every time you take a glance at your boyfriend. he has some things to say about how he sees you.
a nerve ticks in chuuya’s head.
“you’re not telling me something.”
“what?” you turn to him, whatever upsetting you having been outshined by your annoyance at his persistence. “chuuya, i just don’t want to go. i’m not feeling well.”
as much as chuuya looks ridiculously delicious in his new suit for the port mafia after-party—some big deal having been closed, you’re not sure of the details—there’s a weight sitting in your chest that’s forcing you where you are now: sat in the middle of your walk-in closet, staring at your boyfriend through the mirror.
chuuya crosses his arms over his chest. “ya did a full 360 in the 30 minutes you’ve been in your closet?”
with a snort, you correct him: “it’s 180.”
“it’s bullshit,” chuuya says. “i’m calling bull. do d’ya think i don’t notice?” he asks, taking a step toward you. there’s a tenseness in his voice, prodding at you but without forcing you. “something’s been off, hasn’t it?”
you try not to break, even if it’s the one thing you want to do. “how would you even say that.”
“glad you asked,” he says, raising fingers one by one to count: “you’ve been cutting down on your meals. i’ve been hearing you waking up in the middle of the night more often, recently. i’ve caught you at least twice this past week looking away upset at mirrors. and you’ve been wearing your depression sweatpants.”
that one you’ve never heard of. “my what now?”
“depression sweatpants,” chuuya shrugs. “the gray ones? you only take them out when you’re not feeling well.”
you flush. not even you’ve noticed that.
recognizing your defeat, you sigh. chuuya approaches you, sitting down so you’re back to back with each other.
“will this make it easier?”
“maybe,” you say, leaning against him. chuuya holds you up—like he always does. you take a deep breath to gather your courage, releasing your anxiety in a long exhale.
the worst that can happen is chuuya says you’re right, and that’s not something chuuya would say about this, right?
“recently i’ve just been feeling you deserve someone better than me.”
chuuya scoffs. “what the fuck? there is no better than you, stupid.”
“you at least deserve someone who’ll look as good as you in pictures, you know?”
you finally admit, raising your gaze toward the full-length mirror in front of you. catching all your imperfections—the unevenness of your body, your unremarkable face, the distasteful excess and somehow lack of flesh, your bony limbs, the marks and spots and scars from years lived. you were, at best, a used doll.
but chuuya is beautiful. he’s well-kempt and well-dressed and has the charisma of a gentleman when required of him. he has hair the color of yokohama sunsets and captivating stormy gray eyes. the body of an angel carved out of marble by the most excellent of sculptors.
and you’re so… boring.
chuuya does not sigh, does not show any sign of impatience or irritation. instead, he turns around so he can sit with his chest to your back, his head on your shoulder. watching your reflections in the mirror.
“which is why you’ve holed up here, huh.”
“you’re stupid, baby,” chuuya says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “i wish you could see yourself how i see you.”
chuuya flushes nearly as red as his hair. “fuck, don’t make me say it. it’s embarrassing.”
an unrestrained, small smile comes up to your face. you elbow him. “come on, you can’t just leave me hanging like that.”
“w-well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “th-there’s a smile you make, in certain instances, that just… it floors me every time. sometimes it’s when you’re reading a book and get to a good part… a lot of times it’s when you see a damn stray cat in the street, and you reach over to pet it anyway.” chuuya looks up, embarrassment forgotten over his adoration for you, making eye contact through the mirror. “what you see in the mirror isn’t what i see when you’re at the art museum looking up at the paintings. and it’s not what i see when i’m strapping on your helmet before we go on a night ride.”
you sniffle. “i mean… when you put it that way…”
he nuzzles against your neck, humming. “you’re most beautiful not here in front of the mirror, baby. but when you’re out there in the world… preferably with me.” chuuya kisses your cheek again. “i don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not what shows. it’s not what people notice about you. they see… well, you.”
your heart full with his love for you and the assurance in his words, you lean your head against his and smile. “okay, fine, you win. we can go to the party.”
“yes!” chuuya cheers. you pretend not to know he’s going there only for the wine, for his own sake. “now let’s get you in a dress—or a suit, or whatever, you’ll look hot in everything.”
you roll your eyes. “i’m feeling a suit tonight, actually, do you mind?”
“nuh-uh, never!” he smirks. “get dressed, then let’s show the port mafia who’s the most good-looking couple in their ranks?”
you grin. “yeah!”
TRIGGER WARNING: vomiting ⚠️
Imagine Chuuya throwing up in the toilet bowl because he's drunk and his hair is falling so Dazai put it up for Chuuya so his hair dosen't get vomit on it
Dazai: You look so beautiful when you throw up
Them pulling you into a kiss as soon as the fireworks start in front of you. The noise of the explosions echoing out the squealing voices in your brain. Them holding the back of your head and the other hand wrapped around your waist. Imagine that as soon as the fireworks end you two look at each other in the eyes, smiling hypnotized by each others beauty. Imagine looking into their eyes and feeling sparks light up in your heart.
~ Request what theme/color you would like to see next !
Would you guys read this on wattpad ??
Be honest btw! If you wont just say no, I WILL NOT be offended !
bungou stray dogs | G | 930 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc
chuuya catches someone who ought not to be in the middle of a port mafia party. he whisks you away, not knowing he’s writing himself right into your book.
when you’d first received—well, really, swapped a project for—a ticket to a masquerade in the city, it was because you were expecting something magical to happen. the kind that happens in storybooks, in fairy-tales. but here you are instead, slightly tipsy, your friend having stood you up, alone in a room full of people you don’t know.
why don’t they turn out like in stories?
“mind if i join you out here?” you ask gently, directing the question to the only other person in the balcony—a redheaded gentleman thumbing at his mask, looking out at the view below. you’re careful not to surprise him out of what seems like a deep reverie.
“do whatever you want,” he answers gruffly; but then when he spots you, he clears his throat. “sorry, yeah. s’fine.”
“thanks.” with his permission, you lean against the railing a few feet away, looking up at the blue sky. the music from inside the hotel’s grand ballroom is carried through the air. man, you’d even worn your only extravagant looking dress, too. looks like the only thing you’re warming with your body tonight is the champagne flute in your hands.
the other man turns to look at you curiously. from your peripheral vision, you try to catch what he looks like—a typical suit get-up, coat hanging loosely on his shoulders instead of being properly worn. and he has a hat, too.
if this was a tv drama you could probably get away with saying, be my prince charming for the night?, but you aren’t in one, so you keep your lips sealed.
he doesn’t. “so what do you do?”
you blink. “um… i’m an editor,” you answer truthfully.
“not what i meant,” he says. “like, what do you do. why are you here?”
the question is no clearer than the last one he asked. you shuffle your brain for an answer through the fog of alcohol and manage to muster “i got a ticket from my friend who stood me up.”
he narrows his eyes. “so no business here, huh. brave girl.”
“is there… is there something to be brave about here?” you ask. something in your chest flutters. the start of every story has a cinch—has something that keeps the main character on their toes. something that pushes the story forward. “it’s just a masquerade, isn’t it?”
the man laughs. something about it sends warmth in your belly—he laughs so wholeheartedly. “ya really don’t know where ya are right now, do ya?”
“is there something i have to know?”
he pauses for a moment, like gauging you. for what, you’re not sure. after what seems like an eternity, he finally answers.
“surely you know ‘bout the port mafia.”
that takes you aback. of course you do. yokohama’s underground secret—the one everyone knows is somewhere, but not exactly where. you swallow.
“hah-ha,” you laugh awkwardly. “no way i attended a port mafia party, right?”
“and yet here you are,” the redhead smirks.
fear is injected straight into your veins. the port mafia holds masquerades?! is the first thing that comes to mind, but then, i’m in the middle of a port mafia fucking masquerade?! crashes equally as fast. you cast a glance at the man in front of you, his fiery red hair, gray eyes under the moonlight, the way he’s leaning backward so casually like he wasn’t part of such a dangerous organization.
(something about that is delicious, but god forbid, you’ve been told off multiple times about your attraction to danger.)
you imagine the worst for flashes of a second, until the man clears his throat and you ground yourself again. he nods his head toward the direction of the ballroom—and its exit—and asks:
“wanna get out?”
you narrow your eyes. “how do i know you won’t do anything to me?”
he shrugs. “contrary to popular belief, not all of us are assholes.” only then do you realize that he’s made sure to step backward from you, giving you space—giving you the option to get closer. “besides, i’m gettin’ kinda tired of this party, too.” he lifts one arm in invitation. “s’easier to get out in pairs.”
“cross the line and i’ll break your nose,” you warn him, but link arms with him anyway.
turns out he’s right—it is easier to get out in pairs. the guard at the door gives your exit strategy a questioning look, one he dismisses with “tell boss i’m going home,” together with a flicker of a look towards you. the stubborn guard opens the door immediately, and in five minutes you’ve been whisked down an elevator and onto the hotel’s front lobby.
he undoes your arm around his and tucks his hands in his pockets. “see? safe with me.”
you cross your hands over your chest. “thanks. i’ll keep you in mind the next time i’m frozen in fear over your organization.”
“and i’ll remember you the next time i see a lost little lamb in a party full of wolves.”
the two of you grin at each other, something clicking into place. before you know it, you’re offering him your name. “easier to remember with a name, right?”
“sure is,” he says, extending a hand. you take his hand in yours and give it a firm shake.
(you’re a writer. you know this. you know what it’s like, the introduction of the story’s next major character, the one that would change the plot forever.)
“nakahara,” he introduces himself with that lopsided smirk. “nakahara chuuya.”
bungou stray dogs | E | 521 words nakahara chuuya x (afab) reader/oc
you think you can’t have enough of chuuya’s attention until he smothers you with it. can’t say you’re not pleased, though.
“you already have my full attention now, love. why are you still squirming about?”
you hadn’t meant to get so upset at such a small thing, but you’ve been missing out on proper hours with your boyfriend for over a month now, and the longing has stretched you out too thin.
it’s the first night after the mission that had taken over chuuya’s life for the past 34 days (you counted), and he’d promised you his full attention. except of course there were still loose strands to be tied up and throughout dinner he was typing away at his phone—refusing to answer calls in lieu of texting was the most he could do, he said.
“hey,” you called out to him over dinner, elbows on the set table, chin on your palms, “pay attention to me.”
(that was your downfall.)
because now, you’re lying spread-eagled on your shared bed, chuuya in between your legs. his hands hold you firmly in place, refusing to let up no matter how hard you buck and beg and try to pull away. he’d told you to count how many times he can make you cum with his mouth alone, but you’d lost count after number five. now, the only thing grounding you is the steady tick-tock-tick of the clock on the wall.
“isn’t this what ya asked for? my attention. i’m giving it to you,” chuuya smirks, licks a stripe up your sopping wet pussy, the clear liquid of your arousal staining the sheets below. “or perhaps you’ve had enough of me?”
“no!” you answer, on instinct—before you realize what you’d basically agreed to. “that’s not— but i—”
“you can just tell me to stop, yanno,” his voice now plain and serious. you shake your head eagerly, so adamant and against the notion of stopping right now. “s’that so? then don’t mind if i go back to business.”
(chuuya gauges you for a moment, trying to see consciousness in your eyes. you nod at him, a silent agreement. you haven’t used your safeword. and honestly? you don’t think you will.)
“mmm, i’ve missed this,” he hums, languidly collecting your juices up with his tongue before fucking it back into you. “i could just sit here and eat ya out for hours if ya let me. it’d be a win-win for both of us.”
you whine, the thought of it sending electricity jolting up your spine. surely you’d been here for an hour already? you try to spot the clock but your eyes are too blurry to work properly. instead, you uncurl your hand from where it’s frozen on the bedsheet and tangle it into chuuya’s fiery red hair, stroking his scalp.
“t-too much,” you whine, trying to close your thighs to seal the oversensitive flesh in between, but chuuya’s firm hand stops you from doing so. “had enough.”
“too much? no, princess,” chuuya hums, a happy, content sound against your inner thigh. “we’ll be here a while. no distractions, just me and you.” he sucks a bruise against the delicate flesh, pinkish-purple flower on your skin. “you’ll have my attention all night.”
when you wear their clothes
⤷ ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo, fyodor, atsushi, akutagawa
dazai ー you hold out your arms, watching as the sleeves of his trench coat hang off your hands, unbeknownst to dazai watching you from afar. his belladonna in his coat; it made his heart beat harder than it ever had before. you hadn’t even noticed him until he snuck up on you, spinning you around. you're not sure what's more embarrassing: the yelp of surprise that slips out of your mouth or the fact you were caught by dazai. he pulls the belt of his coat until you’re chest to chest, looking down at you with eyes so bright, they warmed your entire body more than his jacket alone ever could. “my pretty girl,” he gently grasps your jaw, pressing a long kiss to your lips. “you’re so cute, i think you’ll kill me,” he sighs against your mouth.
chuuya ー it was the middle of the night when chuuya arrived home from a mission overseas. a selfish part of him was hoping you were still awake — you weren’t. you were, however, snuggled up on his side of the bed, adorned in one of his button-downs as your hair fanned across his pillow. although he’d have to wait until morning to catch up with you, this wasn’t so bad either. he can’t fight his smile at the thought of you missing him in his absence, putting on his shirt as a way to feel closer to him. he tucks your hair behind your ear, making a mental note to leave his shirts around more often as he presses his lips against the side of your head. “i’m home,” he whispers against your temple.
ranpo ー you wrap yourself up in his cloak, sighing in delight at the warm feeling that spreads through your body as you're surrounded by the sugary smell that always lingered on ranpo’s skin. you eye the hat that was left next to it. it only made sense to match, right? you fit it on your head, nodding to yourself in approval only to turn around and see ranpo. he stood in front of you, his eyes wide open, green irises complimented by his reddening cheeks. even if you could come up with some kind of excuse, you knew he'd see through it before it even left your mouth. you're pulled out of your head when you feel him squish your cheeks in his hands, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “never take this off.”
fyodor ー there was nothing he didn’t do on purpose; of course he’d left his hat on his desk hoping you’d slip it on when he left the room, and you looked even prettier than he imagined you would. “oh? what’s this?” you feel surprise jolt through your body at the sound of his smooth voice, pulling off the ushanka like you weren't just seen. there was a glint in his eyes as he walked towards you. “did you miss me, dear?” he smiles at the flustered expression on your face. “well…” he takes the hat from you, pulling it back over your head. his hands delicately hold your face, cold thumbs cooling your skin as they stroke your heated cheeks. “now you have the real thing.”
atsushi ー one of the perks of atsushi’s small dorm was that there was little space to hide, so when he woke up without your warm body next to his, it wasn’t hard to find you in the kitchen. “good morning! did you sleep we…” you turn around, waiting for atsushi to continue only to see him frozen as he took in the sight of you in his white button down, finishing up fluffing the rice. “is that…my shirt?” “yeah,” you say, unable to gauge his reaction. “i can take it off if you want.” you mumble, placing down the paddle to fidget with one of the buttons. “no!” falling asleep together only to wake up to you wearing his shirt as you made breakfast, it was like you two were a family, and god, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. he chooses to ignore the twinge of possessiveness he feels as he clears his throat. “i-i mean, no. please keep it on. you look nice.”
akutagawa ー there were only a few times you had seen akutagawa without his coat, let alone seen him leave it out in the open. you had only wanted to try it on for a moment, but of course you chose the moment he came back in the room. you freeze as you see him in the doorway, his eyes unwavering from your form, expression unreadable. “i was only trying it on. please don’t be mad at me." it wasn’t easy to get to the place you were with akutagawa and you were afraid that you might’ve just ruined everything. after a few seconds of embarrassed silence, you shift to shrug the coat off. “don’t,” he grunts. you look up in surprise only to see his blushing face turned away from you, hand covering his mouth, stifling a cough. “...you look really pretty.”
chuuya and pegging
ok but like... have ya'll thought about chuuya? about chuuya letting you peg him? about chuuya being a drooling and whimpering little bitch underneath you? chuuya taking it so good, and if you ever told anyone he would absolutely deny how much he enjoyed it. that it ever actually happened. but he would be literal puddy in your hands. figuratively and literally when you take his dick in your hands. shit. i just really want chuuya, ok?
Dazai: Ano ne Chuuya, hypothetically speaking, what would you do If I said I started worshipping Arahabki?
Chuuya: I'd pierce your chest with a ruler.
Dazai: such a brute..
bungou stray dogs | G | 619 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc
chuuya brings you to art museums to look in wonder at your adoration of the art.
chuuya isn’t as big a connoisseur of art as he wishes he were.
of course, he isn’t ignorant—he was raised by ozaki kouyou, after all—he knows the bigger names, van gogh, monet, picasso, da vinci, the likes. maybe a bit of the art movements in history. but that was about the extent of his knowledge.
you were different.
you had a fascination for art that left him breathless. all the -isms, art history embedded like a tattoo in your mind, which you constantly color in with notes as you learn more. you ooh and aah at everything, kahlo, dali, goya, luna, hokusai, eyes shining at woodblock prints and oil paintings and sculptures—
how would chuuya have had other any choice but to bring you to every museum you could name?
today, the two of you are strolling at the kunsthistoriches museum in vienna; you, five steps ahead, while chuuya watches you from behind, hands in the pockets of his pants, white dress shirt’s collar showing underneath his sleek black sweatshirt. you wave him over as you enter another hall.
“chuuya, look, it’s a vermeer,” you say, looking up at the painting. chuuya hums, standing next to you, your shoulders bumping. “do you remember him? we saw a painting of his at the louvre, too. and at rijksmuseum, i think.”
he hums. “i think i remember him.”
the way he answers makes you laugh. “you can at least sound a little bit interested,” you tease, pouting a fraction.
chuuya elbows you, smile creeping up on his face. “i am interested. interested in anything you say, really.”
you try to ignore the flush that rises in your cheeks. “o-kay, c’mon, i think i saw a caravaggio in the other room!”
chuuya follows you everywhere, listens even when he can’t keep up. if this was all it would take to hear your excited laughter, then he’d buy all the museums passes in the world. kouyou once invested in chuuya a respect for art—an upbringing for the mafia paired with paintings and poetry. if there’s anything he’s learned about art, it’s that the best kind of it lives on outside the bounds of its frames, coming into a beautiful fire to those who experience it.
“chuuya!” you call out, laughing, grabbing his hand. “you’re spacing out again.”
“maybe i’m still a little jetlagged,” he says instead, squeezing your hand.
you grin. “i better hold on to you, then. this museum is huge! wouldn’t want to lose you in it.”
as if i could ever stray from you, he thinks.
and maybe, maybe he falls in love with you all over again as you stare up in starry-eyed wonder at a rubens. maybe his heart flutters to life like a teenaged boy every time you call his name to let him enter your mind as you wonder about the art. and so he brings your knuckles to his lips and offers a kiss to it, because he knows the best of art deserves worship.
you blink, hesitantly turning away from the painting to face him. “something on your mind?”
in a few hours, the guests of the kunsthistoriches will have all gone home, the paintings they so loved to adore left behind in the museum halls, lonely and waiting for the next batch of visitors. but not chuuya. instead, you will be tucked in his arms in the hotel room, fast asleep.
chuuya takes one look at you, losing sight of the rest of the crowd in the room, and takes pride in the fact that only he’ll get to go home with the world’s most exhilarating magnum opus.
“nothing, love,” he reassures you, gray eyes aflame. “just appreciating the art.”