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ravencincaide · 4 months

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Someone else to blame

Summary: Different people deal with grief differently. Some accept it and move on while others suppress the memories. For Chuuya however, an existence without you is simply not an option.

Pairing Chuuya x Reader, a hint at SKK x Reader

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 16: Familiar scents

Author note: @chuuyaswifeandhoe Darlin your beautiful fic hurt me (in the best angsty way possible), and made me peep out of my vacation to post this. Lets hope this does the same to you! This one is for everyone who loves angst, and especially those who've experienced grief.

Warning: Grief, cursing, alcohol, angst Enjoy~

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Chuuya sighed heavily as he stared at the little key with a bright blue tag laying innocently in the palm of his gloved hand. He was leaning his entire body weight against the wall, his hat pulled down over his eyes and his coat zipped all the way up. For once, he was trying to make himself as unapproachable to the people around him as possible. Still he could hear the whispers from the girls in the opposite corner, giggling and urging one of their friends to ask him for his number. Aside from that there was a gentle ticking of the elevator as it crawled higher and higher until it reached the top floor of the skyscraper. A ding and the doors opened.

Chuuya was the first one to get out.

Before the girls could grab his attention Chuuya strode through the narrow corridor with simple apartment doors on either side, stopping outside the apartment located at the very end. He pushed the key into the lock, turning it in one swift movement before entering the dark hallway. He heard light steps behind him accompanied with a gentle ‘excuse me sir’. Rather than reply, Chuuya pretended not to hear, shutting the door and locking it. He lingered in the hallway long enough to hear the girls let out a whine of disappointment before finally leaving. Then,only then, did he finally kick off his shoes. Letting the bag of groceries fall to the floor, he picked his shoes up, squeezing them into the stand between your heels and sneakers.

“ God Y/N you really need to look into your neighbors before picking an apartment.” He called as he picked up the bag and left the small hallway, switching on the lights on his way into the small living room which consisted of a couch, a table, a small tv and small couch-side drawer with a lamp on it. In one end of the corner stood several flat boxes- the unbuilt bookshelf. And by it high stacks of books, course literature mixed together with fantasy and dark romance. “ And we still need to build that bookshelf.”

His eyes lingered on the dirt on top of the boxes, making a mental note of dusting sometime in the coming days before he headed to the small kitchenette with barely enough space for two people to stand side by side and cook. Opening the fridge door which was positioned awkwardly by the entrance he put in the newly bought groceries before he began folding the plastic bag into a small square. Then he tucked it into the overfilled bottom drawer of one of the cupboards opposite the fridge.

“ Yes yes I know you hate it when I smoke Y/N” he said with a hint of annoyance in his voice “ Give me a break, work was hell today.” He left the kitchen and headed towards the bathroom- the best part of this entire apartment, turning on all lights in his wake. Opening the door, he could feel the heated floor through his socks as he trott over to the bathroom sink. Beside it stood a bottle of mouthwash, extra strong mint. To his side was the upraised shower cabin with frosted glass and on opposite it another door leading towards the bathtub and Your personal space filled with all sorts of foreign creams and salts half of which he couldn’t understand. But he tried. For you.

Taking the mouthwash he began rinsing, feeling his mouth growing numb by the second. A minute later he spat it out, wiping away the residue on his lips onto the back of his glove. “ Sweetheart, can you remind me to buy a different mouthwash? Honestly if I gotta wash my mouth out with this after every smoke I may as well quit right now!”

Leaning against the sink, Chuuya took several deep breaths. He could feel the stinging behind the eyelids but stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. “ We can also get that cream you like too, right love?” his voice shook slightly at the end. He stood with his head bowed for a long moment, doing his absolute best to avoid the mirror in front of him.

Man was he pathetic.

Growling to himself, Chuuya pushed away from the sink, stomping out of the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind himself, making the frail wood shake in the frame. “ I’ll see if it's broken tomorrow” he stated bluntly as he made quick way back towards the kitchen. This time his attention was on the liquor standing tucked away in the side of the little bench space. Chuuya eyed the selection quickly, his eyes landing on the barely touched bottle of Sacred Peated. For a change, he picked it over his fancy bottles of wine standing further in. With his other hand he reached into the cupboard in front of him and pulled out a single whiskey glass before he quickly fled back into the living room.

Chuuya dropped himself onto the couch, salvaging the feeling of soft cushions hugging his body. He leaned back against the animal shaped pillows scattered all over, then opened the bottle of whiskey, pouring a shot. He had to lean quite far forward, over the cushion on the tatami floor and his usual spot in order to place the bottle on the table. Then he leaned back again, out of habit twirling the glass of liquor in his hand. Even without bringing it closer he could smell the smokey-nutty scent. He hesitated only a moment before he brought the glass to his lips and downed it in one go. Chuuya could feel his throat burn and he coughed several times after, until the burning became manageable.

“ God Y/N how can you love this shit?” he gaped, staring down at the now-empty whiskey glass as if it would answer him. It didn’t, but it also didn’t take long until he began feeling a familiar tipsy warmness. He was certain his face was flushed.

He never could hold his alcohol- not like you.

Looking to the side, Chuuya picked up the pillow closest to himself. It was in the shape of a cat, Chuuya stared at it for a long moment. Then he brought it to his face and took a deep breath. Nothing. No if anything the little cat smelled more of Dazai than it did of you. No doubt because the mackerel had a habit of hugging it whenever he came over. Letting out a scream, Chuuya tossed the thing across the room before burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe how quickly your scent was fading away. He didn’t want it to.

“ Fuck Y/N.” Chuuya whispered “ Fuck.”

He stayed seated there until he could feel his cheeks beginning to burn. The stinging in his eyes returned. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, as if begging to tear itself to shreds. God why did it have to hurt so much?

Getting up he slowly went up to the one room he had yet to visit. Your bedroom. Tucked furthest away into the small apartment, behind the heaviest oak door in the entire place, out-matching even the front door. Chuuya’s hand shook as he put it on the doorknob. He knew he shouldn’t go in too often- not unless he wanted the smell to change there too. However tonight he decided to indulge in the sweet temptation. Opening the door he quickly stepped in before closing it behind himself. The place was the only part of the apartment that never changed- as if you had just rushed out to class that morning. As if you never– left. He still couldn’t bring himself to think about it- let alone say that ugly word.

Closing his eyes, Chuuya took a deep breath. His senses filled with the stuffy dusty air and a then a much more faint sweet scent. It was your scent. He’d pick it out anywhere. Shakily he reached out blindly to the side where he knew your clothing rack stood full of autumn and winter accessories, feeling his fingers brush against material he grabbed at it. Then he darted out of the room, closing the door firmly and quickly behind himself, terrified he tainted one of the last fragments he had left of you.

He returned back to the couch and poured himself another shot of whiskey, downing half before he dared to look at what he had taken. It was a soft white scarf- one he bought for you on one of the dates that ran particularly late. Laying down, Chuuya placed the scarf on his face and took another deep breath. Besides your familiar scent he could make out the light hint of your perfume, a smell you picked up after the two of you started dating more seriously. It was actually a little too mature for you, for your age. He felt his eyes sting and this time he did nothing to stop the tears as he remembered all the times you tried to make yourself appear older, holding back your childish desires as if it would put him off. Then his mind drifting back to each and every memory he had of you wearing this scarf; the embarrassed look when he bought it for you just because your eyes had lingered a little longer on it than the other items in the shop, then the way you’d wear it whenever he’d pick you up after class, the way you’d cocoon yourself in it whenever it got chilly. The terrified sound of your voice when you called him late one night after having forgotten it in his rental car. The bright smile on your lips when he went out of his way to drive it out to you early the following morning. The way-

“ God sweetheart I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.” His shoulders began to shake with his sobs, regret and guilt tearing at him “ What I wouldn’t give to have you back. Even for just another hour.”

Ding-dong.

Chuuya heard the doorbell ring. He made no move to get up off the couch and just buried his face deeper into the soft material, inhaling your smell. It brought him comfort, like a warm hug that told him everything would be okay- that you forgave him. A fantasy he knew he had no right to even dream about.

Ding-Dong, Diiiing Dong, Diiiiiing dong-

More desperately the doorbell rang. For a moment Chuuya’s heart jumped into his throat as he flew up from the couch, practically jumping over the table and into the hallway. It was impossible but maybe- just maybe his prayers were answered.

Opening the door, his hopeful smile dropped, his heart clenching painfully as he was once again, painfully reminded that you wouldn’t be coming back through that front door. Ever.

Outside stood Dazai, almost awkwardly shifting from one leg to the other. The number of bandages on him had significantly increased and he looked as if he had lost both sleep and weight. Perhaps even the last bit of his sanity if he came here of all places. Dazai’s blank eyes shifted from Chuuya’s red ones, then to your scarf in his hand. He could understand the sentiment well, the longing towards the gentle familiar smell. You. Raising an unopened bottle of Sacred Peated he motioned for Chuuya to step aside and let him in “ I see you’ve already started, you dog”

“ Who are you calling a dog? Idiot Dazai,” Chuuya replied with malice in his voice as he slumped backwards, dragging his heavy body back towards the couch. There he dropped into the cushions, careful not to wrinkle or damage the scarf. With shaking hands he folded it slowly, salvaging the last seconds of vulnerability as he heard Dazai moving around your kitchen. The sound was not weird or unfamiliar- instead it brought back other memories of the three of you at this very table. Drinking, teasing each other and then the two of them teaching you less than proper games. It started with Strip Rock-paper-scissors that Dazai picked up in a brothel and continued with ‘unbound truth or dare cards’ you got as a joke gift from some friends.

It only escalated from there.

Seeming to share those memories Dazai came over and set a deck of cards with hand painted butterfly designs on one side of the table, as if to signify your presence. Neither of them could handle seeing your face or your picture. Not yet at least.

Then he moved to sit down on the cushion on the floor opposite Chuuya, his usual spot. His hands reached out towards the cat pillow that was lying not too far away. He set it in his lap out of habit. Then he proceeded to fill up the two empty glasses he brought from the kitchen almost to the brim. Before making sure to refill up Chuuyas partially empty glass to match the other three. One he placed on the short side not far from the deck of cards, the place that was between himself and Chuuya- Your usual spot. He took the second one in his hand.

Just like Chuuya, he didn't bother with ice.

Suddenly Dazai chuckled as he raised the glass to his lips “ I swear Y/N, I’ve never met anyone who was as bad at strip-poker as you. Even with ten extra layers!” The memory drew a pitiful chuckle out of Chuuya as well, knowing well what Dazai was referring to.

“ Or someone who was such a sore loser.” Chuuya remembered. Now it was Dazai’s turn to laugh- a sad echo with no real humor behind it.

“ I think we made it up to Y/N that evening.” Dazai added fondly and Chuuya swallowed heavily, looking down at his drink with newfound guilt. They might have made it up to you for that incident but there were still plenty more that they’d never get the chance to ask your forgiveness for.

It was something that both men were bitterly aware of.

After that they continued to drink in silence. After all, what could they say? It was their selfishness of wanting to keep you in the dark that got you killed in the first place. That tore you so suddenly out of their lives that all that remained were your few possessions, shared memories and gaping holes in their heart. And the worst part was that they had no one else they could blame for your death but themselves.

#bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #sweetober #angst #Chuuya angst #skk angst #skk x reader #alcohol #grief #ravencincaide

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my-hyperfixations · 8 months

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Having to deal with the VERY REAL fact that this season may end with chapter 109

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choosinganamebrokeme-notagain · 8 months

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Soukoku 😋 - my take on what could happen in chapter 110

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nittkach44 · 10 months

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 2 months

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Everyone, please read this.

It's about Chuuya getting Hanauso, the Hanahaki variant in which flowers grow out of your neck when your beloved one is lying to you.

SUMMARY:

Dazai loves Chuuya.

Chuuya loves him.

There’s something square about that statement that soothes Dazai’s raging anxiety.

When they married, it was in spite of their organizations. In spite of his fragile mental health, in spite of Chuuya’s dangerous life. They are soulmates, and their loyalty to each other comes first.

Now that Chuuya might die with a necklace of Loving Memory roses blooming from his neck, choking him with every passing day, they are willing to sacrifice everything to choose each other again.

[Or: Married Soukoku loving each other above all else.]

More info under the cut.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Relationship:

Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Characters:

Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Armed Detective Agency Ensemble (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Language: English

Words: 11,518

Chapters: 1/1

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #ao3 fanfic #ao3 fic #fic rec #hanauso #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #angst #skk angst #soukoku angst #bungou stray dogs angst #angst with happy ending

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kyoukamybeloved · 4 months

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the moon will sing - the crane wives

I feel like this is very niche but I couldn’t get it out of my head and out of my heart so here ya go

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chuuya4040 · 5 months

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//skk angst

Pain. Compartmentalize. Repeat.

Experience unbearable pain until you feel as though your very limbs and flesh are falling apart, unable to be put together again. Manage to collect enough pieces of yourself again to make some sort of makeshift person, just to get through the next day and pretend everything is fine.

Chuuya had given himself one night at fifteen, to sorrow over the betrayal from his makeshift family that he had given everything to.

Chuuya had given himself one night at sixteen to grieve, scream, and wail over the loss over the first group of people that finally appreciated him for something more than the beast that resided in him.

Chuuya had given himself one night at eighteen to drink himself stupid, until the alcohol had drowned out his veins of all the soft touches, intimate words and love from bandaged hands.

One night, where Chuuya allows himself to truly feel his pain, where he permits himself to let all his emotions roar free till his throat and chest hurt from the screams. Where when the sun finally rises through his curtains, the soft orange and yellow hues bathe him in humiliation, reminding him that the world continues on regardless of his pain. Chuuya would wipe his face clean, pack away his trauma in a nice little box lined with caution tape in the back of his mind until it was covered in mold. There is no time to dwell for him nor will he allow it.

However, what happens when you’re faced with a situation that digs its hands into the most forbidden part of your mind and rips the caution tape to shreds, only for all the mold to grow into your veins of all the past pain until you thought you might die?

After a reunion four years later, the neurons and synapses that were so used to keeping a specific structure felt themselves slowly lose their job to deflect and forget. Chuuya gradually felt those pesky feelings from that one dreadful night ease back in, but he willed himself to ignore it.

And it had worked, after a few joint missions where Double Black worked together as if they had no time apart, Chuuya was able to hold on tightly to that nicely wrapped box in his mind.

It had only gotten him so far.

A celebration to another successful mission between the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency where they once again defeated a common enemy to protect the city they love.

Seated within a port mafia owned bar, Chuuya sat amongst a table with a few of his coworkers and some people from the agency. Nursing a glass of wine, the redhead slowly felt the grip on the box in his mind slip. It was becoming more and more difficult to be surrounded by a familiar someone, as well as his new coworkers. It was watching a movie from a new lens, a character he thought he knew so well had changed so drastically in the next scene that he had convinced himself he was watching a new movie all together. No longer was the film in black and white, but it now bursted with varying colors, all blinding and bright that Chuuya thought he was going to be sick.

Was it jealousy? Hatred? Envy?

It was longing for something Chuuya no longer had.

Without a word and in the midst of laughter, Chuuya stood up and escaped outside into the alleyway. He leaned against the brickwall, a lone street lamp illuminating down the narrow alley as he breathed in the cool, night air. The executive closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall praying that these pesky feelings would soon go away. He stood there, praying that the cool air would drown out these emotions and thoughts, that it would dry out the hope and dreams for something new.

“Chuuya?”

Fuck. Leather creaked against his hands in a fist.

“Not in the mood for your shit, bastard.” The redhead grumbles and wills himself to keep his eyes shut, fearful that if he were to look at his ex partner he would regret his next movements.

Silence hangs heavy in the air, before a pair of shoes move against the gravel and stand next to the executive against the wall. Just a few bare centimeters their arms sat away from each other, yet it felt so close Chuuya thought he might puke.

Still with his eyes closed, Chuuya focuses on his breathing and the muted music blaring from inside the bar. Ever since their reunion, there have hardly been moments between the two of them that did not involve a mission to cushion their conversation. Their work was a buffer, a means to prevent from discussing the real issue at hand, and tonight left too many possibilities in the air.

“Chuuya used to get drunk all the time at this bar, it seems as though he’s grown past the stage of having the tolerance of a child~”

The insult didn’t matter, not when his heart ached at the mere mention of a past they used to share together.

With eyes still closed and an aching heart, a soft chuckle came from beside him. “You remember when Hirotsu had to drag the both of us out of this bar because we had bet on who could drink the most?” The ghost from his past paused, letting the memory sink back in. “Chuuya was so drunk I had to hold his hand the whole time so he would stop accidentally activating his ability. I wond–”

Chuuya grits his teeth. “What the fuck do you want, Dazai?”

A crowd of cheers come from inside the venue. A group of friends pass and their laughs echo down the alleyway.

After a few moments with no response, Chuuya clenches his jaw and pries his eyes open to find Dazai leaning on the wall next to him, staring at the ground with a blank stare decorating his face. An unrecognizable feeling dwells in his veins for a moment, sinking deep into his blood and heart that he thought he might be sick with it.

Chuuya gives himself a moment to appreciate the sharpness of his ex partners jaw, the smoothness of his skin and the mop of curls that his fingers itch to run through. He ignores the longing in his heart before he scoffs a “fuck this,” and pushes himself off the wall.

Before his shoes hit the ground, a body prevents him from moving. “No,” a voice stresses, and Chuuya finds himself caged against the wall by two bandaged hands on either side of his head and a desperate look on the face of a man he once knew. “..Stay.” Dazai whispers, as if too afraid to be heard.

From the corner of his eye he can see two teenage boys running, their intertwined hands being the only thing keeping them together.

“Why shou–” A hand slaps over his mouth.

“As much as I love hearing your voice, I really need you to shut up this once.” Dazai confesses, a desperate plea swirling in his eyes.

The box in the back of Chuuya’s mind creaks.

The executive blankly stares at the detective, his eyes a guard for what he truly wants to show. Liar, liar, liar his mind shouted. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you his heart roared.

After a moment, the hand is removed from his mouth as Dazai leans his head against his shoulder, completely blanketing him against the wall and away from the world. Leather strains against his hands as they are made into fists, his restraint falling apart as he reminisces on this familiar feeling of rare slow mornings, dangly arms wrapped around his waist with a taste of love on his lips.

Chuuya’s arms freeze by his side, they ache to relive the familiar warmth of his enemy that was once his lover. They long to revisit harsh words with soft, tender touches that had him feeling dizzy till he thought he was going to be sick.

They breathe each other in, for the first time in four years and Chuuya wants to die.

The box in his arms begins to pop.

Soft, oh so soft, familiar lips lightly press on his shoulder, leaving a delicate path to his throat. It feels like coming home. It feels like dying.

“Dazai…” Chuuya breathes, his body shaking with anticipation and dread.

Chuuya’s body sang with celebration, his nerve endings sparkling with excitement at the prospect of those lips meeting him and falling into his embrace once again.

“I missed you,” those lips whisper against his jaw.

A box that has not been touched in four years, mold swarming its corners with caution tape, all fell away as if it never existed.

With lips he has longed to feel for years, Chuuya’s heart wailed with sorrow, the familiar ache returning in his limbs of that dreaded night four years ago.

“Osamu,” Chuuya wills himself to plead, gently pushing a leather gloved hand against the other's chest, ignoring the racing heart he feels underneath his fingertips.

Dazai weakly mumbles, “Chuuya–”

“Don’t.” Chuuya snarled. “You fucking hurt me, don’t you fucking get that?” he rasps, before clearing the tears in his eyes, “You may as well have had added your own fucking knife to my back, make a whole ass collection of it” he weakly chuckles.

The detective stares, those void orbs revealing nothing but a swirling black hole and the executive wants nothing more than to job through them and freely float through his mind.

“Congratulations on leaving,” Chuuya says with a weak smile. “You did what you had to, trust me, out of everyone I fucking get that. You look..” happier. He wants to say, wants to scream it from the top of his lungs with excitement and joy, yet the darkness in his sorry excuse for a heart swirling with sorrow and grief of what could’ve.

He clears the knot in his throat, “Look.. I-I can't go back, not now at least. Just..”

I want to fall in your arms again. I want to feel so irrevocably close that no one can tell where we start or end. I just want to drown in your heart until I feel human again.

Without another word, Chuuya pushes himself off the wall and elbows his ex partner out of the way. He pauses to look at the changed man, a thousand galaxies swirling in those dark eyes that wanted to unleash everything but simply couldn't. Chuuya smiles in understanding, I know he says with solemn blue eyes, you don’t have to say anything, I know.

Each footfall that echoes against the alleyway feels like a stab to his heart, a reminder of his pain, the heartache and betrayal that he has felt.

As much as a part of him wants to run back and jump into his arms, Chuuya can’t help but think he is destined for everyone close to him to either die or betray him.

Pain. Compartmentalize. Repeat.

If Chuuya decides to spend one more night drinking himself stupid, the alcohol drowning out his veins of all the soft touches, intimate words and love from bandaged hands, no one knew that but himself and his own four walls.

#bungou stray dogs #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #bsd #bsd fic #soukoku #skk fic #skk #plan for a future ao3 fic #skk angst #was listening to cant go back baby by troye sivan on repeat whilst writing

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luneariann · 11 months

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Continuation of the other comic I made earlier as @fixation-central s prompt! And in honor of my dear friend @evilkaeya who came up w this specific scenario :)!!

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ravencincaide · 3 months

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Responsibility to love

Summary: After witnessing a difficult birth Dazai struggles with himself and his emotions over becoming a new parent- a distant dream that his mind denied up until now OR men react differently to seeing their babies for the first time; some are natural parents while others…

Pairing: New parents! fem! Reader x Dazai (x Chuuya)

Inspired by Sweetober prompt 18: Sick

Warnings: Angst, Male postpartum depression including dislike and hesitant to accept the children, Mention of difficult childbirth, cursing,

There was a strange taste in his mouth; it wasn’t sweet like love or salty like disgust. It was a rather bitter flavor with just the tiniest hints of pungent somewhere in the back of his throat. A burning acidic kind which felt like it would corrode his neck- his vocal cords into mush if he said nothing.

Yet no words came out.

He wanted to scream and yell, to call every doctor at this godforsaken place an incompetent delusional imbecile. He wanted to threaten them, see the cocky expression in their eyes slowly fade away into horror as he made their minds torture themselves into oblivion. Osamu Dazai wanted to make them suffer unimaginable pain for lying to him, for calling this— this as good news. As everything being ‘better than expected’. Happy turn of events. Something to cheer and celebrate, not mourn and fret. The worst was over, they claimed in cheerful tones, now all that was left was letting nature and nurture run its natural course. And yet–

You looked so small, so frail.

Resting his forehead against the glass that separated your room from the rest of the maternity ward, Dazai heaved a big sigh. The bitter, salty, sour sensation twisting the edges of his mouth down into a frown. This was suffocating. Disgusting at best. And yet—

His eyes shifted to the orange haired idiot who looked like he was in seventh heaven. Chuuya was bouncing around your small hospital room in excitement. He was moving between your bed, muttering praises or stroking your hair with a gloved finger. Then over to the two bassinets just a few paces away. The joint construction which looked more like a plastic box on wheels with some blankets inside than a medical equipment there to monitor the newly born beings. The small wrapped up bundles. Bright red faces, white wrappings for the girl, blue for the boy.

Dazai couldn’t help but think the newborns were ugly. They looked nothing like You, Chuuya or himself. Just red bunches of meat; alien looking creatures that were mostly bold and scrinkly with eyes that didn’t fit the rest of their features. The only semi positive thing he could say about them was that they had screamed loudly when they were born, yet now had enough self-preservation instinct to just be silent.

He watched with a frown how Chuuya cooed and gawked at the babies for an awfully long amount of time, ignoring the way you looked. The worn out expression on your face, forehead sticky with sweat and the slight shiver of your body as you desperately tried to come to terms with the difficult birth. You looked like you could use some water- something to snack on. A caring touch, a warm hand. Maybe a professional assessment, definitely some strong drugs. You looked so lonely and small, so tired that all Dazai wanted to do was go in there and scoop you up in his arms. Yet he was too cowardly; too ashamed and guilty to go back in there. Afraid that you’d read him like an open book; see all the emotion, all the turmoil and regret on his face. The lack of a smile, of happiness, on his being. And just see him for what he was; a man who desperately wished to go back in time and hammer into your younger selves to be more thorough with using protection.

The pungent taste became stronger, almost unbearable.

He watched with the same frown as Chuuya picked up the children one by one and brought them over to your bed. Watched the weak smile you’d give each twin, then a kiss on their foreheads- a task that seemed to take the very last of your energy as you leaned back against the pillows of your hospital bed. Dazai’s name was the last thing on your lips- he could read it even from this distance and his heart clenched painfully in his chest- before he saw you close your eyes. In moments- seconds- your breathing became slower and deeper. Dazai didn’t know whether you fell asleep or actually passed out. And it almost amazed him how little Chuuya seemed to care about your condition; giving you a single kiss on your hair before moving away. Not checking your pulse, not checking your breathing and just trusting that the instruments monitoring you worked.

The ginger's focus and attention was clearly elsewhere.

Dazai observed Chuuya closely as if he were a strange animal and not the reflection of how he himself should be behaving; the bright smile, the energy and excitement all over as Chuuya rocked the twins in his arms seemingly unable to get enough of them. That was how he was supposed to act- to be in there right beside Chuuya bickering over who got to hold which twin. To be joyful and grateful and so utterly in love and yet-

Dazai prayed that those balls of red meat were Chuuya’s- prayed that they didn’t come from his seed. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he had hurt you this way- that something that came from him put you in such a dire state. That something from him almost tore you away from this world. He selfishly prayed that he was not at fault, even if he knew deep down that he was. And if you had died- then your blood would have been on his hands as if he’d killed you himself.

Dazai swallowed thickly, the taste in his mouth unbearable. He felt somewhere between crying, throwing up, and passing out. Yet his body was frozen in place, forehead against the glass window, staring at the sight inside. Silently suffering- definitely hating himself. He watched helplessly as Chuuya finally took notice of him and strolled up to the door that separated Dazai from his partners. The flimsy door that kept the ungrateful monster at bay.

The click of the lock before he opened it was more deafening and humiliating to Dazai than forgetting to cock a glock.

“ Heeh bandages don’t you wanna hold him?” Chuuya stretched out the infant towards Dazai, still wearing that stupid shit-eating-grin on his face.

He didn’t. By god he didn’t. Dazai didn’t want to touch anything that almost cost you your life. He didn’t want to get close to it. He didn’t want to be near it.

Still he held out his shaking bandaged hands which Chuuya adjusted before placing the small thing into them. A part of Dazai was surprised how heavy the infant was. Especially since it was so frail. It would take very little for him to harm this small thing in his arms. To smoosh it into nothingness. Like a bug.

Dazai brought the infant closer to himself, running his eyes over every inch of him. Trying desperately to find something likable about this clump of cells, wrapped in bones and flesh that you almost died for. That made Chuuya so happy.

After all, it was his responsibility to love it.

Authors Note: For those of you who have read "Desperate times call for Desperate measures" This is very loosely connected to it. And although that fic has a more traditional post-partum depression element to it, this fic is more focused on the male side of becoming a parent. While doing research I realized how little the male PPD was discussed so here we are now. Think of this work as a prequel if you like. ... damn now I feel almost sorry for them...

Anyhow hope you enjoyed! If you liked my works feel free to check out Raven's Masterlist

Until next time~

#bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #skk angst #bsd skk #skk x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #skk parents #raven cincade's works #sweetober #bsd angst #desperate times call for desperate measures

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raynecos · 1 month

Text

Sour Wine (Skk)

Authors Note: Hi! im not expecting anybody to really see or read this seeing as how its my first tumblr post with something of actual substance or content, but i've made the decision to start writing (again), so thats what this blog willl mainly be used for :], i hope you enjoy if you're reading this! -Rayne Credit to my lovely amazing perfect boyfriend for the plot of this fic <3 TWs: Alcoholism, Suicide Part One: Empty Bottles, Part Two: Coffees Only As Bitter As You Let It Be

Chuuya

However much time has passed, Chuuya wouldn’t know. One moment he’s in his penthouse, lighting a cigarette and opening another bottle. Next he’s sitting at a table among many important faces, the names of which he also wouldn’t know. Given he’d never bothered to learn, and why should he? Drowning out the voices just as much as usual, it’s all a jumble, mixed tones mumbling on and on about numbers, kill counts, drug shipments, and the like. “Chuuya, are you listening to me?” He jumps, looking up from the pen in his hand, Mori’s eyes demanding an answer. “Yes sir.” Chuuya responds quickly, adjusting his expression to appear more alert, as the boss's eyes seem to stare daggers into him, and those blades sting.

Walking out of the dark, emotionless, and weirdly wet room, he truthfully still doesn’t know what it was Mori was saying. If he didn’t get called back into the office then it couldn’t have mattered anyways. After walking out of the building, the route back to his home was simply muscle memory. Drunk drivings a crime, but who cared, he’d already committed plenty.

The picture on the auburn coffee table stood out more than usual, Dazai standing behind holding Chuuyas hat while the shorter (but definitely still growing) ginger frustratedly reached for it back, the one behind the camera being Akutagawa. The day of that particular picture's events, shortly after hearing the click of the camera, Chuuya’d been told Dazai wanted a humorous photo of them together. “Just in case something happens, you never know with the mafia. Wouldn’t want me gone without a constant reminder to you that I existed.”

Those words meant something entirely different now.

Chuuya reached over and slammed it face down, not wanting to see that constant reminder, not while he was sober. The sight of the frame taunting him to undo his action, just to see his former partner's face once again. It wasn't the same. It’d never be the same. Three years since he’d lost his best friend, the only person that made life seem actually worth living. Three years since he lost the love of his life, he should’ve said something, anything. Followed him some way or other, he shouldn’t have needed a car to pursue him.

Three bottles in one night, not even close to a new record.

None of his decisions were his own, his body moving of its own accord, missions and meetings all a blur. Nothing was interesting anymore, nothing about this job was tolerable, he’d even resorted to cheap booze to keep from remembering why he was here in the first place.

Only recently turned 21 years old, but it’s nothing new. When you’re in the mafia, following drinking laws, or any laws for that matter, isn’t really a priority. Walking through the main building, it’d be much more surprising to not see somebody under the age drinking. Whether that be a 12 year old or someone who’d just turned 18, nobody’s getting through their tasks sober. Didn’t matter if it was training, a mission, or if you got called into Mori’s office to be told you’d look better in a different color tie, getting through a day without a drop of alcohol is far more impressive than any combat techniques or efficiency picking locks.

Chuuya sighed, leaning back further in his seat, the black leather cold to the touch. His coat strewn across the coffee table, alongside those three empty bottles, one toppled over leaking the leftover drops of blood red wine onto the wood, likely to stain. The only sound filling the deafening silence of the room being the silent tick tick tick of the clock on the wall. Too much room to think, it was frustrating. Just as he began to think ‘One more drink, just one’ a pin dropped. A metaphorical pin however, in reality it was that the phone had begun to ring. Chuuya sat up slowly, eyes heavy, glancing towards his cell phone which he’d thrown onto the kitchen counter when he’d gone to retrieve the last of his wine. Walking closer to the ringing noise, he hardly realized he was swaying slightly, thankfully not toppling over entirely. His body was on autopilot, not really aware of any decisions he was making. Picking up the phone off of the marble counter without a thought about it.

“What do you want?” Chuuya stated into the phone with an annoyed tone. Caller ID didn’t do shit for him, no idea who was on the other end but whoever it was they had interrupted his (truthfully nonexistent) thoughts, and that’s just rude.

“Shit” responded a familiar voice on the other end, the call ended quickly, knocking Chuuya out of his trance for a moment. “Hello?” he said as he looked down at the screen, only to see he was no longer talking to anyone but himself. “Jesus christ.” he slipped the phone into his pocket, reaching up to the still open cabinet where he’d usually keep his drinks, only to reel his hand back in and find it empty. He’d forgotten he’d finished off his last 19 bottles in the span of that entire week, a skill only a true alcoholic could master. That and drunk driving, because somehow he’d managed not to cause an accident in the past 5 years, and he definitely wasn’t starting now. Because next thing he knew he’d driven down to a liquor store nearby a river running through Yokohama. The water sparkling, reflecting the lights of the nearby streetlamps, the sunset spreading an orange hue across everything. Hardly anybody walking along the sidewalk, a few cars driving by on occasion, likely people on their way home from work.

Chuuya, who’d become slightly more clear-headed since leaving his penthouse, passed by a few pedestrians while walking along the path from his car to the store, then suddenly stopped.

No reasoning for it, just a feeling that he wasn’t sure how to explain. He turned his head, glancing across the area next to him, and there was the explanation, seemingly right in front of him. The brunette he’d spent all his time mourning losing, the man he wished he would have confessed to before he lost his chance. Standing on a slightly elevated platform looking out over the river's water, was Dazai Osamu.

Chuuya’s eyes widened, tears starting to form in the corners of them, he wiped them away before they could block his vision. Before he realized what he was doing, his feet started moving on their own, no regard for any potential oncoming cars, or people minding their business trying to walk by, he started walking fast, quickly breaking out into a run. Trying to get Dazais name out of his mouth but his throat drying up and lips shutting on their own before he had the chance, choking out a string of incoherent sounds as he pushed himself as far ahead as he could go.

Right as he’d reached that platform, right as he’d gotten closer to his lost friend, suddenly there was nothing in front of him. Dazai had disappeared, right out of thin air, no longer a person standing in front of Chuuya, just empty space. Was he a hallucination? Confusion overwhelmed Chuuya, reality snapped into him for the first time in those three years, like a rubber band being stretched and threatening to break. He looked down at the platform, seeing stones forming the ground into a slight curve, noticing that in the direction that Dazai seemed to be facing there was a small wall formed as a blockade to prevent a fall. And below, the river that not long before he’d been admiring.

Dazai jumped.

#dazai #dazai osamu #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #skk #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd fic #fanfiction #skk fanfic #skk angst #bsd angst #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfic #skk angst fic

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