Heart To Heart — Crush Hcs!!

let the light in ; chuuya nakahara

chuuya x gn! reader

author's note: i got a hang of tumblr formatting??? kinda??? i will make a master list soon. i hope this isn't too ooc. read on ao3 here!!

warnings: none, just fluff and mild angst at some points! i'msonormalaboutchuuyaiswear

“Come on, let me in.”

The soft voice at his door catches the young executive’s attention. Before Chuuya gets up from the couch and puts down his glass of vintage red on the coffee table, he’s already braced himself for hearing whatever inane reason you'd be at his door this late. He’s managed to successfully ignore all your calls and texts like he usually does, but it certainly doesn't fool you. Because you can’t sleep and neither can he. Once again, he realizes the futility of his efforts to keep you away.

Truth be told, you weren't a bad person. You didn't invoke his temper as easily or as often as other people did, and you were capable when you worked alongside him. There was an ease of being about you; something that he could eventually catch himself falling into time to time. You wear at him like a harsh current does to a rock by the side of a river. The veneer of nonchalance chips away more and more the longer he allows himself this companionship. And he's aware of this weakness; it feels so out of place when he is usually so assured. But no gravity manipulation can make this heart lighter.

Not when your face reminds Chuuya of a life he's already left behind. You were there when he spilled his first blood, you are here now, and he cannot find it in himself to push you out completely. As much as he likes to think he's above these sentimentalities, nostalgia still finds a victim in him; wrapping itself around his mind in his unsuspecting moments till he could no longer discern between himself of the past and him now. You make the poor guy feel the burden of his past failures too often.

Feel too much, too, for that matter.

You try with such enthusiasm, too. Despite the fact that over the six…or was it seven years, his life and yours have been turned upside down and inside out. There are some people who feel like they have been frozen in time somehow. With you, he feels like he can stave off the rot of his current life just for a little bit. A dangerous thought. He wants to stick a knife in your neck sometimes. Would that make him stop thinking so much? Or would his past still trail him around in the form of your memory?

It's a quarter to one now.

The door unlocks.

“What is it now?” This annoyed tone sounds forced out of his mouth. Strange, he never had any issues with it until you come into the room.

“I couldn't sleep!”

“Clearly.”

“You know what? We should go out for a drive, Chuuya, it's the perfect time!”

“Like, right now?”

“Yeah.”

“…You're serious?”

“Are you coming or not? Quick, I don't have the time!”

It's a good thing that he isn't completely buzzed from the wine he was drinking yet, because your request leaves no room for disagreement, even if it’s a question. An exasperated sigh leaves his lips, a muttered curse following soon after. “Fine! But I’m in charge of the music.” It makes no difference, most of the good songs he knows were your favorites at some point of time. You held him down and made him listen, and as much as he acted like he loathed the whole ordeal, the tunes wouldn't leave his thoughts be no mater what. He picks up the car keys off the table, not bothering to pick up anything else save for his hat.

This had become something of a routine. You would always bother him at odd hours, though you were a rare sight at daytime, doing god knows what. The redness in the whites of your eyes, and the way you would rub at them every now and then indicated that you were exhausted, yet you insisted on these outings. It was the typical condition that came with their work; he was no stranger to sleepless nights himself. But with you, he finds himself actually concerned. The exceptions he makes for you feel unreasonable. The effect you had on him was just as confusing. Chuuya wonders if you just do that to him or if everyone is subject to the mental damage you cause him just by being around him.

Consciously, he knew there was no use dwelling on these thoughts. For the better or worse, your lives were fundamentally intertwined. Not by narrative choice, but by sheer persistence. He remembers what you said to him once. When he asked you why you were coming along with him, you only said, “because I’ll go wherever you go, obviously.” You refused to elaborate when he asked you to explain why. You acted as if this was an objective truth, like it was the natural state of things. As if in every scenario possible, you would've done the same thing. He called you an idiot for it, still thinks you are. Because Chuuya cannot understand why you stick by him, or more importantly, why he allows you to.

Even then, he has to reluctantly admit to himself that he’s glad for it. You remind him of his past failures and naïveté, but you also remind him of the concept of home. The last tether to his past is you, and he wouldn't allow anyone to sever that imaginary cord. Despite how much he hates it, you still hold a part of him he would have otherwise lost touch of. The pain felt easier to get through when it was shared. Maybe this was just what friendship was. It was elusive to obtain, but once you have it; whether by accident or on purpose, you have to cope with it for the rest of time.

You walk ahead of him, and he keeps up with your pace. Unlike him, you were aware of how you felt on a level that was nearly painful; instead of fuzzy, bittersweet feelings of nostalgia, you felt the lashes of time and it’s wear with pointed certainty. You were your own witness to the degradation of your morality and soul. You felt it chip away piece by piece, and saw the wear in the mirror. An experience that broke you from inside out, creating a new person out of the debris.

You hold onto the remains of a past you can't remember, and in this folly you have ruined yourself chasing something that had never existed. But perhaps that was the reason why you didn't let go of Chuuya in particular. He was tangible, within your grasp; not necessarily a constant, but by your own design you've made him one. You've made out of him a friend you trusted with your life, and that trust shows in every action, every laughter, everytime you show up at his door at some weird hour of the night. You know it annoys him, but he lets you. In a strange way, you test him again and again just for the sheer satisfaction of being assured that yes, he wouldn't turn you away.

The walk to the car was fairly short. He got in the driver’s seat, waiting for you to follow suit and started up the ignition. The port town was especially beautiful at midnight, the late night lights of the wharf reflecting in the distant ocean. The sky is dark with no sign of light, all veiled by the smoke that lingers in city skies. All the stars that were meant to exist in the sky were here on the ground, in the lights of offices working late or streetlights flickering for the convenience of nightwalkers.

“Are you really gonna play that? Eh…”

“Hey! It's a good song, okay?!?”

“Debatable.”

“You’re literally the one who made me listen to it!”

“Did I really, though?”

“You-”

“Shut up! I think I just saw an ice cream place a little further up.”

After an excruciatingly long wait of watching you pick an ice cream out of the array of colors, you both were finally out in the open air again. The cold air pricks like needles. It wasn't even the weather for ice cream, but your habits were incorrigible as always. When you inevitably start sniffling, he could only manage a pointed comment about how you never learn. He would've given his hat to you if you asked. It's frustrating that you never do. Things never go the way they play in his head, and it infuriates him. The ride to home feels infinitely long. Taking the highway was an unnecessarily long route, and yet it was the one he took everytime whenever he was driving with you.

When you both get back home, he's hit by that strange spell again. A lack of thoughts and a tongue restless for words, checked by his dry throat. For whenever the air isn't filled with senseless chatter, gunshots or music, that is when he feels truly weak in front of you. The comfort of being around you shifts to something uncertain and bitter in the early morning hours. When you ask to stay the night like the usual, he can no longer find the strength to refuse. It was clear that no matter what the both of you did, at the end of the day, what waits for him is a helplessness so foreign to him even with his frequent encounters with it.

The weariness is built into their bones, and by the end of the day when they both are tired of this endless charade, you both end up in the same place as always, hopelessly entangled in each other’s lives. Perhaps on another night when you cannot sleep and come to seek him, he will let himself get willingly caught and put an end to this chase. Pushing away the curtain, letting the light in, and look to find you there where he left you.

made an astarion playlist with songs that actually remind me of him because i'm mentally ill about this man

i want to write a fic for him inspired by disintegration (the cure) so bad </3

finally made a carrd. it works ig

chococoa

chococoa

personal carrd!!

wait this also reminded me that dazai canonically did those weird ass hallucinogenic mushrooms

Which BSD character is most likely to be a drug user?

i need to start sleeping more

fixed a few formatting issues on this one

Hello! May I request some pre-relationship/crush headcanons with Kunikida, Atsushi and (ADA) Dazai (all separate) with a reader from the port mafia? How would they realise they are in love? How would they handle it etc etc. I love love love crush headcanons with all my heart<33

heart to heart — crush hcs!!

author's note: i'm an idiot who wrote this fic almost exclusively in hours 2-4 am. my eyes are in pure suffering. an unhealthy amount of fiona apple and unreleased lana del rey songs went into writing this. idk how to write headcannons so this ended up kind of like a fic with bullet points lmao 

— KUNIKIDA

• Working with the Port Mafia is something he is (unfortunately) no longer a stranger to. Still, an extended mission was a bit too risky for his tastes. But everyone said that he was fine, so he should be, right? If only he knew what novel sort of trouble he would face once he took the job.

• For the mission, he was partnered with you. You must've been of a different unit, because he is sure he has never seen you in person before. Except for being mentioned in passing by Dazai in his inane conversations, there was little he knew of you.

• At first, he was skeptical. Not sure whether he could truly trust a person with your affiliations to not double cross him in some way. However, you proved yourself capable soon enough. You worked with decisive efficiency, and even with his rather ridiculously timed schedules, you seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.

• Needless to say, you two got to know each other fairly well over the course of a month. By now, you were acquainted atleast a little of his likes and dislikes. The late night sessions to plan out the routes and inspect the case files over and over; your friendship sprawls over late cups of coffee, the impatient scratching of pen on paper, and the files scattered on the table while you both worked.

• This was still professional; he'd reason with himself. So what if he's had a few drinks with you once in a while? So what if you've been spending a little too much time at his home lately?

• Dazai’s endless teasing on the matter did not help. At all. As he grows more and more defensive, he wonders if he has grown a little too attached to his new partner.

• Kunikida isn't an idiot. Even he can see how much you've made an impression on his life. He simply isn't ready to admit that this could possibly be romantic in nature. After all, you fit none of the ideals he's decided for his supposed future partner. In some form of pointed irony, the pages of the notebook that carry said ideals are also filled with the random, little things he's noticed you need; chapstick, switchblades, pens— all for them to be ready when you inevitably reach for them.

• Nor can he help stealing a littlewhen said chapstick swipes so elegantly along your lips.

• Absolute gentleman, with or without a crush. Opens the car door for you on the other side, makes sure you have your seatbelt on, makes sure to watch your back while you both do field work. It’s just a nice thing to do, he reasons, but feels your touch like it was branded into his skin where your hand accidentally brushed on his elbow.

• The weeks that follow after after drawn out, confusing. As time goes on, he cannot help but read into your every action, taking note of all the little details that outline you as a person; from your tastes to little quirks. While you seem blissfully unconcerned, he could not help but feel the weight of the tension between your conversations. It is not these emotions that scare him, but their intensity. His hands tremble as they once again bandage your wounds from the day’s work, mouth dry as he looks at the gashes you think nothing of—and he wonders since when he started caring so much.

• Kunikida may be a man of his ideals, but he can be honest with himself when he needs to be. And whether he says it aloud or not, he’s already known the effect you have on him. He's known it for a long time.

• When he inevitably confesses to you, there is nothing special about it. It's another evening at his house discussing work, and when you both take a break from investigation, he brings it up to you. He isn't expecting the sentiment to be reciprocated. In fact, he is not sure he even wants that to happen. He says it to be honest. With himself and with you. You deserve to know. And perhaps if he said it out loud, the feelings would subside, even for a little while; with a definite answer, he’d have a reason to put out the growing ember.

• Nothing could've prepared him for the shock of learning that this troublesome feeling could possibly be mutual. And nothing could have prepared him for the coy kiss on his reddened cheek after.

— ATSUSHI

• someone help this poor guy

• no, he's really hopeless with it, but let me explain

• When he was asked to collaborate with the Port Mafia once more, he expected to be paired with Akutagawa once more. You were a pleasant change of pace. At first, he was only met with your suspicion; something that drove an initial rift between the two of you. You weren't sure whether you could truly trust this weretiger you've heard so much about to hold up his end of the deal, and neither could he rely on this complete stranger who regards him so frigidly. However, you both were indebted to your respective organisations—it had to be worked out.

• Your staunch independence, and the confident countenance that carried with it an understated superiority, no doubt the effect of years of experience; at first it irked him. It made him taste a little of the helplessness that trailed him like a shadow all those years ago. He attempted to chase away the feeling; biting back at your subtle digs at his skill and experience, trying to keep up with you as best as he could. You matched each other surprisingly well when you both were at your most competitive; the combination of your finesse and his strength was lethal in the most satisfying of ways.

• Over the weeks, you both get to know each other a little better. The small talks on the way to station were something that he was, despite knowing better, looking forward to. He always seemed more affected by your banter than you were by any retort he could possibly throw at you; and when the sly curve of your lip made him feel the strangest sensation of a sort of rush in his veins, he made no notice of it.

• After that morning, this strange feeling had been growing worse. Steadily through the days, but even so he could point out that the emotion that seemed to sit just beneath his chest was unfamiliar. Sometimes he had to force himself to look away from you just to get it to stop and actually be able to hear what you were saying over the erratic beat of his heart. It was blatantly obvious to everyone but him, and despite the constant teasing and prodding by Dazai on what’s got him so nervous, he still assumed it was merely admiration. Perhaps he was simply in awe of your abilities. For weren't you so impressive when you dispatch your targets so effortlessly, or when you execute such flawless plans with an ease in your mien that makes it look of so simple?

• But then that begs the question as to why he still stares in a daze when you're doing nothing, just catching your breath in the wall crack you had pulled him into to throw off the people chasing you both; his back hitting the wall and you the only separation between him and whoever was at your tails, stalking the alleyway outside. Breaths held, not making a sound; if you both got caught, this was over, and you both understood the stakes better than anyone. He definitely knew just what was waiting for the both of you out there, and that just made the situation far more frustrating, because then why is he so absorbed in how pretty your jelly-like gaze is, or how cool you looked back there when you silently felled that patrol guard? He feels like his brain has melted. Or atleast the still working part of it, because it's not even the first time you've had that effect on him.

• Your hand tentatively shifts, and for a moment he snaps out of the daze. There is abject fear in his eyes, because what the fuck are you doing when the both of you are one slip up away from messing up this mission you both worked so hard on? Yet your fingers, trembling with the rush of adrenaline and the fear of death, wipe the blood on his cheek, observing a rather deep cut inflicted by the serrated edge of a dagger. He could take a hit, but for some reason worry seemed to claw at your mind relentlessly until you could make sure he was okay.

• Perhaps he'd stopped functioning right there and then, because when the footsteps receded and the coast was finally clear, he could barely hear you say that it was safe to come out. Instead, his first move is to hold his heart and take a deep fucking breath. Not just to calm him down from being chased like that—for he's already been chased so many times—but to stop thinking about that brief, soft touch that reasonably, should not even affect him.

• At this point, he's kind of convinced he's going crazy. And like so many problems in his life, there's only one other person to hear it. Coincidentally also the worst person to go to for that kind of counsel.

• Dazai.

• Bastard laughed for fifteen whole minutes before explaining in broken wheezes what Atsushi was possibly afflicted with. Then immediately began sighing and bemoaning about having to help his coworker with silly love problems once he finally stopped cackling like a witch.

• After this… enlightening conversation, Atsushi promptly decides that he's never going to be able to look the man in the eye ever again.

• Now, he's got a whole slew of new problems going on. This mission, you, the fact that he just embarrassed himself in front of his coworker, and that he had no idea how to even face you after this realization.

• Naturally, he wants to avoid this situation. Atsushi doesn't even consider telling you. He wants to, so badly. His throat feels tight when you look at him so sharply, and he can't help but feel that if he sticks around you for too long, you'll look straight through him and somehow find out. But he has every reason to think this won't work out. Every reason why it won't work out. It wasn't the time for love, not even in the small moments of respite between the constant violence you two had to deal with.

• This distance he's been keeping from you…there is no doubt that you feel it too. He can see as much. The disappointment in your gaze when he keeps on pushing you away; it hurts. And he knows with the way your hands are curled in fists now that you're at your breaking point.

• But instead of the argument he thought this would inevitably lead to, you simply pull him into a corner. In the most sincere tone he's ever heard you speak in, you ask him if you did something wrong. Between your deliberate words, your hands on the collar of his shirt that hold him in place with nothing but gentle firmness, and the emotions that he tried so hard to stifle for the past few weeks; he confesses. Leaves nothing unspoken, even if he consciously knows that this is a bad idea. Knows he shouldn't hand you that kind of power over his heart.

• Yet he doesn't regret it a single bit when he feels your hands leave his shirt collar and wrap around his shoulders, your silent answer that kills the bitter uncertainty left in his heart and replaces it with relief.

— DAZAI

• Your history with the brunet was brief, but not something he has ever forgotten. He’s not quick to forget faces in any case, but yours remained in his memory still.

• You both worked together fairly often some three or four years back, the timeline is blurry in his mind now—in those days, your presence seemed like it would be a permanent fixture in his life. Something to count upon. Perhaps he had hoped for the fact, until an year after when he finally decided to leave this life in the dust, and you with it.

• At the time, Dazai had dismissed those feelings as puppy love; the sort of infatuation that comes with simply being of that age where every emotion feels so amplified in intensity. You were one of his first friends, it was only natural to want to cling on, wasn't it? Only with time it became easier to ignore the hold your presence had on him, his mind too consumed with the ongoing chaos in his life to think about that craving he had during initial weeks of your separation— thumb trembling over the call button.

• A few years after, seeing your face stirs nothing in Dazai. A feeble sense of regret is all that remains, and within a few seconds even that dies off. You've changed, definitely; rough-hewn edges from mafia life, knife-hand no longer trembling when it goes for the kill. Decisive, swift movements, a certain confidence in your words that comes from experience. How the glimmer that used to be in your eyes has long since been clouded over. In a way, it makes him feel closer to you, that your soul is being slowly chipped away, just like his.

• Initially, you regarded him like any other professional acquaintance. Not daring to breathe a word of the past, even when you wanted to demand an explanation out of him so desperately. Anything to make the memories of your shared past more bearable. You know better than to give into those whims. If only for the sake of your mission, the past had to be put aside. Between the both of you, there seemed to be a mutual, unspoken understanding for the need to let go. Your slates are cleaned, and you both once again end up in the same place you started; Yokohama’s shipping docks.

• Over the weeks, being around you feels easier. You both work well into the nights, but it's a little more bearable around your company. The banter is easy between the both of you. Lips curved into a cheshire grin at his antics, you always seemed to be more amused with his actions than annoyed.

• Even now when he decides that diving head first into the sea would've made for a perfectly delightful method of suicide, a knowing sigh leaves your lips, painstakingly pulling him out of the fishnets with a firm grip on his beige coatsleeve. Of course, the effort is in vain when you lose your footing and end up falling into the water with him too. Splash!

• Somehow, even when he's walking home, sopping wet in the winter breeze, he feels strangely warm as you chide him, observing how your lips twitch as if to hide a smile.

• It’s your fault, really. Perhaps if you both didn't fit together so well, if it wasn't so effortless to be around you, he might have avoided feeling the same way around you again. It's not lost upon Dazai, how comfortable he's getting with your presence, especially when he knows it's a temporary one. A fact that he is compelled to face again and again everytime you both end up in the field.

• The danger they were facing were still very much real. Despite how confident you seem to be in your ability, your tight shoulders and shaky breaths betray you in the heat of the moment. Through your hesitation to follow through his plans, you still trust him at his word. He can't help but wonder why.

• Your actions hold a certain carefulness—he doesn't want to call it care, for when it comes to you, he finds it hard to tell what you're thinking—that he doesn't understand. As you wrap the gauze around the wound on his arm from a bullet graze, fingers touching his skin with a kind of gentleness he's only ever known from you… Dazai wonders when you'll finally tell him what you're really after.

• The brief thought occurs to him, no doubt, that maybe you do these things simply because you want to. That perhaps you still care too much, like you did all those years ago. But he knows better than to count on something as fickle as the kindness of people’s hearts. He was never that naive.

• Even so, as the long days and even longer nights pass by, he can't help but once again start feeling as he used to in the distant past, only that this time he has no excuse for it.

• Dazai doesn't blush and his heart doesn't race when he sees you. Instead, it's something far more sickening and confusing. With you, it's easier to drop the delicate layers of pretense that seem to obscure his true thoughts and emotions like delicate gauze. There is a sort of ease of being around you, a sense of belonging. In the delicate moments of the late night hours with you, humanity doesn't simply feel like a cloth to wear to hide the rotten core within. You touch him like you know him, even when he knows that the blood staining his hands is far darker than yours.

• You don't even have an inkling of how he feels, and Dazai believes that it's for the best. He’ll tell you in the future, if he can grow to trust you. He wants to say it when he can be sure of it, in a more peaceful time. Even if he doesn't want you to slip through his fingers again like he did in the past, he wants to wait.

• But right now, all he can see is your bloodied fingertips trembling in the aftermath of the day’s chaos, barely having escaped with your lives. In the silent night, neither of you mention how he holds your hand silently on the walk home, bandaged fingers holding yours with deliberate care.

every f1 post on my dash has absolutely nothing to do with the cars i'm not even sure if it is about the cars anymore the sport may actually just be grown men going gay4gay and outdoing each other somehow every time

dazai and akutagawa make me sick too (though i discovered today that i had food poisoning and did not, in fact, actually throw up from bsd angst)

dazai was only a couple of years older than akutagawa and simply perpetuated that cycle of violence that the world around them followed, one lost and deeply disturbed kid trying to lead another and idk that just makes it all the more sadder because the intention behind dazai's actions weren't even malicious. who is to say dazai did not wholeheartedly believe, like he did for himself, that akutagawa could find meaning in the port mafia?

dazai, who had assimilated in the darkness, who lived around blood and violence each day, how would he have taught akutagawa something other than all he's ever known in his life?

i don't know i just feel like we need more nuance in this discussion when it comes to dazai's abuse of akutagawa, which isn't to defend him at all but to realize that it was a horrible position for either of them to be in; where the blind lead the blind.

being mad over mischaracterisation is so funny. because like how do you know. like were you talking to asagiri over the phone while i wrote this fic? have you communed with the divine gods of fan content to tell anyone that their way of seeing a character is invalid? im crying lol ts so funny

"the uwufication of chuuya" "the feminization of chuuya" and it's a fic or fanart where chuuya cries

when will they learn that it never works