𝕊𝕚𝕥 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕀 𝕘𝕠

SKK
bunny-boy dazai
light dom/sub
role-play… kinda.

Bunnyzai smut for my very special marshmallow, @black_hours_

When Dazai returns to the mafia, Mori welcomes him with open arms that Dazai doesn't want to be embraced by and a gift he never wished for: a black coat that looks exactly like the one he burned four years ago.

But although Dazai doesn't particularly enjoy the mafia's dress code, he does respect it. Mori’s permanent smug grimace turns into something wickedly cheerful as Dazai slides the coat over his shoulders. “You look good in my coat. +

Maybe I should get you a hat too. To hide your ears.”

Dazai’s stomach churns, his fists turning into sour claws of nausea. “I /like/ my ears, and I’m only wearing your coat because it’s tradition, and as an executive +

I need to send the signal that I respect the mafia’s traditions.”

It's an overall unimpressive act. Dazai sticks his nose in the air, huffs. “We both know that you want me as your right-hand man.”

“I do, but..”

But it turns out there's just a teeny little aber dabei. Before Dazai can have his previous position back, he has to prove his loyalty, and the only proof Mori will accept is the test of time.

Until trust is reinstated, there's an opening on Chuuya's team, though.

—-

Dazai throws himself into work, fully expecting to hate everything about working for Chuuya.

But to his identity-crisis-fuelling horror, he /doesn’t/.

The thing is, Chuuya is an excellent leader. He speaks with authority – like someone who likes the sound of his own voice, handing out orders with a somewhat smug smile tugging at his lips. He thrives on being in command. 


But he’s also fair, respectful and reliable.

The workflow is predictable, the tasks are intellectually stimulating, and the routines do wonders for Dazai’s shrivelled little thing of a mental health.

As resistant Dazai is to acknowledge his need for structure, and as surprisingly endearing he suddenly finds Chuuya’s brash grandiosity, what surprises him the most - enough to almost spook him out of his own genius mind - is his reaction to Chuuya's leadership skills.

Because Dazai, fuck everything, enjoys working under Chuuya's direction more than he has ever enjoyed anything – /likes/ following orders as much as Chuuya likes giving them.

It’s utterly unsettling, but it’s an undeniable fact that his knees start wobbling when Chuuya tells him what to do in a business voice.

And Dazai isn’t usually one to fall into the murky depths of self-analysis, but he supposes it makes sense.

He doesn’t believe in good, bad, right or wrong, but he does believe in utility, and he always wanted to feel useful.

Something about readily and willingly doing as he’s ordered to do seems to tap right into that core need.

It’s strange, but Dazai pursues pleasure where he can find it, so he keeps going for all of Chuuya’s gold stars and 'subordinate of the week' prices, basks in the feeling of being good at what he’s doing and in the praise he receives for a job well done.

But realising that he kind of, sort of, maybe likes the mental break that comes with following orders is just the start…

---

"You've finished the hacking job I asked you to do already?" Chuuya asks, brows arching. He's impressed, and he's not afraid of showing it.

It makes something hot curl in Dazai's stomach. He nods and hands over the files.

"Good job, Dazai. if I didn't know better, I'd say you were up to something schemy."

"Good thing Chuuya knows better."

"Hmph," Chuuya eyes narrow to crinkled little slits. "Yeah, it definitely feels like a trap +

So spit it out. What’s up with you being all hard-working and professional?”

Dazai's ears quiver involuntarily. It’s not exactly a reaction he’s proud of, but it is one he's willing to explore further, so he tilts his head and looks at Chuuya's through his lashes.

"Maybe I'm just trying to impress my superior."

A long beat of heavy silence follows. Chuuya seems so deep in thought that he could get lost in his own mind, but then he blinks, refocuses, pierces Dazai with a look that burns through layers of bandages, skin and defences.

“Ah, I see,” he says, an all-too-knowing smile curling his lips – like he’s in on a dirty secret. ”So that’s what it’s all about. You were hoping I’d put in a good for you with Mori.”

Chuuya sways closer, angles his head, and murmurs, low and conspiratorial, “you’d do anything to please me if you thought it would help you climb the ranks faster.”

That’s not it. At all.

But Dazai, being Dazai and a brilliant detective, well-versed in the art of data-collection and deduction, immediately realises what Chuuya is doing: He's giving Dazai an alibi – an excuse to explore this newfound part of himself +

the part he’d try to suppress or deny under normal circumstances - the traitorous little voice in his head that insists that he’s tired of being so smart all the time and that he desperately wants to be told what to do so he doesn't have to think for himself.

Hot breath sweeps over Dazai’s lips as Chuuya cups his cheek and looks at him with eyes that glitter expectantly. “You’re just trying to use me to get ahead, aren’t you? Show me how good you can be so I’ll help you make executive.”

“Yes." Dazai leans into Chuuya’s touch.

It’s risky and /so/ wrong on /so/ many levels, but when Chuuya offers such an excellent opportunity, Dazai can’t resist the temptation to take it. “You figured me out. Is it working?”

Chuuya licks his lips. “Hmm, maybe. I think I’ll need a proper demonstration of just how diligent and obedient you can be, though.”

His hands trail to Dazai’s waist, squeezes. “You should take this off.” He tugs at the fabric of Dazai’s favourite vest like its presence offends him.

Without even pausing to think of a snappish objection, Dazai’s nimble lock-picking fingers get to work +

popping buttons open with lightning speed.

“Good,” Chuuya praises. He toys with Dazai’s shirt, pulls it up, hands exploring the contours of Dazai’s stomach.

Dazai is (very embarrassingly) halfway out of his mind and all the way into his body already. He bites his lower lip to stop the mortifying keening sounds that want to escape from his mouth.

But Chuuya notices, and because he’s a brash mafioso with absolutely no manners, he comments on it too. “You don’t have to hold back, bunny.”

“Shut up,” Dazai tries his best to add a little huff to it – to sound as indignant as he feels overwhelmed, but it comes out breathy and weak.

His heart pounds like it’s trying to escape his ribcage, and it’s overall very disorienting.

He’s is /never/ confused, and yet here he is. “What are we doing? This is a bad idea. The worst idea. Ever.”

The answer he receives is a kiss pressed to his exposed collarbone, the thin patch of skin that peeks out from underneath the layers of bandages and boundaries.

“But It was /my/ idea.” Chuuya nibbles on sensitive skin and soothes the sting with his tongue, whispers, “and I’m the boss. Right, Osamu?”

The ringing in Dazai's ears is so loud that he can barely hear his racing thoughts over the shrill overtones of it.

He nods because he can't think of anything clever to say.

With practised finesse, Chuuya slides the shirt over Dazai’s shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. “Beautiful,” he says, eyes fixed on Dazai as he rids himself of his blazer and shirt.

“Obviously, you can tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” Chuuya says with a crooked grin. “But you’ve worked so hard, so you’ve earned it.”

An unfamiliar feeling pools in Dazai’s stomach, warm and swirly like summer rain or /pride/.

He lets his eyes travel down Chuuya’s torso, dip all the way to the bulge that’s starting to become very prominent in his tight slacks. Dazai licks his lips. He wants to reach out and press the heel of his hand against it, feel it harden under his touch.

The thought alone makes the unmistakable warmth of a deep red blush crawl up his neck.

Blushing. Just another thing he /never/ does. But here he is, hot and bothered and experiencing more 'first times' in one evening than he can keep track of.

“This is a bad idea,” he repeats dumbly, voice raspy.

“Tell me to stop then.” Chuuya leans closer, breath ghosting over Dazai’s too-tight skin, full of promises.

“Never stop,” Dazai gulps and falls into the kiss.

It feels like being swallowed by a starry night sky, colours and glitter spiralling behind Dazai’s eyelids as Chuuya holds his face with both hands, licks into his mouth.


Chuuya kisses like he does everything else: with grace and that aggressively Chuuya-esque /gravity/.

A few eternities passes while Dazai allows himself to get totally and completely lost in Chuuya before he realises that no, he can’t survive on just pleasure alone – he needs oxygen too.


He gasps and breaks the kiss, a thin string of saliva still binding them together.

It’s gross and awkward, and it doesn’t matter because Dazai feels beautifully alive as he heaves for breath.

Chuuya must be in much better shape because he doesn’t seem nearly as flushed and puffed as Dazai. He does seem eager, though –

he falls to his knees and settles down in front of Dazai with a hungry look in his eyes. “Can I,” he asks as he looks up through his bangs, pupils blown.

The answer is obvious, but Dazai still sort of wishes Chuuya wouldn’t ask those hard-easy questions.

Because… well… Dazai doesn't want to admit how much he wants this.

On a shaky exhale, he nods. “Yes boss, if that’s what you want. You can do whatever you want to me. I’m doing this for my career.” It’s so dumb and unbelievably inauthentic +

that even Dazai’s excellent acting skills crumble, voice breaking with the strain of the lie.

They both know that the ‘climbing the ranks excuse’ is just that – an excuse.

And referring to Chuuya as boss… Dazai doesn't even know where that’s coming from, and he also doesn’t have the time to overanalyse it, because then, /then/, the world tilts off its axis –

Chuuya wraps a hand around Dazai’s dick, covering the shaft with his palm, only the head peeking out.

It’s overpowering. Chuuya’s hand is so warm, and soft, and unreasonably nice. Dazai would spare a thought to be bothered by how discomfitingly fast he’s getting fully hard +

but he’s too lost in the heat pulsing into his cock through the firm squeeze of Chuuya’s grip to dedicate much blood-flow to his brain.

It’s baffling. Just a sloppy hand job, and yet everything about the situation has Dazai wheezing like he’s drowning +

in the hottest thing that has ever happened to him. His knees are so weak with it that he can barely keep himself upright, and the buzzing in his head has him woozy.

“I need…” he trails off, reaching out for anything he can cling to, shaky fingers digging into Chuuya’s hair.

Soft, red and heavenly. He wants to draw Chuuya in, wants him infinitely and impossibly closer.

But he doesn’t know if that’s allowed – if he will get away with wanting something without having it taken away from him.

Still, Chuuya responds to Dazai’s desires like he can hear them loud and clear through the clunky non-verbal communication.

He leans closer, keeping eye contact as he pokes out his tongue, licks the exposed head of Dazai’s cock.

Dazai shivers, his grip on Chuuya’s hair tightening.

“Be good,” Chuuya purrs, and with that, he finally parts his lips and sucks Dazai’s cock into his mouth. He bobs his head enthusiastically, absolutely no shame.

Every now and again, he moans, and the vibrations send little spikes of slick pleasure through Dazai’s length and up his spine, frying his poor hyperactive brain with more sensation than he knows how to deal with.

“I-” Dazai gasps, broken and desperate, “Chuuya. I can’t.”

With excruciating slowness, Chuuya hollows his cheeks around Dazai one last time, swirls his tongue across the sensitive head, and then leans back. “You can’t keep yourself together much longer, can you?”

Dazai swallows. Everything about this is embarrassing, and he hates it. Except for the part where he loves it, and he’s devastatingly turned on.

He doesn’t trust his tongue to produce words, so he just shakes his head.

“Okay, come here,” Chuuya says, and leans back to a seated position, pats the spot beside him.

It feels like a good time to give the occasional reminder that ‘this is a bad idea’, but Dazai is too hornily exhausted to put up the perfunctory fight +

so he lets himself collapse next to Chuuya. The cold hard floor feels like a bed of roses, and gravity wraps around him like a warm blanket, pulls him down, draws him closer. Closer to Chuuya.

“Chuuya?” Dazai’s tongue twists Chuuya’s name into a question, even though he has no idea what he’s asking for.

Luckily, Chuuya is an expert at reading between the lines and curves of Dazai’s body. He /knows/ without having to have it explained.

And he answers without words, pressing Dazai into the cold, hard floor and kissing him deep, hot and wet. 

It makes Dazai’s head spin with a force that propels his impulse control out the window. He spreads his legs and arches his back, drapes himself around Chuuya.

It’s humiliating and entirely out of his control. "I'm not usually like this,” he gasps into Chuuya’s open mouth, “I don't even like this. I'm just doing it to further my career."

“Of course,” Chuuya grinds lazily against Dazai. “You gotta do what you gotta do to get to the top.”

Dazai can feel the distinct shape and weight of a delightfully big cock thickening up against his thigh, occasionally rubbing against his erection through the layers of +

clothing that (very regrettably) still cover Chuuya's lower body.

It makes Dazai’s lashes flutter, eyes closing as a sigh leaves his mouth. It feels like he has been hard for weeks, months, years even – just waiting for Chuuya to touch him the way only Chuuya can touch him.

“You’re getting so wet already,” Chuuya says, and it sounds like praise to Dazai’s compliment-attuned ears.

Once again, Chuuya grinds down; harder this time. “You’re going to completely ruin my trousers if we keep this up, aren’t you? Should probably take them off.”

Chuuya sits up to unzip and shuffle out of his confining slacks while Dazai looks with big, bright, dewy eyes and a watering mouth.

A little bit of drool trickles down his chin when Chuuya’s cock finally springs free.

With the grace of a panther, Chuuya slinks forwards and drapes himself over Dazai again.

Dazai’s pulse beats wildly, a frantic rhythm that matches the building excitement.

Distantly, a thought calls to him. It insists that he shouldn’t be enjoying this degeneracy half as much as he is; whispers to him to get away while he can – while his dignity is only partly fractured.

But for some reason, he feels safe and desired in Chuuya’s arms. And that, somehow, matters more than self-preservation. 

Because when Chuuya carves sweet words into his skin and moves against him like their bodies are one and the same, Dazai feels something he rarely feels +

He feels whole. Like he’s made to get wet and hard for Chuuya. Like his ears are made for Chuuya to caress. Like his mouth is for Chuuya to claim with his tongue.

“You’re stunning,” Chuuya breathes as he rubs small circles into the base of Dazai’s ears – the most sensitive part.

“So sweet and pretty I think I might actually go mad.”

Slick excitement shoots up Dazai’s spine to wrench open his eyes. He’s sure the way he’s feeling shows on his face, and he doesn't even care to paint a mask over his open expression.

Instead, he tries to reach for Chuuya’s shoulders, desperate for an anchor. Something, /anything/, to hold on to.


But Chuuya catches his wrists with hands like handcuffs and guides them over Dazai’s head. “Ah-ah,” he shakes his head, a sly smile dancing on his lips +

“this is all about showing me how good you can be, remember?”

Dazai gulps, decides that he won't be able to speak over the emotions in his throat and then nods sharply.

“Good bunny. Now you lay there and take what I give you.”

Chuuya leans forward - or rather falls like a torrent - and kisses Dazai, hunger and teeth first, expertise second. He licks into Dazai’s mouth like he needs the taste he’s chasing on Dazai’s tongue more than he needs air.

He rocks back, looks down at Dazai, eyes drifting +

wandering leisurely across a landscape of scarred skin, something like worship misting up his gaze.

He's the moon to the tide of Dazai's body, and he's tugging hard, pulling muffled moans straight out of Dazai's mouth.

it makes Dazai feel unfathomably self-conscious. He can feel his tail flicking under him, his ears twitching with sickening, blinding anticipation. It's too much.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Chuuya promises, unbearably sweetly.

The defiant streak in Dazai wants to grumble that he isn’t nervous. But, he doesn’t think he can squeeze those words through his mouth without falling over them.

So, he chokes out a wet laugh as he rolls around in Chuuya’s arms.

On his stomach with his ass in the air, he somehow feels much safer. His tail is wet from all the slick, and his thighs are trembling, but it’s not half as humiliating as the way in which his face is crumbling. “Just… do something.”

“Please?”

How very infuriating.

Dazai Osamu doesn’t say please, and Chuuya ought to know that… but… but Dazai, /the subordinate/, might just say please if his boss wants him to.

So Dazai swallows, breathes in hard and spits it out on an exhale, “please.” 


One word. It feels sugary sweet on his tongue – and worse: addictive. Dazai knows then and there that a dam inside him has broken. “please,” he repeats with more feeling.

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Chuuya chirrs from somewhere behind Dazai, smirk audible in his voice, and Dazai seriously considers finding the mental wherewithal to turn around and smack something more humble onto Chuuya’s face.

But a very talented finger traces from the top of his tailbone and down to circle his rim. Slowly, deliberately.

Thrilling excitement screeches along Dazai’s veins from so little action.

That stupidly wonderful finger slips inside to the first knuckle, the ring of muscle expanding and accepting it greedily. Dazai gasps, shattered and scratchy.

“You’re taking it so well.” Chuuya makes the temperature rise when he sinks his finger deeper and starts +

pumping it with balanced, musical precision. In and out. In and out.

Feelings swim inside Dazai, and he doesn't know what to do with them any more than he knows what to do with himself.

“You look pretty like this,” Chuuya comments – either because he can’t stop himself from dropping the running commentary or because he understands that Dazai needs the constant reassurance to deal with the vulnerable position he’s in.

“Please.” Dazai’s nails dig into the hard floor, and he repeats the only word he knows. “please, please, please.”

“I should keep you like this forever. Sweet and pliant and so good for me.”

A second finger joins the stretch, pleasure climbing to new heights that have Dazai burying his face into his hands to hide the tears that are gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Chuuya adds yet another finger and picks up the pace.

Quick jerky strokes, angled just right to brush against that sensitive bundle of nerves. Dazai nearly blacks out as the feverish intensity builds, and the blinding heat that tip-toes the border between perfection and too-much sends continuous shockwaves through his leaking cock.

So terribly close, so terribly fast.

But it’s not enough. He needs-

“Chuuya,” he pants, hoping the desperation bleeds through his voice enough for Chuuya to take mercy on him.

“What,” Chuuya asks? Still sounding illegally smug.

To stop himself from screaming, Dazai bites his bottom lip, hisses, “I want you to fuck me,” and because he’s smart enough to know he won’t get away with snark, he adds a strained-but-sweet “please.”

“You don’t get to make the calls here, bunny.” Chuuya pulls out his fingers, and the sudden absence leaves Dazai writhing and ready to throw a tantrum about it.

But then he hears the distinct sound of a condom wrapper being torn, and seconds later, he feels the weight of Chuuya’s body above him; the hypnotising sound of Chuuya's voice: “But fortunately for you, we want the same thing.”

And then nothing happens.

A little impatient and a lot desperate, Dazai wiggles, soft tail brushing against something deliciously hard, which he assumes to be Chuuya’s cock, and oh how he wants, no needs, that inside him.

Above him, Chuuya gasps at the sensation. He tickles Dazai’s ears and asks annoyingly gently. “Turn around for me?”

All the air in Dazai’s lungs suddenly turns to champagne, bubbly and dizzying and not at all to Dazai’s tastes. He much prefers bitter obscurity and sake.

So he grunts and shakes his head.

“Come on, pretty bunny. Wanna see your face.”

Dazai’s body is a bowstring about to snap. Resisting makes everything so much harder, but he’s too scared of the fall, so he holds on by the edges of his fingernails.

“Osamu?” Chuuya purrs from above, unfairly honeyed, “I’m the boss, and I get to call the shots, right?”

Well, when Chuuya puts it like that…

“Yeah,” Dazai nods his head slowly, ears swaying with the motion. Agreeing feels good. Easy.

“And there’s no reason to hide. You look so beautiful.” Chuuya lightly squeezes the base of Dazai’s hyper-sensitive tail. “Come on. On your back.”

Maybe Dazai lets sweet words convince him, maybe he just decides that he’s too exhausted to keep clinging to his last threads of composure. In any case, he lets go and floats with the soothing stream of directions, which Chuuya offers him.

The world whirls as Dazai rolls around. He blinks the wetness from his eyes, stares up at Chuuya and almost gets devoured by the black pit of his pupils.

With rosy cheeks and a sweaty forehead, Chuuya looks as debauched as Dazai feels.

And Dazai wants to touch. To run a finger up Chuuya’s golden chest, stretch up and attach his mouth to a nipple.

The disorganised desire presses against Dazai’s skull like a migraine, an incessant drill of need, but Chuuya is right there and ready to administer the medicine.

He shuffles forward, cock in hand like a gun, lining up. “Ready, bunny?”

Dazai is so ready. He wants skin on skin. Wants to feel everything. Wants Chuuya. “Yes. Just Ple-ah,” Dazai breaks off, mouth opening on a gasp as he feels the first push, Chuuya’s cock breaching him.

They’ve just begun, and already Dazai is spiralling from how wonderful the stretch is. Chuuya’s cock sinks into him, thick, unyielding, and perfect. Every little inch pounds the air out of Dazai’s lungs and replaces it with tingling flickers of pleasure.

It’s so much. Dazai reaches out, needing to hold on to something.

Ever so attuned, Chuuya intertwines their fingers and pulls back to drive his cock into Dazai again, this time getting deeper.

“You feel so good,” Chuuya leans down and whispers as he continues with slow circling thrusts. He lets go of Dazai hands and grabs his ears instead, tugs hard enough to make Dazai shake and bite off a moan.

He’s not used to having his ears pulled; doesn't usually allow his bed-partners to touch him so intimately.

It gnaws at something deeply hidden inside him – something wet that wants to leak down his cheek. But Dazai refuses to cry.

So instead, he eats the whimper on his lips and swivels his hips to meet Chuuya’s movements, throws himself into the shared high they’re riding.

Chuuya increases the pace, and if they were in a bed, the bed frame would be rocking by now.

As it is, Dazai feels like he’s being pushed through the floor by Chuuya’s thrusts.

Back arching and mouth opening, Dazai feels his tail cramping, the soft fluff at the base brushing along Chuuya’s cock with every snap of his hips.

So close.

Chuuya changes the angle and fucks into him harder, faster, deeper – hits the spot inside Dazai that makes him feel like he’s floating on a pink cotton cloud.

“Come for me,” Chuuya instructs. He sounds far-away but still close enough to touch, to reach into Dazai and pull a reaction out of him.

On a muffled whimper, Dazai’s entire body clenches down; responds as though it’s made to shape itself around Chuuya’s voice -

follow his directions.

His body goes rigid. Pleasure rushes in waves through his chest and into his limbs. His vision whites out, the bright bliss wraps around him as his ears and tail twitch violently, and he comes all over himself, paints streaks of white across his stomach.

Distantly, through the haze of mind-numbing ecstasy, he feels Chuuya on top of him, shuddering to a stop with a garbled rendition of Dazai’s name on his lips as he spills into the condom.

When Dazai returns fully to himself, he begrudgingly becomes aware of the state of himself; the wetness on his cheeks, his boneless body, his trembling ears.

But Chuuya’s head is heavy on his chest, and it’s a welcomely grounding weight.

Dazai gets the strong and utterly forbidden desire to card his fingers through Chuuya’s hair to check if it’s as soft as it looks.

Instead, for once in his life, he decides to do nothing and say even less. Just exist and savour the magic of the moment as long as it lasts.

/ E