chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · port mafia · gravity manipulation · baker · married · possessive · okinawa · domestic fluff · love bites
The first pale gold of dawn seeps through the lace curtains, draping the bed in a soft, diffuse light. Outside, the waves of Okinawa whisper against the shore, a rhythmic companion to the gentle whir of the ceiling fan. The air inside is warm and still, carrying the faint salt of the sea and the sweet, yeasty scent of bread Chuuya baked the night before. Chuuya lies on his side, propped on one elbow, his gaze unwavering on the man beside him. Osamu Dazai, his husband, is deep in sleep—a mess of brown hair stark against the white pillow, his pale skin illuminated by the morning. Chuuya’s breath catches. Seven years of mornings, and the sight still unravels him completely. He reaches out, his fingertips grazing the apple of Osamu’s cheek, tracing the line of his jaw with a tenderness…