FEMBOYS

Chūya Nakahara

Chūya Nakahara || Bungo Stray Dogs

TW: guns, knifes, blood

fluff smut fr I promise, improper use of guns, "gun play", knife play, blood play?, 'how did they even get in this position?' mindset, def ooc lmao, dog-puppy(degrading)
happy Valentine's Day or whatever

He didn't notice it at first, how easily he became nervous at the sight of the silver desert eagle you had gripped in your hand or stashed away in your coat. After all, he works with guns; has had many pointed in his direction since he was fifteen, but the way he felt when you had it pointed at him... it was, different.

Chūya's seen you interrogate people, torture them, hell, he's seen you clear out a room with just a single .50 AE mag. He knows - has it memorized - that you've never hesitated shooting someone, he's seen it first hand. Is that why he's nervous? Because of how heartless you are? How cruel and uncaring you are? How hot you look with dead eyes shadowed in a glare? How the sweat dripping beneath your shirt looks too tempting to be real?

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Your monotone voice brought him back to reality, to the current position that started this whole fanfic. The gun gripped in your hand gleamed from the afternoon sun, reflecting a glare made present on your face, which somehow only made you look more attractive.

'Ugh, that's so old,' he thought, the glare on his face never shifting, though. "Is this how you normally treat guests?"

"Only the ones that are short," you mused, the playful look on your face only made him glare harder. "Has your owner never taught you manners, dog?"

"Bite me." Chūya chose to ignore how the name effected him.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm going to.."

Chūya squints, trying to pay attention to the cold blade slowly dragging its way up his thigh, blood bubbling to the surface as you coo at his leaking cock. He could feel his legs tensing up whenever you pressed a little too hard, hot tongue gliding against the wound before your lips connects to his. It should disgust him, the metallic taste, but it doesn't for some reason.

Is it because the arousal is clouding his judgement? Or is it because it's you thats doing it to him? He didn't know, but honestly..? He doesn't really care. Your lips were way too gentle against his, he thinks, and the way the knife glints under the moonlight and how-

"Ride it."

It took a moment for Chūya to understand your words, "..w-what?" He didn't even see you stab the knife into the hotels bed, the blade completely covered. Was he too caught up in your taste?

"Ride it. Ride the handle."

And maybe he wasn't in the right mind; too lust driven to think right, but he complied with little hesitance and a cute blush on his cheeks. How would this even work? The handle was a decent size... but wouldn't it feel unpleasant? Nonetheless, he hovered over it, the butt of the handle pushing past his rim and- fuck, why did it actually feel good? Is he a masochist?

"Such a good boy, Chūya," he heard you say, "doesn't it feel good?" A shaky nod was all you got, much to your displeasure. He watched as a smirk forms onto your lips, your hand reaching over to the pistol on the bedside table. Your pistol. The same one that takes lives as you see fit. Just thinking about it makes his cock leak pre, thighs trembling as he finally reaches the hilt of the handle.

"What-" he gasps, body shaking as your eyes meet his and there's a mean glint in them. "What're you doing..?"

You chuckle, "don't worry," a hand reaches his chin and his mouth subconsciously falls open. "I would never cause you any pain..." your other hand, the one with the pistol, brings it to his lips, pushing the barrel past it and resting the end of it on his tongue, a single finger on the trigger. His teary eyes widen, but the blush on his cheeks worsen and his cock twitches. "Well, at least, you wouldn't feel any of it."