Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dazai was gone. 

Not drowning in some river. Not drunk dancing on a rooftop. Not in that bar he seems to like. 

Dazai was gone .

Maybe he’s actually… dead this time. Of all the times Chuuya wished he could see his partner— ex partner—it would be now. What he would give to feel flesh, dead or alive, on his—to comb his hands through overly-knotty hair—to have some semblance, a selfish tint of reassurance—to feel No Longer Human cleanse his demons one last time. 

His container remains unchanged; clothes scattered on the floor with too-dirty sheets rumpled across the bed—broken razor blades so hazardous that Chuuya found himself tip-toeing—cardboard boxes filled with empty pill bottles and the glass that came with sake. 

Dazai was gone. 

He wishes he wasn’t used to him. He was so used to him that it ached. Dazai, whether he was there or not, was a ghost—a parasite Chuuya could never exterminate—he learned to love it, love him, to love Dazai. 

Even though he’d reign Hell, he found comfort when Dazai broke into his apartment on cold, wet, snowy days. He grew with him. He learned his knicks and knacks—what makes him tick and what made him stick— he figured some subconscious part of Dazai out. 

Dazai was gone. 

It hurts. He feels like a part of himself was ripped out and toyed with—shuffled in all the wrong ways, then handed back to him. He’s missing the one last piece to his puzzle, and he found it—he had found it—and now he’s supposed to watch it burn?

But Dazai always wanted to die, and he always got what he wanted. Didn’t he?

He should be thankful that the one thing Dazai wanted in life came to him. He found the piece to his puzzle, the thing he needed to be free. 

He should celebrate. 

Dazai’s scent lingers in his apartment—sweet like vanilla and honeydew, but sour and bitter when he’s scared. The scent flows where he was the most: the couch, the bathroom, on the stool closest to the oven—his favorite spot because he liked watching Chuuya cook—and his bedroom. 

He opens his favorite bottle of wine, Petrus 1889. He’s happy. He should be grateful that the one person he could love was at peace, resting, away from this cruel, dark world. 

He doesn’t cry. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end, yet it is. It’s just so… Dazai -like. He’s always left Chuuya at the randomest of times—he’s always vanished without a trace before returning, gone with the wind and the birds above. It’s not unlike Dazai to leave. 

But he’s always come back, and this time he isn’t coming back.

Alcohol burns down his throat. A celebration calls for the best! Why waste the time of pouring wine into a glass? 

He doesn’t cry. 

Even as he loses garment after garment, until he’s left in nothing but his pants, he doesn’t cry. 

He can’t cry. 

Yet Dazai’s scent has always been the strongest in his bed, on the right side, where he always slept.

It hits him. Honeydew thick like molasses, and grasping at his glands. He used to drown in the scent—the pheromone—but right now it’s drowning him. 

The leftovers of a heat claw on his nose. They’ve spent so many in here, alone, in the presence of no one but their own lonesome. Their love was intoxicating. It wasn’t pretty nor loving; full and pure of obsession and lust. That was their haven. That is what they knew as home. 

Even when they woke up and couldn’t remember it all, they were home. 

But you can’t live in a house with no roof. 

As the last of the toddy rinses his throat. He isn’t able to hold it together anymore.

Dazai is gone.

He cries.

He’s looked for him over and over; from river canals to empty valleys, vintage bars, and the stores that sell cheap canned crab—he can’t find him. He’s looked far and wide, but if he knew anything about his partner, it is that when he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. 

He came from nowhere, and he disappears like he’s nothing. 

What is Dazai Osamu without sorrow, and what is Nakahara Chuuya without loss?

Truly, everything is lost the moment he obtains it. 

... 

If you asked Dazai, he’d say he never belonged anywhere. 

He made a clean slate of himself—erasing himself from the Port Mafia, cutting off anyone who knew him. He wiped himself from reality, disappearing off the face of the Earth, and now, here he is, trying to do good in the world. 

The last thing he wants to do is be a good Samaritan—he was never a virtuous person to begin with. To the dents in his bones, he is selfish, irretrievably cruel, and cold when the situation calls for it—that’s what he’s used to doing. 

Used to doing. Past tense. 

But he has to do good to be good for himself, right? Be on the side of saving people with honesty and vigor. To help out a few orphans, or open a curry shop or two. 

And even though he chose to be here…

…He can’t help but feel so out of place— because, of all places, the place where he felt at home was with Chuuya. 

But Chuuya thinks he’s dead. 

And it should stay that way— be that way. 

The last thing he wants is to see the pitiful eyes of the alpha he betrayed, hurt, and made grieve. All while knowing who he’s lost and when he’s lost them—playing parts in their deaths and disappearances. 

He doesn’t belong here. 

He doesn’t belong on the good side. 

…Does Dazai belong anywhere? 

He’s still too new to the job to be assigned anything engaging. He organizes papers and sorts through files while trying his very best to avoid everyone here . 

He feels… clingy for some reason, like he wants to give in to his surrender to the desires he was trained to shove deep inside—to be held, wrapped in warm blankets in a soft bed. They’re things he ignores because he doesn’t need them. He shouldn’t indulge in things that make him vulnerable.

That’s what he was taught—to pretend, to not give in to anything that made him look weak. He’s kept the facade up for so long, he isn’t sure he’s pretending anymore, or if it’s who he is. 

Dazai hasn’t had a heat in two years, ever since he left Chuuya. 

He almost misses him, the bastard. His chibi. 

“Dazai,” The blonde guy with glasses—Kunikida—an alpha—says. He’s nitpicky and loud, he’s fun to make mad—just like how Chuuya was. It’s fun to burst his bubble and get in his way. “Have you finished filing last week’s reports? The police station is asking for them.”

Oh. Right. He was supposed to do that. 

“Kunikida-san~ There are just so many! How am I supposed to do them all?” Dazai tries to play it off, yet his voice cracks halfway through. 

It’s getting… warm in the office. It’s big, and the windows are open to let some of the springtime chill inside. There’s no reason he should be anything but room temperature.

An annoyed sigh leaves Kunikida’s mouth, and Dazai can tell he’s trying to be professional— trying not to lash out at the newbie— trying to give space and be respectful. But that’s hard. 

“Just… what do you have done, Dazai?” 

His tone. His tone is weird. He’s annoyed. He’s disappointed. He made someone disappointed. Dazai doesn’t care about the person, no, he doesn’t care for people. Why is he caring now? Is it because he’s an alpha? An annoyed alpha. An alpha is annoyed at Dazai? 

Dazai doesn’t care when people are mad at him. He likes the reaction, their explosive behavior, and response. It’s funny. 

But disappointment? He can’t bear that. 

The room is increasingly getting hotter, and he isn’t sure if he’s actually sweating or if he’s imagining it. He wants to look around, avoiding the man’s stare in front of him, but that would give him away—his persona—to survive, he needs to play it off. 

“Ne, Kunikida-san, I got done the cases from last week…” Dazai grits through his teeth. He’s not nervous, but he’s not comfortable. He can salvage this; he can say what he’s done and then retreat, like how he used to with Chuuya. “Not the ones from this week or two weeks ago.” He says in a stretch—it’s the truth, he’s not lying. 

He’s just been… tired, recently. 

Kunikida mutters something, but his tone is too low for Dazai to decipher just what it is. 

“Dazai?” 

Did he do something? 

“Yes?” 

He hasn’t let himself get close to anyone here. The moment he develops a relationship with someone, he gets attached—and he loses everything he doesn’t want to let go.

“Are you okay?” Kunikida sounds… quiet, and the question sounds like forced concern being sawed through his teeth.

Dazai is used to no concern at all. 

It’s dystopian for someone to truly care about him. How can you nurture the very thing that’s been tarnished, forced to be aggressive by nature? He doesn’t reciprocate fondly—he bites back like a dog trained to be nothing that isn’t violent. To be worthy of the kindness of others, you have to earn it, and just what has Dazai done to earn anything?

Everything he knows is illusory. A constant game of blackjack deception. He deceived his way to the Port Mafia executive. He fell for Mori’s hallucinogenics of care. He thought that Ango was one of his closest friends, only to kill the first person Dazai could ever call family. 

Is everything here performative as well? Is that what he has to do, perform?

“...I’m fine, Kunikida-san~” The lie comes off his tongue. A mirage. He’ll give them a mirror so fine they’ll have no reason to want to know him. “Ne, are you worried about the rookie? I’m flattered!”

Kunikida doesn’t respond at first. Staring at Dazai like he’s broken, something he needs to fix— and Dazai finds himself hating it. 

He’ll give people no reason to pity him. He is not a wet dog. 

Kunkida rolls his eyes, adjusting the glasses on his face. “The rest of us are going on a mission. Go home for the day.” He breathes.

“But that’s so boring!” He whines, throwing his arms up in the air. Is it good enough? Why isn’t he good enough? “I wanna get in on the action, preferably with a gun, and—” 

And then Kunikida gives him a look. He doesn’t seem disgusted or appalled, just… puzzled? Flabbergasted? … Confused? He’s certainly judging, but he doesn’t know in what way. 

“Are you kidding? You smell like… something, and bringing you along could jeopardize the mission.” He makes a face. 

Dazai blinks at him because…

…He isn’t supposed to smell like anything. 

“Will do,” Dazai pops his lips, hopefully hiding the worry growing in his chest. He needs to get home. Kunikida told him to go home, and he will do just that—he can at least do that. 

He’s able to easily slip out of the office undetected when everyone heads to the meeting room, and only after he’s cooped up in an alleyway does he take the time to really smell himself. 

He’s on heat suppressants, he’s on scent-blocking gels and patches—there is no reason for him to be smelling like anything but nothing. 

The alpha was right—he does smell like something…

…He smells like cranberries. 

Which is weird because the only person he knew who smelled like cranberries was Chuuya. 

Shit. 

…Everything goes downhill from there.

The reason he was hot back at the office. The reason why everything felt a little fuzzy, muffled. The reason why he wants to be held and cave into his subgender’s desires and nest. His too-human urge to want to be held. 

It’s his heat. 

And it’s coming fast. 

The heat suppresents and gels could only work for so long—he isn’t stupid, he read it on a package; five years of usage, consecutively, at least. He wasn’t even at the halfway point yet. The drugs malfunctioning has always been a concern, but he didn’t expect it this soon. 

A side effect of the pills and gels was that they’d make his heat come randomly, all at once—which is why he was supposed to go off them every four months and have a proper heat with an alpha. Dazai wasn't following that recommendation—he never does, and it was too dangerous to fuck around to find out. He can’t calculate the outcome of his actions when he’s trapped in his own sexual desires. 

…Another side effect, a very small, inconsiderable one, is that he’d smell of the pheromones of the last alpha he bonded with, and that alpha was none other than Nakahara Chuuya. He got his sweet scent; the smell that made Dazai feel warm and… safe— god, he felt so, undeniably, truly, safe wrapped in Chuuya’s sweet cranberry and mascarpone when he crooned. Whenever Dazai found himself close enough to the alpha’s gland, that creamy scent was stronger, and he wanted to devour it. 

Now that he’s aware of it… he realized the symptoms are stronger than he initially thought. 

His breath is ragged, like he ran three miles in one go. How a gust of wind feels so hot against his skin, he’s wilting like a flower in the desert, and he’s in public, reeking like an omega in heat. 

Everything is too much—he’s feeling too much, when he’s so used to feeling too little or nothing at all. It’s overwhelming. He always took more pills than he could chew, extra precaution never hurt anyone, and now he’s left to deal with the consequences of his own actions. 

But he’s in public… 

…and he’s an omega having a heat. 

His subgender, his stupid omega desires are pounding at him to find an alpha—get a proper knot and to nest, but his mind—his brain knows that it’s a bad idea. He’s never been trustful, even at his worst, he never begged an alpha— his alpha, Chuuya—for a knot. Yet now he salivates for it. 

It’s coming much too quickly, and his omega is making him delirious. 

Slick isn’t oozing down his thighs, yet. He has time. He still has time to make it to his apartment, and—

People live there. Like this, he’s sure anyone could smell him through the walls. The dorm walls are thin, very hollow, and you can smell when someone’s up making a late-night meal.

The last thing Dazai wants is to be someone’s midnight snack. 

Something, a feeling—or is it an instinct, a desire he’s buried so deep he’s forgotten what it was—is pulling at his chest. Telling him to go. He isn’t sure to where. He doesn’t have a clear vision—yet the only thing that’s making any sense to him right now is to go before it’s too late. 

So, against his better judgement—or any judgement—he follows it. 

And the only thing he can do is hope it doesn’t get him killed. 

…

Chuuya’s still in the shower when his phone starts ringing. 

At first, he ignores it, because it’s a Friday evening and he just got off work. He’s in the middle of doing his routine for his dedicated soap opera and wine drinking after-work fiesta. His peace has never been disturbed before—and he wasn’t going to let anyone change that. 

But it keeps ringing. 

And buzzing. 

And going off. 

“What the fuck.” Chuuya grumbles through his teeth, half-assing a towel over his waist before snatching his phone from the bathroom sink. 

His heart freezes when he looks at the caller ID. 

Because it shouldn’t— that name shouldn’t be there. 

He searched the whole city—from secret societies to underground villages, from the rural towns and ridiculously sized mansions. There was no sign that Dazai was anywhere. He searched. He looked, and poked, and prodded for six months after his partner’s— ex partner’s disappearance—and found nothing.

There was nothing to find, there was nothing to look for, just what kind of sick game is this? 

He merely stares, watching as his phone buzzes a storm in his hands. He blinks, keeps rubbing his eyes to see if this is some kind of joke, but it’s not. 

It’s real. 

Because no one else could have Chuuya’s number. 

He picks up the phone, slowly bringing it to his ear. 

Heavy breathing, ragged breathing—more like pants are being audited, and they don’t sound like they’re from exhaustion, either…

“Dazai?” Chuuya says so quietly, he’s in disbelief. He doesn’t know what’s happening, or if this is real, or if this is just his grief coming back to haunt him two years later. 

It’s pants, sniffles, and—

“Chuu?” 

The hairs on his back and arms stand up because that’s his voice. This is Dazai. He’s alive and breathing , after all these years, he’s still here. 

It’s a feeling no one can quite place. Someone you convinced, no, knew yourself to be dead, suddenly turns up alive? There are so many emotions that can be associated with that. Some may feel relief, while others feel anger. To some, they may cry, while others feel nothing; emotions are too dumbed down and compartmentalized. 

And Chuuya? Well… 

He feels everything at once. 

“Can—” The pants get louder, and a few clicks and clacks can be heard through the microphone. “—Can you let me in?” 

Let him in? 

…Is Dazai…?

Chuuya hurries out of the bathroom, grabbing the first pair of pants he sees—he doesn’t even care that they’re patterned pajama bottoms because what does Dazai mean to let him in? Dazai’s always let himself in. He’s always broken the window, climbed through the apartment vents, or picked the lock on the patio or front door. 

He’s never asked to be let in, not once. Never. 

Dazai is not dangling off the ledge by Chuuya’s bedroom window. He’s not sitting outside like a wet kitten on the balcony—Chuuya doesn’t hear anything crawling around in the vents, so that means he has to be— 

Clank. 

His steps are slow, yet taken with a sense of urgency. It’s reluctance, disbelief as the grief he’s held onto for two whole years flows through his skin—disturbing Arahabaki within. 

And the closer he gets to the door…

…the more he realizes the smell. 

And the moment he swings the door open… 

Omega. 

His omega.

His omega was covered in heat, sweat plaguing his forehead—bangs sticking to his face. His cheeks are flushed crimson—freckles barely visible with how red they are. His eyes look hazy, distant, not all the way there, and with the way Dazai is shaking— he doubts he’s lucid. 

He also looks... healthier, not by much, but there's definitely a difference. His face is filled out more, cheekbones less prominent which makes his heart flutter in relief, but also make the rosiness of his cheeks more visible. His hair has evened out a smidge; self-cut bangs growing into something more presentable. The colors... he's dressing in a color that isn't black or white. He just looks happier. 

As much as Chuuya wants to bring himself to be mad at Dazai, this pathetic excuse of an omega—his bastard of an ex-partner—he just can’t. 

He can’t do that. He can’t do that to Dazai. Not right now. Not while he’s in this state. 

Yet it’s so tempting. 

“Did you fucking walk here? What the hell,” Chuuya stares in disbelief, watching as the brunette in front of him wilts further and further on his doormat. 

Dazai, as much as he could right now, nods. 

“Did what felt right, brought me here–” He’s sniffling, in some raw, messed-up form of distress. His eyelashes—those long eyelashes—are stained with the beginnings of tears. “Don’ know why—” He hiccups, bringing a rough fist to his face— too rough. “Jus’ listented.” 

“You listened to your instincts?” Chuuya finds that hard to believe, because— 

…Dazai has never listened to his subgender before. 

Back in their mafia days, Chuuya would have to force him out of the battlefield and into a damn bed before a feral alpha jumped at his ass. Dazai would show up to work, drenched in sweat and slick that Chuuya would salivate on instinct. Even while Dazai was delirious, in the middle of his heat and in no condition to be anywhere but a nest— he would be using his scent to torture people. 

He’d keep his slick and vials and spread it across rooms—using that sweet, delicious scent to lure people to him, only to stab them in the heart with a knife. He’d cry wolf, purport to have his glands, making his pheromone coat an area, summoning alphas —dominant and feral alike —only to have set all of them on fire, meeting their cruel demise. 

His subgender didn’t mean shit to people. He used it to his leverage—a demon on the field. Omegas are thought to be submissive and pliant—Dazai did nothing to contribute to that stereotype.  

And time and time again, Dazai would overexert himself until he was barely able to stand. Then he’d slam Chuuya into a wall, and do his favorite thing, beg. 

Beg. Beg. Beg. 

He’d do that pitiful mewl of his that made Chuuya’s alpha feel desperate. Seduction has always been an omega’s best friend, and Chuuya is only a man. 

Still, Dazai never listened—truly listened on his own accord—to his instincts. 

“Bastard,” Chuuya pulls Dazai by his arm into his apartment, shutting his door behind him and making sure every lock is in place because Dazai smells delicious. 

He could hear Dazai tumbling on the wooden planks, barely able to keep his balance on his own. 

Just how did he walk here, and how many people smelled him?

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Chuuya grits. “Walking here, covered in fucking heat. You reek, Dazai.”

“‘M not supposed to smell like anything,” He barely manages to breathe out. 

Chuuya feels his heart stop.

“...What do you mean you’re not supposed to smell like anything?” 

“Pills,” Dazai mutters, and he sounds ashamed. Dazai and ashamed shouldn’t be in the same sentence. “Gels. Said—” 

“What the fuck were you taking?!” Chuuya seethes, and he didn’t mean to sound that angry, but Dazai has never cared about his subgender’s well-being. That was up to Chuuya to take care of; that whole side of Dazai belonged to him, and it was his job to protect that. 

Dazai whimpers. 

“Tell me,” Chuuya isn’t mad, but his alpha is. “Now.” He commands.

“I don’t know!” Dazai chokes a sob. “I don’t!” Tears stream down his face—genuine tears rolling against his flushed cheeks—and he looks legitimately sad. “I did whatever I had to do to survive!” 

“At the expense of your life!?” Chuuya yells. And this hurts because they’ve bonded. Every time you bond with someone, you take a part of them with you, big or small. “That’s selfish, Dazai! That’s really fucking selfish!” 

“I never cared for it!” Dazai stomps. He’s having a tantrum; he always has. “You were the only one who did!” 

“Then why did you leave me!?” 

“Because I had to find good to do good!” 

The room is still—because that takes Chuuya back.

He doesn’t say anything. Nothing at all. Not even a peep. 

“I had to…” His words are choked—spoken with such earnestness and of his own grief, that it sounds like a failed prayer. “I had to save the weak, protect orphans—be good, Chuuya. I had to be good.” His voice cracks. “And to save the weak, I—” His scent is sour, so fucking sour, that Chuuya wants to cradle him and take back all the yelling, but— “How could I save the weak if I didn’t save myself?” 

Dazai. Saving himself? Dazai. 

 “...You didn’t disappear for another reason?” Vulnerability has never been either of their strong suits. It’s always been far-fetched, wrecked beyond repair, and difficult for them to ever understand.

Survival. Both of them, their whole lives, did what they needed to do to survive. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Chuuya’s voice breaks, and he can’t help but slowly start walking towards his omega. 

“I couldn’t save you, Chuuya,” Dazai whispers, gaze directed at the floor. “I thought… of… everything, and I—” Chuuya’s hands land on his wrist. He flinches, but he doesn’t push away. “I didn’t wanna hurt you.” 

He’s been hurting for two fucking years. 

“And you thought leaving without saying a word would hurt any less?” He half-kids, they always have coped in the most vile of situations through humor. 

The scent gets worse.

It’s not just a scared omega. His scared omega. This is someone who’s so undeniably broken, and complicated, and filled with complexity that he’s wilting in front of his eyes. 

Only now that he’s close does he realize something is off. More off than before. 

“Why do you… smell like me?” It’s only a tinge, the faintest lick of cranberries and marscapone, but it’s there. 

But Dazai isn’t able to answer, not coherently. 

“Side effect…” He breathes slowly, head resting on Chuuya’s shoulder. 

And Chuuya has eyes on his glands…

They’re swelling and oozing. 

“Hey. hey, hey,” Chuuya croons, just something to get the tiniest bit of Dazai back to him. “Were you scratching? I won’t be mad, I promise.” Dazai responds with a whine that sounds like a no. 

That’s the best he’s gonna get tonight, is he?

“Alpha?” Dazai whimpers. “Please? Help?” 

As much as Chuuya wants to help Dazai—he doesn’t know what he took and how it’s affecting Dazai and his omega. There’s too much risk. Too much for him to lose, and he’s already lost Dazai once. 

He isn’t sure if he could survive a second. 

Another scent flows in the air, and it smells… like honeydew. 

Fuck. 

“Mm, alpha?” Dazai brings their bodies closer— rutting against Chuuya, just begging for any friction. “Hah —mm—help?” 

Chuuya can feel Dazai’s heat through their clothes—how hard he is beneath layers of fabric as he sloppily grinds on his thigh. It’s hot. It’s attractive. And God, it’s seductive. But this game is dangerous. This whole ordeal is dangerous. 

“We can’t, Dazai,” His alpha hurls inside of him. He feels like shit, denying a desperate omega of his needs, but the logical side of him—though it’s slim—is present right now—it needs to be. For both of their sakes.

Dazai cries. “Nooooo!” His weight droops onto Chuuya, fully leaning on him, fully dependent. He’s playing dirty, and it’s not fair. “Please? ‘M came to Chuu ‘cause I can trust Chuuya. Please? Alpha? Please?” 

Chuuya has to remember that this isn’t Dazai talking. He’s out. He’s not in control. This is Dazai’s omega he’s talking to. He won’t be rational, he won’t be cooperative, he won’t think he’ll just do. 

…but he came to him because he trusts him. 

“Hey, omega, hey,” Chuuya lifts his chin with his hand—and he immediately regrets it. 

Dazai’s eyes are gone; hazed through and distant by the presence of his heat. They’re almost blurry, so far away and desperate. It’s a pathetic, needy, sad gaze that makes Chuuya go hard. 

And the omega, well… 

He pushes them onto the floor. Now he’s on top of Chuuya, nestling all his weight on top of his clothed, aching cock. 

“Please, alpha?” Dazai’s hands push on his chest as he lightly bounces on the alpha’s clothed erection. The slick is seeping through his pants, getting Chuuya wet in the process. It’s destructive, menacing, and fuck, it’s tempting.  “I’ll be good, please? Omega can be good…” 

It’s so fucking tempting. 

“Sweetheart…” Chuuya resists, restraining himself from grabbing the omega’s thighs, because he’d, without a doubt, cave. “Can you be a good omega and tell me the color of the pills?” And, against his better judgement, he adds, “I’ll give you whatever you want after, alright?” 

“Mm?” Dazai pants. Fists curling on his alpha’s chest as he ruts more. Whimpering. “Even a knot?” 

Chuuya’s never knotted him before. That was on their list of things not to do, and Dazai was very strict on not letting himself get knotted. He begged Chuuya so many times while he was in heat for a knot, knot, knot— and every time it was the same story. They could do everything else except mate and knot. 

“Yeah,” He exhales, holding his breath because Dazai is having the time of his life getting off on Chuuya’s covered dick. “Just be good and tell me the color. Can you do that?”

“Color? Mm… yeah…” He lets out the slightest gasp of a moan. “Yellow an’ blue…” He grinds down, eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

An omega is on top of him and getting off. It’s not fair. 

“Good job…” Chuuya thrusts up, just a bit, and Dazai wilts as a wet spot coats the front of his pants. 

He finished, and he was barely being touched. 

Dazai collapses on top of Chuuya—chest heavy with the fatigue of a heat as he pants. 

“Alpha…” Dazai murmurs. 

“Hm?”

“Scent, please? Scent…” 

“Okay, it’s okay, shh…” Chuuya brings a wrist up to Dazai’s neck gland and rubs against it, feeling the omega go limp at the friction—almost reaching a state of tranquility. 

That should keep him… Chuuya thinks. 

He scents him for a while, rumbling soft croons from his chest. Dazai found comfort in it, no matter how out of it he was. He just needs a few moments to search the color pill Dazai took to know if it’s safe to fuck his brains out. 

(Nevermind that Dazai already fucked himself out—)

Chuuya is barely able to get his phone from his pocket with Dazai lying on him; he smells luscious, nice, and pliable—and so incredibly, deeply reliant on Chuuya it’s obscene. It’s a clash from how he normally is—from what Chuuya is used to seeing. Dazai Osamu has always been everything that his subgender isn’t unless he’s so deep in his heat that he can’t help but cave to his instincts. 

His phone fumbles in his hands—he’s barely able to search for yellow and blue heat suppressant—needing to squint his eyes to decipher the answer. 

From the swift read, he could do because Dazai is nuzzling up to his neck gland like a barnacle—the only way to fix this heat is by getting a knot. 

… and he is only a man with a very pliant omega atop him. 

He wants to help Dazai, but not at the expense of being abandoned again…

But Dazai came to him. 

That has to be worth something, right?

The omega in question is breathing so lightly that if Chuuya didn't know him any better, he would think he was asleep. It’s the way he breathes, the way his breaths aren’t even enough to be those of slumber—they have the slightest tone of raggedness, needy. Dazai’s omega won’t rest until he receives what he wants. 

“I’m gonna move us, m’kay?” Chuuya pushes Dazai’s bangs from his face—he’s lost a bit of the heat-induced flush, yet he’s still colored-crimson. His pants are alleviated, for now, with the minor, pathetic fuck out he did. 

Dazai is too out of it to respond. Not able to do anything but groan as he wiggles and squirms. 

“Hey, hey,” Chuuya soothes. “I’m moving us somewhere comfortable.” He sits up, gathering the omega’s jelly limbs around his waist as he stands up—feeling it when his knees pop. It’s been a while since they’ve done this, done anything, really, and Dazai isn’t one for change. 

If he were any further, he would’ve missed the tiniest squeak Dazai lets out the moment he realizes he’s being picked up—followed by his adorable kitten-like sneeze he’s always been ashamed of. It’s maddening. 

The bastard is driving him mad. 

An almost-eerie silence follows—the only sounds being Dazai’s whimpers infused with purrs. It’s hard to tell if he’s scared or impatient because his scent is sugary, the kind of sweet Chuuya has dreamed about; he’s nigh around heaven. 

He reaches his bedroom door, just barely able to open it— Dazai’s rutting again, slowly gaining back his lucidness. He withers. Breathing harshly against Chuuya’s neck gland—rubbing his nose and panting on it. It makes Chuuya seal his lips shut before he pushes the omega against a wall and fuck his brains out. 

Patience. He has to be patient and responsible— because neither of them—(besides Dazai’s omega)—wants to come out of this expecting a baby. 

He goes to lay Dazai on his bed made of silk sheets and overly plush pillows. It’s soft, warm, and it wouldn’t take much for an omega to nest in it, which is what he hopes Dazai does— lay down and rest. 

But as soon as he begins to put Dazai down…

“Nooo!” Dazai tightens his limbs around Chuuya, heels of his feet digging into the small of his back, arms nearly suffocating him. “Don’ leave…” 

“It’s just for a second, okay? I won’t be long—” 

“No!” He pushes his face against Chuuya’s gland, and it makes him hiss. 

“Ow, Dazai, that hurts—!” 

“No leaving!”

God, he had forgotten just how much of a brat Dazai and his omega were. 

The omega’s scent goes sour —tinge growing by the minute. Hurt omega. Scared Omega. Don’t leave, can’t leave, can’t leave—

It isn’t rational, these feelings aren’t rational, and instincts aren’t rational. Chuuya himself knows that he needs to leave, to gather more blankets and pillows, because what he has won’t be enough. To take a rut suppressant pill because Dazai will no doubt trigger a rut when he’s like… this. He needs to gather water bottles so neither of them—especially Dazai—gets too dehydrated, and he’d rather do that all now before he fucks his omega’s mind out. 

He has every good reason to leave. 

But Dazai being Dazai will make that incredibly difficult. 

Dazai’s hold is only getting tighter. God, Chuuya can feel himself getting lightheaded in each passing moment. He can’t subdue Dazai’s omega. 

…So he’ll have to… play into his subgender, just a little bit.  

“Dazai,” Chuuya lifts Dazai’s chin for the second time this evening. “You want some warm blankets?” He gets watery eyes and too-wet sniffles in response, eyes dazed beyond understanding. “I have to go get those so you can nest. You want to nest, right?” 

“Mm-hmm…” Dazai tries to surrender back into Chuuya’s shoulder. 

“No, no,” He’s gentle. “Blankets and pillows can’t get here themselves, now can they?” He jokes, crooning at the pout Dazai makes. “We can cuddle in your nest, okay? You want a safe place?” 

“Mm…” Dazai gasps, “Alpha lay in nest?” 

Chuuya nods, “Of course, sweetheart. Anytime.” 

“Gonna come back?” Dazai slurs. 

“I’ll be back before you know it. Just sit pretty for me, yeah?” He smiles when Dazai shivers, finally loosening the grip he has on Chuuya. 

Still, it takes a few seconds for Dazai to let himself be put down. Whimpering when Chuuya laxes his hold, needing reassurance that he’s coming back. Dazai’s always had some form of abandonment issues, and they amplified when he was in heat. 

When Dazai is finally seated on the mattress, he looks a bit like a wet kitten. Bangs sticking to his face, and eyes blinking with too many tears. He looks so sad and alone. Chuuya ruffles his hair before he exits. 

He uses his ability to gather nearly every blanket and pillow he owns, because Dazai—the king of dramatics—would always demand more pillows when his heat died down for a few hours. He’s able to fill up a few bottles with ice-cold water, and pops a suppressant pill before Dazai’s scent rots. 

Why is it rotting? 

“Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Dazai—” He croons as soon as he enters the room—blankets and pillows trailing on the floor behind him, chucking the water bottles on the nightstand. Dazai is curled up in a ball, crying like something is hurting him. “Hey—” He worries. He’s fucking worried, gently grabbing the omega’s cheek like he’s glass. “—What’s wrong, what happened?” 

“Hurts,” He chokes. 

“Okay, okay,” Chuuya swallows. “I’ll take care of you, shh—” 

…he’s cut off by Dazai yanking him onto the bed with strength he didn’t know he had. 

Dazai’s on top of him again, sitting directly on his cock, nestling it. 

He’s lost layers. 

The beige coat he came in was gone, along with his pants—his light-blue shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing his chest. His horridly patterned underwear that’s been slicked through hell and back—it’s soaking in sweetness.

Chuuya’s salivating. 

Because it’s right there. Dazai is right there. 

“Ah—” Dazai groans when he fits his ass just right, getting off on riding Chuuya’s covered bulge. “Alpha…” He preens. “Please? ‘M want…”

Chuuya’s only a man. 

“Shh,” He finally lets himself grab Dazai’s thighs. He feels scarring on the omega’s skin—old habits take a long time to die hard—but there’s significantly less than there was before. Wherever Dazai was, whatever Dazai was doing—he hopes it’s helping him. “I’ll take care of it—I’ll take care of you.” 

…He’s always been the stronger one of the two. 

Chuuya flips them over, hearing his omega gasp beneath him, and now that he’s on top…

…He loses control because Dazai looks… ethereal. 

From the way his eyelashes sit on his cheeks—big doe eyes conveying all the emotion he tries to hide—it’s hard to resist him. He smells wickedly sweet, swollen with honeydew and marshmallows—he needs to devour him. It’s the way his chest pants, and it would look so much more beautiful marked with love bites and failed love confessions. 

He aims for his neck first—a business mark of his. 

Dazai keens at the first suck. 

Chuuya doesn’t bite his glands, though; he’s tempted, but he doesn’t. He licks around it, leaving bite marks where Dazai’s bandages usually go. 

“You taste so good…” Chuuya croons.

Dazai moans, bucking his hips up, begging for any friction against his erection, but Chuuya won’t give that to him—not that easily. 

“None of that, Dazai,” Chuuya whispers in his ear. “The better you behave, the faster you’ll get a knot.” 

He hisses.

“Sweetheart…” Chuuya bites his ear, lapping at his ear, nibbling on it. “We’ve got all night.”

“Hurts…” 

“I know, I know,” He drags his nose back to his neck gland—still swollen and red. “I’ll take care of it. Just be patient, okay?”

Dazai’s hips bolt now and again with every suck and bite Chuuya marks on his neck, covering the skin with love bites and saliva. Dazai’s groans sound heavenly, his chest rising up and down when Chuuya sucks hard enough to send goosebumps throughout his body. 

He treats Dazai like a main course—a five-star meal at a Michelin restaurant. It’s not just that he tastes and smells heavenly—it’s that Dazai has always been his haven. 

He’s gone two fucking years without this. He’s a starved, starved man. 

Chuuya rubs circles on one of Dazai’s nipples—all red and perky, just like he remembers them. They’ve always been cute—nice and sensitive, he’s wondered if he could make Dazai finish just by touching them and them alone.

…but that’s for another time. 

He sucks.

“Ngh—!” The omega gasps, cock twitching against Chuuya’s when he inhales him. Chuuya starts slow, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around the bud when his other hand pinches and twists the other. He rumbles small vibrations from his throat, not stopping until he imagines something coming out of the nip. 

He does the same to the other side, nice and slow. Taking his time with it. Dazai’s moaning is an orchestra to his ears—he’s always liked him vocal in bed—a chorus of lyres singing a personal song. 

There’s a hitch of a breath when Dazai cries, again, from too much pleasure. He’s overstimulated, and it’s beautiful. 

“You’re being so good…” Chuuya talks against his nipple, whistling on it before pulling it off fully. If he could paint, he’d paint this version of Dazai and mount it on his wall—he’s gorgeous. “Gonna open you up now, okay?” 

“Please…” Dazai begs. 

Chuuya feels a pool of heat swirl in his stomach—God, he’s never seen Dazai this desperate before. He hates that it took a drug malfunction to get to this point. 

“Stay pretty for me,” Chuuya pulls down Dazai’s underwear, throwing it on the floor—it’s soaked. 

…and the moment Chuuya puts his fingers in, massaging the rim with his thumb. 

Dazai’s hole engulfs him like it’s thirsty, swallowing him. 

He slips in the first finger, and he watches as a new bead of cum emerges from his tip. He’s forgotten how responsive Dazai’s dick was. How pretty it looked, bathed in proper heat in the sun. 

Chuuya’s surprised with how tight Dazai is despite how slick he was producing. It seems counterintuitive, a side effect of the drug, maybe. 

“Oh, baby,” Chuuya hums. “You’re still so tight.” 

The omega withers. 

“Hey, none of that,” He brings a couple to his mouth, and Dazai’s first instinct is to try and lap at it like a feral animal. “You’ll still get your knot…” Chuuya slips his fingers in, keening when Dazai sucks obediently. “It’ll just— ah— omega, no biting—” He pulls them out, licking the fluid his omega left on his finger, even his drool tastes good. “—It’ll just take a little bit.” 

“Alpha…” Dazai whines—his vocabulary is limited, he’s running on pheromones and heat, not brainpower and wits. “Hurry…” 

He pushes in another finger, walls clenching around his digits. Dazai, the omega trying to be good, remains still; the only thing moving is his forever-heaving chest with breaths wrapped with pleasure. 

Dazai’s dick is so perky in front of him… 

Chuuya uses his other hand, using the slick from Dazai’s ass to start stroking the omega’s erection, and he moans. 

“—Ah— A-Alp ha!” Tears stream down his face when Chuuya hums on his tip, “Mm—s-s top! N-n o!” 

He doesn’t stop, though, because those weren’t words of fear. There were embedded in keep going, because Dazai doesn’t know how to say when he likes something. 

The alpha nuzzles his lips against the head one last time, before lightly sucking—cleaning away the gem of pre-cum. He licks the trail, falling back to his perfect, cute tip, as he scissors his finger inside the omega’s ass—making him gasp. It takes a few sucks, a few praises that he’s doing so good, and rounds of movement before Dazai relaxes as much as he can. 

Chuuya supports the omega’s cock, rubbing the base with his hand as he bobs his head up and down, going deeper and deeper with each bounce. He feels the omega’s muscles tighten , preening at the pleasure. His hole spasms— breathing, sucking him in, before pushing him out again. 

It’s a game Chuuya loves. 

When Chuuya pushes his fingers in deeper, just barely grazing the omega’s prostate, his head goes further down Dazai’s length. He repeats it, going deeper, pushing in further, pulling off, pulling his fingers out. It makes Dazai wilt until he’s left making stupid, incoherent sounds. 

Dazai’s hole easily accepts a third finger, taking it in before he pulls it out. Starved. It’s starved, hungry, devouring anything that enters it—just like Chuuya wanted.

Chuuya just barely takes him down his throat, humming to give Dazai some vibrations—another thing to edge him with. He wants him out of it. He wants him tired, so full of pleasure and desire.

Pre-cum fills his mouth, covering the insides of his cheeks with a bittersweet salt. He likes it, for some reason. He’s always liked the way Dazai tastes. 

And the moment he pulls off…

…He curls his fingers, all three of them hitting his prostate head-on— and a beautiful, white line of cum coats his stomach. 

Chuuya laughs, “Already?” He keeps his fingers inside, not moving from where they are—it makes them a nice reminder of who can make Dazai feel like this. “I haven’t even knotted you yet…” 

…Yet now that he’s had a proper release, he gets some of his Dazai back, just after a few moments. 

“Alpha’s stupid…” Dazai wanes—chest rising with the aftermath of finishing. “Said you were gon’ knot me. Liar.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t lying, sweetheart,” Chuuya drags his fingers along the omega’s chest, getting cum on his fingers. “I’m enjoying you, y’know?” 

“This is my heat!” Dazai complains. “Stupid alpha. Stupid Chuu.”

Chuuya takes the fluid on his fingers and licks it off. 

It makes Dazai blush hard. 

“What?” The alpha tilts his head, grinning in primal. “You like that?” He wants Dazai to say it.

Chuuya goes back, licking the omega’s overly sensitive chest, cleaning off the omega’s own juices. He won’t let it go to waste.

He kisses him, giving Dazai a taste of himself. 

The kiss isn’t pretty; it isn’t loving or full of affection. It’s a sloppy mess of perfection. Chuuya’s tongue ravages Dazai’s mouth, making him taste every last part that Chuuya explores as he sucks Dazai’s tongue in. He’s gnawing at him—pulling at his lip with his teeth, practically saying You are mine and mine alone. 

And Dazai responds in the best way he can. Moaning incoherences into Chuuya’s mouth, surrendering his lips and mouth to him—partially because of his heat, but Chuuya knows that his Dazai is present, this isn’t just his omega. 

“Chuuya…” Dazai mewls, one last breath coming out of the kiss. “Please?” 

It’s the way he says it— how he said it. 

“This isn’t just your heat talking?” Chuuya has to confirm, not because he still has three fingers inside Dazai’s ass right now, but—

Because they’ve never knotted. 

“Chibi…” Dazai murmurs. “I’ve a-always—” Chuuya’s fingers twitch, causing Dazai to groan. “ Bad alpha,” Dazai pouts, but continues, “—I’ve always w–wanted your knot, I was just…” He breathes in, like he’s confessing a crime to a shrink. “I was scared.” 

Dazai Osamu? Scared? 

The former Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia… was scared?

“How so?” Chuuya presses their temples together, noses touching. It’s a soft, tender act compared to everything else they’ve done.

“Look at me, chibi, and tell me I wasn’t disgusting.” 

Chuuya never thought of Dazai to be anything but beautiful. 

Hearing that wouldn’t help Dazai, though. He’d doubt it, say Chuuya is a stupid alpha who just wants a submissive omega in his bed. Which isn’t a lie. It’s a subgender desire; an alpha wants a mate who they can protect and take care of—it’s instinct, something he can’t help—but he never wanted Dazai to be… that. It was too out-of-character, too… un -Dazai-like. 

He wanted someone who could understand him in his truest, rawest form. Someone who could save him when he couldn’t save himself—which Dazai did, unknowingly and without trying, yet he never failed. Dazai was the first person to see Chuuya as human, to acknowledge and validate his humanity. Dazai was the first person Chuuya met who didn’t care about his strength and how he could use it; he cared about what he could do.

Dazai has never been disgusting to Chuuya—not even at his worst. Not when he relapsed or was found drowning in a ditch somewhere, not when he prodded at older women when he was otherworldly drunk, not when he hadn’t showered for a month. 

He’s always just been Chuuya’s fucked up, first form of a savior— Dazai was the first person to truly save Chuuya. 

“You were never disgusting to me, Mackerel.” It’s a nickname he hasn’t used in years. He hasn’t heard it, read it, or minded the name. But it needs to be used, right now. “You think I cared about that stuff? I came from the slums, dammit. You were the first hygienic teenager I met.” 

“But—” 

“Ah-ah, I’m not done,” Chuuya shushes. “You were the first person who didn’t see me as a pawn. You were the first person who wasn’t scared of me—you were the first person who didn’t try and hurt me.” Dazai’s eyes twinkle at his—eyes colored dirt brown, bathing in Chuuya’s blue. “How could I hate my savior?” 

“But I–” Dazai sniffles. “I betrayed you… Don’t you hate me?” 

“Stupid fucker,” Chuuya finds it in himself to chuckle. “If I hated you, I wouldn’t have looked for you.” 

“...You… Looked for me?” Dazai sounds like he’s in disbelief— genuine disbelief. 

“I’ve been looking all this time,” Chuuya confesses, and it sits silent between them. 

It’s weird seeing someone you’ve grieved for such a long time. 

And it’s weirder when you’re in love with them. 

Yet…

“Chuuya?”

“Yeah?” 

“Your fingers are still in my ass. Please—” 

Chuuya laughs softly and silences him with a kiss. “Yeah, I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

The alpha works his fingers in and out of Dazai’s ass again—watching as his voice devolves from being coherent to incomprehensible and garbled nonsense. His eyes return to the back of his head within seconds, bliss taking up his being. 

At first, his tactiles are fast— working with the sole purpose to get the omega just on edge enough to where he’s frothing, but not enough to make him cum. Chuuya has plans for that. 

Dazai’s eyes are rolled so far back —the faces he’s making are obscene— mouth opening and closing with some gasps, some moans, while some are filled with nothing, they’re just for show, and fuck, Chuuya had forgotten about his own, aching cock—he’s so hard it hurts. 

…And hesitantly, Chuuya slips in a fourth finger, being accepted with ease. 

He’s cruel— curling his fingers just enough to graze Dazai’s prostate, but not enough to punch it and give him that line of release. The reaction it has is abysmal— Dazai’s cock throbbing against his stomach with vigor and desperation, drooling pooling from his mouth like he’s a filthy whore. 

Chuuya’s always loved Dazai’s sensitivity, how every little touch has some form of effect on him—sexual or not. He’s touch starved—chronically so—and Chuuya likes to use that to his advantage.

“O-sa-mu~” Chuuya croons, watching as the omega’s dazed eyes come back just a smidge. “Can I go all inside, please? I’m so close… ” He emphasizes his point by squeezing his prostate head-on, every finger glazing it. 

“F– fuck!” Dazai screams, but it’s Not Enough—it’s Not Enough for him to cum. “Alpha…”

“Alright, alright,” Maybe another time, when Dazai isn’t in sexual pain. Chuuya’s a sadist, and Dazai is a known masochist— both need their respective times. “Gonna take them out—” Dazai starts to protest. “ —Calm down, brat,” Chuuya chuckled. “You’re gonna be full again soon, I promise.”

Chuuya flips Dazai over—pushing his ass up in the air, a nice, cute little thing. He shoves a pillow under Dazai’s stomach— for support because Dazai’s stamina was horrid when it came to sex—his legs would give out before his throat became too strained from yells and pleas.

He quite likes this position; the way beads of cum drop coat the bed as Dazai’s cock rests on the pillow beneath him—his dick looks so hard it’s painful; the way it throbs with heat and leaks with fluid sliding down the shaft. His ass is exposed, visible only to Chuuya—giving him a nice view of his perfect, pink, and gaping hole he stretched out. 

Slick spoons out of Dazai’s ass—it had been building up behind Chuuya’s fingers. It coats the room in nasty, lewd sounds combined with Dazai’s angelic moans and gasps of pleasure—Chuuya can’t not cave in.

Chuuya scoops the slick pouring from Dazai’s hole as lube—pulling down his pants and stroking himself in aching thirst. He had been ignoring his own needs for—god, who knows how long at this point—but it’s been ignored enough that Chuuya has to stop himself from finishing with just his hands. 

The alpha cups Dazai’s ass, squeezing a bit, and the omega lets out a pleasured groan— ass and dick spasming simultaneously—it makes Dazai ebb for friction. 

“A–alpha,” Dazai gasps out, hands shaking with gripped sheets in his fists.

“You still with me?” 

“Yes!” Dazai begs. 

He begs. 

He fucking begs. 

And it goes something like this; 

“Please, please, alpha. I was full an’ you took it away. You said you’d help me, and I’ve been good, please. I’ve been good? Please?”

Chuuya may have resistance, but he doesn’t have that much resistance. 

He squeezes his cheek one more time, resisting the urge to suck it in. Lap it up with bruises and love bites, leaving Dazai unable to walk for days.

…And when he hears something akin to a cry…

“Hm? Dazai, are you crying?” He says with a tone. A mockery. 

“Yes!” Dazai huffs as a genuine, sexually frustrated sob escapes his throat. “You’re a stupid alpha who won’t give me a stupid knot even when I beg, and beg, and beg!”

It takes a lot to get Dazai to beg twice in one night.

Does he feel a little guilty? Yeah, because Dazai was thrown into his heat out of nowhere, and when he came, the sun was still out, and now it’s close to dark outside. 

Shitty alpha.

Chuuya stops stroking himself for a moment, hand going up to tend to his very-sad omega. He may be a bit of an arse—and crying does turn him on—but he likes to give reassurance. 

“Hey, look at me,” Chuuya turns the omega’s face by his chin—tears falling from his eyes, and the alpha feels himself go rock solid. “I love you, y’know?” He means it—he isn’t saying it just because he’s made Dazai cry so much tonight—but because he’s regretted not saying it all these years. 

Maybe if Dazai knew. Maybe if Dazai knew someone would still love him; see him for who he is, and love him no matter his wrongdoings, he would’ve stayed, and not left Chuuya behind. But he wasn’t given that reassurance—no one in the Port Mafia is because it comes with the job. You’re trained on grief, sorrow, and anger—using your loneliness to defend yourself and no one else.

“I’ll love Alpha when he gives me a stupid fucking knot!” Typical. 

“Will you say it after…?”

“Yes! Just please! Before I rip your dick out and make a dildo for myself!” 

Jeez. So maybe he’s taken longer than he should’ve.

“Shh, got it, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” The apology is half-assed—Dazai will forgive him when he gets a knot tonight, like he’s been begging for since he got here.

Finally, Chuuya lines himself up with Dazai’s rim—feeling the heat wave from his hole—it’s threatening. And god, he doesn’t know what he’ll feel when he—

He pushes in. 

It’s tight, wet, and so unbelievably perfect— Dazai takes him perfectly, gasping as Chuuya pushes in, walls clenching along his length, creating a mold perfect for his cock and his cock alone.

“Oh my— fuck,” Chuuya gasps. He isn’t even halfway in, yet Dazai is sucking him in himself. “You feel so— good, god—” Not even he’s able to get a coherent word out, using Dazai’s waist as an anchor. 

“Chuu— ah , move.” 

Chuuya groans, feeling heat rumble down to his cock like he didn’t have enough already. He forces himself to be slow, groaning in pleasure with each inch that enters Dazai’s hole until he bottoms out—the omega’s body accepting him fully. 

They’re both panting messes, moaning and chasing their own satisfaction—it’s sexual greed at its finest. 

“Y–you’re,” Chuuya catches himself in a pant, “So good, omega—you’re doing so good…” 

Dazai garbles a cry in response, nodding his head in his heat. “Y–you m-make me feel so full— don’t w—want it to go away.” He’s a slurring mess, and it’s perfect.

Everything about this is perfect. Straight from a wet dream.

“Baby…” Chuuya croons—he wants to move, he needs to move. “Fast or slow?” 

“Knot! Please , al– pha! Givegivegivegivegive—”

Fast it is, then. 

Chuuya aims directly for his prostate—the jumbled, lewd noises coming from the omega don’t even sound like they’re coming from Dazai. His hands support Dazai from his stomach—and he’s plummeting so deep into him that he can feel his length bumping in his hands. 

It’s a merciless pace, one focused on getting Dazai the knot he so desperately wants—to make the pain go away. He’s aiming for one sweet spot, thrusting on it over and over, and over again. 

Dazai wails.

…And Chuuya does something…

His mating gland is right there, calling to him, and it may be because he doesn’t have the mental capacity to think clearly—all brain power went to Little Nakahara working overtime down there, but—

He looks. 

He aims. 

He reaches. 

And he bites. 

Dazai screeches.

Chuuya’s fangs sink into the gland—the alpha can feel raw, untouched pheromone liquid ooze into his mouth; it’s sweet, it’s so fucking sweet—an addictive drug. The iron that comes with blood somehow makes it better— sweet and savory, an obsessive narcotic you could never get enough of—and at the same time, he feels his knot swell; trapping his dick in the omega’s wet, pliant hole. 

He feels his jaw lock, just for ten seconds, before it unclicks, and the omega is writhing. 

Fuck, shit. 

What did he just do?

Dazai goes limp until him—Chuuya hands are the only thing supporting him right now because fuck— Chuuya just bit him, he mated him, he made Dazai his. 

He’s half-tempted to pull out—he should pull out, but—

He’s stuck. He’s knotting the omega. He can’t pull out. 

“Alpha…” Dazai’s conscious.

And if he is now, he won’t be for long.

“I’m right here, shh,” Chuuya croons—he needs to—he isn’t even sure if it’s a proper croon with how panicked and disgusting he feels. 

There’s nothing he can say…

“Mmm, Chuuya…?” 

The alpha acknowledges him with a hum. 

“You mated me?” 

“I’m—” Chuuya gasps. He wants to push away, he wants to distance himself, but pulling out would hurt the omega. And this is what he wanted. A knot. He won’t take that from him—it’d be cruel, no matter how you put it. “So sorry…” 

“S’okay…” Dazai breathes, and Chuuya won’t take it seriously, mainly because he just fucked Dazai’s brains out, and he’s barely mentally present. “I’ll bite you later…” Is the last thing Dazai says—coherently, anyway—before he drifts off to sleep. 

And Chuuya, well…

All he can do is sit with his guilt and sorrow.

... 

Dazai wakes up to someone combing his hair. 

Something is… vibrating as well. It’s comfortable. It makes him feel safe and cozy. Like nothing bad will happen to him as long as he stays where it’s warm.

It’s been a while since he felt this… secure. Since he’s let himself have nice things. 

He groans a bit, rubbing the fatigue away from his eyes. His body feels so tired, and sore in all the wrong places…

…until he remembers what he was doing.

… and who he went to to deal with a… problem. 

He expects to smell cranberries and mascarpone—the scent that makes him feel protected and snug like he’s in a pool of molasses, but instead, the smell is… sour, and not sweet at all… it reeks of smokey whiskey—a scared pheromone of guilt. 

“Chuuya?” He blinks into consciousness a bit more, and that’s when the scent gets worse. 

The hairbrushing stops—it clanks on the floor, right beside the bed, and Dazai watches it fall. 

His limbs feel like jelly, so he doesn’t trust himself to move right now, but he also doesn’t want Chuuya to leave him, so he…

“Ow! Dazai!” Chuuya growls. 

“What!” 

“You just bit my fucking arm! Look, you drew blood!” Chuuya yells. 

Dazai is barely able to turn over, so he can look Chibi in his eyes instead of talking to a mountain of pillows. 

“Why is Chuuya upset?” Dazai questions, noticing how the alpha averts his gaze away from Dazai. It sets fire alarms off in his head because Chuuya loves eye contact; it’s his big thing with intimacy and emotional connection. 

“I…” Dazai can see the lump of nervousness in his throat. “I fucking bit you, Dazai, I—” He looks down, sidebangs obscuring his face like he’s confessing a sin to a holy priest. “I mated with you.” 

Dazai looks at him, confused, because…

“Well, I knew that.” 

Chuuya looks up at him immediately. 

“What? You think I wouldn’t remember shooting pain down my neck? Stupid alpha…” 

Chuuya is left blinking. “Well!” He starts, he can’t really defend his actions, but— “You were so fucked out I thought you’d forget!”

“You alphas always think that!” Dazai is barely able to bring a fist up and weakly hit the alpha’s chest. “Having sex doesn’t equal amnesia! I also remember Chuuya shoving his fist up my ass, which was—” 

“Okay, okay, I get it, you remember, brat,” Chuuya scoffs, this time, staring Dazai directly in the eyes. “Are you mad?” 

Dazai turns his head, confused. “Why would I be mad at Chuuya?” 

“—Because!” He drags a hand down his face. “You were always against it when we were younger, I thought it would be the same case now…” 

And Dazai is just…

“Did you ever stop to think I said that because we were teenagers?” Dazai’s always known alphas were stupid. They’re insolent—think they know everything about omegas and what omegas want and how they want to be pleasured—when most of the time they have to be instructed on how to work their shit down there. 

“No?” Chuuya drags out. “We did a lot of illegal things, criminals, y’know—?” 

“Being a criminal doesn’t equal agreeing to what’s essentially marriage for life.” 

Now that Dazai’s really spelling it out for Chuuya, he can see the gears clicking in that small, tiny brain of his— finally getting some use after a good, two-year hiatus. 

“...So, you’re not mad?” 

Dazai grabs a pillow. “You.” Hit. “Alphas.” Hit. “Are.” Hit. “So.” Hit. “Stupid!”

“...Ow?” 

“Get out.” Dazai tries to growl—but it comes out sounding like a broken, kitten-like purr. 

Chuuya laughs. “Why?” 

“Because I need to make my nest, and Chuuya in it will ruin it.” 

And that makes Chuuya think… 

“You’ve just missed nesting in my bed, haven’t you?” 

“Yes. Now get the fuck out.” 

(Dazai did end up biting Chuuya later that night—and Chuuya did end up crying).