Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky is clear, the sun hanging overhead without an ounce of mercy. Today, spring feels like it’s trying on summer’s clothes and failing miserably. The air is thick and damp, sneaking past the collar of shirt and making everything just a little more irritating.

In the midst of a ceasefire between the ADA and the Port Mafia that hasn't even lasted a month, the streets of Yokohama feel quieter than usual though the quiet is more like a thin crack on glass.

It's ironic, really, walking peacefully into an old enemy's den. But that’s the world now. Fragile, full of compromises.

Chuuya takes a long breath as he steps into the old building that houses the Armed Detective Agency. It’s a place almost too clean for a mafia man’s taste, and far too bright for the dull ache that’s been blooming behind his temples since morning.

In his left hand is a folder filled with official documents, sent directly by Mori.

“Why not Akutagawa?” he mutters for the umpteenth time. “Or Tachihara. Or literally anyone that isn’t me.”

His steps are steady, the soft clack of polished leather shoes meeting old wooden floors. But his body feels... heavy. Off. Like a fever that won’t quite break. Like every breath is too warm, even if the weather isn’t.

Mori knows.
Of course he does.

“Because you're the only one who can deliver this properly, Chuuya-kun,” the man had said earlier that morning, his flat smile and calm voice always managing to sound like a command. “The Agency will listen to you. You're respected by both sides. And they need to see that the Port Mafia is serious about this agreement.”

It’s a reasonable argument. Rational. As always.

But Chuuya knows. That's not the only reason.

Something's changing. His body hasn't felt like his own for the past few days. Sweat clings to his back even with the AC on. His emotions swing without warning. The dreams too vivid. Too strange.

And today... even his scent starts to shift. There’s something thick and soft lingering in the air around him. Like crushed camellia and burnt sugar.
Something unfamiliar.
Something annoying.

“Oi!” a familiar voice calls from the front desk. “Port Mafia’s here, everyone hide!”

Tanizaki.

Chuuya groans inwardly, ignoring the half-joking welcome. Naomi sitting nearby just glances at him with a faint smile before turning back to her screen.

“Is Fukuzawa-san in?” he asks, straight to the point.

Tanizaki nods. “In a short meeting. But Dazai-san’s here if you want to wait.”

Chuuya almost sighs out loud.

Of course. Of course Dazai’s here.
Because the universe never, ever cooperates when he actually wants to get something done without being interrupted. And there’s no interruption more irritating, more persistent, like grime on a pair of polished leather shoes than Dazai Osamu.

If he could, Chuuya would hand over the folder, turn around, and walk out before Dazai’s scent could even reach him.
But life is never that kind.

And, as if summoned by some personal curse, the voice comes.

Light. Lazy. Curious in that way that always feels too sharp to be genuine.

“Chuuya?”

Footsteps echo softly from the hallway, threading through the ticking wall clock and the lazy hum of the air conditioner. Chuuya turns his head. Reflexive, half-hearted and instantly regrets it.

The warm, heavy air seems to part at Dazai’s arrival. His scent slips in fast. Then crashes over Chuuya like a tidal wave with no warning.

Clean. Masculine. A trace of something metallic and bitter, like night air bottled in crystal. And beneath it all, something deeper.
Warm.
Alive.
Familiar.

Too familiar.

Chuuya’s body stiffens. The reaction hits without mercy, racing from the base of his neck down his back, then collapsing into his chest.

His pupils dilate. His throat dries. His heart slams out of rhythm, hammering against his ribs like it wants to escape.

Goddamn it.

“What’s with that face?” Dazai asks, half-laughing, half-suspicious. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”

Chuuya presses the folder tighter against his chest.

“Just a little dizzy,” he mutters. And immediately curses himself. His voice sounds... too hoarse.

Dazai doesn’t answer right away.

He just stands there. Still frozen, staring at Chuuya like a piece of art that’s suddenly changed meaning. His head tilts slightly, as if trying to fit together puzzle pieces that shouldn’t even exist.

Then, in a way only Dazai Osamu can manage, he begins to move forward. Not hurried. But with precision. His steps are silent, yet impossible to ignore like something unseen is guiding him, pulling him toward an invisible source of heat.

His nose twitches subtly at the scent clinging to Chuuya’s skin.

It doesn’t come like a storm, but like a red petal unfurling. Slowly, deliberately, spreading warmth into the air around him. There’s a deep sweetness to it, like aged wine just uncorked from a cellar. But it isn’t just sweet. There’s something scorched underneath, like spices burning over cedarwood.

And woven through it all, subtle, but sharp. There it is.
The scent of a flower. Red camellia.
Fresh. Fragile. Bitter.
Like the taste of love kept secret for far too long.

“…This scent…” he murmurs, low. His eyes narrow, his expression almost clinical.

The hairs on Chuuya’s neck rise.

“Oi, Dazai! Stop sniffing me like some damn bloodhound!”
He steps back, shoving the folder between them like a holy relic.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

But Dazai doesn’t reply. His gaze sharpens, locked in place.

“…This isn’t a normal scent,” he whispers, as if talking to himself. “This… isn’t Beta pheromones, Chuuya.”

“I am a Beta,” Chuuya cuts in quickly, sharply, like a blade.

Their eyes meet. The air thickens. Tense, electric, pressing against skin like a fog full of static.

“You’re misreading it,” Chuuya adds, voice rising. “Maybe Naomi’s wearing weird perfume again or Kunikida sprayed the room with—”

“Don’t lie.”

The words hit like a bullet.

Low. Deep. But heavy enough to land in the center of his chest. Chuuya’s breath catches in his throat, nearly choking on the tension flooding the room.

“Pheromones like this…” Dazai steps closer. Just one more step. Only one. “Warm. Sharp. A little sweet. Distinct. Like your body… finally speaking.”

Chuuya freezes. The world begins to tilt. The lights overhead feel too bright. Too far away.

“Betas don’t give off scents like this,” Dazai says it slowly but like a nail driven in deep.

Chuuya grits his teeth. “I—I’m a Beta, Dazai.”

It sounds like a defense. But also like a doubt, newly born.

And Dazai sees it. Of course he does.

His expression doesn’t change, but his tone lowers, almost gentle. Almost.

“All this time, who did you think you were, hmm? Just because you never went into heat, you assumed your body had no secrets?”
His lips curl, half-mocking. “Oh, Chuuya. You’re far too smart to be this stupid.”

“And you’re far too annoying to be some scent therapist wannabe!” Chuuya snaps, cheeks flushed whether from heat or rage, he doesn’t know.

Dazai chuckles, but doesn’t move any closer. “I’m only stating facts.”

“Yeah? Stick your facts up your ass,” Chuuya growls. “Go away before I—”

But the words die.

Because suddenly his breath stutters.
His vision swims. His body turns light, then heavy.
Too hot.
Too quiet.

Something inside him… opens.
Bursts.
Then collapses.

“Dazai—”

The name slips out as a half-conscious gasp.

And before he even realizes it, everything goes dark. His body collapses. But it never touches the floor.

Dazai’s arms are already there, catching him.

Chuuya goes limp. Heavy, damp with cold sweat, as if every ounce of energy has been drained from his pores.

Tanizaki freezes in place.
Naomi covers her mouth, eyes wide.

“C-Chuuya-san?!” Tanizaki cries, voice laced with panic. “Did he just—did he faint?!”

“Calm down,” Dazai cuts in sharply.
His tone shifts, drastically. Gone is the laziness, the teasing lilt. What’s left is cold. Controlled. Surgical.

With smooth, practiced motion, he moves the folder from Chuuya’s chest and pulls the man into his arms. Firm. Steady. As if the weight means nothing. As if this holding him is non-negotiable.

“God…” Naomi breathes, voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes lock on Chuuya, wide with disbelief. “That scent... it’s not Beta—”

“I know,” Dazai replies, already striding toward the corridor. “Move. I’m taking him to the infirmary.”

“Should we call Yosano-sensei—” Tanizaki steps forward, but Dazai whips his head around. His glare is razor-sharp.

“No. He doesn’t need an audience.”
His voice is flat but there’s a weight behind it, quiet and final.
“I’ll handle it.”

The words stop them in their tracks. Even Naomi, who had taken a step to follow, stiffens, breath caught in her throat.

From the far end of the hallway, a door opens. Kyouka appears, her brows drawn, nose twitching instinctively. There’s something in the air. Sharp, warm, and wrong in a way she doesn’t quite understand.

“There’s a scent I don’t recognize…” she whispers, unease creeping into her voice. Then her eyes land on Chuuya, limp in Dazai’s arms, and her breath catches. “That’s—Chuuya-san?”

Dazai spares her a single glance. Just enough to make anyone freeze.

“I’ll explain later,” he says, without slowing his pace. “For now—stay back.”

And with Chuuya in his arms. Limp, flushed, radiating an Omega scent none of them have ever felt before Dazai vanishes around the corner.

His steps are swift. Certain.
He doesn’t look back.

Author’s Note:

This fanfic is actually a modified version of an ongoing story I’m currently writing in Indonesian, titled "Bukan Beta Tapi Milikku."

I decided to create this English version not only to reach a wider audience, but also because I wanted to challenge myself creatively by expressing the same emotional depth in another language. Since this is an ABO-themed story, I thought it might resonate with more readers who enjoy exploring character dynamics within that universe.

The plot and tone will follow a similar path to the original, though there may be slight differences to better suit the pacing and flow in English.

Thank you so much for giving this version a chance! I truly hope you’ll enjoy it just as much or maybe even more 💛

Chapter Text

Yosano’s infirmary is quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint rustle of fabric as Dazai moves quickly. He draws the curtains, then turns the auto-lock on the door handle. Once every gap is sealed, the room’s harsh white light dims, leaving behind a sterile hush, almost like being sealed inside a capsule.

Without a word, Dazai carries Chuuya’s body to the examination bed and lowers him gently onto the crisp white sheets. He’s already removed Chuuya’s pork pie hat and long coat. Chuuya’s skin burns beneath his touch. His breathing shallow and uneven, his shirt already damp with cold sweat.

Dazai leans in, hands steady but careful. He unfastens Chuuya’s jacket, slips off the gray vest, then undoes the top two buttons of his white shirt. Just enough to let the air touch overheated skin. A heavy breath escapes Chuuya’s lips, barely more than a sigh, almost a complaint.

Dazai forces himself not to touch more than necessary. He knows this body. Too well, perhaps.

But today, the scent is different. Not the usual faint, near-neutral trace of a Beta’s pheromones barely noticeable unless close. Now, the air around him holds something deeper. Sharper. Sweeter. As if Chuuya’s body has only just decided to become something else entirely.

An Omega.

The change is unstable, and his body is clearly unprepared.

Dazai rests his palm against Chuuya’s forehead, then shifts it to the back of his neck. His temperature is spiking but this isn’t a fever. It’s not illness. It’s a body evolving, shedding an old identity that no longer fits.

“Idiot,” he murmurs, barely audible. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to come here.”

He moves to the cabinet and pulls out a clean cloth, soaking it in cold water. Then, returning to the bedside, he slips the compress gently beneath Chuuya’s neck, right over the collarbone. The skin there is flushed, too warm and pulses softly beneath the damp fabric. Overly sensitive, even to a touch as light as this.

A newly awakened Omega body... fragile, and far too tempting to instincts meant to protect.

Dazai closes his eyes for a moment. Steadies his breathing. The pheromones are thick in the air undeniable. Enticing.

And when Chuuya shifts slightly on the bed, lips parting, brows furrowing in discomfort, Dazai knows.

The heat is coming.
Soon.

And he’s the only Alpha in the room.

“Chuuya...” His voice is low, nearly a whisper, as though afraid to wake something more feral beneath the surface.
“If you’re awake, answer me. I won’t touch you more than this. Unless you—”

A small movement interrupts him. Chuuya’s hand reaches out and grabs the sleeve of his shirt. Weakly, without force, but deliberate. His eyes remain shut, breath growing heavier by the second.

Dazai freezes.

And then slowly, as if his body is simply following a quiet instinct, Chuuya opens his eyes. The dim lights reflect in his gaze, still unfocused, still fogged with something thick and unfamiliar. He doesn’t seem fully present, like someone waking from a fever dream they don’t yet understand.

“…Dazai?” His voice is hoarse, cracking in the middle like something dry and unused.
“What… what’s happening…”

Dazai swallows. The scent in the room shifts again. Omega pheromones thickening, crawling like heat through the air.

“Your body is reacting,” he says gently, keeping his voice calm, measured.
“You’re experiencing something… new. Something it’s never gone through before.”

Chuuya blinks slowly, restless against the sheets. His hand drifts to his temple, then lowers across his chest, pausing briefly over the part of his shirt that lies undone. But the warmth radiating from inside him claims all of his focus.

“I… I feel hot.”
The words come out like a sigh, almost a complaint.
“But it’s not a fever. It’s… weird. Like—”

He stops. Holds his breath. His chest rises and falls, sharp and uneven.

“...Like I need something.”
The words break apart in the air. Afraid, confused, but painfully honest.

His body is turning against him, demanding something he doesn’t yet understand how to name. And he has no idea how to make it stop.

Dazai still doesn’t move. The only thing he allows himself is to watch. Watch the way Chuuya breathes, the subtle shifts in his expression, the tension beneath his skin that speaks louder than words.

“This scent…” Chuuya murmurs, biting his lower lip.
His cheeks flush not from embarrassment, but from a pressure blooming deep inside, unfamiliar and rising fast.
“Is this… from me?”

Dazai nods slowly. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between them, fragile and heavy all at once. Like glass suspended mid-air, moments before the fall.

Then, Chuuya speaks again.
Softly. Like the words hurt on their way out.

“…Am I… an Omega?”

Dazai inhales quietly, as though the answer might shatter something if spoken too harshly. He chooses his words with care, like each one holds weight.

“Yes,” he says at last, his voice barely more than breath. “That’s the most likely explanation. Your body is showing the signs. That scent... that response…”

His words trail off, not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he’s aware. Painfully aware of how delicate this moment is. Of the war happening beneath Chuuya’s skin. Of the shift in identity, unraveling with each passing breath.

Chuuya closes his eyes again but not to rest. His jaw tightens, and one hand clenches into a fist over the sheets now damp with sweat.

“So this is what it feels like,” he mutters, voice low and rough.
“My body just… decided to give up like this?”

There’s no sarcasm in his voice this time. No sharp-edged humor. Only bitterness, quiet and raw. Too exhausted to be angry, too aware to accept it without a fight.

“You must be laughing.”

Dazai turns to him slowly. “I’m not—”

“All this time, I thought I was a Beta. Lived like one. Fought like one. Thought I was stable enough to be a damn weapon for the Port Mafia.”
He bites down on his lower lip. Hard. “And now my body decides to—what? Betray me?”

Chuuya breathes through his teeth, shaky and uneven.

“An Omega, huh?”

Silence settles again. Only the sound of their breathing fills the space. Hot, broken, charged.

“You must be thrilled,” Chuuya spits, eyes snapping open to meet Dazai’s. There’s fury in them, yes—but beneath it, something deeper. Something wounded.

“You always said my body was small. Always called me shorty. Go ahead. say it fits now, right?”
His voice drops lower, brittle and biting. “That I’m perfect Omega material. Just another pretty little prize for some Alpha asshole like you!”

Dazai doesn’t answer. He doesn’t get the chance to.

Something shifts in the air. Subtle. Slow. But it catches in his throat, pressing down like invisible weight.

Chuuya’s scent—his Omega pheromones—thicken all at once. It spills into the room like fine mist, curling into every corner, sinking into Dazai’s lungs before he can stop it. Too late. He’s already breathed it in. Already feels it thrumming at the edge of his senses.

Chuuya trembles just slightly. His breath catches. One hand grips the sheets beneath him, fingers tight and trembling, like he’s trying to hold something inside.

“Shit...” he whispers, barely audible. “Why now...”

His shoulders shake. Each breath comes quicker than the last, shallow and hot.

“Dazai…”

It’s barely more than a breath. But it’s there. A whisper laced with something unspoken; need.

Dazai turns to him. Their eyes meet. And this time, there’s no fog in Chuuya’s gaze. Just a flicker of fear… and a raw, instinctive ache he doesn’t understand.

“I don’t know… what my body wants,” he mutters.
It’s quiet. Awkward. Strained.
“But it’s like... maybe... something like—”
He swears under his breath.
“Fuck. You get what I mean, don’t you?”

Dazai moves closer, slowly, carefully, like every step risks triggering something deeper.
“Chuuya. Your body’s overwhelmed. I know it feels like you need something now, but—”

“Don’t start lecturing me!”
Chuuya’s voice cracks, hoarse and furious, sweat beading along his brow. He shakes his head once, then again, harder. Frustrated. Spiraling.
“My body’s losing its goddamn mind, and you’re just standing there?!”

His knees shift restlessly atop the sheets. The heat is getting worse. And so is the panic.

Chuuya’s pheromones spike again. Sharp and fast, like a sudden wave crashing in a confined space.

Dazai exhales slowly. Then, finally, he moves. He sits at the edge of the bed, silent, deliberate. One hand goes to the collar of his shirt, fingers undoing the top button, then the next, and the next. The cool air brushes against his skin, but what follows is warmer: the scent of an Alpha, finally unrestrained.

It seeps into the room like heat through silk, steady and quiet. His scent, unfiltered now, unmistakable. It coils around them, mingling with the thick sweetness of Chuuya’s.

Chuuya blinks, his eyes hazy but still focused enough to catch the motion. His breathing is shallow, fevered, and his temples glisten with sweat. Still, somehow, his mouth twists into a faint smirk, bitter and dry.

“So now you’re showing off your pheromones? What, you think that’s gonna melt me on the spot?”
“If this is some twisted plan to fuck me senseless, try picking a time when I’m not literally overheating and half-conscious, you asshole!”

Dazai doesn’t answer. But the air around them grows heavier. His scent blooming, sinking deep into Chuuya’s skin.

Their pheromones collide. Alpha and Omega, no longer subtle. And instead of easing, Chuuya’s body only grows more restless. He squirms against the sheets, biting his lip, his expression flickering between dazed confusion and raw, aching need.

“If I touch you,” Dazai says quietly, “I won’t be able to stop.”

Chuuya doesn’t answer at first. His eyes flutter shut, jaw clenched tight. But his body moves again. Drawn toward the warmth, the scent, the Alpha.

What little control he has left begins to crack.

And then, in a whisper, low and trembling, he answers.

“Then don’t stop,” he bites out, barely holding it together.
“Goddamn heat... Just fucking stay!”

.

.

.

Author's Note:

Hey, just a quick heads-up! This story is very much a slow burn, which means we’re taking our time to explore every bit of tension, emotion, and messy yearning before anything truly explodes (you know what I mean)😌

So if things feel like they’re building painfully slow... well, that’s on purpose.
Apologies (but not really).

Thanks for reading and sticking around. It’ll be worth it. 💙

July 13th, 2025

Scarlet Risse

Chapter Text

Dazai watches Chuuya’s face for a few seconds. Silent, unmoving. Just listening to the labored breaths that fill the narrow space between them. And then, finally, he moves.

His hand reaches for Chuuya’s wrist, still trembling. The touch is gentle, tentative, like handling something too fragile to grasp completely.

“Your body needs direct contact,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Chuuya. “I’ll help however I can.”

The top of Chuuya’s shirt is already undone. Dazai continues unbuttoning it, slowly, one at a time. When the heat of bare skin begins to show, he pauses just briefly. Then his hands move again, calm and deliberate.

Chuuya’s chest rises and falls. His cheeks burn. His eyes are half-lidded now, but he doesn’t resist.

“Don’t look at me like that…” he whispers, voice barely audible.
“My body—it feels like it doesn’t fucking belong to me.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything. He only lowers his gaze, then begins to unbutton his own shirt. Each button undone until his chest and stomach are exposed to the cool air. And with it, the full weight of his Alpha scent spills out, thick and grounding.

Chuuya flinches, blinking slowly. His body shivers beneath the wave of heat rolling back over him.

Without a word, Dazai lowers himself beside Chuuya on the bed. He reaches for him, gently, steadily, pulling Chuuya into his arms, skin to skin.

And the moment their bodies meet…

Chuuya exhales a soft, unintentional sound. Like every nerve ending has just been lit. But the heat doesn’t ebb. His breath stays short. His body still trembles. He tenses, curling in tighter instead of relaxing, like even that closeness isn’t enough.

Dazai notices.

He shifts his position, then leans in, slowly, carefully. Bringing his face to the curve of Chuuya’s neck… and presses his own neck gently against it.

“Alpha scent will help balance it out...” Dazai breathes the words into the air, barely louder than a thought.

The touch of their skin at the neck isn’t just contact. It’s a collision of pheromones, then a slow, trembling fusion. The air thickens. Heavy. But warm.

Chuuya shifts slightly, like he wants to pull away but instead, his body presses closer. Dazai’s breath ghosts against his skin, steady and controlled. He knows how sensitive this point is. How easily it could tip into something else. But he stays. Right there. Still.

“I know it’s not easing yet,” he whispers. “But this... it’ll help. Bit by bit.”

Chuuya doesn’t respond. But slowly, his body stops twitching. Stops resisting.

Then his voice, quiet. Barely a breath.

“If this is... bit by bit...”
He swallows, the words catching. “Then don’t go yet.”

His body still trembles, even with their necks pressed together, even with bare skin meeting and mingling. His breath is shallow, like the fire inside him refuses to settle. But he holds on with the last strands of consciousness he can grasp.

Dazai feels it.

His hand moves, gentle as fog, tracing the ridge of Chuuya’s spine in slow, even passes. Then lower to the narrow curve of his waist, fingers curling lightly. His palm drifts between hip bone and navel, not pushing, just... there. Grounding. Steady.

Chuuya shifts, a restless motion beneath the sheets. A breath escapes his lips not quite a plea, not quite a protest. Something in between. His cheeks are flushed, his breathing labored, eyes half-lidded beneath a haze he still doesn’t fully understand.

“You’re burning up,” Dazai murmurs, voice barely more than a sigh.
“Your body needs release. I know what it feels like.”

“...Bullshit,” Chuuya rasps, but his fingers curl into the fabric of Dazai’s shirt.
“Don’t—don’t talk so damn much!”

“Oh?” Dazai lifts a brow, amused but gentle. He doesn’t laugh. “I thought you liked it when I talk too much. Gives you an excuse to yell.”

Chuuya doesn’t reply. His eyes slip shut again, and his body arches slightly when Dazai’s hand grazes along the side of his thigh. The touch isn’t rushed. Isn’t forceful. Just warm. Purposeful.

“Easy now...” Dazai breathes, leaning closer, lips brushing Chuuya’s temple.
“I’ll go slow. Only as much as you need.”

“Don’t go slow like I’m made of fucking glass,” Chuuya mumbles, a half-growl under his breath but he still shifts into the touch, chasing the heat.

Dazai pauses for a beat. “You said not to talk so much,” he murmurs, echoing Chuuya’s earlier tone, soft with intent.

“Then shut up and get on with it, you idiot!”

It isn’t quite a demand but it feels like one. Wrapped in breathless need and reluctant surrender.

Dazai obeys.

Dazai’s hand lingers along Chuuya’s waist, gliding lower toward the inside of his thigh. The movement is exploratory, not demanding. But his fingers... know exactly what they’re searching for.

Chuuya stiffens beneath him.

“What are you—hah…—doing…?” he breathes, voice catching as those fingers finally find the most sensitive part of him.

Dazai only lowers his head slightly, his voice soft, almost indulgent.
“Helping you.”

“I didn’t—ahh…!”
The sound escapes before Chuuya can swallow it down. His body arches, instinctive, when Dazai’s touch begins to move with slow, deliberate strokes, barely-there pressure, cruel in its gentleness.

“You didn’t have to ask,” Dazai murmurs, his lips brushing Chuuya’s temple.
“Your body speaks louder than you do, Chuuya.”

Chuuya turns his face away, flushed crimson. He doesn’t respond, not with words. He just bites down hard on his lower lip, trying to keep any more sounds from spilling out.

But his body continues to tremble not from fear, but from something else entirely.
Need.

“…Slow,” he mutters at last, voice low and frayed. “Don’t fucking humiliate me.”

Dazai gives a small smile, one that almost aches.
“I’d never humiliate you,” he says gently. “I just… want to make you feel a little lighter.”

His fingers move with more purpose now. Still gentle, still careful, but more insistent in their rhythm. Steady. Soothing. Precise.

Chuuya starts to move with him, breath hitching. His lips part, his lashes flutter. One hand grips the bandages on Dazai’s arm. Tight, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded in the heat storming through him.

“You know,” Dazai breathes, lowering his voice until it’s a whisper against Chuuya’s ear,
“you look beautiful when you try not to make a sound.”

Chuuya swats weakly at his chest, not enough to hurt, just enough to say: shut up, asshole.

But Dazai doesn’t stop. He leans down to press a kiss to Chuuya’s temple, then lower to the edge of his jaw, then to the line of his neck.
“If you let me just a little more… your body will thank you.”

And Chuuya?

He doesn’t answer. But his thighs part, just a bit. His fingers clutch the bedsheet. His body shifts, falling into rhythm with Dazai’s hand.

Resigned. But still stubborn.

Dazai shifts slightly, adjusting his position so their bodies align more closely. One hand props up Chuuya’s head, while the other continues its slow, deliberate path down his thigh. Now pressing more firmly, more purposefully.

Chuuya squirms. The friction between fabric and skin is maddening, his breath hitching as sweat beads along his temple. Still, he glares at Dazai. Half embarrassment, half hunger.

“Stop teasing…” he mutters, almost a plea.

“I’m not teasing,” Dazai murmurs near his ear, voice smooth, intimate. “I’m helping. Doesn’t this… feel better?”

Before Chuuya can answer, Dazai slowly shifts above him, bracing his weight on his forearms, careful not to crush him. Then, with a measured roll of his hips, he presses down against Chuuya’s body.

They both let out quiet breaths. Hushed, heated when the layers of fabric between them meet with humid friction. No distance left. No room to lie.

Dazai begins to grind his hips in slow, deliberate motions. Not frantic. Not forceful. Just steady, building. A rhythm that makes Chuuya’s back arch with every drag.

“Nggh—Dazai, stop… I’m gonna—”
His voice breaks into a moan before he can finish.

“You can ask me to stop,” Dazai breathes, dipping closer, voice velvet and sharp.
“Or you can ask for more.”

Chuuya’s grip on his shoulder tightens. His cheeks burn red, but he doesn’t pull away, not even when Dazai’s hand slides lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

“We don’t have to rush…” Dazai murmurs again, voice soft like velvet. But his fingers are already working the button open.

Chuuya grits his teeth.
“If you say one more word, I’m throwing your ass out the fucking window.”

Dazai chuckles, low and amused.
“Then I’ll take that as permission to continue?”

There’s no answer. But Chuuya lifts his hips, just slightly, just enough for the fabric to slide down his thighs.

And when Dazai wraps his fingers around the most sensitive part of him, bare and unshielded…

The world seems to stop.

Dazai’s movements stay gentle, but the rhythm begins to build. Steadier, firmer. There’s no pause. No space to think. Only heat, thick and relentless, pressed between their skin and tangled breaths.

“You’re so… sensitive,” Dazai murmurs, his thumb brushing over the head of Chuuya’s cock. Slow, deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

A sharp gasp escapes Chuuya’s lips. Small, involuntary.

“Shut up,” he growls, voice rough, cracking under strain.
“J-just shut the hell up…”

But instead of pulling away, his body presses closer.

Dazai only offers a small, knowing smile before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Chuuya’s lips, just a soft reminder of comfort, not a full claim.

“Just say the word…” he whispers against Chuuya’s lips, voice silky smooth. “And I’ll give you everything you’re aching for.”

Dazai tightens his grip around Chuuya’s cock, his strokes gaining a steady rhythm. Quick, deliberate, perfectly aimed at every spot he knows will unravel him. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.

His gaze stays fixed on Chuuya’s face. Flushed deep red, eyes half-lidded with haze, lips parted around breathless gasps that barely make it past his throat.

Every twitch of Chuuya’s body, every stifled sound, feeds into Dazai’s focus. He watches, entranced, as Chuuya starts to tremble, closer, tighter, unraveling beneath the heat of every precise motion.

Chuuya bites his lip, but his body can no longer lie. His hips lift, demanding more. His hands grip the wrinkled white sheets, soaked with his own sweat.

“Dazai—ahhn…” 
The name spills from his lips, soaked in need, shame, and something he doesn’t dare name.

Dazai hums lowly, like he’s savoring the sound.
“Say it again,” he whispers, lips brushing Chuuya’s temple. “You sound fucking divine when you break like that.”

Dazai leans in, resting his forehead against Chuuya’s, letting their breaths mingle in the charged space between them. One hand keeps working below, slow and precise, while the other cups Chuuya’s face. His thumb brushing gently over the fevered pulse at his temple.

And then, Chuuya’s body tenses.

A moment later, he comes undone in Dazai’s arms. Hot, trembling, shuddering from the tips of his toes to the rise of his chest. Warm release coats Dazai’s hand, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he draws Chuuya closer, holding him through every aftershock that ripples from deep inside.

And in that moment, Dazai feels it.

That sudden burst of scent.

Omega pheromones erupt like a heatwave, flooding the room, seeping into his skin. Dazai closes his eyes. His chest tightens. Something stirs inside him. Slow, rough, like claws raking down his spine from within.

Rut.

He knows it.
The thirst building in his gut. The pressure blooming at the base of his neck. That wild, maddening urge demanding only one thing; claim.
Mark. Own. Take.

.

.

.

July 13th, 2025

Scarlet Risse

Chapter Text

And in that moment, Dazai feels it.

That sudden burst of scent.

Omega pheromones erupt like a heatwave, flooding the room, seeping into his skin. Dazai closes his eyes. His chest tightens. Something stirs inside him—slow, rough, like claws raking down his spine from within.

Rut.

He knows it.
The thirst building in his gut. The pressure blooming at the base of his neck. That wild, maddening urge demanding only one thing—claim.
Mark. Own. Take.

Dazai’s hand clenches into a fist. His jaw tightens. But he stays where he is—holding himself back, controlling his breath. He looks down at Chuuya, still half-conscious in his arms. Flushed cheeks. Parted lips. His body still trembling… still seeking him.

And that’s what hurts the most.

Because Chuuya doesn’t know.

Doesn’t know that his scent has ignited something feral. Doesn’t know Dazai is standing on the edge of a cliff, one breath away from sinking his teeth in.

And then—
As if fate decides to twist the knife—Chuuya shifts, just slightly, and murmurs in a hoarse whisper:

“…Dazai… don’t go far. I’m not… done.”

Dazai swallows. His jaw locks tight. The only thing he can do is bite his own lip.

Better to bleed...
than to bite Chuuya.

He shuts his eyes. Just for a moment. Then slowly, he loosens his hold.

“Wait here,” he says quietly.
His voice is flat—almost cold.

One small movement.
Two.
Then he steps back from the bed.

Warm slick still stains his fingers.

And that—
that is the excuse he uses to move. To stand. To cross the room to the tiny sink in the corner—when what he truly wants is to run.

Chuuya’s scent still clings thick in the air—heady and intoxicating. The rich musk of aged wine laced with the delicate sweetness of red camellias, blooming wild in the heat of aftermath. It’s too much. Too ripe.

Dazai turns the tap on, lets cold water run over his hands, and bows his head. But not to watch the stream. It’s to hide the way his body trembles.

“…Hey…” Chuuya’s voice is weak, but edged with irritation. “Where the hell are you going?”

Dazai doesn’t answer. His eyes stay shut. His shoulders stiffen. His breath is heavy. Not panting but deep. As if he’s trying to filter oxygen from air already saturated with Chuuya’s scent.

That scent… it thickens.
Pulling. Calling. Pressing.

Rut.

He can feel it—the crack forming in the dam of his control. The hunger, the burn, the ache curling tight in his chest and gut. Not just arousal.
Something older.
Something instinctive.
Something primal.

Dazai lifts a hand to his face. His lips are damp with cold sweat, and his eyes… faintly glowing.

“Breathe,” he mutters to himself, voice almost silent.
“You’re not an animal. You’re Dazai Osamu. You can… hold on.”

But the scent doesn’t let him go. The scent he knows. The scent that now clings to his skin. That seeps into him.
It’s not just his body reacting anymore.
It’s instinct.
It’s something deeper.

His heart.

Dazai stays in the corner. His hands are clean now, rinsed under cold water but the sweat on his temples stays. His vision wavers. His knees feel weak. And his lungs refuse to draw in air tainted by Chuuya’s heat-laced pheromones.

Even his own body… starts to betray him.

“This fucking Rut…” he curses inwardly.

“Dazai…”

That voice—soft, breathless, soaked with leftover tremors. It almost sounds like a dream.

“Don’t… leave me like this.”

Dazai turns.

And there—
On the narrow bed meant for recovery, not this—Chuuya lies with his shirt wide open, chest and throat slick with sweat, shifting faintly against the sheets. His eyes are glassy, not with tears but with need. With desperation.

Those ocean-blue eyes stare at Dazai like he’s the only oasis in a goddamn desert.

One of Chuuya's hand lifts. Not reaching.
Inviting. His fingers tremble in the air.

“My body… it’s still burning. It’s not… over,” he whispers, voice fraying.

Silence.

Then—

“If you walk away now… I might lose my fucking mind, Dazai.”

Dazai closes his eyes. He bows his head, resting his forehead against his damp arm.
Something rises in his chest—not just the Rut, but something far more suffocating.

Guilt.

Because part of him wants to go back to that bed.
Not as a caretaker.
But as an Alpha.

As something that wants to claim.

“This is wrong.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“He doesn’t even know.”
“He’s not ready.”

But then—
That voice again.

“Don’t go…”

And just like that, instinct overthrows logic.

His hand grips the edge of the sink—white-knuckled, trembling.

“If I go back… I need to stay in control.”
“If I don’t…”
“I’ll ruin us both.”

Then—

“Or what? Alphas like you only good for starting things you can’t finish?”

The tone has shifted. Still weak—but sharp. Cutting.

Dazai freezes. His jaw tightens.

“If you’re not planning to help me through this…”
“…why the hell did you start it in the first place?”

Their eyes meet across the room.

And in that single second—
Every line Dazai has drawn with trembling fingers…
Starts to crumble.

Dazai’s first step makes no sound. The second is quiet… heavy… as if hesitation itself is losing to the primal drive running through his bones.

Chuuya is still there—lying on the bed, chest rising and falling too fast, but his eyes locked on Dazai.
Still stubborn. Still defiant. But also... waiting.

Dazai stops at the edge of the bed. His fists clench.

“You really know how to torture someone, huh?” he murmurs—more to himself than to Chuuya.

Chuuya only lifts an eyebrow. A half-sarcastic, half-exhausted smile curls on his lips.

“If you’re just gonna stand there brooding like some melodramatic asshole,” he mutters, voice rough, “then go. I don’t need an Alpha who flinches at the sight of a little heat.”

Dazai lowers his head slightly. Finally, his fingers move—reaching for the bedsheet, brushing lightly against Chuuya’s knee. The reaction is immediate—Chuuya squirms, biting his lower lip, like he’s cursing himself for being this sensitive.

“Still so stubborn when your body’s already begging,” Dazai whispers, voice almost a sigh.

“Then why did you come back, huh?” Chuuya shoots back, breathless. “Thought you were gonna bolt.”

Dazai doesn’t answer. He leans in instead—one hand braced on the bed, the other reaching up to Chuuya’s cheek. Warm. Gentle. But it sparks like a live wire.

And in the next breath, he murmurs:

“Because you called for me… with that voice.”

Chuuya falls silent. His expression trembles—not from embarrassment, but from something inside him giving in. Not to Dazai. But to his own body—desperate for something it still can’t name.

Dazai leans closer. The scent of Alpha pheromones floods the air, thick enough to drown in.

“I won’t touch you like before…” he says softly.
“Not unless you ask me to.”

Chuuya exhales—a deep, frustrated breath.
“Do you want me to beg or something?”

“No.”
Dazai answers immediately.
“I just want you to know… it wasn’t me who started this.”

Chuuya blinks. His eyes narrow sharply, then flick downward—to Dazai’s bare chest, still radiating that Alpha scent like an invisible snare.

And then, slowly…
his hand lifts.

Fingers curl into Dazai’s collar—slow, but deliberate—pulling until their faces are only inches apart.

Their lips nearly touch.

“Then,” he breathes, low and rough, “let me finish it.”

And before Dazai can speak, or object, or even breathe—

Chuuya crashes into him.

He kisses him.

The kiss is wild, slick, biting—filled with pheromones, need, and a storm of emotions left unsorted.

Dazai startles for a moment. But he kisses back—deep, slow—letting Chuuya take the lead while holding himself back from burning too quickly.

Their lips clash in uneven rhythm, tongues tangling in a feverish pull.

And for a moment… the world collapses.

There’s only heat.
Only that taste.
Only Dazai.

Their breaths grow heavy, ragged. The air between them thickens, boiling with pheromones that crash, seep, and fuse—wild and uncontrollable.

Chuuya’s grip tightens on his shirt, desperate.

And when they finally break apart, breath hitching between them, Chuuya speaks—his voice low, hoarse, but no longer trembling.

“I’m still…”
“…burning.”
“And I hate it.”

The last words break off—half anger, half frustration.
But the rest… begs for touch.

Dazai raises his hand slowly, fingers brushing over Chuuya’s wrist—the one still fisted in his collar. The touch is gentle, like asking permission… or issuing a warning.

“If you hate it…” he murmurs, staring deep into Chuuya’s eyes,
“…then why do you keep calling for me?”

Chuuya doesn’t answer.

He just stares back. His breath trembles. His face still flushed, the heat inside him far from gone.

But his gaze—remains unshaken.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Maybe because the only one who can make this stop… is you.”

“And that pisses me off.”

Dazai chuckles under his breath. But the laugh is shallow—a mask.

Because his eyes… have changed.

Darker.
Hungrier.
The rut hasn’t vanished. It’s just been waiting.

And when he speaks again, it’s a whisper—low, deliberate, and curling with promise.

The body he used to see wrapped in coats and defiance now lies bare—vulnerable, and beautiful in its own fierce way. And Dazai knows—he has to treat it like something precious.

Dazai shifts his position, one arm slipping beneath Chuuya’s back. He eases him down onto the bed again—slow, careful, never breaking eye contact.
No rush. No force.

He starts with a kiss so light it barely exists. Just the corner of Chuuya’s mouth. A brush, like a breath.
Brief. Gentle.
But enough to make Chuuya hold his breath, eyes fluttering—almost as if to ask, Why so soft?

The second kiss lands on his lips—deeper this time, slightly wetter. Dazai’s tongue grazes Chuuya’s lower lip before slipping inside, slow… purposeful.

Chuuya lets out a quiet sound—not loud, but heavy. His hands grip Dazai’s shoulders, unsure whether to push away or pull him closer.

Dazai doesn’t hurry.

He kisses Chuuya like tracing an unseen map—memorizing each curve, each breath, each shift of heat between them. Their mouths move together, growing deeper, warmer, burning from the inside out.

Until Chuuya lets out a soft groan and bites Dazai’s lower lip—not hard, but enough. A small protest. A quiet demand.
Don’t treat me like I’m breakable. I’m still Chuuya.

And Dazai understands.

So he bites back—gently. Then inhales between their lips and kisses again, deeper this time. No more distance. His hand brushes along Chuuya’s cheek, sliding down—jaw, throat, the trembling line of his collarbone.

“If you want to stop,” Dazai whispers, barely a breath, “now’s the time.”

Chuuya doesn’t answer.

But he pulls him back in.
Kisses harder.

And that’s more than enough.

Chapter Text

Chuuya’s breath still stutters as Dazai pulls back from the kiss—but not to leave.

Dazai's hand glides upward, tracing the flushed skin of Chuuya’s neck, slick with sweat and thick with the scent of Omega. His fingers brush behind Chuuya’s ear, drift down to the nape, then back up again—pausing at the edge of his jaw.

“Even when you're trembling like this...” Dazai murmurs, thumb caressing the tender dip just below Chuuya’s ear, “you’re still defiant.”

Chuuya closes his eyes. But his body tenses slightly when Dazai’s fingers trail down to his collarbone—slow, deliberate. Dazai strokes the line of his shoulder like memorizing the shape, pressing lightly before continuing down to the chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His hand touches Chuuya’s ribs. Then drifts upward, brushing along the sternum. He maps every inch with soft pressure, leaving warmth in every trace.

“Do you even realize,” he whispers, now hovering just above Chuuya’s chest,
“…how honest your body is?”

He leans down, lips brushing the center of Chuuya’s chest—featherlight, but it hits like a hammer.
Chuuya bites his lip, shifts faintly—but doesn’t pull away.

“Even when your mouth keeps saying no,” Dazai continues, voice low and laced with heat,
“your body… keeps asking for more.”

One hand rises again, sliding over Chuuya’s chest—then grazing a nipple already hardened. The response is instant: Chuuya’s back arches, breath catching in his throat.

“You’re trembling.”

“That’s… because I hate this,” Chuuya hisses, voice cracking between embarrassment and irritation.

But Dazai only gives a faint smile—not mocking, just knowing. He understands.

Dazai leans in again, lips brushing along the side of Chuuya’s neck—right beneath his jaw, then lower, skimming the exposed skin just below his ear, where the black choker leaves a sliver of vulnerability unguarded.

His mouth lingers there for a moment, warm and deliberate, then drifts lower to his shoulder—leaving heated traces along every inch he can reach, though he never crosses the line where the choker guards the most delicate part of Chuuya’s neck.

“Easy…” he whispers there. “I’ll make this feel right.”

He kisses Chuuya’s shoulder once more, inhales the warmth of his flushed skin, then slowly trails downward—lips and breath moving in tandem, over his chest, along the center of his torso, slick with sweat and the thick scent of Omega.

Each touch feels like a lit match against bare skin. And Chuuya’s body, despite everything, arches ever so slightly—toward the heat, toward the solace he doesn’t even realize he’s seeking.

When Dazai’s fingers slide along the underside of his ribs, Chuuya tenses—just for a second. But he doesn’t pull away. He simply takes a long, shaky breath, fighting to stay grounded in the fire still burning through him.

Dazai lifts his gaze, watching Chuuya’s face—eyes half-lidded, flushed and trembling.

“Still with me?” he murmurs gently.

Chuuya’s lashes flutter. His voice is faint, ragged—but laced with defiance.
“Obviously… you idiot.”

A flicker of a smile tugs at Dazai’s lips. “Good.”

His hand glides lower. He strokes along Chuuya’s abdomen—a soft, warm pass just below the navel. He pauses there, palm resting flat, allowing Chuuya time to adjust to the new weight of sensation.

The body beneath him trembles again. Not from fear. But because something changes. The tension deepens.

“See?” Dazai whispers, voice low and steady.
“You respond even before I touch you… where it truly counts.”

Chuuya turns his face to the side, jaw tight, teeth gritted. But his body stays right there—offering itself, not retreating, allowing Dazai to keep exploring.

Dazai lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the side of Chuuya’s abdomen—right above his waist—slow and lingering, then exhales a warm breath against the skin already trembling beneath him.

His other hand glides along Chuuya’s hip, fingers tracing the outer edge before trailing downward… and pausing just at the crease of his thigh, careful not to touch the most sensitive part.

“Don’t go too slow,” Chuuya mutters, voice tight with frustration and restlessness.
“I’m not some fragile doll you need to worship.”

Dazai tilts his head, lips brushing over the dip of his hip. “Hmm? Didn’t you say you hate this?”

Chuuya clicks his tongue. “I do. I hate how it makes me feel.”

A pause—his breath stutters.

“...So stop dragging it out, damn it.”

Dazai chuckles under his breath, his hand moving slowly—stroking over Chuuya’s hip, then slipping lower, toward what’s already beginning to stir again despite having just calmed. He doesn’t touch it directly. Not yet. Instead, his fingers trace along Chuuya’s inner thigh, drawing faint circles into skin that’s heating up once more.

Chuuya shifts beneath him, the sensitivity still raw. Still aching.

Dazai leans in, placing a kiss right above the crease where hip meets groin. “You’re still tense,” he murmurs.

“That’s because you didn’t finish anything,” Chuuya snaps—though the sharpness in his tone wavers, shaking at the edges.

Dazai smiles faintly. His hand brushes the base of Chuuya’s cock—light, fleeting.

“This isn’t about finishing,” he murmurs. “This is about starting over.”

When Dazai's fingertips graze the warm, slick skin of Chuuya’s inner thigh, he pauses. Chuuya’s body tenses—but doesn’t pull away.

“Relax…”
His voice is barely more than a breath.
“I’m not going inside… not yet. I just want to know…”

His fingers slip lower—gently. Testing the hidden path, exploring how Chuuya’s body yields beneath him. That narrow place… warm. Soft. But not fully ready yet.

“You know,” Dazai whispers, voice brushing against Chuuya’s heated skin.
“Your body is so beautiful. Even here… it reacts to me.”

Chuuya bites his lip, eyes half-lidded but still sharp.
“Tch… Can you not say creepy shit like that?”

Dazai chuckles softly, lips brushing the curve of his hip.
“Mmm, I’m just being honest.”

Dazai’s finger sinks deeper—pressing past the tight, trembling heat that wraps around him like a pulse. Chuuya arches slightly beneath him, his body tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion. This isn’t just touch—it’s a quiet confession. A silent surrender to a part of himself he’s always tried to reject.

“Your body’s not used to this,” Dazai whispers, voice low and thick against the curve of Chuuya’s throat. “But you still take me in.”

He kisses the spot just beneath Chuuya’s ear, slow and deliberate, as his finger slides in further—careful, steady. The way Chuuya clenches around him is intoxicating: warm, soft, unready… but opening.

“Shit... Dazai—”
Chuuya’s voice breaks in a breathy moan. His eyes are half-lidded, cheeks flushed like ripe cherries, lips parted. “S-stop saying that shit…”

“Why?” Dazai breathes against his temple, tone drenched in a kind of reverence that feels more dangerous than lust. “Is it because I caught how hard you're trying to hold back… or because you're starting to like it?”

Chuuya groans through gritted teeth, turning his face away—half mortified, half burning.
“Tch… I hate your mouth.”
But he doesn’t pull away.

And Dazai—smiling against his skin—knows exactly what that means.

Dazai’s fingers move in a slow, deliberate rhythm—pressing in, withdrawing slightly, then sliding back in again, this time with a second finger added. Chuuya bites down on his lower lip, fists curling tight against the mattress.

“But you tremble every time I do,” Dazai replies softly, teasing.

“Stop... talking,” Chuuya mutters, voice strained.

A quiet moan escapes Chuuya when Dazai’s fingers graze a spot deep inside him—sharp, electric. His legs tense, breath hitching. His body isn’t fully ready, not yet, but instinct is louder than reason. The more Dazai touches him, the more the tight passage softens, opens, yields.

“Dazai…”
His name leaves Chuuya’s lips in a rasp—soft, cracked, and for the first time… free of anger.

“Hm?”

“…Just do it. Fast.” A pause. Then quieter, gritted. “But... carefully.”

Dazai’s smile is faint, nearly unreadable. But his eyes gleam with something warm, restrained.

He leans down, presses a kiss to Chuuya’s forehead.

“I’ll wait,” he whispers, “until your body begs me to come in.”

Dazai’s fingers slide deeper, each movement slow but steady, wet sounds faintly echoing as he draws out and presses back in. Chuuya writhes beneath the thin blanket, legs tense, breath growing increasingly erratic.

“Too fast?” Dazai murmurs, though he already knows the answer. He can feel how Chuuya’s body clenches around his fingers—tight, warm, and... getting slicker.

“…Whatever,” Chuuya mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. His cheeks and ears are flushed crimson. But he doesn’t pull away anymore.

Dazai leans in, pressing a slow kiss along Chuuya’s jawline, then lets his free hand trail lower—fingertips brushing the spot just between Chuuya’s hip and lower abdomen, applying a gentle pressure.

“Your body’s starting to do it on its own,” he whispers, his voice dropping into a hush, almost a sigh. “Making its own slick… how sweet.”

Chuuya grits his teeth. “You... bastard.”

“Of course,” Dazai replies smoothly, smiling into his skin.

Dazai withdraws his fingers briefly, then trails them along the slickened cleft—slowly spreading the wetness across every edge, ensuring the path is truly ready.

“Patience. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
His voice softens into something serious—gentle, yet firm. As if he’s not speaking to Chuuya’s body, but something far deeper. Asking permission. Offering protection.

Chuuya opens his eyes slowly. They’re hazy, unfocused, but behind that glaze is a flicker of tangled emotion—shame, tension, and… want.

“…Hurry.”
The word comes out like a breathy moan.
“I… need more.”

Dazai nods faintly. He presses his forehead to Chuuya’s, exhales long and slow, then lets his fingers sink back in—this time, smoother, deeper. The passage is softening. Opening.

“Almost there,” he whispers. “Just a little more, Chuuya.”

Chuuya trembles in his arms, his breath still ragged. The pheromones in the air are thick—like aged wine and blooming flowers in blood—twisting around Dazai’s head, tugging at something primal, making the scar on his neck throb with rut-born heat.

“Dazai…”
His name isn’t spoken as an order, or a curse—but as something fragile and raw, something that pulls from deep within.

“Don’t make me wait.”

Author’s Note:

We’re five chapters in… and still no main course. Just appetizers. Maybe a few fancy side dishes. That’s what you get when you commit to a slow burn so slow, it’s basically a snail on strike 🐌💔

If you’re still here, thank you for your patience. Truly. I hope you’re still enjoying the simmer, even if the fire hasn’t quite exploded yet.

But I promise—next chapter?
We’re serving the real deal. No more teasing. It’s time to feast 😌🔥

Chapter Text

Dazai kisses Chuuya again—gently this time, as if trying to calm him… or himself. But when Chuuya returns the kiss, biting lightly on Dazai’s lower lip with a short inhale, something inside both of them snaps.

One of Dazai’s hands drops to his belt. He undoes it quickly, neatly. Fingers practiced, he slides down the zipper, then wraps his hand around his own cock—hot, heavy, throbbing.

Chuuya glances down and his eyes widen slightly.
“…That—”

“Don’t look at it like that,” Dazai murmurs, voice trembling even through the smirk. “You’ll lose your nerve.”

Chuuya turns his head away, cheeks flushed.
“Just so you know, I’m not scared.”

“Of course not.”
Dazai smiles faintly, then reaches for his sand-colored trench coat draped at the side of the bed—where he left it earlier. From the inside pocket, he pulls out a foil packet—emergency condom from the drawer. Because of course he did. He always thinks ahead.

Holding it between two fingers, he crouches down slowly—level with Chuuya, who’s still lying back, chest rising and falling too fast.

“You really thought I wouldn’t be prepared?” he murmurs, half teasing. “I’m always ready for the worst-case scenario.”

Chuuya glances at the packet, and his expression shifts. His breathing’s heavy, the heat still glowing under his skin—but his eyes narrow sharply.

“So you really do carry those around in your coat,” he mutters, voice dripping with venom. “Figures. An Alpha playboy like you must have a whole damn rotation of Omegas lined up, just waiting for your call.”

Dazai pauses. The condom stays clenched in his hand, fingers curling tighter. His smile fades as he looks at Chuuya.

“Chuuya…” he says softly. But the redhead isn't done—his glare sharper than ever.

“Oh, let me guess,” Chuuya snaps, voice low and bitter. “I’m just next on the list, right? This one just happens to be desperate—first heat, easy target, you swoop in, kill two urges with one fuck. Efficient.”

There’s a bitterness in his voice. Not just anger, not only jealousy—but something raw. A wound that hasn’t even been named yet.

Dazai takes a long breath. “You know that’s not true.”

“But it does make sense.”

Silence falls. But beneath it—Chuuya’s body still trembles. His heat hasn’t passed. And Dazai knows… this isn’t the time to argue. But it also isn’t the time to lie still.

“Listen to me carefully,” he says, voice calm but edged. “I didn’t keep this for any other Omega. I kept it because I knew… if a day like this came, I had to be ready.”

Chuuya scoffs. “A day like what?”

Dazai meets his gaze.
“One that involves you.”

Without wasting another second, Dazai tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth—quick, precise—then rolls it on with a short, quiet hiss. The cool touch of latex contrasts against the heat pulsing through his body. But that isn’t what consumes him.

Chuuya is still watching him.

Those ocean-blue eyes burn with something that won’t die out—not just heat, but anger… shame… tiny cracks that haven’t healed.

Dazai leans in, one hand bracing near Chuuya’s face, and presses a kiss to his lips.

Not rushed. Not like before—nothing frantic or desperate.

This one is quiet. Like an apology he doesn’t know how to say. Like a promise whispered between breaths: I know this is hard, but I’m here.

Their lips stay pressed together—warm, deep. Chuuya holds his breath at first, as if startled by the softness. But slowly… he responds.

He lets him.

He accepts him.

Dazai’s lips shift to Chuuya’s cheek, then to his temple, lingering there with a sigh.

“I’m not going to run,” he whispers gently. “Even if you hate every part of this… I’ll stay.”

Their hands find each other in the quiet. Dazai squeezes Chuuya’s fingers—tight, grounding—then, between the final breaths before they come together, he murmurs:

“Let me take you through it… all the way.”

Dazai draws in a slow breath, steadying the surge of instinct that urges him to claim, to conquer.
But this isn’t about instinct.
This is about Chuuya.

His gaze lingers on the face beneath him—still flushed, still trembling, still fighting to stay present as something unfamiliar unravels him from the inside out.

Then slowly… Dazai lowers his hips, inching closer.

“Breathe, Chuuya,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m coming in. Slowly.”

Chuuya doesn’t answer, but his body tenses. His fingers clutch at the sheets. But he doesn’t pull away.

And with one slow, steady push—controlled, patient—Dazai begins to slide in.

“Ah—!”

Their bodies respond to each other. Warm. Soft. But the intensity is like an ocean current—subtle at first, yet powerful enough to pull them under with no way back.

“Chuuya…?”

The name hangs between them, soft. But Chuuya doesn’t answer right away. His chest rises and falls faster than before. His face turns slightly to the side, hiding an expression he doesn’t want Dazai to see.

“I’m fine,” he hisses. But his voice is hoarse. And Dazai knows… that’s not the truth.

He leans down, presses a kiss to Chuuya’s temple.
“You can tell me if it hurts,” he whispers.

Chuuya shakes his head quickly, even as his eyes begin to glaze with heat.
“N-not really. But you…”

He glances at Dazai—just long enough to shoot him a glare sharp enough to slap.

“…you’re way too big, asshole.”

Dazai bites back a grin, lips curling with wicked amusement.
“You’re only realizing that now?”

Chuuya snorts, the sound sharp through his nose.
“Shut your damn mouth and move slow, you bastard.”

“Yes, yes.”
Dazai huffs a breath of laughter, but leans down to press a soft kiss to Chuuya’s temple.

“Breathe, sweetheart. I won’t push you.”

Chuuya obeys. He inhales deeply, though it trembles on the way in. His fingers grip the sheets beneath him like a lifeline, muscles tight as he tries to relax—tries to accept—while Dazai begins to press in again.
Inch by inch. Steady. Careful.

The pressure builds—warm, thick, pressing deep into the most vulnerable place. Dazai grits his teeth, reigning in the urge to thrust hard and fast. But Chuuya’s body… it’s so tight, so hot, and pulls him in so greedily that it nearly breaks his control.

And finally, with one slow, deliberate push—

Dazai sinks in. All the way.

“Ahhh…”

The sound spills from Chuuya’s lips in a shuddered cry. His body arches, spine lifting off the bed as the fullness hits—stretching, burning, flooding every nerve from deep within.

Dazai holds his breath.
“You okay?”

Chuuya nods, eyes shut tight. But a single tear slips from the corner of his eye, trailing down his temple. And then another.

Dazai stills completely. His heart twists.

“We can stop,” he murmurs. “Chuuya, we can stop—”

“Don’t,” Chuuya cuts in, voice rushed, strained. He still won’t look at him. “I... I just need a second.”

Dazai gently cups his cheek, brushing the tears away before they can fall further.

“Breathe. Slowly.” His voice is soft, grounding. “I’m right here.”

Then he leans down and presses a long, tender kiss to Chuuya’s forehead. Warm. Steady. His fingers lace with Chuuya’s, holding his trembling hand like an anchor.

And after a moment...
Chuuya’s body begins to relax, little by little. His breaths stretch longer. His fingers unclench from the sheets.

But that feeling—
The pressure.
The fullness.
The slow, aching push from deep inside—it lingers, sharp and undeniable.

Dazai has stopped moving, letting their bodies adjust, giving Chuuya space to breathe. But the presence inside him remains—large, hot, and… irreplaceable. Like something has filled a space he never realized was empty until now.

The pain fades, slowly, steadily.
But the unfamiliar weight it leaves behind... doesn’t.

Chuuya swallows, his voice barely a whisper—strained and breathless.
“…It feels too full.”

“You’re holding me like—”

“Shut up. Don’t say anything yet!”
Chuuya smacks Dazai's chest lightly, flushed and scowling, even as his breath hitches again.

Dazai only chuckles, then runs a gentle hand down the narrow curve of Chuuya’s waist. He resists the urge to move his hips—despite the way his own body trembles, Rut howling beneath his skin like a storm barely held back.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmurs.

Chuuya blinks open his eyes, pupils wide, cheeks still damp with sweat and tears. But his breathing is steadier now.
He exhales slowly, then mutters—with just enough pride left to curl his lip,

“If you make me cry again… I’ll kill you.”

But his hand pulls Dazai closer.
A permission.
A surrender.

Dazai draws in a breath, low and deep.
And then… he begins to move.

He starts to thrust—slow, deep, syncing with the rhythm of Chuuya’s breath.
No harsh jolts. No rush.
Just steady, searching movements, letting every inch of their bodies learn each other.

“Nnggh—ah…!”

Chuuya bites down on his lower lip, head turning into the pillow. His body arches slightly, trying to adjust. It still feels like too much—too deep. But underneath that overwhelming stretch, there’s something else—something tempting. The slow drag and press of being filled, the warmth that spills through every nerve like a creeping flame.

“Y-You’re… too deep,” he hisses, eyes half-lidded and glazed with a pressure he doesn’t fully understand.
“But… don’t stop.”

Dazai lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the curve of Chuuya’s neck, letting his Alpha pheromones seep softly into the heat between their skins.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispers—like a prayer.
“Your body’s still not fully relaxed, and yet… you’re holding onto me like you were made for this.”

“Shut up, you narcissistic bastard,” Chuuya growls, but his fingers tighten around Dazai’s arm, dragging him closer.
Slowly, he rolls his hips—matching Dazai’s rhythm with messy, uncoordinated movements of his own.

“Hngh… Daazai…”
Chuuya’s voice catches, breath stuttering out of him.
He can’t hold it in anymore.
“Why… why... does it feel... like this…?”

Dazai lowers his head, brushing his lips against the shell of Chuuya’s ear before whispering, voice deep and steady,
“Feels good, doesn’t it? That’s because it’s meant for you. Only you.”

Because that’s exactly how it feels.

He can sense the way Chuuya’s body clenches around him—hot, trembling, like it doesn’t want to let go. Like it’s pulling him deeper with every slow thrust, like it was built to keep him there.

Dazai’s own body shivers with the intensity of it—tight, deep, overwhelming—and every time he moves, it feels like the world narrows down to one singular point: Chuuya.

And when he looks down again—at that tear-streaked face, flushed and stubborn and still holding his gaze—

Dazai exhales, low and shaken.
“It feels like coming home.”

A soft smile pulls at his lips as he shifts his angle just slightly, adjusting his hips until—

Chuuya’s body tenses beneath him. Hard.

“A-Ahhh—!!”

Chuuya’s head falls back, a sharp cry tearing from his lips—no longer a moan, but something raw, broken, unfiltered.

“What… was that just now—”

Dazai leans in, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“Found your spot.”

Chuuya can only pant, breath ragged. His eyes glisten, cheeks flushed down to the tips of his ears, his entire body trembling beneath the weight of sensation. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to.

And Dazai?
He keeps moving—steady, deep, precise. Keeping the rhythm just right, letting the tension rise with each slow thrust. Letting Chuuya’s body fall into it, surrender to it, arch and tremble and take him in fully.

But he doesn’t stop there. His lips never stray far from Chuuya’s skin—kissing along his shoulder, biting gently at the bare curve of his chest, dragging his tongue over a nipple flushed and oversensitive. His fingers roam, tracing ribs, skimming over Chuuya’s hip, sliding up the nape of his neck, then down again to cup his face.

As if he needs to touch everything—memorize every inch of this body before instinct drowns out reason completely.

In the midst of it all, his gaze catches the black choker circling Chuuya’s neck. And for a moment, Dazai forgets how to breathe.

That black choker—a barrier. Covering the place that calls to him most. The untouched mark. The bite that hasn’t been made.
Its presence is a quiet warning:
Not yet.
You haven’t earned it.

He lowers his head, pressing a long kiss just above the choker—where skin meets silk.

Grateful.

Grateful that the single thing keeping him from losing himself completely… is still there.

Chuuya’s body no longer just receives. It arches up to meet him. He moans long and low, bites down on his lip, then grits his teeth when the thrusts go too deep—
But never once says stop.

“Shit—Dazai, slow… ahh, fucking bastard…”
His voice breaks between gasps that thicken the air around them like a rising tide.

But his body tells the truth louder than words ever could.

His hands claw at Dazai’s back—hard, as if to anchor him or drag him deeper. Fingers tangle in dark brown hair, yanking at the roots until Dazai can only groan into his shoulder, breath shaking.

And Dazai—he burns.
Chuuya’s pheromone floods his chest, thick and intoxicating. Sweet. Dark. Like a freshly uncorked red wine that spills too fast, staining everything it touches. It makes Dazai tremble with a thirst that has no end.

He kisses Chuuya’s skin like a man starved of air—messy, rushed, desperate kisses. His jaw tightens every time that scent blooms stronger, but his eyes stay open. Locked on Chuuya’s face. Making sure he’s still conscious. Still here. Still with him.

Because the second he loses control…

Everything falls apart.

The air in the infirmary begins to shift. Even with the AC humming steadily, heat clings to their skin—dense, humid, saturated with invisible pressure. The usual scent of antiseptic fades, slowly overpowered by the mingling pheromones of Alpha and Omega.

The metal bed creaks softly with every roll of Dazai’s hips, a steady rhythm that sends faint vibrations through its bolts and screws—melding with the sharp breaths, the gasps, the quiet moans that hang thick in the air.

Each thrust echoes with a slick, wet sound—low and intimate—borne from the heat between their bodies, from the way Chuuya’s body opens and holds Dazai with every push. It’s not loud, but it scorches the air like friction itself.

“Too… hot,” Chuuya breathes, barely audible.

His body burns from the inside. Every movement from Dazai sparks down his nerves like a fire catching on dry leaves. Sweat trails down his temple, slipping along his neck, vanishing into the space between their fused bodies.

And then—

“Ngh—hah… Dazai—!”

His voice breaks.

Chuuya trembles violently, his back arching high off the mattress as that thrust hits the most sensitive part of him. His vision splinters—flashes of white light, the thunder of his own heartbeat in his ears, and that overwhelming sensation of being filled. Completely. To his very core.

His body begins to quake.

“I… I can’t—”

His hands clutch at Dazai’s arms, nails digging in deep. His eyes sting, flooded with sensation he can’t suppress any longer. His pheromones erupt—wild, desperate, starving for more.

“You can,” Dazai rasps, voice hoarse and low.
“You were made for this. For me.”

And like a final snap before collapse, Chuuya’s body arches again—flawless, breaking apart. A sharp cry rips from his throat, raw and unfiltered. Release crashes into him. Hot. Overwhelming.
Painful—and yet freeing.

“Ah—D-Dazai…!”

And the bed?

It groans beneath them—loud, strained—as if bearing witness to the moment an Omega surrenders completely beneath the Alpha he’s spent a lifetime hating.

The scent of red camellia and aged wine spills thick into the air, blooming, intoxicating. It hits Dazai like a headrush—sharp, dizzying—and steals the breath straight from his lungs.

In that moment—
When Chuuya trembles in his arms, when that bitter, breathy whimper slips past the lips of an Omega who’s always known how to hide his weakness—

Something in Dazai shatters.

His rut snaps loose.

“—Tch…”
He clenches his eyes shut, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek in a desperate attempt to hold on. But his body is no longer obeying.

His pheromones burst forth—sharp, thick, clinging to skin and seeping into pores.
Predatory.
Pure Alpha.

His hands still clutch Chuuya’s waist. Now gripping harder. Unwilling—unable—to let go. He shakes, not with hesitation, but with heat. With want. A hunger too long denied.

Dazai bows his head. One arm curls tighter around Chuuya’s middle, while the other digs into the mattress—white-knuckled, trying to anchor himself before he loses it entirely.

“Shit…” he mutters, voice low, jaw clenched, breath ragged.

Below him, Chuuya is still gasping, shivering from release—but the heat inside hasn’t cooled. It only makes everything worse.

Especially when those tight, slick walls keep squeezing around him, holding him in. Refusing to let go.

“Chuuya…” he rasps, half-delirious.
“If you keep doing that… I might—”

But the sentence never ends.

Dazai thrusts deeper—once, twice—until he’s fully seated, buried to the hilt. And in that second, his entire body locks up.

He bends forward, forehead pressing to Chuuya’s shoulder, his hand fisting the sheets.
His breath halts.

“—haah… Chuuya…”

A broken moan slips out—deep, harsh. Choked with the weight of everything he’s held back.

Climax crashes through him like molten stone— rising from his gut, curling up his spine, burning everything in its wake. Even with latex separating them, his body trembles violently as he spills inside.

A soft, shuddering exhale escapes him, as if he’s finally letting go of every shred of control.

His voice is rough, frayed at the edges:

“...too tight…”
“You’re fucking insane, Chuuya…”

His shoulders lift, back straining. And then, the pressure builds at the base of his cock.
That knot, thick and pulsing, begins to swell.

Instinct kicks in. Wild. Primal. Demanding to lock. To claim.

But Dazai pulls out. Abruptly. Almost violently. He bites down on the inside of his cheek as he slips free—just in time, right before his body locks him in place.

The latex is still on, still intact. But his cock throbs, aching, pulsing with the instinct that demands more.

“Haaahh…”

He sinks down at the edge of the bed, shoulders rising and falling in sharp breaths. His fingers tremble as they brush over his own forehead, wiping sweat that won’t stop.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers hoarsely.
“You’re too tight. Too warm… I couldn’t—”

Dazai doesn’t finish the sentence. Because in that moment… their scents finally merge.

Their pheromones—dancing in the air all this time—detonate in a silent explosion.

The sweetness of aged wine and the bloom of red camellias from Chuuya’s body mix with Dazai’s own: cool woodsmoke, aged cedar, and the lingering bitterness of coffee clinging to the night air.

That blend...

It spills into the room like a heavy, warm fog—sinking into skin, into lungs—until the world around them feels smaller, hotter, more urgent.

Dazai grits his teeth. His hands grip the edge of the bed, breath coming rough and ragged. His rut... is undeniable now.

But deep down, he knows.

It isn’t just Chuuya’s body that nearly undoes him.

It’s the way he looked at him.
The soft, broken sound in his voice.
The way he offered himself—despite the hate, despite the pride.

And for a moment…
Dazai wants to forget.

Forget that this is Chuuya’s first heat.
Forget that he’s supposed to stay sane.
Forget that this—all of this—could end in disaster.

Because in this moment… he’s already lost.

And it’s Chuuya who breaks him.

Author's Note:
Every time I write smut, I find myself wondering.
Did it land? Did it make you feel something?
Not just read it, but actually feel it—maybe a shiver, maybe heat pooling somewhere quiet, or just that held breath before everything tips over.

At this point, I’ve written smut in every flavor.
Sweet and tender? Been there. Rough and messy? Done that. Full-on vulgar with no room to breathe? Oh yes, I went there too 😌

And yet—I still wonder.

Do you feel it when you read it?
Not just with your eyes, but with your skin, your breath, the back of your neck? That shift in your seat, that pause between lines, that little “oh.”

Because smut isn’t just about what’s happening—it’s about what it does to you.

If you ever feel like sharing how it hit, or even just want to say “ouch, thanks,” my comment box is always open 😌
No pressure, just curiosity—because stories are meant to be felt, and I’d love to know if this one made you feel something.

Chapter Text

The air in the infirmary grows heavier. The pheromones that once burst forth refuse to fade—they cling to every inch of the room like an invisible fog. Red wine and fresh camellia, warm and tempting, swirl with cold cedar, old woodsmoke, and bitter coffee. It’s thick. Sharp. As if it settles at the bottom of the lungs.

And Chuuya...

His body still lies bare on the creaking bed, the mattress giving a soft protest every time his hips shift. His eyes are half-lidded, but his gaze is unfocused. His breath comes uneven. Sweat streams down his temples, soaking into the black choker still snug around his throat.

He feels empty.
Empty and... thirsty.

It doesn’t matter that he climaxed before.
Doesn’t matter that his body collapsed in complete surrender.

The heat hasn’t left. It resurges—rising from the base of his spine, coiling deep in his abdomen, spilling down his thighs and up the back of his neck. The sensation of being left—of being pulled away—leaves a sting of hollowness behind. And in that hazy half-consciousness, Chuuya lets out a soft moan.

“…Dazai…”

His voice is hoarse and low. Almost like a dream-mumble. But there’s a hunger in it that betrays everything.

His hand moves. Reaches. Fumbles through the air. Searching for the only one who can ease this ache.

Dazai remains seated at the edge of the bed, his back tense, breathing ragged. And before he can get up, something touches him.

Chuuya.

Silently, that body moves—slow, quiet. His breaths still tremble, but now he crawls, inching over the mattress until his forehead meets Dazai’s back.

“…Warm…”

The whisper slips out like a sigh, almost a complaint.

Chuuya’s arms wrap around Dazai’s waist from behind—not gripping, just resting there. As if needing an anchor to stop himself from falling into a void that's burning him from the inside out.

His head leans gently against Dazai’s shoulder, and from the mess of his hair, that scent bursts out again—wine and camellia—sweet and soft and devastatingly tender, flooding Dazai’s senses like a siren’s call.

Dazai freezes.

“Chuuya…?” he whispers, not daring to turn around.

But there’s no answer.

Only Chuuya’s breath, warmer now, ghosting over the nape of his neck. And those arms—tightening ever so slightly, holding onto him like he might disappear any second.

“…Don’t go.”

This time, his voice comes through. Fragile. Heavy. But painfully honest.

Dazai closes his eyes. His fingers curl against his thigh.
He can feel it. The rut still lingers in his blood, burning slow and low. The blend of their pheromones only makes it worse. And now… this Omega is seeking him out—not with words, but with his body.

Dazai barely moves when he feels it—small fingers sliding upward. Slow. Hesitant. From his waist, they travel up, tracing the bare skin of his chest, warm and trembling.

“Chuuya…” he breathes, almost a warning. But it lacks conviction.

Because in the next moment, Chuuya’s head dips lower, pressing against his shoulder—and Dazai feels it.
The soft inhale. A careful nuzzle against his neck from behind.

One breath in.

Then a warm exhale—ghosting over his skin like a brand.

“…You smell good…”

Chuuya’s voice is husky. Deep. But quiet. As if he’s speaking only to himself.

Dazai shuts his eyes.
He knows—he should pull away.

But now Chuuya’s hand moves, sliding across the center of his chest. That small palm traces down the line of his sternum, then pauses—right above his pounding heart.

And just as Dazai opens his eyes, ready to break free—

Chuuya’s tongue sweeps across the bare skin of his neck, where the bandage no longer covers.

Once.
Slow.
Wet.

Then… a bite.

Gentle, but deliberate. A quiet pressure from blunt teeth that sinks into his skin without hesitation.

“…Chuuya.”
His voice falters.

Dazai’s shoulders rise and fall with shallow breaths—his rut stirs violently beneath his skin, gnawing from the inside. But the Omega behind him doesn’t stop.

Another kiss.
Another lick, this time trailing toward his ear.
And then, a trembling whisper, right against it—

“If you leave me again…” Chuuya breathes, “I’ll burn alone in here.”

His arms tighten. Dazai’s neck is damp with hot breath, and beneath all the softness—a truth begins to bloom:

This Omega is calling him back.

Dazai remains still at the edge of the bed. Straight-backed. Silent. But his body begins to tremble—not from cold, but from the overwhelming scent now rising behind him. His neck is slick. His breath catches.

And Chuuya?

Still holding him from behind. But now—slowly—he begins to rise. His bare chest presses against Dazai’s back, molding to the curve of his spine, his breath trailing warm and steady along the side of Dazai’s throat—teasing. Stirring.

Then his lips return—softly brushing the back of Dazai’s ear.

“Dazai…”

It’s not a whimper.
It’s gentle.
Faint, yet deep. A plea—but also a beckoning.

Chuuya’s hand glides up, searching for the collar of Dazai’s already-loosened shirt. His fingers slip beneath the fabric at the side of his neck, tugging it down and back—just enough to coax Dazai into turning.

And when their eyes finally meet—

Chuuya grabs the collar tighter.
Pulls—hard.
And in one breathless second, their mouths collide.

It isn’t soft.
It’s ravenous.
Messy. Hot. Unforgiving.

As if Chuuya’s entire body is demanding an answer for the hunger that won’t stop.

Dazai jolts—his hands reach for Chuuya’s shoulders, almost to push him back. But Chuuya leans in harder, his tongue sliding along Dazai’s lips, stealing his breath, growling low when Dazai dares resist.

Chuuya’s grip leaves no room to escape. And when Dazai tries to twist away—his back sinks deeper into the mattress beneath them.

And in the midst of that brutal kiss—Dazai realizes it.

Chuuya is completely consumed by his Omega instincts. His body still burns. Still craves. Still… searches.

“Chuuya…” Dazai breathes, fractured—almost pleading.

But there’s no space to retreat.
No room left for reason.

And in the very next heartbeat—Dazai gives in.
To Chuuya’s searing heat.
To instincts he can no longer fight.

Their kiss deepens, tongues twisting, teeth clashing, breaths crashing in a rhythm so desperate it nearly hurts.

He doesn’t resist.
He doesn’t lead.
He simply falls—and makes no attempt to rise.

He’s already been pushed to the center of the bed. Knees bent beneath him, back against the headboard. His hands try to steady Chuuya’s waist but that body… is too close.

Chuuya climbs over him, slow, deliberate—his knees press against the sides of Dazai’s thighs. Still locked in that feverish kiss, he settles into Dazai’s lap with full weight, grinding down without mercy.

Dazai stiffens. His eyes flutter halfway open.

Because Chuuya’s hand—hot, trembling just slightly—is already sliding lower. It grazes along Dazai’s waist. Then lower still… until his fingers wrap around Dazai’s cock, hard and pulsing with need.

Dazai groans into the kiss, strained. “Ch-Chuuya…”

Dazai’s body tenses, harder this time. His jaw tightens as Chuuya’s thumb brushes over the sensitive tip of his cock. But Chuuya only meets that startled gaze with a single glance and a small smile far too hungry to be called conscious.

His hand wraps around Dazai now, steady, making him break the kiss with a strangled gasp.

“C—Chuuya, wait…!”

But there’s no answer. Chuuya’s eyes are half-lidded, flushed deep with heat, cheeks burning. His breaths come fast—shallow, warm, desperate. His fingers keep moving, guiding. Hesitant, but certain in what they want.

“Chuuya,” Dazai breathes, reaching to hold his arm, gripping gently, “I’m not wearing—”

Too late.

Chuuya is already lowering himself, trembling, inch by inch. He guides it in on his own, every movement slow and staggered. The head pushes in, met by tight, fevered heat—still raw from the round before.

“—Tch…!” Dazai hisses, his hands clawing at the sheets. Reflexively, he tries to lift Chuuya’s hips back up, to stop him.

“Chuuya, don’t—you're not fully conscious. This could hurt.”

But Chuuya only leans forward, resting against Dazai’s chest, still pressing down, slow and stubborn.

“…I’m still thirsty…” he whispers, voice quivering. “I… need you…”

And Dazai knows—that isn’t the usual Chuuya speaking.

It’s the Chuuya swallowed whole by instinct.

Dazai falls silent.

Their bodies begin to join again, slowly, inch by inch. It’s warm. Tight. Devastatingly soft. The kind of comfort that makes him tremble.

But he doesn’t move.

Not because he’s unsure of his desire—no, he knows exactly how deep it runs.

It’s because he knows—this isn’t the time to lose himself.

And the moment Chuuya starts to lower his hips, guiding them into full connection once more—

Dazai holds his breath. His eyes widen. His instincts scream—go or pull away.

No. This is madness. This is—

But Chuuya keeps moving. Burning. Hungry. Locking around him.

And Dazai can feel it—how Chuuya’s body calls to him.
Welcomes him.
Needs him.

The heat hasn’t passed.
Three orgasms weren’t enough.
His body still aches for an Alpha.

And Dazai knows—he’s the only one who can truly satisfy that need.

If he pulls away now, Chuuya could break—not just physically, but mentally. His instincts could collapse. And if that happens, the damage might be irreversible.

But if he stays—
If he continues—

Round two means knotting.
Knotting means risking Rut.
And if he bites Chuuya’s neck—

That’s the end of everything.

Not just a lifelong bond, but a betrayal Chuuya can’t even begin to comprehend—especially not with his status as a newly awakened Omega.

“If I help him, I might lose control.”
“If I don’t... I’ll break him. And he’ll hate me for it.”

Still, his heart screams.
This is wrong. This is reckless. Too fast.

His fist curls tight in the sheets. His breathing is ragged, Rut howling beneath his skin, commanding him to claim.

But he holds on. Even if it’s only for a second longer.

“I’ve never been a good Alpha...” he thinks. “But if I walk away now, I’m worse than a bastard.”

He lowers his gaze, eyes locking on the Omega draped over his chest—
Breathless.
Trembling.
Clinging to him.

And then—Dazai jerks. His entire body seizes up—because Chuuya just rolled his hips… and his cock sinks in. All the way. To the base.

“Fuck—!”

The breath punches out of Dazai’s chest. Deep. Hot. Insane.

That’s the trigger.

His rut snaps—like a storm that’s been waiting to break loose. Unstoppable. Unforgiving.

Without warning, Dazai clamps down on Chuuya’s waist—tight—and in one instinctive motion, flips him over.

Chuuya lands on the mattress with a thud—rough, but Dazai’s arm cushions the fall just enough to keep him from hitting too hard. Then Dazai follows—pressing down, covering the Omega’s body completely. His breath comes in short bursts. His eyes, blazing.

There’s no time left to think.

They’re fully connected now. Their scents spiral into a dense fog of pheromones. And Dazai… can’t stop anymore.

He starts to move.

Brutal.
Almost feral.

His hips slam forward—deep, fast, laced with a fury that makes the bed creak and shift across the floor.

“Ah—!”

Chuuya claws at Dazai’s back, shocked, writhing as his body is stretched open in one merciless thrust.

Each thrust rocks Chuuya’s body, forcing breathless moans from his lips. The bed creaks beneath them, protesting with every impact, every frantic chase between their bodies.

Dazai’s pheromones flood the air—no longer the calm scent of smoke, but something scorched, something raw and feral. Burnt wood, acid rain, and wild instinct.

He’s past restraint. His mouth moves—claiming Chuuya’s lips in a fevered, unrelenting kiss, then trailing down to his throat, his shoulder—where he bites hard, half-aware, leaving behind angry, glowing red marks.

“A-ah—!”

Chuuya cries out—not in protest, but want. His legs wrap tighter around Dazai’s waist, pulling him deeper, harder.

Dazai’s mouth shifts again—this time latching onto Chuuya’s nipple, already swollen and slick from friction and spit.
He sucks.
He licks.
He grazes his teeth, then sucks again until Chuuya arches, his body twisting in a surge of blinding sensation.

“S-stop—ngh… aah…”

But he doesn’t mean it. Not when his hands claw at Dazai’s hair, dragging him deeper against his chest. His breath stutters, his body trembles, and his moans grow reckless—untamed.

Dazai laughs—low, rough, brutal—and without warning, slams his hips forward again.
Hard.
Deep.
Almost cruel.

Their pheromones crash, thick in the air like a storm. Sweat and heat cling to skin, soaking through every inch.

Dazai says nothing. His eyes gleam wild, his breath comes sharp, and his body moves with the kind of hunger that promises to drag Chuuya straight to the edge—and past it.

Author’s Note:
Welp—somehow we ended up in round two territory. 
Who saw that coming? Not me. (Okay maybe me. A little.)

I sat down to write some emotional fluff, but these two menaces had other plans and apparently no intention of letting the bed (or my sanity) rest 💅
Do I regret letting them go feral? Absolutely not.
Am I judging Dazai’s unhinged stamina? A little. But also, respectfully, go off, king 👑

Anyway, thank you for surviving yet another chapter of questionable decisions, pheromone warfare, and Chuuya’s very loud “don’t stop” energy.
See you in the aftercare. Maybe. If Dazai ever lets Chuuya walk again 💀

With love and no shame,
—Author, currently banned from heaven💋

Chapter Text

It’s still shy of noon when sharp footsteps slice through the quiet corridors of the Armed Detective Agency. Yosano’s heels click rhythmically against the floor, her gait brisk, with Kunikida trailing slightly behind, looking mildly annoyed as he carries a box of medical supplies. They’ve just returned from a routine inspection at one of the Agency’s partner hospitals—exhausting, and made worse by a drawn-out argument with the pharmacy director over distribution protocols.

“Just drop it off in the infirmary,” Yosano says breezily without looking back, her dark hair swaying as she picks up speed. “And try not to break anything. Some of those vials are rare.”

“I’m aware,” Kunikida replies with a sigh, adjusting his grip on the box. “But you said it would be a quick check. My back says otherwise—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Yosano stops abruptly in front of the infirmary door, hand raised to open it—but she freezes.

A wave of heat hits her like a slap.

Sweetness seeps from the narrow space beneath the door—like red wine steeped in camellia petals, wrapped in something heavier, sharper, more primal. A cocktail of pheromones that stabs straight into her alpha instincts, sending a spike of awareness down her spine.

Her body reacts instantly: breath catching, pupils dilating, knees weakening under the biological signal that couldn’t be clearer—a pair of Alpha and Omega, mid-heat. Mid-bond.

“…Shit,” she hisses, stepping back two paces, shoulders tense. The scent is overwhelming, almost blinding.

Kunikida halts behind her, frowning. “What is it, Yosano-sensei?”

“There’s something wrong,” she mutters low, like a predator scenting blood. She leans in, sniffing again. The scent’s unmistakable.

“…Omega?” she whispers, brow furrowed.

Kunikida’s eyes narrow. “We don’t have an Omega at the Agency.”

“Exactly,” she replies, voice nearly a growl. “But it’s thick. And… there’s another scent. Alpha. Stronger.”

Even as a Beta, Kunikida picks up on the strange weight in the air—something wrong, something intimate where it shouldn’t be.

“…Is that pheromones?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. His tone is grim. “Don’t tell me this is—”

Then, just as Yosano reaches for the doorknob—she stops cold.

There’s a sound.

Faint. Rhythmic. The creak of a bedframe moving. Hitched breaths. Low moans. The unmistakable rustle of bedsheets.

Kunikida immediately takes a step back, face stiffening as if physically trying to dodge the implications.

Yosano tests the knob—it’s locked.

The sounds don’t stop. If anything, they grow louder. Steadier. Desperate.

She knocks—firmly, then harder. “WHO’S IN THERE?!”

No response. Just more ragged breathing, a deep groan, the bedframe knocking against the wall like it’s caught in a storm.

Kunikida exhales sharply, closing his eyes. “Oh God…” he mutters in disbelief.

Yosano bangs harder. “This is a medical bay, not a love hotel!”

Still nothing. Just pheromones. Heat. Chaos.

She looks one second from kicking the door in—then doesn’t. Her fists clench at her sides. The scent leaking from the room is almost suffocating now. Her expression twists—from frustration, to reluctant understanding.

Beside her, Kunikida stands rigid, arms crossed, jaw set. “This… is a violation of medical protocol.”

Footsteps approach from the hall. Tanizaki appears, clearly distressed.

“Yosano-sensei… Kunikida-san…”

Yosano turns sharply. “Do you know who’s inside?”

Tanizaki hesitates, hands raised like he’s trying to pacify two ticking time bombs. “Um… this morning, Dazai-san brought Chuuya-san here. He… collapsed from heat.” A gulp. “Apparently… Chuuya-san is an Omega.”

“…What?” Yosano freezes. Kunikida’s face goes blank.

“The Port Mafia executive is… an Omega?” Kunikida says flatly. His tone is flat, but loaded—like he’s trying to stop the earthquake shattering his worldview. “And the Alpha inside is… Dazai?”

The sound of the bedframe hitting the wall continues. Moans, breathless gasps, the wet noise of skin on skin. Pheromones thick as fog, creeping under the door like fire.

Yosano’s pupils narrow. Her alpha instincts flare. She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing.

“…Bonding,” she mutters.

“Incredible. They’re actually doing it on my bed,” she snaps.

Kunikida slowly takes off his glasses, wipes them with robotic precision, then slides them back on. His expression remains blank, but the vein on his temple pulses visibly.

“Dazai,” he says softly, voice dangerous, “has broken thirty-two clauses of the Agency’s daily code of conduct in one single idiotic decision.”

Yosano raises an eyebrow. “Only thirty-two?”

“Not counting unauthorized use of a medical facility as a…” He trails off, grimacing toward the trembling door. “…compromised site.”

Yosano sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I suppose the situation’s… urgent. And Dazai is the only one who can handle it.”

She waves a hand as if shooing away the entire disaster. “Fine. Let them finish.”

Kunikida gives her a look—ready to protest, but unable to find any rational argument strong enough to hold.

“I just hope the bed survives,” Yosano mutters. “If it doesn’t, Dazai’s paying for a new one out of his own damn salary.”

She turns sharply on her heel, stalking down the corridor with brisk, irritated steps.

“I need fresh air,” she mutters. “And maybe alcohol.”

Kunikida remains frozen, his breathing shallow.

“…I need a new copy of the Agency’s daily handbook,” he mutters. “Fireproof. Dazai-proof.”

Behind the closed door of the infirmary, the outside world fades into a blur—what remains is the ragged pull of breath, the obscene sound of skin meeting skin, and the unraveling whispers neither of them can hold back anymore.

“Hnnh… ahh, deeper…”

The voice is soft. Tempting. Desperate. Chuuya doesn’t even realize how wrecked he sounds—his breath stutters, his skin is slick, his eyes glassy. And yet, his lips keep parting, calling out.

“Don’t… don’t stop…”

He moves his hips back, even though his body trembles under the brutal force of Dazai’s thrusts.

His Omega takes over. Heat coils around every nerve, choking reason, silencing fear—and in its place blooms a hunger so raw it carves him open, demanding the only Alpha who can quench it all.

“Ahnn… deeper… hnnnh—I need more…”

His nails drag down Dazai’s back. His legs lock again. His hips rise in surrender, inviting the ferocity Dazai offers with no resistance.

And Dazai—he’s losing control.

His rut awakens, full and primal.
His fangs throb.
The base of him pulses—his knot swelling, hot and insistent.

But Chuuya doesn’t notice. His body moves on instinct alone. Every moan tumbles out, broken and pleading, each one a fuse threatening to detonate something inside. He writhes—starved—like the fire inside him won’t die down unless Dazai buries himself deeper, harder, rougher.

And in the midst of all the chaos, his Omega instincts take over.
Not just accepting—
But seeking.
Reaching for something to hold onto.
Something to complete him.
Something to soothe the storm inside his body.

Until release crashes over him—violent, all-consuming, from the inside out. His body arches, a cry caught in his throat, and every muscle clenches tight—keeping Dazai right where he is as Chuuya completely lets go. His breath catches. His chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm.

And in the aftermath…

There’s a strange ache blooming deep within—raw, urgent, impossible to ignore.
A need that borders on pain.

Something like… a bite.
A bonding bite.

Chuuya’s hand, once clawing at the sheets, drifts upward. Trembling, but deliberate. He reaches for Dazai—fingers brushing the back of his neck, pulling him down. He says nothing, isn’t even fully conscious, but his movement is crystal clear:

Here.
Bite me. Make it stop. Make me whole.

And Dazai—god, he almost does.

His fangs throb with hunger. His breath rolls hot between them. His tongue skims the thin skin just below Chuuya’s ear, inching toward the curve of his neck where Omega blood pulses loud and wild. One breath in, and Dazai can taste it—the want, the ache, the invitation, all sweet and soft and devastating.

His mind chants like a drumbeat:
He’s yours. He’s ready. Bite him. Mark him.

The instinct drags him downward—deeper and darker—into the place where thought dissolves and all that exists is claiming.

But—

Something cold touches his lips.

The choker.

Black. Slick. Unyielding.
It bites first—before he can.

A final reminder that this isn’t right.
Not yet. Not now.

The world shatters softly around him.

Like ice water dumped over flames, reality crashes in. Dazai seizes—his entire body stiffening, breath stalling, as if the truth hits his bones like a sledgehammer. He lets out a sound—not quite a growl, not quite a sob. A howl caught in his throat. His instincts thrash, wild and rabid, screaming to bury, to bite, to make Chuuya his.

But he doesn’t.

His teeth press to skin.
They do not pierce.
They do not mark.

His grip on Chuuya’s hips falters. His lungs seize with restraint.

The rut is still roaring—pounding through his blood, clawing through his ribs, commanding him to finish.
But then—
One cold shard of thought pierces through the frenzy:

He’s not ready. He’s not conscious. I almost—
—I almost bit him.

Dazai’s hands clutch the sheets. His fingers tremble violently, as if his own skin is burning from the inside out. His fangs ache—still long, still starved, pressing cruelly against his palate.

He bends forward, broken. His face buries into the curve of Chuuya’s shoulder, breath raw and ragged. He’s drowning in boiling seas—bound by desire, cut open by conscience.

Chuuya still moans, quiet and ruined—his voice a blade threatening Dazai’s last thread of control.
That neck.
That scent.
That molten heat that threatens to melt Dazai’s spine—

“I… can’t…”

The words shatter. A whisper, cracked and torn at the edges of his mouth.

And then, suddenly—he pulls back. Just slightly. Still shaking. Still aching.

His fangs pulse.
His knot pulses.
Everything burns.

And when he thinks he can’t hold on any longer—

He bites.

But not Chuuya.

Dazai sinks his fangs into the back of his own hand. Hard. Deep. Until blood bursts between his teeth. The metallic sting floods his mouth—coppery, sharp, grounding.

Pain blooms like a whipcrack across his nerves, snapping him back from the abyss of instinct.
It keeps him here.
Keeps him human.

The pain becomes his anchor.
The rut still cages him, still claws at the inside of his skull—but now it binds him with broken chains.

And he clings to that pain like a lifeline.

Dazai’s body half-covers Chuuya, sweat dripping from his temple. His eyes squeeze shut, jaw locked tight, and his wounded hand still bleeds—thick crimson droplets landing on Chuuya’s pale, damp skin.

His blood—smearing across Chuuya’s abdomen, mixing with sweat and the remnants of everything they’ve just shared. The color carves a brutal contrast against the Omega’s trembling form.

Dazai sees it.
The wound.
The blood.
Chuuya.

And he holds his breath. Grinds his teeth.

If he can’t escape this rut, he’ll fight it from the inside.

For Chuuya.
He endures.
He resists.

Because Chuuya isn’t conscious.
Because he’s still swept up in heat.
Because he hasn’t chosen to be marked.

Dazai must be stronger than instinct.
Chuuya deserves to be aware—to choose when he’s bitten. Not be bonded in blind heat.

But the second those fangs sink into his own flesh, Dazai’s body jerks. He hasn’t even finished breathing through the pain in his hand when it hits—his knot suddenly throbs and swells, expanding instinctively, as if his body refuses to wait for permission.

It’s not his will.
It’s biological.
And it forces him deeper—forces him to lock.

Chuuya feels it all in one punishing jolt.

“—Nnh!”

His whole body snaps, arching without warning. His neck cranes back, breath caught in his throat. Dazai’s knot stretches him—presses in, forces its way inside and locks, no thrust needed.

The sensation is unfamiliar. Overwhelming.
Too much, too fast.
And Chuuya’s body surrenders to it.

His Omega instincts rise—wave after wave. Eyes half-lidded. Jaw slack, as if ready to protest—but what escapes is a raw, breathless whisper pulled from the depths:

“...Dazai…”

Dazai freezes.
The sound stabs through the fog.

He looks down—sees Chuuya flushed, trembling, helplessly sealed around him. The knot now fully formed, tethering them together.

They’re locked.

“—Shit,” Dazai breathes, voice cracking between gasps. His body folds over Chuuya’s like a man hanging off the edge of a cliff with no ropes left.

He knows he’s too late.

Even as his mind screams stop, his body disobeys—acting on instinct, uncaring of consent or control. The knot throbs again, deeply buried in his Omega.

And then—

The orgasm crashes through him.
Violent. Relentless.
Unforgiving.

A strangled sound tears from his throat as his back arches. His arms cage around Chuuya, trembling as the release overtakes him—hot and endless. His seed spills in heavy waves, flooding Chuuya with each pulse, held in place by the knot that binds them. It’s overwhelming—like everything he tried to suppress erupts in a rush of burning need and broken guilt.

Chuuya arches again, body clenching involuntarily at the heat now pooling inside him.
Warm. Thick.
No escape.

He shakes—caught between pleasure and fear.

“…fuck,” Dazai breathes out, voice shredded. His forehead rests against Chuuya’s shoulder, his exhale rough and unsteady—burning with guilt and ruined ecstasy.

He doesn’t move.
He can’t.

The knot still swells gently inside him, pulsing like it’s breathing on its own. Their bodies are tangled—sealed in a bond neither of them chose, but now can’t deny.

All Dazai can do is hold him.
Hold the trembling, sweat-slicked body beneath him like something he’s broken.

And Chuuya, still caught in the storm, still breathing beneath him—
Is alive.