#alphachuu

Freedom tasted bittersweet against his teeth. His wrists, now free of the golden chains that had once clinked as they brushed the floor, were wrapped in soft bandages. His body, no longer subjected to lecherous gazes, stripped of the silks that once covered him, felt unbearably heavy, as though the weight of the world had come crashing down upon it.

He was free, so why did he feel like this?

The irritating dwarf who had done this to him watched with the eyes of a beaten puppy. That stupid alpha was powerful. He had always known that, but never understood just how much—or perhaps he had simply never imagined that this man would bring his entire world to its knees for him.

A muffled sound broke the silence. The raging ocean he had dreamed of drowning in for months darkened, thick with so many emotions that Dazai wanted to scream.

Oh—he was screaming.

“Dazai, babe, what’s wrong?”

You, he wanted to shout. The word coiled on his tongue like venom, a dart ready to be loosed. Chuuya would let him. He was too good, too generous—too much for him.

And yet, he longed for his scent to wrap around him protectively, to lose himself in the warmth of his embrace. Because Dazai might know Chuuya deserved something better—someone who wasn’t broken, wasn’t rotten—but he was still a survivor.

He let his own scent, melted caramel, spill into the air, a silent you can’t leave me now, I’m yours flooding the alpha’s senses.

He pushed the you’re mine deeper—too instinctive, too dangerous.

Too vulnerable.

please just kiss me, i can't stand it.

Dear Lo, I'm really sorry but I've done it again. I took an innocent prompt and twisted it. Well, another silly fic made with lots of love :LoveFox:

The whiskey clouded his senses, slightly sweet from the note of melted caramel that clung to it, yet still intoxicating on his tongue.

“Just kiss me, I can’t stand it.”

“Say the magic word, princess.”

Dazai whimpered, lifting his hips, thrusting into the air, and the ropes binding him—sturdy, the kind the mafia reserved for traitors, scraping the skin until they drew thin red lines—protested under the strain. Chuuya clicked his tongue, more annoyed than concerned, and grabbed Dazai’s chin to make him look at him.

His eyes were glassy, but still alert. Good.

“Chuuya is cruel.”

Adorable and irritating, that damn brat.

The mafioso traced his gloved thumb over his lower lip, and Dazai tried to lick it.

[read the full version on ao3!]

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, letting his dog’s scent—rich, earthy, and slightly sweet—slowly lull his senses. He stifled a yawn, or something softer, something far more meaningful. Not far away, Chuuya was humming some stupid tune as he wrapped up his nightly routine. Dazai gripped the sheets until his knuckles went white.

Soon, he would have to leave.

Soon, before the alpha infected his heart with sappy words, with kisses that would root themselves deep in his chest and with promises they both knew he’d eventually ruin, Dazai would hide behind a hooded smile—one loaded with intention—and let the words he knew by heart, the ones rotting on his tongue and clogging his throat, choking him, spill from his lips.

He rubbed his nose against the pillow, catching a trace of Chuuya’s musky scent. He shivered. Soon, Dazai would press all the right buttons until the redhead’s gaze darkened, anger dancing in his mismatched eyes, devouring any hint of affection. And maybe, if he was lucky—if his words cut deep enough—Chuuya would lunge at him, grab him by the hair until he tore a moan from him, and crush their mouths together.

Dazai smothered a gasp into the pillow and squeezed his thighs tight.

Teeth and tongues—a fight he’d gladly drown in until he ran out of air. Maybe, if he was lucky, Chuuya would sink his fangs into his lower lip and blood would flood his mouth. He rubbed his thighs together for a bit of friction and writhed beneath the sheets.

Or maybe, just maybe, Chuuya would get tired.

But that thought—once a shield he flaunted with bravado to justify his need, to justify crawling back to Chuuya’s door time after time—caught in his chest now, turning sour on his tongue. Dazai curled in on himself, feeling pathetic.

The faucet shut off.

Dazai froze.

The door opened without a sound, and his presence—stifling, warm, steady—flooded the room, which already reeked of him. Or of them, if Dazai would just stop using patches that burned his skin raw and blockers that drowned his senses.

Chuuya crossed the room and Dazai counted down. He’d stay just a little longer, ten more seconds. The alpha set a knee on the mattress, and Dazai tensed ever so slightly, clutching the sheet. He’d stay just a little longer—be selfish for ten more seconds.

The mattress dipped behind him. Ever the gentleman, Chuuya didn’t touch him without asking, didn’t force his presence or his scent or his stupid pheromones on him, even though he must have sensed Dazai’s rejection. Blockers or not, the idiot slug had always seen right through him.

Dazai matched his breathing to Chuuya’s when the redhead brushed his arm with the tip of a finger. It wasn’t a caress; it wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t have affected him after everything they’d done in the last hours, but his heart faltered and he had to restrain himself from leaning into the touch.

The room stank of sex, but the only thing Dazai could smell—his nostrils flaring, a shiver running down his spine and warming his stomach—was the calm, the domesticity, and the quiet longing radiating from the redhead.

Dazai wanted to ruin him.

And yet—

Chuuya’s lips curved into a small half-smile. Dazai didn’t need to turn around to know. It was carved into his memory. It was too soft for Dazai’s comfort, a tiny curve that hid nothing yet told far too much.

Dazai wanted to lash out.

But Chuuya struck first.

“Stay tonight,” Chuuya murmured, tearing down all his defenses. When Dazai didn’t respond—or maybe because he didn’t—Chuuya grew bolder. His fingers drifted up and down his arm, barely a ghost of a touch. “Just tonight. Tomorrow I’ll make you that stupid sugar bomb you call coffee and maybe we could…”

He leaned closer, the sheets rustling, and Dazai’s heart hammered so hard it felt ready to burst from his chest. Panic twisted into something warmer, maybe desire, maybe longing.

This time his voice tickled, and his fingers trailed up toward Dazai’s face. Chuuya brushed a strand of hair aside and tucked it behind his ear. Would he trace his face with his eyes for fear of forgetting it? Would he lean in and kiss his lashes, bury his nose in his hair?

Dazai would.

Dazai would kiss the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks.

Dazai would trace the shape of his mouth with his fingers.

Dazai would redraw every line of his face so he wouldn’t forget.

“We could spend the morning doing nothing,” Chuuya continued, brighter now, more confident. Gently, he traced the curve of Dazai’s jaw, pausing at the small scar on his chin. Dazai didn’t move. “Play some dumb game, ruin my kitchen, or just… be together. Like before.”

His words cracked at the end, breaking apart, sadness thickening his voice until it was suffocating. His scent soured, like spilled wine and burnt gunpowder. It didn’t last. Dazai shifted, rolling over until his nose pressed into the alpha’s throat.

A clumsy purr, almost strangled, vibrated in Dazai’s chest, somehow soothing Chuuya’s restless heartbeat. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the alpha answered with a low croon of his own.

Chuuya combed lazy fingers through his hair—a touch that warmed Dazai’s chest—and that croon should have sent him running, but instead it made him soft, pliant. He couldn’t stop purring.

“I like what we have,” Chuuya said, releasing more of his scent with each stroke. His fingers wandered, grazing the bandages around Dazai’s neck, and Dazai leaned closer, wanting more.

Wanting what he shouldn’t.

It wouldn’t end well.

It never had.

They weren’t meant to belong.

“The s3x is good,” Chuuya admitted, voice sheepish. Dazai hated not seeing the blush he knew was there. “And I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my ruts, but… everything else? Damn it, I want to try.”

Dazai was selfish.

Chuuya was his to use, his to break, his to devour but everything else?

Chuuya deserved better.

Someone who would soothe the wounds afterward and hold him under the blankets.

Someone who’d walk beside him with their fingers intertwined.

No shadows.

No masks.

No past choking them.

Someone to stay up gaming with until dawn, to share lazy breakfasts in bed with, to kiss in the morning despite awful breath.

Dazai couldn’t give him that or worse, he could, but it wouldn’t last.

Nothing ever lasted.

But he wanted to. That was the problem.

Chuuya’s hand stilled abruptly, and as if he could read Dazai’s thoughts—through that bond, torn and frayed yet still impossibly alive—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Dazai’s forehead.

And there, against his skin, like a knife sliding into his chest, “I want you. Only you, Mackerel.”

Dazai bit his tongue to keep in the gasp threatening to break him. Tears gathered behind his lashes, his throat tightening, and chest burning.

And softer still, afraid the words might linger and turn against him:

“I love you.”

Chuuya sealed his doom by wrapping his arms around him. The alpha inhaled deeply against Dazai’s hair, maybe grounding himself, maybe calming the fear curled in his gut or maybe, and Dazai refused to dwell on it, because he longed for his scent.

The ghost of his scent.

“I’m here,” he whispered, closer still, until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Dazai tightened his hold around his waist and Chuuya crooned louder. “And I’m staying.”

He wouldn’t sleep.

He wouldn’t stay but he did.

To @loulits, for posting the first chapter of your omegazai, I’m very proud of you, and for letting me be there for you. Your words always inspire me :blob_love:

Little by little, I’m compiling my ficlets/threads on ao3. You can bookmark the collection here, if you want!

I think I talked about this WIP before, but Chuuya has just been promoted to mafia boss—Mori handed over the position to him, or maybe he died, I’m not sure yet—and suddenly everything is overwhelming him. He’s not ready to run the mafia from behind a desk. He’s not ready to deal with all the scheming that happens behind his back. How did Mori manage to keep the balance without the whole organization collapsing?

And one day he slips away and ends up walking into a small café, where he’s captivated by the omega who works there. But Dazai wrinkles his nose and accuses him of smelling like a wet dog. He even yells for Kunikida to call the pound because “a stinky dog got loose.” And it’s the first time in months—years, really—that anyone has spoken to him like that, looked him in the eyes, wrinkled their nose at him, or simply treated him as if he were just Chuuya, not the head of the mafia, not the fearsome executive.