Archive of Our Own

The concept of a gender never made any difference for Dazai. Doesn't matter if it's the primary or secondary one — he never sees people as an extension of their gender, he's uninterested in all of them in an equal measure. Being born as a boy wasn't something he wanted more than being born as a girl, mostly because he would prefer not being born at all. Presenting as an omega didn't make him any less Dazai as if presenting as a beta or alpha would. He is himself and he hates himself not because his body is wrong, but because his mind is, and there are no mirrors you can turn away to avoid your brain.

Pain is what makes his brain shut up. He discovers it fairly young; running away from the overwhelming shouting of the place he's suppose to call home, his fall on the manor's gravel is scraping his knees in a nasty manner, but in the moment — in the moment, the bleeding skin, torn and greyish from the dust mixed with ichor, the striking agony spreading from the wound all the way to his ears — they make the world quiet for the first time. It scars in a set of pinkish-white circles because he doesn't allow it to heal properly, picking up on the scab as soon as it forms. It's one of the parts of himself he doesn't mind people knowing about and readily tells the story of a clumsy child behind.

Heat is the thing that stops his brain from wandering. Seeking comfort is far from his favourite past-times, so focusing on ignoring the need helps with constant apathy and boredom. He is thirteen when he presents in a chain of miserable events — cramps in his stomach, wet underwear and ruined hotel sheets, his father on the phone with the doctor, asking if they can schedule an appointment to get a certificate that he's ready for mating. He doesn't wait for the doctor to come — he runs with an intention to never come back. On a hunt for some scent patches and heat blockers he rushes into Mori, not realizing he's the person his father was booking an appointment with until a year later, when doctor's hand slits a weak throat of his old man, spitting slurs and curses until the very end.

Mori never makes comments about Dazai's body or habits, supplies suppressants and scent patches, but Mori makes Dazai work. Work allows his brain to explore and experiment, gives resources to see his craziest ideas brought to fruition as long as they are beneficial to Mori's position as a new Port Mafia Boss. Work leads him to the deepest, ugliest places in Yokohama where he hunts for the underground rats like a stray cat taunted by prey. Work brings him the Sheep and he laughs at their offer to join — they have no means to entertain his boredom, no goals to dedicate his twisted mind to achieve, the only thing they have — a sense of community his omega can long for and a fair scent of a teenage dream. Work gives him a source of legit complain that he exercises to poke into restrain of adults. It also presents him with a wolf wearing a sheep's crown and that is something Dazai would always be grateful for.

Chuuya impacts everything in Dazai's life. He's a perfect amplifier for all of the healthy and unhealthy mechanisms Dazai developed to make his life less miserable. Chuuya fights like a feral predator — his strikes precise and quiet until they land with an inhuman force magnified by For The Tainted Sorrow, or in Dazai's case — with enough power to knock his breath and his brains out, allowing him to rest in a silent world even if there's an explosion behind them; Chuuya's heats are a perfect opportunity for Dazai to focus on making him feel better, subtly satiating his own need for comfort in a warmth of Chuuya's nest that smells like both of them; the partnership they have going at work — Chuuya's presence on a mission log means high-risk high-reward situations, and Dazai thrives in them finishing it up victorious, his brain exercising an immense number of predictions and set-ups for the plan to work.

It is not farfetched to expect that it's Chuuya who would change Dazai's perception of the genders after all those years.

They are sixteen when the first fit of unnerving jealousy and gender dysphoria takes root in Dazai's mind.

It's been two weeks since Dazai's birthday when heat strikes Chuuya at the end of their mission. Dazai noticed the first signs of his partner pre-heat early in the night — the slight drowsiness that can be attributed to a poor sleep schedule if not in tandem with pink cheeks and a slight sugary twist to Chuuya's scent, so he made sure to plan out the task in a most efficient way that will allow them to cuddle up in a nest and wait it out as soon as possible.

Nothing goes according to his plan once the job is done.

Chuuya is a sobbing mess on the bathroom tile, the shower head spraying the wall fountain-like from the floor. Dazai steps inside to turn it off, cold water seeps into his socks and makes him wince, and looks around, trying to piece together a crime scene like some sort of a detective. Chuuya still wears his underwear, the short hair matted and damp, no visible traces of someone's blood but not clean either. His clothes are in the basket, soaking off in a peroxide solution, so whatever set him off happened between getting ready for the shower and actually stepping into it. Dazai looks at the bathroom counter — a hair-tie, a brush, some toiletries, some bandages set out for him — his inner omega almost purrs a little at the obvious display of affection — and, ah yes. The pills. The contraceptive ones.

"C'mon, slug, let's get you to the nest," he awkwardly places the palm onto Chuuya's head and pats it, before crouching down and winding his hands under redhead's armpits and pulling up. Chuuya is a dead weight in his embrace, but at least he's not sobbing anymore. "They should put you in a record book or something, for a slug you're quite big and heavy."

That brings a small huff out of him as he stands more firmly on his own feet, shivering when Dazai lets him go for a moment in order to get the towel and wrap him up in it.

"Well, as you used all of the hot water, I expect no complains about the mess in the nest when the mood will strike you," he half-jokes in hopes to cheer up his partner. He doesn't know if it works.

"S'okay," Chuuya wheezes, "Don't care about the nest now."

Dazai looks at him sceptically but doesn't comment, allowing Chuuya to leave the bathroom with some dignity. It's not like he believes him in a slightest because he knows that Chuuya does care. Chuuya's care is the sole reason Dazai was forced to change his showering routine from whenever-feels-like to everyday, because Chuuya 'does not like stinky mackerel' in his nest. He spends couple of minutes cleaning up the mess left around, putting Chuuya's presoak-ed clothes into a washing machine and adding his own there directly, not caring enough if the blood stains the shirt forever. He looks at the door hesitantly, contemplating a cold shower but decides to settle on just washing his face and hands, not wanting to leave Chuuya for long again. On the way out he grabs pills from the counter and discards of them in a discreet manner in the bedroom — close enough if Chuuya would like to take them, but out of sight completely, to not set him off again.

"How's my little mermaid," he teases lightly, stepping closer to the bed where Chuuya's curled up in the nest, hugging a pillow and staring at the wall.

"Fuck off."

"On the way back to normal, I see," he hums and checks Chuuya's temperature with his palm. He's warm, but there's no telling if it's the heat or the fever now, they'll have to wait and see how it breaks out. "I'm gonna bring a hot water bottle, don't sulk while I'm away."

He's back in two minutes, exchanging pillow Chuuya hugs for a heating pad and sneaking under the blanket, immediately weaving his hands and legs around the other omega for some warmth. Chuuya shimmers closer to him, the motion is so normal to them in the times like this that Dazai stopped commenting on it the first time his own heat stroke down after they partnered up.

The peace is not long lived.

"That bad?" Dazai asks, hesitantly, not daring to name things because he's, for once, not hundred percent sure on what's going on.

Chuuya turns around to face him and shrugs.

"What makes you asks?"

"I'm not an idiot, slug," he chuckles, "I'm an omega too, remember?"

"Sometimes I forget," he half-whispers and Dazai curiously hums to inquire more. "Not really, but how do I put it… I've never even been to your nest, y'know?" Dazai stops breathing, hoping to tame the nervousness to not seep into his scent. He doesn't have one like Chuuya does, the shipping container he sleeps in doesn't even have a spare blanket. The only place he acts on his omega instincts is here, in Chuuya's apartment, and they have always shared a bed so he felt no need to construct his own little fluffy fortress. Chuuya saves him from the need to respond and the death from asphyxiation. "Not that I'd like to be anywhere that smells more of you than this place already does."

"Smart dog," he separates wet auburn locks as he says it. "You gonna hate yourself when you have to brush through them later. Do you want me to boil some water in the kitchen?"

Chuuya shakes his head.

"Don't care."

"You're a bad liar, Chibi, it's good that decoy tasks are on me," Dazai sits up a bit to release the embrace, the motion gentle and guarded, but it's Chuuya this time who throws his leg over him to make him stay.

"Don't leave me too," he mumbles into his chest, almost touching the bandages — the only thing that separates him from branding himself with Chuuya's lips.

"Too? Where's this coming from?"

Chuuya is silent for a long moment. When he opens his mouth again Dazai wishes he never did.

"I though, I'll spend my next heat with 'Tross," his voice breaks at the late alpha's name, but Dazai can't find it in himself to sooth him behind the feeling of his own chest being cut open, and he's well familiar with that type of wound. "He got pills for me after my previous one."

Dazai is…seething. He's in pain from the words alone, from the confusion in his brain on why it causes so much of it, on what's wrong with what they already have? Dazai never once wanted anything else for his heats beside the comfort of Chuuya's presence. Is it different for his partner? Why did he never asked him of anything? Why did he never hinted at Dazai not being enough?

"You want to bring an alpha to our nest?!" His voice is full of disbelief, "He's twenty!!"

"I wanted to bring a friend into my nest," Chuuya looks him in the eye, his lower lip trembling and he bites down on it until Dazai can see blood. "And what if he was twenty? It's not like it's unheard of in our line of work. My mentor runs a brothel, for fuck's sake."

"So what? You now want some alpha to knot you stupid? Should I call Ane-san and ask for an assistance for you? Well, I know what to give you as a gift next time," he fires bitterly, his hands crossing over his sternum as he turns to lie on the back and drill the hole in the ceiling with his eye. Chuuya is to his right side, so he doesn't see his expression because of the bandages covering half of his face, but he feels how the warm leg that was crossing over him before kicks him in the thigh as Chuuya turns away.

"You are stupid, Dazai! Why would you even bring something like that up?!"

"Well, he got you oral contraceptive pills, how could I not?"

"As a precaution! If I wanted to try anything like that eventually, so I don't stress myself over it when the time comes, get it?!"

Dazai can feel his hands relaxing, fingers releasing tight grip on a recent cut that is yet to fully heal.

"And now you are stressing me out, while you're suppose to take care of me! So, fuck you and fuck off, will ya?" Chuuya kicks him once more, before pulling blanket all to himself and curling around in a ball of fury.

"I figured the pills have set you off, but I thought it's because you find the concept of an unsuccessful in conception heat disturbing to your omega nature," he offers an olive branch of explanation.

Chuuya huffs at that.

"Pervert, why would I want to get pregnant at sixteen? Wait, is it something you want?" He turns around again, eyes wide and red-rimmed, the traces of tears drying down on his soft skin. "Is it why I hear that you've brought yourself some new alpha grunt from the recent dirty-cops case?"

Dazai scrunches his nose, Odasaku won't be thrilled when he tells him what is circling around in a rumour mill less than one week into his recruitment. "Don't just assume stuff like that. I definitely do not want to get pregnant. I hate pain and I'm not planning on living long enough, it'd be cruel to leave a pup behind."

"Well, you assume stuff about me all the time," Chuuya deflates, Dazai's tendencies making him eager to sooth the ever-present pain with his scent.

"Well, that's because I'm smart and my assumptions are always correct," he reads the doubt in blue eyes with ease but chooses not to address it.

"You thought I wanted Albatross to knot me!"

"Okay, ninety-nine percent accurate," Dazai gives in a little, "but you don't deny wanting to sleep with him!"

Chuuya is red at the accusation, to the point Dazai touches his forehead to check for fever.

"I don't know. Aren't you a bit curious?" his voice is small, but Dazai has made himself so attuned to Chuuya, he thinks he can read his mind when they are this close.

"About fucking an alpha?"

"About sex in general." He's holding a breath for a moment too long for Dazai's liking before continuing, "I guess I wanted to see what's that all fuss about and asked 'Tross before… before my birthday."

"Why him?" Why not me? is what he really wants to ask, the source of torment in the question unknown even to him.

"He's a friend. Was a friend. He had experience and he was an alpha. I trusted him," Chuuya shrugs and rubs his head on the pillow, trying to get his locks out of the way.

"Do you trust me?" Dazai asks, every nerve and muscle pulled taut in his body waiting for the response. Chuuya snickers.

"What kind of a question is that? You know I do."

"Then trust that I will take care of you," Dazai sits in the bed and unwinds the bandages from his arms, baring scent glands on his wrists to offer them to Chuuya. He can smell his own pleased inner nature when Chuuya nuzzles into them and almost purrs at the first touch to his own swollen flesh on the neck. "I'm gonna boil some water to wash your hair now," he says while patting it, "And then I'll answer whatever questions you have, slug. I know everything."

Dazai knows shit.

Okay, not really true, he knows about sex plenty, even if he never felt the need to exercise his theoretical knowledge in a practical field. His brain has a whole-ass section that is dedicated to what he learnt people find amusing or pleasing or disturbing in sex. All genders, all ages. Unfortunately, that section is as far away in his mental palace as it can be from the section dedicated to Chuuya. Not because Chuuya and sex never crossed his mind together (even if it was true before today, he does not know how to not think about them in pair again) but because Chuuya occupied a separate wing of Dazai's interests and knowledge. He's standing at a crossroad now, deciding if he has to rely on his knowledge of physical intimacy or his intimate knowledge of Chuuya's physique. If he were an alpha it would be much easier, he could have just relied on his instincts. As an omega, the only thing they say to him when he looks at his naked partner, fresh from the shower again, is to take care.

"Are you coming?" Chuuya whispers when he takes too long to join him in the nest, "It's cold."

"Yeah, omega," he breathes in the sweet and drunken smell of Chuuya's heat breaking full force. "I'm coming."

They don't do anything past a heated make-out and grinding the first night; Chuuya — too exhausted from the emotional turmoil; Dazai — too hyper-aware of all the possibilities that can crash his bravado.

When Chuuya wakes up in the morning to an empty nest — Dazai is fussing around in the kitchen, the clothes from yesterday already drying on a rack — one whine is all it takes for Dazai to turn everything off and join him in a cuddle as they normally do. He places his palm on Chuuya's waist in a familiar and practised manner they've developed for each other, fully intending to just knead his stomach to relieve some pain when the other omega shimmers up a little, forcing the tips of his fingers to slide and end up on the edge of his pubes. Dazai freezes for a second trying to run all the possible scenarios this can unfold into, but Chuuya doesn't take his pause well.

"Nngh, hurts," he whines before taking Dazai's wrist into his hand and guiding them both to his morning wood.

Dazai feels his own slick dripping down onto his underwear at such a brazen display of unconscious desire — Chuuya is only half awake, warm to the touch in a way a good sleep leaves you, his motions are sluggish and his scent absolutely unguarded, spiking in the sweetness of arousal when he notices Dazai's own excitement. Their hands wrap around the hot member and Dazai squeezes him at the base before completely releasing his grip.

"Dazai?"Chuuya asks, unsure and more awake now, a slight anxiety settling into his shoulders but Dazai chases it away with a fleeting kiss to his nape.

"Shh, it's okay, Chibi," he murmurs into his partner's hair before bringing back his hand, now covered in his own slick to continue the slow caress. "Just getting you nice and wet."

"I am wet," chuckles Chuuya before wiggling his ass right onto Dazai's clothed cock allowing the mess of his heat seep through the fabric, making Dazai hiss.

They don't talk much after; Chuuya, drifting in and out of the consciousness, soft exhales following each of Dazai's strokes that he occasionally pairs up with his thrusts, unable to control his own body; Dazai, looking over the other omega's shoulder at the familiar-unfamiliar view of his hand working a tender flesh, fingers gliding over the red tip and smearing precum. It doesn't last long, Chuuya is in heat after all, and Dazai tastes Chuuya's release on his fingers before he can stop his intrusive thoughts from winning.

"Well, that is certainly an acquired taste," he wipes the rest of the cum on the sheets while Chuuya giggles.

"I'm an omega, it's not supposed to taste like a treat to you, dumbass," he turns around to face Dazai, smiling, with a pillow crease on his cheek and eyes shining with merit.

Dazai feels the urge to hide, so that he does, sliding down on the sheets to nestle himself between Chuuya's thighs, lifting his legs up and over his shoulders.

"Wha-at are you doing?" He asks confused, to which Dazai answers hiding half a smile in a soft crease of his thigh.

"Proving you wrong."

Chuuya squeaks when the first kiss lands between his parted cheeks, right on the edge of his hole, but Dazai pays no mind to the warning expression of his name and dives further, placing a kiss right in the middle of a tight pink rim and prodding it with his tongue, gathering up the slick that's leaking out.

"This tastes like a treat to me," he mumbles into the hot shiny skin but he doubts Chuuya hears him behind his own moans.

By the time Chuuya's heat passes and they get back to their usual dynamic, Dazai has created a whole room in his mental palace on what makes Chuuya tick in a most delicious way. How he clasps his thighs around Dazai's head when he's cumming on his tongue; how long Dazai can drag out the climax if he squeezes around the base of his dick; how fast he can make him cum if he sucks on his rim and strokes him at the same time; how loud he can get Chuuya to moan if he smears his own slick on the other omega scent glands at the inner thighs. They get really good at making out and jerking each other off, and even if Dazai is not as crazy about it as Chuuya because he's not the one in heat, his partner is never fully selfish in the pleasure, always willing to share and eager to please.

He still doesn't expect much when his own heat hits a couple of months later, perfectly content to get back to the well established routine of cuddles once they are both off from work. Chuuya puts up with more of his antics once he gets a whiff of his pre-heat through worn out patches and gauze and even volunteers to write a report for him, so Dazai can sulk on the couch while playing on his GameBoy. He even takes one of the cars to go home, leaving his precious bike in the parking lot at the Headquarters, because he knows that Dazai detests it. Dazai himself chooses not to name the source of the hatred, figuring it's being rooted in jealousy but to what? Chuuya looking "cool"? Bike being Albatross'? Is it overstimulation the race with the wind causes? He's sure he won't like the answer, so he doesn't search for it.

Chuuya is hesitant, when they arrive to his apartment, giving Dazai wide berth at the entrance but rushing to the dresser in the bedroom to bring a fresh towel and spare clothes for him. Dazai doesn't say anything, leaving Chuuya to figure out what they will do. He's already on another omega territory, about to spend his heat in the nest that he did not built, basking in a scent he learnt to associate with safety, he's not about to shoot himself in the leg by pissing other omega off.

"You can take a bath first," the redhead shoves him the pile in his hands and turns in general direction of the kitchen. "I'm gonna make us something to eat, okay?" He catches himself in the doorframe and turns his head to add, "Don't try anything there."

Dazai leaves him without a response, dragging his feet to the bathroom and dumping fresh clothes on the lid, turning the water on to fill in the tub before striping off and meeting his reflection in the mirror. The image is…detached, or it's the best way he can put it. He tugs on the bandages around his face to take them off first but staring at himself with two eyes doesn't bring any more familiarity. Unwrapping his wrists and torso is next, the motion is precise and short and he allows the gauze to pool at his feet in one heap that he'll let Chuuya throw away. He won't be reusing it tonight or tomorrow. The scar crossing his chest is the first thing to catch his eye in the reflection that makes him feel something. The line is long and clean, even if still a tad pink in places — Mori did a good job sewing him up, and Dazai did a half-decent job on not picking at the scab. Mostly because Chuuya possesses no spatial awareness when it comes to their interactions and has no idea it takes longer for things on other people to heal, so he would jab and tap Dazai's chest in their quarrels and break the healing site anew. Dazai did not dare to complain. When it comes to Chuuya, Dazai finds himself a torn canvas that a prodigy artist uses for his contemporary installations. He doesn't think he will ever not like the marks their interactions with Chuuya leave on him. Like the strap of the nail marks around his shoulder that Chuuya left during his heat, digging in it each time Dazai would eat his ass, not allowing small crescents to close without trace. Dazai touches the raised flesh there with the tips of his fingers and finds himself wet at the memory — arousal coming way easier now, when he's in heat.

He's broken out of his trance by the knock on the door.

"You good there?" Chuuya asks, and Dazai hastily gets rid of the rest of the bandages and stops the water filing up the bathtub just in time.

"Don't worry, I didn't drown, slug," he chuckles and steps into the shower for a quick rinse. He has more manners that anyone gives him credit for, so he won't leave Chuuya without a hot water in his house.

"Well, who knows you, it was suspiciously quite for a while there," Chuuya waits for a moment before asking, "Do you want me to step out for the crab? I have only canned now, but the fishermen I know is gonna leave soon so I can put up an order for you and help him out to speed things up?"

The reflection in the mirror stares at Dazai with wide eyes and pink cheeks. He wishes the mirror was fogged.

"Can is fine," he says as he gets into the tub, slick leaking down his thighs anew, "Can is perfect."

Chuuya leaves him be, obvious to the torment he causes once again, and Dazai stares at his traitor of a dick that asks for attention. He is not gonna give it any. He's set on going through this cycle like he usually does — in the only nest he finds comfort in, cuddling his partner, playing video-games and scrolling on his phone. Nothing else. He doesn't want anything else.

He wants Chuuya.

The realisation is sharp and striking, hitting him the moment he enters the kitchen in pyjamas Chuuya gave him. The other omega is fussing around the kitchen in shorts and a button-down, slightly big on him, and by the washed out blood stain at the side Dazai identifies his own shirt he left here when Chuuya's heat broke out last time.

"I called the guy," Chuuya says instead of greetings, "He'll set the best crab for you and I left a message for Hirotsu-san to pick it up in the morning. In case I'll be sleeping, you know?"

He sounds like it's no big deal, and it's not, so why Dazai feels, once again, that Chuuya holds the Universe in the palm of his hand? Why everything he does etches itself in Dazai's brain not only as a memory, but a billion of the possibilities or intentions? Why Chuuya's attention is the most addicting drug he tried and the one he actually stuck to? Why the display of a care that is essential part of being an omega, he knows from his own experience, stirs in him hurricanes of emotions that take up all of his energy to contain?

"Thanks," he mumbles, eyes glued to the floor as he's padding barefoot to the kitchen counter and starts a kettle.

Chuuya ignores him, "I was thinking we can watch a movie with the dinner, everything is almost ready." He takes the plates and bowls out, passing one to Dazai to fill it with rice. "Do you want to pick?" He offers and once again, Dazai finds himself hot at the collar at the most trivial things. They used to compete for who would choose the entertainment for the meal, and Dazai holds an impressive winning streak in it, so why is the fact that Chuuya's asking him for a preference makes him gulp and stare extra hard at the counter as he tries to reign in his scent, no doubt more sweet and inviting that his normal heat scent is. "Or," he adds, and the sole fact of the hesitation in his voice zeroes all Dazai's attention on the other omega, "You want to do something…else?"

The next inhale brings him familiar scent of Chuuya's arousal, so he places the full bowl on the counter and answers with a kiss. Chuuya in his hands is eager and pliant, opening his mouth for Dazai's tongue as soon as he teasingly swipes it, but Dazai doesn't take the invitation, keeping it unhurried and soft. The slight whine Chuuya lets out when they separate almost gets swallowed by the noise of the kettle boiling yet Dazai still catches it.

"It's okay," Dazai rasps, "You don't have to do it."

Chuuya looks at him, corners of his lips tugged up. "I know," he states, "You also don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Can I have it in record so I can play it back to you at work?" he teases with a wide grin that gets dimmer when Chuuya swats him in the shoulder.

"Idiot, you know what I'm talking about." Dazai tilts his head, prompting to say it out-loud, "You took a good care of me last…time," he blushes in an adorable manner, "I want to take care of you too."

Dazai drapes himself over Chuuya's back, winding his arms around other omega's torso and nuzzling into the red hair curling around uncovered nape. Chuuya left his choker somewhere when changing and Dazai now has full access to omega's mating gland. It's not the first time he sees his partner's bare neck, it's not even the first time he's this close to it, but it is the first one when, what can be considered as an undeniable proof of trust, leaves him conflicted and tastes almost like a regret. Chuuya doesn't think twice exposing his neck for him; even if Dazai were to bite into a tender flesh — omega's fangs cannot claim, cannot force a bond, the thing probably won't even scar. He wants it to scar and the bitter acceptance that it's not going to leaks into his scent, making it sour.

Chuuya stirs and turns in his hold at that. "What's wrong, omega?"

Dazai sags even more. He knows Chuuya just mimics what he himself did last time. He's aware the other omega has no ways of knowing about the inner turmoil it causes to be reminded of his own gender when that kind of thoughts swirl in his head. He still can't help the acrid notes that make themselves more prominent at the address. He doesn't say anything.

"Okay, okay," redhead tries to sooth him, allowing for his calming scent to fill in the space, "Let's get you to the nest then, yeah? You don't have to eat now."

Dazai hums sadly, "But Chuuya cooked. He even ordered a crab. I have manners." He releases the hold on his partner and gets back to portioning rice.

Chuuya is unimpressed. "Well, you know I don't care for them now." He's fussing around making tea, eager to make himself busy in an attempt to avoid acknowledgements of his own care.

"You're a bad liar, Chibi," Dazai reminds him and a familiar bickering releases some of the tension. He smiles at Chuuya's pleased expression when he waits for him to join at the table.

"I have you for it, stupid fish," he retorts and sits down with his plate. "Itadakimasu!"

Dazai repeats after him before picking up his chopsticks and purring a little. Chuuya may not be fully aware but he does have him.

They are cuddling in bed, legs intertwined and hands busy with controllers, their usual game running on the TV that Chuuya brought from the living room so that they won't have to move the nest.

"I win~," Dazai states smugly, "Again."

"You cheat," Chuuya huffs displeased with his round. "Again!" He exclaims picking another new character on the loading screen.

"What's there for me?" He wiggles his eyebrows like he always does and Chuuya blushes at it. That's new. "What are you thinking about, my little perverted dog?"

"Shut up!" The scream is full of embarrassment and is followed by a strong shove of Chuuya's leg to Dazai's side, breaking the cosy cuddle they shared. "Nothing like that!"

Dazai chuckles, not believing him for a second, further proven right when he picks up a trace of arousal in his partner scent at his next words. "I'd say the winner gets a hand job."

"Deal." Chuuya's attention is back on the screen in seconds, nimble fingers working buttons in a series of practised strokes and taps.

Two minutes in their new round Dazai realizes that they are both trying to lose. He's so stricken by the realisation he misses the blow to his character that he normally could've dodged with his eyes closed.

"I win, huh?" Chuuya says perplexed, staring between the screen and Dazai who also looks surprised, even if it was a desired outcome for him.

"Mhm, guess you do," he puts his controller to the side before turning to face Chuuya fully. "My dog is due to a little treat."

"Oh my god, can you stop with a dog talk, dipshit?" redhead mumbles, awkwardly wiggling on the sheets.

"Maybe," Dazai relents, slowly closing the distance between them. "If my omega asks nicely." The little tease immediately backfires. He can hear the almost chocked inhale Chuuya takes at his words, pupils blowing wide, almost swallowing the blue of his irises, scent sweetening just so Dazai could've confused him for being the one in heat if not for the unmistakable feeling of his own slick gathering up in the crease, way too easily even for his cycle.

"O-" Chuuya starts and swallows dry at the first syllable, "Osamu."

Well, it's a good thing Dazai knew already that he's doomed.

He swallows his name from other omega's lips in a hungry kiss, so intense and dominating, it's not even close to anything they shared during Chuuya's heat. His palms find their home in the dips of delicious waist under his shirt, tracing the edges of the shorts in slow motions. Being with Chuuya is always about a drastic contrast. Between power and vulnerability, constant awareness and unlimited trust, devouring hunger and overwhelming care, Dazai walks the rope of his obsession like a circus acrobat performing for the audience of his own expectations.

Chuuya moans, open and lewd, when Dazai cups him through the fabric of his shorts, before discarding both of their bottoms in a rush, eager to slot their hips together.

"You are so wet, omega," Dazai comments in awe. There's a literal string of slick attached to Chuuya's underwear when he pulls it down.

"You are also wet." It sounds more defensive than accusing from Chuuya's lips and Dazai pays it no mind.

"Yeah, I'm in heat," he shrugs before dipping his fingers between his own legs to collect some of the slick and cover their dicks in it. "You are wet for me."

Chuuya gulps on his next retort when Dazai slides his hand over them both. The air is heavy and breathing the mix of their aroused scents in is the closest to heaven Dazai has ever been. He watches Chuuya arch on the sheets, shirt crumpled under armpits, hard stomach exposed, serving as a background to the filthy picture they paint — hard cocks rubbing against each other, translucent slick mixing with a precum, the scar on Chuuya's side sitting in-between Dazai's fingers where he holds onto him above hipbone. Chuuya is both his sin and his salvation and Dazai is equally eager to desecrate and to atone.

"Like that, omega," he guides with his hand when Chuuya starts to buckle his hips up, trying to match the rhythm but getting distracted when it gets too overwhelming.

"Osamu," he screams when Dazai focuses on their tips more, cumming in hot ropes, and Dazai is done for.

He had never actually stood a chance against Chuuya, hadn't he?

Dazai hides his blushing face in the crook of a pale neck, nuzzling into the scent gland and breathing shallowly, afraid to rob himself of the perfect moment. Chuuya is hot under his touch, skin is slightly damp from sweat, heart beating loudly and fast in a cadence of Dazai's downfall.

"Can I try something?" he asks after a minute of silence, catching Dazai's wandering fingers into his own and pressing a small kiss to his knuckles. Dazai prompts him to continue with just a squeeze of his hand. "I wanna blow you."

'Here lies Dazai Osamu. In his pursuit of Death he has fallen on a sword of teenage curiosity.' That's what Odasaku probably would write on his gravestone because Dazai is not going to survive this.

"You don't have to," he whispers, unsure when meeting Chuuya's eyes. He's faced with a stubborn and determined glare.

"I really, really want to," Chuuya looks down at his still hard cock and smiles when the traitor twitches under his gaze. "Can I, Osamu?"

Dazai nods curtly before moving on the bed to a more seated position. He feels a trail of slick he leaves behind and cringes, hyper-aware in an instance of everything that's going on with his body. His exposed scarred legs, marred hips and stomach, slick shining on his inner thighs and balls.

Chuuya's first touch is small and reverent, a barely-there caress to the side of his hip with the tips of his fingers. Dazai squirms a little when it tickles but tries to stay still when the same hand moves down and in, opening his legs so Chuuya can lie down between them. He feels exposed and fragile. Did it feel the same for Chuuya when he made out with his ass almost every day of the other omega's heat? Is it different because Chuuya is about to suck his dick? They never did blowjobs before, maybe it's the novelty of an act speaking.

"Relax," Chuuya asks him with a small smile, pressing a tentative kiss to his skin under the belly button. "I'm scared too."

"I'm not scared," Dazai quips back but it falls onto deaf ears, Chuuya looking at his dick like they are in a staring contest. It lasts no more than two seconds before he licks his dry lips and places a kiss to the underside.

They say, in the West, that orgasm is a little Death. If that's so, Dazai just found his Grim Reaper.

It gets progressively worse. Or better, depends on how you look at it.

They don't fool around outside of each other cycles until almost a year later, when during the Dragon's Head Conflict, the turmoil of the disaster leaves them with too much energy and tension to burn even after Chuuya recovers from the use of Corruption.

They bicker on the couch in the living room over whose turn it is to pick the character first, shoving each other with their legs and trying to get into each others faces.

"You picked last time, now it's my turn."

"It's my home, I can choose first because it belongs to me."

"Exactly, I'm your guest," Dazai almost screams when Chuuya gets on top of him and tries to get the controller from his arms. "Bad dog, down!"

"Will you quit this dog bullshit?" His frustration is visible in the crease of his eyebrows and he's straining his hands over Dazai's head, still coming short, fingers only touching bandaged wrist. He tries to wiggle a little to get closer, but Dazai forces his hips down with his free hand.

"No can do, you lost a bet for life!"

"You cheated! It doesn't count," Chuuya huffs and bucks his hips again, trying to get out of Dazai's hold to no avail.

"Don't know what'cha talking about~"

"Let's do a rematch!" The demand is clear and loud but Dazai just shakes his head.

"Nope, it was one and done kind of a thing! But," he grins widely, "We can make a new bet."

Chuuya stops squirming, pressing his ass directly onto Dazai's pelvis. He suddenly becomes hyper aware of the position they are in, his breathing stilling as if to not spook Chuuya away.

"I'm listening," redhead says, raising an eyebrow, daring. There's a moment of silence, charged with tension and trepidation, both of them not blinking.

"What's your wager?" Dazai resigns in a quiet question. It's enough to bring more colour to Chuuya's cheeks.

"Stop calling me your dog."

Dazai shakes his head again and shoves Chuuya back to the couch, sitting up and leaning with his elbows on the knees, the controller they fought for hanging between two of his fingers. "No, next."

"Why are you being such a bitch about it?"

The question is nothing but curious, the foul language Chuuya uses daily is not new to Dazai but it rubs him the wrong way regardless. He feels his skin prickle, the last remnants of a cheerful facade completely erased, the eye hidden under bandages shut close so tight he sees grey circles filling up the familiar darkness. He sets controller on the side table and wraps a hand around his right wrist, nails digging into a fresh cut he made himself on the edge of the handcuffs when being held as a decoy hostage. "I'm not 'being a bitch'," he spats, not turning to look at Chuuya, choosing to face the weird artwork on the wall. Probably one of Kouyou's works.

"Stop it." Chuuya swats at his hand when he picks on the metallic notes in the air before standing up and going to the bathroom. He's back in less than a minute, first aid kit in one hand and a sealed package of the bandages in the other. "Give me."

Dazai follows the command. They've done it so many times now, he has to stick with his body betrayal and endure Chuuya caring for him, when all he wants to do is bleed out on the couch and get swallowed by the earth in an eternal rest. Bare fingers skim around his scent gland, caressing the scarred flesh in a familiar motion, waking up the scent free. It's sad and angry at the same time, like a bottle of spoiled vintage wine opened in a dusty medieval cave.

Chuuya scrunches his nose a little. "What's wrong?" As Dazai keeps silent he persists, "What is it about?" The silence vibrates between them, playing on Chuuya's patience in the best fashion Dazai has also long adopted. When the dressing around the wound is done Chuuya tries again, "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say, omega?" The question is rather a growl than a normal response. It answers more than they both expect, too. Dazai never refers to Chuuya's second gender outside of their heats in the same way Chuuya never calls him by his first name. They have a million nicknames for each other up in their sleeves as it is, and they always save this ones for the moments of their mutual vulnerability. Calling him an omega so far away from both of their cycles is an open invitation for Chuuya to look at a marred, caged beast in the corner of his soul, devoid of attention and light, but maddening nevertheless. It's his voice he hears during the heats, the never ending chantings of 'mine', 'claim', 'bite' whenever Chuuya opens up in his hands, whenever he dances around the kitchen, whenever he purrs. It's probably there all of the time, if Dazai's being honest, but outside of the cycle he can spare more of the energy to tune it out. Apparently, it's getting stronger. Apparently it feeds off of their proximity, grows bold and daring on each interaction filled with Chuuya being competent, and Chuuya is always competent. It's eager to bond with its mate, the one it chose long before Dazai learnt to recognize its spells, looking through Dazai's eye up to the sky of Suribachi City and seeing nothing but the red halo of a destructive god. Dazai wonders, has he always hosted this monster inside himself or was it born in the collision of their paths, another piece of him altered forever by the mercy of Chuuya's touch?

Chuuya looks at him like he understands more than Dazai knows. "Osamu."

The name is a sword Dazai falls upon willingly with a kiss.

When his next heat strikes he fucks Chuuya for the first time, sheathing himself deep into omega's warmth and biting onto the exposed mating gland. The beast inside him wails in desperation when it doesn't take and it doesn't scar.

December air is chill and charged with anticipation, both Yokohama and Tokyo youth running around the streets looking for presents and waiting for the most romantic holiday to come. Dazai watches a couple meeting up for a rendezvous around the fountain like they are the animals in the zoo; studies their rituals and expressions, contemplating what can be adopted or what could be better executed. The girl, alpha, is blushing to her ears when her date — omega boy a tad taller than Dazai, tucks a lock of her hair back behind her ear. The hair is russet, the colour is somehow wrong, but she's as short as Chuuya and has the same affinity to weird hats. Dazai wonders if that could be them, were they have met before at least one of them presented. He knows, deep down, that they are meant to be. There's no universe out there where they don't end up falling in bed with each other, but the ones where their secondary genders are complementary, he thinks, are… less confusing. Maybe there are some universes where secondary genders don't matter or don't even exist. Maybe there they are able to put a label on the bond they share without having to fight the society for the rest of their lives. It's good that they are exceptional at fighting in this one.

"Is she your type?" Odasaku asks, curious, having approached Dazai from the right side.

Dazai blinks, shutting the imaginary door to the world his mind wandered off to, and turns to face his best friend. "Why, Odasaku, would be scandalous to break them up!" He chuckles but it sounds false even to an untrained ear.

Despite their close friendship, Odasaku still interprets his forged smile wrong.

"Well, she's a pretty short redhead and an alpha. Judging by the amount of time you spend talking about your partner, I figured someone like her is a candidate to be a perfect mate for you."

I already have a perfect mate, he wants to say but just swallows the bitter feeling welling up in his throat and discards the comment in a joking manner. "Ew, Odasaku, an alpha slug for a mate? That's hideous!"

It's not. It's not even half bad to dream about, if Dazai hadn't had a better thing waiting for him at home. Chuuya would make a decent alpha, sure, but he's exquisite as an omega. Hard lines of his body he treats as a weapon, supple soft manners he adopts in his nest — Dazai wields him, both on the battlefield and in bed, and Chuuya makes the finest picture under his hands. His touch is a benediction, his scent is an incense in god's domain and Dazai worships, drunk on the divine taste and delirious with power it bestows upon him. Dazai is not a fool to just give up on it for some alpha.

"Well, you can't currently mate with your omega partner, this is the best next thing, no?"

He doesn't give up, so Dazai makes him.

"I'm not planning on living long enough to mate, Odasaku." 'I would have mated long ago if I could,' howls the starving beast inside him,'Let me, let me, let me'. "Anyway, I'm hungry, let's go check that place I've raided for Mori last week, it smelled delicious."

Oda doesn't push again until hours later, dimming lights of Lupin giving a comforting ambiance, second glass of whisky and Ango's presence beside making him curious.

"Sakura asked if I can spare some things for her nest, do you think it's normal?"

"Why do you ask me, Odasaku? She's a pre-teen girl, she's playing house."

"Well, I don't know many other omegas," there's a slight blush to Oda's face, almost as if the subject is making him uncomfortable, "What if she presents as one? Maybe it's an early sign or something, I have to be ready."

"There's no scientific evidence for prepubescent behavioural patterns being determinative in later second gender development," Ango quips in and Dazai points at him in agreement.

"She can nest now 'cause she saw it on a TV or in the manga and still become an alpha or beta when the time comes. You can give her your shirt or something, it's not that a big deal even if she'll be an omega. That's how the pack works."

Odasaku thinks of it for a moment before nodding to himself but not dropping the subject completely. "Speaking of which, you never asked us for anything for your nest and we are the pack, aren't we?"

Dazai gulps but still nods. "We are. I don't really need anything, though" he settles on a half-truth, omitting the real predicament of his nest. Or the lack of thereof, technically speaking.

"You don't have to be modest about it, but I want you to know that we'd be happy to share our stuff with you."

"My-my, Odasaku, you just were confused about your kid asking for something and now you're saying things like that? Scandalous!" Dazai hopes they can drop the subject at that, he doesn't have it in himself to deal with what him not bringing their scents to the nest will cause for their friendship.

In a stroke of luck, Ango decides it's a perfect moment to announce his departure.

"Well, as fun as this discussion is, I have to head out. Not all of us have a privilege of being executives or unimportant enough in the hierarchy to avoid problems for being late."

"Boooring," Dazai jeers, deep down appreciating Ango's reserved nature.

"Do you want me to drive any of you home?" He still asks, not really expecting a positive answer.

Dazai avoids people knowing where he sleeps, even if these people are his best friends.

"Thanks, Sakaguchi, I think we'll stay for a bit," Odasaku salutes with his glass and follows the disappearing back of their friend with a gaze.

Dazai asks the barmen to refill his whisky in a silent gesture, the last one for tonight if he doesn't want to deal with sleeping on the couch because he reeks of alphas and booze, Chuuya being especially fussy of foreigner smells in the nest two days away from his heat. It's the last time they meet all three of them this year, with Dazai's heat also rounding the corner, Christmas being the period Odasaku spends with his kids, and Ango taking a personal vacation for the New Year's Eve.

"Do you want to join us for Christmas dinner this year? My treat," Odasaku asks as if reading his mind.

Dazai's head falls onto the table, the eye tracing rivulets of condensate on the glass surface. It's not the first time they have this conversation and he always gives the same answer. "Maybe, I'll think about it." Contrary to the last year, he knows that this time he won't. The thing with omega's heats is that biologically they don't synchronise in normal circumstances. Common cycle period is something that is observed in mated pairs and in close alpha-omega relationship withing the pack as nature tries to align it in a way where there are less windows of vulnerability. That's how they started with Chuuya three years back — heats around eight weeks apart from each other, having one partner bear the responsibility of taking care while another goes through the turmoil of a cycle.

That is not how they are now.

Dazai is bound to succumb to his nature good if twenty-four hours after Chuuya starts his heat, and with Mori still firmly believing that he's on heat suppressants, he doesn't have to come up with an excuse to his absence, both Mori and Kouyou well aware that he's taking care of Chuuya. What they are not aware of — is how he does it, and that is something Dazai would rather die than share with anyone.

Odasaku lets the silence hang for a moment, placating Dazai's awareness, before going for a kill, the perfect assassin in him never truly gone.

"I'm going to say something, and I just want you to listen, okay? You don't have to answer." He takes a sip from his glass, braving himself up for what comes next. "Sometimes, people experience love and attraction not like it's expected of them. Sometimes they don't feel that at all. Or they feel wrong in their bodies, because the reflection they see or the sex that reads in the ID is wrong. It's okay if you are one of those people, Dazai." He tumbles the ice ball in his glass, gauging Dazai's reaction, but is met with nothingness. "What I want to say is that no matter what you think of yourself, you are worthy of love. You deserve to be cared for. Allow people to do that for you, will you?"

"Don't ask questions if you say I don't have to answer." Dazai stands up from his seat, the drink in his glass half-finished, and turns to leave, not ready to open the can of worms Odasaku shakes inside.

"Come to the dinner for Christmas, Dazai," Oda says to his back.

"I'll send gift money for kids."

He stares at his reflection in Chuuya's bathroom, naked, spare the bandages, the words Odasaku left him with spinning in his head. He starts with his neck, eager to get rid of the patches — bathroom is always the first place to loose his scent in the house and he stopped fighting internal call to mark it again long ago, the whiff of their mixed scents calming him enough to stop hyperventilating.

'Sometimes, people experience love and attraction not like it's expected of them.'

He spent so much time studying humans, their habits, reactions, ticks, he can't be faulted for his expressions, he's sure of it. They haven't told a soul about crossing the line, always careful when going to work, Chuuya's especially picky when looking in the mirror before leaving — no hair loose, no mark uncovered, no stray scent beside what's expected of two omegas sharing a good amount of time together. Dazai doesn't stay to watch the meticulous routine, the memories of doing it for the first time after they started sleeping outside of the cycles still echoing in his mind in tortured screams.

Where they followed? Dazai keeps the most feared man in Yokohama in the dark about their predicament, who is skilled enough to pull it off then? Verlaine? He won't say shit to a living soul if it may cast a shadow on Chuuya. Dazai moves to the hands and torso, practised motions rolling up the off-white strips, worn out by the day of sweat, his eyes focusing on the familiar scar across his chest.

'Sometimes they don't feel that at all.'

Is it because he doesn't express interest in alphas outside of decoy missions at all? Is Odasaku jealous? Should he have asked for their clothes for his nest? He doesn't even do the nesting, he never did, actually. Even when presenting at thirteen, he didn't try to hide withing the comfort of soft clothes and blankets, he ran. He can't possibly bring something from an outsiders to the only bed he falls asleep in, Chuuya will eat him to the bones, above all after the whole fiasco with Albatross two years ago.

'Or they feel wrong in their bodies, because the reflection they see or the sex that reads in the ID is wrong.'

Dazai never cared much about his reflection. He doesn't feel any way about it, doesn't think twice about appealing to the society. Unlike Chuuya, he has no regards for his looks, clothes, style. In fact, the only times he pays attentions to his appearance is when Chuuya comments on it — how he envies his dark long lashes, when they go out and Chuuya puts mascara and a touch of an eyeliner as a little accent; how when he steals Dazai's shirts for his home-wear, Dazai having once again grown out of them, he makes him try on new stuff he picked out on the shopping spree, throwing in in-between usual mafia-black, things he thinks will suit him, always adding something like 'They don't sell for lanky beanpoles much of anything, but take a look at that shirt, it'll go nice with your skin tone' or 'This cashmere sweater should feel nice against your skin and I can scent it for your heat later'; how he mumbles about Dazai putting zero efforts into matching outfits and Dazai always jokes that he won't be wearing something as tacky as Chuuya does.

He takes off the remaining gauze, the piece around his eye falling last, and stares in the void of his soul.

'It's okay if you are one of those people, Dazai.'

Is he? If his inner self is the image Chuuya paints of him and not the body he was born to, is it a mismatch reflection? If he refuses to nest, hasn't actually felt the need in a long while come to thing of it, doesn't feel attractive to alphas, does feel a primal pull towards his partner, is it truly okay? He knows he's wired fundamentally wrong, deep inside having accepted it long ago, but can he also be a different creature altogether? Is there even a combination of fixes that can make him a normal human?

Dazai steps inside the shower, biting cold water hitting his shoulders, eyes still fixed on the mirror. Every mark on his body calls to be re-opened, promising to tether his mind to the memories linked with them. His chest sings about the will to live, his shoulders — of Chuuya writhing on his tongue, his knee — of the first mental silence. The loudest are his arms, his wrists, they scream of a relief — if his existence is a burden they promise to make it lighter.

Chuuya keeps his bathroom Dazai-proof at the first glance, opting for a fancy electrical razor, refillable daily pills container, no hazardous chemicals on sight. Dazai knows, though, that there's a pack of blades hidden on top of the tropical shower head at the ceiling. A year ago the only way to get to them was with Chuuya's gravity, but now he's just tall enough to be able to push them on the floor with a mop handle while balancing on the lip of the bathtub.

The noise from the commotion attracts the owner of the house and Dazai is caught red handed, quite literally.

"Dazai!" Chuuya screams while squeezing his wrist to force him to drop the blade, lucky enough to barge in during first cut. "What happened?"

Dazai looks at the pink water flowing in the drain, the colour reminiscent of Chuuya's blush. "Feels wrong," is the only thing he can offer after a long pause.

"What feels wrong, Dazai? The pressure?" He adjusts the hold on his hand, having already acquired med-kit from the cabinet, starting to dress the wound.

"My body."

Chuuya stills for a moment, taking a look at him, but not noticing anything amiss. "What do you mean?"

"Does it feel wrong to you too, Chuuya" He meets his gaze with determination that scares the other omega, the signs of distress evident in his scent and widening eyes. Dazai doesn't relent, waiting for the verdict from his prophet, ready to mould himself into anything and everything Chuuya desires.

Chuuya gulps. "No," he places both of his hands onto Dazai's head, forcing it down to meet with Chuuya forehead to forehead. Blue eyes are shining with trapped tears, "No, Osamu, you're perfect."

Dazai's smile doesn't reach his eyes but it seeps into his scent, the caged beast inside him pleased with validation."My omega is a really bad liar," he chuckles before nuzzling into Chuuya's neck, inhaling deep, forcing him to shrug his shoulder when it tickles.

"Your omega can't lie," Chuuya says while hugging him, tight and close, heart of a hummingbird singing in his chest.

Dazai makes a conscious choice to not look for a double meaning in the retort, allowing the inner nature to happily rumble in his chest with such blatant acceptance. The sound is not as smooth as Chuuya's purrs, but it still gets them in response.

"My omega," Dazai repeats later, shameless, mesmerized by the vision that Chuuya is — sprawled on the bed, flushed to the chest, feet on the sheets and knees clasped together, hands stretched — one holding the edge of the bed while the other is crumpling the pillow behind him; Dazai's fingers working him open, wriggling out from him the melody of victory, the moans so lewd they alone can make Dazai wet. He smears his own slick onto Chuuya's tights, the action utterly familiar and rewarding, it never fails to make the other omega scream his name at that.

There are tears in the corners of Chuuya's eyes and when Dazai licks them they taste as sweet as the blood from the mating bite does.

Chuuya is being beware of him.

Despite the heat clouding his senses, the exhaustion settling in his body with the lack of sleep, he doesn't let Dazai out of his sight, going as far as following him to the bathroom to join in the shower for a clean up. That is not their routine — Chuuya likes to cool down in bed, allowing for Dazai to wipe him off with a cloth and wait for the tub to fill up, before making his way to the bathroom and submerging himself all the way up to his chin, wincing a little when warm water touches fresh ridges of the bite Dazai's left. There's a cocktail of walloping guilt and satisfaction swirling inside him at the change now, another nail to the coffin of his conviction — a good, normal person won't enjoy their partner in the distress like that, will try to reassure that the bad times are over, but Dazai's whole life is a bad time and the beast inside him is basking in attention.

For the first time ever he truly lets it all out, following the whims and cries of his inner nature, its desires fitting nicely along the perverted pleasure Dazai gets from draining Chuuya of any and all reactions.

He fucks Chuuya until the omega passes out, stuffing him full of his cum and staying inside after, not even going soft before starting again, nose pressed into red locks, lips chanting dirty spells into a pierced ear, planting the seeds of impossible fantasies in Chuuya's subconsciousness, waiting for him to wake up. He feeds him his cock, making sure to plug him up before, not allowing even a drop of his seed to escape, staring shamelessly at Chuuya's pink face, swelled lips and wet eyes a holy icon of his faith. After, before taking him out of the nest to help him to the bathroom, he cleans him out with his tongue, drinking the mix of his own cum and Chuuya's slick, pressing on the bloated stomach to ooze more of it out. Chuuya screams, oversensitive and overwhelmed, shouting his name again and again, going silent mid breath on the last climax his body can give out.

They fall asleep together, a rare moment of utter synchronicity in that regard, and when Dazai wakes up — Chuuya's already watching him, wary, so he lets his hands travel, working Chuuya's length with a hand covered in his own slick, reminiscent of their first time together like that, even if now he leaks significantly less during his own heats. He doesn't care much about that, being more glad that he can cum enough to satiate Chuuya — the only goal he ever had when following the guidelines of the second gender, however fucked up they are.

His mouth is full of blood every day when he bites onto Chuuya's mating gland, not letting it scab properly, teeth marks matching each time, widening the dents so it doesn't even look like an omega bit into it anymore.

Chuuya never brings it up, always craning his neck for Dazai, even though any type of injury to it that is not a mating bite is an onslaught of excruciating pain. Dazai knows from a personal experience, his neck has not been spared from the screams of his dark thoughts, but the whole process was so agonising he couldn't withstand it. The fact that Chuuya does it, again and again, willingly, is a testament to his divinity and to their unique compatibility — two puzzle pieces, a perfect fit, deranged and powerful enough to scare anyone else away.

They spend their heats like that, the only contact with the world outside is Chuuya picking up delivery from his fisherman for Dazai, and Dazai shooting Oda a single message on Christmas, bank transfer for kids already arranged.

When they come off of it, Chuuya has an urgent assignment in Europe from Mori to get to and they don't see each other for the next four years.

While in hiding, Dazai doesn't go through any of his cycles, abusing the stash of suppressants he accumulated from Mori. He's covered in the scent patches and then scent modifiers, keeping his profile unrecognisable, avoiding Yokohama all together for the first year. Deaf to the beast inside because of it, with nothing to do but loiter around the country before he can start changing the world on the side of the good people, he griefs. The grief is a cruel creature, a devil's apple calling with false promises, but among all of this Dazai finds it in himself to have an honest conversation with the ghost of Odasaku.

'It's okay if you are one of those people, Dazai.' He said to him before inviting for the last Christmas dinner, and now Dazai can say that he knows and he is.

When the Agency doctor, Yosano, asks him about his second gender on their primary check up, he says it out-loud for the first time.

"I'm an alpha."

Chuuya has an alpha, Dazai realises when they meet for the first time in four years, cadence of Chuuya's steps to which Dazai matches his heartbeat is contradicted with a smell of a mated omega. The fact is the most painful hit Chuuya can ever land on him and omega doesn't even know it, thinks his unmatched physical prowess is the only thing that takes Dazai's breath away. Dazai is not a good man, even if he's trying to be, so he indulges in their usual banter, eager to get even a hint of normality to their new relationships.

When Chuuya hits him in the face, having fought a literal dragon for him in the ruins of Mukurotoride, Dazai can't help a little comments that slip out. He would much rather prefer a kiss to a fist, that's true, but he'd take any touch Chuuya's willing to give him.

Being forced to come off of any pills once Hunting Dogs put him behind the bars of Mersault, he's feeling particularly irritated when coming face to face with Dostoevsky in their little escape game, but the satisfaction of utter horror on Fyodor's face when Chuuya follows behind him to the roof — confident and sane, fills Dazai with glee. Chuuya may not be his now, but he never was Fyodor's.

Even though he silenced his inner nature, assuming his new persona, he still can imagine its reactions. 'He comes to us', 'He wants us', 'He's perfect', 'Mine'. And Chuuya does come when Dazai calls and he is perfect, but he's not his, isn't it the most twisted turn of faith? Yosano draws blood from him after the whole incident, doing a final check-up before they all are going to lie low, and confirms to Dazai that he is an alpha, through and through, but the only omega he could ever imagine as his mate is already claimed.

His first rut starts when he's in one of the safe-houses they sat up with Chuuya during their partnership in the mafia. The place is sparse but has enough privacy for him to think that he can wait it out in the bedroom, leaving unsuspecting Sigma on a couch. How bad can even rut be, compared to a heat? Surely he can tame it with a bit of rest and an excessive hand job, right?

Wrong.

He's snarling and snapping at Sigma once the beta knocks onto the bedroom door to call for a meal; his scent, his true scent, overpowers the air, suffocating and forcing to submit anyone who crosses the invisible borders; he hasn't ever nested in his life as an omega, but he makes a den, gathering water bottles and snacks from the kitchen and bringing them to a bedside table, barricading the windows with planks from a cupboard, and sits to watch the door, growling when anything enters his field of vision.

He's in pain, the alpha inside him buzzing with a sense of urgency but he doesn't know how he can now placate it.

"What do you need, Dazai?" Sigma asks, scared and confused. The single word Dazai says to him at that is an 'Omega', so he calls the only omega currently in Japan that he knows.

Chuuya comes like an angel, red halo of For The Tainted Sorrow flying generic Port Mafia's car towards their hideout in the mountains. He throws the keys from it to Sigma, alongside the card with an address where to go and says that he'll let him know when it's safe to contact them again.

"'Can't believe it actually happened," he says bewildered when stepping inside, leather duffel-bag landing on the coffee table on his way to an open room.

Dazai perks up at his entrance, puffing chest out, posturing, calling deep from his chest "Omega."

"Alpha," Chuuya replies, soft purrs soothing his ragged breathing, sweet scent calming down the mind race.

Dazai crosses the room in three steps and falls to his knees, nuzzling Chuuya's stomach, squeezing him tight, when soft hands tangle into his hair, scratching the scalp gently. He can't help a pleased croon that escapes him.

"You've made a den," Chuuya observes, no judgment or surprise in his voice, "I have something for you," he tries to leave the embrace to get to the bag he brought but Dazai shakes his head to that. "It'll help, I promise."

"You help," Dazai mumbles before getting back onto his feet and picking Chuuya up, taking them to a single bed in the corner. Chuuya lands on the sheets in a familiar fashion, the picture engraved on Dazai's eyelids, there's no novelty to the kiss that follows, only the sense of rightness.

Chuuya is eager and pliant under his hands, blushing beautifully when Dazai points it out-loud, drunk on how perfect they fit together, compliment each other. The shiver that runs through Chuuya when Dazai takes one of his nipples into his mouth is timed with his satisfied groan. The roll of his hips is met half-way in, the matching hardness in their pants pressing in a practised manner, bringing their attention to the clothes still left on them. When naked, Dazai can't help himself, spreading omega's legs, diving down to lick a long stripe across the perineum to a wrinkled hole, already leaking for him. Chuuya tastes the same perfect combination of promise and sin, the only thing different now is how hungry Dazai is after almost five years of starving. He's forced back up by a strong hand on his head, Chuuya kisses him with longing and passion, slotting their hips together, slicking up Dazai's length when it rubs along his crease.

Entering Chuuya's warmth was always something from a separate category of divine for Dazai. Doing it now, sensations and desires intensified, ascends him to a completely different level. When he puts omega's legs on his shoulders and bends down to move at the best angle, he's mating Chuuya, not just putting him into a mating press; when he's cummming, he's actually knotting him, not simply staying inside to imitate the action. Chuuya screams his name again and again until they are cumming for the second, third time, and Dazai presses him close, back to chest, before nuzzling the pale neck, black strip of fabric covering part of the offending bite. That should be Dazai's imprint.

"Can they do the same?" He asks, jealousy seeping through into his scent, now not souring but sharpening with the emotion.

"Hm?" Chuuya wiggles in his arms a bit, trying to get more comfortable on a single bed while they are still tied.

"Your…alpha. Can they do the same to you?" Clarification wrings physical pain in his chest, his shoulders, his neck.

Chuuya stills at the reminder but nothing affects his satisfied scent.

Dazai carefully bites over the fabric and a scar, showing what he means, at the same time acting out on his urge to stake his own claim.

Chuuya laughs in disbelief. "You're joking, right?" He waits for an answer but Dazai doesn't offer any, just nudging Chuuya with his head again. "I don't know, Osamu, can they?"

"Why do you asks me?" He deflects, the rut haze buzzing at the edge of his consciousness again.

"Well, what's a better answer than directly from the source?" Chuuya questions, unclasping his choker at the same time, allowing Dazai to study the mating mark up close.

His mating mark.

It stares at him in a set of teeth imprints, too ragged to be omega's, but without a doubt his.

"Chuuya." Mesmerized, he presses a gentle kiss in the middle of it, mark coming to life with a pleasant shocking zap through his lips.

"Osamu."

Dazai haven't cared much about his gender before meeting Chuuya. And after meeting him and unconsciously caring too much, he found out it never actually mattered. They are meant to be.