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nakahras · 9 months ago

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i ran out of tag room but this installment was sooo good. the leak in her apt and then being brought to dazai’s AND MORE CHUUYA AND DAZAI BANTER EEEEEEEEE

ᡣ𐭩 FIRST LIGHT

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai severely overestimated his self-control. it takes approximately six days and thirteen hours for him to break, seeking you out again. when he does, he knows that nothing will ever be the same. {wordcount: 14.5k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART TWOOOOOOO, we have one of my fav parallels in this one, i know you guys will catch it immediately but u still must tell me when you do. also, there's another hint about badlands!reader & dazai's relationship in this chapter that happened after the events of the last installment so u must let me know if you catch that too. reblogs are always appreciated! thank you guys & i hope you guys love this as much as i enjoyed writing it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. + we have a bit more of unhinged thought processes on dazai's end. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings!

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

He understands now the temptation that Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden with the forbidden fruit dangling right in front of her face. Traditional interpretation of the Bible places the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden on day six of creation; Dazai’s restraint has thus far rivaled that of the two Biblical figures. He’s on day six now, in fact; it’s been exactly six days, twelve hours and forty six minutes since he met you in the hallway of the club and each passing second has been more agonizing than the last.

He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last.

His office is dark and suffocating, the atmosphere so cold and unwelcoming that it has him craving the return to your warm and homely apartment so intensely that he thinks it might be making him sick. He turned off the light earlier when he felt a migraine coming on, hoping that the darkness would let his eyes and mind rest enough to catch it before it fully came on, but he’s realized that it probably wasn’t the light causing his headache, rather it was you.

He sighs as he tilts his head back, willing the migraine to go away even though he knows it's to no avail. But he can’t even rest his eyes in peace, because every time they slide shut, the image of you burns the inside of his eyelids—your soft gaze and bright smile, the way you held your hand out to take his and the way your lashes fluttered as you leaned into his touch.

Six days, twelve hours and forty seven minutes.

He thinks he would prefer the nightmares of his other lives to this. At least with those, they fuel his drive to press forward with his master plan, the reminder of your fates in the other worlds would scorch away any desire to seek you out in fear of bringing it upon you again in this one.

Now, every night for the past six days he’s been plagued with dreams of you—pleasant dreams. Dreams that when he wakes from them, he finds his cheeks wet and his chest heavy with such an intense longing for you that it makes him physically ill. He dreams of having you in his arms, kissing the top of your head as you do your best to study even with him making every effort to distract you. He dreams of watching sunrises with you, seeing the way the early morning colors wash over your face, your skin glowing and eyes glittering in such a vivid way that Dazai swears he can even picture it now. He dreams of a ring, and he dreams of his palms sweating as he walks with you down to the beach you met on to watch another sunrise, and he dreams of getting down on one knee in front of you just as the sun breaks over the horizon. He never dreams of a wedding, so Dazai theorizes that you never made it long enough for one to take place.

And the realization of that alone should be enough to make the yearning for you evaporate but it’s not, because dangerous thoughts have been circulating through his head since the night he left you. Thoughts of how maybe this could be different. Dazai is the boss of the Port Mafia in this life, he has enough resources to protect you—more money than god and enough armed forces behind him to rival the nation’s government. He has the power to keep you safe in this life, more than he ever had in any other.

If there was any life that he could be with you and ensure your safety, it’s this one.

Six days, twelve hours and forty nine minutes.

Does he really want to give this up?

Dazai rests his arms on his desk, lowering his head down, eyes sliding shut again. He can see you again, the image of you from last week, laughing wildly at something he’d said—he can’t even remember what it was, he was so nervous that he can’t even recall half of the night, but he doesn’t really care at all what he said anyway, too enraptured by the way you react to it.

He wonders if you’re there now. At the bar. Because what he does remember, of course, is your teasing grin as you tell him that of course, you’re scheming out a second meeting between the two of you because naturally you’ve decided that you already like him. And he remembers the hope thinly veiled behind your eyes, as you look over him, knowing that if the two of you are to meet again, it would be reliant on whether or not he decides to come back to the club, because you’ve already made your intentions clear.

Six days, twelve hours and fifty minutes.

Dazai’s throat feels swollen, his nails dig into his palms. He imagines you waiting there, he imagines the disappointment on your face as you slowly realize he’s not going to show up. And you’re so damn beautiful, radiant even beneath the shitty lighting of the club—he’s sure you saved a seat at the bar for him, and you’ve probably had dozens of interested men who’ve offered to buy you drinks, asking if you’d come to the club alone. And you’ll probably turn them down at first, telling them that you’re waiting on someone, but he wonders how long it’ll take for you to finally take one of them up on their offer after you’ve realized that Dazai isn’t going to show. He wonders if you’ll follow them out to the dance floor, he wonders if you’ll give them the same teasing smile you gave him. He can picture slim fingers caressing your hips, pulling you closer. He can picture your lashes fluttering as they lean their head down to ghost their lips against your neck, swaying to the music. He doesn’t want to picture anything else, but his mind, as always, betrays him.

He wonders if you’ll take them back to your apartment—would you get right into it or would you sit and talk with them for a while? His head spins as his thoughts take an increasingly more dangerous spiral. It’s a bitter cold night out, maybe you’ll take the opportunity to make them the hot chocolate you’ve made him hundreds of times, thousands of times before—no, he corrects as the lines start to blur in a treacherous way, you’ve never made it for him in this life. Maybe it’s so cold out that you’d forgo small talk altogether, instead seeking out the warmth of someone else’s body—you’d take them by the hand, lead them into your bedroom and lay them back on your bed.

Would you be gentle with them? Like you were with him? No, he reminds himself again, you’ve never been with him like that, not in this life. The pages of the Book pile around him, memories flooding him with an intensity that he’s never experienced before; he can hardly even remember what his reality is, all of the others blending and shifting together in his mind, making it impossible to decipher the lines between them.

You’re dragging him to the beach to watch your first sunrise with him and you’re telling him that you want to see as many as possible with him—he wants to tell you that he thinks he might love you but he doesn’t know how to say it You’re laying him back against a bed, asking him if he trusts you—of course, he does, how is that even a question? You’re leaning your head against his arm, standing before a familiar grave and accepting him for all that he is even after he strips bare down to all of the worst parts of himself for you—you shouldn’t, he wants to say desperately, but instead he’s telling you that he loves you, even though he knows it might kill you. And then-

And then he’s ripped violently from his fall into the pages of the Book as his phone vibrates and it’s not him anymore, it’s someone else, someone unworthy and undeserving, a stranger that you’d turned to because Dazai wasn’t there.

Dazai nearly heaves. He never should have indulged in you that night. He should have known he was never going to go back to normal after it. The difference between the memories and actually having seen you and heard you and touched you and smelt you was so much more severe than he ever could have expected. Now, the memories aren’t enough; he wants a life with you, he wants it to be his reality. He thinks that it’s not fair that he’s the only one who can’t be with you. He wants to make new memories with you so he no longer has to struggle with the blurred lines, so he doesn’t have to yearn for a life that he’ll never be able to experience, having to watch every single other Dazai get to have what he can’t.

Six days, twelve hours and fifty eight minutes.

He can do it, his thoughts are a bit manic as he tries to ground himself after the spiral. He has the knowledge. He has the power. He has the resources. If there’s any life that he’s able to be with you and keep you safe, it’s this one. He doesn’t have to hide from you, he doesn’t have to deny himself of you to protect you—he has the knowledge, he has the power, he has the resources. He can keep you safe. Instead of being the only Dazai who never gets to be with you, he’ll be the only Dazai who can actually spend his life with you—a long one, a happy one. He’ll have what none of them did. He can do it.

Before he can stop himself, he speaks.

“Gin-chan,” Dazai calls softly, knowing that he doesn’t have to speak any louder for the girl to hear him. As soon as he hears the door to the backroom open, he continues with, “Have Albatross be ready downstairs with one of the cars.”

“Of course. Where to, sir?”

To Gin’s credit, she doesn’t sound at all caught off guard by Dazai’s sudden request, as if it’s normal for Dazai to randomly decide to leave the Port Mafia base even though he can count on one hand the number of times he’s left the base since he ascended to the position of boss four years earlier.

“... The club we own in Naka,” Dazai says after a few moments, fingers thrumming against the mahogany of his desk for a moment before he adds, “... Don’t tell Chuuya.”

“... Yes, sir. I’ll have Albatross get everything ready immediately.”

At exactly six days and thirteen hours, Dazai’s self-control shatters.

You sigh.

The seat next to you remains damningly empty despite the many attempts of handsome strangers trying to join you at the bar. You’re sure you must’ve turned down half a dozen by now in hopes that the stranger from last Friday will end up showing up but those hopes are very quickly disappearing. You want to convince yourself that maybe you’ve just missed him—it’s a rather large club, after all—but it’s not half as packed as it was last week; you think that if he were here, you would’ve spotted him by now. Or he would have spotted you.

Dazai Osamu, you remember his name, eyes sliding shut briefly as you take a sip of your water, wondering if you should just switch to alcohol and drink your sorrows away, seek out one of the men who’d approached you already so you don’t end up spending the night alone. The thought leaves you unsatisfied, a pout rising to your lips around the rim of your glass as you finish off yet another glass of water.

You swear that you’re not usually this pathetic—especially not over a man—but there’s just something about this Dazai Osamu that has you acting up. Like honestly, who even are you? Going to the club alone on a Friday night with nothing but some faint hopes that the man you’d met here last week would show up too? It’s so embarrassing, you think you might die—but somehow you’re not embarrassed enough to leave because you’re still hoping that he shows up.

God, you think again, who are you anymore? You barely even know this man. You know his name and you know he’s handsome. And that’s just about it, but here you are, sitting bummed at a club because he isn’t showing even though he has absolutely no reason to.

The bartender raises his eyebrows with a small smile and you pass the glass over to him, letting him refill it. He’s the same one from last week and he recognized you as soon as you took a seat at the bar, making sure to get you what you need and keep you company whenever there’s a lull in patrons flagging him down. It’s a stark contrast from the treatment that you got early in the night last week, where it had taken you twenty minutes to get a single drink and even then you could barely hold his attention long enough to tell him what you wanted. You can’t help but notice that he seems hyperaware of the open seat next to you.

As the bartender passes you another glass of water, you flash him a wavering smile, unconsciously sparing another awkward glance to the empty seat next to you. While the club isn’t quite as packed as it was last week, it’s not exactly empty and you’re starting to feel bad hoarding the seat when plenty of others probably want to sit down too.

“I’m sure he’ll show,” the bartender tells you before he’s waved down by another patron. You wonder if he’s guessed who you’re waiting for or if it’s just meant to be some general comfort. “Probably just running late, he’s a busy man.”

Oh, you think, eyes widening, but before you can question him as to what he means, he’s rushing to go refill the drink of a blonde man on the opposite end of the bar.

A busy man.

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

Even in your drunken state, you knew from the moment you met him that there was something off about him. The way he held himself, the way he looked at you, the way people treated him—it all screamed danger. Once you’d sobered up, you remembered all of the things you didn’t notice while you’d been intoxicated. You remembered the way people would rush to get out of his way or show him complete deference, eyes a bit wide and faces a bit pale. You remembered the way Takeda looked sick and scared when Dazai told him to go, and Takeda is usually a bull-headed and fearless man, it takes a lot to make him back down. You remembered his driver—he had a driver!—and how when he stepped out of the car to open the door for the two of you, you swore you caught a glint of gunmetal holstered at his waist before Dazai gave him a cold look and he quickly covered it up.

And you’re not usually a girl who seeks danger out, for as much as you went on your spiel about living life on the edge the last time you spoke to him, you’re usually a pretty careful person. If you were smart, you would have woken up the next morning and pretended that you were too drunk to remember the night before, forget all about Dazai Osamu and his dangerous smile and intense gaze.

But you aren’t smart, evidently, because instead of forgetting about him, you spent half of the next day mourning because he didn’t even leave you his number and the other half of it scheming out the best way of running into him again.

You sigh, resting your cheek on your hand as you prop your elbow up on the bartop, idly tracing the rim of your glass.

What is it about you, Dazai?

One meeting and you’re captivated. He must be some kind of witch, or siren, there’s no other explanation for how you’re so utterly enchanted by him. He spoke your name with the familiarity of a lover, watching you with gentle eyes even though they become cold and empty whenever they avert to someone other than you. And you—you felt as if you’ve known him your entire life. You’ve never had such an instant connection with someone like that before, you’re convinced that it’s fate at work, even if he’s adamant against the thought.

You want to see him again. You wonder if it was maybe just your drunken brain misconstruing things, although somehow you doubt it. You need to talk to him again to know if the connection is real, and if it’s real-

“Is this seat taken?”

At first, the voice doesn’t register as familiar, so you let out a soft puff of air, trying to figure out if you should deny another person. But as you turn to face the newcomer, your eyes widen a bit as you catch sight of the long, burgundy scarf hanging in your peripheral, stark against a long, sleek black suit jacket.

Your lips part in shock, head snapping to the side so you can fully look at the person to your left. Dazai Osamu stands there, hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his jacket, head tilted to the side, a small smile curving at his lips and a soft look in his eye as he looks down at you, comforting and warm compared to the cold emptiness you vaguely noticed from him at certain points last night.

You try to say no, it’s not taken, but no words leave your lips, so instead, you shake your head, eyes following Dazai as he takes a seat next to you at the bar. The bartender rushes over, all but abandoning the couple he’d been helping on the opposite side of the bar, pouring Dazai an expensive glass of whiskey and giving him a nod before going back to who he’d been helping before. Your eyes follow the man curiously before you turn your gaze back to Dazai, not speaking for a moment as you observe the way he stares down at the glass of whiskey for a second, the warmth in his eye slowly dissipating.

You don’t like it, and not because it makes you uncomfortable or anything, but rather because you just don’t like how alone he seems. So, you lean forward, smiling, and say, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Dazai turns his gaze back to you and the warmth returns, pools of honey rather than the endless void. You melt beneath it.

“I vaguely remember a beautiful woman mentioning scheming out a second meeting,” Dazai drawls, dark eye lidded as he looks down at you, a half-smile decorating his face. “It would be quite remiss of me to be the cause of her failure.”

Your cheeks feel a bit a hot as you grin down at your drink. “While we’re on the topic of things I may or may not have said last week, I have to be honest with you. I totally lied about something,” you say with a laugh, leaning on the bar. He raises his eyebrow curiously. You give him a sheepish smile as you continue with, “I have absolutely no idea how to charm someone, drunk or sober, I was entirely speaking out of my ass, so keep your expectations low.”

The smile that curls to the corner of his lips is soft enough to make your heart skip a beat. “I think you just being yourself is plenty charming,” he murmurs.

You let out a noise caught between a groan and a whimper, face going hot. “Oh my god, you’re the charmer,” you accuse loudly, burying your face in your arms. “I’ll never survive. Handsome and charming, a deadly combination.”

As you peer your eyes open to look at him, you can’t help but notice the way his smile briefly falters at your words. You promptly decide to change the subject with: “Thank you for making sure I got home safely last week.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he says, one pale, lithe finger tracing along the rim of his glass. Your eyes linger for a moment on the digit, mind wandering, before you force your gaze up; you can see the bandages peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his dark coat as your eyes drag his arm back to his face. There’s a knowing expression on his face, the smile on his lips a bit more sensual. Your breath catches as you avert your gaze, feeling quite like you’ve just been caught doing something bad.

“Sure I do,” you try to make the words sound casual and easy but despite your most sincere attempts, your voice is strained. “Not many people would go out of their way like that for someone they just met.”

Something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. You’re not sure what he finds amusing, but you decide you don’t care because you very much prefer it to the distant look that had been painted in them before.

“An unfortunate world we live in, then,” he says softly, but there’s a lilt to his tone that makes you feel like he knows something that you don’t. He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it though as he asks, “Are you going to have anything to drink?”

You startle slightly at the question, glancing down at the glass of water you’re drinking before you tell him with a laugh, “I don’t know if I want to force you to deal with me drunk twice. Didn’t I promise I’d stay sober this time?”

“If I remember correctly, you only said ‘not quite as drunk,’” he says, lips tilting up a bit and god, the way he’s looking at you has you flustered, gaze lidded and intense, as if you’re the only one in the room and not in a club with hundreds of other people. “Let me order you something, I think you’ll like it.”

“Oh, that’s bold,” you warn, tossing him a teasing smile. “I'm very particular about my drinks, I’ll have you know. I’m almost curious what you have in mind that makes you so confident.”

“I have a good feeling about it,” Dazai says, tilting his head to the side as he waits for your decision.

You give a heavy sigh, pretending like it’s a difficult decision even though you know it’s not. “Fine, but only if you promise to cut me off after two. Whenever I hit three, I hit the floor.”

You extend your pinky toward him, waiting for him to take it, and when he does, you swear a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm. As he wraps his finger around yours, your heart skips a beat, your eyes meet his and you think you might get lost in the dark pools, you don’t think you would mind if you do and that scares you. You’ve never had someone make your heart flutter and mind haze like this, especially not so quickly.

“Promise,” he breathes out, barely audible above the thundering music and crowds.

You dip your head down to press your lips against your thumb to seal the deal, and you think you fall even more when you don’t have to tell him to do the same, following your lead and kissing his own thumb to seal it. And you briefly wonder if this man might be your soulmate because he didn’t give you a single odd look and didn't hesitate for a second whereas when you’ve made pinky promises with some of your other friends and past partners, their expression always twists a bit in confusion or oddity at the second part.

Rather than letting go of your hand, he swaps to his other hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and resting it on your lap before he flags the bartender down—quite easily, might you add—and leans over the bartop to say something quietly to him. The man nods and rushes off, and you give Dazai a scandalized look as he turns his attention back to you, hyper aware of the warmth of his fingers against yours.

“You won’t even tell me what it is?” you gasp in mock offense.

Dazai rests his other elbow on the bar top, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you through his lashes. You couldn’t drag your gaze away if you wanted to, tunneled onto him.

“It’s a surprise,” he says with a smile. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

“Quite confident for someone that hardly knows me, aren’t you, Dazai?” you giggle, raising your hand to cover your lips, and god, he looks so amused again, and so handsome. You might die. “That’ll be for me to judge.”

“Very confident,” he agrees, and you think he winks but you can’t tell because one of his eyes is covered by bandages.

“So,” you begin, waiting for the drink. “You’re from around here then?”

You hope he is, at least, because you’d like to keep seeing him. Something about him is just so intoxicating, like a drug you just can’t get enough of. You think he must be, from the way he seems so familiar with the bartender and other patrons, but you could always be wrong.

You hope you’re not wrong.

“Mhm,” Dazai agrees, humming around the rim of his glass as he takes another sip. You hope the excitement you feel doesn’t flash across your face. “Yokohama born and raised… you?”

Distantly, a part of you feels like the question is just an afterthought, as though he already knows the answer and you wonder if you’re that obvious, but you pay no mind to that, instead nodding. “Same,” you say, and then, “... I wonder if we have crossed paths before then. You’re so familiar, I can’t imagine that we’ve never met before… Maybe uni? Did you happen to go to UTokyo? I graduated there last year.”

Dazai seems to hesitate at the question, as if considering his answer. You wonder why, but he leaves you little time to figure it out because he finally replies, “No… I was in Tokyo for business for a while a couple years ago though.”

Your eyes light up. “Really?” you ask, leaning forward as you speak. “Where did you work? I know the area pretty well.”

He hesitates again, this time more blatantly, and you can see the confliction that briefly flashes across his face. How curious.

“It wasn’t a particular storefront, or anything, just my line of work had me in the area for a while.”

You’re about to press into what his line of work is, desperate to know more about the man sitting in front of you, but you’re interrupted by the bartender returning with a martini so stunning that if it tastes half as good as it looks, you might fall in love.

But you’re not going to make it that easy.

“Go on,” Dazai says, leaning a bit back in his seat as he watches. He looks at you as if he already knows that you’re going to like it and you’re adamant on destroying his assumptions, you will hate this drink if it’s the last thing you do. “Tell me what you think.”

You lift the martini glass up to your lips carefully, the dark liquid so close to the brim that you’re nervous it will spill over the sides. He watches you expectantly, you pointedly hold his gaze as you take a sip of the drink and-

“Oh my god.”

Dazai looks utterly vindicated, raising his chin as you take a sip of the drink and stare at it in shock. It’s so… tasty. It’s creamy, and sweet, and you can hardly taste the alcohol but you can feel the tingle on your tongue and the light burn in your throat. All thoughts of the conversation you were having before the drink showed up disappear, and you’re focused solely on the glass in your hands and the man before you.

“So?” God, he’s evil. He almost purrs the word, as if he knows exactly what your response is going to be. He leans forward a bit, looking down at you through his lashes. “Give me the verdict, Your Honor.”

“It’s good,” you say, raising your chin in spite, hoping that your expression doesn’t betray but from the way his lips spread into a wider smile, you fear that you completely failed.

“Just good?” Dazai croons.

You pause for a second, debating on lying and telling him yes, just good, but the words you intend on speaking do not leave your lips. Rather, you say, “Okay. It may or may not be one of the best drinks I’ve had in a while. You have to tell me what it is so I know what to ask for.”

“Hmm.” Dazai lifts a finger to his chin, as if considering your words. “I don’t think I will.”

“What!”

His smile becomes a bit softer, his expression more teasing. “I think I’ll hold that information hostage, so you have to come out with me again if you want to drink it.”

A jittery feeling spreads through your chest, heart fluttering, cheeks hot. “Oh? Look who’s scheming out our third meeting already,” you taunt lightly. “How the tables turn.”

“Of course, I’m scheming out our third meeting, maybe our fourth and fifth too,” he mimics your words from last week shamelessly. “I’ve decided I already like you, bella.”

The pet name rolls off his tongue easily, as if it’s second nature to him, and your face is on fire but Dazai looks like he’s shocked even at himself. You fumble with your words for just a second, it takes you a moment too long to recover but you think that Dazai doesn’t even notice in his stunned state.

You decide to return fire.

“I hope all of our dates aren’t just going to be at clubs,” you tell him with a smile that edges on flirtatious, cocking your head to the left.

Your words hardly register until you notice that his cheeks have become bright and rosy, hand instinctively coming up to hide his face. He looks entirely like he’s at a loss for words, lips parting and closing several times. It’s so endearing that you think you might really die now, but then the gravity of your words hit you like a train.

Oh god. A date? A date?? This is only the second time you’ve met, that was way too soon. You-

“I’ll make sure the next place we meet is somewhere special,” he finally says, voice smooth and gaze gentle and-

And just like that, you’re a goner.

You’re not sure how long you sit there talking to him. Hours, probably. It feels like no time at all and forever all at once. You lose yourself in his gaze, and his smile, and you think the whole world could be burning around the two of you and you’d have no idea just because you’re so tunnel visioned on him. The music drowns out, and all you can hear is his voice. The people around you blur out of focus, and all you can see is him.

It’s insane, you think. You’ve never felt like this with anyone before. You’ve had so many flings and so many boyfriends over the years, but the way your stomach twists and turns and the way your head feels fuzzy with Dazai is so incomparable to how you felt with anyone else.

You feel like you’ve known him forever.

You feel like you’ve only just met him.

How is it possible to feel like you know someone you’ve only just met so intimately? When you know you don’t actually know much about him personally but it still feels like you can read into the depths of his soul?

God, you don’t know, but you do know one thing, and it’s that you never want to lose this feeling.

And that’s how it began.

Every Friday for weeks, you find yourself at the club, sipping cheap martinis at the bar until a certain handsome man in a dark suit decides to finally grace you with his presence. Sometimes, the two of you would just sit at the club’s bar until the sun threatens to rise, when you finally go your separate ways and you make your way back to your apartment, falling asleep with a smile on your face and waking up with a giddy feeling still sparkling in your chest. Other times, he only comes by the club to pick you up, fulfilling his promise of making sure to take you somewhere nice when you find yourself fine dining at the fanciest rooftop restaurants in the city.

He never stays over your place, even when he does drop you off. Sometimes he’ll hang around for an hour (you made him your favorite hot chocolate, he liked it so much that he nearly cried although he vehemently denied that was the reason why his eye got all misty), but he always leaves. You try not to let it bum you out, convincing yourself that it’s just because he doesn’t want to keep his driver waiting (albatross, you remember his name, he’s funny. you like him), but sometimes you can’t help the heavy feeling set over you when he makes his abrupt leave, wishing for just a bit more. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, for god’s sake.

You also distantly note that you don’t really know much about him, even after all of these weeks his personal life remains a mystery to you. The closest you were able to get to prying anything out of him was when he showed up so late that you were on the verge of leaving because you doubted he would even show, he apologized and said a work meeting ran late. You asked him what about and he hesitated, as if he was about to say it, but then gave you some vague response and steered the conversation to something less personal.

That’s what’s happened every time you try to learn a bit more about him. You don’t really notice it in the moment because he’s smooth and charming about it, but he always manages to turn the conversation to you or some other general topic. You want to respect that he doesn’t want to talk about his personal life because maybe he’s coming to you to have some sort of escape from it, but you also want to know him beyond just the flirting over drinks and the slim things you can gleam from his reactions, words hidden between the lines of what he actually says.

Your friends think you’re crazy. They think he’s bad news. They’ve come with you to the club a few times to wait with you until he shows up and every time they see him you can see the weary looks that they shoot at one another. You don’t care what they think—or well, that’s a lie, you do care what they think, you’re just too enamored with Dazai for their words to have any weight. Which probably should be concerning, but that’s something for you to think about another day.

Because now, you’re focused on him again. He’s been talking more tonight than he usually does—most nights, he’ll spend the majority of the time just listening to you, a soft smile on his face and a captivated look in his eye, but tonight, he’s been rather vocal, people watching with you and making sly advances that you think is just plain cruel considering he hasn’t even kissed you yet.

But tonight, you’ve decided, will be the night.

You’ve been trying to figure out how to go about it, if you should just invite him back to your apartment—something you’ve done before, so there shouldn’t be any nerves but you still find yourself wavering because you don’t know how you’re going to proceed once you get to your apartment. You are not a seducer. You have no experience in seducing. In fact, you are usually the one being seduced. So every time your lips part to ask if he wants to leave the club, you find yourself withering and faltering, waiting for a ‘better’ chance as if one will magically arise.

It does.

It’s when a fight breaks out on the dancefloor a bit too close to where you’re sitting, certainly the result of some sleazy man trying to put his hands on a woman who already has a date, when you finally force yourself to stop pussying out. You let out a shriek as you stumble forward off your barstool when one of the men careens a bit too closely to you, and it’s only by Dazai’s swift reaction, arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you to him and steadies you, that you don’t go toppling onto the floor.

Your eyes widen as you watch the fight escalate, a bit entertained now that you’re safe in his arms from becoming collateral damage, but Dazai looks distinctly unimpressed by the scene taking place a few feet away, lips twisted into a deep frown. You watch as he shoots a sharp look to one of the bouncers lingering by the door, and you note how the man immediately moves forward to break up the fight. Interesting. You’ve noticed that the people at the work tend to be respectful to him, but that’s the first time you’ve seen them seemingly take a silent order from him.

You steel your nerves and you decide to try your hand.

“Would you… maybe want to get out of here?”

You look nervous, Dazai watches you carefully as he leads you across the club to the exits, so he figures that there’s something else going on in your head right now. You’ve been quiet most of the night, he realizes, and he wonders if something is wrong. If something happened. His mind immediately catapults to the worst case scenario: that someone found out about the two of you, despite how careful he’s been in making sure that the places he’s brought you to were locked down by the Port Mafia before you arrived with him, and you’re being threatened.

His thoughts race. Albatross should still be waiting where Dazai left him, so if something goes wrong, he’ll be ready. Dazai glances at you again, and he slowly realizes that you don’t seem nervous because you’re fearful of something, and his anxieties slowly are edged away.

But that only gives rise to new anxieties because then what’s making you so nervous then? What did you mean by get out of here? Do you want to go somewhere else? (but where, the longer he’s out in the open, the more of a risk there will be without him taking precautions beforehand like he usually does) Do you want to be dropped off back at your apartment? (that’s what he initially assumed, but he doesn’t want the night to end yet) Do you want to invite him to your apartment? (it wouldn’t be the first time, but it doesn’t leave him any less nervous. he’s terrified of making the wrong move) Do you want him to invite you to his apartment? (god, he hopes not)

The last option cannot happen. You’re already suspicious from the way the bartender and the other club patrons have been treating him the past few weeks, and now you’re doubly suspicious, Dazai can tell from the way your eyes squint as the bouncers at the entrance of the club nod their heads to him. If he brings you back to his place, the tallest of the five towers making up the Port Mafia base, there’s no way you won’t put together that something’s up with him and the last thing he wants is to scare you away. Even if you don’t know what the buildings are exactly, you’ll definitely question him about his occupation, go back to the dangerous line of questioning you’ve been treading on lately, and when he can’t give you a straight answer, it’ll become all the more apparent that it’s something shady and if you’re smart, you’ll make an excuse to leave and then never seek him out again.

Realistically, he probably won’t be able to hide this from you for long, but it just has to be long enough for him to woo you so the news isn’t so jarring that it makes you cut off all contact with him. Although, Dazai isn’t sure if any amount of time will make the knowledge that he’s a mafia boss not jarring enough to flee. His heart feels a bit heavy, wondering if this is all a mistake because how the hell is he supposed to just accept it when you inevitably decide to leave? And isn’t that what he should want, anyway? He wants you to keep yourself safe, no matter what the cost, and if you’re the one to cut him off, then he won’t be tempted to come looking for you again. He can protect you from the distance as he initially planned with the memory of the nights he’s spent with you pushing him forward. So maybe this is for the best.

You accepted all of the other Dazais, the traitorous part of his mind tried to convince himself that isn’t a hopeless cause, even though he knows that there’s a stark difference between who he is in this lifetime, the face of Japan’s underworld, drenched in blood and rotting from the inside out, and who he was in all of the other lifetimes, desperately trying to make himself a better man so that Odasaku would be proud of him.

Maybe you’ll understand, he thinks weakly as the two of you leave the club. It’s drizzling now, and his eyes cut across the parking lot looking for Albatross, but his thoughts are lost—you understanding would mean he would have to tell you everything. He can’t do that. Not just because you would probably think he’s delusional, or psychotic, but because it would put the very fabric of this reality at risk. He can’t tell more people than necessary and stage five…

His plan.

Dazai’s gaze shifts back over to you, the sudden remembrance of what he’s been planning since he came in contact with the Book so many years ago spreading like ice through him. He should take you by the hand and lead you to the car, the rain is going to start coming down harder any second now, but Dazai is frozen because in his manic state, when he’d decided he can protect you in this life, be with you in this life, he hadn’t even given any thought to what would become of his plan, and he’s been so consumed by thoughts of you the past few weeks that it’s hardly crossed his mind.

He has to force himself to move forward, ignoring the way his mind is reeling—if he decides to live, what does that mean for Odasaku? For Atsushi and Akutagawa and Chuuya? For the world? Would he be condemning everything he’s worked to protect? He still thinks he can do it—protect you, that is—but would it be at the cost of everything else? He feels sick, trying to figure out if he’s going to have to plot out a whole new plan, as if this one hadn’t taken him years to come up with and implement.

But you don’t move to follow him to the car where Albatross is waiting when he steps forward. Instead, you tilt your head up to the sky, lashes fluttering as rain begins to drizzle down from the dark sky.

And Dazai’s spiraling thoughts halt.

He thinks you look beautiful—you’re always beautiful, but he thinks there’s something magical about the picture of the small smile on your lips as rain drops slide across the smooth skin of your face. He tries to force himself to look away so he doesn’t seem creepy staring at you, but he can’t bring himself to.

You don’t seem to mind though, because you turn your attention to him, eyes lit up in a way that makes his heart race. “Dance with me,” you say suddenly, holding a hand out to him, the soft smile on your face is a bit mischievous now.

Dazai looks down at you, raising his eyebrows. “Here?” he asks, voice tainted with a hint of incredulity. “Now?”

“Mhm,” you say, unperturbed, holding your hand out more insistently.

Dazai thinks he isn’t capable of denying you much of anything, but he can’t help but hesitate. Not because he doesn’t want to dance with you—he would sell what’s left of his wretched soul for just a single dance with you—but because the longer he’s out in the open, the more of a chance there might be an assassination attempt on him. Every time he goes out, he’s gambling his life. It would put you in danger, and it’s not like he brought Chuuya along for if something goes wrong. Albatross is capable enough, but his ability is not combat centric.

Being seen with you in general could put you in danger, doubts begin to sprinkle through his head again, his heart lodged in his throat as remembers that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie aren’t the only threats to your life. He’s been as careful as he could be but even with all of the precautions in the world, there are still risks. He’s made new enemies in this lifetime, hundreds of them over the years, and if any one of them caught wind of you and his apparent attraction to you…

“If you wanted to dance, shouldn’t we have done that inside?” Dazai drawls instead, trying to play it off. Inside, where it’s significantly safer. Inside, where Dazai knows that there’s less of a chance of unsavory eyes falling upon the two of you because the club is owned by the Port Mafia and everyone let in is screened. Inside, where Dazai can still convince himself that he has the power to keep you safe. You’re entirely unbothered by his question, so he continues before you can shoot him down, “Where it’s not raining, and where there’s actually music.”

“Haven’t you seen all of the romance movies?” you complain, smile widening. “Dancing in the rain is romantic, Dazai. Who needs music anyway? C’mon, dance with me.”

And how is Dazai supposed to say no to you when you look at him like that? Eyes wide and imploring, smile gentle—you look at him in a way that Dazai’s only dreamed of, and he knows that he’s a goner. Well, he’s known since he first met you, but it’s being made abundantly more clear right now with the way his heart, which he usually has such keen control over, beats rapidly in his chest. His lips part because he still wants to try to deny you—for your sake, not his—but no words leave them.

You don’t wait for his response anyway, hand darting out to catch his so you can drag him out into the parking lot. His eyes widen, stumbling forward and trying to catch his balance—you only laugh, intertwining your fingers with his while your other hand finds his waist, spinning the two of you in a reckless circle.

“Keep up!” you tell him with a smile that causes his breath to catch.

Dazai thinks he might die. His head feels fuzzy as you lead him in a wide ballroom dance, sweeping across the vacant parking lot with ease. He thinks he must look like a fool being dragged along in your dance like a puppet, hardly able to keep himself from tripping over his own feet.

He’s not sure how you’re able to keep yourself so graceful, heels splashing in puddles as you lead him through spins and turns and pivots, but Dazai thinks you’re beautiful. Again. Extraordinarily so, even. Rain is pouring down over the two of you, the drizzle quickly becoming torrential, and your hair is wet and matted to your face, mascara a bit smeared underneath your eyes, but you’re laughing, and Dazai thinks you’re divine. Heavenly. Too ethereal to be tainted by the likes of him and yet here he is, the putrid skin of his fingers intertwined with your untarnished ones. You raise your arm and his, beckoning for him to twirl beneath it.

He does, and it’s awkward and clumsy because he’s too tall to comfortably perform the move, but you giggle loudly so it makes up for the embarrassment. And for a moment, Dazai can almost convince himself that this isn’t a life where he’s been forced to let the dark consume him for the betterment of the world; rather, it’s a world where he’s gone unsullied by the dark, his blood still runs red and you’re beautiful and you’re alive, and he’s just a boy who’s fallen so terribly in love with a girl so far out of his league that he thinks he might be dreaming when you return his interest. As he spins, he notices that his cheeks feel a bit strained and sore, and he realizes that there’s a smile on his face that matches your own, the muscles of his cheeks and jaw unused to stretching in such a manner and he hopes, anxiously, that it doesn’t look quite as unbearable as it feels.

If it does look unnatural, you don’t seem to mind. The rain blurs his vision and he’s forced to blink away the raindrops that keep falling into his eye, and for a split second, you’re standing before him in a pretty red dress on a sidewalk, and he’s the one leading you in the theatrical dance, dipping you down as lightning webs across the sky above the two of you, and he’s about to beg you for a kiss, he knows it but then-

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when you pull your hand back from his, but you don’t give him time to mourn the loss of your touch because then you’re slipping your arms around his neck, loose and casual. You’re pressed up close to him, chest brushing his and head tilted back so you can look up at him—a slower dance, swaying to the music of the wind and rain—and Dazai can hardly breathe. You’re so close. So close that he could kiss you if he wanted to. God, he wants to. He’s wanted to for weeks but every time he tries to gather the nerve to do it, he backs out.

“Where’d you go?” you ask softly, and he can barely hear you as thunder rumbles in the distance, brows furrowed in confusion, unsure of what you mean. You tap his temple twice gently, “Left me for a second there.”

Oh, his throat feels a bit dry, realizing that you must’ve noticed when he started to slip back into the pages of the Book. Terrifying. Beautiful and terrifying, that’s what you are, if you can read him that well after meeting him once a week for a few weeks, he dreads to know how well you’d be able to read him once you start spending more and more time with him. But would it be so bad? To have someone that knows him so profoundly? He’s so alone all the damn time in this world, and you’re giving him a taste of a life where maybe he wouldn’t have to be. It’s terrifying. Tempting. He forces another smile onto his lips, and this time your eyes narrow, as if you know this one isn’t as genuine as the last.

“How rude of me,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’s so close, he realizes again, hyper aware of the way his lips are almost brushing yours. He could kiss you if he wanted, he repeats, and he wants so badly but he doesn’t want to scare you away. “To leave behind such fine company.”

You don’t look content with his apparent attempt at avoiding the subject, and Dazai’s throat feels tight because it’s not really a conversation to have with you here. Now. Ever, really.

For once, mother nature appears to be on his side, because before you can press on the subject, lightning strikes dangerously close to where the two of you are standing, making you jump, eyes wide. He takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, guiding you over to where he left Albatross earlier in the night.

The car is already running, Albatross is leaning back in the seat scrolling on the phone and Dazai nearly commits an atrocity when he sees that the man has his gun laying haphazardly on the dashboard. As if Albatross can feel Dazai’s murderous intent, he looks up from his phone and his eyes shoot open when he sees you with Dazai and he scrambles to holster his gun back at his waist.

Luckily, you don’t notice. Or maybe unluckily, because your attention is still fixated on him and Dazai is not ready to have that discussion with you because how the hell is he supposed to say “Sorry! Lost in some worlds that don’t exist, and just so you know, we almost got married in some of them! And just so you know, I got you killed in all of them!”

Yeah. That would go over well.

Instead, he opens the door to the car for you, letting you hop in the backseat. He follows after. Albatross slides his glasses to the bridge of his nose, an unscrupulous smile on his face that instantly has Dazai suspicious. He hopes the man knows that no friendship with Chuuya will save him if he decides to purposely embarrass Dazai in front of you.

“You’re back!” You recognize Albatross immediately, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of him. Dazai is almost jealous until he remembers that you’re still holding his hand. “You weren’t driving last time.”

Right. Because of the raid on one of the Scarlet Gang’s warehouses in Tokyo. A mission that Dazai definitely should have been more available for on the off chance that something went wrong, but he was far too busy indulging in you. In his defense, he had no doubts that the mission would go according to plan—the Scarlet Gang is dangerous, yes, and Kawabata is a force to be reckoned with, but he’s simply not Dazai.

“D’aw, didn’t think you’d recognize me, doll,” Albatross grins, tossing you a wink. “Good to see you again too. You’re significantly more sober tonight, aren’t you?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow a bit at the pet name, but he’s more focused on the way you throw your face into your hands with a groan, reminded of just how drunk you’d been the last time Albatross was playing chauffeur. You’re a messy drunk, he remembers fondly, he doesn’t remember ever seeing you drink in any of his other lives with you, and he feels a bit giddy at the thought that he gets to experience a side of you that the others never did. Even if he was spending half of the night holding your hair back while you threw your guts up, spluttering apologies through sobs and heaves. He would do it again. Without even the slightest hesitation, he would do it again.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” you ask, peeking one eye between your fingers to look at Dazai for confirmation.

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to assure you that no, you weren’t that bad, because Albatross is speaking again. Of course.

“You were pretty damn bad, doll,” he grins, and you groan even louder, leaning your body over to rest your head on Dazai’s bicep. Dazai’s heart nearly leaps out of his throat. “S’alright though, boss took care of you.”

“Did he?” you ask with a teasing smile, eyes glittering as you look up at Dazai, who suddenly feels a bit embarrassed, but Albatross rescues him.

Maybe he does deserve the vacation he’s been bitching about wanting.

“Where to?” Albatross asks, putting the car in gear, gaze flickering between you and Dazai briefly.

Dazai is about to tell him your apartment when he catches the sudden apprehension on your face. He hesitates and waits for you to say whatever you want to say, but you don’t, instead you let out a puff of air and let your eyes slide shut.

“Where do you want to go?” Dazai asks you.

You still look uncertain, but then you finally say, “I was meaning to stop and get some groceries at the convenience store on the way home. There’s one a few blocks away from my apartment. I can just walk over there if you drop me off at my place though, it’s fine.”

As if. The idea of you walking anywhere so late at night makes his skin crawl, especially considering there’s been a rise of violent crimes in the city that the Mafia has yet to get a handle on. He needs to push for that to be taken care of if he has to worry about you leaving your apartment to wander around so late. He makes a note to himself to bring it up to Chuuya later.

“We can stop there on the way there. It’s no trouble.”

Albatross gives him a look, as if he’s asking if the boss of the Port Mafia is really about to go grocery shopping with a civilian in the middle of the night, forcing the Mafia’s best getaway driver to be their chauffeur. Dazai only gives him a cold, sharp look in return—if you need groceries, then they’ll stop for groceries. Simple as that. In a life where Dazai thought he’d never even be able to look at you, the chance of doing mundane chores like grocery shopping with you is not something he’ll just pass by.

He can pretend to be normal. If only for a little longer.

Until he has to go back to the base, and his lungs are clogged with corrupted air, being slowly suffocated by his surroundings.

Until you figure out who he is, and he’s alone again, being consumed by the void in his chest once more.

He hardly considers the fact that he’s going somewhere with you where his subordinates haven’t made extensive efforts to ensure that no one suspicious is around to see the two of you.

“Alrighty,” Albatross agrees, backing down as soon as he sees the expression on Dazai’s face. “To the convenience store.”

Your eyes brighten, a smile lights up your face. “Thanks,” you say relieved, and Dazai wants to say that you don’t ever have to thank him for everything and that he’d give you the entire world if given the chance, but he thinks that might be a bit weird so instead he settles on just giving you a small smile. “I’ll make you the best hot chocolate of your life when we get to my apartment. Just wait.”

Dazai’s chest feels warm. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Wait here,” you tell both Dazai and Albatross as Albatross pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex and stops the car outside of your building. Dazai, who’d been about to follow you, pauses from where he’s ducking beneath the doorframe to step out of the car, looking at you and waiting for an explanation. “... My apartment is a mess… I, um, wasn’t expecting company. Let me just… tidy up before you come in. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Dazai’s visible eye crinkles up in amusement as he sits back down in the backseat of the car and you immediately take off up toward the steps leading up to the second floor of your apartment, giddy and excited, grocery bag swinging and bumping against your hip as you make your way quickly up the steps. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You feel like a schoolgirl dealing with her first real crush, flustered and giggly, hardly able to hold a conversation without stuttering over your words.

He’s just so… you don’t know how to describe it. Intense. But intense isn’t even the right word, because he’s not so intense that it makes you uncomfortable or overwhelmed, and that’s usually what you think of when someone is intense. Or maybe overwhelmed is a bit fitting, because you swear every time he sets his soft gaze down on you, your heart might leap out of your chest. Intense. Familiar, you don’t know how it’s possible to feel like you’ve known someone you’ve only met a few times your entire life.

Your fingers fumble as you try to unlock your door. One, two, three, it takes three attempts for you to finally slide the key into the lock, pushing open your door and stepping inside, free from the torrential rain and wild wind outside.

You sigh and rest your back against the door as you shut it behind you, eyes sliding shut.

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

Someone important.

Of course, you noticed how he was treated by the workers of the club—the bartender, the bouncers, even just the regular patrons. The restaurants he’s brought you to the past few weeks, they all treated him the same way. There were plenty of men there that were dressed in expensive clothes and held themselves highly, but none were treated the same way Dazai was.

Someone dangerous.

You’d also caught a glimpse of the gun on the dash of Albatross’s car. (His driver, another point to note because who has a driver except very important people) Only three types of people have guns in Japan—military, police, and criminals, and you’re pretty sure he’s not part of the military or police force…

Someone you probably shouldn’t be so drawn to.

That should be enough to make you run. It really should be. You have no explanation or excuse for why you’re not besides the fact that you might not be as smart as you herald yourself to be. You shouldn’t feel giddy when he smiles softly at you, you should be nervous. You shouldn’t be longing for his touch, you should be avoiding it. Instead, you’re leaning against your door, smiling like an idiot after making him wait for you to clean up your apartment so you don’t embarrass yourself.

Oh, you’re such a fool. But how could you not be with how he treats you? Tucking hair behind your ear, setting a gaze so soft on you that you think it might make your heart stop, dancing with you in the rain clumsily with rosy cheeks and wide eyes. How is it possible for you to reconcile the way the man acts with you to the way others treat him? Or maybe that’s just delusion speaking. It could be, honestly. You think if your brother was living with you, he’d be horrified, might lock you away for the rest of your life; you think your friends already want to put you in a psych ward and they’d only become all the more insistent if they knew half of the things you’ve noticed.

But your brother left you and your friends don’t know, so nothing is stopping you from making what might be a terrible decision.

You let out a breath as you push yourself off the door, placing down your grocery bags on the table by your door so you can scramble to pick up all of the stray clothes you’d tossed around your apartment as you frantically tried to find an outfit earlier in the night. You reach over to turn on your light, flicking the switch once, then twice, and then three times.

No way.

You sigh deeply, head falling back against the wood door of your apartment, knocking the back of your head against it twice in frustration. Letting out a irate puff of air, you push yourself off of the door and force yourself to get to work. It’s not the end of the world, hopefully it'll come back soon, the providers are usually quick with getting the outages fixed, even in your shitty area.

You force yourself to move forward, frowning deeply as you scoop up all of the paperwork spread out on your coffee table, making sure to keep it all in order as you move them over to the desk you have by your window seat. You drop the pile down and cast your gaze out to all of the clothes strewn haphazardly around your apartment, cursing yourself for having been so messy earlier when you were trying on just about every outfit you own and then flinging them around frustrated when you decided they weren’t good enough.

You scowl as you bend down to pick them all up, deciding you’ll just stuff them messily in your closet and fold them later when you don’t have company. As you zoom around trying to snag all of the dresses and different pairs of bras and underwear scattered about, your mind races. Your stove should still work because your landlord refuses to install any modern appliances into your apartment, for better or for worse, so you have an old model that shouldn’t be affected by the outage. But you think it’ll be awkward sitting in the dark, you think you have a few candles stored away in your room—you’ll have to find them and set them up.

Candlelit evening, how romantic! you think to yourself, a bit dreamily. You wonder if Albatross will be coming up to join the two of you in your apartment, you’d offered to make him a drink too but you figure it’ll be Dazai’s decision if he’ll be waiting outside or…

Or maybe, he’ll send him home.

You get giddy at the thought—candlelights, slightly tipsy after a night out, you take a peek under your dress to try to figure out which underwear you’d decided on earlier and if you should change into a different pair but are delighted when you realize that you’d gone with your pretty red ones.

You think he’ll like them.

Hopefully.

You like them, they’re your favorites.

Oh, you have to clean your bedroom too, you think to yourself in partial agony because you don’t know how the hell you’re going to clean up everything in there without making Dazai wait out there for an hour. You get anxious at the thought, worrying that if you take too long, he might leave, so you pick up the pace. You snatch the last stray bra hanging on the arm of your couch before taking off into your bedroom.

You hardly get a step into the room before you’re freezing in your tracks.

No way.

You stare at your bed, arms falling loose to your side, lips parted in shock. The clothes you’d cleaned up all drop aimlessly to the floor around you. Your bed is drenched with water—your sheets soaked, your mattress soaked, the ceiling heavy with rainwater from a leak you didn’t know you had.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out to yourself, unsure of what exactly you should do, never having had a problem like this before.

You think this is what you get, seeking out the cheapest possible apartment complex to stay in because you’re trying to save all of the money you have for school. Now, your mattress is ruined, your ceiling looks like it’s on the verge of collapse and oh my god, you left your laptop on your bed.

A noise caught between a whimper and cry of frustration leaves your lips as you dive forward, fishing your laptop out of the massive pool of water flooding your bed. You hold it in front of your face between two fingers, watching as water drips from it down to the ground.

There goes your laptop too.

You think you might be sick.

Now, you have to deal with a landlord who is decidedly not helpful when it comes to issues in the complex and you have nowhere to sleep. Maybe you can call one of your friends to stay at their place, but it’s already the middle of the night and you know two of them have their own entrance exams tomorrow for the programs that they’re applying to.

Unless…

Your gaze shifts to the window in your room, looking between the blinds to see Dazai and Albatross still waiting outside in their car.

Okay. Most urgent problem temporarily fixed. Maybe.

Dazai has a place. He has to. He’s clearly rich. It’s probably a much nicer place than yours too. You can go there, at least for the night. He wouldn’t just leave you with nowhere to go… right? No, of course he wouldn’t. You need to pack then, instead of cleaning.

Okay, this is fine.

It’s fine.

It takes you about five minutes to grab a few spare pairs of clothes into the duffle bag laying at your bedroom door, occasionally tossing dirty looks at the leak ruining your bed. When you finish throwing your clothes in the duffle—unfolded and hastily, of course, they’ll be terribly wrinkled—you rise to your feet and swing the bag over your shoulder, making your way back to your door and grabbing your groceries.

You don’t know what to say to him when you get back to the car. You’re probably being a bit presumptuous. Okay, a lot presumptuous—Dazai has never invited you back to his place, you’ve invited him to yours—but you don’t really have another choice.

You exhale as you step back into the rain, locking your apartment and making your way back down the steps to the complex’s parking lot. You don’t let yourself hesitate as you dart across the parking lot toward the car, fearing that if you take a second to actually think about what you’re doing—inviting yourself into someone else’s home!—you’ll probably back out.

You open the car door. You slide back inside, taking a seat behind the passenger seat. You drop your duffle bag on the floor between your feet and place your groceries back down between you and Dazai. You can feel both Dazai and Albatross staring at you. You stare ahead.

“... My apartment is flooded,” you finally say after a few moments.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, brows furrowing as he watches you. You can hardly bring yourself to look at him, trying to peek at him from the corner of your eye as best as you can without being too obvious about it. He’s not responding. Albatross isn’t moving the car. You’re getting the urge to bolt, to run upstairs and drown yourself in the puddle of water on your bed.

Finally, Albatross clears his throat. “Boss?”

Dazai still doesn’t respond. You think you might be doubly sick now, and embarrassed. An awful combination, really. You know that he knows what you came back here hoping for, and you realize that he might just send you back to your flooded apartment instead because he obviously did not sign up for taking in some random girl that he’s met a few Fridays for the night because she has nowhere else to go.

You finally turn your face to look at Dazai head on and you can feel that your eyes are glassy, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You don’t know how pathetic you must look for Dazai’s expression to shift the way it does, his conflicted expression crumbling as he turns away from you. You don’t want to know how pathetic you must look, you’d only feel even more humiliated.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally says: “Drive.”

Albatross’s eyes shoot open, he physically turns to look at Dazai, “But-”

You don’t catch the look that Dazai gives Albatross, too busy basking in the relief of having somewhere to stay for the night, but whatever it is, it makes Albatross turn back to face the wheel without another word, turning the car back on and shifting it into gear before pulling out of the parking lot.

As soon as you’re on the move, you turn your attention back down to your phone, trying to figure out if you should message your landlord now or in the morning, dreading the inevitable argument you’re going to have with him. You fiddle with the device, occasionally sparing looks at Dazai, but the man is lost in thought next to you, visible eye distant and conflicted.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything so the whole drive to Dazai’s apartment is long and quiet. Even Albatross, who’s had no difficult sparking conversation the whole drive to your place, stays silent.

You’re bummed, all of the excitement you felt about bringing Dazai back to your place is long gone, feeling the stress of having to replace everything that’s been ruined by the leak and the anxiety of dealing with your landlord; all you want to do is sleep and die. Okay. That’s dramatic. But you’re exhausted and you really do want to sleep. Maybe not die, but definitely sleep.

You lay your head against the window, eyes starting to droop shut, and you can feel Dazai glancing at you now but you can’t even bring yourself to look over at him. Instead, you keep your eyes trained outside the window, only perking up when Albatross finally starts slowing to a stop.

And then, you’re suddenly not tired at all. Your eyes widen as he pulls to the front of the tallest of the five black buildings that tower over the Naka ward, lips parting as you crane your head to look up out the window and then look pointedly back at Dazai, stunned.

Dazai refuses to meet your gaze, staring ahead.

… You think that your instincts about this man must be spot on.

Too bad you’re not listening to them.

“You’ve gone crazy.”

Dazai’s gaze draws up from the paperwork he’s definitely not doing, far too preoccupied with thoughts of you; it’s cold and cutting as it lands on Chuuya. His executive enters the room without any type of announcement, his voice just as cold as Dazai’s expression—he supposes it’s testimony to how angry he is, because Chuuya is only frigid in his anger when he’s really been pushed to the brink.

Naturally, Dazai only smiles, a slow and taunting one that he knows presses all of Chuuya’s buttons from the way the man’s bicolored eyes flash with fury. Chuuya storms over to Dazai’s desk, making his way until he’s standing right in front of him.

“How so?” Dazai drawls, folding his hands over his lap as he leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the side questioningly.

“How so?” Chuuya spits out, slamming his hands down on Dazai’s desk. Dazai raises his eyebrows and then lifts his chin, looking pointedly down to where Chuuya’s hands are splayed against his desk. Chuuya doesn’t flinch—of course he doesn’t, he’s Chuuya—but he does pull his hands back to himself, albeit snarling as he does it. “The hell are you bringing some random woman back to our base? Back to your room? Going out alone the past few weeks when you know you’ve got a bounty on your head higher than most world leaders? I was letting it slide but this is too far, why the hell is she here? You’ve gone crazy, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Careful, Chuuya,” Dazai warns, voice quiet, expression growing a bit flinty when he brings you up. Dazai doesn’t care if Chuuya wants to rail on him for being reckless, but he’s not allowed to drag you into it. He decides to not acknowledge the comment about you, focusing on the end of his tirade, “I was with one of the Flags, I wasn’t alone.”

“Albatross isn’t cut out for that type of combat and you know it,” Chuuya snaps, glaring at Dazai. “If one of those bounty hunters came after you, you both would’ve been killed. What��s gotten into you? Never took you for the type to be this reckless. You get a taste of a woman’s c-”

“I said careful, Chuuya. Know your place,” Dazai repeats, voice icy. The warning is gone, only a threat remains—Chuuya doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Dazai to know where he was going with it, the way the man’s eyes darted over to Dazai’s bedroom was more than enough to confirm it.

“Is this a goddamn joke to you?” Chuuya asks, keeping his voice low, his lips flat and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it. You’ve always been so careful, more than anyone else. What the hell does one random woman have that’s making you risk all of this?”

“I’m not risking anything,” Dazai tells him coolly, “and she’s not just some random woman.”

Chuuya’s expression shifts, brows furrowing deeper; Dazai can see the tiny cogs working behind his eyes as he thinks. He wonders if Chuuya has been drinking tonight, catching the pink hue to his cheeks and the hazy look coating his eyes.

No wonder he’s so angry then, Dazai muses, he must have been out with Kouyou when he got word that Dazai left the base again without any protection detail and then brought someone up to his room who in Chuuya’s mind, could be an assassin for all he knows.

Suddenly, the confusion clears and something closer to realization sweeps across Chuuya’s face. His gaze turns back pointedly in the direction of Dazai’s bedroom.

“That’s her,” Chuuya says, disbelief dripping from his tone. “The girl you’ve had Kouyou looking over for years. What the fuck, Dazai? I thought the whole point of having Kouyou look after her was so that you kept away from her.”

Dazai stares at Chuuya, only for a moment, because then his gaze drifts back to the door leading into his bedroom, mind drifting. He supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised that Kouyou told Chuuya about it—Dazai wasn’t explicit enough with his orders, only telling Kouyou to ensure that Dazai himself never knew anything about her. Of course, the woman would bring it up to Chuuya, probably hoping Chuuya had some insight into why Dazai is so insistent on your protection.

Chuuya didn’t, of course, but he guesses that only made the topic of you and Dazai’s apparent random attachment to you even more of an interesting topic for their wine sessions. Honestly, he’s surprised that Chuuya didn’t realize earlier that the girl he’s been seeing is the one he’s had Kouyou assigned to. Kouyou surely should have known by now.

You’re fast asleep by now. He got lucky because of how exhausted you were over the stress of the whole situation: he didn’t have to deal with the questions that he was certain would arise as soon as you caught sight of the Port Mafia base. You were all but falling asleep on your feet as the two of you stood in the glass elevator leading up to Dazai’s apartment, the penthouse in the centermost of the five buildings consisting of the Port Mafia base. Dazai thought he was about to have a heart attack when you swayed on your feet and ended up resting your head on his bicep, eyes drooping shut. You only managed a few sleepy protests as he led you to his bedroom, asking where he was going to sleep if you take his room (the fact that you worry about him when you’re even on the brink of falling asleep on your feet made his fingers tingle), but you gave in quickly at his insistence.

He should feel some sort of pity, or sympathy, because he could see the weariness in your eyes and the fatigue plaguing your body. Dazai might not be capable of feeling pity or sympathy for most people, but if he could feel it for anyone, it would be you. But he does not, and it’s for a selfish reason, of course: your misfortune led to you turning to him for help, and the thought of that alone makes his chest feel light and giddy.

Yes, he’s going to have to figure out some sort of excuse tomorrow for when you wake up and inevitably have questions—he is not ready for you to know about his position in the Port Mafia—but right now you’re sleeping in his bed and you’re relying on him for help. His fingers thrum against his desk, jittery with excitement, he almost forgets Chuuya is there until he hears the man let out a sharp noise of disgust at Dazai's apparent exhilaration.

Distantly, very distantly, he knows this is bad. You’ve been smart and observant in every universe, you’re going to put together that something is seriously wrong—you were not supposed to come back to his place, but how was he supposed to say no to you when you were looking at him with teary eyes and nowhere else to go? The thought itself feels like sacrilege.

“You know what we are and what we do,” Chuuya says, voice calmer now as he shakes his head and fishes a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with his free hand before he turns to leave. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but you’re putting this girl in danger after the lengths you went to keep her safe. I don’t get it.”

He squints a bit as Chuuya’s words ring through his head. That’s what he had thought too, but he’s the last person to admit to Chuuya that he might be right. A cold feeling starts to set over him, spreading through his chest like ice. If he’s going to think about this realistically, you’re probably already in danger just from being around him. The likelihood of someone catching sight of the two of you the past few weeks is higher than he’s comfortable with, even with the precautions that he’s taken, especially with tonight outside the club and at the convenience store. The thought is terrifying, enough to immediately kill off the jittery excitement that had been running through his body.

Dazai’s index finger traces the outline of his lips, his mind races. What does he do? If you’re in danger, he can’t just let you go back to your apartment and leave you undefended in a sketchier part of the city. His enemies will jump on it. They’ll target you. But he can’t just keep you here. It’ll be too risky, you’ll figure out who he is and what he does, and that’s not even considering the fact that maybe you won’t even want to stay. You might wake up in the morning and head to someone else’s place—you’d made a vague comment about not wanting to intrude and going to a friend’s house tomorrow but the thought makes his stomach twist a bit.

God, he’s so conflicted.

But the first thing to handle is making sure that you don’t go back to your apartment alone. The rest he can figure out later on—he has to decide if he’d rather try to keep you around the base and risk you figuring out what he does (god, he wants to keep you around) or if he should just send you off to a “friend’s” (he still stands by the fact that your ‘friends’ are shitty because what sort of friends leave their drunk friend alone at a bar with a stranger—even if he knows that he’d rather let the world burn than see harm come upon you, they don’t know that) with an extra protection detail. One that you wouldn’t know is there, naturally.

But how does he make sure you don’t go back to your apartment after the leak is fixed?

He thinks to himself, an idea coming to him swiftly. It’s a bit dark, yes, and he’s sure that if you knew, you’d run for the hills but… to keep you safe, he would do whatever it takes. Even if you’d hate him for it if you knew.

But what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says before the man can leave his apartment. Chuuya stops dead in his tracks, not turning to look at Dazai, but waiting for whatever he has to say. “I’m going to text you the number of her landlord… make sure he doesn’t get her apartment fixed any time soon. And let Gin-chan know I might have a guest for the next few days so she’s not caught off guard tomorrow.”

Chuuya scoffs. “You’re a freak, Dazai.”

Dazai only smiles idly to himself, eyes sliding shut as he leans back in the chair at his desk, Chuuya leaves without another word, Dazai loses himself in thoughts of you.

A freak? Yeah, maybe. In love? Definitely.

Should he convince you to stay with him? The thought bounces around his head frantically. He doesn’t know the answer. The more careful part of him screams no, tells him that it’s too dangerous to keep you around. It’s dangerous for you, because the longer you’re around here, the more at risk you’ll be of getting hurt. It’s dangerous for him, because the longer you’re around here, the more at risk he’ll be of getting exposed,

But the less logical part of him, the one that’s consumed by the idea of you, and the chance he has of being with you, is much louder.

You came to him, he reminds himself. You found him. He tried to be good. He did everything he could to stay away from you, but you still found him. And you chose to seek him out again. You chose to. It’s easier to blame it on you, convince himself that you brought this upon yourself, as if you had any idea what sort of sick and fucked up person Dazai really is, as if you have any idea what’s happened to you in every other universe because of him.

He can never go back to how he was living before meeting you; he can’t.

You came to him.

Why should he have to let you go now?

With that thought in mind, Dazai thinks the answer to his question is made abundantly clear.

#᯽. fic recs #right off the bat #the opening to this installment was sooooo goooddddd carina what????#the comparison of even with the forbidden fruit and dazai with read #i’m ill #AND THE COUNTER HE HAS ON HOW LONG ITS BEEN SINCE HE LAST SAW HER #ILL #he is so down bad for her it’s borderline pathetic #not him picturing her with someone else and getting worked up over it bye #he is #he is so pathetic #rip dazai #oh boy #this girl is just as down bad bye #reader is soooo down bad #i’m squealing at how cheesy dazai and reader are it’s so precious omg #AND HE ORDERS HER A DRINK HE KNOWS SHE WILL LIKE #I SWOON THIS IS SO CUTE UUUGGGHHHHH #IM GIGGLING SO HARD RIGHT NOW #OH GOD AND THE PINKY SWEAR #GOOD BYE #THATS SO MFING CUTE #:((((( dazai getting mosty eyed over her making him hot chocolate for the first time #i’m wailing they’re soulmates fr #THEYRE DANCING IN THE RAIN OH MY GOD #SHE INITIATED IT THIS TIME #IM CRYING #THIS IS SO PRECIOUS THEY ARE SO PRECIOUS I LOVE THEM #she notices his spiral and brongs him back i’m gonna throw up #i’m snorting so hard at albatross i love him

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tonycries · 1 month ago

Text

Bed Chem - T.F.

Synopsis. No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Toji, OMÉGAVERSE AU, slight enemies-to-Iovers, rúts, breéding, MARATHONS, cúmplay, búlges, Toji is BIG, heats, face-sítting, 69, spítting, praise, oraI (f + m), knottíng, he goes FÉRAL, DÚMBIFICATION, one use of “ma’am”, fated mates, matíng bites, p talking, breaking furniture, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.9k (whoops)

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“-oh! And, darling, my friend recently showed me this new serum that could-”

“-help with my…condition, huh?” You’re finishing off, teeth grit almost as hard as your fingers were around your glaring phone. “Mom- I’ve already told you that I want nothing to do with those sketchy inducers. I’d rather stay dormant like this forever.”

There’s slight static crackling from the other end of the line, “I’m just so worried for you, especially with that massive alpha-”

“Who? Wait- Toji?” You’re braving out a chuckle, gut clenching at the memory of your utterly hot new neighbor and his muscles upon drool-worthy muscles. “Y’know, the doctor has already determined that it’s impossible for me to go into my first heat now.”

And despite it all, you can’t help but drink in a deep inhale the moment you step foot into your cozy local convenience store. Only for your senses to be met with…nope. Nothing, again.

“Besides-” Fingers hovering over that angry red End button, you’re speed-walking your way as inconspicuously as possible towards the Heats and Ruts aisle. “-Toji doesn’t have ruts.”

Well…

Nobody ever said that you weren’t a hypocrite - but, hey, you were desperate at this point.

Even if you had to consider another one of your mom’s attempts to artificially induce your inner omega into finally putting in the work.

With your goodbyes hastily muttered, and your phone stowed deeply away into one of your pockets, you find yourself slowing down near that one particular section of the Omega shelves. Gulping at the somewhat-shady inducer portion that you found yourself familiar with ever since you’d reached late puberty without a single heat.

It was ridiculous, but it wasn’t impossible.

Mandatory school bloodwork revealed you to be an omega - yet, you felt like anything but that. Anything but what you supposedly were as you watched more and more of your fellow omega classmates miss out on a week or two of school to deal with their heats.

Consoling you with pitying glances and half-hearted complaints that alpha scents were annoying anyway. But you didn’t care if the pheromones were obnoxious, and the cycles even more so.

Your months just came and went by without any of it.

You’d visited many fertility and growth doctors over the years, and not a single one had been able to pinpoint exactly what was blocking you from accessing the pheromones and biology that everyone else could. That you wanted to.

Hell, even betas were said to have at least a faint ability to smell wafting clouds of musky perfumes.

Most professionals claimed that everything was as it should be, that you might just be dormant - a late-bloomer, if you will. A very, very late bloomer.

A majority presented at the start of puberty, or perhaps - in only very rare, alleged cases you found on barren forums - after meeting their fated mate. Two souls bound to fill in each other’s missing pieces.

The theory was something you let yourself indulge in guilty sips, the sort of fantasy that flashed through your mind right before you wound up with yet another heartbreak.

But after graduating college without a mere half-sign of anything to do with your second gender, you vehemently called bullshit on that one.

Some suggested that you might merely be a beta in disguise. It was almost comforting to think that it might have all been one big mix-up, yet, every medical test after medical test you’d done always came out the same.

An omega.

“Damn second genders.” You’re grumbling, traitorously curious fingerpads skimming over the sterile boxes of medicines with official-sounding names. You’d tried out a few with the least amount of side-effects before, and it always ended up being a waste of your time (and your paycheck.) “Damn- damn inducers-”

CLACK!

In your reveried haste a few unstable boxes of products found themselves plonking onto the ground. Wincing at the withering glare of the manager unhelpfully peeking in from a few aisles down, you urgently dropped to your knees to put them back-

“Damn, what did those scented lotions do to you? Remind me not to get on your bad side, doll.”

You see him before you hear him - strong, engulfing hands motioning into your field of vision to dexterously grab at the mess you’d created.

And then once you hear him it isn’t any better, because you could recognize that richly rumbling baritone anywhere.

“Wha-” Cutting your own self off with a strangled mess of a yelp the moment your furrowed gaze looks with viridescent eyes. “-oh.”

Oh? Oh?

Toji Fushiguro quirks up one brow in a way that is unfairly attractive, sultry scar engraved onto one side of his sleazy grin tilting up ever-so-slightly. And was that- a dimple? “Heh- n’ the pretty girl says oh. Cat got your tongue, sugar?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing that this was the first time you’d ever been so…close with the man himself.

Usually settling for grumbling conversations from your doorstep and incoherent text conversations from his toddling, cherub-faced son stealing Toji’s phone.

So ah, there was one thing you’d forgotten to mention to your mother. Sure, you might have let it slip that Toji was…ruggedly handsome - all Herculean physique, a glossy black Harley Davidson bike, and long legs that carried him well over six feet - but you’d always omitted one thing.

He was just so cocky.

And you can already feel your blood curdling strangely in your veins, scoffing out a heated puff of breath. “Nah, more like the alpha in the Omega section is.” Darting your eyes anywhere but at the strain of Toji’s sinful compression shirt sneaking winking at you underneath his leather jacket, practically painted onto the ridges of his washboard abs. “Thinkin’ of a secondary gender change, Toji?”

“Ah, yeah yeah-” He’s rolling those hooded eyes, leaning in so pointedly close that you can practically feel his slow, seeping look up and down. “-got tired of havin’ cute lil’ omegas falling all over f’me.”

You scramble to finally stand, “You wish.”

The bout of husky snickers that escape from him make your thighs squeeze together, and Toji’s promptly following you to place back all those fallen lotions. “‘Course I do. That n’ the brat is out on a trip with his lil’ pink-haired friend, m’just killing time.” Tilting his head at you, “You? Thinking of going for alpha? Or…” Crossing his big, beefy forearms, and he must know the effect that has on you and your greedily ogling eyes. “-an alph-”

“Just this.” You’re cutting him off before Toji could fray at your sanity even more, holding up that heat-inducing serum your mother had mentioned.

But, oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the expression you’d expected on the handsome face of Toji Fushiguro. Maybe something more smug, perhaps even amused as he realized your little predicament- but never this.

Eyes stony, sharp jaw clenching with a jumpy little tick. And Toji’s fingers are so thick when they pluck the box cleanly off your hands, the split-second graze of his burning skin making you feel almost feverish.

“This trash? Yer takin-” He’s glaring down at the serum as if it had offended him personally five times over. Something about the utter look of discontent makes your chest burn, “-this trash?”

You find yourself defensive, “N-no. At least, not yet. What about it-”

“Because s’gonna ruin your inner workings that’s what.” And for all the world, you never expected to be getting lectured by Toji Fushiguro of all people on your health - though, one look at his sculptured body should have told you all you need to know about just how seriously he takes it. “Don’t even know why s’on the market. S’not good for ya, mama.”

And you knew that. Probably. But ah, the things you do when you’re at your ropes end. “And? I’ve never had a single heat my whole life, y’know?”

“And I should know, bratty doll.” Toji murmurs, throwing that oh-so-famed miracle serum haphazardly back onto the shelf and flipping off the manager who glares at him. “Haven’t had a single rut in years, not since Megumi’s- anyways, all these inducers here are full of shit.”

“Oh.”

Wrapping a staggering arm around your waist to guide you, your body practically burns. Weird. “Tch- silly girl.”

Two peas in a pod.

Before you know it, you’re being dragged by a disgruntled Toji away from the treacherous clutches of the Heats and Ruts aisle and past the cashier - who only smiles as you so-very-subtly sneak in a long whiff of the air.

Again. Nothing.

With the stinging pang of disappointment, you sigh as you step outside. Only for Toji to rub your back with a hum, “S’alright. You’ll be alright, sugar- you’re my strong girl, huh?” Eyes widening at just how…sweet Toji was being. That is, before he opens his mouth once more- “Besides. Who needs inducers when you’ve got such a big strong alpha-”

“Pass.”

“Don’ act like ya don’t like it, little miss neighbor. I see how ya look at me.”

“I- I don’t-” You did. And you do. And you will - in fact, you were looking at him that way right now as Toji swings over one thick thigh to straddle the padded leather seat of his prized Harley Davidson. Looking like he’d just stepped out from your wettest of dreams and it makes you almost simper out a sigh.

He’s jutting his head back at the tempting extra space behind him, and you could already hear the suggestion oozing into his next words. “Mhm— whatever ya say, girl. Now stop just standing there looking pretty n’ get over here, I’m a busy man.”

It’s almost as if on auto-pilot when you do.

Toji Fushiguro’s motorbike was big, and just as intimidating as he was. And it’s only on shaky legs that you manage to press yourself only mere precarious inches away from his hulking form. “Heh, ‘er name’s Harley. Fitting for a bike, huh?”

“If- if you crash I’ll kill you.” You’re puffing out a few thickly muffled words through the sleek matching black helmet he was deftly putting on you. Wondering just what led you to be…here of all places.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll help ya hide the body.”

“M’serious- no funny business.”

“Uh huh, anything else, mistress?”

“And I’ve seen you run red lights so no-”

SMACK!

Your heart stutters with a loud ba-dump! as Toji’s rounded, calloused fingertips leave a good smack against the side of your thigh to get your yammering mouth to halt. And he’s letting off a titter at the shocked expression of your face even through the tinted helmet before turning to rest his hands on the handlebars.

“Hold on tight.”

It’s all the warning you get - and, honestly speaking, you don’t think any sort of warning could’ve prepared you for the way that Toji rides.

Something about it is so attractive.

Maybe it was the creaking stretch of leather as his biceps strained against it from underneath, maybe the way your ears ring with his words even louder than the growl of the bike, maybe it was the way that you were holding him.

Arms stretching to connect over Toji’s broad front, your skin mushes against the curvaceous mounds of his toned pecs. Firm and warm. So, so warm that you can’t help the way that your eager self was mindlessly inching ever-so-slightly closer-

“Phew.” Startling - but not moving away - at the low whistle that Toji blows out, eyes still trained weaving through traffic. “Dangerous game yer playin’, omega.”

Sidling even closer, the defined angles of his back muscles only flexed at the innocent smooch of your tits. “What?”

“S’fucking close.” And not just to him, but to his scent glands. So sensitive and prickling the shaggy black hair at the base of Toji’s neck just from your heated proximity. Huh, strange. “S’a damn good thing I ah- don’t get my ruts, huh?”

And, suddenly, you’re despising what these helmets hide from you. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t get my heats, huh?”

The exact same words playing over and over in your minds once Toji’s braking to a stop at his designated spot right outside your apartment building. And part of you almost feels upset that this little ride with him was over.

Letting him do as he pleases when he’s seating around gruffly to take off both your helmets himself, you couldn’t help but notice that something about the air seemed…thick. Like it had just been dipped in candy and right now you were gladly suffocating in the sugary sweetness.

Your eyes catch onto a lock of deep black that’d curled behind Toji’s ear - and you knew right then and there that something was wrong, you knew that you weren’t thinking. That you weren’t listening to your common sense.

Because before you can stop yourself - before you can even register it - you’re swiping away the stray tuft, sensory curves of your fingertips just catching onto the skin above where Toji’s smooth glands should be.

“Fuh-fuck-” He’s hissing, willowy eyes curtaining behind a scrunch of his lids, and it’s almost as if on instinct that his thick digits fly upwards to trap your hands right there. “Hold on- just a little, mama-” Pressing down even tighter, and the way that Toji’s letting his head tumble back makes your mouth lacquer with a syrupy wave of drool. “-s-so you said you haven’t had a heat in years-”

“Ever.”

“-ever, huh?” Dewy whirlpools of his eyes examine you, and suddenly you feel like running away. But Toji only grins, “Say, why don’tcha scent me?”

Your maw falls slack with a hot shudder, and you’re not sure if it’s in shock or if it’s from how much you wanted it. To have an alpha offering himself on a silver platter - let alone Toji. Letting out an eloquent, “Wh-what?”

You’re being reeled in even closer with a tug of Toji’s strengthened hands, plummeting onto his chest with a cushioned oof–! He only repeats, breathing bated like he didn’t want to know anything himself until you did. “Scent me, pretty girl.”

“I-I don’t know why-” Your fingers unlatch, and you swear it makes Toji’s chest rumble with a low whimper. Steadily planting them onto the collar of his overpriced jacket to pull. “But if this is your idea of a- oh.”

Shit.

And something…is different. There.

Was- was this how he smelled? This heady concoction of jasmine and something so undeniably…Toji?

Something snaking and boiling bubbles up throughout your body, you all but slump yourself into his eagerly awaiting arms. You can’t even register what you’re doing, nuzzling into his tender throat. Can’t even recognize the look on your face when you’re gasping in greedy heavals of what was obviously his scent.

That you could smell.

With a gasp, you’re pulling away, eyes diverting to him and- oh, it was much the same for him.

There was no other explanation for the lecherous look of devastation on Toji’s pretty features right about now.

Scarred lips parting in awe, weighty lids drooping down until those heart-eyes him were almost invisible, face veiled with a delicate flush. His palms find their way to rest on the dip of your hips and stay there.

You’re croaking out, “T-Toji-”

It happens so fast - too fast.

It’s as if your mere voice was enough to send a zillion volts of electricity shattering down Toji’s spine, jolting him with something darkly visceral. Enough to snap up one tannish forearm and bite-

“Ngh-” Toji’s pearly canines coat with a slight tinge of red, eyes shuttering open - and you notice that they seem slightly less glassy now. Slightly. “-fuck ya really are dangerous, doll. Was almost g’na have me take you right here right now.” The slight dip of his strawberry-pink tongue as Toji pulls away makes you gulp, “N’ I don’ wanna spend my first rut in years here.”

Toji couldn’t think - he couldn’t breathe. And if he was any lesser man he’d have fallen to his knees with only one whiff of your candyland smell.

Addictive.

Fingers clutched tightly underneath the plush of your thighs to carry you all the way in through your cozy apartment. Never faltering. Never slowing. You could almost roll your eyes at the blatant reminder of strength if you didn’t feel so feverish.

Toji’s steely eyes light up at the way your trembly fingers clutch the silken hem of your skirt, lips wobbling with every spilling word. “T-Tooooji, feels so hot.”

“S’that so?” He’s swiping the regal button of his nose down where the sides of your neck were swollen, breathing in the hot, sugary waves emanating from your skin. “Feel anything else?”

And the slight hitch of your breath is all that he needs as an answer, well, that and the goopy wetness that was formulating between your thighs. Shit, he never thinks he’s kicked down a door off its hinges harder than he has to your poor bedroom door.

Draping you gently onto the plethora of silken sheets, you whine at the slight recoiling bounce.

Barely even given the time to gather your wits before Toji’s sliding his jacket and his t-shirt teasingly off, all thick, muscled limbs stalking towards you like a predator that’d just cornered his favorite prey. And you eye his rippling back, his rumbling tone speaking over your mattress’ creaks.

“Ya better know…” he’s hurling out, mouth just only centimeters away from yours. Hot. “-m’not here ta fuckin’ play around jus’ cause you’re in heat, sugar.”

Ah, that’s what it was - heat. You were in heat. Fuck.

Your fingers leave neatly indented semi-circles on his flesh when Toji’s grasping your throat tightly, padded ends of his fingers pressurizing right onto the treasure trove of your scent glands. “If I fuck you now, you will be mine. You and…” Before one largely crowned kneecap of his sidles into the snug cove of your pussymound. Weighing down- “...her.”

It’s the only thing you could do to bat your lashes up at him in a way that makes Toji’s achy cockhead twitch. “I want you…wan’ you to touch me, Toji–”

And that’s all that he ever wanted.

Roughened hands shove you meanly back onto the cushy bed, and Toji’s sliding his palms languidly down, down, down every curve and dip on your body. As if he was trying to worship you with them.

“Oh? Only wan’ me to touch ya?” Toji’s humming, Adam’s apple bobbing with wads of salivation once his fingers slink down to curl at your bra strap and snap! “Not to take this off or-” You gasp, the sting almost making you forget those minute rips! echoing from where he was grasping your t-shirt. “-this? Guess I can do whatever I please then, right?”

Before you can say a word of shrill protest, those useless pieces of fabric are tattered off. Ending up not-so-nicely in a pile right beside your bed with Toji’s intact clothes.

“H-hey!” You whine, “Those were ah- limited edition-”

“Ah, I’ll buy ya five more of those.” Toji rolls his eyes when your lips part open, “What? Thought I wasn’t filthy rich or somethin’- Oh, girl, you are about to be spoiled. But first, a kiss-” Innocent and sweet onto your lips, “-here. And…”

Toji huffs out a few cocky sniggers at his own little joke, because of course he does. Leaving you off with a gentle swat! to the perfect curve of your hip and your heartbeat throbbing at your drooling cunt.

He’s shuffling onto his very knees at the bottom of the bed, tutting at how unfairly far you were from his greedy mouth - well, that had to be fixed. You almost get whiplash from how swiftly you’re being dragged to let your jittery legs be thrown right near his tightly coiled deltoids. “-here.”

Head bobbing in an urgent yes yes yes when Toji rids you of your flimsy skirt and slowly slides down your drenched panties. All bunched up and leaving a glimmering coating of slick down your skin.

Stuffing it into his pants pocket, “This is a lil’ reward f’me.”

“Filthy.”

“Oh, well helloooo there, pretty girl.” He’s drawling, eyes flashing with such darkness at the heavenly mess of a banquet all laid out in front of him. “You’re so in heat- so fuckin’ in heat. See? Who needs fuckin’ inducers when ya have me.”

Toji’s pupils were swallowing up his verdant orbs. Needy. And he’s unashamed in taking a long deep inhale of your saturated pheromones. His favorite perfume now. “Lookin’ real happy ta see me. Happy s’your hah- first heat, hm?”

You’re squirming, fingers tangling into his silken tresses in an attempt to try and shove his face closer. “Are- are you talking to-”

“Hush now, doll.” Toji leaves a wet pap! of his fingers thwacking against the treacly slit of your pussy, watery with your flooding slick and greedy. “Lemme talk to ‘er- lemme talk this cute cunt through her first heat. M’honored, y’know?”

And honored just doesn’t begin to cover it.

Toji was devoted.

It’s like your wafting clouds of heady scent made his mind dizzy, until the only thing he could do was to let his slutty tongue loll out and sliiide at the splatters of translucent sap soiling your inner thighs.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re squirming your hips in a wild buck upwards, only to have him pin you down with the heavy-handed weight of his forearm. “-feels so- so…”

“Yeah? Good? Ya always get this wet or s’that jus’ f’me?”

Truly, you could only jumble out a few nonsensical syllables. Because Toji didn’t want to waste a single ounce of your precious juices, slurring out a few open-mouthed kisses across every inch of skin you’d exposed to him. And the moment that rosy peak of his tongue touches upon your teary pussy- oh.

He thinks he might just be the one about to cry.

Because you didn’t just smell like his favorite candied lollipops - you tasted like it, too. And, fuck, he can’t help but go in for seconds. Thirds.

Guffawing out breathily with disbelief, he’s drawling his tongue to mush open the gummy folds of your pussy. Swirling out a lazy flick of his sopping muscle to stretch out the tight ring of your wide agape-

“Just look at ‘er all hngh- overflowing.” You watch with bated breath when Toji’s prying your quivering entrance with a bullying few inches of a singular thick index - only one, but Toji was so incredibly towering with his size and strength that you find yourself keening. Coral pink lips puckering up to give your hooded clit a squelching kiss. “Heh…like a damn waterpark, aren’t ya?”

Filthy words only making you filthier. Making your omega inside blink up and yearn.

Your gushing wads of juices bawling from between your legs in torrent. And you yelp at the lecherous sounds that echo out - the waterlogged squelches and slurring that only makes Toji grin. Wild and sly. “Mhm, real talkative.”

Arching your back into the perfect slutty curvature off of the prespired sheets, “Tojiii- s-stop teasing n’ give me- ngh- more.”

More.

And just then you feel him fuck his softened digits into you slow and thorough. Curling up to swipe down the mushy soft spots of your walls - Toji was burning up. But you were burning up even more, and shit.

Shit. shit shit shit-

You don’t know if it’s because of your heat, or if it’s because Toji is just that good with that rude mouth of his - but you’re cumming faster than the thought could even flash across your melty mind. “Wait- m’close ngh- Toji- I’m gonna-”

It’s like a tidal wave of bliss peaked up further and further with every slashing motion of Toji’s gyrating make out with your cunt. You’re so very extra sensitive right now and he makes use of it - bumping up that rounded angle of his nose to press your fleshy clit just right.

It’s so intoxicating. So heady that he finds himself pushing back those sweat-dampened bangs of his to lower down loooong breath. And then finally another passionate French kiss onto your bulging pussy.

“Fuck- I-” Pearlescent droplets of tears welling up at the scrunched corners of your eyes. “M’so- sensitive–”

God, his wolfish canines were sharp nipping teasingly into the fat pucker of your pussy lips. Parting your slick-gleaming mound to squeeze his tongue into your tight hole, the stretch is incredible. It’s staggering. And Toji can only sully your insides with a gentle brush of his lengthy tongue along your gooey insides before pulling back with a huff.

And then again- to let out a throat groan when your elastic walls push with resistance. And again. And again and again-

“Now m’offended.” Toji’s letting out a surly swat! where you’re trickling down viscous fluids of sickly sweet slick that coat his mountainous knuckles, his wrist, the raised trailways of his veins. “Wanted more but tha’s all ya can take- tch.”

Oh, by the time your white-hot tingles of pleasure were bating you should’ve known better than to think that Toji Fushiguro was done manhandling you with his superhuman strength to every whim and want of his.

That he would give you even a second of a warning before hovering over your frame and flipping you into such a pliable position over him.

His back hitting the puff of the pillows, strands of hair making a dark halo underneath him. Toji looks so fucking handsome that you can feel your pussymound slobber a few streaky puddles of slick onto his heaving abs.

Hands positioned on either side of his leering head, you mewl. “Give me a warning first, you animal-”

“Hell yeah.” He’s snarking up at you, but there’s not a single speck of heat behind his words other than towards you. Towards what he wanted to do to you. Planting a heavy smack! on your ass, “Tha’s right you’ve got me in a rut after years like a fuckin’- animal. Heh, so jus’ lemme throw my pretty omega ‘round a lil’, I can feel how wet that gets ya.”

“N-noo- it doesn’t-” But that was a fucking lie and both of you knew it, knew it from the syrupy pool of sap laminating his heated skin.

“See? She’s on my side. Doesn’t talk back.” The curvaceous pads of his fingers twiddle and tease your plumpened clit, so dirtily that it only makes your dripping cunt drool even further. Leaving a gauzy cobweb of treacly slick with every swat! swat! swat! he gifts. “Has anyone ever had her seated on a mouth, sugar? Made you feel good that way?”

Your head shakes before the thought has even contorted itself into an understandable shape. “No- no one has- ngh- before.”

It’s a confession, it’s a line plucked right from Toji’s filthiest thoughts on those late, late nights.

And he couldn’t look happier when molding you to the exact shape and angle that he wants you in. Turning you right around to bare your sodden pussy from the back, your unbalanced thighs curling on either side of his ravenous head.

Not even a single command, yet your head is swimming with honey at just how much you were like putty underneath his hands.

Your head cranes over the plane of your shoulder to give him a pretty plea. “Toji?”

“Mhmmm, Toji’s right here, pretty girl.” He’s awestruck - stunned with the gumdropping droplets of sap plopping down onto his tongue and sliding right down his throat. Making him groan, “Filthy fuckin’ pussy, can feel ya ngh- dripping allll down my tongue.”

And he’s drunk. He’s babbling, he’s heaving and heaving to inch his intoxicated maw to connect with your saturatedly glossy pussy lips. “Lower her down so I can give her lil’ smooch.”

Your hands nimble down along the tufted black happy trail brushing from between his navel and going down, down, down. “L-like this?”

“Nah, more. Can’t believe all those pathetic boys never had ya hah- sitting on their faces. Spread those pretty legs n’ lemme show you-” You can’t even begin to think about merely hovering your entire deadweight above him, because Toji was ready. And he was hauling you to rest every single mass of your flesh onto him, “-how a real man fucks.”

Thickly viscous helpings of your generous slick flood his mouth the second that Toji’s lengthy tongue is burrowing between your folds and driving you mad.

Sliding all the way up and down up and down up and down with a welcoming flit at your buttoned clit and then pumping you overwhelmingly full. Fucking you with the overheated scratch of his tastebuds exactly the way that he wanted to with his achy cock right now.

“Can still taste m’self on ya- haaah- good.”

Toji wasn’t holding back.

“O-oh my god, m’so sensitive.” Your moans come out mangled. Wanton. Spilling from between your parted lips right along with rivulets upon rivulets of waterfalling saliva every single time that Toji’s bumping the curvaceous search of his tongue into your earliest sweet spots. “Slow down, Toji–”

Your fists maze through the velveteen blankets and clench, hips jerking up-

“Nuh uh, doll, no runnin’ away from your Toji.” Sliding up one slick-glazed hand to snake the small of your back, he’s using his face to nudge your legs even further. Drowning your sobbing cunt with a fat wad of spittle, Toji’s licking down the stray speckles that gravitate back onto his own mouth. So dirty that it makes him delirious, nose crinkling, bottom lip bitten. “Yeahhh, crack ‘em open even wider. She’s eager.”

Eager you were.

Jostling your hips against his mouth until through your clouded mind you were wondering whether he would suffocate. But little did you know that this might just be Toji’s ideal death - buried right there between your pretty legs.

You’re being bounced so hard that you can feel your legs aching with the strain, hollowing out shuddered breaths and whines of Toji, Toji—

“Say my name.” He’s huffing, easing in a thick few inches of his fat digits that fill up the snug geysering orifices. Each n’ every single volume of space that’s inside you, and those puckered pecks leave screeching squelches that have you halfway through sobbing. “Say my name- say my name heh, g-gonna have a looot of ngh- noise complaints after this.”

Even though he’s saying this, he doesn’t do anything to deter you. Why the hell would he?

Pumping you full of one finger, two, three until your gummy ring of muscle was being molded to the plump circumference of his lengths. Multi-tasking.

All the way until he was slathering the patterned bumps of his knuckles with a sticky second skin of slick, Toji curls those rounded tips down the tenderized walls of your channel and drags. Feeling for that one special target of his-

“G’na make ya feel s-so good.” He’s whispering, breathing like it was the truest of true words. And shit- he hasn’t felt like this for ages now - years. Secondary gender growling from his inner depths with guttural need to give you more more more. “Gonna find- ah- found it.”

And Toji knows he found it with the way you squeal. Wafting scent intensifying, lashes fluttering with a clinging swash of tears once he jerks a good push into that bulging bullseye that makes you see stars.

“Right there- Toji– right there-”

“S’fucking loud.” He’s rolling his eyes for what seems like the nth time today, but it was impossible not to when you were just so cute being teased like this. Bubbling out a few sloshes of slick and spit when your fingers dip right underneath his trousers and push. “O-oh? Trynna keep yer mouth full, huh? Let’s see ya try then.”

Your low lip juts out into a pathetic sort of pout that Toji finds adorable, that only makes his clothed cock pool out a darkening patch of precum onto his boxers.

“Wan’ taste you- make you feel good.” Your words are warbly and broken, tone hitching upwards with every tiny slip of his sticky underwear downwards. It’s like you were teasing him - teasing yourself. And your inner omega was oh-so-very impatient. “Wanna make you feel…oh.”

“Heh, cat really got yer tongue now, huh?”

And you couldn’t even retort, you couldn’t even snap back as you usually might have because you were stunned.

Maw falling slack at the generous girth that was throbbing fatly between your fingers, honestly from this lecherous angle it seemed like a struggle to even close your fist around him. Because Toji was…big - and even saying that was an understatement.

Just about nine throbbing inches with hefty breeder balls that your bleary gaze could make out, flushed a candied pink on the rounded curve of his mushroom tip. Graduating down, down, down into a pale baby rose - you didn’t know whether it was the heat talking but right now he just looked like your favorite sort of lolly.

“L-look so pretty, Toji.” You babble away, words getting breathier and breathier as sloppy as his kisses get. Your puckered lips are almost stinging with just how thorough he was. “Wanna taste…”

Oh, and you didn’t realize that one perk of having your secondary gender presented was realizing the shift in his pheromones.

You didn’t know how you knew but there was a tinge of utter adoration in Toji’s jasmine-infused scent as you plop down a wet mass of slippery saliva right onto his strawberry divot. Lathering the split, plummy globe before planting your mouth down and kissing.

Your mushy tastebuds looping little motions over the creamy butter-topped cap of his splurging cock, he tastes so heady. Rich pre melting on your tongue and it was so musky, so…him.

“Oh, girl-” he’s breathing out through a rasping sigh. Darkened brows marrying together at just how warm your mouth was sheathing around his painfully hard shaft, “That’s it- thaaaat’s it. Suck on my cock like a good girl, mama—”

“Ngh-” Your jaw aches, throat jumping at the squeezing sensation of his lustrously crowned tip tunneling right down. Craning your head so that he could count every bounce, “S-sho bwigh.”

You were so heavenly, alternating to leave shy little snogs over and under his sensitive slit - and Toji was one competitive man. It was in his nature, of course.

Tumbling your hips to rest even greater onto his mouth, he didn’t need to breathe. Didn’t even want to even dream of it when he had the circles of his fingerpads latched on your jiggling ass so hard it was sure to leave battered bruises for the next week and weeks and weeks.

“Damn, she’s good, huh?” Toji’s whispering at the sopping wet purse of your lips, “But I can’t have myself c-cum before- fuuuck- my girl.”

Your eyes were sprinting all the way to the back of your heavy lids with ever swaying lash of his mean mouth. And it didn’t matter just how vulgarly you were sliding your starved tongue down the heated ridges and veins of his swollen cock - Toji was doing ten times worse.

Every deepening inch you swallowed up into your cavernous mouth only made him plug you fuller. Every stray swipe of the thick, ivory beads of his pre made Toji douse out lumping masses of saliva lewdly. And every twitch that made you sure Toji was right on course to tumbling over the edge was urging him to push you headfirst into your orgasm with a final teasing pinch at your clit.

And your mouth opens with an accusing gasp - did he just…pinch your clit? But all thoughts of his audacity and the fact that Toji was chuckling out right after washed away as soon as your high was flooding you.

Moans being muffled around his generously fat shaft, the only thing that you get is just a single wispy wire of condensed cum being lacquered onto your tongue. Just one. Right before Toji’s free hand splays out onto your scalp and pulls you free with a wet pwah!

“Tha’s it-” You hear him mutter in the blinding cloud of your orgasm, it felt so blissful that some darkly primal part of you said that you were never letting him go after this. He was yours. Your mate. “-louder. Louder– good fuckin’ girl cummin’ all over my mouth.”

Toji didn’t know how the hell was multitasking with your pussy kindly spraying him with a sheeny covering of all your remnant juices. But for you? Anything.

Anything anything anything and he was whispering the very same mantra into the quavering, slick-flooded entrance of yours. Letting your hips drag sloppy grinds to ride out every edge of your peak - to use him in a way that no other alpha might just.

Toji’s strokes up into your tightly-clasped fist were deep, and he doesn’t stop even when your eyesight stops tinging with black. Not even when your back arches with oversensitivity, waterfalls of tears producing from your ducts. Sobbing, “I-I’m- ngh- Toooji- I can’t anymore-”

“Sure, ya can–” Looking you right into your thoroughly half-lidded eyes as he nods along with the slurring symphony that he was orchestrating from between your overworked legs. “-she says ya- ngh- can.”

Toji wanted to taste you again. Needed it.

“But-” And, yet, he finds his ear perking up at the wobbly sound of your voice, blushing bludgeoning tip creaming out another thick mess of white. “-but I wan’ my next- ah- next orgasm around your cock, Toji–”

And, well, how could he say no to that?

Toji thinks he could never say no to anything you ask ever again with the way you were positioned precariously on top of him and still begging.

He’s saying goodbye to your pretty pussy with a slow peck as a lover would. Breathing in heavily - oh, how he loved the smell of you. “M’gonna see ya later, m’kay? Don’t miss me too much.”

And another gifted spank! to your tenderized ass makes you jerk a few inches off of his sugary mouth. Sweet, sweet praises being pecked up the bending arch of your spine when he sits you down all cutely on his lap.

You’re heaving out a huff, scent glands throbbing with a spike of something slightly salty. Jealousy. “M’startin’ ta think you’re playing ngh- favorites.”

“Well, duh.” He’s fluttering his long, bestowed lashes with an eyeroll, barely even flinching before cupping your slobbering pussy with one large palm. Teasing, “I’ve got yeeears ta make up for.”

Years of desperation and need pouring and pouring out when Toji folds you easily onto all fours.

And that’s when you’re getting a thorough striking of exactly three times that Toji’s sappy crownhead jolts upwards with a few gummy kisses hello up and down the crying middle of your pussy lips. Smooching. Gently. Before he’s snuggling right beside your hole-

With you bent over and arched right how he wanted you - oh, he was so enjoying the view. Saturated bursts of cloudy pheromones hitting your feverish body and only making the fountains of translucent slick increase tenfold.

Shit, you were so wet that Toji has to force himself to let one greedy hand go from its favorite job trapping you underneath him.

Guiding a few dexterous digits to wrap around the bulkily bloated cylinder of his base, he takes his time slipping and sliding.

“Might wanna hold yer breath, mama, h-heh…” You’re squirming your hips deeper into those pronounced hip bones of his despite the fact that simply breathing won’t help you take on his monstrous size. But you wanted to. You needed to. “Gotta c-count- ngh- eeeevery inch like a good girl now, m’kay?”

And that’s exactly what he made you do.

“Oh!” Saltily flavored globules of your tears had your lips wetted, blubbering unconsciously when Toji anchors the hills of his palm onto the ends of your spine and pushes. “Shit- Toooji, why the hell are you s-so big-”

“Now that doesn’t sound like a ngh- ‘one’ ta me…” But of course, who was Toji if it wasn’t for a little bit of teasing. Just enough to get your lips pouting cutely and your gluey walls clinging around him as if afraid he would pull away. Adorable. “Now now, c’mon- don’t tell me the biiig stretch has made ya forget how to ah- count, mama.”

So easy to rile up, to get you shaking your head so fervently that you swear you could feel your melty mind tumbling about like a bobble head. “N-no. I can count.”

“Then, say it w’me-” And oh, you knew that tone. That feral tone of his that would never ever bode well for you or your needily dripping pussy. Toji’s inching his hips back mere sinful inches, drawling out all the while. “-oooone.”

He doesn’t even ease you in.

Hitting your spraying cunt with the full force of his mushroom-topped head pushing past the adhesive-like resistance of your flooding entrance. Pushing and pushing and pushing- “One.”

Toji’s hands are clammy - depraved - when they pry your bouncing ass ever-so-slightly to really take in the sight of your gobbling pussy. Because he had no shame. He had no fucking shyness letting out a proud puff of pheromones that make your boneless knees weak.

“There there.” He’s patting that curve of your hip he loved so much - birthing hips, the thought strikes him. Shocked at just how much deeper that drowns him into his heady rut. “My good omega. Now…two.”

“T-two-” You’re sobbing out.

“Hmmm, nah- no stutterin’.”

Oh?

And, honestly, Toji half-expected your omega in heat to snarl at him a little, to let your hugging channel scoop up a hefty few dollops of milky pre right before he’s reeling the familiar pathway forwards again.

But, oh shit, he didn’t expect for you to bare your teeth like a fucking threat. For one hand of yours to dart behind with surprising accuracy and curl around his shaggy haircut, dragging Toji to pump you full. And it wasn’t just one inch. Not two. Not even three - you were damn near yearningly jackhammered with about halfway down his fuming red shaft before he finally got his cottony brain together. “Two.”

“Damn, greedy girl–” Toji praises, though it comes out as more of a rasping growl that sends voltaged shivers down your spine. “Comin’ back for more, already? Knew my dick was hah- heat- alright then-” And the bed rings out with a few symphonied creaks when he shuffles his muscular thighs wider. Steadier. “-but ya better still fuckin’ count.”

Four. five. Six.

More and more - seven and eight.

Up until Toji’s puffy head smudges a wet wipe at the canvas of your cervix. You were so soft there that he obviously has to greet the melty depths of your pussy with a good spurting of ribbony pre, swabbing around those drenched springs with a lazy circle of his hips.

“Eight.” Your jaw spills a surging slew of profanities at the feeling of him spearheading you so open, face pushing into the soft mattress when you perk your hips up and push. Only to gasp at there being- more? “Wait- I want-”

“Down, girl.” Toji’s sweat-shimmered biceps flex when he shoves your too-eager body back. “Gotta get you to at least cum on m’cock again before I give ya my- fuuuuck- knot.”

And Toji fucks you like he’d going to make you remember.

He knows he’s going to make you remember - it’s why he has that big, dopey smirk smearing wider and wider across his face with every fat thud! into the rubbery bounds of your pussy. You’re taking him like you’re made for it, and that only makes his heart stutter even louder than your protesting wooden bedframe.

“Doll, m’gonna ahh- break this damn bed.” He’s uttering out, never ever sounding prouder of himself than right now. “And you.”

“Cocky.”

“Whatever, girl- talk t’me when ya haven’t gotten- hah-” Managing out through blissful hiccups of his breath, “-heart-eyes after bein’ hngh- fucked dumb by me, ‘kay?”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard that correctly - but luckily for you, Toji Fushiguro is allll about keeping his girl in the loop.

All about prancing his rough hands to entrap your wrists and pull you with barely even a wisp of his true strength. Beaded dewdrops of sweat perspiring up and down the heavily toned muscles of his back like their very own personal rollercoaster.

With you right along for the ride with the way that his rightly angled rotund tip romantically scours and scours for your magical g-spot. Jerking you up in midair to snap his slender hips with a particularly vicious pap!

The sensation of skin-on-skin makes your head dizzy, and your core overpour with another sudden downpour of treacling juices. But what was even blasphemously worse was the way that precious geyser embedded into the treasure trove of your walls were pummelled.

Over and over.

“There- right there–” you’re sounding out as if you were a broken record. Every resonating moan of yours accompanied hand-in-hand with the loudest splish-splosh of sputtering juices. Secondary gender working overtime now to make Toji cum. To make him give you his knot- “-wan’ you to c-cum right there.”

“Where?” Toji’s deepening his angle to bump a heavy-handed slam pounded into your cervix. “Here?” At your vehement shakes - honestly, he wondered if you even knew he was taunting you at this point. “Then…” Only to give your peaked clit a mushy squeeze, “-here?”

You’re almost crying at this point, bursts of heat fluctuating between your goopy depths and your swollen scent glands. Full and ready. And it’s a sight so pretty that Toji can feel his stomach twisting already. “N-noooo.”

He almost loses it once your shakier, smaller hands take the lead to guide one of his own all across your thighs where he loved. Your cunt, where he loved just a bit more. And to about halfway along your pretty tummy to press- “Wan’ you to f-fill me up riiight here.”

And Toji only growls, “Riiight there, huh?”

Pinpointing his puffed-up divot to smudgeon repeated heavy collisions into the latched wall of your womb. Once. Twice. Before thrashing your permeated walls with hosing flushes of his cum. Of such thick ribbony wads - and it’s so fucking dense that you feel your hips weigh down.

Or perhaps that was because of your own orgasm the- third of the night?

Just about all you can manage out, syllables falling from your lips slower than you’re being hammered through the faintish spurts of your high. “C-umming–”

Before you know it, you have one of his muscular forearms around your throat in headlock, bulging Toji’s rounded biceps hard and possessively at the bumpy area of your glands.

“Cummin’ again?” Toji snarls against your ear, nails clawing at your hip to keep them under his control. “Yeah- yeahhh tha’s right. Milk your dear Toji, t-take this fucking cock. Take my…”

And Toji was about to overstuff your awaiting hole with the fat circular ring that’d swollen around his base, to finally give you his knot the way he’d been dreaming of ever since you waved at him on the day he moved into this fucking building.

But just one sneaking glance at the ivory lipstain your puffy pussy was wearing, the way the ends of your sopping slit drown with a swamping drip drip drip of his lustrous cum makes Toji go a little…crazy.

Makes the bulgingly tender crook of your neck look so, so tempting.

His glassed-over eyes lock downwards, breath hitching at the way he slowly sinks back out and in has your pussymound mewling out such a cute glomp! His second-favorite girl - after you, of course - was speaking back to him. Lathers of splashing cum painting his bulky heft with a ring of frosted seed.

Oh.

Toji would never get tired of this. How the fuck hadn’t he had a rut in years again?

And he says only one word, “More.”

“M-more?” Your fingers experimentally nudge at the tautly coiled pressure at your stomach and find yourself slobbering - from both drizzling lips. Even with the dredges of pouring cum, you were still so full you felt that you could burst. “Can it even fit?”

Right now he thinks the hazy fog covering his brain would never stop - and he doesn’t want it to. Waves of pheromones wafting off of him in such high concentrations that you find your mouth flooding with saliva all over again.

Cobwebs of it overspilling down onto the veined muscles of his forearm - only increasing in saturation when he tilts your head up in the perfect 90 degree curvature to face his boring gaze. And his mean mouth.

Spitting right onto the tainted bullseye of your tongue, streamy rivers flowing back into your mouth when he firmly nudges it shut. “If yer droolin’ n’ can still t-take ngh– that,” Branding the thorough push of his circled circumference into your cervix like he was branding the swollen indentation there permanently. “-then ya can take allll of haaah- this, okay, mama?”

Shit, was Toji glad that both your concoctions of pheromones kept him still hard. And he’d heard of ruts that lasted a week - two, uncommonly. The longest ever recorded was twenty days and by god was he going to gain the title of world champion.

Even if it meant he had to lift you cleanly off of the now-broken bed, the exact same one that you were only now noticing. Just barely so.

You’re gasping, fingers digging into Toji’s smooth skin when two arms wrap around your middle and jostle you over a few coiling bedsprings that’d started to stick out from one sagging end of the mattress. Being pushed to bend over in such a complaint position at the end of your cool mahogany desk.

You’re dipped deep, but his battering rams were impossibly deeper.

And the zig-zagging probe of his veins were massaging you just right, thrusts determined and practiced now that Toji had every scouring inch of your pretty pussy drilled into his mind.

“Th-three’s the ah-” Toji’s chest rumbles with a sensitized shiver once he hikes up a strong leg, caging you with him and his ruthless cock and him. Letting you gape at the documents rustling and flying about, “-charm. Or was it four? Ngh- f-five? Six?”

Just how long did he intend to mess up your insides?

Though, you really, really aren’t complaining at the way that every merciless dab of Toji’s sharp hips into your fleshy mounds fuck you stupid. Entire body burning up - all the way from his lolling, sweat-stucken head in the crook of your neck, to the splurging torrents of streamy sap coating you.

And then there was that stinging plap! of his tightened knot behind you-

“C-can I have your knot now, Toji—?”

Shit, his hips stutter their sloppy staccato, did you even know what you were asking for?

You never knew that heats came with such a side of begging, but right now you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Or to complain. Because Toji liked it, earning your pillowy walls with extra thorough hits.

“Impatient girl.” He’s raising a hand to give two messy spanks on your bulging pussymound, deep snickers hitting your ear in condensed pants at the way it only makes you filthier. “Real diiiirty, too. mmm, wonder if she’d ngh- m-make an even bigger ngh- mess if I…”

And at this point, you were hanging onto every word falling from his kiss-bitten lips. A side-effect of just how good he was fucking you into the digging edges of your clattering desk right now. “What- ngh- what? P-please-”

“Ohhh, know yer m-manners, huh?” Full body wracking at the oodles of slicked sheens frothing down the plump curve of his globed balls and making them clench. Dangerously so. “S-since ya asked so fuckin’ nicely, I’ll let you ngh- know, sugar.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the way that Toji moistens his parched mouth with a few sultry licks of his lips as if preparing to share his deepest, darkest secret.

Nothing could have prepared you for the notched up burst of his jasmine perfume that makes your legs resemble weak jelly, and Toji’s support yours until they were hovering almost midair.

Because he was craning his head down to nip at your scent glands, with a sudden snicker. Crazed. A few octaves higher. Like he doesn’t even realize it’s tumbling out before sighing, “-wonder if she’d make an even bigger mess once I get ya…pregnant, mama.”

And oh you think you’re cumming - hot spurts of bliss tackling you by surprise. Fuck, and if you thought that the last orgasm had taken a lot out of your Toji then you’re sluttily glad to find out that that was not the case.

The complete opposite, in fact.

You’re sure that Toji cums even more this time, sunken divot into the elastic material of your walls welling up with the creamy helpings of his bloated cock. So much seed spilling out of him that you wondered whether this was the rut or just him.

Just his urge to fuck you full until you were pathetically overspiling, until had had you in a hold so tight that you think you could almost feel Toji’s delicious crownhead fuck his cum into you until it reached your lungs.

For what feels like rounds upon rounds until your saliva had amassed in a forevermore pool underneath you. You didn’t know what time it was. How long it had been-

Only feeling the firm glissade of Toji’s washboard abs against your back. The way his thighs shivered and jerked at every one of your gripping clenches. And despite being so fucked, you were already drooling at the heavenly cushy push and pull of his Adonis-like pecs heaving in throaty gasps.

So unfairly sexy that it made your primal instincts preen. Mate.

And, apparently, Toji was thinking much the same.

“F-fuuuck-” He’s letting his mouth nuzzle the side of your throat with all the tenderness that he wasn’t bestowing upon your sappy cunt. “Think about i-it- you all ngh- round and glowing n’- rooound–“ Rambling and rambling at the wet splashes inside you of his stuffing, “You’d make the prettiest momma.”

As if to prove his point, a gentle hand greets the inflationary outline that was slowly forming its way at your tummy. Made by yours truly - Toji.

“I…” And he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. And his sanity right along with it somewhere up there. “-want that. Oh, I- hngh! want that-”

Words barely out of your mouth before Toji’s hand slams down - he had to keep himself together. He needed to. But that grating desk clearly wasn’t the place, because you flinch when one straining leg snaps!

And Toji’s alpha instincts are flaring up in an instant, wrestling you to the ground right - pulling out for only a nanosecond to flip you onto your prespired back, pretty legs strewn sloppily over his shoulder, even prettier face gazing up at him - beside the wreckage. One that you’d only find it in yourself to worry about much, much later.

Definitely not when he’s patting the curve of your pussy with a softened thwack! Murmuring, “Then..g-gonna hafta- hngh- take it.”

And if you didn’t know any better, then you’d have sworn that the smug Toji Fushiguro’s voice cracked as soon as he was settling for drawing a languid heart pattern around the velvety perimeter of your entrance. Before thumbing his way inside-

“Hck!” Your lip wobbles with oversensitivity, nails clawing red, red lines of raw need across the faintly bubblegum pink flush of his body. “S-Soooo much–”

And, yet, you couldn’t get enough.

You watch with a bitten lip with a fat goblet of sweat drips from Toji’s angular jaw and slithers between his pecs to disappear down below. More - you wanted to fucking ruin him.

The desperation of your heat plummeting in heady wavelengths all around you and making the room smell like a candy heaven.

One that you were very much lost in with the unforgiving stretch of Toji pawing his way to working your sprinkling cunt doubly open. Fingers pumping in quick, methodical half-fucks in the same way that his persistant hips were doing.

Every single recoil against your fleshy cervix causes you both to keen at the wet slosh of his mounds of seed piling up inside you from all the endless rounds before.

Again. And again. And again and again until it feels like countless hours upon hours.

“Ohhhh- w-ait-” Toji stammers out, attractively sharp jaw falling and wrenching shut a few repeated times. And then his hips slow down. “Think s’gonna- ngh- ohhhh yeah, gotta take this kn-knot okay? Like my goood girl, okay?”

You’re filled with countless inches of a staggering girth that you didn’t even know was possible. Because while alphas were big…Toji was extra big.

Extra rounded in his sizable knot, rested upon thickly globular balls that still held such voluminous amounts of cum. Pounding open your eager cunt further and- further-

“I-is it in?” You’re shrilling out, syllables slurring and stumbling together with the incredible stretch being made evident from down below. Fuck, your nails create more painted patterns. You didn’t even want to look - you couldn’t afford to cum again just from the sight.

“J-just ngh- one more inch. Scratch me, ruin me- anythin’. But m’gonna make it f-fit.”

And Toji only hooks in another one of his thumbs, this time swiping the fat pad of a few stray fingers down your buxom clit. “Count w’me, doll-” For his sanity more than anything. Neck straining with a few popping vessels of blood that swell, face reddening with such a maidenly fucking blush as he looks downwards. “-ooone more-”

“-inch.” You finish off, not expecting that exact moment to be when Toji snaps. His patience. You, full of that achingly hot knot that’d been just begging for you to take him the very moment you waltzed up to him with that sweetened saccharine scent.

His favorite now.

Gulping in cavernous quotas of it the moment Toji’s inflated knot pops and he sinks his sharpened canines into your scent glands with a whimper-

Hard enough to taste your honey-glazed pheromones, to draw blood. To be permanent - just as he’d needed it.

Hard enough to make him cum all over again at the feeling of your own teeth making their pretty mark on him. Shit, he didn’t even know if it was fucking possible for his overworked cock anymore. But he sure wasn’t fucking complaining at the delicate splat splat splat of milky cum hitting the back of your pussy.

Already filled to the brim and spilling with every loving grind that Toji was boring down upon you. The only thing that he could manage when you two were connected so…tightly this way.

“Cute.” Toji manages to run his fingers over the proprietorial set of indentations set in his flesh, eyes still laminated dewily with an euphoric sort of stunned awe. “F-fated mates really have some good ngh- bed chem, huh?”

Fated mates. You could only smile and scent that overwhelmingly addictive jasmine scent of his. Taking in a long, deep breath as he held you. Tight.

Yeah, jasmine.

But jasmine was Toji Fushiguro’s.

And you’d be damned if Toji Fushiguro ever let you off that easily.

The smile you’re given is feral, predatory teeth glimmering in the dim lighting and making the neat circle of marks at your neck throb. And something about that told you this was far, far from over.

You could only hope that your floor didn’t suffer the same fate as your bed, and your desk…and your fluttering cunt.

After all, you both did have years to make up for.

“Now the only haaah- way to really test our bed chem is to see whether we can make Megs a big brother.”

A/N. Thinking about making an omegaverse installment for every JJK man- what do you think babygirls?

Plagiarism not authorized.

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