Chapter Text
He’d probably have stepped right over the body if it weren’t for the wet, sticky sound of blood congealing under his shoes.
Oda sighs, shifting his hands in his jacket pockets, and takes in the mess on his front step. The body isn’t very large, so he guesses they’re pretty young. Well, that’s a relative term isn’t it?
His decision is made for him when he hears very faint wheezing, followed by the soft sounds of even more blood dripping down the stone steps. Grudgingly, Oda shrugs off his coat. He crouches down and does his best to be gentle as he wraps his coat around the body. The person lets out a few soft noises of pain but stays otherwise motionless, which makes it that much easier for Oda to roll them over and into his arms.
He picks them up easily. Upon closer inspection the body appears to be a young boy, clearly underweight. He’s bony, hip jabbing Oda’s stomach painfully, but Oda grits his teeth and pushes open the door to his home with his back.
When they’re both safely inside, the boy’s head only hitting the doorframe once, Oda kicks the door shut. He wants to drop the boy onto the couch, but thinks better of it when he manages to flick on the light in the living room. The wounds littering the boy’s chest are bullet holes; suddenly, Oda is a lot less sure of his decision.
The boy settles almost immediately when Oda lays him on the bed. His hands twist into soft blankets, and Oda sits back on his heels. He likes those blankets, getting the blood stains out will be such a pain.
Oda leaves the blankets for now. Even if he were to take them, he would have to wait until he’s done tending to the boy before washing them. Might as well leave him with some comfort.
In the end it doesn’t make a difference. The boy barely stirs as Oda strips off as few layers as he can manage, which doesn’t end up being as many as he’d like. The boy is left in a pair of loose fitting boxers, although Oda tries to maintain some dignity by covering him with a blanket. The bandages on his limbs are probably the worst: they’re all stained horrendously, more so than Oda would expect in spite of the copious wounds on the boy’s body. He peels them off slowly, but by the time he’s done with the first forearm he understands. He’s careful to peel them gently, afraid that pulling too roughly will tug at the barely healed cuts running over every inch of covered skin.
It’s not just the one layer, either. There’s thousands of the cuts, criss crossing over each other with little regard for new or old. Some are deeper than others, but the ones that really stand out are the long, vertical cuts tracing the length of the boy’s forearms. There’s several of those, too, weaving over and under the more superficial scars.
He expects the boy to stir when he reaches his face, but to Oda’s shock he barely moves. The bandages wrapped around his cheek and around his hair are cleaner than the ones on his limbs, but still grey. Although he can’t see any injuries under these bandages, Oda replaces them dutifully.
When all is said and done, every wound on the boy’s body has been cleaned and bandaged. Oda sits back again, finally taking in his work with a strange sense of pride.
He’s fairly sure the boy will live, but he should probably check for internal injuries when the boy wakes up. The thought suddenly reminds Oda that he has a stranger in his home.
Sure, the boy is severely wounded and significantly smaller than Oda, but Oda is also incredibly cautious.
He rummages through the closet until he pulls out the bag he’s looking for. It’s an old work duffel bag, with several tears and stains, but it’s sturdy. He removes two pairs of handcuffs, then pulls free a coil of soft rope. Contemplatively, he looks down at the sleeping figure on his bed.
He kicks the duffel bag back in the direction of his closet before he kneels on the mattress. Each of the handcuffs is looped around a wrist before being brought up to the head board. It’s certainly not the most comfortable arrangement, but it’ll hold. Satisfied, Oda moves down to the end of the bed, where he quickly ties a knot at the corner of the bed frame, where the bedpost rises a few inches above the mattress.
Oda coils the rope around one ankle, securing it with a safe but tight knot, then moves the boy’s ankles a few inches apart before repeating. The other end of the rope loops around the other bedpost, and Oda nods to himself at a job well done.
He almost leaves without covering the boy, but he’s so small and bony that Oda is afraid he might freeze. He tucks the comforter under the boy’s chin before he starts to clean up.
His name is Dazai. He’s 15. He’s a Port Mafia Executive. He wants to die.
Somehow, none of these things phase Oda. He feels like they should, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
He’s going to nurse Dazai back to health, then set him loose like a rehabilitated animal. Oda just wants a simple life.
Dazai has a talent for complicating things, as it turns out.
Oda offers to cook whatever Dazai would like, and so Dazai, still restrained to the bed save for the regular excursions to the bathroom, gives him a lengthy list. Oda tries, really, but every time he presents Dazai with a new, handmade dish, Dazai complains that he didn’t use the right ingredients, and Oda explains why his substitute is better.
Between meals, Oda reads. Sometimes he reads aloud, sometimes he lets the radio play music and reads to himself. Dazai has never expressed a preference either way, so it’s left up to Oda’s whim.
“Noooooo, Odasaku,” Dazai whines one day. Oda pauses, hovering above the reading chair he’s moved into the bedroom for his own comfort. He looks at Dazai questioningly, while Dazai’s gaze shifts to the book in his hand.
“You've read me that one six times now. I’ll have to stab my own ears if you read it again,” Dazai states in way of explanation. Straining, he gestures by jutting out his chin in the direction of the bookshelf. “We should play cards instead. I’m very good at cards.”
Oda considers, still frozen, but ultimately nods, once. He replaces the book on the shelf, although he’s disappointed that he won’t get to read it again yet, and takes the deck of playing cards lying nearby.
“You’re good at cards?” he asks, softly. He won’t tell Dazai, but Oda is also good at cards. He’s interested to see how the executive responds, whether he wins or loses.
Stopping at the foot of the bed, Oda slips the deck into his hand, shuffling several times while he contemplates the situation. “I’ll have to untie you.”
Dazai nods, more vigorously than Oda is comfortable with but not enough to be overly suspicious.
“I’ll behave, promise!” Dazai practically sings, shaking his cuffed wrists. “You can even cuff my hands together if that helps.”
Oda sighs softly, but reaches into his pocket for the keys.
He unlocks the cuffs around the headboard first, before bringing Dazai’s right wrist to his left. Once the cuff has been securely locked around both wrists, Oda unlocks the one connecting Dazai’s wrist and the headboard.
Dazai sits up easily. Oda has given up on tying his ankles, since he’s been so well-behaved. Will he regret that? He doesn’t think so, but he still positions himself between Dazai and the door to the living room. He shuffles the cards again.
“What should we play for?“ Dazai asks curiously. His visible eye is wide, almost comically so, but Oda humors him. “If you can beat me in Texas Hold ‘Em, I will let you leave this house.” He looks around the room again, before Dazai pipes up.
“Chess pieces?” Oda tilts his head. He feels like Dazai read his mind, but he stands to get the chess pieces. After settling back onto the bed he splits the pieces between them. “Each piece I take from you, you tell me a secret about the Port Mafia.”
Dazai snorts. “Confident. I’ve never lost at a game like this,” he reminds Oda, who nods intently.
“Let’s see how good you really are.”
Dazai loses all 18 games. He seethes as he has to reveal yet another secret from the Port Mafia.
“You have a lot of secrets, you really are an executive.” Oda says offhandedly. He shuffles again, focused more on the cards than Dazai’s pouting. Oda deals another hand stoically. He’s amused, but he’s not particularly interested in pissing off the executive .
Dazai’s face is twisted with irritation. “I’ve never lost at this game. You’re using an ability,” he accuses.
Oda opens his mouth to answer, but he’s interrupted by the sound of knocking at the front door. It’s a small house, but they’re several rooms away, so Oda can’t tell who it is. He raises a finger to his lips and shushes Dazai, and they hear the knocking again.
“Yokohama police, we’re looking for Oda Sakunosuke!” The police yell loud enough that they hear it this time.
Dazai shakes his head violently. “That’s not the police.”
“Then who would it be?” Oda knows the answer, but he needs to hear it from the executive first.
Dazai grimaces. “The Port Mafia. You should take these off,” he says, pulling his cuffed wrists into view. “If I join you at the door, greet them and explain that you’ve taken care of me, they won’t hurt you.”
“And if I leave you while I talk to them?” Oda practically shivers at the dark look that falls over Dazai’s face, shadows making his eye look almost black.
“They’ll likely force their way into the house and find me tied up, and they’ll be forced to execute my captor right here.” Oda blinks and Dazai’s usual expression returns. “Please untie me, Odasaku!” He holds out his wrists patiently.
As shaken as he feels, Oda’s hands are steady as he unlocks the cuffs. Dazai rubs softly at his wrists, and for just a second Oda swears he smells the sweet scent of Omega. He shakes his head to clear his nose of the scent, and when he inhales again it’s gone. Dazai is already walking towards the front door, looking for all the world like a man on a suicide mission.
Oda stops him just before he unlocks the door. “Let me.”
Dazai steps halfway behind him, but still hovers. Oda has just enough space to swing open the door and say, “Hello gentlemen, how are you-,” before the police officers burst into the living just like Dazai said they would.
There are four of them, all Betas. One swings at Oda with a fist that he manages to catch, before another steps in and hooks an arm around Oda’s neck. Despite Oda’s height the man keeps him in the headlock, and forces him onto his knees. He watches helplessly as the other two officers- they can’t be real police officers- do the same thing to Dazai, except Dazai doesn’t quite manage to stop the punch aimed at his still healing abdomen. He drops solidly, wheezing and coughing.
He’s probably bleeding again, Oda thinks with annoyance. The officer who punched him, a plain looking man approximately the same height as Oda but much heavier, flicks his eyes up to look at him.
“Be gentle, he’s already wounded,” he tries to say, but before he can finish the sentence he hears an echoing thud, and the world goes dark.
Oddly, the first thing that Oda thinks when he wakes up is Omega . He shakes his head, somewhat annoyed that his body is suddenly betraying him after all this time with no interest in finding a mate.
Then he inhales again, and he understands. He can’t see much of the small room he’s in, but he can smell what he thinks is burnt sugar; sweet like an omega should be, but acrid with rage. He allows himself another breath, regretting it almost immediately when his cock twitches in his pants.
It’s obvious he’s close to rut, which he finds annoying. His rut should still be a few weeks off, and it’s never come this early that he can remember. On the other hand, maybe that’s the extra incentive he needs to make it out of here.
He spends a minute actually taking in what he can around the dimly lit room. It’s a cave, he thinks, rough rocky shapes outlined by the streams of sunlight that fight their way in through cracks. Are they underground? The floor under his bare feet is wet, so he assumes so. Maybe an old mining cave, he knows of several in the area. It’s only when he reaches up to brush the hair from his eyes that he feels the restraints holding him down.
Although his vision hasn’t quite fully adjusted he can see what’s keeping him down: thick cuffs on his wrists and shins, bolted to the arms and legs of a sturdy metal chair. When he jerks in his seat, he doesn’t move, and it’s at that moment he realizes that whoever kidnapped him knows something about him, or they wouldn’t have taken so many precautions. Whether it’s his designation or his previous job, he’s not sure.
As much as he wants to shout, to tug at the metal, to do something, he thinks better of it, especially when he hears a soft voice coming from somewhere behind him.
“Odasaku! You’re awake?” It’s Dazai, of course, throat maybe a bit rough but otherwise he sounds alright. “Are you okay?”
Oda shakes his head, trying to turn around. He finds the back of the chair rising above his head, preventing him from turning around enough to actually see Dazai. “Yes. Are you okay? How are your wounds?”
Dazai is silent for just long enough that Oda thinks the worst, but whatever concern he has is temporarily abated by Dazai’s reply.
“I’m fine, I’m really enjoying myself!” It’s just humorous enough to convince Oda that if Dazai can be jovial, he’s probably not that injured. Oda smiles despite himself, grateful that Dazai can’t see him.
“How are we going to get out of here?” he asks, curious, and this time when he breathes in the scent of Omega has shifted to something softer, closer to toffee. Confused, Oda looks around to see if he’s missed another cell with someone else in it, but the only noise he can hear is Dazai’s wheezing breaths, and soft rustling of fabric. “Are we alone?”
Enough time passes that Oda reaches a conclusion. Of course, in hindsight, it’s painfully obvious. Even his strangely early rut makes sense; close proximity to an Omega has sent his instincts into overdrive.
Dazai’s too, probably, but that train of thought is headed primarily by his dick and not his brain, so he pushes it aside. Thinking about fucking a faceless Omega, trying not to think about fucking Dazai is exactly the opposite of what he should be doing if he wants to get out of here alive.
Dazai finally breaks the silence.
“I’m going to get us out of here,” he says softly. Oda barely hears the words, but they sound like a promise. A heart-wrenching, breathless promise.
If he weren’t exhausted, he might even be upset at how comforting it was. Instead, Oda lets the feeling wash over him, and he tries to relax into sleep.
The next time he wakes, it feels like it can’t have been more than a few hours. Dazai’s scent has become acrid again, more smoky than sweet, and yet it still smells good.
It’s probably just his rut, Oda thinks absently. He blinks several times to clear the blur from his eyes, to find himself faced with three of the Beta not-police officers from his home.
One of them, the one who hit Dazai, if he remembers correctly, sneers as Oda opens his eyes.
“Welcome to the land of the living. We were worried we’d been too rough on you. Thought we might have to start on the Omega first.”
Inexplicably, a growl rises in the back of Oda’s throat. He catches himself before the noise is audible, sitting dumbfounded at the rage simmering in his blood. How dare these cowards insult him, and threaten the Omega?
He clenches his fists. Dazai might be an Omega, but he’s also an executive. From what little Oda knows about the Port Mafia, Dazai must be incredibly powerful, or he wouldn’t hold his position. His designation is trivial, then. He doesn’t need Oda to protect him anymore than Oda needs a scrawny, underfed boy to protect him.
He gets lost in his internal conflict, torn between the primal urge to protect and the rational knowledge that Dazai is probably just as dangerous as Oda is, if not more so.
A sharp slap across the face brings Oda back to reality. He doesn’t quite manage to entirely suppress the noise of surprise he makes, but he’s not sure the Betas in front of him even notice. The one holding the gun, the same one who knocked Dazai down, is already looking back at his colleagues, without any care for how their captive reacts. Oda’s resolve to give them absolutely nothing is suddenly amplified. He settles further into the chair, as much as the cuffs around his limbs allow.
Behind him, Dazai laughs. The Beta officer with the gun turns sharply, nostrils flaring.
“Something funny, Omega?” Dazai laughs again, this time accompanied by the metal sound of chains. Oda wonders how they’ve restrained him. They clearly know little about Omegas, if the officer’s attitude towards Dazai is anything to go by.
“Don’t let him distract you, Toda-san. He’s probably trying to lure you into his plan,” another of the officers comments. He’s a slightly older man, with salt and pepper hair. He looks… ashamed isn’t the right word, maybe sheepish?
Toda ignores his words, walking slowly towards the cell where Dazai is held. “Tell him, Matsuda-san!” The older man is looking past Oda, and Oda wishes he could turn enough to see, too. As ridiculous as he feels, he’s choking back a snarl, Alpha fangs digging into his lip.
It’s just because of the rut, he thinks. He hasn’t had a proper rut since he presented, so of course he’s going to be more aggressive.
Toda stops a few inches from the cell door. Dazai snickers mischievously, before both officers in front of Oda gasp loudly and step forward. Their hands are poised on their weapons, but Dazai tuts softly. Their hands drop to their sides.
Suddenly hard, Oda’s cock aches.
“The Port Mafia isn’t interested in mercy, but killing an executive? That would be a suicide mission. Actually,” Dazai’s voice lifts into a slightly higher than normal pitch, “maybe you should kill me! I would die and then my boss would have you killed.” Oda can practically hear the way Dazai’s face twists dramatically before he sighs.
“And what would happen to Odasaku, then? He’d be trapped here, for who knows how long. Better not to risk that.”
Although it’s painful, Oda manages to turn his head far enough to the side that he can see Toda and Dazai from the very corner of his eye. It looks like Dazai has grabbed Toda and pulled him against the bars.
After a second Oda has to turn his neck back, although seeing Dazai even for a few seconds has calmed the rage simmering under his skin. His fangs are sharp, still, but his heart is starting to slow despite the situation. He lets himself tune out the chatter around him, the back and forth of the officers and the executive. He trusts Dazai to get them out of here. Plus, he rationalizes, he’s not thinking entirely straight. Better to leave their lives in Dazai’s capable hands.
This time it’s Toda’s laughter that pulls Oda back to the cave. His footsteps come closer before he comes back into view, hands holding his gun behind his back as he does.
There’s silence for a moment, and then the third officer steps forward.
“Where’s the painting now?” Oda doesn’t have to fake the confusion that crosses his face.
“What painting?” A dead collector, an unidentifiable murderer, a missing painting. It sounds familiar, truthfully, and Oda nods.
“I remember that painting. I don’t know where it is now.” Toda snorts, then hands his gun to the officer in front of Oda.
“You’re sure there’s nothing you might remember?” The officer holds the gun delicately, but firmly. His index fingers caresses the trigger as he slides the muzzle under Oda’s chin, forcing him to look up.
Oda nods, chin pushing the gun down. “Nothing.” The unnamed officer nods as well, an acknowledgement of Oda’s stoicism.
He pulls the gun away, turns towards Toda and Matsuda. Oda tenses, waiting for someone to speak, but the next thing he hears is the crack of his jaw as the officer turns around and slams the butt of the gun against bone.
Oda swallows down the yelp that rises in his throat. The officer’s face turns dark.
“Think you’re tough, huh? We’re ex-police officers, here, we’ll get you to talk.” Oda wants to laugh.
They have no idea who he is. That’s fine by him; maybe that will buy Dazai the time he needs to break them out. He lets the officers stare him down for several long moments. He’s not sure that regular police officers would have the wherewithal to break him. The officers huddle together, speaking in voices too soft for Oda to hear.
After a minute, Matsuda, the older officer, leaves, although there’s no door that Oda hears close. His stomach starts to churn when he hears footsteps returning.
Matsuda returns with a metal tray. Oda takes in the contents; a cordless power drill, a clear box of screws, and a box of cigarettes. He sinks further into the metal chair, or at least it feels like he does. He knows he’s just as vulnerable, but anything helps to calm his nerves as watches Toda meticulously ready the drill and a handful of screws.
“Oda-san, we’d really like to avoid the mess if possible. Please, tell us what you remember about that painting.” Matsuda stands near the metal tray, which rests on a particularly large, flat boulder. He opens the cigarettes and pulls out a lighter, sucking in a heaving breath while Toda waits.
“I’d like a cigarette first,” Oda says. He’s not proud of his smoking habit, but at this moment it might save him a lot of pain. Internally he wonders what’s taking Dazai so long. Helping an injured Alpha in rut get home isn’t going to be easy.
Matsuda lights a cigarette, passing it to Toda, who holds it near Oda’s lips for a moment, before bringing it to his own mouth. “Ha!” he barks out a laugh.
“Fujiwara-san thought you might be harder to break than a common criminal.” Toda exhales a cloud of smoke, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. He holds it out over Oda’s lap, but before he taps it he turns around to look at the other officers.
“I don’t think this will burn through his clothes,” Toda says. He taps the cigarette anyways. The ash doesn’t burn through the fabric of his pants but it does smart. Oda grimaces, but stays silent.
Fujiwara approaches with a small pocket knife. He holds it carefully, sliding it between two buttons on Oda’s shirt. A shame, since he likes this shirt. The knife slides up first, through the two buttons that are done, then Fujiwara turns it so the tip of the blade is pressing into Oda’s skin. It stings a thin trail down his chest as Fujiwara finishes opening his shirt, pushing it as far back as it can go while Oda is sitting.
Toda steps forward again, and knocks more ash onto Oda’s chest. It’s worse directly on the skin, but what really hurts is when Toda presses the amber tip of the cigarette to the skin just under Oda’s collarbone.
He winces, biting his tongue. Dazai better have a good plan, and he better get on with it fast.
“Still acting tough, I see. I really hate to do this, Oda-san, but I’m afraid getting this information is more important than your well-being.” Toda drops his cigarette carelessly onto the floor, reaching for the hand drill. It’s probably magnetic, judging by the way the lengthy screw stays balanced on the tip even as Toda presses the trigger and it starts to spin. Toda considers for long, breathless moments where to begin.
All that Oda hears is the pounding of his heart, too loud and too fast but unsurprising given what he knows is coming.
Toda chooses his left thigh, prodding at the area a few times with a finger until he’s satisfied. Oda’s not sure if he’s looking for bone, or looking to avoid it. The screw presses against his pant leg, and he wants to kick his leg but the cuff at his ankle keeps his thigh under the drill no matter how he moves.
He hears the whir of the drill before he feels the metal start to dig into his flesh, hears the gasp from another officer before he feels white-hot pain coursing through his leg. It could be seconds, or it could be minutes before he realizes what’s happening. Toda perks up at the noise, still holding down the trigger.
Oda grits his teeth to distract from the pain. His entire body is tense to the point of pain, but he manages to direct his eyes towards the other two officers.
Matsuda lays in a pool of blood, silent pleas on his tongue. Fujiwara’s knife sticks out of his throat, twisted viciously to tear his vocal cords.
More terrifyingly, Fujiwara has been backed against the wall by Dazai, despite the several inches of difference in height. He’s somehow brought the man onto his knees and has his fangs sunk into his neck. Next to him is a small pool of blood, coming from the already shredded jugular vein on his left.
When Dazai turns around, to the sound of desperate gurgling, he looks directly at Oda. He spits a mouthful of blood and flesh to the side before smiling more genuinely than Oda has seen.
“Sorry that took so long, Odasaku! If there’s one thing police officers are good at, it's creating complications. Toda-san,” he addresses the man in front of Oda, “that sure was a difficult lock. It took me almost a minute to pick it.” Dazai steps towards them, and suddenly Oda feels a stab of pain in his other thigh.
He actually grunts this time, mainly because he was surprised. Toda has taken the distraction to drive a screw into Oda’s right thigh, hitting bone in almost no time.
When Oda looks back at Dazai, feeling a bit desperate for help, he’s shocked to find Dazai snarling. His scent has shifted yet again, this time so acidic that it burns Oda’s nose. His normally dark brown eye has turned red, and his fangs have come out, covered in blood. Oda can’t be sure whose blood it is; Fujiwara’s, or Dazai’s own.
He wastes no time in knocking Toda off balance, diving towards him and managing to land a fist to his cheek.
Toda steps back, drill still in hand, but the screw remains. Oda grimaces, shifting as much as he can to alleviate some of the pain. It doesn’t help.
Toda reaches for his gun, tucked safely in a holster, but he doesn’t have a chance to draw it before Dazai launches himself towards the man, toppling them both over. As he falls Toda manages to draw his gun, waving it wildly, and just as he hits the ground he shoots towards the ceiling, right next to Dazai’s ear.
Dazai barely reacts, bringing a hand up to cover his ear as he uses the other to grab a fistful of hair and slam Toda’s head back onto the floor. He moves forward, legs stretched on either side of the man’s chest, to push his knee into Toda’s windpipe, and then uses both hands to take the gun and unload it.
The bullets scatter as the clip hits the ground behind them. Oda feels himself actually relax a little.
Dazai growls, staring intently at the man he’s currently choking. “Did it make you feel strong?” he hisses. Toda’s face is starting to turn purple. “Did you like locking up an Alpha so you could torture him, enjoy mocking an Omega for being weak? You’re fucking pathetic ,” he says, and grinds his knee down even harder. Toda’s hands grasp desperately at Dazai’s clothes but he’s wearing just a button up and dark jeans, so he doesn’t get enough leverage to dislodge the Omega.
Oda watches, unblinking, and despite himself he feels his cock stiffen. Before the shame and guilt sets in he starts to shift, and for a few seconds the zipper of his slacks provides friction.
Dazai’s voice cracks as he cries out, and Toda jolts upright. Oda furrows his brow, trying to figure out what happened, until he sees the still burning cigarette lying next to Dazai. He can’t see the mark but he assumes it must have been somewhere sensitive to make the executive flinch.
Toda backs away quickly, but Dazai has speed thanks to his smaller size. He reaches over and pulls the small knife from Matsuda’s throat, taking a second as he stands to wipe the blood off on his jeans.
Toda circles behind Oda, but Dazai follows just as quickly. They both appear in his sight again just in time for Dazai to dive, coiling himself around one of Toda’s legs before dragging the knife across the man’s ankles. Toda cries out, crashing to the ground while Dazai expertly reaches over and does the same to his other ankle, one handed.
Now sitting on Toda’s back, Dazai’s eye burns red again. He licks his blood-stained lips, before driving the knife into the man’s kidney. He grins as the man cries out, before reaching down and pinning the man’s wrist to the ground. Even from several feet away Oda hears the bones grinding together, but he watches with rapt attention as Dazai slices cleanly down the length of the man’s forearm. He repeats this on the other side, Toda’s cries already starting to weaken, before he slips off to the side and pushes Toda onto his back.
“Where are the keys?”
Toda blinks slowly, clearly starting to fade, but Dazai snaps him back with a hit to the cheek. “Where are the keys I need to unlock Alpha?“
Oda is suddenly relieved that Dazai is turned away from him. While he manages to repress the possessive growl, he finds himself straining hard against the cuffs in a desperate attempt to soothe his aching cock. He can feel the very beginnings of a knot, which would surprise him if he weren’t sitting just a few feet away from the most perfect Omega he could dream of. That’s just the heat talking , the last shred of rationality in his brain supplies.
Weakly Toda points towards Matsuda’s still body, and Dazai sees the key ring immediately. Four keys, for four limbs. Pretty high security, for common police officers.
As Toda’s eyes flutter shut Dazai pushes himself up, his jeans making a wet noise as his thighs squelch with blood. The sound makes Oda even harder. His erection is becoming painfully hard.
By the time Dazai gets the keys off of Matsuda’s belt and comes to the center of the room, his scent is almost back to delightfully sweet butterscotch and his eye is brown again. Oda is still a mess, visibly hard in his slacks and flushed from rut, but Dazai smiles at him like normal. “You’re so patient, Odasaku!” He goes for the arms first, left then right, before kneeling between Oda’s legs to unlock those cuffs as well.
Oda clenches his teeth and forces himself to breathe out as he waits. He’s been called something of a saint because of his patience and self-control, but nothing has ever been as hard as not jumping the Omega kneeling in front of his aching cock.
He knows it’s the rut, knows that even if he wanted Dazai as a mate the Omega wouldn’t want him, and so he keeps himself as still as possible until Dazai stands up and cheerfully announces, “Done! Let’s go home.”
Oda breathes in through his mouth, slowly relaxing his muscles. “You should go first,” he says, and a look of understanding dawns on Dazai’s face.
“Hold on,” he murmurs, looking around the cave. He rummage through a stash of clothing that Oda hadn’t seen before, pulling a small foil wrapper from a jacket pocket. “Bingo!”
Making short work of the packet, Dazai explains, “They’re very sloppy. I saw the clothes, smelled someone besides us. They’ve had an Alpha or Omega here before, so it’s likely whoever that was had scent patches. Most Alphas and Omegas carry them.”
Under the haze of rut Oda is impressed. Dazai’s scent fades a little, but it’s only when he comes to stand in front of Oda that he can really tell the difference.
Dazai offers his hand, and Oda gratefully takes it. His rut might slow down once he’s out of this cave. He takes a step before almost collapsing, reminded very painfully of the screws still lodged in his thighs. Dazai looks down, frowning, but Oda shakes his head.
“We’ll worry about it at home.” Dazai grins, his bright, genuine grin, and even though Oda has half a mind to pin him to the wall and fuck him in this cave, he feels something like affection in his chest. Will Dazai stay after his rut is over?
“At home,” Dazai repeats, and Oda forgets his anxiety. There’ll be time for it later.
Dazai doesn’t just stay after Oda’s rut runs its course. He stays when Oda joins the Port Mafia, effectively ending his retirement, even though Oda refuses to actually kill anyone. He stays when Oda adopts five orphaned pups, providing for them financially while also trying to be a paternal figure. He stays through three years of injuries and heats and ruts, through fights with Mori and Chuuya and Akutagawa and with Oda himself.
Oda starts to believe that he might be able to be happy like this, and then Gide appears.
Gide nearly kills Akutagawa, who’s saved only by Rashomon and Oda’s habit of wearing a bulletproof vest. He stares Oda down, and tells him that he has to be the one to kill him and thus Mimic.
“You’ve killed so many before, what difference would one more make?” Dazai asks one night, when they’re both tipsy. That’s the first time they fight about Gide.
It becomes one of many times, and slowly Oda starts to feel like Dazai might be drifting away from him.
As much as the thought hurts, Dazai isn’t his , and he isn’t Dazai’s.
Things really start to fall apart one night when they’re visiting with the pups. Shinji is curled in Dazai’s lap, a favorite spot of his ever since the Omega met the pups. Sometimes Oda wonders if Shinji will present as an Omega, too.
Oda himself has Sakura on one leg and Yu on the other, Katsumi and Kosuke too involved in their video games for cuddles.
“One life to protect theirs,” Dazai says simply. He says it without anger, or frustration, or anything other than total sincerity, and it makes Oda’s blood boil.
The pups are mostly ready for bed anyway so he kisses the tops of Sakura and Yu’s heads before shuffling them onto the couch. He does the same for Katsumi and Kosuke, smiling at the complex island they’ve decorated and are chatting about, before he walks over to the reading chair and scoops a sleeping Shinji from Dazai’s lap. He shushes the pup, stroking his messy hair, before tucking him in next to his adopted siblings on the couch.
Silently, he makes his way downstairs and extends a gentle goodbye to the curry shop owner. Not far behind he hears Dazai’s footsteps, hurried and angry.
Dazai doesn’t say a word until they get outside, far enough away that any shouting would be too quiet to hear.
“I’m trying to save lives,” he says. “You’re a mafioso who won’t kill people, I thought you’d love that.”
Oda stops, whipping around to face Dazai. “ Not if it means breaking the promise I made to myself when I retired . Anyone from the Port Mafia could kill Gide, they just don’t want to. I’m not killing him because of other people being lazy.”
“I didn’t say he was going to roll over like a dog and let you kill him, he’s the one who thinks that it has to be you! I’ll go with you, and we’ll take him down together.” Dazai’s eyes are wide, pleading, but all Oda can see is the old man in the cafe, and that thought of killing again makes him feel ill.
“No. I’m not going to kill him. That’s final.” Oda shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps walking in the direction of his home. He doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, but he’s too angry to care.
When he gets home he tosses his coat onto the kitchen table and slams the front door shut, still murmuring angrily.
He sets about cooking dinner; curry. He’s staring into the pot, stirring mindlessly when he realizes he’s made it to Dazai’s tastes, and he laughs out loud. The spoon clatters onto the counter, dripping sauce, but Oda doesn’t notice. He’s so used to Dazai being in his life that even when he’s running on automatic it’s with Dazai in mind. He leans back and rubs his misty eyes with the heel of his hands before looking back at the mild curry.
Hell, he isn’t even sure Dazai is coming home tonight.
Does Dazai consider Oda’s house his home? The question feels both momentous and inconsequential. If Dazai does consider this home, Oda’s probably fucked that up now. If he doesn’t, he certainly won’t be comfortable coming here after their little spat.
Oda turns the burner off, and checks the timer on the rice cooker before he opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of sake. Usually he opts for something less strong, like Ango’s preferred whiskey, but tonight is different.
He finishes that glass waiting for the rice to be done, and is in the middle of pouring himself another when the timer jingles cheerfully at him. He leaves his glass on the counter as he takes out two plates.
He drains the next glass before serving himself, and he pours himself a third before he eats.
He couldn’t pinpoint the moment it hits himself, but by the time he hears keys jingling at the front door, followed by shuffling as someone lets themselves in he can feel the warm buzz in his chest.
Dazai stops in the entry to the kitchen, looking a little dumbfounded. He glances around the kitchen, taking in the open bottle of sake on the counter, the second empty plate, and the pot of curry on the stove.
“You know I don’t like spicy food, Odasaku.” Oda nods once, setting a spoon down.
“I made it very mild.” Next to his own plate he sets down some extra spices, and Dazai laughs.
The guilt weighs heavy in the pit of Oda’s stomach. He wants to say something; apologize for snapping, ask if Dazai is okay, tell him to be careful.
Dazai beats him to it, breaking the silence. “We’re looking for Gide. Well, Mori has men looking, and he’s going to tell me when they find him. I’m putting together a team, for when we do locate him.”
“It’s not like- It’s not like that,” Oda says. “I want him dead, too. It’s just not that simple.”
Dazai nods in understanding. He glances up, eyes landing on the bottle of sake.
“I think I’ll have a drink.”
What follows is a blur of alcohol, tears, and laughter. The unspoken agreement not to speak of the pups is heavy between them, so Dazai fills the space with idle chatter. He talks about Chuuya and Akutagawa mainly, but there are other people he works with who provide him with entertainment.
Dazai is in the middle of a story about Akutagawa interrogating someone when Oda interrupts, “I need you.”
Dazai pauses, mouth hanging open in a near perfect circle.
“You… need me?” he repeats, and Oda nods.
He can’t help but think of the cave three years ago; the way Dazai was so fiercely protective of an Alpha he’d just met. The blood dripping from his mouth as he stared down Toda, the seductive sway of his hips as he’s gone to remove the keys from Matsuda’s body.
He thinks Dazai needs him, too.
Dazai responds, after a silence that feels far longer than it is, by climbing onto Oda’s lap, pushing the Alpha’s chest until the small of his back hits the counter. Oda brings his arms up, running his fingertips over the ridges of bandages wrapped around Dazai’s arms. Dazai shivers under the touch, letting his legs fall on either side of Oda’s hips.
He smells enticingly sweet, and Oda has the urge to bury his nose in Dazai’s neck.
He's drunk enough to let himself, sake and the knowledge that Dazai needs him, too, thrumming through his veins. Dazai allows it, head tilting to the side and sighing softly as Oda’s nose pushes against the sensitive gland. His hands join behind Oda’s neck, running through the messy hair at the nape of his neck.
It’s not until Dazai’s hips move against him that Oda reaches for them, stilling them with just a touch.
“ Why ?” Dazai whines, and he wriggles again.
Oda tightens his grasp, feeling the familiar heat of arousal pooling in his stomach. He looks up, slightly below eye level, and meets Dazai’s eyes.
They aren’t red, or brown. His pupils are blown so wide that his eyes have turned black, circled by white and dark lashes. Oda sucks in a breath and tastes the intoxicating scent of Omega, which makes him groan.
“Oh, sweetheart .” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, quieting the thoughts frantically racing through his mind.
“Odasaku?” Dazai asks, blinking coyly. “Will you kiss me?”
Oda doesn’t bother nodding. He straightens his spine, and presses his lips to Dazai’s.
The Omega tastes like sake and curry and blood. His lips part almost immediately, tongue reaching forward and lapping gently at the seam of Oda’s closed lips, which draws a moan from the Alpha.
His hands fist in the material of Oda’s shirt, pulling the Alpha closer. His hips move again, more instinctual than teasing, and even through all the layers he can feel the heat of Dazai’s slick cunt.
Or, Oda thinks, he’s drunk, and horny, and trying desperately not to justify breaking his promise not to kill again, even though it’s the clear answer.
Oda’s hips buck mindlessly, rutting against Dazai like a teenager. He moves his hands to Dazai’s waist, and the Alpha part of his brain that normally stays locked away rumbles with satisfaction. He growls, without thinking, and grabs a fistful of Dazai’s messy hair to pull him closer.
Dazai whines as he kisses back, the heat of his cheeks delightfully warm against Oda’s. His hands trail from Oda’s chest to the line of buttons, teasing little patterns through the layer of fabric.
It’s at precisely this moment that Oda’s drunken wantonness starts to fade into sobriety, and he freezes. Guilt pins him to his seat, even as Dazai presses a series of innocent, close-lipped kisses to Oda’s scratchy cheeks.
“I can’t-,” he starts, but Dazai leans down and kisses him before he can continue.
He kisses well for someone who Oda assumed didn’t have much sexual experience. He moves his lips gently, tenderly, in a way that makes the weight on Oda’s chest multiply.
When he pulls away, both of them slightly breathless, Dazai says, “I know,” before sliding off Oda’s lap.
He stands between Oda’s legs for a moment longer, pushing himself up on tiptoe to kiss Oda’s forehead, before he pads quietly into the bathroom.
Oda moves quickly but quietly, clearing their plates and leaving them in the sink for the next day. He finishes the last of his sake, wishing he hadn’t come back to himself yet, before adding his glass to the sink as well. When he walks past the bathroom, he hears running water, and assumes he’ll be sleeping alone tonight.
He strips off his shirt, steps out of his slacks, and collapses into bed in nothing but his briefs.
He wakes up feeling awful. He’s not hungover, but he may as well be for how his head pounds. It’s regret, he knows. Regret for being so stubborn and for yelling at Dazai, who’s just trying to protect their pups.
Oh , he thinks. That’s a nice thought.
He lets it simmer in the back of his mind as he gets dressed. The rest of the house is silent, and so Oda concludes that Dazai didn't stay last night. If he weren’t a Port Mafia executive, Oda might worry. As it is, he grabs his coat from the table and heads out the door. Maybe he’ll run into Dazai while he’s out, but he doubts it.
He really just wants to see his pups.
It’s a nice morning, slightly overcast but warm enough from the reflected sunlight. It’ll be hot later. Oda makes the walk quickly. There’s no sign of Dazai.
He reaches the curry shop, but the entrance door is locked. He checks his watch before sliding the spare key from his pocket. It’s barely 9 AM, usually the shop doesn’t open until closer to noon.
It’s quiet as Oda lets himself into the shop. “Pops?” he calls out, stopping at the light switch and flicking it on. Odd that Pops doesn’t have the lights on when he’s normally preparing for the day ahead by now.
He listens for a moment, to see if he can hear anyone moving ahead, but it’s eerily silent. He circles the counter, intending on making his way into the kitchen, and is greeted by Pops’ body, three bullet wounds leaking blood onto the usually pristine floor. A semi-bloodied map lays on the floor next to his corpse.
Oda doubles over, unable to breathe. He feels his fangs digging into his lip, and he forces himself to look up at Pops’ still open eyes.
He kneels down to close them, picking up the map and tucking it into his pocket without really looking at it. When he stands again he has to lean over the sink as he retches.
As he raises a hand to his mouth and wipes away the taste of vomit, his stomach flips. Heart racing, Oda turns away from the body behind him and back onto the street. The residential door, the door that leads to the pups’ room, is unlocked. He sprints up the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping at the top before coming to a stop like he’s run face first into a wall.
The room is a mess; papers are scattered across the floor, toys and furniture strewn around as clear evidence of a fight. A sheet hangs from the top bunk, one long slash torn nearly to the ground.
After a few shaky breaths Oda looks out through the window and down onto the street, searching for any sign of the pups. A shoe, a jacket, anything at all that might lead him to his pups.
He doesn’t see anything.
He hears, distantly, the sound of passing cars, but doesn’t pay it much mind. Instead he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, dialing Dazai’s number through speed dial.
It goes straight to voicemail, unsurprisingly.
“Osamu, fuck, I can’t,” Oda’s voice breaks as he tries to stay calm. “I can’t find the pups, Pops is dead and they’re missing. We need you. I need you. God, please answer.” He snaps the phone shut, gripping it so right it hurts, before he notices a bus parked in the shop’s parking lot.
The pups, his pups, are banging at the window of the bus in front of him. Without thinking he reaches for his gun, aiming for the window and launching himself through it before he can hear the shattering glass land on the floor. He hits the ground painfully, but is still upright as he lays eyes on the bus again.
The pups are pressed against the window, mouths open in a choir of inaudible screams. All of their faces are red with exertion, though he doesn’t know if it’s from crying or screaming.
He only has a moment to process this before he hears the explosion, and he collapses onto the pavement as the bus catches fire.
Someone is screaming. Who’s screaming?
Oda realizes that it’s him screaming when his throat starts to burn, raw and painful as his lungs struggle for air. He doesn’t notice the heat of the fire, or the sting of glass shards in his skin, until an EMT places a shock blanket over his shoulders, forcing him back to reality.
His pups are gone.
Gide killed them.
Oda makes the decision that he will kill Gide with his own hands if he has to. He will tear his throat out, and watch him die if it is the last thing he ever does.
Dazai arrives amidst a crowd of onlookers. He looks worried, and Oda can only stare blankly up at him.
“Where are our pups, Odasaku?”
Oda doesn’t answer. He stands, instead, and wraps the shock blanket that’s covering him around Dazai as Dazai begins to sob into his chest. Oda feels tears pooling in his own eyes, and he doesn’t try to stop them.
By the time Dazai’s breathing is steady again, Oda has wiped away his own tears, but he feels raw.
The world seems dimmed, somehow, like the sun lost some of its light when his pups were taken from him. The foliage seems more grey, the sun feels more distant. The air is painfully cold against his skin.
“I’m going to kill him,” Oda says softly, into Dazai’s hair.
Dazai’s eyes are vivid red when he looks up, a stark contrast to the monochrome world around them. He shakes his head, before stepping back and out of Oda’s embrace.
“Not now, or. Not yet,” he clarifies. “You’re not going to be objective. It’s too dangerous.” He’s still holding onto Oda’s shirt, fingers twisted in the fabric like he’s going to fall apart without Oda. Oda understands, squeezing softly at Dazai’s shoulders.
“I don’t care. Gide wants me to kill him, kill Mimic, so I’m going to do that.” Dazai frowns.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” he tries again. “You need to wait until Mori can send in enough men, until I can go with you. We need back up-,” Dazai cuts off mid sentence when Oda pulls away fully, shrugging off the shock blanket and folding it haphazardly before placing it on the floor of the ambulance.
“I’m going to find him, and kill him. I don’t need you.” Oda turns away, in the direction of his home. He turns back, and locks eyes with Dazai.
Dazai, who looks absolutely heartbroken; eyes rimmed with red and cheeks flushed. Despite his stature, he looks small, fragile, and Oda’s heart aches to protect him. To hide him away in their home and give him a pup. Not that a new pup would replace the ones they’ve lost, but it would be something.
That’s when the wind blows past them, ruffling Dazai’s hair and uncovering his neck. His unmarred neck, free of a mating bite.
Despite how much it hurts, Oda turns away again, and starts walking towards the house. He hears Dazai behind him, step forward, but only the tips of his fingers brush against Oda’s coat.
Oda keeps walking.