Open your door—the spirits await.
❛ you taste so fucking good. ❜
Hi, anon.
I hope it lives up to expectations, and I hope you don't mind me dedicating it to someone else. @ardeidae-e, and the rest of the gang, this one's for you!
🔞 - dogchuu x omegazai!
The cage was narrow. Too narrow.
His tail twitched nervously, hitting the bars. Chuuya curled up even tighter, his claws—broken, dulled—digging into his thighs, tearing through the fabric of his pants and carving thin trails of blood. A soundless whine, half-moan, burst from his chest. His eyes burned from the tears gathering in his lashes, and frustration swirled in his gut.
A dull noise caught his attention. Chuuya bristled, his heart pounding like a frantic drum as he heard the doorknob turn.
Firm footsteps, and the sweet, cloying scent of his captor slid into his nose, warming his stomach in the worst possible way. His lips curled in anticipation, and he barely swallowed back a growl.
He didn’t need light to orient himself in the dark. He sharpened his hearing and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
It was suffocating.
And his gaze—keen even in the deepest darkness—fixed on him. He crouched down, and his scent, ripe peaches and syrup, flooded Chuuya’s senses until it suffocated him.
He was doing it on purpose. Dazai flashed a malicious little grin.
“Not going to greet your master?” he asked with false sweetness. A tap against the bars—just enough for Chuuya to bare his teeth. Dazai pouted. “Bad dog. Didn’t you have enough last time?”
The memory hit him hard, his cheeks heating as shame climbed his throat and his fur bristled.
Dazai’s smile widened.
“Come here,” he ordered softly. It wasn’t a command—Dazai didn’t have that power—but his sweet voice burrowed under Chuuya’s skin, scrambled his senses, and pulled him forward like invisible strings.
Chuuya almost stumbled, ears flat, a low whine escaping him. Dazai slipped his hand between the bars and stroked his head, no more than a light pat, and Chuuya melted under his touch.
“Good boy,” Dazai purred, and Chuuya dipped his head even lower, his tail wagging and his chest rumbling. Dazai scratched behind his ear. “Who’s a good boy?”
He hate him.
From the moment their eyes met in the black market—from the instant his heart skipped a beat and the lifeless eyes of the brunet narrowed with interest.
Chuuya despised him as much as he despised himself.
Dazai chose him.
Dazai gave him a leash.
Dazai gave him a pretty cage.
Chuuya grunted.
Chuuya distrusted him.
And Chuuya fell for the trap.
He’d been a pretty omega then, lanky and wrapped in bandages, shadows clinging to him while death stalked close—but Dazai hadn’t used a whip, hadn’t treated him like an animal, a failed experiment.
Dazai had spoken to him.
Dazai had offered him a deal.
And Chuuya—stupid Chuuya—let his guard down.
His skin still burned with wounds that hadn’t healed, but it was his heart—open, scar-ridden, shattered into pieces—that bled the most. His wounded pride.
Dazai never hurt him until he did.
More touches—agile fingers drawing out soft sighs and helpless little sounds. His scent, intense and sweet against Chuuya’s lips, wrapped around him like a cocoon. For a moment, just one second, Chuuya nearly forgot the hatred coiled in his gut.
“Did Chuuya learn his lesson?”
Sweet and low, no more than a trap.
A grunt rumbled in his throat. Dazai didn’t pull his hand back despite the tooth marks on his knuckles. He didn’t step away, even after needing help the last time.
Dazai stayed firm, kept that invisible leash tight, and Chuuya hated him for it.
“I’ll kill you,” he wanted to spit, to grip the bars and scream it. “I’ll sink my teeth into your pretty neck and won’t stop until your blood drowns me.”
He didn’t need to say it. Dazai could smell it.
His eyes darkened—more crimson than amber—and he licked his lips. His scent coiled thicker, sweeter, and Chuuya bared his fangs.
Dazai was a dangerous omega; his scent was lethal and his voice was compelling.
No one could resist his charm. Everyone fell to their knees, everyone went mad, except Chuuya.
The two of them were truly fucked.
Dazai didn’t pull his hand back.
Chuuya didn’t move.
“You’re an asshole,” Chuuya growled, his voice hoarse and worn from disuse.
Dazai softened his expression, something like affection tinting his gaze. False, twisted, wrong.
“If I’m the asshole, what does that make you?”
And even though Chuuya couldn’t see him, even though he had the advantage in the dark, Dazai’s eyes dropped and his pupils dilated.
Chuuya squirmed.
Dazai leaned in, his pretty neck so close, his scent glands no longer hidden beneath bandages. A temptation and a trap. When he drew closer, Chuuya’s body trembled at the memory, his cock throbbing painfully.
“Just say it,” Dazai whispered, tightening his grip; what had been a caress became a steel trap. Their mouths almost brushed. “Use your words.”
“Eat shit and die—”
Dazai bit him, fangs sinking into his lower lip, blood filling both their mouths. He pulled back, licking the red from his lips.
“You taste so good.”
Chuuya spit in his face.
“Guess you didn’t learn your lesson,” Dazai sighed, and the words sent a shiver through him. Fear crept up, but not enough to smother the heat in his belly, the pressure in his pants. “Guess I’ll have to tie you to the bedpost again. What then, Chibi? Will you beg for relief?”
“Fuck you.”
“Will you rub yourself on my foot again?”
Chuuya lunged at the bars.
“Make a mess on my carpet?”
Chuuya seethed.
“Tell me, Chuuuya—will you apologize for not giving me what I want?”
Chuuya despised him, but he despised himself more for wanting this.
Wanting Dazai.
Wanting his body.
Wanting his rotten soul.
Wanting his blood.
Wanting his death.
dividers by: cafekitsune