AU where Chuuya has always valued his independence over everything. Never wanted to settle down, never wanted a mate—and he’s done well making a career for himself. He doesn’t /need/ anything more—

Until his new neighbors, Osamu Dazai and his daughter, turn his life upside down.

Growing up, Chuuya’s parents were always telling him the biggest day of his life would be when he bonded. Or maybe when he got married. If not either of those, it would /definitely/ be the day he started a family—but no.

For Chuuya, it was buying his first place on his own.

He’s been /renting/ for a long time—it isn’t necessarily /easy/ to get a loan when you’re free lancing, even if the money is /good./ But after years of working his ass off, he /finally/ has enough to put a down payment on a new build in the kind of neighborhood he /dreamed/ about

growing up.

Even if not /everyone/ in his life...understands it.

“I never really saw you as the suburbs type...” His manager frowns, eyeing the pristine lawns, the children’s toys and the bike left in front of the house next door.

Chuuya shrugs, stretching his arms over his

head like he /actually/ moved something, when really they’ve both been watching the movers for about an hour. “If I had it my way, I’d buy a vineyard out in the middle of nowhere, but...” he trails off with a sigh. “The commute from here is probably a little more doable.”

It

doesn’t ease his manager’s tense expression, and the smaller redhead rolls his eyes, smacking the side of her arm as he turns around to talk inside. “/Relax/, Ane-san, I just wanted the extra space. I’m not about to turn into a damn housewife or something.”

The house next door

is larger, slightly more established—

And within, lurks a beast.

Izumi Kyouka is an extremely practical person. Always has been. Sure, Daddy doesn’t think so, but she /is./

And asking for binoculars for her birthday? It seems like a VERY practical request right now.

She’s

perched on her windowsill, Lenses glinting as she peeks through the blinds, and there, across the street, she can see her new neighbor.

She’s been watching since the truck moved in—mostly because their house has always been the only one on the end of the street, and when she saw

the “sold” sign pop up in front of the new construction, she thought there might be other kids moving next door.

And now that she’s been watching, she can tell that there aren’t any /kids/ with the stranger, but...

There’s no wedding ring either. And for a second, she thought

the taller lady walking around with him might be his mate, but after /lots/ of observation, she doesn’t think so.

Her fingertips drum across the tops of the binoculars, and she lets out a low hum.

Sure, it’s not exactly what she wanted /but/...

She tosses her binoculars down,

slipping down from the window as she leaves her room, jogging down the hall until the throws herself against her father’s office door with a soft slam—her normal means of announcing herself—hearing a soft swear of surprise from the other side.

“Daddy!! There’s a moving truck

next door!”

After an entire morning of getting his stuff settled inside, Chuuya finds himself standing out front, fiddling with a wad of cash in his hands as he goes to tip the movers.

“You must be excited about the new place, right?” One of them comments, wiping some sweat off

the back of his neck with a towel. He’s a little younger than Chuuya, probably a university student—tall, muscular, enough to catch his interest.

“Sure,” the redhead shrugs, thumbing through bills that he’s about to decide to for the both of them. “First time home buyer and all

that.”

“Probably in a hurry to get inside and start nesting, right?” His partner offers with a drawl, making Chuuya’s fingers pause, his eyes cutting up to look at him dead on. “Or whatever it is you guys do.”

He’s shorter than the other one, not far above Chuuya’s eye level,

but his body language screams disrespect, his body tilted forward in some lame attempt to leer over the redhead, openly staring at his neck—and the pheromones hitting Chuuya’s nose are a sour, flagrant sign of unwanted interest.

“...” Chuuya’s eyes narrow, and he proceeds to

make a big show of removing several bills from the stock, pocketing them before handing over a substantially smaller tip. “Something like that.”

The other mover glares at his partner with annoyance before picketing the cash. “Thank you, Nakahara-san.”

They both leave shortly

after that, and Chuuya finds himself wandering the rooms of the new place, and he didn’t really notice it before, but now that he’s alone he can kind of see it—

It /is/ a pretty big place for just one person.

He stops in the bedroom, his eyes drifting over the bed. It’s a

canopy, wide and plush, with silk sheets and a heavy comforter—but it’s mostly bare.

His suitcase is open on the floor—it’s mostly full of casual clothes, and the vast majority of his wardrobe is hanging on garment racks in the guest room, soon to be converted into a master

closet.

Bunched up with the rest of his sweats is an item that doesn’t belong to /him./ He kneels down, picking up the oversized t-shirt, staring at it thoughtfully.

He doesn’t date—he never really has—but one of the betas he’s been sleeping with has gotten in the habit of

leaving his clothes around after he leaves. Likely in the hopes that Chuuya would /wear/ them, but he’s never deigned to do so.

But now he finds himself standing alone in his bedroom, staring at the shirt bunched between his fingers, his eyes flickering over towards the bed.

He lifts it to his nose, breathing it in, and it doesn’t really smell like anything—just detergent. It’s not like it would really hurt anything, but—

But he’s never...exactly...

He’s startled out of his thoughts by the ringing of the doorbell, his spine stiffening as he throws

the shirt back down into his suitcase, turning around and heading back downstairs.

Part of him is riled, ready to snap if it’s one of those movers coming back to complain about the tip, because he kind of regrets not punching that jackass in the /face/, but—

When he opens the

door, he doesn’t see /them/, he sees...

Objectively, from a purely observational perspective, the most attractive person Chuuya has ever seen.

Tall—/ridiculously/ tall, Chuuya has to tilt his chin up to look at him, and he /must/ be over six feet—with dark, slightly unkempt

hair, some of it swept back and tucked behind his right ear, highlighting the squareness of his jaw.

And he’s smiling—right at him—and Chuuya—

The corners of his mouth tighten as he fights the urge to /gulp/ dramatically, like it’s some movie.

“Hi,” his voice has this low,

rumbling timbre to it, rich, naturally assuring, and the redhead recognizes excactly what he is very quickly, his heart skipping a beat.

“We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” he carries on, and Chuuya finds himself struggling to keep up.

We?

His eyes flicker to the

smaller figure standing next to him, a little girl with long, dark hair and big blue eyes, several shades darker than his own, staring up at him. “Hello.” She offers softly.

She can’t be more than six years old, not from her height, or the way that her cheeks are still round

with baby fat, and she’s clinging to the side of the man’s pants—meaning he’s likely her /father./

Chuuya takes comfort in that, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He’s never gotten on well with alphas he doesn’t know—but the fact that this one has a kid him feel a /lot/ more

Comfortable.

He kneels down in front of her, more at ease with an actual child than he is witu the grown man standing next to there.

“Well, that was very nice of you two.” His smile is warm, disarming, and he can’t really understand why she looks so /excited/, but he offers his

hand. “My name is Nakahara Chuuya. What’s yours?”

She seems a little hesitatant, even though he can see it in her eyes, she does /want/ to introduce herself. Her father’s hand drops on top of her head, his thumb pushing her bangs out of her face. “Come on, love—say hello.”

Chuuya doesn’t look up, because the alpha isn’t doing it on /purpose/, but there’s a slight undertone to his scent that is making the back of the redhead’s neck /tingle/, and he isn’t want to worsen it with eye contact.

“Kyouka.” The little girl mumbles, cheeks slightly pink as

she reaches out to take his hand, small, soft fingers wrapping around his as she shakes it awkwardly. Chuuya’s expression softens, and hey—maybe he doesn’t have any ‘parental instincts’ or whatever, but she’s /so/ cute.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kyouka-chan.”

She bites the

inside of her cheek, staring at him with big eyes, and she’s clearly debating something, and then she blurts out, “You’re pretty.”

Chuuya pauses, quirking an eyebrow, /clearly/ a little thrown off, and then the little girl looks up at her father.

“He’s pretty, right?”

Dazai

pauses, his eyes widenening as he stares at his daughter with a slightly scolding expression before he looks over at the redhead, and when they make eye contact Chuuya’s mouth is suddenly /dry./

He has this lopsided smile that cuts right into him, and he mouths, ‘Sorry.’

Chuuya can feel his cheeks /start/ to heat up, so he quickly breaks eye contact, mouthing back, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He straightens up, assuming that’s the end of it, but the next thing he knows, the man is speaking again. “He’s gorgeous, love—but it’s not polite to say that

to someone you just met.”

“Oh.” Kyouka pauses, frowning as she realizes her mistake. “I’m sorry, Nakahara-san.”

Chuuya pauses, his face /hot/ as he glares at the alpha, who is staring back at him with this annoying, innocent expression that just /screams/—

‘What? It’s true.’

“It was very sweet of you to say, Kyouka-chan.” Chuuya forces a smile, waving it off, and the little girl beams, quietly flattered.

“I’m Dazai, by the way,” her father adds, offering his hand. “Dazai Osamu.”

Chuuya stares at it for a minute, reluctant now that he feels like

the brunette is messing with him. “...It’s nice to meet you, Dazai-san,” he mutters, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He doesn’t exactly want to call the guy out in front of his kid, but it feels like a shitty thing to do, a family man openly flirting like that.

Kyouka looks

back and forth between the two of them, like she’s waiting for something more to happen than awkward silence, but when no immediate response materializes, she starts to add. “Nakahara-san?”

Chuuya blinks, looking back down at the kid. “Yeah?”

Kyouka takes a deep breath.

“I don’t have a M—“

Whatever she was /about/ to say, she’s cut off when Dazai quickly swoops her up in his arms, loudly talking over her. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, hope you like it here—“ it all seems like a really sudden and rushed exit, with Dazai carrying the

little girl back down the sidewalk, his loud declarations of welcome and good will drowning off anything else his daughter is saying.

Chuuya is left standing in the doorway, his eyebrows pinching together as he tries to process what...the hell just happened?

Next door, Dazai

finds himself sitting on opposite ends of the dining room table, having an intense stare down with a kindergartner. “You,” the older man says emphatically, leaning his elbows on the table, “are a /menace./“

Kyouka /pouts./ “You think he’s pretty too!”

Dazai pinches the bridge

of his nose. “Sweetie, we’ve /talked/ about this—“

“Is Mommy coming home?”

The silence that follows is long, and Kyouka knows why. Her Dad only takes this long when he knows she isn’t going to like the answer.

“...I don’t think so, no.” Dazai admits.

“Then we’ve gotta get

another one!”

Her father sputters. “That isn’t how it works!”

“Sure it is!” Kyouka slams her hands on the table for emphasis, staring him down. “Neither of us are getting any younger!”

Dazai is /appalled./ “I’m /thirty!/“

“You’re /old!/“

“Am I not enough for you?!”

“/No!/“

Dazai gawks, trying to pretend that isn’t a blow, because honest to god, he’s trying his /fucking best/— “I’m sorry, how could I improve your parental experience?”

He doesn’t really know how to talk down to kids, never has, and as a result, Kyouka has an expansive vocabulary for

someone her age. “I want a Mommy!”

“/Besides/ that.” Dazai counters, his voice deepening with firmness, and Kyouka just squares her shoulders with defiance.

“I don’t want anything else!”

It’s been /incessant/ for the past two years. Kyouka’s mother left when she was four, and

for the first few weeks, it was denial. Because /obviously/, she was going to come back. She was /Mom./

Then weeks turned into months, and as her fifth birthday approached, it began.

// “What do you want for your birthday, honey?” //

// “A new Mommy!” //

Every birthday. Every

Christmas. Every CONCIEVABLE opportunity where she could ask for presents, she asked for a /mother./

“Okay, look—“ Dazai runs his fingers through his hair, “What can a Mommy do that I /can’t?/“

“Atsushi says his Mommy lets him nap in her nest with her.” Kyouka points out with

a frown, “Can you do that?”

“...” Dazai huffs. “No—but you know, lots of Mothers aren’t even omegas, so a nest isn’t always a part of the deal—“

“Nakahara-san is an omega though,” Kyouka frowns. “I bet his are really soft—“

Dazai shifts, trying not to think about /that./

“How could you even tell?” He questions, his eyes narrowing, and Kyouka shrugs.

“I thought he was really pretty—and then we got there, and you kept sniffing him—“ Dazai looks appropriately abashed, “—so I figured—“

“I get it, but—“ Dazai throws his hands up. “I can just get you

a bean bag chair or something?! If there’s nothing else—“

Kyouka stares at him like he’s /losing it./ “Did you just compare a next to a /bean bag chair?/“

Dazai is /grumbling./ “How do you know they’re /not/ like bean bag chairs?”

His daughter’s eyes narrow. “Are they?”

Well no, they aren’t, and Dazai obviously knows that.

His ex—their relationship was /complicated/, but if there’s /one/ thing about her he misses, it’s the nests.

“Besides,” Kyouka carries on, “I want a baby sister, and I’m already gonna be a lot older—“

Dazai chokes on his

drink, “When did I say /I/ wanted any more kids?”

“I didn’t ask you!” Kyouka pouts, and Dazai feels like he’s at an impasse with a child.

“Look, honey, you know it’s not like I haven’t been trying to meet someone—“

Kyouka crosses her arms over her chest. She /knows/ her father

goes on dates, but he always says he isn’t going to introduce her until it’s someone he’s serious about—and she never meets them.

“Uncle Oda says you’re never gonna find a mate if you don’t stop meeting girls on tinder!”

Dazai feels like he’s being attacked on all sides tonight

“How do you even know about tinder?!”

Kyouka shrugs, “I saw it when I was playing candy crush yesterday, and I asked Uncle Oda about it, and he said that’s how you find girls for sleepovers!”

Dazai is going to /strangle him./ “Sleep overs are fun!”

“I don’t /want/ you to have

sleepovers! Just get me a mommy, then they can sleep over every night, and we can have a nest, and they can cook—“

“Kyouka, /I/ cook.” His daughter stares at him, like she doesn’t even have the heart to tell him that the microwave doesn’t count, but Dazai still sags a little

before adding, “/and/ we have a chef. Don’t you think you would hurt Kenji-san’s feelings if he knew you didn’t want his food anymore?”

Kyouka frowns. “But Mommy’s make different food! Like...normal stuff!”

Dazai can admit, the benefits of having chef grade cuisine multiple

times a week are likely lost on a six-year-old. “We can ask him for normal stuff—“

“And I want bento, like all of the other kids get at school!” Kyouka sounds little more serious, and her voice is actually /pleading/, and it makes Dazai’s chest /ache./ “Atsushi’s Mom writes

him notes everyday!”

“Kyouka, honey—“ Dazai cuts himself off, feeling defeated.

Family life wasn’t something he ever really /imagined/ for himself, but when Sasaki got pregnant, well...

He already knew what it was like to grow up without a father, and he didn’t want that for

his own child to experience it.

And now, /here they are./

It’s not like he doesn’t /want/ her to have a mother in her life. He does. But settling down just for the sake of stability didn’t exactly /work out/ last time.

“Okay,” Dazai sets down his drink, rubbing his temples.

“I get why you want to have a mom around,” Dazai sighs heavily. “But you don’t know /anything/ about this Chuuya person.”

Kyouka pauses. She hadn’t exactly considered that point.

“Just because he doesn’t have someone living with him doesn’t mean he’s single.” Dazai adds.

Kyouka sinks even more as she thinks about that, and her father bites his lip. “Look—“ he runs his fingers through his hair, “—I’ll try, okay?”

Kyouka nods, somewhat dejected, and while Dazai thinks that means they’re tabling the discussion, he couldn’t be more wrong.