Chapter Text
The music in the club was not just sound—it was a physical weight, a pulse that pressed against ribs, teeth, and every nerve ending. The lights flickered in sync with the bass, painting faces in fractured neon, casting shadows that danced and writhed across the walls. The Armed Detective Agency occupied a VIP table on the upper level, attempting a rare night of "normalcy," though Kunikida already felt the tension coiling in his chest like a spring wound too tight.
Ranpo was complaining about the quality of the club's snacks. Yosano was nursing a whiskey, eyes sharp and calculating as always. Atsushi sat nervously beside Tanizaki and Naomi, clearly uncomfortable in the chaotic atmosphere. Kenji seemed content to watch the dancing crowd below with innocent curiosity.
And then Dazai went utterly, terrifyingly still.
Kunikida knew that stillness. Had learned to recognize it over the months they'dworked together—the way Dazai froze when something caught his complete and total attention. It was the stillness of a predator spotting prey, of a snake coiling before the strike. His glass paused halfway to his lips, fingers tightening around it until his knuckles went white.
Kunikida followed his gaze to the dance floor below, and his heart sank like a stone.
Chuuya Nakahara moved like fire made flesh, like gravity itself had bent to his will and decided to dance. Small, barely 5'2", hair the color of dying embers that caught every flash of neon light, every motion fluid and hypnotic. He swayed and twisted in a way that seemed to defy the laws of physics, his body moving to the music with a rawness, a carelessness that made every step, every turn, every flick of the wrist feel like a challenge to the world around him.
But it wasn't just the dancing that made Kunikida's stomach twist with foreboding.
It was who Chuuya was dancing with.
A tall brunette woman pressed close to his side, hands on his shoulders, laughing at something he said. Then a blonde man, spinning him expertly, fingers interlaced with Chuuya's. A dark-haired woman with her hands on his waist, swaying in sync with him. Another man—muscular, confident—pulling him close for a moment before Chuuya spun away with a grin.
Chuuya moved between them all with careless grace, accepting touches, initiating them, his amber eyes bright with alcohol and amusement. He was radiant, uninhibited, completely in his element.
And Dazai was watching with an expression that made Kunikida's blood run cold.
"Dazai," Kunikida said carefully, noting the muscle jumping in his partner's jaw, the way his breathing had gone shallow and controlled. His own chest tightened—not just from concern, but from the sharp, quiet ache of romantic longing that he'd carried for Dazai for months now. Longing he'd never voiced, never acted on, too afraid of rejection and too uncertain of how to navigate the labyrinth of Dazai's mind. "Don't you dare harass that person—or ask them to commit a double suicide."
Dazai didn't respond. Didn't even blink. His eyes tracked every movement on the dance floor with laser focus—every hand that touched Chuuya's shoulder, every body that pressed too close, every smile Chuuya flashed at his dancing partners.
"Dazai," Kunikida tried again, more firmly.
"'He' would kill me himself," Dazai murmured finally, voice dangerously soft, barely audible over the music. His grip on the glass tightened further. "Though right now, I'm considering beating him to it."
He? Kunikida's pulse quickened. The possessive edge in Dazai's voice was something he'd never heard before—dark, consuming, obsessive. It sent a chill down his spine and made something in his chest ache with confused longing and fear.
"You know him?" Atsushi asked nervously, picking up on the sudden tension radiating from Dazai.
"Know him?" Ranpo popped a candy into his mouth, eyes gleaming with mischief behind his glasses even as his expression remained serious. "That's Chuuya Nakahara. Port Mafia executive. Gravity manipulator. One of the most dangerous ability users in Yokohama." He paused, letting that sink in. "And Dazai's former partner."
"Partner?" Tanizaki echoed.
"Mine," Dazai said, the word dripping with ownership, with possession so absolute it seemed to fill the air around them. "He's mine."
The way Dazai said it—not "my partner" or "my friend" but just mine—made Kunikida's stomach twist with jealousy and something darker, something that tasted like despair. He wanted Dazai—god, he wanted him—but watching this dark hunger consume his partner's expression made him question everything. Could he ever survive being claimed like this? Could he handle the weight of that obsession?
On the dance floor, Chuuya threw his head back, laughing at something the blonde man whispered in his ear. The sound carried over the music, rich and uninhibited and completely unaware of the predator watching from above.
Dazai's expression darkened further, something dangerous flickering in his eyes.
"He's doing this on purpose," Dazai said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "He knows I'm here. He knows I'm watching."
"Maybe he's just having fun," Kunikida offered, though his voice sounded uncertain even to himself. His eyes couldn't leave Dazai's face, couldn't stop cataloging every micro-expression of possessive fury.
"Fun." Dazai's laugh was hollow, bitter. "With them."
Kunikida watched, heart aching with complicated emotions, as Dazai reached for a drink that wasn't his—a vibrant red cocktail, something expensive and potent that someone from the table below had abandoned. Dazai's fingers moved with deliberate precision as he pulled a small vial from his coat pocket, tipping its contents into the drink with practiced ease.
"Dazai," Kunikida started, suspicion and alarm creeping into his voice. "What are you—"
But Dazai was already setting the drink on the edge of their table, positioning it carefully, precisely. Close enough that someone passing by might mistake it for available. Close enough to be... convenient.
"Just insurance," Dazai murmured, eyes never leaving the dance floor. "Just... making sure things go smoothly."
Kunikida's blood ran cold. "You can't be serious. You're going to drug him?"
"I'm going to make him more... receptive." Dazai's smile was dark, completely devoid of his usual playfulness. "He's stubborn when he's sober. Fights me on everything. This way, we can skip the preliminary struggles."
"That's—that's illegal! That's assault! Dazai, you can't—"
"Can't I?" Dazai's eyes finally shifted to Kunikida, and the look in them made Kunikida's breath catch. There was nothing of the cheerful, suicidal detective in that gaze—only dark, consuming need. "Watch me."
Before Kunikida could argue further, before he could physically stop Dazai or knock the drink away, something happened on the dance floor.
A man—tall, well-dressed, clearly wealthy from the gleam of his watch and the cut of his suit—moved through the crowd toward Chuuya. He was bold, confident, the kind of person used to getting what he wanted. As Chuuya spun past him, still laughing with the blonde, the man's hand shot out and grabbed Chuuya's waist.
Not a casual touch. Not a dancing partner's gentle guidance.
A grip. Possessive, entitled, fingers digging into the curve of Chuuya's waist as he pulled the smaller man against him.
The reaction from across the club was instantaneous.
At the Port Mafia's table—Kunikida hadn't even noticed them until now, tucked into a corner booth with perfect sightlines—every single member went rigid. Mori's glass paused halfway to his lips. Kouyou's fan snapped shut with an audible click. Akutagawa's eyes widened fractionally, Rashomon already beginning to stir beneath his coat. Even Hirotsu, usually unflappable, tensed.
They looked... scared. No, not scared—apprehensive. Like they knew exactly what was about to happen and were bracing for impact.
"Oh shit," Ranpo muttered, sitting up straight. "This is going to be bad."
"What? Why?" Atsushi looked around nervously. "What's happening?"
"That man just touched Chuuya," Ranpo explained, voice grim. "And Dazai's been watching like a hawk. This is... well. You'll see."
On the dance floor, Chuuya had gone still. His expression shifted from surprised to annoyed, amber eyes narrowing dangerously. He grabbed the man's wrist, clearly about to remove it forcefully, clearly about to make the stranger regret his boldness.
But Dazai moved faster.
One moment he was seated at their table. The next, he was simply gone, moving with a speed and precision that Kunikida had only seen him use in combat situations. He crossed the dance floor in seconds, weaving through the crowd like smoke, like a shadow given purpose.
The stranger didn't even see him coming.
Dazai's hand clamped down on the man's wrist—the one touching Chuuya—with bruising force. His other hand wrapped around Chuuya's waist, yanking him backward and away from the stranger in one smooth motion.
"Mine," Dazai said, voice low and deadly, spoken directly into the stranger's ear. "He's mine. Touch him again and I'll make you wish you'd never been born."
The stranger paled, finally recognizing the danger he was in. "I-I didn't know—"
"Now you do." Dazai's smile was all teeth, sharp and dangerous. "Leave."
The man fled, disappearing into the crowd with gratifying speed.
Chuuya, now pressed against Dazai's chest, twisted to look at him with a mixture of exasperation and fury. "I can handle myself, you suicidal maniac! I don't need you swooping in like some—"
"He touched you," Dazai interrupted, voice still dangerous, still dark. His arm around Chuuya's waist tightened. "He put his hands on you. On what's mine."
"I'm not yours—" Chuuya started, but Dazai was already moving, already pulling him through the crowd toward the exit.
No—not the exit. Toward the stairs. Toward the VIP section. Toward the ADA's table.
"Oh no," Kunikida breathed, watching them approach. "Oh no, this is—"
They arrived at the table within moments. Chuuya, clearly drunk and swaying slightly, was trying to pull away from Dazai's grip and failing. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and dancing, amber eyes bright and unfocused.
"Let go, you absolute—" Chuuya's eyes landed on the table, on the red cocktail sitting so invitingly at the edge. "Oh, is that a Negroni?"
"I believe so," Dazai said smoothly, releasing Chuuya's waist just long enough for him to reach for the glass. "Help yourself."
Kunikida opened his mouth to warn him, to knock the glass away, but Ranpo's hand on his arm stopped him. The detective shook his head fractionally, eyes serious behind his glasses.
Let it happen, he seemed to say. This was always going to happen.
Chuuya grabbed the glass and downed it in three large gulps, throat working, completely unaware of what he'd just consumed. "Damn, that's good," he muttered, setting the empty glass down. "Way better than the swill they're serving downstairs."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Dazai said, voice soft and satisfied and deeply possessive.
The effects began almost immediately. Chuuya swayed more noticeably, his movements becoming looser, more languid. His eyes glazed over slightly, pupils dilating as whatever Dazai had added to the drink hit his system.
"Whoops," Chuuya muttered, catching himself on the table. "Guess I'm... more drunk than I thought."
"Clearly," Dazai murmured, moving behind him. "You should sit down. Rest."
"I should..." Chuuya blinked slowly, confused. "I should go back. Keep dancing. Was having... fun..."
"Were you?" Dazai's hands settled on Chuuya's waist again, fingers spreading possessively across the fabric of his shirt. "With all those people touching you? Putting their hands where they don't belong?"
"They were just... dancing..." Chuuya's voice was slower now, words slightly slurred. Not from alcohol alone—from whatever drug was coursing through his system, making him pliant, making him vulnerable.
"They were touching what's mine," Dazai corrected softly, dangerously. "And that—" His grip tightened, pulling Chuuya backward, "—is unacceptable."
He yanked Chuuya down onto his lap in one smooth motion, positioning him deliberately, intimately.
Chuuya's hands flared instantly with the red light of his gravity manipulation ability—a defensive instinct, muscle memory screaming at him to fight back. But the moment Dazai's skin touched his, the moment his ability-nullifying power made contact, the light vanished completely.
"Dazai," Chuuya snarled, trying to twist in his grip even as his body betrayed him, going more pliant than it should. "You fucking—let go—"
"No," Dazai said simply. His arms wrapped around Chuuya's waist, holding him in place. "I don't think I will."
"The hell—" Chuuya tried to stand, but Dazai's grip was iron, unbreakable. "What did you—did you spike that drink?"
"Me? Spike a drink?" Dazai's voice was innocence itself, completely at odds with the possessive way his hands splayed across Chuuya's stomach, holding him captive. "I would never."
"Liar," Chuuya spat, but his struggles were already weakening, his body relaxing against Dazai's chest despite his mind screaming at him to fight. "You're a lying, manipulative—"
"Shh," Dazai murmured, one hand sliding up to tilt Chuuya's head back, exposing the long, pale column of his throat. "You talk too much."
For a moment, Dazai just stared. His eyes traced the curve of Chuuya's neck, the flutter of his pulse just beneath the skin, the way his hair fell back to reveal his face fully. There was something in Dazai's expression that Kunikida had never seen before—hunger, yes, but also something almost like... reverence. Like Chuuya was something precious and terrifying all at once.
"Mine," Dazai breathed, the word barely audible.
Then he bit down. Hard.
The sound that tore from Chuuya's throat was sharp and involuntary—a gasp mingled with a strangled sound that was neither scream nor moan but something in between. Blood welled instantly, hot and dark against pale skin, staining Dazai's bandages where they pressed against the wound.
Dazai didn't pull away. His teeth ground deeper, marking, claiming, possessing. His hands tightened on Chuuya's waist, holding him in place as he bit down again, slightly lower, creating another mark to match the first.
"DAZAI!" Kunikida's shout was instinctive, full of panic and something darker—jealousy, fear, despair, longing. He was on his feet before he realized he'd moved, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
The entire club seemed to freeze. The ADA members stared in shock. Atsushi looked like he might be sick, eyes wide with horror. Naomi's expression was sharp, clinical, calculating. Yosano's lips pressed into a thin line, understanding exactly what she was witnessing. Tanizaki looked away, uncomfortable.
Across the room, the Port Mafia members watched with cold detachment, as if this were nothing unusual. As if they'd seen this play out dozens of times before.
Mori swirled his drink lazily. "Territorial," he commented to no one in particular. "Marking his prey. I've never seen him quite so... intense about it."
Kouyou's fan snapped open again. "They've always been like this. Since they were partnered. This is... mild, actually."
"Mild?" Kunikida barked, voice cracking with emotion. "He's hurting him! He drugged him! He's—"
"He's claiming what's his," Mori interrupted smoothly. "And Chuuya, for all his protests, is allowing it. Watch."
Kunikida turned back to the scene, heart in his throat.
Chuuya had managed to land a punch—solid, powerful, aimed at Dazai's jaw. It connected with a sickening crack, snapping Dazai's head to the side. Blood trickled from his split lip.
But Dazai just smiled, turning back to face Chuuya with blood on his teeth. "Feel better?"
"Fuck you," Chuuya panted, hand flying to the bleeding wound on his neck. His fingers came away red, shaking slightly from the drugs. "You... goddamn... manipulative..."
"You were dancing with them," Dazai said, voice soft but dangerous. He leaned in, licking the blood from Chuuya's neck in one long, slow stroke that made Chuuya shudder. "Letting them touch you. All of them. Like you were theirs."
"I was having fun—" Chuuya tried to twist away, but Dazai's grip prevented any real escape. "It's called socializing, you possessive—"
"It's called forgetting who you belong to." Dazai bit down again, this time on Chuuya's shoulder, teeth sinking into flesh through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Let me remind you."
Another sharp gasp, another involuntary arch of Chuuya's back. Despite the drugs, despite the alcohol, despite the blood and the bite marks blooming across his skin—he looked impossibly beautiful. Hair like molten fire, glowing amber eyes, sharp jawline, lips parted as his breaths came fast and uneven.
Kunikida's chest ached with want and terror. Could I survive this? Could I handle being claimed with such violent devotion?
"You..." Chuuya's voice was strained, breathless. "You're insane. You know that? Certifiably—"
"Insane?" Dazai pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His hands slid up Chuuya's sides, intimate and possessive, fingers splaying across his ribs. "Or devoted?"
"Obsessed," Chuuya corrected, but his voice was weakening, his body relaxing further into Dazai's hold despite himself. "You're—this isn't—"
"Isn't what?" Dazai's lips brushed against Chuuya's ear, voice dropping to a whisper. "Normal? Healthy? Sane?" He laughed softly, darkly. "We stopped being normal a long time ago, Chuuya."
"That doesn't give you the right to—" Chuuya tried to argue, but Dazai's fingers found the fresh bite mark on his neck and pressed. Hard.
Chuuya's back arched sharply, a sharp intake of breath cutting off his words. Not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but something overwhelming and visceral that made his entire body tense and then relax in waves.
"Doesn't it?" Dazai murmured against his skin. "You're still here. Still in my lap. Still letting me touch you, mark you, claim you."
"Because you won't—nngh—won't let go—" Chuuya's hands flew to Dazai's wrists, trying to pry his fingers away from the bleeding wound. His strength should have been enough to break the hold, even drugged—but Dazai's nullification ability kept his gravity manipulation at bay, kept him merely human. Merely vulnerable.
"That's right," Dazai said softly. "I won't let go. Not ever again."
From the sidelines, Kunikida watched with a heart that felt like it was being torn in two. He wanted to intervene, wanted to pull Chuuya away from Dazai's possessive grip. But deeper, darker, he wanted to be Chuuya. Wanted to be the one Dazai claimed with such consuming obsession.
But could he survive it? Could he withstand that intensity without breaking?
"This is wrong," Atsushi said weakly, looking to the senior ADA members for guidance. "Shouldn't we—shouldn't we stop him?"
"And how exactly would we do that?" Yosano asked, not unkindly. "Dazai in this state? With Chuuya? This is between them."
"But he's hurting him—"
"Is he?" Yosano's eyes were sharp. "Watch Chuuya. Really watch him."
Atsushi did. They all did.
And what they saw was... complicated.
Yes, Chuuya was bleeding. Yes, there were bite marks blooming across his neck and shoulder. Yes, he was drugged and trapped in Dazai's lap.
But he wasn't fighting anymore. Not really.
His hands had moved from trying to pry Dazai's fingers away to simply holding them, fingers interlaced in a way that was almost... tender. His body had relaxed completely against Dazai's chest, head tilted back to rest on Dazai's shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded, glassy from drugs and alcohol, but there was something in them that wasn't quite fear or pain.
Something that looked almost like... acceptance. Familiarity. Like this was a dance they'd performed a hundred times before.
"See?" Mori called from across the room, still sounding amused. "He's not fighting it anymore. This is what they are. What they've always been."
"That doesn't make it right," Kunikida said, but his voice sounded hollow even to himself.
On Dazai's lap, Chuuya stirred. "I hate you," he muttered, words slurring together. "Hate you so fucking much..."
"I know," Dazai murmured, pressing a kiss to the bite mark on his neck—tender, almost loving, completely at odds with the violence of moments before. "I know you do."
"Then why—" Chuuya's voice broke slightly. "Why do you keep doing this? Keep claiming me like—like I'm some possession—"
"Because you are." Dazai's arms tightened around him, holding him close, holding him safe. "You're my possession. My partner. My—" He paused, seeming to search for the right word. "—mine. You've been mine since we were fifteen years old."
Mori's voice carried across the room, amused and clinical. "Territorial. Marking his prey. I've never seen it so... intimate."
"Intimate?" Kunikida barked, desperation bleeding into his voice. "He's hurting him! This isn't—this can't be—"
"It's normal," Chuuya said, voice rough but oddly calm. His amber eyes found Kunikida's, glazed but steady. "For us, anyway. Been like this since we were fifteen."
Normal? Kunikida's mind reeled. He's used to this? Used to being claimed, bitten, possessed? And I... I could never survive it. Could never handle being wanted with such violent devotion.
"You were dancing with them," Dazai said again, voice low and dangerous. "Letting them put their hands all over you. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I wouldn't care?"
"I was having fun," Chuuya shot back, trying again to slip off Dazai's lap. "Something you wouldn't understand, since you're emotionally dead inside."
Dazai's grip tightened viciously, fingers digging into Chuuya's waist hard enough to bruise. "Fun. With them."
"Yes, with them! They were nice, they could dance, and they didn't spend the whole time trying to—fuck!" Chuuya's words cut off as Dazai's hand pressed harder against the bite wound, sending a sharp spike of pain through the haze. "You're a sadistic bastard, you know that?"
"And yet you're still here."
"Because you won't let go!"
"Because you don't really want me to."
The ADA members exchanged uncomfortable glances. This was so far beyond anything they knew how to handle.
"Should we..." Atsushi trailed off, uncertain. "Should we say something? Do something?"
"Like what?" Ranpo asked, though his usual playfulness was absent. "This is between them. It's always been between them."
"But this isn't—" Tanizaki gestured helplessly. "This isn't normal. This isn't healthy. Someone needs to—"
"To what?" Naomi interrupted, eyes sharp. "Tell them they're dysfunctional? They know. Tell them this is toxic? They don't care. Tell them to stop?" She nodded toward Dazai. "Look at him. Do you really think he'd listen?"
They looked. And what they saw was a man who had found the one thing in the world he wanted more than death itself.
And was holding onto it with everything he had.
Chuuya stirred again after several minutes, the drugs making him drowsy but not unconscious. His hands pushed weakly at Dazai's chest.
"Need to—" he mumbled, "—need water. Thirsty."
"Of course." Dazai's grip loosened fractionally, though he didn't release Chuuya entirely. "There's a bar right over—"
"No." Chuuya pushed harder, actually managing to slide off Dazai's lap this time, standing on shaky legs. "Need to—get it myself. Don't trust you."
He swayed dangerously, and Kunikida instinctively reached out to steady him.
The moment his hand touched Chuuya's arm, Dazai's expression went cold and dangerous.
"Don't," Dazai said, voice flat and deadly. "Don't touch him."
Kunikida jerked his hand back like he'd been burned. "I was just trying to help—"
"He doesn't need your help." Dazai stood, moving to Chuuya's side in one fluid motion. "He has me."
"I don't have you," Chuuya muttered, but he leaned into Dazai anyway, letting him take most of his weight. "You're just... convenient. Right now."
"Of course," Dazai agreed, though his arm around Chuuya's waist was possessive, protective. "Come on. Let's get you water."
They moved toward the bar, Dazai supporting Chuuya's weight, murmuring something too quiet for the others to hear. Chuuya responded with what sounded like a curse, but he didn't pull away.
"This is so messed up," Atsushi said quietly.
"Yes," Yosano agreed. "But it's their messed up. And honestly? I don't think either of them knows how to be any other way."
At the bar, Chuuya grabbed a bottle of water with shaking hands, downing half of it in desperate gulps. Blood still streaked his neck, already beginning to dry and flake. The bite marks stood out starkly against his pale skin—some fresh and bleeding, some already starting to bruise.
He looked like he'd been in a fight. Or claimed by something wild and vicious.
"Better?" Dazai asked, fingers still curled possessively around Chuuya's waist.
"No," Chuuya said flatly. "Everything hurts and I feel like shit and I'm pretty sure you roofied me."
"I would never—"
"Liar."
Dazai's lips curved into a small smile. "Okay, yes. I added a little something to help you... relax."
"Relax." Chuuya laughed bitterly. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Would you prefer 'become more amenable to my affections'?"
"I'd prefer you go die in a ditch somewhere."
"See? This is why I had to drug you. You're so hostile when you're sober."
Chuuya turned to glare at him, and for a moment, Kunikida saw the full force of his personality—fierce, defiant, absolutely refusing to be cowed even drugged and bleeding and trapped. "I'm hostile because you're insufferable," Chuuya spat. "You're possessive and manipulative and you can't go five minutes without trying to control everything around you—"
"Can you blame me?" Dazai's hand slid up to cup Chuuya's face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone with unexpected gentleness. "When what I'm trying to control is you? When letting go means losing you again?"
Chuuya's breath caught. "You—that's not—"
"It is." Dazai leaned in, resting his forehead against Chuuya's. The gesture was intimate, tender, so at odds with the violence from before that it made Kunikida's chest ache. "It is exactly that. I lost you once when I left. I'm not losing you again."
"You don't have me to lose," Chuuya said, but his voice wavered.
"Don't I?" Dazai's thumb traced along Chuuya's jawline. "Then why do you keep coming back? Why do you let me mark you, claim you, possess you?"
"I don't—" Chuuya tried to argue, but then his expression shifted, some determination flickering in his glazed eyes. "Actually, you know what? I'm leaving. I'm done with this."
He tried to slip off Dazai's lap, hands pushing at Dazai's chest, trying to stand on unsteady legs.
Dazai's grip tightened immediately, hands clamping down on Chuuya's hips. But instead of just holding him in place, instead of pressing on wounds or biting again, Dazai did something else entirely.
He rolled his hips upward, grinding against Chuuya in one deliberate, possessive motion.
The effect was instantaneous.
Chuuya gasped sharply, whole body going rigid, hands flying to Dazai's shoulders—whether to push away or hold on, even he seemed uncertain. "What the—Dazai—"
"You're not leaving," Dazai murmured, voice low and dangerous and intimate all at once. He did it again, another slow roll of his hips, pulling Chuuya down at the same time so the friction was unmistakable, unavoidable. "Not until I say you can."
"You can't just—" Chuuya's protest died in his throat as Dazai moved again, this time with more pressure, more intent. His fingers dug into Dazai's shoulders, breath coming faster. "This is—we're in public—"
"Then stop trying to leave," Dazai said simply, hands splayed possessively across Chuuya's hips, holding him in place as he ground up against him again. "Stay. Right. Here."
Chuuya's head fell forward, forehead pressing against Dazai's shoulder as he struggled to maintain composure. "You're—fuck—you're insane—"
"We've established that." Another deliberate grind, slow and controlled and absolutely devastating. "Are you staying?"
"I—" Chuuya's voice was strained, breathless. His body had gone pliant despite his mind screaming at him to fight, to resist. The drugs made everything feel more intense, made it harder to think, to maintain his defiance. "This isn't—you can't—"
"I can. And I am." Dazai's lips brushed against Chuuya's ear. "You want to leave? Fine. Push me away. Use your strength—I know the drugs haven't taken that from you completely. Stand up and walk away." He paused, letting the challenge hang in the air. "If you can."
It was a dare. A test. And they both knew it.
Chuuya's hands trembled on Dazai's shoulders. He could push away—should push away. Even drugged, even with his ability nullified, he was still strong enough to break Dazai's hold if he really wanted to.
But he didn't move.
"That's what I thought," Dazai murmured, satisfaction coloring his voice. His hands gentled on Chuuya's hips, no longer grinding but simply holding, simply keeping him close. "You don't actually want to leave. You just want to pretend you do."
"Fuck you," Chuuya breathed, but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion and something that might have been resignation.
"Maybe later," Dazai said, almost playful now that he'd proven his point. "For now, just stay. Stop fighting. Let me keep you."
From the ADA table, Kunikida had watched the entire exchange with a heart that felt like it was being ripped apart. The casual intimacy of it, the way Dazai knew exactly how to keep Chuuya in place without violence, the way Chuuya's resistance had crumbled under such deliberate attention—it was devastating to witness.
"Jesus Christ," Tanizaki muttered, looking away with red cheeks. "Can they not do that in public?"
"They can do whatever they want," Ranpo said quietly. "And no one's going to stop them. Not even Chuuya himself."
Kunikida felt sick. This was intimacy in its darkest form—possessive, manipulative, but undeniably intimate. And he wanted it so badly he could barely breathe. Wanted to be the one Dazai kept in place, the one Dazai couldn't bear to let go of, the one Dazai would do anything to possess.
But that would never be him.
Could never be him.
Chuuya shifted on Dazai's lap, trying to get comfortable now that he'd given up on escaping. Blood still marked his neck, bruises still bloomed across his skin, but he looked almost... settled. Like some part of him had accepted this, had maybe even wanted it all along.
"Better?" Dazai asked, voice soft.
"No," Chuuya muttered, but he didn't try to leave again. "Nothing about this is better."
"But you're staying."
"Because you won't let me go."
"Because you don't really want me to," Dazai corrected. "There's a difference."
Chuuya didn't argue. Couldn't argue. Because they both knew the truth.
Chuuya stirred again after several minutes, the drugs making him drowsy but not unconscious. His hands pushed weakly at Dazai's chest.
"Need to—" he mumbled, "—need water. Thirsty."
"Of course." Dazai's grip loosened fractionally, though he didn't release Chuuya entirely. "There's a bar right over—"
"No." Chuuya pushed harder, actually managing to slide off Dazai's lap this time, standing on shaky legs. "Need to—get it myself. Don't trust you."
He swayed dangerously, catching himself on the edge of the table. The ADA members watched with a mixture of concern and discomfort, clearly uncertain whether to intervene or not.
Chuuya made it three steps toward the bar before Dazai was behind him, arms wrapping around his waist from behind, pulling him back against his chest with bruising force.
"Where do you think you're going?" Dazai murmured against his ear, voice low and dangerous and deeply possessive. "Did I say you could leave?"
"I don't need your permission—" Chuuya started, but Dazai's grip tightened, fingers digging into his waist hard enough to make him gasp.
"Don't you?" Dazai's lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "You're mine, Chuuya. Mine to keep, mine to claim, mine to—"
"Water," Chuuya interrupted stubbornly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the way his body trembled. "I just want—"
"I'll get you water." Dazai spun Chuuya in his arms, pulling him close so they were chest to chest, faces inches apart. His hand came up to grip Chuuya's jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "After you answer a question."
"What question?" Chuuya tried to sound irritated, but his voice came out breathless, almost vulnerable.
"Why do you keep trying to leave?" Dazai's thumb pressed against Chuuya's bottom lip, possessive and intimate. "You know I'll just follow you. You know I'll always bring you back. You know you belong right here." His other hand slid down to grip Chuuya's hip, pulling him flush against him. "With me. Only me."
"Maybe I like making you chase me," Chuuya shot back, but his hands betrayed him, coming up to clutch at Dazai's shirt.
"Liar." Dazai's grip on his jaw tightened. "You're running because you're scared."
"I'm not scared of you—"
"Not of me," Dazai interrupted, his hand sliding from Chuuya's jaw to tangle in his hair, gripping tight enough to make Chuuya whimper softly. "Of this. Of what this means. Of admitting that you want to be claimed. That you want to be owned. That you want to be mine."
Chuuya made a small sound—half protest, half something else entirely. "I don't—"
Dazai pulled his hair, tilting his head back, exposing his throat. "Don't lie to me, Chuuya." His voice was soft but absolutely commanding. "Not about this. Never about this."
For a moment, Chuuya just stared at him, amber eyes glassy and conflicted and dilated with something that wasn't just the drugs. His lips parted, breath coming faster.
"Fine," Chuuya said quietly, voice shaking slightly. "You want honesty? I'm terrified. Because every time you do this—every time you claim me and mark me and refuse to let go—I want it more. I want you more. I want—" His voice cracked, another small whimper escaping. "I want to be yours. And that scares the shit out of me because you're ADA and I'm Mafia and this is impossible and—"
Dazai kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't tender. It was possessive and consuming and absolutely devastating to witness.
His hand tightened in Chuuya's hair, yanking his head back at an angle that had to hurt, claiming his mouth with brutal intensity. Chuuya whimpered into the kiss—a high, desperate sound—and his hands clutched at Dazai's shirt, holding on like Dazai was the only thing keeping him upright.
Which, given the drugs and alcohol, he probably was.
Dazai's tongue invaded Chuuya's mouth, claiming, possessing, taking everything Chuuya offered and demanding more. His hand on Chuuya's hip gripped hard enough to bruise, pulling him impossibly closer, making sure every inch of their bodies was pressed together.
Chuuya kissed back desperately, submissively, like he was drowning and Dazai was air. Another whimper escaped him as Dazai's teeth caught his bottom lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. The copper taste mixed with wine and the metallic tang from the earlier bite marks.
"Mine," Dazai breathed against his lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak before claiming his mouth again. "Say it. Say you're mine."
"Yours," Chuuya gasped out between kisses, voice breaking, another whimper escaping as Dazai's hand tightened in his hair. "I'm—fuck—I'm yours—"
"Again." Dazai's voice was commanding, possessive, leaving no room for argument. He pulled Chuuya's hair harder, drawing a sharper whimper from him.
"Yours," Chuuya repeated, louder this time, desperate and honest and completely surrendered. "I'm yours, Dazai. Only yours. Always yours—"
Dazai kissed him again, deeper this time, rewarding the admission with devastating intensity. His hand slid from Chuuya's hip to his lower back, pressing him so close there wasn't even air between them. Chuuya's legs were shaking violently now—from drugs, from sensation, from the overwhelming intensity of being claimed so completely—and Dazai adjusted his grip, supporting his entire weight, keeping him upright even as he consumed him.
Chuuya made soft, desperate sounds against Dazai's mouth—whimpers and gasps and broken moans that he clearly couldn't control. The drugs made him more sensitive, made every sensation overwhelming, made it impossible to hide how much he was affected.
At the ADA table, Kunikida felt his heart shatter completely.
This—this was intimacy beyond anything he'd imagined. Beyond the biting, beyond the possessive touches, beyond everything. This was Dazai kissing Chuuya like he was claiming his soul, like he owned every breath Chuuya took, like he'd rather die than let him go.
And Chuuya—Chuuya was surrendering completely, whimpering and clutching and giving everything Dazai demanded and more.
"Jesus," Tanizaki breathed, looking away with burning red cheeks.
Atsushi's eyes were wide, unable to look away despite clearly wanting to. "Should we—should we say something?"
"What would we say?" Yosano asked quietly, voice heavy with resignation and something almost like awe. "Look at them. This is what they are. This is what they've always been. Completely consumed by each other."
The kiss went on, and on, neither of them seeming to need air, neither wanting to break apart. Dazai's hand was still fisted in Chuuya's hair, controlling the angle, controlling the depth, controlling everything. His other hand slid lower on Chuuya's back, possessive and claiming.
Chuuya whimpered again, the sound muffled against Dazai's mouth, his fingers twisting desperately in Dazai's shirt. His entire body was trembling now, overwhelmed and oversensitive and completely at Dazai's mercy.
"That's it," Dazai murmured against his lips, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. "Let me hear you. Let everyone hear how you sound when I claim you."
"Dazai—" Chuuya's voice was broken, pleading. Another whimper escaped as Dazai kissed along his jaw, down to his neck, teeth finding a fresh spot to bite.
"Mine," Dazai growled against his skin, biting down hard. "Every sound you make, every breath you take, every part of you—mine."
Chuuya cried out softly, the sound halfway between pain and something else entirely. His head fell back, surrendering completely to Dazai's possession.
When Dazai finally pulled back, both breathing hard, Chuuya looked absolutely wrecked. His lips were swollen and bleeding, eyes glazed and unfocused, face flushed, fresh bite marks blooming across his neck. He was trembling from head to toe, whimpering softly with every breath.
He looked thoroughly debauched, thoroughly claimed, thoroughly owned.
"Still want water?" Dazai asked, voice rough with satisfaction, his hand still possessively tangled in Chuuya's hair.
Chuuya just stared at him for a long moment, chest heaving, another small whimper escaping. Then, quietly, almost too quiet to hear: "No. I want you. Just you."
The admission was devastating in its honesty, in its raw vulnerability, in its complete surrender.
Dazai's smile was dark, possessive, deeply satisfied. "Good," he murmured, pressing another bruising kiss to Chuuya's lips—briefer this time, but no less claiming. "Because you have me. All of me. And I have all of you."
"Yes," Chuuya breathed, another whimper escaping as Dazai's hand tightened in his hair. "All of me. Yours."
Dazai guided him back to the table, back to his lap, arranging him with careful, possessive deliberation. Chuuya went willingly this time, no resistance left, curling against Dazai's chest like it was where he belonged. He was still whimpering softly, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion.
"Shh," Dazai murmured, one hand stroking through his hair now with unexpected gentleness—the contrast between brutal claiming and tender aftercare making Kunikida's chest ache even more. "I've got you. You're mine now. Completely mine."
"Yours," Chuuya agreed quietly, voice hoarse and broken. "This is insane. We're insane."
"I know," Dazai said softly, arms wrapping protectively around him. "But we're insane together. And you're mine. Say it again."
"Yours," Chuuya whispered obediently, another small whimper escaping. "Always yours."
"Good." Dazai pressed a kiss to his temple, possessive even in gentleness. "That's my Chuuya. Perfect. Mine."
The ADA members exchanged helpless glances. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. This was beyond intervention, beyond saving. This was two people choosing their own beautiful destruction, choosing each other despite—or maybe because of—the chaos.
And one of them had been completely, utterly, devastatingly claimed.
Kunikida felt his heart crack further. Because watching this—watching Chuuya choose Dazai's obsessive possession, watching him accept the bite marks and blood and drugs—made one thing crystal clear:
Dazai would never want him the way he wanted Chuuya.
Could never obsess over him the way he obsessed over the small, fierce redhead currently curled in his lap.
Would never claim him with teeth and blood and consuming devotion.
And Kunikida?
Kunikida could never survive being wanted like that anyway.
The thought settled in his chest like ice, cold and final and utterly devastating.
This was what Dazai was capable of. This dark, possessive, all-consuming love that destroyed everything in its path.
And Kunikida wanted it so badly it hurt—even knowing it would kill him.
Even knowing he'd never survive it.
Even knowing he'd never have it.
The night stretched on, and Dazai kept Chuuya in his lap, kept marking him, kept claiming him with dark satisfaction. And all Kunikida could do was watch, heart breaking, knowing he'd forever be second best to the beautiful, broken thing that Dazai had already claimed as his own.