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Heavy gunfire lit up the sky. Tachihara thought for a moment: they looked like fireworks.
He was glad that was the last thing he would see.
Another ring of gunfire resounded in the air and he cursed, ducking behind wooden crates. The Port Mafia was outmatched and outgunned in every way. Dazai-san had supplied their information, and Dazai-san had never been wrong before.
Until now.
All around him, he saw his comrades fall, one by one, until there were just a handful left. Now, they were hiding behind towers of wooden planks, crouching in the shadows and praying that somehow, some way, they might be saved.
Tachihara knew better than to hope for that.
He tossed aside his empty machine gun, the hollow magazine clattering uselessly against the floor. Bracing himself for the next round of gunfire, he pulled out his knife.
It would be no use, but he was going to go down fighting, no matter what. His thoughts flickered briefly to a red-headed mafia.
Chuuya-san had to know that he wasn't a coward—that he died in a blaze of glory.
His thumb fingered the knife tightly. He heard the guns stop, replaced by quiet steps as their enemy crept closer to their hiding place.
He inhaled sharply, fingers clenching painfully around the handle of his blade. He counted their steps:
Three.
Two.
One.
Tachihara Michizou leapt out from behind the shadows, his knife curving down in a deadly arc as his opponents let loose a barrage of hectic gunfire.
But not a single bullet reached its target.
Crouched low on the ground, his gloved hands raised to form a red shield, was Tachihara's hero.
His unrequited love.
His everything.
"Chuuya-san," he breathed out, knife clattering to the ground in shock.
Though barely anything could be heard over the cacophony of the bullets hitting Chuuya's shield, the petite mafia realized his subordinate’s mistake, snapping, "Michizou, goddammit, don't drop your fucking knife!"
Tachihara swept down to pick it up, but despite Chuuya's warning, there was really no need to. The redhead completely obliterated the enemy, the force of his power bringing them all to their knees in a bloody mess. Tachihara took in the sight grimly as Chuuya broke necks and shattered skulls in a beautiful display of horror.
Within seconds, the battle was over. Their opponents lay motionless on the ground, their empty guns clenched in still hands.
Tachihara knew that had Chuuya not arrived at the precise moment he did, it would've been him, dead on the ground.
Turning to thank the petite mafia, Tachihara bowed low, but it seemed as though the redhead was preoccupied with other thoughts. Chuuya tore his gloves off of his hands, cursing Dazai to hell.
"Fucking goddamn Mackeral!" he spat, blue eyes blazing like an underwater fire. Tachihara stared at him in shock.
"Chuuya-san...?" His voice trailed off, unsure.
Chuuya blinked in confusion, as if he forgot that he wasn't alone.
"Oh, Michizou," he said, surprise lacing his voice, his previous tirade wiped clean from his memory. "Are you alright?" His brows creased in worry and Tachihara's breath caught in his throat. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"
The man in question flushed furiously. Chuuya-san was worried. About him.
"N-no, I'm alright, thanks to you," he stuttered out. He frowned slightly. "But we did lose about half of our men."
With that report, Chuuya's eyes darkened like the pull of the tide, his face growing somber, though he tried to hide it.
"Right," he said softly, "We'll need to call in reinforcements to take care of our dead."
He turned stiffly and started walking away.
Tachihara stared after him, his heart heavy at the thought of the guilt that had to be consuming Chuuya right now. He was always so gentle, so sympathetic—Chuuya-san was too kind to be in the mafia.
Everybody knew that.
Before he knew what he was doing, Tachihara called out the redhead’s name.
Chuuya spun on his heel, his eyebrow raised in question, his face still locked in regret.
Staring at the ground, Tachihara asked nervously, "Um...would you, uh would you like to go get drinks tonight?" His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, bracing for the refusal that was bound to come.
Instead, he was greeted with a soft smile, nothing but a curl on the corners of his lips, but a smile nonetheless.
"Sure," Chuuya responded, "But it's on you."
Tachihara beamed.
Dazai sat at the table in the kitchen, amber eyes trained on the clock ticking across the room.
1:47 A.M.
His eyes narrowed.
Where the hell was Chuuya?
As if on cue, the front door opened loudly with a bang. He could hear the stumbling of a pair of footsteps—no. Two pairs of footsteps.
"Ah—Chuuya-san, be careful, you'll fall!" A simpering voice cried out. The thud that followed told Dazai that his drunken partner had, indeed fallen to the ground.
Sliding up smoothly from the table like a serpent about to pounce on its prey, Dazai put on his best fake smile. The one he always wore, the one that fooled everybody.
Except for Chuuya.
Gliding to the front of their apartment, Dazai gasped in an over exaggerated display of comedy.
"Chuuya!" He exclaimed, rushing over to the petite mafia, "Did you get hammered off of a sip of wine again?"
The redhead cursed at him from his position on the ground as Tachihara—who should've been dead, Dazai noted—struggled to pick him up.
Pushing past the mafia grunt, Dazai easily scooped Chuuya up in his arms, cradling him to his chest like a bride.
He turned to face Tachihara, staring at him like he was worth less than the dirt underneath his feet.
"Tachihara-kun~" he said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, "I've got it from here, thanks." His mouth curved up into an obnoxious grin but his eyes were cold steel, promising agony and death.
They shook Tachihara to the core. He immediately took a step back, shaking back the urge to shudder. If there was one thing Michizou knew, it was that Dazai Osamu was not a man to be trifled with.
"Er, um okay Dazai-san, take care."
He turned to leave but a whine of protest stopped him in his tracks.
"Noooo! Michizou's my friend, shitty Dazai!" Chuuya's voice cut through the air, rife with tension.
Tachihara blinked in surprise, turning around to respond but the look Dazai had on his face froze his blood.
It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, not to mention on a cold-hearted bastard like Dazai.
Pure possessiveness clouded over the executive's face; Tachihara could practically see the green beast of jealousy wrapping its ugly tendrils around Dazai's heart.
A millisecond later, Dazai was back to normal, his goofy facade planted firmly on his face, and Michizou wondered if he’d imagined it all.
"Ah, poor little midget," he tutted, hands tightening around Chuuya as he shook his head sadly like a disappointed parent, "He's so wasted he can't think straight!"
He quickly shooed Tachihara out of the apartment and for a second, the latter worried about the redhead, stuck in there with that monster.
Shaking his head, Tachihara scoffed as he walked away from their apartment.
Chuuya-san could handle himself, even without his ability.
He would be fine. Besides, Dazai-san wouldn't do anything to hurt him.
Michizou tensed as he continued walking.
Right?
Chuuya awoke in groggy-eyed pain. He sat up in his warm bed, his eyes adjusting to the dim light around him. From the window, he could see that it was still dark outside, pale moonlight trickling into the room like a sullen stream.
His head pounded painfully, like someone was slamming a hammer against his skull. Reflexively, he reached for the water on the nightstand that Dazai always left for him.
His hands met cold air.
His brows furrowed in confusion. It wasn't there.
"Oh, is our princess finally awake?" A cold voice resounded from beside him.
Immediately, Chuuya whirled on Dazai, ignoring the flash of pain behind his eyelids as he snapped at his partner.
“You fucking bastard,” he hissed, fingers curling painfully on the covers. “You let them die, you fed them that false information.”
Dazai looked on in wry amusement.
“Everybody makes mistakes, Chuuya~” he purred, waiting for his redhead to ignite.
And he did.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Dazai?” His bright eyes swimming in anger, a storm of blazing destruction, “You almost killed all of them! You almost killed Michizou!”
Dazai’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“Michizou?” He asked softly, maliciously, “You’re on first-names basis with that lowlife?”
Ignoring the hidden threat in Dazai’s voice, Chuuya snapped, “Yes! He’s my friend, you fucker.”
Dazai crept towards Chuuya, using his height to his advantage as he pressed himself above the raging mafia like a cobra about to strike.
“You only prolonged his life for how long? A matter of weeks, maybe days? He’s a weakling, Chuuya. If he didn’t die today, then he’ll die tomorrow and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it,” he said harshly, reveling in the way the hurt crept into Chuuya’s eyes, the way guilt clouded over the cobalt in a somber glaze.
Though he tried to hide it, his Chuuya was so weak, so gentle: a fragile blossom, torn apart by nothing more than a passing breeze.
And Dazai was a goddamn hurricane.
Silence crept over the pair, tightening around them like a noose.
Finally, Chuuya spoke.
“Why,” he breathed, turning up towards Dazai, his face wrenched in hurt, “Why are you like this, Dazai?”
And Dazai knew he wasn’t talking about just this instance. He was talking about every time Dazai manipulated him, every time Dazai pushed away anybody that got close to him, every time Dazai hurt him.
A dark smile crept onto the executive’s face. It was so simple—Chuuya could never see it.
“Because you’re mine, Chuuya.”
With that, he pulled the smaller man to his chest, caging him in his arms as he kissed him harshly. Reveling in the surprised whimper Chuuya let out, Dazai bit the other’s lips, his tongue entangling in Chuuya’s mouth as he forced him into submission.
His hands dug into the redhead’s hips, ignoring the way Chuuya jerked back in pain. They would bruise tomorrow, he noted with dark pleasure.
He loved painting Chuuya’s pale skin with bruises, loved leaving marks of his ownership.
Pulling apart from the gasping mafia, Dazai nipped at his neck, his collarbones, his tongue tracing gently over the harsh bites he left. From the whines and whimpers that slipped from Chuuya’s parted mouth, Dazai knew he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed it.
He ground his hips against the redhead’s, smiling devilishly as he felt Chuuya’s growing arousal.
“Ngh, s-stop,” Chuuya begged.
Dazai reached down, his hand thumbing Chuuya’s hardness, earning him a sharp gasp of pleasure.
“Do you really want me to stop, Chuuya?” He breathed.
The petite mafia shook his head, his face flushed with pleasure.
“Good boy.”
With that, Dazai quickly rid the smaller man’s clothes, reveling in the way the moonlight lit up his slender limbs, like a transcendental angel.
He littered kisses against Chuuya’s lips as he reached on the nightstand for the tube of lube that was permanently there. Popping it open, he slathered a generous amount onto his fingers, prying Chuuya’s slender thighs open with his knee.
Dazai slipped one finger into the redhead’s opening, groaning as his tight heat sucked in his finger.
“So tight, Chuuya,” he hissed, pressing a second finger against his hole.
Chuuya whimpered, bucking his hips up against his hand, a slave to pleasure. Finally, Dazai worked in his second finger, pumping in steadily and scissoring them inside of Chuuya’s body.
“Ngh!” The petite mafia cried out, back arching as Dazai found the spot that made him see stars.
“Agn, Dazai d-don’t stop,” he begged, toes curling in pleasure as his partner repeatedly hammered his fingers against his prostrate.
Grinning slyly, Dazai pulled his hand away, his arousal hardening at the whine that escaped Chuuya’s pouty lips. He reached again for the bottle of lube, squeezing some onto his hands and groaning as he covered his painfully hard length in it.
Grabbing Chuuya’s willowy hips, Dazai turned him over, pressing himself at his entrance. Without a warning, he pushed in, hissing as his tight heat enveloped him in pleasure.
Beneath him, Chuuya gasped in pain, trembling as his body fought to adjust to Dazai’s girth.
“W-wait, Dazai, I need a sec—”
Dazai cut him off by pulling out quickly and slamming in hard enough to draw blood.
Chuuya cried out in pain and Dazai smirked, his fingertips digging harshly into Chuuya’s hips. Not giving him a second of reprieve, Dazai pulled out and thrust back in deeply, groaning as Chuuya clenched around him like a vice.
“S-stop, ah!”
He basked in the way Chuuya quivered, his elbows collapsing around him as his arms struggled to support his weight, the way Chuuya bit his lip harshly, fighting back cries of pain, the way tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but he proudly blinked them away.
This was his punishment, the brunette thought.
Dazai hammered in him harshly, enjoying the way their bodies slapped together in a lewd way, interrupted only by Chuuya’s quiet whimpers of discomfort.
Soon enough, however, the petite mafia’s body grew used to Dazai and the executive slammed into Chuuya’s prostrate, making him mewl in pleasure.
Encouraged by his lover, Dazai picked up his pace, panting harshly against Chuuya’s back as he fucked him thoroughly.
“Ngh, Dazai, ahn! R-right there,” Chuuya moaned, spine arching as he braced back against his partner.
Dazai groaned into his neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
He knew he wasn’t going to last long, with Chuuya trembling and moaning beneath him. Reaching around the petite mafia, he grabbed the other’s length, pumping in time with his strokes.
Chuuya whined in frustration and Dazai chuckled as he slammed his hips into him.
“Come for me, Chuuya,” he whispered.
And Chuuya obeyed, crying out in pleasure as he came in Dazai’s hands, his eyes screwed tight as his orgasm robbed him of all breath and thought.
With a low groan, Dazai followed his partner over the edge of ecstasy, filling him with his seed as his hips gave one final jerk before emptying into Chuuya.
Pulling back, Dazai shuddered at the whimper that left the redhead’s lips and the tremble that ran through his body as his cum dribbled out of his hole. Chuuya collapsed beside him, quivers of pleasure still rocking through him as Dazai pulled him to his chest.
Smoothing back his flaming locks, Dazai pressed a loving kiss against his temple. “You’re mine, Chuuya. Only mine.”
Blue eyes darkened. Chuuya turned away from him.
“I know,” he breathed, “I know.”