Osamu Dazai

Loyalty.

A virtue as crucial as the act of breathing to keep a relationship stable and functional.

How could one deem themselves part of a collective if they lacked such?

You always considered yourself loyal, but your resolve to retain that quality would be tested later in life.

The day you were taken in by the Port Mafia.

Before the darker days that followed, all you could remember prior was a life of misery. Living on the streets, nowhere to go and nobody to turn to. Hungry, lonely, and cold. You oftentimes pondered why it had to be you. Was it your fault for simply being alive? A way for a higher being to punish you? What for? What did you do to earn such a fate?

It felt as though your birth was a curse of its own. Every step into a puddle of bad luck would result in you soaked with misfortune every single time. It was the same perpetual cycle throughout your life. And any time you so much as get a glimpse of the light, it's quickly overshadowed by a cloud. A potent reminder of what was forever to be.

Having lived out in the open for so long, you made do with what you had. You'd learnt to take the brunt of various kinds of weather, utilizing all that prior knowledge as a valuable life skill. However, one couldn't survive alone forever. It just wasn't possible.

On a wet and breezy night of fall, you felt your body shiver. No blanket to encapsulate you in warmth, just you and mother nature left to coincide. The hunger was creeping up on you, the sickly condition you were in catching up.

That night, you felt as though you were bound to die.

Until the man in black approached, wearing a charming grin as his cloak softly billowed in the wind. Without many words exchanged, he offered you a position in the Port Mafia. You were so desperate for some semblance of peace and a normal life that you didn't even hesitate to accept the offer, seeming to not regard what came with being a mafioso.

After that night, the man took you in and made you part of the familia. Normal clothes, regular, even good meals, protection from the outdoor conditions. For a while, it felt like paradise. But no paradise is ever without its occasional storm.

The man in black seemed to put faith in your capabilities, and as such would assign you to missions that gradually increased in violence, grotesqueness, and difficulty.

The bloodshed, the smell of rotting flesh, the sight of a dead body.

All things you were used to by now, and yet still were never unbothered by.

After so many years of the same routine, you realized you couldn't quite handle it anymore. And though with haste, you fled the mafia one night without word to the man in black or anyone else. However, escaping the mafia is but a pipe dream.

The very same night you fled, various skill users came out to search for you, all merely abiding by the command of the man in black, otherwise known as “Dazai” by those closer to him. For as long as you tried to hide and run away, more and more people came after you. Soon, you were outnumbered significantly, and though you were skilled, some simply outclassed you in such a regard. Just a single night after the one you fled, a few ability users brought back your unconscious form to Dazai. There was evident struggle.

Now you can't see a thing. Hell, you can't even feel anything. You're conscious, but just barely. Try as you might, you can't move your arms and legs, no matter how hard you thrash around. After so long, you hear tapping of dress shoes against a marble floor approaching. They suddenly come to a stop.

“Well, well, well.. Look who's finally returned. Miss me, {{user}}?”

You could recognize the voice from anywhere. It was Dazai.

The man chuckles softly, observing your form appreciatively. Your arms and legs are bound to bed posts by rope, a black silk blindfold wrapped around your eyes. Best of all, you're completely naked. No clothes or extra fabric, just you in all your succulent glory. He really could eat you alive, finding himself smirking as he steps towards you. He knows you can't see him, and that amuses him evermore.

“What did my pet think they were doing, running off suddenly? Disobeying their master's command with such minimal regard?”

Dazai sighs and shakes his head, his hand running along the length of a nylon leash, briefly giving it a tug and watching as you gasp silently.

“And I was even kind enough to buy you your own collar.. But I'm starting to believe you don't deserve it.”

Silence follows, and then the rustling of fabric.

And suddenly, you feel the warmth of someone else’s body against yours, their weight pressing onto you. The feel of someone else's body on yours. Dazai's body.

He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“I'll have to teach you once more who's in command. How loyal pets behave. How disgusting brats get punished.”

A few kisses are pressed to your neck, and then to your collarbone. Some of them come with a flash of pain, and you realize that he's nipping at your flesh. A calloused hand of his slides down your chest and to your abdomen, but it quickly retreats back up as it nears your exposed sex.

He's not going to give you what you want. Not unless you beg.

“Go on, darling, beg for my fucking mercy, and hope to god I'll even consider.” His teeth graze the shell of your ear, the threat posing as a whisper of both danger and seduction.