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Chapter Text

Under the layers of spells for his disguise, Dazai lets out a sigh.

This is the supposed strongest oni in the entire country? An idiot who gets easily tricked into drinking poison, just because it’s been mixed with wine? How pathetic.

Kitsune like him are creatures who value solitude, never really seeking out another’s company unless it’s to stave off boredom by manipulating others. They are creatures of self-confident assurance, too haughty to be touched by things such as fighting on who gets to sit on the throne of the strongest supernatural creature. After all, they believe that a nine-tailed kitsune is the strongest there is, any competition that says otherwise is a waste of time.

…It’s why he’s been interested to come here, actually.

If even the old fox stooges could openly acknowledge that there’s someone who’s stronger than them, then this creature must be incredibly strong. And interesting. Dazai’s bored, so he layers on several disguise spells over his person, before setting out to meet this creature.

The strongest oni, Shuutendouji.

Rumor has it that he could crush an entire mountain with one kick, that he could carve out an ocean with one punch.

In contrast to the grandiose—and possibly lie-entrenched exaggerations—rumors about his power, his stronghold is a simple wooden temple tucked away in a bamboo grove at the top of a medium-height mountain. It’s rather homely. There aren’t any weapons or statues displayed, nor are there war trophies like the heads of several demons mounted on pikes.

(At this, Dazai lets out an internal snort. Pfft. Seems like those other demon hotshots aren’t deemed to be worthy of getting displayed in their defeat.)

Wide, open windows invite the forest-scented breeze to come in. Decorative talismans with blue tassels sway along with the wind. There are no intricate magic arrays anywhere near this temple, no signs of worship too from fellow supernatural creatures and humans alike.

How strange.

He’s the sort to not believe in rumors that he hasn’t verified with his own eyes. And yet, he’s also confused as to how the rumors didn’t mention anything about the oni’s looks.

Like an incredibly tiny, incredibly beautiful human being. Petite shoulders, wiry arms, lean legs. If not for the faintly glowing golden horns protruding from the other’s forehead, Dazai would probably classify him as a forest fairy. Or a human being blessed by the fickle heavens with stardust.

Like his temple, his outfit looks relatively simple, but still eye-catching. All vibrant reds. A sleeveless top that shows off the muscle definition on his biceps. Pants that go all the way to his ankles. Armguards over his forearm, a continued cover to his fingertips provided by red gloves. In the same shade as the oni’s horns, there are golden beads as his circlet, necklace, bracelets, anklets.

It’s certainly not as extravagant as a lot of the other creatures’ fashion sense.

His eyes still can’t look away, even if he’s deriding him internally for easily falling for his nonsense about being a human being who’d like to make a wine offering as his sign of worship. Perhaps it’s for the sake of balance. He’s already supposedly so powerful and he’s already this beautiful, the world’s karma has most likely subtracted all of his intelligence to make up for it.

Ah, how disappointing.

Maybe he could grab the other’s head once he’s dead? Such a beautiful face shouldn’t be laid to waste. But he really isn’t looking forward to dealing with carrying such a heavy thing… Maybe he should just pluck his eyes? Definitely the best part about his looks…

“Oi, you. What did you say was your name again?” Voice gruff, as if the alcohol that he drinks has burned a line into his throat. Fitting of his nickname as ‘Shuutendouji’, really. To use one’s real name is tantamount to death amongst yokai, but there’s nothing more fitting as a nickname as to be called a ‘drunkard’, just with a fancier-sounding term.

He’s still in his disguise as he awaits the poison to take effect. He demurs, placing his hands over his lap, bows his shoulders forward in a show of docility. “It’s Tsushima Shuuji, Shuutendouji-sama.” Addressing someone with such an honorific doesn’t bother him because it’s part of the manipulation. Still, he can’t help but twitch a bit when the red-haired oni gives him an unimpressed stare in return.

Pitching his voice softer, “Is the wine not to your liking?” Impossible. He has stolen this jug of wine right under the nose of the best sake-maker from another region. He has even taken the pains to process it under several spells, in order to obscure its origin.

Shuutendouji swirls his red-lacquered sake cup, while his cheek rests on his upturned left palm. They’re close enough that Dazai can smell the sweet scent of alcohol. They’re separated by a large-enough low table that he should have no trouble dodging an attack should it come.

He’s confident in his poison-making skills, but he hasn’t etched his spot as one of the most infamous supernatural creature by being careless. He has plans and counterplans ready for each situation, even the ones with the least possibility of happening.

“The wine isn’t bad,” the oni says, tone flat. “The poison in it ruins the taste though.”

As someone who has lived for a long, long time, Dazai doesn’t hiss and fly off outside this wooden shrine in response. With cool composure, he straightens his posture. The subservient aura from earlier retreats like it’s sucked away by a whirlpool.

Deep inside, he’s gnashing his teeth together. Complete disguise is one of the basic abilities of a kitsune. For someone of his caliber, there’s absolutely no way for anyone to see through his disguise.

He doesn’t show his fangs, but it’s close. “Oh? How did you find out, little drunkard?”

Blue eyes with such an incisive quality to them. If Dazai’s a lesser being, he’d worry about getting flayed open on the spot.

As such, contrary to the rumors about how he goes on a rampage at the slightest provocation, the red-haired oni drinks the rest of his cup’s contents. Possibly an illusion from all the reds in his outfit, but even his lips look like they’re covered in shiny blood right now. One raised eyebrow. “You think you can fool a wine connoisseur like me?”

He sighs. “Truly deserving of being called a drunkard, huh.”

The calm breaks open to give way to a yelled, “I’m a wine connoisseur, damn it!”

Dazai stands up, pointedly looking at the one who’s still seated, cross-legged, on the floor. Emphasizing their height difference, because there’s no other way to calm down the fire in his heart. Each supernatural being has their own tricks. There’s hardly anyone who’d reveal all the details about their own abilities. He needs to get back and thoroughly study his poison-brewing method. He cannot accept being thwarted by a chibi who does nothing but drink wine!

Before he can complete his dramatic exit, complete with billowing sleeves of his blue yukata, the chibi asks him, “Oi, you’re planning to poison me again?”

“Why, are you planning to turn tail and hide somewhere I can’t find you, little drunkard?” His voice is deliberately pitched to be cotton-soft, but he doesn’t hide the disdainful challenge there.

The look the other shoots him practically brands him with a wordless “you’re a fucking idiot” from how searing it is. His words are full of ridicule. “I was just about to tell you—I know kitsunes like their mind games, but if you’re going to try and assassinate me next time…” A faint look of disgust. “…Don’t use that weirdass disguise again, it gives me the creeps.”

This time, Dazai does bare his fangs. Ten claws protrude from his fingers, nine tails swishing out from behind him, fanning over the area like a giant black fan that’s intent on blotting out all light.

It’s one thing for the poison to be discovered, even if he’s made it completely tasteless and odorless.

It’s another thing entirely for his identity as a kitsune be exposed.

Disguises and illusions are his kind’s specialties, along with charm and manipulation. He has layered his disguise with multiple illusions, all heavy with charm and allure. Even if the first ten layers are somehow pierced or torn off, the unmasker would think that he’s from another group. Nobody should be able to determine his identity.

He narrows his eyes, until all that’s left are blood-red slits. “How did you know that I’m a kitsune?” A hissed question that’s coiled with several powerful manipulation spells. Anyone who hears it should have their mind preoccupied with only one thing: the desire to answer him as truthfully as possible.

Shuutendouji lets out an unimpressed snort. He’s clearly unperturbed about the presence of a mighty nine-tailed fox. In fact, he even sounds like he’s annoyed to deal with an ignorant child. “Isn’t it obvious though?”

The manipulation spells saturate the air, but the redhead chibi doesn’t seem inclined to answer him at all. Dazai stomps his feet against the wooden floorboards, irritated beyond measure. “My disguise is perfect! I’m a nine-tailed kitsune!”

“Pfft.” A slight shake of his shoulders. The golden beads make small, rustling sounds with the motion. “Well, you looked too beautiful to be a human being walking up dangerous mountains unsupervised.”

…Oh. For some reason, even though he has full confidence about his own handsomeness, it still catches him off-guard to be called ‘beautiful’. Perhaps because he’s too well-known as the nine-tailed fox, and so everyone knows that he’s a very poisonous creature? He hasn’t heard anyone call him that to his face in a very long time.

He falters a bit. He gets the strange urge to pat his own cheeks. “Really?”

“Of course not,” Shuutendouji rolls his eyes at him. “It’s because I could smell your fishiness and your bloodlust from half a mountain away, dumbass.”

He twitches. “Smell my bloodlust? What are you, a dog?”

“You’re the fox here, so I’d be careful about such accusations.”

“Foxes and dogs are completely different things!” He huffs as his tails swish in agitation. “You truly are too stupid!”

“You’re calling me stupid? When you’re the one who sauntered here, full of conceit, thinking you can defeat me with such weakass poison?”

He retracts his claws, crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes, I’m calling you a stupid chibi. Because you don’t even know the difference between foxes and dogs.”

“See, only a kitsune would be so arrogant as to come here looking for a beating.” Shuutendouji gestures with his right hand, and golden light spreads in the area, despite the nine tails’ work in drenching the room in shadows. “The old farts that I’ve beaten up definitely wouldn’t admit to how badly I’ve defeated them, so there would definitely be assholes who’d like to test me, see if I’m really fit to be called the strongest.”

A slight pause.

“But, nobody would be so hasty as to send their necks to unknown danger. The only ones who would are those who are so self-confident.” Blue eyes look at him with such unholy light. Ah, no wonder the other said he could smell his bloodlust. It’s because he possesses a wealth of it on his own too. “Or perhaps the ones who are seeking death, so they wouldn’t mind so much if they do get killed.”

“And there’s one infamous kitsune, known for his beauty, charm, grace and power, that fits the bill,” Dazai says slowly, completing the other’s deduction show.

Another snort. “No fucking way, I only heard of the shitty nine-tailed fox who whines all day about wanting to find a double suicide partner.”

Dazai lets out a huff, stomping his feet on the floor again. “I’m going to poison you again, so don’t go hiding in fear, you annoying chibi drunkard,” he says, then leaves in a flash of teleportation spell, just to make sure that the other couldn’t squeeze in some last words.

-

And so, instead of daily boredom, Dazai throws himself into furiously studying more spells, just so he can find a way to defeat Shuutendouji.

He usually prefers to simply lie down in the meadows and take long naps under the shade of a tree. But recently, he’s honing his teleportation spells so he can pester the chibi redhead directly.

“Why am I helping you collect the weeds you need for your poison-brewing?” Chibi asks him, the usual annoyed expression on his face.

He is undeterred, and starts tugging at the golden beads on the other’s wrist. “Isn’t it poetic justice? You helping forge the weapon that would cause your downfall?”

“What downfall? You’re just causing me a lot of stomachaches from how shitty your brewing skills are!”

They bicker all the way, though even with the chibi’s status as the strongest oni, his punches and kicks aren’t enough to cave his bones. Dazai still pulls his trump card, “The weeds I’m going to use as ingredients are found inside a fierce dragon’s cave.”

The daily pestering has granted him a lot of knowledge about the chibi. As such, it isn’t surprising that he then perks up at the thought of being able to fight a dragon while Dazai collects ingredients. “What are you waiting for? Bring me there already so I can beat up a dragon!”

Beings like them with near-infinite lifespans don’t really bother counting the days. He doesn’t run out of things to experiment on using to kill the chibi drunkard. Drawing the teleportation array on a daily basis does get quite cumbersome, so he has just refused to leave the chibi’s temple.

Dazai uses all of his tails to cling to the doorway when the other has literally kicked him out. “If I stay here, I’d have easier access to poisoning all of your wine!”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you here, asshole!”

His nine tails may have failed to give him enough power to actually damage the chibi, but they’re very good at clinging to things. He doesn’t get completely blown away, and that seems to be the main requirement of staying under the same roof as the tiny slug.

In the interest of having more opportunities to kill the other, he ends up joining him for all three meals. His naptime is reduced to afternoons only, and then a full night’s sleep to make up for the lack of napping during the day.

Several thousand days and nights pass this way.

-

Until one morning, Dazai blinks as he nearly trips over the long waterfall of curly red strands.

His chibikko is seated by the porch, strapping up crimson leg guards to cover his calves all the way up to his thighs. He’s still wearing the same red sleeveless top, but it’s now paired with red shorts that goes just pass the curve of his backside.

On the floor beside him, there’s a deep purple kimono that’s too large and loose for his size. On top of it, his usual red sake cup. It’s accompanied by a golden oni mask, plus a hiltless blade colored in clotted blood so heavy it’s almost black.

Dazai blinks again. He’s never been interested in caring about the affairs of the world, regardless of whether it involves the supernatural, the gods above or the human beings below. But, this tiny oni is very much interested in the outside world, even if he rarely ventures out of his stronghold for any substantial amount of time.

And because of that, Dazai isn’t entirely clueless about whatever’s happening. Still, he finds it a bit hard to believe. “…Are you actually going to help the humans?”

This is his chibikko donning his battle wear, after all. A slight shrug, which makes his long, long hair shimmer under the early sunlight.

Dazai can’t help but pick up a tiny stream for himself, wrapping it over his fingers. Very silky, even softer than his nine tails. Hmph. His chibikko is the one who helps him comb his tails, but he’s clearly been hiding his real skill in combing!

Unconcerned about his feelings of betrayal over his tails being kept away from maximum softness, his chibi lets out a short hum. “They have made their prayers.”

“It’s not like they were wishing for you specifically though?”

“The human world is being infested by demons. They’re powerless against such foul creatures.” As if it’s really that simple. Helping out the weak, just because he happens to be the strongest there is. “Plus, I really hate those demons, they have such… strange, sticky miasma.”

Ah. “You’re worried it will pollute your favorite rice fields and vineyards, huh.”

“It’s not just that, damn it!” The flush on his face says that it’s his main motivation for going to battle. Ah, how stupid. This chibi is actually leaving so he can protect his beloved sources of wine. A thwap to his forehead using the oni mask. “Don’t go following me, got it?”

“Ehhhhh, why? Are you meeting up with a secret lover or something?” He sniggers as he asks this, because this chibikko is only focused on his wines. How could he ever have a lover? Who would love such a slug who can’t even comb his hair properly, instead letting it spill all over the floorboards?

“Because, genius, your magic is focused on manipulation. Just like a demon’s. You’d be absolutely useless in battle.” Another thwack to his forehead. “I want to enjoy fighting, without having to babysit an idiot like you.”

Perhaps in the whole world, there’d be nobody else who’d call him, the most powerful nine-tailed fox, an idiot. It’s such a strange feeling. This chibi in front of him is probably the stupidest creature in all of creation. He bows his head and licks the hair strands in his hands.

“Bring back some of the miasma from the demons before you erase them all,” he says this as if he’s merely reciting a shopping list. “I’ll make nice poisons from that.”

“Oh? You’re actually going to obediently stay here?” His chibi turns his head so that they’re nose to nose. Blue eyes look at him as if they’re trying to pierce past his soul until he could slice up his hoshi no tama.

Maybe he should one-up the chibi then. Preemptive battle strike always grants victory. They still haven’t stopped trying to kill each other, after all.

As powerful supernatural creatures, completely killing them is no simple task. For a kitsune like him, as long as his hoshi no tama remains intact, he could still regenerate and resurrect.

He smiles as he uses his nine tails and ten fingers to braid his chibi’s long, long hair. “I’ll give you a prize if you end up winning and returning before sunset.”

“I don’t need prizes from you, shitty Dazai.”

But he stays there, breathing calmly, even when Dazai’s hands drift towards his nape, where it would be so easy to snap his neck. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would be terribly painful.

A display of trust.

Dazai repays it by snickering and then weaving his used bandages into his chibikko’s braid.

-

Time flows forward, both quickly and slowly.

After the chibi’s one-man victory over the demons, humankind ushers a new era. Utter fanaticism over supernatural creatures, which has made many factions wary over the amount of power that Shuutendouji now possesses.

Several kitsune even contact Dazai, in order to get his cooperation to slay this oni before he becomes uncontrollably strong.

“And they expect me to agree?” He whines his complaints as he wiggles against his chibikko’s lap, the other’s hands smoothly combing his tails using his fingers. “I’ve been trying to kill you for thousands of years and now they want to poach the right to kill you?!”

“If nothing else, you’re very successful in killing off my eardrums,” his chibikko says dryly, before patting his lower back so he’d shift and allow him to reach the base of his tails.

He lets out a sigh at the pleasurable massage over his tailbone, but he doesn’t forget to threaten, “Just for that, I’m shedding all over your new kimono!”

“Fine by me.” Quick and dismissive. “You’re the one who insists on me wearing it anyway.”

“Hmph. Isn’t it because your fashion sense is so tacky? If humans see you as you are, they’d probably summon demons just to get rid of you.”

The two of them have made plans to go down to the lower realm and participate in some human festivities for some change of pace.

He can’t even remember how many thousands of years has it been since he’s first met this chibi drunkard, but he’s never actually seen him become so drunk that he could doodle all over his face using an inkbrush.

Because this chibi is fascinated about new, insignificant things, he’d probably be too distracted to pay attention to him topping up his drink. This is Dazai’s chance to get him so drunk that he could freely write ‘Dazai’s property’ all over his face! He can’t let this opportunity go!

After his tails are brushed to his satisfaction, he then helps his chibi change to the kimono that he has asked forest fairies to weave for him. The measurement is impeccable, of course, unlike that purple battle dress that is so oversized he has to fold it several times over his waist so it doesn’t drag against the ground.

A kick to his knee. “Stop disturbing me when I’m trying to change clothes!”

“Do you even know how to dress properly? I’m just providing assistance for ignorant slugs…”

A light green kimono woven from crystal grass that only grows from a sacred mountain spring up north. Because it’s created with magic, the fabric still retains the memory of the flowing water. Each whisper of movement makes the fabric shimmer like it’s dripping crystal tears. The underside is dyed with crushed roses and camellias, because the chibi is addicted to red-colored things. Over the flowing green, the forest fairies have been instructed to weave cherry blossoms and peach flowers, suspended in perpetual motion.

The fleeting moment captured so it stays forever.

“I don’t even want to know how the fuck did you trick those fairies to make something like this.”

Without any gratefulness or awe whatsoever! Dazai pouts. “Why would you assume that I tricked them into doing this? My face is handsome enough to get them to do whatever I want!”

A slap to his arm. “A lot of the golden pearls are missing from my collection, you shitty fox.”

Oops, busted. “You should change things up from time to time, chibikko. It’s a sign for you to start looking into other accessories!”

Mainly, the choker that he plans to give the other later. His hoshi no tama is embedded at the underside of it. His chibi would never think that the means to kill him for real is literally right under his nose. It’s going to be perfect!

Blue eyes glare at him like the other could sense that he’s lying once again, it’s just that he isn’t sure yet about the details. Dazai beams back at him, beatific.

-

Summer festivals in the human world is rife with various folklores. It rains while they’re down there, and the two of them copy what the humans do and run for shelter the moment the clouds wail with icy tears.

Dazai steals a bite from the candied apple in his chibi’s hands. He’d usually be more annoyed with the rain if all his tails are out, since that would mean making them frizzy after they’ve been combed so thoroughly. Thankfully, they’re wearing disguises to suppress their true forms.

An elbow to his side, but he’s undeterred in stealing food from the other. It’s a practice that he’s honed over several thousands of years, after all. “They say that rains during summertime is a sign of a fox’s wedding.”

“Doubtful. Foxes don’t really believe in marriage.” The candied apple is too small to sate his appetite, so he licks even the tips of his chibi’s fingers to get more of the taste. “And those who do—they wouldn’t get married in summer. It’s too disgustingly sweaty.”

A hum. “And yet, they also say that if it rains on this day, the star-crossed lovers cannot meet as the rain will wash away the bridge that could link them together.”

The festival that they’re in today—a celebration of the once-a-year meeting between two deities above. Dazai is unimpressed. If they really want to be together, why wait for a yearly meeting? They should do whatever it takes to cling to the person that they love, instead of being controlled by things such as fate and destiny.

“Two contradictory tales of love,” is what he says in the end. The downpour continues around them, enshrouding everything in white mist. “Not that a chibi like you would understand, hmm? Since you only love wine.”

“Love… huh.” He touches the choker that he’s been tricked into wearing.

It’s the first time Dazai’s hoshi no tama has left his body, so he’s probably still adjusting to the sensations. That’s why it feels so weird that his chibi is touching it directly. It’s raining so hard, yet his entire body feels like it’s doused with fire.

“If it were me…” His chibi’s voice is soft even as his bloodlust spikes. “…I would show my love by melting you down to your bones, until you become a nice red wine, drink you all up until you can’t ever leave.”

“What a coincidence,” Dazai finds himself saying. “That’s how I’d show it too.”

-

Time flows in rapid torrents.

Humankind ushers another era—that of despising supernatural creatures and hunting them for sport. The gods have completely absconded themselves to the realms above, refusing to touch the filth of the lower realms.

Demons have returned, more bloodthirsty than ever.

“Let me guess,” Dazai says as he watches his chibi change to battle garb once again. It’s the same as last time, except for the fact that his choker now has a nine-tailed fox’s hoshi no tama in it. “You plan on representing all of the youkai. In hopes that by sacrificing yourself, you can end this war.”

It’s been a very long time since he’s last called upon the power and might of his nine tails. Several thousands of years of cultivation has made him strong enough to be able to blot out the heavens entirely, powerful magic writhing in the shadows. A kind of darkness strong enough to imprison the sun.

His chibi doesn’t deny it. He simply walks towards him, one hand holding that hiltless blade, another reaching up to touch his face. He hasn’t grown at all ever since their first meeting, so he has to lean against him while standing in tiptoes.

“My mission is… was… to become the strongest oni. Strong enough that everyone would think of me and only me when it comes to supernatural creatures.”

“I won’t allow you to leave me.”

A simple, overbearing statement. Can something like that be considered as love? It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he can’t let this person leave his grasp.

A sigh, full of exasperated fondness.

“My name is Nakahara Chuuya,” his chibi tells him, and the weight of being entrusted by the other’s most prized possession makes him sway on his feet. Chuuya sways with him, tugging him closer. A flush on his face that’s not out of annoyance, this time. “Feel free to watch me defeat them all if you’re too impatient to wait for me to come home.”

A promise and a reassurance that they wouldn’t be apart.

Dazai leans down and tastes the sweetness of a love that has been fermented for thousands of years.

-
end

Chapter Text

“You hid my wine again,” Chuuya says, lips twisting to a frown that isn’t convincing in the slightest. “Are you really that ridiculous? Being jealous over an inanimate object?”

“Your eyes were sparkling as you looked at the bottle,” is the hefty accusation, doubly weighed by the other’s pout combined with his full-body rub against his side. Nine tails swish around them, acting as a barrier against the moonlight.

Summer is the best weather to sit by the porch and enjoy alcohol. Of course, there’s wine for each season, but there’s something to be said about drinking wine while surrounded by the call of cicadas, the glow of fireflies, the sliver of moonshine.

Of course, given his lover’s antics, his favorite crimson cup is left empty and wanting. “Did you actually throw it out or did you just hide it somewhere?”

“Not! Telling!”

He’s laughing a bit when he asks, “Did you hide it under your tails?” With how massive Dazai’s tails have grown over the millennia, there have been too many instances of household things being swept under and into these tails.

“Not! Telling!” Dazai puffs his cheeks as he pushes him down, an aggrieved look on his face. “Plus, that was one time! Why would you even need a comb to brush your hair, when I’m right here!”

If anyone else sees this sight—extremely powerful nine tails swishing in agitation—they’d probably ring the bell of calamity and urge everyone to evacuate. As someone who’s been Dazai’s companion for thousands of years, this sight is simply an overgrown brat’s temper tantrum.

“I was going to use that comb to brush your tails,” he says with a smile.

“You should just use your fingers to groom me!” Dark eyes grow huge, shiny with unshed tears. It’s all exaggerated, of course, because a kitsune’s preference for manipulation cannot be simply overcome. Lips quiver like the earth beyond their domain, quaking in its crust as it senses the nine-tailed kitsune’s power. “Chuuya, are you… are you tired of me?”

He almost sighs out a teasing and dishonest, “yes, of course”, but then he looks at the way tears hang on the other’s lashes. Fake tears, but they still look extremely convincing. It seems that the thousands of years of practice yields a lot of results.

He reaches out with the hand still holding onto his empty sake cup. Sets the curve against the thick lashes, as if he’s directly harvesting the other’s tears. His other hand remains where they’ve always been, petting the base of those nine tails.

If anyone else sees this sight—someone casually holding the base of the tail of a kitsune, much less the highest-ranked one—they’d probably ring the bell of calamity and urge everyone to evacuate immediately. Someone who could make such a powerful creature submit is not someone anyone can afford to offend or coexist with.

Of course, the main point here is that there’s nobody who’d be able to sneak into this place and manage to have a look at them. Dazai’s possessiveness is bad enough that he would sometimes glare at the blankets for daring to be wrapped around him for hours. He’d never allow anyone else to set eyes on him.

And it’s this childish, ridiculous kitsune that he’s in love with.

“Let’s skip all the coquettish acting and go straight to the part where you demand compensation from me,” he suggests, shifting the cup away as soon as he’s collected all of the other’s fake, unshed tears.

At this, Dazai perks up at that, leaning down so they could rub noses. His cheeks are flushed pink. “Fufufu, you don’t want to see my crying, hmm? You love me that much, huh? You’re so embarrassing, Chuuya~~~”

With a heavy eyeroll, “The one who hid my wine because he’s afraid to be upstaged shouldn’t be calling others an embarrassment.”

“Hmph, well, I’m going to prove to you that wine isn’t the best drink at all.”

The other’s aim isn’t subtle in the slightest. “If the entire realm explodes because of this plan of yours, your tails are going to be covered in soot.”

He doesn’t really plan on dissuading the other, not only because he’s also mildly interested, but also because he’s never been great with dealing with the other’s whining. Especially now that Dazai has learned to weaponize his teary-eyed look, knowing just how weak Chuuya is to him having wet eyes.

“Fufufu, it should be fine, right?” Dazai flutters butterfly kisses all over his face. “Even if the world ends, that just means it’s a romantic double suicide for us.”

“No way, if you get us in that kind of situation, I’m outright murdering you, asshole.”

A pat to his forehead, as if to say that his skills at lying haven’t improved at all. “Stop stalling, Chuuya. Go on and drink from me already.”

A kitsune’s most prized possession would be their name and their hoshi-no-tama. In Dazai’s case, he’d argue that his most important possession is actually Chuuya’s affection—urgh, so embarrassing. Ranked highly amongst such things are parts of the kitsune’s body. The tails, obviously.

His blood, most definitely.

Chuuya hasn’t heard of an oni drinking the blood of a kitsune. Given their respective statuses and depths of power, it most likely wouldn’t lead to anything good. He’s not exactly afraid of his body not being able to withstand a power surge. But he’s a bit apprehensive at such a thing causing harm to their home. What if their home explodes and takes out his precious wine collection? What if this is just a ploy for Dazai to find an excuse to blow up his shelves of wine?

Then, Dazai murmurs, “Don’t you want me inside of you?” A tinge of insecurity coming from such a shameless creature. It shouldn’t work as well as it should, but it does. No matter his strength as this land’s strongest, that kind of attack is like silk strands slipping past his ribs and gently tickling his insides.

He brings his favorite cup to his lips, licks the droplets of tears that he has collected. Both of their heartbeats quicken at this, making the air thrum. He first kisses Dazai, lips wet as they slide against each other. Just as they’re lost in the familiarity of the motion, he shifts quickly, so that his teeth are against the other’s neck.

Compared to mortals and other creatures, a kitsune’s neck is not an extremely deadly spot that must be guarded at all costs. Still, the amount of trust displayed by this act isn’t small.

Power fills his tongue. The taste of sakura blossoms suspended in the air so they could remain in that see-saw of transience and permanence. The taste of humid air as it whistles through the wooden walls of their home. The taste of a lazy afternoon as they curl into one another, grooming one’s tails and combing one’s hair. The taste of hope, of dreams, of musings about what they’ll do tomorrow, and the next, and the next.

None of the hollowness, none of the solitude, none of the disregard for his own life.

The other’s insistence on him drinking his blood is for this quiet confession.

“Do you know what day is it today?” Dazai asks him, the moment he stops drinking the blood from his wound. He keeps his lips pressed there, stemming further blood flow, keeping himself anchored in the scent of their lives cocooned together.

It’s… probably the anniversary of their first meeting. He doesn’t keep track of time anymore—they’re all in shades of ‘before Dazai’ and ‘eternity’ for him, anyway.

So he smiles against the other’s neck and says, “It’s just another day for the rest of our lives.”

The taste of their lives entwined is the most intoxicating wine.

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end