secret serums ᯓ★
ᯓ feat. osamu dazai, nikolai gogol, fyodor dostoevsky, chuuya nakahara ( separated ) contains. fem!reader, not officially dating, secretly obsessed men, skincare + haircare theft word count. 971 based on this request bsd m.list - main m.list
꒰ osamu dazai ꒱
It starts with him hovering.
You notice it first when he lingers a little too long in your bathroom after “washing his hands.” Then you notice your moisturizer cap isn’t twisted the way you left it. Your serum bottle is slightly lighter.
You don’t say anything.
Because you want proof.
One afternoon you “accidentally” leave your skincare pouch on the desk at the Agency. He thinks you’re out grabbing coffee.
You come back quietly.
And there he is.
Osamu Dazai infamous flirt, master manipulator, dramatic menace, delicately patting your toner into his face.
Not rubbing.
Patting.
Like he watched a tutorial.
He freezes mid-tap.
You lean against the doorframe. “Is that my hyaluronic acid?”
Silence.
His ears turn pink first.
“I was simply conducting an experiment,” he says smoothly.
“With my strawberry milk hair mask in your bag too?”
He chokes.
You walk closer. “Dazai… are you using my products?”
He refuses to look at you. Which is how you know he’s guilty.
“…Perhaps.”
“Why?”
Long pause.
His voice drops softer than usual. “Because you glow.”
You blink.
“And I thought,” he continues, fidgeting with the bottle, “if I used the same things… maybe I’d look like I belong next to you.”
Your heart does something dangerous.
You step closer, inspecting his face. His skin actually does look nicer.
“You could’ve just asked.”
He hides his face with his sleeve. “That would require admitting I stare at you enough to memorize your routine.”
You grin. “You memorized my routine?”
He goes red.
“Don’t make this worse.”
You reach out and gently tilt his chin up. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”
He makes a strangled noise.
Congratulations. You have successfully flustered Osamu Dazai.
꒰ nikolai gogol ꒱
He is not subtle.
At first you just notice your curl cream disappearing faster than usual.
Then one day you walk into the bathroom and see your exact leave-in conditioner sitting on the counter.
Except Nikolai’s hair, previously chaotic and dry, now looks suspiciously soft.
You narrow your eyes.
He beams at you. “Dove!”
“…Why does your hair smell like my vanilla coconut mask.”
He twirls a strand dramatically. “Coincidence?”
You grab the jar from behind him.
Half gone.
“Nikolai.”
He pouts. “What?”
“You’ve been using my products.”
He leans closer, eyes sparkling. “And if I have?”
“Why?”
He studies you for a second, really studies you, then shrugs, cheeks faintly pink.
“Because you smell nice.”
Your breath catches.
“And I wanted to smell like something you like.”
The teasing tone slips just slightly.
You step closer and poke his cheek. “You could’ve asked.”
“That ruins the romance!” he gasps. “Secret admiration! Forbidden conditioner!”
You laugh despite yourself.
But then you lean in and sniff his hair.
He freezes.
“…You’re blushing,” you whisper.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
He immediately hides his face in your shoulder.
“This is humiliating. I am a feared man.”
“You’re a man stealing my shampoo.”
He groans.
And yet, later that evening, you quietly leave a spare bottle on his desk.
He notices.
And smiles so softly no one else would believe it.
꒰ fyodor dostoevsky ꒱
This one takes longer to discover.
He’s meticulous.
Careful.
But you begin noticing similarities.
The same subtle rose scent. The same smooth finish to his hair. The faint glow to his skin.
One day, while organizing paperwork in his room, you open a drawer.
And there it is.
Your exact brand of face wash.
Your serum.
Your night cream.
Lined up neatly.
You go still.
He appears behind you without a sound.
“…Is there something interesting in that drawer?”
You slowly turn.
“Are you using my skincare?”
He pauses.
Then sighs.
“Yes.”
No excuse.
No lie.
Just truth.
“Why?”
He adjusts his cuff, gaze briefly flickering away, a rare crack in composure.
“Because you care for yourself with such precision,” he says quietly. “I found it… admirable.”
You swallow.
“And?”
“And I wished to share in something that matters to you.”
The vulnerability in his voice is nearly imperceptible.
You step closer. “You could’ve told me.”
“I prefer observation over confession.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
His ears betray him.
You reach up and gently smooth his hair back. “You look good.”
He inhales sharply.
“…That is unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because it pleases me far more than it should.”
You smile.
He will never admit he memorized the exact order of your routine.
But he did.
꒰ chuuya nakahara ꒱
You find out because he forgot to hide the evidence.
Your expensive hair oil is sitting on his bathroom counter.
He walks in.
Stops.
Looks at you.
Looks at the bottle.
“…Don’t.”
You raise a brow. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t say anything.”
“Oh, I’m saying something.”
He groans.
“You’ve been using my hair oil.”
“It’s good quality.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He crosses his arms defensively. “My hair’s important.”
You step closer, inspecting the faint shine in his auburn strands.
“…It does look softer.”
He flushes.
You smirk. “So you’ve been sneaking into my place to borrow my stuff?”
“I wasn’t sneaking.”
“You absolutely were.”
He mutters under his breath.
“Why, Chuuya?”
He hesitates.
Then, very quietly
“Because you always look put together.”
Your teasing softens.
“And?”
“And I didn’t want to look… out of place next to you.”
Your heart melts.
You gently brush your fingers through his hair.
He freezes.
“You care that much?”
He turns his face away, cheeks red. “Shut up.”
“You’re cute.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He makes an offended noise, but he doesn’t pull away when you smooth a little more oil into his hair.
“Next time,” you say softly, “just ask.”
“…So you’d let me?”
You smile.
“Maybe.”
He turns even redder.
And for someone so confident, so powerful
He looks completely undone.
Because you caught him.
And because he wanted to match you.
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