Please send me requests! I'll take anything— Starish, Quartet Night, Heavens, fluff, the dirty dirty, and basically anything you want me to do for you because I'm a happy pappy person who loves catering to your fangirl (or fanboy) needs. My favorite idol is Camus because I like the assholes for some reason (but deep down he's a cinnabon)
I’m a they/she and still coming to terms with the fact that I might be a lesbian gay asf. I would still marry any of these men though.
I was not of legal age when I started this blog but I’m turning 22 in 2 weeks. Go figure. Also, happy Aries season (my birthday is in between Yamato’s and Otoya’s <33).
UtaPri is still my entire life (ofc.)
I will forever love Camus but somehow my obsession with Yamato is undefeatable. This is me admitting without really admitting that Yamato is the loml.
I still keep up with what’s going on, I own & buy most of the CDs (since 2017)! Recently money is tight and I am suffering without them tho T_T (There are definitely worse things going on in the world rn. Free Palestine btw)
I’m trying to play the games rn before Dolce Vita comes out (I still have time before they announce more ab it T-T) but I’m also trying to finish every other otome game I own & I haven’t actually touched UtaPri in months…….
I live in LA and I attend any UtaPri events at the anime expo when I can! Last one I went to was shining star stage love in dream back in 2022
Maybe I’m still an imagines blog. Tbh the whole thing was my biggest dream was to be a writer & then the dream died in 9th grade (around the time I died)… but recently after a whole anxious, depressive, ADHD (& possibly autistic) journey & learning to be happy again, I kinda wanna write again. One of the many things that bring me joy rn.
Anyway, pls feel free to reach out I’ve been feeling like meeting new ppl lately! Or reconnecting if we ever interacted in the past (I fear I might not remember I’m so sorry), but I have a lot of other hobbies & music interests besides utapri!! I am not the quickest of responders tho & I am sorry for that
Oh. Yeah. I definitely saw QN’s best solo album. (This might actually have been my revival inspiration. Very powerful. No notes needed. I actually couldn’t breathe for a good 10 minutes—)
oh I’m also on Twitter?? @whoreseki (it was supposed to be hoeseki bc houseki = gem (my name) in japanese but someone took it :(( )
It takes a woman to understand a woman*. Quartet Night does drag. You have fun with your new girlfriend.
* Reader is AFAB and ambiguously fem but has no specified gender. Gender gets bent and fucked here anyway.
1/4 | Kurosaki Ranmaru | Girlfriend
Summary: He lost a bet. She's your girlfriend with an attitude.
Tags: afab reader, no reader pronouns, no y/n, drag queen, he/she pronouns in drag, forced feminization, blowjob, face sitting, ruined makeup, unprotected sex
Words: 4.9K
Most people would hope their boyfriends don’t come home late at night with a stray false lash sticking to their work collar. Yours came home with them glued to his eyes. It’s hard to focus on just one thing when his entire face is beat to complete perfection. Then there’s the black miniskirt just barely showing under his leather jacket and the three-inch heels shoved onto his feet. Meaty thighs strain through cheap black fishnet leggings. There are already holes ripping in some places.
It’s really, really hard not to stare.
Ranmaru’s already answering the question before you ask it. “I lost a goddamn bet,” he growls. He goes to fuss with his hair, a tendency of his, and ends up more frustrated when his hand slips through the longer silky silver strands of his wig instead of his lovingly mussed spikes. “That fucker goaded me into it before we were on air. I thought, what the hell, it’s a food contest. He thinks I can’t win a food contest? Nobody told me it was a fucking pancake eating contest. Maybe he can drink all that syrup down in one sitting, but I can’t. Fuck no.”
You’re grinning.
His expression is acidic. “What the hell are you smiling for?”
“You’d rather wear a skirt than eat sweets?”
He reddens. Or maybe it’s just the blush he’s wearing. “I told you, he tricked me,” he repeats, adamant that you get the facts straight.
Over time you’ve learned to decode who’s who with the derogatory nicknames based on context. This time it’s the usual suspect: Camus. Identifiable, if not for the syrup guzzling story, by his name listed next to Ranmaru’s on tonight’s schedule.
“Wearing a fucking skirt and painting my face was not part of the deal,” he goes on. Clearly he’s still winded up about the outcome of this bet and desperately needs to explain himself to someone. “He just says shit to piss me off right as we’re about to go live, and then I’m losing that stupid contest, and all of a sudden he has the wardrobe lady and makeup guy all up in my face. Shit, this fabric itches. Are you supposed to be able to feel the breeze on your taint?”
When you don’t speak up to interrupt his rant he peeks over at you nervously. You hope your smile is soothing enough to soften the damage you’re about to inflict. “Well, you look beautiful,” you say.
Your boyfriend—girlfriend?—turns beet red. Definitely not just the blush applied carefully to the hollows of his cheeks beneath his sharp cheekbones, which are masterfully carved out by the contour and softened by the bronzer. For an intense smokey look, the smudged black shadow over his eyelids fades into his signature gray as it blends up to his browbone. The liquid black cat eyeliner extends his already feline eyes and fuses seamlessly with the black gel coating his lower and upper lashline, making the color of his irises–one steel gray and one plum wine–pop.
He’s even more striking than usual. Wearing his black leather biking jacket over the black miniskirt and his worn Doc Martens over the fishnet leggings, he really does look just like your punk rocker girlfriend.
As he moves from the entrance hall to the living room he leaves a trail of shedded outer garments. There’s his jacket on the floor, one heel lying abandoned on its side, one heel standing pointed towards the front door. You follow. He throws himself down onto the couch and kicks up his feet to try removing his socks from beneath the fishnets. Stupid.
“Help me out of this,” he demands. It’s hard to tell whether he means just the leggings or everything else too.
You go to help him, but something makes you pause. Everything is so expertly put together on his face and over his body, like a museum exhibit masterpiece. In all fairness, the model without the makeup is a natural beauty. But overall, after everything it took to doll him up like this, it seems like a big waste to undo all of it so soon.
Ranmaru takes one glance at the look on your face and scowls. “What? You want something. Spit it out.”
You burst out, “Can we please–”
He holds up a hand. “Stop right there. I already know I’m not gonna like it.”
“–At least let me take a few pics, please?”
Immediately he looks like he’s about to say no. The word is just on the tip of his tongue. But after one more look at your face, he changes his mind. Shaking his head and muttering some unsavory words under his breath, he relaxes into the couch.
He’s giving you the go ahead.
The problem is that when he relaxes, he throws one muscled bicep, emerging out of the oversized band tee, over the back of the sofa while the other rests on the arm. His legs are spread wide eagle. Whoever dressed him didn’t bother putting on shorts beneath the skirt. Or maybe he refused. You can see his red boxers peaking out under the skirt. Despite in all appearances being a woman, nothing about his manner is very ladylike.
Automatically you start directing him like you’re the cameraman at the photoshoot. “Close your legs. And your arms, too.”
Worriedly, your boyfriend sniffs at his own armpits. It’s a good thing you’re way past the honeymoon stage to get the ick. “Sorry,” he says. “I just got off work. Do I smell?”
“No, idiot, I’m trying to get you right. You look like a thug.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“For the camera I’m going to need you to look like the mafia wife, not the boss.”
“Whatever the hell that means,” he grumbles, but he does as you say anyway.
There isn’t much of a difference when he awkwardly tucks his limbs in. It’s still Kurosaki Ranmaru, the distinctly gruff and masculine rocker idol, just in a skirt and a wig. You suppress a giggle. He scowls, which only serves in making the image worse.
“Quit laughing,” he says. “Hurry up and take your pictures. I’m doing this for you. After that I’m taking it all off and burning it.”
At this you do laugh out loud. “Okay, okay. Pose for me.”
Even if he isn’t quite nailing the feminine postures—and bless his heart, he does try—his body language screams professionalism. This is an idol who’s been numbed and seasoned to being in front of a camera, even the tiny lens of your phone. He takes direction very well and without question. Occasionally there’s a complaint. Not once does he defy your orders, though. He’s more than happy to sit back and accept your expertise.
Somehow it’s not hard to imagine how he lost the bet and ended up in the styling chair. If you dare remark on how cooperative he is, though, he’d get self-conscious and make both of you momentarily unhappy trying to prove you wrong.
“You’d better not do anything weird with these photos,” he warns you in the middle of holding a pose.
Amused, you ask, “Weird like what?”
The blush darkens on his face. “Like I know! Just don’t sell them online or something.”
“I think I would’ve had plenty of opportunities before this to sell your photos for crazy prices online. No, I was just planning on jerking off with them. Hey, let’s do a boudoir shot.”
“You—!” His entire face up to his ears and down to his neck turns red, so you know it’s not just the makeup. But then he sees from your face that you’re kidding (sort of) and sighs loudly in exasperation. “Whatever. What’s a bu-bu—?“
You don’t have time to listen to him struggle to pronounce a word. It’s French, anyway, who cares? With your phone camera still trained on him, you’re already crawling onto the couch with him. “They’re tasteful sexy bedroom shots,” you explain offhandedly. “Like nude photos, except you don’t actually have to be nude.”
Ranmaru arches an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Come on, lay down.”
He’s not entirely convinced but he lets you push him back until his head hits the arm of the other side of the sofa. You take in his disheveled form made miniature on your phone. Mostly he looks the same. The stylists didn’t even bother with padding. Or again, more likely, he refused. His body is swallowed up by the oversize tee but you’re very familiar with the line of rock hard abs underneath. You can practically feel them under your hands if you fantasize hard enough.
But his face tells a completely different story. Long silver strands splay messily over the side of the couch, spilling down his shoulders, sticking to his cherry red lip gloss. He tries to spit it out and grows increasingly more frustrated when more hair just sticks to his mouth. His lashes are naturally long, but they’re elongated and emboldened in several black coats of mascara and now they cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinks.
When Ranmaru looks up at you, you have to be glad there’s a screen between you covering your face.
It takes you a moment to refocus. “...Lift your head. Chin up.”
He follows your cues.
“Okay, now your left hand on your stomach. No, not like you’re hungry–”
“I am hungry,” he complains.
“I was craving that one burger joint for lunch and I brought you leftovers. I’ll heat it up for you later. Now pose. Hand resting on your stomach, and relax your elbow. Otherwise it looks awkward.”
All of a sudden Ranmaru seems a lot more eager to oblige.
“Good,” you say. “Now tuck your right arm under your head. Relax, I said. You can let your elbow touch the couch, you know. It’s supposed to look like I caught you just waking up.”
“I’m just going to fall asleep.”
“Then you won’t get leftovers.”
With minimal muttered complaints, he does as you say.
It’s not like you refocused the camera or messed with any of the settings. As he gets adjusted and relaxes into the pose, the professional model in him just seems to come to life. It’s not a crazy outrageous pose and by no means out of character, but all of a sudden you’re seeing a disheveled grunge girl underneath you.
“Now what?” she asks.
And all of a sudden you’re hyperaware of the fact that you’re pretty much strandling her–him?–as she looks up at you through dark lidded eyes.
Ranmaru frowns. “You okay?”
Caught off guard, the phone slips from your hands and bounces off the couch. “Wh-what? Yeah.”
He stares at your face for a second. Then his face breaks into a smirk. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he teases. “You sick fuck.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
“Your face is red.”
“So is yours.”
He laughs. “But only one of us is wearing makeup right now.”
Unfortunately he’s got you there.
You reach down to grab your phone and continue taking pictures but he grabs your hand. “We can take a break,” he says.
You frown. “Hey, don’t break position. Now I have to posture you all over again.”
Ranmaru’s other hand slides up your hip, right under your pajama top. “I said let’s take a break.”
This time you don’t miss the suggestion in his husky tone. You allow him to pull you down on top of him, his lips brushing the exposed bit of your shoulder as soon as he has you close enough. You feel the sticky residue of his gloss as he presses hungry yet tender kisses to your skin. When you look in the mirror later it’s probably going to look like an angry constellation of cherry kissmarks and hickeys. You make a small sound when he sucks a little too hard in one spot. He hums against your skin in response…
okay wait I did start posting on ao3 unrelated to utapri but I have been writing utapri fics and lowkey I will take requests if anyone has any (SFW+NSFW🆗)
(…though confession all the fics I’ve been writing are heavy 18+)
Quick question: Where can you buy the Uta no Prince Sama things like the CDs and such? Or what would you recommend?
Hi! I always buy the CDs (and other stuff) from CDJapan. It’s probably the best choice because it’s the most foreigner-friendly site and most of the time, especially for UtaPri CDs, it also comes with the bonuses. It’s not cheap per se, but 1. it’s cheaper than Animate International 2. better quality than AmiAmi (AmiAmi sometimes sells the CDs but they don’t come with bonuses) and 3. easier to use than a proxy.
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