Could you do dazai chuuya and ranpo when their wife gets hit on 🤭
bsd men when their wife gets hit on ─ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
ᯓ feat. osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, ranpo edogawa, ryunosuke akutagawa, saigiku jouno ( separated )
contains. wife!reader, fluff, jealous bsd men, reader getting hit on
word count. 1.4k
𑣲note. hiii!! thank you for requesting!! I hope you like it!!
bsd m.list - main m.list
𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
This one is the most dramatic.
You’re walking through the city when someone stops you, smiling brightly.
“Hey, you’re really pretty. Can I get your number?”
You’re about to politely decline when Dazai suddenly appears behind you, draping himself over your shoulders.
“She’s taken,” he says sweetly.
The person laughs awkwardly. “Oh, I didn’t know—”
“She’s very, very taken,” Dazai continues, resting his chin on your head. “Emotionally, legally, spiritually, and tragically by me.”
You elbow him. “Stop being weird.”
The person apologizes and walks away.
Dazai sighs dramatically. “People keep trying to steal you.”
“No one is stealing me.”
He looks at you with mock seriousness. “You underestimate my paranoia.”
You smile and lace your fingers with his. “Relax. I chose you.”
He beams like he just won the lottery.
𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
It happens at a bar after a Port Mafia event.
Some guy—too confident, too loud—leans against the counter next to you.
“So, what’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone?”
You blink. “I’m not alone.”
He laughs like you’re joking. “Come on, let me buy you a drink—”
Chuuya appears instantly, sliding an arm around your waist like he materialized out of jealousy.
“She doesn’t need your drink,” he says calmly.
The guy looks him up and down. “And you are?”
Her husband,” Chuuya replies, smiling in a way that is absolutely not friendly. “And you’re blocking my view.”
You hide a grin as the guy mutters an apology and leaves.
Chuuya leans down to your ear. “You good?”
You nod. “Yeah. But you looked like you were about to punch him.”
“He was looking at you wrong.”
You laugh. “You’re so possessive.”
He scoffs, but pulls you closer. “You’re mine. That’s just fact.”
𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐏𝐎 𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
You’re at a café, waiting for Ranpo, when someone at the next table starts chatting with you.
They’re nice. Friendly. A little too flirty.
“So, maybe we could hang out sometime?”
Before you can answer, Ranpo drops into the chair beside you and casually slings an arm over your shoulders.
“She’s busy,” he says, munching on a snack.
The person blinks. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t know—”
“She’s married,” Ranpo adds. “To me. And I’m way cooler.”
You sigh. “Ranpo.”
He smirks at you. “What? I was being factual.”
The stranger leaves, embarrassed.
Ranpo turns to you, completely unbothered. “You’re popular.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still married to me,” he replies smugly.
𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
it happens fast.
too fast.
one second, you’re standing at the counter waiting for your order—
the next, some stranger is leaning a little too close.
“haven’t seen you around before,” he says, smiling like he thinks it’s charming.
you blink politely. “i’m just visiting.”
“lucky place then,” he replies smoothly. “makes it worth it.”
ah.
one of those.
you offer a tight smile, already turning slightly away. “i’m actually here with—”
“you got time for a drink?” he cuts in.
before you can answer—
the air shifts.
you don’t even see him arrive.
you just feel it.
“…step away.”
the voice is quiet.
low.
but it cuts through everything.
the man freezes.
slowly turns.
and immediately regrets it.
because standing behind you is Ryūnosuke Akutagawa—
expression empty.
eyes sharp.
and something dark curling at his feet.
“…who the hell—”
“you are obstructing,” akutagawa says flatly. “move.”
you sigh softly. “…ryuu—”
“hey, man, relax,” the stranger scoffs, though his voice wavers slightly. “i’m just talking to her.”
silence.
then—
“…to my wife.”
it’s quiet.
but it lands like a blade.
the man stiffens. “…your—”
you glance back at him, offering a small, apologetic smile.
“…hi.”
akutagawa doesn’t look at you.
his gaze stays locked on the man.
“…you have five seconds,” he says.
“…or what?” the guy tries.
bad choice.
very bad choice.
the black fabric at akutagawa’s side twitches.
sharp.
alive.
“…one.”
“okay, okay—” the man raises his hands, backing up quickly. “didn’t know she was taken.”
“you knew,” akutagawa replies coldly.
“…you chose to ignore it.”
the man doesn’t argue.
he leaves.
fast.
silence settles.
you turn fully now, crossing your arms slightly.
“…you scared him.”
“that was the intention.”
“…you didn’t have to threaten him.”
“he was too close.”
you sigh. “…i had it handled.”
“you should not have to handle it.”
you blink.
“…ryuu—”
“it is unnecessary,” he continues, tone clipped. “for anyone to approach you like that.”
there’s something under it.
something sharper than irritation.
you soften slightly.
“…were you jealous?”
he stills.
“…no.”
liar.
you step closer, peering up at him.
“really?”
“…yes.”
you hum.
then lean in just slightly.
“…so if i said yes to that drink—”
his hand moves instantly.
gripping your wrist.
not harsh—
but firm.
“…you would not.”
your lips twitch.
“…i’m just asking.”
his grip tightens slightly.
“…do not entertain such hypotheticals.”
“why?”
“…because i would not allow it.”
oh.
you smile a little.
“…so you are jealous.”
“…i am not—”
“you are.”
you squeeze his hand lightly.
“…and it’s kind of cute.”
he goes still.
“…cute?”
“mhm.”
“…this is not a matter to be considered ‘cute.’”
you laugh softly.
“…okay, okay.”
you lean closer, lowering your voice.
“…but just so you know… i wasn’t interested.”
he doesn’t respond immediately.
his grip loosens slightly.
“…i am aware.”
“oh?”
“…you looked displeased.”
you blink.
“…you noticed that?”
“…i notice everything about you.”
your heart stutters.
he looks away slightly, clearing his throat.
“…come,” he mutters. “our order is ready.”
you smile.
letting him guide you away—
his hand never quite leaving yours.
just in case.
𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐊𝐔 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐎 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
it starts with a laugh.
not yours.
someone else’s.
too close.
too familiar.
“…you’ve got a lovely voice,” the man says, clearly pleased with himself.
you smile politely. “thank you.”
“can’t say i’ve heard it around here before.”
“i don’t come often.”
“that’s a shame.”
you shift slightly.
“…is it?”
“means i’ve been missing out.”
there it is.
you’re about to excuse yourself when—
“my, my.”
the voice that cuts in is light.
pleasant.
smiling.
but you know better.
“…how bold,” comes the soft hum beside you.
the man turns.
“…sorry, who—”
“ah,” he interrupts gently. “forgive me. i couldn’t help but overhear.”
you don’t even need to look to know it’s Saigiku Jōno.
his presence is… unmistakable.
“you seem quite interested in my wife,” jōno continues, tone airy.
the man stiffens. “…your wife?”
“mm,” he nods slightly. “though i must say, your approach is rather… lacking.”
you bite back a smile.
“…excuse me?”
“well,” jōno tilts his head. “you complimented her voice. how uninspired.”
the man frowns. “i was just being nice—”
“were you?” jōno hums. “it sounded more like an attempt.”
the tension shifts.
subtle.
dangerous.
you place a hand lightly on jōno’s arm. “…it’s fine.”
he pats your hand gently.
“of course it is,” he says sweetly. “you’re far too kind.”
then, to the man—
“…unfortunately for you.”
oh no.
“…look, i didn’t know she was married,” the man says, a little defensive now.
“ignorance is such a convenient excuse,” jōno replies.
still smiling.
always smiling.
“…but i’ll be generous and overlook it.”
you almost feel bad.
almost.
“thanks,” the man mutters, already stepping back.
“however,” jōno adds lightly—
the man pauses.
“…should you find yourself tempted to approach her again…”
his smile widens.
just slightly.
“…i suggest you reconsider.”
it’s not loud.
not aggressive.
but something about it makes the man pale.
“…right.”
and just like that—
he’s gone.
you exhale, turning to jōno.
“…you didn’t have to interrogate him.”
“i did no such thing,” he replies smoothly.
“…you basically threatened him.”
“did i?” he tilts his head. “how interesting.”
you cross your arms. “…you’re impossible.”
“and yet you married me.”
“…questionable decision.”
he chuckles softly.
“…perhaps.”
you step closer.
“…were you jealous?”
he pauses.
then smiles.
“…what a curious question.”
“it’s a simple one.”
“is it?”
you narrow your eyes slightly.
“…jōno.”
he leans in just a bit.
close enough that his voice drops.
“…i do not experience something so crude.”
you raise a brow.
“…so that wasn’t jealousy?”
“…no.”
“…then what was it?”
his smile lingers.
“…ownership.”
your breath catches.
“…you can’t just say that.”
“i just did.”
you stare at him.
he seems entirely unbothered.
“…you’re unbelievable.”
“so i’ve been told.”
you sigh—then smile slightly.
“…for the record, i wasn’t interested.”
“i’m aware.”
“…you are?”
“mm,” he hums. “your tone shifted. your posture as well.”
of course he noticed.
“…still,” he adds softly.
you blink. “…still?”
his hand finds yours—fingers sliding between yours with ease.
“…it is unpleasant,” he admits.
“…when others forget their place.”
your heart softens just slightly.
“…so you were jealous.”
he chuckles.
“…if it pleases you to call it that.”
you squeeze his hand.
“…it does.”
he smiles.
and this time—
it’s just for you.
osamuslvt ─ 2026 ꕥ
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oh to be anaxa’s freaked up little teaching assistant. thinking about all the unethical experiments he’d conduct on u because ur just so desperate for his respect and approval and praise and academic validation
i don’t think it’d be so obvious at first but he takes full advantage obviously because who is he to turn down a willing test subject ... i think it starts purely grounded in his academic fascinations ... maybe he starts with regular old data collection about your dreams, emotions, soul frequencies ... he’s used to doing all of this analysis on himself so it’s nice to have an objective subject for a change. of course he doesn't tell you when ur readings and results spike like crazy around him or mirror/inflect on his own. but then maybe it’s a test to see how emotions influence mental/emotional/metaphysical processes ... of course u have to go through all of the emotions, which he will design the prompts for ... anger, jealousy, fear, euphoria, despair, arousal ... for science of course. but then maybe it’s not entirely academically acceptable studies ... of course he’s trained and educated you in various areas involving extrasensory perception and maybe he wants to link your memories together or transfer/implant yours in his mind and his in yours ... he starts asking more and more off the wall questions and you’re just so taken with him that you encourage it, keep offering yourself up when it’s stuff like, “how does the soul react to touch?” “can two consciousnesses occupy the same body at once?” even when prolonged proximity to one another starts to drive both of u mad, he’s pressing his fingertips to your own and you press back ... you don’t stop when it starts to burn ... your dream sequences involving him start to get strangely intimate ... that’s not his fault though, right? just a side effect of spending so much time around one another fucking around with your energies ... he totally isn’t astral projecting to you in the fourth quint of the curtain-fall hour to extract extra data from u while you sleep. he hasn’t mentioned it so neither do you. but then in your dreams, he’s already there when he starts to visit ... is he seeing your dreams through his own eyes, or are you dreaming through his consciousness? is he even projecting to you anymore, or just dreaming of you himself? this is when he comes clean ... even if he’s not the most honest or virtuous man, he’ll be damned if he’s not a thorough researcher. so of course he invites u to meet him in dreams ... the world built out of both your consciousnesses/memories is jarring but the extrapolation of course suggests this might be the most compelling proof yet of the double/multi-consciousness theory(s) ... it’s most vivid when one or both of you are physically unconscious so of course u help him brainstorm and design the experiment which will ultimately result in the irreversible aligning of your souls because you are still so greedy for his recognition and approval and of course the very last piece of it is bringing you both as close to the brink of death as possible ... if it’s so explicit and plausible while you sleep, he tells you, imagine how much nearer merging must be when the souls are on the very precipice of release from the vessel. you’ve long lost touch with what intimacies have taken place between your physical bodies as opposed to your metaphysical bodies/souls anyway ... it would be a waste of all the data, all the work, if you didn’t go through with it, right? what’s dying together if it means you might achieve the greatest feats of both science and philosophy in one fell swoop? isn’t being close to him all you ever wanted? don’t you get exactly what you want when you’re limp, naked, entangled with him across a gurney in the lab and all the technolgy and instruments and sensors overload before two pulses disappear and become one?
can i ask for dazai and chuuya with a very sweet and affectionate reader? like making them bentos everything, giving them cheek kisses jusy because etc
───── THE LITTLE THINGS YOU DO ˛𑣲 ˚ .
synopsis.: overly affectionate darling? yes. they definitely want that.
ft.: dazai and chuuya x gn!reader (seperately)
cw.: sfw, established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, crack, dazai typical mentions of suicide, one slightly more feminine pet name ⇢ bella), drabble
word count.: 1.4k
۶ৎ note.: headcanons would have probably worked better for this, but i wasn’t quite sure what you wanted so i wrote drabbles instead! also, fleur, i was actually so excited to see you in my inbox because you’ve been such an active follower when i first started posting my stuff on tumblr!! i hope this is at least somewhat close to what you had in mind! :) ♡
[ requests are still closed !! this is an old request. ]
dazai.:
it starts off so casually, a simple peck on the cheek here and small fleeting touches that begin to wear away at his walls, unnoticed at first.
to you, those are just friendly gestures. something you do to everyone, but not quite as often as you do to dazai.
the first time you kiss him on the cheek in front of the other detectives, he merely chuckles, brushing it off as one of your other oddities. he doesn’t mind, not at all. in fact, he finds it amusing, perhaps even a little endearing.
which is why it does begin to bother him whenever you show the same affection you hold for him to someone else. in his eyes, however, there’s an easy solution to his problem—making you officially his.
dazai is a gentleman, of course, but also someone who likes to mess around. so obviously this has to be your idea. he doesn’t want to seem desperate. but maybe that’s also rooted in his fear of rejection. so he waits. waits until you finally ask him out on a date.
you two get close quickly, and dazai soon has what he’s wanted all along—your affection, your love, and your sweet, sweet, gentle kisses all to himself.
what he doesn’t expect is just how much you start to practically smother him in love. it doesn’t bother him, though. no, not one bit.
truthfully, he starts looking forward to this little routine you two have—you kissing him awake with gentle presses of your lips against his face, his favorite part being when you kiss his lips, obviously.
your fleeting touches in the office, your hand searching for his and intertwining your fingers with his. he loves when you trace and caress the skin there. it feels unobtrusive, like it always should be like this, and he never really wants you to let go. neither do you.
and oh, how he loves the food you make for him. dazai’s eating habits unsurprisingly leave something to be desired, so you start making these cute little bento boxes for him.
you always slip a note inside, telling him to have a great day at work, or that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, or sometimes even something a little flirtatious. after all, small notes like that are perfect for a bit of foreplay.
today is no different, and he immediately has a big grin on his face when he sees the note you’ve left for him.
you look across the room for him, already staring at him like a lost puppy before making your way toward his desk and sitting down on the edge of it.
dazai scoots a little closer with his chair, absentmindedly tracing small shapes on your thigh. “you’re such a sweetheart, bella,” he says, his other hand reaching out to eat one of the filled onigiri you made for him.
he tucked the note neatly into the pocket of his slacks before. he’s collecting them, after all.
“naw, you too, ‘samu.” you coo softly, leaning down to press a kiss on top of his head. one of your hands reaches out to tangle in his hair, gently caressing and scratching his scalp.
dazai hums approvingly at that before taking a generous bite of the food you made him. his stomach was already growling earlier at the mere thought of what deliciousness you packed him this time.
“i believe i would starve to death without you, my love,” dazai says in between bites, feeling his stomach hurt less now that it’s finally filled with something other than whiskey.
you chuckle lightly at his words, leaning down again to eat a stray piece of rice from the corner of his mouth before pressing another kiss to his cheek, and another, and another.
dazai only laughs, his cheeks dusted in a rosy color at your gentleness. he should be used to it by now—after all, this isn’t the first time you’ve attacked him with kisses—but then again…
he’s never experienced a love quite like yours. and he’s determined to never let fate get in between you two. he’s lost too many things already and you’re definitely worth fighting and living for.
chuuya.:
the first time you make chuuya a bento and put it neatly on his desk in his office with a small note with your initials on it, he doesn’t know what to say. he’s quite literally speechless.
he can’t remember if he’s ever even gotten a bento in his life before. his memories before the laboratory are blurred, and he’s sure the sheep never gave away bentos to any member. not that he cared back then, when all those kids were trying to do was survive—including himself.
it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind this little gesture of yours though, seeing that he always eats everything you pack him, even the things he might not be as fond of.
he makes sure to cover you in flowers and chocolate to show his gratitude, or send a gift over whenever he can’t make it home in time.
truthfully though, the bentos are just one thing. ever since you two got into a relationship, you’ve been overly affectionate. not that he minds. he likes the attention and of course, your lips all over him.
whether it be his face, his neck, his wrists, or his chest. he loves every second of it, and even though chuuya is an ambitious man, somehow you manage to make him want to stay in bed for just five minutes longer to draw out these soft moments.
something he’d never admit, but begrudgingly hopes you ask for every night, is when you want to braid his hair. although it always ends up not looking perfect and a little bit crooked, he just likes the way your hands feel tangled in his hair.
whenever they accidentally graze his neck, a comfortable shiver runs down his spine. he wouldn’t trade those moments for anything in the world.
truthfully, for someone so independent, he isn’t sure if he’d make it through the day without a kiss from you. and the fact that you’re giving him all this love and affection willingly—never asking for something in return, always doing it just because you can—has chuuya hooked.
he doesn’t ask for this kind of love. hell, he isn’t even sure if he deserves it. but he surely isn’t going to say no to it. and how could he, when you’re gazing at him with your eyes full of pure adoration, only for him, every time you’re falling asleep beside him? it’s simply impossible.
and so is ignoring the wonderful smell emanating from the kitchen to your shared bedroom.
he wonders how you always manage to wake up before him and so quietly, too. after all, chuuya is a light sleeper. if he didn’t know you’d never hurt him, he might be a little scared.
he wakes up somewhat groggily, his arm reaching out for you, only to feel the empty yet still warm spot beside him. a soft sigh escapes his lips as he sits up straight, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
as usual, you’ve put his clothes out for him on an empty stool, his fedora sitting tidily on top. he takes a minute to get dressed before quietly walking to the kitchen, noticing you frying some eggs at the stove.
a small smirk creeps up chuuya’s lips as he sneaks up behind you and loosely wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.
“you know, it would be nice to wake up next to you more than once in a blue moon,” chuuya mumbles, his voice just a tad bit raspy since he just woke up.
you hum in amusement, leaning your back against his chest before turning off the stove as the eggs finish frying.
“my dearest apologies, love. i just wanted to get started on breakfast early, and i figured you need all the sleep you can get,” you say, turning around in his embrace to kiss him.
he returns the kiss, his heart fluttering just slightly at the mention of you preparing breakfast for the both of you.
he never thought he’d get used to this sort of bit of life, and he doesn’t know if he ever will, but he certainly isn’t complaining.
even though this is all very new to him and he’s scared to mess it up, your gentle kisses, reassuring hugs, and warm eyes soothe his worries greatly—and he loves you for that.
note.: i’ve been getting into poetry again to manage how i feel better :) it’s been working out so far, butttt i suppose my head is just a little bit too messed up for those thoughts to truly disappear. oh well, whatever. i’m gonna dip again and watch bsd wan! (๑*ᗜ*)
There was so so much Chuuya. (And Diluc may be mvp on my genshin team but truly i prefer his brother,i think he got a lil lost) thank you for the tag 💕
No pressure tags! @icy-spicy @cloudsofteeth @chemicalust @osamucide @madaqueue and anyone else who would like to play!
nothing just thinking about sweaty Ness again (ꈍᴗꈍ)
wc: ~2.6k
cw: NSFW—MINORS+AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. gn!reader, messy bj, facefucking, sweat/scent kink, dirty talk, cute sweet beautiful teasing soft sweet switchy dom alexis, plurilingualism because german is a sexy language fucking sue me about it, if you ain't gonna imagine this in his cute lil accent get the fuck up out my traphouse, jk always enjoy how you want, this doesn't have a title because it was going to be 600 words max but here we are
reid: your kinktober crumbs my liege
You love how Ness smells after practice. Or a game. Or a run. Or after he lifts. Like, to an absurd degree. And he knows this. And to say he kind of adores it is an understatement.
He adores all of it—the way you’re on him before he even shuts the door behind him, the way you’re throwing your arms around him and balling up your fists in his shirt, the way you don’t even pull him down to kiss him; instead, you tuck yourself in the crook of his neck to inhale deep.
“Ich vermisste dich, schatz.” He’s chuckling as he clutches you close like he didn’t just see you a few hours ago; you trail your lips giddily up his neck, across his jaw. Your smile is low like the twilight when you pull back to look him in the eyes.
“I missed you, too,” you hum. Your fingers creep around his waist to feel the cool, damp skin of the small of his back beneath the hoodie he threw over himself for the bus ride home; you’re already planning to steal it and tuck it away and refuse to let him wash it until he absolutely needs it.
Alexis always kisses you so sweetly when he knows you want something from him. No tongue, no teeth—just a coy smile and his lips, undermined by the way you dip beneath his shorts to dig your palms and fingertips into both of his sculpted asscheeks; he grabs you by the forearms and pulls you away like he wants to call you vulgar, but his expression mirrors yours.
Still, he teases you. “You’re bad,” he accuses, regarding your face with mock disapproval—only for you to fall back into him, grinning like he’s just told you you’re beautiful.
Alexis’s pulse beats steadily against your kisses; his hands, large and calloused from lifting, clutch your waist, keep you close enough that you can’t drop to your knees—not yet—but not close enough that you can’t think about it, squirm about it. His skin runs hot beneath the cold sheen of drying sweat; his hair is mussed, mulberry ends dampened dark, still wet enough that it leaves a line of chill on your forehead where you nuzzle into him, and he doesn’t try to hide how much he likes it when your tongue flicks across his temple to catch a stray bead, undoubtedly reinvigorated by your eager attention and insistent whispers—love you, missed you, you smell so good.
Your enamored utterances gradually loosen his snug hold on you in permission to let you fold to the floor in front of him; your touch is all over his thighs, his hips, pushing up the hem of his hoodie—squeezing, clawing, massaging. After a few kitten licks-turned long, sweeping stripes of your tongue over his defined stomach, your next line of attack is the taut cut of muscle disappearing beneath his shorts; your spit leaves a burning trail as you work your way into the path of his groin, inhaling as you go. Alexis gasps when you do.
You love, too, feeling the seam of his shorts start to dampen with anything but sweat. His cock, still mostly soft but already heavy, twitches against your cheek, and the scent of him—strong, warm, ambrosial—makes your head swim. You hope whoever invented the polyester blend power-mesh fabric trapping his own scent against him is doing well for themselves—you’re certainly benefiting from it, you think, as you let your nose run up and down the length of him. You make a delighted noise that sounds most like a whine, and he pretends to scoff at it; in reality, it only makes him stand taller, cockier—his face flushing pink despite it, looking at you with corrupted fondness in his eyes as he pets your hair cutely.
“Pervert,” he says with no real bite in it.
You roll your eyes up at him; he wants you to do exactly what you’re doing—mouthing at the elastic, rolling your tongue across increasingly straining fabric, nipping at the crease where his hip meets his thigh. It’s so cute, you think, how playing with him through his clothes always gets him worked up. He always shudders, even if he pretends not to; what he’s not subtle about is shifting his weight back as your hands trace meandering lines up and down his legs, leaning himself to stabilize against your apartment door while you nudge his feet apart with your knees.
“Can I?” you almost plead, looking up, already shuffling his waistband down. The quiet mischief in his gaze betrays any innocence he could hope to put forward; you’re torn, hypnotized between the pretty happy trail emerging from beneath his shorts and the barely-controlled anticipation on his handsome face. Your eyelids flutter shut when he threads his hand gently into your hair, grazing the shell of your ear with his pinky.
“Was willst du machen?” he asks, tilting your chin up from the back of your skull, watching as your bottom lip catches lewdly to drag along his bulge; your tongue flicks out to soak up the faint tang of him you’re granted from over his shorts, but you’re more inclined to show rather than tell.
You tug his waistband down further, just enough—and your grin is wicked when something wrecked flashes through his eyes as his cock springs out to bob against your chin.
You coil your fingers around him, harder, more flushed; your nose follows your tight, wandering grasp, your cheek settling in the juncture of his hip only after you drool spit onto him to let your strokes come landguidly.
Alexis hisses out a curse as you trail into a steady pace, jerking him off, curled against him like there’s nowhere you’d rather be. The hoodie curtains over your shoulder, warm and smelling like him, and you can’t help yourself, surrounded; you bite at his groin, just once and just sharp enough that he lets out an adorable yelp before you lave your tongue over the spot in apology.
“Love how you smell, Lexis,” you whimper from beneath him like it justifies the bite, eyes shut, brows furrowed while you sink into the moment like you need it. As if to prove your point, you lift your head, smear his shaft over your face like it marks you as his. “Love when y’r all sweaty n’ gross for me.”
“I know, baby,” he breathes out, choppy and needy. “S’all for you, schatz, alles für dich.”
He tries and fails to keep his hips from bucking when you suck one of his balls into your warm, waiting mouth and swirl your tongue around it; you moan like you’re the one receiving pleasure from it, and it forces Alexis to echo you, biting his lip between his teeth while the suction sends his head flying back against the door.
Upon popping it out of your mouth, you sigh out a heady giggle, handling him in a rhythm that makes his gorgeous abs clench; you push the hem of the hoodie up to see more of him, but he takes it from you, tucks it between his teeth, and you’re quick to protest—soft no, no, nos leave you, your hand flying off him torturously, which he’s quick to raise complaint about, too—it’s such a sexy sight, but you want to hear him, too, and he wants you back to circling his tip with your thumb before rubbing down the underside of his cock again immediaitely, so the solution you both come to in this quick interlude is that the hoodie has to go; you shove it up toward his shoulders and in one swift movement it comes falling to the ground beside you, forgotten, before you’re wrapped around him again, squeezing and letting up a few times, flicking over his ultra-sensitive frenulum to get those noises you so urgently want to hear, and he indulges you.
“Fu—uhhh, baby.” With Alexis’ mouth shaping around low moans, you get back to work, at a quicker pace, now, as you steal glances up at him, naked and panting; a few more hasty, messy twirls of your wrist and you’re licking your lips, replacing your hand, cupped around his throbbing head, with your willing mouth.
It’s so throaty and full-bodied when you finally let him sink into your throat; your fingers, restless, steal away to his balls, then the tender patch of skin leading to his hot, twitching hole. When you press two fingerpads to it, he mewls your name, eyes screwed shut, fingers knotted against your scalp again. Pure heaven for Alexis Ness is the sloppy, wet noises escaping the corners of your mouth as you nod your head along his cock, tongue spiraling over him, drinking in everything he can give you—scent, taste, sound, adoration.
He’s so lucky, he thinks; he’s a star midfielder for one of the top football clubs in Europe, and he gets to come home to his pretty partner lapping up the evidence of all his hard work like a cute little puppy. It’s rare Alexis lets himself feel self-important, but it’s something purely arrogant and a little antagonistic that has him gripping the sides of your face to push your head all the way down his length in one motion, battering the back of your throat; the desperate streams of air that come puffing through your nose and the whines dying against the tip of his cock are like drugs to him. He shoves you down, over, over, groans low in his chest as your fingernails fix in his flexing quads—and you deepthroat him like you were meant for it; he knows you love it, burying your nose in his thick, musky bush while you let him use your mouth to get off.
When he fucks your face, he gets talkative.
“Th—this mouth’s so good to me.” He’s ceased moving your head for you, now opting to tower over you and thrust his hips into your skull. Alexis hunches to watch you—watch your cute face disappear into his crotch with each steady gag. “Such a good, messy little cocksucker for me.”
You whine and hum around him; you’re strapped for air but what you do intake is the sweet pheromones he radiates and the salty taste of him, of which the severity is toned down by your saliva as you suck him diligently. He’s rough, but not careless—while his palm cradles the back of your head, cushioning the impact of collision after collision of his hips, his other hand shifts to frame your jaw between thumb and forefinger, feeling your hollowed cheeks in his grasp.
“Ngh—schatzi—” He’s greedy for more of you, and you’re never shy when it comes to giving him all of you, lips stretched around him, eyes wet, nose running; Alexis loves your tears, and he chokes out something about kissing them off you once he’s done with you. “So pretty, so pretty, so—so good for me.”
You flick your gaze up impossibly as you milk him with your throat; he’s all blurry, but you feel every reaction of his body—he tenses against you, his balls jumping against your clumsy fondling and squeezing, the taste of pre-cum leaking out of him, jostled around your mouth and tongue with the flavor of what is so significantly just Alexis. With brows drawn up in a combination of distress and desire, you brace yourself against him as he pulses between your lips; your hazy brain feels full to the brim with his moans—those sharp, ruined noises that shoot straight between your own legs. God, you’re humping the air like a bitch in heat—he’s just so beautiful and perfect, taking what he wants from you, giving you exactly what you want in the process.
“Wanna swallow it?” he grunts brokenly, balls smacking your chin, your drool reaching for the floor in thin, wobbly spindles while you take it. “Or you want me to pull out and paint your pretty face?”
You hum frantically, slapping at his thighs; his hips stutter, and he pulls out completely, punching the wind back into your lungs in an instant as he fists himself with practiced desperation over your face. You know what to do; you push your tongue out and arch your back, still clawing at him, connected to him by cobwebs of spit, begging him to spill all over you. “Please,” you rasp, watching hungrily as he throbs visibly for you. “Please, Lexis, cum for me.”
“Fuck, baby—” He doesn’t need to announce it as the first spurt splatters across the bridge of your nose, but he does, shattered and relieved, watching as your big, watery eyes beg him for it. “Cumming—’m fucking cumming.”
Alexis’ harsh, uneven groans trail off into long, electric sighs; you can’t help but smile as your lashes flutter, feeling each last rope of his sticky cum land upon your face—first across your nose, then over your eyes (the way you flinch forces one more wave out of him, he could swear—you only regret that you miss the way his jaw falls slack as he whimpers out your name), then, in the final strokes he gives himself, atop your obedient, waiting tongue.
You’re already dutifully swallowing what you’ve caught when Alexis is thumbing his spend away from your eyes so you can look up at him, smiling sloppily; for a moment it’s just heavy breathing, your tongue out and dripping, his eyes glazed and soft and so full of satisfaction you giggle again. You lick the corners of your mouth. Before you can lean to rest on his thigh, he folds forward to press his lips to your forehead, followed by his own.
“Fuck,” he sighs again—like he wants to be reverent, but can only be redundant.
“Yeah?” you say, hoarse, proud, playful. You note the way he trembles; it makes you clench around nothing when he stays bent to kiss you, humming and nodding as his nose bumps yours.
But when he stands back up to full height, you’re clung to him like you don’t already have him. He’s not the only one glowing in the aftermath of his climax; you’re looking up at him like you haven’t even begun to have your fill yet, and the way you rub your thighs together—he couldn’t just leave you waiting while he does something as silly as taking a shower, could he? It’d be cruel—you just took such good care of him. It’d only be right for him to return the favor.
“Come here, cutie,” he coos, prying you off him to stand on legs like baby deer’s. He’ll tend to your sore knees later; you’re obviously not done, and neither is he. With a greedy arm around your waist, he pulls you to him, where you feel his cock already springing back to life at the mere sight of how needy you are after being away from him for so little time; he peppers sugary-sweet smooches all over your face—kissing away tears like he promised, licking the rest of his cum off you, too. Only once he’s got you clean, blushing, laughing, and writhing against him with your fingers pawing at his shoulders does he kick his shorts the rest of the way off and spin you around to lead you down the hall to your bedroom. All his clothes abandoned at the door, he’s determined to get you out of yours next; you stumble in front of him, pulling him with you as he beams at you in the way he always does before he destroys you.
“Wanna smell you, now—” He catches up with you for one second to kiss your hair. “Know you’ve been wet and needy for me all day, too.”
OH, NO TIME, MAKE, OR REASON, RIDICULE BREATHES A SIGH . . . ft. Suo Hayato, Kaji Ren, and Sakura Haruka
wc: ~5.1k
cw: NSFW—MINORS + AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI. set post-canon; all characters depicted are 20+. afab!bottom!reader (reader is largely gender neutral but implied to be masc/have gone to furin), established relationships (suo/reader, kajisaku), minor/unestablished relationships (kajisuo, suosaku, sakura/reader, & kaji/reader), top!suo, top!kaji, bottom!sakura, getting caught -> fourway, implied consent, riding, handjobs, making out, dirty talk, spit, anal & vaginal fingering/sex, degradation, pet names (whore, slut, pet, baby, sweetheart), mutual masturbation, suo doesn't shut up once, poor soft embarrassed sakura free him from this situation, best friend!kaji
reid: i had a thought
Suo doesn’t sleep in.
He’s always been meticulous about his sleep schedule; early to bed, early to rise, something about wisdom and establishing himself as an adult—but this value gets lost, every time, without fail, whenever he stays at your place and wakes up with your head on his chest. It’s nearly impossible to let you go, sunlight stifled by your curtains, your fingers grasping into his shirt; you have the uncanny ability to slow down time when you lift your head sleepily and ask him for just a few more minutes before you enter the realm of the waking, and the tranquility of it all is always enough to have him teetering back on the edge of sleep until you decide it’s enough and you start tracing shapes across his chest, pressing kisses to his shoulder, cupping his face in your hands and tucking his hair away from his forehead.
And because you’re you—a menace, his weakness, the light of his life and the bane of his existence—your late mornings almost always end up like this.
You breathe out shakily as you hike your leg up higher over his waist; when not presented with interruption or obligation, the sweet tracing and kissing and fawning of these kinds of mornings always becomes squirming and writhing and grinding—only until you’re fed up, tossing the blankets back, and shoving his sleep shorts down the same way he does yours so you can dip the head of his hardening cock into your wetness.
Suo hisses, fingertips finding the fat of your ass. “D’you wake up this wet for me?”
You would snort, but what comes out is a hitched breath as you land a noncommittal slap to his chest and roll your hips, letting yourself sink onto him. The filthy, sticky noises your contact creates already makes you desperate; you steady your breathing as you feel him stretch you. “When’s the last time I didn’t?”
Suo sighs headily, letting your rocking hips do the work. When his head falls back—content to close his eyes and just feel as you fuck yourself on him slowly, gently, but needily—you toss an arm around his middle and burrow in the crook of his neck to muffle your groans with sloppy kisses. One of his arms links behind your back, traces your spine; the other works you up and down, guiding you in your rhythm, squeezing your ass cheek each time your dripping cunt clenches around him.
This is everything, you think. You think, you can’t wait until you marry him, move in together—and this can be your every morning, not just some mornings. This is all you want: Suo, his quickening heartbeat in your ear, the low groans from his chest while you ride him slow, pressed into his jawline. It’s perfect.
And then your door slams open.
“Get your ass u—oh, shit.”
You don’t even spare the bedheaded Ren Kaji in your doorway a glance. Almost reflexively, your palm comes to smack over your eyes (clipping Hayato in the process—who just laughs tiredly, like the psychopath he is; you feel his fingers dig deeper into your hip as you bury your face in the pillow beneath you both).
Okay, it’s objectively your fault for not locking the door, and even further in Kaji’s defense, in the five years you’ve known each other, your boyfriend’s never been in your room when he busts your door down in the early afternoon to drag you out of bed for Tachibana’s omurice as a hangover cure. Your best friend’s never really been the type to knock anyway, and you know this.
Your grinding stops abruptly; when you prop your elbow on Suo’s chest to look back, Kaji’s nestled in his own elbow, leaning on your doorframe in distress. Sakura stands behind him, hands completely over his face—which you know is beet red right now—while he mutters Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ over and over.
“Sorry, just—get out,” you snap, scrambling to pull the blanket up over where Suo’s literally buried inside you; not that either of them will be able to erase this image from their minds any time soon, you think, but the mood’s been killed and you figure you might as well try to reinstate some semblance of modesty before Kaji and Sakura both keel over and die of embarrassment.
But neither of them move, seeming to be turned to stone like they’ve seen the Medusa; you opt to flop back into the pillow face-first and lament the normalcy you now realize you’ve always taken for granted between you and your friends. You figure you can kiss it goodbye for the next few days, maybe a week at most, before Kaji can finally look you in the eye again; for Sakura, you figure it could take more like a month.
“Or you could come in,” Suo suggests casually. Joking, of course. The grin is evident in his voice; still, you snap your head up to look at him like his hair’s caught on fire. You swear you could rip off that stupid medical eyepatch he sleeps in and throw it at him.
What you miss as you glare sharply at Suo is Sakura peeking through his fingers and Kaji lifting his head to exchange a long look with him; you furrow your brow, and Suo raises his—a silent speak now or forever hold your peace before he makes it clear he wasn’t joking if they do actually want to enter the room. It’s always Schrödinger’s flirt with Suo; I mean it if you do, but if you don’t, then of course I’m only kidding. Always something hidden below the surface of what he says.
Silence settles uncomfortably as you weigh your options. Option one involves Kaji and Sakura leaving your doorway, scarred for life with an image that will probably make things incredibly, eternally awkward between all four of you (well, more like three of you—you’re pretty sure Suo doesn’t have a functioning mechanism for shame in his brain) and you having to leave your quarters grumpy, horny, and unsatisfied. Option two includes Kaji and Sakura indeed coming into your room—where you’re presently fucking your boyfriend—and watching, joining, or doing something otherwise out of the ordinary that will, again, probably make things incredibly, eternally awkward between everyone with a shred of sanity in this situation.
But as you hold Suo’s unassuming smile in your vision, you think twice.
It could also be really hot. And you really don’t feel like not getting dicked down right now. He’s throbbing inside you and it’s taking all your strength not to pick your lazy pace back up, toss a middle finger to your two friends regardless of what they decide to do, and get yourself off.
Anyway, you’d be lying if you tried to deny that your best friend is attractive. Kaji’s always been handsome, since back when you were at Furin together a grade above your two sweethearts—and you’re pretty sure Suo crushed on Sakura briefly in your high school days, too. Plus, it’s not like Sakura isn’t charming on his own account. You know, in his perpetually freaked-out, flustered, angry kitten kind of way.
Getting the words out feels like pulling gum out of your hair. You hold it in your mouth like a stone, turning it over once, twice, three times, before you open your dry mouth to say it.
You really hope you don’t regret this.
“Yeah, come in.” You narrow your eyes, never breaking eye contact with Suo. A silent if this goes south, I’m blaming you. You’ve mastered translating his cryptic words and jabbing them right back at him, after all. “If you want.”
You hear shuffling behind you—like they were waiting for your permission—and suddenly, there’s two flushed boys standing shoulder to shoulder at the foot of your bed, gaze anywhere but on you or Suo or each other; Sakura’s palm covers the lower half of his face, and Kaji’s fidgeting with his own fingers like they’re going to fall off at any second.
And in the quiet of observing them, you burst out laughing. Sakura shakes his head like he’s lost all faith in everything, himself included.
Kaji shoots you a glare, but you’re rising to your knees (Suo slides out of you with a lewd pop!) to twist back and grab his wrist, tugging him up onto the unoccupied side of the bed; refusing to be taken alone, he reaches back, too, and drags Sakura around the side to sit him down at the edge, yanking him this way and that until he’s on his back with the blond between his legs, arms crossed over his chest, huffing and puffing about how nasty this is and how you two are obviously huge, disgusting freaks.
You think it’s cute how Sakura betrays his own words when his hips pitch upward unconsciously as Kaji wraps large, strong hands around his thighs, pressing their bulges together—and of course, Suo, ever the diplomat, is quick to ease his friend’s complaints and concerns.
“You can always get up and go,” Suo basically singsongs. What’s hidden is but something tells me you won’t; you know Sakura and Kaji pick up on it this time, too.
Indeed, he doesn’t move. He just looks up at Kaji with a softness behind his scowl—a softness that’s long been reserved for the blond—as if confirming it’s alright with him; it’s uncharacteristic to see Sakura asking for someone’s permission. At the same time, your heart skips a beat for both of them. That’s cute.
Kaji’s eyes are firm, and so he turns to you, finally, to find you biting your lip expectantly.
You shrug a little as your hips start swirling again; you really want Suo’s cock back inside you, and as soon as Kaji’s fingers are flying impatiently to Sakura’s waistband, you get back to the prettiest one of them all, beneath you—oh, if Suo had a tail, it’d be wagging. He looks like a dog about to get a treat, and before you can realign him where you want him most, he’s flipping you under him in one smooth movement.
Plush mattress hits your back; your shoulder bumps Sakura’s.
“So sweet of you both to get all worked up just from catching us.” Your lover puts back on that easy, airy tone that usually slips away when it’s just you and him; teasing’s his game, and he’s going to play it with everyone. His fingers tilt your chin up to him as he asks you, “Think they want a show, sweetheart?”
“You suck,” Sakura spits before you can answer; nonetheless, his hands fumble with Kaji’s pants now, albeit clumsily. You try not to stare at both of their cocks as they spring up against each other—both big, thick, hardening quickly; Sakura’s tip is just as blushy as his face, and as Suo follows your gaze to it, your lips and his twitch up in twin smiles.
“We’ll enjoy watching, too.” Suo’s easygoing as he runs his fingertips from your shoulder, down the bend of your knee, back up across your stomach, like this doesn’t faze him one bit. “Right?”
He curls down over your body to press a burning kiss to the side of your neck before he whispers in your ear loud enough for them to hear. Soft, reddish-brown hair curtains over your face.
“You wanna watch them fuck while I fuck you? Hm?”
Suo’s always had a filthy mouth. It still gets you going, but you’re used to it enough; what you’re not used to is him doing it in front of other people—your friends—and it sets off an unfamiliar kind of electricity in your belly that has you clawing at his shoulders. But he’s pulling back away from you, and you’re whining.
“Haya,” you whimper.
His brow shoots up innocently, like Sakura’s hand isn’t curling into the sheets next to yours; Kaji’s at work lining his jaw with rough bites, both of them bare from the waist down and wriggling. It’s so sexy to watch; Sakura’s so crimson you think he might burst into flames.
Just when Kaji lifts up to drop a hand between Sakura’s legs, Suo catches his wrist.
“Wait.”
If looks could kill, the look Kaji and Sakura send your lover would’ve struck him dead instantly. You know something’s coming next; Suo’s always plotting some way to play mind games with you, and usually you can read him, but he’s got two new toys at his disposal, and you find your gaze falling to the two cocks of your friends pressed together, straining, leaking. You salivate.
“Make them beg for it,” Suo says—meaning you—like he’s requesting someone pass him the salt.
You watch the irritation on your best friend’s face morph into shock. His eyes lock onto you, licking your lips and grasping half-heartedly at your boyfriend, and you watch the shock become conspiracy—and the conspiracy become something downright evil.
Ren’s not above teasing you, either. You know this.
“Yeah. Right,” Kaji huffs, grinning as he frees himself from Suo’s hold to poke you in the side. You kick at him unceremoniously, but mostly end up knocking your knee into Sakura’s, which earns you a gruff watch it! “Beg me.”
You know, also, that the new rules of this arising game mean Suo won’t touch you or fuck you, either—not until you’re doing as Kaji tells you. As this knowledge settles, you look up at Kaji like you can’t believe him. You can’t believe he would betray you like this—take Suo’s side over yours, for a laugh, to make you squirm.
But his steely blue eyes are unwavering.
“Beg me to touch him,” he continues. “Beg me to fuck Haru so you can get off to it.”
Suo would never tell you, but he adores the helpless look on your face. He’s always talking about breaking you, about ruining you, but he might’ve just accidentally stumbled upon the thing that’ll help him do exactly that: your best friend, who doesn’t go any easier on you than your lover does.
You glance over to see how Sakura’s faring. Judging from the annoyance still fresh on his face, along with that trademark blush, you can guess he’s not much happier than you are about not being touched yet on top of being put through this humiliation ritual; when his dagger-like stare shoots over to you, you can basically hear him telling you to get on with it. He wants it worse than you do. The gloss over that mean gaze gives him away.
And you want it bad. You kind of hate that you have to be the one to stand down for both of you, but you’re clenching around nothing, feeling so unbearably empty, with Suo’s cock right there, so close to where you need it; the rapid rise and fall of Sakura’s breath—or maybe that’s yours—fills you with anxiety.
“Please,” you squeak out, voice getting caught. “Please, Ren.”
“Please, Ren, what?” he goads you; you don’t look over to see it, but Suo appears very pleased at how easily Kaji slips into this role. As they wait for you to continue, fingers push your shirt up; Sakura rids himself of his own shirt, and Kaji rubs a slow, intentional path up the plane of his abs to a nipple, which he tweaks, still searing into you.
“Please, Ren, touch Haru, please.” It all falls out in one breath. You anticipate what follows this, so on the inhale, you finish, “Touch his cock and stretch him out f’me, please?”
Your immediate reward is Suo’s thumb on your puffy clit; you gasp, your legs twitch—the far one, Suo tosses over his shoulder at your ankle. “Good. Wasn’t so hard, yeah?”
“Mm-mm,” you agree, shaking your head, almost shivering for it. You’re lying. It wasn’t anywhere near the easiest thing in the world, between these three, but you’ve got some leverage, acting like this, if it means Suo’s fingers on you and Kaji’s on Sakura—you relish that, take it in stride—you know Suo will be proud of you for doing so, and you’ll get what you want sooner; his slow circles are torturous, but relieving enough in combination with the visual of Kaji dipping two fingers into Sakura’s mouth and wetting them before they traverse back down his body to tease his balls, trace the rim of his ass.
The sound that leaves Sakura’s mouth is nothing short of adorable—restrained cry, choked breath. The string of spit that then drops from Kaji’s mouth onto the shaft of the other boy’s dick is hypnotizing. You only remember Suo’s touching you when his fingers prod at your hole, forcing your eyes back to him—his coy smile, his heavy-lidded single eye.
“Don’t forget about me,” he muses. “That’s rude.”
“No, baby,” you croon. You try not to pout in return; with both of them ganged up on you, you know you need to behave. Sakura needs it, too, if the way he tenses up and paws at his lover’s wrists is anything to go off of. ”Want you.”
“Gotta beg him, too, cutie,” Kaji tells you, working a finger up to the first knuckle in Sakura’s ass; you don’t remember who put them both in charge, but you’re not thinking about it for long once you feel Suo’s cockhead replace his thumb—sliding up, down between your soaked folds, those dirty, creamy noises that had your middle in knots earlier finding your ears again.
“Please,” Sakura chokes out abruptly, beating you to it, to your surprise—you’re unsure if he’s begging Kaji, or begging you to beg. “Please, just fucking—”
“Want you so bad, Haya,” comes your cracked voice, overlapping. You arch your back up into him, but Suo maneuvers himself away with discipline. “Please, put it—put it back in, please. Wan’ you to fuck me.”
“You should wait ‘til Haruka’s ready,” Suo hums, drooling pre-cum onto your cunt. You both admire and loathe his knack for constraint when it comes to pushing you to your wits end in bed; his desperation for you is ever-present but never obvious, and he uses it to make you feel even needier. “Don’t wanna be unfair.”
“I think we gotta hear ‘em both,” Kaji concludes. In your peripheral, you see Sakura’s jaw fall open; the full-bodied moan he lets out tells you he’s going to break just as quick as you. Good, you think. You’re better off for it.
“Ren,” Sakura gasps. “Fuckin‘—shit. Please.”
“Use those words, babe.” Kaji’s free hand sketches across Sakura’s hips, across his happy trail, avoiding his cock pointedly; you and Sakura are passing the antsiness back and forth between you, and now that you have your turn with it, it feels painful. You’re in a limbo, panting like an animal, eyes watering in a way that has Suo unable to tear his gaze away from you. He loves your tears. He wants to see more, but you want it to be from him fucking you hard.
“Just—fuck.”
“Haru,” you whine petulantly. You can’t wait for him.
Your vision’s blurry through the lust-thickened air when your hands start to wander before your brain can stop them; one, downward, to Suo—slick and messy with your arousal, straining at the moment of contact.
The other, across Sakura’s hip to coil around his cock.
You knock another string of curses from his chest when you squeeze; two-toned eyes roll back, and you stroke attentively, with both hands.
”Fuck, that’s hot,” you hear Kaji mutter; he supplies you with another glob of spit and you grin, open-mouthed, gaining traction back—you’re going to steer this in your direction, and fast. The quick jerking of your wrist has pleas falling from Sakura’s mouth like flower petals—exactly what you want to hear, whether they’re for you or not.
“Fuck, Ren, just fuck me—please, pleasepleaseplease—”
Sakura’s hips undulate with each thrust of Kaji’s fingers—bucking up into your hand, mouth moving faster than he can control it; he begs and begs and it sounds so pretty—that rough, low voice of his soaring up as he drones out appeals that sound more like impatient prayer.
“You can take it?” Kaji’s cocky, but ardent, insistent he tells him the truth. You’re not sure if you can handle anything other than a resounding yes.
“I can take it, I can take it, I can take it—please,” he rasps, eyes screwed shut. “Fuckin’—please, Ren, need it—need it in me.”
“Good fuckin’ boy,” Kaji growls, withdrawing his fingers.
You pan back to Suo. His grin is wicked. You must look destroyed. You feel like it.
“Poor baby.” No good boy for you. He wipes the tear that escapes from the corner of your eye down your temple with mock sympathy. “Alright, alright, you’ve been good, too. Open up for me, sweetheart.”
Almost perfectly in tandem, Kaji presses into Sakura as Suo pushes into you; you’re certain you and Sakura are a sight to behold as you’re both filled up, fucked out of your minds already, but you nevermind how you look when you tune into how you all sound—wet, sloppy, all uneven impact of pelvis into ass, harsh breath, rough groans, false consolation from the mouths of your two lovers as they pound you deep. You don’t let up on Sakura’s cock, determined to keep him crying and pliant; you don’t expect him to reach over you to return the favor, to swipe at your clit with tight, frantic loops, but he does—all too put together for how Kaji plows him to the point of breathlessness, and you follow him there, moaning long and choppy as you sink fully into the bliss radiating throughout your body from your aching core.
“Cunt’s so tight for me,” Suo breathes, hands full of your thighs, landing smacks to your skin with his otherwise delicate palms that have you yelping and chanting his name.
“This pretty ass’s so tight for me, too,” Kaji agrees through ragged, concentrated heaves of air.
“Good little pets we have, huh?” Suo brushes a tentative hand across Sakura’s shin; catching Kaji’s possessed stare as he turns sideways, your eyes fly open just in time to watch your boyfriend lean in, jaw tense, to capture your best friend in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and the congratulatory arrogance they split evenly in having you and Sakura broken beneath them like this.
Fucking you still, they bite at each other wantonly; beside you, Sakura’s voice heightens a decibel as Kaji’s thrusts grow more unforgiving. Suo’s bottom lip is caught between Kaji’s teeth for a brief second before the passion surges and their lips meet again, careless and decadent, fiery and intimate.
The open-mouthed smirk Suo sends you almost throws you over the edge; you’re flickering like a faulty radio through channels of ecstasy and agony and exertion as your boyfriend’s temple rests against your best friend’s, momentarily, as they pant hotly and peer down at you cloudily; it’s like Kaji can feel the way you clamp down on Suo through him, with the way he looks at you, all proud and smug.
Sakura’s lost. He reaches for Kaji’s hands; they intertwine effortlessly as his cock jumps at the scene in front of him, surrounding him, inside of him; the snowy half of him is bisected when his head lolls to look at you, gone off the absurdity of it all, and it’s only now when you realize you’ve forgotten to keep touching each other—but it doesn’t matter, because you’re clamoring to clutch Sakura’s chin and arching to make your way to his lips where you recreate, action-for-action, breath-for-breath, the kiss your lovers just shared. Sakura goes limp into you as his tongue finds yours, hot and weak, both of you jostling against the headboard, both of you swallowing each other’s moans as you get split open.
“Fuck, look at that—” Suo’s on the verge of breaking; you recognize it in his voice. “Filthy.”
“Good lil’ sluts, gonna cum?” Kaji barks, gasping shallowly. You reach for Sakura’s cock again, and he fumbles for your throbbing clit. “Fuckin’ fallin’ apart like whores on these cocks. So good for us.”
“S-so good for us.” It might be the only time in either of their lives they hear Hayato Suo stutter—but when when you pull back short of breath from Sakura’s mouth, his eyes are falling shut in sheer rapture; he won’t remember hearing it anyway, you think, grinning dazedly to yourself as you shift one last time to study your boyfriend as he falls apart.
But Suo grips your chin harshly and turns you. “Look at them. They’re lettin’ you watch, sweetheart.”
“Said you wanted to get off to us—you better watch,” Kaji warns you, eyes wild.
So you do. You watch Ren’s blond locks sway, a few strands sweaty, a few strays out of place; his pretty neck tenses as he swallows hard, dropping down to an elbow to batter into Sakura’s g-spot even more brutally. Sakura’s groans come from his diaphragm, potent and adrift as he wraps his arms around Kaji’s shoulders, pulling him down to his chest; they whimper things to each other you can’t make out, but they look so in love, they look so debauched—it has you fluttering, has you tightening, keeps you walking the thinning line between the stage you’re in now and the state Suo’s taking you to. Your lover’s thumb finds your clit again as he fucks you, and you watch, you do, not because you’re supposed to but because you want to—until Suo’s cruelly yanking your chin toward him once more.
He wants your eyes back on him now, so that ruthless hand trails down, braces on your throat, as his relentless hips thrash you toward your peak. “Watch me now,” he puffs “Watch me make you cum, baby.”
This is your favorite Suo: possessive, a little mean, out of control for you and you only—and you let your unspoken yes appear as nail marks in his wrist as he chokes you into the bed, intoxicated and exhilarated as you feel Sakura’s sticky cum spilling in pathetically large dollops down your fingers.
You follow right after. Toes pointed, tummy wound tight, back arching and curling, humping away as all the air and thoughts leave your brain with the crushing climax that rips through you—you’re croaking out Hayato or thank you or love you or something saccharine that you know will make its way to your lover even if you can’t fully register it; you see white, you see black, you see nothing—your jaw is wired open in a scream you can’t hear, and the convulsions replace heaven with something much more sinister but equally as satisfying, long, rhythmic, orgasmic voices coming in distantly—Suo’s cumming, too, pulling out to spill all over you stomach and snap you back to reality where Kaji finishes last, inside Sakura, grunting deeply, cumming hard.
The pressure on your neck fades away. When you blink a few times to regard the angel above you, it’s just that—kind-faced Hayato, who loves you so much, looking at you like you just won him a million dollars. His hand, his fingers, so gentle now, hold the side of your face as you come back to earth.
“Hey, there, sweetheart,” he coos as you flex your fingers, flex your legs; he lets the one on his shoulder down to stretch it away from you, your sigh getting stuck in your throat at the stiffness. God, you’re definitely going to be hurting for the rest of the day. Nonetheless, you giggle happily, sleepily.
“Hi, Haya,” you mumble, dopey smile on your face. Next, he massages circles into your hips that make you wince. It’s a good kind of wince; the same way it’ll be a good kind of pain. As he does this, Suo lavishes your face with flitting kisses—so different from the man who was about to break your bed frame a few moments ago. You love him and his duality and all the things no one other than you knows about him—well, except for Sakura and Kaji, now. But that’s minuscule.
You love him so wholly that you forget you’re not alone until Kaji comes back from your bathroom with a few wet washcloths; when did he even get up to get them? Sakura looks on the verge of unconsciousness beside you; you wonder aloud if someone should get him some water.
“No, no,” he croaks. “Need—no.”
“What’d’you need, babe?” Kaji’s voice is reserved now; nothing akin to the shark-like snarl he degraded you both with mere minutes before this—even gentler than his normal speaking voice, you’d venture to say.
You lay a palm across Sakura’s forearm, finger pads going mindlessly, just barely; your lover cleans you up, and Kaji kisses his boy back to reality, too.
“What were you saying?” the blond half-snaps once he has Sakura sitting up. He has indeed shoved a glass of water into his shaking hands.
Sakura drinks deeply, gulping like a child getting out of the swimming pool—elbows up, out of breath, comical. And then he speaks, all at once defeated and determined, exhausted and restless.
“Breakfast.”
When you slide onto a stool at Kotoha’s bar—your boyfriend to your right and Sakura to your left, who is cornered into the center of attention on the other side by his boyfriend—she makes note of your self-satisfied air; after dropping a cup of hot water and the tea sampler in front of Suo, she turns to Sakura.
“You look red this morning,” Kotoha quips, smirking at the split-haired boy. “Even for you.”
Sakura grumbles audibly but unintelligibly while she pours the other three of you glasses of ice water. You pluck a pineapple ginger green tea bag out of the box—one you’ve never seen before—and hold it up; your boyfriend gives you his soft-smiled nod, and you tear the package open for him before you hand it over.
Then she motions vaguely toward you and Suo. “These two giving you trouble?” she jokes—but your two friends hear anything but humor.
You glance over to see Kaji’s face go pink, too, as he unwraps a sucker and shoves it in his mouth, busying himself with the laminated menu in front of him (it’s been a long time since any of you have had to consult the menu). You hear Suo chuckle airily beside you; you sip your water and feign innocence.
— ♬ "They all say, 'Darling, what did you do for those pearls?' What? I am a good girl."
— ♬ featuring: Fukuzawa Yukichi, NSFW, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, burlesque au (heavily inspired by the 2010 film), fem reader, older man x younger woman, graphic depictions of unprotected sex, cunnilingus, Fukuzawa having a huge cock, Fukuzawa being horrendously down bad, 11.9k words, no beta
— ♬ holy shit, this took a WHILE to finish lmao, this might be one of the longest oneshots I've ever written, enjoy you whores
People often shook their heads towards young, ambitious women, armed with a dream to conquer a new city on their own. Naivety fresh on their features and movement reeking of clumsiness. They never spare a thought for a woman searching for success in an unfamiliar city; they tend to disregard her, calling her unwise for attempting to survive in the cold, cruel world. Most women are sensitive to such criticisms, but you weren't.
You were exhausted from chasing glittered dreams in the muddy countryside. By the time you turned eighteen, you were determined to escape your hometown, no matter what your family or peers said. You didn't want to be condemned forever as a pitiful waitress in a rusty bar and let your youth rot away. No way! So, you clutched tight to those ambitions for success. One day, you'll leave this place and let your dreams come into fruition.
The moment you turned twenty-three and saved up enough money, you prepared your bag and packed your belongings. If you wanted to escape, you wouldn't spare anyone a goodbye. All your folks and family did was hold you back, trying to convince you that you'll never find anything good out of the countryside and that the city would poison you. That it will eat you alive. Yeah right. They could kindly kiss your ass as you silently slipped through the door one cold midnight.
The excitement coursing through your veins kept you sleepless in your journey to the nearest city: Yokohama. The city looked promising, prepared to offer you opportunities to thrive in new surroundings. You had the same dream as any young woman: to get rich and prosper. It didn't matter how, as long as it's legal. You sucked in a deep breath as you exited the bus, gripping your bag and taking in the morning scenery of Yokohama. It easily captivated you with the tall architectures and colorful tourist spots. The city that called for you in your sleep is now in front of you.
Gingerly, you wandered around, absorbing everything with your eyes. You let distraction take over as you happily walked through the streets. Nobody looked at you like you were an outsider; maybe it's because you didn't dress yourself in your lousy, bland clothing as you did back home. If you're going to live in this city, the best first step is to blend in. You spent your lunch at a cute café that you couldn't stop admiring. Now that the sun was beginning to set, you grew wary. Maybe it was unwise to frolic all morning instead of searching for a place to stay. Half-panicking, you looked for advertisements.
Puppies for adoption, a missing stray cat, a wanted poster, and... huh? Your eyes stopped at the faded poster plastered on the corner of the board. A gorgeous woman with sensual, lidded eyes stared back at you, her face painted with glitter and gold, and her body adorned with an expensive corset decorated with rhinestones. She took your breath away. Written in elegant red cursive was what you assumed was her name: Yoru no Joo. You thought she was the most beautiful woman on earth. Catching a brief reflection of yourself on one of the shop windows, you decided that you wanted to look like her. The poster was deliberately pasted independently away from other advertisements; it felt like destiny when you noticed it. As your eyes lingered, you read another name at the bottom. Moonlit Rouge.
Hypnotized by Yoru no Joo, you decided to look for Moonlit Rouge. You bravely inquired from strangers and merely got lost trying to navigate it. Your search brought you to the dark, unsuspecting streets of Yokohama. It was past sunset when you desperately searched for it until, by the grace of god, you found the bright neon sign of the Moonlit Rouge on a tall, inconspicuous building.
The air was filled with faded cigarettes and fresh perfume when you went inside. A masked man in a booth called for you to stop and pay for the entrance fee. Blushing, you clumsily fished your pocket for a single bill and got your ticket before entering. The scenery that greeted you changed your life forever. Walls painted in scarlet, feathery velvet chairs and lounges, a bar filled with delectable liquor. The lights illuminating the place were a mixture of hazy silver and gold. And the center of attention: the bright and beautiful stage. Your jaw went slack as your wide eyes memorized every detail inside the Moonlit Rouge. This is what you thought paradise looked like.
Dumbstruck as people slipped past you to their chosen or paid tables, you heard a whistle to your left. You raised a brow and found a redheaded man behind the bar counter. He was dressed in an ebony black button-up shirt, wearing a brown flat cap. His eyes were on you as he wiped a glass with a white towel, which made you think he was calling to you. Still carrying your bag, you timidly sat in one of the plush chairs by the bar counter. The bartender looked like he was in his early thirties with stubble on his chin. There was an awkward silence between you two while the people shuffled about in the background. Finally, he raises a brow at you.
"Drink?"
"Me? O—Oh, just water."
You stuttered. He pauses and shrugs his shoulders before placing a glass in front of you and pouring clean water. You stiffly grabbed the glass and gulped down the liquid. The bartender tilts his head towards you, curiosity in his mature features.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
"Yes, I just moved into Yokohama."
"Hm, since when?"
"Today"
He blinks in brief disbelief and bewilderment at your reply and leans on his elbows on top of the counter while facing you.
"Today? You just arrived at Yokohama today?"
"Uh, yeah."
You answered shyly. He leans back and shakes his head, a tiny but genuine smile graces his lips.
"Welcome to Yokohama and Moonlit Rouge. I'm Oda Sakunosuke, by the way."
The bartender named Oda offered his hand, you reached out, and politely shook it. You told him your name and a bit about your background. It was astounding to be immediately connected with the bartender; he was a gentle and patient soul, told by his mannerisms. He commended you for leaving your hometown and searching for a new life in the city. 'It's not an easy thing to do,' he says. You inquired about Moonlit Rouge, and he pours you a new glass of juice as he obliged your questions. He worked as a bartender for several years, and he began working around your age. The history of Moonlit Rouge was brief and shrouded in mystery— a burlesque club founded by an unnamed couple in the early eighties, one of whom was French. It was passed from generation to generation. You showed Oda the poster of Yoru no Joo that you plucked off the advertisement board.
"Yoru? She's performing tonight. She dances on weeknights since she's the face of the club."
Oda says. Your heart leaped with excitement. All night, you patiently waited for the alluring woman to finally show up on stage. While you waited, you listened to the jazz music played by the band and chatted with Oda when he wasn't serving any customers. Eventually, the lights dimmed as loud cheers and whistles roared in the Moonlit Rouge. Yoru no Joo struts onto the stage in a hot pink corset that shimmered under the white spotlight. Her presence demanded and controlled everybody's attention — especially yours. Her painted lips, glittery eyelids, long lashes, and luscious dark hair enhanced her seductive performance to the live music. Her body swayed like a professional vixen, tantalizing everyone in the front row of the stage. To you, Yoru no Joo became the embodiment of the success you were striving for.
The famous dancer performed for half an hour. She smiled sardonically at the crowd and blew a kiss as the curtains lowered. Just like the crowd, you applauded and wished you could see more. Noticing you stuck in a starstruck trance, Oda nudged your shoulder.
"You came here for her?"
"Yes. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
You said breathlessly. Oda knew that awe look on your face, he knew that you wanted to be like Yoru. He has never met a woman who walked inside Moonlit Rouge and saw the dancer and didn't wish to become her. It was only natural. The bartender was taken aback when you stood from your chair and asked him where you could meet her. He shook his head and sighed.
"She's not keen on visitors tonight—"
"Please, please, Oda! Can I just meet her once?"
"You can't. It's past nine, and she probably left already."
Oda watched you slump back on your seat with disappointment; it almost tugged on his heartstrings. He chuckles and reaches to pat your head.
"I'm sorry. She's a busy woman, knowing her reputation. Got a lot of responsibilities too, including the audition for new dancers."
Suddenly, newfound hope surged through you like lightning as you immediately stood up from your seat. Oda, startled for a second, looked wide-eyed at you.
"Where can I audition?"
You inquired hastily, grinning with uncontained excitement and determination. The bartender blinked and scratched his head. His eyes darted around behind you, seemingly searching for someone. Oda sensed that stubborn streak in you, and he's aware how it would be a challenge to turn you down, no matter how many times he would try. Equally an annoying and admirable feature of a young soul like you. Eventually, he took off his flap cap and leaned closer towards you to whisper.
"I know you're not going to leave me alone until you get what you want, so listen close. Auditions are on Saturday, after lunch."
Your eyes twinkled with joy. You eagerly nodded your head and took note of the information. Oda grabbed a paper towel and pen as he scribbled his number on it before sliding it towards you. He watched you smile at him nervously.
"I don't have a phone."
"What? Well, where do you live then?"
"I haven't found a place yet."
Oda staggered at your reply. He held his tongue before he could blurt out that you're the most foolish girl alive, stumbling at a burlesque club instead of searching for a place to live. He ran a hand down his face and contemplated. In the corner of his eye, he sees you shrinking into your seat with embarrassment; it was a sight that warranted his sympathy. With a sigh of resignation, he turns to you.
"You can stay at my place until you're done with your audition."
"Really?! Oh my god! Thank you so much, Oda!"
You exclaimed. A portion of Oda's stress melted away when he saw that look of joy return on your face. Today was Monday, five days before the audition. He hoped he wouldn't regret sharing his apartment with a young woman like you. The bartender shrugged; he used to live and look after children before, and they were a handful. He smiled reassuringly to himself as he returned to mixing liquor. What's the worst that can happen?
Perhaps he should've thought of his decision more. Oda sighed tiredly as he entered his humble apartment at eleven in the evening. His home, which was previously mundane and quiet, was now filled with scattered items reeking of your cheap perfume. When he brought you home the first night, you insisted on taking his couch out of courtesy. He heated last night's leftovers and shared them with you. He suggested that with the spare time before Saturday, you should look for an affordable and stable place for a home. After handing you spare pillows and a blanket, Oda felt comforted that five days would go by smoothly as you settled into his couch. The following morning, Oda was greeted with the smell of burning. Alarmed, he scrambled out of his bed and sprinted to the kitchen to find you holding a pan of charred eggs. Since then, he has never let you do any of the cooking. Oda would clock in at four in the afternoon, and he would leave you alone in his apartment. He told you that you're free to use whatever you need, but don't touch anything in his bedroom. You nodded, he thought you were an obedient woman. And you were, Oda never thought less of you, but he never thought that he would begin to realize that you're a messy and — please pardon his word — lousy roommate.
Your clothes were scattered all over the living room floor, and there were empty and half-finished packs of snacks and bottled drinks in every nook and cranny. It was like living with a teenager. He remembers blushing and facepalming to himself when he found that you washed and hung your underwear in the bathroom. Oda did tell you to make yourself at home, but he just didn't take into account your lifestyle. Somehow, he didn't have the heart to scold you and only gave you a stern talk, which was still soft-spoken. He believed you were trying your best to survive in a new environment and was fortunate enough to have met the bartender. Yeah, as much as you are a naive and messy roommate, Oda has developed a soft spot for you. The relationship between you and Oda became similar to siblings. He would tease you for crying and huffing when you couldn't handle the spicy curry he cooked, and you would blast loud music on his radio whenever he was typing in his room to get back at him. When you found out Oda wrote stories and poetry as a sideline, you dove headfirst into asking him about it. Sometimes, you would steal one of his typewritten drafts and pretend to be a pretentious literary critic to make him crack a smile or chuckle. Oda would let you borrow one of his favorite books when you complained about being bored.
The days fluttered by eventually. You woke up early on Saturday, buzzing with uncontained excitement. Oda took one look at you and thought that you didn't need coffee with how awake and alert you were already. You've done your research in the previous days, and you feel confident that you've practiced sufficiently. You tried to recall how Yoru no Joo moved when you saw her perform for the first time. A burlesque club required dancers who were fluent in sensuality, especially in their movements. You have to be aware of timing, expression, and confidence when dancing. You never did this before in your hometown, after all, everybody seemed to have two left feet. But as you let the music take over you and let your body move on its own, it felt magically natural. You were too shy to ask Oda for an opinion or advice, and decided to let him see you perform for the first time at the auditions.
You didn't finish your food when you entered Moonlit Rouge with Oda after lunch; the nervousness mixed with excitement overtook your appetite. The club was different when the sun was still up, the spotlights were asleep, chairs stacked, but the remnants of the charm and magic were still there. Your heart skipped several beats when you saw the line of women waiting for their turn to show their potential on stage. Oda sees you clutching your chest and struggling to take a proper breath. He places both of his hands on your shoulders before turning you towards him.
"Hey, deep breath in and out. Don't let them get to your head, do whatever feels natural."
His words soothed and grounded you effectively. He watched you nodding and smoothing down your outfit. Oda smiles and pats your head. You stood timidly close to the bartender as the auditions began, and you placed last, which seemed to have heightened your anxiety because it meant you had to be the best. Your eyes absorbed every girl who danced on that stage to their chosen song. What intimidated you the most was the three figures on the table facing the stage, one of them was Yoru no Joo, still dressed glamorously despite being off-stage. You tugged on Oda's sleeve and asked who the two judges were. The woman in her early fifties was Madame Célestin, a woman of French and Japanese descent, who was the current owner of the Moonlit Rouge. She looked impressively gorgeous despite the blooming wrinkles. And the man who sat on Yoru no Joo's left was Ango Sakaguchi, the stage manager and director. Oda happens to be close friends with him, so he reassured you that he slipped your name with a good look. However, it fueled your anxiety more, including how Ango barely reacted to every girl's performance and only kept writing on his notepad.
When the line was getting shorter and shorter, you felt like you were going to vomit your guts out with how nervous you felt. The evident critiques from the judges didn't help. Yoru no Joo called out one girl for relying on her sparkling looks too much, Madame Célestin couldn't hold back a cackle when another girl kept messing up her timing and compared her to a clumsy goose, and lastly, Mr. Ango's silent but penetrating stare tested every girl's resolve under scrutinizing eyes on stage; some merely cried when they walked off. Your limbs couldn't stop quivering when your turn was close. Oda offered you a bottle of water to freshen up your dry throat, and the bartender gave you a good shake by the shoulders.
"Ignore the stares and focus on the music, okay? Look, even if you don't make it, the club is looking for a new waitress."
He told you, and it did comfort you to an extent. It made you feel it won't be the end of the world if you failed to be qualified as a new dancer at Moonlit Rouge. A waitress didn't sound bad; it means you get to stick around and watch Yoru no Joo perform, too. But your heart still longed; it longed for the case that you won't be a waitress again, and that your dreams won't always be stuck out of reach. You needed the taste of success so bad, including the flavor of riches it promised. Slowly but surely, determination seeped into you. When your name was finally called on stage, Oda gave you a hard pat on the back as you strutted on the platform.
It was silent for a moment, and you felt everybody's eyes focus on you. With a great inhale, you set your gaze forward and held your chin high as you practiced. You forced your body to go still and form a confident stance, and you prayed that they wouldn't see your bottom lip slightly wobbling due to the remains of your anxiety. Madame Célestin looks down at her clipboard and up at you; she graces you with a kind smile.
"[Name] [Surname]"
She addressed you. Yoru no Joo tilts her head, her eyes scanning your outfit, and it invites a knowing grin on her face.
"I see you're a fan of Christina Aguilera. I'm assuming that you watched the movie"
"Thank you, it's my favorite."
You replied shakily, but it makes Yoru's grin widen, which eases your nerves. However, Mr. Ango didn't even spare you a glance; his gaze stuck on his damned notepad.
"Stagename?"
He asks with a dispassionate tone. Shit, you haven't thought of a fucking stagename yet! The previous women at the audition had beautiful and fitting names — Nocturna, Lady Mayonaka, Scarlet Lace, just to name a few. They wore their stage names proudly like a crown. You felt you're going to shit bricks with how the previous contestants whispered to each other, some were sparing you a pitiful look while others smirked at your impending demise. Your breath stuttered as your eyes scrambled to look around the club for a savior. You found Oda, staring worringly at you. Suddenly, you remembered the Greek Mythology book he recently lent you, and a name struck out from your memory: Nyx. Next, your eyes wandered over the empty velvet seats of the Moonlit Rouge. You momentarily shut your eyes in focus until you've formed your stagename.
"Nyx Velour"
You blurted out with pride, puffing from your chest, because you saved yourself from further embarrassment, and it finally silenced the murmurs from the audience. Mr. Ango finally looked up from his notepad to blink at you, and for a second, the furrow of his eyebrows vanished. Yoru no Joo sends you an impressed smile, and Madame Célestin kept muttering your stagename as if tasting it on her tongue like wine. You can see Oda exhaling in relief from a distance.
"Well, Nyx Velour, show us if you live up to the goddess."
Yoru no Joo challenged as she gestured for the DJ to play your selected song. You relied on the memory of your body, practicing and dancing to the music. Letting the rhythm control the sway of your hips, your body snaps with precision at every timing. Your eyelids relaxed as you strutted all over the stage, using every space available while you danced. Silent gasps, owlish eyes, and muttered reactions went unnoticed as you lost yourself in the comforting sensuality of the song. In your head, one thing fueled you: your dreams of success. The determination was dripping from your spirit. If being a star at Moonlit Rouge meant you would get a taste of your sweet velvet dreams, you swear as long as you remained living, that you would do anything to achieve it. With every flip of your styled hair, every tantalizing roll of your hips, and unextinguishable passion in your eyes stole everybody's attention. It appeared like you weren't the naive girl raised in the countryside; you were a woman destined for stardom.
The song ends as you perfectly struck a pose. There was breathless silence, silence that almost made you doubt and think that you were being too ambitious. Suddenly, a sound of a chair scraping filled the air, followed by applause. You stood there in shock to witness Yoru no Joo give you a standing ovation; eventually, Madame Célestin joined her. The club begins to echo with cheers and clapping that you weren't anticipating. Although still in his seat, Mr. Ango didn't hold back from applauding you. Soon, your eyes landed on Oda, who was cheering the loudest for you, which made you go teary-eyed.
"That's what burlesque is about!"
Yoru no Joo shouted before pointing towards you. It felt truly unreal, like a fantasy you've made up countless times while lying on the couch, or a dream crafted by Morpheus to tease you in your slumber. The cheers and clapping began to ring in your ears before fading into silence. And with a blink, you're brought back to the present. Backstage, in front of your mirror, in your own dressing room. You shook your head with a chuckle and finished your makeup routine. Outside your door, you hear the dancers scrambling to get on stage after their cue, and the sound of Ango's voice telling the staff to change the spotlights for the next number echoes. Your successful audition was five months ago; the occurrences that followed were a blur. You celebrated with Oda, you made your debut the following week, more people began to visit Moonlit Rouge, and your name was gaining more attention. You were held as equal to Yoru no Joo, the woman who inspired you to stardom. You and she became famous counterparts at the club, often put together or one after the other in performances. Yoru no Joo was still the dazzling queen while you became the enchanting mistress of the night. You were brushing your hair when you heard a knock on your dressing room door. Ango peeks his head in.
"Nyx, you're up in ten minutes."
"Have the special guests arrived?"
"Not yet"
"Shame that Yoru won't perform with me tonight"
You pouted through the mirror. Ango shrugs and fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The man seemed like he could use a vacation with how he's single-handedly making sure every performance won't end up in a disaster on stage. You took note to buy him a cup of coffee sometime. When Ango shuts the door, you stand up from your chair and do some final touches before spraying your perfume and removing your silk robe. You admired your figure adorned with a black corset with glimmering violet sequins. You slipped into your glamorous dancing shoes before exiting your dressing room to linger and gossip with the unoccupied dancers before your performance starts.
The chill evening was fitting for tea by the fireplace with jazz music to complement the air. The night should have ended preferably tame, but it wasn't the case for the stoic CEO of ADA, Fukuzawa Yukichi. All of his calculated escape plans were futile against his boisterous best friend, Fukuchi Ouchi. The man returned from a European business trip after several months and demanded they catch up as soon as possible. Fukuzawa used his responsibilities as an excuse to postpone the reunion until further notice, but it seemed like Fukuchi had earplugs. The setbacks he had to deal with in the future were because his best friend wanted to hang out with him sent a perpetual ache in his temples.
Fukuzawa glared at his best friend across from him in the passenger seat. For goodness' sake, they're both in their late forties and he's insisting on going out to a club as if they don't have developing wrinkles and grey hair. The limousine came to a careful stop, and both men stepped out of the luxurious vehicle, dressed in their expensive but dashing suits, parading their reputation in public by their appearance alone. Fukuchi swings an arm over Fukuzawa's neck and grins.
"Enough with the sour face, Yukichi."
Despite his words, Fukuzawa's frown deepened as he crossed his arms. His eyes landed on the neon sign of the Moonlit Rouge. He heard the name from one of his subordinates. A burlesque club hidden in the dark streets of Yokohama, the last time he recalled entering any kind of club was in college, when he was dragged by one of his roommates. It resembled the present. Fukuzawa paused by the entrance and raised a finger at his best friend.
"I will entertain you once, you will leave me alone after tonight."
"Yes, yes, Yukichi. I swear! So, just enjoy tonight, I heard this club is promising"
The silver-haired man knew not to get his hopes up, but he decided to at least indulge in something tonight so Fukuchi would stop whining at him. Fukuzawa wasn't entirely a pessimist; he just didn't want to waste his time on unnecessary things. The two men entered the building and paid their entrance fee. Moonlit Rouge smiled at their arrival. It was only eight in the evening, but it felt like it was at its peak. Tables were filled to the brim with excited customers; fortunately, Fukuchi reserved a table for them as special guests. Fukuzawa discreetly rolled his eyes at this. Their table was at the perfect spot near the stage, and they took their seat facing the stage while an intermission took place. A waitress served them fresh liquor to sip and wait for the main performance.
Moonlit Rouge bustled with people laughing, cheering, and chatting about the hilarious intermission number of three women pretending to be clumsy jesters while retaining their feminine charm. Fukuzawa lazily tilts his glass back and forth and watches the stage with disinterest. Fukuchi seemed thoroughly entertained — the man is easily amused by anything. There are moments when the silver-haired man wonders to himself if he made the best decision to become a CEO. Sometimes he'd answer yes because his life before was filled with struggling and suffering that he didn't want to endure for his entire lifetime. And sometimes he'd regret earning the privilege of an expensive life because of his responsibilities as a CEO. There's no need to deny that Fukuzawa was a lonesome man, often preferring solitude to company. Though it would be a lie if he said he didn't feel lonely. He definetly made friends, but there's a part of him that remains unsatisfied despite the seemingly perfect life he has created.
'You just need to bang a woman,' Fukuchi told him before; he smacked him solidly in the head for that. Fukuzawa wasn't foolish. He had learned his lesson with the help of his previous failed romantic relationships. He remembered some of them calling him stiff or awkward, and others saying he was too sentimental. He stopped altogether out of confusion; he couldn't understand what they really wanted from him as a lover. Yes, Fukuzawa found his fair share of hookups, but he knew none of them led to anything healthy or substantial. Perhaps he was preferable this way, unreachable, stern, and slowly aging away to decay.
Soon, the lights in the Moonlit Rouge dimmed down, and it aroused uncontained excitement from the people present. Fukuzawa and Fukichi were equally bewildered and curious about the sudden burst of energy from everyone. The witty intermission number finishes as it smoothly transitions into a dark and sensual scene. A sultry song played in the background, earning a couple of whistles. Fukuzawa sat there, unsure what to expect as the intro drags on. He glances at his best friend, who was on the edge of his seat, eager to find out who's going to step on stage.
You entered the stage with a seductive strut towards the center. The spotlight on you was the sole light in the Moonlit Rouge, which you used to demand everybody's undivided attention. Your hands on your hips, and the teasing smirk you send to the audience, snatches Fukuzawa's interest. He took in your commanding presence: the deep violet lipstick, dark shimmering eyeshadow, silky styled hair, and the snatched corset. The silverhead man swallowed when you began to sway your hips and lip-sync to the song. Your movement had perfect timing to the beat. When the chorus hits, you gracefully sink on all fours to mimic a cat stretching. Fukuzawa's throat went dry when you arched your back and wiggled your ass in the air with a playful grin. While the people surrounding him were howling like wolves, he remained silent and wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights.
Slowly but effectively, your vixen-esque image engraved itself in his mind. His breath stuttered at each suggestive movement; it awakened his imagination from the doormat. You were definetly in your early twenties, and it added to your appeal. Fukuzawa had never looked at anyone younger than him like that. Maybe it's because of the way you were running your hands down your figure and accentuating your boobs. The passion in your eyes was evident to him. A hidden part of him wanted the song to last longer so he could observe you from different angles. He also took notice of the tiny parts of your appearance: the natural beauty marks on your exposed skin, a sharp tooth peeking when you grin, and the lustrous shade of your eyes under the blinding spotlight. He sets his gaze on your eyes, finding himself hoping that you'll look his way.
Electricity shoots all over Fukuzawa's body when you angle your face towards his direction, your eyes returning his gaze. His heartbeat stumbles and picks up the pace when the expression on your features morphs into a teasing and sensual smile. The silverhead struggles to draw a breath when you begin your catwalk on his way, and standing at the edge of the stage, to peer down at him. The cheers and whistling went louder when you elegantly sank to climb off the stage. To others, it was only an improvised part of the performance, but Fukuzawa believed that you planned everything. You planned to bewitch a soul tonight, and you found him the most fitting.
Fukuchi howls with excitement towards his friend when you continue to dance and lip-sync to the song around his best friend. Fukuzawa's shoulders tensed up whenever you went close to him or smirked at him with those seductive eyes. The organ nestled within his ribcage beats all the way as you artfully wrap him around your finger. He barely moved an inch in his seat since you stepped on that stage. He couldn't peel his eyes away due to the intoxicating, exciting rush through his veins. The last chorus played as you pinned him at the center of your performance. You playfully brushed the nonexistent dust on his shoulder to make some people chuckle. As you mouthed the last verse, you unceremoniously sat on Fukuzawa's lap with the grace of a feline. You smiled and struck the final pose: you raised your left hand before your right arm snakes around his neck, one leg kicked slightly up to create an amusing display as the song ended.
Moonlit Rouge erupted with cheers mixed with laughter; a few shouted your stagename. Fukuzawa sat still as an ancient statue while you treated him like a mere stage prop to enhance your performance. But he was reactionless, unable to form a word or utter a complaint. He simply stared at you like you were a goddess perched on his lap. He watched the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the sweat blooming on your skin, and the sardonic smile on your painted lips while you looked at everybody around you instead of him. Your perfume clogged his senses, and the weight of your arm around his neck made him breathless. The CEO was unwilling to look away with his thoughts now clouded by you. Eventually, the spotlight begins to fade, and he almost grunts with disappointment when you stand up from his lap to give everyone a pretty bow. Fukuzawa thought you looked perfect, like you were meant to be on his lap.
It went momentarily dark as you silently slipped away from him; he wished he could've reached out to grasp your arm. He couldn't make out the look on your face when you turned to him one last time before disappearing behind the curtains. The lights returned to welcome another intermission number. Fukuchi found his best friend speechless and unblinking in his seat after your performance, which made him wheeze and bark out a laugh.
"Isn't that charming, Yukichi! I know this club wouldn't disappoint."
Fukuzawa looked at Fukuchi and down at his lap, where you previously sat, trying to process everything that had happened. He doesn't open his mouth to reply and sits absentmindedly during the rest of the night in Moonlit Rouge. He couldn't stop thinking about you. Even as he retired for the night and settled under the sheets, you were engraved on his eyelids when he closed his eyes. In Fukuzawa's dreams, you were dancing. Not for an audience, only for him. You swerved your hips and wiggled your ass before sending a wink at him. You were performing on stage to an unknown song, and he sat there to spectate and salivate when you began to remove pieces of your costume. First, your dancing shoes, then your hairpiece, then your gloves, and as you were starting to zip off your dress, Fukuzawa jolts awake on his bed. He was filled with perspiration as he disorientedly looked around his bedroom, slowly being flooded with sunlight through the window. Fukuzawa felt the tightness of his silk pajama pants. He peels off his blanket, and his eyes widen at the sight of his erection.
What the fuck?
The CEO sat there on his bed and stupidly stared at his boner, a boner you have gifted him in his dreams. Initially, it felt pathetic. A man in his late forties getting worked up over a young and talented woman in a burlesque club was an embarrassing impression. Fukuzawa felt like a confused and exasperated schoolboy. He knew it was a bad idea to go to that club with Fukuchi. He realizes it was getting irritating when you continued to plague his mind during work hours, teasing his imagination when he tried to focus on his paperwork at his office. He notices it was becoming serious when he kept dreaming of you, and refuses to jerk his dick off when he wakes up. And he knows it's getting bad when he begins to secretly return to Moonlit Rouge every evening.
You recently finished a grand performance with Yoru no Joo when there was a knock on your dressing room door. You turned to see Oda enter, carrying a bouquet of expensive flowers, and you merely laughed at the annoyed look on his face.
"This is the seventh time this week."
He grumbles and places the bouquet in front of your mirror before crossing his arms. You hummed to see the tiny card attached to the fragrant flowers, only the initials 'F. Y.' were engraved with gold ink. Oda frowns.
"If this goes on, I'm kicking you out of my place."
"Nooo! You wouldn't!"
"Come on [Name], I think you've earned enough money to buy a new place. You have to stop leeching off me at one point."
"But I can't because I'll miss you when I move out."
You pouted playfully, and he scoffed. It was true, though, you refused to move out of Oda's apartment because the money you've been earning performing at Moonlit Rouge was being wasted on unnecessary clothing and products. With the newfound fame, you learned to spoil yourself. Going out for drinks and shopping with your friends. You deserved it, you reasoned. Oda didn't say anything at first because you were a grown-ass woman, whatever you did was none of his business. Then he starts to notice that you stopped looking for a place to be your new home, and he thinks it's because you have grown too comfortable living with him, so he lets it slide. Until you began to receive gifts from an admirer, it wasn't uncommon; he had seen Yoru no Joo receive a lot of parcels and flowers. But with you, Oda felt particularly overprotective. All of the gifts you got were luxurious, and from an unnamed fan, it reeked of suspicion. When his apartment was getting flooded with said gifts, he couldn't help but get irritated. Oda asked Ango if he had a clue where these gifts were coming from, but the stage director only tilted his head and shrugged. Next was Yoru no Joo, but she only shrugged. The only hint he got was from the ticket guy by the entrance, where the gifts were originally dropped off.
"Some older man always tips me to take the gifts inside, he looks like a businessman."
An older and rich man. Oda didn't like the uncomfortable feeling he got when he received the information. During his hours at the bar mixing liquor, he was more alert than usual. The bartender kept his eyes open for each customer who entered the Moonlit Rouge. There were a few older men who entered with friends, but it was either on rare occasion or he knew them well enough that they were not the ones sending you gifts. He's a bit frustrated when he couldn't find a suspect, and also, you seemed unbothered.
"Stop being overprotective, I'm not fifteen, Oda."
"I'm just concerned because you don't know the type of people who enter the club to watch you."
"He could be just an admiring fan or a sweetheart."
"[Name]—"
You stood up from your seat and firmly planted your hands on Oda's shoulders. You sighed before smiling at him.
"I'm not that naive, and I promise to always stay out of danger. I'm a good girl, pinkie promise!"
You held out your pinkie in a childish manner. Oda bit the inside of his cheek and didn't reply. He clicks his tongue and decides to pinch you painfully on the cheek before trudging towards the door.
"Ow!"
"Can you at least clean the empty boxes and wilting flowers when you get home? The gifts are making a mess of the apartment."
Oda said before exiting your dressing room. You pouted and rubbed your reddening cheek. You turned to admire and smell the flowers by your mirror and smiled to yourself. The curiosity and attraction that's blooming because of it consumed you in your vacant moments. Who could be sending you these expensive gifts? At the start, it was an innocent bouquet accompanied by imported chocolate. The dancers flooded your dressing room, squealing and excitedly chattering around you about the gift. Admittedly, it made butterflies erupt in your tummy. The following gift was perfume from Paris, wrapped delicately in a black box with a ribbon. You gawked at it when you held the heavy perfume bottle in your hands. It was an exquisite scent, and you wore it to special performances. Then came the onslaught of luxurious gifts that mocked you for only affording knock-off brands.
A dress from Chanel, shoes from YSL, a bag from Dior, and Agent Provocateur. You staggered with each gift. You did feel suspicion, especially about how this anonymous gifter knew your size and preferences. But your suspicion immediately melts like ice on rich champagne when the gifts kept going. Yoru no Joo and the girls teased you for being greedy, and maybe you were. After all, you only kept receiving and not inquiring who the secret gifter was. You know the same clue as Oda: an old and rich man. You understood where the bartender's concern was coming from. Mostly, old men get interested in younger women for inappropriate reasons. You tried to decline the gifts for a while until they piled up, and word got to Madame Célestin. She scolded you and told you it was rude not to accept the gifts. For a while, the gifts blinded you. It painted a fantasy that someone's smitten with you. There are times when you wonder if you should give the unknown admirer a chance.
By the next solo performance after Yoru no Joo's, you planned to start your investigation. Swiftly, you rearranged your hair and sprayed perfume before leaving your dressing room to appear on stage. Ango glanced at you and muttered into his earpiece, then gave you your cue. With practiced grace, you emerged under the spotlight with your signature grin. You embraced all the applause and howls of your stagename until the DJ played the song, which was a request from an unnamed fan of yours that you decided to indulge. It was an unfamiliar oldie but had a sulty melody, probably the type a middle-aged man would enjoy. You struggled to form a choreography and vibe for it at first, but you're happy with what you created. The intro was slow and sensual, it made the audience watch with bated breath as you made your spot on the center of the stage. You focused less on the playfulness and decided to deliver a mature and enticing performance. You lip sync to the verse with precision as if you were the singer, and let the sight of the fluidity of your body get swallowed by the spectators.
You haven't focused your eyes on the people watching yet, and let yourself get lost in the song. By the end of the first chorus, you were positioned at the edge of the stage, closer to the audience, which finally allowed you to notice the eyes devouring your art. Your eyes scanned the area with quick precision: Oda serving customers at the bar and watching you, the usual patrons, the waitresses stopping for a second to admire you, and ... him. It almost made you pause when you saw him. His face was definetly familiar, but you couldn't produce a name. You couldn't be mistaken, you've seen him before — silver hair, dark metallic blue eyes, crisp and rich suit. He appeared to be in his forties with the wrinkles under his eyes. You lingered by the edge of the stage until you realized that you had involved him in one of your performances weeks ago. Somehow, out of all the eyes glued to you, his gaze made your spine shudder. He sat motionless in the same seat as last time, cross-legged and watching you intently. By the second chorus, you switched up your choreography to attempt to get close to his table. He was alone, and his body language suggested authority. You swallowed when you two met eyes.
The silver-haired man blinked at you, his sharp jawline and nose bridge painted an attractive picture. His lips were drawn in a flat line; you thought he was scrutinizing you at first until the corners of his mouth subtly curved up. Your feet nearly stumbled over each other when you saw him smile. The smile appeared rare, but it suited the stern contours of his face. Your guts churned with a thrill because his smile meant something. It was evidently directed towards you, not because he's enjoying the show, but because he knows something. He unintentionally took you off guard, making you miss a lyric or step once or twice. You readjusted your composure and played it off while you felt his heavy gaze on you. Even as you retracted backwards, you kept seeking him in the audience. He was different; he didn't cheer loudly or react during the entire performance. God, he might be twice your age, but he easily captured your interest.
Eventually, the song comes to an end as you struck a pose and winked. You receive the delighted reactions of the audience. But the ringing cheers and clapping go deaf when you see him rising from his seat and leaving before the curtain draws down. You stood there rigid for a minute, and disappointment crept into your chest when you saw him leave before you could even get a chance to know his name. A tap on your shoulder pulls you away from your thoughts. Ango raised a brow and gazed puzzingly at you.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes. I'm fine."
"Alright, someone requested to see you."
"Oh? Who?"
"A special guest, I'll send him to your dressing room."
Ango states before turning his heel. Your heart skips a beat. Could it be him? Is that why he left so he could speak to you? Your feet rushed to your dressing room with uncontained eagerness. The dancers backstage yelped and chuckled when you rushed through them and entered your dressing room. The moment you met your mirror, you quickly slipped out of your costume and into a silk dress. You fixed your hair and makeup before reapplying your perfume. Your heart leaps out of your chest when you hear a gentle knock on your door, which was unfamiliar, and you pray it was the hot middle-aged man on the other side.
Perhaps this was too soon, Fukuzawa thought. But he couldn't turn back now, he's finally standing outside your dressing room door equipped with a fresh bouquet and a velvet box. Your performance exceeded his expectations; it was beyond marvelous in his eyes. The sexy movement of your body while it flowed delicately along the song, your pretty lips mouthing each lyric precisely, and vixen eyes commanding the world to shower you with praises. At that point, he couldn't hold back his heightening attraction towards you, especially when you met his eyes during the performance. You looked surprised to see him again, which encouraged him to seek you. Akin to the gates of heaven opening, you greeted him with an angelic smile that almost made his knees buckle. You looked delectable and inviting in your silk dress and relaxed hairstyle, and Fukuzawa's brain was on the brink of shutting down.
Internally, you thanked the heavens above when the silver-haired man was indeed outside your dressing room door. He was clutching expensive flowers, and his face bore a serious expression. You stared at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat.
"Good evening, may I come in?"
The polite and smooth bass of his voice made your limbs feel like jelly. You enthusiastically nodded and stepped aside to invite him in. You locked the door shut behind you and watched him stand in the middle of your dressing room. He gently thrusts the bouquet towards you.
"For you"
"These are lovely, thank you!"
You smiled and held the flowers against your chest. They were a bit heavy to hold, but smelled wonderful. Your eyes looked at the petals and stems of the flora until a familiar card caught your attention. Your eyes widen at the realization, it was the same card attached to the previous flowers gifted by your anonymous admirer. The initials 'F. Y.' in gold ink was indisputable. You tilted your head up to look at him, but as your lips parted, you failed to voice your discovery.
"Your performance is magnificent. Thank you for taking up my request."
Fukuzawa says, and sees your eyes bulge out of their sockets almost comically. You uttered a few words and sounds, and you seemed to be struggling to form a sentence, so he decided to fill in for you.
"I wasn't certain you'd agree to my request, but I am delighted that you did."
When he flashes you a genuine smile, you melt on the spot. It should be illegal to be twice your age and effortlessly charming. You reassembled your wobbly composure and timidly batted your curled eyelashes at him and took a step closer.
"Well, I'm glad I have lived up to your expectations. I should've known you were also my secret admirer."
Fukuzawa swallows and awkwardly chuckles, rubbing his hand on the nape of his neck. It seemed that you had put the pieces together before he could admit it.
"I apologize if it's overbearing. I was planning to tell you sooner."
"Oh no, I don't mind. I greatly appreciate every gift you send my way. It's nice to know I have finally met you...?"
"Fukuzawa. Fukuzawa Yukichi"
"Allow me to properly thank you, Fukuzawa-san."
"Please, call me Yukichi."
"Okay, Yukichi."
Fuck. His name sounds forbiddenly good from your lips, the roll of his name from your tongue almost tasted like ambrosia from the gods. Fukuzawa keeps his restraint in check. It's unwise to rush into things; he needs to establish his intentions properly. He couldn't risk scaring you away with how scandalous this already looks.
You deliberately brushed past him to place the bouquet by your mirror, thrill rushes through when you feel him tense up. Afterward, Fukuzawa holds up a velvet box towards you, which pulls a gasp from your lips. You placed a hand on your chest.
"Another gift for me? I think you're not just being generous anymore, Yukichi."
You playfully purred before reaching to accept the box. The contents inside took your breath away: an authentic set of pearl jewelry. You blinked with unconcealed surprise before looking up at Fukuzawa.
"Wow—I... this is... beautiful"
"I thought it would suit you perfectly."
For a second, you hesitated. This felt like too much to accept, given the array of expensive gifts Fukuzawa had already sent you previously. You gazed at the pearls, and you could see your reflection, and you felt momentarily undeserving of all the material riches showered on you. Fukuzawa walks closer and softly plucks the pearl necklace from the box.
"May I put it on you?"
He asks politely. You couldn't trust your voice at the moment, so you nodded instead. You turned to face your mirror. Fukuzawa was tall enough to engulf your figure from behind, making your thighs clench together. With a bite of a lip, you watched Fukuzawa gently bring the pearl necklace to your front to wrap it delicately around your neck. Goosebumps bloomed under his touch when he pulled your hair to the side before clasping the lock. Gunmetal blue eyes meet yours through the mirror.
"It looks exquisite on you, Nyx."
"[Name]. Nyx is just a stagename."
You reply breathlessly as you hold his gaze through the mirror. Licking your painted lips, you eyed Fukuzawa leaning down to bring his face beside yours; his exhale was audible.
"Please let me know if I am taking it too far. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable."
"You're not. If anything, I'm encouraging you."
"Oh? I take it that you adore being spoiled with luxury, then?"
"How can I not when you have good taste?"
Fukuzawa can't help but replicate the smirk on your face. When he feels his nerves relaxing, he holds his breath and closes the distance with his chest meeting your back. You look over your shoulder to peer up at him with those gorgeous eyes and expensive, shining pearls around your neck. A teasing smile blooms on your lips.
"I know you want something in return for everything."
"Don't take it the wrong way, I don't—"
"I don't mind."
"Excuse me?"
The silver-haired man's breath stutters when your smile morphs into a grin. You placed the velvet box down as you spun to face him. Your hand reaches to toy with his tie, and he gulps. Fukuzawa can feel the heat rising on his skin as you pull him towards you before leaning backwards against your makeup desk.
"I love the gifts, and I want to get more."
"Oh."
"Just tell me what you want so we can make some sort of negotiation."
You purred. The devil must be on your side and increasing the temptation when one of the straps of your silk dress slides off your shoulder. Fukuzawa tried to avert his eyes respectfully, but the desire got hold of him. Your cleavage taunted him, and it felt like you were planning an assassination when he noticed that you weren't wearing a bra. You tugged on his tie to gain his attention.
"I think I have a clue what you want, Yukichi."
"I—I as—assure you that it isn't my intention"
"Do you get off to me getting spoiled by you?"
Fucking hell. The CEO knows his pants are growing traitorously tight with how the proximity was being discarded and with how you've flawlessly called him out. But Fukuzawa neither confirms nor denies and only gazes down at you like a man begging you to ruin him. You seem to read him well and begin to undo his tie.
"[Name]—"
"It's fine. I think it's hot. So how about this: I'll let you fuck me if you continue to give me gifts."
This was positively scandalous. It could paint a bad picture or ruin a reputation. But Fukuzawa finds himself bound to your every command, prepared to please if it means you'll stay. Calloused hands reached to grip your hips, and he feels you shudder. He leans his face closer until his breath fans your face.
"Anything. Anything for my good girl."
Holy fucking shit. You swore you could've fainted on the spot by the admission. The heat in your south erupted, and the sexual tension was catastrophic. The remaining space between you and Fukuzawa explodes into oblivion when you two finally lock lips. Your hands dug into his silver locks while his hold on your hips tightened. He presses you against your makeup desk, greedily swallowing all the sounds spilling from your lips. Both of your lips tangled and transformed into a tango worthy to be called an erotic performance. Your lipstick leaves stains on his mouth, and he moans with delight. You dared to slip out your tongue and lick its bottom lip, and he obediently opens up. Teeth clashed clumsily, but your tongues moved with passionate ferocity, a forbidden dance not meant for an audience. Fukuzawa grunts. He towered and pinned you against your makeup desk, behind which he saw the mirror reflecting the delicious arch of your back.
When air becomes insufficient, the older man pulls away. He pants and admires the debauched look on your features: your lipstick smudged and replaced with his saliva, a rosy tint on your cheeks, and the glazed look in your eyes. It makes him so fucking weak. Fukuzawa effortlessly spins you around to make you face the mirror. You gasped as you felt his pelvis push you forward, trapping you between him and your makeup desk. His lips and teeth made their journey from your neck to your pulse point. While you were distracted by his kisses, his large and calloused hands traveled from your hips and up til under your breasts. Your eyes pleaded with him through the mirror.
"Please, Yukichi"
He hears you whine after he makes his mark under your jaw and above your pearl necklace. Fukuzawa pulls away to bury his nose against your hair and sharply inhales. He lets his hands wander upwards to pull the front of your silk dress down, his eyes go hazy with lust at the sight of your tits reflecting from the mirror. You gasped audibly when the older man's hands grabbed one of your boobs and effectively squeezed; on the other hand, his fingers pinched your soft nipple. You whined and threw your head back against his chest.
"Fuckkk"
The CEO spins you around again to face him before hungrily diving his face against your chest. You jolted as you felt his hot and wet tongue taste your tits, goosebumps bloomed on your skin when his mouth took a nipple and sucked desperately. Your lidded eyes watch him worship your breasts with his hands clutching your hips. You struggled to keep your head upright when Fukuzawa's mouth began to move lower and lower. Gunmetal blue eyes asked for permission as his knees met the floor. You smirked at the sight of a middle-aged man on his knees and wretchedly down bad for you.
"May I?"
"Hmm, I think I have to charge you first."
You chuckled when you spotted the Adam's apple on Fukuzawa's throat bob with horny desperation.
"Name a price, tell me anything you want"
"Tickets to L.A.. I've always wanted to go to Beverly Hills."
"Consider it done by tomorrow."
The silverhead man mutters as his hands hastily reach under your silk dress to pull your lacey underwear down. You squealed and bit a finger when he hikes up your dress and unravels the sight of your soaked cunt. Fukuzawa licks his lips before diving in like a parched man under massive heat. His hands brought your thighs on his shoulders as he dug his face deeper against your cunt. Air stuttered from your lungs as he licked your folds and rubbed his nose bridge against your clit. Stars glittered in your vision as he ravaged your pussy. Fukuzawa shuts his eyes before it rolls back at the delicious flavor of your cunt, no expensive dish or drink can compare. Your hands gripped the edge of your makeup desk as you let him steal moan after moan from your lips. Fortunately, the music from the current performance drowned out the sounds from your dressing room. You prayed that nobody would come knocking soon until you had this man's dick in you.
Fukuzawa's relentless ministrations drew you close to the edge. Your thighs quivered around his head as he sucked and licked your heat. A hand flies to his hair when his teeth graze your clit, sending shockwaves from your spine to your toes.
"Yukichi, I'm close."
You gasped. He looks up at you and rubs his nose bridge against your clit again, and one of his hands sneaks towards your pussy as you feel fingers probing your entrance. Fukuzawa's digits coated themselves with your sweet arousal before plunging inside of your cunt. You whined and threw your head back when his thick fingers traveled inside your velvet walls. With his continued devouring and incessant fingering, the older man eventually locates the special spot within you that makes your toes curl and the knot in your abdomen snap viciously. Your hand grips his hair as you scream.
"Fuck! I'm cumming! I'm cumming! I'm—"
Fukuzawa watched your whole body shake uncontrollably from between your legs. He holds you tightly by your thighs as you ride out your orgasm. You looked divine with your disheveled hair and the pearl necklace shimmering — a goddess entitled to worship. The older man carefully pulls his mouth away from your cunt. His lower face was absolutely soaked with your cum and arousal. He gently places you back on your feet to catch your breath. Your hand in his hair slipped down to his shoulder, and he heard you chuckle breathlessly.
"Shit, I need you to do that again when we get to L.A."
The silverhead man reaches to stroke your cheek and steal a kiss. When your vision is refocused, you notice the raging boner in his slacks. Poor sweetheart. A devilish grin appears on your face when your hands reach down to grasp his belt, earning a gasp from the older man. Fukuzawa gazed wide-eyed at you, then down at his pants. You bit your lip and unbuckled his belt. He held his breath when you undid the button and zipper.
"H—How much?"
"Hm?"
"Ho—how much to get my cock inside of you?"
"Oh! Don't worry about it; consider it free of charge. I am a good girl after all."
You winked. Fukuzawa groans as you freed his dick from its confines. It made you pause and blink for a moment. He was fucking massive. You can feel your mouth salivate at the flushed tip and prominent veins on his length, which curved upward as the head leaked with precum. You hesitantly reached to give his cock a few gentle strokes. Fukuzawa's body quivers as he slumps forward against you to huff against your ear. It's cute seeing an older man like him turn putty under your touch. You feel your cunt pulse with excitement, so you turn around to grind your bare ass against his erection. He regains focus as his hands find your hips again.
"Ready?"
The older man asks, and you nod. Fukuzawa deliberately prepared you by gathering slick from your entrance and teasing your folds for a moment. As carefully as he could, he pushes in. You did not anticipate the drastic stretch to accommodate the girth of his cock. You arched your back and clawed at the surface of your makeup desk with a hiss. You catch your reflection in the mirror: skin flushed and eyes glistening. There was a determined knit on Fukuzawa's eyebrows. He steadied his breath and kept gently pushing in until he bottomed out. Relief washes through when you feel his pelvis meet your ass. He leans forward to kiss your cheek, placing his hands on top of yours, and his chest pressing against your back, effectively bending you over.
"Are you okay, my dear?"
The CEO sounded so sincere about your well-being that it made your insides feel like mush. You can't wait for him to rearrange your guts. You smiled through the mirror to reassure him. Fukuzawa smiles back and patiently waits for you to adjust to his massive length. He remains still and feels you relax slowly until you begin to roll your hips.
"You can move now."
He tries not to lose his mind with how fucking tight and warm you felt. He didn't want to hurt you. Fukuzawa holds his breath and softly pulls back before giving you an experimental thrust. You yelped and felt his hands grip yours. That thrust felt like he was in your fucking stomach. Tears gathered in your lashline as Fukuzawa began to set the pace and find a rhythm. Each pull and push of his cock inside dispelled every thought from your brain. Your head lolled forward as you let your body submit to the mindblowing pleasure. His slacks on the floor, his suit wrinkled, and his tie discarded, Fukuzawa can feel his senses getting ruined by the feel of your heavenly cunt. Your walls welcomed him as he made his home inside. Your silk dress bunched up on your torso, your panties on the floor, and your pearl necklace glistened with your sweat; it felt so fucking good. You drooled as your cheek rested on the surface of your makeup desk, letting the older man hold your ass upward.
Nobody approached or checked up on you in the dressing room. Ango was probably the only one aware that you had a guest inside; he was more likely too busy to know what was going on inside, which was a good thing. Eventually, Fukuzawa picks up the pace and forms a fierce rhythm. His balls slapped against the flesh of your ass with each hard thrust, his fingers found their way into your mouth, and he watched you go slack from pure pleasure. He fucks you with passion and a promise to be the only source of your happiness. The older man didn't mind if you're going to suck his bank account empty like a vampire, as long as he gets to see that pretty smile on your face while he makes you cum. Fukuzawa was convinced that you would be the one to feel the void in his chest that he had carried for so long.
"Hah—getting closer—!"
He grunts. The dirty sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex in the air made Fukuzawa's head spin. Your release threateningly draws closer when your walls begin to grip his cock like a vice. He hisses when you gasp and unintentionally bites his fingers. He pulls his digits off your mouth to hear your moans reach an octave as he brings them to your clit to draw firm circles.
"Gonna cum! Gonna cum! Gonna cum—!"
You warned him before your spongey walls clamped down on him. The older man goes cross-eyed as his thrusts grow sloppy. Your pussy gushed around him at your second orgasm. You felt absolutely boneless with how earthshattering your release felt. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, and your jaw went slack. The sheer pleasure numbed your senses, and it seemed like you went from heaven and back. Fukuzawa wasn't long behind as he rabidly began to chase his own release. The tip of his dick felt like he was hitting your cervix, which knocked the oxygen out of your lungs.
"Shit! [Name]—"
Fukuzawa pulls out and spurts his cum all over your ass. He throws his head back and rubs his cock until every last drop of his seed has painted your bare skin. You lazily pulled your head up and saw your wrecked reflection. Goodness, your makeup was a mess! You wobbly turned around to grin at him. He looked like he was about to pass out any minute, so you laid him on your chair. He feels you brushing his silver hair away from his face with a raspy snicker.
"Don't die on me, old man."
You jest. The CEO opens his eyes to roll them at you. Even after that vicious fuck session, you still looked beautiful. When he gathered his strength back, Fukuzawa helped you clean up. There was an exchange of giggles, dirty jokes, and smiles until you were both dressed up and presentable again. You didn't send him out of your dressing room without a kiss and his phone number.
Moonlit Rouge wasn't exempt from gossip; it seemed to foster it. Most would just shake their heads and dismiss it, but a particular rumor began to circulate at the burlesque club. Yoru no Joo was the closest dancer to you, considering you admired her and she taught you everything she knew. So, it wasn't a surprise when you began showing up decorated with riches. She didn't say anything but complimented your sudden upgrade in lifestyle, but it did make her curious and suspicious. She shared this with a few of the dancers, who, unfortunately, had the knack of creating ridiculous stories.
"Remember when she used to get these fancy gifts from a secret admirer? I think that's where she's getting all the luxury from!"
Now, Ango knew better than to idle around the dancers, but his ears kept hearing the same rumor everywhere. From the waitresses to the band. You had a secret admirer who funded your glamorous lifestyle. One drink at their favorite bar, Ango heard Oda reveal a unique perspective.
"[Name] left for Los Angeles with someone yesterday. It was so sudden that I couldn't ask any questions."
That's odd. Thinking back, Ango witnessed you stun the dancers with your rings; some exclaimed with shock that they're from Webster. It made their heads twirl. He saw them surround you next when you wore a gorgeous set of pearl jewelry for a performance.
"Darling, what did you do for those pearls?"
You theatrically gasped at them and waved your manucred hand off before letting out an amused laugh.
"What? I am a good girl."
You always replied. Although the rumors still swarmed around, nobody dared to approach you to confirm or dispute it. Nobody has to know. You arrived in Los Angeles with Fukuzawa for the first time. B.H., you adored, Rodeo L'amore. Breakfast Polo Lounge, then poolside for sure. The Chateau for cocktails, the Courtyard at nine, Dan Tana's for dinner, the Helen's divine. It was unforgettable. This was the bliss of success, finally in the palm of your hand, because you've rendered Fukuzawa smitten by you. All you had to do was dance on stage or towards his bed, and he got everything you wanted. Your dreams and ambitions drove you this far, much to your luck and determination. And you couldn't want it either way. When you returned, and when you found, the word's gone around. They all say your feet never do touch the ground.
"What? I am a good girl."
Oda squinted his eyes at you when you stood at his apartment door, covered head to toe with designer brands. He was upset when you left for L.A. and didn't say a word; he didn't talk to you and avoided you for days until you coaxed him with a book you bought overseas that you remembered that he liked. You felt bad for worrying him, but you didn't want to share your relationship with Fukuzawa; you know he's going to scold your ass. Oda bombarded you with questions and even accused you of being involved with something shady.
"Didn't I tell you? I am a good girl."
It took weeks to get him to calm down; he likes to fuss around you like a mother hen for a while, so you had to remind yourself he meant well. Eventually, Oda had no choice but to get used to it, but he still held on to his suspicions and didn't voice them. Moonlit Rouge smiled for another night at your successful performance, and you continue to rise to fame. As the same cheers and applause flood the club, you only look at one person. Fukuzawa smiled in his seat and clapped regally at you, the woman who changed his life, the goddess that he tirelessly worshiped with riches, and his one and only good girl.
═══════★˙⋆˙⟡ ̟ bsd headcanons: the characters as your lover (dazai edition)
tw!!: suicidal ideations (dazai shit); no spoilers warning
i was originally gonna write for both dazai and chuuya (separately) but i ended up yapping a shit ton about dazai instead...
more under the cut!
── .✦ dazai:
i think dazai as a romantic partner/lover would be very complicated—probably the most complicated person you can possibly date. he's charming, he's funny, he's a gentleman when he wants to be and he's also incredibly, irreversibly, lonely.
at first, when you get past the barriers, the walls, the masks, the push and pull, you realize that he's skittish. not in the way atsushi or tanizaki are, but on a much more emotional and deeper level. he doesn't call your dates 'dates', he doesn't hold your hand outside, he doesn't act like a boyfriend. not at the very beginning. of course, he's absolutely touchy — i see dazai as a touchy person who uses physical affection as a weapon much as he craves it. but after you two start 'dating', his touch feels almost secretive, to some degree. he still loops an arm around your shoulders, still uses you as a personal arm stand, still pokes your cheek just to annoy you, but these actions are just a performance; something he does with everyone else and in front of everyone else. when it's just you two, though, away from people's eyes and in the private confines of his or your apartment? it's a different story.
his touch is careful, in a way. i described him as skittish because the way i see it, he's like a stray animal learning to trust the hand of a human again after getting repeatedly fucked over by life and humanity. when you feed him crumbs of affection in the most unexpected, smallest ways and times, his trust in your feelings gradually begins to grow, much to his dismay. and it's not just physical affection — that certainly helps, but it's not the core thing that gradually overpowers his fear of letting people in. in private, when you trace his face with your thumb, interlace your fingers together, and gently kiss his fingers, an angel gains its wings and the world suddenly feels less bleak. when he finally embraces you in bed, pulls you close to his chest and buries his face in your neck, his hands are trembling, just slightly. it's the first sign his trust in whatever you two have is starting to blossom.
but dating dazai isn't just cuddles and hand holding. you both know it, and you're both aware of the truth — you can't save him. and he doesn't want you to save him, because that's not your job.
he's suicidal. the fact that he's let you get this close to him, the fact that he's grown such feelings for you... it means you've done something to show him you're not trying to change his behavior, but that you acknowledge it, and despite the burden it causes you, you choose to stick around; there's a huge difference between the two. sometimes, when he asks you to upgrade your romantic life and jump into tsurumi river together, he's genuinely joking and poking at your boundaries. sometimes, when he pulls some absurd suicide shtick, it's genuinely just to make kunikida pop a vein or cause exasperation in you and/or his colleagues. but you've learned to gauge between these times, and you know the signs when his jokes hold a truth to them, and when his stunts aren't just stunts for the sake of his reputation as a 'suicide freak'. you know when to visit him after a failed drowning suicide and just... exist around him. when to sit down on the floor of his dorm room and just breathe around him, even if he's soaked to the bones, his bandages are plastered to his skin, and he isn't moving a single finger to get up and dress out of his wet clothes. when depression hits especially bad, you do things for him he actively tries to tell you not to do by being obnoxiously humorous about them. still, you clean his apartment, you cook him edible food, and you sit in his vicinity not because you're mothering him, but because you know what he needs at the moment is just another soul to remind him that despite the gaping hole in his heart, he's still a human being. even if his ability, his past and his mind refuse to let him believe so.
is it worth it, to date someone who's seeking the sweet release from this oxidizing world while simultaneously grasping for something to keep him afloat? you can't say. but the answer comes to you when he finally breaks down his walls just a little bit, just long enough to catch him gazing down at you while you watch a movie. when his hand settles on your lower back as you walk down the street, warm and steady, his eyes darting from every corner to every parked car in that familiar, vigilant way that means he's keeping track of every little detail and every person around you. when, at winter, his hand slides into your pocket, interlaces his fingers with yours, and he bites your cheek just to make you squeak. when his grin is less a performance and more boyish giddiness. when the red hue on the tip of his nose in the winter air makes him look his age instead of an incredibly weary and old, broken soul. when he takes off his trench coat and drapes it over your shoulders during your late night 'mental health walks', and he complains the whole time, yet his hands clamp over your shoulders when you try to take it off.
and you especially feel the answer deep in your bones when instead of dragging himself home from a failed, less eccentric and dramatic suicide, he ends up at your doorstep. when his eyes are hollow and he doesn't speak, when he can't meet your gaze, but he's drunk and swaying, leaning on your doorframe for support. when he walks in and instead of keeping himself together as the behind-the-scenes strategist he is, he simply... crumples. he accepts your physical support, lets you drag him to your bed, and simply relies on you — fully and unabashedly.
after that, morning laughter with him starts to feel less performative and simply more... dazai. the pancakes he tries to make every other sunday are still charred, still bitter at the edges, and the random holes in the middle of them feel vaguely metaphorical. but, at least, when you cross the street to visit him at the agency, you know he's always watching over you; even if it's in his own cryptic, strategic, and utterly devoted way.
because he's a player and a strategist, but he's a player only until he meets the one person he refuses to let the world take away from him — especially after they've shown him just a sliver of light he can't look away from.
═══════★˙⋆˙⟡ ̟ bsd headcanons: romancing the characters (dazai and chuuya edition)
spoilers (light novels) !! + tw: mentions of suicidal ideations (i mean, it's dazai)
i'm thinking of doing some for ranpo and kunikida next ( ⭑•̀ᴗ•́ )✧
more under the cut!
── .✦ chuuya:
i feel like chuuya might be one of the hardest people to romance (excluding dazai here) in the bsd franchise for several reasons. so, we all know that chuuya is brash and says shit as it is. he's blunt. he's not afraid to share his feelings with the class but not in an explicitly vulnerable way, just a more… loud one. he's logical and reasonable if dazai isn't in the picture, so it's not hard to imagine that he can keep a level head in most situations, even outside of battles, and can hold valuable conversations with people without blowing up. so! knowing all that, when you look through a realistic perspective (as realistic as bsd can offer us), chuuya works for the mafia. but he's not someone to kill left and right; unless absolutely necessary or because it's a direct order from mori. he's logical about shit, and he has morals despite working for the mafia.
romance for him would be a nightmare, put it plainly. one, he himself wouldn't seek out a partner. he'd probably tell himself all kinds of things: it's because the mafia world isn't for just anyone, he can't risk putting someone innocent in danger so civilians are completely out of the question, dating a coworker would either end in betrayal or someone getting blood on their hands, he's too busy with his job to pay attention to his partner, yada yada. but one of the deepest reasons why he wouldn't want to get a partner, is, in my opinion, because he's afraid he'd lose them — whether because of his personality and circumstances, physically (get them killed because of the nature or his job), or because of his trauma. you can't tell me that man isn't traumatized, he's literally lost several people in his life he deemed important to him, and has thrown his life away several times ‘for the greater good’. he's scared. he's scared that, despite not having lost a single fight in his life, he won't get there on time if his partner is in danger. he's scared that maybe, just maybe, there isn't enough humanity in him to be deemed lovable. he's scared he won't be enough to protect and keep away his loved one from the horrors of the mafia, but he's also scared that being loved means being accepted, and how could anyone accept someone like him? someone who's still not sure, despite it all, if he's human enough? who's thrown away any opportunity to live a normal, stable life? who's committed so many crimes and ruined so many people's lives, but can't exactly leave this life because the mafia is quite literally his only family left? what if his partner wakes up one day and decides to leave because they simply can't take this life anymore? what if he, just like with the flags, can't be on time and save his lover in case of an ambush? it's a lot of what-ifs regarding him being a walking, talking , breathing living vessel for a God, the life he leads, the people around him, and his past. but the kicker is that once you break through all of his walls and overthinking (which would definitely take time, persistence, and being a lot more stubborn than him, good fucking luck with that), what you'd find on the inside is actually… quite nice.
hcs for chuuya as a lover in another post!!
── .✦ dazai:
well, good fucking luck with this one because he shares the title of #1 Worst People To Romance with chuuya, and they both hate it because they have to stand next to each other. dazai is an insanely complicated person; morality for him is as gray as the sky when i thought it would be a fucking sunny day, and his personality is the equivalent of garbage sprayed with high quality perfume. it masks the stench of rotten stink for some time but in the end, the trash keeps decomposing. idk what that metaphor is for but what i mean to say is, trying to genuinely romance dazai is like trying to herd cats and thinking you're smart because the cat decided to purr and rub its head on your ankles.
dazai is manipulative. sure, nowadays, in the ADA, he's manipulative for better reasons than he was in the port mafia, but he's manipulative nonetheless. he's quite literally a performer most of the time, and he prefers it that way. he's canonically a player, and called a menace to all women, by both kunikida and chuuya, who happen to know and see some genuine parts of him, even if it's not the whole picture. he's a sweet talker. eccentric as fuck, sure, but he's got the charm for days, and he can sweep you off your feet. he'd probably promise you the world, ask you to commit double suicide, back off respectfully if you reject the idea, but… that doesn't mean he's done with you. if the man has set it as his goal to sleep with you, he most likely will — not every time, he's not invincible, but let's say 8/10 times he'll succeed. but that's about it; just sex. because just sex, acting goofy and eccentric, evading responsibility, taking accountability but doing nothing to change his ways, moving on like nothing happened? it's the smartest tactic of pushing people away before they get close to you, so that you can protect both them… and yourself. from what? easy! same reason as chuuya. he's scared of losing his most important people. in the dark era light novel, he openly states: “The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. That's just how things are. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.”; and motherfucker, if that's not the saddest shit ever but also pure evidence that he evades good things he wants because he's scared shitless of losing them. dazai takes genuine gratitude, appreciation and love—actually, he doesn't take it. he doesn't know how to. so, instead, he pushes it away. you want to go on a real date with him after having a one night stand? sure, but he'll make it as fun and unserious as possible and tell you absolutely nothing about himself while simultaneously trying to get into your pants (if he feels like it). he'll offer a double suicide at the end because he knows it pushes people away; this eccentricity, this joke-like way he treats his suicidal ideations, they push people away from wanting something serious with him. he doesn't let himself get close to people in a romantic way not because he's incapable of feeling romantic feelings (i think he is more than capable!) but because catching romantic feelings for someone would be pure torture to him, and he hates pain… both physical and emotional. when chuuya threatened him that he'd leak his address to every woman he's ever made cry, dazai was genuinely unnerved because i think he just hates the idea of confronting the consequences of his actions (pulling people in, pushing them away, making them upset and hurt with his actions); not because he cares about what he's done all that much, but because it reminds him explicitly that hey, you did this because you're trying to protect yourself which means that there's a vulnerable part to you—and there's nothing dazai osamu fears more than vulnerability. to romance him you'd need the patience of a saint, the stubbornness of chuuya amplified by steroids, and the mindset of a therapist. but when you get past all the cloying perfume, disgusting stench and push-and-pull mindset? well. let's say that one man's trash is someone else's treasure.
hcs for dazai as a lover in another post!!
walking into a museum and the little info cards by each artwork just says "credit to the artist!" "lmk if ur the artist and want me to tag u" "found this on pinterest :)"
Dazai is always the first one awake, though it’s not by choice. His body clock is just too used to waking up early after years of unpredictable hours. He’s not exactly a morning person, but when he wakes up next to you, it changes everything.
The moment you start to stir, his eyes light up like a mischievous child who’s about to do something he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t rush to get out of bed; instead, he enjoys the rare quiet moments where it’s just the two of you.
“Good morning, my dear... did you sleep well? I was awake for a while, pondering the existential meaning of life. Care to join me?”
He always says something like that, half-joking but entirely serious. You’re the only person who keeps him grounded, so mornings with you are his little escape from the chaos of his mind.
The Bed Snuggle
Before you can even get a chance to escape the covers and start the day, Dazai always pulls you back into bed with a lazy, irresistible smirk. He’ll wrap his arms around you, tangling you in the sheets, and just lie there, enjoying the warmth of your body pressed against his.
“Why rush? We’ve got the whole day ahead of us. Let’s just stay here a little longer... I need to rest my brain.”
And honestly, you know you’ll end up snuggling for at least 15 more minutes because you’re both just too comfortable.
The Playful Tease
After the cuddle session, Dazai will lazily roll out of bed, but not before throwing a pillow at you or pulling the covers off you to tease you about staying in bed too long.
As you try to drag yourself out of bed, he’ll stretch and yawn dramatically.
Dazai: “I’m not even sure why you bother getting up so early. The world is full of disappointment and failure anyway. Let’s just stay here forever.”
You: “Somebody has to keep this place running.”
He’ll shoot you a playful glance, but secretly, he admires your ability to get things done while he lazes about.
Breakfast (With a Side of Sass)
You’ll usually be the one to prepare breakfast, whether it’s something simple like toast and eggs or something more elaborate. Dazai, of course, will watch from a distance, offering “help” that usually involves him distracting you with compliments or random philosophical musings.
Dazai: “Do you ever wonder if breakfast is just an elaborate ruse to keep us from facing the truth of the world? Or is it just me?”
You: “No, it’s just you.”
At this point, you’ve learned to simply ignore his eccentricities and focus on the task at hand. However, you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculously dramatic he can get over something as simple as breakfast.
Shower Time
There’s always the dilemma of who’s going to get in the shower first. Dazai is never in a hurry, so he might linger around, waiting for you to take the first step. If you’re not quick enough, he’ll steal the shower time, but he’ll do it with style, like he’s on a mission to conquer the world, only to end up humming aimlessly in the bathroom. When it’s your turn, he’ll usually let you have some peace, but not without offering a lot of cheeky remarks.
“I don’t mind waiting... but I do hope you don’t take too long. I’ll miss you terribly, my dear.”
Dressing (Or Lack Thereof)
When it comes to getting dressed, Dazai will often take his time, making sure to look effortlessly charming with an “I-didn’t-try-at-all-but-still-look-perfect” vibe. If you’re getting ready at the same time, expect him to make a comment about your clothes, even if you’re not particularly dressed up. His compliments are always charming, but they’re wrapped in his usual playful sarcasm.
“You look beautiful, but you should really consider wearing something more... dramatic. A red dress, perhaps? It would suit your fiery personality.”
Of course, he has no room to talk. He might be wearing his usual, slightly disheveled outfit, but somehow it works.
Departure
By the time you’re both ready to start the day, Dazai might give you one last lazy kiss, pulling you into a brief hug and whispering something sweet—or mischievous—in your ear. He’ll tell you to be careful, though you both know he’s not actually worried. He just enjoys the dynamic between you both.
“Well then, off you go. I suppose I’ll have to keep myself entertained while you’re off saving the world... or whatever it is you do.”
And with a wink, he’ll send you off, knowing full well you’ll have a hard time focusing on your day because of his playful charm.
Y'all have gotta get more insane about platonic relationships like you are about romantic relationships. We need to get more annoying about them NOW. I need to see more meta and losing our minds over them. Get more annoying NOW. More than that. More than that also.
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