Kurashi was nervous, and he knew he had no reason to be. He looked at himself in the mirror one more time. His kimono, complete with hakama, black haori and everything, looked somewhat out of place - or maybe it was just his imagination. Hell, he felt out of place. It wasn’t because he didn’t want today to come; it was because he was so eager, too eager for it to come that he was giddy with excitement.
Convincing the shrine to let them marry wasn’t that difficult after all - provided they’d rather do so in some private place rather than for all to see. Kurashi was fine with that. For the occasion, a beautiful pavilion-like tent was erected in Kurashi’s garden, and his own shrine worked splendidly as the altar. Right now, offerings, the three cups of sake and their wedding rings were already there; miko and the priest also took their positions, ready and waiting. The sun was shining beautifully through the leaves of the tree over the altar and Kurashi put on his geta and stepped outside, biting his lip shyly as he saw his husband-to-be waiting for him.
They agreed Izaya will take the role of the husband in the ceremony; drink the first and third cup first before giving it to Kurashi, and read their wedding vows from the scroll.
Kurashi’s smile turned bright and sweet as he walked to Izaya and they stood before the altar.
As someone who's pretty new to the Drrr RP community, I am blown away by the fact so many people have made me feel welcome here. I'm not a newbie writer but any new blog requires a bit of patience and faith to help get it started. One particular person who stands out to me is @godlikeschemer, who has given a newcomer like me the chance to interact and learn from someone who's been in the fandom a long time. This means a lot to me and has helped me gain more confidence in my writing. Thank you!
Kurashi bit his lip, swaying lightly on his feet as he waited for the door to open. Back and forth, back and forth; it felt like eternity before he could hear quiet steps on the other side of the apartment door and heard the lock turn, revealing a man who was almost his double, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
It’s been some time since they parted ways. Kurashi’s paid week has ended, and he vanished, with just the smallest goodbye needed not to appear rude. At that time, it felt safe to escape like this. Because during that week, Izaya stopped being a client; and when a client stopped being a client, and moved to something else, it always meant trouble.
But, unexpectedly, some things had happened. Kurashi’s next manga project was sent back again, the envelope once more not even opened. His job at the strip club gave him more profits than ever, even though he was barely working anymore; everyone wanted him, people seemed to want him even more now that he was a rare sight. And yet he couldn’t find satisfaction. This invisible, intangible something that transpired during that week didn’t let him forget.
So Kurashi did the one thing he knew was right back then; closed his eyes and let the emotion flow into paper. The resulting drawing was his best piece so far; and right now, it has been packed in paper and tied with a ribbon as he stood in front of the man who look entirely like him and smiled lightly, with a strange softness in his smile.
“...happy birthday, Izaya.” he said quietly. “May I come in?”
I hope you don’t mind me writing this to you; we talk to each other almost every day after all, and yet somehow, I feel like there are things that cannot be conveyed properly if I do not pin them to a page with ink, like a collector would do with beautiful butterflies. When we talk, words escape me, fly away from my mind and from my tongue, and what is left is simple small-talk, one that hardly means or gives anything meaning. Only here, when there’s only me, the blank sheet of paper and my brush, I find the words; they flow onto the page easily and without hesitation.
I am first and foremost a writer, after all.
How does one describe the depth of feelings such as the ones I have for you, I wonder? I have told you I love you already - but once that phrase is once said, it seems to lose its meaning; or rather, it does not, but stays the same, whereas my love for you grows deeper, more fierce and sweeter by the day. How can the simple I love you of a man freshly infatuated measure up to the one said by the same man, who discovered himself again and again, only to finally understand at least a portion - a tiny sliver of his own feelings? And how the I love you of this man will ever feel adequate when, with each morning when I awaken in your arms, with each and every look I throw your way, I seem to fall for you more and more?
I wish there were more words. I wish that I could create new ones, give them meaning and give them sound, and then say them to you, like a musician composing a perfect piece. However, I suppose out of the two of us, it’s you whose tongue is pure silver. But if I can write; and still get this message through to you...
Then my brush is just as good as a tongue, when it comes to proclaiming love, is it not?
It was his job to carry packages and letters quicker than the post office could. even if the job wasn't the most pleasant of them.
This particular package was wrapped in crumbled brown paper and smelled a bit funny. The white string keeping the wrapping in was tightly secure though, preventing anyone from actually peeking into the package. This only left the courier even more curious about what was inside.
Ignoring the fact that the package could easily be something dangerous, Tsuki made his way down the hallway, looking at the numbers on the doors until he stopped in front of one parrticular door. Looking down onto the package, the number matched up--
Lightly tapping on the door, the blond stood up straight to look more professional before the person opened the door. WAiting a couple more seconds he knocked on the door once more and spoke up, "Ex-excuse me..." Crimson eyes wandered the hard door waiting for any noise to indicate the person was actually home.
Limerence - (n) the state of being infatuated with another person
starter for @godlikeschemer
Kurashi didn’t know when did it happen; when did he decide to become who he was now.
It wasn’t a conscious decision on his part, anyway. More so a chain of events, leading from one situation to another, that made him make the decisions he made, turn onto the path he has turn to. It all started when, on the day of his eighteen birthday, Yanagisawa family threw him out, and he found himself on the streets, with no money, no friends, no nothing. The next two years were tough, but Kurashi eventually made a life for himself. He was beautiful, observant and, after what good school the life provided for him, he had the city smarts to stay afloat.
He didn’t have to work at the strip club. He didn’t have to start sleeping with people for money. It ended up this way, and Kurashi couldn’t find it in himself to regret any decision that might have led to it, eventually.
His strip club, Mangetsu, or Full Moon, was one of the best - and most expensive - in Kabukicho. It was yakuza-owned, all strip gay bars were, but Kurashi never even spoke with the shadowy protectors of the establishment. He got in on pure lack, and stayed because his first and completely improvised performance earned him immediate regulars, and the owner wasn’t an idiot. Kurashi didn’t do drugs, and only slept with clients he wanted to sleep with, doing it skillfully enough that nobody was absolutely certain he was a prostitute, too, and no undercover detective could ever find out strippers at Mangetsu offered their clients anything beside entertainment.
That night wasn’t much different from others. Kurashi changed into his costume in the locker room, along with three other strippers meant for today’s show. He put on a black thong with silver accents, then the loose black pants, which held on his waist with a wide, leather belt. They were adorned with silver plates and little bells - tonight was belly-dancing night, after all. A black vest that showed off almost his entire chest and was adorned with silver bells as well completed the image, together with black-and-silver bracelets for his wrists and ankles.
He only managed to put on the tiniest bit of make-up before the manager ushered them onto the stage; the four strippers, all dressed in different colors, with Kurashi in the centre of the group, clearly the leading one. They moved to their poles in sensual stride; Kurashi smiled lightly, his crimson eyes twinkling as he felt hush fall over the crowd gathered, felt hungry stares on himself.
The music started. He begun to dance.
Belly-dancing was hard, but he took lessons before. His moves were slow, sensual, perfectly tuned to hypnotizing music. He teased, proceeded slowly, made sure that despite the rest of the performers, eyes of every guy in the audience were on him. He could feel them crowding before him pole, reaching out to be able to as much as touch the rim of his pants... Kurashi leaned down, one hand holding onto the pole, and got face to face with the most desperate man, smiling teasingly at him and pulling back before the man could react; he made a few spins, heard whistles, leaned back and felt a note being slipped right under the band of his thong. Perfect; he already got some money, and didn’t even take off his vest.
The sensual dance continued, one article of clothing slowly unzipped, removed, thrown away. Kurashi’s dance became more erotic, less slow and teasing, with every piece of clothing he discarded. Finally, the only thing that covered him was his thong, and even that hardly held up, considering quite a few bills it had to hold as well.
As Kurashi made one last spin, and the music stopped, he was greeted with whines and asks for encore. He smiled, sent a kiss towards the audience and skipped to the backstage, where he could peacefully gather his bills and count through them. Most of them were one-thousands, unfortunately, but someone slipped him a ten-thousand note. Now this was lucky.
“So, who’s booking me first?” he asked the manager; all strippers had numbers assigned to them, Kurashi’s own was 4 - everyone wondered how could he be so successful with such an unlucky number - and every night, five or so clients could get a lap dance from their picked number, if they won an anonymous bidding that happened during the initial performance of all of them together. Each table had a number; each had a special bidding pad provided. The club got most of the money, but strippers got a good chunk of it, too, and everything they earned above that - bills being slipped in their underwear, mostly - they could keep to themselves. It was a good job, all in all.
“You have a whole night booked, as usual, Yon.” the manager smiled - it was customary to call the strippers by their numbers, nobody wanted to give names here of all places. “I’ll give you the table numbers. Have fun.”
Four headcanons about our cuties for every 👫 sent!
1. Kurashi loves Izaya so much he sometimes surprises even himself with it. It’s a stupid, almost unhealthy kind of love at times, bordering on worship; and at the same time, he isn’t obsessed. He found in Izaya what he needed - someone who loves him, and will love him, just because he is a human, just because he is himself. When it became too little, Izaya met him where he was, and confirmed he loves him as himself, as Kurashi. From then on, Kurashi is even more devoted to him.
2. It’s quite scary, but Kurashi would probably do everything and anything Izaya asks him to. Including things he himself is opposed to. Even if he would object, he would do it in the end, even if it meant going against everything he ever knew. He would kill for Izaya, he would whore himself for him; and still he would come back, unable to hate him, like a moth to a flame, even if it meant his destruction.
3. Kurashi dislikes Izaya’s apartment, and feels there like he is in a cage. He misses living in a traditional household, he dislikes the height they live in, the concrete, the minimalistic decor, and most of all, he hates the fact that Izaya’s apartment is also his working space, and that he has to share it with strangers. The moment Izaya leaves him alone there, he feels sick and unable to relax.
4. The thing Kurashi adores the most is, strangely enough, not even when they have sex or when Izaya says he loves him, but the little moments when Izaya shows him affection out of nowhere. Like, running his hand through his hair while Kurashi is working, or resting against him while on the couch. It doesn’t have to be big, but it’s enough for Kurashi to smile and think how grateful he is to have Izaya be his lover.
Masaomi thought for a long time about what he could get Izaya for his birthday. He felt like he should do something, given their intimate but nondescript relationship, but he didn’t want to get him anything that might be considered too personal, out of fear of what it might imply about his fondness towards Izaya. Although he had already accepted his feelings had returned, he still didn’t trust him enough to confess anything.
As the day approached, he spent probably far too much time considering what gift to get him. Finally, though, after thinking for a long time about Izaya’s likes and what he had learned about him so far, he had an idea. So on that day, after checking the informant’s schedule and making sure he would be gone for most of the day, he arrived in the empty apartment with bags of groceries and got to work in the kitchen and bedroom. By the time Izaya returned, the apartment smelled of sukiyaki, which was placed on the table with a small bouquet of roses and red wine.
“Welcome home, birthday boy~.” He walked over to Izaya and wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning against him as he looked up at him with a sultry grin. “As your assistant, I happen to know your schedule is free tonight, so I took it upon myself to spend your birthday with you. I made us some sukiyaki for dinner. Oh, and I think you’ll enjoy dessert even more, so don’t fill up too much.” He rubbed his body against him suggestively, then pulled him down into a slow kiss.
