hey. if you’re a fan of bsd animanga and/or want to read some indulgent as fuck dead dove (seriously dead dove) about it: here’s some of that. my wonderful friend lulav, who beta’d, calls it a “delightful” read. my friend bee, who requested it, gaught covid about it. so. glowing reviews.
it’s about transfemmed terrible teens and a very sinister man.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Akutagawa’s (somewhat conflicted) feelings about Mori dressing him up // Moriaku
Word count: ~1700
Content Warnings : boss/subordinate relationship, large age gap (20 years), unbalanced relationship, controlling behaviour
“So—” Mori holds both dress shirts in from of him, pensive. “Red? Or blue?”
“Black,” Akutagawa answers evenly, making the man pout.
“Black is too classic,” he protests, soon cut off by the small girl by his side.
“It’s boring.” Elise scowls, crossing her arms, blue eyes flashing Akutagawa a glare. “You’re both boring . And you—” She points an accusing finger at him. “Just choose already, he’ll be happy and we’ll get cake.”
Akutagawa rolls his eyes at the frustrated girl, before focusing back on Mori. “Do I really need this? I already have clothes.”
“Work clothes maybe,” Mori easily counters. He holds the marine blue shirt in front of Akutagawa’s chest and hums. “Too dark,” he decides, putting it away.
“I still think this is ridiculous.”
Reflexively, he almost apologies for his snippy tone when Mori turns back to him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief, but before he does, he catches himself. A year into a relationship that mainly happens behind locked doors at the office and he’s still not quite used how little...etiquette the man requires outside of work.
At headquarters, there is no way to forget Mori is still his boss, but outside of it, in the man’s own home, there is almost nothing to remind him of this fact.
“Don’t be like that, dearest, a little variety can’t hurt. You simply must let me take care of it. We are going to try those on—” Mori puts a new dress shirt of a much lighter blue, along with the red one, under his nose, “— and this outfit after.”
Akutagawa glances at the outfit in question, then the pile of clothes he’s already tried on, and he wonders just how much clothes has the man bought — they’ve been at it for about two hours now.
Mori, ever since the beginning of their relationship, loves dressing him up. He thought, at first, that it was only Elise — his ability, an extension of himself that he dresses up to suit his tastes. He was, of course, wrong, and Mori takes some special kind of joy in helping him dress.
Looking down at the two shirts, identical save for the color, he winces at the cheerful blue of the first. “Not this one,” he decides, and Mori sighs, closes his eyes, and whines:
“You and Elise are always so difficult ,” and really, Akutagawa doesn’t want to be difficult with Mori, he knows he’s lucky the man even looks at him, but still. Light blue.
“Fine,” he relents, and Mori beams and waves his hand in Akutagawa’s direction.
“Wonderful! Now, off with this.”
Resigned, Akutagawa opens the shirt he’s currently wearing and slips out of it — there is no changing room, and besides he’s learned a while ago that there is no point in being any degree of self-conscious about his body around Mori.
The scars are reminder of his much he’s survived and of all the way he still has to go to be better. It’s something private, something he doesn't particularly like anyone seeing. But it seems to Akutagawa that Mori enjoys looking at them, which is kind of weird and puts him under a scrutiny he would, with anyone else, avoid. More generally, he spends a lot of time watching him undress, and Akutagawa can’t genuinely say he dislikes it.
Those eyes on him register every detail, remember every flaw with the same calm they take in everything else, and yet at no point does he say anything about it, about the scars and the bones clearly visible under his skinny frame.
No one ever looked at him the way Mori Ougai does. It became, if he dares say it, nice.
The man extends one of the sleeves for Akutagawa to slide his arm in, then the other, and moves back to his front to close the buttons. The fabric is crisp and cool on his skin, sign that it’s either new or just out of the dry cleaner service he uses.
“Good!” His boss looks through the dressing cabinet and comes out with a waistcoat. “For this one, I think black will do nicely.” He laughs lightly, to himself. “See? There is still black.”
Mori hums appreciatively when he buttons the waistcoat up as well, and turns Akutagawa to the mirror so he can get a look — the blue pops out nicely, it’s true, but he can’t help but grimace again because, well. He doesn't think it’s really his color, and he doesn’t think he likes it, but then again Mori always knows better about those things.
Being moved around like this makes Akutagawa somehow more aware of his own body than ever before.
“You don’t like it.” Mori crosses his arm, frowning, dejected. “But you look so handsome— ” Akutagawa’s cheeks flush at the compliment, but he still shakes his head.
“I think red might work better,” he tells him, attempting to not disappoint too much. Some time ago, he disliked the color red, but Mori loves it, so he made an effort and found it not so bad.
(Just a bit more time and he might find himself fond of blue, too.)
At those words, Mori perks up while Elise groans obnoxiously. She sends him a tired look, which he interprets as “hurry up ”, so he quickly undresses again and swaps the blue dress shirt for the red one, Mori still hovering around. When it’s done and Akutagawa turns to face him, he smiles kindly, smoothing out the lapel and tugging at the bottom of it to make sure it falls right.
Then, he tilts Akutagawa’s chin up with the tip of his finger and raises the dress shirt’s collar, looping a white tie around his neck and tucking it into his waistcoat.
“Red always suits you well.” He takes a step back, looking him up and down. “You should wear this tonight.”
It sounds like a suggestion. Akutagawa knows it’s not — even if he says no, the man will badger him until he agrees.
All of this — Mori’s hands on his wrist or his hips or his shoulders, covering him with another heap of fabric and deciding what he wears and how he styles his hair and what scent of shampoo or perfume he uses — used to be... overwhelming, but not anymore, he has gotten used to it.
Now, it distantly reminds him of the way Gin used to play with the doll he bought her for her twelfth birthday. The first new toy she ever had. Carefully dressed and cared for, proudly displayed, forgotten when it became worn and used and she grew too busy and too old to play with it.
A small, rational part of him whispers he shouldn’t be so comfortable with it, with being someone's doll, that he should put a stop to it before every aspect of his life is subject to the man’s whims.
Akutagawa doesn’t care. Shushes it. Gives in and lets himself be what makes Mori the happiest. He does have to be careful though, or he’ll soon see the day Mori discards him like Gin’s old doll.
Besides, the clothes look better than anything Akutagawa could have come up with himself; he's not very good at choosing them. Better trust the man's tastes, Akutagawa’s own obviously being somewhat lacking.
So, he nods. “I will.”
Tonight is a formal affair, and if their little fitting session was originally to find Akutagawa new clothes he liked, as the day wore on it became more of a way to find him something to wear. Tonight, Mori speaks business with a foreign organization; and whether Akutagawa is supposed to be the arm candy or the bodyguard, he isn’t sure.
Perhaps it’s both. It’s usually both.
“Now, you’re just missing one little thing—”
While he disappears again, Elise raises her head from where she’s slumped on the couch and gets to her feet, watching Mori’s chosen outfit. She blinks up at him and narrows her eyes, contemplating in silence for a few seconds. “Not half bad,” she decides, before she turns away, looking for her dress, which probably means Mori is satisfied with his choice.
Not minding his presence, she pulls her own dress over her head. Akutagawa turns away to let her change into the new one on, until she tugs on his arm to show him.
“Not half bad,” he says back to her, making her grin.
It’s brand-new dress, red and black, matching with Akutagawa’s outfit, which he is sure is done on purpose, somehow. Mori gets a particular joy out of making them match, for reasons that escape him.
Walking around the room, he checks that the pants aren’t too tight and that the movements of his arms aren’t too limited.
By the time he reaches the conclusion that everything is as comfortable as it should be, Mori comes back. Without missing a beat, he grabs his wrist, holding it up, deft fingers fixing glinting cufflinks to the end of his right sleeve, then his left.
“There,” Mori tells him softly. “Perfect.”
Before letting go, he presses a kiss on his knuckles and spins him around, and Akutagawa’s heart does a little jump, blood rushing to his face, his ears burning.
He glances to the mirror again. “I look…fine,” he says quietly, and Mori offers a sharp, closed eyed, knowing smile and sneaks another a kiss under his ear, at the junction of his jaw.
“Of course, you do.”
With the way his eyes linger here and there, Akutagawa knows he’ll have wandering hands for the rest of the night. He doesn’t really mind it anymore— it feels strangely good to have someone willing to touch him this way, to kiss him, whispering praises and flattering words in his ear like he deserves them.
“Thank you.” Then: “Should I expect a fight?” Those clothes don’t offer much material to fight with, though he can still hide a weapon somewhere (a small gun at his ankle, hidden in the folds of his pants, or a knife strapped to his forearm, or whatever Mori decides.)
“No,” he finally answers. “No, I don’t believe so.” And he adds, because he is, as always, aware of what Akutagawa truly is asking: “Besides, the weather is way too nice for you to wear a coat.”
