Chapter Text
If you ask Dazai why he's interested in attending huge label fashion shows that's more boobs and ass than whatever cloth the event is supposed to advertise, his answer isn't as intellectual as everyone expects to hear. He'll only give you his sweetest smile and say,
"I'm just a simple man with simple needs."
"Say that again?"
"Ughh... you're aging too fast, Mori. Better ready your ears for check up." Dazai slothfuly got up from his bed. The smell of foreign perfume from his last night fuck still linger on his pillow and blanket along with the smell of sweat and rough sex.
Mori Ōugai, his hell of a father– well, adoptive father to be precise, barged in his room at 7 in the morning, violently pulled the curtains open to let the light of the day in and slapped a few papers to his face strong enough to leave his nose reddening. Dazai knows exactly why,
This happens almost every year now.
It all started from a careless invitation from a friend with the same high status which then abruptly turned into an itchy hobby that Dazai can't stop scratching—He's addicted.
"You're heading to New York City this afternoon?" Mori asked, his voice is firm and strict, ready for a painstakingly long and old fashioned lecture. A gloved hand caressing his temple in an attempt to smooth the crease yet the wrinkles are forming deeper as the man frowns further at his son.
"Yes aaaand~ I'm sure you already know why." Dazai singsong as he pick up his discarded shirt on the floor fully unconcerned about the piece of bright pink bra that fell on the floor. One that's overly adorned with flower beads and ribbons that Mori can't help but look exaggeratedly disgusted.
He sighs. How did he end up raising a boy whose sex drive is as big as the Earth?
"Dazai, how many times have I told you to stop attending those runway festiv–"
"It's a fashion show.." Dazai corrects. He took one glance at the mirror, smirking as his eyes explore the bruise and love marks adoring his neck and back. "aaaand I already told you that I'll stop if you–"
"Buy the whole lingerie company along with their good for nothing models? NO." Mori swept the unholy cloth off of the floor using his Fabergé cane and threw it straight to the trash can in the corner. Dazai didn't mind, not like he's sleeping with the owner again.
"You know you're old enough to settle with just one woman, Dazai. Or at least try to lessen your... activity"
The older sighed once more when he found another bikini under the nightstand. This time the color is black and it looks like it doesn't belong to the same owner of the pink brassiere. "I really don't get why you're too focused on collecting names of famous harlots you slept with overnight."
"You're always discriminating mature women especially models. Don't tell me you're gay Mori? Ha! Now that I think about it, I never saw you with anyone before aside from that bodyguard, what's his name again? Fukuza-"
"You know we're not on good terms with the L Brands," Mori said sternly, rapping his cane sharply against the floor. Gloved fingers reached for the scalpel hidden in his pocket, Dazai knows he should stop whatever joke he's trying to say.
"Buying that lingerie company will bring nothing but shame to our reputation."
"Yeah yeah... Talk about business competitions and crap. Anyway, I'll do your paper work for a week if you let me go for four days." Here comes the trade. Stretching his muscles, Dazai winks at Mori.
"Not like you'll listen to me if I say no."
"Exactly my point, Mori. Doing your paper work is just a bonus since I'm generous enough to give a busy old man a few days off." Dazai dramatically gave him puppy eyes and a pout like he's done nothing wrong but charity to the poor.
"Enough with your sugar coating, Osamu." The thing about raising this boy for years is that Mori knows how his tricks work entirely. They've done this a thousand times. "Now, how much allowance do you want?" He sighed, surrendering. May the gods up there have mercy on his old heart.
Dazai grins. "Ohh, it's not that much..."
—
A simple man with simple needs...
Lie
Dazai knows he's living the life higher and fancier than normal people.
At the age of 8 he got adopted by Mori Ougai, owner of the influential Mori Corporation. At 16, he’d already published two books on politics and one novel under a pen name. No one knew it was him— he despised the media. By 20, he’d finished his doctorate, accelerated through school by sheer, smart-ass grit.
Now he's 25, unemployed and a proud controversial playboy.
Despite fooling around, everyone knows he'll take over Mori's company when the time comes and his future is already secured to be ever-so-bright and successful.
People around him always said the same thing: he is gifted. Born a genius, blessed with a ridiculous amount of luck that let him grasp fortune as if it were nothing. They’d say it with envious smiles and sharp, scrutinizing eyes as they watched him climb the ranks of the nobility — one calculated step at a time.
A simple man will never be Dazai's description.
His simple needs?
Not simple at all.
He may be a man madly driven by desire and pleasure but he has tastes too and he's very picky—
Reaching to turn the shower off, he grabbed a towel and went straight to the dinning room, half naked and dripping wet with only a towel wrapped around his hip. Servants gathered and prepared his breakfast almost instantly.
A plate of juicy high quality meat is placed in front of him the moment he sat on the chair and yeah, that's definitely his taste, if you know what that means.
Women are no different from meat. The more expensive the more delightful they taste—which means the richer you are, the higher quality of women you can bring to your bed. So don't expect him to go over average 'priceless' girls when money was never a problem to him.
—
The flight to New York was long and tiring but it didn't stop Dazai and his so-called friends from spending the rest of the day at a night club as soon as they arrived, partying in VVIP rooms till they pass out. Drunk and high.
So it goes without saying that after the next day, he woke up with a sore body and a pounding headache. There's loud ringing in his head which the blinding light of the day worsened. He dragged his body to the bathroom to throw up yesterdays delight. Dazai may be a healthy adult but he's not as energetic as his friends are, his body is just not built for too much physical work—aside from...well, in bed obviously.
His original plan was to spend his extra day, which is today, wandering around the city with a handful of foreign babes but since the event is only one day away, he decided to stay and rest at the hotel. He can't risk worsening his fever and becoming unable to attend the long awaited fashion show. His friends called to invite him to another party but he dismissed them.
When the event came, Dazai was in a sour mood. Dizziness still clung to him, and the bitter taste of medicine lingered on his tongue. His friends found him, tried to chat, but he barely spared them a few curt nods before heading straight to his chair in the front row. He didn’t have the energy for more fake conversations.
He's not sure if it's the side effect of the strong medicine he took earlier but he can't understand any of what the hosts are saying. He's sure it's all introductions and welcome remarks for now but how could he enjoy the night when even his vision is failing him?
So before the anticipated performance of runway models begin, he head straight to the washroom, feeling fortunate that he didn't get lost in the way or pass out in a random hallway. For sure that would've been the talk of the media for a while "Mori Corp. heir found passed out on New York fashion show festival" people would be glazing up the issue further just to create drama to destroy his already tainted image. Not like he cares.
Sure enough Mori would be laughing at him if he could see Dazai's state right now, saying "This is what you get for taking advantage of old people."
Immediately, Dazai locked himself up in the last cubicle on the corner. He brought out his wallet with a long exhausted sigh while searching for the extra dose of pain reliever, not minding the fact that he'll suffer from a little overdose tomorrow—he's already used to those kinds of things anyway.
When he's just waiting for the medicine to kick in, he heard the sound of a faucet being opened in a violent way, a few set of kicks to the wall and a series of small curses.
Great...The event barely started and there's already drunk people causing ruckus. It'll be a pain in the ass to go outside the washroom without having the person outside confront him. So he sat rather patiently on the toilet, knee bouncing up and down as he try to stay quiet.
Debating whether or not he should go outside now or wait for the person to go away, he heard the man talk.
"Shit. It's alright. It's alright. You can do it..." The person outside whispered repeatedly, the shaking of his voice blending well with the rush of the water from the faucet.
Dazai recognized the words in Japanese. He stood up after confirming that the man was infact not drunk but rather just nervous. It's better for him to leave now and not miss the program.
Just before he can push the door open, there was a female voice calling from outside the washroom, she speaks Japanese as well.
"Chuuya are you there? You'll be needed in five minutes."
"Coming Ane-san!" The man hurriedly splashed a handful of water on his face and left. The silence that followed afterwards was deafening so Dazai stood up and started walking back.
The way back to his seat was much easier now that he's feeling better and much to his luck, the main event hasn't started yet.
He had a little conversation with his friends why he wasn't present during yesterday's party and he's glad they didn't pry too much about it. The introduction of the show wasn't too long and boring, he recognized some people here and there as he's sat comfortable on his chair.
—
"You're nervous."
"Uhh... no I'm not." Chuuya turns his back on his older sister Kouyou, the chief of this event's media staff.
He pretends to be busy with the camera in front of him, wiping the lens and readjusting stuff here and there but honestly he don't even know what he's doing. He signed up for this job hastily without considering that this is a big ass event that'd be broadcasted internationally and the fact that it's his first time doing things like holding huge expensive cameras doesn't make the situation any better.
He can feel the stares of Kouyou, like sharp daggers hitting his nape over and over until he speak up to her.
"Alright! Maybe I am." Chuuya admits, palms sweaty and fingertips fidgeting around the lace of his ID.
"Chuuya there's still-" The older redhead motions to look at her rolex, "three minutes before you go out there. You can still back out, you know?"
She steps forward, reaching to pat Chuuya's shoulders to give her little brother a time to think. Graceful and kind as always.
"You know that's the last thing I'd do, Ane-san. And besides, I'm just gonna assist Twain from the nearby crowd, maybe hold a camera and take few shots but that's all! I'm not holding any live cameras." He's not sure whether he said that to convince his sister or himself.
"If you know that already then there's nothing to be afraid of." She reassured. "Just be calm, Chuuya."
Being calm is surely not Chuuya's expertise. His family and friends always said he's loud and explosive, always the fiery type of person but right now he guess he can try. He needs to, now that he just recently decided he wanted to be like his sister who works behind the camera of some well-known shows and movies—maybe someday he'd get to participate in shooting action movies like his Ane-san.
When the camera specialist Mark Twain called Chuuya's name telling him that their task is starting, he's not so sure where the confidence he barely gathered went. His fingers are shaking and his hands are cold but he stepped out the preparation room with a genuine grin on his face.
There's this challenging feeling that somehow gave him the strength to smile and follow Mark towards the front of the runway where their targets: the models, are supposed to walk through. Mark raised an eyebrow at him, weirded out by his grin but he couldn't care less.
Chuuya likes to challenge himself, though this is the first time he's faced with such huge number of crowds, not only in the venue but also across the cameras, watching live and witnessing almost everything—He hope he won't mess this up.
Not quite fully understanding Mark's instructions because of the man's complicated English, Chuuya still made sure to follow everything that he's told down to a T. When Mark signals for them to move at the center, he follows. They stood next to the VIPs, cautiously moving to get the best shots while minding the people around.
The thing is, Chuuya grew up in an average Japanese family, their parents' work required them to go to different countries without having any stable address. It's a normal life and not a fancy one so it's natural for Chuuya to feel uneasy when he knows that billionaires and other big-name people are sitting behind him.
When the singer on stage began performing and the models walk their way wearing the brand's clothes, Chuuya kept himself low—though he doesn't need to since he's basically small compared to foreigners and because they're standing on a lower ground— so that he won't hear anyone complain that he's blocking their view.
It was hard to follow Mark around, he keeps shifting positions and areas that Chuuya is sure they went back and forth to each side of the stage. Kouyou said that's just how Mark do his job, he's one of the best and also one with weird habits so it's understandable.
When Mark started walking again towards the other side—although there are other cameramen on that side already— Chuuya followed him obediently and peacefully.
PEACEFULLY if it weren't for the stray bottle of water rolling on the ground that Chuuya's too nervous to notice so he stepped on it and fell face flat in front of many people for the sake of saving the expensive camera he's holding. Seriously, if it weren't for the metal bar on his side, Chuuya would've had the most embarrassing moment of his life while becoming in debt from damaging the camera.
"....shit"
Coming down from adrenaline, Chuuya begrudgingly eyed the bottle on the ground and then to the crowd seated near him, to whoever is stupid enough to drop it.
There's a chuckle.
"Opss my bad, that's my water bottle." A voice said. English may not be Chuuya's first language but he knows enough to distinguish the mocking tone from the bastard in front of him.
Fighting the urge to slam the bottle to the sly bastard, Chuuya bent to pick up the water bottle and passed it to the man, "Be careful next time, Sir. That was dangerous, *you bandaged freak." He made sure to say the last three words in Japanese with a very sweet tone to avoid suspicion, he kept in mind that the man in front of him might be rich enough to buy his soul. He kept his smile respectful despite the storm of anger raging inside him.
The man smiled back at him, looking unaffected from Chuuya's insult, probably because he can't understand Japanese. He reached for the bottle, fingers brushing as they exchange glances. There's something in the man's gaze that Chuuya failed to notice.
—
If you ask Dazai, he's not sure whether this is considered 'out of character' because he's not really paying attention to the sexy women parading on the stage one by one in skin revealing clothes screaming with sex appeal.
He used to be so worked up in these events, jeans tight from how excited he is, grin so wide while choosing which woman he's about to bed. But now... he's still worked up but not because of the models and whatever lingerie they're wearing. No, it's because if a certain grumpy assistant. Or whatever she is.
At first Dazai thought he's simply annoyed at the fact that the assistant's hair was too bright that he can't focus on the show because his eyes visibly notice every soft bounce of that fire-like hair. Vivid red like bursting flames and ember whenever the stage lights hits it's direction
And it's bothersome to not know if that person is a man or a woman because he's Dazai Osamu and he'd surely go for any woman that caught his interest—a bit weird because he usually go for tall and mature women and definitely not a short, snippy puppy who seems to be on edge.
He's quite sure it's a woman though. Even from afar he can see the gloss of her lips, the shadows of her thick lashes, and the way her brows are so expressive. God why isn't she on the stage? Her height is small but with that face, any lingerie could sell.
He needs to see her up close.
So Dazai intentionally dropped his water bottle the moment the redhead walked in front of him. What he didn't expect if for her to actually step on it and trip. Honestly, he just meant to catch her attention, that's it. That's why he couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping his lips. Oops. The deadly glare from the other immediately landed on him. His laugh halted before he can even do so. God... It's a pretty kind of blue, one that reflects a fierce ocean.
"Oops my bad, that's my water bottle." His voice coated with playfulness and invitation. Up close she's even more breathtaking, something in her eyes makes Dazai crave the innocence he doesn't even know he liked before. The crease between her eyebrows gave a flavor of defiance which excites him even more.
Just in time, when the redhead bent over to pick up Dazai's discarded water bottle, the upbeat song being sang by the famous artist on stage while models do their thing reached it's chorus and yeah, it set the mood. Fucking tempting.
Usually, it's the ass that Dazai look first in a woman, the absolute round of flesh where he can have his hands roam freely, grope and slap roughly, where his lap would bounce during the act. But this time, Dazai's eyes found it's way to the perfect arch of the back and the small waist. God that waist....
The sight is so erotic in a weird but positive kind of way that Dazai has never experienced before—it actually takes lots of effort for most women to get him excited but now, just a simple 'innocent' action got him heated up. He'd pay millions to wrap his hand on that waist, it's so slim and perfect. So perfect.
"Be careful next time, Sir. That was dangerous, *you bandaged freak."
What?
He swears his half hard dick went limp so fast it's like his balls were crushed from disappointment. The seductive smile he was about to pull off and the flirty pick up line froze almost instantly.
That voice.
A man.
It was a man.
Dazai was fantasizing over a man, what a joke!
"Chuuya I told you not to stray far from me." A staff called and the redhead walked away after excusing himself politely.
Ignoring the fact that he just cursed Dazai in Japanese, Dazai face palms and sighed.
What just happened?
He can hear Mori's insulting laugh for the second time this night. He was about to hit on a guy. A GUY
Don't get him wrong, Dazai doesn't have any grudge against men but he just can't see them sexually like how he sees women.
Plus he grew up making fun of Mori after he accidentally witnessed him with another man when he was twelve, he believe it was the bodyguard. It was funny seeing how Mori's eyes grew big and how he kicked the man hovering over him out of instinct. In the end Dazai got scolded but at least he had something to mock the older man for the rest of his life.
"Are you okay bro?" One of Dazai's friends sitting next to him asked after noticing that he wasn't paying attention to the show.
Dazai gestures a thumbs up and did his best not to look at the direction of the irritatingly eye-catching red hair in the corner and just watch the hot models in front.
It's harder to focus now that he recently went from a great let down. He swears he was like a child excited to taste his candy, only to loose his appetite right after unwrapping it and discovering it wasn't his type of flavour.
How did Dazai end up interested in that redhead in the first place anyway? It's not like Dazai hasn't seen gingers before and it's totally not the softest and silkiest hair he's ever seen.
Maybe it's the medicine, right?
"Dazai, are you listening?"
Dazai blinked several times before facing his friends. "What?" He asked, not clearly listening to whatever they were talking about.
"I'm asking who's your pick? Mine is Alexandra, the one with sexy black two-piece." His friend wiggles his eye brows out of excitement.
"Uhh..." Dazai thought for a second, he realized he spent half of the show drifting off, he can't even remember a single model or their outfit.
"I like the one with glittered white wings." He said, trying his best to dig out information of the models.
"Oh! You mean the hot red haired chick! Nice choice Daz-"
"What? No! I'm not interested in men."
Dazai reasoned right after hearing the word 'red haired', an image of the assistant flashing on his mind.
His friends side eyed each other, whispering
"Is he alright?"
"What men is he talking about?"
"Pfft! Don't tell me he's on drugs."
"You sure you're okay, Dazai? You're a bit off since we arrived here."
"I'm fine...just feeling a little tired."
"Oho-ho! I know what you need my friend!!" Ace put his arms around Dazai's shoulders. "You need to let it all out!" he said in a perv tone.
—Dazai isn't a fan of physical touches from his so-called friends, he only hang out with them because of their status and because they have similar interests in women. But being too close and touchy has always been uncomfortable for Dazai.
They went straight to the backstage, waiting for the models to get dismissed, not forgetting to display themselves as rich people to easily get access to the changing room and other staff rooms.
They all know the drill as they did this too many times that they doubt they'll ever get satisfied if they were to stop this hobby—high class babes gives high class pleasure after all.
"Don't you think they're taking too long?"
"Just be patient, of course they won't be simply dismissed."
"Damn I can't wait to get my hands on those ass~"
The wait goes with Dazai silently standing on the corner beside his friends. He really doesn't feel like doing it. Maybe the medicine's starting to wear off.
"Are those the girls?" His friend asked after seeing a group of people come out of a certain room.
"Nah, I think those are the staff."
Ignoring his friends, Dazai turned his back and began walking away. Maybe he should just go back to the hotel. He really doesn't fee-
His eyes landed on a familiar angry mop of red hair struggling to get away from the crowd and almost suffocating from the squeeze of big and tall foreigners. Bags and elbows are everywhere and the small figure fighting for his life starts to sink into the crowd.
Dazai knew he had to move and pull the other out. God bless his kind and heroic heart.
It's a good thing that Dazai is exceptionally tall so he can still see the small boy among the crowd of either big muscled workers or fat ladies with massive hanging bags containing whatsoever.
He need not to see the face of the ginger just to tell whether he's having a hard time keeping up with the flow of the people pushing against each other.
By the time Dazai reached the other, he was barely standing and he looked as if he's starting to shrink down the floor. So as someone with a heart of gold, ge reached for the poor boy.
"Wha-!"
Immediately, Dazai grabbed his arm and squeezed both their bodies to the corner of the wall, avoiding the flow of the crowd. His hand unconsciously wrapped around the small waist to catch the redhead and give him support.
He felt like the boy weighted nothing by how easy he was able to squeeze him out, Dazai understood that maybe shrimps almost weighted nothing due to their small bodies.
Body is towering over the ginger, Dazai took a few steps back to give space, to breathe. It was a mistake though, with the distance Dazai was met with the sight he only see in his dreams, a sight he used to fantasize over when he's alone and touching himself.
Or something he only sees in porn magazines when he was young.
The other's eyes are still close, sweaty as he started letting out short huffs of air in his small sheeny pink lips, the sweat forming on his forehead highlighting the soft tender skin. Are those freckles? His eyes trace the freckles decorating the round cheeks. The view is too innocent, too fragile but also tempting. So tempting that Dazai couldn't resist bending over to the other's ear.
He made sure to let his warm breath tickle the pinkish nape when he whispers,
"Would you look at that. I've caught a shrimp getting crushed in a group of sharks. I guess I'll have seafood for tonight~"