Work Text:
Dazai didn't expect to enter Chuuya’s green room to find the model only in her undergarments, but she can’t say she’s complaining. In fact, she’s more than appreciative of the way Chuuya’s nude tights shimmer under the light, shaping her legs beautifully; and how a black, lacy bra hugs her chest, leaving her shoulder freckles exposed and her bare waist a sight to behold. Dazai’s hands suddenly itch to grab it, her lips tingling as she pictures them grazing Chuuya’s shoulder blades. Chuuya herself remains unaware of her girlfriend’s presence, focused on adjusting something on her clothing rack.
“A gorgeous view,” Dazai says, the smile audible in her voice. Chuuya jolts and rapidly spins around to face her, consequently showing off the bra in its entirety. Dazai’s eyes slide down and she gives a wolf whistle.
For a moment, Chuuya just stares at her, with wide eyes and a furious flush. Then those same eyes narrow. “Dazai?” she asks, her frame losing its tension, abandoning the panicked movement she’d been making in an attempt to cover herself up. “What are you doin’ here?”
Dazai shrugs and locks the door behind her. Her eyes stay on the bra for several more seconds before coming back up to Chuuya’s face. “I said I’d try my best to make it, didn’t I?”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but I thought you couldn’t.”
“It wouldn’t have been my best if I didn’t manage it,” Dazai says. She takes a few steps forward to close the gap between them and takes Chuuya’s hands, meeting her gaze with utmost sincerity. “I’ll always find time for you.”
Chuuya scoffs, though her cheeks turn rosy and she glances away. “Don’t be stupid.” Her gaze returns just to fix Dazai with a glare. “Your work’s important, too.”
Dazai hums dismissively. “Ah, semantics. The true important thing is that I’m here.”
Chuuya softens. “You are.”
Dazai smiles and kisses the tip of Chuuya’s nose. The gentle atmosphere holds up for a long, wonderful moment before Chuuya frowns in apprehension. She glances around Dazai at the door. “Hey, how did ya even get in here? Your ticket is one thing, but…”
“I have my ways.” Dazai winks. As if a locked door and some meagre security could stop her from seeing her girlfriend. The mere thought is preposterous.
Chuuya eyes her warily. “Am I going to have to sign shit or bail you out of somethin’?”
“Nonsense, darling. I took precautions.”
“Y’know what?” Chuuya deadpans. “I don’t wanna know. C’mere.” Her hands come up to cup Dazai’s face, cheeks resting beneath Chuuya’s warm palms. Chuuya makes sure to roll her eyes theatrically before pulling Dazai down and into another kiss. Dazai’s hands land on Chuuya’s hips, caressing the skin she’ll never tire of touching. She eagerly lets Chuuya’s tongue into her mouth, sliding her own against Chuuya’s bottom lip. She feels Chuuya’s fingers ghost down her jaw and wrap around her to her nape, the contact with the sensitive skin there sending shivers down her spine. It makes Dazai melt into the kiss further, lazily enveloping Chuuya with her love.
“I know you like bold fashion statements,” Dazai says when they part for breath, her gaze slipping down to eye the lacy undergarment reverently. She slithers two fingers under one of the straps holding it up, grazing the skin underneath. “But I’d say this is a bit much, even for you.”
Chuuya snorts. “Uh-huh.” She points at the metal rack behind her. “The full outfit is over there, genius.”
Dazai barely spares it a glance and hums. “Ah, I see. I haven’t seen this bra before. Is it new?”
“Nah, I bought it a while back, just never wore it ‘cause I didn’t feel like it matched anythin’ I had,” Chuuya says. Then her eyes glisten and she smirks. “But ‘s nice, ain’t it?”
“Certainly,” Dazai says. She continues sliding her hand along Chuuya’s soft skin, fingers staying under the fabric of the thin strap. Chuuya stays indulgently still as Dazai’s hand fondles the skin of her breasts near lace borders, claiming it with her touch. She runs the pads of her fingers along Chuuya’s defined collarbones and down her sternum. She draws lines mapping out the constellations of freckles, from one shoulder to the other. As soon as the first soft sigh leaves Chuuya’s mouth, Dazai’s other hand moves from Chuuya’s waist and slowly begins to worm its way up her back.
Chuuya suddenly moves, grabbing her elbow and halting the motion. She shoots Dazai a reproachful look, though her lips remain quirked. “You’re shameless.”
Dazai grins with her fingers just shy of the bra’s clasp. “With you? Always.”
“Alright,” Chuuya grumbles, shoving Dazai’s arm away. “Get your hands off me. I need to put that thing on.”
Dazai slowly yet obediently raises her arms in the air, keeping her palms open. She tilts her head. “Need help?”
Chuuya shakes her head and walks over to the rack. “Don’t think so.” She glares over her shoulder as she picks up the outfit. “And don’t even think about touchin’ me once it’s on.”
Dazai pouts. “Why not?”
“You’ll find a way to ruin it. Not only ‘s it not mine, but if it gets crumpled right before the show then I’m fucked.”
“Important clothes, got it,” Dazai says. She watches with keen eyes as Chuuya takes the designer dress off its hanger and begins to adorn it. Her practiced hands handle every inch of the expensive fabric with ease, keeping it safe from any deterioration. Dazai’s eyes catch the tip of Chuuya’s tongue when it peeks out from between her lips in concentration. The sight makes Dazai licks her own lips and she blurts, “Can I kiss you?”
Chuuya doesn’t even look up at her. “You’re insatiable.”
“Of course.” Dazai smiles innocently while her eyes roam Chuuya’s body from bottom to top. The black-sequined dress flatters Chuuya beyond compare, hugging her figure perfectly. It unfortunately also covers her legs as its skirt drapes down to the floor, but the way it accents Chuuya’s thighs makes it a fair compromise. When Dazai finally manages to wrestle her gaze back up to meet Chuuya’s, she asks, “So?”
“Yeah, fine,” Chuuya says after a moment, pulling at the dark material to adjust how the dress sits on her figure. She pauses, then walks over to her vanity and picks up a shiny piece of what Dazai assumes to be jewellery. She’s quickly proven correct as Chuuya lifts it to her neck and dons a gorgeous, silver necklace with a opal pendant. Something about it seems familiar, but Chuuya speaks again before Dazai can dwell on it: “Just no touching.”
Dazai grins slyly. “Promise.”
Chuuya gives her long look. “Swear on your last sake bottle.”
Dazai’s eyes widen, grin faltering. She clicks her tongue. “That’s a bit far, now, Chuuya...”
“Osamu.”
“Yes, yes.” Dazai sighs and places a hand on her heart. “On my last sake bottle.”
Chuuya nods, satisfied. Her lip quirks up. “Good girl.”
Dazai beams as soon as the words pass through Chuuya lips, stepping forward to claim them with her own. True to her word, she keeps her hands to herself. Even when Chuuya’s hands land on her waist, fingers slipping under her shirt and digging into her sides, making her heart flutter at the touch.
“You’re a cheater,” Dazai mumbles into the kiss, earning a smile on its other end.
“I didn’t say anythin’ about me not touchin’ you,” Chuuya says and promptly deepens the kiss. Dazai can’t find herself to be angry about it, letting her sublime girlfriend do as she pleases. Every second that ticks by is one Dazai spends in heaven, every touch Chuuya is willing to give her just bringing her higher. Her senses are filled with a familiar presence; Chuuya’s taste on her lips; Chuuya’s tune in her ears; Chuuya’s scent in her nose. It’s not long before her hands twitch with the need to feel and she lifts them, daring to place her palms on Chuuya’s cheeks. She experiences roughly two seconds of pure bliss before the action is punished by Chuuya, the woman pushing Dazai away.
“I said no touchin’, babe,” Chuuya scolds without heat in her voice. Her lips are glossy and swollen. Dazai yearns to taste them again. But she can only whine as Chuuya keeps her pinned in place with her gaze. “Chuuya! You said the outfit.”
Chuuya doesn’t look impressed. “I said ‘no touching.’” She waves Dazai off, then, as if the other woman is nothing but a speck of dust in the air. “Now shoo, I need to go to the hair ‘n makeup place.”
“This is domestic abuse,” Dazai laments, though she does move towards the door. In a more hopeful tone, she asks, “After the show?”
“Insatiable,” Chuuya says again. But when their eyes meet she nods, and that’s all the confirmation Dazai will ever need. She blows Chuuya a kiss before unlocking the door and leaving through it, gone with the wind.
Dazai pushes past the thick crowd, flashing her VIP ticket any time she’s stopped. A tight grin stays firmly on her face as she does, both for appearances and from wry mirth. It’s fascinating, the way everyone will lose all animosity upon realising she’s someone important.
Once she gets past the main crowd, locating the VIP section is child’s play. It stands out quite substantially, with bright, tacky floor lights and a red belt barrier surrounding it. Dazai’s ticket does its job again as she passes by the security with a polite smile, which only widens once she approaches the front row. There, with a perfect view of the catwalk, is a line of velvety seats with name cards set atop them. Unmistakably, one of the cards reads Dazai Osamu in elegant handwriting.
Dazai giggles under her breath as she approaches the seat, a pleasant tingling under her skin. For Chuuya to reserve her a seat even without knowing for sure if Dazai could make it…it’s a sweet gesture, one befitting of Chuuya. Charmed, Dazai gets settled in the seat, placing the name card under it. She crosses one leg over the other as she takes in her surroundings properly. The position truly does give a wonderful view of both the stage and its catwalk, being a mere few feet away from it. A good thing, given that despite being the one privileged enough to see and touch Chuuya both before and after the actual show, she still doesn’t want to miss even a millisecond of it.
Mingling nearby are several other occupants of the VIP section. Likely not all of them, if the amount of seats is anything to go by, but most. Dazai tilts her head for a better view but doesn’t recognise anyone, at least not properly. Some of them look vaguely familiar, but only in a ‘maybe I’ve seen you once or twice at another show’ way. She has no doubt that some of these characters are reoccurring in the fashion scene. She’s never spoken to any, though.
“Excuse me?”
Never mind, then.
A young, teal-haired woman stands in front of Dazai’s seat, looking down at her, holding a clipboard close to her chest. Dazai squints against the stage lights as she curiously inspects the newcomer. It takes a few moments but her brain does provide a name for the face…well, at least a profession: Chuuya’s manager. They’ve never spoken, but Dazai has heard of her through Chuuya. According to her girlfriend, the woman is kind, polite, professional, and does her job exceptionally well. Just as everyone else in the world, though, she’s entirely oblivious to who Dazai is in regards to her boss.
“Hello,” Dazai says, “can I help you with something, angel?”
The woman—if only Dazai could remember her name—flushes slightly, but otherwise remains poised and professional indeed. “Apologies for disturbing you. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” She holds out her right hand, her clipboard staying in her left.
“No, I don’t believe we have.” Dazai smiles, taking the outstretched hand. “And you haven’t disturbed me.”
The woman smiles in return as she shakes their intertwined hands. “I’m glad then. Tsujimura Mizuki.”
There it is, Dazai thinks, the name fitting into her mind like a missing puzzle piece. It rings an immediate bell, Chuuya’s voice chiming in with a familiar Mizuki-chan. “Tsujimura-san, then,” Dazai says, “Dazai Osamu.”
As she pulls her hand away, Tsujimura nods. “Whose guest are you, Dazai-san?”
Dazai flashes a grin. “Chuuya’s.”
She watches with great amusement as her answer hits: Tsujimura’s eyes widen and her clipboard comes back up. She looks down at it, frowning. “Apologies, I don’t seem to have any new brand ambassadors on my list.” She runs a finger down whatever document she’s scanning, then pulls out a pen so fast Dazai’s left wondering where it came from. “I must have missed something Nakahara-san said,” Tsujimura’s eyes return to Dazai as she clicks her pen. “Apologies again. Which brand are you representing?”
Dazai blinks up at her, then gives a light laugh. “Ah, no brand. You can relax, Tsujimura-san.” She folds her hands together atop her knee. “I’m a personal guest.”
Tsujimura freezes, eyes widening as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “Personal…?” she begins, but any further questions she may have are cut off by the stage lights suddenly dimming, replaced with bright spotlights. Subsequently comes the clapping and cheering of the event’s eager audience, drowning out all other sound.
Dazai gives Tsujimura an apologetic mile and nods, attempting to convey that she will happily speak with her once the show has concluded. Tsujimura’s eyes shine with confusion but she nods in return, presumably getting the wordless message, before excusing herself.
The spotlights do a good job of bringing Dazai’s attention back to the stage. Although, in truth, she’s not that interested in the beginning parts of the show: Chuuya will be the last model to emerge and there are eight or nine that’ll precede her on the catwalk. Until then, Dazai doesn’t feel the need to be overly tuned in. Of course, she’ll have to pay some attention. Chuuya would crucify her if she didn’t give the other models the respect they deserve (and her tiny girlfriend has nothing against quizzing her after the show to ensure that).
As the show begins and paparazzi cameras flash, Dazai does her best to give the models wholehearted grins and clap appropriately. She catalogues at least one thing she likes about each outfit and model to tell Chuuya later during her inevitable test. She herself has very little interest in fashion; everything she knows about it is because of Chuuya’s influence; which makes it difficult for her to tell which ones are objectively good. Subjectively, though, she will be more than pleased to give an opinion. Each of the models are gorgeous in their own way, with different styles and unique aesthetic strengths. None of them compare to Chuuya, in Dazai’s eyes; but she’s mature enough to admit that opinion may be biased.
When the spotlights finally illuminate Chuuya’s form, Dazai’s attention is instantly arrested. Despite having seen the outfit barely an hour ago, seeing the sequins on Chuuya’s body dazzle in the bright lights is a divine experience. But what truly captivates Dazai isn’t the sparkly dress nor the jewellery; it’s just Chuuya, her girlfriend, every inch of perfection on a stage. There is nothing that can compare to how striking Chuuya is on the catwalk; with all that confidence and beauty, the outfit hardly matters. Chuuya could wear a plastic bag and still look breathtaking. Chuuya struts down the catwalk with her usual grace, each step elegant and practiced. Dazai’s gaze is magnetic, following every movement Chuuya makes. There’s a warmth building in her that only exists when she sees Chuuya in this state, doing what she loves. It’s a mix of pride, extreme fondness and underlying arousal. When Chuuya models, it’s as if she’s out for Dazai’s heart. As if she doesn’t already have it in those red-nailed clutches. As if she has something to prove, something to best. It’s nothing short of alluring.
When Chuuya finally makes it to the end of the catwalk, her eyes meet Dazai’s directly, locking their gazes together. The action sucks all of Dazai’s air out of her lungs in one fell swoop, and she can only stare lovingly at the heaven-sent woman before her. Likely reading Dazai’s thoughts right off her face, Chuuya winks, causing Dazai’s heart rate to skyrocket. It takes all the willpower Dazai has not to rise and indulge in her fantasies of climbing onto the stage and kissing Chuuya stupid.
Ignoring the turmoil she’s causing, Chuuya has the audacity to turn around, flipping her hair as she does so. It leaves her face hidden, but Dazai knows the woman is beaming with cheeky pride. Like the evil girlfriend she is, Chuuya makes no move to look back at Dazai, instead strutting right back down the catwalk like she owns it. Dazai can’t take her eyes off her, and Chuuya damn well knows it.
Dazai hates her. That girl drives her absolutely crazy. It’s truly ridiculous how much effect Chuuya has on her. None of that stops Dazai from grinning through the heat in her cheeks and clapping over the loud beating of her heart.
The rest of the show and its ending ceremony passes in a blur. Dazai registers very little of it, her mind clouded with thoughts that can be summarised down to: Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya.
It’s only when the subject of her thoughts come barrelling into her arms does Dazai’s brain finally reboot. Chuuya practically tackles her and Dazai reacts just in time to stop them from toppling over. As Chuuya clings to her, Dazai collects herself enough to mutter in her ear, “There’s cameras.”
Chuuya just holds her tighter and says, “I know.”
With the mutual acknowledgement that their relationship will no doubt be not-so-secret from here on out, Dazai lets herself hug Chuuya back properly. She tunes out all the snapping of cameras and the buzz of chatter, senses honing in on Chuuya and Chuuya only. It’s then that she registers the feeling of sequins under her hands and chuckles, leaning down to talk in Chuuya’s ear again.
“Chuuya, won’t the clothes get ruined?”
Chuuya lifts her head to glare up at her. “You’re so annoying. Whatever.” Her face twists and she shrugs. “I’m rich, I’ll just buy them.”
Dazai laughs wholeheartedly at the words, nodding along. “Wonderful idea.”
Chuuya’s lips lift into a smirk. “Damn right, it is.”
She gives Dazai a long, loving look before promptly deciding she’s done waiting. Without warning, she pulls Dazai down into a kiss, fist twisted into the collar of Dazai’s shirt to tug her down. Dazai’s eyes widen but she kisses back with no hesitation, ignoring the gasps nearby. It’s a short kiss; a promise rather than a reward; and Chuuya pulls out of their embrace as soon as they part. She turns to face Tsujimura and gestures between her manager and Dazai.
“Mizuki-chan, this is Dazai Osamu.”
Tsujimura looks nothing short of shell-shocked, a rosy tint to her cheeks. Still, it takes her a mere few moments to compose herself and she straightens, nodding. “Yes, we met earlier.”
“You did?” Chuuya glances at Dazai, who nods to confirm. Chuuya grins as she turns back to Tsujimura. “Cool.” She raises an eyebrow, giving her manager a once-over. “Why so shocked, then?”
“Ah, Chuuya…” Dazai says, stifling a giggle. Chuuya tilts her head at her in question. It’s cute. “The show starting unfortunately cut off our conversation,” Dazai explains, “we didn’t get to speak beyond exchanging names. I suppose now would be a prime moment to retry.” Facing Tsujimura, Dazai holds out a hand once again. “Dazai Osamu, as you’ve now been told twice. I’m Chuuya’s girlfriend.”
Tsujimura’s eyes widen in swift realisation as several jaws drop to the ground around them. Despite the flashing of cameras and quiet murmurs, no one dares to say anything out loud. Tsujimura, in her stupor, shakes Dazai’s hand. Dazai manages not to laugh as she pulls her hand back.
“Sorry for the deception,” Chuuya says, smiling sheepishly at Tsujimura. “But we wanted our relationship private, at least for a few years. I think it was high time to tell everyone, right?”
“Naturally,” Dazai says, snaking an arm around Chuuya’s waist. She grins when the action causes the speed of camera shutters to increase. “Now there will be no mistake about it, hm?”
Chuuya mumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Possessive bastard.” Dazai doesn’t bother denying it.
“Then I’m honoured to meet you, Dazai-san,” Tsujimura says with a polite smile aimed Dazai’s way. “I hope to speak with you more in the future.”
“Likewise,” Dazai says, “though it may not be so long. You have Chuuya’s number, after all, and we’re never far apart.” She winks, making Tsujimura’s smile falter.
Chuuya reaches up to pinch her cheek in admonishment, and Dazai yelps. Chuuya clicks her tongue. “Ignore this massive tease. She’s not wrong, though. You’re free to talk to her whenever, just give me a call. Matter o’ fact, ya could probably have her number, just in case…?” She turns to look up at Dazai, trailing the question off.
“Sure. I’ll pass it on later.”
“Great,” Chuuya says, “so that’s sorted. Now, before we go…” She tears her gaze away from Dazai and Tsujimura, turning it towards the sea of paparazzi flashes and journalists. She narrows her eyes and points at Dazai. “Girlfriend! Got that?”
There’s no actual answer, and if there is, it gets lost in the sounds of shutters and gossip. But Chuuya looks satisfied, nonetheless. “‘Kay, I’m done.” She slips her hand into Dazai’s. “Let’s go?”
Dazai nods, her beam splitting her face. “Let’s.”
Later, in their hotel room, as Dazai steps out of the shower and wraps herself in a towel, Chuuya comes into the bathroom giggling with her phone. No longer in a designer dress, her girlfriend casually leans on the sink in a simple combo of a cropped t-shirt and sweatpants.
As Dazai runs her fingers through wet hair, she asks, “What’s so funny?”
Chuuya looks up from her phone, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Nothin’, I’m just pleasantly surprised. No one seems to have anythin’ bad to say ‘bout ya, darlin’.”
“Oh?” Dazai says, “how so?”
Chuuya taps away at something on her phone. “From what I’ve seen, everyone’s just callin’ ya pretty. Or some variation of that. Singin’ your praises. The internet seems to be glad we’re datin’.”
Dazai smiles as she wrings out excess water from her hair over the shower drain. “Then I’m flattered. Though I don’t know how pretty I really am, next to a certain model.”
Chuuya’s cheeks turn rosy. “Shut up. You know you’re gorgeous, don’t pretend ya don’t.”
Dazai giggles, walking up to Chuuya and leaning down to press a kiss onto a red cheek. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chuuya mumbles, “I’m just happy people seem to like you. I was worried, y’know, that they’d be mean.”
“I’m a grown woman, love, I wouldn’t care.”
Chuuya frowns. “I would, though. They’re not allowed to be bastards to ya.” She turns an accusing look onto Dazai. “You get mad when people are rude about me.”
Dazai snorts. “Touché.”
“Anyway, listen to this: ‘Nakahara Chuuya and her charming courtier: learn all about the top model’s relationship with one Dazai Osamu.’” Chuuya chuckles. “‘Charming courtier,’ huh?”
“Their words, not mine,” Dazai says.
Chuuya continues looking through articles. An idea coming to mind, Dazai gleefully uses the distraction to slip her cold, wet hands onto Chuuya’s bare waist. Chuuya instantly yelps and recoils, almost dropping her phone, and Dazai takes the chance to flee the bathroom.
A loud, “Osamu!” comes from behind her and she just laughs, heart swelling with fondness.