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yuyinesque · 5 months ago

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DEVIL AND ANGEL | 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄!𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.

⚘ précis. = why would the conniving duo enjoy a pretty black woman so much, and why are you so embedded within their attention?

⚘ disclaimers. = usage of fem-aligned prns, chubby!fem reader/reader has an afro/reader is shy, sub!y/n, manipulative praise, dirty talk, edging, fingering, exhibitionism, (for dazai); fem!reader, gifted!reader (y/n can bring back the dead including herself), sub!y/n, insinuated darker skin tone, mentions of religion, insinuated m!oral receiving, heavy degradation/condescension, choking, hinted obsession (for fyodor).

⚘ category. ≡ sfw headcanons, nsft drabble (separately).

⚘ wc. ≡ 1.8k.

OSAMU DAZAI.

𖤥 The devil’s poison: your hair, reticence, and firmness.

𖤥 Dazai stated it himself—he adores all women, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to end up with someone like you. Someone who was coy yet assured in what she desires, one who was guileless but knowledgeable, one who was flush-faced around him but platonically sweet to others. Surely there are a few African American tourists, but… primarily in Tokyo, so when he does see a beauty in Yokohama he’s all like yippieeee >_<! and hurraaaay :DDD! Then he just scares them off since he can get a bit pushy at times, so it’s like …??? But he just thinks you’re soooo cute! Sitting there in the ADA’s café every morning before you move on with your day, oblivious to the agent gazing at you from afar with a puppyish, moon-struck smile on his face.

𖤥 He loves how coy you are, and how easily flustered you are around him, but you were far from weak-willed. You were more than capable of asserting that you didn’t crave a simple one-night stand with some random, or make him listen to your boundaries on not wanting to be touched. He understands this completely, and the fact that you’re not easy makes this so much more exciting. He loved how your corpulent cheeks puff with the sweet confectionery that he purchased for you, how your chunky hands pick at the tight coils of your pretty afro when you’re nervous, or how you tittered in your palms while rejecting his advances while knowing that the both of you desired each other on an amorous level.

𖤥 Who would’ve guessed that you’d look much prettier with your back pressed against the windowsill next to the booth you’ve occupied, inundating his bandaged palm in copious amounts of squirt?

“Ah~ Bella… look at you! Covering the booth in such a lewd liquid after it just opened, how adorable… But, you do know that it wouldn’t be remote for long, right?”

🧷 Dazai cooed with feigned, unadulterated shock as he leaned in closer to your cherubic facial features, which were already concealed with the way you covered your face with the utmost shame. He was still a bit startled that you actually consented to him fingering you in one of the booths of the café, especially considering how close the chosen booth was near the door. His teasing was relentless; how could it not be? There was no way of confirming that such a pure woman was into the idea of getting finger-fucked by a man who she’s known for a few months in a public place? Her left calf propped on the wooden table with her right heel reposing on the upper head roll? Sniveling out needy muffled moans as he pumped into her salivating hole at an egregiously slow pace?

“Mmh, you make it so hard for me to hold it in… you wouldn’t mind if I put it in now, do you?” The cacodemonic being tempted you breathlessly as his other maimed hand began to fiddle with the buttons of his pants, feeling your inundated walls clamp onto his fingers to disclose how much you needed him inside of you right now. Though, given the setting, you were too nervous to go that way, especially knowing that the gentle chimes over the door will soon enough indicate that someone has entered. Once you, with a reasonable remnant of consciousness within you to weakly shake your head no, he whined diaphanously in protest. You’ve been forbidding him to fuck him for the most obvious reasons, and as a result, he’s been forbidding you to cum until you give in. Give into those pretty, glimmering, puppyish eyes that were imbued with a whirling sense of devise.

“No? Why not, Bella? You don’t want me imprinted in your tummy? Holding me so lovingly with this pretty pussy of mine? C’mon, Bella… I thought I was yours..?”

His words permeated your mind immediately, disrupting the bits of self-possession that you grasped oh-so tightly in order to keep preserved. His hand that was on his pants was now slipping past your waist to reach your lower back, pulling himself closer to you in order to nuzzle against your cheek only to let out a needy “kudasai” against the plushness. That there knocked away your senses, considering that you were quick to let out a string of soft, mindless pleads, grinding yourself against the fingers that were threatening to slide out of you due to his lack of inconsideration. With a victoriously impish grin, he sat back up in order to quickly grip on both of your thighs in order to keep them apart. Once you closed them shut yet again, he sighed with subtle disappointment, tilting his head subtly, scrutinizing down at you as if you were an unidentifiable package that he possesses little interest for. Then, he patted the top of your afro in a rather condescending manner; his moods are definitely the tides…

“Nono, keep those pretty thighs open for me, gorgeous. A slut like you should know how to follow basic protocol, hm? C’mon, do it with me—open…? That’s a good girl…! Don’t squirm too much now, otherwise the agency is bound to see your true nature…”

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY.

𖤥 An angel’s weep: your devotion, intelligence, and skin.

𖤥 Fyodor is a man who (canonically) enjoys a person with a “good complexion”, and what is better than a woman imbued with melanin, intelligence, and wiliness? As we may know however, what he feels towards you is a twisted obsession rather than pure love. Let’s be so forreal, though… ain’t no black people in Moscow, Russia, BUT… considering that he’s so ancient, he’s definitely seen a plethora black individuals. He probably owned slaves, but we’re not gonna get into that… He likes older, traditional women, ones that embody modesty, servile tendencies, and motherly patience. He likes natural women as well; while he doesn’t necessarily care enough, he’d prefer you without the meretricious “fake hair” or excessive “face paint”. It’s disrupting God’s image. Your body is a temple, not a wall to vandalize.

𖤥 Excessive submission is simply pathetic, and at this point, you’re no better than the rest of his nameless underlings. You need to have enough spunk to catch his interest, but you also need to acknowledge that only he takes full initiative of this relationship. That said, no bitches with a high self-worth for Fyodor!!! He likes that you know a lot, finding you even more valuable for his plans, and he enjoys your philosophical views, not to mention that you both are Christian. How did you guys get together? Well, you guys aren’t… but the relationship surely is questionable. His obsession towards you is quite lethal.

𖤥 He’s definitely a “sex after marriage” kind of man, so at times, he does get a little pent up, and he doesn’t need penetration just yet…

🧷 A perfect little pawn with the amenity of a queen was bound to make him announce “check” sooner or later, though he’d never announce “checkmate” due to your unpredictability. He knows your every move, and each one was just as abrupt as the previous, which puzzles him even if it’s slight. He has to move surely with you, even if you were nothing but a mere pawn.

Varnishing his cello after spending the time detangling the excessive cords in his office caused by his monitors, reposing on your mocha-drenched knees as you occasionally gazed up at his baleful, empurpled glower, and offering a tepid cup of honeyed chamomile tea to ease his muddled mind from the lecherous thoughts that he struggled to keep at bay. Frankly, your subservient nature was worse than Ivan’s on an internal level; you were much capable at subduing your emotions when the time was perfect. However outside of his clutches, you were a woman of high dominance and command, not to mention that your wily nature has outsmarted quite a few individuals. So, he can’t help but wonder why you gave in so submissively.

“Myshka,” Your silver-slicked tongue alerted him with that ludicrous sobriquet of yours, and while Fyodor’s expression remained unchanging, you were well aware that he was attentive. He always will be; a seraph is almost all-knowing as their creator. Though, what you’re unaware of, given your position and the blockage of the cello between his scraggly legs, his pallid palm was resting on the invasive bulge pressing against his pants, impatiently stroking himself with his thumb for a scintilla of stimulation. He could have his way with you in a plethora of positions, but… such a sinful act will forever be unforgivable. In fact, he planned to pray after your early dismissal, which was something you’ve been receiving for quite some time.

“You’re not ticklish, are you?”

A question just as ridiculous as your audacity, and yet he twitched harder beneath his ivory slacks. How one could be so audacious will stay a mystery. Then, his expression softened uncharacteristically as he extended his hand out towards you, offering you (or likely demanding) you to take it. Because of your Gift, which completely contrasted his, you felt a sense of confidence delve into your senses, so you went in for the bait. Swiftly, he grabbed you by your throat instead prompting a harsh gag to elude your replete lips, though that simply fueled his lasciviousness by tenfold. After gently moving his cello away with his free hand, he guided you closer, potentially between his legs, so you could have a generous view of the dick you were about to swallow. You will swallow commendably if you wish to avoid punishment as well, right?

You’ll die sucking him—you’ve done it once before, and even with your Herculean recuperation and resurrection prowess, the blood trickling down your nostrils followed by your unamused grin was enough for him to conclude that he’d be edged tonight. How could one be so weak will stay memorable. After all, you’re simply his favorite pawn. When he feels as if you’re out of line, he won’t hesitate to take you off the board to conquer you relentlessly before seeking you as one of his favorite men. The thought drew a small, barbaric smirk to graze his frigid lips as he finally let you go, ignoring your minor coughing fit as he glanced down to undo the buttons of his pants with a now bored expression.

“Won’t you come closer and find out for yourself, pchelka? If you’re capable of mollifying my needs for the night, perhaps I’ll take the time to satiate that droll tongue of yours. Although, in this pathetic state, I highly doubt you’ll even elicit a singular grunt. Now, go on. Thank me for my patience by doing what you know most.”

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft.

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