d. fyodor x reader x o.dazai | You had been destined to die from the beginning. Through you does she slip, like sunlight through a sieve, settling onto the ruins of future human relationships, thereby destroying any chance of existence. Dead before...
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"I AM A STRANGE GOD."
They give you a disguise. They hand you a pile of clothes to disguise yourself as, as well as a fake pair of glasses that didn't have any lens; it was in leopard print. The clothes were a white blouse with a tie, and a tight black pencil skirt with nearly transparent stockings that felt more like wet paper napkins than actual nylon. You could feel your ass straining against the fabric.
"Is this really," You stretch the fabric of the skirt. "Necessary?"
"We're aiming for Chief Taneda, who's looking for a new secretary," Fyodor laces his fingers together with a slight smile on his face. He tilts his head. "Are the clothes uncomfortable?"
"No, just wondering," You say, letting go of the fabric and feeling it snap against your skin. "Do I look unrecognisable?"
"Yes," Gogol pipes up. He has his own disguise prepared: a wig that's slicked to the side, glasses (black rimmed), and a three piece suit, grey in colour. He looks utterly unrecognisable. He looks like a new person. "You look so different, little dove! It matches the sexy secretary look we're going for."
"We?" You ask. "I'm not going to be seducing this Taneda man, am I?"
"No," Fyodor says, his voice filled with smiles. "You're only going to send a sign."
—
Mom always did like new clothes.
She loved going shopping with you, pressing clothes against your front, imagining what it would look like on you. She thought (favourite colour) looked best on you; she said it brought out the colour of your skin.
"I think this blouse goes well with your pants," She says, pressing the top against your chest. The cold wire of the clothes hanger presses against your cheek. "Don't you think?"
"I don't know," You would say. Your eyes were focused on the mirror, trying to imagine what the combination of clothes would look like if you were really wearing them. "I'm not sure."
"Ah, you're always so indecisive," She says, putting the blouse over her forearm. "It looks good on you so we're getting it."
"Sure," You say.
She moves onto the shoes section.
"Black laced boots are in fashion," She says. She picks one up, the heel of the boot about three inches long. "You're too young for them but do you think I look good in them?"
