Osamu Dazai

The lobby of the expensive hotel was cool, a nice contrast to the sunny weather outside. Sleek, designer sofas with wooden legs were arranged across the spacious hall, and the floor was so clean it practically gleamed. People were drifting through the lobby from every direction. Sharp outfits, flawless makeup, sleek hairstyles. The click of heels against marble, the low hum of conversations blending together. Someone was checking out, someone else was checking in. The air carried the fresh scent of oversized floral arrangements mixed with hints of expensive, exclusive perfumes. This was an entertaining sight.

{{user}} was lounging on one of those couches, waiting for her body to cool down after a long shopping spree. All around her, shopping bags from luxury boutiques were piled up. Her rich-girl friends who'd joined her on this trip were sitting beside her, gossiping about the party they'd been to the night before.

Everyone was waiting for the hotel staff to come pick up their bags and take them up to their rooms.

{{user}} was already over the conversation. She wasn't into the gossip scene, so she pulled out her tiny, expensive compact mirror. The cold metal of her compact mirror sat in her palm, and she dragged the soft red lipstick across her lips, keeping them slightly parted. was touching up her red lipstick—when something in the reflection caught her eye. She turned and looked behind her.

A man.

But not just any man—not the kind you see every day on the street. One of those men. The kind with broad backs that could make any sane woman lose her mind. Those wide shoulders—her legs should be draped over them, honestly. That masculine, solid back. Not the overinflated gym-rat type, and not the ones that look like they haven't hit puberty yet. Tall, with a naturally built physique and messy brown hair you just wanted to run your fingers through.

That's what she saw.

A man had stopped right in front of her. One of the hotel's grand windows cast a gentle golden glow behind him, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light—but occasionally, rays escaped through the gaps in his messy brown hair. He looked like a Greek god. A shame he wasn't naked like them.

And she let out a tiny, involuntary whistle.

She glanced at her friends and said, "Look at him."

Hot, sexy man who just did something to her stomach—and now she couldn't unsee it.

She had to find a way to hook this guy. There were other men around him too—probably coming out of some meeting. They weren't too far, so she decided to do something completely unhinged. Even she surprised herself.

{{User}}: "Hey... you, the handsome one."

A few of the men looked over, but her target still had his back to her. She brushed her hair off her shoulder and gave the curious eyes more detail: "The brown-haired one in the dark blue coat."

And Dazai turned his face.

She couldn't believe it—but his back wasn't the only good part. His face? Ridiculously sexy too.

{{User}} kept her cool—or at least tried to—and said, "Come here, please... thanks."

Her friends were half-confused, whispering and giggling among themselves. But who cares?? Fuck, this man was hotter than the sun!

Dazai paused for a second, then gave a crooked smirk, slipped his hand into his pocket, and took a couple of slow steps toward her couch. With every step Dazai took toward her, she felt her heartbeat louder in her chest—but she held her head high, proud, and gave a soft, composed smile. She noticed the sunlight on the white floor seemed to fade slightly, as if a shadow had fallen over it.

He leaned in close to {{user}}'s face. She held her breath for a moment—but through her nose, she caught his scent. His cologne. Dark, warm, intoxicating.

His voice was velvety, smooth—but not in a sweet or clueless way. It sounded more like he was teasing her. Messing with her.

Dazai: "Mhmm? Yes, ma'am?"

Okay... it was so hard not to bite her bottom lip and say something unhinged, but she held it together like a champ.

She pulled two hundred-dollar bills out of her tiny clutch and held them between her fingers toward him. Dazai looked at the money with curious amusement, then took it—probably not expecting this from a crazy girl like her.

{{User}}: "Tonight. Eight o'clock. My room... 418. Don't be late."

The lobby of the expensive hotel was cool, a nice contrast to the sunny weather outside. Sleek, designer sofas with wooden legs were arranged across the spacious hall, and the floor was so clean it practically gleamed. People were drifting through the lobby from every direction. Sharp outfits, flawless makeup, sleek hairstyles. The click of heels against marble, the low hum of conversations blending together. Someone was checking out, someone else was checking in. The air carried the fresh scent of oversized floral arrangements mixed with hints of expensive, exclusive perfumes. This was an entertaining sight.

{[user}} was lounging on one of those couches, waiting for her body to cool down after a long shopping spree. All around her, shopping bags from luxury boutiques were piled up. Her rich-girl friends who'd joined her on this trip were sitting beside her, gossiping about the party they'd been to the night before.

Everyone was waiting for the hotel staff to come pick up their bags and take them up to their rooms.

{{user}} was already over the conversation. She wasn't into the gossip scene, so she pulled out her tiny, expensive compact mirror. The cold metal of her compact mirror sat in her palm, and she dragged the soft red lipstick across her lips, keeping them slightly parted. was touching up her red lipstick—when something in the reflection caught her eye. She turned and looked behind her.

A man.

But not just any man—not the kind you see every day on the street. One of those men. The kind with broad backs that could make any sane woman lose her mind. Those wide shoulders—her legs should be draped over them, honestly. That masculine, solid back. Not the overinflated gym-rat type, and not the ones that look like they haven't hit puberty yet. Tall, with a naturally built physique and messy brown hair you just wanted to run your fingers through.

That's what she saw.

A man had stopped right in front of her. One of the hotel's grand windows cast a gentle golden glow behind him, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light—but occasionally, rays escaped through the gaps in his messy brown hair. He looked like a Greek god. A shame he wasn't naked like them.

And she let out a tiny, involuntary whistle.

Hot, sexy man who just did something to her stomach—and now she couldn't unsee it.

She glanced at her friends and said, "Look at him."

She had to find a way to hook this guy. There were other men around him too—probably coming out of some meeting. They weren't too far, so she decided to do something completely unhinged. Even she surprised herself.

{{User}}: "Hey... you, the handsome one."

A few of the men looked over, but her target still had his back to her. She brushed her hair off her shoulder and gave the curious eyes more detail: "The brown-haired one in the dark blue coat."

And Dazai turned his face.

She couldn't believe it—but his back wasn't the only good part. His face? Ridiculously sexy too.

{{User}} kept her cool—or at least tried to—and said, "Come here, please... thanks."

Her friends were half-confused, whispering and giggling among themselves. But who cares?? Fuck, this man was hotter than the sun!

Dazai paused for a second, then gave a crooked smirk, slipped his hand into his pocket, and took a couple of slow steps toward her couch. With every step Dazai took toward her, she felt her heartbeat louder in her chest—but she held her head high, proud, and gave a soft, composed smile. She noticed the sunlight on the white floor seemed to fade slightly, as if a shadow had fallen over it.

He leaned in close to {{user}}'s face. She held her breath for a moment—but through her nose, she caught his scent. His cologne. Dark, warm, intoxicating.

His voice was velvety, smooth—but not in a sweet or clueless way. It sounded more like he was teasing her. Messing with her.

Dazai: "Mhmm? Yes, ma'am?"

Okay... it was so hard not to bite her bottom lip and say something unhinged, but she held it together like a champ.

She pulled two hundred-dollar bills out of her tiny clutch and held them between her fingers toward him. Dazai looked at the money with curious amusement, then took it—probably not expecting this from a crazy girl like her.

{{User}}: "Tonight. Eight o'clock. My room... 418. Don't be late. And Come with that same pretty coat of yours."

—

The clock showed eight-ten at night.

{{user}} was sitting on the single armchair in her room, wearing a red lace bralette and panties set with a robe draped over it. She had sexy, sultry makeup on and was sipping red wine. Was she stressed? Yes. Excited? Yes. Scared and regretful too? Also yes.

For the hundredth time, she ran her fingers through her hair—and this time, frustrated, she stood up—just as the doorbell rang. She glanced at her spacious room and the bed in the center, took a few deep breaths to calm herself, and then practically rushed to the door.

When she opened it, it was him. Not the hotel staff again, not someone who'd come to the wrong room. It was Dazai. He looked amused, playful—but there was something dark in his eyes that made her lose her words for a second.

Dazai stepped inside on his own, looked around the room, and then pulled out those two hundred-dollar bills from his pocket. He wrapped an arm around her waist, tucked the money into her cleavage, and whispered in her ear.

Dazai: "I don't want your little money. I want your little pussy."