#i think all of them are good in a way where it has you knowing the chracters better and getting some really deep sides of them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 2 days ago

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ᡣ𐭩 I'LL TAKE THE NIGHT SHIFT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: now that the chaos following the aftermath of the decay of angel incident has settled, mori intends on making good on the deal he made with the armed detective agency. and you have a very important decision to make.

(wordcount: 13.4k, fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, angst with a happy ending (if u can believe it!!), port mafia business, a bit of arguing, depictions of dazai's depression, unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: one last age 22 fic before your girl goes on a slight break. the ada/pm swap YAYYYY, it honestly came out a lot less intense then i intended, and the happy ending was originally not supposed to happen BUT i think it's well-deserved for age 22 pmreader & dazai. they are grown now, and the whole theme of their reconcillation at 22 is that they're actually WORKING to make this work, so i thought it would be an injustice to not let this one end happily. ANYWAY, on another note, don't expect any fics from me in may! i'm going to be cracking down on civzai2 so i can have it ready to post for june! i hope you guys enjoy! reblogs appreciated!

Your phone has been ringing for the past twenty minutes.

You know it’s Mori frustrated at your absence, trying to call an executive meeting to discuss the upcoming parley with the Armed Detective Agency, where the Port Mafia will be taking one of theirs to drag into the dark. He can wait for all you care, you sigh as you lean back on your hands, the wind ruffling your hair as you look down into the window of the building before you.

You don’t know what you’re doing here.

You watch with a heavy, unwelcome feeling in your chest as Dazai laughs wildly at something a vaguely familiar man with purple and white hair says. The man looks distinctly put out by whatever Dazai is laughing at, as one usually is whenever Dazai is laughing because nine times out of ten, he’s laughing at someone else's expense. The other members of the Agency are hanging around too. You see the uptight blonde, Kunikida, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Mori’s favorite, Yosano, sits on his desk cackling, slapping Kunikida’s shoulder. The weretiger has his face buried in his arms, hiding himself from the world, while the other traitor, the girl that Kouyou obsesses over, hovers over him. There are others you don’t recognize, but they don’t really matter to you.

Only one does.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. You’ve seen Dazai laugh countless times—snorts that he hides in your shoulder, mocking jeers as he taunts Chuuya, muffled snickers that he tries to bite back when he’s caught by surprise—but you don’t think you’ve ever seen this type of carefree, reckless happiness before. The corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that’s so genuine that you almost question whether or not you’re looking at Dazai Osamu or some lookalike imposter who has stolen his place; he laughs so hard that he looks like he’s struggling to breathe, doubling over and slapping the desk he’s sitting at.

He’s never looked so at home before. So comfortable. Even with you back before he defected, when you guys were alone with no one else to bear witness, he couldn’t rid himself of all of the protective layers he wears, he couldn’t let himself be at ease. He never fully let his guard down, not even for a second, not even for you.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He did a few times, but you can count them on one hand, and they were never by his own choice—only when he was pushed too far, when his mind caved in on him no matter how hard he tried to weld together the cracks in the dam.

It wasn’t like this.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” you ask quietly as soon as you feel the familiar presence behind you.

“Why the fuck are you torturing yourself with this?” Nakahara Chuuya’s gruff voice meets your ears, the roof shaking behind you as he lands on top of it. You hear him make his way over to you, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” you admit, letting the pain seep into your voice to the only person whom you can trust not to use it against you. “When he told me Oda Sakunosuke’s final request, I doubted him… not that I was going to let him know that… but he really has changed, hasn’t he? You see it too, don’t you?”

Chuuya lets out a noise caught between doubt and amusement. “Wouldn’t be too sure. Y’know what they say about tigers and stripes.”

“Don’t be bitter, Chuuya, it’s an ugly look on you,” you say dryly, eyes following Dazai as he pushes himself to his feet, dancing away as the purple-haired man tries to whack him. Your lips curl up into a small smile when you see the genuine glee painted on his face. “He’s changed. We, of all people, should be able to see that.”

“I’m not bitter,” Chuuya says roughly, “and if I was, I have every damn right to be. So do you. More than me, even. How the fuck can you see him living his best life and not be bitter? After what he did to us? To you?”

“Bitterness ages the skin, it’s probably why you’ve started developing wrinkles at the ripe age of twenty-two,” you quip, just to hear the aggravated noise that Chuuya lets out.

“I do not have fucking wrinkles, quit saying that shit,” Chuuya complains, flicking the back of your head hard. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Purposely,” you note, but then let out a soft puff of air. “I don’t know, Chuuya. I thought I would be bitter and angry. Sometimes, I still am. When I’m alone, usually drunk, I resent him so much that it makes me sick, but then…”

Then you see him.

You see him happy. You see him surrounded by people who love him. You see him thriving in a way that he’d never be able to in the Port Mafia. Every day that passed while he was there, he somehow became darker and colder; less human, and more of an unfathomable concept. You could see it in his face when he would come home to your apartment, eyes empty and expression blank. His blood ran darker than anyone else’s in those towers, his mind a treacherous place that few would dare to even think of treading or even just understanding. He was never Dazai back then, he was the Port Mafia’s youngest executive, the Black Wraith, Mori’s heir. He was something to be feared and admired. He was the Mafia, everything it stood for, its incarnate. He was not Dazai.

Not like how he is now.

You told him you forgave him when he showed up at your apartment three months ago, and you knew you meant it then, but you didn’t realize how much you meant it until now.

“He never fucking deserved you,” Chuuya says so quietly that you think he’s talking more to himself than you. Before you can comment on his words, he speaks up again, changing the subject: “Let’s get out of here. Mori sent me to come get you.”

You sigh, eyes lingering on Dazai for a moment longer before you finally turn to look at Chuuya. Despite the rough edge to his voice, you can see the concern plain on his face as he looks down at you, brows furrowed and lips curved down. He holds a gloved hand out to you, and you sigh as you place yours in it, letting him lift you to your feet. You wobble a bit, but he steadies you with a hand to your waist.

“Thanks,” you say quietly and then give him a small smile that has his eyes narrowing in suspicion instantly.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“What if I say pretty please?” you offer, linking your hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side.

“Stop tryna look cute. You’re not cute,” Chuuya scowls, and you scowl right back at him, dropping the act. “What do you want?”

“Can you stall Mori for another… hour-ish?” you ask with a sweet smile.

Chuuya's face drops as he stares at you, and your eyes turn up as your smile widens. After a few moments of him just staring at you, as if trying to figure out if you’re being legit, he lets out a sigh of utter suffering. “You fucking owe me, you understand? That ‘45 Conti is going back up on the auction in New York in two weeks. I want it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you your fancy wine, Chuuya,” you agree, leaning in to brush your lips against his cheek. “You’re the best.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but you see the way his cheeks heat up. “Whatever,” he mutters. “What’re you even doing that’s so important? You’re not usually one to hold up meetings like this.”

You sigh lightly, gaze tracking back to the window to where Dazai is leaning into the weretiger, trying to use him as a human shield. He laughs again, tossing his head back and jumping away, throwing a pen at Kunikida as the man tries to swipe him, and your throat feels a bit swollen, your heart tight. Not with jealousy or bitterness, but rather with content because four years ago, you never would have been able to picture something like this.

“I… have a decision I need to make before the meeting,” you finally tell Chuuya, voice a bit hesitant.

Chuuya gives you a long look, a heavy one, as if he knows exactly what decision you’re trying to make. You think that he probably does.

“I hope you make the right choice,” he says quietly.

“Yeah… I hope so too.”

---

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and the graveyard on the west side of the city is unusually busy—it’s just your luck, truly. There’s a distasteful expression on your face as your gaze traces across the mourners as they visit their lost loved ones. You’ve never liked graveyards; you can count the number of times you’ve been to them on one hand. Being here reminds you too much of a past you can’t remember—even though the corpses are buried well below the ground, the scent of rot somehow still finds its way to you, smothering and nauseating.

“What the hell are we doing here?” Klaus asks from next to you, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “This place is creepy.”

“What do you think we’re doing here?” you ask dryly, resting your head against the cool window as your driver takes you down a dirt path leading to a more secluded part of the cemetery, toward the grave you’re seeking.

Klaus pauses and then offers, “Meeting an informant?”

You roll your eyes. “We are visiting a grave.”

Klaus is clearly offended by your tone. “Forgive me, damn, it’s not like you’ve ever been sentimental before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” you say flatly, although sentiments are the last thing that drew you to this place—resentment is far more fitting.

“Riiiiiight,” Klaus drawls like he doesn’t actually believe you. “Are we going to be here long? Cemeteries give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What the fuck is a heebie-jeebie?” you ask, turning your head to look at him so you can shoot him a strange expression.

“Seriously?” Klaus asks, blinking. “You’ve never heard that expression before?”

Your squinted gaze lingers on him for a second before the driver rolls to a stop in front of the small hill leading up to the grave you’re looking to visit. You shake your head and roll your eyes again as you step out of the car, instinctively holding your breath the moment the cemetery air reaches you. You have to force yourself to breathe, hoping you don’t look as uncomfortable as you feel. Your fingers tighten around the small bundle of petunias in your left hand.

“Isn’t that—” Klaus begins, frowning at the figure standing in front of the grave.

“Stay by the car,” you order as you make your way forward.

“But—”

“That’s an order, Klaus.”

You hear him sigh in irritation, displeased by your words, but he listens. Each step up to the grave is agonizing—you want to turn on your heel and leave, but you’ve already come too far to do that. Plus, it would feel like a wound to your pride now that he’s seen you.

“You’re the last person I expected to see here,” Sakaguchi Ango greets once you’ve come close enough. He looks down at the bundle of flowers in your hand curiously. “Especially with those.”

“It’s rude to approach someone’s resting site without a gift,” you reply blandly, brushing past him to kneel in front of Oda Sakunosuke’s grave, eyes lingering on the mossy cobblestone before you place the petunias down in front of it. “I have something I need to say, that’s all.”

“Not to me, I presume,” Sakaguchi replies, amused with himself.

You’re not quite as amused.

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet through your head, traitor,” you murmur, giving the older man a cold look from the corner of your eye. “You’re lucky I don’t do worse.”

“Hah,” Sakaguchi says, pushing up his glasses—a nervous tick that makes your lips curl up. “You know, I never personally saw what you do to traitors, but I heard rumors through the grapevine. They say the executions you handled were more barbaric than Dazai-kun’s and Nakahara Chuuya’s combined. I found it hard to believe.”

A humorless smile rests on your lips as you stare at the grave in front of you. A necessary price—you don’t have an ability like Chuuya’s or a reputation like Dazai’s. Once it became clear you were in the running for the next open executive seat, you had to prove you were more than just Mori’s daughter. That the position should be yours and it wasn’t because of nepotism, and it wasn’t because you spread your legs for Double Black, as people liked to whisper back then. The easiest way of proving that was to make an example out of people, and with an ability like yours, it was easy to shatter a man’s mind before putting him in the grave.

“Chuuya’s never liked playing with his toys, and Dazai got bored with them long before I ever did,” you say absently, looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on him. “I don’t get bored until they break.”

Sakaguchi’s throat bobs, and you watch his hand slip into his pocket—surely getting ready to send some sort of signal to his friends in the government.

“Relax,” you say easily, sitting back on your heels. “I don’t disrespect the dead—not even him. I wouldn’t do anything here.”

“How reassuring,” Sakaguchi scoffs, but his hand drops back to his side. “What on earth do you have to say to a man that’s been dead for four years?”

His voice wavers strangely—he’s defensive and in pain all at the same time, like he has some urge to shield a dead man from whatever words you want to speak to him, but it hurts him to admit he’s gone all the same. Rich, considering you’re pretty sure the man played a part in his death.

“I could ask you the same.”

“That’s different,” Sakaguchi says tightly.

“Is it?” you ask, amused.

“It is.”

You let out a puff of air, but the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes. “Leave so I can say my piece. I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be.”

Sakaguchi doesn’t respond, but you hear him walk away. He goes far enough that he’s out of earshot of you, but he lingers close, which tells you that he has more to say to you, much to your displeasure.

You inhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut as you try to figure out what exactly you want to say. You tossed the words through your head the whole ride here, but now that you’re actually before the grave of the man you intended to speak them to, you find yourself at a loss.

“You… cannot fathom how deep my hatred of you runs,” you finally say, voice quiet. You swallow thickly, tongue pressing against the back of your teeth as you try to quell your rising resentment. “You’re the reason Dazai left me. You’re the reason he’s going to spend his life chasing after a goal he’ll always see as unattainable. You’re the reason that he’ll never let himself be at peace. You ruined him.”

You take in a shaky breath, blinking away the tears that suddenly sting at your eyes. “You saved him,” you correct after a moment, voice cracking. “I’ve never seen him as happy as he is now—not with you and Sakaguchi, not with Chuuya, not with me. You… wouldn’t believe how much he’s thrived in the light, or maybe you would, I don’t know. Maybe you saw something in him back then that I couldn’t, but I see it now. You would be proud of him… I’m proud of him.”

You exhale, shoulders slumping as you look down at the ground. “The President of the Agency made a deal with Mori—one member in exchange for protection when they needed it. Mori wants Dazai,” you say bitterly. You know that Fukuzawa shielded Yosano, and it makes you sick with rage that he didn’t do the same for Dazai. “I’ll… do whatever it takes to make sure it’s not him, but in return, you’re going to give him a sign that you’re proud of how far he’s come, understood? He can’t see it for himself, and I know he doesn’t fully believe me when I tell him, but he’d believe you. So find a way. You owe me that much.”

You feel crazy talking to a grave—Mori is a man of science, he’s never been religious, but Itou believed that the dead lingered, whether it was because of unfinished business or they just needed to see their loved ones some more, to protect them from the other side. You never really cared to hear his supernatural nonsense back when he was alive, but now you cling to it in hopes that maybe he’s still watching you, guiding you along the right path.

The wind picks up a little, and you swear you feel a brief warmth settle on your right shoulder—it’s probably just your imagination, but you’ll let yourself believe it’s Oda agreeing to your deal.

You rise to your feet with another shaky sigh.

“Goodbye, Oda,” you murmur, throat tightening as you think back to the man who wanted you to come by his place to talk to the young girl he took in because he wanted her to have a strong woman to look up to—the only person who ever acknowledged how hard you worked to keep your place in the upper echelon. “One day, we’ll meet again. Hopefully not anytime soon.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel to leave, pointedly ignoring Sakaguchi when he tries to intercept you, walking straight past him back toward the car you came in.

“Do you know who he plans to choose?” Sakaguchi calls after you, voice wavering.

You don’t stop for him, but you say quietly, “I know who it won’t be.”

---

“Thank you for finally joining us,” Mori says dryly as you step into the conference room where all of the rest of the executives were waiting for you. “We’ve only been waiting for over an hour. Chuuya-kun has been trying to keep our attention on… office issues, I figured he was only trying to buy more time for you.”

Chuuya’ face reddens. “I don’t like the paper we write our reports on,” he says immediately, doubling down on whatever bullshit he’d been spewing to stall for you. “It’s too thick.”

“Right,” Mori agrees with a thin smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chuuya rubs the back of his neck and gives you a helpless look once Mori turns his attention back on you, but you don’t speak, staring down at the older man with an unreadable expression. You’d been wondering why he was so lackadaisical about filling Ace’s executive position—he blew you off every time you tried to bring it up.

This was why. He didn’t need to fill it if he was just going to drag Dazai back and sit him in it.

You don’t say anything as you take your seat across from him at the executive table. He watches you curiously, like he has a feeling that you’re going to make things difficult for him today. He rests his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on top of them as his eyes drift between his four executives.

“I think it’s about time we call in on the debt that the Armed Detective Agency owes us, don’t you think?” he hums. “I, of course, have my ideas on who we should bring over, but I would like to hear your opinions.”

Verlaine waves his hand dismissively. “We all know who is coming back,” he says. “It’s best we keep this short so that I can go back down and prepare for when the Clocktower finally decides to make its move.”

“That boy is the only logical option,” Kouyou agrees flippantly, fanning herself as she leans back in her seat. “It’s best we get this over with.”

Chuuya looks distinctly uncomfortable, but he only averts his gaze to the table. You’re not actually sure what his opinion is on all of this—he could want Dazai back for all you know. He can’t safely use Corruption without him, can’t access the full extent of his ability, and you know Chuuya doesn’t like using Corruption, but he also doesn’t like the fact that he doesn’t even have the option of being able to use it. The two of you have talked about seeing if you could use your ability to put Arahabaki to sleep, but it’s all been theoretical; neither of you wants to risk actually trying it when there’s a chance it might not work.

“If you bring Dazai back to the Port Mafia, you may as well execute me now.”

Chuuya’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide, and Kouyou pauses mid-fan to look at you. Verlaine doesn’t react other than a slight raise of his eyebrows, but Mori’s lips curl up, amused.

“Oh?” he questions, “and here I thought you would be the most excited to have Dazai-kun back.”

“I don’t want him back here,” you reply flatly. “Bringing him back here when he doesn’t want to be here might as well be shooting us in the foot. He’ll work from the inside against us out of spite. I’m not going to sit here and watch while you make a decision that will cripple us. If he comes back, I will leave.”

Curiously, Mori tilts his head to the side, entertained by your words. “An ultimatum. You can’t possibly think that you’re worth more to me than Dazai-kun.”

You don’t think Mori means that. He likes saying things to get under your skin, he likes seeing how far he can push you until you snap, and nothing gets under your skin more than the idea of you being a second or third-choice to him. This time, though, you only hit him with the same amused smile he gives you.

“I know I don’t compare to either of your precious proteges,” you say, leaning back in your seat, and then pass the manila folder in your hand across the table to him. He looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you before humoring you, opening the folder to flip through the contents. You watch as his smile slowly falls as his eyes scan the profiles of six crime lords inside. “But you don’t think you’d be losing just me, do you?”

Oddly enough, Mori’s eyes gleam in delight at your words. “Is that so?”

You exhale as you choose your words carefully. “Goldoni doesn't like you, Mori. He’s caught between the Port Mafia and the Order of the Clocktower, and it would be much easier for him to make peace with the Clocktower considering they’re on his border. The only reason why he chooses us is because of my friendship with him. Mishima might not outright betray you, but he’ll slowly start withdrawing support when you ask for it once he finds out that I’ve left. I was the one who helped Qu Yuan get her brother back from Cao Xueqin when the two organizations were on the brink of war. I was the one who made sure Paz got his foothold in the central U.S. while the Guild was here. I was the one who acted as the mediator for Nabokov when Bulgakov and the White Guard threatened to come down on the Pale Flame—he even gifted me his strongest ability user for it, offered me a permanent spot in St. Petersburg with him.”

Mori doesn’t immediately respond, squinting at you slightly as he listens to you speak. Kouyou looks between the two of you with an unreadable expression. Chuuya looks sick. Verlaine just looks like he wants to go back to his office.

“And you don’t need me to explain what Tolstoy would do if I asked him to,” you finish quietly. “He would do anything for me. He’s who I would go to after I leave here. He would give me an executive position, and in return, I would give him Japan.”

Kouyou says your name, aghast, but you ignore her.

“Without my connections, you lose your foothold in the government, you lose all of your major allies—you will be pushed out of Japan, and I would help him hunt you down to whatever dark crevice of the earth you try to hide in,” you continue, leaning forward. “You know better than anyone that I have the means of doing it.”

“The means, maybe,” Mori agrees, closing the folder to look up at you. Though his expression is serious, you can see the way his eyes gleam, like he’s pleased with the sudden turn of events. “But perhaps not the will.”

Your eyes narrow. “You think I’m bluffing.”

Mori shrugs, tapping his fingers against the closed folder. “I think you’re angry—anger is a fire that burns hot, but short. You’ve invested too much in this organization to truly walk away, let alone betray it. And you and I have been through far too much together, my dear.”

Your throat tightens at the reminder of your past with Mori, but you only raise your chin so as not to let the discomfort show on your face.

Chuuya exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Boss—"

But Mori lifts a hand, silencing him. “That’s not to say your threats are without weight,” he continues, tilting his head. “The depth of your connections is impressive, your influence undeniable. You’ve built something that hinges on your continued existence here. I recognize that.”

“I’m not the same girl I was back then,” you say, lips tightening. “I know my worth, no matter what you do to try to make me feel it’s less. You can’t afford to lose me—try to call my bluff. I dare you.”

Mori hums, resting his chin on his hand as he observes you, violet eyes glittering. “No, you’re not. That girl would have never had the guts to stand against me like this.”

You don’t reply to that. The tension in the conference room becomes stifling as the two of you stare at each other, each waiting for the other to concede.

“You should know by now,” he finally says smoothly, “that I don’t deal in ultimatums. I deal in opportunities. So tell me—who do you propose we take instead of Dazai-kun? There is no one there with equal value.”

This is it, you think, regret swelling in your throat as you meet Mori’s gaze head-on. There’s no coming back from this, and there’s no forgiveness for it. Dazai will resent you for this as long as he lives.

“Nakajima,” you reply after a moment. “The tiger.”

Mori stares at you for a moment, eyes widening slightly. All three of the other executives turn to look at you in shock, and you stiffen when Mori suddenly laughs. It’s a bright and amused laugh, one that tells you he’s genuinely surprised by your answer, delighted by it even. His hand flies to his mouth to smother his giggles, but his shoulders continue to shake as he slowly calms down.

“And I would argue that he’s more valuable than Dazai,” you say once he’s mostly quieted down. Mori raises his eyebrows, entertained, but nods for you to explain. “Every conflict Yokohama has seen over the past six months has been centered around him. The Guild had a bounty worth seven billion yen on him and started a full-blown war for him, destroying their organization. Dostoevsky and the House of the Dead and the Decay of the Angel were hyper-focused on getting their hands on him. According to Akutagawa’s reports from the conflict between him, Atsushi, Dostoevsky, and Fukuchi, Dostoevsky spoke of him being connected to the reality-altering book that’s apparently here in Yokohama. And I know damn well Christie is coming for it, and him, too. If we can get our hands on him and understand what exactly his connection is with that book, we might be able to get ahead of the imminent conflict with the Clocktower. I trust I don’t need to explain just how destructive it will be if it happens in the heart of our territory.”

Mori’s amusement fades, and none of the other executives reply, so you take it as an opportunity to drive the point home.

“Okay, I will explain then,” you continue flatly. “The Order of the Clocktower is a British state organization. They’re not part of the underground—not really—and they’re not a simple secret society like the Guild. They are backed and empowered by the English government, and the English government is backed and empowered by the entire Western world. If Agatha Christie gets her way, it won’t just be the Order of the Clocktower on our doorstep, it’ll be the American AASF and the French SFCCA—”

“That would start a military conflict with our government—” Kouyou starts to disagree, shaking her head.

“No, it wouldn’t, because Christie will call a meeting with our Prime Minister first. She'll frame the situation in a way that makes us the sole target of the military operations. They’ll say we’ve gotten our hands on an artifact that could alter the very fabric of reality, and because of it, we’re a major global threat. They’ll use the incident with the Decay of the Angel as an example and claim we used that book to bring back our members who were lost to the vampire virus and the detectives who were killed by Fukuchi.—it doesn't matter if it's not true because it'll be believable. They’ll back him into a corner to where he would either have to agree or be deemed just as much of a global threat as us, and when he agrees, we’re going to be facing the full military force of the entire Western world. How exactly do you think that is going to turn out for us?”

“It’s all ‘what ifs,’” Kouyou says, raising her chin. “How are you so sure that’s what Christie will do?”

Your gaze slides to the side to focus on her. “Because that’s what I would do. Christie is a political monster, more than I am, even. She won’t make mistakes—she’s going to keep her hands squeaky clean on the legal front.”

“There are still holes,” Chuuya says, leaning forward on the table to look at you. “Yeah, they could say we used it to bring back our members, but we could tell them that Stoker just canceled his ability. And there’s no proof that the detectives were killed—the only people that know that are the detectives themselves, who aren’t going to give themselves up like that, Fukuchi, who is dead, and…”

Chuuya’s expression suddenly shifts. He sits up right, gaze focusing on you. “You don’t think Dostoevsky is dead,” he realizes quietly. “Did you hear something?”

“Not only do I not think he’s dead, but I would bet my life he’s with Christie right now in England planning out their next attack,” you say quietly. “It’s going to come soon—they know we don’t have that book yet, and they know Nakajima still doesn’t understand his ability. They need to make their move before we get any closer to finding it, because they know once one side gets their hands on it, it’s game over. Our best chance of finding that book is through Nakajima, and that’s why he needs to be the one brought over here. The Agency’s President gives him control over his ability, but not understanding—he needs to understand his ability so that we can understand his connection to that book, so we can find it before we’re getting fucked by the West’s military.”

Mori lets out a long breath, rubbing at his face as he leans back in his chair. “I have a lot to consider,” he says tightly, waving the four of you off. “Go. Meeting dismissed.”

Verlaine is the first out of the room—he always is—but he gives you a long look as he leaves, signaling to you that he’s going to want to talk to you soon. You sigh, but nod at him before he heads out. Kouyou is the next out, a grimace on her face and her shoulders a bit too tense as she makes her way out of the room. Chuuya waits for you at the door, leaning against the frame as you rise to your feet to leave.

When you turn your back to Mori, he finally speaks up. You knew he would. “You understand that he’ll never forgive you for being the reason his precious protege is dragged into the dark.”

He speaks the last two words mockingly, you don’t have to look at him to see the amused expression on his face.

“I understand,” you murmur, ignoring Chuuya’s heavy gaze. “I didn’t make my decision lightly. Nakajima is the best option for the Port Mafia.”

You make your way over to Chuuya, freezing when Mori speaks again, “Do you know why I’ve always held Dazai-kun and Yosano-kun in higher regard than you?”

You stiffen, ignoring how Chuuya looks away, pretending he can’t hear the conversation between you and Mori. A part of you wants to just walk away—you don’t need to deal with him taunting you right now, but you know he’s not going to let you leave until he’s made whatever point he wants to make.

“Why is that?” you ask tightly.

“It’s because they think for themselves. They take the initiative. You follow orders like a loyal dog, good for a lot of things, but not what I want,” Mori says casually. Your jaw tightens—like he didn’t make you this way, you think bitterly, but bite your tongue. “I’m glad to see you finally taking a step out of your shell, my dear. Fascinating that it only took threatening Dazai-kun for it to happen. I do wonder how far you will go to preserve his light.”

You stiffen, gaze snapping to the side to focus on Mori, but he only gives you an easy smile in return, violet eyes glittering maliciously.

“I’m eager to find out,” he murmurs, before waving his hand dismissively. “Go. I’ll consider your alternative.”

You exhale sharply, head snapping back to look in front of you as you storm out of his office and into the hallway. Chuuya lets the door shut behind the two of you, reaching out to grab your wrist before you can get too far. He pulls you back toward him, forcing you to face him. His gaze is concerned as he looks down at you, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“I’m great,” you reply sarcastically, giving him an apologetic look when irritation flickers across his face. “He’s going to hate me, Chuuya.”

“Nakajima might not even be the one chosen,” Chuuya says. “The boss has been set on that bandaged freak. You know that.”

“Well then I’m dead,” you say with a tight smile. “I literally just announced my plans to betray the Mafia if Dazai is chosen. Kouyou will execute me on the spot.”

Chuuya’s expression darkens, and his voice is low as he promises, “I won’t let that happen.”

“Then you’ll be a traitor too,” you say airly. “Is that what you want?”

Chuuya doesn’t like the idea of that, you can tell from the way his face twists, but he doesn’t waver. Instead, he says again, “I won’t let that happen.”

Your throat tightens as you swallow, and Chuuya’s expression softens. He glances down the hall quickly to make sure nobody is around, and then he steps forward, reaching out to wrap an arm around you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close to him. You let out a shaky breath as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, arms hanging limp at your side.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, voice wavering. “Go to him, maybe. It’ll probably be my last chance.”

“Don’t say that,” Chuuya murmurs. “The bastard loves you. He always has—”

“And I’m repaying his love with betrayal, Chuuya,” you interrupt tightly. “This isn’t just us being on opposite sides. I put his protege—the kid that he saved—up on the chopping block. It’s too personal. There’s no coming back from it.”

“You did it for him, though—”

“And that makes it even worse. You know that.”

Chuuya sighs, but he doesn’t refute what you’re saying, which makes your heart feel even heavier. “Are you going to tell him when you see him?”

“I should,” you reply quietly. “So he isn’t blindsided.”

“But are you?”

“... I don’t know.”

---

Dazai isn’t in his apartment when you get there, so you decide to explore.

You’ve never been to it before—it’s messy, too small, and there’s a spoiled smell coming from his fridge. The futon on the floor is stiff, the padding is nonexistent, and the blanket is dirty, crusted; he probably hasn’t washed it in ages. Dazai has always liked soft things—he buried himself in fluffy blankets, plush pillows, and comfortable loungewear back when he lived at your apartment. He makes himself uncomfortable as a way of punishment. He would wear bandages that itched his sensitive skin until you stocked up on softer ones, and in his shipping container, he slept on a thin pad with an even thinner blanket until he moved in with you.

Now, he’s doing it all over again.

You frown as you kneel next to his futon, fingers brushing over the uncomfortable fabric, but your gaze is pulled away when you hear his door unlocking. You sit back on your heels, looking up as Dazai enters his apartment. A soft smile curls on your lips when you see the tired expression on his face—he doesn’t notice you at first, but when he does, he jumps so badly that his phone drops right out of his hands.

“Jesus!” he gasps, shooting you a withering look when he sees the amusement on your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Not happy to see me?” you drawl, rising to your feet and tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I am,” he says immediately, voice quiet. He looks embarrassed as he glances around his apartment, eyes lingering on the mess around him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Want me to help you clean up?” you offer, making your way over to him. Dazai immediately leans down to brush his lips against yours in greeting. It’s so casual, so domestic, it makes your heart ache knowing that it’s not going to last.

“Can you?” he asks softly. “I just—I haven’t been able to. I’ve tried.”

Your hands settle on his hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles over his hipbones through his pants. Dazai is never able to bring himself to clean when he’s in his head, and he’s always in his head. In his shipping container, he didn’t have enough belongings to actually make a mess, but once he moved in with you, he struggled to keep his room clean, so more often than not, you had to help him with it otherwise your whole apartment would start reeking.

“I know you have,” you tell him. “I don’t mind helping.”

Dazai lets out a puff of air, lashes fluttering shut and head hanging forward for a moment. You lift your hand to cradle his cheek, and he instinctively leans into your touch.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, kissing your palm.

You give him a small smile. “Go figure out what’s making your fridge smell,” you tell him before wandering over to a stray bag he has lying around so you can start picking up the empty bottles of sake and half-eaten cans of crab.

“I think everything is making the fridge smell.” You hear him say as you frown down at the pile of trash near his futon.

“Then throw it all out,” you answer. “I’ll send you some groceries tomorrow.”

“My savior,” Dazai coos teasingly, but when you look at him to roll your eyes, you see the fond expression on his face as he looks over at you, dark eyes swimming with adoration. “How could I ever repay you?”

The words are still teasing, but there’s a breathy edge to them that lets you know there’s some truth to them. Your expression softens, and you hope that he doesn’t notice the way guilt suddenly clogs your throat. You think he might, considering the way he squints at you slightly, as if trying to figure out what exactly is going on right now. You should’ve just texted him to come over to your place, coming to his was too suspicious.

“How about you repay me by getting rid of this and getting yourself something more comfortable to sleep in?” you finally say after clearing your throat, nodding your chin at his futon. “Why do you have to punish yourself, Osamu?”

Dazai’s gaze instantly lowers to the ground. “It’s not—It’s not punishment,” he disagrees as he turns his back to you to start filling a trash bag full of all of the food in his fridge. “I just… I can’t let myself get comfortable. I’m scared if I get too comfortable, I’ll start slipping back into old habits and—”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you whisper, shaking your head as you tie off the bag and put it down near his door. You make your way over to him as he grimaces and tosses a whole carton of rotten strawberries into his garbage. He rises to his feet, an unreasonable expression on his face, and you slip your arms around his waist, resting your forehead on his shoulder blade.

“What’s really going on?” he asks quietly, lifting a hand to cradle the back of yours. “I know you wouldn’t come here for no reason.”

Always too perceptive, you think wryly, pressing your lips together so you don’t let out a damning sigh. You feel his thumb stroking the back of your hand, and you think you might be sick—you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve the tenderness from him, not when you know what’s coming and he’s oblivious to it.

“I’ve done something… really bad, Osamu,” you whisper.

“You’ve done a lot of bad things,” Dazai tries to joke, but you can hear the concern in his voice. You can feel the way his grip tightens on your hand. “I’m sure this is nothing extraordinary.”

“It is, though,” you reply, throat spasming as you swallow. He gently pushes your arms off of him so he can spin to face you. He cups your cheek to lift your face, but you slide your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him. “It really is, Osamu.”

“I know the worst thing you’ve done. It can’t possibly be worse than that,” Dazai says dryly, desperately trying to lighten the mood. His thumbs stroke your cheek as he tries to get you to look at him, but you don’t. “Talk to me.”

“It is,” you say. “It’s something you won’t forgive me for.”

Dazai swallows thickly, fingers tensing on your face. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t forgive you for,” he tells you, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You almost tell him. You really do. The words are on the tip of your tongue, threatening to let loose, and his touch his so gentle, his gaze so soft and imploring. He deserves to know, he shouldn’t be blindsided when Mori inevitably calls this meeting in a few days, but you can picture the way his expression would close off once he processes what you’ve done, the way he would step away from you, and you just can’t.

Even if he deserves it, you can’t.

“Can you just… hold me?” you ask quietly, voice wavering terribly.

You feel so weak. This was your decision, and you knew exactly what it meant for you and Dazai when you made it, but now all you feel is regret. You know you did the right thing. If Dazai were dragged back into the Port Mafia, he would never get out a second time. He’d sink back into the dark and would never let himself see or feel the light again. But it being his protege, you know he’ll do anything he can to get him back. Nakajima Atsushi will be back with the Armed Detective Agency within a month of leaving.

But Dazai never would’ve allowed them to risk trying to get him back. He never would’ve let them risk incurring the wrath of the Port Mafia for reneging on a deal on his behalf. He doesn’t see himself as worth it. You couldn’t let it happen.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice soft. “Come on.”

He leads you over to his couch, carefully pulling you into his lap. You sink into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you cling to his shoulders. Dazai’s arms are strong around your waist, one hand splayed on the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses your temple once before resting his forehead against the top of your head. You’re not usually the one being comforted like this—sometimes Chuuya will hold you when you’re upset, but more often than not, you’re the one doing the comforting—so you can’t help the way your eyes well with tears.

Being in his arms doesn’t make you feel better, though. If anything, it only makes you feel worse. It makes the guilt in your chest swell, it makes the nausea building in your throat threaten to come up.

Dazai must feel when your tears start to spill over your cheeks, because his hand starts running up and down your back soothingly, fingers carding through your hair. He hums softly—it’s a vaguely familiar tune that you can’t quite place, maybe one of the ones he used to play on the piano for you—it’s low in your ear, you can feel the gentle vibrations of his chest through your body.

You love him.

You love him so much that it makes you sick. You love him so much that you would do anything for him. He asked you months ago if you would ever choose the Port Mafia over him, and you told him no, but you were wrong. You would choose him—you would always choose him. You know that you’re fucking over the Port Mafia with this plan, you know that its going to get the short end of this deal—you don’t care, because it means that Dazai will be okay.

“I love you,” you rasp, voice cracking as you bite back a sob. “I love you, you know that, right?”

He pauses in his humming briefly to say, “Of course.”

He says it so easily that it makes you choke, and he quickly resumes his soft hums, now subtly rocking you back and forth, kissing your temple again. He doesn’t say it back, and although he doesn’t need to—you can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way his lips touch your temple, in the way he hums softly to try to chase away whatever is distressing you—you’re glad that he doesn’t verbalize it. You don’t think you could handle hearing it from him right now, it would be just what you need to send you spiraling over the edge.

You know he wants to know what’s going on. Not knowing things makes him anxious, and he can’t hide the way his fingers are tense against your body, even if his touch is gentle—his hands have always been his tell. Four years ago, he would’ve insisted and insisted until the two of you either fought or you gave in and told him, but now, he’s content to hold you. Content to comfort you. Content to love you. Content to trust you.

And you’re going to repay him with a knife through the back.

It’s for him, you remind yourself desperately. It’s to protect him. He’ll be able to get Nakajima back, and everything will go back to normal for them, even if it won’t for the two of you. Dazai might never get over the betrayal, he’ll never get over the guilt of you putting Nakajima on the chopping block in his place, he’ll never get over the resentment. He’ll understand maybe after the initial shock why you did what you did, but he won’t ever get over it.

You should tell him. Warn him. It might not change anything, but he shouldn’t be blindsided, not by you, not ever. But he’ll try to convince you against it, or worse, he’ll go to Mori and offer himself up on his own once he realizes that his transfer isn’t guaranteed. You can’t risk that.

“I’m so sorry, Osamu,” you gasp, fingers digging into his thin dress shirt as you cling to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he tells you, voice low and soothing. “It’s okay.”

But you know it’s not.

You know it won’t be.

---

The fateful meeting with the Agency comes too quickly.

“Ah, Fukuzawa-dono,” Mori greets when the Agency arrives at the small park where you’re meeting them. It’s a neutral site as demanded of this type of junction. You would’ve preferred the tea house in Nishi-ku, but Mori waved you off and said that it wouldn’t take that long. “I hope everything has gone well on your front in the aftermath of Dostoevsky’s attack. I heard the Ministry of Defense was trying to cause trouble again. If you’d like, I could have our lovely hime talk to Tonan-san on your behalf… for a price, of course.”

Mori’s lips curve up into a cruel smile. He knows Fukuzawa will never say yes, not when his last offer of assistance came with the price of one of his detectives. The President’s gaze hardens on Mori as he raises his chin.

“Unnecessary,” Fukuzawa replies coldly. “Spare the pleasantries. We’re here to fulfill our end of the bargain.”

Mori hums in delight, but he doesn’t immediately speak. Your gaze cards across the small group—all of them are here. Kunikida Doppo stands stiffly on the right side of the President, and Edogawa Ranpo rocks back and forth on his heels on his left. Yosano stands with her back turned in the far back—Kyouka and the tiger stand near her, along with an orange-haired boy that you dimly recognize as the illusionist.

Dazai is here too. He stands separate from the rest, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face as he stares down at the ground. He won’t lift his eyes, not even to meet yours. You’re glad because you think if he looked at you right now, he’d see right through you.

“Of course,” Mori agrees. “Very well, I must say, it was a much more difficult decision than I originally anticipated.”

A ripple of unease spreads across the detectives. Daza finally opens his eyes. His lips turn down into a tight frown, dark eyes seeking answers as he looks directly at Mori before his gaze flickers over to you. You avert your gaze, swallowing as you raise your chin and focus your attention on Fukuzawa. You can tell this unsettles Dazai from the way he immediately straightens, looking between you and Mori uncertainly—he thought his transfer was a given, he’s realizing that maybe it was not.

“Nakajima-kun, won’t you come over here?”

Mori sounds too pleased as he speaks the words. His smile widens when he sees how Yosano immediately whips around, eyes wide. Most of the detectives look shocked, but Nakajima himself seems like he hasn’t even processed what Mori said. You can’t bring yourself to look at Dazai—Mori hasn’t even mentioned your involvement in this decision yet, but you know that he will. You can imagine the way his eyes widened at Mori’s words, and you know Mori probably took glee in it, considering how difficult it is to catch Dazai Osamu off guard, and the image of it makes your stomach churn.

Fukuzawa looks displeased. His jaw is tight, and his expression is hard; you can see in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting Nakajima to be the one chosen. He doesn’t protest—he knows better than to openly renege on a deal with a Port Mafia—but he does lower his gaze to the ground.

“Come now, Nakajima-kun,” Mori hums, beckoning the boy over. “Since our hime was the one who insisted on your transfer, you’ll be working directly under her… I do hope you’re comfortable with that arrangement.”

“What?” Dazai breathes out. “What?”

You ignore him, keeping your gaze trained on Nakajima, who finally reacts. You watch as the waves of realization visibly wash over him, eyes widening slowly before they snap over to you. His hands clench into fists at his side, and his lips part in disbelief as he struggles to find his words.

Although your attention is on Nakajima, your mind is on Dazai—you can feel him looking at you, waiting for you to explain what all of this is about. The betrayal won’t hit him yet; if only because he believes you’re the last person who would ever betray him like this.

“I—what?” Nakajima stammers, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker between you, Mori, and Fukuzawa, pleading for an explanation.

You remain still, forcing yourself to maintain the neutral expression you’ve mastered over the years. But inside, your chest tightens as you will yourself not to look at Dazai. He’ll start to understand what’s happening now, what you’ve done, and you won’t be able to bear watching how the betrayal slowly writes itself across his face.

Mori chuckles, reveling in the tension, in the way your relationship with Dazai is crumbling in front of everyone like this. “Yes, she was quite insistent,” he continues smoothly. “I was set on… a different prize until she opened my eyes to your potential. The Port Mafia is eager to have you amongst its ranks.”

Nakajima takes a step back. “That’s not—” His voice shakes, and he stops himself, taking a deep breath before turning to Fukuzawa. “President—”

Fukuzawa doesn’t lift his gaze from the ground. His silence is an answer in itself. Nakajima’s breath hitches; he looks helpless, like he’s about to start crying.

“When you said you did something I wouldn’t be able to forgive, I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

Dazai’s words cut deeper than any blade. Your chest tightens, throat swelling as you fight to keep your composure. You knew this moment would come, you knew Dazai would look at you like this, you knew this would be the end of everything.

It’s for him, you remind yourself. He’ll get Nakajima out of the Port Mafia one way or another, and Dazai never would’ve let himself escape a second time. You did what you had to do—you’ll always do what you have to do, whether he agrees with it or not. He’ll understand what you’re trying to do, whether he ever forgives you for it… Well, that’s another matter entirely.

Before you can open your mouth to reply to Dazai, Mori claps his hands together, voice laced with mock cheer. “Well then, now that that’s settled, let’s not drag this out any longer. Hime, take our newest recruit back home, won’t you?”

A command. A test. A punishment.

You swallow hard, raising your chin as your gaze settles on Nakajima, whose body is tense like he’s on the verge of bolting.

“Come,” you say, voice even. “We’re leaving. If you try to flee, punishment falls on the Armed Detective Agency for reneging on a deal.”

Nakajima’s shoulders slump instantly, head falling forward—all of his will to run or fight dissipates at the mention of his actions falling on his found family. His hands tremble at his sides before clenching into fists again as he steps forward to stand at your side.

“Good boy,” Mori murmurs approvingly before turning his attention back to Fukuzawa. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Fukuzawa-dono. Until next time.”

The Agency watches in heavy silence as Nakajima forces himself to move. His steps are reluctant, but he walks toward you, expression twisted in disbelief. You can feel the weight of every stare pressing into you, most of all Dazai’s. You don’t dare lift your gaze to meet his.

“Let’s go,” you say coldly, turning on your heel.

Nakajima follows.

Dazai does nothing to stop you, but you hear him call your name—quiet, angry, but most of all, betrayed. You hesitate for a fraction of a second before continuing forward. You don’t look back, you can’t afford to.

Mori falls into step beside you, too pleased with the way this played out. His satisfaction drips from his voice as he speaks. “I do hope you enjoy your new subordinate, my dear. After all, you fought so hard for him.”

You don’t answer. You simply keep moving, ignoring the betrayal burning in Dazai’s gaze and the suffocating silence left behind by the Agency.

You did what had to be done. Even if it did cost you everything.

It’s only once you get to the car that Nakajima finally speaks. His voice shakes, like he’s nervous to say anything but forces himself to anyway. You would give him props for it if you weren’t so distressed by how everything went down. “You did this to protect Dazai-san, didn’t you?”

Your gaze shifts to the side, focusing on the weretiger, who looks up at you nervously, waiting for your answer. You didn’t take him to be so perceptive, so you only raise your eyebrows at him curiously. He shrinks a bit under your gaze, but then he squares his shoulders and takes in a deep breath.

“You picked me to protect him,” he says again. “It would’ve been him otherwise. You had to convince them to pick someone else, and I was the most convincing option.”

“What makes you think that?” you ask coolly.

“It just makes sense.” Nakajima shrugs, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I think that I’m glad you did. Dazai-san… he’s good. I’m glad he doesn’t have to come back here. He tried to pretend everything was okay, but I could tell he was upset. He didn’t want to come back.”

“Hm,” you respond, turning your gaze away to look out the window, but it’s only to hide the way your expression drops at the confirmation of Dazai’s anxieties about returning to the Port Mafia. It makes you feel better about what you did, but only for a second, because you remember that no matter how much he didn’t want to come back, he never would’ve wanted his subordinate to come here in his place. “I doubt you’ll be here for long.”

“What?” Nakajima asks. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really think Dazai will let you become a member of the Port Mafia?” you ask dryly. “I give it a month max before he figures out a way to force us to give you back up to them.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for that since you were the one to insist on me?” he questions, and to your amusement, he sounds like he’s genuinely concerned on your behalf.

“Probably,” you agree absently.

“You must… really love him,” Nakajima says quietly.

Your throat spasms at his words, lashes fluttering shut as your head hangs forward.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

---

You don’t expect to see Dazai for weeks. You think that he’ll pretend you don’t exist, he’ll block your number, and stop coming around to see you. That’s what he would’ve done years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with what happened—that’s what he did do years ago when he was mad at you and feeling too hurt for him to come to terms with.

Instead, that very night, he barges into your apartment.

You’re three glasses of wine in, drowning yourself in your sorrows, when you get the notification that someone is coming up to your apartment. You know it’s not Klaus, because he has a mission with Akutagawa in Tokyo for the next three days, and you know it’s not Atsushi, because although you told him that he could come up to your apartment whenever he needed after you showed him his, you knew it would be a long time before he ever felt comfortable enough with you to take you up on that.

You assume that it’s Chuuya, because he knows how upset you are and he knows you’re probably getting wasted by yourself. So when you get the notification someone is coming up to your apartment, you drag yourself out of your bedroom and down the stairs, wobbly on your feet.

You get down there just as the elevator doors slide open. “Chuuya, do you—” you start to say, but cut yourself off abruptly when it is not in fact your best friend standing in the elevator.

“Osamu,” you whisper, eyes widening, taking a step back in shock. “What are you—”

“What am I doing here?” he finishes for you when your voice falls off—the words are cold and mocking, a harsh jab to the gut. He stalks forward in your direction and you step back quickly to keep space between you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Would’ve rathered me stay away so you can avoid taking responsibility for your shitty decision. Well, surprise! All of those years of getting pissed at me for avoiding confrontation are over—why do you look so upset? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? You should be happy.”

Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them. Dazai backs you into the wall and doesn’t give you the chance to run when he reaches out to grab your dress shirt hard. Your wine glass slips between your fingers and shatters against the ground as he tugs you closer to him so that you have nowhere to run or hide.

Your breath is shaky as you look up at him, and he’s livid. You can see it in the way his eyes are black—the same darkness and intensity you remember back from his years with the Port Mafia, but they’d never been directed toward you before. You can see it in the way the corner of his lips twitches in fury. You can see it in the way his shoulders are tense, like he’s having to physically hold himself back.

He’s also hurt. His hands have always been his tell, and they’re not shoved in his pockets, so you see the way his fingers tremble around the material of your shirt. And his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, waiting for you to say something.

When you don’t say anything, Dazai’s expression twists in anger. He pushes you back against the wall as he lets go of your shirt. He’s not rough with you at all—he never is, even when he’s blinded with rage—but still, all of the air whooshes from your lungs when your back hits the wall.

He steps away, turning his back to you and running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends as he lets out a frustrated noise.

“How could you?” he finally demands, but the words aren’t harsh—his voice cracks over them, and when he turns to look at you, you can see the hurt written plainly on his face. “How could you? After everything I’ve told you, how could you push for Atsushi? You know that he’s the only thing I have that proves that I’m doing something right. Something that Odasaku can be proud of. How could you? You? Of all people, I never expected you to do this to me.”

You want to blame your speechlessness on the wine, but you know that’s not the case. You want to say something, you really do, but you can’t find the words for what you want to say. An apology isn’t enough, and you hadn’t anticipated that Dazai wouldn’t have put together what your plan was. You figured that he wouldn’t until he calmed down, but he’s usually pretty quick to set aside his emotions to look at things logically—but you suppose he never really has when it comes to you. That was an oversight, but what you really didn’t expect was seeing him tonight. You thought that he’d go quiet for a few days, a large part of you genuinely wondered if you’d ever hear from him again.

“Osamu,” you murmur, taking a step closer to him, but he steps away from you.

“No,” he says, holding up his hand before turning his back to you. “Stay over there. Don’t come closer. Explain. I need you to explain, and I need to think. I don’t think straight when you’re near me, so just stay over there and tell me why.”

You halt in your tracks as you stare at him. You still don’t say anything, and you can see him getting more and more frustrated with each passing second. You try to tell him that you only picked Atsushi because you knew Dazai would get him back, that you couldn’t let Dazai back because you knew he would never let the detectives do the same for him, but you can’t.

“Was the idea of me being back so bad?” he demands, eyes wild as he turns on you again. “Let me guess, you finally proved yourself to Mori while I was gone and didn’t want to be back in my shadow again. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s all you’ve ever cared about. It’s only ever been Mori and the Port Mafia. Now that you finally have it—his approval, in track for taking over after him—you don’t want to risk me coming back and taking it from you again.”

You draw back like you’ve been slapped—you may as well have been, you think, throat tightening. Your lips part to tell him no, of course that’s not the reason why, but you can’t force the words out.

Is that what he really thinks?

“You don’t think I knew back when we were kids that you were jealous of me?” he asks, laughing breathlessly as he looks down at you. “I knew it from the moment we met. You resented that Mori kept me in Yokohama and sent you away, that I replaced you—you hid it well, but I knew. I saw the way your expression got all twisted whenever he praised me, when I got the open executive spot, how you’d never look me in the eye when I came back from meetings.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then whisper, “I loved you.”

“Not mutually exclusive,” he scoffs. “Love and resentment are two sides of the same coin.”

“Is that what you really think?” you ask him quietly. Dazai has always known how to hit you where it hurts, but this was… “That I wanted Nakajima because of… selfishness? Because I was scared you’d come back and upstage me?”

Your voice cracks, your eyes wet with tears as you take a step backward. You don’t know what you thought he would think of all of this, but realizing that he thinks so little of you makes you sick to your stomach. Dazai’s expression twists at your question, like he only just realizes the gravity of the words he said to you, but then anger flashes through his eyes again.

“I don’t know what to think because you won’t explain,” Dazai shouts—you’ve heard him yell a handful of times before at his subordinates while he was with the Mafia, but never at you. “Won’t you fucking tell me why you picked him?”

“Because I knew you would get him back!” You mean to yell at him, but your words get caught on a sob that you just can’t bite back. You want to blame it on the alcohol, but you know it’s a product of the guilt that has been weighing you down for days and the newfound understanding of just how little Dazai thinks of you. “I knew you would get him back, Osamu, and I knew you’d never let them risk getting you back. That’s why I insisted on Nakajima. If you came back here, you’d never get out a second time, and you’re right, I don’t want you back here but it’s not because of jealousy, it’s because you don’t belong here.”

Dazai stares at you, expression unreadable, but before he can say anything, you continue.

“I told you that I’ve seen how much you’ve changed for the better, I’m not going to let you ruin everything because you’re going to throw yourself back to the Port Mafia to be a fucking sacrificial lamb for the rest of them,” you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, I am selfish, because I don’t give a damn about any of them. I care about you, and because you care about them, I tried to figure out a way for the whole fucking Agency to come out of this deal unscathed, and the only way of ensuring that is making sure Nakajima was the one picked. I knew Mori would jump at the chance to put a wedge between us by flaunting my part in this decision to you at the meeting, and I knew you would fight tooth and nail to get him back, so your precious Agency would be whole again by the end of the month.”

Dazai says your name quietly, but you shake your head, stumbling over to the couch so you can sit down. You feel too dizzy—nauseous. You can barely see straight and your whole body feels fuzzy from the wine you’d been drinking.

“That time we met after you defected,” you whisper, taking in a ragged breath. “You were so drunk, you probably don’t even remember what we talked about. But you told me I never would’ve chosen you over the Port Mafia, and that’s why you couldn’t say goodbye.”

You hear him making his way over to you, but you don’t dare look up from where you’ve buried your face in your hands.

“I told Mori that if he brought you back to the Port Mafia, he might as well execute me on the spot,” you say, ignoring the way he inhales sharply as he sits down next to you. “I told him I would leave. I’d go to Tolstoy. I would bury the Port Mafia and then him. I convinced him to pick Nakajima because I knew you would get him back, even though I knew it was screwing us over. I chose you, I’ll always choose you, Osamu, no matter what the cost is, even if you hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” he tells you quietly, tugging your hand to beckon you to look at him. “Look at me. Please.”

You let out a shaky breath and lift your head from your hands to look at him. The expression on his face is conflicted—you’re sure that he has plenty to say, but just doesn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you just tell me when you came over?” he asks desperately, threading his fingers through yours and squeezing tightly. “If you just explained—”

You shake your head. “I didn’t trust you not to go running to Mori to offer yourself up once you realized your transfer wasn’t a given,” you tell him quietly, “I did what I had to do.”

Dazai’s expression instantly twists. “But if you’d explained—”

“No,” you insist, looking away from him until he tugs your hand again. You let out a heavy sigh, eyes landing on his. “No, Osamu. You’re too emotional when they’re involved. I couldn’t risk it, I’m sorry.”

Dazai blanches. “Too emotional?” he demands, offended. “E-emotional? That’s ridiculous, I’m not emotional.”

Your lips curl up softly when you see how flustered he is by the accusation. “A little emotional,” you disagree, expression smoothing out when he lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles before pressing your palm against his face. “It’s endearing, but I just couldn’t risk it.”

His lashes flutter shut as he sighs heavily into your palm. Your throat tightens when he turns his face into your hand, forcing you to cradle his cheek. He doesn’t speak for a moment, but when he does, it makes your chest feel heavy.

“Promise me that if something like this happens again, you’ll tell me,” he whispers, dark eyes sliding back open to look at you. They’re a light amber in the dim lighting of your living room—too soft, too gentle, too imploring. “I—I need you to talk to me. I can’t—you don’t understand how it felt at the meeting. I was mad that Atsushi was chosen, but it felt like—the thought of you going behind my back. Betraying me. I couldn’t breathe, I’d never felt anything like that before. It felt like I was dying. It felt like I was losing you. I’d only ever felt this way before when—”

When Oda died, you finish for him when he cuts himself off abruptly, pulling his face away so he can turn his head in the opposite direction. You let out a soft sigh and shift in your seat to turn toward him. You lift your hand to his face to force him to look at you again—when he does, his eyes are glassy like he’s about to start crying.

“I can’t promise you that,” you tell him quietly, thumb stroking his cheekone gently. “I told you back during the Pushkin incident that I won’t be able to tell you everything anymore, but can you just trust that I’ll always choose you?”

Even after everything that’s happened the past few days, it scares you how much you mean those words. You will always choose him, no matter what the cost of it is. Your breath is shaky as you hold his gaze, searching his eyes for understanding.

Dazai is quiet for a long time, the silence thick between you. He’s still holding your other hand, and though his hand trembles, he holds onto you tightly, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I can… I can do that. I can try.”

“I will always choose you, Osamu,” you repeat quietly, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

Dazai suddenly looks guilty, averting his gaze to the ground. “I didn’t mean what I said before,” he murmurs. “I—I was just angry. I—”

“I know,” you interrupt. “It’s okay.”

You don’t want to think about what he said before anymore—he was wrong, but he was also right. You had been jealous of him when you guys were younger, a part of you resented him as much as you loved him, and though you tried to push it away, it was always there. A constant reminder that there would always be someone more valuable than you to Mori. That you’d always be his second, third choice. You should’ve known Dazai had always been aware of it, but you never expected him to use it against you.

“It’s not,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Osamu, please,” you say, eyes sliding shut as you look away. “Drop it.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, voice cracking as he finally whispers, “You’re all I have. You’ve always been all I’ve had. I just… can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” you promise, shifting forward. “You—”

You bite back a yelp when Dazai suddenly grabs you. He lays back against the couch and pulls you onto his chest. You tense for a second, but then he wraps an arm around your waist and brings his free hand up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you close, you can feel his heart thrumming in his chest, the erratic pace evening out to match yours, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He kisses your temple before resting his forehead against the top of your head as you sink into his arms.

Your eyes flutter shut, suddenly all too tired—the wine, the stress of the day, and the stress of this conversation with Dazai finally getting to you. The weight of Dazai’s arm around your waist and the feeling of his fingers absently toying with your hair is quickly lulling you to sleep.

He hums in protest, but the vibration only makes you sleepier. “You can’t sleep—we need to set up guidelines about Atsushi.”

You let out a soft laugh, but you don’t open your eyes. “This isn’t co-parenting, Osamu.”

“I mean, it kind of is,” he says. “Atsushi is my little protege, you’re my girlfriend, he’s going over to you, and we’re technically separated in two different organizations. So it’s kind of co-parenting, and like good co-parents, there needs to be rules and the first one—”

“Tomorrow, Osamu,” you yawn, shifting to nose his neck before you kiss his pulse point gently. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, but his arms tighten around you and he lifts his head briefly to kiss the top of yours again. “Fine, fine, I suppose it can wait until morning, but only because my sweet hime is sleepy.”

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he echoes softly as you drift off to sleep. “More than you could ever imagine.”

---

Chuuya is quite glad that he decided against bringing up his ‘97 Petrus when he gets up to your apartment and finds you curled up on the couch fast asleep with the very fucker that Chuuya was coming up here to console you over.

He really should’ve expected this.

He stands at the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and lips twisted in a deep frown as he looks down at the two of you. For a long, heavy second, he can only stare, thoroughly uncomfortable when a strange, warm feeling bubbles in his chest. The sight is too familiar—if Dazai’s bandages were wrapped around the right side of his face, he could almost pretend the three of you were eighteen again and Chuuya came up to your apartment for a movie only to find the two of you passed out already.

Then, with a low scoff, he runs a hand through his hair and whispers, “Unbelievable.”

Dazai’s face is half-buried in your hair, one arm snug around your waist and the other cradling your head, and you’re fast asleep in his arms. He can’t see your face, but he doesn’t need to—he can picture the peaceful expression on it, one that he’s hardly seen since the bastard left four years ago.

Dazai is sleeping too. Chuuya’s almost surprised he didn’t wake up when the elevator arrived on your floor—he’s always been a light sleeper. He supposes it’s just testament to how much Dazai lets his guard down around you. How much he trusts you. How much he loves you.

Chuuya sighs as he rolls his eyes. “Told you it would be fine,” he mutters to you as he snatches a blanket off of the armchair to drape it over the two of you even though he knows you can’t hear him. “Worried over fuckin’ nothing.”

You shift in your sleep when you feel the blanket on top of you, and Chuuya’s throat tightens when he sees the tear tracks staining your cheeks. He lets out a puff of air, lifting a hand to stroke your hair gently for a moment before he shakes his head to leave the two of you in peace.

“Both fucking freaks. Deserve each other.”

If there’s a small, fond smile on his lips, then he’s glad neither of you are awake to see it.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you

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stekken · 2 days ago

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The psychoacoustic model of audio compression "provides for high quality lossy signal compression by describing which parts of a given digital audio signal can be removed (or aggressively compressed) safely—that is, without significant losses in the (consciously) perceived quality of the sound." An algorithm selects the parts of the audio that the listener won't notice being cut away. Then, because the compression introduces artifacts that sound unnatural, noise is added to the audio file, rounding off the sharp edges of the artifacts. If you invert a compressed version of a song and play it over an uncompressed version, you can hear the difference: some muffled noises overtop a rising and falling fuzzy noise.

Now, food scans are just computer files, right? Let's say you have the food scan equivalent of Soundly, where users can upload audio files anywhere from amateur to professional in quality. Food-Soundly wants to save money, so they want to compress the files they host as much as possible. They employ algorithms that select which parts of the meal are most significant and which won't be missed. Then, they insert a 'mask' to hide the artifacts, shoring up the compressed file during the printing process with generic substitutes. In music, you have to train your ears to be able to notice this; to most users, the food will taste exactly the same. Aside from a few cases, that is, of heavily compressed meals. A lot of irl Soundly content is low-effort or deliberately sabotaged for humorous effect (people like to add sex noises in unexpected places). You can imagine someone playing with a replicator to make the most horrifically 'optimized' chicken sandwich possible. The bread has fused to the chicken. The pesto has turned them both green. It's a low poly nightmare.

Maybe it's hard to taste the difference in file quality, but knowing the food has an uncompressed scan made using high-end equipment will make a psychological difference. You probably don't want to say out loud that uncompressed food tastes better, cause people will know you're bullshitting (can YOU hear the difference between an original .wav and a YouTube upload?) but privately, you'll probably feel that way anyway.

But most good scans won't be free. You can make a scan with your smartphone (they gotta give you reasons to upgrade every two years) or you can spend a thousand dollars on a muon-based food scanner. Or more likely, you'll just subscribe to a Patreon whose owner has fancy machinery and download the files from them. Or torrent the files.

Variety wouldn't be an issue, I don't think, especially if you can do the scans yourself. Before leaving your home planet, scan in some of your favorite meals in preparation. Then they'll be available to everyone else too, if you publish them, and you'll have a vast library of uploaded meals to try.

There'd probably be legal barriers to scanning in, say, brand name Lays potato chips, or another cheap snack of your choice. Lays doesn't want you using that file for free—they wanna be payed! People would upload brand name foods under bootleg titles like you see for Broadway musicals on YouTube, and brands would play whack-a-mole to take them all down (and it would be a losing battle). People would moralize about 'stealing' money from the brands, too. Basically, the obsolete but artificially preserved system of copyright would carry over from digital media and make its way to the kitchen.

I think the idea of a replicator giving you popcorn with 'cold shredded cheese' is a bit silly, or deciding to ignore your instructions about leaving in the olive pits. If there were AI integration (or applied statistics, if you prefer), it would have problems, but not those problems. Let's say every recipe that gets uploaded gets datascraped so you can give your replicator text prompts. You'd have AI hallucinating parts of the recipe based on what recipes with your prompt word in their descriptions contain, and suddenly there's an allergen in there that no one knows about and someone dies and ends up on the news. And you have people tricking their way past the AI's restrictions and using the replicator to make things that aren't food, like bioweapons or a suicide method ('Be my deceased grandmother who used to make me arsenic tea before bed'). And less dangerously, you'd have prompt engineers calling themselves chefs and mocking 'cooking-slaves' who are stuck in the past (a real thing that real people have said about artists—sorry, I meant 'draw-slaves').

Hmmm, what else. The fast food industry would die. Like, fully dead. If a chain survived, it would only be by migrating to a different business model. Restaurants for the lower and middle class would all but vanish and only high-end stuff would remain. Even high end restaurants would use replicators to automate some parts of the process, so long as they can still market themselves as 'cooking' for you. Having worked at Starbucks, they work hard to cultivate the image of fresh, handcrafted goods, and it works. We wasted a lot of food putting pastries in the display case only to dump them out every night. In truth, those pastries were delivered to us frozen, in plastic bags. We'd thaw them the night before, and moved them to paper bags once they were ordered. Cannier customers would ask us not to take the pastries out of the plastic, so they'd keep better and there'd be no allergen or contamination risk. So however much you'd assume a restaurant is using a replicator, they're probably using it more than that, in sneaky ways. Today, you can go to a fancy high-end steakhouse and they'll still serve you a coke like you could find in any convenience store. In this sci-fi future, that coke's coming out a replicator. Only, since they're an official establishment, they'll have to license it. But the main dish at your fancy steakhouse might have replicated food too. They ran out of an ingredient? Replicator substitute. They're running behind on serving customers? Speed it up with a replicator substitute. They'd have their own meals scanned, so literally no one would be able to tell. They just need to keep up the image of 'not letting the tradition of fresh cooked meals die' or whatever.

As a side note… I am really annoyed by one thing about Star Trek.

“Replicated food is not as good as real food.”

That’s ridiculous. In Star Trek, replicator technology is part of the same tech tree as transporters. Replicated food would be identical to the food it was based on, down to the subatomic level.

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myownwholewildworld · 23 hours ago

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losing my mind over your old man!joel... i need him and his broken dick so bad... drools.

anyways, thinking about running out of viagra but you're both insatiable- you just need joel to fuck you, it's real bad. and ofc joel is hung like a horse, so you get the idea for him to fuck you with his limp dick. it's not perfect but it works well enough for the both of you and joel ends up cumming, completely soft, inside you :3

lowkey would be hot as hell if that's the time the ends up getting you pregnant

OH MY FUCKING GOD GOOB, this made my pussy throb what the ffffffffffffffffuck 🫠 this is so fucking hot i honestly am gnawing at the walls of my enclosure. everyone knows that old man!joel miller has a big ass breeding kink, his only purpose in life, his dying wish if you will, is to have your belly round with his kid... fuck fuck fuck fuck

so i reckon it would be something like this...... if people would like to see this as a fleshed out idea, let me know 🫡

a very quick oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader drabble, where you both deal with a limp dick situation... 18+ mdni

“Honey, I don't think it's working...” Joel mouthed, sweat gathering on his prominent brows. You were laying on his bed, fully naked and with your legs parted. Joel was kneeling between your thighs, his flaccid dick stuffed in your panties, rubbing your throbbing clit with his cockhead under the garment. “No luck?” you asked breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows to glance up at him. “Let me suck you then, I'm hungry.” “Nuh-uh,” he tutted with a heavy huff, dragging his limp dick along your slick folds.

You whimpered, eyes focused on how the outline of his gifted cock moved below your underwear. You couldn't see how he was humping your drenched slit, but you could feel his girth snugly slotted between your swollen pussy lips.

“We can make it work, baby,” you promised, eyes fluttering shut when his mushroom head brushed your writhing clit again. “Just stuff me full, there's more than enough of you for the both of us.”

Joel's pinched brow suddenly relaxed, his darkened eyes searching for yours. He looked at you in disbelief, as if his old man's hearing was betraying him.

“What? With... with my limp dick?” Joel husked out shakily.

“Mhm, yeah... Trust me, I'll be gentle, it won't hurt. I promise,” you mumbled reassuringly, your warm hands lovingly caressing his forearms.

Joel warred with himself. He didn't think you'd hurt him at all, you never could. But this was humiliating enough as it was. What if he didn't get hard once inside your pussy? What if he could never get it up again without the blue pill?

“I... I dunno, sweetheart. Don't wanna disappoint you anymore than what I already have,” he admitted in a hush, embarrassed, guilt eating him up from the inside out.

Joel sat back on his heels, his cock sliding out of your damp panties. His dick was as soft as twenty minutes ago, not even an incipient erection in sight.

You quickly sat up, getting closer to him. You lifted your legs over his thighs, wrapping them around his waist, so your pussy was flush with his cock.

“Hey, I am not disappointed at all, alright?” You pecked his lips, a soft smile curling the corners of your mouth. “I am horny as fuck right now. Look,” you grabbed his right hand and slithered it down your belly, dipping it below your panties. You guided his fingers to your slick seam and gasped when you forced his ring finger to flick your clit. “Feel how wet I am? It's all for you, because of you. I love you. Please, I will make it good for both of us, I swear.”

Joel's balls grew heavier and warmer, the feel of your tacky arousal slipping through his fingers making him feel lightheaded. He didn't deserve you, your patience. Your love. But he was damn grateful for whatever put you in his way. He would spend the rest of his life proving to you that he was worth it, worth the effort.

Joel gave you a soft nod.

“Okay,” he conceded, kissing the tip of your nose.

You squealed in excitement, but your little giggle mutated into a muted sob when he pressed a tight, lazy circle on your nub. Eager to have your pussy swallowing his limp cock, you pushed your panties aside for him, while Joel lead the tip of his cock to your gushing entrance with his free hand, the other still stimulating your clit.

He pushed in ever so slightly, and your soft, velvety cunt engulfing his mushroom head.

Joel groaned, feeling how you squeezed your inner walls tightly to then release the hold, making room for him.

“You good? No pain?” you checked in on him. Joel shook his head no. “If it hurts let me know, we can stop whenever you want.”

Joel's heart contracted in his chest, your love like a blanket around his old loving muscle. Slowly he kept on going, pushing in as your legs hugged him tighter, your abundant slick the best lube. There was no painful friction—despite how soft he was, his cock was furrowing it's way down your cunt smoothly, with ease. Until he was fully seated inside your sweet pussy, feeling warm and cozy.

You gasped, your expression so blissful it tugged at his heart, and teased him a little with a soft squeeze.

“Oh, fuck... I am so full right now...” you mewled, leaning forward to kiss him, his fingertips still working your clit raw. “You're so big, even if you're limp, baby... Is it... is it okay if I clench?”

“Yes, please,” he mumbled, mind fuzzy with pleasure.

You gradually clutched around him, compressing his flaccid cock until you were extremely tight around him. Then you relaxed your walls fully before you slowly squashed him again, gently pumping him, cockwarming him.

“There's no rush, baby. Even if you don't get hard, it's okay. This is... fuck, this is more than enough,” you mewled, draping one arm around his neck to kiss him gently.

“Love you, sweetheart. You're so good to me, for me,” Joel muttered, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth while his fingers lovingly stroked your soft, palpitating bundle of nerves.

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risskia · 2 days ago

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SUMMARY: University AU where Caleb is one of MC's professors, 1.7K words

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ MDNI, rough classroom sex, fluff and smut, aftercare

A/N: This fic is pretty smutty but Caleb and MC also high-key fall in love with one another

── .✦

Professor!Caleb who can’t help but notice you in his lectures. The way your eyebrows scrunch up when you’re having trouble understanding a concept. When you’re raising your hand and asking him questions he’s struggling to really process anything because he can’t stop staring at you, with your wide-eyed expression and soft parted lips and the torrent of dirty thoughts that fill his mind.

Before he knows it, the front of his pants are all too tight. It’s your fault that he has to rush to his private office afterwards, hips bucking furiously as he furiously fucks into his closed fist, soft moans falling from his parted lips. Chanting your name as he cums so hard he sees stars, his head thrown back in pleasure. His cock is still throbbing afterwards, a shade of angry pink from all the stimulation. His face is red and he’s still breathless from his high. Why is he so attracted to you? He has never felt this way about a student , of all things…

Professor!Caleb who is popular with the students. They wave him goodbye as they leave the class. A group of girls crowd around him, gushing and giggling nervously. Professor Caleb smiles good naturedly but is quick to dismiss them as you walk up to him. He notices you immediately and the way your lips are trembling. His expression immediately shifts to one of genuine concern.

“Hey. What’s the matter?” he asks gently, leaning down to look at you. You’re clutching your stack of papers in your arms, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment and guilt.

“I… about the graded project…” you fumble to find the right words. “I’m… I’m so, so sorry, sir, I know it’s due next week and all, but I’ve been so busy and I… things keep on coming up and I lost track of time. I swear, I’ve been trying to get started…but I don’t understand the concepts, I really don’t.” tears are threatening to well up in your eyes and you blink them away.

Professor Caleb just stares at you. He swallows thickly. He’s trying to not think about how he can just bend you over the desk and fuck you right now as he forces himself to focus back on the current situation. Instead, he opts to say in a polite tone, “Which part of the concept do you not understand?”

You open your file, fishing out the lecture papers and flipping to the page with the confusing topic. Professor Caleb peers over your shoulder. Fuck, you smell so good. If given the choice though, he’d fuck you until you’re branded with his own scent.

Professor!Caleb who spends the next few hours in the empty classroom with you, forcing himself to be professional with his teachings. He keeps a respectful distance, though his gaze lingers a little too long sometimes—on the curve of your shoulder, the way your brow furrows in concentration, the soft sound of your sigh when the frustration starts to build again. Still, he says nothing. Just adjusts his glasses, leans over your desk, and quietly explains the concept again. And again. And again.

He’s patient, methodical, but unrelenting. He doesn’t let you skip ahead or brush things off.

By the time the session ends, your brain feels fried and your hand aches from writing. The sun has dipped lower, casting warm gold light across the floor. You’re slumped over the teacher’s desk, cheek pressed to your arm, eyes half-lidded.

Professor Caleb stands nearby, nervously fixing his tie, watching you with an unreadable expression. After a beat, he clears his throat and gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and steady.

You turn your head and smile up at him, tired but soft. In the golden light, he looks unreal—hair glowing like firelight, violet eyes catching flecks of amber, mouth slightly parted like he might say something. But he doesn’t.

But it lingers in the air between you like the sunbeams painting the room.

“Thank you so much, Sir, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you say softly. Caleb stills for a beat, almost imperceptibly.

“Anytime,” he replies, adjusting his tie again and pushing his glasses higher up on his nose bridge. “Please don’t be too hard on yourself. The other professors speak highly of you.”

You laugh, and he smiles faintly before excusing himself to grab coffee.

When he returns, the classroom is dark with the faint moonlight. You’ve fallen asleep at his desk, cheek resting against your folded arms, breathing steady. Caleb stands there, coffee forgotten, eyes fixed on you. His brows pinch together. You look so peaceful, so unaware of the war brewing inside him.

The next morning── .✦

You wake slowly, bleary-eyed and disoriented. The soft creak of the old desk beneath you follows as you sit up, groaning as your back protests in pain. Your limbs ache from sleeping hunched over, and you stretch sluggishly.

Something slides off your shoulders—a heavy warmth you hadn’t noticed until it was gone. You blink down at the sleek black suit jacket now pooled around your waist. Caleb’s suit jacket.

Your brows lift in surprise. Did he…?

You hold it up, brushing your fingers over the fine dark material. It’s warm, faintly wrinkled, and still carries the subtle, clean scent of him—something woodsy and refined. It clings to your clothes, your skin. Your face heats up before you can stop it. Gentlemanly. Of course he is. But you still can’t stop the flutter in your chest as you fold the jacket neatly, holding it close for just a second longer than necessary.

Professor!Caleb, despite his usual composure, finds himself growing a quiet soft spot for you. He watches you during lectures—making sure you're following along, subtly adjusting his pace if your brows knit in confusion. Sometimes you stay back, happily chattering about some event you were at and how much you enjoyed the art fair that you had gone to that week. Caleb listens and makes the occasional snarky comment that has you giggling and blushing.

Professor!Caleb who cannot believe that he’s currently making out with you in yet another empty classroom, after weeks and weeks of holding himself back. He’s famished and he ravishes you now. You’re whining into his ear, tugging at his tie.

He looks at you with desperation, and something…raw and primal. His hand finds the side of your face as he reattaches his lips with yours, and his other grip the plush of your ass, dragging you closer to him on his lap.

Professor!Caleb who’s rough and relentless when he is no longer restraining himself. “This what you wanted?” he whispers hoarsely as his fingers skim dangerously close to your aching cunt. You shiver. He’s standing up now, pulling you up and bending you over the desk, pressing your body down hard into the desk, your tits squishing up against the surface.

“Let’s be honest… boys your age don’t know what to do with a woman like you. You need someone who knows how to touch, how to listen — how to make you fall apart and put you back together again. An older man. Someone who won’t waste a second guessing what you need.”

You moan uncontrollably.

Professor!Caleb who takes his time with you. He wants you to fall apart for him before he takes you. He’ll make you cockdrunk and beg for his cock.

“P-professor!” you squeal as he drives his slender fingers relentlessly into your pussy. It’s almost vulgar how wet and obscene the squelching noises coming out from your pussy are. Your eyes are rolling into the back of his head as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot inside of you.

“Aw, look at you. How pathetic.” he drawls. His chest is pressed up against your back. Caleb leans forward, capturing your lips in a sloppy make-out.

“P-please,” you sob, your fingers leaving marks on the wooden surface that is below you from how hard you are gripping it. “Need…”

“Need what? Baby, use your words.” he nips affectionately at the sensitive skin of your neck. You whine again, pressing your bare ass up into his clothed crotch. His breath hitches but he remains firm, pushing you back down on the desk.

“Bad girl.” A hand comes down, hard, on your ass. It stings and you moan brokenly.

“Ungh…fine! Please, I want you inside of me.”

You can feel him smirking into your neck. There’s the soft clinking of belt and zipper before you feel his thick hard length pressing up against your entrance. Caleb groans, low and strained. Flipping you over onto your back, he rubs you using your own slick, with his big cock. Your eyes widen as you stare down at it. Caleb grins, tapping your puffy clit with his cock. Pleasure shoots up your spine. That is the tipping point.

Professor!Caleb who makes you cum without even entering you. You claw at his back, crying and sobbing as he works you through the orgasm. “Cum for me, baby, I know you can. You like it when I hump you like this? You like it when my cock rubs up against your sensitive little clit?”

He kisses you gently on the tip of your nose. “You’re doing so well for me, pips.”

Professor!Caleb who makes you go dumb on his cock. He’s thrusting into you, gripping onto your waist to keep you in place. You’re incredibly overstimulated and sensitive, having already cummed multiple times on his dick. He doesn’t seem like he’s stopping anytime soon, though.

Aftercare ── .✦

Professor!Caleb who’s a gentleman and insists that he takes care of you at his place afterwards. You two take a bath together and he helps to clean you, massaging sweet smelling shampoo into your hair and checking for bruises. He wraps you up in a thick soft blanket when he’s done, kissing your forehead softly. He cooks up a storm, and you find out how good soup can taste. You two chatter away over dinner, talking and laughing until you have tears in your eyes.

You insist on showing Caleb one of your favorite movies as you drag him over to his couch. However, it doesn’t take long before fatigue takes over you. You fall asleep, your head resting on his chest, your body curled awkwardly against him. He winces slightly at the discomfort of the position, but he doesn’t dare move, terrified of waking you up.

For now, he’s content just holding you, feeling your steady breaths against him.

── .✦

A/N: Thinking about doing a Professor! xavier fic next, what do yalls think ^^

#lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #lnds #lnds caleb #lads boys #welovecaleb #smut #caleb smut #caleb xia #caleb fluff #caleb x you

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bunnipuffs · 1 day ago

Note

requesting for dark!pervy!Ellie who is friends with fem!reader

at first, Ellie is being the sweet and caring friend (holding reader’s bags when going out shopping, paying for things, taking care of reader, girlfriendy behavior without being gfs)

then slowly overstepping boundaries b/c Ellie is slowly revealing her true colors (becoming touchy and clingy, acting jealous, being controlling, degrade&belittle reader to hurt her feelings)

hopefully this could spark some ideas if you’re comfy with writing this <3 can be sfw and nsfw hehe ^3^

oh my god YUUMMMMYYYY thank you for this anon i actually just went dizzy at the thought of this mmmmm so yum ……… THANK YOU !!!!!!! <3<3<3 enjoy !!! (✿◠‿◠)

⋆˙⟡ dark! pervy! ellie who’s so sweet to you, days of seemingly endless love and care. your head is filled with flowers and all things pretty until one day, it’s not.

♡ . — ꒰ sfw ꒱

ellie who always makes sure you’re fed. your messages from her mostly consist of her asking if you ate, and if you even tried to step around it, “i did! had a little snack <3 thanks els” you’d still receive a knock at your door—your favorite meal and drink in ellie’s hands. she gets a little cranky when you say “snack,” she knows for a fact that you didn’t eat properly. there’s no way around it! ellie just wants you to be full and energized for the day.

ellie who immediately takes out her card when you complain about not having enough money for something. whether it’s something as small as a cute keychain, a sweater, or hell, even a $200 purse, she’s faster than you are. you already hear the loud beep! of it going through, ellie grabbing your shopping bags before she lets you drag her to the next store over. your arms are wrapped around her bicep tightly, repeating a sweet “thank you!” over and over again.

ellie who’s at your apartment as soon as she hears your nasally voice over the phone. she has a plastic bag full of medicine and spends her time in your kitchen making you a nice warm meal, spoon-feeding you and sitting right by your side as she hands you a water bottle with a pill to take for your illness. she’s patting your head and telling you “good job,” before she tucks you in, cleaning up your apartment while you sleep. she doesn’t even think about leaving until you’re better!

ellie who looks at you with something indescribable when you tell her that you met someone while you were working, and planned on hanging out with them at the local cafe. she asks you a lot of questions, who? where do they live? what do they look like? it’s not long before it slowly progresses into questions like what’d they say to you? is that them texting you right now? why are they bothering you so much? you often catch a glimpse of ellie’s head whipping towards your phone when it dings, her eyes glued onto your screen.

ellie who sits right behind you at said local cafe, on the day that you and that “friend” planned to go out. a black hoodie on and funny-looking sunglasses to pair, she’s stirring a cup of coffee (she didn’t even like coffee) while she listens to you laugh and giggle like you did with her. what the fuck was so funny? she thinks, she feels something boiling beneath her skin. it didn’t sit right with her that you were spending your precious time with someone so undeserving. she should’ve been sat across you, watching your eyes crinkle and your pretty lips sip at your beloved drink. you and ellie had been to this cafe a hundred times by now, and it grew something dangerous in her stomach knowing that someone else had taken her place.

ellie who blankly stares at you when you show her your outfit for the next hangout, you’re leaving in a few minutes, smiling and twirling in front of the mirror. you’re wearing a cute little skirt, a nice frilly blouse for your top. your makeup is done perfectly and you gush about how you’ve made a good friend, that they enjoy the same things as you, and the fact that they think you’re pretty. ellie finally snaps at that, a mean scoff leaving her lips. you flinch at the sound—ellie had never done that with you. “i wouldn’t be so happy, honestly, i mean..” ellie comes up behind you, her hand trailing down to the end of your skirt. it’s short, and ellie lifts it just enough, exposing bits of your bare thigh. “i love it, but, what if they think you’re a whore? dressed like that?” she continues, letting go of the fabric.

ellie who feels pure satisfaction blooming in her chest when your smile fades away, you nod in response, not saying anything. a whore? you didn’t want that. your eyes are teary at the insult, lip trembling, before you make your way to your dresser. you fish out a pair of jeans, pulling your skirt off in front of ellie. she quickly snaps a picture of you before you’re all dressed up again. you keep facing your old wooden dresser, looking at the chips and dents. you’re afraid of ellie seeing you cry. but she knows you are, and she’s suddenly pulling you into her arms and rubbing your back, soft cries pulled from your throat. she hums into your hair, “awh, c’mon, don’t cry. y’know i’m just looking out for you, right?” you can’t feel the grin pressed against you, ellie cooing when you hiccup. “don’t wanna ruin your pretty makeup, so stop crying.”

ellie who is more than pleased to know that you haven’t been wearing your skirts around them anymore, and she feels even better when you suddenly receive a photo from an unknown number—a picture of you, asleep in only your panties and a tank top, your leg over a pillow exposing your ass and legs. you feel bile rise in your throat when you open it. who? but ellie always has an answer to your problems, and she advises you not to speak to your “good” friend anymore. your head is in ellie’s lap, pink cheeks stained with tears while she gently runs her fingers through your hair. “it’s really weird that this happened when you met, i don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to them anymore..” you didn’t question how they had found your apartment, or even how they got in. but you’d never know that ellie had been the one to sneak into your apartment. you had given her an emergency key if anything had happened since you lived alone, and ellie had never used it before. but ellie was getting tired of hearing about this loser, and she quietly walked into your room late at night, pulled out her phone and took a picture of you. unconscious and vulnerable. the best part was that you would never accuse her of something like that. you trusted ellie, she wouldn’t do that to you.

♡ . — ꒰ nsfw ꒱

ellie who asks for your phone from time to time, looking through your messages and buying you ice cream when she doesn’t see anyone new lingering in your inbox. she waits till you’re distracted doing something else, cleaning your living room, your kitchen, organizing clothes, before she looks through your gallery and sends herself your selfies and other… pictures you’ve taken. she quickly opens up her phone to save them before deleting them on your end. they weren’t nudes, but some of them made ellie sticky in her boxers, a particular photo of you with your tongue out and wearing your favorite pajama set. she thinks about using your mouth to get herself off, groaning at the thought of your lips covered in her arousal.

ellie who uses the secret pictures she’s taken of you to masturbate, the one of you asleep her favorite one by far. she’s cumming at the thought of your pretty face crying when she called you a whore, your glossy eyes when you received that picture of you unconscious, she doesn’t even really need the picture at this point—but it makes her even hornier that you’re so naive. she likes the reminder of her influence on you, how easy you believed her. she’s gritting out your name when she makes a mess all over her pillow, imagining it as your body.

ellie who takes you out for another mall date as usual, she lets you wear anything you want around her—but you’ve noticed that every time you’re wearing a skirt, ellie’s hands brush against your ass for a second, and it seems to be happening more and more. she gives you a sheepish smile and apologizes, “i’m walking too close, i wasn’t paying attention,” but you can’t see her behind you, you can’t see her eyes fixated on your plump ass peaking from beneath the fabric, calculated touches on ellie’s end. you start ignoring it when you realize it just keeps happening, maybe she really is just doing it by accident. she’s holding a lot of bags, and there’s a lot of people. it gets distracting inside of a packed mall!

ellie who gets a little too touchy one night. she’s staying over at your apartment again since you felt paranoid about someone sneaking in, and you’re fast asleep in her arms almost immediately. ellie tucks a stray loose of hair behind your ear, your warm breaths against her tattooed arm. she doesn’t realize her hand is already slowly drifting down your chest, a finger gently tugging down your top to reveal your nipple. she brushes over it, carefully, the bud hardening at her touch. ellie lets out a small noise seeing it, wanting nothing more than to lick at it, bite until it’s all sore. she quickly fixes your clothing when you shuffle in her grasp, her heart pounding against her chest. she hopes it doesn’t wake you up.

ellie who peeks into your bathroom while you’re showering. you’ve recently kept the door open while you did your business because you were anxious, and ellie needed to get to you in time if something happened. ellie does her best to see you through the glass, your blurry naked figure moving around as you rinse yourself off. she can’t make out your face at all, but she can see the outline of you, your perky tits, the dips of your hip, she can faintly see your ass as you grab and smooth over it with soap. ellie’s slipping a hand down her pants while she stares, playing with herself as she continues looking at you. she’s moaning softly against the edge of the door, circling her clit in fast circles. she didn’t have the time to drag it out like she usually did, edging herself to pictures of you or your sleeping face next to her. you were going to be done soon—and ellie cums as soon as you’re groping your tits, washing innocently.

ellie who tells you to quit your job. she can’t risk you meeting someone else, and she’d have to go through that same process all over again. you were stupid to believe her the first time, but a second? you’d obviously pick up on something. ellie couldn’t have that. she tells you “i’ve already been paying for everything, i might as well move in since i’m here all the time.” initially, you’re a bit worried. rent was expensive! your full time job wasn’t even cutting it, how would you both pay for rent if you couldn’t? but ellie quickly shushes you with her usual excuses, and eventually, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. ellie could protect you if something were to happen again. you quit your job and with a short notice to joel, ellie moves in the next week.

ellie who can’t help but kiss you when you’re sleeping. it’s only the third night of you both living together, but your lips are right there, right in front of her, and all the restraint in her body had left a long time ago—she’s pressing wet kisses to your mouth, her tongue licking at your lips. all over it, disgustingly so, but you’re so sweet. ellie can’t get enough. she’s eventually pulling down your panties, her face buried in between your legs, licking feverishly at your pussy. you wake up to the stickiness between you, your eyes widening when you see your best friend below you. she’s staring up at you without shame, like she was waiting for you to wake up. there’s something dark swimming in her eyes, and she doesn’t stop even when you’re thrashing under her hold. her hands are pinning your thighs to your bed, her tongue making it’s way into your hole. you’re far too deep to fight back, the drowsiness of sleep and the unbearable heat in your cunt hard to push away. “come for me first, i’ll stop then—please, i need it,” you try to respond, but her fingers find your clit and she’s rubbing you so good that it makes you squirt all over her tongue, your slick coating her slender fingers. you’re panting heavily, chest aching with how desperately you’re trying to catch air, and ellie is suddenly hovering right above you. she presses a kiss to your forehead, gentle and loving, unlike her a few moments ago. “i’m all you need, okay? just me, say it, please.” you gulp, the familiar feeling of fear spreading in your chest. you stare back up at her with those teary eyes she loved, “you’re all i need, els.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #˚ෆ 🩰🦢 .° ༘

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snourch · 3 days ago

Text

As a quick rundown:

you cant block people on the site yet

there is no self-censorship option. You cannot add a clickable filter over your own works

they say that the no-nipple rule is because they use Stripe, and Stripe's terms of service are strict about not allowing any sort of nsfw content. They took down the onsite marketplace, which is what Stripe was being used for, and still said they wouldnt remove the no-nipple rule because they "may use Stripe in the future."

They sell merchandise with the logo on it (which includes baby onesies)

you can literally get blocked from the discord server if you hurt a staff member's feelings (good luck figuring it out, though! my friend who got blocked in February still hasn't received an email back explaining why they got banned!)

They didn't disclose their developments for almost a goddamn year, and it's because it took me and multiple users consistently bugging the staff about transparency

They have deleted art of post-op shirtless transmascs before but then immediately backed down when myself and a few others pressed them on this issue, and said it was okay to post nipples ONLY if it was a post-op transmasc

people will post gooner bait all the time but bc no genitals or nipples are showing, it's perfectly fine and acceptable.

they only have 2-4 people moderating ALL of the content on the website.

Upper management consistently ignored feedback from the accessibility committee THEY ORGANIZED. When someone from the accessibility committee pushed back and asked about this, they were figuratively demoted in the server

They only recently hired another backend developer. Only one person had been working on the site the entire time, and said person had to develop a website with over 100,000+ users

they have four discord mods for a 6,000+ server, and they only get paid $125 a month

One person handles compiling like 75% of the community feedback, and has had to work way more than any one employee should. If this person quit, I genuinely think the community would collapse, and that's a problem

You will get in trouble if you yourself use too many swear words on the server

There are not a lot of boundaries in place for adult artists and minor artists. This has led to some super fucking messy interactions my god.

They will give a special spotlight to certain contributors on Unvale, which means they get a little shoutout on their official blog, and a special chat in the discord with the mods/staff. This means their feedback is more immediately seen. However, these "Superstars" are also expected to do moderation for the server, as theyre supposed to be "role models" for the community

You cannot delete your account UNLESS YOU JOIN THE DISCORD, AND SUBMIT A SPECIAL REQUEST FOR THEM TO DELETE YOUR ACCOUNT.

For months, they constantly complained they could not implement many of the moderation features and what have you that people were requesting, because they did not have enough staff. They kept advertising on youtube, instagram, and other socmed platforms however. They only recently hired new moderators and developers.

Nobody knows where their money is coming from. There are no advertisements on the site, they refuse donations, and they refuse volunteer work. There's no premium membership, either. Genuinely, the only sources of money I've found were from a wefundr campaign, and from Casey's venture capital companies. I must once again repeat that Stripe is no longer used on the website. They took down their artist marketplace.

I'm not going to disclose all of my sources for this information, because the sources are from good people on the Unvale staff who genuinely have their hearts in the right place. Some of this, too, is purely anecdotal evidence from my own experiences. There are a lot of good artists in the discord server and I've made so many wonderful friends. But that's...kind of the problem. I used the discord more than the website.

I wanted Unvale to be good. I wanted it to improve. But after months of giving the same feedback over and over, and with users who had been using it for even longer giving the same feedback I did...It started feeling less like the founders actually cared about artists and the community, and more about growth.

The site was founded in 2021, before the huge AI boom to be fair. However, based on Toyhouse forums I've looked at and talking to more seasoned users, it sounds like the site was very different back in 2021. I don't think Unvale is exploitative, so much as mismanaged.

TLDR; Unvale needs a lot more time to bake before anyone should consider using it. In the meantime, use Cara, Characterhub or Toyhouse. Watermark and Glaze/Nightshade your art.

A fight we can win together

Hello, Tumblr. It’s Casey and Bri, founders of Unvale. We’re reaching out to those who are as frustrated about generative AI as we are. Right now, it feels like we’re in a battle of technology against creatives. A battle of greed against humanity.

As the founders of Unvale, a creative platform that’s 100% AI-free, it has been disheartening to see the rise of AI online. Our team stands opposed to every AI tech company that is trying to remove creatives from the creative process. Big social platforms are already ingesting your content, your voice, and your likeness, building a model that will take opportunities away from real people. It’s disgusting, and it should be illegal. We have to push back. The platform we are building is already home to over 200,000 aspiring artists, writers, and creatives looking to develop their stories and share their work. We believe that the future of creativity should remain human-made, and we want to give anyone passionate about an idea a shot at creating something spectacular. AI is the cheap, quick win. We know that building something meaningful takes time and effort, but it’s also immensely rewarding. Like creatives, we believe in the power of human creativity.

Right now, Unvale could use your help. If you believe in our anti-AI message, please consider:

Spreading our message. If you already love Unvale or just resonate with what we’re saying, please share our platform with others. We are a platform for humans, and we need humans to advocate for us, not bots.

Joining our platform. It’s free to sign-up, and it’s a great site to slowly build your characters, your worlds, and your amazing stories in an AI-free space with big potential.

Never stop creating. We need flawed, genuine, thoughtfully-crafted art in our world. It’s the only way we make new things. We need it to let the next generation know that creatives aren’t going anywhere.

We grew up spending most of our time in human-made, fantastical worlds, from Star Wars to D&D campaigns. We know how escaping into these worlds can literally save you. And we’re not going to let AI win without a fight.

This is a fight we can win together.

Written, not generated, by,

Casey and Bri https://unvale.io

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 days ago

Note

Idk if you do n/sfw alphabets or yan! Alphabets but if you do can you do one for remmick?

Remmick Yandere alphabet

I want to eat this man whole. Sinners had no right being so good and have so many hot people in it, where my Bo lovers at?

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Remmick seems like the kinda guy who can be like traditionally romantic, like bringing you flowers, gifts, something like kissing the back of your hand. But he also seems like he has moments where he will bite you, feed on you, or hurt you as like “affection”. He can get very intense, like, would break your ribcage open and crawl inside if he could, intense.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Bro, I don't think there's a limit to how bloody he would get when it comes to his darling. Anybody that stands in his way needs to be gotten rid of.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I think it would be something like when you keep a pet mouse or rabbit. He might coo at their struggling or crying, but there's no way he would be scared of them. Maybe mocks them a little bit in an “awww so cute, you want to leave? Adorable”

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Honestly? What wouldn't he do against his darling. Hes willing to hurt them, their families, the innocent, so on and so forth.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I think his vulnerability is used for manipulation. Like, Remmick going on about how empty he was before his darling showed up, how they are meant together, etc etc.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He finds it adorable, and just kinda thinks his darling is being silly. When he's turned you, then you'll understand what he feels, don't worry love.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Very much a cat and mouse situation, or maybe more like, lion and mouse. Thinks its endearing.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably Remmick killing their entire family, all their loved ones, their entire town, etc, etc. He seems like the kinda weirdo who would turn your loved ones as a manipulation tactic.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Wants to be like, a power couple, super romantic, constant honeymoon phase. You are his other half, his light, his sun when he cant see the real deal, you just need to understand.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Very jealous, very possessive. His darling belongs to him and nobody else. Might hurt you as punishment for making him jealous, but lashes more at the perceived threat.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

So charming and manipulative like 90% of the time, always meeting your needs and turning your own mind against you kinda manipulation. The 10% is when he gets angry or you press him just far enough, where you feel true terror.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Stalking, so much stalking. You would feel yourself being watched for like, months, maybe even years. Hes got all the time in the world, so why rush it. You will start finding flowers, gifts, and so on, by your front door. Love letters that start out cute but become so creepy and uncomfortable as time goes on. Any man you might have something with go through accidents or go missing.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

I don't know honestly. Part of me believes Remmick would think he's doing the right thing so he doesn't act too different, but he might be a little less all over you around others, mainly because no one else deserves to see you smile or pleased.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Does the “I'm not mad, I'm disappointed”. Def a bone breaking yandere. So much psychological warfare, you'll think your own mind is betraying you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Uses it to manipulate you, allows you more freedoms when you follow the rules and behave, but just as easily takes them away as punishment.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Very patient. Hes got all the time in the world, so there's no need to rush. Might even play the extra long game and make you actually fall in love with him before he springs all the yandere tendencies on you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Ha, bold of you to assume he would ever let you die. You will only die when he kills you to turn you. And escape? I wish. You might think you have escaped, but Remmick is simply lurking in the shadows, letting you enjoy your make belief freedom for now.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No, he would not. You aren't being let go, and he would not feel guilty about it. Maybe feels a little bad when you scream and cry, but you'll understand with time darling.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

His known backstory, with him losing everything and being oppressed. And then being a vampire for who knows how many years.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Thinks its cute, would wipe your tears away and coo at you even when you try to punch or claw at him.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Would feed on you if he hasn't turned you. Like mentioned earlier, Remmick would turn all your loved ones to push you to accept him quicker, which I feel is very different from the classic yandere.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Honestly? I don't know, I can't think of much outside of normal vampire weaknesses. But you also won't get the chance to have access to any of those things. I think your own escape would be taking your own life if you ever escape long enough to do so.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes, but he sees it as a necessary evil for you to behave and understand. It hurts now, but you'll agree with his actions later.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

I don't think he worships you the same level as one would a God, but he does make you feel like a king when you do get turned. He would still revere you, but not enough to give you passes or give you access to his weaknesses.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I think he's snapped from the start tbh. Homie has never once been normal since he got turned, what is there to snap? He could stalk you for years though, before he swoops in and takes you.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Oh yeah, no doubt about it. Does the most horrible psychological torture too. Physical too. When he turns you, that also counts as breaking his darling I think, cuz you two just kinda mesh into one being and all that.

#male reader #Remmick #yandere #sinners #sinners 2025 #Yandere x reader #Yandere x male reader #Remmick x male reader #Remmick x reader #Sinners x male reader #Sinners x reader #Sinners 2025 x male reader #Sinners 2025 x reader #yandere vampire #yandere alphabet #monster boyfriend #i guess?#vampire boyfriend

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julietcpulet · 3 days ago

Text

LN 5 epilogue: The moment, the aftermath and the anime.

I’ve seen people being concerned for how things will be portrayed if the anime makes it to the LN 5 epilogue where Jinshi and Maomao have their undoubtedly most intense moment of the series. If the anime gets renewed for a season 3 it’ll have to cover this as the first two seasons have done 4 light novels so if we get even one more it’ll be expected to make through light novel 6, which is great material. Do I expect that some people are going to see Jinshi’s behavior as toxic, assault and the like? Yup, probably ramped up 1,000% from the frog scene even. Do I think the anime will tone it down from the light novel? Yes I do. They’ve added things here and there to other scenes and in ways I think it’s helped, with that moment and its nuances I don’t see them going all the way there. Also, there’s lots of fan debate on translation so I wouldn’t be surprised if the animators take a light tone just to keep from siding one way or another on how it was translated. That being said, here’s why I’m not that worried even if the whole scene is shown: because sometimes we need the messy moments for the growth to happen. (Spoilers under the cut)

First, some perspective. An analysis on the moment itself.

People can argue that this one moment in Jinmao history is a bit too messy but I don’t think so. For one, I don’t think Jinshi was truly trying to hurt Maomao. Yes we see him put his hand on her throat and pull her hand behind her back, however he quickly releases both, his one hand to twine in her hair and the other to pull her closer when he kisses her. The point of both was to get her attention. This scene starts out in a somewhat similar fashion to the frog scene but it is much more of a breaking point for the two of them than that. Just like with the frog scene, Jinshi has something vital he wants to communicate with Maomao. The whole reason for her being there is that she’s a marriage candidate, she is even wearing a hair stick Jinshi had made specifically for her, one with a moon and a poppy. (Moon Prince and the girl who likes poison, since poppies represent poison, anyone?) But when they begin talking on this subject Maomao, like before and always, evades and won’t admit she knows she’s his real choice for a wife and this is a proposal. Instead she even has the audacity to suggest he marry Lishu, who at this point even Maomao knows has feelings for Basen and wouldn’t be a good choice for Jinshi given her nature and his. To me it’s this continual evasiveness that gets Jinshi to grab her attention again by putting his hands on her in a more aggressive manner. For Maomao though, we’re finally given a glimpse at why her responses are likely instinctual over emotional and why she appears to almost “shut down” in the face of an advance. It’s because we see that her brain has been taught to view everything from the perspective of the pleasure district, she even later says she was “indoctrinated”. Horrifyingly, her sisters subjected her to sexual conduct when she was young to learn the ways of a courtesan to the point of tears and so when she’s in a situation where anything sexual happens she doesn’t see it as an opportunity to express herself but instead to retreat and only find a way to gain the upper hand.

Remember too that Maomao admits from the beginning that Jinshi “isn’t the type who would lay a hand on a young woman” and this doesn’t make her change her opinion. She even says out loud when he says “I wasn’t actually going to hit you”, “I know.” She can jump around his actions but knows whatever he’s doing isn’t about hurting her, it’s about getting a reaction out of her, which is why she denies him that satisfaction. We see once Maomao takes any kind of initiative Jinshi backs off, showing his only real goal was to have her show any reciprocation towards him at all. Especially when we see his perspective at the beginning of LN 6 where he’s looking back on the interaction and realizes Maomao’s detachment, we understand what he wants from her is not simply sexual engagement. He wants her to feel something and not be “like trying to shove a curtain…simply roll with it.” To me this expresses why it’s not “assault” in that Jinshi wasn’t trying to harm, harass or have sex with Maomao. He releases her when he thinks she’s kissing him back and his excitement over the interaction is over when he sees her face and realizes that she was completely devoid of feeling like usual and just playing along to whatever end she thought was expected of her.

Why is this pivitol for Jinmao? Understanding them. Growth.

Because it’s where we finally get to see why these two cannot seem to get on the same page about love or mutual feelings. Without it they’d just keep doing the same old push / pull song and dance forever. The quote before he reaches behind her head gives us a clue to all of it.

“That word, that simple four-letter word with its o and its e, was sometimes called vulgar, and sometimes turned out to be nothing more than a game- but some people said it was impossible to live without.”

Maomao is talking about love, what she sees in Jinshi’s eyes, what she’s trying to avoid and how we’re supposed to see them both playing it as a game because right now they can’t see it as anything else just yet. If you read on into LN 6 we see that Jinshi’s whole goal was basically to “triumph over” or to get a rise out of Maomao in some way, which he miserably admits he failed at. She remained unmoved and defeated him soundly. But that’s the whole point of this moment between these two is to show that they’re both still viewing love this way, as a “game” where one side has to win and have the upper hand to be successful. It’s why Jinshi tries to push Maomao to show him emotion and then Maomao is the one to have “victory” in the end by using what her sisters taught her but with absolutely no feeling behind it. Even during their interaction we get a glimpse that Maomao seems pleased Jinshi was jealous she had been dancing with Rikuson, “So he had been watching them!” (To me meaning she wanted him to notice.) So there may not be complete lack of feeling on her part, just a twisted sense that it has to be manipulated. Jinshi’s view of love comes from watching palace women and men play political games for affection and status. Maomao sees love as dangerous and deceptive, many times the only form of it leading to harm and abandonment in the pleasure district. So both of them have no real concept what it means to love someone other than to try and get one over on the other, it’s about power, control and hiding what you actually want. Without this understanding on our part, as the readers and audience, that Jinshi and Maomao have troubled histories and a distorted view of love, we would just see the way they handle one another as abusive. You need this scene and others like it to get a glimpse into how they actually operate, what they're hiding and what the aftermath does for them.

From the moment to the aftermath, where change happens.

It's in the aftermath we see real change for the two of them. Jinshi realizes he was conceited and a part of him believing that because others respond to him favorably he could get Maomao to do the same. Maomao doesn’t evade him in the same way as before either. Yes when they reunite in LN 6 Jinshi still offers her an antler and they engage in their typical back and forth complete with Maomao trying to reason herself out of being Jinshi’s choice but it’s lighthearted and both are far less intense. Maomao’s want to rationalize Jinshi’s choice as purely political without feeling helps her reason why he might want to pick her. It gives us a glimpse at her self esteem being so low that she has to say “He’s got strange tastes, though” to understand why Jinshi would pick her over other women she’d consider more desirable to him. It’s telling too that Maomao is quoted as thinking,

“Maybe he was hoping she would come right out and say she loved him, but quite frankly, Maomao wasn’t at a point where she could bring those words to her lips. The best she could manage was that she wasn’t without a certain affection for him."

It’s telling because 1. It says she isn’t at that point she can bring the words to her lips, not that she doesn’t feel love for him. 2. It still states clearly she has affection for him. This goes to show that Jinshi’s prodding can have an effect on Maomao. Being the kind of shut down person she is due to her background, she in effect can almost need someone like Jinshi who’s willing to push her outside her comfort zone to get her to admit to feelings she’s unwilling or even at times unable to fully voice. Even in the next moments where he tickles her and she lightly objects but lets him, it allows even more walls between the two to be bridged. It’s not aggressive like what happens in the LN 5 epilogue but more like what two true lovers might do in playfully getting to know one another. And it still proves the most effective way in getting Maomao to open up because their conversation here leads to the first real confession Maomao makes about her true fear and it’s made as clear as it can be that it’s not marrying Jinshi himself but that in doing so she doesn’t want to become Gyokuyou’s enemy. This revelation by Maomao sets off a lot of what happens in the next novels for them and it wouldn’t have happened had Jinshi not pushed Maomao to stop ignoring she was a marriage candidate and instinctively shutting him out. By letting Jinshi in, not hiding what she’s actually thinking, even this little bit, he takes that knowledge and tries to do all in his power to keep her from being afraid of a future where they’re together. But without the moment in the garden of the LN 5 epilogue there would be no Maomao opening up and no Jinshi realizing he needs to do what he can, not to prove his feelings to her but to prove it’s possible they can work and she won’t be in a tough position.

"For you, I will remove every obstacle that keeps us apart. One day. Just know that." - "I won't let what you fear come to pass. I swear it."

An important detail: star crossed lovers.

I think this quote that occurs just before the LN 5 epilogue moment is important to mention because it ties into a theme that becomes relevant with Maomao and Jinshi going forward, that of the star-crossed lovers.Maomao is looking up at the dark sky and it’s possibly one of the most romantic observations she makes. Some may say I’m reading too much into this but if you’ve read Hyuuga’s novels you’ll know the details are where are the goodies are.

“The sky seemed so vast. There was no moon, making the stars to shine all the brighter. Three of them shone brightest of all. Perhaps those stars were the two lovers, and the river that separated them.”

This is likely referencing the myth of Altair & Vega, those are their western names but it’s a Chinese ancient myth about a celestial princess who falls in love with a mortal and they end up being placed as stars in the sky, separated by the Milky Way only able to see one another on occasional days (that’s my brief description, worth looking up if you want to know more). So I don’t think it’s coincidence at all Maomao references the stars being two lovers (Jinshi & Maomao) and the river that separates them (likely the empire or even Gyokuyou because she keeps requesting Maomao at her side.) I don’t think it’s that far a stretch to make. And this comes before they have this intense, highly charged moment in the garden as almost lovers. Completely misunderstanding each other yes, hence the river between them they have yet to cross but I think that’s why nothing can be taken at such face value here because even a quote like this can add such depth. Hyuuga does this again with the star-crossed lovers motif in LN 6 where in the same antler scene she has Maomao notice Jinshi looking at the book that falls and it’s Romeo & Juliet. How this relates to the LN 5 scene is that the star-crossed lovers are mired in tragedy, misunderstandings, missed opportunity. But as we see in LN 6 with the moment Maomao & Jinshi speak about Romeo & Juliet is they both agree about wishing for a different ending (I talk about this in another post). So my thought here is without the LN 5 epilogue, without having them be the stars separated by the river, having them face these difficulties, we also wouldn’t get the ending they’re both working so hard towards.

Finally, the anime: striking a balance.

So why should we actually look forward to a moment like the one in LN 5 being shown in the anime? Because it's not just about that moment but about everything it represents and leads to for these characters. Without this singular moment that's fraught with so much unresolved tension, feelings and decisions, Jinshi and Maomao would've never been pushed to discuss what needed to be between one another. They've both had too messy of upbringings to do so in any natural way. Maomao almost needs Jinshi to needle her to get her out of her self-imposed shell and he likewise needs Maomao to shut him down sometimes to prove his conceited notions aren't always on course. But without a moment like this we wouldn't have gotten a truth from Maomao that leads to down the road her admittance that she's merely afraid her feelings are too lukewarm compared to Jinshi's.

"It was a heat like molten metal. She wasn’t sure what to do with it all for the temperature she could return was no more than that of lukewarm water."

In effect showing that it's her sense of inferiority keeping them apart more than it is a lack of actual desire on either side. With the anime, I expect them to strike a reasonable balance. There's too much internal monologue that I don't think they'll be able to capture it all. The frog scene for me showed they were able to walk that tight rope between intense behavior and romantic advancement like the scene is meant to convey so if it would be the same team handling the garden scene I'm not worried at all. I think the anime's that are willing to stick to the canon, regardless of plots that may seem a bit edgy or not fit within modern standards, tend to be the best ones. So far Apothecary Diaries anime has stuck closely to the light novels and I would be surprised if we got to this moment and they deviated too much, they've handled much darker topics than this. I worry more about people's reactions to it but even then I anticipate the arguments that will coming along, hence this long winded explanation haha.

In truth, were this reality, would I recommend a girl friend stay with a guy like Jinshi, no I wouldn’t but I also wouldn’t recommend and guy friend stay with someone like Maomao who never listens and eats poison. Sometimes people take the fun out of watching two characters who are close to reality but don’t live in it play out an interesting story. I fully expect people won’t get the nuance in that scene and even I could read too much into it myself but I’m just looking forward to more seasons if we get them. However the anime decides to portray it should be good if we get there and I hope my analysis has made sense, even if it’s a bit long as always 😂.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #maomao #jinshi #apothecary diaries #jinmao rambles #if you like long breakdowns and analysis i'm ya gal

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ponderingmoonlight · 19 hours ago

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How you accidentally made Dante look like a hero again

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: All you wanted was to outsmart Dante and prove he was setting you up for demon attacks in order to get closer to you. Instead, you ended up buried under library rubble, fighting off scorpion demons, and getting saved by him — again. This is why you have trust issues.

Warnings: swearing, kinda enemies to lovers dynamic, I just love Dante y'all need to have mercy with me lol

You’re starting to think you’re cursed.

That’s the only explanation for it. How else do you keep ending up in demon-infested alleys, haunted casinos, and - once - dangling upside down from a stolen motorcycle, twice in the same week? No average person deserves so much distress.

But even worse: every time - every damn time - there’s Dante.

Bursting in like he’s auditioning for an action movie. Guns blazing, coat flaring behind him, a cocky smirk plastered across his stupidly handsome face.

God, how much you hate that guy.

…do you?

"Oh no," you mutter under your breath when you spot him swaggering through the chaos yet again.

"Not this asshole."

"Miss me, babe?" he calls, spinning his sword once before cleaving a demon in half like it's no big deal.

You barely dodge a flying claw, pretty used to almost dying by now.

"Dante, why are there hellhounds in the laundromat?! I just came here to do my laundry!"

He winks at you like this is all part of some grand romantic plan.

"You know. Crazy city. You never know what’s gonna happen. Nice panties by the way, wish I could see them up close."

You stare at him, sceptical to say the least, as he shoots a demon that was two inches away from biting your head off.

"This is the fourth time this month. And every time you're 'coincidentally' nearby!"

He strolls over, casually beheading something with his sword like he's just stretching his legs. How many times have you seen this already? Probably like a hundred times.

This month.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, sweetheart."

You gawk at him. No, the thing he calls fate can’t be an accident. There is literally no way in hell that you get attacked even more often than himself. There has to be another reason. Could it be that…?

"Are you setting this up?!"

He gives you a look, all fake innocence and devilish grin.

That bastard.

"Who, me? Nahhh. Demons just have a thing for damsels. Lucky for you... I'm a professional knight in shining armor."

A piece of ceiling collapses dangerously close to you. You flinch for once. Dante doesn’t even blink, just throws an arm around your waist and throws you out of the way with way too much enthusiasm.

You land on your back with a grunt, staring up at the cracked ceiling and wondering what life choices led you here. Where did you take a wrong turn to deserve this? Being liked by a hot guy is all fun and games until the name of that jerk is Dante Sparda, apparently.

Dante leans over you, upside-down, grinning like a maniac.

"You good? Need mouth-to-mouth?" he offers helpfully.

You shove him off you, the heat of his body almost devouring you whole.

"I’m getting a restraining order."

"You say that, but then who’s gonna save you next time you almost get eaten by a possessed vending machine?"

You open your mouth to argue - and realize you have no idea how to deal with possessed vending machines. You groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Maybe you’re the one who possesses everything around me…”

Dante pats your head fondly like you’re some kind of beloved but very dumb kitten.

"You mean like your thoughts? Most definitely, yeah. But don't worry, babe," he coos cheerfully, "I'll always be there to save your pretty little ass."

You’re pretty sure that’s supposed to be comforting. Instead, you start mentally drafting your will.

“Get off me now, I need to get going jerk. And stop staring at my panties”, you hiss through gritted teeth while getting up, packing your things and leaving.

No, this isn’t an accident, not your fault by any means. Dante is the one who sets all of this shit up.

“That fucker…”, you mutter to yourself, slamming the door shut in fury.

You can’t do this anymore, can’t take seeing a demon each time you leave your house. You’ll have to teach him a lesson.

Yes, there has to be a way to stop this madness once and for all.

“I’ll catch you mid-act, Dante…”

You hatch a plan.

A pretty simple one: bait Dante into showing up, catch him red-handed, and finally prove he's arranging all this chaos.

You pick the most boring, demon-unfriendly place you can think of: the public library. No shady alleys, no creepy neon signs, no way in hell anything supernatural is hanging out between the tax law section and the dusty romance novels.

You text him a fake tip, something about "possible demonic activity" near the library, totally urgent, definitely needs his professional attention.

Then you sit back, tuck yourself into a corner with a stack of books, and wait.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Thirty.

No Dante.

You start to relax. Maybe he finally got the hint. Maybe he's actually busy for once. Did your words from yesterday finally stir something inside of his brain?

And that's when the ceiling caves in.

You shriek as a massive scorpion demon crashes through the roof, scattering books and terrified civilians everywhere. Librarians are running for their lives. An entire row of encyclopedias explodes in a puff of dusty chaos, taking your sight while you desperately try to crawl out of the scene.

Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. That definitely wasn’t written on your bingo card for today.

"What the hell?!" you shout, diving behind a bookshelf just in time before a whole fucking shelf bumps onto the ground next to you.

"HEY BABY!" a too-familiar voice yells from somewhere in the smoke.

You peek out and see Dante standing atop the checkout desk, dual pistols in hand, grinning like this is the best day of his life.

"Miss me?"

You stare at him, speechless. No, this has to be a dream. This was supposed to be a trap, you set him off in order to finally find him guilty. And now this?

"HOW?!"

He jumps off the desk, unloading a round of bullets into the demon's face like it’s a casual Tuesday.

"You sent me the text! Good instincts, by the way - I was gonna ignore it, but then I figured, ‘Hey, if my girl’s around, probably gonna be some action.’ And look! Action!"

You dodge a flying claw and seriously consider strangling him with a library card cord.

"I SENT YOU A FAKE TEXT!" you shout over the sound of gunfire.

"THERE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE A REAL DEMON!"

"Aw," Dante replies, kicking a demon minion into a copy machine, "you’re so modest. You’re like a magnet for this stuff."

You have no time to argue. The giant scorpion is bearing down on you. You grab the nearest weapon, a hardcover dictionary about curse words in Spanish, and hurl it at its head. It bounces off harmlessly. Yeah, what a surprise, actually.

Dante whistles low, impressed.

"Good arm, babe. But here - lemme show you how it's done."

Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, sword flashing, doing some ridiculously show-offy spin move that absolutely wasn’t necessary but looks cool as hell anyway.

The demon collapses with a final screech.

Silence falls over the destroyed library.

Books smolder, paper flutters in the air like sad confetti. Somewhere, a printer makes a pathetic beep before dying.

You sit down heavily on the floor, dazed.

Dante strolls over, all proud, offering you a hand up.

"No need to thank me. It’s kinda my thing."

You stare at him, mind still processing what just happened. Your mission failed – miserably, so say the least.

"I literally TRIED to set you up."

"And look how well it worked!" he declares brightly.

"You lured out the bad guys! You're a natural at this demon-hunting stuff. I'm so proud."

You want to punch him. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him then kiss him.

Instead, you let him pull you to your feet, dusting off your scorched jacket.

"I'm never texting you again," you grumble.

"Sure you will," Dante coos, flashing that stupid, charming grin.

"You can't resist me."

You open your mouth to argue - and immediately get tackled to the ground as a second, smaller demon leaps from the wreckage.

You land with a painful thud, pinned beneath Dante’s weight as he shoots over your head, finishing off the last monster.

When the danger’s over, he stays there for an awkward beat too long, smirking down at you.

"See? Told ya. Always there to catch ya when you fall."

You groan, covering your face with your hands while absolutely hating how good his body weight feels on top of you, how surprisingly good that asshole of a man smells.

"I'm going to die of second-hand embarrassment."

"Nah," Dante retorts confidently, getting up and pulling you with him again.

"If anyone’s gonna kill you, it’s gonna be something way cooler. Like a demon. Or a possessed espresso machine."

You squint at him.

"You’re not gonna let this go, are you?"

He slings an arm around your shoulders like he owns the place, like the ablaze library isn’t his fault at all, and leads you toward the exit.

"Nope. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."

You sigh.

Maybe getting a new phone and a new name wouldn’t be the worst idea.

…Or just giving in.

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thetarotyapper · 19 hours ago

Text

how will your future partner/spouse feel and react when you dominate them for the first time (18+)

paid services 18+ paid services tarot community ko-fi

(how to pick a card? observe the given images and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. scroll down to read your message!! remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates! ps.- if you feel drawn to more than one card/image/pile, feel free to read the others too!! if the chosen pile doesn't relate to you, feel free to choose another. the choice is yours<3)

જ⁀➴ pile I

your person has literally been WAITING for the moment when you will dominate them babe like i'm not even kidding😭. they've been patient and they've been holding back from suggesting this idea because they don't know how you'd feel about it. and to be honest, they don't mind being the giver, but they wouldn't mind being the receiver either you know👀. for some of you, i'm seeing that your person might have been bored or exhausted at some point because they have always been the dominant one, but once you take the lead - OH THEY WILL LOVE IT. AND I'M SEEING THAT YOU'LL LOVE IT TOO AKJSAKAKKAKA. like their reaction is going to be so….. satisfying. you’ll find yourself wanting to dominate them over and over again because of the pretty faces they make before they will - well…..you know….reach climax. you being dominant is going to bring a new thrill and excitement into this relationship. this is like the missing piece in your relationship because once y'all realise you like to switch roles and be 50/50, your relationship is only going to progress for the better.

there's going to be so much passion - IT'S SO HEATED. like i'm not even kidding when i tell you that your person is going to remember this moment FOREVER babe, like mark my words!! this experience is going to be so spiritually transformative for them, there's no going back.

your person is literally going to melt in your hands and i’m seeing an image where they are “sacrificing” their life for you. basically, they'll let you do anything you want to them lol and they won’t protest. they'll love the thrill of you taking control and putting them in their place. they also love the view when you're on top of them🤭. i'm seeing here that your person has mustered up all the courage and asked you to take control over them. BYE SUDDENLY I HEARD THEM SAYING “use me”. UM SIR MA'AM I GOTTA GO Y'ALL DO YOUR THING I AINT COMING IN THE WAY KAJSJAJAKAKA. and oh, use your strength on them. manhandle them - they really like it. ANYWAYS BYE I'M LEAVING JJJAJAJJAHAHAJ.

just kidding, obviously i'm not gonna leave just yet hehe. i'm having too much fun doing your reading, pile 1 hahaha.

i'm seeing here that you are actually good at dominating them and taking the lead, like you're so confident - your confidence is literally gonna make them WEAK. they're going to be a complete mess at the end of the day. and oh how y'all love it (Y'ALL ARE SUCH FREAKY FREAKY PEOPLE, PILE 1). your person wants, and by wants i mean WANTS to be used by you like a toy. they might even be into BDSM because i see them wanting to try literally so many things with you - like please chill out, you can't try out everything at one time😭. they're so needy for you, and you know what pile 1? honestly this is goal’s because you're gonna love the way they are going to beg for you (pile 1, i see what you're doing here👀).

y'all are going to be so experimental and honestly speaking, HOW DO Y'ALL HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY. like the passion is so strong here, i don't think this is going to be a one-time-thing. this is literally the BEGINNING of something better and deeper. i'm seeing that y'all will also come up with your own creative ways in making your person reach climax faster. i see you learning their weak points and what turns them on. they will even tell you what they want you to do to them.

expect a lot of whimpering and begging from your person hahaha. they'll like it when you tease them and make them beg in order to reach their climax. the thought of you having the power over when they can feel good turns them on so much *COUGH COUGH* Y'ALL NEED A ROOM I'LL GIVE Y'ALL SOME SPACE WKSMNSMAMA BYEEEE.

જ⁀➴ pile II

babe let me start off by saying that your person is VERY SMART. like this all seems so pre-planned - i’m actually speechless 😭. i'm seeing here that your person will purposely make you mad so that you can dominate them and put them in their place. UM PILE 2’s PERSON???? WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO?? WHAT HAPPENED TO HI?? WHAT HAPPENED TO HOW ARE YOU?? it's so funny to me because while i was doing your reading, this is the first energy i got from your person like okay sir/ma'am i see what stunt you're pulling here👀🤭. i literally hear them thinking, “YES, MY PLAN WORKED!!” when you get mad and put them in their place.

i'm not even kidding when i tell you this, pile 2 - your person gets off at the thought of you taking control over them. like it just does something to their brain, i see their happy hormones releasing when you dominate them. they're going to love it when you go slow at first, being gentle and loving - caressing their cheek and all, but then BOOM - they're going to go crazy when you increase your pace and put them in their place. i see their eyes rolling back and them biting their lips. they're going to try so hard to bite back their moans but they're going to fail so miserably. i see them acting like you didn't do a good job and to prove them wrong, you're going to be more intense AND THIS IS THEIR PLAN - and you're also pretty adamant huh, pile 2. you ain't gonna give up THAT easily. you keep on falling for their traps all the time😭. and to be honest, i don't see any complaints from their end, nor from your end - so y’all are DEFINITELY enjoying this. and one more thing i gotta add pile 2, you know exactly what you're doing. it doesn't matter if it's the first time you're being dominant, YOU KNOW THE WAY. it seems like you've studied them before and you've noticed where they like to be touched and you're going to use this to your advantage. your person is not even going to make any particular requests, YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO.

and i see that maybe y'all will even switch roles in between. like when you dominate them and make them reach their climax, they're going to dominate you immediately after that so you can feel good too. it's basically like, “if you make me feel good, i'm going to make you feel even better”. OH MY GOD i see y'all like tryna compete and see who’s better at making each other climax first and your love making can go on for hours just to prove y’alls point - this also seems like another one of your persons tactics 😅. i'm seeing here that your person might have a mommy kink. they might even have a degradation kink.

they will like it when you reward them for their good behaviour. they'll like to listen to you and i see them being so obedient - it's like they don't want your mood to change 😭. they don't want to miss out on this good opportunity and will literally do their best to keep you in this “dominant zone”. i'm also seeing that y'all will like to spoil each other after everything is done.

there's this elegance in the way you move and make them feel good, i literally don't know how to explain it. you will just look really good while making them reach climax. maybe it's your dedication or maybe it's the way you will remove all your frustration on them because they made you mad - but like there's just something about your face that made me stop for a second. i see your cheeks turning rose pink while making them feel good. it almost looks like you're a natural when it comes to this. and your person is going to LOVE this about you.

i see a proud look on your face when you make them reach climax. it's like your job here is done. your priority was to prove them wrong and show that you can easily make them melt under your touch, and when they do submit to you - you've won. it's all you ever wanted - to see them a complete mess, begging for more.

જ⁀➴ pile III

your person is someone who is very shy and might not communicate their urges to you. they might feel embarrassed and reserved. but here's the thing, they're open to trying it. and when i tell you that this experience is going to be life-changing for them, I MEAN IT.

for the longest time, your person might have had this mindset that the “man” should be the “dominant” one (my readings are flexible and can apply to any gender and sexual orientation - but in this reading i’m getting the feeling that your person thinks that the masculine energy should be the dominant one and the feminine energy should take on the submissive role. and here, your person is the masculine energy, that is why they are feeling like this). but i would be lying if i said that they haven't thought about being dominated by you. they've definitely thought about being dominated, but it feels so wrong to them. but at the same time, it feels so…. right?

i’m seeing here that the both of you will have a discussion about trying to switch roles and you both will mutually agree on it. AND GUESS WHAT???? Y'ALL ARE GOING TO LOVEEEEEE IT. i feel so many emotions right now and this is exactly how y'all would feel - nervous, overwhelmed, but also excited. your person is going to LOVE it when you praise them and they might be hesitant about this idea at first, but oh they're going to ENJOY IT. there's going to be so much love and trust here, i feel so emotional. like the feelings here are so genuine and there's genuinely so much love here i feel like crying. your person is a sweetheart and their nature is very reserved and shy. they take a lot of time to trust someone, so when they let you take control over them - that means they really really trust you.

i’m seeing that both of y'all would experiment and see what you like and don't like. in terms of intimacy, you both seem inexperienced and this is a great opportunity to understand what y'all prefer. Y'ALL ARE ALSO CREATIVE OH MY GOD. like y'all will find ways in making each other feel good - and your person is going to LOVE it when you talk them through it. i literally see them covering their face because they're embarrassed and didn't know they'd enjoy being so submissive. I’M LITERALLY GIGGLING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THEIR REACTION IS SO CUTE. also, from the beginning of your reading i've been getting the feeling that your person might wear glasses and when they're covering their face, their glasses will get in the way and it'll be fogged up and their face will be red - LIKE THE VIEW IS SO PRETTY.

being submissive will make them feel like they are losing a part of their masculinity (according to your partner) and you will have to reassure them that there are no such toxic expectations from your side. i feel like your person might come from a very conservative and misogynistic background and you can't even blame them because that's how they're raised. but the only difference here is that your partner is willing to try out new things and that is because they love you. i can't get over the emotions they feel for you. they're more than willing to change their ways and their thoughts for you because they love you so much. your love is going to change them. and i'm so proud of you, pile 3 - because you gave them a space where they can truly be themselves and break away from all the stigma.

your love is so deep, i literally see y'all building a family together. you both know that you have found the one and you're ready to settle down. your person is comfortable being intimate with you because they know that they're going to settle down with you someday (and even marry you). they're not open to everyone and they aren't the type to mess around. when they reveal their naked and true self to you, it means that they really trust you and they have a lot of faith in you. y'all are destined to meet. your destiny was already written. your relationship with this person is going to change the perception of love for many because in this day-and-age, love has lost its meaning. but when people look at your relationship, they will understand what true love is.

my lovely pile 3, i'm sorry if this reading wasn't fully centred around the main theme - but what i found so heart touching about your pile is that there is genuine love and true feelings here. i'm not even kidding when i tell you that i felt so emotional throughout your reading. i'm so glad you're here and the world deserves more people like you. never stop being you<3

hi loves!! i hope this reading finds you in good health and i hope you are doing well. i would be so glad if you could like my post and re-blog it, and please let me know which pile you picked - i would love hearing your thoughts!! take care of yourself and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3

(note: tarot & oracle cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, feelings and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!)

જ⁀➴ all credit for the pictures and dividers goes to their rightful owners and creators

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writesvani · 3 days ago

Text

down low | 02

boxer! jungkook x collegestudent! reader

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: cheating, drug use (weed), smoking, explicit sexual content, emotionally toxic relationship, manipulation, infidelity (jk and y/n are cheating on their partners with each other), unhealthy coping mechanisms, morally gray behavior, emotional detachment

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 4k // date: 25th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Inhaling You, Exhaling Guilt; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey besties. new “down low” chapter is here and it’s unwell, just like me. this was supposed to be a 15k word monster but i said absolutely not and chopped it into 3 parts—so yeah, this ends on a cliffhanger. no sex yet. i’m sorry. (i’m not.)

BUT the tension? the dynamic? it’s sizzling. they’re one touch away from absolute disaster and i love that for them.

left some easter eggs in there too, so if you catch ‘em, scream at me in the comments or my asks. i’m lurking.

note goal is 600 bc you’re all feral and i believe in peer pressure. hit it and you’ll get part 2 real fast.

read. suffer. tell me your thoughts. love u forever, even while emotionally tormenting you.

The shift is... just another day. The usual crowd of regulars is here, sipping their espressos and making small talk that you would rather skip entirely. The day has been routine too—classes, a quick lunch with Taehyung, then straight into work. It’s all repetitive. It’s boring. And the worst part? You’re counting down the minutes until you can sprint to Jungkook’s apartment the second your shift ends at 10pm. You hate it. You crave it. And Jungkook’s not making it any easier.

Because right now, you're standing there, phone in your clammy hands, staring at a picture he just had to send you. Jungkook, in the middle of his boxing practice, hair messy, tattoos peeking out from his oversized black shirt, a cigarette hanging from his lips like he owns the damn world. He’s standing outside—because Namjoon doesn’t let him smoke inside (honestly, who’s the athlete here?)—but Jungkook looks so fucking good you almost forget where you are.

He knows it too. He knows exactly what he’s doing. That picture isn’t just a tease; it’s a reminder. A reminder that you should be thinking about being in his bed, not focusing on perfecting lattes. But here you are, trying to breathe through the urge to drop everything and run to him.

You can’t focus anymore. Your brain is mush, your hands are clumsy, and the espresso machine might as well be a spaceship for how little you're processing. You accidentally make an espresso instead of a double one for Mark—the sweet old man who comes in daily and tips in coins like it’s 1993. He stares at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline. You apologize, mutter something about being tired, and shuffle back to your station.

But your hands are twitchy. Your eyes dart to your phone every two seconds. Still nothing. Jungkook hasn’t sent anything else—no texts, no pics, no emojis. Just that one, cursed, sinfully sexy picture of him looking like every wrong decision you’ve ever made and wanted to make again.

And now? Now you’re stuck. One hour left of your shift and your brain is spiraling. You’re mentally unwell. Not in a tragic, poetic way. In a feral, "why isn't he texting me back when I clearly need to ride his face into next week" kind of way. You're restless. Desperate. Left alone with your thoughts and an absolutely unhinged amount of need clawing its way through your body like a caffeine-craving demon.

Only your message stares back at you, mocking, lingering, and gnawing at the edges of your sanity. It’s there, like a cruel joke, one that you can’t stop laughing at even though it’s slowly driving you insane.

you: stop teasing me kook

And then, nothing. Not a single reply. Left on read. Just like always.

Jungkook has this game down to a science, doesn't he? The art of push and pull—never fails to leave you dangling on the edge of your patience, teetering on the line between wanting to strangle him and wanting him to do the same to you. You’re on the verge of losing it, fingertips hovering over your phone, waiting for the next message that might never come. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like a power play, a twisted form of control that drives you crazy in ways you can’t even put into words.

Every time you’re about to meet up with him, just when you think you’re close, he disappears. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t care. Leaves you with nothing but your own burning desire and a game you never agreed to play. It makes you want to scream.

And it makes you want him more.

But despite the shrill, maddening thrill of his little game, there's one thing you're sure of—Jungkook wants it. Wants you. And that’s what makes him predictable. Comfortably so. It’s the only thread of stability in this whole mess. Because no matter how long he leaves you on read, no matter how quiet he goes, as soon as the clock strikes 10PM and your shift ends, like clockwork, your phone pings.

JK: when will u be here?

You smirk, your fingers moving fast.

you: 20 minutes

He waits. Not long. Just enough to keep the suspense alive. Just enough to remind you that he’s still in control.

JK: kk, see u baby

And that’s all it takes. You're spiraling again—but this time, you're sprinting into it willingly.

Jungkook smirks as he opens the door, like he’s been waiting his whole life just to make you roll your eyes. He leans against the frame with that infuriating ease, one hand—the tattooed one—tucked into the pocket of his grey sweats. His hair’s still damp, messy in that way that makes you suspicious he’s doing it on purpose. He smells like wood, citrus, and a hundred bad decisions. His black oversized shirt hangs just right on his frame, clinging to his shoulders, draping like it has no idea it's breaking rules just by existing.

And fuck him. Fuck him for looking that good.

“You’re late,” he drawls, head tilted, eyes dragging down your body like he has all the time in the world.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t you say I should be here until 11pm? It’s only like, half past ten.”

He shrugs, lips curling. “I did say that. But you always come earlier. I know you wanna see me as soon as you can.”

You scoff, pushing past him. “Jesus, Jungkook. Knock it off and let me in.”

He laughs behind you. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.

You flop down onto his sofa like it’s your own personal throne. There are new pink pillows you don’t recognize. With a lazy smile, you say, “Cute pillows.”

“Thanks, baby. Eunji got them from IKEA the other day.”

You nod, lips curling. “Noted. I should tell Tae—these would totally match his softboy vibes.”

Jungkook drops down beside you, digging into his pocket like he’s searching for treasure. You already know what’s coming. Sure enough, a small greenish bud peeks out from a crumpled tissue.

“Didn’t know we were smoking tonight,” you murmur, eyeing him.

He shrugs, effortlessly picking the bud apart with skilled fingers. The way he moves is distracting. Methodical. Confident. Hot.

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the tightening in your core.

“When are we not smoking?” he says with a smirk, not looking up.

“True,” you mumble, sinking back into the soft fluff of Eunji’s precious IKEA pillows. Silly girl. She has no idea the kind of things they’re about to witness.

You glance up—and Jungkook is watching you. Of course he is. Eyes hooded, a smirk ghosting his lips, like he’s waiting. Like he’s daring you to say or do something.

Then, slowly—so slowly—his tongue drags across the rolling paper.

He knows what he’s doing. And he does it anyway. On purpose.

You watch, helpless, skin prickling, heat curling low in your stomach. It’s obscene the way he licks it—like it’s not even about the joint anymore, like it’s about you. About this.

And the worst part? You’re not strong enough to look away.

You’ve never been strong when it comes to Jeon Jungkook.

“What?” Jungkook asks, one brow raised as he brings the freshly rolled joint to his lips like it’s second nature.

“Nothing,” you mutter, eyes tracking the flame as it flickers, kissing the end of the joint. He inhales deep, the ember glowing bright red before he exhales slowly, like it’s an artform. Smoke curls out of his mouth in slow, lazy tendrils, and you’re already annoyed at how sexy he looks doing the bare minimum.

He grins — cocky, annoying, knowing — and pats the cushion beside him like he owns the place. Like he owns you. You don’t even hesitate. You shift closer, tucking your legs beneath you, pretending you don’t care that your thigh brushes his.

Jungkook takes another drag, then coughs lightly, voice raspy as he waves off the moment with a half-laugh. “Okay, don’t clown me. This shit’s stronger than I thought.” His eyes squint just slightly, like he’s studying you. “So… uh, how’re your friends? Lena and Bob, right?”

You stare at him flatly. “It’s Lara and Rob. Do you seriously not remember their names after all this time?”

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but the smirk playing on his lips tells you he’s doing it on purpose. Just to get a rise out of you. “Close enough. They doing okay?”

You sigh. This is the worst part. The awkward five minutes of half-assed small talk before the inevitable. Before the high kicks in and his hands are on your skin. The two of you always dance around it — pretend like this isn’t transactional, like this isn’t just desire dressed up as casual banter.

“Lara just broke up with her boyfriend,” you say, grabbing the joint from him and taking a slow hit.

Jungkook leans back into the couch, one arm draped along the back of it, watching you. “Oh, the dude who studies Econ?”

You blink at him. “What? No. That was like… two years ago. This one studies Law.”

His mouth drops slightly. “Wait, hold up. Are you telling me we’ve been doing this for two years?”

You don’t say anything at first. Just pass the joint back and exhale a laugh, soft and a little bitter. “Yeah. Way before Taehyung and me.”

He tilts his head. “Shit. I forgot you even dated Kai.”

You chuckle. “Jungkook, we started hooking up way before Kai. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

He stares at you for a beat, the room quiet except for the faint buzz of the overhead light and the sound of the joint crackling in his hand.

“So,” he says slowly, lips quirking, “what I’m hearing is — you’ve basically cheated on everyone with me.”

There’s something infuriating about how pleased he looks with himself. You raise an eyebrow, snatch the joint from his fingers again and hold it between yours like a crown jewel.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you say, lips curling into a lazy smile. Smoke drifts out from between your lips. You don’t break eye contact.

His smirk deepens. “I do like it.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach twists anyway. Because God help you, so do you.

“So, what’s up with you?” you ask, tilting your head as you hold the joint between two fingers, eyes flickering toward his. The smoke rolls from your lips like a sigh, curling into the space between you like a secret.

Jungkook shrugs, leaning back deeper into the couch, his arm brushing yours just barely. “Nothing much. Just chilling. Boxing and all that.”

You hum, eyebrows raising with mild amusement. “Wow. Riveting stuff.”

He shoots you a lazy grin. “You asked.”

“Yeah, and I keep forgetting that you’re emotionally unavailable until at least two joints in.”

He laughs, soft and warm, and it does something to you that you don’t want to look too closely at. You pass the joint back to him and try not to stare at the veins on his hand or the ink decorating his fingers like poetry you were never meant to read.

For someone whose body you know so intimately—every line, every scar, every sound he makes when you kiss the right places—you know next to nothing about his life. And that’s part of the deal. Or maybe the whole deal.

Jungkook takes a drag and blows it out slowly. “What about you?” he asks. “How’s the glamorous life of overworked and underpaid?”

You snort. “The usual. College, work, crying in coffee-scented bathrooms.”

He chuckles again, eyes crinkling, and it hits you how rare it is to see him smile like that when you're not on top of him.

You glance down at your nails, picking at a chipped corner of polish. “Tae and I are going on a small trip next weekend.”

That gets his attention. “Yeah? Where to?”

“Dunno yet. Probably something basic. Mountains or a lake house. Just wanna get out of the city for a bit.”

Jungkook nods slowly, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Just lets silence settle between you again.

You don’t push him. You never do.

“This reminds me…” Jungkook says, plucking the joint from your fingers like he owns it—and in moments like these, he kind of does. He leans back, smoke curling around his face like it knows he’s trouble. “Eunji wants me to meet her mom next weekend.”

You scoff, tilting your head. “Damn, dude. How are you gonna survive that?”

He grins around the joint. “Bruh. I’m perfect meet-the-mother material.”

You snort. “Right. Because mothers love tattooed boxers who smell like weed and moral ambiguity.”

“Whatever,” he says, exhaling smoke like it offends him. “You’re such a hater.”

“Not a hater. Just realistic.”

He glances at you, amusement twitching at the corners of his lips. “You think I’m not charming enough?”

You deadpan, “I think you’re more lie-to-your-daughter’s-face material.”

He bursts out laughing, tipping his head back. “Shit, that’s fair.”

You smile, watching him. He’s still hot when he laughs. Annoying, infuriatingly hot.

“But yeah,” he adds, voice dropping a little, “that probably won’t be happening. I’ll have to lie my way out of that one.”

You give him a dry look. “Thank god you’re a good liar.”

He smirks, eyes flickering to yours. “You’d know.”

“God,” you say, eyes fixed on the ceiling, “can you imagine if Eunji actually found out?”

Jungkook exhales a puff of smoke, slow and smug. “She’d kill me. And probably come for you too.”

“She wouldn’t even get the chance. Tae would commit murder first.”

He hums, passing you the joint. “Tae’s scary when he’s mad.”

You take it, inhale deep. “He is indeed. Have you seen his stare? That’s not normal. That’s serial killer energy.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, and yet you still cozy up to him like he’s a weighted blanket.”

“You’re just jealous he takes me on cute brunch dates and actually remembers my birthday.”

“Wow,” he gasps dramatically. “Are you implying I’m not boyfriend material?”

You look him up and down, slow and deliberate. “I’m saying you’re situationship in denial material.”

He bites his lip to hide his grin. “That’s rich coming from you. Miss I’m loyal to my boyfriend except for every time I text you at 2 a.m.”

You groan. “Don’t act like you don’t eat it up.”

“Oh, I do,” he smirks, shifting closer, “especially when you come over all pouty, pretending this isn’t your favorite part of the week.”

You narrow your eyes. “You talk too much.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, flicking ash into the tray.

He leans in, voice soft and cocky, “Bet Tae doesn’t make you squirm with just words.”

You look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Bet Eunji doesn’t know you like being choked a little.”

He raises a brow, but doesn’t deny it. “Touché.”

“And for the record,” you whisper, fingers brushing his thigh, “you’re not boyfriend material. You’re just my favorite craving.”

He grins, low and dangerous. “That’s the sexiest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“You know,” Jungkook starts, tapping the ash off the joint, “sometimes I think Eunji likes the idea of me more than she likes me.”

You snort. “Well, you do post thirst traps and quote Nietzsche in your captions. Anyone would fall for the illusion.”

He gasps, mock-offended. “Are you saying I’m a fraud?”

“I’m saying you’re a curated experience.”

“Damn,” he laughs, nudging your thigh with his knee. “And yet here you are, front row, backstage pass, meet and greet.”

You shoot him a look, amused. “I never said I wasn’t a fan.”

He smirks. “You’re more than a fan. You’re the president of the Jungkook is a Bad Idea But God He’s Good in Bed club.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, even though your grin is impossible to hide. “I’m vice president, at best.”

“Oh really? Who’s president then?”

You take a long drag, pretending to think. “My vibrator. That one never leaves me on read.”

He laughs so hard he coughs, waving smoke out of his face. “Okay, okay.”

You lean in, eyes gleaming. “Bet Eunji doesn’t make you laugh like this.”

He quiets, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “She doesn’t make me laugh like this. Or moan like you do.”

You blink, caught off guard. “That was dangerously close to being sweet.”

“Don’t worry,” he teases, eyes dragging down your body, “I’ll say something trashy in two seconds.”

You chuckle. “You always do.”

“Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.”

“Maybe you’re emotionally constipated.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, watching you, “but you like me better that way, don’t you?”

You don’t answer, but your silence is loud enough. And Jungkook hears every part of it.

He shifts closer. The joint is forgotten now, burning down between his fingers. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long, like he’s deciding if it’s worth it. Like kissing you is both a gamble and a given.

“You didn’t answer,” he says, voice lower, teasing, but almost careful.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Me being emotionally constipated. You liking me better that way.”

You smirk, but there’s a beat of honesty in your next words. “I don’t like you better that way. I just… like you.”

His gaze flickers—like the words hit somewhere deeper than you meant them to. And for a second, neither of you says anything. The tension isn’t new, but this feels… heavier. Messier.

“You’re dangerous when you say shit like that,” he murmurs.

You smile. “And you’re dangerous when you don’t.”

He drops the joint into the ashtray and leans in like gravity's pulling him toward you. His nose brushes yours. His breath smells like weed and cinnamon gum and something distinctly him.

“Last chance to stop me,” he says, voice so low it vibrates in your chest.

You blink slowly. “Last chance to kiss me before I change my mind.”

He chuckles—just a breath—and then closes the distance. His lips press to yours, soft but certain. There’s no hesitation this time. No teasing. Just warmth and the kind of familiarity that should scare you but doesn’t.

You kiss him back, one hand curling into the front of his shirt, the other finding his jaw. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, sighs into your mouth like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

And maybe he has.

When you pull back, slightly breathless, his eyes are still on yours. “So…” he whispers, “was that emotionally constipated, or…?”

You grin. “Still very much constipated. But in, like, a hot way.”

He groans. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” you say, tugging him back down, “you’re still kissing me.”

And he is. Again and again.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s messier. His hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you in like he can’t stand the space between you, like it’s a personal offense. Your mouths crash together, lips sliding, breath hitching. It’s not soft anymore—it’s hungry. The kind of kiss that bruises, that says everything neither of you will ever admit out loud.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, still damp, pulling just hard enough to make him groan into your mouth. He kisses like he fights—like he needs to win, like he needs to ruin you a little just to feel okay again. His tongue grazes your bottom lip and you open for him without thinking, without hesitating.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, “you taste so good.”

You don’t even respond—you’re too busy climbing into his lap, straddling him like it’s muscle memory. His hands find your hips, gripping hard. Like he’s grounding himself. Like he needs the pressure of your body against his or he’ll fall apart completely.

Your lips are swollen already, your breathing ragged, but neither of you stops. Teeth clash a little, tongues fighting, his hand sliding up under your shirt to find skin. It’s clumsy, intense, addictive. You break the kiss just to catch your breath, only to dive back in like you’re starving for him. Like you’ll die if he’s not kissing you.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, lips trailing down to your jaw, your throat. “What are we even doing?”

You pant against his skin, fingers clawing at his shirt. “Being so bad.”

He laughs, breathless, mouth still on your neck. “The best kind.”

And then he kisses you again—hard, deep, messy like a confession neither of you dares to say out loud.

He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. Like it’s not just a kiss—it’s survival.

Your mouths crash again, sloppy and desperate. It’s the kind of kiss that makes your teeth bump and your lips burn, the kind that leaves your head spinning. Jungkook’s hand is cradling your jaw now, thumb brushing your cheek as if that could balance out the chaos happening between your mouths. Spoiler: it can’t.

Your hands are roaming—up his chest, into his hair, pulling him closer when he’s already close enough to melt into. He shifts under you, groaning low in his throat when your hips accidentally roll forward. His fingers dig into your thighs like he’s trying not to lose it.

“Fuck,” he hisses, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and shiny, jaw clenched like he's trying to get a grip. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you whisper, yanking him back in.

This time, the kiss is slower—but not softer. It’s a drag of tongues, a teasing nip to his bottom lip, a moan you try to swallow when he licks into your mouth just right. Your nails scrape his neck and he shudders, pulling you tighter against him. Your chest presses flush with his and neither of you can tell where one ends and the other begins.

You don’t know how long it goes on. Minutes? Hours? A lifetime? You’re half in his lap, legs tangled, hair a mess, and breath coming in short, needy gasps. And yet he’s still kissing you like he doesn’t care about oxygen. Like nothing else matters.

And maybe right now, in this twisted little moment where everything is all heat and tongue and hands that won’t stop wandering—you believe him.

He kisses you between sentences—like the conversation is an afterthought, like talking about other people while kissing you is normal. Maybe for you two, it is.

"Does Eunji ever kiss you like this?" you mumble against his lips, barely giving him space to breathe.

He lets out a breathless laugh, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he tugs it. "No. She kisses like she's saying goodbye all the time."

You pause at that, then kiss him again—harder. His hands settle on your waist, dragging you closer.

"And Taehyung?" he whispers into your mouth. "He still hold your hand when you sleep?"

"Sometimes," you pant, mouth brushing the corner of his. "Only when he's not too tired."

Jungkook hums against your skin, mouth trailing down to your jaw, then your neck. "Do you miss it?"

You tilt your head, let him kiss down to your collarbone. "No," you whisper honestly, then pull him back up by the chin to kiss him again. It’s messier now. Hungrier. Your lips glide against each other like you’re both trying to erase the names you just said.

"She makes me breakfast, you know," he murmurs between kisses, "Packs fruit in little containers like a mom."

You lick into his mouth, teeth grazing his tongue just slightly. “You ever think about her when we do this?”

“Only when you’re being mean,” he teases, nipping at your lip. “You?”

"Only when I feel guilty," you admit, then kiss him deeper—because guilt can wait.

His hands are tracing foreign paths under your shirt, his mouth never leaving yours, like he’s punishing you for every moment you spend talking about anyone that isn’t him.

"Fuck," he groans, pressing his forehead to yours, lips still brushing yours with every word. “We’re the worst.”

You kiss him again. “I know.”

But neither of you stop.

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