#it centered around sh

[cloudysunflowr]

“¡Surprise!”

Homeward Comic! :oD at least the intro~

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･° ❀⋆

1/2 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

[starvingwiththestars]

nothing will hurt more than the fact that i ate less when i wanted to starve to death than now when i want to be skinnier

[protector-utahime-miku]

TW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT, SH, MENTION OF SA, AND BASICALLY A MENTION OF BULLYING ALONGSIDE THAT

(plain text: trigger warning: suicide attempt, self harm, mention of sexual assault, and basically a mention of bullying alongside that. end plain text.)

Wait... HUH?!

Ryuhoshi's eyes widened as he (even though he still hasn't accepted that) saw Rui's last post. That... was not good.

Fuck, fuck...!!! I can't just let him die!!! Even if it probably isn't going to happen, I can't risk it...!!!

Really, he knew how he felt. All too well, in fact. But even so, he couldn't risk one of his best friends dying! Those bastards at school who treat their sexual abuse of Rui like a fucking game... Ryuhoshi just couldn't let them take him away from him like that!

So, without a second of hesitation, he teleported to his destination.

... Oh, fuck.

Blood. Blood everywhere, pouring out of the slits in Rui's wrists.

He'd already made the attempt.

H- HEY?! RUI?!

No response. He was just... laying there, unconscious.

In a panic, Ryuhoshi teleported back to the Tenma household, and grabbed some medical equipment. Huh, him also struggling with self harm actually came as a blessing here, since he had a better idea of where this was, he thought. But this wasn't about him! He had to help Rui!

Returning to the garage of the Kamishiro household, he saw...

Oh, thank god you're here!!!

HAAAH?! MIZUKI?!

Y- Yeah, but... we have no time to be worried, Ryuhoshi!! U- Uh... thank fuck you have a med kit! I didn't expect Rui to have already done it, so I didn't bring one...

It's the same with me, actually!!! I just came back from getting one!!! Uhh... you work on one wrist, I'll work on the other!!! Alright?!

Yeah, that sounds good to me!

[macmillerxluvr]

♪ - i can feel the way you feel for me this is my playpen borderline thinking like barbie baby can you play ken?

SUGAR DADDY KENJI SATO

HEAD CANNONS

• kenji buys you a gold diamond chain with the letter k bold and center so when he’s taking you your tits are bouncing with the chain, marking you as his further more along with the amount of hickeys that he leaves all around your body

• he always provides you with the best of everything and regularly sends you cash through you phone typically sending you a message for you to buy something sexy for him to rip off later that night

• there’s an obvious age gap between you both but kenji doesn’t seem to mind that fact that you’re younger than him since he is only 26 and a 7 year age gap isn’t necessarily the worst, and he definitely doesn’t seem to mind when he’s impaling you with his 9 inch dick

• he insist on cumming in you, every time you guys fuck he always make sure that every last drop of his seed is inside your fucked pussy by continuously thrusting it into you even after climaxing

• the first time you both had sex together he was not even half way inside of you before you were telling him how much it hurts and that he’s too big, so he simply chuckled before sliding himself fully in making you screech as he pierced inside your throbbing cunt

• every 2 weeks he sends you cash for you to get you nails and feet done, on the condition that the nude base color is the color of his tip or his initial is somewhere on your nail

• you’ve both at least broken 3 beds in total from kenji thrusting and pounding into you so vigorously

• doesn’t matter when doesn’t matter where kenji is fucking you wherever and whenever, the shower? done it multiple times, the driveway? loud and proud, he owns the land around it and no neighbors for miles, his office? doggy style on the desk and chair with cum everywhere and at midnight? sometimes he gets home late and just want to snuggle his dick deep in your warm asleep cunt, so he does

• even though he insists there’s nothing of a relationship sorts going on between you both, he still damn well makes you be at every single one of his games cheering him on and after sucking him off as well as a reward for winning

• he will supply you with infinite amount of plane b’s or get you on birth control (for now before he decides to bby trap you)

• if it weren’t for him living so far away and alone the police would probably pull up for noises complaint because of how loud your moans and chanting are as he fucks you silly into the mattress

• will either punish you buy fingering the fuck out of consistency and stopping before you can cum or tucking a large vibrator inside your pussy on the highest mode and forcing you to not cum till your sobbing begging to be able to cum

• anything you want kenji can give it to you in a blink of an eye, as long as your eyes stay on him and not closed as he plows roughly inside of you making you grip onto the cum stained black silk bedsheets

• other than his clear breeding kink he also has a size kink, so when he’s thrusting inside you or in missionary what seems to mostly send the both of you over the edge is him pressing on the tummy bulge inside of you that his large cock created

• when in public sometimes he just has to relieve himself inside of you so he usually pulls you to the bathroom and rolls your panties to the side as you try not to squirm as he forces himself inside your pulsating pussy

• at first it took a while for you to get used to kenji length but now your pussys grown tolerant the pain for the pleasure as he fills you up till the very brim with his dick

• sometimes when he truly wants to savor you without you stopping him, he ties your hands up on headboard and legs tied up to either side of the bed and eats you out till your moans and screams are heard by all of tokyo and fucks you up til as many rounds as he can milk himself out in, or till your legs are shaking (which is mostly after the 5 round)

• when he bought you the car that you kept on talking about the first thing he did once he bought it was fuck you mercilessly in the back seats to claim you inside of it before anyone else enters it

• rarely but occasionally he’s sub and he’s in utter agony not being able to touch you as his hands are now tied along with his legs as you ride him til you both see stars but with every little moan or noise you make it’s all heard by him along with the sound of your thighs clashing together and the wet sounds your pussy makes, being like music to his ears making it seemingly worth it

• he often surprises you with trips and to fancy suites and airbnb’s where you’ll both just end up fucking all throughout the trip

• he makes you suck his cock til he’s at least cummed 3 times or til tears are flowing down your eyes, drools slipping out your mouth and til he hears you gag which is given on the girth and thickness of his dick

• kenji as well bought you your own huge penthouse (though you could’ve easily bought yourself considering you were a well known model) in which he installed a soundproof barrier around so when you guys have sex it’s aloud as you’d both like without causing issues

• whenever your around him he requires you to wear skirts for easy access so at any given moment he can simply slip your black lacy little panties from inside you mini skirt down your pedicured legs easily giving him your pretty little cunt out on display for him to toy and fuck with

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Pick One: Magical Girl Show or Rom-com. You cannot be both.

Early in season four we get the episode Gang of Secrets. An episode that ends with Marinette outing her secret identity to Alya. A touching moment that sparked outrage across the fandom because it meant that Marinette had made the choice to reveal her identity to her best friend while keeping her hero partner in the dark.

This choice spat in the face of the exceptions that many fans had for the series. Thousands of pre-season-four fanfics feature moments where Ladybug and Chat Noir promise each other that they'll be the first to know each other's identities. After the Alya reveal, scores of fanfics were written to salt on Marinette's choice to tell the "wrong" person.

Most of these fics feature a betrayed Chat Noir quitting or otherwise punishing Ladybug for breaking their promise to be each other's first, thereby destroying his faith in their partnership. But that promise was never made on screen. It only existed in the realms of fanfic and, when Chat Noir finally found out in canon, his reaction was largely neutral. He never once blamed Ladybug for her choice or pushed for a reveal or even asked for the right to tell one of his friends.

So what happened here? Why did the fans have such wildly unrealistic expectations of canon? Were their expectations even unrealistic or did canon betray them? The answer to that is not as straight forward as you might think because it all comes back to one of Miraculous' many, many, many writing problems: Miraculous is trying to be both a Magical Girl Show and a romantic comedy, but those are not genres that mesh. You can only be one (or you can be a third thing that we'll get to at the end as it's the easiest way to fix this mess, but I want to mostly focus on where the anger is coming from and why the writing is to blame.)

To discuss this mismatch, we're going to do something that breaks my heart and talk about some of Origins flaws. While I love that episode and unironically refer to it as the best writing the show ever gave us, it's not perfect and its flaws are all focused around trying to set up both genres. Do note that I'm going to use a lot of gender binary language here as magical girl shows have a strong focus on gender segregation and rarely if ever acknowledge gender diversity.

Let's Talk Magical Girls

Magical girl shows are shows that center on young women and their friendships. While male love interests are often present in these shows, the boys tend to take a backseat and function primarily as arm candy while the girls save the day and carry the narrative.

A great example of this is the show Winx Club. This show features a large cast of teenage girls who save the magical universe from various threats with their magical powers. Each girl has a love interest, but the boys are usually off doing their own thing and only occasionally show up for a date or to give the girls a ride on their cool bikes or magical spaceship. I don't even think that we see the guys fight or, if we do, it's a rare thing. They are not there to save the day. They are there to be shipping fodder.

Like most magical girl shows, Winx Club starts with the main character making friends with one of the girls who will eventually become part of her magical girl squad. This brings us back to Miraculous.

Did you ever find it weird that Origins implies that Marinette has no friends? She doesn't even have a backbone until new girl Alya shows up to become Marinette's First Real Friend:

Marinette: I so wish I can handle Chloé the way you do. Alya: You mean the way Majestia does it. She says all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing. (pointing at Chloé) Well, that girl over there is evil, and we are the good people. We can't let her get away with it.

This is a bizarre opening because Miraculous is not about Marinette making friends or learning to stand up for herself. If you skipped Origins and just watched the rest of the show, then you'd have no clue that Marinette wasn't close with her classmates before this year. You also wouldn't know that Alya was new in town and you definitely wouldn't know that Marinette had never stood up to Chloé before this year. So why is this here? Why waste screen time setting up elements that aren't actually important to canon?

Miraculous did it for the same reason that Winx Club did it: magical girl shows traditionally start with the main character making friends with at least one of her eventual female teammates because Magical Girl shows are all about the girls and their relationships. The boys are just arm candy.

But Miraculous isn't a magical girl show. The writers have explicitly stated that it's a rom-com and romantic comedies aren't about female friendship. They might have female friendships in them, but that's not where the focus is. The focus of a rom-com is on the romance and Origins is very clearly all about the romance.

Origins as a Rom-com

Origins has a lot on its plate. It has to establish the villain's motivation for the first time, show us how the heroes got their miraculous, show us how the heroes first met on both sides of the mask, show us how they met their respective best friends, and show us how the heroes dealt with their first akuma. It would be perfectly understandable if this 40 minute two-parter didn't do anything with the romance. They have a full show to give us that!

In spite of this, Origins has some incredibly touching moments for both Ladynoir and Adrienette because romance is the heart of Miraculous. It is the main focus of the show. The driving motivation for both of our leads and the majority of the show's episodes. To tell the story of how their journey started without at least one of them falling in love would feel wrong. That's why we see both of them fall in love!

First we get Chat Noir giving his heart to his bold and brilliant lady, then we get Marinette's heart being stolen by the shy sweet boy who never once thought to blame her for her snap judgement of his character. We even get a touching moment where Chat Noir inspires his lady to accept her role and be Ladybug, leading her to boldly face their enemy and call him out:

Roger: I have a new plan, unlike you! Move aside and let the pros do their thing. You've already failed once! Ladybug: …He's right, you know. If I'd captured Stoneheart's akuma the first time around, none of this would have happened! I knew I wasn't the right one for this job… Cat Noir: No. He's wrong, because without you, she'd no longer be here. (they look at Chloe) And because without us, they won't make it, and we'll prove that to 'em. Trust me on this. Okay? Ladybug: Okay.

I love this moment, but it does lose a little of its power when you remember that we had an Alya-driven variation of this exact same thing five minutes prior:

Alya: HELP!! (Marinette suddenly gets filled with courage. She gets the case out of Alya's bag and puts on the Miraculous. Then, Tikki appears, happy to see Marinette again.) Tikki:(raising her arms) Mmmm! Marinette: I think I need Ladybug! Tikki: I knew you'd come around! Marinette: Well, I'm still not sure I'm up for this, but Alya's in danger. I can't sit back and do nothing.

This scene initially confused me because - if Miraculous is a rom-com - then why would you make Alya the reason that Marinette became Ladybug? Why wouldn't you have Chat Noir be the one in danger so that Marinette chose to fight because of her love interest and then encourage that bond with the later scene of him encouraging her? Why split the focus like this? Why give Alya so much attention?

In case you haven't figured it out, it's because Origins is trying to establish two different genres of show. Two genres that will continue to fight for the rest of the series (or at least the first five seasons).

Magical Girls Vs Rom-com

Why is Alya the one to shake off the nightmare dust and inspire the others during the season five finale? Why is Alya the one that Marinette trusts with all of her plans while Chat Noir is kept in the dark? Why does Alya and Marinette's friendship get so much more focus than Adrien and Nino's? Why was Alya the only temp hero who got upgraded to full time hero?

It's because Alya is Marinette's second in command in a magical girl show and magical girl shows focus on female friendships while the boys are just there to be cute and support the girls.

Why do most of Marinette's talks with Alya focus on Adrien? Why is Chat Noir the only other full time holder of a Miraculous for the first three seasons and then again for the final season? Why do Marinette's friends become more and more obsessed with Adrienentte as the show goes on? Why is the love square's identity reveal given so much more narrative weight than any other identity reveal?

It's because Miraculous is a rom-com and the love square is our end game couple, so of course the story focuses on their relationship above all else!

Are you starting to see the problem?

Circling back to our original question: no, it was not unreasonable for the fans to expect that the Alya reveal would have massive negative consequences for Ladynoir. That is what should happen in a rom-com and Miraculous is mainly written like a rom-com. But the writers are also trying to write a magical girl show and, in a magical girl show, Alya and Marinette's friendship should be the most important relationship in the show, so it makes perfect sense that the show treats the Alya reveal as perfectly fine because the Alya reveal was written from the magical girl show perspective.

When it comes to Miraculous, if you ever feel like a writing choice makes no sense for genre A, re-frame it as a thing from genre B and it suddenly makes perfect sense which is fascinatingly terrible writing! It's no wonder there are people who hate the Alya reveal and people who will defend it with their life. It all depends on which genre elements you've picked up on and clung to. Neither side is right, they've both been set up to have perfectly valid expectations. Whether those expectations are valid for a given episode is entirely up to the mercurial whims of the writers!

How Do We Fix This Mess

At this point, I don't think that we can, the show is too far gone, but if someone gave me the power to change one element of Miraculous, that element would be this: scrap both the magical girl stuff and the rom-com stuff and turn Miraculous into a team show where the friendships transcend gender.

At this point, I've written over a quarter of a million words of fanfic focused on these characters (the brain rot is real) and one thing I've discovered is that it is damn near impossible to keep Adrien and Alya from becoming friends. They're both new to their school while Marinette and Nino have gone to the same school for at least a few years. Alya and Adrien are both obsessed with Ladybug plus Adrien is a natural hype man who loves to support his friends and Alya loves to talk about her blog. Alya is dating Adrien's best friend. On top of that, Alya, Adrien, Nino, and Marinette are all in the same class, meaning that they pretty much have to be spending time together five days a week unless French school don't give kids a chance to socialize or do group projects. If so, then judging them for the first issue, but super jealous of the latter.

Given all of that, why in the world is does it feel like Alya is Marinette's close friend while Adrien is just some guy who goes to Alya's school? Along similar lines, while canon Marinette barely talks to Nino, I've found that Marinette and Nino tend to get along smashingly, especially if you embrace the fact that they have to have known each other for at least a few years.

If you embrace this wider friendship dynamic and scrap the girl squad, replacing it with Alya, Adrien, Marinette, and Nino, then the fight for narrative importance quickly goes away. It's no longer a question of is this episode trying to be a magical girl show or a rom-com? Instead, the question is: which element of the friend group is getting focused on today? The romance or the friendship?

A lot of hero shows do this and do it well. I think that one of the most well known examples is Teen Titans. That show has five main characters and the focus is usually on their friendships, but there is a very clear running romantic tension between the characters Robin and Starfire with several episodes giving a good deal of focus to their romance. I'd say that this element really starts in the show's the 19th episode - Date with Destiny - and it all culminates in the movie that capstones the series: Trouble in Tokyo. The character Beast Boy also gets a romance arc and, while it's more short lived, it's further evidence that you can have strong romances and strong friendships in the same show and even the same episode. You just have to own the fact that boys and girls can be friends with each other, a very logical thing to embrace when your show has decided to have a diverse cast of heroes instead of imposing arbitrary gender limitations on its magical powers.

I couldn't figure out a way to work this into the main essay, but it's relevant so I wanted to quickly point it out and give you more to think about re Origins. Have you ever found it weird how Origins gives both Adrien AND Marinette the "I've never had friends before" backstory and yet wider canon acts like Marinette has this strong amazing friend group while Adrien doesn't seem to care about making friends and instead focuses all his energy on romance? Why give both the protagonist and the supposed deuteragonist this kind of origin if it's not going to be a major element of the show? It makes so much more sense to only give one of them this backstory and then focus that person's character arc on learning about friendship.

[legalmente-loca]

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Tags/Warnings: +18, smut, language, spanking, pussy spanking, dirty talk.

Your hands being restrained by his belt, your fingers holding tightly onto the headboard of the bed as his thrusts caused it to hit the wall again and again. There’s no way the entire building wasn’t listening to both of you, especially you and your screams.

“That’s a good girl.” He said under his breath, leaning over your body to speak in your ear. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me, baby… So hot and soft I feel like I could break you. If I had had you before… Wouldn’t have even let you breathe without having my dick inside your fuckin’ pussy.”

You moaned lowly at his words. You couldn’t think or even focus on one thing, the pleasure clouding your mind, causing you to feel dizzy. Is it possible to get dizzy with lust?

“Are you always such a good freakin’ girl?” He murmured against your ear, giving your hair a tug, which he held in his fist as he continued to thrust into you. “Or is it just with me, dirty girl?”

You felt a tickle in your stomach at the nickname and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Only…only with you.” You whimpered as best you could, more of a babble into the pillow.

“What'd you say?” He gave your hair another tug, this time harder, causing you to let out a deep mewl as he lifted your panting face from the pillow, which was wet from your tears. “Didn’t hear you, doll.”

Okay, you still couldn’t figure out how you had found yourself in this situation, saying yes more with actions than words. Hell, he hadn’t even started the kiss, although you could definitely tell he wanted to end it.

“I-I…” You stammered and tried to take a moment to think about your words, but as mentioned before, you couldn’t think of anything because of his incessant thrusts (in, out, in, out, in, out).

And the sounds that came from the union of both.

Oh, God, the sounds!

When a dog is drinking water… Yes… Exactly.

“C’mon, girl.” He growled, biting your earlobe. “I don’t like waiting.”

“Yes, sir!” You exclaimed and your eyes rolled back as your nails scratched the wood. “J-just for you!”

You heard him laugh, and never had a laugh seemed so lustful compared to that.

“Good answer. You deserve a reward.”

He slapped your buttock before moving that same hand in front of you, moving it up your body and giving your breasts another slap, one each, at least the ones you could count (you couldn’t even concentrate on that). Without stopping his attacks, which took you forward with each blow, he lowered his hand, lightly scratching your skin, until he reached your center, where he roughly rubbed your clitoris.

“Oh- Sh- Soldier Boy!” You screamed, your eyes widening.

Just an hour ago you hated this guy, his way of being was not something that attracted you in any other man (in fact it pushed you away), but Ben had something that made you fall on him as if it were a clumsy accident.

“Cum for me.” He muttered against the side of your neck. “Do it now so I can come down and give it a taste.”

That was more than enough. Your entire body tensed to the point where you firmly believed the belt would tear around your hands. You screamed his name (more like his superhero name, just like he had told you at the beginning) as your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell open.

And his attacks kept coming. Wet and sticky.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s it.” He spanked you again, harder, causing you to moan, before grabbing your ass with both hands. “Knew you would fall to your knees, darlin’.” His thrusts became sloppy, his knees rubbing against the sheets and you nearly falling forward from his desperate grip. ”That’s what you are… You are a slut.” He said through clenched teeth. All you could do was take it, squirming slightly at the sensitivity. “A dirty little girl looking to get fucked hard, isn’t you?” He rested a hand on your head, sinking you back into the pillow. “Take it all!” He gave a deep moan and you felt his cum staining your walls, deep, very deep.

He gasped and let go of you. Your entire body fell on the bed, exhausted, somewhat sore, but in a beautiful way. It’s one of those moments where your body feels hot and sticky and you don’t want to move because you think you might make it worse. That’s how you felt, except the reason for this was not because of the summer weather or because of exercising (well, depending on what type of exercise we are talking about).

“That was good.” He snorted and ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Are you okay, baby?” He asked, but you knew his words probably hid amusement. The bastard was proud of how he had left you.

You sputtered into the pillow and heard him laugh lightly.

You closed your eyes, and just when you thought you would have time to rest and regain your strength, he easily turned you over and you opened your eyes again in surprise. For the first time you saw him after almost an hour having him behind you. He was sweaty and flushed across his chest. His dick wasn’t flaccid or hard, it was halfway, but Ben was surely more than capable of lifting it back up without any problem. It was creamy with your cum and had a white ring at its base.

His breathing had already returned to normal, which you associated with his powers, since you were still having trouble breathing.

“Lemme see.” He spread your legs with a firm hand and slapped your clit with two fingers, causing more of his cum to leak out of you. “I’m not gonna lie, doll, it’s a good fuckin’ view.”

He leaned forward, his hands holding your thighs tightly before giving your center a lick, making you hiss in hypersensitivity. He laughed against your pussy, your insides vibrating, and reached out a hand, undoing his belt and freeing your hands, which you caressed with your thumbs. They were red and you were sure you would get bruises.

“Now…” He buried his face between your legs again, causing you to moan and close your thighs around his head, which he roughly separated. He looked up at you, a smug smile on his face that you wanted to slap away. “Your reward, darlin’.”

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@yjessi

[wilwheaton]

So we have two issues we need to examine here. First, the astonishingly offensive remarks Trump made Thursday night about Jews. His Jewish support should start sinking like a stone. But there’s one Jew who clearly loves him, and other events this week have to make us wonder whether Bibi Netanyahu is trying to start a war with Lebanon and maybe Iran to raise gas prices and screw up the economy (right after Jerome Powell made a move to ensure that doesn’t happen) to help Trump win, but that’s another column, if I get around to it. The second issue is one that must remain front and center in the American political media: Trump is really losing his marbles now. Was that statement about the crowd going nuts for him at the debate a normal Trump lie? Or was it a fantasy of which he has convinced himself? If we hooked him up to a polygraph and he repeated that line, would his pulse quicken? Would he change his speech patterns, avert his eyes, cover his mouth? I doubt it. He wouldn’t even think he was lying. The mainstream media still treats comments like this with diffidence: “Oh, that’s Trump.” No. These are defining comments. They tell us about his mental fitness. They matter. They should be covered. I can’t find evidence that The New York Times or The Washington Post covered those remarks. This sanewashing must stop. Voters need to be informed when Trump makes statements with a tenuous connection to reality at best. He’s disqualifying himself from the presidency every day that he opens his mouth, but much of the mainstream media is ignoring the words coming out.

Donald “Blame the Jews�� Trump Is Truly Losing His Sh*t Now

[larissaloveschenle]

Silk Pjs | P. JS

he just looked so good- I had to omfg

•

CONTENTS: Dry humping, Begging, Jisung is very whiny, getting caught by his member, spitting, fem!reader x Jisung, He likes to be called a good boy.

•

You were sitting in Jisung’s hotel room as he invited you to their show, waiting for him to be finished with his shower as you were wearing your matching silk pj’s he bought you when he was back in Santiago. You wore pink and he wore this navy blue color, You heard the door to the bathroom click signaling that he was finished.

“Hi baby” He said in his deep voice that you loved, ruffling his hair with his towel before he dropped it on the chair and grabbed his glasses to place them on as he sat next to you on the bed. You smiled softly as you climbed to sit on his lap, his hands wrapping around your waist; “did you like the show?” He asked as he leaned in to leave small kisses at your neck, “I loved it baby! Especially when you had your center moment” You complimented him, playing with his hair as he hummed in response.

Jisung’s hand traveled under your silk shirt as he grabbed at your bare waist, kissing down on your chest as he asked; “are you gonna be quiet?” Which left your breath to hitch, hands getting lost in his hair as you responded “ Y-yes ji..” You hesitated as he just hummed again, raising his head up to smash his lips onto yours as you moaned into the kiss. Jisung flipping the position as he hovered above you, both hands besides your head as he slowly started to grind down on your clothed area.

Your arms flying to wrap around his neck as you moaned quietly in the kiss, Jisung noticed as he took the opportunity and shoved his tongue in your mouth, sucking all over as his hips moved faster. “j-ji baby fuck..” You moaned in his mouth, one of his hands grabbing your jaw as he let out a chuckle, “open” He commanded as you listened and opened your mouth. He leaned down to spit on your tongue before rubbing his extra spit around your bottom lip. You let out the filthiest whine as he groaned and moved his hips faster, leaning his head down to your ear and letting out whimpers.

Suddenly you heard Jisung’s phone ringing as you looked at it and saw that Renjun was calling, you tapped on Jisung’s shoulders as he rutted his hard cock onto your wet area, letting out strings of whines as drool fell from his mouth. “Jisung baby..R-Renjun’s calling..” You struggled to say as he lifted his head up and sucked his breath in, grabbing his phone and placing it to his ear as he continued to move his hips forward.

“Yeah hyung?” Jisung had answered as he looked down at you, biting down on his lip and holding his breath as he heard his member speak, “Did you know where I put my cleanser at? I’m sure I left it in your room this morning..” Renjun said out of stress, “I don’t wanna break out Jisung! If not can I use yours?” He added onto the end. You threw your head back and gripped onto Jisung’s silk shirt as you felt him rut into you harder, “fuck..” he groaned out as he forgot he was on call. “Jisung? Are you okay?” Renjun pointed out as Jisung sat up straight and grabbed your waist, “Y-yeah im good hyung, did you check your other b-bag?” he stuttered as he rubbed his tip against your soaking area.

Renjun heard him stutter as he chuckled. “Jisung if you’re busy getting your dick wet you could’ve called me after” he said as he let out another laugh. This lead Jisung to let out a whine as he thrusted faster, throwing his phone on the bed and placed his head back into your neck, his lips attacking it as his hips moved faster. “G-gonna cum baby..” He whined in your ear, you grabbed his shoulder tighter as you moaned back, “feels so good sungie..”. This leading Jisung to whimper as he loved it when you called him sungie, pressing your hips down onto the bed as he rutted even harder than before. “Sh-shit! Baby can I cum? Can I cum please..” He begged, his eyes connecting with yours as his thrusts became messier, his eyes slowly shutting as his mouth caged open. “W-wanna cum baby please..” he said as looked at you for permission.

You nodded as you pulled him into a messy kiss, sucking on this bottom lip as his whines got louder, his hips moving as fast as they can as he pulled away from the kiss. Sticking his forehead onto yours as he looked down at his precum coming out his silk pants and onto your wet area, letting out a whine as he thrusted faster. “mngh..g-gonna cum! Gonna cum baby..” he warned as you threw your head back and moaned in his ear. “Good boy..cum for me baby..” you panted as he lost control and started shaking. The bed frame hitting the walls as he thrusted up harder one last time, letting out the nastiest whine ever before releasing inside his pants, panting heavily while he grabbed his cock and smeared his cum all over your clothed pussy, mixing yours and his together.

“Damn Jisung, didn’t know you were a whiner..” Renjun said as he let out a big laughter before hanging up. Jisung whined out of embarrassment as he hid his face in your neck, “tomorrows gonna be so embarrassing..”

[vrystalius]

How would Sanemi react if Maeda made a uniform similar to Mitsuri's for Sanemi's girlfriend?

❕Sanemi’s reaction to your new uniform.

That perverted kakushi strikes again… how will Sanemi react?

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

(Sanemi is very angry, there’s just a paragraph of him cursing, you have a worse uniform than Mitsuri’s)

Sanemi was staring at your uniform you were wearing. Your chest was straining against the fabric and almost spilling out of the hole in the center. Your skirt barely covered your bottom, your panties peeking out ever so slightly. You felt incredibly uncomfortable and kept pulling your skirt down, trying to cover yourself up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

His voice was incredibly deep and eerily calm. Sanemi wasn’t yelling or insulting the kakushi that made this, wich was somehow even scarier than him being openly angry. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover up the your chest-hole, wich he’s been staring at. That made him look into your eyes.

“Maeda was his name? The kakushi?”

You nodded quietly. Sanemi took his cropped haori off and unbuttoned his sleeveless uniform, wrapping it around your shoulders and buttoning it back up. He sensed how uncomfortable you felt in your poor excuse of a uniform.

“I’ll take care of it. There’s hakama pants in my closet. Go change.”

Sanemi was still calm as he grabbed his katana and headed out, his footsteps heavy and fast. He was rushing past the other kakushi and hashira, intentionally bumping into a few of them to make them go out of his damn way. He has a kakushi to murder after all.

“Sh-Shinazugawa-sama…!-“

Maeda was already shaking once he saw the wind hashira standing in his doorway. He seemed to be absolutely fuming, gripping the handle of his katana. The kakushi already fell onto his knees and slammed his forehead onto the tatami as a gesture of deep apology. He wanted to start begging for his life, but Sanemi interrupted him before he even started.

“You worthless piece of shit. You’re absolute FILTH—lower than the dirt I scrape off my blade after shoving it down a fucking demon’s throat. The fact that you breathe the same fucking air as the other kakushi, WHO PUT THEIR OWN FUCKING LIVES IN DANGER TO SAVE OTHERS, SOMETHING YOU COULD NEVER EVEN DREAM OF DOING, is a fucking insult to even the worst kakushi and the corps as a whole! You were too pathetic to become a slayer and save others and kill the scum of the earth, so instead YOU BECAME A FUCKING PIECE OF WORTHLESS SHIT.”

Sanemi was yelling his throat out, his hand trembling and itching to just use his sheathed katana to beat Maeda into a pile of broken bones.

“You’re worth NOTHING! Your mother would be fucking ashamed of you if she knew what a fucking pervert you are. I should be fucking killing you or feeding your worthless body to a fucking demon, even though YOU’RE PROBABLY NOT EVEN WORTH EATING, you fucking piece of shit.”

Sanemi stepped his foot onto his head, pushing him down. Maeda was shaking and sobbing, frantically apologising, but Sanemi just kept screaming at him. He took a deep breath at took his sheathed katana out of his belt, about to slam it against the kakushi’s back, before his arm got dragged out of the room and pulled into the hallway.

“Shinazugawa-sama, you should control your anger more. I’ll make sure to send a crow to Ubuyashiki-sama and make sure that this kakushi will be appropriately punished. Please let me handle this.”

Gyomei’s words were calming. He removed his arm from Sanemi’s bicep and returned to his usual gesture of prayer, rubbing his hands together. Sanemi was still shaking and seething in anger, itching to punch something. He quietly eyed Gyomei, then the kakushi

“You better make a normal fucking uniform. It will be done by tomorrow. I’ll be picking it up personally.

Sanemi grunted at him. Maeda wet himself while he was screaming at him, fearing for his dear life, shaking and sobbing, but frantically nodding ans apologising over and over. Gyomei started crying quietly.

“Your perverted actions are disrespecting the Demon Slayer Corps itself. You will soon learn your lesson through Master’s punishment.”

Sanemi glared at the kakushi one last time and then turned to Gyomei to mumble a quiet “thanks”. He stormed off, making his way back to you and his estate.

How dare he disrespect you like that? At least Sanemi now has an excuse to make you wear his clothes for even longer. That’s the only positive thing about this situation. He hopes that Kagaya will punish this excuse of an kakushi properly. If not, Sanemi’ll make sure he’ll never be able to make another uniform like this ever again.

💠

Sorry if this was underwhelming or not according to your liking, and sorry for randomly throwing Gyomei in. I hope you enjoyed anyway!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough <3

Take care of yourselves!

My masterlist for the hashira

My masterlist for the demons

[repulsiveliquidation]

Puppy Eyes || Alessia Russo

a/n : it's not perfect but it's something! this was inspired by conversations i've had with @unadulteratedcolorkid!

warnings : smut. slight subspace. fingering. cunnilingus. strap-ons. aftercare.

“Is there something you want, darling?” you ask Alessia, watching as she kneels by your bedside. She’s got her deep red lingerie on, hair neatly tucked behind her ears. She cautiously looks up at you and puts on her best puppy eyes, eager to try and convince you to do her bidding. You had great willpower and she knew all the buttons to press to get you in the palm of her hand. 

Thing is, poor little Less didn’t need to know you played right into her hands to give her exactly what she wanted and to please her till she was a right mess. 

Messy Less was a very satisfied customer and it got her begging for more by the end of it which was exactly what you wanted. Two could play this game and you were winning. 

Less shifted onto her knees a little higher and smiled, leaning her head into your palm that was stroking her cheek.  She nuzzles into your warm hand and uses her most polite voice. 

“Want you to fuck me really good, baby.” 

“Is that so? What makes you so demanding today, my darling?” You tease, walking around her slowly. She keeps her head faced forward as you take in her stature. She whines a little as she fidgets, huffing in frustration. 

“Saw you with Grace today. Didn’t like it.” She grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest. You chuckle and remember your interactions with Grace at England training today while you were waiting for Alessia to finish with her drills. 

Grace had come over to the bench you were sitting at and brought on a chat, admittedly slapping your arm and sitting a little too close at times but you had known her for being a touchy person and didn’t really mind it since she was more of a little sister to you. You also knew that Alessia was simply expressing dislike for her closeness for the scene; she quite liked Grace’s koala-like tendencies as did all of the senior lionesses.

Alessia throws a little side eye as you come around in front of her, ducking her head down a little. Despite being in a bratty mood, she knew that her submission at the same time turned you on immensely. 

“Gracie was being polite darling, you know how she is.”

“Nope,” Alessia says with a pop in the p, looking up at you daringly. “She was too close and I didn’t like it. you’re mine.”

she mumbles the last bit and while you catch it, you find your in. You ask her to repeat herself, wanting to hear her say it louder and to your face. 

“What was that, princess?” 

Her eyebrows furrow and a little pout, which you thought was the cutest thing ever, formed on her lips. She looked you dead in the eye and repeated herself, emphasizing on every word. 

“You. Are. Mine,” she says and you lean into her close to her face. The eye contact brings both your heart rates up, and your breath quickens as does hers. 

“Damn right I am sweetheart, I am all yours. Every fucking bit of me. How about I show you what that means for you?”

You tower over her again and you see her eyes glimmer under the moonlight that trickles into the room. She licks her lips and her pupils widen, eyes seemingly unfocused. 

She comes back to you with a soft kiss on her lips, eyes back to being centered on you. 

“Can you get on the bed for me, pretty girl?” 

She scrambles to get on the soft mattress, immediately laying on her back and getting comfortable. The sight of you on top only makes her wetter, feeling that familiar gush between her gorgeously long legs. 

She closes her eyes and does her best to shift her focus onto you from the throbbing between her legs that currently occupied her attention. Your fingers drag themselves down her milky soft skin, tickling her just a little that her hair stands. The goosebumps heightens her senses, eyes rolling into her head as the task of focus becomes all too much. 

“Fuck, y-yellow…” 

Your touches stop right when she ends her sentence, eyes filling with concern. 

“What’s wrong darling?” 

“Can’t focus, wanna jus… let you think for me, please?” 

Her words slur into one another and you realize what’s happening. You lean in and kiss her softly, cupping her cheek.

”I’ve got you sweet pea, I’ll take care of you.” 

Your hands caress her sides and you take over, pinning her arms over her head as your lips kiss and mark her huffing chest. Little red marks litter her clear skin, complimenting the red of her lingerie. 

“Knees open for me darling, wanna see that pretty pink pussy of yours hm?” 

Alessia’s knees knock together as you gently pry them open for her. She giggles and takes a deep breath, hands holding yours above her head. Your other hand slips into her pussy with practiced ease and you’re sure she’s wetter than she’s ever been before. You drag your fingers along her walls and feel the throb of her arousal wrinkle your fingertips. 

Her hips buck and she whines softly, pleasure rushing through her body. Alessia’s eyes fill with tears and you look deep into them as your long fingers find her sweet spot. You pay extra attention to it and watch her expressions change into pure ecstasy. 

“Puh-please! Close!” she begs, writhing as the sheets ruffle under her. Your fingers begin to cramp but you don’t let up, speeding your arm up before you pull away roughly. 

“No!”

“Didn’t think I’d let you come so easy did you, sweet thing?” You tease, lips pressed against her ear as your arms had roughly turned her onto her stomach. Her ass pushes itself almost sentiently up and out, the sight of her glistening folds only makes your mouth water. 

Knelt behind her with eager hands, you spread her open and eat her out enthusiastically, catching her off-guard. With her head fuzzy and her thighs trembling, she could barely put two words together. Thing is, she had no idea how to tell you that she was ready to give up football to stay this way forever. Maybe she could get it piped on a cake. 

Your tongue slips into her pussy and you slurp her abundant arousal eagerly. Her taste floods your senses and you moan into her. Alessia reaches back and grabs a handful of your hair as she gently grinds back into you, moaning your name into her mattress. Your fingers are shaking and your knuckles white from how wide you held her open. Your tongue flicks out and over her clit, feeling her legs shake even more. 

You decide not to be too harsh on her and push two fingers into her dripping pussy. Less whines and pushes herself back onto your fingers, whimpering your name the closer she gets. 

She sees white the moment her orgasm hits her and she’s never felt pleasure this strong before. She writhes and pants, your fingers helping her ride her high out for as long as it was pleasurable. 

Alessia can’t remember when you put her favorite dildo into the harness but soon it filled her pussy and her mind was pulled back to reality. Her mouth was unable to verbalize her desires but her pussy knew the words at the back of its hand. 

The wet squelch and the tight grip it had on your strap on turned you on so much you were sure if you kept up with fucking her the way you were, you could come with her too. 

“You feel…so-so good…!” Alessia compliments, holding her toned leg up as you fucked her on her side. You straddled her other leg and pounded into her cunt rough and hard. 

“You’re so fuckin’ tight angel, love watching how well you take my cock,” you growl, leaning over her and thrusting deeper. Her eyes roll into her head and you feel her tighten more around the toy, the resistance spurring you on. 

You get off her leg and press both of them wide open, slipping back inside so seamlessly, you’re back inside Alessia before she can begin to complain. You’re able to be deeper inside her this way and she enjoyed feeling full. You pressed her clean in half and she was practically drooling, shuddering hard when your thumb flicked over her clit. 

She came with a loud scream of your name, you were sure half of England heard you. She passes out just as you pull out, feeling exhausted from being in light subspace and the strength of her orgasms. 

You’ve changed the sheets and cleaned her up when she stirs. She grins cheekily when she notices that you’ve dressed her in your sweats and hoodie. She takes in the scent of your soap and perfume, feeling her heart fill with love and her mind turn to mush again. 

You walk into the room with steaming cups of tea, the scent of earl gray blends perfectly with the scent of you, she’s sure she’s falling in love all over again. 

“I love you,” she tells you as you sit beside her in bed, feeding her a piece of your double chocolate chunk cookie. 

“I love you too, doll.” 

You forget to bring the milk and sugar to the room and hop out of bed to get them when Alessia pipes up and leaves you feeling more fond of her than you were when the day started. 

“Two more of those cookies when you get back please?” 

“Just two?” 

“You know me so well. Bring the whole pack, why don’t ya.” 

[solarmorrigan]

The Ass of Legend

For the @steddie-spooktober day 20 prompt: Cryptid Rated: T | Words: 776 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are best friends, Eddie doesn't get paid enough to deal with them Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie swears, fumbling and nearly dropping the soapy pan in his hands as Steve’s voice calling from the living room pulls him from his dishwashing fugue state.

He doesn’t sound hurt or alarmed, nothing that would be any cause for concern, but his tone does have that petulant lilt to it that says he wants Eddie’s attention and he won’t give up until he gets it – not that he normally has to fight for it, but Eddie is busy.

“They complain that I don’t do the dishes, then they distract me while I’m trying to do the dishes,” Eddie grumbles as he snaps off the water and strips his dish gloves off. “Need to make up their damn minds.” He stomps out into the living room (as well as he can stomp with just socks on his feet) and finds Steve and Robin sitting on the couch, both staring at Robin’s laptop. “What.” he asks flatly.

Steve looks up, jabbing a finger in Robin’s direction. “Tell Robin I have a better ass than Mothman.”

“No,” Robin says, shooting a narrow-eyed look at Steve, “tell Steve that Mothman has a better ass than him.”

Eddie stares at the both of them for a moment. “What.”

Steve sighs. “I said, tell Robin–”

“No, I heard you,” Eddie cuts in, holding a hand up. “I just– Why are you even– How the fuck am I supposed to know what Mothman’s ass looks like?”

Giving him a look that says this should be entirely obvious, Robin flips her laptop around, the screen of which is covered with– ah. The Point Pleasant Mothman statue. Rather, a closeup of the Point Pleasant Mothman statue’s ass, which is, admittedly, bizarrely well-sculpted.

Eddie glances from the screen, up to Robin, over to Steve, and back again. “I’m… not sure I want to weigh in on this.”

“Ha!” Robin crows. “He didn’t immediately take your side, that means he thinks Mothman’s ass is better!”

“No! No, no,” Eddie says, pointing a finger at Robin. “I didn’t say that, don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then why don’t you just tell Steve you agree with him?” Robin asks smugly.

“Yeah, Eddie, why don’t you just tell me you agree with me?” Steve chimes in, and Eddie wonders how he suddenly became the center of their argument.

“It’s just that Mothman is a known harbinger of death and disaster.” Eddie holds up his hands in surrender. “I feel like claiming you have a better ass than him is the kind of hubris that precedes getting cursed by the gods.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mothman isn’t a god–”

“Still.” Eddie shrugs.

“–and he also isn’t here right now, so I’m pretty sure you can tell me my ass is nicer without fear of getting cursed.”

“I dunno, Steve,” Robin hums. “There’ve been sightings of Mothman in Germany, Japan, Ukraine – all over the world. Who’s to say he’s not in Indiana?”

“All the shit that’s gone down here? I’m pretty sure if Mothman was going to show, he would have by now,” Steve deadpans, and Robin tilts her head with a roll of her eyes that says she reluctantly concedes his point.

“Unless we’re drawing his attention since we’ve said his name so many times,” Eddie says.

“No, I think that might be Bloody Mary,” Robin replies, and Steve huffs.

“Okay, regardless – look at it this way:” he says, turning to Eddie, “if you think Mothman has a better ass, you can drag yours all the way down to Virginia–”

“West Virginia,” Robin corrects.

“Whatever. You can go all the way down there and touch the statue’s ass, because you’re not gonna be touching mine,” Steve concludes.

And that’s just cruel. That’s fighting dirty. Steve knows Eddie will do anything for continued ass-touching privileges.

“Welp.” Eddie claps his hands together. “You heard it here first: Steve’s ass is better than Mothman’s.”

“Ha!” Steve exclaims, practically bouncing on the couch in excitement. “Told you!”

Robin groans, snapping her laptop shut. “That doesn’t count. Eddie’s biased and you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Steve sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s right, it’s not cheating,” Eddie agrees. “He just used his assets.”

Robin and Steve stare at him.

“Get it?” Eddie asks with a grin. “Ass–”

“Boo,” Robin calls out, pulling a tissue from the nearby box with express purpose of balling it up to throw at him. It unballs and lands sadly on the coffee table two feet in front of her. “Go finish the dishes, you absolute goon.”

Eddie sighs, turning back to the kitchen. His contributions are woefully underappreciated around here.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 IF I WAS BORN A BLACKTHORN TREE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: it's finally the night of the event you've been preparing so ardently for. it's going as well as it can be considering the circumstances—or it is until dazai osamu shows up and throws you off your game. suddenly confused and concerned, you can't help but wonder if maybe things aren't what they seemed with the civilian you've grown so attached to.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART THREEEEEEEEE!!! hehehe we finally have some major plot development here <.< i was rlly excited for this chapter it was one of the ones i was looking forward to most when plotting the series. anyway, tae some more of reader being THE it girl ever - actually i was rlly excited for this because i havent really had the chance to showcase pmreader in her element the canon universe so i had fun with it here

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: lots of politics, dazai has the beginning of a panic attack, jealousy on both ends

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Chuuya asks, leaning over the center console to look at you, watching as you dab on lipstick in the mirror. 

In the driver’s seat, Albatross snorts, and he sees how you hardly refrain from rolling your eyes—Chuuya has half a mind to use his ability to rattle the car while you’re finishing up your makeup just to piss you off, but he has a feeling that you’ll lose your shit if he does that. You’re about to head into the event being hosted by the government for that agency in Tokyo, and Chuuya is just not feeling good about it. He’s felt this way since you were finishing up preparations at the headquarters an hour ago, forcing his way into the car with you and Albatross before you left.

“Chuuya, your face has been plastered all over Japan’s most wanted for three years. How do you propose you walk in with me without confirming that the Mori Corp. is a front for the Port Mafia?” you sigh heavily.

Chuuya bristles. “I just don’t have the best feeling,” he says defensively. “Forgive me for being worried. Damn.”

Chuuya settles back against the middle seat in the back row, letting out a sharp puff of air and pointedly turning his head away. He stares ahead, mind racing—it’s barely been a week since the operation against the Ingawa-kai. His body is still sore, and he should probably still be on bed rest, but he wasn’t going to laze around his apartment while you’re out here still healing from having your stomach sliced open.

By him.

Well, you won’t say what caused the almost lethal injury, but Chuuya knows it was from when he was in his Corrupted state. Whether it was by accident or because Arahabaki targeted you when you approached him, it doesn’t matter—the guilt he feels remains the same.

“It’s just a government event, Chuuya,” you say, looking back at him. “I’ve been to hundreds of them, relax.”

Yeah, but never so soon after a major operation against a Yakuza syndicate. Tokyo is Shimazaki-kai territory—they’ve always worked closely with the Inagawa-kai, and he doubts they’ll take kindly to Port Mafia presence in their heartland after they just annihilated one of the branches of their biggest ally. 

“Just be careful,” Chuuya says quietly when he sees you’re about to step out of the car. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not Albatross,” you say dryly.

“The fuck did I do?” Albatross demands once the abrupt and uncalled-for insult registers, head snapping to the side to look at you.

You only give him a sharp smile and wag your fingers in a mocking wave before stepping out of the car and making your way to the steps of the city hall. Chuuya only feels slightly relieved at the sight of Kiyomasa Daichi of the Sun and Steel immediately making his way over to you to escort you into the building.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Chuuya is gnawing at his bottom lip, grateful that his gloves are preventing his nails from drawing blood from his palms. You’re right—you’ve done this hundreds of times before, attending these types of events since you were fifteen with Lippmann chaperoning, taking over them alone when you were sixteen just because of how impressed Lippmann was with how easily you were able to navigate the intricacies of political webs and veiled conversation. 

So, why is that nagging feeling still-

“Yo, what the fuck?” Albatross suddenly says, straightening up in his seat, eyes pinned on a figure making their way into the city hall.

Alarmed, Chuuya follows his gaze quickly, eyes widening when he registers what Albatross is seeing. “Isn’t that…?” 

Dazai Osamu. 

That civilian you’d been seeing for a few weeks. You cut him off a few days ago, Chuuya doubted it at first when you said you’d done it, but then he’d seen how much withdrawn you’d become the past few days. How you bought yourself a new phone with a new number. Chuuya feels guilty over that, too. He can see the way it’s tolled on you—you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet during meetings, constantly glancing down at your phone as if expecting messages from him—but Chuuya would also prefer this than to make you go through the same devastation he felt years ago that still weighs to this day.

“Yeah,” Albatross says, jaw tight. “The fuck is he doing here? It’s going to throw her off—there’s no way she knew this. What do we do?”

“We can’t do anything,” Chuuya says, pulling out his phone to warn you that your civilian is evidently attending this event even though he knows damn well you don’t check your phone while on missions like this. “Fuck. The Shimazaki-kai are attending this event. The Boss is still trying to settle things with them after our conflict with the Inagawa-kai—it’s not going well.”

“Yeah,” Albatross scoffs. “Apparently, the oyabun’s daughter was married to one of the Inagawa-kai’s shatei. We’re probably gonna end up at war with them too—heard that they took in most of the Inagawa-kai’s refugees from our operation.”

Shit. 

That Chuuya didn’t know. Family is everything to the Yakuza syndicates—if the head of the Shimazaki-kai married off his daughter to one of the sons of the head of the Inagawa-kai… they’re a lot more tightly aligned than Chuuya initially thought. Attack on one is attack on all, or however that saying goes. Even if they don’t know that you’re the one that ordered the operation, they know you’re an executive of the Port Mafia, and that would be enough…

“They’ll be watching her like a fucking hawk,” Chuuya says, his throat swollen. “If they’re smart…”

If they’re smart, they’ll take you out now.

“I should go in,” Chuuya says, fingers curling around the handle of the door.

“Don’t,” Albatross tells him, giving Chuuya a short look. “If you blow her cover in there, it’ll fuck the Mafia over completely. We can’t lose our foothold in the Diet. Not with this bill about to pass through.”

Chuuya takes in a short, shaky breath, pulling off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. “If they see her with him-”

God, he can’t even finish the sentence, looking down to see his hands covered in familiar blood, a cold body in his arms. He-

“Chuuya,” Albatross says, twisting around to face him, reaching back to grab Chuuya’s hair and force him to look up and away from his bloodied hands. “She’s smart, she’ll be fine. She won’t seek him out.”

“And what if he goes up to her?” Chuuya hisses.

Albatross looks away grimly. “… Let’s just hope he doesn’t.”

Dazai feels distinctly out of place as he makes small talk with two House Representatives. He plays his part well, that’s for sure—he can feel Hinami hanging off his arm, watching him with wide eyes, stammering over words whenever she’s addressed by either of the politicians—but he feels like he looks like a fraud. Like everyone can tell that he’s just talking out of his ass and hoping for the best. Like everyone knows that he doesn’t belong.

He knows that he’s only in his own head about it. The two Representatives he’s talking to treat him like he’s one of their own and not a college student who doesn’t know jack shit about what he’s talking about. He supposes he has you to thank for that—knowing what to look for, it’s easy to pick out who belongs and who doesn’t, and because of that, it’s easy for him to figure out how to belong. Ayato sticks out like a sore thumb from where he’s trying a little too hard to talk to one of the Councillors, Dazai thinks Hinami would be too if she wasn’t attached to him.

He misses you. It’s only been a few days, but he misses you badly. His lips tingle from where you’d kissed him that night, and he can still feel the weight of your body on his. He misses you, and this event just makes him think even more of you. All of these people, this whole event, it all reminds him of you and Dazai can’t help but wonder if he’d feel more comfortable here with you at his side.

“I have to ask, Dazai-san,” one of the representatives—Hayashi, if Dazai remembers correctly—suddenly asks, drawing him from his thoughts. “Where did you get your suit? The tailor that works at the warehouse I usually get mine ended up quitting recently, and I’m looking for a new one.”

“Kido’s boutique in Nishi-ku,” Dazai tells him, a bit surprised when he watches the man’s eyes widen a bit in astonishment. “You know about it?”

“Who doesn’t? How did you manage to get a fitting with him?” the other man—Sato?—sighs, envy edging into his tone. “Kido-san is so selective with his clients. He turned me away when I went in for a fitting.” 

Oh, Dazai thinks, surprised. He figured that Kido’s boutique was high-class, but the fact that even people like Hayashi and Sato, who were very clearly well off with notably important positions in society as two of the more vocal members of the House of Representatives, couldn’t even get a fitting with the man leaves Dazai a bit put off.

“My brother-in-law got a fitting with him a few months ago for his son’s wedding,” Hayashi says, looking more at Sato now as he speaks. “He’s on the board of the Age of Blue Company and even he had to pull strings to get the appointment. Cost him nearly a million yen.”

Dazai has to physically force himself not to blanch at his words. Nearly a million yen—that’s more than what Dazai made in two months back when he was working full time and for a suit that he’s probably going to wear once. 

Ridiculous. 

Dazai hates rich people.

He can feel Hinami’s eyes on him, the way her arm tightens around his. Dazai wishes it was you on his arm instead. Or maybe him on yours, he’s not picky. He doesn’t even know why she’s attached herself like this to him—they’d make more progress splitting up. They’re seriously limiting their scope by only having two opportunities to talk to people but Hinami has been intent on staying at Dazai’s side no matter how much he urges her to go off and talk to people on her own.

Observe. Small talk. Gather information.

Not hard, not really. Dazai is good at putting on masks and blending in with people, and you certainly made it easier by making him look the part, but it doesn’t change the discomfort he feels, the lingering fear that people can see right through him. He likes to play the role of the clown because it distracts people from looking too deep, but that’s not an option in a setting like this, and he thinks people are still seeing him as a clown but for all of the wrong reasons: he’s dressed up in clothes that feel more like a costume than an outfit, he’s talking about subjects that go over his head even after he’s studied them in preparation for this, his face is stretched into a smile that feels foreign on his face. 

He hasn’t made much progress with gathering any useful information. Either he’s prodding at the wrong people, or they’re being extra careful not to let anything slip—could be both. Professor Ui gave them an overview of the important figures that are going to be in attendance and the ultimate goal would be to eventually talk with the majority leader in the House of Representatives and the minority leader in the House of Councillors. They were warned to keep a wide berth from Kiyomasa Daichi, an executive of the Age of Blue Company’s board—evidently the Ivory Eagle’s biggest target for this event. So Dazai supposes he’s among the right people right now, at least, because Hayashi just mentioned that his brother-in-law is on the board of the company.

The right people. Unless they find out what Dazai is here for and then-

“Tendo-kun,” an unfamiliar female voice calls from behind the two men he’s making conversation with.  “I was hoping you’d be here.”

Hayashi immediately cuts off his conversation with Sato, whirling around with a wide smile to face a pretty young woman with dark hair and darker eyes, red lips curled into a too-sweet smile as she comes to stand between the two of them, giving both Dazai and Hinami a curious look. 

“Noriko-san, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight. I thought your father was only sending Kiyomasa to rep the company,” Hayashi says easily, hooking his arm into the woman’s and looking down at her, enamored.

Kiyomasa. Dazai has to force himself not to react to the name. Hinami is not quite as subtle, drawing in a sharp breath that makes Dazai nearly wince because the woman, Noriko, clearly catches it from how she tilts her head to the side, looking over the two of them. 

Your father was only sending Kiyomasa…

Her father must be Mishima Yukio, the CEO of the Age of Blue, and that means-

Mafia. 

Exactly what they were meant to avoid right in front of them and Hinami is not being slick. Dazai can feel her fingers trembling from where she’s holding his arm.

“You know I only come to these events for one person,” Noriko laughs airly, leaning into Hayashi as she looks up at him before turning her attention back to Dazai and Hinami. “Who are your friends? Unfamiliar faces…”

Luckily, Hayashi is more focused on the first thing Noriko said. “No way,” he says, eyes bright and voice low and conspiratory. “She’s here. I thought for sure she wouldn’t show at this after everything that happened between this agency and the Mori Corporation a few months ago.”

“I think that’s exactly why she did come,” Noriko hums with an easy smile, lashes fluttering as she looks back at Dazai. “Mishima Noriko. And you are?”

Dazai doesn’t even get the chance to respond—which is for the best—because in an instant, there’s a commotion on the other side of the room, drawing the attention of all of the attendees of the gala. Noriko, Hayashi, and Sato all turn around, and Dazai takes a slight step forward to peer around them, trying to see what’s going on.

It doesn’t take long for Dazai to pinpoint it, mouth drying and heart stilling in his chest as his eyes land on you at the center of all of the attention.

You walk away from your previous company feeling grim, sure this is what you came here for—to meet with the more influential individuals attending the event tonight and help ease them into an opinion more aligned with the Port Mafia’s interests—but your heart’s just not in it. It’s easy to keep the smile on your face as you make casual conversation with House Representative Yamamoto, one of the key swing votes you have to bring to your side, but it’s much harder to make the smile reach your eyes.

Kiyomasa claimed that most of the swing votes are already falling in your favor, so long as Yamamoto’s and a few other controlling ones can be secured, you’ll be on a quick path to ensuring that the military bill is quashed in the Lower House. 

But you find yourself distracted. Your thoughts drift mid-conversation to a familiar pair of warm brown eyes and a soft smile, your heart yearns for something you know you can’t have, and it makes you feel sick. Luckily in situations like these, your body works on autopilot—you smile when you’re meant to smile, you laugh when you have to laugh, you make witty comments and sly remarks to push the swing votes your way—but you just want to go back to your apartment.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” Representative Yamamoto hums, waving down a server to grab the two of you flutes of champagne. He looks amused as he turns his attention back down to you, dark eyes glittering. He’s handsome, you think, with dark hair and darker eyes, only a few years older than you—maybe if you can’t convince him with your words, you’ll convince him in bed. “Not after everything that happened between the Mori Corporation and this… what is this agency called again?”

You laugh—genuinely this time, not one of those airy automatic ones. You take a sip of your champagne and look at Yamamoto. “Ah, Yamamoto-san, how terrible of you, not even knowing the name of the agency we’re all here to celebrate,” you tease lightly.

“Shame, shame, I know,” Yamamoto sighs, leaning against the pillar where the two of you are standing.

“The OCDA,” you tell him, looking up at him through your lashes as you study his face. 

Organized Crime Defense Agency, Mishima is truly taking far too long to eliminate them. The Sun and Steel were supposed to put them in the ground months ago after they drew attention to the Mori Corporation, trying to accuse the business of being a front for the Port Mafia. You had to lay low on business for months because of it, knowing that one wrong move could lead to a huge exposé from one of the big journalism groups in Yokohama, and if that happens, the government will have no choice but to intervene. The OCDA didn’t have proof to back their allegations, but if one of those journalism groups managed to get their hands on some…

The Port Mafia isn’t exactly in the position to be dealing with wars against major Yakuza syndicates, the Guild, and the government all at once. It could spell the end for it.

“Ah, yes, that’s it,” Yamamoto says absently. “The Commissioner has been staring at you since you walked in.”

Of course. Five months ago, you dedicated every waking moment to ruining the reputation of the OCDA—you had to do it. If people started believing their accusations, even if there was no evidence, it could cause trouble for the Port Mafia. You’d tarnished their public perception so completely that it literally took until this operation against the Scarlet Gang and the government going above and beyond to commemorate their success for the public to start viewing them in a better light. 

“I’m not surprised,” you tell him. “He still clearly holds a grudge over what happened a few months ago.”

“Unjustly, too,” Yamamoto notes. “They were the ones that chose to target the Mori Corporation with no grounds. I don’t know what they were thinking and to act like the victim after being the one to start it… Deplorable.”

Interesting, you think. 

You look at Yamamoto under a new light, tilting your head to the side. 

Is he just saying that because he knows it’s something you want to hear? 

Or is that how he really feels? 

The whole incident between the OCDA and the Mori Corporation has been a hot topic amongst the members of the National Diet. You’d feared that the allegations were going to severely harm your position amongst the Representatives and Councillors. To some extent, it had; a lot of the people who wanted the Mori Corporation to lose sway over the members of the Diet used it as a way to try to turn people against you—but you’d been able to salvage it. Still, even to this day, it’s a contentious topic that most politicians don’t willingly bring up. 

Just as you’re about to open your lips to respond, pry a little bit more into his mindset before you say something riskier. You catch sight of an achingly familiar face from the corner of your eye.

What-

All conscious thought leaves your mind as you turn your head to the side, trying to figure out if you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing.

Dazai?

Your gaze settles on none other than the boy who has been plaguing your thoughts since you left his apartment a few days ago. He’s standing off to the other side of the room dressed in the suit that you bought him—you can hardly bring yourself to draw your gaze from him. He looks… stunning, actually, at ease in a way that you never would have expected him to be in this setting. 

He’s talking to Hayashi, Sato and Noriko—three people that have close ties with the Port Mafia, much to your distress—the smile on his lips is easy and casual, body language relaxed. He looks right at home. A part of you itches to walk right over to him, but you know you shouldn’t. There are too many eyes on you at this event, enemies and allies alike. You don’t want to draw unwanted attention to Dazai, not when you’ve cut him off to protect him from this very sort of attention. 

Your eyes linger on him as he laughs at something Hayashi says, breath catching in the back of your throat—and god, you know you’re being obvious. You need to force your attention back to Yamamoto and at least try to remember what you were talking about to play this off. But-

But then he looks at you.

Dazai’s eyes drift from Hayashi right to where you’re standing with Yamamoto as if he already knew you were standing there. He looks surprised, and you realize that he’s probably more surprised that you’re looking back at him, like he didn’t expect you to notice him. 

How could you not notice him? 

And as soon as his gaze meets yours, you know that’s all an act. You can see the way his eyes are a bit lost, lonely. You know he feels severely out of place and you long walk over there to him. All thoughts of keeping attention off of him out the window if it means he doesn’t look so uncomfortable—you yearn to see the bright look in his eyes that you’d become so accustomed to, feel his smile against your lips. You’d known it was a mistake to kiss him that night, that you’d already let yourself indulge too much, and taking that next step would just hurt you both but…

Just like now, all reasonable thought seems to be thrown out the window whenever he’s around.

You watch as something akin to hurt flashes through his eyes, and you withhold a wince as you remember all of the lies you told him—leaving the country, not having time to text him. You’d even gotten a new phone and a new number so you wouldn’t be tempted to read his messages. Fuck, why does he always show up at the most inopportune moments? This must’ve been why he’d asked you about the military bill. This was the event his journalism professor wanted him to attend. How did you not put this together sooner?

Then, his gaze hardens, and he looks away, shifting to the side as if to pointedly show off someone you hadn’t noticed before—a girl hanging off of his arm. Pretty. Big dark eyes and light brown hair, a soft expression. Pretty, you think again, sickeningly civilian, probably another student at the university he attends. Even being dolled up in a gown and makeup can’t hide that.

Perfect for him, then. Sickeningly civilian. Just like Dazai. They’d be good for each other—live out long, sickeningly civilian lives with each other. Go to cafes and talk about all of their sickeningly civilian classes, discuss all of the books and poems they read. It’s perfect, it’s what you want for him, it’s why you cut him off. So he’s not in danger by being associated with you, so you don’t drag him into the dark and get him killed. 

So, where is the anger coming from? 

Your jaw is so clenched that you can feel your teeth grinding together, knuckles tense around your flute of champagne. Your tongue feels itchy, your throat feels swollen, your chest is unbearably tight—you have to force yourself to remain rooted next to Yamamoto, and your body twitches to walk over there. You’re so lost for logic that you can’t even fumble for an excuse to explain the sudden bout of anger. 

You try. You tell yourself that you’re angry because he shouldn’t be at an event like this. You tell yourself that you’re angry because his journalism professor should know better than to send college students to gather information at an event where several mafias are going to be in attendance. You tell yourself that you’re angry because he’s always coming around to fuck things up for you, that he shouldn’t have wormed his way into your life.

But it’s all flimsy and weak because the color flooding you right now isn’t red. 

It’s green. 

“I think you should go over there,” Yamamoto says, amused, nodding over to where you’re looking as he leans in closer to you. He keeps his voice down, luckily, but you can’t help the distress that sweeps through you when you realize that you are being that obvious.

“Allow me to pretend not to be so obvious, Yamamoto-san,” you sigh.

Yamamoto laughs, tossing you a wink. “I’m not that kind,” he says lightly. “I’ll send you an email later if we don’t get to talk again tonight. I’d like to discuss the more… minute details of the proposition you were offering.”

Your smile is a bit more genuine now as you turn your attention back to him.

“Of course,” you say easily. “A pleasure talking to you, as always.”

“And you,” Yamamoto replies. “Talking to you is always a highlight of these dreadfully boring galas.”

“You flatter me,” you laugh, waving off the compliment.

“Me? Never.” Yamamoto winks at you again, then leans in to murmur, “Best of luck.”

Yamamoto wanders off without another word, and your gaze drifts back over to Dazai and you find yourself actually contemplating it. You contemplate going over there and forcing that girl away, forcing him to spend the night at your side instead. You contemplate ruining everything by drawing all of the attention in the room onto him. You contemplate putting him in danger just to make this ugly green emotion go away.

You grab yourself another drink instead.

Dazai can hardly pay attention to the conversation at hand. No matter how much he tries to keep the conversation going between the two Representatives and Mishima and Noriko, he finds that his gaze keeps drifting back over to where you’re standing on the other side of the room. 

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but there’s something… different tonight. You’re dressed in a sleek black dress rather than the expensive suits he’s become used to. It hangs off your shoulders, a slit up your thigh; there’s a pretty smile on your face and a playful glitter in your eyes as you entertain conversation with people. You’re always beautiful—whether you’re in one of your ridiculously expensive suits or an equally expensive dress—but there’s something different tonight that makes him unable to keep his attention off of you for long.

In your suits, it’s a polished type of beauty. Cold. Untouchable. There’s an air about you that few would dare try to disturb. He noticed it that first night when everyone at the bar gave you a wide berth. At the cafe, it was the same—your presence screams that you’re someone important and someone who should not be bothered. Even at the library, though his classmates clearly wanted to approach you and talk to you, they were all too intimidated to try. Everyone waited for you to leave before badgering Dazai with questions.

This is different. Just as refined but untouchable in a different way. Your smiles are sly and inviting, your body language smooth and languid; people gravitate toward you rather than avoid you, but none dare to draw too close. If intimidation was the factor in other situations, nerves are in this one—you’re warm and enticing but still too elusive for anyone to dare to try to capture. Dazai can see it in the way they watch you longingly, fingers itching to reach out toward you, but they freeze before they can, like you’re some otherworldly being that they think they shouldn’t taint with their touch.

And Dazai is so conflicted. 

He yearns to go over to you. He wants to be the one to draw close to you, wants to see the expression on everyone else’s face when he’s the one that breaks through that invisible barrier, wants to slip his arm around your waist, hold you in the way that he knows other people are fantasizing about right now. He’s missed you the past few days; he can still feel the weight of your body on top of his, his lips tingling from where they’d been pressed against yours. If he closes his eyes long enough, he can almost imagine your fingers entwined with his hair, holding him close as your lips slide to his jaw. 

But he’s angry. Or maybe he’s not angry, maybe he’s just hurt. Maybe both. Dazai can’t tell. He’s never been good at understanding his own emotions, he just knows that he doesn’t like it. Wants it to go away.

Wants you to explain.

Why did you lie? The thought makes his stomach churn so uncomfortably that it makes the alcohol he’s been drinking come up his throat. Why did you lie? Since he saw you before, he’s been on the brink of collapse. He wants to go back to his apartment and forget all about this shitty event and your betrayal, wants to curl up in his futon and sleep before the gaping hole in his chest starts to spread.

He should have known this would happen. Every time Dazai Osamu has ever come to want something, it’s always lost the moment he obtains it. This has been true since the moment he was born, but somehow it eluded him the weeks he spent pining after you, eluded him the night you spent at his apartment sharing kisses and gentle touches. 

The cloud that’s been hanging over him since the night he met you at the bar, the one that you’ve successfully pushed away twice, is heavier than ever and Dazai wants to be rid of it. He’s so tired. Everything feels amplified now that he’s been given a taste of what he could have had with you, only to find you lied to be free of him just like so many others have. Ever since Odasaku died, he’s been alone and Dazai just doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. And he feels selfish, he feels selfish for wanting to go before he can fulfill his friend’s final request but he just can’t do it anymore.

It’s just too much for him, and Dazai isn’t going to finish this novel anyway. It doesn’t matter how many English classes he takes, doesn’t matter how much time he spends reading to teach himself how to write—Dazai will never be able to finish Odasaku’s book. How can he? A book focused on the human experience? Dazai is, unfortunately missing a key characteristic necessary to successfully write this novel.

Dazai has always struggled to understand the minds of people around him. He’s smart, and he can read people easily, but he’s never been able to understand them. It’s why he’s found himself an outcast time and time again: no matter how hard he tries, and he does try, he tries so hard, people can tell something is… off about him. His laughs are too loud and too hollow. His eyes are too black and too empty. His smiles are too wide and too fake. 

When he was younger, kids were cruel about it—they would point it out and laugh at him, and when he tried harder to fit in with them, they would point that out too. He couldn’t win, no matter how hard he tried. Now that he’s older, people aren’t quite as blatant with it, but Dazai is far from stupid and he can see the looks people give him, can see the way they actively avoid him, the way they whisper.

Dazai’s gotten better at masking himself. It’s hard for people to tell at first glance now that something is off about him—his smiles have become smoother and less strained, and he’s taught himself to laugh light and airy. He can make do with small talk and acquaintances, even able to charm people into his bed, assuming they aren't put off when he keeps the bandages on.

The trouble comes when they stick around too long, when they start noticing the cracks in his mask; he can evade it at first, become loud and funny, take on the role of a clown so they can focus on that instead of the gaping void within him, threatening to consume anyone that dares to come near. But he can only play that role for so long before people realize something is up; whether his smile fades at the wrong moment or he talks a bit too long, something clues them into the fact that something is wrong with Dazai, and they inevitably disappear without a word, avoid him on the streets if they happen to run into him.

Or they lie to him and tell him that they’re going abroad for a while just to be rid of him.

Dazai is drawn out of his own thoughts when he realizes that all four pairs of eyes are on him—Hayashi, Sato, Noriko, and Hinami are all looking at him expectantly, and he realizes, anxiously, that one of them must have directly addressed him but he was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even been listening. He racks his brain for a response, desperately trying to figure out if he’d subconsciously picked up on the conversation, but the longer the silence draws on, the harder it becomes for him to push away the numbness spreading from his core to his limbs.

Before he can fumble out a non-response, an achingly familiar voice intrudes on the conversation.

“Hayashi-kun, Sato-kun, I’ve been meaning to speak with you two,” you say with an easy smile as you make your way over to the small group, and Dazai can hardly breathe at the sight of you so close, unwittingly rescuing him yet again. “Noriko-chan.”

Your smile is fonder as your gaze lands on Noriko and the cold and aloof woman suddenly looks starstruck by your presence, enamored. Dazai’s chest tightens as he looks between the two of you.

You ignore his presence completely.

“Hime,” Noriko breathes out. Dazai startles at the honorific—it was startling hearing Kido, and the attendants call you it at the boutique, but it’s even more jarring hearing it come from a woman that Professor Ui suspects of being a mafia heiress. “I heard you would be here. I convinced my father to let me come.”

“Just for me?” Your voice is light and teasing, you reach out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Noriko’s ear, and Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. “You’re so sweet, Noriko-chan.”

“You didn’t come to Arima-kun’s wedding,” Noriko pouts in a way that’s so exaggerated that it nearly makes Dazai roll his eyes and gag. “I’ve missed you.”

“Ah,” you sigh. “I’m afraid I was busy. I heard it was fun. I regret not being able to be there.”

You notably don’t tell Noriko that you also missed her, and it makes Dazai’s lips quirk up in smug amusement. 

No, he stops himself, reminding himself that he’s angry at you and he should not care about any of this. In fact, he should walk away. He should. But his feet betray him, they keep him rooted to the ground when you finally turn your gaze onto him.

“Who are your new friends?” you ask casually.

Dazai has to physically stop himself from flinching at your words, the way you pretend you don’t know him, just like so many people have before. His chest aches, his throat feels swollen, and he feels embarrassed—he doesn’t even know why he feels embarrassed, but he can feel heat spread across his cheeks at your words. For a second, Dazai swears he sees regret flash through your eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that he thinks he imagined it.

“Koda Hinami.” Next to Dazai, Hinami stumbles over her words, face pink as she bows her head in respect, “It’s, uh, a pleasure to meet you…”

You don’t even acknowledge Hinami, your gaze doesn’t budge from Dazai, and you don’t offer your name at Hinami’s unspoken request for it. Hinami lets out an embarrassed noise in the back of her throat as she looks away. Dazai has half a mind to stay silent, to ignore you in the same way you ignore Hinami, but he finds his lips moving before he can stop them.

“Dazai Osamu.” He’s grateful that his voice is steadier than how he feels, cool and short, unlike the rampage of emotions tearing through his chest. 

You tilt your head to the side as you look over him. You reach out, pinching the material of his suit jacket between your fingers—as you do, your knuckles brush his bandaged skin, and Dazai has to physically withhold a shiver at the touch.

“One of Kido’s,” you note, and there’s a small smile on your lips as if you’re sharing an inside joke with him. “You must have friends in high places—he doesn’t often take appointments without referrals.”

You’re mocking him.

As if pretending he’s a stranger isn’t enough, you’re standing there mocking him too. Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, everything feels all twisted inside of him—he wants to go home.

“Not a friend.” 

The jab is cold and pointed. It goes over the head of the other four, but he watches the way your smile falters at it, and he savors it even if he does know it hardly stings you in comparison to the knives he feels being jabbed into his chest and back.

“Hm,” is all you say in response, gaze sliding away from him as if he’s no longer of any interest to you. You look back at Hayashi and give him a smile that makes Dazai want to throw up. “Dance with me?”

Hayashi rushes to take your extended hand, fumbling over a yes, and you don’t even bother to spare another look at Dazai as you lead Hayashi onto the floor, where a few couples are already swaying around. Dazai can’t even force himself to look away from you, eyes pinned on how Hayashi’s hands rest on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Maybe he’s a bit petty when he turns to Hinami and offers his hand to her. For a second, the girl looks as if she’s going to shake her head no, too nervous to go to the dancefloor, but then other couples start taking your cue, grabbing a partner to take to the dancefloor.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Hinami whispers, panicking. “I don’t-”

“You’ll be fine,” Dazai says. “Follow my lead.”

Dazai also doesn’t know how to dance, but he thinks it should be easy enough. He observes the few people already settled on the dancefloor, watching their steps and the way they sway to the slow beat and then matches their pace and hand placement.

“I don’t know how you’re so good at this,” Hinami says quietly as he leads her in the dance. Dazai hardly pays attention to her, gaze cutting through the growing crowd of couples to find you. “I feel so in over my head. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine,” Dazai tells her absently, stiffening when he finally spots you not too far from him in deep conversation with Hayashi. “I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Hinami sighs. Dazai’s eyes linger at how low Hayashi’s hands dip down on your hips, how your heads are bowed together as you sway, speaking quietly in one another’s ear. It makes him sick, he can feel his stomach turn inside of him, he can feel something ugly and green spreading through his chest. “You look like a natural. Like you’re meant to be here with these people. I can hardly speak to any of them without stumbling over my words. I mean, did you see how that woman ignored me? … So embarrassing…”

Dazai’s breath hitches when you lift your face up a bit, so close to Hayashi that your noses almost brush. He can’t see the expression on your face, but he can see that you’re making eye contact with him, and it looks so intimate that Dazai feels that void in his chest start to spread to his limbs, his fingers feel numb and clunky against Hinami’s waist, and he nearly stumbles over one of the steps in the dance.

You look like you belong with him. High-class. Smooth. Charming. Wealthy. Dazai’s known you were out of his league since the day he met you at the bar, but actually getting a visual of what you would look like with someone of the same class as you—the people you interact with on a daily basis—makes him feel sorely inadequate. Any of the people at this event would kill for just a few seconds of your time, all of them wealthier and more influential than him, way more worth your time than a broke college student who can hardly talk himself off the edge of a bridge.

Why would he have ever thought he had a chance with you? Why would you waste any time with him? Why wouldn’t you pretend not to know him? Dazai would be embarrassed to associate with himself too. He can hardly even stand to look at himself in the mirror. 

He shouldn’t be as upset as he is. He should’ve expected this from day one. He doesn’t know why all of this hurts as much as it does.

Because it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to hope since Odasaku’s death.

The air getting to his lungs is thin and shallow. Dazai feels like he’s at the peak of a mountain where oxygen is few and far between. Hinami doesn’t seem to notice his distress from the way she’s still complaining about the event, but it’s hard for him to ground himself to the present. 

He’d allowed himself to hope.

The way you had immediately noticed his discomfort with the bandages and moved to try to make him more comfortable—no one has ever done anything like that for him, not since Odasaku died. 

The way you came to him when you were hurt. 

The way you helped him around his apartment and didn’t question the filth and mess, buying him food, replacing what he’d broken in his depressive episode.

The way you looked at him. 

The way you touched him.

The way you kissed him. 

He’d allowed himself to hope that maybe someone would accept him for who he is instead of running as soon as they see beneath the mask.

He had let himself hope. A fatal mistake. Always has been. Dazai should have known better.

Dazai needs to get out of here. He can hardly feel his fingers anymore, can feel the numbness spreading to his legs. His vision is blurring, his lungs are burning. He needs to go back home so he can let the black hole consume him in peace. He needs to be alone. He needs to-

Dazai doesn’t even notice the music tempo changing, nor the way people are swapping partners until he and Hinami are separated and drawn into a new dance. Dazai’s breath catches, caught off guard and still trying to ground himself.

“Why are you here?” 

Your voice meets his ears, quiet so as to not be heard above the music, you forcibly guide his body to move in step with yours. He stares down at you, brain not processing who’s standing in front of him. He can see the concern thinly veiled behind your eyes, the way your lips curve down.

“Dazai, snap out of it. Breathe.”

You. You’re here. You’re always here when he feels as if he’s finally going to let the void win, and Dazai just-

Dazai wants to scream.

Why are you always here to rescue him when he knows you’re just going to leave him?

“Why am I here?” Dazai finally forces himself to say, grateful that his voice is steadier than how he feels. “Why are you here? How was your trip abroad, hime?”

Any concern in your eyes disappears, and the grip you have on his waist tightens in a way that makes his breath catch. “Don’t call me that.”

Now a bit more coherent than he was when he was dancing with Hinami, he thinks he should be mortified by how you’re taking the lead. All of the other men are leading their partners in the dance, but he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed because he’s so focused on your hand on his waist and the way your fingers are laced with his. He’s mad at you, yes, but he has to actively remind himself of that because of the way you’re holding him. 

Dazai fears he is a weak man at heart.

“How was your trip abroad?” Dazai asks again, leaving off the title this time. He wants to know if you’ll lie to him. Again.

You watch him carefully for a moment, and then you sigh, shaking your head. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” you tell him.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, throat bobbing at your words. Doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that you didn’t even try to lie. Does know that it hurts hearing you admit that you lied to him. That you made up a shitty excuse so you could cut him off, ghost him like so many others have before. He lets out a shaky puff of air, shaking his own head as he tries to take a step away from you, intent on creating some distance between the two of you, but you don’t let him, your grip on his waist tightens again, hand sliding to the small of his back to force him flush to you again. His face heats up.

You tilt your head to the side as you look up at him as if daring him to make a scene. Dazai wants to. He does—just to embarrass you in front of all of your rich, upper-class friends—but more than that, he wants answers.

“Why?” he asks tightly.

“Stupid questions annoy me,” you say with a thin smile, being purposely obtuse.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Dazai refuses to humor the non-answer. “Why did you lie? Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to-”

Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to be with me?

Why did you have to give him hope?

Why did you have to be like all of the rest?

“It has nothing to do with what I want,” you finally sigh, voice quiet as you lead him into an outside spin, keeping him in pace with all of the other couples. “It’s complicated, Dazai.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Dazai says immediately, body tense. “What did I do wrong? I thought-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him, which only frustrates Dazai more because if he’s about to get the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, he thinks he might storm right off the dancefloor, leaving you here. “It’s just complicated, Dazai. I can’t uncomplicate it.”

“That’s not fair,” Dazai murmurs. “You kissed me, you-”

“You kissed me,” you correct.

“You kissed me back,” Dazai hisses, getting annoyed, “and you initiated the second kiss.”

“Dazai-”

“You know what,” Dazai laughs to himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you want nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” you say immediately, but Dazai is already taking a step away, brushing your hand off of his waist and pulling his hand back. He can’t listen—he can’t—he can’t let himself hope again. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive it this time. “Dazai-”

“I need to go,” Dazai interrupts. 

He doesn’t wait for a response from you as he turns to walk off the floor, leaving you standing there alone. He can hardly breathe in the crowd, with you so close—he needs air. It feels shallow again, like it’s not getting to his lungs. He tells himself that this was to be expected, again, but the thought doesn’t calm him down this time. You don’t follow him off the dancefloor—he doesn’t know if he wanted you to or if it would just stress him out more.

“You’re so lucky,” a familiar voice sighs as soon as Dazai is off the dance floor. He feels unfocused as he looks at Sato. “I was trying so hard to position myself to switch with Hayashi for the partner swap.”

Dazai is annoyed. He is annoyed, and he is jealous and he is once again very acutely reminded of the fact that every single person in this room would kill for a few seconds of your time, once again very acutely reminded of his own inadequacy. He had known from day one that he didn’t have a shot with you but-

No. 

He’s not going to go down this rabbit hole again. 

“Well, she has no partner now,” Dazai says with a strained smile, ignoring the tightness in the chest and the way his vision blooms green. “You should go ask her to dance.”

Sato brightens. “You’re right,” he says, sparing a haste ‘thanks’ before rushing off to the dance floor.

Dazai doesn’t let himself linger long enough to see if you accept his extended hand, making his way out of the event room and down a nearby hall, hoping for some fresh air.

You don’t know where Dazai went, but he’s a sneaky bastard for sending Sato your way to distract you. You couldn’t blow him off without looking like an asshole, so you had to entertain him for a song before making an excuse. Dazai is nowhere to be seen now—not hanging near the walls, not hovering near the apps or drinks, not making small talk with any of the other politicians or businessmen in attendance.

Did he leave? 

No, he wouldn’t have. Your eyes trace around the room again as you make small talk with Noriko—he had to have gone somewhere, but where? You focus on a hallway leading out to the back of the city hall, tilting your head to the side. There, maybe? There are bathrooms back there, if you remember correctly, most people will probably use the ones in the entrance hall, but if he’s looking for somewhere quiet…

You excuse yourself from the conversation with Noriko and make your way across the room, careful to avoid the eyes of any of the other attendees who might try to steal you away for a talk. You get there without incident, luckily, because you think if someone tried to interrupt you, you might shatter the carefully crafted reputation you’ve built over the past six years. 

The hallway is dim and cool, a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the other room. You head straight for the men’s bathroom, hoping that your hunch is correct. Also hoping that there are no other men in the bathroom because that would be awkward—and you’d have to do some serious explaining because you can’t have anyone know you’re seeking out Dazai. 

You think you’ve done a pretty decent job in making sure people don’t realize you knew him before the event. Noriko and Hayashi have no suspicions, and if anyone was going to pick it up, it would be those two. You were casual enough with the positioning of the partner switch that it didn’t look like you were intentionally seeking him out, but you could see the way he was thinking himself into a panic attack, the girl with him obliviously babbling on as Dazai struggled to breathe. You suppose him being mad at you is preferable to him thinking himself into an abyss, but it’s just not settling right with you. 

You think that this is a mistake—you should let him think that you want nothing to do with him, should let him hate you and resent you so he can move on with his life—so why are you still turning down the hallway to get to the men’s bathroom? 

You blame Dazai. If he hadn’t shown up at this event and all but shoved himself in your face, purposely antagonized you by shoving that stupid civilian girl in your face, then everything would be fine. You would’ve evaded the places he frequents in Hodogaya-ku, and you’d have never crossed paths with him again. Both of you could’ve moved on with your lives as if you’d never met each other—but now-

You’re almost angry as you shove open the door to the men’s bathroom. 

No, you are angry, and it isn’t just because he’s shown up to the event and fucked up your plan to keep him out of your life. It’s also because you know why he’s here, and he’s a lot stupider than you thought he was. The suit for the event he’d mentioned his journalism professor wanted him to attend and the question about the bill… He’s here to gather intel for that professor of his, and the only reason why a bunch of students would be sent to an event like this in lieu of the actual journalists themselves is because they’re trying to seek out information that wouldn’t be easily acquired by known faces. Whether that’s information about insider opinions on the new bill or something else, it’s dangerous business. If the opinion of the wrong person gets out to the media and the public, there’ll be a witch hunt trying to figure out who let it loose, and all eyes will be on the unfamiliar faces. 

All eyes will be on Dazai.

He’s stupid.

The door slams against the wall hard, and your gaze cuts to the side, hardly focusing on Dazai’s surprised expression as he straightens from where he’s leaning over the sink. Your attention shifts from him to the stalls, making sure each of them is empty before shutting the door behind you and locking it.

“No,” Dazai says, shaking his head, jaw tight as he moves to leave the bathroom.

Your eye twitches when he tries to push past you and all of the rising frustration you’ve felt the past few weeks snaps like a taut cord that has been pulled at too much. Your hands dart out to grab his waist, fingers hooking in the belt loops to stop him before he can get past you. You watch as his eyes widen as you tug him closer before slamming him back against the bathroom door hard.

“What are you doing here?” you ask again, ignoring the look he’s giving you, lips parted in shock and pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. “Dazai, what are you doing here?”

Finally, he’s drawn out of whatever stupor he’s in, scoffing and looking away from you but not pushing you away.

“Really? You just came here to interrogate me some more?” he says bitterly. “Don’t you have better things to do? I’m sure there are plenty of people out there more worthy of your time.”

“What are you even talking about?” you ask, irritated. “I couldn’t care less about any of them. Stop avoiding the question, why are you here?”

Dazai looks conflicted at your words, and you don’t know why, but it’s really starting to piss you off. You feel like you should step away from him, give some space, but you can’t bring yourself to move. In fact, your grip on his slacks tightens.

“I told you I had that event to attend for my journalism class, I-”

“You didn’t tell me this was the event-”

“You didn’t ask! What does it matter?” Dazai demands, glaring at you.

You inhale sharply and let go of his belt loops, taking a step back, but Dazai doesn’t move to leave. He stays leaning against the bathroom door, staring at you as he waits for a response, but you don’t even know how to respond.

“It matters,” you finally say without giving any context, which evidently pisses him off from how he lets out a sharp puff of air.

“Why does it matter?” Dazai asks, raising his voice in a way that stresses you out because if anyone happens to come down this hall and find you in the bathroom with him, it’s going to cause issues. “Why does-Why won’t you explain anything? Why did you lie about going abroad? Why does it matter that I’m here?”

“Because you shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, not wanting to expand on it, but you can see the frustration rising on Dazai’s face, and you think it’s more important not to have him screeching for people to overhear. “Dazai, don’t you think there’s a reason that your professor didn’t come to this event himself and with his trained colleagues?”

Something shifts onto Dazai’s expression that you don’t like—a strange look caught between suspicion and wariness that you take note of. You misspoke somewhere but where? This conversation is risky—you don’t even know what his professor sent him and his classmates to get information about, how they were prepped for it, or what information they were given. What a mess.

“What are you talking about?” Dazai asks in a way that lets you know that he’s onto something.

You don’t respond for a moment, choosing your words carefully. “What do you think will happen if an unsavory opinion of one of these politicians gets out to the media, Dazai? These people have more money than you could ever dream of, connections with-” You cut yourself off abruptly, staring at him for a moment before saying tightly. “Connections with all types of people. Good and bad. They’ll find out who spread what was spoken at this event.”

“Isn’t this suit supposed to help me blend in?” His voice is so snide that you almost want to smack him. If he were anyone else-

You don’t even finish that thought. He’s not anyone else. He’s Dazai Osamu, a stupid civilian who has managed to worm his way into your life, for better or for worse. 

“Sure,” you agree tightly. “It makes them less concerned about your presence at the moment. But once they have something to be concerned about, you know who they’re going to remember? The boy in a poorly tailored suit who spoke too loudly and with far too many people. The girl in a thirty dollar dress from Muji who stumbled over all of her words and the boy that she latched herself onto.”

“And what exactly are they going to do if they figure out who leaked their shitty opinions?” Dazai asks, a challenging expression on his face as if he knows what the answer is but wants to hear you say it out loud. “Ui-sensei said-”

Ui. There aren’t many journalists with the surname Ui and if they’re here at this event…

“Ui?” you ask cooly. “Don’t tell me you mean Ui Koutarou.”

The surprise that flashes through Dazai’s eyes tells you all you need to know, and you can’t help the scoff you let out, a bitter feeling spreading through your chest. Ui Koutarou, one of the senior journalists at the Ivory Eagle—a group that’s been relentlessly trying to pin down the Mori Corporation as the business front for the Port Mafia. 

Is that what this is? 

The thought is as haunting as it is jarring, realizing that maybe this has all just been some giant scheme that you fell right into. You know the man has been trying to expose you as an executive of the Port Mafia—the first stepping stone of taking down the Port Mafia. Is that why Dazai attached himself to you so quickly? Pushed into it by his professor as a means to get proof of your affiliation with the Mafia? You’d assumed maybe it was your ability at work, making him more comfortable around you, and since he was so lonely, he ended up attaching himself to you but… this would make more sense, wouldn’t it? 

Dazai is a lot smarter than he makes himself out to be, a lot more observant and perceptive; you knew that day when you showed up at his apartment wounded that he was seeking out information about you. He could’ve been asking about the military bill to prepare himself for this event but… could he have been asking about it because Ui Koutarou is using him as a puppet to corner you? To get the proof that he needs?

You don’t want to believe it, but the passive form of your ability isn’t strong enough to create such a dependency even on the weakest of minds… and this makes a lot more sense than someone liking you for who you are.

You don’t say anything else, unwilling to incriminate yourself anymore than you already have. You’re sure Dazai must have some idea of who you are by now—maybe not exactly, but there’s no shot that he doesn’t have a clue as to your real occupation, and if you keep running your mouth, it’s only a matter of time before you hand him the proof Ui Koutarou needs on a silver platter. 

So, instead, you shake your head and walk back to the door, unlocking it so you can go back to the event hall.

Dazai grabs your wrist before you can. His grip is weak enough that you could pull out of it if you want, but you don’t. You don’t turn to look at him, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“Can’t you just tell me what I did wrong?” His voice wobbles a bit as he speaks, you can feel the way his fingers are trembling on your wrist. God, it’s so believable—you remember the way he kissed you, unsure and hesitant, breath shaky. No one is that good of an actor. “I did something again just now, why won’t you just tell me? I want to-”

You don’t want to hear the rest of that sentence, so instead, you look back at him and watch as the words die on his tongue. The look he gives you is confused and desperate, pleading with you to help him understand.

“If you know what’s good for you, Dazai, you’ll forget you came here tonight and won’t do another job for a man who’s willing to put three stupid kids on the line to save his own ass,” you say and Dazai’s brows furrow, he looks impossibly more confused as he waits for you to explain, protests and questions on the tip of his tongue.

You leave before he can get any of them out.

Dazai’s head spins as he leaves the event hall. He tries to seek you out again, but you’re nowhere to be found, so he finds himself wandering the edges of the event hall, unsure of what to do. Mishima Noriko is missing, too, he can’t help but notice with a tight feeling in his chest. Hayashi and Sato are speaking quietly to one another by the refreshments table, heads dipped together and serious expressions on their faces.

“Dazai,” Ayato calls, making his way over to where Dazai is standing.

After your words, Dazai can’t help but wince at how loud his voice is in comparison to the other attendees of the event. It’s glaringly obvious now that it’s been pointed out to him—even when he lowers his voice, there’s a jarring cadence that’s stark compared to the smooth tones of the other people here. 

Hinami is with him too, Dazai realizes, watching as the girl comes over to Dazai’s side, looking between the two of them before asking: “Are you ready to head out?”

No, Dazai wants to say, throat swollen and stomach churning. He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again if he leaves now. Doesn’t know if he’ll see you again. This might be his last chance and he’s so frustrated and lost. He wants answers from you—more than that, he wants you. 

He wants you.

You didn’t explain why you lied to him. You hardly explained why you were so mad about him being at the event. You clearly know who his professor is, you’re clearly unhappy about Dazai working with him, and you made a cryptic comment about how he’s putting Dazai and his classmates on the line to save his own ass.

Does that mean you know? Do you know what information that they’re trying to uncover at this event? You kind of implied it, didn’t you? You implied that a lot of the politicians in the Diet have affiliations with criminal organizations because what else could that ‘good and bad’ comment have meant? But how could you possibly know that? How could you know unless-

Dazai’s mind drifts back to all of the suspicions that had been floating through his head, letting out a heavy breath. Shit, could you really be-

“Dazai,” Hinami prods, nudging his shoulder, but before Dazai can make an excuse about staying longer, the entire building shakes.

Dazai nearly topples right over, barely catching himself on the wall behind him. His eyes are wide as he looks around the room, watching as people shriek and dive for cover. Again? The second one in a few days?

“Come on,” Ayato grabs his wrist, and Dazai instantly draws back, not expecting the sudden touch. “Dazai, come on. Ui-sensei’s been texting. He’s panicked about something, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Texting about what?” Dazai asks, casting one last longing look around the room, a last-ditch attempt to seek you out, only to find himself empty-handed again, shaking his head as he follows the other two out of the building. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know,” Hinami says as they slip out of the building into the front parking lot. “Just said we needed to get out before things started going down.”

“Crazy that the earthquake happens right as he tells us that,” Ayato notes. “What are the chances?”

What are the chances? 

Unless it’s not an earthquake, Dazai thinks, taking a deep breath of the cool air outside, mind racing as he thinks back to the day you showed up at his apartment, the cryptic comment about the earthquake. You acted like you didn’t know that it was an earthquake, but Dazai had a strong gut feeling that you knew exactly what it was and it wasn’t an earthquake. And Ayato is right; what are the chances it happens twice, and both times you’re around for it? The first time, you seem to know what’s going on but try to evade talking about it; the second time, you mysteriously disappear right as it takes place.

It’s suspicious. Everything about this is suspicious, and Dazai just doesn’t know what to think. He wishes that he had more time to talk to you, that you hadn’t rushed off as soon as he mentioned Professor Ui—and that’s suspicious, too, because Professor Ui sent them here to try to get some intel on one of the big mafias in Tokyo so…

Dazai can’t even finish sorting out his scrambled thoughts because a familiar van is pulling up to the front steps of the city hall. The door is sliding open and Dazai can’t stop himself from looking back one last time before he’s being ushered into the back of the van by Hinami and Ayato. Professor Ui is already waiting inside for them, brows creased and a frown on his lips—an expression that instantly has Dazai on edge. 

“Ui-sensei, what’s going on?” Hinami asks softly as Ayato pulls the back doors of the van closed. Slightly alarmed, Dazai watches as Professor Ui instantly motions for the driver to get going. “Is something wrong?” 

Dazai’s stomach lurches as the van flies over a bump, gaze focused on Professor Ui as he taps furiously at his phone. His voice is a bit tighter than he intends for it to be when he asks, “Aren’t you going to tell us what’s going on?” 

“We got a tip-off that the Port Mafia was going to be in attendance at this event at the last second,” Professor Ui finally says, sitting up in his seat as he focuses his attention on the three of them. Dazai stiffens, mind racing back to Mishima Noriko and her last minute attendance of the event when she heard that you were attending, mind racing back to his piling suspicions of you. “We also got a tip-off that there was going to be a major conflict between them and one of the Tokyo-based Yakuza syndicates tonight. We wanted to get you out of there before it happened.”

“What?” Ayato sounds far too excited for Dazai’s liking; he gives the other man a heavy side-eye before focusing back on Professor Ui. “A gang fight is breaking out tonight? Wouldn’t that have been the best chance to get the proof?”

Best chance to get killed more like it, Dazai thinks, hardly withholding an eye roll as he keeps his gaze pinned on their professor. He can’t help the way his heart is skipping around with anxiety; he finds himself nervous for you, remembering how you abruptly disappeared from the event.

“Too dangerous,” Professor Ui shakes his head. “The fight has already broken out. Did you feel that quake?” 

“The earthquake?” Hinami asks curiously.

“Not an earthquake,” Professor Ui says dryly, grabbing his laptop and clicking a few times before turning the laptop to face them. Dazai’s gaze focuses on the screen, frowning at the blurry image of a man with red hair and an ugly hat. “From what we know, that was the ability of this man. We believe he’s an executive of the Port Mafia, the gravity manipulator. He’s been at the top of the country’s most wanted list for three years since he leveled all of Izumi-ku; hard to track down because he’s frequently in the west. They say he’s currently the strongest ability user in the world.”

“Tacky hat,” Dazai mutters absently, ignoring the looks he receives for the comment.

He’s ignored.

“I didn’t see him at the event,” Ayato announces, leaning back in his seat. “I made a lot of rounds too. Maybe your tip was off.”

“He wasn’t the executive in attendance,” Professor Ui says firmly.

Dazai’s heart drops to his feet. His professor flips the laptop back around, and Dazai can hardly breathe as he clicks through again. It feels like an eternity before the clicking stops, and he can hardly even drag his gaze back to the screen. 

Dazai knows what it’s going to show him before the computer is even turned toward them again. Doesn’t need to hear him say your name. Doesn’t need to see your face on the screen.

He looks anyway.

Your smile is foreign—unkind, almost—and the expression on your face is much cooler and unapproachable than what he’s become used to. You look beautiful, you always look beautiful, but he feels sick to his stomach at the sight of you when he’s usually dizzy with how much he’s enamored by you. His ears ring as he tries to tune into what Professor Ui is saying.

“... presents as vice-chair of the board of the Mori Corporation, suspected of being an executive of the Port Mafia… -sing her position within the Mafia would be the easiest way of exposing the Mori Corporation for what it is considering how public of a figure she is… say that Mafia affiliates tend to refer to her as hime in recognition of her position as heir…”

Dazai doesn’t care to hear anymore. He ignores the way Hinami stares at him with wide eyes, ignores when Professor Ui asks if any of them managed to speak to her at all, ignores everything as he stares at the damning image of you on that screen, confirming all of the suspicions he’s discarded over the past few weeks of knowing you.

Suddenly, for better or for worse, all of the peculiarities that he’s noted about you begin to make sense—everything from your ungodly wealth to how evasive you were about why you lied to him about going abroad, saying it’s too complicated to explain when he begged you to tell him why you lied. 

Shit.

There are too many emotions ricocheting through his chest and mind for him to pinpoint all of them, but as he looks back to the direction they’d left, knowing that whatever conflict is taking place there, you’re at the center of it, one emotion stands out above all of the rest—fear.

[2kiran]

HI! HELLO!! 🤍🫶🏻

first of all i really love your writing! the way you write is just amazing! i absolutely love your works and always come back to re-read some of them!! keep writing and don't forget to take care of yourself and drink lots of water!!! 🥺🩷

anyways i wants to request something if it's not too much of a bother askjkasksj

dom!m!nerdy reader and sub!badboy with a whole load of crying from overstimulation, praise k!nk, size diff (tall!reader) and dumbification OOOHHHH IM GONNA GO FERAL 😵‍💫

[also can i be your 🎀 anon?]

THREEKVENT NAVIGATION

2knote. aww, this is so sweet of you. I appreciate it, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this one. take care of yourself too and get some rest. lmk if you aren’t actually anon angelwing.

Every nerve was set on fire, blood pumping hot in his system as beads of sweat tingled down his forehead to his chest. It doesn’t help with the sudden high temperature of the room, especially not the uncontrollable throbbing in the center of his thighs. “Shhh,” your voice brings him back from his clouded state, grounding him. “won’t you look at that? You’re doing so great, practically sucking me in.”

He whimpers, oh how badly he wanted to punch off the smug way you were holding him up with his knees that threatened to buckle. His head tilted up to look at you, eyebrows knitting together in an attempt to appear threatening. Instead, he seems even more fucked out, tight hole squeezing your length with every push.

“Sh- shut up.” He grits, though tears sprouted and occupied his vision. Fuck, he hated you. The complete opposite of him, a reckless bastard, and you, the smart and adored one.

He hated how he’d perk up when you’d speak, listening to how your voice practically caressed the words you were uttering. Wishing that in lieu of you giving out the correct answer, you’d say his name and and — he’s definitely out of it. “Don’t say things like that, pretty thing,”

That fucking glint in your eye and how you’d scold him if he stepped out of line, he despised that even more. He clenched around you, gripping your cock tightly, silently begging for you to cum inside of him. It was overwhelming, flushed and sweaty skin bumping rhythmically against each other and making his mind hazy with pleasure.

You were supposed to hate him, not treat him as if he was the most valuable thing in the world. “Shit, that’s it.” You groan, rolling your hips into the spasming warmth that warned to milk you for all you were worth. “So good for me, haaah, yeah, take my cock.”

And he was. “Nnnggh–” stop talking is what he’s unable to retort with. Each thought is combining with one another, jumbled nonsense forming in his head and his mouth agape, only to gift pretty little moans and hushed whimpers to your ears.

He can’t stop the tears, bottom lip trembling and he’s clamping down all over again. You’re brushing against that spot which causes his back to arch off the wall, eliciting a breathy groan from him. He’s leaking on his stomach, pre-cum pathetically gathering up and slicking himself with his own fluid.

“It’s okay, let it out. You’re okay, yeah?” You grind your hips, aiming for it and he swears he’s going to kill you when he cums hard from just that. His body trembles, numbed, gasping for air and the only thought echoing is your damn mouth that can’t shut.

“Listen. Ah– look so pretty like this, all for me.” He can barely move a muscle, your thumb smearing his release around the sensitive tip. Briefly, he wonders if you’ll stop.

You don’t.

One of his palms reach out to you, weakly pushing at your arm as he sniffles. You’re rolling — on the brink of pounding — into him, set on getting him brainless beneath you. He can’t say it, can’t tell you to fuck off because you feel too good and he’s still got energy left. The overstimulation has a faint hint of pain pinching him, but he’s too distracted by the way you don’t quit.

You must’ve gotten to him. “Doing such an amazing job for me, sweetheart.”

He sobs, not quite recovering from his orgasm yet. How you’re crowding him sends him reeling, dizzy, and incredibly horny. He grabs the back of your head, tugging on the strands as he yanks you down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You can make out the salty taste of his tears due to the unrelenting thrusts, his poor body not catching one break, and that has you pushing your tongue inside of his mouth.

When you finally pull away, he whimpers in disappointment. But then, you speak up;

“You can give me one more.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

[teojira]

[I look after you.] [POTA headcanons!]

Summary: Random acts of service I think each ape would do for you!

Characters: Caesar, Noa, Koba, Maurice Rocket, Blue eyes, Lake, Cornelius, and Dar.

Warnings: Caesar and Noa's are meant to be romantic. Dar and Cornelius are platonic as well. The others could be read as platonic or romantic, though!

A/N: These are all just random thoughts I've had today. Some will be shorter than others due to just how many characters I tried to include, so bare with me!

Caesar has a sixth sense as to when you're gonna get hurt, it's uncanny.

Humans are clumsy and more fragile than others, he knows as such because of his grandfather and Will, seeing them trip and fall over nothing, stub their toe and curse, it's almost as if they didn't have spatial awareness at times.

His reflexes are faster than his words.

So he knows when you're about to slam your forehead full force into a wooden beam, immediately throwing a hand up to soften the blow.

You instinctually let out an "Ow!" Before realizing you're okay, your mates warm hand against your skin. The Chimp raises an eye bridge up at you, looking towards you and then his hand.

"Oh."

Koba doesn't do anything nice for you without the expectation that you will do something for him in return.

One thing he will do is protect you against yourself, mainly out of pure pity.

Your center of gravity is different than his, and the woods are not meant for you, so get used to Koba yanking you back from a steep drop.

He isn't gentle about it, fist curled into your jacket and roughly dragging you backward, letting out a shrill against his knowledge.

You knock against his chest, his body immediately giving off its warmth to your own.

You're too scared to look up at Koba, knowing damn well he's gonna be glaring down at you, a comment ready to go.

Unfortunately for you, he does it regardless if you meet his gaze or not.

"Should have. Let you fall." He growls, hoping you can't somehow feet his heartbeat pumping out of his chest.

Noa enjoys caring for you, making your life easier by any means necessary, whether it be by learning how to make you tools that help you fish easier, cooking your meat for you, knowing that your anatomy is different, to teaching you to the best of his ability how to hunt more efficiently.

It's his love language, not that he'd be aware of it. It makes him feel like a good mate, and that boosts his ego.

He gets so mad if you try and wave him off, scoffing at the thought of you not needing him.

What do you mean you're fine on your own? Nuh uh.

Has pouted before and got huffy if you get off of your horse without him helping you down, turning his back to you childishly as he sighs as long as possible.

I hate him.

Maurice lets you cuddle into him for warmth. His fur is longer than the others, and he runs warm. He worries for you when the winters get rough. There's only so much they can do other than set a fire up and wrap you with animal hides.

Sometimes, it's not enough, and shivering yourself to sleep isn't fun.

Maurice considers you family, being the first first ape to truly take you in, he'd never turn you away from when you need him most.

Never needing permission, you quietly make your way to the Orangutan's nest, trying your best not to step on any leaves or branches.

Gingerly taking your time to settle next to Maurice, lowering your body down.

Taking a glance at Nova resting on his other side, you don't catch his eyes peering open, a hand coming up to sign slowly.

'Come.'

Lifting a long arm, he allows you to curl into his side, finally granting you a good night's rest.

Blue eyes always makes sure you're apart of the conversation, if he and Ash are goofing around, and you're standing off to the side, he's gonna immediately poke small fun at you to get your attention.

The second he has it, he's gesturing you over to their little circle at the camp fire, asking you what humans think of whatever subject they're talking about.

Baby Blue will shove his shoulder into Ash if he tries to make fun of you, knowing well that you may not take it as friendly banter just yet.

If you're gonna be with the colony, you'll need a protector, and who else is a better, more loyal one than Rocket.

No ape is being disrespectful towards you on his watch, you're important to Caesar and while that was in fact originally the reason he made it a point to keep an eye on you, he's come to love you himself.

An Ape comes up to you, asking something wildly inappropriate?

Rocket gets up in their face, making direct eye contact and puffing out his chest for them to back the fuck off, daring them to make a move, all while making sure you're well hidden behind himself.

Lake enjoys braiding your hair for you, the different texture offering a welcome challenge compared to her own.

She's so gentle and light handed, her fingers weaving the strands to the best of her ability, fingers much too large.

It's a bonding experience between the two of you, her downtime, after working with the little ones for hours previously.

The littlest ape prince is no stranger to clinging on to you at any point in time. Even as he grows older and gets to be too heavy to sit on your lap or climb up your back, he does it anyway. Wrapping his arms around your neck and hiding his face against your skin.

He does it when looking for comfort, but also for when he's being a little shit and his dad is searching for him to chastise.

Cornelius knows that when you're near, you're gonna spoil and baby him, and that's exactly what he wants, hiding behind you.

He is observant like his father, always in tune with your emotions and knows when you need to have company so you don't stew in your own head.

Drags you off to play with the other apes, not taking no for an answer even if you try to. He pulls those puppy dog eyes and it's damn near impossible to deny him.

Taking on a motherly role for you comes with ease, Dar slipping into it once Noa vouches for you.

She makes sure to take you under her wing, teaching you their ways of life in the a view point of an elder, not just Noas.

Please don't imagine that she'd make you your own shawl, matching her own, literally don't bc I teared up.

She'd be ecstatic to see you wear it around the colony, staring at you. She's so proud of you from how far you've come.

Dar will blatantly introduce you to others as her child, no matter what another ape says. Which wouldn't be much to begin with, became who is gonna argue with her? She won't hear a word of it, waving them off.

[vindelllas]

a brief exploration of the amatyakarakas 🍸

🍸note: any information regarding amatyakaraka placements should be treated lightly, as a good portion of these celebrities do not have verified birth information. i calculated all of the following celebrities with unverified birth times assuming they were born at noon their time!

🍸the amatyakaraka does not share the immense physical focus of the atmakaraka, but serves as the knight (amatyakaraka) to the king (atmakaraka), as it controls much of the labor/work of the chess of life. it is a karaka designed to aid you in picking a field or hobby that can allow you to fully express the passions of your graha. It is the helpful hand that guides you to who you truly are, in this post i focus on the overarching lessons of this placement.

brihaspati amatyakaraka

🌾 aesthetic: the liberation of the femme fatale

🌾 key components: shares similar characteristics to the femme fatale archetype of brihaspati atmakarakas, but inwardly is garnished with the liberated qualities of brihaspati. this is a placement of timing, expansion, and immense growth in the lens of one's work ethic. this is ultimately why these natives are known for their adventurous (and sometime controversial yet successful) business ventures, e.g. kendall jenner's "818" brand and lana del rey's controversies throughout her musical journey, which are centered around intrinsic learning via the external public eye.

shani amatyakaraka

🪐 aesthetic: the theater of love

🪐 key components: it shares the sensual hollywood starlet aesthetic of shani atmakarakas but this karaka's lesson lies in what they pour themselves into. they excel at possessing the drive and willpower to succeed in their respective fields, but are not without controversy in their private lives. this is emphasized by megan thee stallion's wrongful sh*oting, selena gomez's ex, nicki minaj's infamous husband, julia fox's former partner kanye west, etc.. their incessant focus on their future and work, often leaves much instability in their personal lives outside of their everyday routines.

surya amatyakaraka

🌞 aesthetic: the intersection of promiscuity and materialism

🌞 key components: this placement is similar to the materialism noted in surya atmakaraka natives, but is further heightened by this karaka's penchant for promiscuity. this placement's immensely influential nature and general desire to lead/test others can manifest as a form of sex*al temptation of those around them. from professions of acting to involvement in adult industries to modeling, there is a great need to shine their rays onto those around them. the dichotomy agni (the sun) being of purification and knowledge and soma (the moon) being water and nourishment come into play here. the sun wishes to purify and empower those around them through lessons of spiritual teachings. the general focus of the mouth in the photos of surya amatyakarakas is reflective of the mouth being the vessel of soma/the consumer of water. to achieve the purification of agni, you must first be watered spiritually.

kuja amatyakaraka

☄️ aesthetic: the mysticism confidence

☄️ key components: drawing upon the lessons of kuja atmakarakas, a certain confidence is emphasized within this placement. this confidence lies in taking immense risks and undergoing challenging situations for the betterment of your career, talents, and desires. this is evidenced by amber heard's career-challenging court case and jennifer lawrence's recounts and statements about w*instein. this placement is not without its controversy, but it is a placement of willingness to endure immense controversy for personal gain often without the lesson-emphasis of brihaspati amatyakarakas which results in much healing being needed later on.

buddha amatyakaraka

🌑 aesthetic: the ubiquity of feminism

🌑 key components: learning from the misunderstood lalita, this placement emphasizes a certain call to seeking maturation of the self through a higher power and intellectualism. this placement is symbolic of the overt dichotomy of girlhood-womanhood, these natives personify this experience through their accounts of the male gaze, longings for more expansion within themselves, and consuming all the external rays of others for the purpose of bettering and finding themselves (as buddha does to surya).

shukra amatyakaraka

🍓 aesthetic: the languish of luxury

🍓 key components: this placement indicates a certain affinity yet boredom of the luxurious properties of shukra. it causes many celebrities who grow into financial success to possess a coupled, sometimes delayed, distaste of the spotlight/fame. think of selena quintanilla who grew popular with ease compared to her latina musician counterparts but continued to maintain a relatability to the public (similar to cardi b who is still considered "surprisingly relatable" despite being immensely wealthy compared to the general public).

chandra amatyakaraka

🌙 aesthetic: the insatiable pitfalls of revolution

🌙 key components: these women often serve as role models to individuals through their presence in the media, but often serve as a lesson to the pitfalls that come with being "revolutionary". recall alexis ren who revolutionized mid-2010's social media and fashion yet struggled privately with her eating d*sorder. additionally, kaley cuoco was popularized for her role in "the big bang theory" yet too struggled with her eating habits. this is why some vedic astrologers theorize chandra to be associated with eating d*sorders, as yes soma seeks to nourish, but this nourishment (coupled with the drive/talent/profession denoted in the amatyakaraka) results in a potential for restricting soma (nourishment) to feel in control of one's surroundings--that is one's profession or environment.

🍸all of these placements were found using astrotheme/.com and/or astro-charts/.com. it is important to note that some chandra (moon) placements may be off by up to 6 degrees and lagnas (ascendants/rising signs) as well, due to the fact that many websites do not have 100% accurate birth times for the given celebrities.

🍸i am additionally offering readings again for a limited amount of time! if you are interested in a reading, please privately message me. thank you all for all of your patience! please expect the color analysis post soon since it won the poll <3

xoxo,

angel 💋

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Hi Skyen, hope you're well! I'm seeking some advice and since you used to work doing mainly art commissions I figured asking you was worth a shot.

I'm a furry artist and I'm looking into doing commission work as a side gig while I finish animation college, and hopefully acquire enough experience/clients/notoriety to turn it into a full time job once I graduate.

Do you have any advice for someone literally just starting out with fresh accounts and zero following? Especially when it comes to reaching people and getting your first clients, and anything that one should take into account when working with NSFW specifically. Also advice for pricing your work is always useful 😅

No need to answer obvs but I'd appreciate your viewpoint if you want to share!

Got 2 asks on this exact subject so I'll write up what advice I can. One big caveat: I haven't worked as a commission artist for like half a decade at this point, and this job has a tendency to change fast, do not take anything I say as gospel. This is advice from a limited perspective, be critical of what I say and trust your peers and the people you are in community with before you trust me.

building audience

Step one is getting people to notice the artwork you create. Literally nothing else can happen until you have eyeballs on your work, and the most consistent and reliable way to make that happen is fanart. Ideally you'd want to produce fanart in a fandom you are personally engaged with and passionate about and familiar with, and which also has a sizeable community whose attention can help you build recognition and a base of followers.

This isn't always possible, and there's many a working artist who creates work for fandoms not out of deep personal connection, but because the fandom is large and relevant and a good way to capture the goodwill of algorithms and content feeds.

This approach has some downsides. For one, genuine fans can usually tell when someone's engagement with Their Thing is shallow, and for another it can be deeply creatively exhausting to chase the algorithm. I don't recommend this approach, but it is a valid means of building a business.

Another important consideration, especially when you are early in your career, is that volume tends to trump quality. Every artist will eventually learn that their shitty joke-doodle they sh*t out in ten minutes on a whim will get a billion reposts, and their complex personal work that took eight weeks to finish gets 2 likes from their closest mutuals and a comment from a bot saying "wow!"

In the age of the algorithm, what machines and for you pages value is a consistent, high-volume of output that generates user engagement. You will generally get further, faster, by producing a lot of work than you will producing great work. Again, this can be rough on your mental state, and a fast way to burn the fuck out, so please be careful and mind your health before all else.

The best way to build something that will last is to build your audience in communities and around fandoms and themes and ideas you genuinely care about and enjoy exploring and interacting with. Being your authentic self and creating work from your authentic interest is generally both healthier and long-term better for your career than trend-chasing. Treat trend-chasing and volume > quality output as tools in your toolbox, as creative and business decisions you can make to achieve a specific purpose, never ever EVER let them become the center of your praxis or your philosophy. Never ever EVER allow the Numbers™ to be your source of validation and accomplishment.

building business

Ok, so you've got eyes on your work. You've got some followers. How the hell do you get them to commission you?

Well, again, by demonstrating a capacity to create kinds of art for which there is demand. In the furry community, there's brisk trade in things like ref sheets and character design, for example. For most fandoms, ship art is a product which tends to be in demand. Being able to do really good expression sheets is a marketable skill. Being able to create compelling and clear emotes for streamers and creators is a marketable skill.

Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of styles is valuable. Showing the capacity to work in a wide range of genres is valuable. If you can do both comedy and romance your appeal expands. If you can do shonen-like action and angst as well, it expands again.

Equally, being incredibly good at a specific niche is valuable as well. Focusing hard on an under-served niche of work can give you a lot of opportunities to be the Go To person for that specific kind of thing.

Perhaps the hardest part of all of this is marketing yourself. Not only showing that you have the skills, but actively informing your audience that you are available, eager and willing to practise your skill for a fee. You have to sell yourself. It sucks, but you have to do it. You have to advertise what you can do, and you have to suffer the rejection and annoyance that comes along with doing that.

You have to ask people to commission you. You have to raise your hand and demand attention. It's not fun, but it's business.

Walking the line between self-promotion and being a person is hard. I can't help you that much with it, it's a very personal balance to find. Stay in touch with your soul, but kill the part that cringes at yourself.

Ultimately, you best marketing asset is your portfolio. Every time you do work, show it off. Repost it, retweet it, spread it around. If someone is happy with what you've made for them, do your best to make sure that other people see that happiness. Ask your clients (politely) to tag you when they share your work.

Oh, and for the love of god, sign everything you create, slap watermarks on anything that's likely to get reposted, and make it impossible for someone not to find your business email on your profile.

building network

If you're a commission artist, you are in community with other commission artists. You share interests, you share experiences, you share needs.

Practise solidarity. Absolutely seek out professional peers to help your business, but equally seek out opportunities to help them with theirs. If someone comes to you for art and you don't have commission slots open, point them at a colleague who you know can do the work too. Gas up your peers and spread their work.

Be a symbiote, not a parasite. Respect the craft of your peers, and don't chase celebrities and big names in the hope of coasting on their coattails. It will fail.

smut

If you're a working artist, at some point you have to reckon with smut and r34.

These genres are excellent sources of income, and fertile ground to build a business and network of customers. BUT. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking that they are "the easy way" or a shortcut. Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you can simply offer to draw tiddies and rake in the cash.

It's work and graft same as literally any other form of labor, it's challenging on both a technical and creative level, and the audience can sense if you're looking down on them. If you approach this from a position of shame, of "eugh, I'm debasing myself by doing this for rent money," it will not work, and you will lose standing and respect in the eyes of every peer whose support you need to succeed.

Just as in all other forms of creativity, if you treat the audience as morons who will slurp up whatever slop you serve them, then you will attract clientele that agrees with you, and you will deserve the misery they will inflict upon you.

If you are going to work in smut, establish your boundaries and enforce them. Know that good clients will feel safer and more comfortable with an artist who clearly states their red lines and earnest interests than they will with someone who tries to attract more clients by pretending to be open to work that they are actually uncomfortable with.

Never, ever, EVER let a client push you to create work you are not comfortable creating. It scars your soul in both the short and long term.

Also, when working with this kind of content, know the rules of payment processors and know how to hide the nature of your business from them. PayPal should never, EVER know the details of the content you sell with their service. Frankly, neither should your bank, most likely.

Look to your peers for advice and best practises about this. And be meticulous about your bookkeeping.

money

I want to tell you to charge at least minimum wage for your time. I want to tell you to charge substantially more than that, because your labor is specialized and highly skilled.

But the economic reality of commission work is that there is a crushing downwards pressure on the labor price of art, which has only been made more devastating by the rise of generative AI, and especially when you are a young artist just starting out, you're going to find yourself in a position where charging even minimum wage for your time will turn away a huge proportion of your potential customers.

Again, your portfolio will be the greatest argument for the value of your work, but you have to build that portfolio first, and very often that means doing a f*kton of work for not remotely enough pay until the pressure of demand finally works in your favor.

I don't condone or justify this state of affairs. It is horrid and I hate it, but I don't know how to fix it either.

Making a living from content creation of any kind requires you to get lucky, on top of working obscene hours and foregoing rest and vacations. It's not a safe or sensible plan for a career or paying your bills.

My sensible advice is to get a "normal" job you can survive doing, and do your creative work on the side, and resign yourself to the possibility that the creative work may never actually pay your bills.

And that is soul-crushing, but I cannot stomach pretending that hard work and gumption will guarantee anyone a decent living if they just try hard enough.

There are people who are better at every aspect of my work than I am, and they struggle harder and work for longer, and they will never see half the success I have, because I happened to get lucky, and they happened not to. It's wretched.

I'm not telling you not to chase your dreams. I'm telling you to do it with your eyes open, and with compassion for yourself first before all else.

All of this to say: I can't tell you what to charge for your work. It depends on everything from your competition to your niche to your genre to your community to your economic situation. You have to figure it out on your own.

All I can tell you is never forget that your work is worth more than the market will let you charge, and to raise your prices as soon and as much as you can. Try to reach at least minimum wage for your time as fast as possible.

in conclusion

Again, I haven't been a commission artist full time for a long time, please do not take any of this as gospel. Listen to your peers before you listen to me.

But trust me about the solidarity. It will save you when all else fails.