#like obviously it’s fiction and it doesn’t matter

[pitchsidestories]

Why do you write for Chelsea players when your a Arsenal fan

Hi anon,

we actually thought this would be common sense but here we go.

Let’s clarify a few things first. Yes, we both support Arsenal but that doesn’t mean we don’t watch other teams as well. While you won’t see us rooting for Chelsea, we can still appreciate the players they have.

Second, the fics we write are not always based the players we personally like. While our favourite players do tend to appear more often, we’re always open to requests. No matter what player or from which club. In fact, some readers seemed to be happy about us including Chelsea players as well.

It should be clear that everything we write is purely fictional and meant for entertainment, none of it reflects real life, which is why were a bit surprised about this ask.

The fact that we write about Chelsea players obviously doesn’t automatically make us Chelsea fans.

Woso writers should be allowed to write about players who don't automatically play for their favourite club.

masterlist I latest fanfic I

[neon-danger]

currently at war with myself because Bite Me!Jack is like 21 and Bite Me! Alex is like 210-ish which is a major age gap

But since Alex was Born a vampire he ages by the decade and not the year so he’s mentally and physically 21 he’s just,,, been alive for 210 years

But also decades are still entire decades???

[dog-violet]

honestly I have never been a huge fan of the lesbian Kouyou headcanon since her romantic feelings for a man are kind of massively important to her backstory?? and sure I know some people might view that as an instance of comphet. but that moment when the man she loved was killed and she wasn’t able to escape the pm with him is clearly the root of her hatred of love. and personally I don’t think that works as well if she didn’t actually love him? anyway bisexual Kouyou is what I’m saying here

[falinscloaca]

😬😬😬😬😬😬

[sailoryooons]

Boyfriend Material | jjk (m)

☾ Pairing: Hockey Player!Jungkook x f. Reader 

☾ Summary: Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material – except when he is.  

☾ Word Count: 2,127

☾ Genre: FWB, Hint of Angst, Smut

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Friends with benefits who are very obviously pretending not to have feelings, being in a confusing relationship that is basically a relationship without titles, feelings of confusion and self-doubt, lying to oneself, mentions of some toxic interactions with other people/women, repressed feelings, explicit sexual content including oral (f. receiving) in the shower, honestly, in general, some very cliche/stereotypical conflict you’d find in a relationship with someone of status 

☾ Published: March 23, 2024

☾ A/N: This is a self-insert of one of the most confusing relationships I have ever had in my life and I will die on the hill that no one should date athletes because 98% of them are the rule, not the exception no matter how much they seem like it! TRAUMA!!! Also, should I have been dating a professional athlete for the sport I worked in? No!!!! This is for all the people who have been in a not-relationship-that-is-a-relationship why the fuck do people do that like it is okay to have feelings and call ur partner ur partner?? 

☾ A/N 2: This is drabble number six for the Drabble Challenge that I have been utterly failing at! Today I rolled for ‘athlete’ but I didn’t feel like writing actual sports so I was like :) I worked in sports for ten years, I can just share a glimpse of my life when I was 23 years old :) Enjoy 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration

“Fuck, I’m so tired,” Jungkook groans, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms. Sun beats down on his golden skin. You feel the heat of it on your back and the top of your head. It’s pleasant, the cool spring breeze threatening to send the napkins on the table running. “Wanna lay out at the pool?”

Finishing the rest of your coffee, you nudge the empty plate away from you. Where once an eggs benedict had stood is now smears of leftover yolk and a single onion you missed when eating your hashbrowns. 

“Not sick of me?” you ask, raising a brow. 

Jungkook isn’t looking at you, scrolling on his phone. The bill of his hat is pulled low, hiding most of his face as he squints down at the device held low in his lap. You wait patiently for his answer, running your finger up and down the now-empty glass as it sweats from the sun. 

“Nope,” he answers, popping the end of the word sharply. “Did you ever get your desk fixed? Yoongi said he would fix it if not.”

“I have not.” 

He nods. “He said he’ll swing by this afternoon. We can lay out at the pool at my place and then head to yours after?” 

Your mouth twitches. You don’t say it out loud because you don’t want to risk him backing out, but another full day spent with Jungkook is a surprise to you. Not because it doesn’t happen often – it does. But rather because it keeps happening more often.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. He’d established that the first night he met you at a bar. Him being a professional athlete was a warning sign enough that you didn’t want to romance that but what had come afterward has been nothing short of surprising. 

Friendship and… well. You don’t know how to explain the extras. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. But you do your groceries together on the weekend. You drop him off at the arena when they’re heading out for a road trip. You take him to doctor's appointments to monitor the knee injury from last season. 

You’re not Jungkook’s girlfriend but he takes you to team events. He lets himself in and does your laundry at your apartment while you’re at work so you don’t have to do it when you come home. He has his teammates fix furniture for you and they’ve asked you to babysit their kids. 

“Babe?” the endearment makes you blink a few times, realizing you’d been staring into your lap. Jungkook’s dark eyes are focused on you now, phone shoved into his pocket. “We don’t have to go to the pool. We can just nap.”

We. Not you. Jungkook is going to hang out with you regardless if you like his original idea or not. Your stomach flips in that way you hate, the way that you know you’re doing everything you said you wouldn’t.

“Sounds good.” 

Jungkook flashes a grin and you become acutely aware that thinking you could be friends with benefits without being anything more was a stupid idea. Jungkook is not made to be resisted, with round eyes that darken when he’s turned on, a giggle that contrasts with the big, broad-shouldered athlete built, a smile that lights up the room and can dispel any tension, a sweet voice that can tempt anyone the moment he pouts or when he decides to pur. 

You were fucked - literally and figuratively - that first night you let him in your apartment. 

Instead of thinking about it, you hide from the truth. Again. Jungkook is not boyfriend material, despite the fact that he pays for breakfast despite your protests, and reaches over the center console in the car to squeeze your thigh. 

“Mmm,” he hums, fingers skating over your flash and making you squirm in the passenger seat. “Warm.”

“I was sitting in the sun.”

“I like it.”

Jungkook likes a lot about you. He tells you all the time, very open about how he likes the way you taste, likes the way you organize your books by color, likes the way you sing in the shower, likes the way you speak in Star Wars quotes. 

Perhaps that’s what makes you the most wary about him. He says he’s not boyfriend material, but his actions betray his words. And you let them, every single time. 

Jungkook smells like sunscreen, sweat, and a little bit of his cologne from earlier that morning. You’re hyperaware of him as you lounge on the cabana bed together, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his firm body. 

His tattooed arm is tossed over his eyes, blocking out the sun as he snores a little. Careful not to knock into him, you lean over him and grab his phone to check the time. You haven’t been lounging in the sun long, but you don’t want him to get a sunburn.

Again. 

You wager you can stay a little longer, placing the phone back down under his discarded shirt where it can hide from the sun’s heat. Sitting back in your spot, you pick up your book from your sweaty thighs as the sound of the gate to the pool yard opening catches your attention. 

Some of Jungkook’s teammates live in the same apartment complex. It’s easier that way, especially for the players who get sent up and down from the minors. You catch a few of the younger players with a few girls you don’t know the name of tugging a cooler on wheels behind them with a speaker blaring. 

Jungkook doesn’t so much as move. He can sleep through anything – has slept through you falling into his gaming setup while trying to get to the bathroom drunk. His slumbering leaves you to watch them head to the beds a few over from yours. 

One of the girls notices you. You don’t recognize her specifically, but she recognizes Jungkook. Looks back at you. Frowns and mutters something to one of the other girls, who is not very subtle as she cranks her head around in your direction. 

You don’t wince anymore. It’s not an uncommon thing, among these circles. You refuse to engage with any of it. You used to tell yourself it was because a casual whatever-Jungkook-is simply isn’t worth the drama. At night, you know you don’t engage with it because you don’t want to know. 

Ignorance is bliss, especially in this dangerously plastic world Jungkook exists in. 

Thankfully, you’re not alone in the matter. Jimin appears out of thin air, dropping down on the empty bed next to you. Namjoon – arguably Jimin’s better half and team captain – is nowhere to be found. Jimin lowers his shades and looks beyond you to the group of now rowdy players. 

“Gross,” he huffs. He slides his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and stretches out on the bed like a cat. Jimin doesn’t play, but he certainly has the body of an athlete, all fine lines and corded muscle. “Ignore them.”

“I was doing that already.” You lift your book as if to prove yourself.

He snorts. “You were thinking about it, be honest.” Your silence is answer enough and Jimin grins, lacing his hands behind his head as he tilts toward the sun. “Don’t let Jungkookie burn again.”

“I’m not,” you huff before snapping your book shut. Jimin is in the circle of player’s partners that you genuinely enjoy, but he has the keen ability to get under your skin and tell you all of the truths that you don’t want to be voiced out loud. Still, having him on your side has more benefits than just keeping the hyenas away from you. He’s also genuinely nice when he wants to be. “Jungkook, wake up.”

The man mumbles and turns his head away from you. You sigh heavily, squeezing his strong, very sweaty arm gently. “Come on, you’re gonna burn if you stay out here any longer.”

“Mm. Feels nice.”

“A sunburn won’t feel nice.”

“You can rub aloe all over me.”

“I will not.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“Jeon.” 

He drops his arm from his eyes, squinting in the bright light at you. His hair is damp with sweat and hangs in his eyes. He’s been growing it out longer and longer, especially since Seokjin keeps encouraging Jungkook by telling him he has the best flow on the team. 

“So you don’t want to rub aloe all over me?”

“You don’t need to get sunburned for me to touch you, Jungkook.”

“Bleh,” Jimin grunts. 

That makes Jungkook sit up, rolling his shoulders and twisting to pop his back. He sighs for a moment, closing his eyes as though willing himself to get up. When he opens them again, there’s a light in them and he smirks, looking you up and down.

“Wanna shower?”

Your mouth twitches and you roll your eyes to hide how much you want to shiver. “Come on,” you sigh, getting up, the fabric of the sunbed clinging to your sweaty skin. 

Eyes cling to you as you pull the sundress over your head and slide your sandals on. You don’t have to glance over at the mini-party a few sunbeds over to know you’re being watched. You suppose they’re watching Jungkook more than anything, but you’re in direct view behind him, grabbing your book. 

You know Jungkook notices them. He says nothing, though. Instead, he offers his hand out when you shove all your belongings in a bag, wanting to carry it. You grin and hand it over to him, smile growing as he shoulders it easily and offers his hand again, this time for you to take.

And you do take it. Perhaps the satisfaction that thrums through you as he leads you out of the pool yard and onto the deck that crosses the lake toward his apartment building is a little bit insidious. You don’t care. The momentary triumph that you shouldn’t be feeling at all is far too powerful and Jungkook’s hand is far too warm and safe in yours to care about why you feel good about the public display of affection.

It isn’t like he hasn’t done it before. Jungkook isn’t shy with others in front of you. It’s what makes the whole thing worse, somehow. Because Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he introduces you to people and friends and slides between your legs to lean on you when you’re sitting on a barstool. He holds your hand when you go on a lunch and shopping spree with your mom and he brings her coffee and flowers. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but you don’t care when the shower hits the warm skin and runs down your back as he presses your chest to the cold shower wall in front of you. The cool stone stings against your nipples, over-sensitive and sending a shiver down your spine as your eyes flutter shut. 

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he curses low under the sound of the shower as he pries your legs apart, tongue seeking the heat between them hungrily. Your mouth falls open as Jungkook’s tongue licks you soft-slow, lips sucking gently against your clit. 

“Shit,” you hiss. The difference in temperatures between the hot water and the cold wall makes the room spin. Steam makes it harder to breathe, your head pleasure-dizzy as Jungkook laughs and rolls his tongue lazily around your dripping cunt. “Fuck.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he eats you out slow and hungry. He doesn’t care that the water starts to lose its warmth as his mouth works you, smacking his lips loudly and moaning, vibrations going straight to your core where you drip on his soft tongue. 

His hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he pries you apart further, tongue delving into your aching hole. He slurps at you, mouth loud and sticky over the sound of your panting and the water hitting the tile floor. His little hums of appreciation buzz through you, making the room spin.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your cheek to the wet, cold stone as you try to ground yourself. You twist an arm backward, gripping Jungkook’s wet hair. He lets out a loud groan in appreciation, always pleased when you pull on his hair. “Don’t stop.”

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material, but he does whatever you want him to. His tongue delves in, working you to orgasm until you’re shaking against the wall, knees knocking together and nearly collapsing on him. He catches you easily, standing and pressing you against the wall as he grabs your chin and brings your mouth toward him, his to devour.

Jungkook isn’t boyfriend material. 

But more than anything, you want him to be. 

[minisugakoobies]

Whipped | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, idiots to lovers, slightly crack-ish, non-idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: Mingyu's a stubborn idiot, but he's also the softest human alive, Minghao's kind of a jerk tbh, use of they/them pronouns for reader, this is honestly just fluffy nonsense meant to give you warm fuzzies

Word Count: 3.9k

Disclaimers: Obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: No matter what his friends say, Mingyu is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not whipped for you.

A/N: Yep, another Mingyu fic. I can't help it. 🤷‍♀️

Unbeta’d as usual. If you liked this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

Kim Mingyu is not whipped.

This is what he forcefully reminds himself when you walk into Minghao’s party, looking sweeter than a spring day, a phrase which if he’s being honest is maybe a little more poetic than he’d normally use. That’s okay. He can be a little dramatic if he wants. Why not? Seokmin does it all the time and no one bats an eye.

In any case. Mingyu is not whipped.

That’s why he turns his head, pretending he doesn’t see you dazzle everyone around you with your beautiful smile. While he’s pretending, he also acts like he can’t feel his own lips tug upwards at the soft chime of your laughter, a Pavlovian response to your happiness. No, his smile is unrelated to whatever you’re doing. He’s just in a good mood, one that didn’t suddenly ascend to the heavens when you entered the room.

Mingyu’s not whipped.

He sinks further into the couch where he’s sitting, a little off to the side of where Minghao, Jeonghan, and Seokmin are talking. Theoretically, he’s part of the conversation, adding the occasional hum or laugh, but he’s really not contributing much of anything. He’s too busy thinking about you. Not like that. 

(But not not like that, either.) 

In any case, Mingyu remains firmly unwhipped - solid, unshaken, definitely not falling apart over you. He’ll be absolutely fine, as long as you stay on the other side of the room, where your charms can’t reach him. Except that he can’t stop watching you, and now you’re looking at him, and even though he averts his eyes, it’s too late. He can sense you walking towards him, his heartbeat increasing with every step you take.

Not. Whipped. 

“Hey there, stranger.” 

Instinctively, at the sound of your voice, he glances up at you, like a flower tilting its face towards your light. He nods at your greeting, mumbling a hello of his own. The others sitting around him all greet you as well, but you merely nod in reply, your full attention on Mingyu. 

“Do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

If Mingyu had a list of things he loved about you, which he does not, being straightforward would be near the top. Of this totally fictional list that does not exist. He admires it, actually, the way you have no patience for dishonesty or deception.

Even though your question is blunt, your smile remains soft as you wait for his response, and Mingyu rethinks his ranking. Item number one on that imaginary list - the way you smile, at him, specifically. It’s so warm, like being hugged by the rays of the sun itself. It makes him happier than he ever thought possible. He wants to curl up like a cat and bask in the feeling. If he’s not careful, he might start purring right now.

He’s totally super normal about you.

“Me?” he asks, stalling for time, praying that a somewhat reasonable explanation falls into his lap in the meantime. He’s only a fair-to-moderate bullshitter, so his hopes are low. He can feel the others staring at the two of you, very obviously listening, because no one in your friend group seems to respect boundaries. It’s not helping. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you chirp back, and he does, he knows exactly what you mean, just like you know exactly what he’s doing. “You’ve been ignoring my texts. What’s going on?”

What’s going on is that Mingyu is not whipped, even if it feels like his insides are turning to melty goo beneath your inquisitive gaze. 

“I’m not ignoring you. I’ve just been busy,” he shoots, aiming for breezy and landing just shy of nonchalant. 

“Busy doing what?” 

“You know. Stuff.” Oh god, he really sucks at this. “And things.” Jesus Christ.

You fold your arms, and Mingyu thinks it’s cute the way you’re squinting at him, one eye closed as you assess his response. Unbearably cute, actually, and getting worse the longer it goes on.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not good enough,” you inform him, and with one hand on his arm (Mingyu ignores the electric current that lights up his nervous system when you touch him. It’s just static and definitely not anything else), you pull him to his feet and lead him out of Minghao’s apartment and into the empty hallway. He follows, not because he’d follow you anywhere, but because he’s curious.

Once the door is closed behind you, you turn to him, a serious expression on your face. “Gyu. Be honest with me.” Always, he thinks reflexively. “This is about what those guys said the other night, isn’t it?” 

Of course you know exactly what it is that has his head spinning right now. The two of you have been friends for ages, but Mingyu still can’t get over how easily you always seem to read him. 

A few nights ago, Mingyu and you had been out to dinner with a few others, and it had been like any other time you were hanging out with your friends, lots of laughing and teasing and just being happy dumbasses together. Only on this particular evening, the food had taken a very long time to arrive, but the drinks kept coming in the meanwhile, and you’d gotten a little drunker than usual, and a little clingier, sticking to Mingyu like a magnet.

Not that Mingyu minded having you hanging on his side all night. Nor did he mind keeping a close eye on you, making sure you were drinking your water and eating to help soak up some of the alcohol. None of that bothered him at all - you were his best friend; why wouldn’t he take care of you? Especially when you smiled at him and thanked him for being so sweet, so good to you, over and over.

(He can’t even begin to explain how that made him feel.)

The others noticed. And commented. Mingyu tried to ignore them, but they just wouldn’t shut up. By the time they joked that Mingyu was your trained puppy, suggesting you buy him a pretty collar and a leash to go with it, he’d had enough.

And when he tried to express that, Minghao had shut him down with a scoff, a wave of his hand, and one word. 

“Whipped.” 

Mingyu admits that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a whipped man. He’s not. He’s not, no matter what the others say. No matter how you’re looking at him right now, concern etched all over your lovely face, lip tucked between your teeth as you wait for his answer. He’s strong. And proud. 

(And maybe a stubborn idiot, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He considers just not responding at all, but he knows how persistent you are, so he settles for a half-shrug. You sigh, leaning back against the wall, arms crossing in front of you. 

“You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” you say softly, shaking your head. “They were joking. They said so! And you know I didn’t take it seriously for a second.” 

“You didn’t hear everything they said!” he protests, crossing his own arms. You’d missed most of the barbs flying his way that night, too busy enjoying yourself. Which weirdly made him happy. He hated the thought of those guys ruining your night. “They said I was your pet!” 

“So? Jeonghan always tells Seokmin he’s got the zoomies when he gets hyper. He knows he’s not actually a dog! It’s just stupid jokes! Our friends are dumb!” you laugh, throwing up your hands. “That’s what we like about them!”

Mingyu can’t help it, he starts to laugh with you, but then he catches himself, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me understand.” 

How can he help you understand, when he’s not entirely sure he understands it himself, this storm inside him, clouding his mind? 

“I…” He glances wildly around the hallway, but there’s nothing out here to help him. He can hear the bass from whatever song is playing inside the party, a low, steady thrumming that contrasts the erratic thumping of his heart. “I don’t like being called weak.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what they said?” 

“Yeah. Or I guess… they implied it. When they said I was whipped for you.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, knowing he’s pouting and it doesn’t help his defense, but it’s just his default setting. “But I’m not.” 

Because he’s staring into your eyes as he speaks, he catches it - the quick expression of sorrow that pinches your brow at his explanation - but it’s fleeting, gone in an instant. If he weren’t watching your face so intently, he would’ve missed it. 

“Gyu,” you sigh, the corners of your mouth lifting in what is clearly meant to be a smile, except it doesn’t reach your eyes, and for a moment, the confusing tide of emotions inside him still, and he feels only sadness. That’s not how you smile. “Can you please let it go? Everyone was being an idiot. That’s nothing new! Besides…” You trail off, staring at the floor.

He waits a beat. “Besides what?”

You huff and shrug. “It’s nothing, forget it.” 

The uncertainty in your tone unnerves Mingyu even more than your fake smile. Where’s that directness of yours? 

“No, tell me. Besides what?” 

With a deep breath, you look him straight in the eye. “Besides, I’m not delusional. I know you don’t like me like that. I’m not your type.” 

Your voice grows quieter at the end of your sentence, just as the music coming from the other side of the door fades out, and to Mingyu, the silence only amplifies your words, leaving them ringing loudly in his ears like a sonic boom. You’re not his type?

He blinks rapidly, as if that will somehow help. 

“You - you’re not - “ He pauses, searching fruitlessly for the end of his sentence, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Right. I’m not.” 

The laugh you let out sounds so fake that he winces, and a terrible realization hits him. You’ve taken his stammering to be a complete thought - a confirmation of what you’d said, that you aren’t someone he’d like like that. Curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your stomach, you shrink away from him, only a few inches but the distance feels so vast. 

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” 

Mingyu’s speechless. As his silence grows, so does the space between the two of you, until you’re standing by the door, hand on the knob. He feels like he should be doing something right now, snapping into action of some sort, but his brain is still stuck on your declaration.

“Okay,” he finally croaks, because it’s clear that you’re waiting for him to speak, and he doesn’t know what else to do but agree with you, because you’re usually right and he usually agrees with you. 

“Right,” you say again, but you look slightly unsure, and it rattles Mingyu, making him feel even more unsettled than before. “Okay.” And then you open the door and slip back inside Minghao’s apartment.

Alone in the hallway, Mingyu slumps against the wall. Well. That was a spectacular failure. He’d tried to explain how their comments upset him and all he’d done was upset you. The shift in your demeanor was so obvious to him, a flashing neon sign basically screaming “you fucked up!” in blazing red light. 

He gives himself a minute to try to pull himself together, then he returns to the party. As soon as he’s inside, he scans the room, until he finds you standing in the corner, hanging out with another friend, Chan, talking and laughing like everything is fine. Which, as Mingyu feels deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows it is not. 

His previously vacated spot on the couch remains open, so he slips back into it, ignoring the curious looks of his friends. He doesn’t want to answer any stupid questions right now, doesn’t want to deal with any of their crap while he tries to wrap his head around what just happened in the hallway. 

Naturally, his friends immediately start nosing into his business.

“What was that all about?” Minghao asks, turning to face Mingyu. Seokmin and Jeonghan both twist towards him, eager to hear his answer. 

“What was what about?” Mingyu replies, eyes flitting to you again. Chan must be bringing his A game with his jokes tonight, because you’re giggling Mingyu’s favorite giggle, the one that makes your nose twitch like a little bunny’s. It always makes him swell with pride when he coaxes it out of you with one of his dumb jokes, so seeing it right now and knowing he’s not the cause of it, well, it’s not exactly helping improve his mood.

“What was that dramatic exit?” Minghao gestures towards the door. 

“It was nothing. We were just talking.” Again he looks at you. And again, your attention is focused solely on the man beside you. Mingyu doesn’t understand. Can’t you feel him looking at you? 

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jeonghan drawls, miming the crack of a whip with his hand. Seokmin and Minghao crack up beside Mingyu, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying to catch your eye. He wants to see you smile at him. Just one smile. That’s all he needs to make him feel better. 

His friends lose interest in teasing him when he doesn’t respond, and the conversation moves on. As does the evening. Mingyu bonds with the couch, not leaving except to grab refills of his drink, but otherwise he’s a fixed point in this party, unlike you, who are constantly moving, floating from friend to friend, spreading joy across the room.

Spreading joy to everyone except him, that is. No matter how much he watches you, your light never shines on him again, not like it did earlier. He knows what this is. You’re the one doing the avoiding now. And oh my god does he hate it. He feels cold and lonely, withering away, dying for your attention. For your affection. Because he needs it to thrive.

Oh. 

Oh wow, he’s stupid. The others are right. 

Kim Mingyu is whipped. 

For you, and you only. 

Like it has been every few minutes since he returned from the hallway, his gaze is drawn back to you, and this time, it’s different. Because the mask you’ve been wearing all night finally slips, and Mingyu sees the wrinkle of your brow, and the slight downturn of your mouth, and he understands. You’re just as miserable as he is.

That absolutely will not do. He needs to fix this right now.

Mingyu rises to his feet again, not even waiting for Minghao to finish the story he’s been telling, not that he’s been listening anyway, and starts walking towards you. When he’s a mere arm’s length away, it occurs to him that he doesn’t have any plan, just an urgent need to make you look happy again. And also pay attention to him, because he needs your attention just like he needs you, so he panics, and grabs your hand. 

You look at him in surprise as his fingers slip between yours.

“Come with me. Please,” he adds, a bit hasty in his anxiousness, already tugging you out of the room and into the hallway. A pair of voices follow you both out, as Minghao and Jeonghan both jeer loudly at the sight of Mingyu dragging you away, but thankfully the door drowns them out, letting only the beat of the music through.   Which would be a good thing, except that now it’s just Mingyu and a very quiet you. With your hand still in his. 

“Is everything o-”

“You are my type.” 

You start speaking at the same time he does, but he’s louder, blurting his entire sentence out before you can finish yours. Your mouth freezes in an ‘o,’ and oh, Mingyu can’t believe what a dumbass he’s been for so long. How did everyone else see it but him? 

“I just. Wanted you to know. That you are the type of person. That I like.” Why can’t. He complete. A whole sentence? “Smart, funny, gorgeous….” 

You glance away from him, suddenly shy at that last word, and it just reinforces Mingyu’s point. 

Unfortunately, it does not make it any easier for him to say what he’s trying to say.

“But you’re not just my type? You’re the person I like. Hao’s right. They’re all right. I am whipped for you.” He frowns. “Damn it, I hate it when Hao’s right.” 

That makes you laugh, a quick “ha!” that makes your eyes light up, and Mingyu finds himself feeling stronger, so he doubles down. Might as well own it. 

“But he did, he got this one right. I’m down bad.” He brings your entwined hands up, clutching them in front of him, maybe pressing his luck a little, maybe laying it on thick, but it’s barely an exaggerated version of the truth if it’s not pure simple fact. 

“‘Gyu,” you groan, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch in the corner of your mouth that won’t cease, and it makes his heart sing. “Knock it off. I know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think you do.” He takes a deep breath and steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. Your hands are caught between you, and he presses the palm of yours against his chest, wondering if you feel the spike in his heartbeat when you inhale sharply. 

“Maybe you should tell me,” you say, eyes wide but voice calm, and again, he marvels at how you strike straight at the heart of the matter, and he decides he can do the same. 

“I’m telling you that I like you.”

The next few seconds are the longest in Mingyu’s life. Nothing has ever lasted this long in the history of time. Entire civilizations are built and fall within the blink of your eyelashes. You keep looking back and forth between his eyes, and he hopes that you see whatever it is you need to believe him, and tries his best to convey clearly what he feels. Even if he’s having trouble speaking his thoughts, at least his gaze can express it. 

“You like me…” 

He nods. “A lot.” Now that he’s said it out loud, it’s hitting him just how much.  

“You like me…” you start again slowly, frowning slightly, “but you don’t like it when others point that out?” 

“I just - “ Mingyu breaks off, a sharp puff of breath exploding out in frustration. How to explain it? “I didn’t like them saying it the way they did. It… it made me feel like they were calling me weak or something.” Your frown deepens and he stumbles on. “But - but that’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid. And I - I don’t care anymore.” 

He clings to your hands, a lifeboat in a sea of turmoil, the warmth of your fingers locked between his giving him hope that this isn’t going completely downhill, this sudden confession of his. It’d be just like him to ruin this with his impatience. He’s always too eager. 

“So what do you care about?” you ask, gaze burning into his. 

And then there’s you. Always so calm and direct. God, he adores you. 

“You. How you feel.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, you lower your eyes, in the briefest of glances at his mouth, and Mingyu feels that electric shock again, tingling all the way to his fingertips. He barely breathes as he waits for you to speak.

“If you really are whipped for me,” you finally say, “you should go tell them that.” You jerk your chin in the direction of the door.

If that’s what you want, then that’s what he’ll do. Without a second’s hesitation, Mingyu spins, his hand gripping yours to pull you back into the apartment with him. 

Seokmin gawks openly as Mingyu stomps across the room. Minghao and Jeonghan exchange a glance that last night would’ve set Mingyu spiraling, but now rolls off him like water. Mingyu comes to a stop directly in front of his friends, squaring his shoulders, trying frantically to corral his thoughts into something coherent. 

But before he can open his mouth, Minghao leans forward, placing his chin in his hand. “Shhh, guys, I think the puppy’s going to speak!” 

“Hao, shut the fuck up.” 

Minghao bristles when Mingyu snaps at him. Jeonghan and Seokmin both cackle, but then Mingyu glares at the two of them, and they fall silent. He takes a deep breath. 

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t care what you guys say about me anymore, because I like YN.” 

The words spill out of him so easily, not even the tiniest nudge needed. He glances at you to find you wearing a delighted expression and his heart goes buoyant again. He decides to ride the wave. 

“They’re amazing. I’d do anything to make them smile, so if that makes me whipped, then I guess I’m fucking whipped.” 

He’s facing you now, not caring if the others can see the obvious lovestruck look in his eye as he keeps talking, not to them, but to you. Aware that they’re probably all smirking at one another, because they figured it out before he did, but he doesn’t give a single goddamn. 

“I can’t get enough of their smile. And the way they laugh. I like how sweet they are. How honest.” Mingyu can’t stop talking at this point. It’s all gotta come out. “But never mean about it. Even when it’s something you don’t want to hear. Especially when it’s something you need to hear.” 

Your hand twitches in his with every sentence he states. He squeezes back gently as his statements get louder.

“I’m not kidding when I say I’d do anything to make them smile. I’d walk the ocean floor for them. Climb a volcano and surf the lava down barefoot. Capture a star fr-”

“Oh my god, we get it, you like them!” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Enough with the bad poetry.” 

“Also? We know.” Minghao snorts. “No need for the dramatic announcement, it’s not news.” 

Mingyu barely hears him, too lost in the way you’re smiling at him now. Forget his earlier rankings. This smile beats all the others. Shoots directly to the top of the list, which, now that he thinks about it, he kinda wants to write down and give to you, maybe framed. Or maybe he’ll stick it on his fridge - with a heavy magnet, of course, because it’s such a long list.

He completely loses all interest in the rest of the room, even though he’s pretty sure most of the party is staring at the two of you. Instead, he finds himself hanging anxiously on the breath you take, hoping for you to say something, to give him an indication of where things stand between you now. Because he knows you’ll be straightforward and get right to the point, whatever’s on your mind. 

You step closer, close enough for him to feel your soft laugh on his lips as you give him a look that sends his pulse rocketing. You’ve never looked at him like this before.

Forget a list. He’s gonna write a whole book. 

“Come on, whipped boy. Take me home.”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[andshesaidwhat]

Web of Lies - Stephen Glass Smut

Summary: You and Stephen are coworkers and he’s always harbored a secret crush on you. When he finally works up the courage to ask you to hang out with him, he’s elated that you agree. However, after an innocent night of company, you return to the office the next day to find your name as the hot topic of gossip. When you confront Stephen about the matter, he finds himself trapped in a web of his own lies.

Warnings: dacryphilia (he’s so pretty when he cries, i can’t help it), voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (Stephen receiving), dub-con (kind of? not really, but tagging it just in case), sub!Stephen, nipple play, manipulation, angst, lying, teasing, edging, denial, begging, humiliation, degradation, stephen whines and whimpers a lot because obviously.

Masterlist

The soft material of Stephen’s socks padded quietly across the floor as he made his way into the break room at The New Republic.

He stood by the door, watching with a small smile as you angrily hit the drink machine. He laughed to himself as you huffed, the frustration clear on your face.

This was something he did often. He observed you from a distance. The two of you had never spoken beyond the occasional greeting when your paths would cross in the office or a brief congratulations from you when a piece of his did exceptionally well.

Those were his favorite times. Watching you react to his stories. He’d ride the elation for hours when your lips would turn up in a smile during one of his pitches. He found himself tuning in to what made you laugh, what peaked your interest, warping his tales to accommodate.

He could do an entire write up on you by now if he was ever asked to. He’d studied you, down to every little detail. He knew what made you laugh and what pissed you off. He knew how you took your coffee and what pastries you’d swipe from the bakery you passed by every morning. He knew how you’d worry your bottom lip when you were deep in thought — that was a personal favorite of his. You’d become an obsession of sorts.

He had found his rhythm, watching your life from the outside. He was content that way. Which was why he was surprised to find himself walking up to you now.

“This machine never works,” he said, startling you as he appeared behind you. He grinned, sheepishly, ducking his head. “Sorry, it’s just that this machine gets stuck more than it doesn’t. Besides, the drinks inside of it are all flat anyways. There’s a better one on the third floor of the building. Works every time, honest.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip,” you laughed, embarrassed that you’d been caught fighting with an inanimate object.

“I was actually coming in here to put a note on the machine before leaving for lunch,” he lied, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s this little cafe a few blocks over that’s just to die for.”

“Are you talking about the one on 3rd Ave?” Stephen nodded, watching your face light up. “That’s one of my favorites!”

Stephen already knew that, of course. He’d watched you accumulate new takeout menus every time you’d go there for breakfast or lunch. He was willing to bet that you had upwards of twenty by now in your desk drawer. Still, he raised his eyebrows like this was the first he’d known of this information.

“Really?” Stephen asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugged. “Well, if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You eyed the blonde curiously. His glasses were perched high on his nose and his cheeks were illuminated with an ever present blush. He had an adorable, naive quality about him. Sure, it was clear to you that most of his stories were more fiction than fact, but who amongst you didn’t embellish every now and then?

You were intrigued by him, by the way his mind worked. He seemed to be nervously awaiting your answer, so you eased his fears with a gentle smile.

“I’d love to,” you told him, giggling at the way his eyes widened before he broke out into a breathtaking smile.

There was certainly a reason why he had the majority of the office wrapped around his finger. He was charming and incredibly easy on the eyes. He was observant, noticing things other people wouldn’t.

Maybe that was why, despite the controversy of his recent article, he didn’t seem to be catching too much heat.

“I’ll grab my things and we can walk there together,” Stephen told you, giving you a shy grin. “I’ll meet you by the front.”

You nodded, noticing the way some of your coworkers were observing your interaction. You brushed it off as typical office nosiness, waiting for Stephen to return.

As the two of you walked through the city, Stephen couldn't help but chat about mundane things: the weather, the noise of the city, your favorite books. He felt an unusual warmth in his chest, enjoying your conversation and company.

You couldn’t help but find his nervous rambling endearing, fascinated by the way he turned everything into a story.

Once you arrived at the quaint little cafe, he led you to a table by the window with a gentle smile.

“This is the best spot to sit,” you said, beaming as you looked out the large window. “You can watch all the people go by.”

He admired you, feeling his chest swell with pride that he had made a good choice.

You continued chatting about various topics, from your hobbies to your favorite TV shows. Stephen found himself opening up more than usual with you — something about you made him feel at ease and encouraged him to share pieces of himself.

By the end of the lunch hour, you had made your way back to the looming office building. You both stopped before returning inside, Stephen turning to look at you with a small smile.

“Thanks for the company,” he said, that familiar blush tinting his cheeks. “It meant more than you know.”

“Of course, Stephen,” you smiled. “Anytime.”

He watched you turn to walk back into the building, reaching out to stop you before he realized what he was doing. He felt a spike of anxiety shoot through his stomach as you turned around to look at him expectantly.

“Would you maybe wanna come over after work?” Stephen asked, breathing heavily. “I have Monopoly, if you like that sort of thing. I also have some left over danishes from that bakery down the street that I simply can’t finish all by myself.”

He watched your ears perk up at the mention of the pastries you’d stop to get before work some mornings. Hope brimmed in his chest as you contemplated his offer.

You couldn’t deny the intrigue. You’d enjoyed his company during lunch, and wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

“Can I play as the top hat?” You smirked, laughing as his face lit up.

Stephen felt a wave of relief wash over him as he responded, “Consider it yours.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, genuinely, before returning back to the office.

Stephen watched you walk off, his smile refusing to leave his face. As you parted ways, he couldn't shake off the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Each step felt lighter, as if he was walking on clouds.

The upcoming game night weighed heavily on his mind throughout the day. Every time he caught himself daydreaming about it, he'd snap back to reality and focus on his work. Yet, the excitement lingered, making the hours drag by slowly.

When evening finally came, he rushed home to prepare everything for your meeting. He wanted everything to be perfect — from setting up the game board to arranging the pastries he’d stopped to pick up after work.

You followed the address Stephen had sent you, showing up to his apartment. You couldn’t deny that you were excited to spend more time with him. He fascinated you in more ways than one. There was the obvious about his stories, yes, but there was also the way he seemed to melt when he looked at you.

You knocked gently on his door, waiting for his response.

Stephen stood at the entrance of his apartment, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He had cleaned and prepared everything meticulously, ensuring every detail was just right. As he opened the door, he found his hands trembling.

"Hey," he greeted softly, gesturing for you to enter. The sight of you took his breath away, and he couldn't help but blush under your gaze.

He showed you to the living room, where the Monopoly board lay spread out on the table. Next to it was an array of pastries and a fresh pot of coffee.

"Please, sit wherever you'd like," he said shyly, already feeling self-conscious.

“You’ve got the whole spread, huh?” You asked with an impressed smile, sitting down on his couch.

Your cheeks warmed with a blush of their own when you noticed he’d laid out the exact amount of creamer and sugar that you usually used.

Stephen chuckled softly, glancing around his apartment nervously. "Just trying to make it special," he explained, sitting across from you with the Monopoly board between you.

He poured you both a cup of coffee, watching as you observed your surroundings.

As you began playing, Stephen found himself getting lost in the fun, enjoying the sound of your laughter and the occasional touch of your hand while passing money or property cards. Every interaction sent electric shocks through him, leaving him spellbound.

You had genuinely enjoyed the game night. Both of you winning your fair share of rounds. He knew how to reel people in, that was for sure.

Eventually, you’d consumed all of the coffee and sweets that you could handle and had just bought out the last property on the board.

“There,” you said, triumphantly, winning again. “That makes three for me.”

Stephen couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at losing once again, but instead of sulking, he smiled widely, clapping for you.

"Impressive! Congrats," he said, sincerely. He noticed the time on his wall clock, realizing how late it had become. "Want to order some pizza before calling it a night?" He proposed, hoping to extend your time together.

Despite the losses, he cherished every moment spent with you. Your presence brought him a comfort and joy that he hadn't experienced in years.

You also weren’t in any rush to end the night, enjoying the time you were spending with him.

“I like pizza,” you smiled.

Stephen grinned, elated that you’d agreed.

“Fantastic,” he said, grabbing his phone to order the pizza. “It’ll be the best pizza you’ve ever had, honest.”

While waiting for the food to arrive, he engaged you in conversation — asking about your interests and hobbies.

When the doorbell rang, he quickly answered, accepting the piping hot pizza box. As you both sat down to eat, he felt grateful for this rare glimpse of a normal evening.

You were both laughing, talking about 80s music when you finished the last of the pizza.

“Really, Stephen? Like a Virgin is your favorite 80s song?” You asked, trying to catch your breath from your fit of giggles.

Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, sheepishly. "What can I say? It reminds me of being a teenager."

“I don’t know whether that’s hilarious or extremely sad,” you laughed, wiping your eyes.

“Yeah, me either,” he shrugged, grinning at you.

He glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had become. "I suppose we should call it a night," he said reluctantly, standing up.

Your eyes widened as you saw the time. It was nearly midnight. You’d been so lost in the night that you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” you agreed, standing up as well. “We won’t be very useful at work if we’re walking around half asleep.”

He smiled at your comment as he walked you to the door. He found himself wanting to kiss you, willing his eyes to stay away from your lips. Instead, he extended a polite handshake.

“Thanks for coming over,” he murmured, nervously. “I had a great time.”

You liked this version of him. The sweet, shy Stephen who didn’t feel the need to rely on stories of grandeur to captivate his audience. This version, the real version, you felt yourself falling for.

“Thank you for having me, Stephen,” you said, taking his hand gently. “I had a lovely time.”

Stephen watched you leave, feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. He waved until you disappeared from view, then returned inside his apartment.

The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he sat alone in silence, staring at the Monopoly board left scattered on the coffee table.

The next day, when you arrived at the office, you noticed some of your co-workers giving you odd looks. You ignored it at first, unlocking your office and going about your morning.

You had honestly expected Stephen to greet you, but he was strangely nowhere to be found. He’d been so eager to spend time together yesterday…

You tried to ignore the twist of disappointment in your stomach as you went about your morning.

Later, when you left your office to grab some papers, you noticed the strange looks again. This time, they were accompanied by hushed whispers and giggles. You looked around, skeptically, continuing on with your task.

It wasn’t until you were walking back to your office that you managed to hear a bit of what two women were saying.

“Can you believe it? He said she used handcuffs on him,” one of the women whispered, eyeing you up and down.

“She seems so reserved… I guess you never know when someone’s a freak in the sheets,” the other responded in hushed giggles.

You stopped dead in your tracks, trying to hear more of what they were saying.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to fucking Steve either, but I didn’t think she could be so…animalistic.”

Anger burned underneath your skin as you clutched the papers so tightly that they had all wrinkled. Your breathing was labored as you walked over to Stephen’s cubicle.

“Can I talk to you in my office, Stephen?” You asked, sharply.

Stephen looked up from his desk, startled by your sudden appearance. He swallowed hard, noting the anger simmering in your eyes. "Of course," he replied, following you to your office.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him, waiting for you to speak. "Is everything okay?" He inquired cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest.

You leaned against your desk in front of a chair where Stephen moved to sit, crossing your arms.

“No, Stephen, everything is not okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

He was nervous. Fidgeting in his seat, refusing to make direct eye contact with you for longer than a second. All signs that he was feeling anxious about something — or guilty.

He shrunk in on himself, his tongue darting out to lick his lips that had gone dry the minute you walked into his office as he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?!” You questioned back, fuming as his eyes stayed glued to the floor. “Care to tell me why the entire office is gossiping about some story of the rough, passionate sex we supposedly had?”

"It was...a misunderstanding," he stuttered, his voice barely audible, panic etched into his features. "They thought we had an affair, which isn't true."

“Yeah, I know it’s not true Stephen,” you scoffed, “but why do they think that it is?”

“You know how office gossip spreads,” he shrugged, his right knee bouncing as he pushed up his glasses. “Someone starts a story and everyone latches onto it like a bunch of leaches until they’re so full of shit that they drop it and move on.”

Your jaw ticked as you asked, “How would they even know to start this kind of story?”

“I don’t know!” Stephen defended, furrowing his eyebrows as his nostrils flared. “People are animals. Believe me, I’m just as upset as you are by all of this.”

He was scrambling, trying to play off innocent like he always did. Normally, you’d write it off. Even finding it somewhat endearing on most occasions. This time, however, it only fueled your anger.

“Did someone make up the story as petty office gossip or did you make it up so that the office would talk about something other than you completely making up Hack Heaven?” You asked, matter-of-factly. You saw the shock in his features, the readiness to deny, so you added, “Yeah, I know you made up that article and god only knows how many more. There’s no point in lying to me.”

Stephen stared at you in disbelief, shaken by your revelation. "How...how did you…?" he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, Stephen, you’re a tremendous writer but a terrible liar. I saw through your stories the moment I met you,” you said, a certain bite to your words. “What I didn’t expect was to become the center of one of your fictitious escapades.”

He could feel his world crumbling. All of his lies had caught up to him, and worse, he had involved you in it. "I...I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he stammered, rubbing his temples.

Stephen winced, feeling his face heat up. He stared at his shoes, unable to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, genuinely remorseful. "I never meant to drag you into this mess."

He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to speak the truth. "I made up stories because I wanted to succeed. I craved recognition and believed that's what it took." His voice cracked as he continued. "Seeing how much it's hurt you... I wish I could take it all back."

The weight of his actions bore down on him, realizing the consequences. There were no more webs to spin, no more excuses to give. He’d been caught in the worst way possible.

You looked at him for a moment, studying the way he sunk in on himself and the water rising in his eyes. You didn’t know whether you could believe his regret or not. A small piece of you wanted to.

“Tell me the story, then,” you said, uncrossing your arms. When you saw Stephen’s confusion, you continued. “You seemed to have such a riveting tale of our affair, so let me hear it. Tell me what you told them I supposedly did to you.”

“W-what?” Stephen sputtered, eyes wide as he glanced at you. “But…I…”

He waited, desperately hoping you’d back down, but he could see the fierce determination in your eyes. His face flamed as he took a shaky breath.

“I…I told them all kinds of details and descriptions,” he whispered, nervously. “I’m really sorry.”

“Tell me the details and descriptions, Stephen,” you said, sternly. “You didn’t have a problem telling them, so tell me.”

Stephen sighed, shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before recounting the fabricated encounter.

"I told them you were-”

“Look at me, Stephen,” you snapped, interrupting him.

His breath hitched as his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His skin burned hot. It was already bad enough having to tell you all of this, but it was even worse having to look at you while he did it. He released a shaky breath, beginning again.

"I told them you were aggressive and dominant in bed," he started, his voice barely audible. He winced, ashamed of his imagination. “Please, forgive me.”

“Start from the beginning,” you told him with a glare. “How did you tell them it started?”

Stephen swallowed hard, feeling nauseous as he recalled his lies. "I said we started chatting about music, after playing Monopoly," he began hesitantly. "Then, I said that you suggested we continue the night doing…something else."

He paused, unsure if he should continue. "I said you initiated it, that you wanted me in ways I'd never imagined," he murmured. "I painted a picture of desire and lust, claiming you were the one taking charge."

Stephen felt sick, realizing how much damage he'd caused — not only to his relationship with you, but also to your reputation.

You didn’t miss the brief flash of desire in his eyes as he recounted the beginning of this tale he’d spun, even if it was quickly replaced by guilt and anxiousness.

You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back onto the desk more.

“So, in this story, you made it sound like I was all over you?” You clarified, your anger ticking. “What did you say happened next?”

"Yes, I...I made it seem like you pursued me," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I described your actions in explicit detail."

He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. "I mentioned the way you touched me, and your voice...” He took a breath, fidgeting. “I said that you led me into my bedroom a-and that you…undressed me. I told them that you had…uh…that you had handcuffs. I made it sound like you were very aggressive."

Seeing your anger, he felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry. Please, understand that I never meant to hurt you."

You noticed him shifting uncomfortably, covering his lap with his hands as he spoke. Why was he trying to cover his lap? Was he getting turned on by this? Did he want to hide his arousal? Without wavering your stoic face, you said, “Put your arms by your sides, Stephen.”

Stephen's eyes widened slightly at your command but he obeyed without question. He put his arms by his sides, his face flush. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible.

He could feel his heart racing, partly due to the embarrassment of his reaction and partly due to the regret of his actions.

As he held his arms at his sides, you noticed the unmistakable tent forming in his pants.

“Keep going,” you said, cocking your head. “How did you tell them I used the handcuffs?”

Stephen's face turned bright red, mortified by your observation. He gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact. "I...I said you handcuffed me to the bedpost and...um…took control," he stammered, his voice breaking.

“Was this some sort of weird fantasy you’d had all along, or did it just fly off your tongue like all the other stories you tell?” You asked, harshly.

Stephen's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't deny it.

"I...I won't deny that it was partially a fantasy," he admitted, his voice a whisper, "but I never intended for it to become reality or cause you any harm."

He could feel the weight of his words, realizing the magnitude of his actions. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong, and I will do whatever it takes to make it right."

“Is that why you’re getting hard just talking about it?” You laughed, bitterly, glancing at the growing erection.

Stephen's face was crimson, his embarrassment palpable. He couldn't look at you, averting his eyes instead. "I don't...I don't know," he mumbled.

He knew he'd crossed a line, and he was desperate to fix it. "Please, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it right. Just give me a chance."

“Anything?” You asked, raising a brow at him. The sunlight from the open blinds lit up his scarlet cheeks, accentuating the blue in his eyes “Unbutton your shirt.”

Stephen froze, his eyes wide with shock. He glanced at the open blinds, then back at you. Despite his reluctance, he slowly took off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale chest.

You didn’t move from your position as your eyes trailed down the exposed skin of his torso, stopping back at the growing erection in his pants.

“Now, undo your pants,” you instructed, crossing your arms.

Stephen gulped, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he slowly started to remove his belt and unbutton his pants. He hesitated, his hands shaking, but he knew he had to follow your instructions.

As his zipper lowered, the erection became more apparent, straining against his boxers. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

The bright redness that burned his face had now also began flushing his chest. You stopped yourself from smirking at the sight.

“Well, go on…” you told him. “Push them the rest of the way down.”

Stephen hesitated, his hands trembling as he gripped his pants. He took a deep breath, knowing there was no turning back. With a shaky hand, he pushed his pants down to his ankles.

He sat there, utterly exposed and humiliated, waiting for your next command. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and shame coursing through him.

You stared at his sizable erection, straining against the boxers he wore.

“Boxers, too,” you said, cocking your head.

Stephen's face was beet red, but he complied, slowly pulling down his boxers. His erection sprang free, standing rigid and exposed.

He felt vulnerable and humiliated, but at the same time, he couldn't help but be aroused. He waited for your reaction, expecting your anger to be unbearable.

Your eyes widened slightly at the size of him, springing free from its confine. The sunlight caught him deliciously and you couldn’t deny the stir in your stomach.

“Look at you,” you laughed, “this worked up from your own imagination. You’re practically leaking everywhere.”

He felt his entire body flush at your attention, feeling the pre-cum dripping down his shaft. He felt like he was drowning in his own desire and lies.

“Yes, I'm...I'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“It looks awfully painful,” you said, still studying him. “All red and aching…”

You stood up straighter, standing tall over where he was sat in the chair. If he wanted you to take control, then that’s what he was going to get.

“You’re going to finish telling me the story that you told them, recounting every twisted detail you dreamed up, and you’re going to fuck yourself in front of me while you do it.”

Stephen's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't argue. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. The combination of his arousal and your command left him breathless.

He reached for his erection, feeling the heat and wetness pulsating in his veins. Hesitantly, he began to stroke himself, his mind flooded with the details of his fantasy.

He hoped this would show you his remorse, that this would be his way to beg you for forgiveness.

“What did you tell them happened after I handcuffed you, Stephen?” You asked, watching as he fisted his dick.

Stephen's grip tightened on his erection, his breathing becoming ragged. "I...I said you took control, touching me slowly...and teasing me." He groaned softly, his body responding to his thoughts. His actions mirrored his words as he absentmindedly teased himself, adding to the intensity of the current situation.

You locked eyes with him, seeing how his pupils dilated as you asked, “How did I tease you?”

Stephen's fingers danced faster, his breaths growing ragged. "I, uh, said you played with my nipples, tracing them with your fingers." He moaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed. "Then, I said you kissed me...all over." He gasped, his body arching slightly.

His mind was consumed by both your questions and his arousal, making it harder to separate fantasy from reality.

“Did I make you beg for it, Stephen?” You asked, your voice growing husky. You were relishing in the way he was falling apart, so submissive and eager.

Stephen's eyes snapped open at your question, his body trembling. "Yes," he gasped, his fist moving faster. "I said you made me beg for it, for relief and your touch."

His breathing became erratic, every thrust of his hand mirroring the intensity of his thoughts. "I begged for you, begged for everything you were doing to me."

He could barely focus on the task at hand, his arousal and fantasies clouding his mind.

“Tell me what you said I did to you after you begged for it,” you told him. You saw the way he was quickly losing himself and added, “and don’t you dare thinking about coming before I tell you to.”

Stephen's breath hitched, his grip tightening on his erection as a whimper escaped his lips. "I...I said you took me, forcefully and passionately," he panted, his body trembling.

He could feel the edge, the pleasure threatening to overtake him, but he forced himself to slow down, obeying your command.

His eyes locked on yours, desperation evident in his gaze. "Please, I need...I need to come."

“Is that what you dreamed of saying to me in this fantasy of yours?” You asked, leaning a bit closer. “Did you beg me to let you come while I was passionately taking you?”

Stephen's heart raced, his mind whirling. "Yes," he breathed. "I...I begged for release, for you to let me come."

He could feel the pressure building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. "Please,” he whined, “please let me finish this."

His eyes pleaded with you, hoping you would grant him the release he craved.

“Not yet,” you said, coldly.

His skin was flushed with arousal and embarrassment, sweat was beading on his brow, and his eyes were blown with lust. You enjoyed his desperation, deciding to push it further.

“What do you think would happen if someone looked through the window and saw you right now, Stephen?” You taunted, tilting your head towards the open blinds letting in the sunlight. “Or what if one of our coworkers walked right in to my office? What if they saw you, desperate and begging, just like your little stories?”

You glanced over at your closed office door and said, “Come to think of it, I don’t remember locking the door.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. "Oh god," he gasped, his grip tightening on his erection.

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation threatening to consume him. His eyes darted to the door, the possibility of exposure sending chills down his spine.

He knew he was at your mercy, desperate for release and terrified of what might happen. "Please, I can't...I can't take this anymore."

You walked over, placing your hands on each of the armrests and leaning over him — giving him a delectable view of your cleavage beneath your shirt.

“What’s stopping me from opening that door right now and letting them all see you, hm?” You taunted. “You were so keen to describe the details of this fantasy, why not let them witness it for themselves.”

Stephen's heart pounded in his chest, his body trembling. "No," he whimpered, his gaze locked on your cleavage. "Please, don't do that. I...I can't handle it."

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” You taunted. “You made up this story in the first place to take their eyes off of your fabricated articles. I think this would certainly do the trick. Nobody would be thinking about Hack Heaven if they saw you like this — exposed, desperate, needy, fucking yourself as you beg for my mercy. I think this is a front page picture.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. He glanced at the door again, the possibility of exposure weighing heavily on him.

"Please, I can't... I can't have them see me like this," he pleaded in that whiny voice of his, tears in his eyes.

His grip tightened, his body shaking as he fought against the impending orgasm. He needed you to decide, to put an end to his torment.

“Yet you’re gripping your dick that much harder,” you noted with a smirk. “Does the thought turn you on, Stevie? Being seen like this? Being exposed?”

Stephen's breath hitched, his eyes locked on yours. He nodded, slowly, tears streaming down his face. "Still…I don't want them to see me like this. I'm begging you."

His hand didn't stop, his body betraying him as the pleasure built. He felt trapped, his desires conflicting with his fear of exposure.

“You look so pretty like this, though,” You teased, grazing your nails lightly across his nipples. “I’m sure they’d love to see their favorite coworker so compromised.”

Stephen gasped, thrusting his hips up off of the chair. "Please," he whined, stroking himself faster.

You kept teasing his sensitive nipples with your nails, loving to see how wrecked he was. The anger you had felt had morphed into desire as you watched him falling apart in front of you.

“You’re just so close,” you cooed, taunting him, “aren’t you?”

"Yes," he whimpered, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'm...I'm so close."

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, his body betraying him once again.

“Beg me to let you come, Stevie,” you told him, mercilessly circling the hardened buds on his chest.

"Please," he gasped, his voice trembling. "Let me come, please."

He could feel the climax approaching, his body tensing. He needed your permission, your approval.

You backed away from him, becoming his audience.

“Come for me, Stephen,” you commanded, watching him intently.

Stephen's eyes widened, relief washing over him. "Thank you," he whimpered, his grip tightening as he chased his peak.

When he finally let himself fall over the edge, his eyes rolled back, his body jerking as the orgasm hit him. He came hard, whimpering your name and arching off of the seat as he bit down on his bottom lip to muffle his whines.

He slumped forward, panting heavily, his emotions a chaotic mix of gratitude and humiliation.

He looked utterly disheveled. His clothes hanging off of him, his skin flushed, his hair a mess, his glasses fogged. He looked delectable.

You handed him a box of tissues and said, “Clean yourself up and put your clothes back on.”

Stephen's breaths were heavy, his body still trembling as the afterglow settled in. He took the tissues gratefully, cleaning himself up.

He quickly straightened his clothes, his movements shaky. He felt vulnerable and exposed, but also strangely liberated.

As he stood up, he met your gaze, a mix of gratitude, embarrassment, and desire in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

You crossed your arms, standing in front of him after he’d somewhat composed himself.

“Never ever lie about me again,” you told him.

Stephen's heart raced, his eyes locked on yours. "I won't," he promised, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm sorry for everything."

He knew he'd made a mistake, and he wasn't going to repeat it. He wanted your forgiveness, to start anew and make things right.

Despite the harshness in your tone, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

You nodded, sighing as you uncrossed your arms.

“Well, I didn’t have handcuffs on me, but at least now your story has some credibility,” you joked, letting up on the sternness.

Stephen managed a weak smile, the blush still tinting his cheeks. "That it does," he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

He could feel the tension easing, the weight of his lies lifting from his shoulders. He knew he still had a long way to go, but this was a step in the right direction.

He hoped you could move past this, build something stronger and more honest.

You didn’t think he was malicious, just insecure and unsure of how to create his true identity. It was somehow still endearing.

You grabbed his face, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

Stephen's breath hitched, his heart racing as he eagerly returned the kiss, melting into you with a soft whimper.

He felt a mix of relief, gratitude, and desire. You had given him a chance, and he intended to prove himself worthy.

As you pulled away, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Thank you," he whispered.

You glanced at the office door and then back at him, his adorable face flushed.

“If they ask what happened, for once in your life just keep your mouth shut,” you giggled, softly.

Stephen chuckled, his cheeks flushing even more. "I will," he promised, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He knew he had to learn from this experience, to be honest and true to himself. He wanted to earn your trust and respect.

As he looked at you, he realized that, despite the chaos, something had changed between you. You had shared something intimate, and he felt grateful.

[aajjks]

Reward (m)

synopsis. You lure him in so deep in your embrace that he never wants to leave, no matter what, even if you beg him to leave you.

pairing: yan!married jungkook x prostitute fem!reader

warnings: ïnfèdïlïty, kïssïng, mèntïöns öf mürdèr, crázy jk, yândèrè bêhàvïöúr, mätǔrè thèmès, blóódy knïfè, ünhëälthy bèhávïöür, pröstïtütè yn.

note. it’s about time I start experimenting w my content with a lot more taboo themes, darker ones, maturer but ofc not explicit, this is obviously very dark so viewer discretion is heavily advised and this is purely fictional, do not romanticise this in irl

You guys can send asks for this one too. I think you are gonna like him.

______

Some sane part of Jungkook’s mind keeps on warning him that this is so fucking wrong at so many levels. This is so wrong, he is so bad. But yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of guilt.

He knows it though deep down.

But he can’t help himself, the temptation is far too strong for him to resist, yet it wasn’t like he didn’t try to hold himself back.

He wanted to be faithful, but ever since he has seen you? He doesn’t care. Maybe he just never cared and you helped him realize it.

He has tried, so many fucking times. But he always finds himself coming back for you, to you.

It is crazy that how addicted he has become to you. It is crazy how a one time thing has gotten so far. For the first time he saw you he was here with his friends.

And now he’s gone too far to go back now.

And now he’s here again, looking for the one he desperately wants to see the most right now.

The bartender looks up at him, and he almost sighs in annoyance, but the thing is that this man brings in good money.

So he will be nice. He does want a large tip.

“Sir, Your regular?” Jungkook looked up to see the tall man, not interested in having a drink, but he is so impatient to see you, and maybe having a drink, can help him calm down a little,

So he ends up, asking for the drink.

Alcohol and you help him.

Depression is taking over him, he needs to see you. He’s not sure if he can depend on the alcohol anymore. You are what he needs.

“Where’s Opal?” He clicks his tongue as the bartender passes him his drink, Jungkook grabs the glass and stares at it intensely, his appearance is messy, His hair has gotten longer and curly, all messy like he has been running his hair through it constantly.

His tattooed fingers tap on the glass, his eyes are wild as he glares at the man behind the marble counter, he’s so eager to hear his answer about your whereabouts. Of course he knows you are here, but what if you’re busy with another client?

He’s going to kill the owner if that’s the truth because he told him to not let you see other clients, but him.

anger and desperation are mixed in his bloodshot orbs.

He looks so crazy right now. The bartender is actually scared right now.

“I don’t know.” The man simply replies,, staring at him. He looks concerned but Jungkook doesn’t care. “I’m a bartender not her personal bodyguard.” The hazel eyed man barks and jungkooks grip tightens around the grass

Jungkook clenches his jaw.

How can he talk about you like this.

“Maybe she’s busy tending to some client… I don’t really know, sir.” A wave of jealousy washes over Jungkook like a raging storm, his hand gripping on the fragile thing, abnormally aggressively so.

“2,000$, I need to see her! Please!” Jungkook names his price.

The other man’s eyes go wide at his offer, because this is just absurd, he can’t be serious about giving him $2,000 just so he can see you right now.

But something in his mind is telling him that he’s not lying.

Jungkook stands up suddenly, Jungkook knows he is acting crazy but it has been so fucking long.

You are like everything to him, he was so lonely before you,, his wife didn’t care about him, you did, your company made him happy.

God, he needs you so bad.

“W-Woah! I-I said I don’t know!” Jungkook rolls his eyes and gritts his teeth, his patience is running thin. What a greedy little bastard.

He knows where you are.

The dog just wants some more bone.

“3,000, CALL HER FOR ME!” He slams his hands on the counter, his dark eyes are crazed, the bartender simply gulps.

He needs to stop testing his patience before jungkook actually throws the glass at him.

“O-Okay, come with me.”

Jungkook smirks.

Greedy fucker. But he will do anything for you.

———

He isn’t going to leave you alone after all.

You were actually happy that he hadn’t been visiting you for almost a month and you forgot about him but now you’re getting ready for him.

You sigh as you fix your dress finally putting on the coat and then you swipe on the red lipstick on your lips that he likes so much on you, the Chanel stick in your hand that he brought for you himself, he only likes this color of red on you, and then you will proceed to apply the cherry flavored lip oil on top.

You’re always paying attention to what your clients like particularly this one because he’s really demanding. and the reason why you are not really that excited to see him is because when you’re with him, he’s kind of weird and even when he’s not here he demands that you do not see other people.

You cannot be with other clients he doesn’t like it.

But right now you have to focus your attention on him, the last thing you do is put on the perfume, and then you’re out, making your way to the VIP suite.

your heartbeat is hammering when you take one last look at yourself in the mirror, and then you make your way into the vip suite,

God, he is really back for you.

Your hair blocks your view as you finally enter the large air conditioned room, oh, because he likes it down, he is so particular about the way you dress it’s like you’re his doll he’s the puppeteer.

The dark lighting is not making it easier for you to spot him. You’re kind of annoyed, but you need the money and you know that Jeon Jungkook has what you want.

So It is show time.

“You’re back, mr Jeon?” You purr, walking confidently towards him, taking off your coat as you stalk towards the man, “after so long huh?” You continue. Smirking seductively.

Jungkook is looking at you like a hawk, a huge smile on his face, and soon he gets up and is awfully quick to grab your body as he pulls you into his embrace. His action catches you off guard, but it’s not really anything new.

He’s always this eager.

“Woah, easy there.” You giggle, He doesn’t speak a word as he pulls you into his chest. His expensive perfume is all you can smell right now and you like it because it smells luxurious.

“I-I missed you so much!” He cries as he nuzzles his face into your neck. The sound of him actually sniffing your scent makes you cringe.

He is so weird, but he was hot. No one can actually guess by looking at him that he can be this pathetic for a woman like you, but only if they knew and saw him like this.

He’s a famous man with a serious reputation, but what do you see in this room is a completely different man. So you let him hug you and sniff you, the better you please him the more money he will give you.

In a way, you’re both really desperate, your motives are just really different.

“God… you’re finally near me… I’m so sorry I can’t control myself.” Jungkook’s breath tickles your skin, even though he’s really hot and rich but you feel a little disgusted because he’s a married man and here he is.

You feel bad for his wife.

when he finally breaks the hug you feel a rush of relief.

Now you’ll go straight to business, so you lick your lips, staring at him. He’s undeniably sexy.

“So… what do you want me to do, a lap dance?” You trail your black french tipped nails on his hard chest, your tone is sickly sweet trying to cover the impatience in your voice.

You look at Jungkook with a sultry gaze, He is so fucking sexy and filthy rich too.

You need the money.

“Or… would you like something else? Hmm?” You were careful with your words as you watch his gaze fill with desire, numbing on the meat of your lower lip.

Wow, this is pretty easy.

“I-I want you.”

He stutters as you smirk batting your lashes at him, and that’s enough to make him crash his lips on yours, his kiss is sloppy and almost desperate, swallowing away your breath. His hands quickly grab your waist as he pulls you closer and closer.

His kiss is intense, but you managed to catch up, he is kissing youlike he was dying and you were the last wave of air he needed to survive.

Unlike his shy personality and timid habits around you, he is a filthy good kisser.

wow.

You try to match his pace, running your hands on his body, his hand grabs your ass your hands travel down to his hips too and that’s when you feel something sharp poking on from the back of his pocket.

It’s not a wallet or a phone, it’s pointy, and curvy as you feel it.

Jungkook is so lost in your kiss to not notice your hand sneaking into his pocket at the back of his hip, too lost in the sensation.

You are careful with the movement as you finally take out the thing and wrap your hand around the object.

And that’s when he realizes what you’ve done.

“W-What are you doing?” Jungkook pulls away from your mouth, thankfully for you, you have your hands on the object.

You look into the eyes and now he looks panicked, which is weird because what is it that you’ve pulled out of his pocket? You don’t reply to him as you look at it and,

You feel goosebumps. Immediately backing up from him. And now you’re panicking too because you cannot believe what is in your hands right now.

You are frozen. Way too shocked and scared to speak, but you have to ask him

“W-What is this?!?” Your eyes were wide with fear and shock as you keep on backing away from him, what the fuck did he do?!

And why is here?! Why is he really here?

Tears prickle against your eyes, the stains of blood on the silver knife are scaring the shit out of you. And what is even worse is that they look fresh.

“M-Mr J-Jeon?!?” You stutter, looking up to him. But he’s got this crazed look in his eyes, they’re too bright and sparkly.

“Darling don’t be afraid of me.” He stalks closer as you stepped back, “d-don’t come near me!”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, looking at you like you’re overreacting you’re not overreacting, but he’s not fazed at all. “sweetheart relax… this is my knife… And that’s…” he halts his steps,

For a moment, you think that he’s sensed your fear and you’re uncomfortable around him but soon your bubble is bursted when he cages your trembling body in.

“My wife’s blood on it.” He swipes his tongue on his lower lip. His tone is so normal, like he is having a daily conversation with you.

He has just confessed to killing his wife, and now he’s looking at you like he’s done nothing. You can’t believe him.

You can’t bring yourself to scream for help when he snatches away the knife from you.

“Nice flavour” you have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about but soon he touches his red, stained lips, referring to your cherry flavoured lip oil you had put on your lips, he smirks again, his eyes dark and heavy.

“Now, we can really be together forever, darling!I got rid of her for you so we can be each other’s forever, I got fucking rid of her, FINALLY!” He giggles like a maniac.

Shivers.

What the fuck is he talking about?!

“That hag, oh my God… I hated her guts! I-I love you so much! S-She found out about u-us so I had to kill her b-because she wouldn’t let me be with you!”

You want the earth to swallow you, your mind is frozen from shock, shit, this dude is actually crazy.

“and now you’ll be mine forever yn. This is so perfect. Just like I imagined. Aren’t you proud of me? I think I deserve a reward.”

He travels his hands down to your hips once again.

He is not going to let you go. You are fucked.

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: Rafe Cameron. Your toxic ex boyfriend who can’t seem to let you go. Even your best attempt at fighting him off, telling him no, he comes back. He won’t let you go.

— CW: 18+ only! toxic!ex bf!rafe, dark!rafe, violence, kidnapping, strong language, cocaine use, fingering, choking, marking, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

— a/n: this is a work of fiction. i do not condone anything written. this will all be in rafe’s pov. enjoy🖤

likes, comments and reblogs aren’t expected but are very appreciated <3

❥ toxic — r.c

I always knew something was wrong with me. It started when my mom died. My mind just went… Dark.

My life had started taking a really dark turn. And for a while, I could control my dark tendencies, I could control the darkness that ate away at my mind. But, the older I got, the harder it became to control that darkness inside me.

For as long as I could remember, my dad always hated me. He fucking hated me, and there was nothing I could do to change that. He only cared about Sarah, my younger sister. From the moment she was born, all of his love and attention went to her. Like she was something fucking special, like she hung the fucking moon. I was left to care for myself, pick myself back up when I fell. My dad still financially supported me, — even though he wished he didn’t have too — so at least I still had that going for me.

But he didn’t love me. No, he wished I had been a stain on the bedsheets, wished I had been wiped away with a fucking warm washcloth after the deed was done. But that wasn’t the case, obviously. I was born. And I was here. And he fucking hated that.

I stopped believing in love at a very young age. Fucked up, right? What kid doesn’t believe in love? What kid doesn’t believe that someone is capable of loving him? If you didn’t already know the answer to that, it’s me. At least, it was me.

The idea of loving someone and being loved crept back into my life when I was eighteen. When she came into my life. I loved her the best I knew how, which, wasn’t really saying anything. I didn’t know how to fucking love someone, so… I hurt her. I hurt her in every way possible…

… And when she finally walked away from me, telling me that she “deserved better”, I fucking lost it. I lost the only fucking person in this world who mattered to me. The only person who tried to love even the darkest parts of me. I fucking lost her.

But her walking away from me. From us. Wasn’t going to stop me. No, she was fucking mine. And I was going to get her back, even if I had to force my way back into her life, she would come back to me.

“Rafe, are you sure about this?” Topper asks, pulling me from my own mind.

I shake my head, dragging my eyes up to find Topper’s intense stare. His eyes narrow into small slits, eyebrows raising as he tries to read my face. I blink. Once. Twice. “What?” I ask, completely confused.

“Are you sure you wanna do this shit, man? Y/N will never fucking forgive you, and you know…”

“I don’t fucking care, Top! She’s mine, and she needs to be fucking reminded of that!” I snap. My fists are now balled up at my sides, chest heaving up and down and nostrils flared as thoughts of her begin to fill my mind.

Topper throws his hands up in surrender. “Whatever, bro. Not my problem.”

I smile, but it holds no amusement. No happiness. It’s a cold smile. “Exactly. Not your problem. Now cut that shit up, I need one more line before I head out.”

Topper sighs, but does as I ask. He leans forward, grabbing my black Amex off the glass table and begins cutting a new set of lines for the two of us. I chew at the skin around my thumb nail as I watch him create four perfectly straight lines out of the white powdery substance.

Once he finishes, I shove his shoulder to the side, allowing me access to the table. I snatch the already rolled hundred dollar bill off of the glass, rolling it a little tighter and placing one end to my right nostril. I lean forward, sticking the other end of the bill onto one of the four lines and snort the powder up into my nose. I quickly do my second line before tossing the bill back onto the table and falling back into the couch, squeezing my eyes shut and letting out a loud sigh. The drug burns my nose and throat, but the numbing sensation that comes from the cocaine quickly replaces that burn. My nose, throat, and tongue are numb, but my entire body feels like it’s on fire, a new surge of adrenaline pumping into my veins and making me ready to do what I must do tonight.

I stand from my spot on the couch, glancing down at Topper once more before heading for the door. His concerned voice stops me in my tracks. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, man. She’s going to hate you after tonight”

I snort. I don’t give a fuck if she hates me. She’s mine, and she needs to be reminded of that. She can’t hate me more than she already does. Or maybe she can, I don’t know. If I have anything to say about it though, she won’t hate me. No, she’ll love me again. I’ll make sure she loves me.

“Maybe. But she can’t hate me forever. She will love me again.”

I walk out the door, slamming it shut behind me before Topper can even open his mouth to ramble off anymore bullshit. I didn’t care to hear it. I didn’t care about his opinion. I was doing this.

I sit outside of her work. Watching. Waiting. I know she’ll be off any minute now, I used to pick her up every night when we were together. My girl doesn’t have a car, so I already know she’ll probably be leaving with one of her coworkers, but that won’t stray my plan. It’ll only make it more interesting. More fun.

My phone goes off in my pocket, letting me know I have a text. Pulling it out, I glare down at the words on the screen.

Ward: Where the fuck are you Rafe? Tonight was fucking important and you’re fucking everything up. I don’t even know why i’m surprised, you’re nothing but a walking fuck up.

I growl, angrily tossing my phone into the passenger side floorboard. Fuck my dad. And fuck the business deal that he so badly needed me at tonight. He doesn’t give a fuck about anything other than money and Sarah. So naturally, I’m putting what I want first. And what I want is Y/N. I don’t give a fuck about anything else.

The sound of her laughter filters in through my cracked window, making me sit up straight in my seat. One glance out the windshield and I see her. She looks as gorgeous as I remember. And her laugh, fuck, it has my cock growing in my pants, straining against the harsh fabric of my boxers and jeans. I adjust myself, and shake my head a few times. I need to focus. My eyes travel to the left of her. My fists automatically ball themselves by my sides when I see her walking and talking with Pope. I fucking hate that pogue. I hate all pogues. Except for her. She will always be the exception.

He stands too close to her for my liking, and it makes my blood boil. Tossing a part of my plan out the window, I shove my door open and march my way toward them. She’s in the middle of talking when Pope’s wide eyes have her audibly clamping her mouth shut.

“Pope, what is- Rafe.” She says softly, her breathing picking up now that I’m right in front of her.

“Baby girl.” I reply, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“Don’t- Don’t call me that, Rafe. We’re not together anymore.”

My jaw tightens at her words, nostrils flaring as I try and keep my composure. I don’t need to lash out just yet. I need to keep my calm, for now.

I ignore her and turn my attention toward Pope. “Heyward. Get the fuck out of here.” I say simply. It’s as simple as that. He can leave, or I can beat the shit out of him. The choice is his.

He glares at me, his eyes narrowed into slits and his breathing calm. Seems like the kid grew a pair of balls in the last thirty seconds. He opens his mouth to speak, but my fist connecting with his nose cuts off whatever bullshit he was about to say.

“Rafe! What the fuck?!” Y/N shouts, dropping to her knees and checking on the boy that’s now laid out on the ground, blood pouring from his probably broken nose.

“Get up, Y/N. We’re leaving”

Her neck snaps in my direction so fast, eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking going anywhere with you! Fucking leave me alone, Rafe!”

I roll my neck from side to side before taking a step toward her. “You can either come with me willingly, or I can make you come with me. Your call, baby girl.”

The look in her eyes has me straining in my jeans. She’s so fucking sexy when she’s mad. She looks down at Pope, he’s groaning and holding his nose as blood continues to pour from it.

“Y/N! Now!” I shout. My patience is growing thin. And she’s not going to like it if I have to force her to come with me. I want her to make at least one choice on her own tonight.

She slowly stands, but Pope grabbing at her hand has her stopping halfway up. I fist my hands, ready to fucking hit him again if needed.

“Y/N… Don’t go with him…” Pope says softly. I chuckle at that. He thinks she has a choice in the matter. The only choice she has is to willingly come. And even now, I have a feeling she’s going to opt out of that choice.

She glances between him and me, and I can see the gears turning in her head. She’s thinking of running. Go for it, baby. I’ve planned for her running. As if she can read my thoughts, she yanks her hand from his grip and turns as fast as she can. She takes off running down the empty street, but I’m right on her heels.

“Keep running baby, you know I love it when you run!”

She looks behind her shoulder, a look of pure fear in her eyes. When she puts her focus back on what’s in front of her I pick up my speed. Once I’m directly behind her, I wrap my right arm around her waist and yank her back into my front. She begins kicking and screaming, her nails clawing into my arm. “Rafe! Put me down!” She shouts, and I just laugh.

“Baby girl, you know I can’t do that.”

I carry her back to my truck, opening the back door and tossing her inside. I jog around to the driver side, glancing over to where she and Pope walked out of and noticing he’s gone. Oh well. Not my problem. My dad will get me out of whatever he tries to throw my way. I climb inside the truck, locking the doors and bringing the engine to life. I glance into the back seat to find her sitting up right, and she’s seething. Anger flashes through her beautiful eyes, her chest is heaving up and down and nostrils flaring as she glares at me.

“Fuck you, Rafe! What the fuck do you want?!”

I smirk. “You.” I answer simply, and her eyes go wide.

It’s as simple as that. I want her. And she is going to want me again, even if it takes days, months, years. She will want me again.

“Rafe, put me the fuck down! I can fucking walk!” She shouts. Her small fists are pounding into my back. I have her tossed over my shoulder, walking up the stairs of the porch and into the front door of Tannyhill.

Once inside, I finally set her down on her feet and she scrambles away from me. I laugh, she thinks she can escape me, but she can’t. She never will. She’s mine to own. To fuck. To control. She’s mine.

“You know, it hurts my feelings how scared of me you are, baby girl.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you fucking serious? You just basically kidnapped me, Rafe! You’re fucking insane!”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I am insane. But only for you. Because of you. I fucking love you, Y/N. Why can’t you see that?”

She scoffs. “You don’t love me. You want to fucking own me, like I’m your fucking property or some shit. I’m not! I’m a human fucking being, Rafe!”

I love the fight she has in her. I always have. Just not when she’s fighting me. Against me. She’ll learn soon enough that I am the scariest part of her life. I’m her biggest threat. But I will also protect her. She needs to be protected from everyone but me. She fucking needs me.

“This can go one of two ways, sweetheart. One. You can willingly come upstairs with me, and let me fuck that attitude out of you, let me remind you who the fuck you belong to. Or two. I can drag your ass up those stairs by your hair and remind you who the fuck you belong to. Either way, you’re going to be begging for my cock by the end of the night.”

I don’t miss how her nipples harden at my words. She still wants me. When she notices my eyes on her now hard nipples she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest, causing me to smirk in amusement and arch a brow.

“I don’t fucking belong to you, Rafe! God, you’re fucking crazy! Go to hell!”

A smile spreads across my face at her words. “Sweetheart, I am hell.”

Her breath hitches in her throat and her arms drop to her sides. I take a step toward her, causing her to take one back. I roll my eyes, taking one long step toward her and closing the distance between us. I wrap my right arm around her waist, pulling her flush into my body. I lean my head down, breathing in her intoxicating scent before my lips brush against the shell of her ear, I whisper, “You wanna do things my way? I’ll take you right here. Right now. Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I’m not against letting anyone see me claim what’s mine.”

I feel her body tense in my hold, and it only makes my smile grow. She’s scared of me. But that’s expected. For now. After I’m done with her, she’ll be begging for more. She won’t want to let me go. She’ll be mine, just like I am hers.

“Rafe-” She breathes out, but I cut her off. I smash my lips against hers in a breathtaking, aggressive kiss. She involuntarily moans against my mouth, allowing me to force my tongue into her mouth. She melts into me, her body going slack in my hold as she allows my tongue to explore her mouth, brushing against hers. God I fucking missed her. The taste of her.

She snaps her eyes open, pushing me back, and I’m so fucking weak from the kiss that I don’t fight it. I stumble back a little before straightening myself. She has her eyes narrowed and her tiny fists balled at her sides.

“Fuck you, Rafe! Stop trying to get into my head! I- I fucking can’t keep doing this with you!”

She tries to make her way past me, but I grip the back of her neck. I pull her backward, angling her head up so her eyes are on mine. She tries to pull herself from my grip, but I tighten my hand on her neck, making her whine out in pain.

“Is my soul too dark for you, baby girl? What is it? Can you not love me for who I am?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but I release her neck, tossing her onto the ground in the process. She lands on her ass, her hands flying behind her to keep her upright. I slowly make my way toward her, letting out a deep exhale.

“You see, I tried to be better for you. But I can’t change who I am. Not for you. Not for anyone. But, one thing did change. You wanna know what that is?”

Her eyes begin to fill with tears, one slipping past her lower lashes. “W-What?”

“I learned how to love. How to accept love into my life. I love you, Y/N. And you left me. Left me like I didn’t mean anything to you. That should have been enough for me to let you go. You know? I’ve always been rejected. My own dad fucking hates me. I’ve never known love. But you. You came into my fucking life and wrecked everything. I fell in love with you, and I know you loved me. So I can’t just let that go. I fucking need you. And you need me. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

I kneel in front of her, reaching my right hand out and running it down the side of her pretty face. She flinches back and I grip her cheeks between my fingers, squeezing tightly. “Now. Let me remind you of who the fuck you belong to.”

She whimpers, more tears spilling past her lower lashes. I lay her onto her back, crawling on top of her and caging her in with my arms. She doesn’t fight. Sobs rack her chest, and she rolls her head to the side, trying to avoid my stare. I press my hips into hers, groaning when my hard dick presses against her clothed pussy.

“You feel that, Y/N? That’s what you do to me. You own me. Are you going to let me own you?”

She rolls her head back toward me. Her bloodshot eyes and mascara stained cheeks make me groan. Fuck, I’m in love with this girl. Even if she’s terrified of me right now, I fucking need her.

I chuckle at her silence. My hands go to the hem of her work shirt, sliding it up and exposing her smooth stomach. I take my left hand and run my fingers over the expanse of her skin, pulling a shudder from her. “You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart. And you’re all mine.”

She chokes out a sob, squeezing her eyes shut as my fingers trail up her stomach and to the underside of her bra. I cup one of her breasts in my hand, firmly squeezing at it. She whimpers, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth to try and silence her cries of pleasure.

I slip her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in her pink lace bra. I snake my hand underneath her back, finding the clasps that hold the bra in place and pop them. My fingers find the straps, slowly sliding them down her arms and exposing her chest to me. Her nipples are hard, perfectly pointed peaks. My mouth waters, wanting to suck on them. I lean my head down, wrapping my lips around one of her nipples and sucking at it lightly before bringing it between my teeth and lightly biting. She moans loudly when I pull back with her nipple in my teeth. I let the pebbled bud fall from my mouth and smirk down at her.

“Are you wet f’me, sweetheart?”

She rolls her eyes. “No”

I chuckle. She’s lying. I know her better than she thinks I do. And I know she’s fucking lying. She’s ashamed. She doesn’t want to be wet for me, but she is.

I run my fingers down to the waistband of her jeans, popping the button on them and slowly pulling the zipper down. She squirms underneath my touch, trying to get away but I press my weight into her, keeping her pressed onto the cold tile of the entryway of Tannyhill.

I slide the rough fabric down her legs just enough to expose her matching pink thong. I bought her this set. And fuck, she looks good wearing it. I slide my hand between us again, running my hand up her inner thighs until I reach her clothed center. Even from here, I can feel how soaked she is. I slide her panties to the side, baring her cunt and running my index finger through her arousal slick folds.

“You’re right, you’re not wet. You’re fucking soaked, princess. Your body misses me.”

I shove my index finger inside of her soaked pussy, pulling a moan from her. I add another, curling them slightly and working them in and out of her slowly. I press my palm firmly against her clit as I continue to fuck my fingers in and out of her. The sounds her pussy makes while my fingers are buried inside her have me straining harshly against my jeans. She begins to roll her hips, fucking herself against my hand.

I bury my face into her neck, sinking my teeth into her flesh and sucking a bruise into her otherwise flawless skin. I release her skin, looking at the deep purple bruise that adorns her neck before I lick the bruise and up to her ear. I nip at the lobe of her ear before whispering, “That’s it baby, ride my hand. Good fucking girl”

She whimpers, her hips picking up the pace as she rides my fingers and hand. Her pussy clenches around my fingers, letting me know she’s close to her release. I quickly pull my fingers from her, and she whines at the loss.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll cum. But it’ll be all over my cock. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to fuck this pretty pussy, and you’re going to love it”

I push myself off of her and quickly kick my shoes off before pulling my shirt over my head. I work on my jeans next, pulling them and my boxers down in one swift motion. Her eyes go wide when she sees my throbbing cock, precum already leaking from the tip. I drop to my knees and pull her jeans down the rest of the way. I rip her thong from her hips, making her gasp in surprise. “Rafe, I liked those!” I smirk. I can buy her a thousand more where that came from.

Ignoring her anger over the flimsy fabric I ripped from her body, I place my left hand on the ground, baring my weight while grasping my hard cock in my right hand and line it with her weeping entrance. My blue eyes find hers. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t fucking want this, because if you don’t, I’m not sorry for what’s to come. I will fucking hurt you. I will not be gentle.”

She doesnt respond, and I take her silence as my okay. I shove myself inside her in one harsh push. I groan when my swollen head hits that spongey sweet spot inside of her and she gasps loudly. Her hands fly around my neck, nails digging into my shoulders. I stay still for a minute, needing to focus on not busting inside of her right now. I want to enjoy this. I want to fucking feel her wrapped around me for longer than a few fucking minutes, but she feels so fucking good. I feel like a teenage boy discovering women for the first time all over again.

“Fuck baby girl, so fucking right and wet. And all for me.” I rasp.

“Rafe… Please?” She begs.

“Please what, baby girl. Tell me what you want”

She whimpers and it makes my dick jerk inside her. “Please… Fuck me Rafe. I- I need you.”

I smirk. She admitted that she needs me. She fucking needs me.

I ignore the small victory for now and slowly pull myself from inside her, slamming myself back inside her warm cunt before she can even think of saying anything.

My hips find a pace, quick and harsh. I slam myself in and out of her. Her sweat slick body slides on the tile, and I wrap and arm around her waist, keeping her in place. I still myself inside her, quickly grabbing her right leg and placing it around my hips, allowing me better access to her pussy. I begin pounding my hips into hers again, pulling the sweetest moans from her lips.

“Tell me you’re fucking mine. Tell me you won’t ever fucking leave me again.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing but whines and moans come out. I slow my hips, completely stilling myself inside her once more. My right hand wraps around her throat, squeezing and cutting off her air. Her wide, tear filled eyes stare up at me. “Fucking say it! Tell me you fucking need me! Tell me you fucking love me!”

She tries to speak, but my grip on her throat tightened, making her beautiful face turn a bright shade of red. Her lips begin to turn blue and I release her neck. She sucks in a deep breath of air, gasping as tears pour from her eyes.

“Tell me baby. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I-I’m yours, Rafe. Only yours. I need you. I love you. I’ll never leave you again.”

I smile at her words. They make a warmth flood through my body. A warmth i’ve only ever felt with her. She may be lying for her own pleasure right now, but she will love me again, and she will mean it.

Satisfied with her answer I begin thrusting into her again, slow and sensual thrusts that have her softly moaning. I dip my head down, burying it into her neck again. I sink my teeth into her shoulder, biting on the skin harshly before moving to the other side and repeating the action. She will be completely marked by me by the end of the night. Reminders of this night, reminders of who she belongs to marked into her skin.

Her pussy clenches around me, tightly gripping at my cock and sucking me in deeper. I groan, my lips kissing over all the bruises and teeth marks i’ve left on her skin. “Come f’me, princess. Come all over my cock, s’kay. Let me have it”

She whimpers, her pussy pulsing and body stiffening as her release rushes through her. Her body shakes, tears spill from her eyes as she screams my name. I smash my lips with hers, silencing her cries. Our tongues clash together, heavy breathing and the sounds of our skin slapping bounce off the walls. I break the kiss, my eyes finding hers. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty pussy baby. I wanna see you swollen with my child. Do you want that? You can’t escape me if you’re pregnant with my child.”

She whines, squeezing her eyes shut as she nears another orgasm. I feel her pussy clench around me again, squeezing me tightly like it’s trying to milk me for every last drop of my cum.

My hips stutter, dick twitching inside her warm and wet cunt as I explode deep inside her pussy. “That’s it baby, take it all. I wanna see you pregnant with my baby. You’re mine. Forever”

I push deep inside her one more time, shoving my cum deep into her abused cunt before I slowly pull myself out. I fall to the floor beside her, rolling onto my side and kissing her sweat slick forehead. “All mine baby. You’re never leaving me again.”

rafe cameron masterlist | taglist form

[dansemacabre]

i’ve been thinking about “sixer, it would eat you alive” since i read it and. man. every layer you peel back makes it worse. im not a bill apologist but. shit

if you (1) take it at face value, it paints bill as an apologetic murderer in his single (and maybe sole) open moment of regret. he doesn’t let his walls down often- only with ford do we even get to see the remnant of his galaxy, see the “actual remorse” ford describes, get just a hint of his origins. but he does it, because he thinks ford should know.

if you (2) take it from ford’s point of view, as something he committed to journal three, like. wow. imagine being so committed to a being that you’d hunt down and kill the monster that destroyed his home, only to (assumably) figure out later that that being was the monster. the small moments of trust, the “good times”, are so key to manipulation. how long did ford hold onto that one shred of vulnerability? no wonder ford stayed for as long as he did. in his eyes, bill was a survivor. ford wanted to survive too.

(slight tw below for unreality- any time i mention our reality, i mean “our reality” as a narrative device used in the book of bill as a proxy for the idea of bill being in our reality, since he can’t actually be in our reality. all of this is a fictional theory about a show/book with fictional contents!)

but if you (3) remember that “even his lies are lies” and absolutely Nothing bill says should be trusted. Whoo boy. if i read tbob right the book itself is being created in the theraprism (even tho it shows up with the ciphertologists at some point? idk that’s a whole other post). it’s meant to show what the reader wants to see; it manifests in our reality as what the collective fandom wants to see. so if we want to see truth, if we want to see where bill ended up and who he actually is, there’s a non-zero chance that the whole interaction was a complete fabrication.

imagine bill, stuck in the actively harmful, probably earth-illegal theraprism, once again being forced to be “fixed” and molded into something more palatable, being forced to conform no matter how much it hurts. (i know natural uncontrollable mutation ≠ just so much murder and destruction and chaos, but. you can’t ignore the similarities. bill has obviously been thinking about those silly straws.)

he looks back on everything that went wrong, back on his relationship with ford, back through every dimension where he wins. would that one moment, that one truth amid centuries of lies, have saved him from purgatory? if he had just been open? shown his damage? maybe he did think of his parents, or his henchmaniacs (especially the oracle). people who he might have once opened up to. maybe he just wanted to open up to someone again.

so in his own weird way, stuck in a cell, he reshaped reality again. in this reality, for this fleeting moment, he had been someone worth believing. and ford had listened, hell, ford had wanted to help. looking back, knowing how he treated ford, knowing how ford ended up because of it, maybe bill would have said the most honest thing he’d ever told ford: i am the monster, i am not worth your time or belief, and i will eat you alive.

[worldlxvlys]

my eyes only (part 4)

jealous! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: cursing, reader is in a toxic relationship, smuttt, p in v, cream pie, choking, oral (fem receiving), squirting, masturbation, use of vibrator, cheating

** i’m not promoting cheating in the slightest, this is fiction. please do not cheat on anyone.

a/n: part 4 was highly requested sooo here it is <33

previous part

“it was an accident!” i yelled for what had to be the tenth time.

“how the hell do you accidentally send someone nudes ?” charlie yelled back.

i let a heavy sigh as i rolled my eyes, “hey, don’t roll your eyes at me”

my face scrunched up at that, “i can do whatever the hell i want with my own eyes, charlie. i don’t know why you think you can control my every move” he looked like he wanted to make a snarky comment at that, but i stopped him, “and why were you going through my phone?” i asked.

he looked take aback at the fact that i knew, “ i didn’t” he spoke defensively.

“so you weren’t going through me and chris’s texts?” i asked.

he sighed, giving up the act, “ok, fine. yes i went through your texts once. it was awhile ago, though”

“you are un-fucking-believable, charlie. how am i supposed to trust you when you don’t even trust me?” i asked.

“i know, it’s just-”i cut him off, “your past relationships, i know. but that doesn’t give you the right to go through my phone”

his eyebrows scrunched up at that, “are you trying to invalidate my feelings right now?” he asked.

my eyes widened at that, “i-no! what are you talking about?”

“i mean, you just basically told me that what i went through in the past means nothing to you”

“charlie, when did i say that?” i asked incredulously.

“whatever. i just can’t believe you’re pulling this shit while i’m going through such a hard time. i mean, you know how much stress i’ve been dealing with because of work, and now i have to worry about my girlfriend sending nudes to another guy”

my face softened at this, realizing that there was some truth to what he was saying.

although i would never admit it out loud, i did send chris those nudes on purpose. and on top of that, i gave him access to several of my explicit videos.

thank god charlie didn’t know about that part.

it was wrong of me to do, but when it came to chris, every logical thought of mine flew out the window.

my boyfriend was an asshole, but that didn’t give me the right to add onto his stress.

“i’m sorry, you’re right. it won’t happen again. what can i do to make it up to you?” i asked as i rubbed his shoulders.

i wasn’t an idiot. i knew that i was better off breaking things off with him, but i was scared. as fucked up as our relationship was, it was one of the only constant things in my life. and although it was dangerous for my mental health, it was safe.

change is inevitable, but it’s also uncontrollable in most situations. and this situation was one of the rare cases where i had full control.

“stop talking to him.” my heart dropped at this.

“what? you want me to just stop talking to someone who i’ve been friends with for years?” by the tone of my voice, he could probably tell that i wasn’t going to do it.

“ok, you’re right, that’s unreasonable. but, maybe just back off of him a little?” he asked.

“please? it would help ease my mind” he spoke as he squeezed my waist, his grip tighter than usual.

i had been with charlie long enough to read him pretty well. his mood could flip in a matter of seconds, and it was quite frightening to experience. sometimes, when he was seconds away from doing it, he would squeeze my hip or shoulder firmly. this was obviously one of those times where my answer would determine how the rest of the night went.

he had never hurt me before, but i was still always careful not to set him off.

“ok, yeah” i nodded my head at him.

“i need to hear you say it” he said, refusing to let go of me.

“i’ll back off of him” i said.

he let go of me, a grin taking over his features, “thank you, baby. i really appreciate it”

i nodded at him, smiling weakly.

1 WEEK LATER

CHRIS’S POV

“it was a mistake”, those were the words she said a week ago. those words led me to believe that she would change her my eyes only password.

wrong.

because when i opened her my eyes only the day after she sent that text, the password worked.

she added more videos to the collection, in fact, she didn’t delete my own video.

and when i clicked onto the most recent video, the first thing i heard her moan was my name.

so that’s the game she wants to play? she won’t answer my texts, but she’ll scream my name when she plays with herself?

fine, let’s play.

throughout the week, we added more and more videos to the collection. we teased each other, moaned each other’s names, and spoke the dirtiest words to our phones.

we never addressed the videos in our text messages, as our conversations never got past a “hi, how are you” and a dry response.

it was an odd situation, but she seemed hellbent on avoiding any conversation.

finally, after a week of playing the game, i decided to go over to her house and talk to her like an adult.

i didn’t bother texting her, knowing i wouldn’t get a response.

READER’S POV

“fuck, chris” i moaned out as my head flew back onto my bed.

my body was bare and covered in a layer of sweat as i held my vibrator against my clit with one hand, the other fingering my wet hole.

my phone was propped up against a chair, capturing my pleasure perfectly.

i was so close to my orgasm, i didn’t hear my front door open.

“chris! i’m gonna-!” i cut myself off as my door flew open.

in a panic, i moved my hands and turned my head towards the door.

my eyes widened in horror, as chris stood by my door with hooded eyes.

chris and i stared at each other as we both waited for someone to say something.

“chris-” i started, but paused when he pulled his shirt off.

he quick strides in my direction, before leaning down and capturing my lips in a desperate kiss.

i moaned into the kiss, as our lips moved against each others quickly.

he detached our lips, pressing his forehead to mine. “do you want this or not?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “cause one second you say it’s a mistake, then the next you’re moaning my name. if you’re just gonna play with my feelings, i-” i stopped him by pressing my lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“i want this, chris. i want you. i was scared and confused, and i shouldn’t have played with you like that. i need you to know this isn’t a game to me” i spoke as my gaze shifted between his eyes.

“i’ve wanted you for so fucking long, i just didn’t know how to tell you” i cupped his jaw with my hand, running my thumb along the skin right under his bottom lip.

“thank fuck” he whispered before pushing his lips onto mine again.

my hands found their way to the back of his neck as his soft lips caressed mine.

his hands went to my boobs, squeezing and pinching my nipples, eliciting a small moan from me.

“fuck, you sound even better in person” he groaned.

he continued to play with my tits as our lips slid against each other’s perfectly.

his hips ground down into my body, his clothed erection pressing into my inner thigh.

i bit down onto my lip, suppressing my moans.

“don’t be shy now, baby. you’re so vocal when i’m not in front of you. do i need to play one of the videos?” he asked, making me narrow my eyes at him.

in one swift motion, i hooked my leg around his waist, pushing him down into me and flipping us over.

his eyes widened as i wrapped my hand around his throat, making him let out a choked moan.

“yeah? you like it when i choke you like this?” i asked as i moved my hand down to his sweatpants.

“mmm, fuck yea” he groaned out.

i hooked my finger into his sweatpants, tugging them down.

my fingers gently caressed his thighs as i moved my mouth to the top of his boxers.

i looked up at him through my lashes as i took the waistband between my teeth, pulling it up and letting it snap back against his skin, making his hips jerk slightly.

“i want these off” i spoke.

he quickly pulled them down, letting his dick spring free.

“remember that pink dildo?” i asked as i let my spit travel down to his cock, beginning to spread it around his length.

“y-yeah, i do” he groaned in response.

i lined him up with my entrance and sank down onto him, pulling long strings of curses from both of our lips.

“i always imagine that it’s your cock buried inside of me” i moaned out as i began to move on top of him.

“o-oh my fuck” he whispered as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

he seemed to almost be shocked at the amount of pleasure coursing through his body, as his arms stayed frozen at his side.

“touch me, chris” i spoke, snapping him out of his trance.

his hands shot out to my sides, sliding down to grab my ass.

i grabbed his shoulders to stablilize myself as i rolled my hips into his.

“god, you feel even better than i ever imagined” i spoke as i pressed my forehead to his, staring into his eyes.

“you look so fucking good on top of me like this. love watching you fuck yourself on my cock” he whispered to me.

“you like the way i squeeze you?” i asked as i clenched around him.

he whimpered at the feeling, before replying, “not gonna last if you do that”

“good, i’m on the pill. i need you to fuck your cum into me, chris. need it so bad” i moaned as his dick plunged in and out of my tight hole.

the dirty words sent chris over the edge.

his fingers dug into my ass, holding me down against him as he shot his cum deep inside of my walls.

i lifted my hips off of him and swung my leg over his, moving from on top of him.

“wait, you didn’t finish” he pointed out.

“it’s fine” i shrugged it off.

chris wasn’t having this as he pulled me back towards his body.

“ride my face” he spoke as he pulled me back on top of him.

“what?” i asked, my eyes widening at his statement.

“i don’t know what you’re used to, but we’re not done until you cum. so, ride my face.” he spoke, throwing slight shade towards charlie, as he laid down.

following his instructions, i positioned myself right above his face. i hovered for a second before chris pulled me down onto him, pulling all of my weight onto his face.

“oh my god, chris” my jaw fell slack as my hands laced into his hair, tugging gently.

he groaned against my heat as his tongue licked up and down my folds.

i began to rock my hips against his mouth. with every upward movement, chris’ nose pressed against my clit.

“chris! i’m cumming!” i spoke as my body tensed up.

my toes curled and my fingers scratched his scalp as i felt an intense wave of pleasure run through my body.

i lifted myself off of his face as my juices shot out of my trembling body, saturating the pillow and chris’s face.

“fuck! sorry, sorry” i spoke quickly as i got off of him.

“don’t ever apologize for something like that, ma. that was hot as fuck” he spoke before licking his lips.

i got up to grab something to clean his face up, when he stopped me.

“wait, take a picture of my face!” he grinned.

“what, why?” i asked.

“we can save it to your my eyes only” he winked.

����🌀🌀🌀

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @annelisseakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette

[princessbellecerise]

With A Modern!Reader

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | How the House of the Dragon characters would react to a reader from our world

warnings | None

this is a work of fiction. i do not own these characters

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys Velaryon

Jace is surprisingly cautious. It’s not as if he’s afraid of you, you’re just so…different that it takes a while for him to even approach you

When he does, you may think he’s being hostile but really he’s just curious

He keeps his distance at first, but out of everyone he’s the first to warm up to you

He likes hearing about your world, taking walks with you and listening intensely

He thinks it’s fascinating, but more than anything Jace would be the one not afraid to truly introduce you to his world, taking you on tours, showing you around and even letting you pet his dragon while he watches you with a smile

It’s clear that the main difference between your worlds is the magic aspect, so while he’s fascinated with all your technology, you’re fascinated by his dragons and the fact that actual witches exist

Both concepts are very hard for the other to grasp, so you and Jace spend your time discussing and having fulfilling conversations, telling the other facts and details about where you’re from and enjoying every minute of it

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon is amused

He is the first to believe you when you say you’re not from his universe because my gods, it’s obvious from your clothes to your speech you obviously weren’t raised in this world

And man, he gets a kick out of watching you struggle with the social norms, often laughing and whisking you away when your mouth gets you in trouble more than once

He scoldes you and tells you that things are different where he lives, that the social customs require you to remain proper and not curse out every Lord that has something problematic to say

He’d teach you how to ‘behave’ while simultaneously encouraging you to be yourself for his own sake, because Daemon loves watching you start arguments and debates, trying to catch his people up with the modern terms you’re used to

Of course, it never works but he looks forward to it nevertheless because it makes the otherwise insufferable events that much more bearable

Lucerys Velaryon

Luke is very cautious at first. Even more so than his brother, because while you talk like you’re from more advanced times, Luke is still convinced that you’ll view and treat him the same as everyone else in his world does

It’s only when you happen to bring up the fact that you and your siblings have different dads is he really interested in what you have to say

And when you tell him that the rumors you’ve heard about him don’t matter, that nobody really cares about blood that much where you come from, will he really start to warm up to you

You’ll see a whole other side to Lucerys that no one has really seen before; he’ll open up to you and tell you all about his worries of possibly being a bastard

Likewise, you’d tell him that you relate to feeling out of place seeing as you’re not even from the world. You’re used to people gossiping about you as well and when it all becomes too much, you and Lucerys have a way of seeking comfort in one another. This caused you both to form a strong bond over your shared feelings

Aemond Targaryen

Aemond is confused

He’s perplexed, and at first he doesn’t like you because he’s never met someone that’s challenged him so much

From your clothes to your speech to your strange gadgets, everything about you is just so…weird. He doesn’t understand where you came from and why, but out of everyone he’d be the most willing to get you home

During this time, you both would more than likely bond in a sort of frenemie way

Aemond with his constant teasing of your lack of knowledge on how things worked in his world, and you because of his so called out-dated attitude

He’d be shocked when you completely disregard his status and talk to him like he’s just a regular person. You don’t see him as Prince Aemond, just the Aemond that’s slightly stuck-up; which you also never fail to remind him.

You’re just so casual with how you interact and joke with him. And over time, Aemond finds himself more and more attached to you. Because by gods, all he’s ever wanted was for someone to appreciate him for him, and not because of his title or standings in the world

And you being you, you don’t really care about any of that and he can’t begin to explain how grateful he is that the universe decided to send you to him, even growing to be sad and a little more hesitant when it’s time to send you home

Aegon Targaryen

Aegon is fascinated

Less so by you and more so of the world that you left behind. And even more so of the trinkets that somehow came over with you

In all his life, Aegon had never met someone that had things that he didn’t. After all—he was a prince and that meant he usually had the best of the best

But you? You have things he’d never even dreamed of having. Like glasses that block out the light (perfect for his hangovers) and medicine to also help with the aftermaths of his drinking

He’s so fascinated when the guards empty your bag, never once hesitating to pick up your strange stuff and demand to know what it does

Of course, you have to tell him to chill out a little bit and that his title doesn’t really matter to you because you’re not from his world

And Aegon is perplexed, and honestly slightly jealous that he can’t control you, nor can he compete with all the technology that you have

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Out of everyone, she is the most understanding of your situation

When you first arrive, Rhaenyra takes you under her wing and never once makes you feel like an outsider. She’s a little bit hesitant, sure, but it’s really not all that hard to believe you

She’ll listen to you and when you need help, she’s always there to offer her aid

With her around, it’s super easy to understand the world that you’ve landed into. After all, Rhaenyra is happy to show you the ropes herself and fill you in on all the ways you have to act in order to survive in her world

You quickly become grateful for her presence because it helps to soothe all of the rumors and questions people may ask about you. After all, she’s no stranger to them herself

And with one look from the princess/future Queen, people are bowing their heads and running off, leaving their intrusive words abandoned

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside. 

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

.

.

.

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

 Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

[kouyou-arc-when]

ON DAZAI AND EMPATHY: A character study Before you read: Obviously diagnosing any character in fiction seriously is a fool’s errand, but I am a fool, so let’s just do this for amusement. The main thing I desire is to discuss is the extent to which Dazai is capable of various types of empathy, as well as how that influences the way he sees and interacts with others. It will be chaotic and all over the place because I just sat down and wrote this in a fit. Let me explain some factors in analyzing Osamu: The author's intention is clearly to make Dazai's internal world a mystery. Since we don't have enough information, all we can do is hypothesize based on external elements. Generally, across all novels, the only time we’ve seen anything of Dazai’s perspective is in “The Day I picked up Dazai” (Beast continuity) – where he “saves” Oda and tortures that random dude. We don’t hear his thoughts narrated from first-person perspective, unlike many of the other novels.

Now, the crux of the issue. For years, it’s been discussed whether Dazai is a “sociopath”. If we disregard that sociopathy is a very loaded term that can mean a lot of things depending on which specialist you consult, at the very least, Dazai does strike me as someone with a unique expression of empathy, who could qualify for Anti-social personality disorder or a related condition. I will abandon the idea that Dazai is a sociopath, and use actual concepts that have legitimacy within this post. Whether Dazai could qualify for ASPD or any other disorder is something I've seen discussed for many years within the fandom. I'll try to analyze how these concepts could apply to him. In regards to mental health and Kafka (since it is a contentious matter) and the validity of any of this: I understand that a lot of people are resistant to the idea that any of the characters could have conditions more complex than depression, anxiety, and PTSD. This is my counterpoint. I have noticed that Asagiri emulates a lot of characteristics commonly attributed to “geniuses”, without confirming or potentially even intending to write these characters as having a specific condition.

A great example is Ranpo – who will read as autistic to any decent mental health professional (Untold Origins). Did Asagiri intentionally sit down and say “I am going to write an autistic character”? Maybe not. However, the “genius” stereotype is profoundly connected to visions of autism, even if people aren’t aware of it. Take people like Sherlock, House and L from Death Note – they’re commonly believed to be autistic by fans. All of these characters borrow from the same group of traits, that just happens to correspond with a certain condition - savants have always been popular in fiction. It's been known that the favorite type of character for Asagiri is the “prodigy” type, and he has used geniuses across fiction for inspiration of most notable intelligent characters within BSD. For Ranpo it was Sherlock, for Fyodor it was Joker from the Dark Knight (a classic sociopath), for Dazai it was Patrick from The Mentalist.

What I’m trying to say is, you can see various personality disorders connected to the portrayal of these geniuses, and even without confirming their state, it is clear they are either intentionally or unintentionally coded to be that way. Extremely intelligent characters not being able to read social cues, lacking empathy, disregarding rules etc. is something we commonly see in fiction. Basically, a lot of people don’t even know that these stereotypes are based on certain personality types, disorders, and illnesses. It’s sort of like drawing a character and dyeing their hair a certain shade of blue that you don’t know the particular name of: it doesn’t change the fact that you used that color, and the fact it has a name. Most authors are not mental health experts anyways, so they may not be entirely aware of every detail of the psychological framework they write the character to possess. They also may not write it consistently, as they're mostly emulating stereotypes. I mention Ranpo and autism because a character can embody traits of a stereotype without the author even necessarily having the intention to do so, however, to anyone who knows a thing or two, it is clear Ranpo is on the spectrum. If Ranpo were to express a few traits that go against this, it would not necessarily take away from the large-scale portrayal he is meant to exude: an autistic coded genius.

Why am I saying this? It is entirely possible for the author to write Dazai as a person with anti-social personality disorder, to “code” him in that way, but to not be entirely aware of how an individual with ASPD realistically tends to act.  Because he may be emulating a certain "stereotype" of a genius, he may also end up emulating specific psychological states, without making them entirely consistent in a realistic way. Writing the way individuals with ASPD tend to deal with empathy can be extremely difficult for anyone. It's easy to emulate a sociopath on a superficial level, but beyond that, it gets more challenging. How would a person with limited empathy act when they're hurting someone? That is an easier idea to handle. But how will they act in a friendly relationship? This is where it gets tricky. That is likely why someone like Dazai can never be consistently compatible with a very specific disorder: but, he can come very close. Besides, concepts such as anxiety and depression are pretty well-known, but more niche mental health conditions are not as well understood. So, BSD Osamu was written with specific attention to mental health issues because the author himself was someone who spoke heavily on the topic. I’ve read a lot of real-life Dazai Osamu, with special attention to No Longer Human (the main inspiration for BSD Dazai was Yozo) – and neither RL Dazai nor Yozo gave me the impression they could qualify for ASPD at all.

I know BSD Dazai is the opposite of the RL author in so many ways, but I guess it’s relevant to mention this because we know so little of BSD Dazai’s internal working processes, and Asagiri's main inspiration can tell us a lot about the intentions behind Dazai's portrayal. Generally, an intention or idea behind a character can give a lot of clues to us - more than anything, I am under the impression some of the main ideas behind Dazai's creation was that: 1) He doesn't feel like he belongs among humans 2) He has mental health issues However, we have difficulty defining the exact source of why all of this is in more realistic terms.

Naturally, since Dazai, an extremely socially intelligent person, sees himself as "othered", it is logical to assume he is not capable of fulfilling some emotional function most people can in a successful enough way. If he were just mentally ill in more typical ways (only depression), I theorize he wouldn't feel that "othered". He specifically is not meant to feel human. Obviously, his extreme intelligence is one of the things that isolates him, but the question is what else?

We are led to believe Dazai "sees" something the rest of us don't, and that is one of the reasons he wants to die. However, there is something more to it, as I believe it to be. We have two characters who are as intelligent as Dazai: Fyodor and Ranpo, and neither of them is suicidal, as far as we know. I believe Dazai "feels" a certain way, and then finds a way to logically justify it. Due to his intelligence, he likely falls into a complex loop which leads him to existential nihilism: but you usually don't end up in a place like that if you tend to feel alright in the first place, regardless of how smart you may be. While Dazai is certainly isolated due to his extreme intelligence, most of the people who made an impact on him are nowhere near him in that respect. In fact, I'd argue Dazai isn't even looking for someone equally intelligent to him, unlike Fyodor (this would take another post to explain).

The man who means the world to him, Oda, is more emotionally intelligent and full of common sense, but definitely not his cognitive equal. You can tell a lot about a person depending on what they value: and due to this I believe that Dazai's main issues relate to emotional matters. He primarily feels isolated due to his emotional state, and his intelligence pushes the problem further. Otherwise, he would treasure people like Ranpo and Fyodor over guys like Oda and Atsushi: he's looking for something to ease his emotional pain. Dazai doesn't seek out raw intellectual stimulation as much as comfort/excitement. This post will be an analysis of how Dazai compares to the "average" psychologically and some of the reasons he may feel so othered. Basically, my theory is that the feeling of being "othered" comes from his emotional profile, as much as it comes from his intellectual capacity. Those two take equal parts in his psyche.

Why would Dazai feel so emotionally "othered"? I believe it may have to deal with a specific personality disorder or condition, and mainly how he experiences empathy. One of the possibilities is ASPD. Anyways, let’s look into common ASPD symptoms, and then we'll look into common behavioral patterns the character shows. Dazai is equal amounts portrayed seriously and in a “jokey” way, but his worst traits and moments are usually described without humor. To preface: Keep in mind that you can have any or all of these traits without it qualifying you for a certain disorder. It is the extent to which you show it that makes a person, like Dazai, out of the norm.

1. Repeatedly breaking the law: This one goes without saying, he was in the Mob as Young as 15, and seemingly a violent criminal even before that age. To differentiate him from other members of the Mafia, it is stated by tons of people throughout the story that Dazai was practically born for this job.

Oda in Dark Era:

He was openly murderous before the age of 15, according to both The Day I picked up Dazai and Fifteen:

Dazai and Oda interacting in TDIPUD When talking to Kyouka, it seems that he has an “interesting relationship” with murder as a whole:

One thing is for sure, Dazai is much calmer, calculated, and more Machiavellian than most criminals in BSD, and this all started at an extremely young age. Many people kill when they're young, but they're not this casual about it.  The age at which he was this cold about would be of diagnostic significance.

2. Lack of remorse: Everything mentioned above, it is clear that Dazai has an even more complicated relationship with guilt and empathy. I’m pretty sure anyone in real life would consider him out of the norm, as it’s explicitly stated Dazai doesn’t feel remorse for all sorts of things he does, but there are some hints he is either ashamed of the way he is, or regrets his nature, but accepts it. What is particularly significant here is how young Dazai is when he shows a marked level of these traits. A key event that stuck with me is from the Dragon Head event in Mayoi (from my understanding it was written by Asagiri), where Shibusawa mentions Dazai will regret something (to me it sounded like he meant that killing Shibusawa will end poorly for Osamu). However, Dazai’s reaction was interesting – it was like he was almost amused that anyone would believe Dazai “could” feel regret for anything.

Mayoi Later down the timeline it’s quite questionable whether Dazai feels regret for some of his actions because he hides his feelings like a snake hides its legs, but there are implications he is somewhat remorseful if you read between the lines. More on that later. Dazai has changed compared to his past self, but to talk about that, and the extent to which he has changed would take a whole other post.

More on his lack of remorse, In “The Heartless Cur” Dazai is very young when he gets some randos from the Mafia killed in front of Akutagawa, yet his main emotions are amusement and boredom. This is not the “typical” emotional range of most people, even practiced criminals. For example, Chuuya kills people just like Dazai, but his reactions to it are entirely different.  

from The Heartless Cur Murder tends to not be the preferred or first solution Chuuya goes for: there is an expected amount of hesitance if you read into Chuuya. He put a bomb below Chuuya’s and sabotaged Ango’s car without much bother. I’d say even if you do see It as a “means to an end”, the way he did it was really cold. Usually, when people of all kinds do bad things, they have remorse and empathy they need to suppress, but with Dazai we don't see much of that. It's like he can just "do it'. He’s also really great at torture, in Side B at age 15-16, he already describes himself as a “specialist”. This is also touched upon when he speaks to Kouyou:

No matter how "grey" a character is, torture is a very specific process that takes a particular psychological profile to pull off. To be a "specialist" at it, you definitely need to possess dented empathy. Lack of remorse and empathy does not mean a person is going to be a criminal at all - it simply opens the opportunity that they may get lost in those waters more easily compared to the average person.

3. Repeatedly being deceitful I’m pretty sure we don’t have to cover this one. Yozo, the character he was loosely based on, is a big liar, and commonly uses “clowning” to distract from his real personality. Even the real Dazai Osamu wrote extensively about the concept of “lying”.   There is a lot to talk about Dazai and “masking”, and I’ll get to that in the second half of the post. Generally, Dazai lies a lot, one can’t even be sure what his personality really is. He lies by omission, manipulates, and intentionally deceives people without any issues. There are so many quotes about this that I’d probably reach the image limit right there if I wanted to reference them all. 4. Being impulsive or incapable of planning ahead Does not apply

5. Has difficulty sustaining long-term relationships: Dazai is famously a hoe. From “All women are his type” (and it seems he has zero issues getting together with any woman, young, old or even taken) to being known as “the enemy of all women” (said by Chuuya), it’s clear he is very promiscuous. Wan is in the gray area of canon, but in one of the earlier chapters he has so many love letters by different women that Atsushi burns them all. Kunikida said he hits on any woman he sees in the Entrance exam novel, which is further supported by random Wan! Chapters, silly crossovers, and everything else (literally anything female).

Not only that, but Dazai sounds like a consistently manipulative and toxic romantic partner. In an Otomedia interview, written by Asagiri, Dazai’s real type was basically something like: “Any woman is fine, because he is confident he can shape her to suit his tastes” which shows a remarkable lack of care for the personhood and individuality of his partner.

When answered what he’d do if his partner cheated or betrayed him, his answer was even more concerning. Depending on the translation, it goes something like: “He has not been cheated on, but he has cheated on others” or “he set up women to cheat on him/betray him” where both are a lot, just in different ways.

Either he is compulsively unfaithful, putting all above together, or he plays mindgames with his partners. He’s also told Kunikida that: “And from my experience, it takes only a smile and some kindness to get a woman swooning over you when she's fallen on hard times” painting an image of someone who takes advantage of people’s weaknesses to get what he wants.

Regardless, it’s clear he is very manipulative and likely emotionally abusive. I won’t even touch upon his obsession with double suicide. There’s also the fact that he seems to use sex to get what he wants – insert scene where he fucks the nurse to get his phone back.

Other than that, Dazai appears to be rather solitary. Ango and Oda are said to be “the only ones close to him” because they respected said loneliness. Even in ADA, Dazai seems to be professionally close to people, but very few people seem to know him on a personal level. I’d say he keeps people at a distance intentionally – before it was violently, later it is by being avoidant. For as much of a womanizer he is, there was that early comic where he spent Valentine’s Day drinking at Lupin “with Oda”, instead of going out with any particular person. I think this demonstrates how emotionally distant he is from all the people he interacts with

6. Being irritable and aggressive:

Dazai is not particularly aggressive, nor irritable, but he has moments where he slips. Tbh, reading back, it says a lot about Dazai’s character who he gets angry at and why. It’s important to say that when Higuchi calls him out on “Hollowing out the hearts of his opponents” in incredibly brutal ways, Dazai replies that he thinks “Sadism is just a method, and how it��s boring”.

Akutagawa is the receiver of a lot of his violence to a disproportionate degree. He beats up Akutagawa beyond what could ever be “just training”. There’s something that ticks him off about Akutagawa, which is interesting, since Dazai tends to not react this way to anyone who doesn’t touch him “intimately” in some way. A lot of people justify Dazai’s physical abuse by saying it is “training”, but it stood out to me how he kicks Akutagawa in the stomach even the first time he meets him in “Beast”, when Akutagawa is just an extremely traumatized and deprived kid he refuses to recruit. There is not much utility to that kick, to me. It felt personal.

Another example of him expressing anger is when people “called him foolish for wanting to die” – clearly he did not take it well since all of those people ended up dead. This is from “The Day I picked up Dazai” when Oda tells him he is a fool for wanting to die.

Other times Dazai expressed rage was in relation to Ango and Oda, particularly anything that related to Oda’s wellbeing.

He snaps at his subordinates when they tell him he shouldn’t be friends with someone “of such low status”, and the only time we really hear Dazai say he hates someone is when he’s torturing one of the guys who put Oda in trouble in the Beast timeline of “The day I picked up Dazai”. Obviously, he is resentful towards Ango and incapable of forgiving him. “Dead Apple” guidebook touches on it.

“Though they were once good buddies who used to drink together, to Dazai, Ango is one of the persons who caused the death of Odasaku. He still holds that resentment up to now, and is unable to forgive. Ango also seems to feel Dazai’s silent wrath towards him.”

Harukawa has said to pay attention to how cloudy the eyes of a character are to accurately interpret their psychological state. I don't think there are many times Dazai's eyes are drawn in such an extreme way - there is no "light" she talks about here. His eyes are pure black when he talks to Mori during the Guild arc.

He also agrees with Fyodor on “Malice being the best fruit that God Bestowed upon Mankind”

There is also this with Jouno:

Basically, Dazai rarely gets angry, insults don’t work on him (as he tells Chuuya), nor does beating him up, but when he does get irritated he flies off the handle and has no issue crossing any normal boundaries.

That detail is what stands out to me – usually, people have a line they won’t cross when getting mad, but for Dazai it’s like most moral lines disappear. Imo, his anger is for social standards over disproportionate in how far he’ll go and how he'll act on it– he usually has a clear intention to harm the individual he's mad about. In comparison, Chuuya is someone who gets angry more than Dazai, but Chuuya clearly has a line he won’t cross. There is also no pointed sadism in his reactions. Dazai will likely do almost anything.

Basically, it's not how much Dazai gets angry, but the way he gets mad that sticks out to me. Most importantly, Dazai only ever gets enraged if it concerns something very personal and intimate: Oda and his death, his suicide attempts etc. At this point, for me, It’s safe to say that if Dazai gets extremely angry, it means the topic affects him on a deep level (a hint to whatever Is happening between him and Akutagawa, I could talk a lot about that). 

More on Dazai’s unpredictable and violent nature:

Stormbringer I think there is a valid argument in seeing Dazai’s aggression as just a tool he uses to keep others at bay, something to hold over people and control them – but even then, it shows a marked disinterest in social norms people usually respect.

7.Having a reckless disregard for their safety or the safety of others This one builds upon all the others. However, it’s always been interesting to me how it’s clear something flies over Dazai’s head when it comes to regularly empathizing with others.

This is often seen with Chuuya. In my opinion, most of the bullying Dazai gives Chuuya is not motivated out of rage, but rather some form of spite. He goes at length to Rimbaud about planning Chuuya’s murder in “15”, then he also lets Chuuya be tortured in “Stormbringer”.

I am under the impression he sees these moments as “amusing” and doesn’t fully emotionally understand why this is something bad, even if he does on a rational level. I’ll say that Dazai did seem to show some rage whenever anyone hurt him physically in the past (seems likely to be a hint to a traumatic past), which Chuuya did when they met, but I don’t get the impression he is generally angry with Chuuya, it’s more like he just enjoys fucking with him. Ironically, for how rarely Dazai gets angry, it seems he reserves his rage/irritation exclusively for people and things he cares about, so Dazai being specifically irritated at Chuuya is just a sign of how much the guy gets to him.

If Dazai were angry at Chuuya, it is in character that he would try to hurt him a lot more than he does. However, I'd say Dazai has a blurry space for what's ok between "keeping someone purely safe" and "deeply hurting them". There is some lack of emotional empathy there - to him, it is more amusing than anything to see someone he finds interesting struggle.

Dazai sees boundaries differently. He’ll put people into danger or through discomfort without worrying much, especially if he’s sure they’re going to walk and live after it, but sometimes not even that. (there’s so many examples of it). I’d say it’s not that Dazai doesn’t care, he just cares about people differently compared to what we’re used to socially.

Regarding personal safety, it’s pretty obvious: he’s a suicide maniac, but even more, he also puts himself in harm’s way all the time without any anxiety present. Examples are when he provokes that sniper in Dark Era (when Oda gets angry at him and wants to punch him), knows he is going to get shot by Fyodor, but lets himself get hurt anyway. When he “dies” in 55 minutes, he seems “lightly” surprised, but there’s no strong reaction to it.  To me, it seems that the only physical harm he dislikes is pain he suffers from another person (when he doesn’t plan it). Dazai apparently doesn’t feel much “anxiety” – I remember many different times when he comments on another character’s timidness or meekness, seeing it as something unusual.

8. Behave irresponsibly and show disregard for normal social behaviour He’s extremely eccentric, and even Ranpo says he doesn’t get him. Dazai asks women to commit suicide the moment he meets them, and often attempts suicide around people even if it distresses them (Entrance exam).

While I think he made this excuse in Dark Era to Taneda because he didn’t want to work with Ango, I do believe he believes what he said: “You’d lose your job if I did that.” Dazai wryly smirked. “I don’t like places with lots of rules.” Not being able to accept conventional rules is very often a telltale sign of a personality disorder. Clearly, Dazai fits many of the criteria necessary for having ASPD, so let’s look at some other details that are common for people with ASPD.

Masking: In psychology and sociology, masking is the process in which an individual camouflages their natural personality or behavior to conform to social pressures. Masking is common with many disorders, such as autism, ASPD etc. I am pretty sure it’s canon Dazai masks – on a BSD exhibit, the key element Asagiri wanted to talk about in Dazai’s personality was related to this.  

“When I describe Dazai to the staff, there is a phrase that I always use, “an unworldly being with a mental age of two thousand years.” Dazai has far surpassed the mental dimension that human can reach, thus no-one can even tell if the emotions he shows are the real things or not.

There are rare moments when that Dazai shows his very “human” side. That is when he talks to another superhuman who is on the same level with him. The other is when he talks about his old friend who has passed. This is the scene when Kyouka wondered “Maybe I’m, after all, just a murderer at heart.” and refused to be saved. And Dazai’s reaction to that. When he said “Don’t give me any of that!” here, he really meant it. That was an outburst from Dazai, as a 22-year-old boy, in this scene.” Light novels often describe his smile as fake, mask-like, and I could probably find 20 panels where Harukawa clearly drew him to intentionally seem like a fake smiler. From “15” to “Entrance exam”, Dazai often drops his mask, and then goes back to acting silly just to make the other person relax. He does this with everyone, Mori, Kunikida, Atsushi, etc. Chuuya also mentions that Dazai’s “happy-go-lucky” personality in ADA is something new, and he believes it doesn’t fit him.

Kunikida says this in the Entrance Exam: "For someone so full of eccentricities, there is something about his behavior that makes it seem as if he has an unobstructed view of the world. I don’t know exactly why, but all his emotions strike me as an act to some degree. Is he just playing dumb? Could there be more to him than he’s letting on, lurking behind his ambiguous mannerisms?"

More than anything, Dazai himself says that Oda was the person closest to seeing his “real” personality. That pretty much confirms he keeps his real self hidden away. I’d say that there are several possibilities to why this is: He hides it because he dislikes being vulnerable, he doesn’t know how to act “normal”, people are unable to understand him, so masking makes it easier for him to communicate with others…there’s a lot of theorizing I could do here.

Dazai also tends to have interesting thoughts about personalities as a concept.

You’ll commonly see Dazai say something serious, followed by a severe reaction of the other character, ending with Dazai changing his demeanor and saying “just kidding” to lighten the air.

Manipulation: Dazai is extremely Machiavellian – he is prone to manipulating everyone around him, regardless of how much they care about him or not. He manipulated Chuuya into joining the mafia, he does the same with Akutagawa even today: Here we have him preying on Aku's insecurities to sabotage his self-confidence

He seems to be able to cut off his emotions from any situation, seeing people in a raw, factual sense.

There are several moments throughout the novels where Dazai talks about people as if they’re purely resources or pawns. An example of this in Dead Apple (where Chuuya gets angry because he doesn't respect people or show enough sympathy)

The way he speaks of Atsushi, when asked what he thinks of him in a guidebook, is something like “developing as expected”. Especially in the original, it sounds extremely factual, mechanical, and cold. To me, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about Atsushi, he’s just the type to compartmentalize his emotions in opposition to his thinking. This is very common for a few personality disorders and mental health conditions: the capacity to totally cut off your emotions from the equation.  Obviously, many people are capable of doing this to one extent or another, but the amount to which he does it is what makes it significant.

Lack of traditional empathy: Personally, I think everything comes down to this. Dazai's experiences with empathy are one of the main themes of his character arc. I believe one of the things that makes him feel othered is his lack of emotional empathy.

People with ASPD tend to have issues experiencing what a lot of people consider “typical” empathy – however, ASPD is also on a large spectrum, so experiences certainly vary. Keep in mind that "lack of empathy" is common for all sorts of disorders, but since ASPD seems to be one of the most popular choices for Dazai, I decided to start there.

Before we continue, there are 2 types of empathy: Cognitive empathy is the ability to recognize and understand someone’s feelings and experiences and imagine yourself in those scenarios. Emotional empathy is experiencing shared emotions with someone or feeling emotions as though the experience is your own.

People with ASPD can commonly do the first type easily, and struggle with the second one. It does not mean they cannot experience emotional empathy, it’s just rarer for them to feel it. In my opinion, Dazai heavily relies on Cognitive empathy compared to Emotional empathy.

You can see often that he seems to not entirely understand “why” something is wrong on a personal level, but he can logically see it. This is a running theme, and you can commonly see that Dazai doesn’t fully understand “normal”.

“15” Asagiri seems to be writing Dazai as someone who has gone “beyond the human dimension” in his skills and intelligence, so other people can’t fully understand him, but I think this goes both ways. Dazai has lost touch with what’s the standard human experience.

One of the times Chuuya specifically calls out Dazai for not "acting human-like" is when he's not expressing empathy and respect. It is clear that Dazai's lack of empathy is one of the aspects which make others see him as "inhuman".

There is another situation with Kunikida  during the Azure Messenger arc where Dazai seems to apologize for not getting something “is normal”, it slips by you very easily. It is framed as a joke, and it can be read as him making fun of Kuni, but Kunikida asks himself why Dazai apologized. It does read a bit unusually.

To me it seems like Dazai doesn’t fully emotionally understand other people, so when his mask slips you can see that he struggles a ton with getting what’s exactly “typical”.

Because Dazai is extremely intelligent, he masks in order to fit into society, and he does it successfully since he can intellectually understand most social and emotional functions and processes. However, he slips up like everyone does. This is why he got along with Oda well – since Oda just let him act like himself without having ulterior motives. Dazai didn’t have to “mask”. He didn't see Dazai as "just anyone", but he also realized Dazai was human. Basically, to Oda Dazai was a kid that had empathy issues, but he was struggling much like everyone else.

Personally, I feel like Dazai doesn’t feel entirely “human” because he doesn’t feel “emotional empathy” on the same level as other people, and this is one of the key issues of the character (as it's clearly stated in the Dead Apple manga, where Dazai does seem a bit upset by Chuuya's reaction)

. The reason he felt “seen” by Oda is because Oda fully recognized this and still believed Dazai could do “good”. In our society, it is common for people to think that "empathy" and "sympathy" are conditions for being a good person, but it isn't so simple. The possible complexity of Dazai's moral state is why I find the character so interesting - a person without traditional empathy choosing to be good is really fascinating. (more on this later).

Boredom and general emptiness: “Boredom” is an extremely common complaint for people with ASPD – in fact, intense, non-standard boredom, along with other symptoms such as atypical experience with empathy, is one of the easiest ways to recognize ASPD. A “numbed” emotional state is common for people with ASPD, and due to their different emotional range and inability to connect with others in a more typical fashion, they are prone to “boredom” and seeking out extreme experiences.

Alcoholism/Substance abuse is common for people with ASPD, and it’s pretty much canon Dazai drinks a lot (alcohol is even in his likes). Aside from that, Dazai often cites boredom as one of the main reasons he wants to die, and I remember so many instances where he complains about it in bizarre circumstances. This is common for people with ASPD: depression/suicidality is comorbid, and I have heard people with ASPD mention they wanted their life to end once they no longer have enough stimulation. Dazai is often stated to be “bored”, or look bored even when extremely horrifying things are happening (people dying around him/telling their life stories..).  An example with Mori where he talks about wishing to die (from 15):

Another really funny thing, a lot of people with ASPD I have seen tend to dislike “dogs”. Obviously, this hatred comes from the real life Dazai being scared of them and thinking they can attack at any moment, but it’s a funny coincidence. They tend to dislike dogs for an entirely different reason than Dazai does, to be fair.

How Dazai seems to see himself and morals in general

Generally, to me it seems like Dazai is not entirely happy with his nature. He admires Oda and doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t use his talents to rise up in ranks within the Mafia, simply because that is logical to Dazai – perhaps it is that difference between them that he enjoys so much. He is frequently attracted to displays of empathy:

Examples: 1. Ango documenting the deaths of people within the mafia even if it’s “just a waste of money” 2. Almost everything Atsushi and Oda do

He often describes altruism as “interesting”. I am also under the impression that Dazai has a tendency to project his nature onto others, which we can gather from his “Evil expects evil from others” quote to Mori. Furthermore, he sadly remarks in Dark Era that he is “a man despised by righteousness”. so I feel like there is something up here, some sort of guilt, distaste or shame.

This tells me:

a)Dazai sees himself as “evil”

b)He is constantly assuming the worst in others or is prepared for the worst

Another thing this tells me is that Dazai is someone who is likely extremely wary of people’s intentions. This is a ubiquitous theme all across BSD, especially when we see him as a kid. Osamu tends to be skeptical of everyone and everything, as if he’s waiting for people to betray or fuck him over at any corner. In TDIPUD, he keeps getting upset that he can't figure out Oda, since it makes no sense for him to be so charitable for absolutely no reason. Oda said “good and evil are the same to you” – personally I interpret this as Dazai being largely amoral rather than immoral.  Whether Dazai can be described as “good”, “evil” or “neutral” largely depends on your view of ethics. Just because someone lacks traditional empathy, it doesn't mean they are necessarily sadistic or bad at all. Immoral and Amoral are two words that sound similar but have different meanings. Immoral is an adjective that describes “something against pre-established morals, ethics, or standard societal practices.” Amoral, on the other hand, is an adjective that describes “something or someone completely lacking morals.” In common society, if you’re not “good”, you are often automatically “evil”. Basically, a person who has "no morals" is just as bad as a person who has cruel beliefs, but those two fundamentally differ. However, in a technical, utilitarian fashion – this is often seen to be true. More or less, “good” is the neutral state, and the more you step away from it, the more “evil” you are perceived to be. The more moral conventions you break, the more "evil" you are, regardless of your intentions. The results of the actions matter more than the source and motivations. In the end, a person is dead, regardless of why you killed them or how you felt about it. The reasons why people do conventionally moral things can be all over the place too - people aren't always kind because they have sympathy. When I hear “evil and good are the same to you”, it sounds like Dazai has no need for either, meaning, yes, he has no inherent need to do good, but no need for bad, he is simply not opposed to either of them. Regardless of what he's doing, he feels the same way. They're both tools to satisfy particular needs. Many people read this and say "aha, so if he sees no difference between the two, that means he is evil", but I think the truth is in the middle. I always say that to estimate Dazai's moral framework, you need to judge him outside of normal conventions. Basically, his starting point in making decisions is different. He begins his process likely by thinking "what will this bring me?" Most of his “evil” is not out of pure sadism, it’s just that he feels no need to stop himself due to moral conventions, he mostly cares about practical results. This is opposed to Kunikida who cares about ideals and morals in a vacuum and pursues them in their most idealized version (and it's well known Asagiri writes duos as opposites). Entrance exam as a novel was about how idealism can lead people to ruin when it's unrealistic.

He’s naturally immune to socialized pressure that forms the moral frameworks of most people on an emotional level. All of this is very common for ASPD, and a few other conditions. The more I see Dazai talk about how he sees the concept of personality, murder, morality – the more I am convinced his ethical framework is focused on results rather than the inherent morality of said actions. Example: He's going to lie to you to make you happy, even though "lying is bad". There is no inherent value in staying honest if it makes an individual miserable in the long run, even though society sees frankness as a virtue. That way, most actions are “open” for Dazai to undertake, he has no qualms most people have against them, since he doesn’t have socialized morals. A lot of the time, we only see certain things as "unconditionally bad" because we've been socialized to see them that way, even if it's not necessarily logical. He simply lacks socialized morals, leading to a tendency to be amoral. Everything is a means to an end, every action is alright if it's a tool that has more pros than cons. Oda's death was a useful character arc, since it led Dazai to taking Oda's moral framework as his own. He doesn't believe he is better than others, nor does he enjoy hurting random people, he doesn't kill or rob randos to get something and believes he is justified in it. Things of that type would make him “immoral”. Most of Dazai’s evil actions seem utilitarian, rather than committed for the pure act of pleasure or cruelty. When I say “amoral”, I mean this from Dazai’s point of view. Since he has no “moral boundaries”, all actions are open for him to undertake. He can go as far as he wants to any extreme largely depending on his subjective worldview and feelings (as seen in Beast, where he breaks all sorts of ethical codes of being "a good man" so Oda could get a decent life). However, since he is aware that there is a fight between good and bad in every person, and that evil tends to win out compared to the good, under enough pressure, he admires people who selflessly continue to be kind. That is why Oda, a highly moral person even beyond what is logical (his insistence to not kill even if it harms him) is the opposite that pushed him to change. Ulterior motives tend to be something Dazai is worried about in people, perhaps because he is possibly projecting all he is, or can be, on others. He describes Oda specifically as:

"a man who has no ulterior motive". Oda is obviously being a good person partially out of self-interest ("people live to save themselves"), but this self-interest is not destructive. I think for Dazai, it was difficult to find people who didn't have an ulterior motive that was ultimately hurtful, and he projected that onto everyone. Oda acting in his self-interest was ultimately beneficial to everyone. All in all, while Dazai does admire Oda's morals - I think a lot of this appreciation comes from an intimate and subjective place, where he feels comforted someone like Oda even existed. Continuing Oda's work is likely an extension of this as well. Keep in mind, any person has the right to see Dazai's actions as bad, as they often are. I am more speaking of Dazai's internal mental framework. Conclusion: Dazai has no inherent need to do good or bad, for the most part. He just goes as far as he needs to to satisfy his emotional needs.

Oda saved Dazai’s life in the day I picked up Dazai, and listened to him, but expected nothing in return. I feel that Oda saw this struggle within Dazai, and the way “good and evil don’t mean much to him” due to his disorder, but recognized that Dazai perhaps didn’t want to be this way.

Since Oda saw Dazai’s “irregular” nature, and still believed he could be a good person, Dazai was touched and decided to change his life. I believe Dazai had some distaste for himself, regardless of his lack of empathy, he could recognize what he was doing was not entirely right. As Asagiri mentioned, Oda told him exactly what he needed to hear, and the fact that these words were so life-changing to Dazai tells us a lot about what he had on his mind.  In my opinion, to see who Dazai is, you need to follow exactly which words got to him.

In my opinion, it likely meant a lot that a person he actually admired wanted to be in his life, especially a person he considered so kind like Oda. He often says that Oda is “the most interesting person he knows”. Imo, this is because “empathy” is one of the things Dazai doesn’t fully understand. He had to learn it. Since he understands human nature so well, cognitive empathy comes easy to him, but he still fucks up sometimes.

Here, I also feel like he is talking about himself – he sees himself in Kyouka. It doesn’t come naturally to Dazai to be “good”, but he is trying his best, that is his ideal now. (Asagiri said this was one of Dazai's rare human moments). For that reason, I think Dazai admires empathetic people and tends to dislike those who are naturally violent, or even choose to be violent out of sadism.

On the BSD exhibit, Asagiri said Atsushi was "an empathy user", and how that is the key to his character. During one interview, the author mentioned that Dazai keeps testing Kunikida's ideals, but Osamu secretly hopes that Doppo will prove to be right, and Dazai wrong. This to me paints a picture of someone who hopes that "good" is worth it, at least from an intellectual point of view. When talking with Fyodor, he seems to admire people who live emotionally, thinking god doesn't prefer perfection, logic and harmony.

"The ones who actually make the world run Are those who scream in the storm of uncertainty and run with flowing blood"

Dazai seems to reject the idea that him and Fyodor and better because they are more calculating and cold - like I mentioned earlier in this god-forsaken post, this to me says Dazai believes empathetic and emotional people are better than him.

"I've come to see it many times, his gimmicks are the accidental and illogical that's a weakness two of us have in common" He suffers because he is not like them, and that contributes to him feeling "othered".

Negative emotions and Akutagawa

My guess is that one of the reasons Dazai has so many issues with Akutagawa is because he is projecting his own issues with his lack of empathy onto him. This makes him relate to Akutagawa, but also dislike him beyond how he usually treats people. Akutagawa questions why Dazai's acts of violence are justified, while Osamu is judging Akutagawa: to me it sounds that Dazai sees his actions as at least partly justified because they are "logical" and utilitarian. He puts a difference between him and Aku, as if Dazai's natural instinct is not to mindlessly hurt others. However, it's interesting he needs to draw this line.

I believe Dazai sees a lot of the hurt he enacts on others as either "justified" or subconsciously defensive. "If I don't hurt others, they will hurt me", and he uses this against all kinds of people to keep them in control. In the Dark Era novel, Dazai speaks of Akutagawa like this:

“When I first saw him over in the slums, I was horrified. His talents are extraordinary, and his skill is extremely destructive. Plus, he’s stubborn. If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.” Interestingly, Dazai was "horrified" at what Akutagawa was capable of, where most things don't seem to exactly phase him. I think something about Aku's capacity for violence even scares him, and he "lashes" out in response to control him.

Later on Oda calls out Dazai's thinking indirectly in Beast, saying that hurting Aku is still bad no matter why he did it. (more on this in the next section) However, it’s very clear he cares for Akutagawa in “Chopsticks and a Spoon”, so I do feel like he’s likely aware of it. In fact, that story contains one of the gentlest expressions Dazai has pointed at anyone, so I think he partially sees Akutagawa as "innocent" in nature, and more like a wounded animal. I'll likely write a post about it. Since Dazai has expressed some lament or even shame regarding him being a person "hated by righteousness", I do think he is a bit ashamed of who he is. This part is a theory: When talking about "No Longer Human", Asagiri mentioned that he felt the book was about "embarrassment". Since Dazai is canonically famously based on Yozo to some extent, I feel that we can guess that Osamu likely does feel some shame - the question is about what. The rare times we see BSD Dazai express something similar to shame is when talking about his moral nature (when he beat up Akutagawa in Dark Era), but it's a "blink and you'll miss it" type of thing. Yozo and RL Dazai's relationship with his father was one of the cornerstones of his work (NLH even ends with him mentioning how he would have been alright if he had a better relationship with his father). Within the book, Yozo feels all sorts of things which make him feel "inhuman", but he is terrified about being open about it due to his strict father who sees him as somewhat strange. Since the theme of "fatherhood" was lightly touched upon when Atsushi's orphanage director died, I do think this is potentially a sore spot for BSD Dazai too. My guess is that Dazai likely had a poor relationship with his father figure, who saw him as "strange" or "inhuman" due to the way he acted: leading BSD Dazai to feel shame over his nature. Perhaps one of the things that made his father see Dazai as inhuman was his lack of typical ethics and empathy. Osamu internalized this - and ended up becoming a criminal at a very young age, perhaps in an attempt to confirm what hurt him, seeing himself as someone who could mostly do bad (which could be one of the reasons he wanted to die so young). Perhaps Oda making a way for him to "act good" was life-changing because of that too - it targeted a specific wound. All of this is speculation, but Dazai did mention that "self-pity leads you to living a life that is an endless nightmare". My guess is he was talking about himself there: and his own experiences with shame. To extend this: I think one of the reasons Dazai is so harsh on Akutagawa is because he is possibly projecting his relationship with his father onto Aku. Akutagawa is violent and troubled, and Dazai was shamed for the same thing. (but it would take a lot of time to work through this theory, so moving on..)

Dazai exhibiting empathy However, Dazai does show empathy for Oda, and a lot of it. I’d go as far as to say that he over-empathizes with Oda, while he underempathizes with everyone else. His relationships with the people closest to him tend to be why some people think he may have BPD. Especially due to devaluation and the "favorite person" concept. For someone with this type of BPD relationship, a “favorite person” is someone they rely on for comfort, happiness, and validation. A FP is a person who someone with BPD relies heavily on for emotional support, seeks attention and validation from, and looks up to or idealizes. For Dazai, this is Oda. On the other hand, In the context of BPD, “devaluation” refers to a psychological defense mechanism or coping strategy that individuals with BPD may employ in their interpersonal relationships. Devaluation involves a shift in the person’s perception of others, where they view someone they previously idealized or held in high regard as unworthy, flawed, or worthless. They become unworthy of their affection and praise. The person with BPD may engage in behaviors such as intense criticism, verbal attacks, withdrawal, or even cutting off contact with the person they have devalued. These actions are often driven by the individual’s fear of rejection, abandonment, or a desire to protect themselves from potential hurt or disappointment. For Dazai, the clearest example of this is Ango. However, a person can exhibit the "favorite person" and project the phenomenon of devaluation without having BPD. In my opinion, Dazai does show heightened polarity in his feelings toward others, but I am not sure if BPD would be my choice for him. It's very difficult to say, as many conditions mask as BPD, and Dazai's expression of empathy is unique.

Dazai idealizes Oda, and deeply sees his pain as his own, while he always frames Akutagawa in a negative light, even though he is likely one of the people Dazai cares about the most (next to Oda, Chuuya, Ango, Atsushi, especially according to Beast). Another example of his heightened negative emotions are Ango, and Chuuya to a much lesser extent. My guess is that Dazai doesn’t deal with caring about people well, especially when they are any sort of “threat”: which is why he tries to “bully” them down. The reason he goes easier on Chuuya than Akutagawa is because he feels Chuuya is in his nature more sympathetic.

In my opinion, the moment Dazai warmed up to Chuuya was when he realized that The Sheep were pushing Chuuya around: he was no “King of the sheep”, he was acting out of empathy and care. Since Chuuya is so powerful, it was likely admirable to Dazai that he didn’t abuse his abilities for self-gain. This is when he decided to isolate Chuuya from the Sheep: and I think the reason above is specifically why

I'd say Dazai is likely "spikey" to anyone he cares about but has less confidence they won't hurt him. There are two camps of people: 1. Atsushi, Oda, Kunikida, Sigma (generally upright, meek, moral at the end of the day) 2. Chuuya, Akutagawa, and lastly Ango (people who are aggressive, challenging, and need to be put down in Dazai's eyes).

He cares about both camps (Sigma is debatable, I spoke of the type of personality Dazai seems to deal with easily in his case), but he likely feels "less safe" with the second type. Mori could potentially go into the second camp - there is some respect and resentment there at the same time. He even talks about this with Kunikida in Entrance exam.

"“I guess. But you, Kunikida, I’ve got a good idea of who you are now, so nothing you do will ever surprise me. I mean, compared with me, you’re just a simple man with a simple mind, after all.”

See? You wear your heart on your sleeve. You don’t hide how you’re really feeling. It’s nice. You know what else is nice? Just knowing that you’re going to be worrying later to yourself, ‘Am I really that simple?’”

“Why, you—”

But I refrain from arguing. Whatever my response, he’s just going to end up telling me, “I knew you’d say that.”

I suppose that being around Kunikida comforts him since he is predictable, yet kind. On the other hand, someone like Chuuya excites him, because he is wild and challenging enough, but is still a good person when it comes down to it. Basically, Dazai is hypervigilant of pain.

Akutagawa is “off the chain” in comparison to all of them. I am under the impression that Dazai can care about people without treating them well at all, and 2 of the people who are at the top of his list (Chuuya and Aku) are people he “seems” to dislike (In Chuuya’s case rather openly in his profile).

It appears that the more “intense” and “unpolished” parts of Dazai’s personality are strictly reserved for people he cares about, but he is extremely selective about who he shows emotional empathy to as it’s such a rare experience for him. He may capable of "cutting off" empathy to protect himself emotionally. It is quite clear some aspects of empathy miss him broadly in Beast, when he appears shocked that Oda would react so strongly to endangering Akutagawa since “it’s all supposed to end well if he survives”. That sentence itself is totally tone-deaf, yet Dazai is acting as if Oda is supposed to take that normally. It’s quite clear that Dazai doesn’t treat Atsushi all that well in Beast either, as he exploits his fears for Atsushi to be totally obedient to him.

I really like this moment, because it demonstrates that even if Dazai does have some point regarding Akutagawa and the way he goes about things, the way he has treated him is still too much – and Dazai can’t exactly convince Oda, a decent person, why this is ever justifiable under any circumstances. There is an aspect of regular empathy that misses Dazai – it doesn’t cross his mind why his actions are inherently bad. Perhaps it is possible that Dazai was treated with little to no empathy growing up, so he accepted that as a model for acceptable behavior. A lot of the time, cruel actions don't seem to even register to him as bad, in an almost innocent way. It's like it doesn't cross his mind that stuff is out of the ordinary. When talking to Oda about this, he was described as "childlike".

However, Dazai shows a lot of extreme emotional empathy for Oda, which tends to be rare for people with ASPD (obviously, all traits of it are on a spectrum).

Dazai clearly feels as if he himself is being beaten when Oda suffers. Furthermore, “Beast” shows that he is willing to endanger multiple people he cares about so Oda could live and write his book. In his words “the me from other worlds doesn’t care about the world” – showing that even though he may “care” about people, it’s really hard for him to fully emotionally connect with others.

This leads him to severe feelings of loneliness and isolation, but it’s quite clear Oda is the exception to this.

Dazai has multiple anxiety attacks when meeting with Oda in Beast and TIPUD:

“I see.” Oda says after he gives it a moment of thought. “I’ll do so then. That is very kind of you. You are a good guy.”

Dazai’s expression becomes distorted.

He opens his mouth, and closes it again, as if he can no longer breathe.

If he tells him everything now, maybe things will go back to how they were. The two of them will go to the bar together and have a toast. Just like that night.

“Odasa…”

Just as Dazai is about to say that name, a train passes by. The express train passing through that station cuts through the silence of the night, right next to where Dazai and Oda is."

and obviously the whole showdown at the bar. Earlier, Oda mentions that Dazai looks like he is about to cry:

 An interesting part here is that Dazai gets shocked that Oda would even consider that Dazai could hurt him:

It almost sounds absurd that Dazai, who is known for scheming even against people he likes, would be that surprised someone would expect this from him. This, to me, shows that Dazai does have that underdeveloped, childish emotional side to himself, where he doesn’t understand everything he does. It’s quite logical why Oda, or anyone else, would be consistently doubtful of Dazai, yet he is so used to not caring about anyone, that when he does feel things he is remarkably unpolished and just as illogical as anyone else. I’d say his heart is like a knife that went blunt from lack of use. Since he has no experience dealing with people he feels strongly about, it always comes across very messy – and Asagiri himself often describes him as childish at his most vulnerable.

Furthermore, the lyrics of the song for Beast have these words to say: “Loving you to death won’t kill me Because I don’t love this world enough” And in the Beast novel, he mentions all he has to give to the world is love. I think we can certainly see that Dazai is not emotionless.

To me it seems like Dazai is capable of selective emotional empathy. I feel like one of the reasons Oda was “the one” Dazai attached himself to the most, is because Oda was a struggling man who was also depressed (rather clear the more you read), but he was empathetic and accepted Dazai for who he was.

Him and Dazai had difficulties in common (the guy was a killer as a kid too), yet Oda did his best to be a good person – that is one of the reasons, as Asagiri mentions, why he had an “outburst” when Kyouka implied former killers can’t be good people. Oda was a good person in his eyes, and his role model of “empathy”: someone he wished to emulate. I am pretty sure that Oda became the blueprint for the moral compass he strives towards.

Most importantly, Oda didn’t really judge Dazai when he showed his lack of empathy, while he remained firm in what he believed in.

“Odasaku is the type of person who will never lecture anyone. Because he does not consider himself a superior person who can teach and guide others. However, it doesn’t mean that he has nothing he wants to say. The sentiments that he couldn’t convey in these two scenes were finally delivered to Dazai in the last scene through the words “Become a good person.” Very meaningful scenes when read as a set.”

is how Asagiri described Oda during the exhibit. As Asagiri says, one of the reasons he didn’t tell Dazai anything when he provoked the sniper was his modesty. Since Oda didn’t look down on him, yet showed concern and fully understood Dazai wasn’t just a struggling depressed kid, but someone with serious issues who also happened to be a child – Dazai grew to deeply care for him. Oda didn't shame him, likely avoiding Dazai's hypervigilant sensor for pain.

Selective empathy is common for many disorders – and Dazai, after not feeling “seen” his whole life, ended up making a true connection with Oda. I guess, in that sense – Oda was the one who really reached Dazai’s heart, and since he was the only one who came that close, all of Dazai’s emotional empathy is reserved for him.

In my opinion, the reason Dazai was so difficult to “get to” was that even people who had good intentions toward him never truly saw him.

To see Dazai as a depressed woobie who just needs to be saved is to idealize him – which wouldn’t exactly help him. They’re talking about a version of him that doesn’t exist. If the only way he could be seen as worthwhile was someone seeing him as more “traditionally good” than he truly is, it’s not going to work. He needs to be seen for exactly who he is, and still given a chance to be better.

Likewise, it had to be someone who wasn’t helping him in order to get something from him. I would say that one of the main reasons why Dazai got so attached to Oda was because his friend had no reason to save him, he gave him space, and didn’t even force himself into Dazai’s life.

It was purely altruistic, and for Dazai, who expects the worst from others and seems to fear people’s intentions, this was perfect. One of the main aspects of Dazai's character is his anxious-avoidant attachment style, where he is likely so afraid of potential pain, he pushes others away, or punishes anyone he cares about who might hurt him preemptively. A lot of this is not impulsive, but calculated, which is why he feels a natural resistance to Akutagawa (but relates to him and cares all the more because of it). He understands the self-destructive nature of Akutagawa.

"If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.”" I believe Dazai likely allows himself to fully empathize with Oda because he feels only Oda is "safe" in this world. The fact that Oda is dead and gone perhaps makes caring for him even safer, as his image of Oda will never change.

Conclusion: I'd say Dazai is someone who is probably extremely traumatized, with a specific emotional profile that doesn't allow him to experience empathy like normal people do - and this is one of the defining traits of the character for me. He is able to isolate himself from normal social pressures and boundaries - and because of this and his extreme intellect, he feels like an alien in this world. A lot of his struggle likely deals with the fact that he dislikes the hurtful person he is, but has difficulty seeing why he should be better - all while he has a distaste for sadism, cruelty and senseless violence in others. In my opinion, a lot of his own cruelty is "reactive": he acts "evil" because he expects the same from others ("evil expects evil from others), and decides he wants to beat them to the punch. He is comforted when he is in the presence of altruistic and empathetic people, because he doesn't have to be what he dislikes (as "enemy" evil will always make him react since he is threatened). In the end, he rationally sees that cruelty is negative, but he still feels it is an effective tool. If Dazai weren't this way, he wouldn't consistently choose empathetic people for his company throughout the story, while acting callous himself most of the time.

A lot of things Dazai does to me feel like he is avoiding hurt, or attempting to "control the pain" he gets in his life. Notably, Dazai mostly lets himself get "bullied" by people he sees as innocent and simple like Kunikida, since "Kunikida will never surprise him" - he knows that Doppo won't cross the line. Ironically, he famously says he "dislikes physical pain", but often gets himself into physically dangerous scenarios.

It's like he doesn't mind pain if he's the one in control (when Fyodor let the sniper shoot him, when that dude from Mimic shot him point blank). Avoidance of pain and control are other keys to Dazai's character. In that sense, I think Dazai was possibly traumatized and learned to almost completely disassociate from empathy early in his life. There are so many theories I could think of here that we'd get nowhere.

It is clear that Dazai is capable of extreme emotional empathy due to his relationship with Oda, and it's possible he doesn't allow himself to feel it in most scenarios due to his avoidant nature regarding pain. However, whatever the reason behind it, it is clear he doesn't feel a ton of emotional empathy in his day-to-day life, and this disassociation from empathy has crafted him into a person who doesn't fully understand "normal humans".

That is why he sees them as fascinating after Oda dies - he reaches Dazai's heart and opens him up to the idea that not all people are unempathetic and cruel - meaning Dazai doesn't always have to be on guard. Does Dazai have ASPD, or is his lack of empathy a result of other things: PTSD, CPTSD, is he perhaps autistic? I can't say for sure, as it could be so many things. Personally, anyone could make an argument for any of these in my eyes. Above, I mostly analyzed his displays of empathy and tried to study which emotional patterns he appears to follow. I think Dazai's character arc has a lot of worth specifically because we see someone for whom emotional empathy may not be natural trying to be good. It's a unique ethical dilemma, and that's one of the reasons I feel in love with the series. Since it isn't natural for him, his efforts mean a lot, and the struggle feels real and genuine.

Thank you all for reading if you made it this far <3 I've taken a lot of posts and translations I've gathered over the years, and I am sure I won't be able to thank everyone, but, I'd like to show appreciation for popopretty, aja154ever and many others for sharing info from exhibitions, databooks and so. Have a nice day !

[autism-alley]

hi originally posted this at the end of a long thread of back and forth, here’s the og post if you want full context but i feel like this needs to be its own post especially bc i keep seeing this argument being made—the argument that the kids (in this case it was annabeth) SHOULD just know the monsters are monsters and who they are and how to defeat them before ever encountering them, that it’s a problem if they don’t.

the problem is not if 12 year olds should recognize a trap when they see one, even if they’re smart 12 year olds, and if that’s realistic. that is entirely beside the point.

the problem is rick riordan wrote a book series whose formula is bringing myths to the modern age and he’s not sticking true to that in the show—percy jackson and the olympians’ Shtick is taking these classic, ancient threats and giving them a new face. these traps work because these kids are not walking into a cave marked with Get Out and getting ambushed by monsters—the monsters are disguised as harmless mortal human beings, in harmless mortal human being places (for the most part) and i think we—and more importantly, the show—are all forgetting the mist, the magic involved here. it’s not just that medusa is a “creepy lady with her eyes covered” it’s that there is ancient magic at work here, magic that, like the systems of abuse pjo exists to criticize, has been evolving and continuing its malevolence for millennia. it’s formulaic, that’s the point. it’s the same trap you’ve learned about all your childhood, the same trap a thousand children before you learned all their childhoods, and still, it works. you fall into the trap. because that’s how generational abuse works. it’s a trap. it isn’t enough to learn monsters exist, what they look like from a second hand story that originated thousands of years ago. if you want to escape alive, you have to adapt as quickly as they do, recognize their face, and ultimately, beyond any individual trap, the game itself has to change. real, generational change.

so. the problem is rick riordan wrote a series with a formula for action that perfectly captures the overarching, systemic conflicts he was commentating on, and then threw that formula out in the show because it was “unrealistic”. i don’t give a damn about realism when it works to the detriment of the story. this is a story about generational abuse, yes, but it’s told through ‘a tale as old as time’ and that’s why it works so fucking well. and when it comes to basic storytelling, if your characters know the threat before they even walk in and you do practically nothing to then make up for the stakes you have removed, that’s a flaw. now you’ve lost the entertainment value for your audience, on top of also lessening your themes.

something else that is so. honestly soul-crushing as a writer and a creative, is that to me this is reflective of the way we are now afraid to tell earnest stories. stories where we care not for listening to the people who want to pick apart fictional, mythical, fantasy stories for not being “realistic” instead of aligning with our target audience who acknowledges reality is not what makes a story. think of your favorite movie, show, book, comic, what have you—has the reason for your favoritism ever been because it is the most reasonable, the most grounded, the most practical out of any you’ve seen? or is it because of the emotion? the way it speaks to you, to your life and the person you are? the journey it takes you on? is the percy jackson and the olympians book series so good because it’s inherently realistic?

the secret to storytelling is, very simply, focus on your story. everything else is secondary. if it’s written well, it doesn’t matter to me that the characters walk into a trap that, to the audience, is obviously a trap. because i can understand how the characters don’t know it, and how the story falls apart if the narrative just tells the characters it’s a trap from the jump. that’s what dramatic irony is—first used in greek tragedies! this is literally a tale as old as time in every sense except for the end—where it’s happy. and it’s not earned if we don’t first see, over and over, the status quo as a tragic trap.

it’s not about if annabeth (or the other kids) is “smart enough” to not walk into a trap, or about if she’s just too prideful to not walk into what she knows is a trap (or any reason that could apply to the other characters), it’s that annabeth, at the end of the day, is a character. she is a storytelling tool for the messages of the narrative. that doesn’t make her any lesser. in fact ignoring it reduces her, because it reduces what she represents. it’s about how rick riordan, or whoever else at disney, has fumbled the storytelling bag so ridiculously hard that they can’t take the simple, effective formula outlined from start to finish (by good ol 2009 rick himself) and adapt it to the screen without answering the most unimportant, derailing, anti-story questions.

[hopelesswrites]

Book Club 2

Part 1

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

-Your book club bestie persistently tries to set you up with her son, at the expense of your new white top.

Again reiterating: Joes mum is a fictional character here, she's the essence of every suburban white woman I know.

-

Your headache never went away and followed you into the next day. Only, today’s matters were worse than a headache, you had dinner with Mary and Joe.

Now only down the street from Mary’s house your stomach was doing flips in anticipation for the night. You hoped Mary wouldn’t make it awkward, considering she had been trying to plan this for as long as you’ve known her.

At the door you felt as small as an ant, why was it so big and daunting? Who has such a large door?

In truth it was obviously a normal door, but your mind started skewing your perception of rationality.

The doorbell? Far, far too loud.

The footsteps on the other side? Definitely too fast, why was Mary running? 

The door opened but it wasn’t Mary. “You made it! Come in, Mums just finishing off the gravy” Joes cheery voice boomed through your ears. Joe was the definition of inviting. His soft brown hair was freshly washed, you could tell by the fluffiness of his curls. As you panned down the man you took in his clothes. He had on a cream cotton button up that looked like a crumpled up piece of blank paper, black jeans and the most god-awful loafers you think you had ever laid your eyes on. You wondered if you had composed your face well enough or if your look of disgust was showing. 

“I’m sorry, am I late?” You asked, toeing off your shoes at the door and following him through to the kitchen. As suspected it was just the three of you, and it was obviously starting to look like a big setup. You curiously considered Mary giving Joe a debrief before you got here. Trivial facts about you, talking points, how to act, how to speak. You figured Joe would probably be good at following directions like that, put on a persona Mary deemed fit for you. 

“My Love!” Mary smiled wide at you, “just in time, why don’t you follow Joe into the dining room and help set the table, I’m almost done”. 

And so, the schemes begin. 

The round table was on the smaller side, tucked into the space given for a dining setting. You ran through the pros and cons of this: the table was set that you weren’t sitting across from Joe, but you were close enough next to him where feet kept bumping into each other. 

You realised Mary had done this so she could look at you both, observe your interactions, and once you were all seated and conversation (interrogation) began flowing, her eagle eyes were on you. 

“Joe tells me you bumped into each other last night” Mary says nonchalantly.

“Yeah, we did” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“What a funny coincidence” The woman replied, a pleased smile on her face.

“I was just telling Joe the other night how I was starting to give up on the two of you meeting, always seem to be busy at the same time”.

Give up my ass, you thought.

The rest of dinner continued on much the same, Mary bringing up things about you to Joe and vice versa. By the end of the meal, you felt you were well acquainted with the man.

After clearing the table and fighting and losing for dish washing duty you were sat back at the table with Joe while you both waited for Mary to finish prepping dessert. To “talk amongst yourselves” she called it.

Awkwardly you drew shapes in the condensation of your water glass, avoiding making any sudden movement to prompt Joe into conversation.

“She thinks we’re stupid huh” Joe spoke quietly, trying not to alert the woman on the other side of the wall, who most probably was waiting to hear any kind of noise from the room.

“Shameless woman doesn’t care what we know” you responded, earning a chuckle from Joe.

“I wouldn’t have minded getting to know you without my mother’s interference”

“Bit late for that now” you scoffed back.

“I don’t think so”

That got your attention, finger halting at the rim of your class.

“Grab a drink on the way home?” Joes’ eyes bore into you, he was starting to look like his mother, eagerly waiting a response.

Did you even want to get to know Joe? Mary’s son! The woman had plotted a whole meet cute for you both, it all felt a bit silly now. Did you even like Joe? He was definitely attractive, smelled nice as well, but what did you know about him that would entice you in any other situation.

Tall – check

Gentleman – check

Stable job – check

Dressed well – half check, those shoes were criminal.

Good relationship with his mother – dependent really, you didn’t see any red flag with Joe and his mum, just a guy with an overly enthusiastic loving mother.

He honestly passed your first level of inspection, if he was any other guy on a dating app you’d go for the drink. But you couldn’t help feeling like it was so wrong. Every possible bad scenario ran through your head, what if he didn’t end up liking the real you once he got to know you, or what if he was only being polite and you ended up looking too eager. Your biggest worry though, what if you hurt him, what if your terrible luck with dating followed through with Joe, what if you strung him along and ended up breaking his heart, how would you face Mary then? It felt like keeping work life and personal life separate, you couldn’t bring your mess into Mary’s life.

“Another time? Ive got to be up early tomorrow” you offered with a kind smile that made you feel sick. This was considered stringing along wasn’t it.

Before you could think about it any more Mary came into the room, two hot bowls of apple crumble in hand and the night continued as it began.

-

Life continued after you left Mary’s house, new book in hand, and Joseph, basically forgotten. The book Mary chose was an interesting commentary on murder mystery novels. Much more enjoyable compared to last meetings book, you finished it in the first week.

Now a month later you found yourself back in front of Marys door, only this time without the feeling of dread, and you could hear the ladies inside laughing and chatting, it was safe to enter.

Mary had set up in her living room, tea and biscuits already laid out on the coffee table while Linda and Kylie gossiped to themselves about the rising price of bananas and the woman who lived down the road from them. Another woman sat quietly going over her notes on this month’s book, only looking up briefly to give you a kind smile. You could hear Mary laughing loudly in the kitchen, a delightful smell of tomato and basil wafting from the room. You followed the smell to catch Mary offering Teresa a spoonful of her spaghetti sauce.

“Oh, that’s naughty” you whispered, approaching the two ladies.

“Just a taste test before we serve it to everyone” Mary giggled, handing out a spoon for you to try.

You grabbed the spoon for yourself but before the sauce could make it to your mouth it had slipped off and down the front of your white shirt.

“Oh damn!” Mary cursed, grabbing a tea towel and gently dabbing it off. “Quick go to the bathroom, I have stain removing spray under the sink”

You didn’t waste any time and rushed down the hall towards the bathroom, not paying any attention when you reached for the handle and the door swung open before you could touch it, steam and heat hitting you in the face, as well as a solid body.

“Shit!” I’m so sorry!” That familiar deep voice swore in front of you.

Joe stood in the doorway, in only a pair of sweatpants, a towel around his shoulder and dripping wet curls in his face.

“What are you doing here” You grumbled, moving aside so you could swap places, Joe now staring at you stood in the doorway.

“This is my mums house- what happened here” Joes face turned from shock to a shit eating grin as he pointed to your chest, rather the large red stain on your chest.

“Spaghetti sauce”

Joe chuckled, “You’re supposed to eat it, not wear it”

“Ha-ha, you’re funny” You rolled your eyes, turning around to ignore Joe in search for the spray Mary sent you here for. Did she know Joe was in there? Was this another scheme?

Joe returned midway through you holding your shirt stretched out, stomach on display while you awkwardly sprayed the stained area.

“Here, put this on and give me that, ill get it out” He was fully dressed now in a matching sweat set, a black shirt outstretched.

You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. “No, I can’t wear that”

“Why not?” Joe asked giving you a confused look.

“I have to go out there!” you cried, earning a deadpan look from Joe.

“So?”

“So? They’ll gossip! they’ll ask questions, it’ll become a whole situation.”

You realised you may have become slightly dramatic over this exchange but your interactions with Joe had surpassed your comfort level.

“Fine, wear the stained shirt” Joe gave you a tight smile before walking out. You looked back down at your shirt, it honestly looked worse, the stain had bled out into a larger patch.

You returned to the group, laughing with the ladies about your accident while Mary went around serving everyone a bowl of pasta before you began your meeting.

“Joe not give you any trouble?” Mary asked when she got to you, which you answered with a short no.

Because, of course she knew he was in there.