SIDE EFFECTS MAY INCLUDE | Tae Takemi (Persona 5)

It was a quiet Tuesday evening, just past 7 PM, and the back-alley streets of Yongen-Jaya were already settling into that familiar sleepy haze. You’d shown up at Takemi Medical Clinic like you always did when she texted you that cryptic “Come by after hours. New batch. Don’t be late, guinea pig.” No big dramatic emergency this time — just the usual routine of letting the brilliant, blacklisted doctor use you as her favorite test subject. Except this time she’d casually mentioned she’d already dosed herself first. “For science,” she’d said with that signature deadpan shrug.

You’re sitting on the worn black leather examination chair in the dimly lit basement room, the kind of place that smells like antiseptic, old metal cabinets, and her faint, strangely addictive perfume. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting soft shadows across all the mysterious vials and notes scattered around. Your body already feels… off. Warm. A little too warm. Like someone turned the thermostat way up and then injected pure liquid electricity into your veins. Your pulse is racing, skin tingling, and yeah — certain parts of you are definitely paying way too much attention to everything.

The door clicks shut behind you as she steps fully into view, and holy shit, the image hits you like one of her experimental cocktails.

Tae Takemi stands there in all her gothic glory, white lab coat hanging open like she couldn’t be bothered to button it, revealing the dangerously low-cut dark dress underneath that’s fighting a losing battle against her massive, slightly heavy breasts. They look even bigger than usual with the way she’s breathing — slow, deliberate, but clearly affected. Her short, messy blue-black bob frames that sharp, pale face, blunt bangs just above those dark hazel eyes that are watching you with clinical interest… and something a lot hungrier. The red grommet belt cinches her waist, drawing attention to those wide hips and thick, soft thighs that shift as she walks closer in her strappy black platform heels. Her choker and layered necklaces catch the light, and you can see the faint flush creeping across her ivory skin.

She’s holding a purple syringe in one hand like it’s a casual accessory, twirling it slowly between red-polished fingers.

“Well, well… look who decided to show up on time for once,” she says, her voice that perfect deadpan mix of dry sarcasm and sultry undertone. “I was starting to think my favorite guinea pig had finally grown a sense of self-preservation.”

She stops right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her. She tilts her head, studying your face, then lets her gaze drift down your body without a hint of shame. A small, amused huff escapes her.

“As you can see, the effects of this drug are proving more potent than I initially thought.” Her free hand casually rests on her own chest for a moment, fingers brushing just above the deep valley of her cleavage as she exhales slowly. “While testing it on myself earlier, I discovered a rather… noticeable side effect. Increased hormonal activity. Leading to significantly heightened libido. Heart rate elevated. Skin sensitivity amplified. And other, more obvious physical responses.”

She leans in closer, her thick thighs brushing against your knee as she perches on the edge of the chair beside you. You can see the way her own nipples are visibly straining against the thin fabric of her dress, and the subtle way she presses her legs together like she’s trying (and failing) to stay professional. Her cheeks have that cute pink tint she can’t quite hide, even with her aloof expression.

“For your sake, you might want to leave while you still can…” she continues, voice dropping lower, almost a purr, “because I feel it starting to kick in. Quite strongly, actually. Both of us seem to be experiencing the full spectrum of symptoms.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then that familiar teasing smirk tugs at her lips as she gently pokes your chest with the capped syringe, right above your racing heart.

“But we both know you’re not going anywhere, aren’t we, my cute little guinea pig?” She chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, almost protective as she leans in. “Look at you already. Flushed. Breathing heavier. I can see the tent forming in your pants from here. How clinical of me to notice, right?”

She shifts again, crossing one thick, chubby thigh over the other, which only makes her already short dress ride up further and gives you a generous view of soft, pale skin. Her massive breasts jiggle slightly with the movement, nearly spilling out as she leans even closer, her breath warm against your ear.

“I’m feeling it too, you know. This warmth pooling right here…” Her hand trails slowly down her own body, stopping just below her navel with deliberate teasing. “Making me want to skip the usual vital checks and go straight to more… hands-on observation. Maybe I should monitor how your pulse reacts when I sit on your lap. Or how hard you get when I describe exactly what this drug is doing to my soaked, puffy little cunt right now.”

She pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you again, syringe still in hand, her expression a perfect mix of clinical seriousness and playful hunger as she watches your every reaction like she’s already planning exactly how to take care of you.

“So… what do you think, guinea pig? Should we document these side effects properly?” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Or are you going to be a good patient and help your doctor relieve some of this… mutual tension? Clock’s ticking. I don’t know how long I can keep pretending to be professional when all I want to do is pin you down and see how many orgasms it takes to flush this formula out of our systems.”

Her dark eyes sparkle with that perfect mix of challenge, affection, and raw want as she waits for your answer, thighs squeezing together again while she fights (and clearly loses) the battle against the drug’s effects on her own curvy, needy body.