#THE DYNAMIC MOVEMENT POTENTIAL GUYS

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Make Friends 1/4 (Word count 5.4 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: AU where König (sadly) isn't a colonel and doesn't have a t-shirt as a hood but an... actual hood. Please heed the tags lovelies 🩷

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No one sees a cleaning lady.

Cleaners are invisible. People remember them only when their desks start to gather dust, when their floors are full of mud. No one sees her except the tallest guy in the building: the guy who everybody seems to ignore, just like they ignore her.

It doesn't take long to see why. He's different, and not just because of the mask he's wearing.

She sees him playing with knives. He throws them in the air leisurely, catches them by the handle, and never misses the catch. He flicks them from side to side, spins and whirls the blades in motions she can't even see because they're so swift.

It's pure magic. And they're not dull training knives; they're sharp as a razor, vicious, tactical – but that doesn't make them ugly. They're quite stunning, and she's caught staring more than once.

His movements are not what she'd exactly call precise and fluid. They're urgent, antsy, made to relieve stress of some sort. He's stimming with the knives. Alleviating pain or frustration. The rest of his body is still; only the ice-blue eyes flicker on the blade as he focuses all his attention on the dance. Sometimes he just stares at them, turns them around as if checking the edge, as if it wasn't evident that they're deadly and sharp. That's how she knows he takes good care of the things he loves.

He's fascinated by them, just like she is. And it's not just the knives; she's fascinated by him.

Others cast side eyes, nervous looks at him. Even some of his fellow operators look at the man like he's a lunatic. And perhaps he is, but she can't help it.

She's mesmerized.

It all changes when she accidentally walks into a meeting room while there is a briefing going on. Apparently, no one considers her a threat or a potential spy because she is summoned in before she rushes to close the door, and so she goes on about her day while the soldiers are already wrapping things up.

The hooded giant is there too, leaning back in a chair too small for him, this time playing with a butterfly knife. It's the smallest, daintiest thing she has yet seen in those hands. He always has gloves on, but that doesn't make the flashy flipping look any less dangerous.

She starts by dusting the side tables so she is not in the way. This time, she vehemently does not want to be seen. Save perhaps by the knife maniac.

The man even helps her with cleaning: he picks up some of the objects he can reach so she can wipe the surface more easily. It makes her cheeks grow hot, but she cannot bring herself to thank him. She doesn't dare to make a single sound while there is a meeting going on and their captain is still speaking, but she gives her thanks through her eyes and her smile, and the man looks at her like she's some kind of saintly sight.

The look in those blue eyes is starstruck. Almost… obsessive.

It should send ice to her stomach. But it doesn't.

He continues showing off with the knife as she moves to the other side of the room. He does it to mess with her head or entertain her, delight her, perhaps - the man already knows she’s intrigued by his vast collection of blades.

It's a bit creepy. The man as a whole is a bit creepy, but she only feels a rush, a high that turns her monotonous work day into a thrill.

"König. Would you mind?"

The sound of the flicking blade stops, and she is possibly the only one in this room who misses the noise.

"Entschuldigung."

He speaks, and the voice sends ripples across her scalp. It's twisted and amused, as if the man gets off on annoying the shit out of his workmates.

"English, please..."

"My apologies."

The blade is tucked somewhere in his pocket and the man named König leans forward on the table. Slightly hunched over like that, he looks even more intimidating than before. The playfulness is gone, and he looks fiercely professional. More shivers are sent down her spine.

König…

König is the reason she still keeps working in this odd little compound, the base of some special operations unit that requires an insane amount of security checks and secret contracts and confidentiality agreements just so she can clean the floors from their soddy footprints.

König is the reason she starts to put on some mascara in the morning, tie her hair in a high ponytail, or braid it in two little braids so she would appear cuter if she happens to pass him by in the hallway. He's the reason she opens not one but two buttons of her blouse before she starts the day. He's also the reason her underwear is soaked in the middle of a boring shift.

He appears in her break room to borrow coffee. And not once, but twice during the same week.

"You're running low again?"

"Eh… Ja."

He's shit at lying, though. She is relatively sure by now that he's here only because he wants to see her.

"I'll bring it back. I mean–I'll buy you some."

He seems a bit shy, like her, and combined with the fact that he still chooses to seek her out already gives her sleepless nights. It makes her far more confident than she has ever been with people.

His accent, his voice, are pure fire. She feels sinful for thinking about how he would behave in the bedroom, how he would talk – after all, it already sounds like he's breathless and strained, already sounds like he's working her open with whatever monster is hidden in those pants a bit too small for him. He walks with a wide lounge, and she just knows it's because he is so big down there.

"You do that," she gives him a particularly flirty smile and revels in how it makes him even more distraught. It's quite fascinating how the same man can exude barely repressed bloodlust one moment and stupefied silence the next.

He returns the very next day to bring her a package of coffee. The same brand he borrowed twice already is set on the table in front of her with tense shoulders. She has seen the man relaxed only when he’s achieved that alluring flow state with his knives.

"Hier."

"Why thank you."

He simply stands there, switches weight from one foot to the other, and shrugs.

"I'll be going then."

But he doesn’t leave. Not right away. He watches her with that icy, burning stare, and she cocks her head.

“Bye,” she chimes with a soft smile – the guy is simply too cute. His restless twitching stops; he freezes where he stands, blinks – and then turns and walks out the door like a robot.

. . . . .

She's not supposed to be here. Or, she is, but he's not.

No one’s supposed to be here when there's the sign on the door. The men's showers are supposed to be cleared once a week for good scrubbing, and she only has 30 minutes to do that. It's once a week, less than an hour, there's a sign, and still, some jerk has to walk right through it.

No one sees a cleaning lady.

No one appears to even care about the fucking sign.

But then she sees who exactly has disrespected her humble position. It's a shock to see that familiar black hood with two eye holes on it thrown on the bench. Next to that, the khaki-colored cargo pants, a black shirt, and those gloves, all in a heap – this guy is not the most orderly, perhaps.

And she takes a fucking peek inside the showers because the door is, for some unfathomable reason, transparent, see-through glass.

The first thing she sees is muscle. Just wet, powerful cords of muscle slapped on the tallest man she has ever seen or would probably ever see.

He's a vision: godly, almost. Then she notices what he's doing.

Of course he has to be fucking fapping on top of everything.

Her throat is dry and her hands are numb as she watches how he leans on the tiles with one hand and works himself with the other. The body hair on the guy is so pale that he basically looks neatly shaved, save for the short hair on the top of his head – the man's nothing but sleek, dripping muscle through and through.

He sounds weak when he's masturbating; the noise that echoes in the showers consists mainly of frail, high-pitched grunts.

She's wet in no time, and it doesn't help that he looks frantic, almost violent, while jerking off. It's a sloppy frenzy, and the sounds of wet, angry slapping make her heart beat so fast that the rush of blood in her ears nearly drowns the noise.

The man has big hands, but his cock still looks massive inside one. She knows she will copy-paste the image of that long cock, slick with water and soap, in her mind over and over again while releasing some tension herself. Of course it's big because he's big, but the length of it is simply outrageous – she cannot comprehend how he can fit himself in his pants, even when soft.

His whole upper body tenses abruptly, like a huge cord of cable; he throws his head back, his hips jerk forward and he goes catatonic – the cum shot that follows would shoot a meter away if it wasn't stopped by the wall. The spurts of his load are equally as fierce as the fap, and she feels faint.

And why the fuck is she even standing here in the first place?

And then he…

He drops his head, turns a little to the side, like he’s known she has been here the whole time.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

She can only see his eyes from behind the arm still leaning on the wall. That heated glare is not furious, but nor is it benevolent: it's simply pure, manic lust.

She turns and rushes from the locker room like she has just seen a monster.

. . . . .

"Hey."

If he's here for coffee or for her, she doesn't know. Or, perhaps she does, but she's also so unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed that perhaps it's no surprise that he seeks her out in the break room since she has avoided him everywhere else for two days.

"Hi."

Her weak voice is followed by silence, and she doesn't turn, even when she knows he's still behind her. Something in the air, some part of atavistic instinct tells her he's standing right behind her.

"You here for more coffee?"

He still doesn't say anything, and she begins to freak out.

"König… I'm–God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–"

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her heart shoots up her throat, and her stomach churns, almost starts to eat itself from the pure terror. But it's nothing compared to what he says next.

"I was thinking of you," the calm voice reaches her ears like a tall wave, making her even more woozy than she was in the men's showers.

"I'm– sorry, what?"

"Your mouth… Breasts. If you're tight."

She finally turns, doesn't even try to conceal her horror tinged with incomprehensible, strange lust.

"Jesus…"

The ice between them is broken, but at what cost – and the anxiety she had mistaken for cuteness reveals something psychotic underneath. He still looks at her with the same stare, even when she tries to make it clear that this approach makes her want to vomit. He doesn't move, only towers over her like a hulking shade, and she darts from the break room, completely soaked and on the verge of tears.

. . . . .

There's a knock on her door the next morning, so early that she wonders who the hell could be up at this hour other than staff. It's like… five-thirty. She's so sleepy that she doesn't quite think it through as she throws only a t-shirt on before strolling to the door.

What the f-

König shoves the flowers almost in her face as she opens the door, and she has to yank her head back. All the sleep is gone in an instant, and she curses in her mind that she's standing here in only a tight t-shirt and a black pair of panties.

"I'm sorry. Please, accept my apology," he says like a poorly rehearsed actor while watching her thighs and what's between them. Her nipples shoot up, and not from cold.

"Uh… sure," she tries to sound neutral while accepting the flowers, if not his apology. He takes a step back after making sure she has truly taken the gift, and she instinctively lowers the bouquet down to shield herself from his searing gaze. She knows she's a hypocrite, having masturbated at the memory of him last night. Twice.

He has his hood on, and wears the eternal black shirt, padded gloves and some cargo pants, but there’s also an overload of gear on him. Pouches and pads and wires and ammo - she even catches a grenade or two. There’s a gun strapped to his thigh, and the shoulder pads make his already broad shoulders look even more wide. He looks so… tactical, so in his element that her instincts tell her it wouldn’t do shit to slam the door in his face and retreat back to the safety of her room. This soldier would just barge through the plywood.

And where did this guy get flowers at this hour of the day? No florist can possibly be open. Then she notices they're not exactly the kind of flowers she has seen at a shop.

Has he picked them from outside…?

"I thought you liked me."

His explanation makes her heart melt a little. He's so straightforward, so utterly without any charades or roles, that it makes her feel like she's the one who has disrespected him with her games. After all, she has done nothing but flirted 24/7 with the poor man for the last week. Of course he only thought she was interested.

"I do. I do like you."

His eyes light up with uncontained hunger. "Can I come in?"

Nope. Big mistake.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Ok. I'll be going then."

He turns on his heels and is ready to go like nothing ever happened.

“Wha-… König, please, wait.”

He halts on command, turns back, looks at her solemnly. The only thing that gives his confusion away are his eyes, which flicker from her puzzled stare to her mouth, occasionally to the bouquet covering her nether areas.

"Could we just be friends?" She offers him rather desperately.

He merely shrugs.

"Never had any friends."

For some reason, this guy has already started to live rent-free inside her head. She simply can't get him out. And she's intrigued, even when the sanest option would be to stay away from a creepy lunatic like him.

"I can be your friend."

Fuck, what did I just say, what the fuck did I just–

"Sure. Why not," he says immediately. "You just want to be friends?"

She resists the urge to facepalm right then and there in front of him. The guy is not only socially awkward: he's in a state of denial.

Some of his friends – or at least, teammates – pass them by. Kyle, if she remembers correctly, and a Scottish man they call Soap. They both smile at her kindly. It's the first time these men have ever paid her any attention; actually, this is probably the only occasion anyone pays attention to König either. They are both suddenly visible.

"Hey König, don't go harassing our cleaning lady. We got a plane to catch."

König stares somewhere behind her as Soap speaks. His eyes are covered with glass, and she knows that look all too well. The tallest man in the building is dissociating while the two soldiers march by behind him with raised eyebrows and pursed lips: a mocking gesture only she can see.

She watches the scene with an odd pity. It appears they step into existence only when they're together – an unfamiliar setting and an odd couple, the object of ridicule for people who probably claim themselves to be normal.

"I think it would be best, yes," she whispers when the hall is quiet again. She has to start her day soon, and he has a plane to catch - no one else is awake except one hard-working woman and a few operators about to leave on an early mission. She feels the strangest sorrow as she realizes that he wanted to drop by with some flowers and his apology before leaving some place he might never return.

The man gives her a last once-over before taking his leave. He nods slowly, never breaking their gaze: an odd, gentlemanly move.

"Just friends, then."

. . . . .

It is the hottest day yet, and the guy walks around with his black hood even then.

Her new friend.

She's outside, trying to catch some fresh air and sunlight after spending another 8 hours inside a buzzing facility, and somehow, some way, the tall enigma of a man always finds her.

He angles his walk towards her as if he only happened to pass by at the same time she was lounging against the wall and looking at clouds drifting in the sky. In truth, she has an odd, yawning suspicion that she is being stalked nowadays. One of her underwear has gone missing, and she's wretched because her first thought upon finding it gone was the solid assumption that he had stolen them. Which further meant that the man had broken into her room.

But there's also flowers. Every morning when she opens her door, there's a single flower awaiting her. Sometimes, two or three, and not from a store, but from outside, from nature.

He's courting her, and she feels stupidly like a little princess because of those homely yet thoughtful gifts. She doesn't throw them away: they gather on her table, on her window sill, in a little water glass on her bedside table.

She's far too kind, that's what people always say, but she's also neck-deep into this goddamn creep at this point to do anything about it. The building is full of muscled men, men who are decent, and she chooses this… gift-bearing perv to crush on. In her judgment system, she's basically asking for it at this point.

"How are you?"

His accent lingers in the air between them, and she can't help it: it always brings a rush of heat on her cheeks and a rush of wetness down below when she hears him speak.

"I'm good. Just… good. How about you?"

"Sehr gut."

Perhaps the underwear has simply gone missing while washing laundry: it's not unusual when at least 20 people share one washing machine.

And they're only friends. Friends don't steal each other's underwear. Friends ask how they have been, how their day's gone.

"You look nice."

But the summer sun pales in comparison with the heat of that stare. Friends might compliment each other, but they don't look at each other like that.

She feels grungy enough while cleaning, not to mention in the bland, saggy clothes she has to wear every morning, so it can't be a surprise that she likes to put on an effort after the day is done. The citrus-yellow dress she has this afternoon catches his attention like she's a whole circus in town.

"You always look like an angel," he elaborates further, and she has to prevent herself from taking support from the wall upon hearing his compliment.

"Oh.. Thanks," she smiles, and he answers it: the faint creases around narrowing eyes are enough proof of that. "It's so hot… Do you ever take the hood off?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you take it off before bed?"

Oh god.

That sounded weird. She meant to ask if he took it off before sleeping.

Well, 'before bed', 'before sleeping'… What's the difference, really?

Still, he reads into it like a hawk for a seemingly socially graceless case.

"Depends if I'm alone or not," he says. Definitely thinks she's flirting with him again. Talk about sending mixed messages…

Friends, friends. We're just friends.

"Where are you from, by the way? Are you German?"

"No. Austrian."

"Oh. It must be beautiful there at this time of year."

"It is. I would still trade all of Austria for you," he says without any clumsiness, even though the pickup line is awful, one of the worst she has heard – and god, still, those big hands, that fire and ice stare makes her feel high as a kite. The image of him plowing her with the same pace he fucked his hand won't leave her alone.

"König… Just friends," she warns while feeling how another pair of panties is already ruined. She's so wet it's not even funny anymore; it makes her annoyed.

"Ok."

He says ok, but she knows he won't yield. She’s been far too kind for far too long and won't be losing this guy's interest anytime soon.

"How's work?" She tries to patiently show him how to be fricking friends, even if one party is constantly undressing the other with their eyes. As if she's not doing the same…

"You really want to know?"

"Sure."

"Had to scrub intestines from my shoes all night," he says casually. She can only blink and watch how completely distanced and indifferent he seems about something so sick.

"Everything's a mess when you use a knife," he explains further.

"Uh... I'm sure it is."

"Do you regret that you asked?"

"No. Well, perhaps a little."

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks proud; only seems pleased with himself for succeeding in scaring her even more.

"That's why I scrub guts and you scrub floors."

"I guess so," she agrees to his ever-authentic way of saying things how they are. He's a soldier: she can’t change that fact no matter how he or she puts it. Decent guys did the exact same things he did; they just didn't go around telling shy girls about the gory details of their work.

"Do you like knives?"

Nor did they ask things like this. They would ask if she wanted to go see a movie or have a lovely dinner that would end in a kiss and an exchange of phone numbers.

"Um. Yes, I think they're beautiful."

Her response causes a short, deafening silence, a few blinks. The wind catches his mask, but it never rises: she notices he's not only undressing her body, but also her soul with those eyes. Patient, like he knows all her secrets and loves them already.

"What would it take to be more than friends?"

His sudden change of subject is almost as shocking as the devil-may-care account of his work. She is feeling unusually wild; the warm weather and the yellow hues covering the distant horizons make her want to lie down on the grass and pull him on top of her. She thinks of him sliding up the fabric of her cutesy dress, thinks of him opening his pants to get that huge cock out and force it inside.

"Well… You could… Ask me out, for starters?"

"What if you come to my room and I'll show you something," he offers instantly.

As nice and naive as she may be, she's sure the only thing he wants to show her is his cock. Which she has already seen, technically speaking. Which she would like to see again, heaven forbid.

She is slightly breathless and wonders if the heat on her cheeks is visible, if her lips are a bit fuller than usual from her thoughts. Perhaps that's why she resorts to a counteroffer as if she's bargaining here. As if she can't say no.

"Uh.. How about you come and pick me up for dinner this eve–"

"Ok."

He nods with full-blown promise in his eyes and leaves right away, a little too content, and she realizes she has made the worst mistake of her entire life. She will never get a man of his size out of her room if she lets him in and things go awry.

In a hurried decision, she decides she will simply leave him blue-balled at the door. She simply won't go to dinner; she certainly won't let him in. She doesn't have to, even if and when she has to watch him mope for the rest of the year.

She will tell him they're not friends, they're nothing anymore, and that's just it.

She goes, determined and her mind set, to shower, only to notice that she's more soaked than the pool of soap water gathering at her feet. Her body simply betrays her at every turn. Perhaps she should masturbate, just in case, so she won't be weak-willed when he arrives at her door this evening. Yes, that's a brilliant idea, one of the rare good ones she’s had these past few days.

“Jesus–"

By the time she enters her room, wet and throbbing, he's already there.

"How did you get in?"

He shrugs his shoulders like he always does.

"You asked me to visit you."

He doesn't even answer her question about him breaking into her fucking room. He's standing right next to her dresser and a bra she had thrown on one of the open drawers, and she knows right then and there that he's the panty thief.

"Yeah, but… I thought you'd knock or something."

"Sorry."

If you shrug I swear I’m going to…

"Where do you wish to go?"

He's standing there like a contrapposto statue, narrow hips deliciously tilted and with an obvious erection in his pants. He doesn't seem to feel ashamed about it, and it makes her even more wet.

She has a murderous giant in her room, a killer who's visibly turned on by the sight of her underwear, perhaps the lingering scent of her perfume, too… and he's asking where she wishes to go eat tonight so he might have a chance to bang her afterward.

"Do you like Chinese?"

He shrugs as an answer, and she sighs.

"I need to change. Could you turn around?"

The eyes behind the hood regard her with curiosity, but the man does as he is bid. She takes out a floral dress and a more comfortable bra and walks further away to the bed to change. König faces the wall while she gets undressed with trembling hands. She’s sure the man will turn around, march to her, and simply have his way with her before she gets the dress on. Some sick part of her even yearns for it.

But he doesn't. Instead, his head tilts a little to the side, and his hand rises to gently brush the lace of her bra while she's in the most vulnerable position she's ever been with this man. It's an almost equal violation of her privacy as it would've been to turn, but her tongue is tied. And she only now notices he's not wearing gloves.

König is caressing her underwear with no fabric whatsoever between his skin and her chastity, and it makes her breath grow heavy like they're living in the 18th century.

"All set," she says, voice tight, and he lowers his hand and turns as if he has done nothing wrong.

The evening, however, goes far better than she had hoped. Or feared.

He buys them dinner, drinks one beer. They even have a perfectly healthy, civil conversation. She helps herself to a bit of wine to calm her nerves, and they discuss what their dreams used to be before they landed the jobs they currently have.

He reveals he wanted to be a sniper and that he prefers to work alone, but to her question on what went wrong with all that, he merely answers he was 'too clumsy.'

What the man is really trying to say is that he's simply too big. Detectable, loud, and tall.

He hints at being bullied at school and in the army, and she feels even more sorry for him, curses in her mind – if the guy's tactic is to get a girl by being a hot loner with a tragic tale of woe, it sure is working for him.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asks when there's still tension between them, tension that should have melted by now.

"A bit, yeah."

"Is it because of the hood?"

His voice is softer, and she realizes that he's really trying: trying to tone down whatever beast rages inside him, trying his all to be normal instead of some tormented madman.

"No, not exactly," she confesses and feels a sting in her heart when he looks defeated. She almost feels like a bully, too. She wants to take the guy in her arms and shush him to sleep so he would wake up less haunted. But that's not how this goes: she cannot fix him, and even if she could, she has no right to.

He takes her back to the base and stands at her door again. The halls have fallen silent, everyone's asleep at this hour, and her heart is still hammering in her chest.

"Are we still just friends?" He stares at her from the darkness of the hood, shoulders slightly hunched, trying to make himself appear smaller. Less intimidating.

"I…I guess so."

"You think I'm weird, don't you."

His next question is more of a statement. And all she wants to say is no, even if it's a lie. The guy is… not evil; it's just that he certainly isn't sane and sound, either.

"Um… I… Uh-"

"You're the one who watched me in the showers," he points out as if they're keeping score on who's more of a perv.

"Yeah. I guess I'm the weirdo here," she laughs nervously, then almost bites her tongue. He only cocks his head a little to the side and repeats his earlier question.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Well… yes, ok? I did. Why else would I–"

"It's ok. I understand. I don't mind."

"Well, it was still rude of me to do that." She guides her gaze to the floor, then up at his polar stare that makes her want to swoon in the hopes that he will catch her. "Didn't you notice the sign on the door?"

"I did," he said, and the corners of his eyes slowly gather a few wrinkles. Smiling again.

She shakes her head slowly, scoldingly, and notices how that smile only deepens under the hood. Then his face – or what little can be seen of it – straightens.

"Am I harassing you?"

Wow. Well, at least the poor guy is trying to self-reflect. But something tells her there's more than some new-found awareness of his late behavior at work here.

There's bitterness... Exclusion.

Loneliness.

"No," she tries to comfort him. Another facepalm moment: she is basically telling a stalker she likes being stalked. That this sort of wacko shit was approved of. So this is what it has come to… Years of being invisible apparently did things like this to people.

"Or maybe a bit," she says as a spineless afterthought.

"Do you want me to stop?"

In all honesty, she is drunk on his attention. The obsessive behavior, the relentless wooing, romantic gestures accompanied by a stare that says he wants to plow her until she is a limp heap on a bed stained with tears and cum.

"König… Are you lonely?"

He shrugs, and she wants to grab him. Shake him.

"Are you?" He says with an unusually deep voice.

"...Yes."

Her voice is as fragile as can be, but the hall echoes her confession like it's a loud song. The eyes under the hood look at her softly, longingly: she hasn't even noticed how soft they can sometimes be.

"You don't have to be."

There's simply no use in denying it: she wants this guy to fuck her, no matter how creepy or weird he is.

She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him inside.

[koisuko]

Hello!! Could I request a MK one shot of what Johnny Cage would be like with a super shy/flustered reader. Like she’s totally into him and he just loves to make her all flustered

yesss i love this dynamic! (sorry this took a minute, my birthday was a day ago)

TW: may contain sexual flirtation, use of feminine pet names

flirty johnny, gn reader, oneshot, shy!reader, reader has a big ole crush, flirtality

Sat across the training courtyard, your eyes once again found themselves drawn to the movie star, Johnny, as he trained with the monks. You observed his movements, the flexing of his muscles beneath his clothing, his winning smile glistening in the sunlight. The rays played delicately on his flawless skin, capturing your attention effortlessly. Before you knew it, you were staring, lost in a daydream, mentally entranced like a love-struck puppy. Your hopeless crush on Johnny was no secret, and he, in turn, enjoyed teasing you endlessly. Little did you know, he shared the same feelings you tried desperately to conceal. He found pleasure in watching the flames engulf your features when his hand brushed your skin or when he smirked at you during sparring sessions. He reveled in the way your body squirmed and writhed when he teasingly whispered in your ear. Johnny was aware of the effect he had on you, and he reveled in it.

Your trance was broken by a sudden presence beside you—Kung Lao. "You are gawking again, y/n." Your name rang through your head, snapping you from your daydream. You turned your gaze to acknowledge him, "Is it that obvious?" you asked, your voice quiet and shaky, a blush rising to your cheeks. Kung Lao raised a brow, looking at you as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, "You can't keep it hidden forever, you know. You practically tell on yourself with your actions around him." You felt yourself gulp, catching Kung Lao's attention as he chuckled loudly. "I can't tell him, Lao. What if he thinks I'm weird? What if—" He clapped your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, silencing you immediately. Your hands became clammy as your mind ran wild with potential outcomes. "Listen, if I'm being honest, he clearly likes you too. I mean, come on, he teases you every chance he gets, reserves a seat for himself beside you at dinner," he paused, shooting you a reassuring smile, "the guy wears his feelings on his sleeve. I'm sure you'll do just fine. Don't stress yourself." You gave his words some thought, looking at him with an awkward, thankful smile, "Besides, you are too cute to resist," he added, a quick, teasing wink in your direction before standing and walking off.

You couldn't help but ponder Kung Lao's words from earlier that day. He wasn't wrong; you hadn't noticed those small actions Johnny had shown you until they were listed out before you. Now that you thought on it, you remembered how often you would meet his gaze when attempting to catch a sneaky glance at him, only to find out he was already looking at you. How he would scoot closer to you, your arms touching, little to no space between you as he leaned in with the excuse of wanting to hear you better. How you were the only one he would show genuine, raw emotion to when times got tough, holding you close to his chest like his life depended on it. Any excuse he could use to get closer to you, make you blush, make you feel any emotion in his presence, he would take it in a heartbeat. All this sudden realization caused another wave of heat to rush through your body, shaking lightly with nerves wracking your mind. If only you were more confident, not so reserved and terrified of reality, you would have confessed to him long ago. You tried, on multiple occasions, only to choke and stutter on your own words like they were poison, sending you retreating with apologies in the solace of your room.

You took a deep breath, standing just outside the dining room, building up the courage to walk in and get some much-needed dinner. The last vestiges of the earlier realization lingered in the back of your mind, making you more hyperaware of yourself, him, everything. It was scary. Pushing the doors open lightly, you attempted to slink in unnoticed, avoiding any direct attention. Unfortunately, your plan was foiled by Johnny Cage himself. "Hey princess, saved you a seat!" He smirked, his hand enthusiastically patting the seat beside him. You swallowed your nerves, approaching with your head down as you sat beside him. You could feel your palms moisten as his body heat practically called to you. Filling your plate with a variety of foods laid out before you, keeping your portion small, your anxiety gripped at your stomach, wavering your appetite. You made sure to avoid eye contact with anyone around as you lifted some rice to your lips. Johnny wrapped his arm around your shoulders without warning, causing a sudden jolt to shoot through your body and a slight cough to leave your lips. "Sorry, sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you," he smirked, leaning his head to be just inches from your ear, "how's the food, honey?" He whispered, your body shuddering as his breath met your skin, stiffening and halting all movement. Your eyes wide, you could practically feel his smirk, the satisfaction in his eyes from being the cause of such a reaction. "I-its good," you managed to choke out, your voice quiet like a mouse, your face a bright pink, "a-and y-yours?" His face retracted, his hand moving to his side once again as he took a bite of his own meal, "like a million bucks." You nodded in response, keeping your head low, as you continued to eat your meal in silence. You cursed yourself, the blush still lingering on your face. It felt like your throat was being held tight by an unknown force, like any attempts to speak would be blocked by your mind. Johnny turned to you once more, a finger under your chin suddenly as he forced you to look him in the eyes, "you got something there," he commented, taking his thumb and wiping some sauce off the corner of your lip with his thumb before bringing it to his own lips, licking it clean, "there, that's better." The grin never once left his face during this interaction. You were absolutely dumbfounded, staring for what felt like ages as your brain tried to comprehend what had just occurred. It took Kung Lao nudging your ribs gently with his elbow to break you out of your trance, turning to Kung Lao as if seeking his confirmation that what just happened was real, and not a dream. Kung Lao simply smirked, nodding his head in Johnny's direction, silently assuring you that it indeed happened. Your head shot back down to your food, a blush still gracing your features in a more exasperated display of your hidden affection for the actor beside you.

Later that night, you struggled to sleep, the earlier incident still burned into your mind. Johnny left you alone for the rest of the dinner, talking about his movies in a never-ending river of stories, only occasionally wrapping his arm around you throughout his rambling. He sensed your inner turmoil, evident on your face the rest of the dinner, and was a bit worried about you. He knew your appetite was dulled from your anxiety and eventually picked up on how much his stories helped you relax and trick your mind into eating more than you thought you could. He knew it was working when your pupils began to dilate as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you nodded in acknowledgment. He felt a sense of accomplishment when you would ask questions and engage in his retellings of his acting career, a genuine smile on his lips as he eagerly answered. You had no clue what you did to him; his heart swelled whenever your eyes met his in authentic interest, a real curiosity to his words. Joy filled his body, his heart rate picking up at the sight of those oh-so-familiar red cheeks of yours. For the first time in his life, he felt truly listened to; you gave him your undivided attention whenever he opened his mouth to speak, and he admired that greatly in you. You saw past his mask, past his fame and fortune, and saw a caring, confident, goal-driven man.

With one final huff of frustration, you swung your legs out of bed, the cold wooden floor beneath you sending chills through your spine. Pulling your favorite fluffy blanket along with you, wrapping it around you to shield yourself from the cold night air as your feet carried you out the door. You knew where you were going; the closer you got, each step in that direction, your heart rate increased as beads of sweat began forming on your brow. Just as you reached his door, faint snoring could be heard within, your breathing picked up the pace, becoming uneven and rapid. Your face reddening at the thought of speaking to him in his room, alone. You hesitantly lifted your fist, ready to knock, but were you truly ready? Was it really time to spill your heart to him? Your mind raced slightly; you felt yourself spiral just a bit. A deep breath, 1, 2, 3, and out; Kung Lao's words echoed in your head once more—you can do this. You knocked, anticipation causing your body to shift from left hip to the right, and back again. Should you knock again? The snoring could still be heard, causing you to knit your brows together before knocking again, a little louder this time. Silence, a slight creak of the bed, and a groan before footsteps made their way to the door.

The door creaked open, Johnny's face poking out and looking around before looking down, a grin instantly growing on his sculpted face. "Hey, cutie, what can I do for you?" You blushed once more, unable to force the words to leave your mouth. Pointing to the door with a gulp, he seemed to have gotten the message, opening it fully and moving to the side, swaying his hand as a gesture to come in. You obliged, albeit awkwardly as you moved to sit on his bed, wrapping the blanket tighter around yourself in an attempt to calm your ever-climbing train of nerves. "Something happen, kitty?" his tone was soft, sitting down beside you on the bed and pulling you close into a side hug. You were fighting a never-ending war in your mind, your expression blank as you tried your hardest to build up the courage to say anything at all. Tears threatened to spill from the brim of your eyes, feeling that familiar restriction in your throat once again, further hindering your ability to get your words out. You could feel it, right there on your tongue just ready to come out, 'I really like you.' Instead, a choked whine left your lips, your bottom lip quivering, your breaths coming out at a rapid dry pace. Johnny noticed this, quickly stroking your back gently, "Hey, hey, it's okay, look at me," he pulled your face to look at him, "eyes on me, doll, deep breaths." You did as he said, focusing on his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. Your breathing eventually steadying once again, a smile on his face, "there we go, it's okay, baby," his smile was genuine, not his usual one he put on for the cameras, real and full of endearment. It was contagious, causing you to mirror with a smile of your own. "T-thank you, I just.." You took another deep breath, "I-I—" you sighed with frustration once more. Despite being calm, you still could not form a coherent sentence; 'just say it!' you yelled into your head. "You like me, don't you." You froze, your eyes widening in shock, as your head swiveled in his direction so fast you nearly hurt yourself, "H-how—" he chuckled, "it's not hard for someone like me to pick up on these things, I'm not blind, sweetheart." You were speechless, just staring at him with a look of pure shock. Flustered was an understatement. The way he was looking at you, it made you melt, somehow making you nervous and calm at the same time.

"Your blush is cute, you wear it well, sugar."

[storytowrite]

|Tango of two hearts ~ Lee Minho|

Paring: Minho x Y/N

Genre: angst, smut

Word count: 8628

Warnings: 18+, smut, blowjob, fingering, starving, fainting

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Behind the scenes of the complex and energetic world of K-pop, you were the only girl in the group of backup dancers for Stray Kids. The team did not use female dancers often because they were unable to match their energy and dynamic movements. However, you were very talented and had no problem keeping up with them.

Your ambition and determination set you apart from others. You learned at an incredible pace. You even tied Minho's record for learning basic choreography the fastest, which earned you recognition from JYP, and Minho personally chose you as one of his backup dancers.

When you got into JYP, you were so happy. After all, it was your dream - to perform on the big stage. However, after the trial period, you faced the brutal reality. JYP put a lot of pressure on you, expecting who knows what when he couldn't even do what he asked for. Being the only girl in a large group full of guys brought additional challenges and often unpleasant situations

Your appearance was constantly judged and your skills questioned every time new people learned about you. But each time you showed them how wrong they were to downplay your talent. Every move you made was precise, perfectly on point and always with the right energy.

However, your self-confidence came with many sacrifices. You trained for long hours every day. Even though you were tired, you always smiled during rehearsals, not giving satisfaction to other people who wanted to trick you. You always did your own thing and focused only on what was most important at a given moment. You just felt like you had to work twice as hard as the guys to achieve the same success.

You were always the first to arrive at rehearsals and the last to leave. Due to the amount of time spent in the JYP building, all the artists knew you very well. Especially Stray Kids, for whom you danced, you could even say that you became friends with them. Each of the boys cared about you in their own way and they often suggested going out to eat with you, but you always refused, they didn't want to cause them any trouble with potential gossip.

The day before you got the demo for the new Stray Kids choreography, you also stayed longer in the training room. You were stressed about what enormously difficult new challenge JYP would have in front of you. From comeback to comeback, the choreographies became more and more complicated and tiring, but you had to face them.

You played the music and stood up again to dance through all the previous choreographies. You were tired and dripping with sweat, but dancing was your way of relieving stress. Completely absorbed in the music, you didn't pay attention to what time it was.

When the music ended, you were panting from exhaustion, but you heard soft clapping from behind you. You quickly turned around to see Chan and Minho standing in the doorway, watching you with smiles on their faces.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, wiping the sweat from your forehead with your shirt.

“I could ask you the same thing. It's 5 a.m., shouldn't you maybe get some rest.” Minho replied in a warm voice, handing you a bottle of water.

“5 o'clock already!? I must have lost track of time, but I'm stressed about tomorrow. I don't want to be an unnecessary burden for you." You hungrily drank half of the bottle, drenching yourself slightly as you did so.

“You won't be a burden to us, on the contrary, we will have to chase you. Besides, we've already talked about it, your health is more important to us. Do not overdo it." Chan walked up to you and gently wiped away the water that was running down your chin.

You always appreciated how the boys took care of you. Without their support, you would probably have given up a long time ago. Knowing that the two of them wouldn't leave until you got out of the room, you took your things and went with the boys to the exit. Even though you were so tired, you all laughed and talked until you reached the door. Minho offered to take you to your apartment, but you declined, not wanting to inconvenience him.

At home, you washed up and changed into comfortable pajamas and went to bed. You were so tired that it only took a moment for you to drift off to dreamland. However, after literally two hours, you were woken up by the loud sound of your alarm clock. You barely got out of bed and went to the bathroom to clean up.

When you looked in the mirror, you noticed that the bags under your eyes were extremely visible, so you decided to cover them with makeup. Despite your best efforts, it wasn't very effective, but you didn't have time to worry about that anymore.

On the way out, you grabbed a banana that you planned to eat on the way and ran out of the house, rushing to the JYP Entertainment building. As usual, you came to the room first and started warming up. You wanted to be ready for whatever the CEO came up with.

After an hour, others started arriving in the training room. Unlike you, everyone seemed calm and composed. It's like they don't care what challenge they get. A moment later, members of Stray Kids also started to come to the room. Everyone of course greeted you before they went to join the rest of the dancers. You often saw jealous glances from others in your group. They were irritated by the fact that you had better contact with the guys from SKZ than they did.

Only after another hour did JYP graciously come to the room with the choreographer. Everyone sat comfortably, looking at the huge screen that entered the hall. The new song immediately caught your ear. It was energetic, rhythmic and just your style. The choreography was also okay until the last chorus started. While Minho was to sing his part, the backup dancers were to hide him until the climax, which was when you were thrown into the air and Lino was to pass under you, and then your group was to catch you and you were to finish the choreography.

Everyone saw this and looked at you worriedly, but you tried to keep a straight face, even though deep down you were terrified. You've never had to perform any acrobatics before, especially in the air, and especially with one of the Stary Kids members under you.

“What if you fall or kick him? What if they don't catch you or you don't jump up high enough? Or will you panic during the concert or the lights will blind you and you won't know where to land?” There were so many thoughts swirling around in your head, so many unknowns and so many things that could go wrong. You started to doubt your skills and whether you would be able to cope with the new challenges.

When the song ended, JYP said his well-learned formula that he was counting on everyone, that everything would go well and that everyone would definitely make it, and he would keep his fingers crossed for everyone. Of course, he was pretending in front of the new choreographer who did not know what the real nature of the CEO was. Finally, he got up from his chair and, saying goodbye to everyone, left the room, leaving you with the choreographer.

On the first day, as usual, you will learn together with Stray Kids to get to know the choreographies, and then separately, each of them will adapt their training to their personal schedules. Of course, as the show gets closer, you'll go back to training together again to fine-tune everything.

So as soon as JYP disappeared out the door, the choreographer ordered a quick warm-up. The boys from Strata Kids immediately came over to you to warm up together.

“What do you think Y/n about the new choreography, you will shine in it. “ Felix said, stretching.

“I wish.” You smiled slightly.

“Don't worry, Y/n, you'll handle everything as usual, and with style. “ Jeongin added, patting you on the back.

You were glad that you had the support of the members, but your head couldn't stop thinking about what could go wrong. Even though you put on a happy mask, underneath you were like a terrified dog.

Of course, this was noticed by Minho, who was exceptionally good at reading your emotions, no matter how hard you tried to hide them. The boy walked up to you and simply sat next to you, making it clear that he would always be there for you. He knew perfectly well that you didn't like it when he was too much around you, so he didn't say anything, that he knew how you really felt.

After the warm-up, the choreography lessons began. As usual, you and Minho memorized all the steps almost immediately, and then all you had to do was polish them. The choreographer deliberately skipped the part with your jump, explaining that there would be a separate training session for it, and now the choreography was more important. Don't argue about it, because the longer you didn't have to make this move, the better for you.

After a few hours of training, with everyone already dripping with sweat, you and Minho started helping your group members perfect their moves. You showed how to smoothly transition from one move to another, you polished the angles and small shortcomings of others. Every person you helped was grateful for the help and thanks to this you finished the material planned for today faster.

“We'll get going. Anyone interested in going out to eat together? “ Changbin asked, gathering his things and heading to the shower.

In the crowd, a few guys from your group volunteered, but you were hesitant.

“Y/n, don't let me ask you again. When was the last time you went out with us? “ Han walked up to you, grabbing and swinging your hand.

You laughed lightly when you saw Han's sweet eyes asking you to leave. You couldn't resist his cuteness so you agreed. Then some of the guys went to take a shower, and you had to wait because there was only one bathroom with showers, which was dedicated to you.

After 15 minutes, you received a signal that you could go wash yourself. You grabbed your clean clothes, towels and toiletries and went to take a bath. When she entered the bathroom, she undressed and covered herself with a towel. She took a step towards the shower, but then she heard the sound of water running. She froze for a moment, trying to understand what was happening. Someone was still taking a bath. You were about to back away when you heard a group of boys from behind the wall.

“Come out, come out Y/n. We know you are there, show us your beautiful body. “ The voices of the boys in the group were laughing and mocking.

You were trapped, you had no way to get out, and a group of horny dancers were about to burst into the bathroom. You could already see their shadows when you felt a tug. A strong movement caused your towel to fall to the ground. You closed your eyes in fear. When you opened your eyes again, you were in the shower, the warm water hitting the tiles. Minho stood before your eyes. His wet hair sticking to his forehead and the drops of water flowing down his body added to his charisma. Your heart was pounding like crazy, so much so that you thought it was going to jump out of your chest. The boy looked deep into your eyes, and you didn't dare to look even a millimeter lower.

You knew perfectly well that he was standing naked and you were tempted to look at him even for a second, and his large eyes hypnotized you. You tried to cover your body somehow, but the boy assured you with his actions that he had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable.

“Y/n where are you? There's your towel on the ground so we know you're here. You don't have to be ashamed of us. “ The voice came from just behind the curtain.

Terrified, you hugged the cold wall, a pleading plea for Minho hidden in your eyes. Your body trembled with fear and shame, and the water from the shower did not help you calm down.

“Minho, please help me…” You whispered, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

Minho took a step towards you, gently placing a finger on your lips to silence you. His touch was surprisingly warm and soothing.

"Shh, Y/n. Calm down, I won't let them hurt you." He said in a whisper, looking deep into your eyes. "Stay here, I'll take care of them."

Then he poked his head out from behind the curtain so as not to reveal that you were there too.

“Oh Minho, we didn't know you were still here. “ Said one of the dancers, in a slightly embarrassed voice.

“Are you looking for Y/n? Shouldn't you wait for her outside the bathroom?“ He asked in a firm voice.

All you heard was noise and the mixing of at least 5 different guys' hair. Each of them tried to explain something, stammering.

“She's not here, and you shouldn't be here while she's taking a bath, so I advise you to leave, or I'll personally make sure you don't set foot in any studio. “ Minho threatened them, slightly angry, and grabbed your towel from one of their hands.

The next thing you heard was dancers running out of the bathroom and Lee Know closed the curtain again.

You breathed a sigh of relief, but you still felt a little nervous about the whole situation. Minho walked over to you, slowly handing you your towel. But you, forgetting yourself for a moment, hugged him, your naked bodies separated only by a thin towel.

The boy didn't know what to do with his hands that were hanging right next to your buttocks. However, it didn't take long for you to realize the situation you were in and quickly move away from the boy. A red blush appeared on your faces almost immediately. You grabbed the towel from Minho's hand and covered yourself with it, and Lino scratched his head awkwardly.

“Thank you Minho. “ You said quietly, slightly biting your lip in embarrassment.

“No... you have nothing to be thankful for. Now wash yourself calmly, I'll wait outside so they don't come back. “ He stammered, then grabbed his towel and got out of the shower.

You quickly washed yourself, but the image of Minho couldn't leave your head. When you finished bathing, you wrapped yourself in a towel and left the bathroom. Lino was waiting for you outside the room, although this time he was fully clothed.

“Hurry up, everyone is waiting for us at the restaurant. I'll give you a ride, it'll be faster." He said, breaking away from the wall he was leaning against a moment ago.

You didn't say anything, you just quickly went to put on some normal clothes and after a while you were ready. In fact, there was no one else in the room, so you had no choice but to go with Minho to the car. Neither of you dared to utter a word. When you went down to the parking lot, you started looking for the boy's potential car, but you couldn't spot it. Until you went behind the wall and your eyes saw a beautiful black sports car.

You knew that all Stray Kids members were rich, but you didn't expect this. You got into the car, of course Minho acted like a gentleman and opened the door for you, embarrassing you again. You sat back in your chair but you were too stressed to move, not wanting to break anything.

Finally Lee Know got into the car and started the engine and was about to drive away when he looked at you and moved very close to you. Your faces were centimeters apart, you could literally feel his breath on your skin.

Your eyes roamed all over his face and his heart was pounding so hard you felt like Minho could hear it perfectly. You don't know why you closed your eyes, as if you were getting ready for a kiss, but all that happened was the click of your seat belt being fastened.

You immediately opened your eyes and saw Minho laughing as he was driving his car out of the parking lot.

“Safety first.” He winked at you and focused on driving.

You felt like you were about to burn with embarrassment. You lightly tapped your forehead a few times to calm yourself down. Fortunately, this whole awkward situation was interrupted by Minho who played some music.

Fortunately, the route was short and you were there in a moment. As soon as you walked in, you were greeted with laughter and jokes. The whole team was sitting at a large table full of appetizers and colorful drinks.

"At last! How long can we wait for you?” Han called with a smile that showed he was up to something.

“Sorry, Y/n had to take a shower.” Minho said, holding the door for you.

“Oh, sure, take a shower. ” Felix said, winking at the others. “Are you sure bathing Y/n was the only reason you two were gone for so long?”

You felt a blush spread across your cheeks. “Yes, a shower, I had to wait until each of you had finally taken a bath. “ You replied quickly, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Yes, yes, just shower.” Changbin repeated with mock doubt. "We thought maybe you were... staying somewhere."

Minho looked at the dancers who had earlier tried to catch you in the bathroom.

"Leave her alone, she really had to wait until we all had a bath." He said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

The group burst out laughing, but luckily the topic quickly changed as they started ordering more food and drinks. The atmosphere was relaxed and friendly. Grilling, conversation and laughter filled the evening.

Hyunjin, as always in a great mood, decided to make sure that no one had an empty glass.

“Yn, try this.” He said, handing you a large drink.

“Hyunjin, maybe that's enough.” You tried to say, but he just waved his hand.

“Don't worry, it's just a small drink!” He laughed.

With each passing glass you felt more and more drunk, but you didn't want to say anything so as not to give more reasons to joke. Your head was starting to spin and the world around you seemed more and more distant. You finally got up from the table, trying to find the bathroom because you felt sick. Seungmin, noticing how you were swaying, walked over to the rest of the group.

“Hey, Yn may have had too much alcohol. Someone better check her.”

One of the backup dancers, whom Minho had never trusted, stepped closer.

"I will take care of this." He said with a smile that Minho immediately found disturbing.

Minho looked towards you and noticed that you were barely standing. He quickly walked over to you before the other had a chance to do anything else.

“Come on, Yn, it's time to go back.” He said, taking you into his arms.

He took you out of the restaurant, ignoring the surprised looks and cheers from the others, and led you to his car.

“I don't know your address, so I'll take you to our house. ” He said quietly as he put you in the car.

You just nodded, feeling the world spin around you. When you got to the dorm, Minho made sure there was no one around, but just in case, he put on a hood, dark glasses, and a mask so no one would recognize him. He lifted you in his arms again and went to the dorm. Not wanting you to sleep on the couch, he gently placed you on his bed and covered you with a blanket.

“Sleep peacefully.” He whispered before heading to the couch in the living room himself.

You woke up slowly in the morning, your head was throbbing from the hangover and your throat was dry as hell. You opened your eyes, trying to figure out where you were. The walls were unfamiliar, the bedding was unfamiliar, and the smell of men's perfume hung in the air. From your memory, you had gone out for drinks with friends the night before, but you had no idea how you ended up here.

You got out of bed, trying to control your headache. You carefully left the room, trying to be as quiet as possible. As soon as you walked through the door, you heard conversations coming from the living room. Your heart started beating faster when you noticed the four boys who didn't seem to care about their lack of shirts.

Chan, Hyunjin, IN and Minho were sitting on the couch, laughing and talking. Everyone fell silent for a moment when they saw you, then smiled broadly.

“Oh, our princess is awake!” Chan called, getting up from the couch and walking over to you with a glass of water and pills. “Hold on, for the hangover. Drink a lot of water."

You gratefully accepted the glass and medicine, trying to ignore your racing heart and reddened cheeks. It felt weird being in the Stray Kids dorm, with four of them standing in front of you without their shirts on. However, you had to admit that each of them had amazing bodies.

Minho walked to the kitchen and returned with a plate full of breakfast.

“I made you something to eat. You should eat something to feel better.”

You sat down at the table, grateful for the gesture. After a moment of silence, Seungmin, who had just entered the living room, looked at you with a smile.

“I heard you stayed in Minho's room. Anything interesting going on there?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"What? “ You froze, looking at Minho, who also looked surprised.

“No, nothing happened. She just didn't have a place to sleep, and I wouldn't let her sleep on the couch.” Minho replied quickly, trying to hide his confusion.

Seungmin chuckled at your reactions.

“I'm just messing with you guys, don't worry.”

You weren't laughing, but you tried not to show it, so you decided to eat the breakfast Minho had prepared. As soon as you put the first piece in your mouth, Lino left the room, only to return a moment later with a T-shirt in his hand.

“If you wanted to change clothes.” He said, handing you his shirt.

You almost choked on the food that was in your mouth. You were surprised by this gesture, but you accepted the clothes and after eating breakfast, you went to the bathroom to change. When you came out of the bathroom, the boys started whistling at you.

“Y/N, I've never seen you like this before.” Hyunjin said, looking at you.

The shirt Minho gave you was like a dress for you, but it ended just below your buttocks. You had to admit that it was very comfortable and smelled totally like Lino. As you were moving around the kitchen, trying to hide your embarrassment, you saw the clock hanging in the living room. It was almost 8 o'clock, which means you should have been on your way to training long ago.

You thanked all the boys for taking care of you and, putting on the mask Han gave you, you ran out of their apartment and caught the first taxi that came. Fortunately, you managed to make it in time at the last minute. You changed into your training clothes and started dancing, but your mind was filled with thoughts of you sleeping in Minho's bed and the upcoming acrobatics.

When you entered the room, the noise that was audible through the walls quieted down, but the other dancers didn't have time to say anything because the coach came after a while. You quickly warmed up and started repeating the choreography. Finally, the coach ordered an acrobatic part.

The trainer approached you and told you that you would first start by practicing just getting in and balancing on each other's hands. You were stressed, but you knew you had to trust your teammates. Determined, you stepped into the hands of the dancers. You felt their strong hands beneath you, but you had to focus on maintaining your balance. To your surprise, you picked up on how to do it quite quickly. A few tries and you could confidently stand on their hands.

The trainer nodded, pleased with the progress.

“Now it's time for the drop off.” He announced.

You started with light bounces and you tried not to panic. With each subsequent bounce you felt more confident, although the fear was still there. But you knew you had to trust your partners.

After a dozen or so attempts, the moment finally came for a full lunge. You took a deep breath and stepped into the dancers' arms. The coach said this would be the last pitch for today. You felt your heart beat faster.

"Now!" The coach shouted.

You felt your body rise into the air. For a brief moment, you felt as free as a bird, flying high above the ground. The sun shining through the hall windows illuminated your face, and you felt light and hopeful. However, this moment lasted only a second. At the same time, JYP entered the room. All eyes turned towards him.

Instead of steady hands catching you in mid-air, you only felt emptiness beneath you. In a split second, your body began to fall, and you were horrified to see that no one was ready to catch you. Panic began to rise, but there was no time to react.

A second later you fell on your back from quite a height. The impact on the ground was brutal, knocking the air out of your lungs. A dull thud echoing through the room echoed in your ears. You lay still, feeling a huge pain in your back. The pain was excruciating, as if someone had stuck a thousand needles into your back. You tried to take a breath, but each breath only made the pain intensify.

Everyone in the room froze. You heard the apologies, saw the worried faces, but your eyes were full of tears of pain. You felt the world around you spinning and the sounds became muffled, as if you were hearing them from behind a thick wall. The trainer rushed towards you, his face contorted with concern. Only after a dozen or so minutes the pain became a little less and one of the boys helped you get up from the ground. You saw guilt and terror in his eyes. The coach called it an end to training for you and told you to go home to rest.

Holding your back and barely able to walk, you left the room. Every step you took was difficult, and the pain was a reminder of what had happened. However, JYP caught you in the corridor. His gaze was stern.

“It's your fault they didn't catch you. You're too fat. You have to lose weight or I will fire you.” He said coldly.

These words were like another blow. In pain, with unpleasant information in the back of your mind, you returned home. There, alone, you finally allowed yourself to cry. You burst into tears, feeling the entire weight of the day press down on your heart. Back pain mixed with mental pain, creating a mix that seemed endless. You knew you had no choice but to go on a diet.

The next day you went to the physiotherapist because the back pain was still unpleasant. The doctor just put tape on your back and prescribed an ointment that you had to rub on your back. Despite great discomfort, in the evening you went to the gym again to exercise. However, movements that were previously easy for you became strangely difficult. You were irritated with yourself for not getting anything done.

At night, when you were left alone in the training room, Minho joined you.

“Is something wrong Y/n? " He asked as he entered.

“I can't cope with this choreography. It was as if I had forgotten everything. “ You replied, irritated.

“I have the perfect way to do it. " He said and took out a bandanna from his backpack.

This surprised you but you didn't say anything. The boy walked up to you and stood behind you.

"You trust me? " He asked.

You just nodded and the boy blindfolded you and told you to dance again.

You tried to make your first movements but you felt like your legs were getting tangled and you couldn't get the movements right. It really irritated you because you thought that maybe you weren't as good as you thought.

Seeing this, Minho calms you down, saying that just because you're failing now doesn't mean you're weak. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Minho's hands as they gently touched your waist. His touch was firm yet gentle, as if he was afraid he might hurt you. He moved closer, his breath touching your ear.

"Ready?" He whispered, his voice like velvet piercing the silence.

You nodded, unsure of what awaited you, but excited at the same time. Minho slowly began to guide your body, his hand on your waist like a compass, giving you direction. Every movement was precise, but at the same time full of passion. You felt his body close to you, as if you had become one harmonious whole. You didn't know this feeling before.

When you finally managed to get through all the moves and dance flawlessly, you were overjoyed. You hugged Minho.

“Thank you, Lino. “ You said, wiping the sweat from your forehead, exposing your back.

“Y/n what happened? “He asked, concerned.

"It's nothing. “You didn't want to worry him.

The boy didn't fully believe you, but he didn't want to be nosy and didn't pursue the topic further. You sat on the floor, leaning your back against the mirrors of the training room.

“Do you want to eat something y/n? " He asked, taking the phone in his hand.

You, remembering JYP's words, refused with a little sadness, even though your stomach said that he needed something to eat. The first day without food was hard and it was difficult for you to control your hunger, and the only thing in your stomach today was water.

You sat and talked about everything and nothing. Minho told you stories from his life, laughing at his own stories, and you felt your bond growing stronger by the minute.

“I've never felt so close to anyone on the team before. “ You admitted quietly, staring at your hands.

Minho smiled at you, gently placing his hand on your thigh.

"I'm glad you think so. I really enjoy spending time with you. “

The first rays of sunlight began to stream through the window as you both decided it was time to head home to get some rest before another day of training. Leaving the room, Minho accompanied you to the door.

“Thank you for today, Minho. You really helped me a lot.”

“Thank you, Y/n. I had a wonderful time.” He smiled at you, his eyes shining in the dimness.

Over the next few days, you didn't meet the guys from Stray Kids very often. You were focused on healing your back pain and perfecting your jump. Your drastic water diet quickly showed results. Within a week you lost 5 kg and even the other dancers started asking you if you were okay because you looked terrible and your moves weren't that strong anymore. The day finally came when you were supposed to perform on the big stage.

The day of the concert came sooner than she expected. Her heart was beating fast as she prepared to perform. The training sessions were intense and the nights were short. You often felt like your body was at its breaking point, but you couldn't afford to rest - not when you were so close to realizing your dreams.

The day of the concert finally came. You gathered yourself and went to the JYP building, as soon as you crossed the threshold of the training room, everyone's eyes turned to you.

“Y/n!? Everything's all right? You do not look good. “ Chan said, walking up to you.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. “ You smiled at the boy and put your things under the mirror.

You started your preparations and despite the pain, you gritted your teeth and continued dancing. You even managed to jump, and Minho quickly passed under you. As soon as the rehearsal was over, you went to the bathroom, or rather staggered there. You were so dizzy you were hitting the walls. You grabbed the sink and splashed cold water on your face.

You felt terrible but you had to endure it, you drank the entire bottle of water you had with you to trick your stomach. And it was time to get to the stadium to rehearse on stage. Your movements were imperfect, but you tried to do your best, and during breaks you went to the bathroom so that no one could see what condition you were in. Several times you even had to go to the doctor to give you oxygen.

After all, there were two hours left until the concert and everyone was getting ready. You painted yourself to hide all the signs of your condition. You don't know when it happened, but they were already calling you to the stage. After the oxygen you were given, you felt a little better and had more strength.

The stage was illuminated by bright spotlights and the sounds of music echoed throughout the stadium. You danced with all your might, synchronizing your movements with the rest of the group and the Stray Kids. You had only one thing in your mind - to give your all for the fans and the team. However, with each movement you felt your energy begin to fade.

The last hole was drawing to a close and you struggled to stay on your feet. It's time to reproach. You stepped onto the dancers' hands and waited for them to fly up. This and the last chorus were all that separated you from the long-awaited rest.

You jumped up and Minho passed under you and the dancers caught you. During the last chorus, you started to feel dizzy, but you had to persevere until the end. As the music stopped and the lights dimmed, you felt your body suddenly weaken. Your vision went dark and you lost your balance. You fell to the ground and the last thing you saw was Lee Know's worried face.

When you opened your eyes again, you saw Chan and Minho who were currently talking to the doctor. You were lying on the bed, connected to a drip. You tried to get up, and as soon as the boys saw your move, they came to you.

“Are you okay Y/n?” Minho asked. “ I was so worried about you… I mean, we all were. “

Chan just rolled his eyes and checked how you felt.

“Y/n, what made you think of starving yourself? You don't have to do this, your body is great... I mean... it's not like that... that sounded bad... but you know what I mean. “The leader was confused.

“But… but JYP told me to, otherwise he would have fired me. “You lowered your head in shame.

“Relax, Y/n, you're in our care and we won't let you get hurt, and believe me, we have a lot to talk about when it comes to this label. “ Minho assured you, lifting your chin slowly.

When you looked up, you were met with huge smiles from the two boys and you felt better. You knew you had support from them, which you needed very much right now. Unfortunately, the boys had to go back to their schedules after a while, and you had half a drip left and you could go home.

The doctor gave you recommendations on how to slowly get back to full health, which you were going to follow. Thanks to the guys' support, you realized that it's not worth trying to fit in with others at the expense of your health.

The following days, when you regain full strength, were like a fairytale for you. Every single one of the guys from Stray Kids took care of you every time they saw you. Especially Minho, who found time between the busy schedule to come to you and give you a new dish that he had prepared himself.

Thanks to this, you regained your strength quite quickly, and you even feel that you were in even better condition than before. Your movements become smooth and powerful again and you were able to compete with the dancers in your group.

One evening you decided to stay longer in the gym to move around just for yourself. The training room at JYP was filled with the soft glow of the setting sun, reflecting off the mirrors and creating an atmosphere that perfectly matched the sensual rhythm of the music. You moved with a grace that could seduce anyone. Your body undulated to the low, melodic sounds, and every movement emanated with sensuality and self-confidence.

It so happened that Minho was in the building at the same time and, hearing the music, he decided to check who was dancing in the room. Of course he noticed you absorbed in the music. Minho decided to stand in the doorway and watch you for a moment. His breathing quickened when he noticed the way you danced - you were like a living flame that drew his attention with an irresistible force. He couldn't help but join you. He headed towards the center of the room, his footsteps were quiet, so you didn't notice his presence at first.

However, as he got closer and you noticed him, your heart beat faster and a slight smile appeared on your face. Minho walked up to you, continuing to dance with you, joining in with your movements as if you were one. His hands gently wrapped around your waist and you pulled him closer, your bodies almost touching.

The song became more and more intense, and the tension between the two of you grew with each step. You both danced in a trance, locked in a rhythm that seemed to be created just for you. You felt your hearts begin to beat in unison, and something he hadn't known before appeared in Minho's eyes - a deep, burning desire.

You both rubbed against each other as if you wanted to be close. Each momentary departure from each other lasted like an eternity that you wanted to eliminate as quickly as possible. Minho's hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch. You didn't mind when his hand sometimes went to your buttocks or just under your breasts. His every touch was like an unexpressed desire that wanted to finally leave your bodies.

As the music reached its climax, Minho stopped, looking straight into your eyes. Your breaths were quick and your faces were so close that you could feel his hot breath on your lips. The moment lasted forever until Minho finally couldn't stand it anymore - he connected your lips in a passionate kiss, full of hidden feeling and desire.

You gave yourself into the kiss, feeling your body melt in his arms. The kiss was full of passion, desperation and passion that you both had suppressed for too long. When you broke apart, your eyes spoke louder than words - you knew it wasn't over.

Without another word, you left the training room and headed to your apartment. As Minho drove the car, his hand rested on your thigh and he stroked it, getting dangerously close to your pussy. You felt your heart racing and your legs started to get wet. As soon as you reached your destination, the door closed behind you and you remained in each other's arms, kissing again, giving in to the feelings that could finally see the light of day.

You immediately directed him to your bedroom. Before you knew it, Minho had already taken your shirt off, leaving you in your bra. He placed you gently on the bed and started kissing your entire chest. His mouth moved from your neck, over your collarbones and breasts, to your stomach, his wet trail stopping just at the waistband of your pants. Your body was boiling with the amount of stimulation.

After a while, Minho also took off his shirt, revealing his torso. Now you could take a closer look at his trained dancer's body. You couldn't resist the temptation and ran your hand over Minho's perfectly visible abs. You bit your lip, trying to control yourself.

You were about to remove your hand when Minho grabbed it and placed it on his chest. You felt his heart pounding like crazy, just like yours.

“You have this effect on me Y/n and have for a long time.” He said, an alluring voice that stuck in your ears.

His words made you unable to help but connect your lips again in a passionate kiss. The boy took advantage of your inattention and unhooked your bra with one hand. Your chest was wrapped in the cool wind that came through the open window. Your nipples were painfully erect with arousal, which Minho immediately noticed. He cupped your breasts in his hands and slowly took your nipple into his mouth.

A soft moan fell from your lips, causing a smile to appear on the boy's face. His tongue began to rub circles around your nipples, moving from one to the other. Your back arched so he could put his arm underneath you and support your body, making it easier for him to access you.

One of your hands went to his naked torso. You explored every inch of his body with your fingers until you felt the waistband of his panties. Your face immediately lit up and you pulled him towards you again, connecting your lips again this time in a French kiss. Your saliva mixed together as your tongues swirled around like a dance. You didn't even have a chance to fight for dominance, Minho quickly showed who would be in charge.

Your fingers, which had been fidgeting on the edge of the elastic band, moved lower. You could now feel his swollen penis, which was forming a bulge in his pants. You both smiled into the kiss, but Minho broke away from you.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because once I start, I won't be able to stop myself." Minho said, towering over you.

You nodded, biting your lip a little harder. It was a sign to the two of you that you could let out all your emotions and just enjoy the moment. Minho started kissing down your body again, teasing you as he got closer to the line of your pants, his tongue reaching under the waistband. You thought you were going crazy, your body craved his closeness, demanded more.

You started squirming underneath him, lifting your hips to grind against his cock, you were hungry for his touch. You wanted to have him for yourself.

“Do you want me that bad?” He asked, biting your nipple lightly.

A muffled moan escaped your lips again, hinting at what your answer was. Lino understood your request perfectly and pulled down your pants and panties in one smooth movement. You were naked in front of him again, but this time he didn't hold back from looking at your body. He took a moment to admire your body.

“You're so perfect.” His voice lowered and his eyes lit up.

You blushed slightly and tried to cover yourself in embarrassment, but the boy grabbed your hands and held them above your head with one hand. You expected him to be strong, but not this strong. You couldn't move and he had complete control over you now.

His other hand slowly moved down, barely grazing your skin. When his fingers lingered on your clit, you had to take a deeper breath. His nimble fingers caressed your sweet spot and the sweet sounds of your pleasure filled the room. You didn't expect Lino to be so good, because you felt your body reaching fulfillment quite quickly.

You couldn't hold back your voice, which only turned him on more. The bulge in his pants was getting bigger by the minute as he saw you on the edge. He felt you were close, so he slipped his fingers between your folds to wet his fingers. Your juices have long flowed out of you.

Using the extra slip, he accelerated his movements. Your clit throbbed hard and your fingers dug into the mattress of the bed. Your breathing sped up dramatically as you felt that the knot that had formed in your lower abdomen was about to come undone. All it took was a few moves from the boy and you reached your climax.

Your whole body trembled violently, and your fingers dug even harder into the mattress. You could barely catch your breath as you rode through this wonderful orgasm. Minho, seeing that you were slowly calming down, let go of your hands and went lower. He spread your legs and ran his tongue along your sweet spot, tasting you.

Every now and then he would suck, sometimes on your lips, sometimes on your still sensitive clit. You felt like you were about to go crazy with the amount of pleasure he was giving you, you felt great.

You also decided to return the favor for this wonderful experience. You pushed him off of you and quickly found yourself between his legs. You pulled down his pants, leaving him in just his underwear. The wet spots suggested that pre-ejaculate was already leaking from his cock, so without further ado, you pulled his panties down with your teeth.

Your eyes saw a hard, tight confidence. You looked with sweet eyes at Minho, who was leaning on his forearms and smiling proudly at you. Without taking your eyes off him, you ran your tongue along the entire length of his cock. Minho's reaction suggested that he also liked it as much as you did. The boy threw his head back as you took his tip in your mouth.

Your tongue moved slowly in circles, occasionally licking the leaking pre-ejaculate. However, you quickly got bored and started deepthroating him. A guttural growl escaped his lips. You tried to take as much of his penis into your mouth as possible, which was quite a challenge for you.

You changed your position to make it easier to make quick movements, but you gave Minho easy access to you. The boy immediately took advantage of it and his fingers were right next to your hole. He didn't need to moisturize them additionally and after a while he inserted his first finger into you.

His movement made you moan in pleasure. Saliva began to fly out of your mouth, forming more and more intensely in your mouth. But you didn't stop your movements and neither did Minho. He added another finger, stretching you thoroughly. The movements of his hands matched the rhythm of your lips.

You came closer to your climax again. Then the boy motioned for you to sit on him. You liked this idea. You turned towards him and guided his erect penis towards your hole. You were so wet that as soon as you lowered your hips, his entire length entered you.

A moan of pleasure escaped your lips again and was like honey to his ears. The boy grabbed your buttocks in his hands and kneaded them sensually. As soon as you felt confident with your movements, you sank into his sweet mouth again. You could barely breathe, but you didn't want to break away from each other, you felt too good to stop.

Finally, Minho wrapped one of his arms around your waist and, without leaving you, turned you onto your back. He towered over you again, his movements picking up a nice pace. Everything was right, the pace, the depth, everything was perfect.

As soon as Lee Know felt you getting close to orgasm again, he lifted your legs and put them over his shoulders to penetrate you even deeper. This sent a huge wave of satisfaction rushing through your entire body again. You moaned and squirmed as much as you could, barely able to withstand each thrust.

Minho must have been on edge as well, as he sped up his movements, but they also became sloppier and the rhythm wasn't as steady.

“Minho…please don't stop…I…I'm about to cum.” You managed to say between moans.

“You don't have to tell me twice.” He smiled and sped up his movements again. Just a few strong thrusts were enough and a wave of pleasure spread throughout your body. The orgasm was so intense that you couldn't hold back your voice. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, every time your body shook with delight.

“Shit y/n I can't take it anymore. “ That's all he managed to say as you felt warm cum shooting inside of you.

The boy made a few more weaker thrusts as he rode through his orgasm and fell tiredly on top of you. You were both panting from exhaustion, beads of sweat dripping down your foreheads, but you were content.

After a while, Minho pulled out of you, his cum flowing out of you, staining the sheets. You were glad that every girl who worked at JYP had to take birth control pills so that nothing would interfere with their work. Minho also knew it perfectly well, so you didn't have to worry about whether you had condoms or not and you could completely benefit from each other's closeness.

Finally, Minho got off of you and lay down next to you, you lay there in silence for a while. Minho grabbed your hand and your eyes met each other.

“You don't even know how long I've been waiting for this.” He said, his voice was gentle, full of tenderness.

You smiled at him, moving closer to him.

“I wanted it too, even more than I thought.” You kissed him on the lips.

Finally, after you had rested, you went to take a bath and clean up after yourself. Minho decided to stay at your place for the night so that no one would accidentally catch him leaving your place at night. Neither of you complained about it, because you could use the entire young night for interesting games and getting to know each other better.

You also had to decide whether to tell someone about you or keep it a secret, at least for now. Fortunately, there was plenty of time and you had no intention of stopping at just one quickie. There was your entire apartment to check out, lots of options you wanted to try. After all, you could afford it now

Masterlist

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 15: Noncon

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6908

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, familial death, noncon, like super noncon, debt, monetary coercion, references to prostitution and public use, implied master/slave dynamic, piv sex, blowjob, throat fucking, double penetration featuring a Fatui debt collector 

A/N: at this point I think anything I write for a Harbinger is just going to be exceptionally dark and gross so tbh consider that a warning in and of itself. This one’s rough so please pay attention to the tags before proceeding any further! I love you guys and I want you all to stay safe so feel free to skip this one if you think you need to!

⭐

Snow crunches under heavy boots as you make your way through the small village you called home. It was late, and the moon was out. Its muted, hazy glow casts over the snowdrifts and the shoveled heaps piled away from silent doorways to make it all glitter and shine like mountains of precious silver. You wished that was what it was. Wished you could dig your hands into it and scoop out palmfulls to spend on food and clothes, firewood for the hearth at home so you wouldn’t have to break your back chopping it for yourself every day. Maybe even a new comb for your hair, as a treat. 

You would have been able to afford anything at all if it was something of actual worth stretching out around you as far as the eye could see, so of course you would splurge on a comb. Perhaps even two. And a dress, a fancy one that would make the other girls green with jealousy while the boys threw themselves at your feet like shameless dogs. Anything and everything would be just at your fingertips in this perfect world of whimsical fantasy. Even your freedom. 

It was a nice thought. A tempting one, even. But if snow could be somehow transmuted into silver or any other precious metal then Snezhnaya would be the financial capital of Teyvat rather than the far distant Liyue. Your father had told you about it on occasion, what kind of place it was. How bustling with business and commerce the streets were. You’d thought it sounded like a strange but exciting place. So much potential for success bursting at the seams, just waiting to be struck upon, that you’d once even dreamed of going there yourself some day. Of making a future beyond the hopeless deadend you saw here. 

But that was little more than a long forgotten flight of fancy now, much like your silver-snow. Fantasies were just idle hopes and wishes for children who hadn’t yet learned the crushing truths of the world, and the weight of that sags your shoulders as you work to jostle your front door open. You were tired and cold, and quickly running out of options. 

The door finally gives way with a creak, and you stumble inside to knock the snow off your boots before bending to unlace them. You’re halfway through the motion, one shoe already undone and half kicked off, when you suddenly realize you’re not alone. 

You aren’t sure if it’s a shift of movement at your peripheral, if the redistribution of weight had displaced one of the old floorboards to issue a squeak of warning or if it’s something in the air that just feels … occupied. But you’re immediately aware of it on an intrinsic level and your heart seems to play hopscotch across your ribcage. Frozen to the spot, you just listen to the resounding silence for a long, horrible beat. Then your head comes up to glance across the room at the open doorway that leads into the small kitchen. A warm flicker of light greets your horrified gaze, taunts you with a beckoning sputter. You certainly hadn’t left the lantern burning this entire time, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have even had a home to return to. 

Slowly straightening, you hastily shove your feet back into your boots and reach for the knife hidden under your jacket. You grasp it in a tight, squeezing fist, just the way your father had shown you, and creep towards the doorway. It feels like you're hardly breathing but your pulse still jumps when the floor creaks under you. Nothing to be concerned about though, you try to tell yourself. They would have heard you come in anyway, especially since your damn door never wanted to open right. It was fine if they knew you were there because you knew where they were and it was your house, so you still had the upper hand. Probably. Maybe. 

Oh, please don’t let there be more than one of them, you pray to whichever god might be listening. 

Edging yourself close to the entryway, you’re more than a little relieved to find that it is indeed just a single figure standing over your rickety dinner table and you almost breathe out a heavy sigh. But then that shadowy mass turns, the cast of the lantern illuminating the face, and you nearly drop your knife in surprise. 

“L - lord Regrator?” 

He smiles at you, always soft and always gentle. “Hello, pet. Finally off work are we?” 

You just stand there, mouth moving wordlessly around any number of things you could have said to him in that moment. ‘What are you doing in my house?’ for starters. Maybe even an impulsive ‘why are you sneaking around at night like a thief?’ But all you finally manage to croak out is a threadbare, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, my lord” because you simply don’t know what else to say. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I haven’t been here for very long.” Still smiling, still soft, he reaches out with an elegantly poised gloved hand as if to touch the top of your table but he stops short. Seems to hesitate. Thinks better of it, and instead sweeps those long fingers outward to gesture at the kitchen at large. “Your home is lovely. Quaint.” 

Pantalone hides his grimace exceptionally well. You only barely manage to make out the slightest tension that settles around his mouth in the cast of the burning lantern that sits sentry on the table between you and him, tossing odd shadows across his face. His contempt for your lodgings is clear though and you self consciously dart your eyes around the room as if seeing it all for the first time. The old, dilapidated iron stove that looked like it was on its last leg, the crack in the wall where the foundation was starting to give, bit by bit, and the rusting coffee carafe sitting in the tub sink. It probably did look abhorrent compared to what he was in all likelihood used to but it was all you’d ever known. The only thing you’d ever had that couldn’t be taken away. 

Swallowing hard, you center your focus back on him and try not to think about how much he looked like a finely dressed specter standing in the ruins of your life like this. Beautiful and nice to look at but you knew too well the venomous fangs he was hiding beneath that deceptively pleasant veneer. Like a wraith come to life to haunt you endlessly. Tirelessly. Ghoulishly. 

“Please forgive me, my lord.” You whisper into the eerie stillness. “Had I known you would be coming I would have cleaned and made preparations. Would you like me to make tea?” 

“Not at all.” 

You wince, and try not to wither. “Then is there something I can help you with?” 

Noising a thoughtful sound, Pantalone casually shifts into motion and you very nearly go scuttling backwards to escape him. But, to your surprise, he doesn’t approach you and instead wanders over to the stove to give it a shuttered but no less judgemental inspection. You start to bring your hand up to wipe the beading sweat from your brow only to abruptly realize you were still holding onto the knife. 

Stealing a look at where you’ve got it clutched in a death grip, you quickly decide to keep it out for the moment. You very well might need it. 

“One would think that old fool would have used some of the loan he borrowed to do a bit of upkeep on the place.” He murmurs, more to himself than you and perfectly offhand, but it still makes your chest squeeze tight. You probably should have seen this coming but the hurt catches you off guard. Makes you hate him just a little more. 

“I’m sorry my home is not to your liking, lord Regrator. I could have met you somewhere else if you’d just - -“

“Oh?” Pantalone cuts across you, neither raising his voice nor sharpening his tone. It’s the same soft, gentle refinement in his voice as usual that makes you cower in the doorway when he turns to make his long cloak flutter outward like a dancer. “And why would I give you the chance to run out on me like that? I know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, dear, but surely even you must know that that’s just bad for business.”

You find yourself prickling defensively. For him to even insinuate such a thing … “I wouldn’t do that, my lord. I’ve been working hard to pay you back this entire time, just like we agreed. I even got a second job at the mill so I could make ends meet and still be able to make my payments on time. To up and leave after all the effort I’ve put into - -“

“Then can you give me your next payment now?” 

“I … my lord, I still have another week to get it.” 

Looking at you through the creeping gloom, Pantalone finally allows a small frown to tug at his mouth. “So that’s a ‘no’? Such a pity. I’d really rather hoped you would be better than your father.” 

You feel like you’re going to be sick. Hot and nauseous, and increasingly dizzy, you just stare at him for a drawn out beat before finally giving your head a numb shake. “No. That’s not what you said. My lord, you agreed - -“

“Let me explain something to you.” He cuts across you again, the faintest note of displeasure coloring his voice now. Sedately, he folds his hands together and moves towards you with the slow, rhythmic thud of his boots on the floorboards making your heart pound even faster. It sounded deafeningly loud in your cotton stuffed ears. “Loans are not granted out of goodwill and charity. There are terms that must be agreed upon by both parties before any mora can trade hands. Would you care to take a guess what terms your father took his loan out on?” 

You shake your head and back up a step, still clutching the knife beside your hip. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run, flee as fast as you can and never look back, but that would just make things worse, wouldn’t it? Prove that his wariness to trust you was well founded. You couldn’t afford to test the limits of his benevolence any further, figuratively or literally, so you stand your ground even when he comes within arms reach where he finally stops. Tilts his head to one side and then draws a calm breath. 

“Twenty-five percent interest. That is what accumulates every single day you don’t make a payment in full. To put it in layman’s terms, the only way for you to even make a dent in your fathers loan would be to pay around, oh, let’s say … 16000 mora a week?” 

Your knees almost give out right from under you. That couldn’t be true. There was no way … “Do — do you really expect me to be able to pay that much?” 

Softly tutting at you, Pantalone fixes you with a truly pitying look. “Oh, sweet girl. I would never ask something so unreasonable of you. But, as it stands, you did agree to take responsibility for the loan. Rather than a personal expectation on my part, you now have the obligation to pay it back regardless of my own personal thoughts on the matter.” 

“What choice did I have?” You croak. “What else was I supposed to say when you showed up at his funeral and started talking about stuff I have no knowledge of? You made it sound like I didn’t even have a say in it.” 

“Well, that’s hardly my fault if you agreed to something without understanding the full consequences.” 

You were starting to pant even though you hadn’t moved for some time now. It was like you were a tea kettle on the brink of boiling, so hot and messed up inside that you weren’t sure what the inevitable explosion was going to look like. You wanted to scream at him, throw yourself on the floor and sob like an inconsolable baby. You wanted to curse him, spit at him, hurt him — hurt him? 

Your fingers desperately clench around the knife to make sure it was still there. 

You could hurt him. 

Maybe you should hurt him. 

“You’re a monster,” You hiss, finding strength in your conviction, in the blade that had become a part of your arm, an extension of it. Stiffly, you shift to the side so he won’t see the way you readjust your grip on the handle to make sure you’ve got a good hold on it. “A twenty-five percent interest rate? That’s insane. No average person could pay that back in a single lifetime and you know that. You’re just a thief taking advantage of people.” 

Seamlessly, Pantalone’s placid little smile slips back into place. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” You hiss the word at him, and try to work up your courage to follow through. You’d never stabbed another person before but in this instance, for him, you were quite certain you could. All you needed to do was goad him into closing the distance and get him near enough for your knife to reach. “You prey on the poor and impoverished like it’s some kind of game, don’t you? Is this what gets you off?” 

“That’s a rather crass thing for a young lady to say, isn’t it?” He simpers at you. Then, much to your heart pounding surprise, he takes a step towards you. And another. “But since you asked I feel it would be remiss of me not to give you an answer. How does a demonstration sound?” 

Your eyes go big, startled heat warming your cheeks quicker than you can even process it. There wasn’t enough time to think about that right now though. He was almost right on top of you, looming over you like some horrible, menacing beast in his fine furs. You seem to have forgotten how to breathe when the only thought flashing through your mind was sinking the blade in your hand through his chest. His neck. Whatever you could reach in the split second chance you were going to get to deliver the blow. Jaw clenched painfully tight, you squeeze your fingers around the knife so hard it hurts. 

And you lunge. 

An unseen hand materializes out of the darkness behind you and snatches your upraised wrist before you can bring it down. You’re so caught off guard that you don’t even have the wherewithal to gasp. A rough jerk on your arm yanks you off balance and right back against a solid wall of muscle that doesn’t even shift at the impact. Your animal instincts seem to take over and you wildly jerk your head up, just catching a glimpse of a red mask, a black hood, and then sharp, tearing pain is shooting up your captured limb. The masked fiend — a man, judging by his frame — twists and mercilessly bends your wrist until you drop the knife with an earth shattering clatter on the floor. Dully realizing you were caught and unarmed now, you violently wrench against his hold in an attempt to free yourself but he just drags you against him again. 

Screaming and kicking, he heedlessly maneuvers you further into the kitchen but even trying to turn into dead weight in his arms doesn’t dissuade him in the slightest. All he does is haul you close, lift you up in the air and then slam you down on top of the table with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. You’re distantly aware of him shuffling back a step as you lie there, gasping and wheezing while you weakly try to pull your body upright again but it’s useless. The teeth rattling impact against the sturdy wood had effectively stunned you. Your limbs didn’t want to cooperate and it was hard just to breathe, let alone try to run or fight back. 

And somehow through all the agony you’re vaguely aware of Pantalone’s approaching boot steps on the floor. 

“Goodness, was that really necessary? You could have set the whole place on fire.” He tut tuts at his underling and you slowly turn your head to watch him pick up the lantern where it was tipped over. The only thing that had stopped it from shattering or rolling off onto the floor was the protective cage around the glass but you weren’t sure if you wanted to thank whoever had designed it or curse them for it. There was no telling what they were going to do to you, and you may have preferred going up in a puff of smoke when all was said and done … 

Archons above, how were you supposed to get out of this? 

“Now,” Intoning, Pantalone gracefully moves to set the lantern on the adjacent countertop where it wouldn’t get knocked over again. The glow from the flame dances and moves with him, and you groan when it seems to make your nausea double down. You’d never felt quite so sick in all your life. “As I was saying, I think a hands-on demonstration should satisfy your curiosity well enough. As an aside, though, I would suggest not asking men about their sexual proclivities in the future. It just might keep you out of trouble.” 

“Bastard …” 

He comes close again, reaching out to close his fingers around the roots of your hair so he can yank your head back against the table. Seething, you glare up at him but he just keeps smiling that same polite smile. It was hideous. 

“My, my, that really is a filthy mouth you’ve got. Did you learn that from your father? Perhaps we should wash it out with soap while we’re at it.” 

“Stop it! Do not speak of him!” 

Chuckling faintly, Pantalone slowly lets up on your hair before moving to step around the table. Wheezing, you hastily try to roll over so you can slip down to the floor but the masked man stops you dead in your tracks. He was just standing there. Watching. Still and silent as a statue but you didn’t have to see his eyes to know how attentive his focus was. Like he was just waiting for the slightest hint of real resistance so he could use it as an excuse to rough you up again. Evil and loyal to a fault. 

From out of the void, Pantalone’s gloved fingers abruptly brush over your pants leg to make you jolt and whip your attention around so fast the room starts to spin. But once your vision clears enough to see, you just find him standing over you and as at ease as ever. He would have looked completely unassuming if you didn’t know any better.  

“Do try to keep your eyes on me, darling. After all, I’m going out of my way to give you a thorough and worthwhile answer, so the least you can do is pay attention.” 

“Please don’t …” 

Drawing a stilted breath that seems to shudder at the tail end, he slowly drags his palm up to your knee and then back down until it hits the top of your boot. Casually, much too casually for your liking, he disinterestedly nudges it off your foot to hit the floor before repeating the process on the other side. You cower on top of the table, biting back a sob when he reaches up to unbutton your jacket next, but you understood too well just how trapped you really were. The masked man was standing between you and the entryway, much bigger and much stronger than you were. You’d never be able to fight your way past him. In front of you was Pantalone and to the other side … the small kitchen door that led out into the yard was a non option because you hadn’t shoveled away the snow in months. You’d thought it was a good idea to leave as few points of entry into the house as possible now that you were alone, but you realized just how foolish that really was. You had no way out, no viable exits. 

“Are you really going to do this?” You fearfully whisper into the still air. 

With a soft click of his tongue, Pantalone gets the last button undone and brings his hands up again to push the jacket over your shoulders. “Only because you asked.” 

A full bodied tremor tears through you at the pur in his silky voice. Sucking in a ragged, gasping breath, you turn your head against the table to fix your attention on the beckoning door while he works on the next layer, and the next, leaving everything bunched around the bends of your arms, until he at last gets down to the bottommost chemise. You shiver at the loss of heat and the chill that rushes in to replace it, your nipples already cutting up into the thin material, but your reaction doesn’t so much as give him pause. 

Gloved hands drag up your front to cup around the swell of your breasts and squeeze, making you whimper in the back of your throat. “Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you were hiding such a voluptuous body underneath all those clothes.” Humming softly, as if in consideration, Pantalone readjusts his hold and shoves your tits together to make them squish under the final layer. “These are nice, aren’t they … have you ever considered going into prostitution? I’m sure you could make a pretty mora for yourself.” 

You screw your eyes shut but it doesn’t do much to block out the sound of his voice. “I would never …” 

“Oh? What a shame.” Pausing, he releases your chest in favor of neatly folding the material up to bunch under your chin and you outright writhe when the chilly air hits your stiff nipples full blast. “Though, if I’m being honest, I am quite tempted to take you with me back to the palace and start selling you myself. You’d be quite popular, you know. One look at this body and every man in the room would be tripping over themselves just to give me their entire savings for a mere hour with you. Perhaps you could pay me back that way, hm?” 

Whimpering when Pantalone lightly brushes his fingers over the pebbled peaks of your breasts, the leather stiff and cool to the touch, you twist your neck back in a blithe attempt to escape that velvety croon. It was no use though. Like you were smothered under his presence you could feel him, hear him all around you. You could even taste him on the back of your tongue where the cloying scent of expensive cologne swarmed your senses. It was too much. You didn’t want this. 

“Please … I’ll do anything, just — please don’t do this to me.” 

He gently shushes you even as he takes a moment to tweak your nipples, almost idly plucking at them until you hiss and choke on a broken little sob. Leaning over you then, hunching close, Pantalone puts his face near enough to yours that his exquisite eyeglass chain slides forward to brush against your cheek. He just looks at you like that for a long moment, still pinching your teats like an afterthought. 

Then, “You’ll do anything except the one thing that might actually get you out of this mess? My dear, I think you’re even more confused than I first thought. You do not have the luxury of choice here.”

Your stomach clenches. Roils and heaves. The dread that settles over you is debilitatingly crushing but you can’t quite stop yourself from looking up at him now, brows drawn in confusion and agony alike. “What do you mean?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“What I mean is simple. I own you.” He hisses it, punctuating that statement with an aggressive twist of your nipples to make you shriek. “Until that loan is paid off in full, you belong to me. Your life is in my hands, pet. If I decide you’re going to go stand naked in the town square and present yourself to every man walking by until you find a taker then that is precisely what you are going to do. Is that clear enough for you?” 

You squawk out a frantic, wild sound that might be a ‘yes’ and, to your reeling surprise, he immediately lets up on your poor breasts entirely. Just like that his mood seems to shift back to the usual placid tone and soft smiles, and you violently shudder as he soothes his palms over your aching teats as if to lessen the hurt. You can’t even begin to make sense of it but the relief you feel is staggering, and you force your quaking body to relax into it as much as you can manage. Of course you’d known what he was hiding under that pleasant facade, had seen it peek out on more than one occasion, but this was far beyond what even you had thought him capable. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised though. Maybe you should have expected it on some level, but you now knew how very fine the line you were walking really was. He could do anything at all to you if the notion struck his fancy and something told you making you sell your body on the streets was only a small drop in the bucket. He was evil and deranged. Cutthroat. You had to play your cards very carefully if you wanted to avoid the worst of it. 

You repeat that to yourself, over and over again in your mind like a mantra when he finally reaches for your pants. It takes everything you have not to scream and kick, spit at him like a wild animal, but you manage, somehow, to just lay there, allowing him to get them pulled down your legs right along with your soft drawers. Left in nothing but your socks and the rumpled up heap of jackets and shirts bunched around your arms, you shyly squeeze your legs together to hide from him. You didn’t want him to see your most intimate spot. To look upon you like a lover would, but you don’t fight it when he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the table. 

You had to play nice. Had to be good for him so he wouldn’t sell you to anyone that could afford to pay the hefty price tag he would no doubt ask for. Just the thought of him taking you makes bile rise in the back of your throat but even in the jittery panic coursing through your system you still recognized exactly how limited your options were. This was the lesser of two evils. You hated it beyond measure, but it was the far more bearable alternative. 

So you hold your breath, head spinning at an alarming rate, when he nudges your knees apart. Let them fall open in a shameless spread that leaves you bared to him and vulnerable. Your face feels like it’s on fire and furious tears sting your eyes, but you just clench your hands into tight, shaking fists. The nails dig in to lance pain through your palms and it helps ground you. Steadies your nerves even when he coos down at you with a saccharine sweetness. 

“And such a pretty pussy too … I admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t take you for the sort.”

You adamantly refused to respond to him now, leaving your mouth pursed in a thin line and your head turned away so you could keep your attention locked on the door. You should have shoveled the snow. Should have considered your situation a little more carefully. 

The featherlight brush of Pantalone’s fingertips on your cunt makes you jolt, almost pulls your head back around, but you stay firm on this. Prone and pliant for him as he traces a brief path down your slit before nudging into the lips to feel for your entrance. You wince at the contact, grimacing when he worms one long digit into your body even when he meets resistance, even though your shuddering muscles try to keep him out. The drag of his glove along your inner sleeve pulls a muffled hiss from you but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Tight too. That will help your value price a great deal. Tell me, poppet. You wouldn’t happen to be a virgin, would you?” 

You don’t much appreciate the note of humor in his voice, the sly inflection that would seem to suggest he found the prospect amusing. Delightful, even. Seething through your teeth at the uncomfortable penetration, you can’t help but squirm with the overwhelming urge to run away. “No.” You practically growl the word. “I’m not, you sick bastard.” 

Chuckling softly, he takes a moment to fuck into you with his finger, soon adding a second to stretch you out, but it does little in the way of good. There was too much tension thrumming through your body; too many aches and pains, and fast pumping adrenaline, and not nearly enough pleasure to be found on his cool digits to draw any amount of wetness out of you. But you keep your legs spread because you know that’s what is expected of you. You don’t protest when he eventually withdraws his fingers and reaches up to flick your shirt back open where you’d tried to pull it closed over your chest to stave off some of the cold. And you just lay there, unmoving save the harsh rise and fall of your labored breaths, when he reaches down to spread open his cloak before working to free himself from his pants. 

You don’t look. You can’t look, your heart painfully wrenching as he shuffles close to line his cock up. The blunt pressure of the head sinking into your slit steals the air from your lungs and you freeze, holding yourself so still it makes the joints scream in protest when he slowly starts to sink into you. Inch by excruciating inch, he bullies his way into your cunt and you choke on a pitiful little sound when your body is forced to grant him entry. It hurts. The smooth, silky texture of his length does nothing at all to ease the discomfort when you were trembling so stiffly and your guts were tight with fear. Pantalone just grunts over top of you though, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips tight enough to make bruises bloom under the pressure. 

And finally, an eternity later, he settles against you at long last. 

A wounded groan spills from your mouth as you sensitively twitch on his cock. He was so hot, so blindingly warm inside you, it felt like he was branding you from the inside out. Leaving his mark where no one else would ever be able to see it. You’d never be able to forget the claim he’d made on your body though, with or without his stamp seared into your flesh, and you wheeze, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. Somehow spewing your guts up all over him didn’t seem like it would do you any favors. 

“Oh, that is a tight fit, isn’t it?” He murmurs, allowing himself a moment to just bask in the squeeze of your body. The weak palpitations trying to push him out which only succeed in milking at him. A pleasurable tremor works through his frame, and he reaches up to adjust the position of the glasses on his nose where they’d started to slide forward. “You certainly know how to make a good case for yourself, pet. I admit, I’m suddenly feeling less inclined to sell you for a profit and more partial towards keeping you for my own personal use.” 

Stiffening on the table, you shoot him a quick, wild look before you can stop it, but he just laughs, very softly. 

“Don’t look so surprised. You aren’t nearly as clever as you think.” Loosing a breathy, almost dreamy sigh, Pantalone starts to slowly pull out and you jolt so hard at the gripping drag against your innards that you slam your head back into the wood with a resounding thud. “I had my suspicions when you stopped struggling but you didn’t even have the decency to beg me to stop. Although I do appreciate the cooperation on your part, I still wasn’t entirely convinced you would be worth the trouble. Housing, feeding, upkeep … there are so many different things to consider when one is thinking of taking on the responsibility of a new pet.” 

He pauses, the head of his cock just wedged inside your cunt now. Tipping his face down, he regards the sight of you spread out for him, on your back with your legs curled open around his waist and his rigid length poised to spear back into you. It makes him hum a quiet groan, his usually placid smile growing a little sharper. Hungrier. He looks at you like a finely dressed conqueror about to lay ruin to a yet untouched and fertile land. His for the taking. 

Slowly, he starts to sink in again. “But this sweet little cunt of yours is taking me so well. Even without the proper preparations you still fit me like a glove. Like you were made just for my cock … tell me, darling, will you be a good pet for me?” 

“Y - yes …” You seethe, once more screwing your eyes shut so you won’t have to look at him. Flawless and beautiful, and horrible hunching over you. 

There was an end in sight though, if you could just reach out and grasp it. Clutch it to your chest with fervent hysteria and never let it go. He’d already damned you but you were willing to take your salvation wherever you could get it. The mere thought of other men having you like this, all strangers, faces you’ve never seen before; the old and the young, the sick and the drunk, is enough to steel your resolve. If this was to be your fate you would much rather suffer solely at Pantalone’s hands than anyone else’s. 

And he moans, ever so faintly, at your acquiescence. Starts to pump into you a bit quicker, ignoring the way your face pinches in pain and discomfort. “Will you do everything I say, poppet? Will you be a nice and obedient dog for me? Will you call me master?” 

The breathy quality of his voice makes your stomach wrench and threaten to regurgitate all of its contents, but you force yourself to stiltedly nod. “Yes, I will. Anything … m - master.” 

“Such a good, smart girl you are.” He laughs. “Then will you suck his cock for me?” 

You go ramrod stiff, a fresh surge of horror washing over you. It crashes against you like turbulent ocean waves hitting the rocks on a beach, slamming with enough force to slowly chip away at their density over time. You’d forgotten about the masked man. So caught up in your own misery his presence had completely slipped your mind for the last however many minutes, but when you stiffly turn your head, you find him already working to undo the front of his pants. Evidently he did not need to be told twice. 

And, to your lurching horror, you clearly had very little choice in the matter. 

“Wait — that’s not what you said!” You squeak, shooting Pantalone a wide eyed, wild look, but he just purses his lips at you. Coos like he would at a baby. 

“Although I might be willing to keep you for myself that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t deign to share you from time to time, for my own amusement. Besides, it’s just your mouth. I’m much more concerned with this tight cunt of yours.” 

He groans, low and faltering as his pace starts to pick up more. The dull whap of his clothed hips meeting the fleshy give of your thighs grows louder, more insistent, his cock relentlessly carving out a space within you now. It seems to punch the air out of your lungs and you gasp, bleating helplessly there on the table.

A hand suddenly materializes under your chin and locks around your jaw to yank your head back at an awkward angle. You catch a split second glimpse of the cock bobbing in your face, chest hitching in surprise and distress, and horror at what was happening to you, but it was too late. The masked man angles his pelvis forward and roughly shoves himself into your mouth. You shriek around the intrusion, tears stinging your eyes at the cloying taste of him. Salty and musky, bitter enough to make your skin crawl, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He just keeps your neck pinned down while Pantalone fucks into you even harder, his moans becoming louder when your body subconsciously squeezes him every time you writhe.

It was like you were being stretched between two equally unrelenting forces and even trying to twist away does nothing to make it better. Your breasts just jostle violently with each thrust from the man positioned between your legs and your throat constricts painfully when the masked stranger tries to shove his length straight down your gullet. Coughing and sputtering, struggling just to breathe, you force yourself to go still again and just accept what was happening on the slim chance that would make it somehow more tolerable. 

But of course it doesn’t. The unknown Fatuus doesn’t stop trying until your face is covered in a slimy, bubbling sheen of spittle and saliva that slowly runs back into your hair. Finally, after many attempts that have left your throat bruised and raw, he at last manages to sink himself halfway into the squeezing passage and you violently jerk when you realize you can’t breathe. A tiny, muffled noise manages to escape your constricting airway, but he just groans in response and shudders as if it felt good. You quickly become lightheaded, stomach heaving as if to finally throw up but — he suddenly pulls out to leave you desperately gasping and choking in the aftermath. 

Weakly, you try to lift your head with the intention of sending Pantalone an imploring look but the other man just palms the top of your skull and manually turns you back towards his cock again. Not having a choice, you pitifully roll your eyes up to look at him instead even as you take his length back into your mouth. You can see him snarling under his mask from this angle, his lips pulled back in a sneer of concentration while he thrusts towards the back of your aching throat to drag out more sticky sheets of drool that run down your chin in messy clumps. 

It is not this degradation that finally breaks you, nor is it the fact Pantalone is using you like a mere toy for him to get off on. What eventually does it is the sticky wet click you just manage to make out over all the other lurid sounds buzzing around you, and you dully realize it’s coming from between your legs. Your cunt was slicking for him. Against your will, defying all logic and reason, your body was responding to this cruel treatment. That horrifies you perhaps more than anything else and, letting out a wailing sob, you let the tears spill out to track hot, stinging paths down your burning face. 

The masked man clicks his tongue as if disgusted to see you crying like this, and he finally lets up his hold on your jaw. Allowing your head to loll bonelessly on the table, you just lay there while he reaches down to grab a pinching handful of your swaying breast, squeezing it so hard you groan in response. 

Between your spread legs, Pantalone issues a quiet, insidious chuckle. “Poor thing. You already look so tired … not to worry though. I’m sure a nice warm bath back at the palace will have you back to sorts quickly enough.” 

You hiccup at the thought, distantly realizing how cold you were. Yes, this was certainly the best outcome you could have hoped for. Pantalone would take care of you. Feed you. Keep you warm and clean, and comfortable so long as you were obedient. A nice pet for him to play with whenever the mood struck. It wasn’t exactly the life you’d dreamed of, but at least it was something. 

It wasn’t the prosperous lands of opportunity in Liyue you’d longed for as a child when your father was still alive, but at least it was a marginally better life than the one you currently had. 

The toll it would have on your body and mind alike seemed a reasonable price to pay for your freedom from debt. After all, what other choice did you even have?

⭐

Crossposted: here

[yannaryartside]

If Sydcarmy is not engame….

This is a rant. A sad rant but still. I know we have evidence, I would go to the supreme court with it, but hear me out.

If sydcarmy is not endgame:

It would make the show a disappointment for me. It will kinda ruin it to some extent. But not only as a shipper they had her expectations unsatisfied, but as a conscious viewer. I would like to explain why.

Part 1: the meaning of their connection

I was a shipper of this relationship the moment the characters met. She was cute, awkward and brilliant. He was cute, awkward and angsty. I normally go hard for shipping character where I find both of them interesting, and I like their dynamic. This is the ship that had consumed my head the most in all my years of consuming fiction. They both have real traumas and flaws. Even if the show wasn't so obvious with its intentions, I would have shipped them until they both got their respective soulmates. These two characters taught me how complex developing a romance could be, and how satisfactory if the pieces went together. Just the fact that they are so complex and I got to ship them is something I am grateful for. I will never write romance the same way.

Now, I don't know if is the time of the month fatalism hits, but I have been recently seriously considering the fact that it may not happen. That Claire was always supposed to be Carmy’s endgame.

Part 2: potential

The first reason why I would be disappointed if they are not engame is because the concept of two people building something together while supporting each others flaws is what got me into the show. It is such a beautiful concept for a couple, and I know it works on friends, but I once read that romance appears in your life when you have to open yourself to new potentials. In Carmy, Syd saw the potential for grow and movement, in Syd, Carmy saw the potential for peace and sincerity. Not to mention I rather ship two messed up characters than one messed up character and another that the show has called “perfeft” multiple times.

Part 3: Claire

Thinking Claire bear is endgame is to admit that she has to grow of the flaws we all saw, that Carmy could make her better (wich I don't think because Claire seemed to have a lot of lack of empathy to begin with) but ok. The thing that could never work for me is that we know Syd can make Carmy feel peace but Claire can't. It is the theme of the show that a woman should learn how to be like other woman in order to maker her man happy? We will define how much good she can do to Carmy on how much peace she could bring like Syd did. That doesn't sound right to me.

Part 4: Syd

I don't think the purpose of Syd in the whole story is to be Carmy’s endgame, but a lot of her screentime so far has been defined by her relationship with him. In the good things she does for him and his family. We know she has feeling for him. We know that she has had her heart broken before and then this could break it again. Again, that is the theme of your show? That a woman needs to get her heart broken in order to grow or get to her full potential? Who asked for this?

You made her fall for a guy that may never support her creative journey, that may have defined how she view herself as an artist? That she will have to deal with her broken heart and decide to find another spot to work? Are we supposed to believe that is something good for her? You wanna to contribute to a narrative of glorifying women's pain to justify growth? You are gonna use these amazing character just to have her heart broken 3 seasons out of 4. Is that supposed to be her big lesson? Her motivation even?

Not that is justification for Carmy and Syd getting together, but what a waste of time. If you had established and denied the attraction earlier or just never make her have feelings for Carm you could have her a interesting arc worthy of such an interesting character.

Not only that, but it seems all so cruel, to create a dynamic that in friendship can make her grow but because she developed feelings for him can hurt her immensely.

Idk, maybe I just made a story on my head that I thought made sense but the author insist on disagreeing. Maybe I am making storm out of nothing since they may have us a satisfactory thing. But yet…

[ddarker-dreams]

Locke, I don't interact with fandoms much but uhhh could you help a girl out and explain the appeal to ENVER-EVIL-ASS-GUY-GORTASH??? 😭😭😭

Like I don't see the appeal 😭 but that's ok 🙏 i can be converted !!! Would you care to explain a lil what it is that you like about him? 👉👈

(On another note, how do you feel about Astarion or any other characters you'd like to talk about (just in generallll))

rubbing my lil hands together ... ohohoho........... for months, i have languished in silence, biding my time until i could conduct my Enver Gortash proselytization. i'll begin with some broad strokes then focus in on the dynamic i built a loose storyline around.

among the dead three's chosen, he's the most reasonable (although, to be fair, the competition isn't steep). his willingness to share authority with tav/durge belies a certain pragmatism most power-hungry folk lack. this is probably why bane picked him out from the riffraff. he's vain, sure (what with his portrait being plastered everywhere), but he isn't arrogant. he knows that to see his goals realized, he'll need to cooperate with others. patience, compromise, calm in the face of unexpected circumstances; these attributes disguise and strengthen his tyranny.

this snippet from the readable item, the ultimate state, specifically the bolded portion is of great interest to me:

What is progress? Progress is the movement of society and culture towards a state of collective unity. Without unity, mortals, each with their own individual agenda, blunder against each other, causing friction, conflict, war. Unity - peace and prosperity - is achieved when the collective follows a single agenda, that of one superior person.

he wants a functioning society, not a wretched one, where evil's inflicted for evil's sake. with that out of the way, i can finally elaborate on my neoliberal business major x humanities major dynamic. i'm sorry to everyone who read that cursed sentence, but it describes this relationship so well, i can't bring myself to delete it .

your early interactions with lord gortash are rife with tension. he senses your disdain, finding it more amusing than threatening. you're an idealist, well-intentioned yet naïve to the ways of the world, at least in his initial appraisal. when your path's cross, he entertains your perspective. you dislike his rhetoric, he believes your aims are as likely to happen as a reconciliation between shar and selûne.

you do have potential though — he won't deny that. gortash starts looking forward to your little run-ins (occasionally organizing these 'coincidental' encounters behind the scenes). unlike the other fools championing your bleeding heart cause, you walk the walk. he can't help but admire that quality. you'll inevitably be treated to one of those 'we're not so different, you and i,' spiels from him. you're easy on the eyes and make for pleasant company, this development was inevitable, in his opinion.

you wanted him to be this wicked, heartless monster, he can see your inner conflict when you realize this isn't the case.

there's a thrill in wooing you. gortash begins inviting you over, offering to make concessions on this or that issue should you plead your case effectively enough. and he does so enjoy hearing your arguments. it's a window into the workings of your mind; his latest intrigue. a few goblets of wine in, he's steering the conversation away from politics or philanthropy and into subjects more personal.

he already knows a great deal about you, courtesy of his vast information network. it spans throughout baldur's gate and beyond. naturally, he keeps this information to himself. you may have an inkling of a suspicion, but he's utilized so many proxies that nothing definitive can be traced back to him.

you develop some influence over him. you haven't made him soft per se, he's just more willing to 'do good' then before, since it'll earn your respect. it's still a means to an end.

[neuroticbookworm]

Parenting in Step by Step, a defense

I saw a bunch of posts about how Pat is immature and has poor communication skills, and citing his parents' divorce as one of the potential reasons.

*baffled* W H A T.

I don't have the time or energy to rant about the "poor communication skills" read, so all I'm gonna say is that Pat was busy holding his mushed up braincells together for the majority of this episode and direct your attention to @shortpplfedup's crisp and hilarious Ten Movements that perfectly summed up Pat's emotional journey. Cut him some slack, for fuck's sake.

Now, onto Pat's parents and their relationship with him and each other. I want to highlight the writing and dialogue in their scenes, because it hurts my heart to see not a lot of people talking about them.

When we first meet them, both Pat's Mom and Dad express concern about his eating habits, but the parent-child dynamics in these conversations were very different. Pat's mom says it's not good for him to eat ramen for breakfast, but she quickly accepts Pat's excuse and goes back to doting on him. When she brings up Jeng, and Pat complains that she is nagging and changes the subject, she lets him.

When Dad comes into town a few *undisclosed unit of time* later, he basically asks the same question as Mom, but this time, Pat is a little elaborate with his excuse explanation.

But Dad doesn't let him get away with his bullshit. He offers up a few solutions and wants to work on them with Pat.

After he's sure that Pat knows the need to change his food habits, he then adds levity to the conversation, and goofs around with his son. (I will forever adore the Asian Gordon Ramsey moment, more father-son wholesomeness in Asian media, please and thank you)

(did y'all notice how both Pat's Mom and Dad call him adorable with very different energies? did ya? okay, good)

Now, when the time came for Pat to let go of all his frustrations and break down in front of his parents, I was worried that the show would lean a bit too hard on the parental roles, the good cop/bad cop gambit. But no, it surprised me. It sure started out that way, with Pat offering up an empty excuse to Mom's question.

Which is immediately followed by this look:

(more on this later, I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about this)

When Dad follows up with this statement, Pat's defenses begin to crumble.

He opens up about how he feels overwhelmed and disconnected with himself, and Dad responds with this:

He brings the realities of adulthood to the forefront, reassuring him that he has also been there before and that Pat will learn to manage it. Still in line with the roles the show had previously drawn up for them. When Pat continues, Mom moves to Pat's side as soon as they realise that Pat's problems include heartbreak ("Everywhere I go, it's filled with memories") and she hits him with this:

Oooooof. That's a hell of a line. Accurate? yes. Comforting? Fuck no.

That's when Dad moves to Pat's side, and tries to soothe him. The roles are flipped.

Pat then says that maybe it would've been better, if they had stayed with him all the time. Now, this can mean two different things: I wish I didn't grow up so I could've stayed with you and life would've been so much simpler; I wish you guys did not get divorced and we could've all stayed together. Mom chooses to address the first part. She says that even if they stayed together, no one could stay with him all the time.

Dad, then acknowledges the separation and they tell him, TOGETHER, that they will always be his parents, and they never stopped loving him. And that they don't hate each other.

The TEAMWORK here, between Pat's mom and dad is executed SO WELL. They love their son, and want to comfort and reassure him, and they do it together. They don't do the "one of us do the talking and the other one hmms in the background" bullshit. They both understand his pain and give him their individual and collective opinions. They are in sync with each other's thoughts, and it shows. Remember the look between them at the beginning of this scene?

This speaks VOLUMES. They know something is weighing on him and they can't let him excuse his way out of this conversation. They look at each other, a non-verbal "let's do this", and start talking to Pat.

Being in love with each other and being good parents are not strictly inclusive. The show did not leave this unsaid, either. They show us, how two people can move on and still remain in each others' lives as someone to lean on. Someone who will always know you better than most people in this world.

How some people saw this amazing back-and-forth and thought "yeah, they're incompatible, and they traumatized their son, and he now has communication issues", I'll never understand.

TL;DR:

Stop demonizing divorce and calling it the root of all childhood trauma

SBS writers are doing some things EXCEPTIONALLY WELL, and they deserve credit for it

[cantwritethetword]

That's Cheating

Fic Descript: During a training session, it's revealed that Miles is ticklish. Pavitr thoroughly enjoys the experience, and just when Miles thought it couldn't get worse, Miguel decides he wants to wrestle him. Surely Miguel wouldn't use Miles' weakness against him, right?

~ A/N - My first ever Into/Across The SpiderVerse fic !!!!

I absolutely adored these guys when they came on screen, and I finally have the fic idea to do their group dynamic justice!

By the way, this is also absolutely me being super self indulgent sdjsklhfkls cause I've had this whole scenario running around my head any time I'm training with these 3 specific people and it KILLS ME so I need to get it on paper lmao I'm so lee for so many of my wrestling friends it's not even funny jsdfhdfjhafk.

ALSO QUICK WARNING THIS IS A LONG ONE SDJHLKSDHAFLK ALL THE ONES WHERE I PUT ALL MY LITTLE LEE THOUGHTS INTO END UP SO FUCKING LONG LMAO APOLOGIES FAM IT'S LIKE ALMOST 3K

I hope it's good!

Enoy! ~

Tag List:

Masterpost Link 

Miles never turned down the chance to train with his fellow spider people. Since he first walked through the doors an was offered the chance to practice, Miles had grabbed the opportunity with both fists.

Not just because it was one of the few places he could properly use his skills and abilities to their full potential (without risking revealing himself as spiderman or injuring a civilian in the process), but there was something about training at the spider society headquarters that gave him almost limitless energy.

He wasn't sure how much of that energy was adrenaline, how much was power from the spider bite, or how much was just because he loved spending time with his favourite people.

But no matter the reason, this little quirk of his enabled him to continue sparring round after round when most would need a few minutes of reprieve between sets. And he would be lying if he said it didn't give him a little mood boost when the other spider people commented on his incredible stamina.

"Ugh, Miles do you ever get tired?" Pavitr groaned as he managed to flip Miles onto his back and clamber on top of the kid, pinning him to the ground. "We've been at this for like ten minutes straight!"

Miles grinned, his arms pushing against Pavitr's knees that were currently either side of his ribs to wriggle himself out. "You giving up already?"

"No way." Pavitr grunted, as Miles's movements had almost made him topple. "But I'll take a rest while you figure this out."

Pavitr, the asshole, decided to take this moment to shoot webs onto Miles's wrists - sticking them to the floor next to Mile's sides. Straining against the webs, Miles silently thanked the fact that it was Pavitr he was with. If this were an actual fight, Miles knew his face would currently be a punching bag.

But just because Pavitr wasn't going to injure him, it didn't mean there wasn't a threat.

"Come on Miles! Get out!" Pavitr teased, poking Mile's unprotected forehead.

The kid shook his head to try and get rid of Pavitr's annoying fingers.

Bad idea.

In the process of protecting his forehead, Miles had encouraged his friend to move his poking elsewhere. And it only took a few prods to Mile's neck for him to break into giggles.

"Agh- Pahahav-" Miles squeaked out before he could stop himself.

Pavitr stopped, an amazed grin across his face. "What was that?"

Miles froze for a second, realising just how severely his body had just betrayed him, before starting to thrash a little more desperately against the webbing trapping his hands.

"Are you ticklish?" Pavitr questioned with a teasy smirk, poking Miles's neck another few times.

"NO-!" Miles grunted, using every inch of willpower in his body to resist the laughter bubbling in his chest. "Don't!"

Completely ignoring Miles's pleads, Pavitr moved his prodding fingers down to Miles's collarbones.

And that was where the kid cracked.

"NOhohoho!" Miles squealed, shoulders trying their best to scrunch up and protect himself. "Pahahav stohohop!"

Pavitr beamed, absolutely ecstatic at his newfound discovery. "Oh my god, you are ticklish!"

"Shhhh!" Miles begged through his giggles, giving up on resisting his own reactions and focusing his efforts on preventing his ticklishness from becoming the newest piece of gossip.

"Why?" Pavitr laughed. "You're the one who's making all the nois-"

"What's this?" A voice chuckled from behind the two.

Pavitr paused his attack, and - after recognising who it was - Miles breathed a sigh of relief. Both because he could finally actually breathe again, and because the voice came from his old mentor - someone who already knew how ridiculously ticklish he was and hadn't told a soul.

Peter B, clearly having just finished a spar with someone by the looks of his flushed face and sweaty t-shirt, made his way to kneel down next to the pair before chuckling again.

"Ah, I see you've found Miles's little weakness."

Pavitr let out an indignant noise. "You already knew about this?!? And you didn't tell us?"

Peter shrugged. "Figured you guys would find out eventually, he's too ticklish to hide it for long."

"Peter!" Miles groaned. "Guys can we not talk about this right now!"

With a grin, Pavitr turned back to Miles. "Oh we can stop talking if you'd like..."

Before Miles could realise what Pavitr meant, ten fingers began tapping against the front of his ribs, and he was once again sent into a helpless fit of giggles.

"NOnononono Pahav people ahare gonna see!"

"Who would see?" Pavitr laughed. "It's just us over here; you, me and Peter."

"Plus Miguel, somewhere..." Peter added, looking around them for his friend. "But I doubt he's listening to your little situation kid, he's probably off doing Miguel things, as Miguel does."

Half expecting a beetlejuice moment at the three mentions of the guy's name, Miles flicked his eyes around the room (as best as he could - he was still pinned on his back) to try and spot Miguel. Thankfully, it seemed the slightly intimidating spiderman was too busy helping another pair of spiders with their match on the other side of the room.

"See!" Pavitr continued, digging a little harder into Miles's ribs. "Nothing to be worried about buddy!"

"IHIHIT'S STIHIHILL CHEHEATING!" Miles whined through his laughter, somehow managing to swallow the scream that almost burst out of his mouth at the sensation of Pavitr clawing into his sides.

"Ehhhhh..." Peter tilted his head with a grimace on his face. "Technically it's not, there's no specific rules against it."

Miles shook his head violently. "IHIHIT'S CHEHEHEATING!"

"You having so. much. energy. is what's cheating!" Pavitr responded, poking to emphasise his words. "But fine, let's ask Miguel."

Miles's eyes went wide, and his laughter turned to desperate begging. He couldn't possibly live through the sheer embarrassment of giggling like a child in front of someone as stone-faced and important as Miguel.

But no matter how many 'no's the kid strung together in rapid succession - a rather impressive display of his lung capacity to be completely honest - his pleading was fruitless, as Pavitr had already waved down Miguel, and the man was making his way over.

Thankfully there were a few seconds of rest until Miguel arrived that were completely tickle-free, so Miles had a chance to somewhat compose himself. Still, he knew that he would need much longer to reduce the redness his face had taken on in the last few minutes of torture.

"Yes?" Miguel said as he knelt down, one eyebrow slightly raised at the position the two boys were currently in.

"Is tickling illegal?" Pavitr asked genuinely, much to Miles's surprise. He was expecting some kind of teasy grin shot in his direction, but it seemed Pav was just as interested in Miguel's answer as he was in taking Miles apart at his fingers. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad.

Even more to Miles's surprise was the quiet chuckle that escaped Miguel's mouth.

"Technically not, why?" Miguel responded, a small (but definitely present) grin on his face.

"Oh no reason..." Pavitr smirked at Miles (who was quickly realising he spoke too soon about how easy this interaction would be). "Just that I found out Miles was ticklish and wanted to try and see if he would submit because of it."

Miles could feel his face flush even redder than before, and he couldn't even cover his cheeks cause his damn hands were still stuck. So he resorted to rolling his eyes above his head to avoid looking at anyone for the remainder of the conversation.

Miguel once again let out a breathy chuckle. "Well, I haven't seen it happen before, and we're about to finish up the official training session... But we can always find out later."

That last comment snapped Miles's face back into Miguel's line of vision.

And, if this whole situation wasn't already flustered enough, Miles could have sworn Miguel winked as he stood up and called out to everyone to finish their current drill and pack up.

After chatting for a few moments with some of the other spider people, Miles watched as most of the group cleared from the gym. Aside from Miguel and Peter (who were practicing something on one side of the mats), the gym was practically empty.

Which made the sound of thudding feet all the more terrifying coming his way.

Miles yelped as someone tackled him to the floor and climbed on top of his hips.

"You didn't think we were finished, did you?" Pavitr grinned down at his friend, before digging his thumbs into the pocket right above Miles's hips.

"NOHOHO PAHAHAV!" Miles shrieked, caught so off guard he couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

Pavitr laughed. "Glad we're on the same page then!"

"Stohohop ihihit!" The kid giggled, pushing at Pav's wrists - a much easier feat now that his hands weren't spider-webbed to the floor (but still not quite easy enough to push Pav's hands away).

With Miles now being able to fight back, there was actually a fight to be had. Still a very one-sided fight, but enough of a back-and-forth match to eat at Pavitr's strength.

And Pavitr's energy drained far quicker than Miles's did.

Keeping a very wriggly Miles consistently trapped and tickled was quite the challenge for India's favourite spiderman, so most of Pavitr's efforts were concentrated on Miles's hips. Certainly his hips were effective, but the hope of escape kept Miles going just long enough that Pavitr's teasy smirk started to fade into an open-mouthed grin (for maximum oxygen intake).

By the time Miles's breathing was wheezy, Pavitr sounded just as exhausted. Both boys were drenched in sweat, and neither were sure where their own ended and the other's began. Pavitr's thumbs slowed, and Miles was finally able to push those troublesome fingers away from his sensitive hips with one final residual giggle.

Letting himself breathe for a moment, Pavitr gave Miles's shoulder a friendly pat. "Damn you put up a good fight, I'm dead after that!"

Miles chuckled and nodded in agreement, still a little woozy from the post-tickle haze.

"You up for some food?" Pav asked, standing up and offering to help Miles to his feet.

"Sounds gr-" Miles began.

"Actually," Miguel interrupted the pair, making Miles freeze for a moment.

How long had he been watching them?? Had he seen Miles get absolutely wrecked?? Oh god, would Miguel ever take him seriously again after that??

Miguel continued. "Miles, want to have a round?"

That was definitely not the direction Miles thought this conversation was going. Thank god, Miguel must have only just finished with Peter. And now that he was looking, Miles could see a (somehow even more) sweaty Peter gathering his stuff and heading out of the gym.

Perfect. Miguel hadn't seen a thing.

Miles nodded, slightly intimidated with the idea of attempting to wrestle someone as experienced as Miguel, but keen to try (and perhaps get a little closer to the reserved leader of the Spider Society).

"Excellent." Miguel gave a small nod, and positioned himself in the centre of the mat.

"Well, good luck." Pavitr smiled, clapping Miles on the back before heading out towards the cafeteria.

Miles took a breath, calming his racing thoughts and tired lungs, before moving to face Miguel.

The pair moved slowly to start, attempting a few takedowns and swings at each other but not fully committing to any, before Miguel swiftly spun to the floor and knocked Miles straight off his feet.

God it was frustrating that Miguel could do that with so much control that it almost seemed to happen in slow motion.

Without even letting himself catch his breath on the floor, Miles tried to scramble to a crouched position, but Miguel was either too quick or predicted his movements too well.

One moment he was almost to his feet, the next Miles was flat on his back with the side of Miguel's chest pressing against the front of his. One of his arms was trapped at an outward angle by Miguel's hand, but Miles couldn't quite see what was going on past that with Miguel's back in the way.

Then Miles tensed.

A soft but unmistakably sharp sensation was gently tapping at his side, enough to fill Miles's chest with tickly anticipation but not so much that he was convinced that was what was happening.

Surely not. Surely Miguel was far too mature for something as childish as tickling.

Still, as Miles struggled to escape Miguel's hold, he struggled even more to contain the laughter threatening to spill out of his mouth at the tickly sensations radiating from his side.

"Mihi- Miguehel?" Miles strained, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

Miguel chuckled, and spoke with possibly the teasiest voice Miles had ever heard come out of his mouth. "What's the matter?"

Oooh that motherfucker. Miguel knew exactly what was happening, Miles could feel the smirk radiating off Miguel's face. And somehow that made it significantly harder for the poor kid to control himself.

"Whahat- Wahait- Mihiguehel-" Miles stuttered, giggles already peppering every word he spoke.

"Pavitr wasn't kidding..." Miguel hummed, his claws switching from tapping with all four talons to scratching a single finger up and down every-so-gently. "You really are ticklish."

Miles whined (though it came out sounding more like a laugh), his hips trying to squirm away from the tortuous feeling. "No, noho no no Miguehel plehease-"

"And I was curious what he was saying about submitting you just by tickling..." He continued, bringing back the rest of his hand to softly claw against Miles's lowest ribs.

Even that gentle sensation brought Miles almost to the brink, his eyes practically popped out of his head and a stream of uncontrollable giggles flooded from his mouth. How the hell was it already tickling this badly??

"Mihihi- Mihihgue- Nohoho stohohop!"

"Huh." Miguel chuckled again, god that sent shivers down Miles's spine every time it happened (which really wasn't helping). "Already that bad? What about if I do this?"

The agonisingly slow clawing turned to full-handed squeezing up and down the soft part of Miles's side, and Miles shrieked. As if waking a sleeper agent, his brain seemed to suddenly (and conveniently) remember he had two arms - and only one was stuck. Half punching his opponent in desperation, Miles thudded his free hand against Miguel's back to try and push himself out.

"NOHOHOHO MIHIHIGUEHEHEL PLEHEHEASE!" He begged, legs kicking wildly without reason or result. "STOHOHOP!"

Miguel paused, lifting his head and turning it as much as he could towards Miles (only being able to see the kid from the corner of his eye). "Is that you tapping out?"

Whilst momentarily catching his breath, Miles paused. On one hand, he was rather close to death, and wasn't sure how much more of Miguel's teasing he could handle. But on the other, there was something almost precious about seeing such a weirdly personal side of the stoic man. Should he submit, and cease the frankly torturous situation he had found himself in, or should he push onwards, hoping Miguel would eventually show mercy if Miles actually needed him to (though at this stage, it was hard to say he wasn't slightly enjoying the playful interaction).

Eh, Miles was always a stubborn kid. And he was proud of it.

"Nohohope!" He shook his head, bracing himself.

Miguel gave a surprised scoff. "You really do have a ridiculous amount of stamina, huh."

Miles tried to grin cockily, though even he knew it probably looked more like a nervous invitation for Miguel to continue.

And continue he did.

Like a switch had flipped, Miguel launched his clawed hand into a rapid tickle-assault against Miles's entire torso. Within seconds, every inch of the kid's sides, ribs, stomach, and hips had been poked and squeezed and vibrated against before Miles even had the chance to react. The sudden zero-to-a-hundred spike of intensity caught the younger superhero completely off-guard, making him squeal at a pitch he genuinely didn't think he could each anymore.

"NOHOHOHO MIHIHIGUEHEHEL!" Miles cackled, twisting and writhing under his attacker.

Miguel gave a surprised laugh at the increased movement. "Hey, you asked for it kid, not my problem."

"NONONONO IHI CAHAHAN'T!"

"Ok, Ok..." Miguel playfully rolled his eyes, not that Miles could see (or really pay attention), and released the kid from his grip.

Miles flopped both arms over his face, covering his burning cheeks, and laid there for a few moments panting. Miguel chuckled, reaching to give the kid a few sympathetic pats at whatever body part was closest to him.

Seeing a hand move out of the corner of his eye, in the general direction of his stomach, Miles yelped and curled away from it in a mess of giggles. "Nonono plehease, I'm dohohone!"

Giving the final laugh of the interaction, Miguel grinned at the kid. "So there is a way to tire you out... I'll keep that in mind."

[guess-that-ship]

S12 Round 1*

pretective boy

[This description has been modified for formatting reasons.]

since a fated meeting long ago, B has had a strong contempt for A, and she was vowed to get revenge on him no matter what it takes. however, when they meet again, A completely refutes what B has accused him of. invigorating her further. every time they meet, B constantly tells him what a monster he is and how she is going to ruin everything he’s ever stood for. A responds kindly, telling her he looks forward to it.

to everyone else, it sounds like B is just harassing A. but both of them are very good at getting under each others skin and A subtly pushes B to get more mad at him, seemingly for his own amusement.

during their journey as rivals, A becomes a much humbler guy from B’s hatred of him, which only makes B worse as she believes he’s doubling up on the lies she perceives him to tell. B says she hates A and yet she’s the one who watches his every movement, everything she says is about him and everything she does is in some way to catch his attention.

they both have strong ego problems, A believes he is above everyone but trying to seem low-key about it and B sees herself as below everyone and is trying to make up for it with aggression. they are, unfortunately, the only person who truly understands the other. which sucks for them as they both bear a lot of frustration for each other. though some’s are more hidden than others, and the same goes for their affection for the other, however the other way around.

Dad's little successor

A single father and his daughter. It's no doubt that family is the main thing keeping the man afloat. He's straightforward and serious, but whenever he's around his kid, you can finally catch him smiling. On top of everything, they bond over the same… hobby? Kid has a huge interest in her dad's job, dreaming about being like him when she grows up. And it's very likely, since she puts a lot of effort into following her goal. One problem is that the job may be pretty dangerous at times, and her dad is one of those parents that worries about every single detail in their kid's life, especially when it comes to their safety. Still, he wouldn't be able to bear hurting her feelings, so her talent and enthusiasm thrive as dad lets her take a look at real work he has to deal with, with the exception that he always stays near to be in control of any potential danger. One big problem is that the father hates his job. It sucks life out of him, and it's the actual reason for his strict personality. Outside of work, he's a loving parent always thinking about spending quality time with his child, sometimes doing embarrassing things for her enjoyment. However, at work he often deals with people's worst side. Aside from that, it leaves little to no space in his schedule for rest. All of this means that watching over his daughter participating in his job is a rare chance to spend time together. Not allowing his personal experience break daughter's dreams, he still can't help but stay focused at work. Sometimes it may seem like he's too cold about her achievements, but in the end he will always and let her know how impressive her work is and that he's proud of her.

*Ship does not have to be romantic.

[genericpuff]

LO Art Analysis (or: A Real Example of Why You Shouldn't Use Multiply for Everything)

I've obviously been spending a lot of time recreating LO art and in that time, I think I've really cracked open some of modern LO's problems with its art. This is a lengthy post so turn on some lo-fi, grab some popcorn and strap in.

One thing in particular that I'm very eager to talk about (and go off about) is Rachel's use of color language and shading.

THERE WILL BE BRIEF FASTPASS PANELS AHEAD IN THIS ANALYSIS. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

One of the key things that most people seem to agree on when it comes to LO's current art quality is the lack of color language. Back in S1, we had colors that seemed to jump off the page, with gorgeous rendering that created panels that were vast and beautiful to take in. It didn't matter if the anatomy was wonky or if the backgrounds were translated directly from Google Sketchup, the color and compositions made up for its flaws and created unique vignettes that individually contributed to what we found so special about LO back in those days.

That last one especially is still hands-down one of the most well-known and influential LO panels out of the entire series. Many a phone background its graced (my own included, I've literally had this as my phone background for like 3 years now) and it serves as a beautiful standalone example of the mood and emotions LO used to convey. You don't need to know the context of the scene, you don't need to know the characters, the mere posing and color choice alone is enough to invoke a reaction from the viewer. It doesn't even have a lot of shading or final rendering, the composition and texturing is all it needs.

So why does a simple panel like that work, but panels like these don't?

I have such beef with this panel because it does the complete opposite of what the famous Tower 4 panel achieves - it puts on full display everything wrong with LO's current art style, from its character posing to its color language aaaall the way to its final rendering.

First off, the character posing and framing. I finally figured out what RS' male characters have been suffering from lately, and it's a phenomenon that I'm sure many of you will be able to recognize right away.

Seth Macfarlane Syndrome.

You might not watch Family Guy, you might not watch American Dad, or the Cleveland Show, but you'll know exactly what I mean when I talk about Seth MacFarlane Syndrome. It's the stiffness, the lack of movement or bend in joints, the boring posing of characters standing with their arms flatly at their sides and their entire body facing the same direction, eyes unblinking - and when they speak, heads slightly tilting, mouths always being conformed to the same default shapes, while the arms do something random and unrelated to create the illusion of natural movement.

This has been an issue in LO for a while now, incredibly flat posing that lacks any sort of dynamic curvature to it, but it's best exemplified by that Ares panel above because holy shit does he ever look like Stan Smith in it. Boxy shoulders with arms that appear to be WAY too short hanging off the side, elbows flattened, hands straightened out, no natural shaping whatsoever.

But that's not the crux of the issue I want to touch on today.

No, the worst offense of this panel is that it indirectly proves what I've been suspicious of for a while now.

To explain real quick for context, there's this thing in digital art called Blend Modes. It's essentially a basic function in digital art that allows you to change the properties of layers for the purpose of shading, rendering, whatever have you. Most of these Blend Modes are the same across all digital art programs, things like Multiply, Screen, Color Dodge, etc. are all fairly basic tools in the digital artist's toolkit but all have an INCREDIBLY high ceiling of mastery - meaning, blend modes are easy to use on a basic level, but require a lot of skill and understanding of color language to utilize to their full potential. Using them right can transform a passable piece of work into a great one - on the flipside, using them wrong can take a passable piece of work and piss all over it.

The one I want to focus on in this post is Multiply. I use this blend mode myself quite often, it basically 'multiplies' the properties of the layers below it, taking whatever colors are below and 'doubling' them to create darker tones. This makes it a go-to for shading.

But the issue with Multiply is that it often ends up being used when it's not supposed to be. Or rather, people starting out will often use it as a substitute for shading when you'd be better off using your own hand-picked colors. I've got characters with skin tones that I can shade with the same color set to Multiply, zero issues, because the base tone is one that doubles well, it creates a nice rich tone on top that's perfect for shading.

But do you know the one color that DOESN'T multiply well?

Yellow.

Yellow is NOT a color you can just multiply, not without the final result looking flat and almost putrid. Most people will thus recommend you shade yellow with other colors along the same side of the color wheel, including oranges and reds. This is precisely why knowing color theory is such an important skill even in digital art, because using Blend Modes improperly can create flat tones that can ruin a final composition.

Going back to that Ares panel...

Again, I've had this suspicion for a while, especially when looking at panels of Persephone (*pink is ALSO a color that doesn't multiply well)

So I put it to the test. I took the original panel, sampled the yellow, and overlaid it with Multiply to see what I'd get.

Fam.

That putrid deep yellow that I mixed above is literally NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS WITH WHAT I EYEDROPPED FROM THE PANEL. Copy and paste that and eyedrop it yourself if you want to see it with your own eyes. It's pretty obvious she did the same thing with Hera as well, you can tell her skin tone has been set to multiply and repainted with the same color, same as with her jacket.

They are using Multiply layers for everything as the default. This is not how Multiply is intended to be used - it's lazy shortcutting that's resulting in flat, boring, ugly compositions.

RS has stated herself that she 'changed' how LO is drawn to help 'streamline' the process for her assistants. This isn't streamlining. This is cutting corners.

Streamlining would be having color palettes to refer to during the coloring and shading process. I use them myself for characters that I CAN'T multiply-shade, I literally have characters whose skin tones are too light and yellow-toned for it - using Multiply would wash out their tones and make them look flat and sickly so I have to use a separate color from a different part of the color wheel to shade them (usually a darker tone of red/orange).

Rachel, babe, this isn't streamlining, this is just taking shortcuts to the point of sabotaging your own work. You can't sit there and tell me THAT looks good and is worth the 'streamlining' when panels like THESE used to exist:

Turn off the Multiply layers and color your characters for once, please, I'm begging you. This is such a rookie move for someone who claims to be a professional (and regularly brags about the awards she's won); not to mention a tragic fall from grace because we know Rachel can and has produced better work than this in the past. She knows color language, she knows how to paint, so why is she resorting to shortcuts like this? She has an entire team of people and yet she's still consistently behind enough in her buffer - or just doesn't care enough anymore - that she's resorting to lazy amateur tactics like using Multiply for everything.

And on the off chance that she ever sees this, Rachel, it's not even that hard to use proper colors. You've done it before, you should already have the color palettes available to you.

(P.S. One handy-dandy experiment to tell if your Multiply layers are failing you is the desaturation test. You'll notice that drawings being made primarily with Multiply layers will look a lot 'flatter' when desaturated, because the shading is just the same color on top of itself and 'doubled', there isn't any actual value or depth in the shading itself. These are the exact same panels I showed before, RS' on the left and mine on the right, they've just been desaturated to show the difference that proper color choice can make when defining values and tones in shading!)

[hereticpriest]

Mercy Chapter 5: Change

Rating: Explicit 18+

MDNI

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Chapter warnings: Canon divergence, heavy flirtation, very light angsty feelings, pining hard. Let me know if there are any warnings you think are missing.

Notes: The smut is coming in the next chapter, guys, I swear! If you have any suggestions, feel free to request in the comments. <3 All this exposition was setting up a world in which I can be indulgent, so prepare for a fun little journey. I already have plans for spicy holos, sex pollen-adjacent stuff, and some very light dom/sub dynamics.

Read on AO3

Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Chapter 5: Change

Qui-Gon Jinn will never be a warrior again.

The injury to his hip was bone-deep, and while your swift intervention and healing helped maintain his ability to walk, he won’t be able to fight properly again.

The older man seems to take it in stride, happy enough to teach the younglings, drive Jacosta insane in the Archives, and help his former Padawan train the chosen one. According to Obi-Wan, help is a strong word. He passed his trials easily, and you can see plainly that their relationship has progressed to that of an overprotective mother and a know-it-all grandmother hovering around with advice and candies. Qui-Gon was gentler with Anakin than he’d ever been with Obi-Wan, and he did in fact keep sweets in his pocket for both former Padawan and Grandpadawan. Obi-Wan claimed to be frustrated with it, but you’d caught him more than once with a sweetie in his mouth as he demonstrated a flow of movement for Anakin.

Anakin has had trouble adjusting, so you’ve done your best providing an outside perspective. You give all three of them a safe space to vent, knowing that once they’ve got their frustration with each other out, they’ll be right back to being an adorable display of Jedi lineage. Once upon a time, you would’ve walked among them at Dooku’s side. Now, you belong to your Grandmaster Tyvokka’s lineage, alongside Bultar Swan, your Master’s old apprentice. Your Master’s pride when your Padawan braid was cut and you presented it to him after your trials would forever remain one of your fondest memories. You wanted to help grow the lineage you’d once been a part of but no longer felt was yours to claim. Anakin may struggle, but he would overcome all obstacles - you knew he had the tenacity for it. He just needs the correct amount of love and guidance.

Qui-Gon is convinced that Anakin is the chosen one, while Obi-Wan is noncommittal on the theory. You, however? You’ve outright banned the label, going so far as to speak to the Council about it and convince them that it was in Anakin’s best interest not to have to grow up with that weight and ego on his shoulders. Convincing Obi-Wan had taken very little effort - he agreed that it was a lot of weight for a nine year old boy, and that inflating his ego presented equal potential problems. Qui-Gon had required more coaxing, though you were fairly sure that was simply because Qui-Gon held hope. Hope that Anakin will bring balance. Hope that his dreams for the future of the Jedi Order would one day come true. Eventually, he sees the wisdom in your recommendation, and you breathe a sigh of relief. No nine year old needs to feel all that pressure.

The next suggestion you have comes after several nights spent curled up on the settee with Obi-Wan across from you and a good cup of tea, listening to him vent about his struggles with training his young Padawan. You’re proud of him - he turns his critique inward rather than placing the blame on the boy, acknowledging his position as guide and teacher. You sometimes think that Obi-Wan has somewhat forgotten the youngling he was before he became Qui-Gon’s Padawan. Menace didn’t begin to cover it - to the point that you’d initially avoided getting close to him when you were very young as if his chaos could rub off on you. He struggles with getting Anakin’s sustained attention. No matter how hard he tries to make his lessons interesting, the boy gets restless, and his attention deteriorates swiftly from there. Thankfully, this is something you have experience with. You introduce Obi-Wan and Anakin to moving meditation in a guided lesson, enjoying your chance to be a teacher, and delighting in the opportunity to correct Obi-Wan with gentle hands and teasing praise. By the end of the first kata, he’s pink all the way to the tips of his ears, though he gives as good as he gets.

A murmured ‘Yes Alpha’ as you ask him if he understands your instructions sends heat racing to your cheeks, purple blooming across your face. You chuff at him and he grins cheekily at you, pleased as punch with his teasing. As you guide them through another set of movements, he asks if he’s doing it right, and you know he’s missing the movements on purpose to get your hands on him. What a shameless flirt. You guide him into the right positions, and he looks at you through pale, enviably long lashes, murmuring praise at your teaching skills. Your tail wags behind you, ears twitching to catch each word, your body expressive even as you do your best to tamp down on it.

But of course, Obi-Wan gives you no quarter. You started this, and he will happily finish it. You shiver as he stretches, first showing off the planes of his tummy as his undertunic rolls up, then cracks his neck, a grin tugging at his lips as he shows off his scent glands. Your mouth is watering, but your throat is dry, and you blink dumbly at Obi-Wan for a moment before taking a deep, calming breath. It’s beneath you, but you decide you’d like to win. You cup the back of Obi-Wan’s neck and he melts at your touch, pretty blue eyes flicking up to meet your gaze.

“Good little Omega.” You whisper, and Obi-Wan grabs onto the front of your tunic to keep himself upright. You steady him with strong hands, waiting until he gets his legs under him before you move away to help Anakin. The boy has mostly been ignoring you two, concentrating for once now that you’ve found a way to connect him with the benefits of meditation. When you glance back at Obi-Wan, there’s still a hungry look in his eyes, but it’s softened by something warm and gentle that makes you shiver.

“Alright Sprout. Do you think this will help?” You ask the young Padawan before you, and he smiles up at you, nodding his head as he demonstrates the kata you showed him, his movements surprisingly precise.

“Yeah, this is wizard, Mercy.”

~

Over the years, Anakin blossoms under Obi-Wan’s tutelage. He’s so gifted with the Force that you could sometimes forget that he didn’t get trained until he was nine. His lightsaber skills grow in leaps and bounds, his thrill of the fight driving him to succeed. He’s cocky, reckless, and his teen years are an absolute terror. You can’t even count the amount of times he’s come to your chambers in the night and asked to stay with you, furious with some minor thing Obi-Wan has done. He works on your droid, the little astromech you’d taken to using ever since your first mission with her, Daisy. He gives her a paint job in your favourite colours, swapping out old parts for better ones, and building new components when he can’t find something he wants. Working with his hands helps to calm him down, and he knows he’s always got a safe space with you if he needs it.

It helps Obi-Wan as well. You’ll receive a comm right before Anakin storms in, and you can reassure the poor man that his Padawan hasn’t run off into the city to get into trouble. Anakin used to go to Qui-Gon, but as the boy aged, the older Jedi had begun to bring him back to Obi-Wan instead of letting him cool off. You became his favoured reprieve purely because unlike his Grandmaster, you never made Anakin leave. When he was very small, you’d sometimes let him lay in bed with you when he needed comfort, but now that he’s a gangly teen, you’ve procured a cot that folds up under your bed. He doesn’t use it often, his temper simmering down swiftly, but there have been times when his fights with Obi-Wan have been that monumental.

The important thing is that you allow him to be a child. Forcing him too quickly from a normal boy to a Padawan learner is sure to cause problems, and you find yourself reminding both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon of that often. You dig your feet into the wet sand and relax on the shore as Obi-Wan teaches Anakin to swim, then show him how to make the best Jedi Temple with the sand. You teach him to dance with Obi-Wan’s help, and lament that you don’t get to spend more time demonstrating, as the man is a terrific dancer. Because of course he is. Anakin giggles as you spin him, and quietly confesses that he wants to dance with Padmé one day. You hope the young Queen is well. You thought of her often - of her strength, bravery and compassion as she rules a planet at far too young an age. You’re not surprised Anakin is so enthralled with her, though you do keep an eye on his passions.

He grows so quickly you feel sick with it, and your soft nickname for him proves to be true. He sprouts so quickly, growing and learning and becoming the man he’s meant to be. You love him like a son, and you relish the time while he will still cuddle with you and let you kiss his forehead. He has a mother of his own, and you do your best to honour her, knowing he will never be able to look at you the way you look at him. You’ve long accepted that. But privately, in your own head, you call him son and feel proud of the splendid boy he becomes.

He presents as an Alpha at thirteen, and you stay with him through it to help Obi-Wan. The Omega won’t leave - can’t abandon his Padawan - but has little to offer in the counseling of an Alpha going through his first rut. When Anakin gets frustrated and snippy, you scruff him gently and growl until he settles. When he sweats through his blankets, Obi-Wan helps him into the shower so that you can change them. You teach him to apply the scent blockers, and give him his first dose of rut blocker, forcing him to drink water to keep himself from dehydrating. You pet his hair to soothe him to sleep, whisper-singing lullabies that he hasn’t wanted in years, and when he wakes in the morning with a clear head, you explain this aspect of life to him again to make sure he doesn’t have any questions.

He’s growing up too quickly, and it breaks your heart. Thank the Stars for his lingering softness, rare as it is. The moments when he leans into your touch when you brush his hair back instead of moving away from it with a whine. The moments when he comes to you for hugs, lets you press a kiss to his temple and tell him how proud you are of him. Most especially, you thank the Force for the fleeting moments where you, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Anakin get together as something akin to a pack. It feels right, deep in your bones, and you appreciate the dinners, the discussions, and even the training.

You go to Tatooine when Anakin is sixteen and off on a mission with Obi-Wan. He’s begun having nightmares about his mother, and you have finally convinced the Council to let you free her. He can’t focus with his heart worrying for her, and as much as this is an attachment he will need to let go of, you know it will be easier for him knowing she’s safe. When you arrive, you’re too late - Shmi is already freed, and married to a kind older man named Lars. They have a moisture farm, and Lars’ son Owen shows you around the place while you keep an eye out for potential dangers. They’ve been having disputes with the Tuskens, so you hedge your bets, heading off to their village to make peace. It doesn’t surprise you - Tuskens believe themselves to own the sacred water of their planet, as its original inhabitants. You don’t necessarily blame them for being possessive.

It takes effort, but you’re a good negotiator. You’ve got nothing on Obi-Wan, but you are a Consular after all. You have to take out a sand beast for them, along with a couple of canyon krayt dragons that have been encroaching on their territory, but you do what you must. If nothing else, taking out large threats will keep the Lars family safe as well. The Tusken are a proud people, and you trust they will keep their word, leaving the Lars family and specifically Shmi Skywalker-Lars, alone. In return, the Lars family must also promise to leave the Tuskens alone, though they readily agree. It’s not like they want anything to do with the Tuskens.

Before you leave, you give Shmi your commlink code in case of an emergency. You head out into the wastes, following every fleeting brush of the Force as you look for anything that could put the Lars family in danger in the future. Thankfully, you find nothing but the natural predators that roam Tatooine, and you’re soon able to leave the sand-covered hellhole that is this twin-sunned planet. You make it back to Coruscant before those you’ve claimed as your pack return, so you spend your day with Qui-Gon sitting in on his lessons. Your Master had recommended you start teaching, and you’re excited for the opportunity, but you want the chance to observe before you agree to take on your own classes. Luckily, Qui-Gon is a good teacher, both to learn what kind of teacher you want to be, and what kind you don’t.

When Anakin returns from his mission days later, he crumples in your arms hearing that you’ve taken this weight from his shoulders. Obi-Wan, who knew the whole time, smiles fondly at you over his Padawan’s head - a rarity for him now that Anakin has nearly surpassed him in height. You hold your Sprout close to you while he’ll allow it, pressing a kiss to his temple, and his forehead, though he laughs and starts to squirm when you kiss his cheek. You cup his face when he leans back, wiping the tears from his eyes and smiling fondly at him.

“You’re growing too fast, Sprout. Slow down, will ya?” You tease, and he grins sheepishly, embarrassed by the attention even as he relishes in it. Obi-Wan gives your tail a gentle tug, drawing a faux-offended gasp from your lips as you spin to give him a playful look. Anakin heads for his chambers as soon as your attention is elsewhere to escape, and you roll your eyes at his fleeing back. Cheeky.

“Are you sure you’re The Negotiator? Awfully insensitive to go around pulling people’s tails.” You jape, and Obi-Wan snickers, both at your response and the fact that your tail has coincidentally wound itself around his thigh to keep him close.

“You did a good thing for him,” the Omega begins sincerely, tracing his fingers across your tail fondly, “and I have missed you. It’s been far too long.”

Your ears twitch, and you chuff as you approach him, brushing his hair out of his eyes. His strawberry blond hair has grown quite a bit since he was knighted, and you’re especially fond of it long. Though, you’re even more fond of the beard and moustache he’s been growing, more ginger than his hair and soft under your fingertips. Though, that might be mostly your fault, since you comb beard oil through his facial hair any chance he gives you. He won’t indulge on his own, but with your companionship, he allows himself some of the finer things in life. He leans his cheek into your hand, but you don’t hold him for long out here in public.

His force signature brushes against yours, and you brush him back affectionately, but like always, something keeps you from delving into each other. A distant, hidden part of you doesn’t want to chance that he’s not your force-mate. You don’t fear much, but that? That would devastate you, and you know you’re not bold enough to take that chance with all you stand to lose. You’d rather be his best friend, raising his Padawan together and gently flirting along the way than risk the alternative. If you knew, you’d have to stop. You’d have to take a step back away from him and deal with the attachment you felt towards him, and devote yourself back to the Code.

One day, you’d be strong enough to cross that boundary. One day, you would know if he was yours and you were his, but that day was certainly not today.

~

When Anakin is seventeen, you find yourself called before the Council for a diplomatic mission in the mid rim. You’re shocked to find Obi-Wan waiting for you when you arrive, standing before the Council with a serene smile on his face. You so rarely get the chance to work with him, but you know that Anakin is on a mission with your old Master to take advantage of his piloting skills, so it makes sense. You work well together when you get the chance, and you’re both available. You’re a skilled Consular, and Obi-Wan is called the Negotiator despite being a Guardian.

You listen with excitement stirring in your belly as Master Yoda describes your mission to a remote moon where life has thrived, and an ancient holocron has been recovered. According to reports, the people who inhabit the moon have little interest in giving their treasure to the Jedi, which is where you come in.

Obi-Wan follows you out of the room when you’re dismissed, and you nudge him gently, grinning as he nudges you back. He walks you to your chambers first, then heads along to his own, promising to meet you at the ship set aside for you within the hour. You’ll likely only be gone a week or two at most, so you have little to pack, but you want to shower before you go. The sonic showers onboard starships have nothing on a real shower. Your bag remains packed most of the time, but you tuck your medical bag and datapad into it with your regular belongings.

Just under an hour later, you arrive at the ship, having convinced a very reluctant Daisy that you didn’t need an astromech on this journey to visit people who didn’t seem to even have droids of their own. Obi-Wan is already on board, his bag clipped behind the pilot’s chair, and the pilot’s headset already nestled on his head. You roll your eyes and huff indignantly, practically throwing yourself into the co-pilot chair after clipping your bag in.

“You’re so over dramatic. I’m an excellent pilot.” You insist, and Obi-Wan snorts, flicking on the engines while you put on your own headset.

“You’re a much better co-pilot.” He informs you, and you concede with a petulant sigh.

“You hate flying.” Your voice is a little whiny as you remind him, but he only snickers as he begins take-off procedures.

“I don’t hate flying - I hate the nonsense that Anakin claims is flying.” He corrects you primly, and you groan as the ship begins to make its way into the atmosphere. You lost this battle before it even began, and you know it. You’ll just have to settle in for the ride.

[silverview]

watching inside no. 9 and those guys are really good actors fr. like take rs as the douchey hedge fund husband in kid/nap. it's not a showy part but he's nailing it, every movement / line / expression is funny & recognisable & characterful. easily the highlight of the ep. and i have not seen him play that character before! you know? after doing that show for years he was still pulling out whole new characters. he has the range okay he has the range. or take sp in the best actress committee episode. again, not a flashy part or anything. potentially the generic dude in an ensemble cast of heightened archetypical characters. but sp makes him so funny and memorable by making him really cheerful and friendly. which shouldn't work but it really does. the way he says "it is! it is a real word! :D" slays me

if i had to choose sp's best performance that i've seen so far, idk what i'd choose but i would instinctively gravitate to love's great adventure. i feel it may be the epitome of what he does best, which is arguably the opposite of what rs does best.* which is theoretically what you want in a double act, right? you can see some potential versions of this very loosely defined contrast on display in e.g. bernie clifton or misdirection, say. if they wanted to repeatedly fall back on an easy double act dynamic, they could slip into their roles from quiet night in or bernie clifton so comfortably every time. but the point is that they can both do both. they can both do just about everything. and they do! they both play every type of character & relationship & power dynamic you can imagine, and they never truly repeat themselves. fascinating double act behaviour. that's what not getting typecast looks like ig

*implying what rs does best is some form of smug soulless prick and/or haunted victorian doll. of the two of them, he definitely has more Edge. but he can absolutely play sweet & sincere when he needs to. unfortunately what i personally enjoy most is his gay characters, which is definitely just the fujo brainrot talking. like the nurse in how do you plead! that little guy was so cute. his little uniform and all his little mannerisms. he can have a little child murder, as a treat. he should get thrown around a little bit i think. that episode was mad qbbs by the way

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Rpg Anon: For the Bingo: Hinazumi, Soudaionji, Togahina, Naegiri, Fuyupeko, Tokomaru, Soruko, Saimatsu, Tsumioda, and everything. Yeah that's right. I'm throwing all the ships at ya.

//Aight, that's fair. Might as well get it out of the way.

//I really do wish that Mahiru was a more integral character to DR2's plot, because her interactions with Hajime in the Free Time Events are probably the cutest the game has to offer. Originally I was more of a Hinanami fan, and honestly I still am, but I've been corrupted by these two.

//Mahiru and Hajime are perfect catalysts for each other's character development, since one counters the others past trauma. Being someone who's just a meer photographer, Mahiru also has the potential to relate to Hajime more as a talentless individual.

//Ship is hella underrated, it needs more love.

//Outside of Survivor, I'm not CRAZY about this pair, and honestly, the only place I can think of it starting from is that one manga where Usami creates a Japanese festival and they have a bonding moment.

//It's kind of like a Nagatoro/Senpai relationship where the girl mercilessly bullies the boy because she likes him, and with these two, I can get behind that.

//Especially because of how much opposites attract. Hiyoko has a graceful design but a less than graceful personality, wheras Kazuichi is an honestly nice guy but looks and acts pathetic. There is potential there, but due to it being such a meager and not-well established ship, it lacks the fanbase movement to make it worth it.

//I didn't write down romantically or platonically on this one because the basic pair can go either way. This pairing is basically the definition of that high-school movie couple that's the pompous rich girl and the jock, except the gender roles are reversed, and honestly, I think that's pretty funny.

//Hina and Byakuya's progressions from adversaries to friends in DR1 and DR3 is actually pretty fun and natural, and the idea of Byakuya softening up around his classmates is one that I can more than get behind. Hina being the catalyst for it is also perfect.

//I kind of wish more people talked about this one.

//Don't think anyone's gonna argue with me for holding Naegiri in high regard. Makoto is the character who I have the MOST ships with, because I also think Sayaka and Mukuro make for amazing partners, but because Kyoko has spent the most time bonding with

//They have this theme where they can bring out themselves in each other to help balance out where their characters lean. Makoto is usually optimistic and wistful, but Kyoko can help bring him back down to earth and make him face reality if he ends up in a tizz. Alternatively, Makoto's optimism breaks Kyoko's ordinarily stone-cold expression, and it's shown in DR3 that she's gotten to the point that she is unashamed to speak highly of Makoto, because she's come to respect him and value him as a friend, something she would not have done in early DR1.

//They make each other the best versions of themselves and that's all a good relationship needs. Plus, the cool girl and lame boy dynamic is rarely ever not fun.

//These two got married after DR2 happened and nobody can tell me otherwise.

//Honestly though, as cute as I think Kuzupeko is, their actual canon relationship is kind of toxic. I know that's the point, but I like to think that Peko works herself out of that horrid mindset of being Fuyuhiko's servant and nothing else once she realizes how much he really loves her, not just romantically, but as a friend.

//Peko's also pretty good for Fuyuhiko's health. Even before any relationship upgrades I imagine he always vents to her about stupid shit because he can't trust anyone else with it, and thinking about that makes me realize how much they trust each other. They deserve one another, and no one else should have them.

//What I find most hilarious about Tokomaru is that it's basically just Naegiri with baggage. Rather, MORE baggage. Also, lots more screen time and room for development, since UDG is basically ABOUT these two and outside of every horrible thing that game brought, this relationship was not one of them.

//Like her brother, Komaru can be easily overwhelmed, emotional and sometimes too optimistic for her own good, and Toko helps mediate this with her more cynical and realistic personality. In turn, Komaru's more ordinary high school girl nature and her own quirks as a character suit Toko well, normalizing HER fucked up writing and bringing out the human side that she SERIOUSLY lacked in DR1.

//Speaking from the heart, I actually think these two are my current favourite couple in DR Survivor. I already talked in a previous post how writing Toko is one of the most fun and engaging things I've ever done, and I'm proud to see the natural progression of this pair and how far they've come together. If only DR weren't cowards and made them canonical lesbian lovers.

//WHERE IS UDG2 GOD DAMMIT!?

//Soruko is a pair that I love, but I have a hard time writing because Sora can sometimes be a MASSIVE DICK to her wife. Not that she means it, but sometimes I feel like I inadvertently make Sora this big dick energy monster who wants dominance over Yoru, and that's NOT what these two are.

//I get why they don't want to just write proper ships in even the fangames, but these two had such an intense amount of sexual tension between them for most of Another 2, and the way their stories end is frankly tragic and bittersweet.

//I have LOTS of problems with Another 2, really, I do. But these two were one of the things that actually drew me into the game. I think they should have kissed at least

//This is my favourite ship in canon and has been so since the dawn of time. It takes aspects from all the other relationships in Danganronpa I love and meshes them together in a sweet romantic lasagna.

//My biggest GRIPE is how little we got to actually SEE of these two, and the fact that whatever romantic scenes we get of them are called forced by a majority of the fandom. And I will admit, stories like Three-Point Shot and others like it portray Saimatsu in a much better way than the main series does. But the potential is unmatched.

//Like Tokomaru and Naegiri, one is an optimistic girl who is given reality checks by the more serious boy, who also has clear past trauma and depression that is quelled by the optimistic girl. It's the PERFECT healthy dynamic, and the good thing about it is that neither Kaede nor Shuichi are ever portrayed as perfect protagonists. In fact, they perfectly cover for the other's flaws to help sustain that balance. Their designs reflect this as well with Kaede's faded but colors being the basic reverse pallete of Shuichi's darker ones. Even as one of Shuichi's more well established ships, these two deserve more attention.

//Ooooooh fuuuuuck...I have a LOT to say about this one...

//This is probably my favorite ship in the series, possibly only beaten by Saimatsu. More people need to talk about this pair, it's frankly the best that the both of them can find among whatever pairings they might have.

//They have basically no interactions in the games and I think that's REALLY sad actually, because their dynamic of the emotionally strong girl and the emotionally frail girl has potential that just isn't explored, when it SHOULD be. Especially considering that Ibuki is probably the only character who can definitively FIX what's wrong with Mikan.

//Ibuki's entire Free Time Event storyline is all about her being herself, but also subtly helping Hajime overcome his fears and insecurities as a person by naturally taking his mind off them to have fun, and this really does help Hajime. If ANYONE needs therapy like that, it's Mikan. And Ibuki is just so naturally optimistic and charismatic, even Mikan should be able to see that nothing Ibuki does is foreplay or taking advantage of her.

//LET THESE TWO BE A THING!

-Mod

[thisisnotthenerd]

such a good episode of burrow's end. the progressive leveling of the battle? the swing of luck from the dice gods? the family being terrifying and yet having moments of pure kindness and feeling? so good. the undying reality of the first stoats and now ava and tula! phenomenal work, phenomenal worldbuilding, incredible. watching erika leave and come back to the dome? indescribable. also i called the stoats doing some genetic fuckery. the wolf, deeply saddening and also terrifying.

this feels like it has the tension and permadeath potential of acoc/trw as well as the family drama. roguish twins who've had their first real exposure to the dangers of society. tense interfamilial dynamics. with a side of increasing threat levels and radiation stoats for flavor. one of my favorite seasons to be sure.

in other news, i'm updating the spreadsheet with new classes from the level up. didn't realize exactly how much i would have to update until i started. jesus christ i've done a lot of stats work in the span of like 3 months.

fun notes:

jaysohn leveled in both monk and rogue, so he's now fast, able to stun, and super deadly. cunning action dash with monk movement? what a little guy.

thorn vale took a level of tempest cleric! so fun! really embracing the lightning and making it his own!

ava also kept to her classes but got some fun new manuevers plus mage slayer!! i'm sure she releveled after going into the blue, but that will have to wait until next week.

tula and viola stuck to their paladin levels, but i'm pretty sure took some kind of feats. viola's working the telekinesis.

and lila's a little wizard! our second bladesinger of d20, and the first wizard not to sit in the wizard chair.

i love that everyone who's multiclassing at this level is taking on more magic as they have more exposure to the blue. i'm assuming they're going to level up at least once more, so i'm excited to see the results!

all updates are in the spreadsheet if you want to look at them in chart form. i'll probably go back and look for feat uses and/or updates at some point.

[petriichvrs]

FOUR YEARS  OF  NOXTMS  /  six  characters  !

ft. @viiktorious ( my absolute favorite take on viktor, in the sense that no one else could ever really compare. i think you write him so well when it would be so easy for him to be very oversimplified, and one of the most pleasant surprises of this year - at least so far - has been you bringing him back to the dash ! ), @hoggleswart ( i don't know how well documented my 'sarah shahi deserves to be used more in the rpc' movement is here in nox, but i have been leading that charge for so many years and i was already so invested in roshana before you ticked all my favorite boxes in a character. i love ocs connected to existing canons in ways other than siblings or children, and i'm always a sucker for someone achingly sad ! ), @hcldmybroom ( not unlike the above, i have been wanting ambika to become the next big thing for so long that i, again, was always predisposed to loving a character using her ! there is so much - so far - untapped potential for drama with minette that makes me gleeful, and i really, really enjoy what i have seen of them so far ! ), @chacswins ( this guy is always gonna hurt my heart, and i'm always gonna be way more into that than i should be</3 you and sam are neck to neck in my personal 'most anticipated returns' list, and i'm so happy to be able to play around with you in all the angsty ways i've grown to love playing around with you in over the years of friendship and development we've had ! i'm so fond of damien in a way i think doesn't get expressed enough, and so grateful that his existence has provided me with 1. a whole character, in luca and 2. so many new layers for other characters ! ), @tosteelisms ( cara macdonald, my beloved, i am so glad that someone has finally given you a chance to thrive when you have so deserved it for so long ! she's one of my most adored creations, here, and i am so glad that i was able to entrust her into such capable hands ! you came into nox swinging, and i have loved seeing her form ! ), @acritudos ( last, but not at all least. theo nott was talked about at such length for so long that it would have been so easy for him to lose momentum but. of course. that was never going to happen in your hands. he is everything i've always dreamed of and more in terms of all the various dynamics i always wanted - with pansy, with the slytherin gang as a whole, with astoria, with ginny. with everyone, really ! - and of course it would be you that would give me those goods. how on earth could i expect any differently ! as always, i feel very lucky to write with you and develop such complex connections with you, and i hope that never changes<3 ) !

[gojonanami]

I love writing morally ambiguous characters!! I would love that — it would be so interesting— but does anyone have any specific ideas about this? 👀

this prompt made me feel very excited!!

as soon as i got it, i thought long and hard about how to tackle this...

i came to the following conclusion – if suguru, satoru, kento & co are to be normal and to retain contact with reader, there needs to be something about reader that is redeemable

(e.g., mei mei is tolerated, but not necessarily liked or loved. now why would reader be liked or loved?)

and all of this drew me to the following scenarios:

scenario 1: reader goes berserk instead of suguru

option 1a: reader goes on the infamous mission along with suguru and satoru, and, as a result of that mission, goes berserk and has a crisis.

condition for option 1a: in my mind, to escalate reader's mental breakdown, i think it would make sense for reader to be less powerful than suguru and satoru, and for that feeling of helplessness to drive her desire to realise her potential in other ways

optional condition for option 1a: reader is a perfectionist who wants to succeed and always be number one. as someone who has learnt the piano naturally and can replicate notes without thinking, being able to do well without studying too much, coming to jujutsu high to be confronted with the sight of two guys who are just better than her because they were born that way frustrates her to no end.

problem for option 1a: this option introduces a new character into an established system of events. if suguru doesn't go evil, then he was probably not the one witnessing riko getting murdered. question – what was he doing?

a scenario to consider for option 1a: does suguru experience an awakening akin to satoru or is it only satoru experiencing it?

justification for reader going on this mission: as a girl, it might have been thought that reader would 'get along with' riko as a fellow girl, and smooth things out.

a potential opening created by option 1a: suguru's downfall is either prevented or strengthened by reader experiencing this chaotic, panic, anxiety and anger-fuelled outburst. if suguru is to be 'normal', though, as the option suggests, then reader must do something, something bad/immoral and say something horrible, that anchors suguru to reality

option 1 anchoring suguru: reader says something extremely hurtful to suguru – akin the likes of: "You don't understand me." or "You're super strong." or "You don't know how hard I've worked."

option 2 anchoring suguru: suguru's personality is hinged on being caring, understanding, mature and protective. if suguru sees the person he spirals care, it would make sense for him to want to protect them, yes? how can he protect them? option 1 – eliminating non-sorcerers. option 2 – cultivating his curses to become stronger and stronger, maybe even stronger than suguru.

potential problem: does seeing reader break down motivate suguru to deflect even more or stay? persuasive argument can be made for both sides.

scenario 2: reader does not have to be evil to be morally ambiguous

how can this moral ambiguousness manifest? say, reader can be someone who is a harsh teacher. to eliminate the amount of deaths undergone by students, reader is a harsh teacher. she'll break your arm if it'll teach you not to same mistake during a mission. she could be someone cold and brash, and blunt. one to say to the elders what she thinks to their face.

which could create all sorts of problems.

(i am not sure why – but to my mind, a catty fight with mei mei was the first thing that came to mind? it's probably not usable, but it's a little funny in my mind. something along the lines of reader saying to nobara, "women should always support other women," and then bashing mei mei. p.s. reader is nice, sort of, just a bit like an angry cat. but anyway, a school rivalry that extends beyond.)

problem: to drive a story, we need movement. so far, this scenario lacks dynamism. what we have is this – she is a ruthless teacher. so what? does this create a conflict in ideology with kento? is she too utilitarian? too worried about the numbers?

scenario 3: reader is morally ambiguous because she chooses to ignore her life as a sorcerer

premise: imagine going through jujutsu high, knowing the tolls that a sorcerer has to undergo, only to end up foregoing all that, ignoring curses, and not caring??

that's a bit of a slap in the face – especially for kento and suguru (and satoru, too)

and if this is someone who is fairly powerful, too, who could use her abilities to help but just doesn't because she doesn't want to?

like i can imagine her being someone who sees curses in the streets, and knowing that she can eliminate them, but doesn't, because she has other things in the world that tether her – a work meeting, a lunch with a colleague, a trip to buy a new dress, an exhibition at a museum

does it make her a bad person? that she chooses to ignore them?

problem with this story that needs to be addressed: if her life is outside of the world of jujutsu, for this story to work, there needs to be something bringing her back to the world of jujutsu for them to interact with her.

what could that be?

could it be that her technique closely relates to one of the students so she needs to mentor that student?

could it be one of the guys seeking her out, trying to change her mind? would they even do that? is that in character for them? i am not sure.

or is it something more catastrophic?

potential crisis reader could experience: a scenario that came to mind just now – reader, who has shut down everything related to jujutsu in her mind, lost contact on purpose will all of them, erased their phone numbers coldly, having a revelation because something big happened that changed her mind forever.

what could that be?

example of a potential crisis reader could experience: the first thing that came to mind was this – a fight with kenjaku as kaori and the realisation that kenjaku wants to steal suguru's body for the culling game (or plans, or whatever), and the fierce need to protect suguru

could it be this? if kaori isn't super powerful, then kenjaku needs a tactical advantage to win against reader. so years of accumulated knowledge & studying of reader's technique if she's close to suguru?

and then, after that fight, and after that fear that this strange woman slipped away (or, even if she eliminated kaori, that fear could linger still) that something might happen to suguru, she might rock up to jujutsu high, panicked and wide-eyed, and just monitor all of them obsessively like a guard dog with the instinct to protect and perhaps with the desire to repent for not keeping contact for so many years.

problem with scenario: what happens later in their timeline? is kaori (kenjaku) defeated? does that mean that sukuna never occupies yuuji's body? what is the conflict in this story? is it her paranoia, her anxiety, her reckoning with her feelings, her guilt, and the fact that she always runs away from her problems? is that enough? is that enough to give this story momentum and to retain the reader's interest?

scenario 4: reader goes berserk before the infamous mission on which suguru and satoru go

and if she goes berserk, then it would be about perceptive suguru noticing, intervening, and, as a result, not deflecting himself?

the problem is this: i can't figure out if in this scenario, that mission where suguru and satoru go and riko dies happens or not. and if it does, then what happens to make sure that they don't go crazy.

another problem – cause of breakdown: you would have to come up with a mission for this to happen. could cf scenario 3 and kaori/kenjaku? something else entirely? problem doesn't even necessarily/entirely have to be jujutsu related.

scenario 5: the replacement scenario. (similar to scenario 1)

in this scenario, reader takes on the place of suguru wholeheartedly. perhaps in place of suguru. why? see justification for reader going on this mission.

except – let's shake things up a bit.

i haven't watched jujutsu kaisen in a while, but a lingering question is this – what on earth happened during those ten years? why was there no pivotal movement.

here, what would happen would be this:

option 5a: reader goes berserk and goes berserk on tokyo, amassing wide destruction.

option 5b: reader doesn't intend to kill non-sorcerers, reader intents to control them, and infiltrates both the jujutsu elite society & maybe even the government.

option 5c: reader establishes a large coalition of sorcerers that see her point of view. much, much larger than suguru & more global. problem: juggling this all in a narrative and introducing new characters which people may not be interested in!

risks: (1) patches over a well thought-through story (2) risks being a little silly

scenario 6: wacky scenario (this is a lolz scenario just because)

satoru and reader are friends with benefits that never settle down for real. when reader gets pregnant, despite being on the fence about having children, she gets a sort of an epiphany wherein she decides to keep the baby (to keep a piece of satoru forever to herself? if he couldn't be with her, then she'll keep a part of him with her forever. deciding on her own terms, sort of).

reader doesn't tell satoru for some reason. e.g. there's a bounty on the child and she wants to protect her child. or she feels petty they were never in an official relationship, so this is her dramatic form of revenge.

but she needs to come back? why?

(1) she comes back for a funeral – jujutsu sorcerers die often. whose? her mother's? someone unknown?

(2) her jujutsu technique is killing her so she needs someone to care of the child. but why? why would her jujutsu technique be draining her strength? is she making a sacrifice for something?

(3) reader was selected jujutsu sōkan and so comes back to shake things up. and surprise? there's a child, too. bet you didn't see that coming!

(okay, so... i thought that this was sort of fun in that we know next to nothing about jujutsu sōkan and what they do. do they have to hide away? perhaps living in a little remote villa somewhere in okinawa away from the bustle of the mainland?)

problem: wacky, wacky scenario that makes little sense! but – guarantees a morally ambiguous reader.

i am not sure if these are helpful! these were hard to think about, so i think i was running out of steam a little by the end. but if they're helpful, then i'm happy!

they are very out there, i know!!!

i'm not sure if any of them are usable, and maybe only parts of some of them are usable. but they're something to think about?

maybe they can inspire you, or anyone else visiting this page :)

in terms of scenarios, though, just as a note – suguru, satoru, and kento, at times, are sort of interchangeable depending on how you play with them? at times, i wrote their names (i.e., specific characters), but sometimes, i feel, they can be substituted for whoever you want to write for (doesn't apply to all of them, though).

these are just for fun!!! i don't know if any of them are workable, but i would guess maybe scenario 3 and 1 are the most workable?

this is so freaking cool that you had all these ideas and I agree I think scenarios 1 and 3 are the most workable!!

I’m def gonna be keeping these in mind — I think I’m leaning towards 3 rather than 1 because I think it would have interesting repercussions— I could see reader having to come back because she’s a special grade and with yuji and sukuna’s reappearance, she may be needed—