#i don't even feel like it breaks his character

[mojavebluez]

Bleed - the salesman x fem!reader

"What can I say?" His mouth curls into a soulless smile. "I like watching girls bleed."

summary - days after your first encounter, the two of you meet again, exactly as promised. This time, he’s eager for you to get to know him better. You play a game of two truths and a lie - with a twist: for every lie you miss, he gets to make you bleed.

tags - knifeplay, age gap, praise kink, degradation kink, blood as lube, bdsm, non-con, sadomasochism, sub!reader, dom!salesman, creampie, unprotected sex

a/n - thanks for the love on part 1! This is one of my first times writing nsfw stuff so I’m so grateful for the positive feedback :))

part 2 to ‘Russian roulette - the salesman x fem!reader’

4.3k words

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The days leading up to Friday were painfully slow. Your mind was plagued by thoughts of him, mostly denial about the entire situation. You were conflicted. The memory of him, so tall and utterly imposing - it sometimes made your heart skip, sometimes made it sink. You got the feeling you were only seeing a small part of him, a sample of his entire character. It filled you with dread. And excitement.

Friday came and there was no sign of him. You spent your whole day twiddling your thumbs and glancing out windows, searching for any sign of him. Occasionally, you would see a man in a suit walking past, and frantically stand up to see if it was him. But it was never him. You had memorised the curve of his back after nights of reminiscing, the exact slope of his jaw. It was ironic, really: with this information you could easily go to the police and explain the situation. You never did, though, and he must have known you wouldn't. That card - incredibly incriminating evidence, really - was just another symbol of the power he held over you.

On the way home, the reality of the situation becomes very real indeed. If you ran away, would he know where to find you? If you stayed at a friend's place for the night, or even in a hotel, would he seek you out? No. You aren't the sort of person to back out of something. Not now you're so close to finding out who this man really is.

You knock on the door of your apartment, expecting one of your parents to let you in. Usually, it stays locked during the day. But when you bring your hand to the door, it opens at your touch. You glance around. Then, step inside. The entire apartment is dark, every shutter closed and every light off. You don't turn them on, too afraid of what you might find if you do. Carefully, you search the place, trying to make your footsteps as silent as possible. But there's no sign of your parents.

Finally, you open your mouth to call their names. From behind, a hand claps over your face, muffling your voice. Your eyes widen in realisation, and you grab at the hand, attempting to pull it off. You recognise the smell of him. Something musky and expensive, though slightly metallic. The smell brings you to your senses, and your adrenaline kicks in. You scream against his hand, scratching at his fingers and kicking out your legs in an attempt to break free from his hold. He doesn't waver, just pulls another arm around you, holding you even firmer in place than before.

Eventually, you grow tired, and decide to do something you don't really want to. You bite his hand as hard as you can. He makes a pained noise and rips his hand away, staggering backwards. You jump forward, away from his hold, then turn to face him. He holds the wrist of his injured hand, studying it with a frustrated expression. When he looks up at you, eyes burning, fear sinks in.

You step backwards, anticipating his response. "I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"Now, now," he shakes his head, a false smile on his face, "what did you do that for, sweetheart?"

You blink frantically, assessing your options. The only way out is the door, and in order to escape you would have to pass him, but he could grab you with ease. After a moment, he decides for you. He moves towards you, gripping your upper arm and wrenching your body toward him. His fingers easily curl around your entire arm. Your head rushes with regret. An assault like that can't go unpunished with him. You know it.

He pulls you through your own apartment and into the dining room, an action which indicates he already knows his way around. He pulls out a chair at the head of the table and pushes you into it. He wastes no time. Already set on the table are coils of binding; he grabs them and instantly starts tying your ankles. He then pulls your arms behind you with painful force, binding your wrists.

"I was really hoping we wouldn't have to do this," he says bitterly whilst tying the ropes.

"How did you get in here?" You ask him, tears thick in your throat. "Where are my parents?"

"Questions I can answer later. Be patient," he stands back once he finishes, and dusts off his hands like an artist that has just finished a project.

"Please-" you begin to say, but he cuts you off with a palm raised in the air. A ring of purple, angry teeth marks are imbedded in his skin.

"You talk far too much. Do I have to keep you quiet?" He lowers his hand carefully.

You press your lips together and shake your head frantically. That would only make the situation worse. He smiles approvingly, then lowers himself to his haunches, studying you from head to toe in a clinical manner. You feel scrutinised under his cold gaze.

"Need I remind you," he stands up, "you called me. I come here out of my own kindness, and this is how I am repaid?" He raises his hand again, showing the teeth marks. Then, he tuts and shakes his head as though he is greatly disappointed.

"I said I'm sorry," you watch him carefully, fighting back tears. His level voice seems more terrifying to you than any sort of outright aggression. When he is in control, he knows just how to make you scream.

He leans back against the wall and folds his arms. "I had something else planned for this little rendezvous, but I'm not sure it will suffice after that outburst. Something else, I think."

You watch him ponder. Everything about him is still a mystery to you. Why did he choose you? There are so many other girls. You scan him from head to toe, almost sizing him up. He wears a different suit this time: dark navy and paired with a black tie. His shoes are perfectly polished, and his hair is slicked back into its usual style. Memories of him rush past, flushed and sweating after practically violating you. That was someone else. You wonder if you will meet that man again tonight.

He seems to decide on something. "Well, I know so much about you, but you know nothing about me. It seems unfair, don't you think?"

"Everything about this seems unfair," you say bitterly, pulling at your ropes for effect.

"You're right, of course. But that's just the dynamic you'll have to get used to, sweetheart," his lips curl as he says the word. Nothing about him is sweet.

You eye him as he moves toward you and pulls out a chair. He sets it opposite you, closer than he was sitting last time. You instinctively shrink backwards as he lowers himself into the chair, leaning his elbows on his knees so he can be level with your eyes. "I have a proposition."

"What is it?" You say quietly, searching his eyes. Nothing.

"A game," his eye sparkles.

"Another one?" You whisper, breaking eye contact.

"Don't worry," he leans backwards, smirking, "no guns involved this time."

"How lucky for me," you say through gritted teeth.

"You're a very lucky girl," he smiles. "Something else - you probably played it in school."

You struggled to think of a school game that involved being tied down to a chair. "Peekaboo?"

"Funny," he doesn't laugh, "no, not that." He holds up two hands. On one hand, he raises his index finger, and on the other, he raises two more fingers. "Any guesses?"

You watch the gesture, thinking. Then it comes to you. "Two truths and a lie?"

His mouth breaks into a wide smile. "Good girl."

"But that's not fair," you say, voice raised, "I don't know anything about you! How am I supposed to win?"

"I'll make it easy for you," he clasps his hands together like a games-master on a TV show. "Round one, are you ready?"

You nod.

"Your parents are dead. Your parents are alive. Or your parents are in this apartment, right now."

Your eyes fly open. The mention of them was completely unexpected. You feel your heart rate pick up as you think of an answer. You so desperately want them to be alive - but would he even say it if they were? You decide to go for the most simple option: after all, you searched the whole place and saw no sign of them.

"You're lying. They aren't in this apartment." You say stoically, meeting his eyes.

He smirks. "Correct. So, dead or alive?"

"That's not how you play. I already found the lie-"

He darts out a hand and grips your thigh, making you cry out. "In case you haven't noticed," he squeezes your leg, "I don't play by the rules. Answer me."

Tears make your vision blurry. "They're alive," you choke, nearly sobbing, "that's the lie."

He pauses for a moment, not letting go of your thigh. "Incorrect."

"So they are alive? Oh-"

"You were wrong. You know what that means?" He dips a hand into his blazer pocket, pulling something out. You squint into the darkness, then freeze when you realise what it is.

"Oh god, no-" your whole body begins to tremble.

"Shh," he brings the blade towards your inner thigh, the metal reflecting your smooth skin, "if you try to win, this won't have to happen."

"I didn't know! You tricked me!" You whimper as he pushes back the material of your skirt and brings the blade to your thigh. There was no way for you to win that round, and he knows it. Once again, he uses you as a tool to show his own deception. He can’t be trusted.

"I'm shocked at how cruel you think I am," he says with fake surprise.

He presses the blade to your skin and you scream a bloodcurdling noise. Red-hot pain seeps from your thigh as he draws a deep line in your skin. You thrash around in the chair, but it only makes the pain worse. He makes a tutting noise, the noise an adult might make when a child falls and grazes their knee. When he raises the blade again, you look down to see a dripping line, like a crimson tally mark. One.

Your chest heaves as you try to console the pain. He pulls a cloth from his breast pocket and wipes the knife with one swipe. You meet his eyes and find that familiar mist clouding them again. He's finally hurt you now, and the cracks are beginning to show.

"Now you know the punishment for failure," he sets the blade on the table, raising his chin with a superior expression.

"I'm sorry- it hurts-" the words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. You are only aware of the pain flooding your thigh. How deep did he go?

"I've barely touched you," he tilts his head, moving your thigh to assess the injury. "You're so fragile."

You just stare at him, chewing your lip in an attempt to distract from the pain.

He smirks. "Round two, are you ready?"

You hold eye contact, hoping he can see the utter hatred in your eyes. Like it would make any difference. He takes your silence as a sign to continue, and leans back, thinking. "I work as a messenger. I work in an office. Or I am a mass murderer. Which is the lie?" He says it with an amused smirk on his face, as though he already knows what you are going to pick.

You console yourself and try to think of an answer. Judging by his smug expression, he said must have said the last one as a joke - though, you wouldn't put it past him. "The last one. It's a lie."

His smile falls. His expression turns dark. "Wrong. Again."

Realisation falls on you like a ton of bricks. Slowly, as if it pains him to do so, he grabs the knife off the table. You scream again, tears falling too fast for you to stop them. You pull at the ropes, arching your entire body to escape his grasp, managing to shuffle the chair a few inches. It doesn't help. He grabs the bottom of the chair and wrenches you forwards with one hand, close enough that his knee is planted firmly between your legs.

"The more you scream, the deeper I go." He says, lip curling and his voice husky. You watch helplessly as he brings the blade back down, holding your legs back with his knee. The knife, now stained with the product of your failure, meets your skin. The pain is easier to handle this time, though still just as awful as before. Another thick, seeping line beside the last. Two marks. Two losses.

You hang your head, body heaving with sobs. He makes that same pitying noise, using one finger to lift your chin. You watch him through your eyelashes as he brings the blade to his mouth, running his tongue along the flat edge. Your blood stains his mouth and drips from his tongue. He makes a small, pleased noise, then sets the blade back down, now clean.

Unmistakable arousal clouds his eyes. You're really giving him a show this time. He leans back in his chair, adjusting his trousers. "You're on a bit of a losing streak, aren't you?" His voice is breathy as he rakes his eyes from your wounds to your face, savouring every inch.

"What is it, huh?" You speak up, voice broken. "What's your angle? Why are you doing this?" Desperation seeps into your words and you search his face for any sign of remorse.

"What can I say?" His mouth curls into a soulless smile. "I like watching girls bleed."

Your mouth falls open. Hopelessness overwhelms you. There it is. The confession. If he doesn't kill you tonight, he will leave you a bloody mess on this chair, alone and stained and scarred.

The game resumes for several rounds more. Each loss is marked with another line, and you feel yourself growing more distant with every tally mark. His dick pushes harder against his trousers every time he makes you bleed or scream, reminding you of your last meeting. He held out that time, however, and seemed satisfied just by making you cum. But not this time. You knew something was different.

By your fifth loss, he strikes a final line across your thigh, and you feel yourself getting faint. Blood pools on the seat of your chair, dripping from your leg so thickly you can barely distinguish the individual lines. His breath picks up, mouth open wide as you scream once more, leg trembling.

"Fuck it," he grunts. Suddenly, he rips off his blazer and throws it onto the table. It slides away to the other end, and you watch him, terrified at every movement he makes and his plan for you.

It's not what you expect. He bends down, ripping away the binding at your ankles so roughly that it hurts. Then, he moves behind you and tears off the rope at your wrists, too. You freeze for a moment, registering your freedom. You attempt to move, but wince when the pain in your leg overwhelms you. Instead, you rub your wrists, marvelling at the ring of purple bruises on each arm.

He moves back toward his chair, breath fast and heavy, then grabs your waist. He lifts you with ease. You cry out as he hooks two hands beneath your knees and pulls your legs around his torso. Scared that you might fall, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding on. He falls back into his chair and you realise the purpose of his hold on you. Your legs straddle his hips, and blood flows from your thigh to stain the fabric of his trousers.

"Fuck," he swear again, looking down at the mess. He releases his hold on you to unbutton his trousers, ripping down his zip quicker than you can see. You whimper, knowing what is to come. The pressure of your leg on his makes the pain worse and the room begins to spin.

You watch helplessly, loosening your grasp on him. His cock springs from his trousers, already hard and dripping with precum. Veins span from the base to his swollen tip. "Look what you've done," he tuts, watching the blood from your leg stain his hands. "Look at the mess you've made."

You sob quietly and watch as he runs a hand down his cock, painting it with your blood. You make a strangled noise when he swipes a finger over the deep slashes on your thigh. He sucks in his breath sharply. "I need to fuck you." He mumbles it so quietly you almost don't hear.

Your head falls back as he lifts you up, lining up his cock with your entrance. He moves your panties aside with one finger, already wet with your own arousal. More and more blood drips onto him and he grunts, gasping slightly as he eases himself inside you. You cry out at the size of him. He's bigger than the gun. Much bigger. He's barely inside you, but the blood on his cock makes it easier for him to slip inside.

"You're so tight," he grunts, gripping your waist with one hand and your thigh with the other. He's barely halfway inside you before he pulls out and rams himself back into you, using the hand on your waist to lift you up. You have no choice but to take him. Your walls tighten around him, and you squeeze your legs together, trying your hardest to fight the discomfort.

Tears fall from your eyes. Your senses are heightened in your last moments of clarity - you feel like you might faint. Somehow, the blood keeps pouring, turning his suit trousers black.

"Don't you dare fucking pass out," he says, gritting his teeth. He squeezes your thigh and you cry out, the pain too much to bear. Your body feels weak.

Still, he fucks you harder, slamming his cock inside you with every thrust. Somehow he goes deeper until you're sure he must be hitting some vital organ. You've never been fucked like this before. You almost forget the pain he just caused you as you buck your hips against him, desperate to take him even deeper.

"Such a whore. You want it, huh?" He squeezes your ass, lifting you so that you bounce on his lap. Pleasure builds in you, a jarring contrast to the utter agony you felt almost moments ago.

His head falls back hangs off the chair as he thrusts in and out of you. You lift a hand to his face, desperate for something to hold onto, not noticing your fingers are still marked with your own blood. He sees and grips your wrist, sticking a finger into his mouth. He sucks them clean.

"You taste even better than you look," he smirks. He can't hold the expression for long. His eyes roll back slightly when you move your hips over him, making wide circles. You press a hand to his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and he lets you keep your grip there, too distracted by the hypnotic movements of your hips. You notice that blood drips from the corner of his mouth, instinctively, you lean in and swipe it off with your tongue. He chuckles darkly.

"You're forgetting yourself," he says, slowing his pace. You make a desperate whimper, raising your hips again to continue the rhythm.

"I'm going to need more motivation than that," he mumbles, bringing his mouth to your collarbone. You slow down, unsure of his intentions.

Still inside you, he parts his lips and sucks at the skin of your neck. He applies intense pressure, sending shocks through your body and you cry out, dropping your head over his shoulder.

"That's it," he says, laughing breathily into your ear.

He doesn't stop despite the fact you wince away from him. He plants firm, harsh marks along your neck, leaving a dark line of bruises to your collarbone. Every time you make a noise, he presses harder, until you're biting your lip just to suppress your whimpers. Then, once he's satisfied, he plants two hands on each thigh, ramming his cock back into you. He grunts loudly with every thrust.

He's rougher this time. The flow of blood slows, but still makes his cock glisten red as he pumps in and out of you. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the room, along with his grunts and your faint whimpers. His increase in pace makes the warmth in your stomach more intense, and you feel yourself on the brink of release. You arch your back, gripping onto his shoulder to keep yourself steady.

He notices you nearing your orgasm and uses his last burst of energy to make you ride him even harder. His hips buck up and down until his cock fills you entirely. You grip onto his tie, finally reaching your climax. You nearly scream as you cum with him still inside you, intense warmth and euphoria rushing through your entire body. He does the same, gasping for breath as he cums inside you, still bouncing your ass on his lap whilst you ride it out.

Your entire body goes limp. You collapse over him, taking in lungfuls of air. The euphoria is quickly replaced by exhaustion and pain. Your entire leg feels sore despite the blood no longer flowing as freely as it did before. He slows to a stop, then pulls his cock out of you. It's still stained red and dripping with his cum, and he grunts at the sight of your cunt, glistening with your own blood and his cum. He has complete control of you now.

"You're fucking crazy," he says, panting. He swipes two fingers over the wounds on your thigh, making you wince as he wipes the last of the blood away. He leans back for a moment as he comes down from his high, pressing a hand to his forehead. Strands of black hair fall over his eyes, damp with sweat.

"Let's take care of these cuts, shall we?" He says, too gently for it to be genuine. He lifts you up, straddling each leg on his waist. He lowers you onto the table, letting your legs dangle over the edge.

He makes a gesture that suggests he will be right back, and leaves the room in the direction of your bathroom. His clear knowledge of the layout of your home is concerning, but you can't find the energy to care. You close your eyes, letting your head hang, trying to suppress the dull thudding pain in your leg.

He returns after a few minutes, holding a medical kit and looking a lot more composed. The lusting look in his eyes has disappeared, replaced by emptiness, and his tie - which you managed to almost pull off earlier - is centred again. Blood still spatters his shirt, and his hair glistens as though he has dampened it and swept it back. You almost feel flattered that he tries to look so presentable for you.

He moves before you, lowering onto one knee. He kneels between your legs and parts your legs gently. Too gently. You wonder for a moment if you're dreaming. If you passed out back there and this was just some fantasy you invented to console yourself. But no. He opens the box and lifts out some alcohol wipes. Absently, you lay a hand on his head, stirring the dark waves. He doesn't look up. Just brings a wipe to your wounds, wiping away the blood. It stings so badly that you grip his hair as tightly as you can. You feel the urge to cry again.

Before you even register it, he places a large plaster over the wounds and pats the site gently, as if congratulating you. He stands up and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. You don't even meet his eyes. Your vision is cloudy. Exhaustion threatens to overwhelm you, and you're dangerously close to passing out altogether.

You have a faint memory of him lifting you and carrying you to your bedroom. You recall grabbing his arm after he lowered you onto your bed. Then asking, "when will I see you again?"

You couldn't make out his face. His voice was low and gentle. "Call me."

Then he left.

—

You woke up to the sound of the front door opening. Jolting out of bed, you rush to the hallway, hoping against hope. It's your parents. They greet you, smiling, and ask how your day was. You can barely find the words to respond. Your entire body aches, and you nurse the wounds at your neck and wrists to find they're covered by a hoodie you don't remember wearing.

They apologise for leaving and ask if you got their message. You say no. Then you leave in the direction of the dining room to confirm some faint suspicion. The room is completely normal. No blood. No ropes. No knife. Not even a chair is out of place. You press a hand to your forehead.

Later that night, you stare at the plaster on your thigh, the only evidence that the entire situation happened. You peel it back and your head rushes with adrenaline. Five slashes. Still there. You collapse back onto your bed, ignoring the pain that is almost a comfort by now - at least it proves the whole thing was, in fact, real.

Your phone rings. Every normal, human part of you fights back the urge to pick up. But, of course, you do.

The human part of you is long gone by now.

[nerdyydragon]

Also notable: I rarely see anyone say this about, like, romance movies (at least in earnest; there are soooo many other discourses about romance as a genre, but this isn't one I've seen).

Nobody says "noooo, don't go into the quaint little small-town café, Miss New York Businesswoman Protagonist! No, you're so goddamned dumb for talking to the guy who literally collided with you walking in the door!! You're so effing stupid for allowing him to pick up the papers you dropped!

Nobody says "Character is ridiculous for not trying to avoid freezing to death by huddling for warmth in the cabin!"

Nobody says "but they should know better!" about romance plots, unless it's some "love thine enemy" thing where logically the character should know better than to fall in love with the tragic, handsome villain who just tried to have them killed/kidnapped/dethroned/etc., but even then. The characters in a romance plot don't somehow miraculously know they're in a romance, they just know that they've encountered a [charming stranger] [mysterious rival] [new understanding of their childhood bestie] [any and all trope pairings that apply] and that, as they go about their day, Shit Happens. Compared to other genres it might be comparably low-stakes because nobody's in danger of getting stabbed (maybe, who knows, it could happen), but they don't posses foreknowledge of the events because they're not aware that this sequence of events is something like "A Duke for the Holidays" instead of "just another goddamned Tuesday".

We know.

We're supposed to know.

While part of me rails against an easy reliance on trope marketing, primarily when it supersedes any and all notions of telling me what the gods-damned book is about, as an audience we are, consciously or otherwise, aware of tropes and trends and patterns. We know, as the audience, that in a small-town romance film Miss New York Businesswoman Protagonist is going to break up with her boyfriend who never has time for her and shack up with the hunky father of two who works as a conservationist for a near-extinct, totally-not-made-up species of butterfly that only reproduces every six years under the light of a falling star, or something*. That's how the plot works.

Half the fun is figuring out how it happens.

Half the scare is figuring out how it happens, because horror, like romance, has a pretty defined end (though it isn't always death, but that's pretty clear from the beginning when that's the case).

I'm a spec-fic author. I'm working on a gothic sci-horror novel that, in its alpha stages, has scared the bejesus out of my reader to the point where she thinks the monster is going to appear in her house. She keeps feeling like she's being watched. We're 2/3 of the way through and she's paranoid to the point where she can't actually read the thing for long stretches of time even if she desperately wants to. I also write fantasy, and there are tropes and expectations that I rely on there, as well. But gods, I'm so tired of people (beyond the half-terror under a blanket "no, don't go in there!!!" response, without acknowledging that it must happen) not applying the same logic to horror protagonists as they do to those of other genres. They're not dumb.

Horror isn't dumb.

It's profoundly, utterly human in its terror.

And to the main point of the post: nothing Jonathan Sims (Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London) could have done would have averted the ending to his story. He's a brilliant mind cracking under strain, attempting to wrangle forces well beyond human comprehension that prey on his being a brilliant mind attempting to wrangle them. The Entities, on occasion, give him what he wants. He learns. He grows.

Until he becomes a monster himself.

There are so many versions of the story, littered with alternate choices and voltas and changes in patterns. "No" instead of "yes" that eventually becomes "yes", anyway, because it has to.

A big-city businesswoman, visiting her aging father for Christmas, walks into a coffee shop and runs headlong into her widowed highschool sweetheart after years away.

A gallant knight, stripped of his armour, raises a sword to protect the princess and slay the dragon.

A PI cracks a cold-case that's been haunting the local police for years after they stumble on new evidence, almost by accident.

Almost by a miracle.

A brave starship captain lays down their life to save an entire planet, millions of lives, because it is right, and at the last second is retrieved by advanced technology created by a society that cares.

Jonathan Sims does the best he can with the information he has, and he almost makes it out in the end.

Until he doesn't.

There is no other version of the story.

----

*I was being mostly facetious in this claim but a part of me actually really wants a low-stakes cozy romantasy in this setting. I can't write that type of stake to save my life (even my fanfiction has to have something life-threatening, so no butterflies for me) so if that prompt strikes your fancy, feel free to steal it and modify however needed. Just... let me know if you ever finish it.

JONATHAN ARCHIVIST IS NOT STUPID SQUAD I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU

[hoonieyun]

sleepover ⊹˚. ♡

a prank where you tell your boyfriend you no longer want to spend the night heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon genre: fluff, romance, drabble warnings: profanity, kissing, suggestive, 18+

hoonieyun notes: ive seen this as a tiktok trend for a while now and i just imagine how they'd react so i had to write it lol not proofread lol

heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ

"i dont feel like sleeping over anymore..." after those words left your mouth, heeseung was instantly off of his phone and looking at you with his big doe eyes.

"w- what?" he asks, eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to understand if he heard you correctly. "you don't wanna sleep over?? why.." he asks so softly and you couldn't help but feel bad. of course you wanted to sleep over but you just wanted to see how your boyfriend would react.

"i just wanna sleep in my bed." you say, trying not to break character, although it was hard not to when heeseung was looking at you so endearingly with his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

"bu-but you said you'd spend the weekend with me! we haven't seen each other in so long because we're working so much- what about we spend the night at yours instead if you want to sleep in your own bed?

i can pack my bags really quick, i promise. i'll be super fast- let me go do it right now so we can head out..." heeseung says. it was so cute to see him want to just spend the night with you, sleeping in his arms and having your warmth blend into one another.

heeseung was now getting up to go pack a weekend bag and just before his hands slip away from yours, your tightening your grip around his hands and pulling him back.

"im just kidding, babe. its just a prank on tiktok, of course i'm gonna sleepover." you say with a chuckle and heeseung rolls his eyes with a sigh of relief. his hand flying to his chest to console himself as you laugh at him.

suddenly he gently tackles you onto his bed, both arms wrapping around you into a warm embrace.

"it better just be a joke because no i'm never letting you leave me!" he says, placing several kisses on your cheek.

"good, i wouldn't want to be anywhere but in your arms anyway."

jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ

"babe, i think im gonna go home soon." you told jay as the two of you sat on his bed. you were scrolling on tiktok when you came across the prank while jay was playing his guitar. the beautiful melody filling his bedroom.

"did you forget something at home?" he asks, fingers still skillfully strumming the guitar as he asks his question. "no, i just wanna go home." you say, trying your best to stay serious so he doesn't notice you're trying to prank him.

suddenly, his strumming stops and the beautiful melodic sound of his guitar is gone- the room filled with awkward air.

"you wanna go home? but i thought you were spending the night?" he says, turning towards you after he's carefully set his guitar on the stand next to him on the floor.

"yeah but- i don't know... i just don't want to anymore." you explain without much explanation and he furrows his eyebrows at you with a pout on his lips.

"did i do something? are you feeling ok? you know you can tell me anything right? am i not paying enough attention to you? sorry, we can watch that movie you wanted to-" jay was now rambling as he tries to wrap his head around why you suddenly want to leave even though you promised you spend the night over at his place. '

"baby, i'm just joking, it's a tiktok prank!" you interrupt him with a laugh; his eyes drop into a narrow gaze and his pout intensifies.

"wow... fine go home then..." he says teasingly, turning around and crossing his arms.

"hey... i was just joking!!" you say, crawling over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck; placing a kiss on his cheek.

"you can't resist me... you love me too much." he says with a smile, placing a kiss onto your lips.

"you're right but you're the one who begged me to sleepover sooo..." you tease and he turns to look at you, mouth agape.

"hey!!" he says as your laughter fills his room.

jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ

"jake... i'm gonna go home, ok?" you say, getting up from his bed and pretending like you're going home. in an instant, jake's hand is grabbing yours and he's twirling you onto his lap. "you're going where??" he asks, pouting and staring intensely into yours eyes.

"h- home..?" your response wasn't meant to come out as a question but his gaze was so piercing that you couldn't fully focus on the prank that you were trying to pull on your boyfriend.

"what happened to the sleepover? we were supposed to binge a bunch of movies, eat snacks, and play mario kart?? remember that?" he says, trying to remind you why you were there in the first place and although you didn't forget, for the sake of the prank you had to play along.

"yeah... well i don't really wanna do that anymore." you say, looking away from his eyes and onto your lap where you fiddled with your fingers.

"baby, look at me-" jake says, gently grabbing your chin to make your eyes meet again. "did something happen? did i do something?" he asks so lovingly that you couldn't continue pranking him any longer.

"ok, sorry! it was a prank i saw on tiktok, but you're too sweet to prank- i feel bad." you say while your hands gently cup his face as you pepper kisses all over.

"thank god, i thought you were suddenly mad at me." he says, relieved that you weren't leaving and that you weren't upset.

"so you're staying?" he asks and you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck to which jake respond by picking you up bridal style and standing up onto his feet.

"splendid! now we will commence movie night, princess what movie shall we begin with?" he asks and his cute actions make you laugh.

"my prince, might i suggest 50 first dates?" you say, playing along with his sillyness.

"splendid choice my love. onward to the living room!" he says as he carefully runs the two of you to his living room with layla in toe; barking in excitement at the random surge of energy between the two of you.

jake carefully places you onto his couch as you set up the movie while he puts together the snacks.

"i'm glad you weren't actually leaving..." he whispers to you during the movie. "i'd never leave, even if i forgot you like in this movie- i'd find a way to remember and come back to you... always." you respond, placing a kiss onto his lips.

sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ

"babe, i'm gonna head out in a bit." you tell sunghoon in such a chill manner that he almost doesn't fully process what you said. he almost just nods and hums in response until his head snaps upwards from his phone and he turns to you with a head tilt.

"wait, where are you going? it's like 2am." he asks and you tell him that you wanted to go home despite telling him prior that you would sleepover because you missed him so much to which he responded with a wide smile and said how much he missed you too.

"home?? what happened to missing me so much you wanted to sleep over? do you not miss me anymore..." he asks, voice low as he tries his best to not show that he was clearly sad you wanted to leave.

"i do miss you... but i also miss my bed." you say and he looks at you like you're crazy.

"your bed... over me?? you're hot and loving boyfriend??" he asks, now he's sitting right next to you, face hovering over yours with both his hands trapping you between them.

"uh- well.." you try to respond but you couldn't muster up any response as you stared at him. he just looked so handsome that you lost your train of thought as broken sentences and stutters left your lips.

"if you miss you bed so much why don't you just move in?" sunghoon suddenly says and this catches you off guard. your eyes widen at his statement and although you've been dating for a little over a year now, neither of you have brought up the idea of moving in together.

"re- really??" your question coming out as a whisper.

sunghoon nods and tells you that it's probably better that way anyways since your job was closer to his place and his rent was more affordable than yours.

"um.. okay!" you say and sunghoon smiles at your response, placing a kiss on your lips. "perfect, i'll help you break your lease tomorrow and we can start planning your move right away!" he says eagerly, pulling out his laptop to start planning out your move.

you're left laying next to him a bit dumbfounded as your prank took an unexpected turn. "y'know this was supposed to be a prank..." you confess and he once again looks at you with a head tilt, "prank?" he asks.

"yeah, i was supposed to act like i didn't want to sleep over anymore to see your reaction..." you explain and he closes his eyes with a chuckle.

"well, good thing you decided to do that because now you're with me forever!" he says teasingly while sticking his tongue out at you. "plus, i've been wanting to ask you to move in for awhile, i just never knew when to do it." sunghoon says in a warm tone and your heart melts at him.

"i'm glad to be moving in, that way i'll never have to leave again." you say while snuggling closer to him so you could both work on planning your move together, wrapping your arms around his bicep while resting your head on his shoulder. a position that you could get used to.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ GUYS MY AGE don't . . . ” :

﹙ various older men x fem reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various older men x fem reader !! 🍒 : 

older men just do it better. whether it be how they take care of you - treat you - touch you. . . how could a guy your age ever compare? why be a 'babe' when you could be a darling?

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ age gap ( reader is obv over 20 ! ) ˖ fingering ˖ penetrative sex ˖ thigh riding ˖ groping ˖ also just a lot of fluff and affection n spoiling  | wc : 2.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: I've been wanting to do this for a while. to all the girls with daddy issues - this one's for you 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

𖹭. GUYS MY AGE ───

﹙ Jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . don’t know how to treat me !! 🍒 : Spoiling has always been one of Jìngyí’s strong suites. Whether that be café and dinner dates, showers of gifts and endless shopping sprees.

‘You’re spending too much on me!’ you vehemently complain.

‘Well someone has to use my money,’ he counters diligently.

The latter is where you find yourself. Sleek, ebony vicuña weaved into a stunning dress with silk that caresses your skin and whispers the hundreds and thousands of credits your beloved is so ready to put on his bank statement. All to see you dolled up for him.

With shifts in front of the changing room mirror, you suck in a breath at the stare of amber from the reflection. You spin around to greet his sophisticated, seated stance not too far away. His heavy stare worships you from top to bottom. Every curve, every cling of fabric. “Do you like it?” The deep croon takes on the sensation of his hands you can already feel tracing along your hips and thighs.

“Well. . . it is a bit pricey.”

The click of his tongue finds your right ear before you can so much as blink. “Not what I asked, sweetheart.” Cold fingers separate the slit of vicuña at your thigh and remind themselves of your wonderful skin. Much like icy lips that reminisce along the path of your neck.

The mirror strings your gazes once again. You suck in a breath when those familiar chills stroke along the inner corners of your panties. On instinct you urge to look, but the flex of firm fingers on your flesh keeps your eyes on his.

“I asked: if you like it, darling?”

Cotton underwear submits itself to the pull and slither of his fingers. They search for wetness rather than fabric — and once treasure is found they stroke in delight. Spilling hushed breaths from your lips to fog the reflective glass.

“I. . . w-well I - Jìngyí.” His thumb presses for answers at your throbbing clit, that weeps along with your slit for your answer to the sensual interrogation. Not that he would halt even with your breathy - “yes gēgē. . .”

He muses with a kiss to your jaw. Your wet pussy quickly becomes the centre of his attention, other than the pinch of your nipple between his free hand. Since you wish to be so stubborn and stiff with his spoils, he will simply have to ease you.

“Then it’s yours, sweet thing.” The obvious bulge flushes into your ass. A small greeting for what’s to come. The grind into your plush flesh reminds you of the shame he lacks. If his fingers already pumping at your poor cunny were not enough of a prompter.

Jìngyí’s drawl hums into your ear. The sweetest nectar a serpent could muster. Through slitted pupils and the sharpness of fangs peeking from his grin. “And since it is yours; why not break it in, hmm?”

His fingers plunge to the knuckle and he groans out at your hiccupping cry and spewing pussy.

꒰  mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ villain character ꒱

 

﹙ Alessio 1311. ﹚. . . don’t know how to touch me !! 🍓 : To grow accustomed to Alessio’s physical affection was to grow accustomed to air leaving your lungs. A fruitless endeavor. Whether it be his squeezes of adoration. Or the way he needed to rest his hands on your hips, thighs, waist and shoulders - as though his palms would surely burn if he did not. And his kisses. Oh his kisses. He may be a felon, but his lips are the true criminals. Devils eager to steal the very essence of your life. Vampiric.

All of these combined only seemed to heighten to the heavens with time apart. He’s a busy man, and you are far from different. So when you stumble through the doors of his late-afternoon apartment. Best believe he’s upon you like a bee to honey.

Yet instead of stings, his hands are sweet on your sides. To the caresses on your neck. The sap of his kisses were evident with the way his lips seemed to remain glued to yours. Heavy to pull away. Let alone breathe.

“Alessio,” you whine. Two rough thumbs apologise in rubs to your cheekbones. But the trails of saliva joining your mouths drips with guiltlessness. His chuckle joins the mix of empty remorse.

“That’s my name, hermosa.”

He’s on you again. Are you aphrodisiac itself? His mouth cannot get enough of you. Nor his hands that back you into the marble countertop and bathe your body in the setting sun poured from vast windows. They clamp on your waist and squeeze his fingers to delight in the flesh.

Your hands join the profession of need, with arms that hook round his neck with playful fingers finding the back of his black hair. It’s only right with the way his hands roam you in search of who-knows-what. Or perhaps there is nothing to be found. Only the essence of your sweet skin beneath his callouses and the shivers it strikes down his spine.

His lips take the carnal trail too. They travel along your neck and find their perch on the corner of junction of your jaw. Sucks and nips induce squirms — and he is left with no other option than fix his grip on your hips.

“Come now, pretty girl.” Alessio’s groan rumbles against your throat almost drunkenly suckles and kisses upon. Like a signal, his palms flatten against the sides of your thighs. Then slip back to catch the cushiony flesh and roughly squeeze. One even delivers a spank to your ass for good measure before he’s yanking you flush against him.

His height topples over you. Dark strands tickle your face as his lips remember yours and race home for round two - or three - maybe four? You cannot keep count when his black lipstick smears you breathless.

“Show me you love me.”

He punctuates with a jerk of his hips. His hard tent drags along your clothed folds so perfectly that you have to grapple for steadiness on his broad shoulders. A skillful tongue eagerly drinks to intoxication on your whines.

And oh - what a greedy man he is. With a hand shoving the back of your head closer; so that you have no other option than to breathe him in as air. Than to cling to him like a lifeline.

As stated. To get used to his touch is to grow accustomed to suffocation itself.

꒰  rockstar ˖ mercenary ˖ punk character ꒱

 

﹙ Orion. ﹚. . . don’t know how to please me !! 🍒 : “What do you mean, that your previous has never tasted you?”

What a poetic way to express his surprise the first time his head swam between your legs. Lust darker than the Abyss had cleared for the shine of shock at your words that day. It appeared the right hand of Lord Darkness could simply not fathom that your former lover refused to worship you in this way.

Ever since, Orion made it his life’s mission to set the stars on your vision whenever he went down on you. Regardless of how many times he’s tasted your sweetness. How many times he’s gorged and drunk on your ambrosia.

He’d never get tired of the flex of your muscles squishing his face your tight leg-lock. The fist of your fingers through his hair black as night. Not to mention the flutter and roll of your eyes, the weight of fat tears on your lashes.

Much was evident tonight after his hours of patrol through the city of shadows. No difference in the caress of his delicate, large hands along your perked breasts. The tickle of his tongue on your thigh. Nor the eagerness to lift your leg over his shoulder.

An angel of his stature, an Admiral of the Abyss, down on his knees for your divine pussy. As though you were his god. You certainly are in his eyes.

“Cannot believe,” he pants into your wetness, taking a moment to gulp down your juices. Still, some poured down his chin and throat. “That fool. . . let this go to waste. Sightless.”

Sightless, quite the way to describe your current state too. With your head draped back into the cushions of the seating. Eyes tittered the line of blindness with the white that invades your vision. Much like his relentless tongue lapping away at your wetness.

“Soooo wet. . . such a pretty pussy you have here for me, yes, love?” Another gulp. To compensate for the lack of stimulation, you receive a tight spank to your spurting cunt. Your sob raises to a slew of hiccups and cries of his name when he dives back in. As though mere seconds away from your heat is a sin of the highest accord.

“O-Orr - Orriii - i-on - p-plea - hic -”

Dark wings envelope your shivering form while his arms lock around your thighs. His lower face needily grinds into your pussy. Eager for another squeeze of your cum and slew of cries. The bridge of his nose certainly takes the memo seriously - as always - and roughly rubs into your quivered clit.

“Thaaattt’s my girl. Mhhm - hah - feel that?” He slurs into your heat. Drooling just as much as your oversensitive pink flesh. “’s is how you should - mngh - should be treated. Buck, sweetheart.”

What more can you do but obey with rushed jerks into his face as your tummy coils? As you stutter his name to the divine and squirt all over his face with fingers squeezing his dark hair through the gaps.

It’s not as though he will stop any time soon. Not when he’s drunk on your cum and eager to prove that this should be the standard. Laid back with a man feasting between your legs — just as you deserve.

꒰  abyssal angel ˖ dragon character ꒱

 

﹙ Rasui 9948e. ﹚. . . don’t know how to read me !! 🍓 : Quiet men have a certain observation to them. You have learnt such in your relationship with a certain fire elemental. The retract of his his tongue is exchange for keen skills in reading each and every one of your signs.

Or perhaps it is simply him. A man his age surely is aware of all the signs and symptoms of the female body and mind to the t. It doesn’t surprise you any less every time he so effortlessly points out your needs. The craving of your essence that even you at times do not realise.

Today was not the case. You knew well what you wanted. Needed. Your skin missed his flame. His warmth a lathered memory on your flesh. The throbs between your thighs call his name — and yet you don’t so much as peep.

Rasui is a busy man. You should be grateful that you’re even allowed in his office when he’s got that much paperwork on his desk. At least, that’s what you’ve convinced the depths of your eager mind.

Every low hum he sounds when observing a document, the hushed mutter that deepens his already baritone voice; it thrums through your very being. So you squeeze your thighs in failed attempts of alleviating some on the unbearable tension.

He’s glanced at you a few times. Whenever you’d shift in the seat to ‘readjust’ your dress and urge it further down your thighs. A fault on your behalf. Wearing a dress around him after waking up that needy. . . you were hungry for problems.

Greedy for a bit more than that it seems. Your cunt’s insatiable to the thought of his thick cock parting your walls. Or his fingers. His hot tongue —

You force your lower face into your palm and press further into your book. Gorge your eyes on meaningless words you have forgotten how to read. What’s comprehension when the thought of him rearranging your insides tastes sweeter to the mind?

His mere presence is enough to leave you wanting. What have you become? A depraved whore? You feel like one.

“Habibti.”

The only thing better than the filthy imageries plaguing your mind like a sinful broken record. His voice. You will your gaze to him and hone every fibre of your body to attempt normality. Topped off with a tight-lipped smile and flex of your thighs beneath the cotton of your dress. “Hmm?”

The pat of his thigh is the only response you get. Oh no. There goes your manners. “Come. Treat yourself.”

You don’t know whether to cry tears of embarrassment or relief. It doesn’t stop your muscles from pulling and legs to shuffle over to your boyfriend. Straddle over his thigh and flush your heat onto his pants-clad thigh with a breathy gasp.

“- ‘m sorry.”

“None of that.”

Eyes dancing with flames and desire cast you affection. Poured out next onto your cheek as he thumbs the skin. Then a pat to your thigh after he rids the hem of the dress to bunch higher. “Don’t apologise for needing me. Take what you need.”

That long awaited sensation of warmth encases your thigh. An idle rest and motivator while his free hand scripts across his document. As if you are not getting off on him with small rocks of your hips and stuttered breaths.

“Th-Thank. . . Thank you.”

“Of course.” His lips meet yours for a moment. In tender pecks to match the aid of his grip to your grind. To kiss on your soft moans and drink them like honey. “Anything for his sweet girl.”

꒰  fire elemental ˖ mercenary leader ꒱

 

﹙ Vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . don’t know how to need me !! 🍒 : At times you wonder if you should have thought twice before falling for a Lieutenant. One of special ops especially. His side of the bed felt like arctic whenever you’d roll on over in search for him in the middle of the night. The phantom of strong arms haunts your skin. From the time the moon rises till sun takes its place.

A repetitive cycle. For days. Weeks. Until your very flesh calls for him. Your heart and soul join the choir of pining. Deployment was an evil, cruel thing.

It mattered not how often he’d communicate. Nothing compared to having his deep voice drawled right beside your ears. Large, warm hands flat on your waist, to your hips and then their squeezing destination at your thighs.

Tonight is different. The strings of your heart play a chord of joy. You watch the windows. Wait the door. Each creak of the floorboards. Every pair of footsteps out of the house.

For a moment, you lost hope at the mockery of the clock’s arms stretched wide across its face. Sink into your slump of loneliness, now missing his touch more than ever.

You’d forget about them the second the lock turned. His arms are all you know once his black boots hit the threshold and your senses flood with the scent of sandalwood. His lips grow hungry and reach for yours — you catch on instinct with his hushed groans and stumbles into you.

The both of you forget his height. Vespasiano’s height staggers over you and pushes you back into the house with his foot carelessly shutting the door. A fumbling waltz through the foyer to the nearest wall. His hands reach - and caress - and grab. Whatever they possible can at your long-awaited body and heat.

“Amore mio. Dio. . . missed you s’fucking much.”

Forget the wall. He needs you up and personal with his skin. Merged into one if he could help it. His palms greet the back of your thighs and remind them of his strength. Effortlessly, he hooks you closer like a lasso and lifts you. Hips reuniting too. Lips familiarising your neck and leaving behind a hundred apologies.

“V-Vesp. . . oh Vespasiano,”

Your hands thread to his hair and grip at his greys in a desperate attempt to keep him right there. Swimming between your thighs and scouring your body with hands and lips in search of who-knows-what treasures.

His deep groan vibrates the front of your throat and he plops you over the nearest piece of furniture. Lips meet yours again. It’s treason to leave them for longer than a minute. His hands abandon their perimeter mission to instead cup at your face and rub calloused thumbs on cheekbones.

“Missed that the most, dolcezza. Missed my name on your tongue.” Muffles to your mouth — ain’t no way is he leaving any time soon. Not when he has to reward your tongue with his after those sweet sounds. His hands return to their worship and once more, you fear his height will topple over you completely. The only thing stopping him from collapsing into your very being is the tightness of your legs round his waist.

“C’mon,” he huffs down your neck. Kisses to your collarbone and hands slipped beneath your shirt, up your sides as his dull green eyes peer into yours. On the verge of heart-shaped pupils and a haze of clear ache for you.

“Move those hips. Show me you love me.”

꒰  lieutenant ˖ vampire ˖ dilf character ꒱

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

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[sooyaumvm]

interruption — summary. 'being interrupted during a intimate moment wasn't on your bingo'

characters ;; Octotrio tags ;; reader is gender neutral(lipstick is mentioned on azul's part), reader is yuu, a lil teasing, romantic/fluff

Azul Ashengrotto was a refined man

that's what he likes to think at least, he has created a great reputation for himself, he had the awesome Moutro lounge and even had his incredible contracts to offer though the position he is in right now does not match his cultured persona, in this moment he finds himself sitting on his office chair having his face smudged and marked by your new lipstick, the one he bought for you actually "Dearest I think that's enough-" you frown at his words "it's not enough, I'll know when it's enough" Azul sighs but allows you to continue on your small task that until he hears a knock on his door his eyes widen at the realization someone was at the door and he wouldn't be able to fix himself before they enter the room when you let go of his face and turn to look at the door you hear a laugh, one you learned to recognize too well by now Floyd is stading there and ready to talk when his brother interrupt him "Looks like we will have to come back later, my apologies" you can sense how Jade was holding back his own laughs while pulling his brother and the poor student they brought out of Azul's office, instantly when the door closes you feel your boyfriend melting under you "Let's remember to lock the door next time, please"

Jade Leech was a man who prouded himself

He believed he had mastered the art of observation. Initially, understanding the landman's customs was challenging, but he prided himself on his adaptability. As a curious person, his interest in you was expected, but falling for you was unexpected. Nonetheless, here we are — while you were working a shift at Mounstro Lounge, you needed money, and Azul would never refuse a new employee anyway. You've been dating Jade for a while now, and on a little break between attending orders and fetching the food, you ended up here, sitting on the counter and making out with him. You had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his own hands were on your waist. Your hands slowly got higher, reaching his hair and tugging it a bit. You could feel him smirking on your mouth; you don't know when he became such a good kisser until "OH- I'M- I- I WAS- I'M SO SORRY!" You abruptly let go of Jade and looked behind him. An Octavinelle student was standing there, all flustered from what he had encountered. He stormed outside of the kitchen without further warning. Jade looked at you and chuckled, "It looks like we got him a little show." The way Jade says that made you scoff before getting off the counter and going back to what you were doing before being attacked by him. "You're just going to leave me like that?" Jade says in a sad, mocking way, but with his usual smile on his face. "Yes, I will," you say before leaving

Floyd Leech was a menace

Everyone knew that, so when you first started dating him, everyone thought two things: 1. You were crazy or 2. He was threatening you. But in reality, it wasn't either of them; you just loved him. So that's why right now you're taking advantage of the time alone you two have without Grim to pick a fight with him to just enjoy your time with him. You were kissing him normally when you felt him smirk on your neck, which is not a great sign. "My turn now," he said with a grin that showed his sharp teeth. He suddenly switched positions, having you laying on the used couch of Ramshackle. He kissed you before going for your neck; he kissed you before affectionately biting you, making you gasp from surprise. But that gasp rapidly turned into a laugh when he continued to kiss and carefully bite you. When he was about to bite your collarbone, you heard a "OH!" You fastly pushed your boyfriend from on top of you to be greeted by Ace's shocked face and Deuce's flustered self. "Wow there, prefect, didn't know you had that on you," Ace said with a smirk. "Ne, Crabby, why don't you come back later? I was kind of busy here," your boyfriend said with his eerie smile. "Uh—we—I—he," Deuce stuttered. "I wanted to see my henchman! you get me?" Grim said with his fake confidence Floyd's grin widened. "I think that's enough, okay? Come here, Grim," you say, patting your side. "Thank you for bringing him, you two," you say to the duo at the door. Ace whistled. "No problem, prefect, just warn us when you're making out with your scary boyfriend," Floyd looks at him with a smirk. "Or maybe you can learn to knock?" you say to him with a smile.

im really sorry if this is not great, i think its so hard to write Floyd and Jade and its so easy to mischaracterizate them 😵‍💫

[momo-minomo]

Batfam Cooking/Eating Habits

I know that the fandom has, for some reason, settled on the idea that Alfred and Jason are the only Waynes that can cook and the rest are health disasters but honestly the comics doesn't really support that (with the exception of Bruce and maybe Cass lol) and I have serious doubts that Alfred would let ANY of his kids go through life without basic life skills. So based on comics and my own thoughts and feelings, here's how I figure everyone's kitchen skills would be.

Bruce: He follows a VERY strict diet to maintain his peak physical condition but will break it for special occasions or feeding his kids takeout on patrol. As for cooking, for the most part Bruce is an utter disaster in the kitchen. He's had Alfred by his side his entire life so most of the time his attempts at cooking went extremely badly, even if it was something as simple as a damn sandwich as Tim can attest to here:

After Alfred's death he does eventually learns to make a few specific, simple things really well like the omelette he made for Clark here. As you can see, though, he's still pretty helpless in the kitchen with anything beyond the very basics, even dishwashers lol

Dick: Our flippiest boy is not the hopeless cereal-addicted kitchen disaster that fandom assumes he is. In fact, Tim was surprised at how good Dick is with all the "domestic skills" like cleaning, laundry, and cooking. Dick has cooked multiple times in the comics, especially for dates or Tim. He is constantly trying to feed his baby brother in general so he's cooked him pasta and soup for sure and just showed up with takeout or donuts a bunch.

Jason: I love the headcanon that Jason is a foodie and a really good cook even though I admit there's not much evidence for it in the comics. No evidence against it, either. Jason definitely loves to eat good food and doesn't bother with a strict diet like Batman and he loves a good burger. Considering his past, though, I think it's very in character that he'd learn to cook really well from Alfred so he's always self-sufficient. Since I don't have any comic snapshots of him cooking, here's Jason's eternal love for burgers instead!

Tim: His relationship with food seems kind of complicated to me. Tim on his own will eat super healthy so he remains in top shape for the job. What we see him eating, though, are things like plain salads, kale chips, and scrambled egg whites. Considering his extremely active life he should be eating more protein and larger portions but he often leaves them unfinished. As a young Robin it didn't seem like he got fed much at home, either, since you see Dick trying to feed him at every opportunity and he was always hungry if Alfred or Dick offered to cook or buy food for him.

When Tim is with other people, the YJ crew, his friends, Dick, Spoiler, etc he's far more willing to eat. Dick pulls out donuts and Tim is rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Dick brought a thermos of soup on patrol for himself but immediately hands it to Tim when he shows up and Tim downs it. So my HC is that Tim will eat as a necessity but doesn't really like to do it by himself. He's a social eater. He'll spend an entire afternoon eating a boring but healthy meal because he has to but if a friend or sibling show up he'll happily eat a full meal with them and even junk food.

As for Tim and cooking, we actually know he can and is pretty good at it! In comics he's cooked with Dick, learned to make chicken soup with his stepmom Dana when Steph was sick. We also see in the comics that Tim has prepared a full breakfast spread for when Jason shows up to a pre-arranged meeting to ask for information. Jason asks if the waffles are Alfred's recipe (apparently Alfred's one culinary sin is paste-like waffles lol) and is happy to sit down and munch when Tim assures him they aren't. He's also made pancakes for Steph and the family after patrol, a father's day dinner for Bruce, and a cake for Bernard! So Tim is a really good cook that doesn't really bother for just himself much. He prefers to go all out cooking for other people.

Cass: I don't know as much about Cass as I do the others (I need to read her stuff soon!) but I know she has terrible table manners and likes to sneak into her siblings and close friends apartments to eat their food, use their showers, and sleep. She has her own place, but she much prefers the homes and food of her loved ones. She also apparently didn't even blink at Alfred breaking into her home to stock her shelves with food, do laundry, and clean lol. With this I figure Cass doesn't really cook at all and just does take out, easy to eat meals that can be eaten cold or microwaved, and mooching off her loved ones' cooking and pantries!

[fun-k-boards]

It definitely feels like the threatened rape of Penelope is treated far more seriously than the actual rape of Odysseus that was ongoing for seven entire years. Which, please don't get me wrong, threatening and planning to rape anybody is absolutely disgusting and should be treated seriously, but my issue with how Jorge wrote it was that Odysseus actually getting raped is completely... Ignored. And, when Calypso does threaten to rape Odysseus, it's in a cheery song where the animation is bright and colourful, there's no hint of seriousness in the scene presented. When he's on the cliff, the serious part of the song, we don't even get a mention of what she's done to him at all.

He's our main character, we should know what's happened to him, we should be able to sympathise and understand his situation, but what's happened instead is people denying what's happened entirely because it's just not taken seriously (In my opinion). I do understand being in a bad place, but it feels weird to me that he wouldn't take a break to work on it and get a better end product, or hire a sensitivity writer.

And about the music, sure! I'd love to see a post about it, make sure to tag me if you can remember. I tend to forget to check posts until days after, forgetfulness and all that.

Actually insane how people defend Calypso like regardless of if she did force herself on Odysseus physically in Epic*, she still forces herself on him emotionally. She's constantly ignoring boundaries, for seven years she had abused him, but because she was, what, lonely it makes her in the right?? No?? Being in love with someone, with anyone, does not entitle you to their reciprocation at all. Even if you are in a committed relationship, no always has and will forever mean no. He explicitly denies consent to her 'affections' throughout the song.

She is an abuser even if she isn't a rapist.

*the song 'Love In Paradise' does hint that she forces herself on him physically due to the 'soon into bed we'll climb' line, even if she didn't rape him, she does essentially make or it's hinted that she makes him sleep with her every single night for like seven years. Which regardless I would consider sexual abuse as she clearly has feelings for him and wouldn't want him in her bed if it wasn't for said feelings.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[muntitled]

I have to say, your entire salesman series was perfect. It helped me get distracted from the immense amount of anxiety I've been feeling these days, and it was so good I started it when I arrived to work and didn't stop until I read all of them. I just re-read it and I have so many favorite parts but I just want to say that the pet names, when you mention his gray hair, when he waits for her outside her campus, god, the entire chapters of protecting his investment, indebted and forced fed made me giggle and kick my feet. I have so many ss of lines I've loved, and the sensation of his firm and well developed character breaking when he was jealous and didn't want her to work! I LOVED IT!!!!

Also, I'll be honest, I wanted to call him daddy the second you mentioned he went to pick her up while wearing his suit and holding his briefcase, the image inside my head was just so fucking perfect! When reader said dad and he came, I almost died because I wanted to call him daddy so much the entire time!!!

[here are some of my favorite parts, I wish I could put more because you wrote so many good scenes I could spend a whole post saying why I liked them but it's probably a bit too much haha]

Im literally floored by this comment.

Ive needed this.

You're helping me as a writer, I hope you know that. So many times I read comments like 'this was so good' and thats so kind but I don't even really know what was good about that specific part or how to build on that and make it BETTER

It seems that it's the psychopathy coupled with the fatherly + older man qualities that people seem to like so I'll expand more on that!

I always think nicknames in fiction can be sooooooo fucking cringe and I tried as best as I could to not make him sound weird, or the nicknames too so I'm so gladdd

Knowing the exact lines and paragraphs that made your tummy flip genuinely helps me and I'll be using this as a study guide I hope you know.

Ugh. Thank you doesnt begin to cover it

[szariahwroteit]

Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Original Character Erotic Series

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 7

Jude didn't feel anger towards Tori for getting flowers from Alex; rather, his pride had taken a hit, and it was enough to cast a shadow over his mood.

Their final day in Dubai before they were set to head back to Madrid was somewhat awkward for both of them.

The private jet they were in was silent, barring the low hum of the plane's engine as they soared through the sky. Despite the plushness and luxury of the private aircraft, Tori felt like she was suffocating in Jude's silence.

“Jude, do you… do you resent me for this?" she asked, breaking the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Jude glanced over at her, surprised by the question. He could see the uncertainty etched on her face, and it tugged at something deep inside him. "Resent you? No, it’s not like that," he replied, trying to keep his tone steady. 

"Then what is it?" she pressed, her eyes searching his. "Because things have been awkward between us since I found the flowers from Alex in my room."

Jude shifted uncomfortably in his plush leather seat, avoiding her penetrating gaze. The last thing he wanted was to let her see how much the whole situation had gotten under his skin. He turned his focus out the oval window, watching the endless clouds drift by, hoping to find the words to ease the tension coiling between them.

“It’s just... complicated,” he finally said, glancing back at her. “I thought we were in a good place, Tori. Then I see those flowers—”

“Jude, I didn’t ask for them. You know that, right?” she interrupted, her voice still soft but edged with desperation.

“I know,” he said, leaning back and running a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s just… it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. And I hate that it does.” He could hear the frustration in his voice, even as he tried to suppress it. 

Tori blinked back the emotions that threatened to spill over. “You’re worried about Alex? About what he thinks?”

“No, not him,” Jude said, shaking his head. “It’s more about us. I’ve been thinking about what we have, and how it could change. I don’t want anyone else intruding. I don't want any other man near you,” 

For a moment, both of them sat in silence, the plane's hum filling the space between them. 

Tori's heart raced at his words, a mix of surprise and elation coursing through her. The tension in the air shifted, charging the space with a palpable energy that made her skin tingle. “You’re jealous,” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking upward almost involuntarily.

Jude shot her a sceptical glance, his brow furrowing. “It’s not that simple.” 

“Isn’t it?” she challenged, leaning forward, the distance between them shrinking. “You care about me. You don’t like the idea of me being with someone else.” 

“What did you expect?” he replied, his voice dropping an octave, thick with possessiveness. “Him sending you those flowers felt like he was trying to taunt me in a way.”

“If that is the case, Jude, you're letting him win by being in this mood. I'm here with you, I don't know Alex and I don't care to. I'm where I want to be, isn't that enough?” she asked. 

Jude's gaze locked onto hers, a swirling mix of emotions churning in his chest. The intensity of her words struck a chord deep within him, but his pride wrestled with his desire to fully let her in. “It's not that simple,” he repeated, though his voice trembled slightly, betraying his inner turmoil. 

Tori sighed, leaning even closer, her heart aching at the vulnerability she sensed in him. “Then help me understand. You’re here, I’m here, and I want you. Can’t you see that? Those flowers don’t change anything between us.”

Jude’s jaw tightened as he processed her words. “It’s just... everything feels so precarious. One moment, I think we’re solid, and then—” 

“And then someone sends me flowers,” she interjected, a hint of impatience flaring in her voice. “But Jude, flowers don’t mean anything if I don’t feel anything. You have to know that by now.”

The sincerity in her eyes ignited a flicker of hope within him, sparking something he had feared to acknowledge. “But I do care,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And the thought of losing what we have scares me.”

Tori reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand, warmth spreading where they connected. “You won’t lose me unless you push me away. I’m not going anywhere until you push me away. So don’t. Please.”

Jude felt the breath hitch in his throat as he absorbed her words. The distance that had felt so vast moments ago began to close, the electricity between them crackling with urgency. “I don’t want to push you away, Tori.”

“Then don't,” she whispered, her eyes searching his for a sign of reassurance. “Tell me what you want.” 

He hesitated, the weight of his pride battling against the desire to pull her into his arms. “I want you, Tori.” 

“You have me,” she murmured. There was no clear direction in where the situation was heading, nor had they wholly discussed their wants and needs, but she was undoubtedly his—a notion that scared her and made her feel alive all at once.

The hum of the plane faded into the background as Tori’s words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Jude’s heart raced, his mind racing through the possibilities of what it meant to truly let her in. The fear of vulnerability mingled with the thrill of desire, creating a tumultuous storm within him.

“Then let’s stop dancing around this,” he said, his voice steadier now, laced with determination. “I want to be more than just a passing thought in your mind. I want you to choose me.”

Tori’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of hope and disbelief swirling in her chest. “As long as you choose me.”

Jude nodded, the weight of her words settling over him. “I’m in, Tori. I want to be the one you think of, the man who makes you smile, the one who gets to hold you.”

Tori felt her heart swell at his sincerity, a smile breaking through the tension that had hung between them as she felt her cheeks flush with warmth. “I’d like that.”

He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. The simple act felt monumental, a bridge towards something more. 

By the time they landed in Madrid, the city was shrouded in the darkness of the chilly winter night. 

The tension that had once stood between Jude and Tori began to morph into something more lustful, a simmering desire that ignited a connection neither of them could ignore. The emotional chasm that had kept them apart gradually closed, replaced by a magnetic force drawing them irresistibly closer, as if they were two celestial bodies orbiting each other in a dance of intimacy and longing.

The moment Jude entered Tori's apartment, he felt an irresistible urge to touch her. He placed soft kisses along the curve of her neck while staying right behind her, his hands resting firmly on her hips.

Tori leaned back into him, her breath hitching as the warmth of his body enveloped her. The softness of his lips against her skin sent a rush of electricity coursing through her veins, igniting a fire she had kept hidden beneath layers of uncertainty.

“Jude,” she murmured, turning her head to catch his gaze. There was a spark of something more profound in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored her own. 

“Do you trust me?” he whispered, his voice thick with desire as he pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the dim light of the apartment.

Tori’s heart raced as she felt the weight of his words settle in her chest. “Yes,” she responded, her voice steady yet laced with vulnerability. “I trust you, Jude.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the world outside faded away. It was just the two of them—caught in a moment that felt both electrifying and fragile. “Say it again,” he rasped. 

“I trust you,” Tori repeated, her voice stronger this time, filled with conviction. The intensity in Jude's eyes deepened as he absorbed her words, and the air between them thickened with unspoken promises.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dripping with lust, a slow smile breaking across his lips. “Now go to your bedroom remove your clothes and meet me back in here.”

Tori’s pulse quickened at his commanding tone, a thrilling mixture of anticipation and nervousness flooding her system. The way he looked at her—eyes darkened with desire—made the rest of the world vanish. She nodded, though words eluded her.

With deliberate slowness, she walked away from him, each step a dance of temptation, allowing the moment to hang between them like the silken threads of an intricate web. The distance of the living area began to feel electric, and as she reached the threshold of her bedroom, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Jude hadn’t moved; he watched her, an intense fire smouldering in his gaze that left no doubt about his intentions.

Once inside her room, she closed the door, her heart racing as she contemplated her next moves. The dim light accentuated the contours of her body, and she could hear the quiet thrum of her pulse in her ears. With trembling fingers, she began shedding her clothes, each piece a reminder of her vulnerability but also her strength.

As the final article fell to the floor, she stood in front of the mirror, catching her reflection. Her skin glowed, and her breath was ragged. This was a choice—a choice to let Jude in, to embrace the connection they had forged amid tension and uncertainty.

Taking another breath, Tori stepped out of the bedroom, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration flooding her as she entered the living room. Jude sat waiting on a dining chair that he'd placed in front of the floor-length mirror on the far side of the room; his gaze swept over her through the mirror's reflection with an intensity that made her feel both exposed and cherished.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice raspy with need. “You’re so beautiful.”

Tori felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks at his words, the way he looked at her igniting something deep within her. His desire was palpable, wrapping around her like a heatwave, and she revelled in it.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked her voice barely a whisper, a part of her still grappling with the sudden shift from uncertainty to this undeniable electric connection.

“Absolutely,” Jude said, his gaze unwavering as he leaned back in the chair, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his lips. “And tonight I want to show you just how beautiful you are.”

Bolstered by his encouragement, Tori took a tentative step closer, her heart pounding in rhythm with the boldness that had settled in her chest. She loved the way Jude looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered at that moment.

Jude leaned back in the chair, his eyes drinking in the sight of Tori's naked form as she stepped closer. The dim lighting caressed her curves, accentuating the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist. "You're stunning," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I want to worship every inch of you."

Tori's skin tingled under his gaze, a flush of warmth spreading through her body. The intensity in his eyes made her feel both exposed and cherished, a heady mix of emotions that left her breathless. She took another step forward, the space between them shrinking, until she stood just a few inches away from him.

Jude reached out, his fingers grazing along the curve of her hip, the touch electric against her skin. "Turn around," he instructed, his voice low and commanding. "I want to see all of you."

Tori obeyed, her pulse quickening as she rotated to face the mirror. She watched as Jude's reflection appeared behind her, his hands settling on her hips, his touch firm and possessive.

“First I'm going to make you cum with my mouth,” he drawled into her ear. “I want you to watch the way your body reacts to me, it's one of my favourite things.”

Tori's breath hitched at Jude's words, a shiver of anticipation running down her spine. She watched in the mirror as his hands slid from her hips, trailing over the curve of her waist and up to cup her breasts. His touch was electric, igniting a fire beneath her skin. Tori's knees went weak at his filthy words, her core clenching with need. She arched into his touch, craving more of the delectable friction. "Please, Jude," she whimpered, too far gone to care about playing coy.

Jude's hands tightened on her breasts, his thumbs swiping over her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. "Sit down and open your legs,” he instructed with a lusty snarl. 

Tori did as instructed, perching on the edge of the chair and parting her thighs to reveal her dripping sex. Jude knelt between her spread legs, his hot breath fanning over her sensitive folds. "You're so fucking wet for me already," he praised, trailing a finger through her slick heat. Tori bit back a moan, her hips canting forward seeking more of his touch.

Jude rewarded her by ducking down and dragging his tongue along her slit. "Ah!" Tori cried out, her head falling back as his mouth pleasured her most intimate place. Jude lapped at her, savouring her taste, before focusing his attention on her aching clit. He suckled the sensitive bud between his lips, making Tori's thighs tremble. He placed them over his shoulders one by one.

"Jude, oh god, yes!" she panted, fisting her hands in his hair. Jude doubled his efforts, alternating between broad licks and targeted flicks of his tongue. The obscene sounds of his mouth on her pussy filled the room.

Tori gasped as Jude's tongue delved deeper, his mouth working her with an intensity that left her breathless. She watched through hooded eyes as he pleasured her in her reflection, the blatant desire etched on her face sending a scorching heat straight to her core. 

"Jude, don't stop," she panted, her hips rocking against his mouth as she chased her impending release. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he devoured her, his tongue circling her clit with deliberate precision.

The coil of tension in her belly wound tighter, her body trembling on the edge of ecstasy. Jude's eyes flicked up to meet hers, the raw hunger in his gaze pushing her over the edge.

"I'm coming, Jude!" Tori cried out, her back arching as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her walls clenched around his tongue, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm.

Jude worked her through it, softening his touch as she came down from her high. He pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs before rising to his feet, his lips glistening with her essence.

“Come here,” he mumbled, pulling her up from her seat on shaky legs, Jude led with his tongue as he bowed his head to kiss her hungrily, making sure she tasted herself on his tongue. 

When parted lips, Jude went to reach for the hem of his sweater to begin disrobing only for Tori to place her hand on top of his, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Let me,” Tori said softly as she looked up into his eyes. 

Tori took her time as she peeled his sweater up and over his head, revealing his toned physique. Her fingers danced over his chest, tracing the lines of his abs before dipping lower. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his sweats, yanking them down his legs along with his boxers. 

Jude's breath hitched as cool air kissed his heated skin. His cock sprang free, already hard and straining towards his stomach. Tori licked her lips at the sight, desire coiling in her belly as Jude grabbed his wallet, retrieving a condom before tossing it carelessly onto Tori’s couch, watching as she took the small plastic square and ripped it open so she could roll it down his cock.

"Sit down," she instructed as she pushed him back onto the chair. Jude complied, watching through heavy lidded eyes as Tori gave him her back, reaching between them so she could hold him steady as she sunk down on his length.

Tori sank down on him in one smooth motion, a low moan falling from her lips as he stretched her, before placing his hands beneath her thighs and spreading her open so she could watch as his length nestled inside of her. 

She was in complete awe as she took in their reflection, her legs spread open in Jude’s lap, the possessive grip of his hands on her hips, the look of desire mixed with determination on his face as he fucked her from beneath, the slight reddening of her pussy as it stretched to accommodate his length and girth—it was beautiful. 

The sight was undeniably captivating—a blend of intimacy and raw passion that ignited a fire in Tori’s belly. She could hardly believe the connection they were sharing, each thrust deeper than the last as Jude held her firmly in place, his fingers digging into her soft skin with a primal urgency.

As their reflections gazed back at them, Tori felt a surge of emotion. It was more than just physical; it was a profound bond that had evolved during their time together. The way Jude looked at her, with a mixture of reverence and hunger, made her heart race.

“God, you’re so perfect like this,” Jude murmured, his voice thick with lust as he maintained his steady rhythm beneath her. The way his eyes roamed over her body in the mirror's reflection—appreciative, almost worshipful—made her pulse quicken. She felt powerful, alive, and utterly consumed by him.

“I love how you fill me up, you're so deep,” Tori gasped, her words spilling out in a breathy whisper as the heat of their connection enveloped her. Jude’s strong fingers tightened around her hips, guiding her movements with an expert precision that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. Each thrust sent delicious jolts of sensation radiating through her body, intensifying the way she felt both connected to him and completely lost in the moment.

“This little pussy was made to take my cock,” Jude responded, a low growl escaping his lips. He thrust upward with a renewed vigour, his eyes locked onto hers in the mirror as if to emphasize his words. 

Tori's breath hitched as she gazed at their entwined reflection, her body flush with arousal. The way Jude looked at her, his eyes dark and possessive, sent shivers down her spine. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her in the most delicious way. 

"I can feel you so deep," she panted, her hips rolling ever so slightly to meet his increasingly powerful thrusts.

Jude's hands slid from her hips to grab her ass, kneading the supple flesh as he guided her movements. "That's because you were made for me," he rasped. "This tight pussy was born to be filled by my cock."

Tori's nipples hardened at his filthy words, her pussy clenching tight around his thick length. She watched, transfixed, as he thrust into her, his balls slapping against her ass with each fierce thrust.

"You are so fucking perfect," Jude groaned, his eyes devouring the sight of her bouncing tits and glistening, slightly reddened folds stretched wide around him.

Jude let out a low moan as his cock momentarily slipped from Tori, showcasing the gape of her pussy in the mirror's reflection. "Look how open you are for me," he growled, his fingers sliding through her slick folds, spreading them wider.

Tori let out an unbridled cry of pleasure, her vision blurring as her eyes filled with tears. 

Tori's breath caught in her throat as Jude's fingers slid through her slick folds, spreading them wider to reveal her gaping pussy in the mirror's reflection. The sight was overwhelming, a visceral reminder of how thoroughly he had claimed her body.

"Look how open you are for me," Jude growled, his voice thick with lust. His fingers probed her entrance, teasing the sensitive skin. "Your pretty little pussy is mine, isn't it?"

Tori's body trembled, her legs quivering on either side of Jude's thighs. She could feel every inch of his hard length still buried inside her, a delicious fullness that made her feel owned, and possessed. 

"Yes," she whimpered, the word falling from her lips like a hymn of devotion. "I'm yours, Jude. Only yours."

Jude's eyes flashed with possessive heat at her words. He withdrew his fingers and gripped her hips once more, pulling her down onto his cock in one swift motion. Tori cried out, her back arching as he filled her completely.

"Put your hands on my knees and ride me," Jude commanded, his voice a low rumble.

Tori's body trembled, her legs quivering on either side of Jude's hips as she felt him deep inside her. She could hardly believe the connection they were sharing, the way he filled her so completely. 

With a shaky breath, Tori placed her hands on Jude's knees, her fingers digging into his skin. She could feel the heat of his body radiating through her, the power of his cock as it stretched her open. 

"Ride me," Jude growled, his voice thick with lust. His hands slid from her hips to grip her ass, kneading the supple flesh as he guided her movements.

Tori let out a soft moan, her hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm. She could feel every inch of Jude inside her, his thick length hitting all the right spots with each gentle undulation. 

Jude was completely in awe of how submissive Tori was to his command, the way she committed her body to pleasure. 

This is exactly what he needed after having his ego so subtly tested by Alex. The flowers were beautiful, but Tori was his, and regardless of whether or not Alex was aware of their current tryst, he needed to state his claim over her.

“Turn around and look at me,” Jude commanded as sent a stinging slap to Tori's ass, craving eye contact with her. 

Tori let out a gasp as the stinging slap registered on her skin, her body jolting with the force of it. She could feel Jude's eyes on her, his gaze burning into her back as he waited for her to obey.

With a shaky breath, Tori lifted herself off his cock and turned to face him. She straddled his hips once more, this time with her back to the mirror. 

Jude's hands slid up her back, his fingers splaying across her shoulder blades as he guided her down onto his length. Tori's head fell back, her mouth parting in a silent moan as he filled her once more.

"Look at me," Jude growled, his voice low and commanding. His hand slid up her spine to grip the back of her neck, turning her head to face him. 

Tori's eyes flitted open, her gaze locking with his. The intensity in his eyes stole her breath, the possessive heat in his stare making her pussy clench around him. 

"I want to look in your eyes as you cum on my cock," Jude murmured, his hips rolling up to meet hers.

Tori's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into Jude's eyes, her body trembling with each roll of his hips. The way he looked at her, with a mix of possessive heat and adoration, made her heart race.

"Tell me how good I feel inside you," Jude growled, his hand sliding from her neck to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, his eyes following the movement.

Tori's voice was barely a whisper as she replied, "You feel amazing, Jude. So big and hard, stretching me in all the right ways." Her hips undulated, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour. "I love how you fill me up."

She leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm as she gazed into his eyes. "I'm going to cum."

Tori's walls fluttered around Jude's length, her body teetering on the edge of climax. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment. All it would take was one more perfectly angled thrust, one more whispered promise from those sinful lips.

"You'll cum when I say so," Jude commanded, his voice a low, authoritative growl. His hips stilled beneath her, his cock buried deep inside her fluttering walls.

Tori whined, her body trembling with the effort of holding back her impending orgasm. She could feel Jude's eyes on her, his gaze intense and demanding as he held her teetering on the edge.

"Please," she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. "I need to cum, Jude. I'm so close."

Jude's hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed tight circles around the sensitive nub, his touch maddeningly light. "Beg for it," he growled, his eyes never leaving hers. "Beg me to let you cum on my cock."

Tori's head fell back, her mouth parting in a silent cry. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, her body desperate for release. 

"Please," she gasped, her hips rolling against his hand. "Please let me cum, Jude. I need it so badly. I'll do anything, just please let me cum on you."

Jude's hand tightened on Tori's hip, his fingers digging into her soft skin. He could feel her walls pulsing around his cock, her body desperate for release. The sight of her, pleading so sweetly, was almost enough to make him cum right then and there.

But Jude had other plans. He wanted to see her fall apart, to watch her come undone under his touch. He wanted to feel her walls clench around him as he brought her to the brink over and over again.

With a sinister grin, Jude leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Tori's ear. "Cum for me," he murmured, his voice a low, commanding purr. "Cum all over my cock like you asked."

At his words, Jude could feel Tori's body tense, her walls clenching down on his length. He thrust up into her, his hips meeting hers in a rough, desperate rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with Tori's wild moans and his own guttural groans.

Jude could feel his own release building, his balls tightening as he chased his pleasure.

Tori’s toes curled against the carpeted floors of her bedroom, her arms falling lazily over Jude’s shoulders as he took over from beneath, his hands on her body as he used her to seek out his own end. 

Turning his head, Jude caught Tori’s lips with his own and he groaned into her mouth, biting down on her bottom lip as he came, filling the condom wrapped snugly around his length. 

There was an unmistakable shift in the air during this particular encounter, a palpable change that lingered between them. Their connection ran deeper than mere attraction; it was an intertwining of souls that transcended the physical realm. Each caress and whisper ignited a torrent of emotions, forging a bond that felt almost sacred. The intimacy they shared was not just about bodies merging but about hearts laying bare their desires and vulnerabilities, creating a tapestry of passion that resonated far beyond the moment. 

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 21/?

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻 From the author: A new part for you all 🥳 It was difficult for me to write this. By the way, I should have written a little more, this part should have included more scenes. But I was forced to replace and post this part as it turned out. Please let me know if you liked it 🥺💜 Because it was so hard for me 🥹

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and LOVE you🥰💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋 Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @ambiee3, @mianhae-baozi (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 21. The Dance of Souls on the Edge of the Abyss. 

Jungkook hesitates a bit, looking closely at your face, as if trying to catch the slightest hint of what you're feeling. You continue to avoid his gaze, hoping that this will hide your inner storm.  

He nods slightly, holding the boxes of food, and heads over to the table by the microwave. You hear him set them down on the countertop, opening the packages. The metallic sound of the microwave door breaking the tense silence. 

Time seems to slow down. You fight with yourself, with the urge to run away and approach him at the same time. After all, he made you suffer. But now that he's so close, your heart seems to find a peace it hasn't felt in weeks. 

You try to get down to work, ignoring Jungkook's presence, but your eyes keep coming back to him like a magnet. You're standing behind the counter, putting cigarettes on the counter, and you see Jungkook's broad back. He's fiddling with a box of ramen and rustling a package of onigiri. 

You scold yourself mentally for looking at him. You should be concentrating on your work. An hour passes. Jungkook has eaten, but he's not going anywhere.

The store is crowded tonight, you're constantly serving people. It's because it's Saturday. On weekends, there are always people at night in a convenience store. This saves you, because you don't pay so much attention to the presence of a person who occupies all your thoughts. Another hour passes, and Jungkook is still sitting at the table. 

You can't go over and see what he's doing, all you can see is his broad back. He's turned away. You think that maybe he has to meet someone here, so he showed up today. That might explain why he's not leaving. Maybe he didn't even know you worked here and ran into you by chance? 

You made eye contact with him a few times. Jungkook has been sitting with his back turned almost all the time, but now he's sitting with his back to the countertop, which is located near the panoramic window of the store. He was openly watching you work without hiding it. Sometimes you glanced over at him and saw him looking bored, staring at his phone. 

The work went by quickly, and you didn't notice how it was getting light outside. When you felt drowsy sitting at the cash register, you decided to look at your watch. It was seven thirty in the morning. You rounded your eyes. Time had passed so quickly. In half an hour, Sunchol should be here. You yawn sleepily, locking your phone and putting it in your pocket. 

You hear something fall and immediately look up. Jungkook has dropped his car keys on the ground. He quickly picks them up and catches your eye. He smiles an apologetic smile. You look at him and realize that he's been sitting with you all night. You're kind of glad about it, but on the other hand, you wonder why he needed to if he was just sitting there. He could have talked if he wanted to. 

Jungkook walks over to the cash register and you get to your feet. Your heart was calm while he was at a distance, but as soon as he approaches, you're not yourself. 

"Two packs of Black Purple sticks, please?" - Jungkook asks you. You look at him for a second and turn to the showcase of IQOS sticks. You pick up a black pack of cigarettes. 

"Nine thousand won." - You answer. "It’s be payment a map?" - Jungkook nods his head in agreement. You enter the amount on the terminal and hand it over. Jungkook pays and takes the sticks. 

"When do you get off work?" - Jungkook asks you. You are confused for a moment. 

"At eight o'clock." - You answer. But you immediately regret it. You realize that he might want to talk. But you're not sure if you're ready to talk to him right now. 

"Do you mind if I give you a ride home?" - He asks with hope in his voice. You look into his eyes, and you don't want to say “no”. You really want him to give you a ride. Now you know for sure that he stayed up all night for you. 

"I live right next door, so no need." - You answer. Jungkook nods his head a few times quickly, as if to say "I get it." 

"Then I'll just walk you home?" - He doesn't give up. You're glad he's persistent. You pinch your fingers nervously. 

"Don't you have any other plans? Like going home and getting some sleep?" - You suggest. Jungkook smiles. You can see how tired he looks. 

"I don't want to sleep." - He says. You squint your eyes. He's lying to you again. You are a little more silent than necessary. 

"But I want to." - You suddenly admit, which makes Jungkook laugh. For a moment, you forget what kind of relationship you have and feel relaxed. It's like coming home after a long journey. Your phone vibrates and you take it out to see who has texted you. 

07.39 AM | Doohoon: Candy, I'll come get you in 20 minutes. 

You nervously text back, ignoring the way Jungkook is admiring you. He comes as close to the counter as he can to see every detail. To memorize every feature of your beautiful face as clearly as possible. He missed you so much. 

07.40. AM | You: There's no need to go. I've already left because Sunchol came early. I'm going to sleep, so don't come over

You lock your phone and notice Jungkook, who is close by. He smiles playfully when he sees your scared look. You immediately feel embarrassed by that smile. You know it so well, Jungkook often used it when he knew he was embarrassing you. 

"So I'll walk you." - He says, not asking, but telling you. You press your lips into a thin line. This is what you want. Admit it. Why are you resisting? You feel your heart start to beat faster. His voice was soft but insistent, and you found it hard to deny.

"Jungkook..." - You start, but he immediately interrupts you. 

"I know you don't want me here…" - He sighs, looking away, but then back to you. "But I'm just going to walk with you. Nothing more." - You can't find anything to say. Two feelings are fighting in your head: anxiety that he's back and warmth that he's here.

"Nothing will change if you walk me home." - You say, hiding your hands in your pockets. "So there's no point in it." 

"What if I told you that it changes everything for me?" - He replies, leaning a little closer. You look at him nervously again, but try to keep a cool expression on your face.

"You're very stubborn, you know?" - You try not to smile. 

"I know." - Jungkook smiles, unlike you. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to spend the whole night with you without saying a word, and now I'm standing here hoping you'll let me walk these few steps next to you." - You are amazed. He wants to be close to you that badly? It's so exciting. Especially when you feel the same way.

But you can't be fooled. How does he make you forget everything you've been through because of him so easily? Why does just looking at him make you think that the Jungkook you're looking at now is the real one, not the one that was in the warehouse three weeks ago?

"You shouldn't want something like this..." - You say dryly. You wonder to yourself how you can talk to him like that. But you have to do it because you don't want to suffer anymore. You have already left everything to fate once.

"But I want to." - Jungkook says decisively. "There's no way you're going to deny me." - You raise your eyebrows. You really can't say no to him. The thought irritates you. 

"I can deny to you walking me home." - You say, smiling almost triumphantly. 

"But you haven't done that yet." - Jungkook curls his lips. You open your mouth to protest, but before you can answer, Sunchol walks into the shop. 

"Did you see that Mercedes parked outside the store? Damn, that car..." - He freezes when he sees the picture in front of him. You're standing there, annoyed, with your mouth open, and Jungkook is standing close to the counter, leaning on it. "Good morning." - Sunchol greets the two of you and bows. Most likely to Jungkook, because he has never bowed to you. Sungchul walks toward you, and Jungkook steps away from the counter, while you look down and clean up your workspace and prepare it for your partner. 

"Do you like the car?" - Jungkook asks Sunchol, who has come over and is about to go behind the counter to you. 

"Yes." - The guy answers awkwardly. Jungkook notices how he takes a second to study him with his eyes. 

"Do you want me to give you a ride?" - Jungkook asks. You and Sunchol stare at Jungkook. He smiles as if he offered free ice cream, not a ride in his G-Wagon to your partner.

"Thank you, sir." - Sunchol bowed, overcoming the shock of the offer. "But I don't have a driver's license, and I don't know how to drive well." - He replied. Jungkook purrs in understanding and turns his gaze to you.

You roll your eyes defiantly and open the cash register to count the money. Jungkook laughs quietly. Sunchol sees that you two have some kind of relationship. You wouldn't roll your eyes at a normal customer like that. 

"You must be Doohoon? Y/N's friend?" - Your partner asks. You want to answer that Jungkook is not the Doohoon you mentioned to Sunchol in passing, but Jungkook interrupts you. 

"I'm Jungkook, Y/N's boyfriend." - Jungkook was annoyed that he was confused with Doohoon. Did you introduce him to this guy as your friend? 

You freeze up. Who did he say he was? Has he so much insolent? 

"You forgot to add ex." - You said ironically. Jungkook pursed his lips, and you turned your eyes to his mole under his lip. It was your favorite, except for the one on the right side of his neck. 

Jungkook leans forward a little, leaning on the counter, and looks you in the eye. His gaze is a mixture of challenge and insistence.

"I'm not the ex, I'm the present, and I always will be your boyfriend." - His voice is calm but confident, as if he's just made an indisputable statement.

You rest your hands on the counter and lean in closer, keeping your eyes on him too.

"That's a bold statement, but you forgot to ask me if I agree with it." - You say coldly, though your chest is tight.

"I... I think I'll go check on the back room." - Sunchol says, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and quickly finds an excuse to leave the counter. He walks away, and you cross your arms over your chest and keep your eyes on Jungkook.

"Why did you say that? Do you think you can decide what kind of relationship we have?" - You asked angrily. 

"I don't decide of my own, it's the way it is. We're boyfriend and girlfriend." - Jungkook says. You exhale nervously. 

"No, we're not together anymore. I thought you realized that the last time we saw each other." - You say, trying to control your emotions. 

"We just had a fight. That's what happens when people get together." - Jungkook said casually. So he thinks that when you were kidnapped, tried to be hurt because of him, and you heard all the terrible things he did, you had a simple fight against the background of these events? Is it that simple for him? 

"We had a fight? I was kidnapped because of you. They wanted to cut me into pieces. We did not quarrel. I left you so that I could be okay. And now you come here and say you're my boyfriend. What makes you think you can come into my life like this?" - You were irritated. 

Jungkook straightens up a little, taking a step back, and keeps his eyes on you.

"Because I'm already in it. I always have been. And I will be, even if you're trying to deny it now." - He says decisively. For a moment, you remember how good it was when he didn't talk all night. He annoys you, although if you're honest, you liked the way he said it: "I'm already in him, I've always been and I'll always be." You want to believe that Chunguk will always be in your life. You sigh, but your persistence begins to weaken.

"Jungkook... We... we have nothing. It's not going to work. We're strangers." - You say, looking down and counting the money. You have to count it to finish the shift. The boss is coming in soon, but you can't get your thoughts together at all. 

"We're not strangers, baby...and we never will be." - Jungkook says softly. You almost cry at the sweet nickname he likes to call you. Your heart is tightening and your breathing is getting harder. You want to say something back, but the words get stuck in your throat.

"I have to hand in my shift. I need to count the money..." - You want to say that Jungkook should leave because he's interfering with your work, but he knows what you're about to say, so he interrupts. 

"I'll wait. And then I'll walk you home." - You see those eyes in Bambi's and you can't say “no”. 

"Maybe I don't want you to know where I live." - You say more softly. Jungkook is amused. 

"Oh, baby, you know I'm going to find out anyway... or I already do." - Jungkook says. You sigh in frustration.

"Okay..." - You finally agree. He really pressed you. 

You look down at your feet and lose yourself in space. You feel a little tense. In fact, you are tired and want to sleep, but when you realize that Jungkook is next to you, your tiredness is gone. He touches your hand with his own, as if by accident, letting the person who was walking to meet him pass. 

This accidental touch burns in the place where he touched you. You have forgotten what it feels like when he touches you. How his hugs and kisses feel like. How it’s when his naked skin feels like when it's pressed against yours. You burn at the thought of such intimate images with Jungkook. You haven't had sex in three weeks, and you sure Jungkook hasn't either. So even this simple contact makes you think about forbidden things. 

"Do you like living in this neighborhood?" - Jungkook asks to get your attention. You stare at him for just a second, unable to bear his gaze. You pull your arms around the collar of your jacket to keep it from getting too cold. 

"Yes." - You say. Although the real answer to this question is “no”. No, because there is no Jungkook here, annoying Doohoon comes here, it's too far from the university campus, and the apartment is expensive. You don't like living here at all, but how can you say that to him? 

"How are you doing? Have you been sick? Are you eating well?" - Jungkook asks. You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Jungkook doesn't immediately notice that you're not there. After he walks a few steps, he turns around, looking for you. You look at him, a lump stuck in your throat. You cannot speak. You think if you do, you'll cry. If only this fool knew how you've been beating yourself up for the past three weeks. That you couldn't sleep properly, that you had no appetite, and that you even lost four kilograms. 

Jungkook keeps looking at you and comes over. He tries to understand what you are going to do now, whether to cry or scream.

"Tell me why you came, Jeon. I don't want to talk to you like we're old friends who haven't seen each other for a long time." - You say, overcoming the pain in your chest and the lump in your throat. Jungkook exhales in frustration. Your cold and harsh tone upsets him. 

"You know why I came here, baby." - He says quietly. Your heart is fluttering. You probably know, but you need to hear it. 

"Just tell me. Because maybe we don't think alike. I don't really know you." - You say colorlessly. Jungkook bites his lip nervously. You look at his lips for a split second, and you wish you could taste them. Jungkook is silent. The silence seems like an eternity to you, until Jungkook works his fucking magic.He can read your mind and do what you want?

You don't understand how it happened, or where your consciousness was a moment ago, because when Jungkook's lips are on yours, you still don't realize it. Or when he presses down harder on your jaw, and his cold fingers contrast against your skin. Or when his warm, soft lips kiss yours desperately. You finally realize what's happening.

It feels like when you see fireworks go off. This delight. It is the same. It tears your soul apart, makes your heart beat furiously in your chest, and thoughts simply cease to exist in your head. There is only Jungkook and his lips. You respond because you wanted to. You thirst for those lips, you need them.

Jungkook kisses you gently, lovingly. He dreamed of this. He wanted you to respond to this desired kiss so badly, and now your lips are moving to meet his. His insides are trembling. He deepens the kiss when you respond. His tongue slips into your mouth and catches your tongue. They connect and the kiss makes your head spin. 

You instantly feel aroused. You've missed Jungkook, and his passionate kiss, which was apologetic at first, has become demanding. You're in the middle of the street, and people might be looking at you. But you don't care, and neither does Jungkook. He could kiss you even when you're out of air.

But you need to breathe in. You try to pull away. You pull away for a second when Jungkook captures your lips again. He doesn't want to let you go. You take a step back, trying to get away, but Jungkook step forward, holding your face in his hands without even thinking about letting go. 

"Jungkook..." - You call out to him, almost against his lips. He has to let you go, because you can't kiss forever. Although if he wanted to, he would. He would kiss those lips in front of him for the rest of his life. Jungkook is moving away, but not that far. You can see every mole on his face in detail. His obsidian eyes, which seem to look into your very soul. 

"I can't live without you..." - He says, stroking your cheeks with his thumb. "I thought I should leave you alone so you wouldn't suffer anymore because of me. But I'm so fucking selfish..." - Jungkook says. Your breathing is getting faster. You stare at Jungkook in silence, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to escape at any second. "I don't know how to make you come back. You've been in my life for so long, I can't imagine it without you." 

"Jungkook..." - You say in a trembling voice. "I've been in your life for as long as you've been in mine. Do you think I can let you go that easily?" - You ask. Jungkook smiles sadly. "But..." - You start, but he interrupts you. 

"I knew you were going to say that. There's always a fucking 'but'." - He says in frustration. He doesn't let go of you, and you stand within touching distance of each other. 

"Yes, there is." - You clear your throat. "For us to be together, you need to stop being who you are." - Jungkook looks at you, studying your expression, and then lets go. He takes a step back. 

"And who I am Y/N? I'd like to hear who you think I am." - Jungkook says, dejectedly. 

"You are not the Jungkook I knew. You've become different, and I don't know who you are. Whether you're a heartless killer or just a hostage to the situation." - You said honestly. Jungkook smiled. But it was not a friendly smile. It was desperate, on the verge of hysteria. 

"I have changed. It's true. But I'm not as horrible as Doohoon made me out to be in your eyes. Yes, I may have done and am doing terrible things, but I have to do this. Because if I don't, it will be done to me, or worse, to those I love." - Jungkook explains to you. You think of the right words to say. While you are thinking, Jungkook speaks for you first. "But I know for sure that my feelings for you are the same as they were. They grew bigger every year until you made me fall in love with you. I do love you. And I will do everything to make you mine forever." - Your emotions are out of control after these words. Your eyes instantly fill with tears. He told you that he loves you. He loves you and you just can't wrap your head around it. He's been your best friend all your life, and you could never have imagined, when you secretly dreamed of him, that he would confess his love to you. 

"What?" - You ask in a trembling voice. Salty tears are quietly flowing down your cheeks, freezing on your face, but it doesn't matter. 

"I love you, my baby." - He says without thinking. He kisses you and tastes the saltiness of your tears. You pull away from each other, but you feel something unresolved pressing on your soul. 

"Jungkook, you don't have to be Namjoon's errand boy. You can leave because it's not your duty." - You say. Jungkook hugs you, and when he hears what you say, his grip loosens, but you're still in his arms. 

"You know why I work for Namjoon. Until all the money is returned, he won't let me go." - Jungkook explains. 

"It's now up to Doohoon to give the money back. He's in Korea." - You saying. It's that simple for you. The reason is that Namjoon wants Jungkook to be the one to pay off the debt, to keep him around as long as possible. Jungkook has no doubt that Namjoon will take care of Doohoon if he needs to. 

"Yes. So let him pay it back." - Jungkook says with a slight teasing edge to his voice. You look up at him, and look up at his beautiful face. He smiles out of one corner of his mouth. 

"Why are you like this? It's not funny, I'm telling you real things. If he's guilty, he should pay for his actions himself." - You say, offended. 

"He will never do that." - Jungkook replies. "If he had been my true friend from the beginning, I wouldn't have ended up next to Namjoon at all. Doohoon did everything he could to make me who I am. He wanted me to come down from the pedestal of my perfection and become the exact opposite. He did a great job. Now I'm not the perfect Jungkook I was in high school and university. I'm a gangster who makes his living in a dirty way." - He says this so calmly, as if it's all just something to be accepted and nothing to be done about. You don't like his tone. 

"Doohoon is a rare shit, everyone knows that. But if I ask him to do it, he'll do it. I'm sure if I ask him to pay back the debt, he will." - You say with hope in your voice. Jungkook laughs shamelessly at your position. You sound like a naive child. You raise your eyebrows, which makes Jungkook laugh even harder. 

"Are you sure you're talking about the same person we know?" - Jungkook asks through his laughter. 

"Yes." - You say irritated. Jungkook shakes his head and tries to calm down. 

"It's not going to happen. He will never payment his debt, that you and I can live happily together. That thing likes you, and I'm ready to grind him to a halt for it. Even it’s seems like he listen you, he wouldn't do it." - Jungkook said serious now. You tense your brows. You pull away from Jungkook and think you should leave. Your legs hurt and you want to sleep. You think about asking Jungkook to come over to your place. 

You suggest that you go on, and Jungkook agrees. You hold his hand, and he smokes an IQOS with the flavor of wild berries and menthol. Sometimes, when the wind blows in your direction, this combination of smells tickles your chemoreceptors. Although you don't like the smell of IQOS sticks. 

"Do you think I won't persuade him?" - You ask. Jungkook exhales the smoke. 

"No. And I would even ask you not to." - Jungkook says. He takes another drag, and you watch his lips cover the filter. 

"Why?" - You ask immediately. 

"Because fuck knows what's going on in his head." - Jungkook explains. You don't understand what he's talking about. 

"Okay. Let's pretend for a minute that he agrees..." - You suggest. Jungkook stops. You stop after him. 

"That's not going to happen. Why even pretend it?" - You hear the irritation in his voice. 

"You didn't listen to me. That's not what I wanted to ask." - You say, however the irritation in your voice is obvious. "If he agrees to pay back the debt. Namjoon will let you go?" - You ask. You see Jungkook tense up at your question. You don't like this. 

"He should..." - Jungkook says in a low voice. His answer sounded so unsure, like he didn't believe it himself. 

"He should?" - You ask. "So it's not a given that he's going to let you go." 

"He promised and he would, but I'm not sure it will be that easy." - Jungkook admits. 

"I can talk to him, however he wants you to..." - Jungkook interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. 

"No!" - Jungkook says sharply. "Don't even think about it. You can't see Namjoon under any circumstances. He's not someone you can just talk to." - He almost yelled at you. You were embarrassed. "You heard me Y/N. Don't even think you can go talk to him. You can't." - Jungkook took your hands, shaking them slightly. 

"Okay, I understand." - You say with bitterness in your voice.

You walk and reach your house. You tell Jungkook in which building you live, but by his expression you realize that he seems to know. You have a thousand and one thoughts in your head. Before you invite Jungkook, who clearly wants to come over, you want to complete the dialog you've been started. One thought triggers you and you want to know the answer to it. 

"Jungkook, the man who stole me...." - You start, but you stop talking because it's hard for you to remember that moment. 

"What about him?" - Jungkook asks you. Honest you want to know if Jungkook really threatened your kidnapper with a child. 

"I wanted to ask you... he told me that you threatened him with the child if he didn't give his capital to Namjoon.... Is it true? Just tell me, I'll know if you're lying!" - You said. Jungkook raised his eyebrows. 

"What kind of nonsense is that? We may be a mafia, but we have a code. We don't touch children, and I don't even threaten like that." - Jungkook replies. You don't quite believe his words. What decent bandits... And you don't like the word "we" either. Jungkook doesn't consider himself one of them. 

"And the women? Do you threatened them? Because you, for example, have been threatened more than once that they will hurt me." - You say. Jungkook froze, which he might tells you that they are not disgusted by blackmail, or even act it.

"It's an effective tool, especially on men who have feelings." - Jungkook says. You're starting to get angry. 

"So your fucking code forbids you to touch children, but you can use a woman or a parent as leverage to get what you want, right?" - You ask ironically. Jungkook doesn't answer right away. You watch for a minute as Jungkook removes the used stick from the IQOS and back it into the box with the others. 

"It happens." - Jungkook answers simply, and you are annoying. 

"So it happen? Then maybe you shouldn't tell me that you have some kind of prejudice. If you don't neglect women and the elderly, why wouldn’t you threaten a children’s?" - You shout. Jungkook sees that you're angry, and he's trying to calm you down. 

"Baby, I would never threaten a child in my life. I'm not that kind of bastard, no matter what I do. This bastard has really messed with your head. I didn't torture him for eight hours, and we wanted to collect the debt because he pawned his securities that he lost in Namjoon's casino. And we took the company because that stupid idiot was gambling 24/7. He owed so much money that taking his little company was his only way out of it." - Jungkook explained to you. You listened to him with an angry expression on your face. It sounded very believable. 

"You guys are so holy that you can't even be called the mafia. Maybe you should call yourselves the Saints Clan?" - You suggested sarcastically. Jungkook looked at you skeptically. 

"I'm telling you the truth. It's up to you to believe me or not." - Jungkook assured you. You were annoyed that Jungkook was so protective of the people who do not neglect blackmail. He uses "we" as if he considers himself a part of them and wants to show them good to you. But the mafia is the mafia. Bandits are bandits. They are not good. 

"Jungkook, if I convince Doohoon to pay off the debt. Will you quit your job at Namjoon's?" - You asked directly. Jungkook exhaled nervously. How can he explain to you that this won't happen? You don't know Dohun well and you don't know Namjoon at all. 

"It's much more complicated than you think and imagine, baby." - Jungkook says, and you're not at all satisfied with this answer. 

"It's simple. It really is. Your wish. His word. Just tell me, do you want to go and live like a normal person?" - You ask. 

"I want to... but..." - Jungkook mumbles, and you're shocked at how uncertain he sounds. 

"But what, Jungkook?" - You ask, almost softly. Jungkook stares at you. 

"I mean, it won't work like that. My desire is not enough...." - He answers. You look at him and your fears are realized. You've thought about it before, but what if Jungkook is so used to this life that he can't go back to normal anymore? Hearing his tone and answers, you see the confirmation of your thoughts. 

You look at Jungkook and can barely contain your irritation. The uncertainty with which he speaks confuses you, but at the same time makes you more suspicious.

"Not enough? Your desire is not enough? Are you serious?" - Your voice has become quieter, but every word cuts like a blade.

"Baby, I can't just walk away. You don't understand how it works..." - He replied, exhaling deeply as if it were obvious.

"You explain it to me, Jungkook. Explain it to me, because I really don't understand how you can hold on so tightly to a life that only destroys you. You like it?" - Your eyes were full of undisguised anger.

Jungkook was silent for a moment, looking at your face carefully, as if he was looking for an answer to his unspoken questions. His jaw tensed, and his fingers clenched the pack of sticks in his pocket so that you could hear the crunch of the packaging.

"I can't just go like you'd like me to. This isn't a movie, Y/N. There's no way out without consequences." - His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you cringe.

"So you're going to keep doing this? You're going to risk your life, let them use you, live in fear and lies? Is that what you want?" - You took a step towards him, your hands trembling slightly.

"I don’t want this…" - He whispered, looking away. "…But I’m already in too deep. There’s too much at stake. If I leave, it won’t just affect me."

You took another step, now you were standing very close.

"You say it won’t just affect you… Jungkook, what about me? Did you think your actions would affect me right now?" - Your words sounded desperate, and he could feel it.

"I know that…" - He finally answered, looking straight into your eyes. "But I’ll try to keep you away. I'll make sure it doesn’t ruin your life." - You laughed softly, but there was no joy in your laughter.

"Keep me away? Are you serious, Jungkook? You're standing here in front of me, talking about all this, and then you say you're trying to keep me away? You already tried that, and it didn't work." - You said. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. "Jungkook..." - Your shoulders slumped, your voice softer. "I want you to snap out of it. If not for yourself, then at least for me..." - His eyes met yours again, and you saw in them something like a struggle-a struggle between desire and fear, hope and reality.

But he knew in advance that it would not be the way you want it to be, or the way he wants it to be. It will be the way Namjoon wants it to be. Jungkook can't leave the mafia, even though he had hope. Maybe in many years, when Namjoon decides that the debt is paid, but Jungkook knows how Namjoon feels about him. He's not going to let him go that easily. 

Jungkook touches your face with his hand. You feel the warmth of his hand and this gesture calms you down. You hope he will accept your proposal. 

"Baby... I've been in this for years and I'm telling you the truth, Namjoon is not going to let me go anytime soon. All I want is for you to be by my side. I don't want you to worry about what I do or who I am. With you, I am real and that's the main thing. I want to be with you because I love you, so I'm asking you to bear with me for a while until I have the opportunity to leave the clan." - Jungkook says it softly, but you can't believe it as you listen.

You can hear him asking you to risk your life between the lines, but you think otherwise. You prioritize peace and a good life over fear and tension. You don't want to worry every night when Jungkook doesn't come back or pick up the phone and think that something happened to him. Or be afraid to walk down the street because some man will want to take revenge on Jungkook for his "activities". This is not for you. You take a step back, moving away from Jungkook and shake your head. Tears well up in your eyes and you make the most difficult decision of your life. 

"No, Jungkook. It won't be like this. I can't wait. I think we should put an end to our relationship and friendship." - You said. 

Jungkook rubbed his hands together nervously, as if trying to find the right words. His voice was calm but hoarse, as if he was struggling inside.

"I can't go back to normal, Y/N, not yet, and you have to understand. Even if I really want to. This is more than just a decision. This is my life now. It's hard for me to say this, but I became who I am because of circumstances. And now I can only change the way I live, but not change myself."  - You listened attentively, not interrupting, even though every word he said was painful.

"Jungkook..." - You began, but he interrupted.

"Just accept me as I am. If you really love me, you can do this." - He said, pressing at you. Your heart was pounding at the words.

"I love you." - You said quietly. "But I can't live in this world, not even for you. I am not like you. I'm scared, and I don't want to get used to what seems normal to you." - His eyes dimmed, but he didn't look away.

"It's obvious now that we can't compromise. We're just too different, our ways are too different. It's not going to work, Jungkook, no matter how much we want it to." - You added, gathering all your resolve. 

You turned to leave without waiting for his answer. He didn't say anything, just stared after you, clenching his fists. 

Doohoon reads your text messages and locks his phone. He's annoyed that you keep pushing him away. He does everything to please you, but you don't even respond to simple things. You respond harshly and coldly. He's annoyed as hell, but he knows he has to be patient. If he perseveres, he will get what he wants in the end. And that something he wants is you. 

It's only been three weeks since the incident with your kidnapping, which Doohoon set up and pulled off so perfectly. He paid a lot of money to the man who agreed to kidnap you. He knows that Jungkook knows the truth about the kidnapping and has probably dealt with Inho (the man's name), but he doesn't care what happened next. The main thing is that it worked, and now you think Jungkook is a real monster. 

Doohoon drives up to the store where you work and notices a Gelentwagen parked not far away with Jungkook's license plate. Did this loser come to see you? He really have the courage to come to you and apologize? 

Doohoon parks his car next to Jungkook's G-Wagon and gets out. He enters the store and looks for you. He doesn't see you or Jungkook. He moves toward the cash register. Behind the counter is a young guy and an older man, who looks like a chief. Both men greet him. Doohoon smiles easily, although he doesn't feel like it. But these are your acquaintances and he has to look good in their eyes. Doohoon bows slightly and returns the greeting. 

"Good morning." - He says in a friendly tone. "I'm a friend of Y/N. I'm here to pick her up. Is she still at work?" - He asks to see if you were telling the truth. The young man behind the counter immediately answers. 

"Oh, she left about five minutes ago. With her boyfriend, I think..." - Doohoon raises his eyebrows. A boyfriend? You couldn't have forgiven him so quickly. "At least that's what he introduced himself as... I think his name was Jungkook." - The cashier says. Doohoon feels a fierce surge of anger in his middle. This bastard thinks he can take you away from him. But Doohoon has done a good job of making you see his bad side. How can you want to be with Jungkook but not him after all that? 

"Okay, thanks. Have a good day." - Doohoon says and leaves the store, not noticing the two men staring at him. 

Doohoon decides to walk to your home. He thinks that either Jungkook will walk with you at your home or you could go to a cafe near your house. He thought that you've walked and made tired, you don't want to go far.

Doohoon is walking the same road you did not long ago. He is walking fast so that if he has the opportunity he can catch up with you. 

He stops when he sees you and Jungkook. You're standing in the middle of the sidewalk kissing. Doohoon almost goes crazy. He's torn to the middle. How could you do this? He was trying so hard to open your eyes to Jungkook's true nature. Aren't your feelings for this asshole so strong that you don't even care that he's a fucking mafia that tortures people and blackmails them with little children? Are you completely stupid or what? 

Doohoon wants to get up to you, but he's in no hurry. He's at a safe distance and the flow of people disguises him well. He watches as you stop kissing, say something, and then keep walking. Doohoon follows. When you come to your house, he dares to get close to hear what you are saying. 

When Doohoon hears your conversation, he is happy, and he scolds himself for worrying about you for nothing. You are still as correct as ever. Even Jungkook's declaration of love didn't convince you to stay with him. And now, Doohoon has a good chance of making you his. 

Half an afternoon passes and Doohoon looks at his watch. It reads 2:30 pm. You had arranged to meet Suyong at about four o'clock to meet at the campus and you have to leave soon to go to the university. 

You still haven't responded to Doohoon's offer to give you a ride, but he doesn't need your approval. He's going to drive you. 

Doohoon parks the car in front of your driveway and dials your number. There is a long series of rings, and almost at the last one you pick up the phone. 

"Hello?" - You say dryly. 

"Hi, candy. Are you ready?" - Doohoon asks you affectionately. 

"Ready for what?" - You ask your question. He can hear how upset you are in your voice.

"We agreed that I would take you to the university." - Doohoon replies. 

"We didn't agree." - You say sharply, and Doohoon feels irritated. There's that tone again, and he's starting to get tired of it. But he restrains himself. "I'll go on my own, I'm not ready yet." 

"Candy, I'm already waiting for you at the door. Don't be so stubborn. I'll wait as long as you need, you don't have to go alone if I'm going to get the same way." - Doohoon says, keeping his tone soft. You don't say anything for a while, and then he hears you exhale into the phone. 

"Okay. I'll be down in 15 minutes." - You say and hang up before Doohoon can even make a sound. 

You leave the house exactly 15 minutes later, looking blacker than a storm cloud. Doohoon notices the black bags under your eyes. You are also dressed in all black. You get into the car and barely greet him. You drive in silence for a while. Doohoon can't wait to talk to you. 

"Candy, how are you? Did you get any sleep?" - He asks you.

"Yes. Everything is fine." - You say quietly and open your phone, showing him that you're not in the mood for a conversation. 

Doohoon looks at you, he needs to know what you feel about Jungkook right now. 

"How did your meeting with Jungkook go? Did you talk?" - Doohoon asks, looking at the road. Hearing Jungkook's name come out of his mouth, you instantly turn your head toward him. Doohoon continues to stare at the road and doesn't look at you. 

"How...?" - You're about to ask if he was following again, but Doohoon interrupts. 

"I wasn't following you. I texted you that I was coming to get you. You'd have to be a fool not to recognize Jungkook's car and license plate." - Doohoon replies, stopping at a traffic light. When he stops, he looks at you and smiles. You look down at Doohoon. 

"I wrote you not to come. Why do you do whatever you want?" - You ask, irritated. Doohoon smiles even wider. 

"I wanted to give you a ride because you work so hard at night. You should just accept my help, you wouldn't have to work at all." - Doohoon says. How you so tired of everyone around you wanting to help you, to take care of you. It makes you sick to your stomach. 

"Listen, Doohoon. I don't need your help or your care. I don't want to communicate with you, I've told you that a thousand times." - You're raising your voice. You're so fucking stressed out all the time. 

"Really? Than who do you want to communicate with? Whose care do you want? Jungkook’s?" - Doohoon asks sarcastically. You choke on his words.

"I don't need any of you. You are dividing me like I am a deer carcass. I want you both out of my life." - You say angrily. You sit up straight and cross your arms. Your breathing is fast and ragged. Doohoon forces you to move. 

"I thought you'd fall for his words and his declaration of love. But, candy, you told him all right. You're two so different." - Doohoon says, and you look at him in horror. 

"You were listening to our conversation?" - You ask and your voice breaks. 

"I had to make sure he wouldn't hurt you...." - Doohoon replies. 

"You're really crazy? Why would he hurt me?" - You yell. 

"He's a gangster..." - Doohoon says. You think you is going to explode with anger. 

"It doesn't matter who he is. He loves me, he won't ever hurt me." - You say it like you're spraying poison. 

"Candy, he's the reason you were kidnapped. Don't you realize that his feelings are only harmful to you?" - Doohoon tries to tell you. 

"Shut your mouth!" - You shout. "I don't need your advice. I don't need you either. Get off me. Let me off now." - You grab the doorknob to open the door, but unfortunately, Doohoon has locked it. 

"Calm down Y/N. Okay, I'm not going to say anything else to you. Just calm down." - Doohoon puts his hand on your hip to make you pay attention to him, turning away from the door. You immediately knock his hand away. 

"Don't touch me!" - You scream. Doohoon's nerves are fraying. He parks not far from the sidewalk and approaches you. Your eyes look up at him in fright. 

"Y/N, listen to me carefully. I have tolerated your harsh words, your stubbornness, because I respect you and care about you. But if you think that you can talk to me as if I were some random stranger, then you are very much mistaken. I will not allow you to speak to me in that tone." - His voice is sharp, but he tries to remain calm

"What are you going to do, Doohoon? Are you going to follow me again, eavesdrop or spy on me? Do you think I owe you anything? You just want to control me!" - You say with a challenge. 

"Control? No, candy, I just want to protect you. But if you don't stop treating me like I'm the enemy, I might change my approach. You know I can be kind, but I can also be tough. Is that what you want?" - Doohoon ask you. His smile is dry, but his eyes are sharp. 

"What are you going to do, Doohoon? Are you going to threaten me? Fine, go ahead, show your real face!" - You say sarcastically. Doohoon leans closer, his voice low and cold. You're disgusted by his closeness, even though he smells nice. 

"Careful, Y/N. You won't like my 'real face'. I've always been good to you, even when you didn't deserve it. But if you keep provoking me, I might show you what it looks like when I lose my patience." - He returns to his seat behind the wheel, takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "But I don't want that. I want you to understand that I am not your enemy. I just want you to make the right choice. Think about your behavior, think about who really cares about you. And decide who is more important to you." - He unlocks the door. "And now you can go. But remember what I said. You have time to think about it." 

You're angry and a little confused, but you still have your pride. You open the door and say on the way out. 

"Don't think you can tell me what to do. Go to hell. I never want to see you again." - You get out of the car, slamming the door loudly, but deep inside you feel disturbed by his words and behavior. 

Doohoon starts the car and nervously grips the steering wheel. Your stubbornness is really getting to him. 

"Let's see how long you can stay stubborn, candy." - He mutters under his breath. Why don't you want to be his voluntarily? He's trying so hard for you. Doohoon is going crazy. He doesn't want to take any drastic measures yet, but if you keep acting like this, he'll be forced to. Because you'll be his anyway. 

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[vvachillessongvv]

2024 Fandom review

💜

When I was in third grade, I wrote a short story about a girl who had been shrunken down to the size of a grape and had to find a way to grow back to her regular size. My teacher wrote a note on that story that said I should be a writer when I grow up- I held onto that even though all my adults told me writing wasn't a good career choice. I guess they never thought about the alternative, which is writing fluff and smut for free on godless AO3 😂 I can't explain how much every single comment means to me, the little community we have here, it is truly such a wonderful space and I feel like I gained so much in 2024 just by being a part of it. Thank you for being here and reading my words. I started reading and writing Young Royals fic in 2024, so it was a truly magical year.

Fics written:

First fic posted in 2024: Popcorn 2024-06-02

Something that popped into my head, and made me think "Yeah, I could probably write a Wilmon fic" 😂 it's sweet and sort of silly and it means a lot just because it's my og baby.

Last fic posted in 2024: stay with me

2024-12-31

Filthy smut with a bit of feelings, because it's Wilmon 😏💜

Fav fic I've written: Siren

This one is just everything to me. I loved being creative with it, I loved collaborating with people, I loved the slight switch in writing style to fit the time period, it is a true ode to my love of writing and Wilmon combined. Bonus, it introduced me to someone who is now a truly important part of my life.

Fic recs will be after the page break 💜💜💜

Fics read:

Who knows how many- my bookmarks are sitting at 150, but I'd say probably closer to 400-500. There's genuinely no telling 😅

First fic I bookmarked/read: I was on ao3 as a guest for a hot minute, so the first Wilmon fic I read was Fuck the Monarchy by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic (a truly beautiful place to start!) but the first fic I bookmarked on my profile is Almost Is Never Enough by This_time_its_just_me on ao3

Last fic I read: I'm assuming this means the last fic I read in 2024, which would be Now we're falling like snow by @skibasyndrome I absolutely adore his fics, and this one was no different.

Some favorites I've read this year:

You are Unbreaking by @unfortunate17

This is absolutely beautiful, the premise is amazing and just so different while still capturing that amazing Wilmon magic.

Doesn't everyone belong in the arms of the sacred by @alltoowille

This one meant so much to me I was messaging the author from my personal Tumblr to tell them how much it meant to me, before I'd even created my sideblog or ao3 account 😅 it's beautiful and genuinely changed the way I look at religion

Is it over now? by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

This one is so visceral, it still has an impact on how I write wilmon, and I will probably cry every single time I go back to it

i don't feel like our love it brand new @prince-simon

This fic lives in my heart indefinitely. Prince Simon is absolutely everything to me. Not to be dramatic, but this changed my life a little.

always on the tip of my tongue by @royalwilmon

This is basically what I'm trying to emulate any time I write smut. The way their intimacy is written in this smut is pure magic, the original characters have made a home in my heart and mind, and it's just one of my favorite Wilmon fics of all time

do you think you'd like me more if i was less like you by @toffeelemon

This fic meant the world to me on my genderqueer journey, in fact I'm rereading it just for the amazing gender feels.

Align by Ripki on ao3

Some of the most gorgeous writing I've ever come across. Every chapter touches me and blows me away all at once, and makes me want to write my own beautiful words

Hungry by @earlgrey-lateatnight

I have 2 vampire Simon docs and it's all this fics fault 😂 it's so hot, intimate, and written so wonderfully

now we're knee-deep in this mess by aqua_rius on ao3

This one broke me and put me back together. I had to pause reading multiple times because their pain and longing hit me so hard. It's incredible.

Love drunk and we're never sober by @caramelpenguin

This is so lovely and written so beautifully. It made a little home in my heart and I now think about it when I'm writing anything close to friends to lovers.

To hold (in return) @saynomorefic

I'm telling you, I think about this fic unbidden at least once a week. It is so soft and wonder.

and if my heart should somehow stop by @grapehyasynth

Such a unique premise, the longing and love is so palpable, and of course, the writing is just perfectly beautiful

Baby I know how to use a gun by @saynomorefic

Another AU that lives in my head rent free. Completely amazing, I'd read 200,000 words of just them.

futile devices @jordensgolde

The writing is immaculate, the premise is different and so incredibly Wilmon. The beauty of these words truly inspires me.

one hundred and seventeen @prince-simon

Dare I say this one trans'ed my gender? I read this and suddenly had words for how I felt about myself. I still cry every time I read it. Genderfluid Simon has a special place in my heart, and it's just written so beautifully. Love entirely.

Say a prayer for me in the dark by witchjeons on ao3

This made me want to write poetry again, which I did for one of my fics, and I've continued to do so just for myself. It is utterly beautiful, and I sob each time I read it.

I hate accidents except when we go from friends to this by @cloudywilmon

This is my ultimate feel-good/fully dissociate from reality fic. It is hot, and funny, and ridiculous in all the most perfect ways. When I'm having the shittiest day imaginable, there's these boys having sex and pretending it means absolutely nothing.

Outlines of You by @enjoythesilentworld

Genuinely some of the most beautiful smut I've ever read

Knowing what it feels like by strawberryxcreqm on ao3

This is another fic that just lives in my head, and I can't listen to Mazzy Star without thinking about it.

for the tree's sake by @enjoythesilentworld

This is one of my favorite dynamics. I absolutely adore poetic Wille, it is so soft and sweet and captures them so perfectly

Final reflections:

Thank you to everyone who participates in this fandom in any way. Lurkers, commenters, people making art, gifs, sharing those amazing scene/character analysis'. And of course each and every fic writer, you who have inspired me to find writing again. This is such a beautiful little corner of the internet that I can't wait to spend another year in. Thank you 💜💜💜 feel free to come yell at me or just say hi in my inbox or ask box. I'm shy but I promise I'm always up for talking about Wilmon 🥰

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi 👋 i love hearing your thoughts about things, especially when i feel like ive hit a wall with ideas lol. anyways i was wondering about whether or not you thought it was ooc for sirius to go after wormtail that night instead of stay with harry

Hi 👋

Thank you so much!

And no, I don't think it's OOC considering it's one of the first things we learn about Sirius. Sirius, when he's emotional, he's reckless. Actually, Sirius is reckless with his own safety in general. Throughout GoF and OotP he constantly tells Harry to not risk himself, but Sirius is constantly putting himself at risk. He is reckless with his own life and well-being almost constantly. His recklessness extends to others as well (I mean, the prank could've ended up with everyone finding out or with Remus killing Snape. So it's clear he doesn't care as much for Remus or Snape's safety). But not Harry. Never Harry's safety.

Harry's safety is incredibly important to him, not his own (or some other people, he's pretty selective about who matters).

After the Potters died, Sirius trusted Hagrid and Dumbledore to keep Harry safe, so he allowed himself to go after Pettigrew. I mean, it's his usual pattern, he makes sure Harry is safe, like he shouts at him to take Neville and run in the ministry in OotP:

“Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville, and run!” Sirius yelled, dashing to meet Bellatrix.

(OotP)

Before throwing himself headfirst into danger he might not return from. (Azkaban back on the night the Potters died and a fight in which he died at the end of OotP).

Besides, Sirius sees betraying his friends as the worst sin possible:

“Believe me,” croaked Black. “Believe me, Harry. I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them.”

(PoA)

“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!” “THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

(PoA)

He is willing to die for James, Lily, and Harry in a heartbeat. It's not even an active decision for him, it's just how it is. To think it isn't the same for Pettigrew — that his friend let James and Lily be killed to save his own skin — there is little Sirius hates more than that. If Voldemort comes after you, Sirius sees no other option but to die to protect your friends.

Like, fandom likes to talk about secondary houses and stuff, Sirius' second choice house would be fucking Hufflepuff. His loyalty and how all-encompassing it is, is such a big part of his character. Loyalty motivates him to do almost everything he does. He breaks out of Azkaban to protect Harry:

“But then I saw Peter in that picture . . . I realized he was at Hogwarts with Harry . . . perfectly positioned to act, if one hint reached his ears that the Dark Side was gathering strength again. . . .” [...] “So you see, I had to do something. I was the only one who knew Peter was still alive. . . .” [...] “It was as if someone had lit a fire in my head, and the dementors couldn’t destroy it. . . . It wasn’t a happy feeling . . . it was an obsession . . . but it gave me strength, it cleared my mind. So, one night when they opened my door to bring food, I slipped past them as a dog. . . . It’s so much harder for them to sense animal emotions that they were confused. . . . I was thin, very thin . . . thin enough to slip through the bars. . . . I swam as a dog back to the mainland. . . . I journeyed north and slipped into the Hogwarts grounds as a dog. I’ve been living in the forest ever since, except when I came to watch the Quidditch, of course. You fly as well as your father did, Harry. . . .”

(PoA)

He stays in a cave and eats rats so he could be close by if Harry needed him during the tournament:

Harry pulled open his bag and handed over the bundle of chicken legs and bread. “Thanks,” said Sirius, opening it, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. “I’ve been living off rats mostly. Can’t steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I’d draw attention to myself.”

(GoF)

The original plan with the Secret Keeper was for Sirius to be the decoy. So, Voldemort would go after him and kill him, but James, Lily, and Harry would be safe. Sirius planned to die to keep the Potters safe:

“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backward. “I thought it was the perfect plan . . . a bluff. . . . Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you. . . . It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

(PoA)

He goes back to a childhood home he hates and lets the Order invade his privacy in a way that clearly strains on his mental state because he knows it'll help protect Harry. Sirius wants to be of use and of help to the people he cares about so fucking much:

“Hasn’t anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,” said Sirius. “But I’m the last Black left, so it’s mine now. I offered it to Dumbledore for headquarters — about the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.” Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius’s voice sounded.

(OotP)

So, of course, he goes after Pettigrew to avenge James and Lily. His friends are dead, Voldemort is dead, Harry is safe, the only useful thing left for him to do is punish the traitor:

...but it was the other way around, don’t you see? Peter betrayed your mother and father — Sirius tracked Peter down —” [...] “Harry . . . I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me. . . . I’m to blame, I know it. . . . The night they died, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies . . . I realized what Peter must’ve done . . . what I’d done. . . .”

(PoA)

It's how his loyalty is.

It's such a major aspect of his character that is consistently a huge motivation for him.

I think it's telling his Animagus form is a dog — the animal most renowned for its loyalty.

So, yeah, I think it's 100% in character. It's reckless, as Sirius often is for his own safety. And it's out of Sirius' sense of loyalty that Peter betrayed. Sirius hates Peter at that moment more than he ever hated anyone probably. Because Peter abandoned his friends. Becouse he sinned against Sirius' highest value — loyalty.

Sirius holds everyone else to his own standard of loyalty, as well. He likes Ron and Hermione because they were willing to die for Harry in PoA and Sirius respects that immensely. Becouse to him it's obvious you should be willing to die for your friends. It's what you do.

Add to that the raw emotions of just losing his two best friends, the end of the war, the betrayal at the moment, the guilt he feels even during the events of the books for his part in it (for suggesting Peter) — and you have a Sirius who'd probably be willing to harm other people (and himself) on his way if he got to kill Peter.

So, it's actually very in line with the type of behavior we see from Sirius. The only situation in which he wouldn't have gone after Peter is if no one was there to take Harry and then Harry would be at risk if Sirius left. Becouse in general, with Sirius' morals (loyalty above all else) and emotions at the moment, he would always go after the traitor if he could.

[alea-jottun]

How s2 betrayed Viktor, Mel and Jayce by making them passive characters

I had initially started to write a long post about the reason I didn't like Viktor, Mel and Jayce in s2, but I figured it would be better to just get to the point, which is : they do not work in s2 because they have become passive characters.

See Viktor : in s1, he is a determined inventor, has a strong will (manifested by his presence at the Academy, his desire to help Jayce, to break into Heimerdinger's office despite the risk, his refusal to be limited by his body, etc.) and a strong intellect, which is used to reach his personal objectives. He has strong opinions about his environment, about his work, and he has his own personality. He is shown taking action (ex : trying to cure his leg). His tragedy is that his health will not let him accomplish all that he is capable of. He is an active character : his desires, his skills, his choices move the plot forward.

But then in s2 : he gets fused with the hexcore while he's unconscious. He's magically cured. He isn't a scientist anymore. His relationship with Jayce isn't important anymore. He has a few lines before more or less disappearing from the story until the finale.

And before continuing : that scene where Viktor gets out of the arcane cocoon and talks to Jayce was the one that convinced me that s2 had given up on itself. Has anyone else realized how devoid of tension, of meaning, of scenaristic conflict it is ? It is not very long, but each line is like a wet fuse. They don't talk about the fact that Jayce made weapons out of the Hextech. They don't talk about the fact that Jayce betrayed Viktor by not only not destroying the Hexcore, but also using it to save him. They don't talk about Sky's death, they don't talk about the radical changes Viktor made to his body using the Arcane and shimmer, about the extremes he could have reached. They don't talk about the attack on the Council and how it ruined their efforts, how they were so close to making a great leap forward in realising their dream (I cannot believe that this major plot point, the cliffhanger of s1, the tragedy of the Council being attacked while voting freedom for Zaun, is not addressed by the two people who should feel particularly concerned about it. How are they not horrified by it ? How come it had so little impact on them they don't even mention it ? How come Viktor doesn't bring it up with Jinx ?).  

Each conflictual plot point, which should have been used to create tension and make the story interesting, was very carefully ignored. When Viktor walks away, Jayce doesn't even try to talk to him, or express any real sadness. This scene is just Viktor going "bye" and Jayce going "kay" (before he is whisked away by the scenario but we'll get back to this later).

Anyway, it doesn't get better for Viktor in the story. Somehow he gets magical healing powers, which is lazy writing. He does nothing when Jayce is clearly hostile, he lets him destroy the commune. Then he suddenly wants to turn everyone into puppets for one episode, before Jayce comes back in the story with a grand declaration, and then he changes his mind again because the show needs him to. All of this is passive : he is no longer a fully-fledged character but an OOC doll that the writers string along and put in a drawer when they don't know what to do with him.

And don't get me started on the "Viktor was the mage" revelation, which is the final nail in the coffin. In short, saving Jayce from jumping, inventing Hextech, their projects, their dream, their bond, all of that loses impact because it was not even their own decision. The main interest of Jayce and Viktor's arc is that they met each other by chance, decided to embark on a seemingly unfeasable project (carried only by their determination, their belief in each other, and their talent), tried to change the world for the better, and failed to protect their creation from the corruption of the real world. If it was all written in the stars, if it happens in other dimensions, then it loses most of its interest. If it isn't really their choice, it has no meaning anymore. It makes them passive pawns in their own story.

The same analyse can be done for Mel and Jayce :

Mel in s1 is a smart politician, strategic, cunning and manipulative at times. She is a nuanced active character, one who wishes to avoid violence and does not take pleasure in suffering, but who also places her own interests first and is not that concerned with the common good (as a council member and the richest person in Piltover, she is also guilty of abandoning the Undercity by her inaction.) Then her mother arrives and adds another nuance to her already moraly-grey character : we understand Mel's upbringing, her exile and her desire to not follow her mother's footsteps. She has difficult choices to make : should she prioritise Piltover over Zaun ? Piltover over Noxus ? Is it being a pacifist to refuse that weapons be made out of Hextech, or is it dangerous and naive to pretend your enemies won't use it ?

But then s2 happens, and you can scratch all of that. Writing political conflict is too complicated, let's just get her kidnapped instead (passive), put her in a magical cell for most of the show, and watch all this meaningless Blackrose subplot unfold (who cares about her father ? Neither her supposed nor her real father appear in the story, and Ambessa clearly is the Noxus leader, so what does her being an illegitimate child change ? Nothing. Also, lineage is a passive character trait). Now Mel has magical powers, without having done anything to acquire them. She gets out of the cell not because of her intellect, or because she cracks a code, or because she accomplishes any action, but simply  because she magically knows the solution (passive). And then, the resolution of her conflict with her mother ? A most unsatisfying magic fight. That's it. She didn't even struggle to master her powers. Just like Viktor, she didn't accomplish anything as a true character : she was just put to the side until the writers needed her.

And the exact same happens to Jayce :

Most of Jayce's characteristics from s1 are basically erased. He barely appears in the first episodes, then disappears in the wild runes for most of the series, and comes back towards the end, and suddenly he's on a rampage. His character arc is completely forgotten : remember when Jayce was slowly getting corrupted by power, popularity, politics ? Remember when he was an idealist getting dragged into choosing sides in a violent conflict ? An inventor who broke his own vow, made a weapon out of his own invention (against his partner's will), hated it so much he campaigned for Zaun's independance, only for a rocket to explode in the council room at the critical moment ? What does Jayce think about all this ? Well Jayce doesn't think at all in s2.

When he comes back in the third act (and no character cared about his disappearance, much like the writers didn't care about him), all of his previous dilemmas are erased (because that was easier than writing a satisfactory conclusion) and he has no problem using violence, killing people, and even killing Viktor while he is defenceless. We never get to see any psychological nuance for him : (barely) no regrets for inventing the Hextech and summoning the wild runes, no regrets when deciding that the commune must die, no regrets when hunting Viktor (serioulsy, he should NEVER have accepted to kill Viktor so easily). He gets out of the wild rune and suddenly he's the Terminator.

Until the last ten minutes of the show when he joins Viktor in the Arcane and now he's love incarnate. Then the writers desecrate his corpse one last time by making him spew the strangest lines at Viktor (he was dying, Jayce ! Remember s1 Jayce who was desperate to find a way to save his partner ?).

Again, Jayce did not do anything as an active character : he became a puppet who only moved when the scenario needed him to.

I'd continue with Ekko and Heimerdinger, but you see the point.

The scenario of a series such as Arcane is supposed to be moved forward by active characters making decisions, thus creating and resolving conflict. In s2, the scenario decides what it wants, then twists the characters to bring them where it wants, regardless of coherence or good writing. And even if Viktor, Jayce and Mel had been better written, they had so little screen time, the writers cared so little about them that their stories could not be anything but a disappointment.

[tod-siegt]

This scene always gets me.

Both characters are just written so well. There's Steven, struggling to find himself, asking for good advice which he never gets, wanting something to build his life upon. And Connie, knowing exactly what she wants to do with her life, and pretty much independent.

They are both in complete opposite stages in their lives from eachother, and th complete opposite of themselves than they were 2-3 years ago. Steven used to know exactly what his life was for. He had a legacy to pursue from his mom. Connie used to not have any independence. Her entire life was run by her parents, which were her only influence, and had no friends to break her out of that bubble (which is such an amazing metaphor from Bubble Buddies omg). They both completely changed the course of each other's lives.

In Future, Steven is looking for someone to be there for him, or trying to find someone else to fix. But nobody really needs him, and when he asks someone else for help, they either leave him or don't understand why he needs help. Lars, Sadie, a the gems, his dad, all do the same thing. And when he finally gets to spend time with Connie, he feels that she's really the only one that still wants him. And she's moving to the other side of the country.

With that, on top of Ruby and Sapphire giving him HORRENDOUS advice, as they don't understand the difference between their situation and his, Steven makes the mistake thats the turning point for him in future. Which Connie handles litterly the best way possible. Steven coming with her to college would be extremely unhealthy for both of them. But with Steven in the state he's in, it's not surprising that he takes it negatively.

After this, he really has no one to turn to. He tried to reach out to his dad, but he too misunderstood what Steven was going through.

There's a lot of hate for this scene in particular. With it's second-hand embarrassment and a lot of claims that Steven's proposal and Future actions were completely out of character. But that's the point of this, and why I love it so much. Steven really isn't acting like himself. He's not the same person he was in the main show. That's what trauma does to you. In the main show, his character development is that he goes from being selfish and inconsiderate to over considerate and selfless. In Future, all that pressure starts to break him. So even though he's not in character for his old self, the old self that bottles up his emotions, he's completely in character for his Future self.

This scene really is tragic. Because what Steven is going through is tragic. It's embarrassing because we understand, as viewers, what a huge mistake he's making, and we know the outcome. And it's not just tragic for Steven, but also for Connie. She's completely taken off guard, and has to make an impossible decision between her own independence and Steven. But she responds in the best way she could. She just states what they both already knew, that they are ultimately going to spend their lives together, one way or another, just not now. They are in no way like Garnet, two beings who are always together as one person. But two people with their own lives who should be complements to eachother, not dependent of eachother. That's what Steven doesn't understand, because at the moment, he doesn't feel like he is his own person with his own life.

Anyways, sorry for the yap sesh, I just love this scene so freaking much. And not just the writing, it's visuals, and the song as well.

[wisteriasymphony]

Do you have any favorite salt fics?

😔 no. I tend to not like salt fics because they have wayy too much vitriol, and in my opinion, you always have to add a bit of love. If you write a character meant to come off as an asshole and you don't at least have a little bit of endearment towards them, you won't be able to properly handle them.

For example, I'd much rather see a "class salt" fic that fully accepts and cherishes the premise that the class is a hivemind that believes just about anything and takes that to the extreme of Marinette and Lila warring over what absurd things they can see to sway the opinion in their favor... over Marinette getting shit on by her classmates and moving to San Francisco or whatever, getting stupid rich, and then coming back to gloat. If you're spending too much time proving to fictional characters that they shouldn't've done that thing they were written to do, then you're not having fun.

I wouldn't really even call what I write salt fics towards anybody, more of a "break-it-to-fix-it" fic. I think it's much more productive and interesting to "salt"(?) on larger aspects of canon rather than focus on whatever antiblorbo said the thing you didn't like.

Then again, I'm probably biased since I find standard "salt-deserving" moments to be my favorite. Adrien siding with Lila is so interesting, and I am absolutely in love with the idea that he defends her because he feels personally attacked by Marinette having a problems with a liar. His whole life has been him putting on an act to please others, so if it's bad when Lila does it, what does that say about him? etc etc.

jk it was that stupid ficlet about adrien not taking covid seriously that was so funny. 10/10 masterpiece