#i don't know how i never caught this before

[littlelovelunette]

Ok ok maybe this is more wicked for you mother...

Yandere reader who let's ambessa sleep in and takes care of some of the less hands on duties for her, reading over reports and letters or something. It's soemthing she's done before, but only ever with ambessa present, this time she only wanted to let her precious wifey (criminal warlord) have a rest :(

Ambessa comes in eyebrow raised and pretending she's not impressed or aroused by seeing her partner in a more leadership position- defying her still. She reader trying to get up from the desk to greet her and ambessa commanding her to stay sat, kicking the chair back from the desk so she can fit infront of it and eating reader out...

Meanwhile reader is like "n-no I should be doing that! Don't get on your knees for me!" 😨 cuz ambessa is our queen wifey (murderous warmonger) and should not be on her knees for anyone!!!

Rest Up Or Eat Up

—Ambessa Medarda x Yandere!Reader

oral, praising, body worshipping

Ambessa and you had been together for quite a while now and she'd noticed this pattern of yours. Whenever you were attached with someone, you felt the need to worship them and relieve them of whatever problems they had. Of course, Ambessa didn't have a problem with you worshipping her— rather the opposite— she seemed to enjoy it and maybe even took sadistic pleasure in seeing your acts.

Ambessa was fast asleep when you entered the bed chambers. Some long hours of training had really taken it out of your wife. You sighed.

“Sleep well,” you muttered under your breath and pulled the soft cotton blankets further over your warlord wife’s shoulder, planting a subtle kiss on her temple.

Ambessa's face was relaxed for once and not frowned with concentration. She knew she could always let her guard down around you.

You looked at the pile of papers at the desk next to the huge window through which you could see almost all of Noxus, sunlight seeped in and reflected on the golden edges of the window sill.

“Lots of work, huh?” You walked upto the desk, and looked down at the papers, reading some titles as you picked it up. “This should be easy,” you glanced at Ambessa who was still deep in her slumber so you decided to take a little look at her work.

Sitting down at her chair, you dragged yourself closer to the table, and started the work. It was mind wrecking and you had no idea how Ambessa balanced the Noxian soldiers and her life with you. Suddenly, you felt a little guilty of never really offering to help her full-time.

Yes, you did help every now and then because you just want your wife to rest. It's not easy being a wife to a Noxian Warlord— it's as if she can never have a full rest and whenever there's war again— all the quality time spent feels too less. You never even know if she's gonna come out of the war alive. You sighed once again, this one heavier than the one before.

You shifted in the chair and focused on the work. Hours passed you'd been there like that, you had no idea how Ambessa put up with you after heavy paper works like these. Just then, you heard heavy footsteps. You turned and saw Ambessa standing by the back of the chair, arms crossed and a stern expression on her face.

“What are you doing?” Ambessa asked, raising a brow.

“Helping you out, dear,” you said, dropping the pen.

“I don't need help.” she said in a firm voice.

“Everybody needs help sometimes.” you reasoned.

“Well, I'm not ‘everybody’.”

Silence lingered in the air for a bit before Ambessa shook her head and kicked the chair. You thought you'd fall and squeaked, eyes squeezing shut. Ambessa caught the back of the chair, now you were facing her.

“Ambessa—”

She dropped to her knees in front of you, pulling your legs over her broad shoulders and pressed her face against your pantie-covered crotch. She took a deep sniff.

“Ambessa!” You gasped, you didn't expect something like this.

“Shhh, just enjoy this,” Ambessa grabbed the waistband of your panties under your dress, and pulled them down with her teeth, maintaining undeterred eye contact with you throughout the act.

“But Ambessa, you shouldn't be down there on your knees,” you said before your breath hitched in your throat, Ambessa's stare at you turned into an intense glare.

You paused before adding;

“I should be the one doing that!”

Ambessa wasn't listening. Her nose nudged your clit as she licked a bold stripe up your pussy. “Mmm,” she groaned at the sweet taste of your pussy.

Her tongue swiped past your clit making you try to thrust your hips at her. Ambessa laughed, a low chuckle. “You're so pretty when I pleasure you,” Ambessa whispered before she engulfed your clit in her mouth and gave it a powerful suck.

You cried out, grabbing the arm rests of the chair.

“Bessa, please!—” your breath came in sharp gasps, “I should be there on my knees— Ah!”

Ambessa gave an amused smirk, “Just like that, sweetest,” Ambessa muttered before she slurped your pussy. The soft smell of musk and arousal hit your nostrils and your toes curled. Ambessa didn't stop there, she continued worshipping your body for a change.

Your mouth formed an ‘O’ as your thighs trembled in her expert hands, “Please,” you whispered, “You shouldn't be on your knees for anyone.”

“I want to be,” Ambessa said, dragging slow kisses over your wet folds and clit, her lips lingered a moment longer on the sensitive nub before she flicked it with her tongue.

Your hips immediately bucked under her ministrations, “T-too good, please, fuck,” you cussed under your breath.

“You're taking me very well,” Ambessa said as she spread you open with two fingers, tongue darting inside your slit again, heightening your pleasure. All you could do was moan and melt into a puddle in the chair, hand gripping her hair and the other gripping the edge of the wooden table.

“I'm gonna—”

“Yes, finish for me, mi amor,” Ambessa muttered against your pussy, feeling your walls tighten needily, your release gushing out of you as your body locked into place. You twitched, a small moan of her name at the tip of your tongue but Ambessa was so good with her mouth— not a single verbal sound exited your blissful body as you came undone for her. On her tongue. Sitting in her chair. Clutching her desk. Having done her work.

You were completely and utterly hers.

[dailynnt]

NO MERCY

𖥔 Summary: You are a strong and intelligent, a princess of a mafia clan who has been fighting for years against Jungkook, a dangerous and powerful enemy. Your enmity is mixed with tension and mutual desire. After you ruin an important deal for him, Jungkook kidnaps you to settle the score. An emotional confrontation erupts between you, where the power play borders on a dangerous attraction. But you both know that the first one to give in is the loser.

𖥔 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

𖥔 Age restrictions: 18+

𖥔 Size: one shot (7.6 k words)

𖥔 Tags: enemies to lovers, mafia au, domJungkook/subReader, stockholm syndrome, dark romance, kidnapping, emotional tension, obsession, possessive behaviour, dangerous love, protectiveness, forced proximity, broken characters, betrayal, manipulation, slow burn, angst with a hint of love, toxic romance, redemption arc, intense connection, forbidden feelings, survival, rough tenderness, detailed smut, sex, unprotected sex, table sex, mirror sex, possessiveness, defiance

𖥔 From author: Hello dear Army 💜 I wrote a new story in the style of the mafia au, which as you know I love very much 🖤 I came up with this story while writing chapter 14 “One night…” (this is how it happens when in the middle of the creative process a scene for a separate story appears in my head) and I decided to write it. I really hope you like it 🥺 A big request for those who will read and at some point you don't like my fanfic, or it seems illogical, not interesting or too fictional - just pass by. Respect the effort, time and resources I have spent for those people who will really appreciate my efforts. I sincerely thank EVERYONE who likes this fic, and EVERYONE who likes my work, I appreciate each of you for the weight of gold 🥺😭❤️‍🔥

𖥔 Dedication: I want to dedicate this work to you my BIGGEST LOVE @curse-of-art 🖤 For your support, endless love, faith in me, in the love of my version of JK 🤭 I love you with all my big heart ❤️‍🔥

𖥔 Warning: This story contains dark themes that may be triggering for some readers like table sex, mirror sex, possessiveness, defiance/bratty behavior, stockholm syndrome, and kidnapping. Please read with caution. If you are under 18, please refrain from reading this story. Also, English is not my first language, so you may notice some grammar mistakes or awkward sentence structures. I appreciate your understanding and kindness 🙂‍↕️

You have never asked for mercy. And you certainly weren't going to beg for it now.

Some time ago, you woke up and realized that you were in a dimly lit hotel room. It seemed to be a presidential suite, and you probably knew who it belonged to.

You were sitting tied to a chair, your hands tied behind your back, and a sneer playing on your lips. You knew who was coming. You knew this meeting was inevitable.

Jungkook entered the room quietly, but you felt him before you saw him. His presence was like an impending storm, like an electric shock in the air before a thunderstorm.

"Well, finally." You looked up at him when he came into view. "I was getting tired of waiting for you."

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a palm covered in tattoo ink that peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt colour of night.

You knew that most of the drawings were hidden under his clothes. Once you could only see his tattoos up to his elbow, and you always wondered how they ended.

You remember how the tiger lily on the inside of his arm caught your attention the most - delicate, but as bold as he was. It was his birth flower, a symbol of pride, nobility, and strength hidden behind a reserved expression.

His light colored hair was slicked back carelessly, and above his ear it was shaved, so you could see that his hair color was actually black. This hairstyle emphasized his sharp features and jaw that could cut through the tension in the air. The black earrings in his ears glittered with every movement.

"You made a mistake, Y/N." He was approaching like lava, slowly burning everything in his path. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, but you had to behave with dignity.

"Really? From my side, it looked like a perfectly planned trap." You said, hinting at the reason you were here. You smiled at the corner of your mouth. You didn't want to show this man how he affected you.

He crouched down in front of you. He smelled of cold freshness after a shower, mixed with something more personal - the tart scent of leather and spices.

There was a slight hint of bergamot in his scent, subtly mixed with the smell of black tea and a little wood, something deep and rich. There was also a faint trace of musk, the kind that made the skin react as if it had just been touched.

This scent was not intrusive, but dangerous in its restraint, just like him. It was the kind of scent that would stay on your pillow, on your fingers, on the inside of your wrist if you let it get close enough.

"And who is trapped now?" he asked. You smiled as you looked into his black eyes.

"Caught doesn’t mean defeated." You say and see his gaze boring into your lips. Your breathing instantly became uncontrollable.

You've always played this game. You made him lose control. He made you feel your body burning with anger. You wanted to break him, he wanted to conquer you.

But predators don't subdue. They either win or die.

You remember the moment when everything went wrong. You were sitting in the VIP lounge of the club, waiting for your sister to celebrate your brilliant victory. The deal that Jungkook wanted so badly was now yours. That's when the door slammed open, and they came for you.

Everything happened in a flash. People in black suits easily dealt with your bodyguards. They grabbed you, clamped your mouth, tied your hands, and in a few minutes you were sitting in a car. Without a word. Without the right to choose. And only then did you realize...

Jungkook is angry. Really angry. And then the prick in your neck and the darkness.

He stared at you for a long time, too long. Jungkook towered over you before he spoke. His voice was low and steady, but it vibrated with a dangerous note that sent a chill down your spine.

"You have no idea how much trouble you've caused me." His voice sounded calm, but it was seeping with menace.

You just tilted your head slightly, playfully, with a self-assurance that irritated him.

"If you're talking about how I took the deal with the Japanese partners away from you, I was expecting more fireworks, to be honest."

Something dark flashed in his eyes, something you'd seen many times before - rage hidden beneath an icy mask of control.

You and Jungkook had never been friends. You had known each other for years, but you had always been on opposite sides of the war.

You were the princess of the “Violet Dragons” clan. Your parents were the leaders of the clan, so from childhood, you knew what the world of shadows was and how to survive in it.

Your family controlled part of the city’s illegal business — casinos, underground clubs, and exclusive weapons trade.

You grew up smart, cunning, and ruthless, just like your parents, who unfortunately became victims of mafia conflicts.

You possessed that dangerous beauty that made men forget you could destroy them with a smile on your lips.

You remember well when Jungkook appeared. It was when your uncle took over the clan and you became his right-hand man.

He saw your potential, trusted your sharp mind and strategic thinking. In the mafia world, a woman could not officially lead, but she could guide. And you did it brilliantly. You became an integral part of the top of your family's clan. You planned. You acted. You played the game.

And Jungkook... He immediately established himself as a strong player. He didn't just enter the business, he took full control of it. His name quickly became the law. His word was a verdict. No one worked in this city without his permission. Those who wanted to stay alive bowed their heads to him.

But not you.

You never bowed your head.

Even though your uncle wanted to cooperate with Jungkook, you were against it. You saw him as a threat. Not a partner.

Instead of submitting to his sudden and overwhelming power, you fought for your place, taking away his contracts, disrupting his deals. You've been fighting this war for years - over people, over money, over power.

But something more than just hatred has been burning between you all along.

Your gazes lingered longer than they should have. Your conversations were always too intense, too provocative.

Your bodies were always too close when you met at formal events.

You knew he wanted you.

He knew you wanted him.

But neither of you could allow it.

Because as soon as someone submits, this game is over.

But here you are. You're tied up in his hands. Completely at his mercy. Jungkook looks at your face and for a moment he thinks that everything you did was on purpose. In order to be here with him, giving him the opportunity to destroy you.

"You think you're here because you blew my deal?" Jungkook grabbed the arms of the chair, squeezing them so hard that his fingers turned white. His face came closer to yours. "It's not the business, Y/N. It's you. You crossed the line." He growled. You tried to remain indifferent, but somewhere deep inside you, something trembled.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, putting on a dramatic tone. His smile was dangerous. He had seen you play too many times.

"You know what I mean. Last night, your little performance..." He explains. Before you could answer, he abruptly lifted you up with the chair, leaning forward so that your faces were almost level. His breath touched your lips.

"You made a fool of me. In front of everyone. My credibility has been undermined... You're overplay, princess." He sounded threatening, dangerous.

"This is business, Jungkook." You said, using his words, the ones he said to you every time he took a good deal or partner from under your nose. You sounded mocking, but he shook his head.

"No, princess. It was a game you played with me without thinking about the consequences."

You were silent, not knowing what to say. The smile that was on your face a moment ago disappeared. Of course, you knew that sooner or later he would realize that the deal that had been broken was your doing, but so soon?

He turned away, sat you back down, and walked a few steps away. He took off his jacket, then his watch. He threw it on the edge of the huge sofa. You watched his movements and could feel the tension between you growing.

You couldn't let him do anything to you. You had to get out of here. You had to save yourself. So while he wasn't looking, you tried to untie the rope. You were trained to do that. The world of the mafia required you to be strong and able to defend yourself.

Jungkook turned to face you and started to roll up his sleeves. The tattoos caught your attention, and he noticed it. But why was he rolling up his sleeves? Was he preparing to torture you? Or did he have something else in mind?

"I was standing two meters away. And I was looking into your eyes." he laughed softly, almost hysterically, not believing that you could pull off such a scam, "The same ones that are looking at me so brazenly now." His voice surprisingly sounded silky, dangerously soft.

You froze. The events of the previous evening flashed through your mind, the moment you stole the deal he'd been working on for two years from under his nose.

Jungkook had been negotiating hard with Kaizen Securities, a Japanese corporation that would have given him monopoly control of one of the largest illegal arms supply channels in Seoul. This deal was supposed to raise his status to the level of "untouchable" among all other players.

Since you had a long-standing rivalry with Jungkook, you planted a spy in his clan, who worked successfully for three years. You followed the negotiation process, which Minhyuk reported to you, carefully studying all the details.

You decided to do the following: let Jungkook almost finish the job, and then take back what was yours from the beginning. What your family lost when Jungkook arrived in the criminal arena.

Your last move was on the day the contract was signed. You used a fake identity, the name Hanako Shimada, and introduced yourself as an assistant to one of the Japanese directors, specializing in translation, negotiation, and legal support.

You arrived at the hotel where the meeting was taking place with the delegation, bribing the real assistant, who was "suddenly" hospitalized. You thought out your image to the smallest detail, so that it had nothing to do with your usual style, so that Jungkook would not recognize you.

You were dressed in a white business suit, with lenses, makeup, hairstyle, gait, even your voice slightly altered. You spoke flawless Japanese (because you lived in Japan until you were 16). Your accent was perfect. You played the role of an official - restrained, without a hint of your characteristic audacity.

You looked convincing to the last detail. Who would have suspected?

"I heard your voice." His voice darkened with each word. "Heard you translate every phrase, calmly, dryly, perfectly. Saw you hiding in a white suit and pretending to be someone else."

You were so confident and competent in your performance that he saw you as just another functional "gray mouse" and missed the punch right under his ribs. And now that he's already caught you, when he looks at you, he remembers everything - your gait, your eyes, the slight tilt of your head, the subtle smile - everything was right there in front of him, and he didn't see it.

He rolled up his sleeves and approached again, towering over you. Jungkook looked at you with his black eyes piercingly.

"You set me up, and I don't understand how I couldn't see you play, not recognize you..."

You looked at him silently. Your heart was beating somewhere in your throat, but your face was impeccably calm. He had just admitted that you had defeated him. That you hadn't just taken the contract - you had misled him so that he didn't recognize you from a few meters away.

You couldn't contain your triumph. You slowly raised an eyebrow and with a slight smile, said.

"It turns out I'm a really good actress."

You changed the terms of the deal behind Jungkook's back, telling the Japanese that he would not provide security guarantees. Posing as a trustee of a fictitious investor, you offered better terms: higher profits and security. The Japanese believed you and signed the contract right in his presence.

How sweet it was to see him humiliated in front of the Japanese, because he didn't recognize the manipulation and lost a lucrative contract.

Jungkook's eyes narrowed, his jaw twitched, but you continued, quietly, as if afraid to break the silence.

"And you, Jungkook, have become overconfident. You used to always see everything..."

His eyes darted between yours, sliding down to your lips, then to your neck, then to your thigh, which was visible through the long slit in your dress. You could almost physically feel his gaze touching your body.

His eyes returned to you.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No," you answered evenly. "I'm just reminding you who's had the upper hand in this game from the beginning."

You paused, still fumbling with the rope, and then said with poisonous tenderness.

"What did you think? That you could play on my turf for years, promise the Japanese control of the port my family has owned since my father's time, and I would keep quiet?"

His pupils dilated.

"You knew about the port?"

"I knew everything. Even which of your men had been leaking information to the Japanese." You were silent for a moment, savoring his defeat, and then spoke. "I won fair and square, Jungkook. I took what was rightfully mine."

"Fair?" He laughed, but there was nothing merry about it. "You played dirty. You lied, you bribed people, you made my partners change his mind." He runs his eyes over your face and almost can't control himself. Your self-confidence in your victory has made him angry.

You lift your chin proudly.

"So what? This is our world, isn't it? A world where the strongest take what they want by any means necessary." You argument. Jungkook leans in so that your lips almost touch.

"Yes, but the difference is that I'm stronger. And now you will play by my rules." His fingers touched your face, and you held your breath.

"And what are these rules?" You asked. Jungkook smiled, slowly, predatory.

"I'll show you. But first you have to understand one thing..." His fingers closed on your jaw, forcing you to look directly into his dark eyes.

"Because of your stunt, you are now at my mercy. And believe me, you will not be spared." He almost whispered it to you. You felt his breath on your lips. Your heart beat faster.

His fingers slid down and stopped at your throat. He didn't squeeze, he just touched, making you feel how close the edge was. His gaze slowly moved down, studying you, as if he was already deciding how you should obey him.

Jungkook suddenly turned away, held you with a cold gaze, and then walked away. You continued your struggle with the rope. A little more and you would be free.

He walked over to the table where there was a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He wasn’t in a hurry. He poured it slowly and turned to you, taking a sip. He liked knowing that this time, you wouldn’t run away. He didn't take his eyes off you. You didn't take your eyes off him.

Jungkook sat down on the sofa, drinking a honey-colored liquid. He sating across from you, looking at you calmly, as if he had won the battle in the end.

"I never thought I'd see you in such a helpless situation." His voice was low, savoring every word. He took another sip without hiding his smile. You clenched your jaw, not letting yourself show the fear that was still present, even though you tried to hide it deep inside.

"Enjoying?" You asked ironically, but your eyes were full of anger.

Jungkook twirled his glass in his hands and smiled, slowly, too confidently.

"You know what's the most interesting thing?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I could have put a stop to your antics a long time ago."

You snorted. The laugh came easily from your plump lips.

"You could have tamed me much sooner? But you only did it when I made a fool of you?" You said through your laughter.

Jungkook didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, calmly, without taking his eyes off you, and there was something frightening in that look. Not brute aggression, but cold calculation. He enjoyed your resistance, knew that you would fight to the last - and that was what amused him.

"No. I was just wondering how far you could go. And now you've made your choice, princess." He finally said, twirling the glass in his fingers. "You played with fire, not realizing it could burn you." Jungkook took a sip of alcohol. He tasted the honeyed flavor, and smiled at the corner of his lips.

"Tell me honestly, you didn't think I was going to ignore this trick of yours like all the times before, did you? Let you play with me as you please?"

You lifted your chin sharply, even now not letting him see your weakness.

"You want to break me just because I defeated you?" you challenged. "Then you're much weaker than you look."

Something much darker flashed in his eyes. He put the glass on the nightstand, stood up and came closer.

"Do you think you've defeated me?" Jungkook repeated quietly, leaning in once more so that your faces were almost touching.

He always violated your personal space. He liked to keep you close, so close that you didn't have time to collect your thoughts.

"If it was really a victory, then why are you here - tied up, without any control over the situation, instead of celebrating your success?" his voice dropped to a velvety whisper, and every word penetrated your skin.

You pressed your lips together.

"You know it well. I'm not afraid of you, Jungkook," you said firmly.

He smiled, his eyes sliding over your face, and he straightened up. He liked to look down on you. His imagination painted scenes of you kneeling perfectly before him, and he looked down on you the same way. Something in his middle caught fire at the thought of your mouth on his cock.

But he calmed himself as quickly as he could and walked around you, standing behind you. You stopped untying the rope and clasped your hands together so he wouldn't see that it was loose.

Jungkook leaned down to your ear and said.

"This is good," he whispered. "Because fear is chaos. And I need order."

His fingers touched your neck, and you flinched. At his touch.

He slowly touched the collar of your dress, letting the fabric slip slightly off your shoulder. Your skin burned where his fingers had left a mark.

"It's time to teach you something really important."

"Ha-ha, teach? What can you teach me?" you asked with undisguised interest.

"Submission," Jungkook replied. The word came out of his mouth as easily as a breath. But there was power in it. A power that was frightening. "Submission." He repeated it almost gently, stroking your collarbone with his fingertips. "It's something you haven't known yet, but I'll take care of it." You felt indignation rising inside you.

"You're doing this again?" You said as if it were boring. "I'll never be yours, Jungkook." He smiled in a way that made you feel hot.

"Oh, don't you get it yet?" His voice was almost playful, but there was a metallic tinge of control in the deep timbre. "You are already mine, princess."

Jungkook was in front of you again. His hand grabbed your chin sharply, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

"Every fight between us, every moment when you woke up and thought about me, hating it... It all meant only one thing. You've always belonged to me."

Your breathing became heavier. And this time... you really felt that you were starting to suffocate, not just from fear. But also from confusing feelings that you shouldn't have felt.

He was taking over. He control a situation as a usual. But you hadn't lost yet.

All your emotions rushed out - and it was at that moment that you managed to escape. The rope slipped from your hands, and you hit him sharply, creating space for escape. His reaction was instantaneous, but you were already flying toward the door, half out of breath, consumed by a single desire-freedom.

Your hand almost touched the handle when Jungkook's fingers grabbed your wrist. You turned around, trying to strike, but he easily dodged. Your next move, a kick, was blocked.

In a second, you were pinned against a cold wall. Jungkook forced your arms behind your back, squeezing them to prevent you from breaking free. His body was pressed against you, and you could feel the warmth of his chest pressing against your back. His crotch was touching your buttocks, and your legs were locked with his.

"Want a fight?" he laughed low, touching your ear. You were both breathing heavily.

"Let go of me and I'll kick your ass in seconds Jeon," you said angrily. You suddenly felt his cock resting on your buttocks. He was aroused by your little fight.

"I think we'd better take this passion elsewhere," Jungkook said seductively, and he pressed in closer so you could feel the hardness of his cock even better. It was only then that you noticed a throbbing between your legs. And moisture was leaking onto your underwear. It was foolish not to admit that his proximity excited you as much as it excited him.

"You'll never have me, you bastard," you said, in defiance of your feelings.

Jungkook turned you around in one confident motion, still holding you so you couldn't hurt him. He smiled when he saw your hateful gaze. But you're pretending. He knows you want him.

"Oh, I can have you anytime. But you want it too, don't you princess?" he said, licking his lower lip. You stare at his lips, mesmerized. Fuck. You want to kiss him.

Jungkook finally let go of your hands, confident that you wouldn't fight anymore. He ran his fingers along your figure, lowering his hands to your hips. He slid his hand under your dress and squeezed your skin lightly. His touch was confident, almost possessive. Your hands rested on his chest, as if trying to push him, but your fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.

"You're shaking, Y/N." He spoke softly, his voice hoarse and hot, seeping into your mind, making your heart beat even faster than before.

"You overestimate your influence over me." You tried to sound confident, but your voice trembled treacherously. "I will never play by your rules."

"But tonight you will," he lifted you by the hips, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist, and carried you to the table behind him. You felt the cold surface against your skin and only then realized how hot you were from what was happening between you.

Jungkook was breathing heavily, barely able to control himself. He suddenly smiled, pressing you tighter to his aroused cock.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll break you." He was serious. His lips barely touched your neck, taking his time, leaving no marks, just burning you with his hot breath. You could feel his palms resting steadily on your buttocks, his fingers flesh squeezing to remind you that the power was his.

"Why don't you push me away, princess?" He whispered it right next to your ear, his voice breaking into hot pulses that ran through your entire body.

Your fingers clenched into fists. You should have resisted. You should have told him it was a game, that he wouldn't make you submit. But when his lips finally touched your neck, when his hot lips sucked in your tender skin, leaving marks, you lost the ability to think.

"You've been playing strong for so long that you've forgotten what it's like to just give in." He said when he had left enough hickeys on your neck. His voice was quiet, but it filled the entire space between you.

You didn't like the feeling of being under his control. But what you didn't like even more was how much you wanted it. You squeezed his shirt, as if balancing the desire to push him away and pull him closer.

"Tell me I'm wrong..." His lips stopped right next to yours. You met his gaze. Full of lust, full of power to conquer.

"I..." You paused, inhaled. Your pride dissolved, burned under that look. "...I hate you."

Jungkook smiled.

"Little liar."

His lips finally covered yours, sharply, all-consuming, so that you forgot how to breathe. It was an invasion. A struggle.

You squeezed his shoulders, trying to hold back - but your lips responded. At first it was a protest. Then it was an explosion. The kiss became deeper, hotter, as if you were both surrendering to all the emotions that had been building up for so long and burning from the inside.

His tongue penetrated you without asking for permission, just like everything else he did. And you... didn't stop him. Because you wanted it too. You wanted it.

He tore the zipper of your dress open and it gathered at your hips. The sight of your perfectly taut breasts, erect nipples, and goosebumps made Jungkook want more. He uncontrollably took one of your breasts in his hands and squeezed it. His wet tongue circled around your bud, tasting the pleasant taste of your nipples.

You were moaning above his head, just from his caresses, so what would you sound like when he entered you? When he fills you to the brim?

"Feel that?" His voice was husky, heavy with desire. You didn't know what he was asking specifically, whether it was his hard cock resting against your needy pussy or his power over you. But you felt it all. His strength. His desire. His complete control over your every move. "You've always belonged to me." He whispered it right next to your ear, breaking into a hot breath.

His hands, which had been under your dress, boldly reached for your underwear. He stopped, his lips still touching yours.

"Are you finally admitting it, princess?"

Silence. Only your breaths. The pulse in your temples. Hot air, saturated with tension. But you didn't say anything. Are you really losing this war that has lasted so long?

His hand moved your underwear to the side. Your body shuddered as he ran his fingers between the damp folds, easily finding a spot that made you sigh softly.

Jungkook smiled triumphantly. He massaged your clit, with slow, blissful strokes. When he plunged a finger into your passage, you grabbed his free hand, squeezing it.

"So wet... Fuck, you're just dripping onto my fingers, baby." He whispered. In between kissing your neck, your jaw, your breasts. He wanted to explore every inch of your body with his lips.

Jungkook added another finger to your passage and fucked you with it. He created a friction that made you want to feel something more.

"I want to hear that…Tell me I won." He demanded. His voice was full of power, he knew you belonged to him completely.

You opened your eyes and met his gaze, heavy and piercing. And you had to surrender. You had to admit it. You belonged to him completely and utterly. You wanted to be his. You fucking wanted this man to fuck you.

"You win, Kook. I'm yours." You whispered. He stretched you, plunged into every cell of your body, took you over, made you forget where you were, who you were, and why you'd ever tried to resist.

His movements became deeper, more confident. And you couldn't fight anymore-your hands reached for the buttons of his shirt, and you pulled them open randomly, wanting to tear them off.

Jungkook slipped his fingers out of your passage and helped you undress him. In the dim light of the suite, his body was so hot and sexy. His skin was perfect, every muscle as if carved by God himself.

You gulped in a breath, as your eyes touched his torso. Elastic, well-defined chest, broad shoulders. His abs, like marble, consisted of perfect lines that stretched down, right to the place where your imagination was already drawing the most daring images.

Your fingers reached for his body, sliding over his hot skin. Now you knew what his tattoos looked like, the ones that were always hidden behind his clothes.

There was ink that seemed to come to life under your touch. First, you noticed the words "Rather be dead than cool" tattooed in italics on his forearm, a phrase that perfectly matched his personality: bold, unrestrained, living to the fullest.

Above, on his wrist, was a delicate drawing of a tiger and a lotus, symbolizing strength and purity - a contrast similar to his own.

And on his shoulder was a large black flower, and your palm slid over it, gently, almost reverently.

You barely had time to enjoy the sight of it when Jungkook pulled off your dress and then simply tore open your thin black lace thong. You gasped, not expecting such behavior from Jungkook, but it seemed he was losing patience.

He had a sly smile on his face. His eyes never left yours, hungry, dark, and without mercy.

"You know, princess... Now that you're mine, I'm going to make sure you can never forget this moment."

He knelt between your legs. His gaze slid down to your center and he licked his lips like a predator who had finally gotten his prey.

His tongue slid over your folds, gently at first, exploring, making you arch with pleasure, and then deeper, harder, rhythmically, until your moans became shameless. His hands held your hips tightly, not letting you escape, not letting you even think about resisting. He worked his tongue as if he could drive you crazy with it alone, and damn it, he did.

Your stomach was in a knot, wave after wave passing through your body, making you squirm and gasp. You grabbed his hair, trying to hold back, but...

"Fuck..." you cursed, barely recognizing your own voice.

He lifted his head, his lips glistening with your wetness. He flicked his tongue across his lower lip, tasting you. His chest heaved rhythmically, He was on the verge, just like you.

"I can't wait any longer," he said hoarsely and stood up, shedding the rest of his clothes. His cock was hard, tense, ready for you.

You didn't look away. It was perfect. Big. Erect. And all yours.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the table, supporting you under your buttocks, and ran his head between your folds. Just teasing. Just playing.

"Tell me again. Who do you belong to?"

You clutched his forearm, your nails digging into his skin, your body trembling with anticipation.

"You... Jungkook. I belong to you."

"Good girl."

You thought Jungkook was going to take you right now. He was teasing you with those movements of his cock on your clit, but he didn't come in. You weren't expecting it when he pulled back and pulled you to the floor. Your buttocks were resting on the table, and in a moment Jungkook turned you around, bending you over the table.

Your breasts were on the table, your hands resting on the perfectly polished surface. Your hot breath left condensation.

Jungkook came up behind you, pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, and thrust. You felt him penetrate. He had barely plunged into you when you screamed in pain. He stopped when he felt you were in pain. You were tighty, he could feel it as he stretched you.

"How long since you had sex?" he asked in a low voice. You pressed your fingers tighter to the table, so that they turned white. Jungkook moved back and forth, as if breaking through an invisible barrier.

"It's been a long time," you breathed out, but your voice sounded sharp, like the thorns on a beautiful rose. Jungkook smiled, still moving lightly at the entrance. He stroked your thighs, soothing you.

"When was the last time?" he asked. You raised your eyebrows, why was he asking? You should talk less and act more. Even though you were in pain, you needed him inside.

"What the hell does it matter, just come in," you couldn't stand it. You heard Jungkook's guttural laugh. And then his hand was right in front of your eyes. He leaned down and touched your cheek with his lips.

"You're not supposed to be a virgin, are you?" his voice vibrated against your skin, making you tremble inside. His cock was still in your passage, but not fully penetrating.

"Don't even dream about being my first, I had sex before you," you said indignantly. You turned your head a few centimeters. You saw Jungkook's lips and it was at that moment that you felt him enter you completely. It was not very sharp, but you screamed.

Jungkook plunged into you until his hips felt yours. His balls touched your pussy and he froze, still leaning over you. You were breathing hard and fast, feeling pain, but it was being replaced by the pleasure of being filled with his cock.

"You're such a tight princess that even if you did have sex, that idiot had a small cock." he laughed again. "Who was that?" he moved his hips and you bit your lip to keep from screaming again. "Your assistant Dongmin, or was it In-guk, that piece of shit who was always hanging around you?"

Jungkook moved his hips slowly but deeply. He was careful, and you could tell he didn't want to hurt you. His breath was hot, burning your skin, spreading over it in a stormy wave.

"That was Taehyung," you said. Jungkook froze. You smiled because you knew it would surprise him.

"Taehyung?" he repeated quietly, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, and his gaze-though you couldn't see it-was probably as dark as a night storm.

His fingers tightened around your hips, and his breath came in shorter bursts. But instead of getting angry or pulling away, he slowly, almost painfully, moved inside you again, sinking deeper.

"I didn't know he had a small one..." Jungkook said it with a sneer, but you didn't laugh, because Taehyung didn't have a small one. Maybe a little smaller than Jungkook's. "Why... he?" he said hoarsely, as if he wasn't asking, but trying to understand.

You smiled out loud, a little cheekily.

"We had a common project, common interests, spent a lot of time together...and it happened." you said, holding back moans of pleasure.

Jungkook entered you, deeper and longer each time. His movements were slow but full of power. Jungkook felt a stab of jealousy that Taehyung was touching you. He saw the pleasure on your beautiful face, heard your moans... Before Jungkook did. That made he’s movements chaos.

Your fingers slid along the steamy surface of the table, looking for support. Your whole body merged with his in a rhythm that seemed endless.

Jungkook lowered himself, leaning even closer, almost completely covering your body with his.

His lips touched your neck, burning with every word he spoke:

"Shared interests?" he whispered, moving his hips so that you cried out again. "I wonder if he liked the way you squirmed under him too..."

You turned your head as sharply as your posture allowed and met his gaze defiantly:

"What, are you jealous?" you exhaled, trembling from the new thrust. "Maybe you're afraid he was better?"

His whole body tensed. In the next moment, Jungkook straightened behind you and abruptly, but not violently, withdrew from you almost completely... and then plunged in again, deeply, to the very core.

You screamed, clutching the edge of the table.

"Say it again," his voice was low, dark as thunder in the night, "and I make you forget who Taehyung, Dongmin, In-guk, and everyone else who ever dared to touch you is."

His hips pressed firmly against your buttocks again, and his hands were no longer gentle, but strong, saying: "now you are mine."

And you felt it - with every cell.

His fingers slid to your clit, stimulating you to unbearable sensations. He knew how to touch you, how to hold you to make you moan louder for him.

Your sounds filled the room. He picked up the pace, but didn't lose control. Your back pressed against his chest as he lifted you without leaving you. You could feel his heart - it was beating furiously, almost in unison with yours.

"From this night — you only mine," he said. You couldn't even imagine how much he liked the sound of that, "you should remember how you looked when I fucked you for the first time, so you never forget who was the best in you..."

With that, he pulled out of you. You felt your passage hurt. Your pussy was swollen and throbbing unbearably. You tried to normalize your breathing when you felt Jungkook grab you, throwing you over his shoulder. Your bodies touched again, raising the temperature of each other. His hand was on your bare buttocks.

"Oh my God, what are you doing?" you said in agony in front of his buttocks. He couldn't help himself and slapped your ass.

"Going to show you how amazing you are when my cock is deep inside you," he said playfully.

Jungkook carried you into the bedroom. It was dark, but not completely. The lights of the city at night illuminated it barely, but it was enough to see what you needed to see.

You saw Jungkook carry you past the big bed and set you on your feet. In front of a mirror.

You looked at your reflection and saw a girl who was naked, with marks on her neck and chest. She was disheveled with swollen lips.

Jungkook hugged you close. You saw his face and sly smile in the mirror. His big palm touched your stomach.

"Just look how beautiful you are," he said in your ear, not taking his eyes off yours in the mirror, "how beautiful you are when you give yourself to me," he whispered, squeezing you more closer. His lips barely touched your skin, but your body was already on fire from this touch. You looked in the mirror and couldn't recognize yourself.

He grabbed your jaw and turned you around, kissing you. His tongue went into your mouth as if he was the master. Your tongues intertwined, wrestling just like you had all those years before. Finally, he bit your lower lip and let you go.

Jungkook led you to the mirror and you reflexively grabbed the frame. You let him dive into you again. This time he went in less painfully but still deeply, keeping his gaze on your reflection.

"Don't look away," his voice was warm but commanding, "I want you to see what I'm doing to you. So that every time you think back to this night, you will remember yourself like this. Mine."

His hips started moving again, gradually speeding up. His arms held you tightly, one cupping your breasts, the other sliding down between your legs. He touched you gently and hard at the same time, mixing pleasure with fierce passion exists.

You were trembling, and every movement of his body made you forget how to breathe.

"So who's fucking you so good, huh princess?" he hissed, staring at your mirror reflection.

You didn't answer, just exhaled his name, shuddering at his fingers on your clit.

"You…" you hardly breathe, "You Jungkook..."

You held back moans from the intense stimulation, the feel of his big cock inside you. And Jungkook didn't like it.

"Louder," he grunted. "I want to enjoying your scream."

You listened to him. You couldn't hold back any longer. Your loud moans, almost screams, filled the entire space around you. They were intertwined with the sounds of your bodies hitting each other, and they were almost sinful.

His cock moving inside you, hot, hard, ruthless. And your whole body merged with him in this rhythm - wild, honest, real. As if he knew no mercy.

He pulled your hair to the side and kissed your neck.

"I'm going to cherish this moment in your memories, because this is just the beginning of our fun adventure."

You let go of all your feelings as your orgasm hit you like a storm. Your body arched in his arms, the last, loudest moan burst from your chest, and your mind exploded with white light.

Jungkook hit you hard a few more times and came out of you. He came on your ass with a hoarse, low growl.

He put his wet forehead against your back, which was covered with a thin layer of sweat.

Your breaths merged into one, your hearts were beating furiously. His arms did not let go, his body did not move away. All you could feel was the weight of his cock on your buttocks and his warm, thick cum dripping down your legs.

You moved, forcing Jungkook to pull away. His cum dripped down your legs, dripped onto the floor, but neither of you seemed to care.

You turned around to face him. Jungkook was still breathing deeply, but he had a satisfied smile on his lips. You smiled too, but slyly, playfully.

"So…it happened," you said first. Jungkook pulled you to him. His lips covered yours, completely. Absorbing you, just as he had done with your body. With your soul. Having enjoyed your lips enough, he broke the kiss. You slowly opened your eyes. They were sparkling.

"It happened, princess, are you satisfied?" he asked, carefully studying your expression.

"Do I have to tell you the truth? Or can I tease you?" you asked playfully. His fingers on your waist squeezed your skin tighter.

"Only tell the truth... because if you lie to me again, or deceive me... you will not receive my mercy, anymore" he warned in a soft voice not without a touch of menace.

"It sounds like a another challenge..." you said, "but if tell honest, I'm really satisfied," you kissed him on the lips, a short touch, and when you pulled away a few centimeters, seeing his eyes closed, you whispered, "you fucked me so good."

Jungkook opened his eyes when he heard your words, but you had already disappeared. He saw you hurriedly walked towards the bedroom door.

"I need to take a shower," you threw over your shoulder and disappeared behind the door.

When you got out of the shower, you didn't find Jungkook. You heard the sound of water coming from the other bathroom and knew this was your chance to run away from him. You put on the dress that was lying on the floor in the living room, but you sewed up your thong because Jungkook had torn it.

You grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote him a short message. You signed it with a kiss and the first letter of your name.

You grabbed key card, opened the door of hotel room and left without being stopped.

Jungkook took a quick shower, replaying your sex in his head. He was excited and happy that you would finally be his. The way you moaned and screamed his name made his mind go wild. And he was going to get even more from you.

Jungkook walked into the living room and heard silence. He became alert, looking around for you because you weren't in the bedroom.

His eyes fell on the white paper left on the table. Nowhere to be seen was your burgundy dress, which he had taken off you somewhere around here. Jungkook laughed as he walked over to the table. Did you really run away and leave a note?

He held the white piece of paper between his two fingers, skimming the contents.

"You still didn't catch me, but I'll be more careful than today. I'm looking forward to your hunt for me. What will be our next meeting? I'm sure you're already waiting for it.

P.S. Thanks for the show anyway, guy with the dark eyes.

Y/N 💋"

Jungkook clenched the piece of paper into a fist. And then he laughed. He sat down on the couch with his head on the back of the couch and looked at the ceiling.

You run away again. You had outsmarted him again. Again made his thoughts boil with the possibility of knowing a way to get you. He closed his eyes tiredly, but a smile played on his lips was predatory.

"No mercy now, Princess. The darkness pulls you under before you know it..." was the sound in his head.

[sknyuz]

hi :)) i LOOOOOOVE your writing, you do all the boys so much justice. i was reading the intimacy one and saw you wanted requests for gotak 👀👀

this ideas been festering in my head so walk with me (or don't, that's also fine.)

new student!reader who comes to class and has a small run in with juntae (similar to how he bumped into sieun) and thinks he's adorable so they kinda just naturally becomes really close friends with him. gotak heard news about the new student and also started to hear juntae talk about them so he lowkey tries to swindle juntae into introducing all of them. juntae being the cutie (but also not naive!) he is decided to introduce them and gotak is taken back by how close they are and gets mildly jealous (for what reason 🤔😏).

sorry for the ramble and also that went no where but it's been in my head for sooooo long 😭😭😭

pairing — go hyuntak (gotak) x gn!reader (ft. bff!juntae) genre — fluff, comedy, f2l warnings — mild language, injury (minor sprain), sieun being an instigator, baku being a headass word count — ~2.1k

note: omg this took soooo long to post because of my break !! i finished this actually a week ago lol i just had lots of prior requests to get to so i never got around to posting it. alas, let us all welcome gotak’s debut on my blog !! the people have been waitinggggg and asking for this one !! and finally... !!

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

to put it simply, if you hadn’t turned the corner right at that moment, you don’t know how the rest of this school year would've turned out.

new school, new people, new everything. you had a map in your hand and maybe two brain cells left when someone rounded the hallway a little too fast and bumped straight into you. papers went flying. both of you froze.

“oh no—wait, i’m sorry, that was me,” he said, already crouched down to gather the mess like it was his life that had been scattered across the floor.

you blinked, surprised. he had soft eyes and glasses sliding halfway down his nose and this slightly panicked look like he thought you might cry.

“it’s okay,” you told him. “honestly, you might’ve saved my life. i was about to walk straight into a locked door.”

he smiled, awkward and kind. “my name is juntae. seo juntae. you’re new, right?”

you nodded. and just like that, he offered to walk you to class—it was the easiest decision you’d made all day.

juntae was the type of person who made space for you without ever making you feel like a burden. he brought you snacks during lunch and showed you where to hide out when the hallways got too loud. he also talked a lot about his friends, and one afternoon—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said, “oh, you should meet sieun. you’d like him.”

you did. he was quiet and careful with his words, but funny in a dry way that caught you off guard. he’d glance at juntae like you really brought them here? but still offered you a spot at the table. he even let you steal a fry. so you counted that as a win.

after that came baku—loud, sunny, fast-talking. he practically tackled you into a high five and said, “juntae’s new bestie? you’re in good hands,” before dragging you into some debate about what counts as a sandwich.

somehow, you ended up kind of... just around. like a ghost that turned real. people knew your name before you introduced yourself. baku waved whenever he saw you. sieun always made room for you on the bench. and juntae, sweet as he was, forgot to formally introduce you to one person.

“yo,” gotak called, wiping sweat from his neck as he tossed the basketball to baku. “who’s that?”

baku looked up from tying his shoelace. “huh?”

“over there,” gotak nodded toward the sidelines, where you were doubled over laughing next to sieun and juntae. “they’ve been hanging around a lot.”

baku blinked, “that’s y/n.” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

gotak simply stared, as baku tilted his head. “you know them. don’t you?”

gotak looked back at you. you were teasing juntae about something, eyes crinkled, whole face lit up. juntae said something back that made you shove his arm, half-laughing, half-gasping.

gotak frowned, “i’ve never met them.”

baku paused. “wait. what? i thought juntae introduced you already—he told everyone else. dude. even sieun knows her.”

gotak narrowed his eyes. “so why didn’t he tell me?”

“damn,” baku grinned. “someone’s feeling left out.” as he threw the ball to his chest, a little too roughly to snap his friend out of it.

“shitty pass,” gotak muttered under his breath, passing the ball back to him.

baku snorted. “you sure you’re mad about the ball and not the fact that your bestie got a new bestie?”

gotak didn’t answer. but later that day, when he caught you waiting for juntae outside the gym, he slowed down.

you waved, and he waved back. maybe a little delayed, a little thoughtful.

maybe a little curious.

he hesitated like he was deciding something, then crossed the space between you with that awkward confidence some people carry when they’re not used to starting conversations but do it anyway.

he scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down before landing on yours. “hey. uh... y/n,”

you smiled. “hi.”

he nodded, like that helped him keep going. “i’m also juntae’s friend, in the basketball team. with baku.” you tilted your head. “oh yeah—go hyuntak, right?”

he blinked.

you shrugged. “baku mentioned you once. and you were on the court earlier.”

gotak looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected you to know his name. then his mouth twitched, the smallest upward curve. “...right. that’s me. call me gotak.”

you stood there for a beat, quiet.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said.

he glanced up, then back down, like he was working through a million thoughts at once. “yeah. you too.”

just then, the gym doors creaked open behind you.

“y/n!” jun-tae called, jogging out with his bag slung over one shoulder. “sorry—got caught up helping the coach—oh, hey gotak!”

gotak stepped back half a pace, nodding. “hey.”

juntae looked between you, confused for half a second. “wait—did i never introduce you guys?”

you and gotak both said, “no.”

juntae blinked. “...oops.”

you laughed. gotak didn’t, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he looked over at you again.

after that, he finally had an excuse.

or maybe it was just that now you were officially introduced—he started showing up more. like how he always just happened to walk by your classroom when it let out. or how he’d offer to carry your stuff from your locker even if it wasn’t heavy. he’d still act casual about it—mumbling something about "heading that way anyway"—but the look in his eyes always lingered a little longer than it used to.

you started showing up to practices more too. usually with a water bottle in hand. eventually, two.

then four.

baku started calling you their "hydration manager" and gotak rolled his eyes every time, but he’d take the bottle from your hands like it meant something, every time you handed him his bottle, your fingers would brush. lightly. deliberately. like a habit you weren’t in a rush to break.

he wasn’t loud about it, but as the days passed, he found himself looking for you more often than he meant to—your voice across the court, your laugh when juntae said something stupid, and the way you stuck around even when no one asked you to.

he didn’t say it out loud, but your presence became something he... liked. something that made the world feel a little softer when you were around.

and sometimes, when you laughed a little too hard at juntae’s jokes, gotak would glance over without meaning to. once, he got so distracted that baku shot the ball clean over his head and it smacked him right in the back.

“yo!” baku shouted, rushing over. “you good?!”

gotak muttered, rubbing the side of his head, “i wasn’t looking.”

“clearly,” baku huffed. “what were you looking at?”

gotak didn’t answer. just glanced back toward the sidelines, where you were sitting, completely unaware.

you weren’t exactly subtle either.

at first, it was just a glance. maybe two. maybe three, if you were feeling brave and he was too focused on the court to notice. there was something about the way he moved—steady, grounded, all quiet strength and furrowed brows. you’d never really watched basketball before, but suddenly it was your favorite part of the afternoon.

whenever he scored, you clapped a little louder. a little quicker. maybe even stood up once, under the excuse of stretching.

juntae caught you once. leaned over and whispered, “you cheer louder for him than for baku.”

you blinked. “no i don’t.”

he grinned. “yes you do.”

you smacked his arm. “shut up.”

but the next time gotak glanced toward the benches after a point, your hands were already mid-clap, eyes already on him.

he met your gaze.

just for a second.

you looked away first.

the more you saw of gotak, the more you saw him. it started with the little things—running into him by the vending machine after class, both of you reaching for the same pack of chips at the same time. you laughed, unsure of who should take it first.

“you can have it,” gotak said, smiling, though you could swear there was a flicker of something in his eyes. something that felt... not exactly like embarrassment, but not entirely casual either.

"no, it’s fine, you take it," you said, holding your hand out. "you reached first."

he paused, just staring for a second, before he gave a small shrug and grabbed it. “you sure?”

“yeah.”

you both took your snacks and stepped aside, awkwardly aware of how close you’d been. as you tried to avoid eye contact, you were almost certain your heart was racing. had he been looking at you like that... or was it just your imagination?

the awkward encounters started happening more often, though. a lot more often.

you’d bump into him in the hallway. near the library. at the school gates. suddenly, you felt like you were always in his orbit—and not just you. everyone noticed.

“you two are weirdly always in the same place at the same time,” juntae pointed out one day while you were grabbing lunch. “it’s like you’re following him around.”

you choked on your drink. “what? no. no, i’m not. i—he just happens to be there. i’m—just minding my business.”

juntae fixes his glasses, shrugging it off with a playful grin, though you could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “alright, y/n. totally.”

and of course, baku caught on too. one day, while you were standing at the sidelines during practice, watching gotak and baku scrimmage, he glanced over at you, then at gotak, then back at you. then gotak. then you. he raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“hey,” baku said casually, tossing the ball to gotak. “you two are like, besties now, huh?”

gotak froze, looking at him, and then glancing over at gotak to avoid meeting baku’s gaze. “what? no. we’re not—”

“uh-huh,” baku grinned, spinning the ball on his finger. “sure, and i’m top of the class.”

during practice one afternoon, it happened.

gotak went up for a dunk, but his foot slipped awkwardly when he landed, and he crumpled to the ground with a loud thud. your heart dropped as you watched him clutch his ankle, wincing in pain.

“gotak!” you shouted, rushing to his side.

he grimaced, leaning against the floor, clearly in pain.

“dude, what happened?” baku called out, rushing over too. “you good?”

“i’m fine,” gotak muttered, trying to push himself up, but his face twisted in discomfort. “just sprained it, probably.”

sieun was quick to appear by your side, his usually calm demeanor shifting slightly as he assessed the situation. without missing a beat, he turned to you, a rare glint of something in his eyes. “maybe y/n can take him to the infirmary? we still have to clean up here.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond. “huh?”

sieun shot a pointed look toward baku, who was still oblivious to what was going on. his lips curved in the smallest, lopsided smirk. “baku doesn’t need your help right now,” he said, almost too casually, before giving a side glance at you.

you noticed baku didn’t catch the hint, just furrowing his brows at the situation. “wait, what? you seriously want y/n to drag him to the infirmary? you do realize that guy’s gonna crush ‘em under his weight, right? y’know gotak’s been having too much chicken—”

sieun’s eyes flickered with something that might’ve been amusement, though his expression stayed neutral. “go on,” sieun said, motioning to gotak, tone soft but firm. “help him out.”

you looked down at gotak, who was still struggling to stand, and it dawned on you that he was huge—much bigger than you. and the thought of dragging him all the way to the infirmary alone? absurd. awkward.

but you couldn’t exactly say no, not when everyone was watching and not when he was looking at you like he needed your help.

“you okay to walk?” you asked, kneeling down next to him.

“i think i’ll survive,” he grumbled, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

you offered him your hand. “come on, let’s get you there.”

he took your hand, and you tried not to notice how big his hand felt wrapped around yours. you both started walking, and although you tried to make it seem like a casual walk, every step felt like you were carrying the weight of his entire body.

sieun watched you both for a second, his gaze unreadable. the smallest of smirks tugged at the corners of his mouth.

the walk to the infirmary wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, though you were still struggling to act normal when you finally helped gotak sit down on the clinic bed. his ankle was already wrapped up, but he kept fiddling with his fingers, looking down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

you sat across from him, the silence stretching for a moment as you both just sat there, waiting.

“uh, thanks for this, y/n,” gotak mumbled, his voice quiet in a way that was almost unlike him. he kept glancing at you, then back at his hands.

you tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “no problem, seriously. i told you, i’m happy to help. anything for you,” you said, maybe a little more casually than you intended, your heart racing just a little.

he met your gaze then, eyes wide and slightly soft, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “anything?” he asked, teasing, but there was a hint of something more in his tone.

“well, yeah,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “you’re my friend. i’ve got your back.”

there was a beat of silence as you both just looked at each other. gotak’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers still fidgeting, though a little more nervously now.

“you’re…you’re a really good person, y/n,” he said softly, his eyes lowering to his hands again, as if he was unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice. “thanks, gotak. that means a lot coming from you.”

the moment stretched longer than it probably should have, but neither of you seemed to want to break it.

finally, he cleared his throat, looking up at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “so, uh…if you’re willing to do anything for me…”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

he shifted a little, suddenly a little more serious, though his usual playful grin still tugged at the corners of his lips. “you think you could—i don’t know—not make me fall for you?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you swore you didn’t breathe. his words hung in the air, the playful edge still there, but there was something different about the way he said it. something that made your heart flutter in that puppy-love way that only people in the early stages of affection could understand.

“w-what?” you stammered, unable to hide the rush of warmth that spread across your cheeks. “you’re—you’re falling for me?”

he raised both eyebrows now, the teasing gone from his voice, replaced with something more earnest. “maybe,” he said with a small, sheepish grin, his gaze never leaving you. “maybe it’s too late for that. i think i’m already halfway there.”

you blinked at him, unsure how to respond, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you was suddenly thick with something you didn’t quite know how to define.

you broke the silence with a nervous laugh, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “well, i guess it’s not so bad to meet you in the middle if you’re already halfway there.”

gotak chuckled, his lips curving into that genuine smile you’d come to look forward to. “yeah, i guess it’s not, huh?”

if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u

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[hedwig221b]

hiiii, do you know of any sterek fics where the pack is super close (or become super close) like the found family trope?

thank you so much <333

Hi, check out this post! Also found these

(Sacred) In the Ordinary by idyll

The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time. Based on a kink meme prompt that grew legs and got serious. Note: This is a whole lot of pack!fic with a very slow build Derek/Stiles.

Sunday Breakfast by Jerakeen

Somewhere along the line, Sunday breakfast becomes a thing.

You're an A+ Alpha, Derek Hale by yodasyoyo

"Is that a dick?” Stiles cranes his neck, eyes narrowing as he squints up at the whiteboard that’s center stage in Derek’s loft. “Because it looks like a dick.” “It is not a dick.” Derek glares at him. “Are you sure?”

I am the Lorax, I speak for the Trees by seaweedly

It’s not like Stiles had intended to keep his non-human-ness from the pack. Truely he thought they knew. It’s not like he had been particularly good at hiding the fact that he was the literal guardian of the Beacon Hills forests. — or — The five times Stiles blatantly shows his true power around the pack without them realising it. And the one time they actually talk about the fact Stiles is not exactly human.

A Family of Mine by crappybowlsoframen

And once—just once—Stiles caught him dozing off on his couch after a long patrol, the softest snore escaping him. And that was when Stiles knew. Derek was his. Theirs. He wasn't just the alpha. He was family.

Everything has changed by Kimmy

Over the course of one night, everything has changed. or 5 times Stiles used magic to protect the pack (and not just) and 1 time Derek protected Stiles from… something.

For the Best by insertnextline

After being rejected by the pack that never needed him, Stiles Stilinski is determined to make himself useful. That is before he is subsequently kidnapped and beaten within an inch of his life. How will he get himself out of this one? And what new allies will he make along the way

Family Unit by AsagiStilinski

So werewolf symposiums are a thing That's a thing that exists, it's happening, it's in the world now And Stiles doesn't know what in the name of hell he did to deserve this ("It's a mixed supernatural convention Stiles, not a 'werewolf symposium'!"")

Scent marking for dummies by TuliaNayeli

Stiles doesn't understand why Derek keeps glaring at him whenever he shows up to the loft lately. It could have something to do with the fact that the pack is secretly pissing off Derek by making Stiles smell like them rather than him. But hey, why don't they just get their heads out of their asses?

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void. It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Merely

Boyd is there, hovering over his claws, Isaac looks devastated, Jennifer looks bewildered and concerned and horrified, Kali looks smug, the twins are carefully keeping their faces blank but they're playing along, and- Gods, he's really going to be forced to do this, isn't he? Pack, his Pack, the make-shift family he'd all but accidentally gathered is going to die by his hand, and even if it's forced, it'll still be his fault, for wanting them, for needing them, for biting them. Loving them. He wants to close his eyes but he owes Boyd more than that. And then, abruptly, in this saturated technicolor still-picture moment of chaos and violence- the eye of the storm- the door to the loft crashes open. With the water and the metal and the force of it, the sound is almost guttural, and far too loud- even Kali seems startled. [Or, the one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.]

[masterlist link]

[thrasherella]

Clueless!Gojo who at first doesn't reciprocate after you get him off; sure, it was fine at the beginning, a hand job here, a blow job there, and the most you'd get in return was a flash of that admittedly heavenly smile and the reaffirmation that you're "such a good girl", which did nothing to stem the flood between your legs, dripping down your thighs as your cunt throbbed desperately for something that wasn't there.

The more you fooled around, however, the more you began to realize that he was not going to be returning the favor anytime you went down on him, and it was becoming increasingly frustrating.

Well then, fine; you're just going to have to show him what he's missing out on...

You were in your darkened room, breathless, on your knees at the edge of the bed between Gojo's long legs, the record that had been playing finishing the current side as the last song faded out, amplifying your soft panting breaths and his satisfied, humming moans.

Not to brag but you'd just given him probably one of the best blowjobs you'd ever given, and even though he'd just been babbling about how you were the best girl and he was going to make you feel soooo good, there was no indication that this time was going to be different from any of the others thus far, as he made no advances, instead trying to pull you closer into the usual post-coital cuddles.

No, no, nuh-uh; your cunt was on fire, soaking your panties, begging to be filled by Gojo's thick length, and you weren't going to blue-ball (blue-bean? whatever the female equivalent is) yourself this time.

It's showtime.

"Do you not like me, 'Toru?" you whine, a little fake pout pulling at your plush bottom lip, doing your best to make your expression softened and sad as you look up at him, purposely pushing your breasts closer together to make your cleavage that much more distracting.

"Excuse me? I think you just sucked my soul outta my dick, and now you're saying I don't like you?!"

"Look how wet you make me 'Toru," your voice is a soft sigh, getting up onto the bed and straddling his waist, kneeling over him, making sure you're spread wide enough for him to see your arousal literally dripping down onto him, decorating his lower abdomen in glistening little dots.

"Fuck baby..." his little groan sent you over the edge, shattering any semblance of control.

"I'm always a mess after giving you blowjobs or handies...and you never finger me or eat me out." you could feel your face becoming almost uncomfortably hot, sure the blush was extending all the way to your ears it felt so intense. "Do you not like me enough to return the favor or--"

You're cut off mid-sentence as his hand moves impossibly fast to your pussy, one long finger impatiently pushing itself into your slick, tight walls, making you cry out as your head falls back. He adds another finger before you can even get used to the first, making you squirm above him, your velvety walls practically sucking him in as you grip his digits.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." he whispers, his voice a gentle juxtaposition to the absolute pounding his hand was now giving you. Your lips were parted in a silent scream, unable to make any sound as your breath seemed caught in your throat; his skilled fingers worked absolute magic as he curled and stroked them inside you, thrusting deeply into your begging folds, turning your mind into fuzzy static.

"Breathe, baby girl..." he gently reminds you and you gasp, hips rolling and bucking against him as he hits just the right spot over and over, your thighs starting to tremble as you feel that scorching knot within your core beginning to tighten as he pushes you to the edge. "I didn't know, I didn't know..."

"How could you not know 'Toru?" you feel the whine leave your lips before you quite have your head around the words; seems like even your subconscious has been upset by Gojo's cluelessness. "I'm crazy for you, plus I've seen you staring, there's no way you haven't seen how wet my panties get, y-you d-dummy!" your voice unexpectedly stutters as he curls against that spot again and you come undone, whimpering and moaning loudly as you gush and squirt all over his hand, clenching around his fingers, hips twitching wildly.

His face was stained a bright crimson as he slowly pulled his fingers from your cunt, lifting them to his lips and tasting the sweet essence you left clinging to him.

"Let me show you just how much I like you baby..."

[kaiserboom]

a/n: this was base of this anon ask, my requests aren't open rn! I only did this because I was lowk planning on it anyways, .also instead of nagi adding your insta.. I just made him bold and straight up ask, all characters are aged up!, and are pro! soccer players.

prompt 1: part 2 of this??, i'm not even sure, please read first fanfic- or you may be really confuse why it goes to past and present really quick LOL, prompt 2: Nagi can't help but dm you, and risk it all, to his shock you reply back!, who knew making an only fans with his favorite porn star a dream come true!

cw. pure smut, but tiny bit fluff towards the end?, nicknames, (baby,whore,) only mentioned ONCE. pairings: nagi x porn star! fem reader

not proofread.

mdni.

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐓? 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓.

Nagi knows he isn't the type to waste his time on females. why focus on relationships when he has breathtaking video games- whether its clash royal, or even the cheapskate games in the arcade.

but that mindset began shifting away during a routines in the locker change rooms. changing out his sweaty uniform, while also complaining about how practice was extra and a waste of time.

that's when he ends up overhearing his teammates talking about you. he didn't want to eavesdrop. but he couldn't help but take amusement that he did.

"yeah, I seen her only fans. its so worth it" Reo says casually.

"of course you did, always using your money on everything, you Nepo child" Zantetsu mutters before adjusting his glasses.

"it's Nepo baby. stupid Zantetsu." Reo retorts snapping back. right before glancing at Nagi with an wide grin forming.

"Hey Nagi, you should check this out" Reo passes his phone towards Nagi. he glances at the screen shock to see such a pretty woman-the way your back arched-at the camera. and the suggestive face you were making he couldn't help but feel the blood rush to his cock, caught off guard by such a alluring image.

back to the present. he couldn't stop staring at the cum tribute he just nutted on his phone. he groans before standing up. his legs shudder still feeling his previous intense orgasm.

"fuck."

He had grown so attached to a porn star, even though his friends were the one who recommended you to him, maybe he was being dramatic. but to be fair he couldn't resist you. no wonder your pretty popular on certain socials.

Cleaning himself up with an random towel, he couldn't help but think about dming you. he knew the odds of you replying were low. but it was never zero.

Quickly grabbing his phone. he presses the social platform your most active on.

he texted you an simple "hey", hoping to know you, his eyes darted towards the screen- not even blinking. finally seeing an notification pop up. he half swipes, then fully swipes. hoping to see the chat that "you" finally had sent made his amused expression fall to an bitter one.

of course your stupid manager- had to make stupid bots reply to fans.

"Hey! wanna see something hot! ;) link in bio!" he can't help but think this bot is obvious stupid-he clearly interested in you. another reason why he texting you in the first place.

he tries again. from twice to thrice.

"hey" he sends another text.

"Hey! wanna see something hot! ;) link in bio!"

"stop, that."

"Hey! wanna see something hot! ;) link in bio!"

"die in an hole" he sends that last message out of full out hate. He groans, throwing his phone across the room. is it really that hard to see some tits from his favorite porn star.

noticing how he threw his phone. he decided to go back to retrieve it. looking at an new notification. this time it wasn't from an bot nor your useless manager, but you.

"hey Nagi, it seems that you met my bot! sorry about that :/" he reads the reply you sent him. even thought it was rather short.

he can't help but feel grateful that you reached out for him. quickly texting back a respond.

"nah, don't worry" he types, trying to sound casual and acting like his face isn't flushing and his cock is standing up. he hesitates, to ask the bold question.

"hey do you let people join in your videos?" he types, slightly rethinking before pressing send.

"if you did I could be in your latest video?"

His mind wanders to possible ideas. "riding big dick! *intense!*" or maybe something even more Shockley outrageous, whatever caught people attention these days. he stares at the empty notification before you reply, "let me know you first, don't you think." it reads.

and with that- Nagi invited you out. he isn't the best, when it comes to date's- so he had to search up recommends finally coming across a cute cafe, that he thinks you may enjoy.

the day comes awfully fast, he sitting on the table he booked for the both of you. he can't stop repeatedly checking the time. to make sure he wasn't late or too early, few minutes passed. and he thinks you ditch him- to maybe film some content in the studio.

he was about to leave, until he saw you walking towards him, you were drop dead gorgeous. "sorry I'm late Nagi!" you smile-hoping he wasn't mad at you.

"fuck me." he randomly blurts out.

"excuse me?" you couldn't tell if he was dead serious or joking.

SMUT MDNI.

turns out he was serious.

he gently nudges you on the bed. his hands softly crawling on your waist, he can't help but slowly grunt- who wouldn't?

you start slowly touching his cock, the camera right up at his face, not missing any-kind of facial expressions, watching how his broad, strong body easily manages to tower you.

he was so pretty, and you couldn't stop watching how his expressions were so easy to read-the slight furrows of his eyebrow, and his softness of his eyes.

he can't wait-to point he grinding on you, soft whines escape from your lips, "you need be patience, Nagi..." you coo, watching how he desperately pouts. his eyes glimpsing with the need of your pussy.

after a minute of filming the cheesy "i usually skip this part," scene you guys could actually finally fuck, and that sentence alone even couldn't please Nagi even more.

he immediately begins to remove your clothes taking them off like they were nothing. his hands reach down to your clit, slowly rubbing your clitoris.

pornographic sounds start escaping your lips. he couldn't help but harden more-just from the sound alone. your hands slowly move near his free cock watching how his pre-cum leaked from his tip.

"fuck, you want me that bad?" you nod, watching how he slowly aligns his cock near your entrance, in fact- too slow. "hurry up-" but before you could even try to finish your sentence.

he slammed into you, his dick hitting every spot that others couldn't even reach. moving-faster than you could even function, soft cries of pleasure escapes your lips once more.. "Don't boss me around, your just some whore." he scoffed.

his hands rushes to grasp your hips, trying position you well, to try get deeper.

"f-fuck, fuck! Nagi... so big!" you groaned, your eyes darted, slowly rolling to back of your skull, Nagi's dick kept plunging into your pussy. you were so close, you could almost taste it- his focus was you cumming on his dick- he wanted show his friends- no, the whole world that he can fuck you better.

your nails made it way to his back, just the way he was speeding up. you couldn't help yourself but grip on it for dear life, "shh baby, I know your close" he softy coos.

he moans, feeling how you tightening around his grith "fuck- squeezing me so tight" Your seeing stars, millions of it. the way he speeding up got you gasping for air. hitting your g spot like it some kind of punching bag.

feeling the knot in your stomach, you whine he can't help but love this, love you- leaning in kissing you in deep and passionate kiss, soft moans and grunts. when you feel his warm cum-plunging inside of you.

"you did so well.." he coos, watching you shudder. "thanks Nagi..."

"no. don't call me that" he glances. you stared at him in confusion.

"call me your boyfriend, or at least call me yours."

epilogue:

Reo finally decides go on your only fans, seeing you posted a new video captioned, "monster cock! got me braindead!" curious he presses play. the video starts with you discussing with a man, his face isn't shown... yet.

then the man starts leading you in bedroom- and during that scene that's when the man face is shown, you can imagine the shock on Reo's face when he realizes

that's Nagi.

[devilish-cherry]

toji relationship headcanons ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ toji x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ my other works

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, big man with bigger issues won so here we are. he’s always been incredibly fun for me to write which probably says a lot about my mental state lmao hope you all enjoy! 💚

₊⊹. first of all, toji never remembers anniversaries. ever. you could tattoo the date on his forehead, and he'd still squint at you and say, "what day is it again? your birthday? didn't we just have one of those last year?"

₊⊹. he will absolutely use your expensive shampoo, your body wash, your moisturizer, and lie about it with a straight face. you're not even mad. you just find it hilarious that the man who's known as the sorcerer killer is now walking around smelling like cherry blossoms and ph-balanced aloe hydration.

₊⊹. he thinks watching two rats fight over a hotdog on the street is peak date material. "look at 'em. real passion. raw competition. that's what romance is missing these days."

₊⊹. despite his strength and killer instincts, this man will break down over ikea instructions. one time he just stabbed the manual and built the shelf completely wrong. now it's a "modern art piece" and you're not allowed to move it. he says it builds character.

₊⊹. toji gets weirdly smug when you wear his clothes, but hides it with deadpan lines like, "didn’t know i was dating a thief." then later mutters to himself, "looks better on you anyway." while pretending he didn't say that out loud.

₊⊹. you once got mad at him and tried to ignore him. toji, unequipped for emotional processing, sat next to you in total silence for fifteen minutes, then handed you a whole rotisserie chicken like it was a peace treaty. "didn't know what flowers you like."

₊⊹. toji doesn't do romantic clichés. if you hint at wanting roses, expect him to show up with a bonsai tree. "it lasts longer and requires discipline. like me. you're welcome."

₊⊹. he sleeps like he's in prison. shirtless, one arm behind his head, the other under the pillow where you know the knife is. you once asked him about it and he said, "habit." you just pulled the blanket higher and went back to sleep.

₊⊹. toji has the audacity to fall asleep mid-argument. you'll be ranting about how he scared the mailman again and look over and he's knocked out, arms crossed, snoring like a diesel truck. wakes up later like, "i heard everything. you were wrong, though."

₊⊹. he does not understand texting etiquette. he always texts like:

"U eat"

"Open door"

"Left meat on table don't let it go cold or ur weak"

"Wtf is an oat milk"

you'll send him something like "i miss you <3" and he'll reply four hours later with "K" then show up at your place with a bag of grilled offal and absolutely zero explanation.

₊⊹. he's absolutely terrible with tech. he calls hdmi "the skinny one" and usb "the fat one". you are IT support. you have accepted this.

₊⊹. toji has zero indoor voice. if you're on a video call and he walks by, expect background commentary like, "did you tell them their haircut looks like it lost a bet?" or "is that the person you said dresses like a sad potato chip?"

₊⊹. if you have a pet, he pretends to hate it. but you've walked in on him napping with it on his chest and making up a nickname like "lil guy". if you make eye contact during this moment, he'll threaten to move out.

₊⊹. dates with toji always accidentally turn into crime documentaries because he can't resist casually pointing out shady individuals with questionable pasts. "yeah, see that noodle shop owner? definitely running something from the back. wanna check?"

₊⊹. he thinks it's hilarious to randomly pick you up and carry you around like luggage without warning. when you squawk and flail indignantly, he just deadpans, "shh, cargo doesn't talk."

₊⊹. watching a crime drama with toji consists of him smugly narrating the killer's methods before they're revealed. he'll glance at you and say, "i'd never get caught doing it like this rookie."

₊⊹. toji has the emotional range of a brick wall, but he occasionally shows affection by silently handing you meat skewers from street stalls and just staring at you until you accept them. if you try to refuse, he'll shove it at your face like, "just eat the damn thing, jeez."

₊⊹. despite his aloofness, when you're sick, he becomes surprisingly doting in his own way. hovering awkwardly, thrusting medication at you, barking stiffly, "get better already. who else is gonna deal with my shit?"

₊⊹. he frequently forgets your friends' names, bluntly calling them things like "short one" or "loud one" or alarmingly once, "the one who smells weird" you still apologize profusely to your friends afterward.

₊⊹. occasionally, he'll randomly flex and glance at you, dead serious, "still got it, right?" he denies caring about your response, yet visibly preens whenever you jokingly swoon.

₊⊹. toji's jokes are basically just dark dad jokes. you trip over something, and he'll chuckle dryly, "careful. your insurance doesn't cover clumsiness."

₊⊹. he denies being sentimental, but once you caught him being suspiciously protective of a particularly ugly cactus, claiming, "this prickly bastard reminds me of myself. annoying and survives despite obvious neglect."

₊⊹. one time he brought his worm cursed spirit over because "he didn't want to leave it alone too long." you screamed when it popped out from behind his shoulder like a creepy pokémon. he got mad and told you you scared it and now it won't come out unless you apologize.

₊⊹. he's embarrassingly proud of his worm cursed spirit, once seriously suggesting you two should start a pet youtube channel. when you reminded him that most people can't see cursed spirits, he stared blankly for a minute before shrugging, "guess we'll just be the first channel where the animal's invisible. groundbreaking content."

₊⊹. toji lowkey believes you're too good for him, but instead of expressing this healthily, he just tries to spoil you in the weirdest ways: brings you odd souvenirs, refuses to let you carry groceries, and once threatened a vending machine because it ate your yen.

₊⊹. he has that annoying middle-aged man confidence where he acts like he can fix anything with tape, a kitchen knife, and raw conviction. you once caught him trying to patch your leaky sink with a sushi tray. "it's water resistant."

₊⊹. toji snores like a war crime. he claims it's "just breathing deeply" but your neighbors have called once to ask if someone was groaning in pain for six hours straight. he blinked at you and said, "tell 'em it's free asmr. they should be thanking me."

₊⊹. when he's half-asleep, toji's actually weirdly affectionate. you'll get sleepy forehead nudges, grunted "stay"s, and one time, the softest ever "you're… too good for me, y'know?" before he passed out with his face in your neck. you pretended not to hear it. but you did.

[sturnlsstuff]

CELEBRATING YOUR BDAY WITH

GHOSTFACE!CHRIS

[ smut, eating pussy] — requested by anon.

it started like any other night with your half-sarcastic texts, the usual back-and-forth. with one difference— chris was sitting in his car, observing your house for what felt like hours, waiting for a good moment that finally came.

chris stared at the screen for a second, thumb hovering like he might send something else— but didn’t. instead, he dropped his phone onto the passenger seat beside him and looked up at your bedroom window across the street.

lights still on.

he sat there in the dark for a bit, chewing the inside of his cheek. you hadn’t told him where you were going tonight. no mention of any big party, nothing. besides it was the middle of the week so he assumed that you're staying at home, in your room that he knew way too well by now.

you were always taking forever in the shower, so it was his chance. he grabbed his stuff, leaving his car before he could talk himself out of it.

a few minutes later, he climbed through the window like muscle memory, landing silently on the floor. the room was warm, dimly lit by your bedside lamp, and soft music played from the speaker on your dresser— some song he recognized but couldn’t name. you always did that, always had something playing, even when you weren't in the room.

the bathroom door was closed, a faint glow spilling out from underneath. chris could hear the water running as he stood there for a second, looking around, noticing the book you told him about laying on your nightstand, or his hoodie hanging off your chair like it belonged here. he never asked you to give it back.

he sat on the edge of your bed, twirling the black folding knife between his fingers, fidgeting in the only way he allowed himself. it wasn’t really a gift, just something cool. functional. the idea of doing this— showing up, giving you anything, made something twist in his chest, but he ignored it. after a moment he set the knife into the small black box with a little bow on it, closing the lid and putting it on his lap.

chris waited for a long while until finally, he heard the bathroom door creak open, the soft thud of your feet as you stepped into the room, wearing some oversized shirt and panties, casually drying your damp hair with the towel you had in your hands. but then you froze, your heart jolted. you actually jumped, letting the towel fall onto the ground, a sharp gasp catching in your throat as your eyes locked onto the figure sitting on your bed like he lived there. for half a second, instinct kicked in— fight, scream, anything, before your brain caught up and recognized him. chris. no matter how many times he would do it, sometimes you still got scared.

you pressed a hand to your chest, pulse racing, eyes narrowing. "holy fuck— what the hell is wrong with you?” you snapped, trying to sound annoyed instead of shaken.

"took you long enough," he smirked, pulling the hood off his head.

"you scared the shit out of me, you psycho."

chris shrugged, "you're the one who leaves your window open."

you rolled your eyes, walking over to him. "yeah, but it's not exactly an invitation for you. doors exist, y'know? you don't have to break in through my window."

“technically, i broke in to give you something. so…” he tossed the small box to you, more abrupt than he meant to. you caught it, suspicious. “give me something?" a frown appears between your eyebrows as you look at the box. did he...? nah, no way.

"yeah, open it."

you give him a glance, "if this explodes, i swear—”

"kid, c'mon. you think i would put a bomb in it while i'm still in the room?" he mutters sarcastically, leaning back on his hands, remaining nonchalant. "just open."

you sigh unamused and finally flipping the box open to reveal the matte black knife inside— sleek, cold. beautiful, in that twisted way you understood. your eyebrows lifted. “what is this?”

he replies as it was the most normal thing in the world, "a knife."

"i know it’s a knife, genius.” you take the knife out of the box, putting it on the nightstand beside your book, and looking at the knife from all sides. it was similar to the one chris had, and you had seen many times before. "what, no bloodstains?" you joked.

"thought i'd let you christen it," he said sarcastically, but his body was still a little tense.

"why are you giving me this?" your eyes meet his.

chris shrugs again, stretching like it was no big deal, but his eyes remain on your face, searching for your reaction. "figured you’d want somethin' practical. use it on me if i ever get all soft and start writin' you poems or some crap.”

a small smile appears on your face, surprise clear in your expression. your fingers lingered on the handle longer than you probably meant to. "it's actually…cool.”

“i know."

then there was a pause— a weird one. you put the knife back in the box just as chris clears his throat, and without looking at you, he pulled the rest of his gift out of his hoodie pocket. he handed it to you with a muttered, “here.”

it was a ziplock bag of your favorite candy— hard to find, the kind you once mentioned in the past, but didn't know he was listening.

a polaroid, creased at the corners. it was you, snapped mid-laugh months ago, hoodie half-off your shoulder, sun in your hair. you didn’t even know he took it.

and a small red USB. no label.

your eyes move over everything that was there, placing the candy on the bed, your fingers running over the polaroid. it was a nice shot, capturing the way he sees you. but your attention is caught by the red USB. "and what is that?" you glance at him curiously.

“just some music. stuff that doesn’t suck,” he shrugged. “don't get all weird 'bout it.”

you picked it up and after his words something shifted behind your eyes. "you made me a playlist?” you ask with a hint of disbelief, just in time as some song starts playing from your speaker— a song he knows. one of the ones he'd thrown onto that USB like it was nothing.

have you got colour in your cheeks?

do you ever get that fear that you can't shift the type?

that sticks around like summer in your teeth?

"it's not— not really a playlist, just... music. that i happened to put together.”

are these some aces up your sleeve?

you were aware that it's a gift for your birthday, which is really surprising because you haven't expected anything from him— especially not this. but the small red USB you hold in your hand, and the rest of the gift throws you off. it's so casual, but knowing chris nothing he does is ever just that.

have you no idea that you're in deep?

the fact that he had to put effort into this was making your stomach twist. he had to thought about it, which track was gonna be first, which last, what songs to add, what it'd say without using words. it was making chris feel exposed and uncomfortable, and he knew you weren't expecting it.

i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week.

he finally looked at you, there was hesitation under the way he held his jaw tight, like he regretted bringing the whole damn thing. this wasn’t his kind of thing and he knew it, but at the same time it was worth it.

how many secrets can you keep?

“you didn’t have to do this,” you said, voice quieter now, as you stand right in front of him, putting the red USB on your nightstand. chris's eyes roam all over your body.

'cause there's this tune i found that makes me think of you somehow

“yeah, well. but i did.” he cleared his throat, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. "you ain't gonna start cryin' or anything, right?” he asks sarcastically, pulling you onto his lap. you straddle his thighs, hands wrapping around his shoulders immediately as you let out a small chuckle, rolling your eyes.

"nah, i'm good." you shake your head, while chris's hands move under your big shirt, brushing against the skin on your waist.

and i play it on repeat until i fall asleep

“happy birthday,” he said, barely above a murmur. "or whatever."

the smile on your face makes him sick. "thanks. or whatever." he smirked, hiding the relief that cracked through him.

spillin' drinks on my settee

(do i wanna know?) if this feelin' flows both ways?

his breath hitched at the intensity of your gaze, the air pulsed between you two, thick with everything unsaid. chris leans in, crashing his lips against yours, getting a hum in approval. all heat and hesitation he felt the whole day, became one desperate kiss as your tongue dances with his, your hands clutching at the fabric of his hoodie, dragging him closer like space itself was enemy.

(sad to see you go) was sorta hopin' that you'd stay

his hands move higher up underneath your shirt, every touch stoked the fire higher— fingers threading through hair, a low gasp swallowed between kisses, the edge of a moan bitten back.

his hand found your jaw, tilting your face to the side slightly, and his lips dragged down your neck, sucking and biting on your skin.

(baby, we both know) that the nights were mainly made

for sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day

he flips you over so that your back hits the mattress and he's on top now, his hands already taking off your shirt and throwing it somewhere aside. you gasp softly when his weight settled over you, his lips just beneath your ear where your pulse betrayed you, sending shivers down your spine. then he moves lower, each kiss leaving a scorch behind, breath catching in your throat when his tongue barely traced your hardening nipple.

crawlin' back to you

you can feel the wetness pooling between your legs while he plays with your tits, getting a whimper from you. his lips give attention to every inch of your skin but your most sensitive area, avoiding it intentionally to build a slow burn within you.

ever thought of callin' when you've had a few?

'cause i always do

"chris..." you whine, watching as he moves downwards, gently biting on your inner thigh while his fingers keep playing with your breasts.

"ah, ah, ah," he cooed, feeling your hand in his hair, trying to push his head towards your core. "be patient," he murmurs, his breath fanning across your lower abdomen. his eyes move to the clear wet spot on your panties, a smirk appearing on his face. "this is just another one of my birthday gifts for ya," he looks up at you from between your legs, eyes dark with desire. "but you gotta stay still."

maybe i'm too

busy being yours to fall for somebody new

his fingers trace the edge of your panties before he hooks one under, slowly pulling them down. you're laying there with your chest falling and raising rapidly, hair spilled across the pillow, watching him purposely teasing you and knowing you're completely at his mercy. his hands gently spread your thighs wide, looking at your glistening pussy and he feels his pants growing tighter.

"fuck, you're drippin'," he growls, placing small, feather-light kisses close to your center, torturing you intentionally and drawing out the moment.

now i've thought it through

crawlin' back to you...

your voice slightly shaky with desire as you mumble, "it's my birthday and— and you're being cruel to me...."

chris' smirk grows, his fingers spreading your folds, pressing a gentle kiss, his tongue just barely grazing your heat. "i think m'being really generous, actually." he avoids any contact with your clit, instead using the top of his tongue to tease the edge of your folds.

"that's unfair—" you whine, hips twitching upwards but he presses them back down with his hand.

"i don't think it is," he mutters, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "it'd be if i just pulled back now, but i assume–"

"no!" you immediately say panicked.

yeah, thats what he thought.

"no?" he slowly repeats, driving you crazy with his little satisfied smirk and the look in his eyes. "you don't want that? should i make you beg for it?"

he puts your trembling legs on his shoulders, dragging the flat of his tongue up one side of your entrance, then down the other. a low groan leaves his mouth, his dick uncomfortably straining against his pants. your fingers tighten in his hair as the frustration and desperation keeps building up within you. the wetness starts pooling beneath you, soaking the sheets and it's incredibly hot for him.

"please, chris." you mewl, clenching around nothing.

"please eat you out? please make you come with my tongue?" his tone is mocking, he clearly enjoys making you struggle and that makes your stomach flip. his eyes flash with triumph and desire when finally he gives your clit a quick flick with his tongue before slightly pulling back, being a cruel tease on purpose.

you're losing your mind.

"what else do you want me to say?! yes, i want whatever you give me. i'd get on my knees if i could just for you to—"

a loud moan is ripped from you when he suddenly gives in to your desperate pleas and dives in, sucking on your clit and swirling his tongue around it while pushing two fingers inside of you. he curls them upward, hitting that sweet spot deep within.

your mouth goes slack, eyes roll back when he finally gives you what you craved. chris growls against your pussy, the vibration sending shockwaves through your entire body. his fingers fuck you slow and deep while his tongue laps at your clit mercilessly, and you're already embarrassed, knowing you won't last long.

"holy— shitt..." you whine, looking down at him with your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure.

the sloppy, wet slurring fill the room as he devours you like a starving man, redoubling his efforts when he feels your legs trying to close around his head. his fingers dig onto your thigh as he keeps your legs spread on his shoulders, his cock twitching at the sounds you were making. "chris, i— fuckk, oh my god—" the grip on your sheets gets tighter as you grow closer and closer to the edge. he hums, eyes locked on your face, letting you grind against his face while his tongue skillfully swirls around your clit. he can sense your walls sucking his fingers in, causing him to go even faster and deeper.

he has you right where he wants you, a moaning mess, squirming around on your bed and pulling on his hair as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.

"so close— gonna... c— oh!" he sucks on you even harder, his fingers hitting your g-spot, making you come undone into his mouth. he licks and swallows every single drop as your juices flood his tongue, savoring the taste of you and letting you ride out your orgasm.

your vision goes blurry at the intensity of your release, your body slightly shaking as you gasp softly for air.

he pulls back moments later, pulling his fingers out of you and licking them clean, making sure you watch him. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself and by the look on his face you can tell that there's a long night ahead of you.

"happy birthday, princess," he says again, followed by the sound of his belt hitting the floor.

a/n; look at this romantic fella 😻

taglist; @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @brazyturtleneck @sophand4n4 @giannalovessturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @alesturniolos @ilovenmcs @seluky10 @chriss-slutt @icrazy106 @ribbonlovergirl @izzylovesmatt @trevorsgodmother @sturniolo101 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @bernardsbendystraws @loser41ifee @cleolovespepsi @joanakaulitz @oopsiedaisydeer

[dracosprettygirl]

HERE ME OUTTT, theo and draco's little sister who's been sheltered and maybe a little too loved by her family for her whole life. like hello? them being promised to each other since birth, it took a while but theo starts calling her his little fiance around school 😭

ღ my fiancée

Pairing: fiance!theo x malfoy!reader Word Count: 919 WordsSummary: You’ve spent your life being Draco Malfoy’s baby sister — protected, pampered, and promised to Theodore Nott since childhood. It’s never felt real… until Theo starts calling you his fiancée around school, and you realize he’s not joking. Warnings: Light teasing, overprotective!draco, angst, emotional confusion, familial expectations, arranged marriage, not proofread, let me know if i missed anything! A/N: sincere apologies because it took me too long to post today—i fell off a motorcycle lmao.

♫ invisible string by taylor swift.

You'd been called a lot of things at Hogwarts — princess, Malfoy's little sister, too polite to be a Slytherin. None of it ever really bothered you.

Being Draco's younger sister came with its own gravitational pull. People either bowed to the family name or avoided you like you were dipped in dark magic. Either way, you were never given the chance to just be.

Except around Theo.

Theodore Nott had always been there. At family gatherings, at summer dinners, standing silently at Draco's side since you were both children. Where Draco was loud and proud, Theo was quiet, watchful — never cruel, never unkind.

He was just... always watching.

You didn't realize how closely until sixth year.

It started with a rumor.

Someone had whispered in the corridor outside Charms, not even subtle about it.

"Did you hear? Nott calls her his fiancée now."

You'd almost dropped your ink pot.

When you confronted him, red-faced and wide-eyed, he just looked at you with that maddening smirk and said, "What? It's true. Don't look so scandalized, little fiancée."

You choked on your own tongue.

He did it again at breakfast two days later.

You were pouring tea when he slid into the seat beside you and drawled, "Careful, princess. Can't have my future wife scalding herself before our wedding night."

Draco snapped his head around so fast you heard the crack. Theo just sipped his tea.

It became a thing.

Casual, flippant references — "My betrothed," "My darling girl," "Future Mrs. Nott, don't forget your quill" — all with the smoothness only Theo could pull off.

You didn't know how to react.

You'd known about the arrangement. Of course you had. Your parents had teased you both about it since you were ten, usually after dessert and a few too many goblets of wine.

But it had never felt real. Just a fancy future wrapped in pureblood politics and outdated customs.

Until Theo started walking you to class.

Until he brushed your hand with his fingers every time he passed you a scroll, every touch deliberate.

Until you caught him staring across the common room with something dark and fond in his eyes.

It was all too much.

And somehow not nearly enough.

Draco cornered him first.

You found out because Pansy, ever the gossip, whispered about it between pages of Witch Weekly.

"Your brother nearly hexed Theo in the corridor by the Astronomy Tower," she said, chewing her licorice wand. "He said something about knowing exactly what Theo's playing at."

You tried not to let it show, but it did. Theo noticed.

He always noticed.

That evening, you fled to the greenhouse, needing space to think.

You shouldn't have been surprised when he found you there.

You heard the door creak open but didn't turn around. You were seated on the edge of a stone bench, watching the enchanted vines ripple under moonlight.

"I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're thinking," Theo said, voice low and amused. "Draco would kill me."

You didn't look at him. "You shouldn't joke about it."

He walked around to face you anyway, hands in his pockets, dark hair slightly messy from the wind. His tie was loose. His gaze wasn't.

"I don't joke about you."

Your heart did something painful in your chest.

"Then what are you doing?" you asked, finally looking up at him. "All the teasing, the names—are you trying to embarrass me? Humiliate me in front of the entire school?"

He blinked. "Is that what you think?"

You stood, crossing your arms. "I think you've had your fun."

A long silence. Then, softer: "I think I've been in love with you for longer than I know how to say. And I think calling you my fiancée is the only way I know how to protect what I feel without ruining it."

You froze.

Theo took a step closer.

"I don't care about the arrangement. I would've chosen you anyway. Even if we'd met as strangers. Even if you weren't Draco's sister or the girl who always reads at breakfast or the only person who ever asked if I wanted seconds at Sunday dinner."

You swallowed, throat tight.

"I said those things because they were true," he said. "And I thought maybe—just maybe—you'd want them to be true too."

Your voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't think you wanted me."

His expression softened — all the teasing melted away. He reached out, fingers curling around yours.

"I don't just want you," he murmured. "I've been yours. Quietly. Always."

Your fingers tightened in his.

"You called me your fiancée in front of everyone," you said, blushing.

He smiled. "They should know."

"And what if I want to be something more than a name?"

"You already are."

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You didn't.

His lips were warm and gentle against yours, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

When he pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

"You really mean it?" you whispered. "This isn't just a game?"

"No games," he said softly. "Just you. And me. And the fact that I plan to make you mine whether the contract says so or not."

The next morning, the Great Hall went quiet when Theo slid onto the bench beside you and dropped a soft kiss to your cheek.

Draco nearly spat his pumpkin juice across the table.

Theo just smirked.

"Morning, fiancée."

You didn't blush this time.

You kissed his cheek right back.

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@belovedenzo

© dracosprettygirl.tumblr 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated & motivating!

[yuurei20]

Hii!!

Sorry, I don't know if this has been asked before, but are there any mentions of some of the events that happened in the second years' first year?

Other than the entrance ceremony that had been put in the book 7 (which might be the only thing I remember, since it was mentioned in Floyd's dream, I think?), are there any mentions of certain events of their first year?

Hope this wasn't too confusing! Thank you for your hard work~

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🏫

Here is a compilation of references to things mentioned about the previous year at NRC! (part 1)

There was too much information for one post, so it has been split into two.

(This account tries to pretend that content that has not reached the Main Story on EN does not exist, so nothing included beyond Book 7-10 m(_ _)m)

Year-One Riddle

Riddle might be the person we have received the most information about when it comes to previous-year information!

Jade mentions Floyd causing "a bit of a stir" at their orientation, and in Beanfest we find out how: he got "blasted" through the air by Riddle after teasing him.

We get more information about what happened in 7-10, with Floyd having grabbed Riddle's hair to say, "It's red, but it ain't hot," resulting in Riddle's violent reaction.

Jamil explains, "I doubt anyone in the sophomore class could forget the scene from that day. Riddle, furiously trying to chase after you while the faculty desperately held him back...Jade, laughing so loudly it echoed through the whole Mirror Chamber...and Azul, acting like he'd never seen you before in his life."

Soon after enrolling, Jade taught Riddle how to tell the difference between him and Floyd depending upon whether or not his hair forms a "J" from the viewer's perspective.

Jade: "Just remember: a highlight on your right makes a J for Jade."

A week into enrolling, Riddle became housewarden of Heartslabyul.

We see a flashback of Riddle after attending what may have been his first Housewarden meeting, complaining about the length and "people pushing work off on each other."

Trey encourages him to "dial it back a little" and Riddle responds "YOU'RE SOFT" and declares that he will be laying down the law.

Riddle gets a blister from wearing heels, to which he is unaccustomed. Vil sees him in the hall and provides him with a bandage.

2nd-year Vil observes, "That boy is a disaster waiting to happen."

Riddle seeks Vil out the next day compensate him for the bandage he'd received.

Six months into Riddle's first year he got caught in the rain and went to Octavinelle to dry off by running laps around a table in the lounge for six hours.

Jade: "Floyd tried to capture it on video, even though he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. He must have been highly impressed."

It was also during Riddle's first year as Housewarden that he, Leona and the other Housewardens experimented with a variety of ways to get Malleus to attend their meetings, to no avail.

Leona: "Why should the rest of us put in a ridiculous amount of work when Malleus won't?"

Riddle: "Again, it was I who put in the ridiculous amount of work..."

[melonteee]

Okay I didn't find if anyone has ever talked about this to you, so I bring it up. I like your videos and takes on one piece, but I must say that I disagree with you about Garp's answer to Ace when he ask if he had right to be born in the world.

Like, I don't think it was about "he needs to prove himself to the world". For me it was more like Garp's rough way to encourage Ace to live and make his own conclusion. It's probably depends on translation, as in my language it was translated basically "(you) only find it out by living". Of course Garp could've said "of course you have", but maybe he felt like that answer wouldn't have satisfied Ace. I mean, I don't think Ace was in right state of mind to accept such answer, only later on with Luffy when circumtances were different.

I say this so respectfully because I've gotten this reasoning tons of times before from other people, but I do not care what Garp's intentions were lmao. If a literal child says to you "Should I even be alive?" your answer, POINT BLANK, should be YES. No matter how you put it, Garp's answer was essentially telling Ace to PROVE he should be alive, or to EARN being alive, which is bullshit. Like "You can only find out if you should be alive by living" ??? And then we wonder why Ace spent his whole life searching for, oh I don't know, SELF WORTH??

Even if Ace wasn't in the right state of mind, he was a CHILD. You don't think someone straight up telling him "Yes OF COURSE you should be alive!" wouldn't help him tremendously??

We also have a line from Franky in Water 7 as he says to Robin "Existing isn't a sin!" and we see just how much that helped someone like Robin. So why can't a belief like that, or an answer like that, be extended to Ace? Why doesn't Ace get that kind of reassurance as a CHILD from Garp??

It's even hammered home how bad Garp's answer was when Ace treated Luffy HORRIBLY and, when Ace asked Luffy if he needs him, Luffy said "Of course!"

Ace proved absolutely nothing to Luffy, and Luffy still said "I want you here!"

What Garp said to Ace was undeniably stupid and cruel to me, because he was trying to push Ace into a life HE thought Ace needed to live. Even when Ace was caught, sentenced to be executed, Garp yelled "Why didn't you listen to me and join the marines?!"

Garp's answer was essentially telling Ace to prove to the WORLD why he should be alive, which is a horrible thing to say to a child. You can twist it any way you want but it's clear what his intentions were and how what he said will always circle back around to Ace needing to find a reason to exist. I do not care what kind of reasoning was in Garp's head, because what he said to Ace didn't help him at all. Luffy helped Ace more than Garp ever did because Ace NEVER had to prove his life to Luffy, and Garp being a horrible mentor to Ace is only further proven when Dadan punched the shit out of Garp because he did NOTHING to help Ace.

Garp made some horrible mistakes with Ace, I see that as one of them. I don't care what the reasoning is, it should be acknowledged that Garp's answer was way too cruel for a child to hear. Especially when what Garp told him clearly followed him into his adulthood, and is one of the reasons he even THANKED people for loving him.

He showed gratitude for people LOVING him, because he didn't think he was WORTH that love, and you expect me to try and reason around Garp telling that child he needs a point to be alive? I don't think so.

[hellinistical]

6:04

hcs for Ranch Hand! Caleb

a/n: there will be a full fic of this, or at least a one shot at some point.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who only got the job to help out his gran cause the bakery wasn't cutting it. He shows up before the sun rises, always wearing that same worn flannel and dusty boots. Your father calls him reliable, but you can’t help rolling your eyes every time he says, “Caleb’s like the son I never had.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's weirdly good with animals. Even the mean old mare no one else can saddle seems to let him near. He talks to them like they’re old friends. It's infuriating. You wonder if he practices that soft voice he uses on you too.

Ranch Hand! Caleb Even when there’s nothing to fix or feed, Caleb somehow ends up sticking around until dinner. Your father invites him inside. Again. And again- despite your mother's insistence on how improper it all was, and how dirty he was, too. Sometimes you catch Caleb sneaking glances at you over his chile colorado.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's back and shoulders are littered with freckles and a slight sun burn. He takes his shirt off and you're positive he lifts the hay bales just a little higher when he knows you’re outside. He’ll wipe the sweat from his brow with an exaggerated sigh, then flash a grin like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's good, just not good for you- according to your father- and you don't know why, but that irritates you. Your father praises Caleb constantly—his work ethic, his loyalty, the way he can calm a spooked horse or fix a busted gate with twine and sheer determination. But the second your gaze goes to Caleb? Your father’s tone shifts: “Don’t even think about it.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who has NEVER crossed the line. He knows his place. Always calls your father sir. Keeps his distance from you when your dad's around. But sometimes, when no one's watching, you catch him looking at you like he’s full of want for something already his. You catch snippets of conversations between him and your father. “Keep your eyes on your work, not my daughter.” “She’s not a distraction, sir.” “She damn well could be.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who, whenever you’re both in the same barn aisle or standing at the same fence line, it’s like the air gets thick. Caleb keeps his voice low. You both look around too much. It's like being watched even when you're not. One night, you caught him hesitating at the porch, jaw clenched, fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something. Do something. But your father’s voice called from the barn, and Caleb just tipped his hat and walked away. For now.

Ranch Hand! Caleb is so polite it makes you want to scream. You didn't even like the guy like that- you think. Something about him made you want to be a brat though. You could curse at him, push his buttons, throw a bucket at his head—and he’d just blink and say, “Careful now.” It's maddening. He’s either the most patient man alive or deliberately playing dumb. Either way, he never gives you what you want: his full attention.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who's jaw ticks. Just once. God, you're such a bitch. A fucking brat. You see it. That little flex in his cheek. He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there in his clean button-up, boots polished, hat clutched in his hands like a lifeline. You turn your back, go to flirt with some city-boy artist who doesn't even know what to do with you. Laughing too loud. Sipping too slow. When you finally glance back at Caleb, he’s already striding toward you.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who grabs your arm- not hard, but firm enough. "You think you're real cute, don't you?" You try to scoff, play it off, but he’s already leading you out the side door. “Caleb, what the hell are you doing?” you snap, but he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at you. Just mutters, “’Bout time someone taught you how to behave.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb who drags your ass out of the party when no one is watching, tossing you over his shoulder and giving your ass a harsh spank, ignoring your hits and kicks before going to the barn, kicking the door shut behind him. It slams shut, echoing loudly behind you. Dust kicks up and hay crunches under his boots. You barely have time to lift your head before you're tossed into the hay pile like a sack of flour, damn near ruining the dress your daddy just bought you.

Ranch Hand! Caleb who looms over you. "You wanna act like a brat?" He looms over you, hat discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up, usual softness no where to be seen. "You've been runnin' your mouth for weeks, sweetheart. Sashayin' 'round like you're the fuckin' queen of the castle- ah-ah, don't talk yet." Your breath catches and there's a flicker of surprise. Of course he catches it. “You think wearin’ that pretty little dress gives you permission to act out?” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your hem. “Talkin’ like you do. Smirkin’ like I’m not tryin’ every damn day not to put you in your place.”

Ranch Hand! Caleb already knows. Sees you biting back a retort. You like getting a rise out of him. You wanted him to break. All the bratty comments, the teasing, the drama—

"You want my attention, sweetheart?" He's got a wicked grin. "You've got it."

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

𝗗𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: @scareeemonstaah

Summary: Just Joker teaching reader how to fight. Cutesy fluff.

Tagging: @shintaru

Joker's room wasn't extraordinary or expensive, he didn't have many stuff either, just bed, wardrobe, chair, punching bag, curtains, lighting and plain walls. And yet, it was comfortable. So much that he had to bought cushion in his room for you due to how often you came over and stayed in his room.

Now, you were sitting in the same cushion like it was your personal throne and carefully observed how your boyfriend was training.

The sound of his fists punching the bag and his heavy pants reached your ears, your eyes fixated on the way his muscles flexed. Sweat rolled down his forehead but he immediately wiped it off, continuing to land relentless punches on the poor bag.

Now, you didn't know everything about boxing, you've never tried it. It's only when you started dating Hajun that you got to know more about this brutal sport. It was indeed brutal but the way Hajun moved, punched and perfomed was masterpiece that left you in awe. It peaked your curiosity, so why not give it a try?

"Hajun." You called out his name and he immediately stopped what he was doing, turning his full attention on you. "Can you teach me that?"

Your question caught him off guard. "Teach you...how to fight?" He questioned you to confirm you were saying what he thought you were saying.

You nodded your head, smiling sweetly at him. "Please?"

"Sure" he said and you wasted no time, walking towards him.

"So, how do we start, Oppa Teacher Hajun~¹?" You said teasingly but immediately shut up when Hajun stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back as he took your hands in his.

"First, make a fist.." He spoke and you followed his instructions. "Don't put your fingers over your thumb, you're likely to break it like that." He positioned your thumb over your fingers.

"O-Oh, really?" You awkwardly asked. It was hard to pay attention to his instructions when you felt his breath on your neck, feel his abs on your back...It was distracting, less to say.

"Yeah, if you'll tuck your thumb under your fingers and punch something, all the impact will go to your thumb so eventually it'll get injured." He passionately explained, even if he wasn't sure how to teach you exactly. Joker definitely wasn't good teacher or at least he believed so. But so far, he was doing good job. Maybe it's because he's passionate about what he currently teaches.

"Alright," You nodded. "and for punching, I just needs to swing, right?" You threw your head back a bit to look up at him, unaware of the way he gulped at that act, his cheeks even got slightly pink.

"Not really. You need right technique for that." He spoke, lifting your fists up to your jaw. "Jaw must be always protected."

"But I have never seen you protecting your jaw like this?"

"That's because most people can't even reach it."

You couldn't help but sniffle a laugh at that. He surely was tall, it's no wonder average guy in Korea wouldn't be much in height compared to him.

Putting that aside, you continued listening to him. He was putting so much effort in demonstrating techniques and explaining them, gently and patiently, it made your heart warm. And he was being so passionate about it too, it's cute. He might not have noticed it but he always tend to talk more when it comes to his interests and you love listening to him every single time.

It's rare to see Hajun like this; eyes softened, body relaxed, his cheeks pink, more talkative...He looked so carefree and comfortable right now.

He showed you yet another technique on how to punch properly. "Like this and like this then like this....Get it?"

"Um..." You hesitated before nodding. "You just swing the arm, right...?" You asked, your voice getting quieter each word that left your mouth.

"No. I mean, yes. But no-" he didn't even finish it upon realizing that he couldn't explain it. So he stood in front of you now, taking your fists in his hand and positioning them correctly. "When you swing..." He guided your arm, straightening it to imitate punching process. "You need right technique for it. It won't be impactful otherwise." He then run his finger over your knuckles, making you stop breathing for a second. "Your knuckles should be the ones meeting the target, instead of your fingers. And you don't have to clench your fist tight for it to be painful." He added, hinting that you should relax your fist a little.

You relaxed your fingers like he told you, then looked up at him with expectations. He continued explaining and demonstrating as much as he could until you said you got it and stood in front of punching bag.

Placing your arms like he taught you, you punched the bag few times. The first thing that caught your attention was how heavy punching bag was. It's incredible that Hajun practices on it every day, no wonder his knuckles get bruised...

When the bag almost hit you in the face, you dodged it but then Hajun stopped it himself. "So, wasn't I good now?" You asked him.

His soft gaze landed on your happy expression and for a moment he remained silent before his lips curled up in faint smile. "Yeah, good job."

You blinked at him in surprise, once, twice before giggling. "You should smile more often, Hajun-ssaem²~"

"Don't--"

"I'm joking, I'm joking. I'll go back to calling you nae sek-shi-nam³ then." You sheepishly smiled.

"...you're going to be the death of me."

1 - Teacher Oppa/Oppa teacher can be used to call your teacher in flirty or playful manner.

2 - ssaem is casual and affectionate way to say "teacher" in Korean.

3 - nae sek-shi-nam means "my sexy man" 😭

[purplink8]

Hey do you guys think Light got his love for punctuality from Soichiro? Like look:

Here is Light all but praising the Death Note for being exactly on time and then we have his father:

Soichiro: "Only those who are ready and willing to sacrifice everything and fight, who are truly committed to stopping this psychopath...are asked to remain. I'll find out who you are when I return at five o'clock from my meeting upstairs."

Soichiro checks his watch before entering and it's exactly 5 o'clock!

As if that wasn't enough, we have this additional tidbit that canon offers us:

Light: "Ryuk, I pretty much only take my watch off when I sleep. I definitely always wear it when I go outside. And habits don't change. This watch was a gift from my father when I graduated high school. I wouldn't replace it."

Not only Soichiro gifted Light this watch as a graduation present, Light counted on his deeply engrained habit of not taking his watch off for his keikaku to work.

Can you guys imagine Soichiro gifting this to Light despite the latter being all caught up into becoming the prime suspect for being Kira? Can y'all imagine Soichiro, against his better judgement, against all the doubts he had against his own son (which continued on to his deathbed btw), choosing to hope that he's right in trusting Light enough with this present?

After all, Light was everything a parent could've asked for and more. He knew Light idolized him since he was but a child, how could he not? Despite all the nights he was absent (away for work, for justice, for making sure he was fulfilling his duty to the best of his ability), he knew Light, little Light, waited for him until he fell asleep (he didn't need Sachiko telling him that to know this).

And yet Light never complained, did he? Even as a child, Light displayed a maturity that other parents envied. He understood. He understood that his dad was away for the greater good. That sacrifices are necessary for true justice. Soichiro knew from the bottom of his heart just how much Light took pride in him. He knew because that's how much pride (if not more) he had in Light as well.

That didn't mean Soichiro didn't feel guilty for not spending enough time with his family, for neglecting them so. He absolutely did. So what he couldn't make up in quantity, he did it in quality. With what little time he spent at home, he'd ensure to utilize it efficiently by imparting his wisdom from his experiences to his dear children. One of them being: time is money, use it well.

And little Light took his dad's teachings to his heart, of course, and incorporated it into his life so well since then that despite all the doubts Soichiro may have about Light being Kira, he knows that, at the very least, his dutiful son would cherish the watch he'd gift to him. That Light would definitely appreciate the gesture.

He was right. Light did care for the watch immensely. However unbeknownst to Soichiro, Light counted on that deep attachment to the watch, to use it as a weapon of all things. A weapon used to facilitate "the worst murder weapon in the history of mankind" (the death note) to kill people discreetly.

"The real evil is the power to kill people."

The watch given by Soichiro, as a symbol of trust (in spite of lingering doubts), to Light, made its debut as a deadly weapon when Light gained his memories as a part of his grand keikaku.

Can you imagine the sheer gravity of Light's actions? Saying they're horrific would be a gross understatement.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Ahem. Let's rewind a bit, to the time period at the end of Light's confinement. Particularly, the mock execution scene:

To put things into (Light's) perspective, Light has no memories of being Kira. He's been confined for at least 50 days based on (as far as he's aware) false charges. When he's finally released, he's told by his own father, no less, that he & Misa are being taken to their execution and Soichiro volunteered to take them there himself.

Light doesn't get a right to a trial (let alone a fair one). L's conclusion of them being Kira is treated as absolute. Regardless of the lack of evidence. What's worse, Soichiro appears to be on L's side.

It's a betrayal of epic proportions from a father who he used to deeply admire + respect.

It's no surprise how Light takes it: he's horrified. He tries to plead his case, for his life, and, understandably, it takes on a more desperate, more emotional edge:

Light: "Dad! You believe L over me?!"

Light feels hurt. Betrayed. His own father believes L above him. His plea is heartbreaking. This is the question that must've been tearing Light apart since the hospital scene:

Ryuk: "Notice he doesn't say "I'm certain that Light isn't Kira." Hyuk Hyuk."

Soichiro doesn't trust Light. From this moment, it became painstakingly clear. What makes it worse for yotsuba!Light specifically is- now that he isn't aware that he used to be Kira, i.e., he is (from his POV) absolutely certain that he is NOT Kira. He thinks that L's judgement (in this case, at least) is not to be trusted.

And here Soichiro is, trusting the one person Light has grown to loathe since his time during confinement OVER HIM.

I cannot emphasize enough how utterly depressing it is, just how frustrating it is to have your own parent turned against you, to have him side with a detective who you know is WRONG about the case, about Kira, about who you are. Your father doesn't believe you. He thinks you're the sort of person to murder thousands of people.

Sit with that thought. And let it stew.

Back to Light asking the question with pain written all over his face. "You trust L over me?"

Is that how fathers are supposed to act? To trust a nameless third party over their own child??

The question is in the air and Light gets its answer.

With a gun to his face:

Light raises a question of trust (that is essential in every relationship) and Soichiro replies that not only does he not trust Light (thereby trusting L's judgement more), he rewards Light's question by declaring that he'd kill Light and then himself.

...Fucked up, isn't it?

Now we know of course that it was all an act. A mock execution, as Soichiro explains.

Soichiro: "Please understand that I only did it because I truly believed that you weren't Kira."

These words along with the fact that L was the one who staged this sick & cruel act, allow Light to quickly forgive his dad by blaming it all on L.

We aren't shown the psychological effect this ordeal has on Light. It was very traumatic imo.

Imagine yotsuba!Light having disturbing nightmares repeatedly...imagine the poor kid holding onto his dear watch telling himself over and over that the gift given by Soichiro represents the strength of the father-son bond...imagine him crying (when he thinks nobody is watching) regardless...

He's handcuffed to the man with the worst judgement he knows. Despite the whole mock execution that this particularly stubborn detective had staged. Despite the damage L brought to his father-son relationship.

And then, Light regains his memories and the entire illusion shatters.

He IS Kira. Just like L said and his father suspected. Still, there's no time to lose by having an identity crisis. And he chooses to continue on the path he had chosen as Kira. He uses the watch his father had given him to kill Higuchi to reclaim his identity of Kira.

I think it's interesting that the only other times, i.e., while killing Kiyomi Takada and Near, he uses the watch again is after his father had already died. I know he didn't use it before that for practical reasons but I also think it's because he couldn't bring himself to sully the memory of trust his father had in him by entrusting him with the watch, unless absolutely necessary.

The trust that was gone the moment Soichiro says this on his deathbed:

Soichiro: "...Light, you're not Kira...I'm so glad..."

Matsuda: "O-Of course he isn't! You were still worried about that?"

Even after the mock execution, Soichiro still doubted Light which were dispelled just before his death. He dies without knowing the truth, yet dealing a blow to Light that might never heal. At the end, Matsuda, a man who's disposable to Light, trusts him more than his own dad. Cruel irony, isn't it?

This is the moment Light realizes that the trust he thought his father had in him was all his imagination and it shatters his heart.

I feel that Light & Soichiro's relationship is the most tragic one in Death Note.

[shana-reviews-tmblr]

-Goofy and Stolas, Two Flawed Fatherly Goofs-

And how understanding the former, helps us understand and sympathize with the latter.

Before reading I would like to ask that if anyone has watched Helluva Boss and both Goofy Movies, you can skim through the first part of this thread and go to: Character Analysis and Comparison as I will be recapping the some key episodes from Helluva Boss as well as both Goofy movies for any newcomers who may not know about either.

Now I've watched Helluva Boss since it debuted back in 2019 and at first, I wasn't too keen on it being anything more than a comedy series centered around a group of assassin demons from hell called I.M.P (Immediate Murder Professionals) getting into hijinks.

Tl;dr: I.M.P is an assassination company run by Blitz, the main protagonist of the series, as they take on contracts from sinners who died and went to hell but seek revenge on anyone they hated or were wronged by back on earth. In order for them to get to earth they needed to use a magical grimoire that Stolas "loans" to Blitz in exchange for the two spending 1 night on the full moon each month getting down and dirty in the sheets so they can have access to Earth as Imps are not normally allowed to that level of magic.

all of that changed in S1 ep2 "Loo Loo Land"

In the 2nd ep of the show, we were see that the series would be more than just wacky hijinks and that this would be a story with a heart to it as we are introduced to Stolas, I.M.P's benefactor, and his family life.

We learn during Loo Loo Land that Stolas has a somewhat strained relationship with his daughter, Octavia.

this is mostly due to the fact that when she was younger, her and her father were extremely close, however after some time after she grew into her late teen years, Stolas had gotten into an affair with none other than Blitz.

Things became hostile within the household as Stella would throw tantrums and wreck everything that was Stolas' all the while Via was watching the family she had thought was happy being together, fall apart.

To try and remedy this, Stolas takes Via to an amusement park, the titular "Loo Loo Land" which she use to enjoy going to when she was a child, however things do not go as planned as Via had to spend the day watching her father flirt with Blitz, whom he hired as a bodyguard.

At her limit and frustrated with watching her father act this way, Via storms off until Stolas catches up with her and the two have a heart-to-heart moment where Via opens up to her father about her fears of him leaving her for Blitz and while Stolas struggles to and is ultimately unable to tell Via the truth about why everything is happening and explain to her the relationship he has with Stella, he assures her that he would never abandon her.

The episode ends happily as Via and Stolas' relationship was saved from being burned down, even though everything else around them was being burned to a crisp courtesy of Blitz...um, Foreshadow?

Stolas and Via's relationship would be touched on again in S2 ep2 "Seeing Stars"

The episode sees Via running away to Earth after she tries to remind her father about a promise he made to her when she was younger about how he would take her to see Azathoth's tears (a meteor shower) as it only happens once in a great while.

But because Stolas was caught up arguing with Stella, who is moving out of their mansion and is having her things delivered, he had forgotten about his promise which causes Via to become rightfully angered and leads into the events of the episode.

At the climax, Via has another heart to heart conversation, not with Stolas, but with Loona, Blitz's adopted Hellhound daughter, where she talks to Via about how Dad's tend to mess up and make big mistakes almost all the time, but that it doesn't mean they don't care and that them trying to do better is what matters as long as they don't stop trying. as well as telling her how Stolas came with them to look for her himself (Stolas got caught up with Blitz as the two were dragged away and got into their own situation).

The ep ends happily as Via forgives her father and the two families (Via/Stolas & Loona/Blitz) enjoy watching fireworks go off.

After Seeing Stars, we wouldn't get any episodes or story plots that involve Stolas and Via's relationship for some time as by this point Stolas' romantic relationship with Blitz was becoming more of the center focus of the series as they both come to question how their relationship is and if it can be more than something that's merely transactional as both parties wish for something more intimate than simply having sex in exchange for Blitz being able to have a means to keep his business open. I made a thread on this earlier if you want to read the FULL detail on this development because this thread is going to be long enough as it is already lol From Truth Seekers to Mastermind: How we've reached the halfway point of Stoliz – @shana-reviews-tmblr on Tumblr The only thing you have to keep in mind from the thread that connects to Stolas is that he has been in a crappy marriage and for the first time with Blitz he feels like he's found someone he has genuine feelings for and wants to have a genuine relationship with someone. Because of this when Blitz is accused of stealing from Stolas, Stolas rushes to Blitz's rescue and takes the fall to save the person he loves and as punishment Stolas is stripped of his powers and title for 100yrs, no longer being able to see Octavia or come to his own property, Stolas has been banished.

This all culminates in the S2 finale Sinsmas where, after trying to get a hold of Via for over a month, things now begin to fall apart as Via endures her mother's cruel attempts to intercept Stolas trying to call her and explain everything, all while mocking him to Via's face.

Via also unfortunately finds her father's medication which he had been taking in order to cope with the abuse Stella had been putting him through for years.

When Stolas and Via finally get a chance to talk, Via completely shuts Stolas out as she assumes the medication Stolas took was because of her and thinks that all the good times they shared was a facade he was putting on and that Stolas would rather be happy with Blitz than with her and that the love she thought he had for her was also a facade.

the two of them are unable to communicate properly about everything and the misunderstanding between them causes Stolas to lose the one good thing that came from his marriage to Stella.

and we are left on a very bittersweet ending as Via has completely shut Stolas out of her life and all he can do is fall to his knees in tears knowing he will not see his daughter for the next 100yrs, and by then she may never recognize him as her father and just see him as a stranger.

And with Stolas' story summed up (for now) we can look into the other character this thread is covering.

That being Goofy and his adventures with Max in both A Goofy Movie and An Extremely Goofy Movie.

Like with Stolas I'll be summing up the events of both films, after which is where I'll get into the meat of things and try to show how Goofy's story and his own arcs will give us an insight into Stolas.

We begin Goofy's summary with the very first Goofy Movie, where Goofy, after being told a VERY exaggerated story by Max's principal about Max "Dressed up like a gang member" and was "causing a riot at school", decides to take his son on a road trip across country to spend quality time together in hopes of strengthening his bond with Max and helping him to stay out of trouble and avoid being put on the electric chair.

Unbeknownst to Goofy however, Max isn't the troublemaker his principal made him out to be and prior to being taken by his dad, was planning to attend a party where Max would hope to win the heart of Roxane, a girl he has a crush on.

Despite the rocky start the two have on the road trip, from Max rejecting any quality time with his father to Goofy taking some questionable "tough love" parenting advice from his friend Pete, the two slowly do make progress in becoming closer.

However Goofy learns a dark secret Max kept from him at the start of their trip. That being that Max changed their map so that they would end up in LA instead of Lake Destiny (the original destination Goofy planned to take Max too).

Because earlier in the film before Goofy took Max out on the Open Road, Max wanted to stop by Roxane's house and try to tell her he wouldn't make it to the party after he had promised to go there earlier when they met at school, but in a panic out of fear of losing his chance with her as she was walking away thinking Max wasn't interested in her, he lies and says that his dad was taking him to said concert, to which he then promised he would be on stage to wave too her, thus he changed the map in an attempt to cover his lie.

And when the time came for Max to direct his dad on where to go, Max in a panic chooses the route he picked, which then leads to Goofy and Max getting into an argument causing the two to crash off the road and be stranded in a river (roll with it) as the two now have no choice but to talk things out as they are literally stranded together with nothing to distract them.

after clearing every misconception up, Goofy now understands his son better and any doubts he had from his principal to even Pete telling Goofy his son is a bad kid are dispelled, while Max, after spending all this time with his dad, is now more open to his father and seeing him as more than just "Goofy".

In the end the two manage to see Eye To Eye as Goofy gets Max to the concert and the movie ends with Max confessing to Roxane, after telling her the truth and apologizing for the lies he said, before formally introducing his dad to her.

Happy Ending

So, with the first film covered we now go into the 2nd film, which now sees Max heading to college and Goofy, after being fired from his job for losing his focus as he struggled with depression from Max being gone, needing to go to college as he must earn a degree if he is to find a better job.

An Extremely Goofy movie shows us Goofy and Max's relationship struggling once more as, with Goofy now attending the same college as Max, starts to try and spend so much time with Max that he is smothers him not helped that Max is planning to enter the College X games and face against one of the rival teams, The Gammas.

(Goofy Movie Tournament Arc, BEGINS!)

Things come to a breaking point as, after Goofy was recruited by the Gamma's, albeit with Max encouraging to his dad to join as a means to hamper the Gamma's and participates in the qualifying rounds, Max is shown up by his own father, who is unknowingly being used by the Gammas to cheat in the event and get under Max's skin.

This causes Max to blow up at his father because with all the smothering and parenting his dad has been putting him through while ignoring the ground rules they agreed upon was building up a lot of resentment with what happened at the preliminary rounds being the breaking point and Goofy is sent in a spiral of depression, he was failing his courses, not staying in touch with his new girlfriend Sylvia (who was the librarian of the college he was attending) and eventually was prepared to just accept his fate and quit college.

it is only thanks to him realizing he was losing his focus and in a sense being a hypocrite (as he had taught Max a similar lesson about Staying Focused on Your Goals earlier in the film) that Goofy makes a comeback and when the finals of the X games are happening, Goofy aids Max after the two make up with each other and their team defeats the Gammas.

At the end, Goofy and Max share a few words of love, understanding, and respect as Goofy is now able to fully let go of Max as he is able to graduate with enough passing grades to get his diploma and find another, hopfully better job.

And we see Goofy driving off happily into the sunset with his new girlfriend, Sylvia as he can move forward with his life while knowing his bond with his son is now stronger than ever before.

Alrighty!

so, with both Stolas and Goofy's stories summarized we now can come to:

Character Analysis and Comparison

If you've read the above summaries or know of both Stolas and Goofy's stories, you might see there are some small similarities.

Goofy and Stolas both:

Single Parents

Have Teenage kids

A strained relationship with said kids

Both have issues with communicating with their kids

Have romances with someone

are both doofuses in their own way

On a surface level this would be all the similarities that the two have and if so, how does that even remotely help anyone sympathize with and understand Stolas?

For this we have to dive a bit deeper and examine some of the differences between them along with their similarities.

Differences:

Unlike Goofy, who is a working-class citizen, Stolas was born in a more privileged life as he is heir to the Goetia family, from birth Stolas was raised to see himself above others who were beneath his social class while also being denied any sense of autonomy, identity, and life outside of his identity as a Goetia it was only thanks to his relationship with Blitz, an Imp who is seen as FAR beneath him on the hierarchy, that Stolas began his journey to recognizing his own privileged life and the inequality that surrounds the world he lives in.

Goofy meanwhile is your average joe. He's an middle-class worker who tries to be a good loving and supportive father to his son, not to mention he is also a widower. Simple, yet easy to understand.

Another big difference is in how their stories are told, Goofy's story revolves around his relationship with his son, while for Stolas his story revolves around his relationships with Blitz (Romantic) and Octavia (Familial) but also includes somethings that are far more adult and nuanced than what Goofy is allowed to tell as Stolas' life includes but not limited to:

Spousal abuse at the hands of his ex-wife

Possible addiction to medication

The closet one can say Goofy and Stolas both have as far as "heavy topic" material is that both have had states of Depression.

This now leads us into their:

Similarities

For Goofy, the cause of his depression was Empty Nest Syndrome as Goofy came to the realization that his baby boy is off starting his own life while Goofy is left alone after being with him for so many years.

For Stolas, his depression is tied to the Spousal abuse he suffered from Stella.

But let's examine some other things the two have in common:

Miscommunication

This is something that shows up in both Stolas and Goofy's stories.

With Goofy, it's the miscommunication of him assuming he knows the story about what Max did in Highschool and rather than talking with Max to get his side of the story, Goofy believes what the principal said and, against Max's will, takes him on a trip thinking that this is the solution to helping Max when it didn't.

It was only when Goofy and Max were able to sit down and talk that Goofy got the whole story that he finally understood his son better which helped to mend their relationship and make it stronger.

This also happens with Stolas as I mentioned above.

Because of how Heavy a topic Stolas' situation is, this is something that isn't as easy as one thinks.

Because it is NEVER as easy as some will think it is for a parent to tell their child how much they've been suffering because of their spouse, made worse if the child is close with that spouse or if they have a good relationship.

and it's because of this lack of communication that Stolas is unable to explain things to Via properly to help her see him eye to eye and understand her father.

To Via she's only seeing her dad cheat on her mom with someone she doesn't know about, and it didn't help either when Stolas forgot his promise to Via to spend time with her like he said he would.

Both times Via forgave him but ultimately Stolas being unable to tell Via about her mother is what bit Stolas in the end, not helped that he never even told Via too about how Stella tried to have him assassinated.

So as we see, both Goofy and Stolas have had bad communication skills with their kids, while for different reasons, the fact is NEITHER of them were able to or were to talk and get things straightened out, which for both characters would find its way to bit them in the end.

which now leads into another trait both share that I might get push back from, but it's a hard truth.

Goofy and Stolas BOTH make selfish choices

How does Goofy act selfish? what blasphemy do I speak?

In a Goofy Movie, Goofy makes the decision to take Max on a trip without even once hearing Max out or even asking if he wanted to do this at all not helped that the first place they stopped at was a tourist spot where in Goofy gets into hijinks as well as doing things that makes Max feel embarrassed in front of crowds of people, despite Max trying to tell Goofy how he felt but Goofy was too lost in his own fun to listen.

Believe it or not On the Open Road, the music number that happens when Goofy and Max are on their journey, works and functions the same as a villain song singing which makes Goofy something of, if not, an Antagonist of the movie (and before anyone says anything Antagonist and Villain are not synonymous)

If you want to understand WTH I'm going on about, I highly recommend watching Sideways video on the music of a Goofy movie it is an amazing video and will better explain why Open Road is Goofy's antagonist song among other things you might like to find out about A Goofy Movie.

So, if you watched the video already then you should see why I mentioned Open Road as an example of Goofy being selfish, this is because the song revolves around Goofy saying what he plans to do which is something that hinders Max's goals as Max, in this movie, is trying to win the heart of Roxane, but now he can't be there with her like he had hoped because he's now going across country spending days and weeks apart from her.

The selfish choices Goofy makes also does not stop here as in an Extremely Goofy Movie, where Goofy this time is sort of the focus point.

In the sequel, Goofy attends the same college as Max and it's made very clear Goofy is trying too hard to cope from his Empty Nest Syndrome by wanting to spend more time with him that he never bothers to adhere to the ground rules Max and him agreed to, even though Max was very understanding and sympathetic to his dad for coming to the same college and genuinely wanted him to get his degree so he can get a better job.

But throughout the film Goofy is constantly smothering Max which caused so much friction to build up that when Goofy, unknowingly, shows up Max during a sports event it's what causes Max to finally snap at Goofy and call him out.

and in the end Goofy acknowledges his own wrong doings when he recognizes that he lost his focus on trying to spend time with Max when he should have been focusing on trying to get his degree, to which he tries his best to make things right by apologizing to those he wronged and work to get his grades up and help Max win the College X games tournament.

This leads us now to discussing Stolas' selfish choices.

With Stolas, the selfish choices he makes are tied to both his romantic relationship with Blitz as well as Via, due to how one affected the other.

Stolas was so emotionally damaged from growing up being molded and groomed to be the ideal Goetia and never feeling an ounce of genuine affection from either his family or his wife (save for Via) that when he met Blitz as children the fun memories he had was something he held dear, so much that after 25 years when the two met up again Stolas had misunderstood Blitz's attempts to distract him so he could steal his grimoire as an attempt at "Romancing" him, which he himself also contributed too when he was so drunk and in an emotionally vulnerable place after Stella belittled him in front of her friends, that he felt Blitz was showing genuine interest and love, or at least what he assumed was love.

Not helped that when Blitz gave Stolas petty sex it further pushed the miscommunication which got further muddied when Stolas made an arrangement with Blitz

As a reminder i made another thread that tries to five into Stolas and Blitz's relationship so if you want to re-read that, pause reading here and scroll back up to the link.

If not no worries, the only thing you need to take away from that thread is that Stolas, for the first time in his life, met someone, who isn't related to him, that he connects with who makes him genuinely happy and in a desperate attempt to have that, he makes the selfish choice of wanting to have Blitz in his life as a lover.

This also causes friction with his daughter as mentioned earlier how Via watched her family fall apart and her father chasing after someone who she doesn't know and thinks is a homewrecker, when in truth she doesn't understand nor was told how close Blitz was to Stolas or sees how much of a good person Blitz actually is.

Loo Loo Land showed Stolas made the mistake with how he was ignoring Via's emotional state when he constantly flirted with Blitz instead of really talking to Via, a mistake that was in a very well placed part to show the irony, was done to him by his father Paimon when he saw Stolas in distress over what he told him his life will become and rather than deal with him, he took Stolas to the circus instead, there it was an attempt to distract Stolas and not deal with him.

With Stolas' it was a genuine attempt, if misguided, to try and make Via happy even if his own want for Blitz caused him to lose his focus on trying to help Via work through her emotions and properly explain things to her.

It just goes to show how Paimon's upbringing of Stolas affected his parenting skills:

It's the lack of communication that Stolas has with his daughter that makes it harder for Via to see her father's plight and truly understand him, and this leads to her believing he might lie to her, not helped that any chance Stolas DID try to communicate with her like in Sinsmas when he tried to call her to explain everything, Stella ran interference FOR A MONTH which caused Stolas' window of opportunity to explain things to vanish and she calls him out on it.

much like how Max, for all the times Goofy was making his own selfish choices, did the same.

But make no mistake, even if Stolas and Goofy's stories are not one to one the same, what similarities they do have and any differences between them DOES help paint a bigger picture.

that picture being parenthood and how much of a spectrum it is with how parents can be loving, supportive, and well-meaning, while also being very flawed and human in how they try to handle situations that come up as there is no 1 specific or "right" way to parenting or how some problems parents face can be different in some details, yet still have the same root cause/issue and not all have the same solutions or can be solved the same way.

Which leads to a topic that Stolas and Goofy both share that can't be denied, no matter what:

Their Love for their Children

It's no secret that Goofy loves his son, it's one of the driving forces of both movies, heck even taking into account the show Goof Troop and the Mickey's Once upon a Christmas special, Goofy's bond with his son is unquestionable strong and is core part of his character.

Case in point this moment here from the movie where, despite him and Max having friction, Goofy shows his love for his son by having a real moment with him as the two bond over somethign from the past they use to have fun with:

And just as Goofy has undying love for Max, so too does Stolas have undying love for Octavia.

How?

well the picture you see above with him holding a newborn Octavia shows that he was there for her since her birth, we never get any pictures of Stella being there for Via or pictures of Stella and Via by themselves, we only see pictures of Stolas and Via together from him being there for her on her birthday to playing horsey with him having her riding on his back, heck in S1 Ep2 the episode begins with a young Via crying out to her parents, but only Stolas goes to check in on her and her nightmare was soley about her losing him.

The only thing that Stolas did that we never see Goofy do, and this is more a result of how Disney locks Goofy behind a G rating; Was when Stolas, after finally standing up to Stella, talks about how he endured so much of her vitriol, cruelty, and malice even when he tried hard to make the marriage neither of them wanted, work. ALL FOR VIA'S SAKE.

Even showing how he would have felt terrible for what he did if his actions had hurt Stella emotionally, but the only thing of hers that was hurt wasn't her heart, but her pride as a Goetia.

He endured so much for Octavia and all to let her have some kind of a normal life that he was denied and to be honest if Goofy was in Stolas' position he'd do the same for Max.

In Conclusion

I do not know if this thread will enlighten people on Stolas' character or if people will agree with me that Goofy and Stolas are similar or if understanding Goofy helps to understand Stolas.

The goal of this thread was to show the similarities between these two as I have seen countless times people decrying Stolas as an unlikable character, that he deserves to be miserable, or worse deserved to be killed.

To which I strongly disagree, Goofy reminds me so much of Stolas, if anything Stolas' entire arc and traits of his character also remind me of Goofy, without the restrictions the G rating brings.

Yes, Stolas isn't A-Hyuck-ing all the time or getting into slapstick moments with a "YAAAAAAAAH-HOO-HOO-HOO-EEEEE!" holler at the end, but he is silly in his own way and his arc only differs from Goofy in that Stolas is a privileged prince who has to unlearn the aristocratic upbringing he was molded into.

But where Stolas and Goofy are similar is in how they are as father's trying to be there for the children they love so dearly.

Goofy's journey lasted 2 full movies, in that time span things had to lead into the conflict and be resolved by movie's end.

Stolas' journey as a character is lasting what is to be a 4 seasoned 52-episode series that has to stretch his development to where it is needed story wise, in other words Stolas' journey (in terms of his relationship with Via) is a slow burn compared to Goofy's and it isn't completed yet, so it is unfair to say Stolas or Goofy's journeys are superior or inferior to the other and can't be compared as they are two stories being told in different, yet similar ways in different formats.

I hope that you all enjoyed this thread regardless if you agree with me or not.

In the end I see Goofy and Stolas as similar characters and as I said earlier are two shades of what I see as a Parenting spectrum.

They are Fathers

They are Lovers

They make mistakes

"They may not always get it right, but they're trying...

that's more important than you think."

[gnohomotho]

May I play with you? 「✦Pt.5✦」

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: Well, folks, it's happening, everyone stay calm. He's lost it (not the game, you lost that one). Flowery shower leading to a bed. There is some fluff, because of course there is. Bit of an emotional rollercoaster, is he still playing? Are you? How many times have you lost? Is he counting? What exactly does he have in mind? How much of him is true? Is anything really? ⭒˚.⋆˖➴༯ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, heavy intimacy, rich sexual inner monologues, description of naked bodies, biting, choking, bondage, abuse dynamics, accurate depictions of trauma responses, very questionable consent, razorblades, heavy snogging, groping, grinding, fondling, power imbalance, near-smut, the man's in love, what can I tell you. (❀´ ˘ `❀) Word count: 8.7k A/N: I'm aware the water bill will be astronomical. ˙ᵕ˙ Again, I'm so grateful for the fans and the people requesting this, tried quite hard and tried to write the saucy scenes very saucily and plan to give them a fully fledged scene in the next part. Just wanted to deepen the characters and relationship, rather than just fucking. But please put "describing the Salesman's nether region while trying to study for a state exam" under things I did not expect to be hard. Wait. WAIT NO--- Gorgeous gif by: @phantom-evil Tag list: @storytellers-randomshortstorys @ingstadstarlight જ⁀➴ Link to previous Link to next If you like my work, I cherish every like // reblog // follow // message - thank you for helping me boost visibility and writing! ♥ Masterlist ฅ^._.^ฅ

The shower water beat down on your delicate beating head like drops on a hot tin roof. Your eyes refused to blink. The water kissed your lashes and blurred the never changing abject scene before you.

There he was.

There he was, the enigmatic salesman, in his entirety, just under the tender curve of your breasts, his dark hair, thick with wetness and heat, his face, slick and never changing, fully focused into you without a single touch. Droplets running down his face but seemingly making way for his engulfing features.

Let me revere you.

Your breath could not catch up, your hands were remotely, unnoticeably shivering, and though the warmth covered your naked body down to the hem of your tights, you felt so very, very cold and exposed.

He was a mirror, the mirror you could not stand to look at yourself in at home, and he took all he reflected.

And, perhaps worst of all, the unwavering stabbing uncertainty dragged through your mind as the steam made the small space ever suffocating.

Curling softly and sliding down your nose and throat.

Sliding the tiles from under you like hands gripping a veil of consciousness from under your toes.

If he was like the others, you could have managed. If he took and grabbed, if he defiled, you could breathe. Bitterly, but you could. But not this.

Your eyes move to the heels of his shoes, perfect spades glistening and getting ruined by water. You try to focus on him, his form breathing under the heavy soaked suit, you don't want to acknowledge what he's seeing. Nor you. Nor the damage. But you don't move.

You watch.

Heavy shoulders so light against their surroundings. A large form lithe enough to jump at you if you make the wrong move. Eyes darkened by the water caught on his eyelashes, a perfect backdrop for the lingering darkness you know is there, barely subdued.

His shirt, soaked through.

His suit, weighed down by dark fabric.

His sleeves, stained.

His hands---

His hands.

Large, meticulous, open hands.

So close to the places you don't wish to recall, harbouring a touch that both holds you here and holds you apart.

You unwittingly, as invisibly as possible stiffen and force your thighs together; how similar are your moves to the dreadful night he bestowed that burning touch on you the very first time.

Heart beating madly, you pray he didn't notice.

His eyes seem focused on your body now, piercing your navel and hips, unmoving. Focusing. You wonder what he sees, what caught his attention and held...before you remember yourself checking the damage even before this nightmare of an evening.

Oh.

Oh no.

His hand suddenly moves. Veins like highways delineating its trajectory. All along down to the wrist you cannot quite see. The electricity between the steam and his light motion plays between your skin and his touch.

A gentle but methodical cut begins to pull each sleeve down just a tad, revealing his entire wrists and you almost gasp - almost - at the concentration imbued in them.

He's either struggling or preparing, either fighting or dreadfully at peace with whatever is running through his mind and intentions.

Even the way he did that - he didn't pull away from you, no. He wouldn't grant you that kind of impersonality.

No.

The salesman instead dragged his open palm gruellingly slowly with each fingertip lightly burning through you across your stomach. Inch by inch.

He slid along your ribs and simply rested there, letting your body pulsate into his firm touch.

Not only mine, the touch seems to say.

One with me.

When he does move, it's to tend to one cuff that he visited by travelling across you. As slowly as it is torturous, he then repeats the motion the other way, gliding across your prickling, responsive skin, to his other hand. Never once hurting or pushing into you, so methodical are his movements - even as his wrist touches your skin and the hand returns to its open palm possession.

Slow, everso slow, so lightly against your navel, soft as transparent cloth, deliberate as the hand of a dealer who knows the house always wins.

Never once letting you go without his touch.

If it was possessive, you couldn't tell. You did not wish to think. To make sure it's not a reaction, you let yourself be still for a time too long before exhaling and closing your eyes.

You feel a new sensation, warm and almost comforting - but bathed in a sense of dread.

Gently he began to lather soap and foam across your stomach, soothingly travelling up to your ribs. Across places that screamed in pain and need. Your breath, your mind was holding onto its last confines of stability not to react, not to give him an inch. But every breath sent a shiver through you, you knew if you dared open your eyes, you'd see him watching you with one eye pinned each time you tried to avoid the charcoal depths.

You feel his momentary focus on your quivering chest, as the droplets fall slower past the tender hills. Circular motions caress your sternum, along each side of your breasts, under them, stopping only for places that visibly hurt. Places you know don't hurt only because of tonight and you dread him reading you like a book.

The foam gathers in heaped warmth and hugs your chest, lazily falling down onto your stomach and he catches it - lathering every inch anew.

Sometimes he lingers. And you swear you have to be imagining the place grow warmer, warmer, then hot - as if the steam gathered there and moulded into you.

You thought you were imagining it until a soft yet rough small surface, wet and warm, momentarily, only for a breath - - - brushed a particularly tender spot.

Are those...is that...

Your eyes flutter open and thankfully, you see for yourself without him seeing you.

And you are not thankful to be gazing into a flurry of dark hair not even a clandestine inch away from your skin.

❥❥❥

As gentle and soft as his hands were - they were methodical. Deliberate. Never lingering without reason. He focused on your bruises and stayed there.

"This one's old," he hummed nonchalantly, but there was a cold edge to the whisper even the shower couldn't heat.

His breath kissed your skin and bathed it in warmth as the whispers enveloped every inch of the soft spot under his lips.

"And this one wasn't done by a fast, brutal, unbecoming drow of emotion."

He didn't have to move to connect the surface you had already suspected to your skin, to your body, to your soaked shivering tenderness.

His lips brushed the surface of your skin - just barely - over the place he had tended with his breath.

The electricity. The touch. The need in you gathers and you almost quiver into him.

Your heart. Your heart is racing and he must feel it through your form, your stomach, your ribs.

But he left you cold once more as his lips departed.

He moved ever lower.

Circling soap and smooth warmth just under the curve of your breasts, never touching - making his presence and his absence the same gruelling pain. And you felt everything.

He is travelling up between them, up your sternum. Slowly. Pressing each centimetre of your skin into memory.

"And this one...these ones..." the breath that left his lips lingered hot on your skin but held nothing but contempt.

His lips closed around the tender place and for a while, only lay there. The contact giving life alone. As he pulled away just enough to speak but so close you could no longer tell what is hot water and what are his lips upon you...

"These ones...my little flower...my dear little bird shielded by a pair of broken wings..."

His hand had stopped and your eyes cannot focus, the eyes you're explicitly not meeting are burning into you. You almost gasp as you feel his finger glide against the soft skin of your ribs, to your hip, sliding along the dip and laying against your side. It slides down ever further and grips your thigh.

"These ones make me wish to lay you down and invite a few more players to the game for you to merely watch."

The knife of his intonation cut through the steam, yet ended on a jovial little chuckle.

"Watch them lose."

The grip on your thigh grows, and you know what that does to him, you know how his thoughts must be spiralling through each and every scene from the tapestry of your skin he's putting together like a full picture. And you shiver straight through.

You must not let him see.

You must not let him see that you are falling apart, and your body is growing into a cold carapace to shield the damage.

Hold me, don't touch me, hold me, don't touch me, ruin me, make it stop, please hold me, make it safe...

Your left eye begins to do something you truly cannot afford right now, and you would almost curse at both it and the thought that forced it to glisten.

...love me.

His thumb leaves the grip of your upper thigh only to softly slide inside the vice-like grip between your legs, rubbing the tights and smoothing them over. Not taking them off. Not roughing them up.

Smoothing them against the water and against your burning skin.

Stability? Possession? Need? Obsession?

Play?

Please let it be that.

The drip leaves your eye as the words leave his lips bathed in pretentious honey:

"You want me to hurt you, don't you, little flower?"

❥❥❥

He gazes up at you, the question hanging in the air, one open hand rested upon you but unmoving. His other firmly gripping your thigh enough to remind you of the poor chair. Is this a test? Or a genuine question? His face is a wet, beautiful, striking vision politely asking each drop of water to pass so that it may be burned into you without barriers. His smile is small, but his expression harbours little warmth.

Reverence.

And detachment.

And...something you cannot quite point to nor comprehend.

Like a snake smiling up at you, and you don't know whether it's satisfied with a meal or about to strangle one.

And your body is giving him every answer he should desire before he even opens his mouth. You almost caught a glimpse at your chest, and something in those eyes that glistened.

Awe.

No.

Self-satisfaction.

But...

No...

Your head is swimming, warmth and heat pooling against his touch, your sense of wrong and yet - safety - dragging you to him, dragging you on each drop that falls down on him, dragging you into his arms but you won't.

You won't.

You're not losing to him and you're not getting devoured today.

The salesman's softer eyes watch the droplets gather on your breasts and kiss each tip, before falling against his hands which twitch ever so slightly with each shared contact they bring to him.

You barely notice his lips move, but the voice kisses your ears past the droplets:

"You would prefer I be like them."

It's not a question.

Please don't.

"You would have me hurt you, wish to hurt you."

The polite soaked figure is only reading each page in front of him like a slow bedtime story. The dripping head lulls so close to your skin you almost lean into the crane of his neck for him and stop yourself - entirely wrong, all wrong, offering him refuge? What is wrong with you?!

His voice is so soft, but his grip on you isn't, and it reminds you of the game once more. His head leans into you, as if ready to kiss a bruise right under your ribs, hidden in such a sensitive spot. Which he surely realises.

Please don't go there.

But the sensation never comes. Only hot breath circling your skin as the words kiss it instead.

"So that my tender flower could loathe me. Discard me. And forget me...even as the poison pulsates through her veins."

He pulls you closer with one slow move, your legs momentarily teetering but you steady yourself. His other hand holds itself outstretched, finger by finger, on the skin below your ribs, just above your stomach where they disconnect into delicate softness, letting you fall into him and letting him feel you in your entirety - but you won't let him know that. You know he's playing.

You know he's playing.

The soft frown as he gazes at you, eyes wide, does nothing to dispel the thought. Lips turning softly, pityingly, patronisingly, he hushes into you:

"Poor thing. That's not how this works."

As he concludes the sentence, he lays his other hand to your side, gliding down the soft curve of your hips and just slightly around, not teasing, but trespassing - stopping at your bone to slide back down the navel and narrowly miss what you expected him to wish to violate first. The salesman instead lays his other hand on your untouched thigh and simply...

Pulls.

Steady, against him, his hands firmly holding you from both sides, you would almost let your guard down and fall. Let your aching muscles rest into his grasp and warm hands, his fingers dispelling lingering pain.

You are pulled into him, meeting both the soaked fabric and his hot body underneath. Firm as it is adaptive, strong as it is fast. Meticulous as it is brutal.

Elegant as it is cruel.

His lips burn into you straight through as their touch travels from the spot he breathed life into, trails down the bruise, and brushes the skin to the very end of your navel. Where his lips rest. Not a kiss. Not quite. Yet not even letting water run between your body and his.

As he pulls away and watches you with detailed satisfaction, studying your face, his eyes follow the little errant drop on your left cheek.

Voice like smoke and velvet, harbouring both hunger and patience, breaks the shower's hum:

"That's a flinch."

❥❥❥

As he pulls away, you're left burning alive.

Shaking. Infuriatingly cold. Pried open. Left to hang.

Helpless.

And ready to move into his arms and kick him at the same time. Your breath makes a sharp inhale and you force it to steady, and of course - he notices.

And he smiles.

It's not a smirk, nor is it triumphant.

It's worse, and you shudder.

It's soft and it is…worshipful.

It is the look of a man who has pried open the most precious of locks inside of you, waltzed straight inside and didn't disturb a single exhibit. Waiting for you to realise just what a heap of kindling is left of your locked doors. For him. And no one but him. Knowing you almost held your arm outstretched with the key as he did so.

The space between you should feel like a reprieve, but it feels like a wound. A void. A chasm. Something terribly missing, and you hate yourself down to the core you don't believe you have, that you want him to close it again.

And...

He does.

He takes your shivering hand and lays it back on his chest, just as you did to catch him in his own game. You feel the hot fabric; you feel his heart. It's pounding.

A knowing smile underlines your surprise, as if reassuring you that you are correct. You may just have an upper hand if you play your cards right.

You may stand to win, look at him, kneeling there, pulse mad, eyes barely concealing their own darkness.

But the salesman moves again and closes the gap. That dastardly gap you'd give anything to close. Closes it by pressing his cheek to your stomach. And he exhales.

His hands grip your thighs and for a moment you wonder if he's steadying himself or tricking you. A softly planted, deliberate kiss right above your navel almost makes you throw the game away entirely.

As you listen to his steadying breaths, hands gripping your thighs, your own gaze softens against your better judgement.

The kiss as a gesture is so very twisted.

So very reverent.

So very...him.

❥❥❥

As you swallow on a dry throat, hard - his eyes flick up, dark lashes wet, and the voice teasingly letting you feel a remnant of warmth it would positively beg for.

"You think I'm cruel?

The salesman's palms skim the inside of your thighs, but stop just before anywhere indecent. Just pressing, not parting. Holding. Knowing you're losing the game and keeping them clasped even as his fingers manage to slide around.

"You think I'll take?"

A single fingertip traces your lower spine, up, slow, deliberate. You're not sure if it's brand, a promise, or a threat. As it slowly teeters down, drawing a shaky breath out of you and leaving electricity wherever it brushed, he speaks once more.

"No, sweet flower, that's not at all how this works."

A single finger slips into the hem of your tights, leaving you just long enough to realise what he's doing before the other mirrors the action on your other hip.

"If I tie you down, if I leave you whimpering and begging for me, it won't be because I made you do so."

The fingers tickle your skin, playing with you, but you feel his own breath quickening as his words are underlined by what he is surely gladly imagining.

"It will be because you sit down freely, bound by the rules of the game, so entirely mine that you offer me the rope through tears streaming down those gorgeous doll eyes."

You feel your stomach pulsate as your heart cannot keep up. He looks up, as if he said nothing at all - relishing surely how much you're regretting every single moment leading up to this one. Cold envelops your mind. Fuck.

"Whimpering, begging, kissing the air with your hurried, strangled breaths...mine from the limbs you won't be able to move to the lips I could tear apart and leave cold. My little lady. Broken by herself. Held together by me. Her will bent like the tender flower stem waiting for its poison to work. Begging for peace."

The fingers dig into each of your hips, surely leaving indentations. Your jaw tightens and your chest does too - and he notices. Oh, he notices the tender skin drawing in on itself, the soft points of your breasts catching his eyes and serving that self-satisfied, leisurely smirk. Though he is under you, he is nothing but towering over you. Just as he surely planned. Just as he intended to play.

His voice comes so unassuming, as if reciting a particularly odd verse he cannot seem to fully wrap his tongue around - so sweet it turns to cyanide on his lips.

"And the poison won't come...hm, my poor little flower...? Can you feel it?"

His eyes close like that of a satisfied cat resting a paw on its caught mouse.

"Because it's too late."

As if to make sure you realise the ramifications of your displaced trust and faint self-assuredness, both of his fingers make the same up-and-down motion, caressing the naked skin he has not touched yet and enjoying the new sensation with polite delight.

As they find every piece of fabric they can, and safely hook themselves under it, the salesman slides down your tights with gruelling, torturous slow detail imbued into each inch of your newly exposed skin. So gently as not to burn your exposed nakedness, but so deliberately it feels like you're being sentenced.

Each new exposed inch is tended to with his lips. Though his fingers are not gripping as you would expect, their pressure is palpable, and they glide slower upon each spot that stings. His lips follow, breathing into you. Kissing the exposed place as if he were burning it into his mind...and yours.

As the tights slide down to your ankles, he traces both palms up your shins, around them, slowly up the inside of your legs you are now vibrating with to keep closed. But he, politely, without explicit force nor a move of the brow apart from his shoulders visibly stiffening, pries them apart just enough for his fingers to glide through.

You're giving him the sensation of your grip and hold without even realising. You quiver further, unable to move - if you know anything...it must be intoxicating for him.

He steadies himself against you, looking up with that small smile but not meeting your eyes, oh, no. He's entranced by your form. Bare before him. So many more avenues to explore and tend to.

So many more petals to pluck.

You merely step out of wet heap and try to nonchalantly slide it away. There still is a part of your brain very, very much concerned about something glistening in the wet clothing.

But you're shivering and you are burning.

And you would collapse around him and hold him to your naked chest, so that you are both enveloped, so that even the gentle water cannot enter the closeness between you.

"My gorgeous little lady," he humms, eyes fixated on your legs and entirely naked beauty, "you're as perfect as you are terrible at this game."

❥❥❥

And you finally move. Never taking your eyes off him, you kick the fabric of your tights away, knowingly giving him your thighs opening on a silver platter.

But as much as the opening captivated him, and as much as his hands squeezed themselves against them – his palm letting fingers envelop the inside of your inner thigh and softly gliding up and down against the water and sliding with it, his eye darted to your movement.

The metallic glint.

You slid the tights away, but the water washed their darkness and let the tiny object half-slip out of their torn hem. Gleaming in the light of the shower and droplets gracing its surface.

And the little glisten caught his one watchful eye. Less than a second, and still – his head stiffens.

The realisation hit you just as it hit him. Though yours was focused on regret and a past life that was washing away with each second with the salesman.

Why didn’t I drag it across his throat, carve out an escape and be done?!

“Oh?” His inflection is curious, but low, his hands don’t stop touching you. One softly brushes fingers just a tad too high and you close your thighs again. But he’s already there and only relishing the comfort of your warm naked skin against his fingers. The smile widens as you make contact with his harsh skin.

The salesman leans towards the wet heap, reaching by your ankles, and takes out the small object that caught his eye.

You should stop him. You should do something. Move!

But you cannot move as you hear his quiet, almost amused breath.

And the expression, as he holds it in his one free hand, is almost ethereal in its captivated fascination. And there is something in his voice that lingers even above the steam of the shower, but heavy enough to pin your feet to the ground and bind your thoughts. Though you detest the thought, as your heart pounds and your vision clouds, you wish it were mockery or judgement, even amusement – but it’s not. It’s something that binds him to you in wire and fishing line, something that is too deep for comfort.

Understanding.

Something close to…admiration.

“The flower came prepared.” Without warning, he kisses your navel and lets his lips rest there. His hand finally releases your thigh, but glides along their side, up your hip, and clenches your behind. And you almost gasp, not expecting him to wash away a boundary he seemed to be respecting most ardently until now.

“Get your hand off my---”

He chuckles into you, moving his head from side to side. He trails his lips up your belly and lets his chin rest in you as he speaks.

Without warning, you snatch at the blade. Without a shiver, without a doubt, taking back something yours, a part of you, your own protection, and you feel…

A sharp snag of your wrist, mid-motion, even as his head never stops resting against you, never leaving your gaze. Both your hands hold the small blade, you move yours to not touch his, he moves his to grip over yours. You don’t let go.

Once more he tilts his head, watching you. Watching you with that infuriating patience that could disappear at any moment. He already knows. And still, he wants to watch the scene unfold.

“If you want to use it, dear flower, why don’t you use it now?”

The salesman cranes his head, slowly, watching you like a snake. Smile still there. You are his one and only project that he’s studying every nook and cranny of, delighted at every gear moving of its own volition…under his control. Until now.

You feel a white-hot frozen anger growing in your chest and step away, leaving him without your flesh. His hand grips your flesh behind you.

Not moving away from me, little one.

You think. You try to think. Shivering even as his hand firmly holds your behind, his other still gripping yours.

And he…grins and guides your hand closer to him, slowly, letting the weight of the gesture sink in with every inch traversed. The razor rests against his throat as he looks up to you, holding your fingers, but leaving his own limp enough in his grip for you to move.

I could cut him. Just add pressure. He’s kneeling before me. He’s drenched. His suit is ruined.

Your heart begins to feel against your will.

He’s still in control. But he…he killed for me. He didn’t hurt me. Yet. He didn’t use me. Yet. And he’s offering his neck to me. Trusting me. Or is it another game? Does he think I won’t do it?

You add pressure to alleviate the thoughts. It feels foreign and wrong to you. Like desecration. Not of him, but of you. This is not you. This is not the girl who tried to save her friend. This is not the hand of the girl who held the detective.

He looks up at you, like you’re truly that flower. Truly beautiful, untouchable, not to be harmed. Worshipping you on his knees at the expense of himself. Playing with you. Testing you.

Each time the thought enters, you wish to push and drag. Drag across his skin. He wouldn’t stop you, that much you know.

But your fingers grow still. And your face saddens into closing your eyes, letting the errant tears drop in full view. Your fingers tremble.

He leans into it.

You almost shoot the hand away for fear of hurting him, instinct doing its job.

Because this is not you.

You feel his skin; his pulsating neck almost touches your hand. The water cascades over him and doesn’t touch your entire palm. His warmth brushes your own. And the pulse beats into the blade that trails the sensation through your fingers up your arm and to your own heart.

Steady. Unafraid. Trusting.

Why do you trust me?

The unspoken question gets a reply as his quiet whisper circles the blade and kisses your fingers down to your wrist.

“If I was like them, I’d already be dead,” he smiles up at you, unmoving.

His fingers softly ease your own off the blade, one by one, stripping you of its cool surface until you are left…

Vulnerable again.

His.

His hand closes around the blade, hiding it, but you see his resolve and the pressure that built up through the scene in the veins on the back of his hand and the grip with which he envelops the blade.

“You’ll cut yourself, don’t hold it like that…” you hush against the shower, voice breaking. You begin to lean to him, hair falling past you, water shaping around your breasts and tummy, softly as you guide your hand to his. But no blood comes out of his palm as he opens it for you.

So you see everything, so close he himself could now slice your neck as you rest above him, exposed, naked, worried – he lifts the blade.

But he lifts it to his mouth.

The salesman presses a slow, deliberate kiss against the flat side of the blade and then…

Lets it fall.

The softest metallic sound against the wet tiles, a clatter, and…

It’s gone.

Just like your resolve, your armour, your weapon.

Just like the safety of placing him in the role of all the others.

And you know the innocence of you, the helplessness he might have imagined, is gone too. He sees you now. And he…is delighted.

And still, he didn’t hurt you. He took your weapon. Gave you his throat. And then didn’t hurt you.

The salesman leans back from you, resting on his heels and studies you anew.

❥❥❥

As if something clicked in his head, he finally stands up to his full height, soaked suit dripping on the tiles, face closing in the distance between you both until you step back at the feeling of his suit brushing against your skin. But you step into the cold wall and wince. And he towers above you, expression unchanging, full of mischief yet frozen condemnation, the snake finally zoning in on its prize and its meal. With no further need for theatrics or dances.

You feel his hand ghost your hip, and his breath kiss you – restrained, slow, but shallow. Too shallow.

As you move once more to avoid his hand, naked skin against the wall, his other grabs the small of your back, squeezing you tight. Before you can gasp, the other glides up your side, from your knee up, and as his face buries into your neck and collarbone, he grips your thigh and hoists you up against the wall as if it was nothing to him.

Instinctively, both your legs wrap around his waist and squeeze for balance, for safety, and you feel his head pull away from your skin just enough to let breath through.

You're blushing, you're almost overwhelmed but feeling everything, and the wetness of his suit against your naked skin, him holding you and being so, so close…The salesman lifts his head from you, water gliding past his hair onto his face, eyes sharp and entranced with you being locked in and gripping for dear life while he is standing there, looking down at you, having nowhere to go – dark eyes pinning you to the wall, just as he is with his entire body.

His smile is tender as it glides from your lips to your eyes, where it turns to pure hunger and restraint, something akin to a high off losing control. His large hands are gripping your flesh, but they jitter – even though the wall keeps you steady. He can't stop squeezing you, so hard he’ll leave marks, fingers brushing and exploring what they can.

As he leans into you, his eyes close, and the crane of your neck is kissed, softly, then simply rested in.

Such a false calm before the storm.

He's taking you in. All of you. His inhale is shaky, his breath hot. His hands firm and almost desperate in their pursuit of every inch of you he’s yet untouched. You feel his hot breath and you feel him nestle in, taste you, feel you, inhale you. Like he wants every sense enveloped in you. His thighs move and you feel him – truly feel him – truly no way to avoid his excitement. Each time you grip your shins or thighs for stability, he moves a bit more into you, until you could swear he was naked too for the sheer closeness of his own body.

"Clever girl," he coos into your shoulder, kissing the spot he knows must be tender.

"My good, obedient, clever girl..."

And you couldn’t control the feelings any longer. Between the tears forming in your eyes, heart beating out of your chest, and legs shivering around him as the roughness of his soaked through suit left nothing of your skin to yourself, you whimpered and let out a gasp as his teeth grazed your throat, sinking into your collarbone again. Your whole body twitched against him and your legs inadvertently squeezed him tighter.

It was like you flipped a switch in him. Time stopped. Even the water seemed to slow its drops. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours and pinned you down with his eyes alone. His face slowly distanced itself, his lips half open, head craning everso slowly to one side as if studying you for the very first time.

And in that small second that it took you to realise he’d pulled away, he hoisted you up against himself and pushed you into the wall, his hips crashing with yours and his excitement pushing against you with all the fervour he was hiding until now.

He pulls his head back slowly, drifting across your face and looks above you, a small, almost unnoticeable breath of a chuckle escaping his lips before he lets the wall hold you, one hand still gripping your thigh.

He looks fond. Calm. Steady as his other harshly grips the back of your head and grabs a handful of hair straight at your scalp – and pulls your head back. One last whisper swallowed by the shower caresses your ear, as his lips form around the words like soft nudges of air:

"You lose."

And his lips crash into yours. The kiss is anything but gentle – it is hungry, desperate, full of unspoken yearning and need – his tongue gives you no warning, he invades your mouth and tastes every little part of your mouth, craning your neck back with each pull of his fist. You cannot move, you are utterly exposed, and he’s inside of your mouth, against your body, exploring, invading, tasting, taking, owning you. You try to pull away to get air, but he only leaves your lips to explore lower – guiding himself to your neck and biting down, all the way down to your collarbone.

“Beg me,” he growls into your throat, and you pull your arm out of his grasp and grip his chin. You don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t quite know why, but it was on instinct – and he freezes.

Oh, you made a mistake of a lifetime.

Your lips curled into a bitten through kiss, you taste blood as you hush against the shower:

"You first," and you kiss his forehead in a gesture both tender and devastating.

The way he gripped your thigh that pulsated straight through your leg to your toes.

The way he stilled, but his breath remained ragged, slowly collapsing into that calm you knew and feared so well. A snake shedding his skin to reveal a shining new one underneath.

The way his eyes refused to blink and the way his gaze remained frozen on you, a million horrendous scenarios drifting across his pupils the further he drank you in.

That was your only warning as he wordlessly stepped out of the shower with you, traversed the room in only a few deliberate, heavy steps, and clutched you in his fingers so hard your back arched into him as he stood above the bed. You shiver and try to remain stoic, but he has you outplayed.

No more kisses, no more taking you in. Something broke and you don't understand what direction the carnage is falling in. The salesman easily flicks your hand away, and you let it fall – he does the same to your arm, as if suddenly detesting your touch.

"Bad girl," he states, voice nonchalant, but you hear him holding the equivalent of a dam back behind the two words. And it's cracking.

"Very, very, very bad girl. Let go. I'll show you what you can and cannot touch."

If you were a betting person, you'd place it all on him doing a bad job at hiding something, something important, something big – but you don't have time to study his shifting eyes or his suddenly harsh cold hands. You're growing cold, the suit stings, his touch seems foreign.

Still his hand lifts, while still holding you up with his other, and he touches your face – as if doing so for the first time.

As if doing so for the last time, you try not to think as you swallow on a dry throat.

And there's something dark, solemn in that touch, just as his eyes seem blank and his breath too calm.

"I'm going to have to hurt you, little flower," he softly coos, caressing your cheek and brushing your skin as if he were telling you something gentle, "I'm going to have to hurt you very badly."

You start shaking your head, but his hand lifts a finger to your lips and stops you.

"Ah ah ah. You've forfeited the right to beg. You lost. And then you tried to play dirty. Little flower little flower...you have no idea what you've done."

The salesman kisses your lips softly, everso softly, but his hand holds your cheek far too harshly.

So you grip his waist with your legs. You move your face on your own. If he doesn't wish for your hands to touch him, you don't lift them.

You crane your head to him, brushing the hair from his forehead with your nose, and kiss his forehead again, so gently, so lovingly that you forget how sealed your fate is. Because you're kissing the man who wasn't like the others, and the man who almost lost his composure in you – the one who held the blade and could have sliced your neck open, the one who kissed each bruise and didn't stray. The one who broke something in the man who's holding you now the moment you gripped his face.

"Please," you whisper as your lips pull away just enough to let words through, "please."

Come back.

But he doesn't.

You only twisted the knife further.

He shakes his face as if trying to rid a thought and looks at you anew, eyes cold, something wild and uncontained dancing in their dark pupils.

"Too late," he whispers, "too late, little flower."

❥❥❥

And he throws you on the bed, with such force that your legs don't get a chance to unravel on their own, and your arms fall beside you and by your head, your body bouncing on the mattress.

Before you can adjust or move, you close your legs on instinct and try to take a few heavy breaths, as you note you're not hurt – just shaken and your trembles vibrate through your entire body. But you wince at the sudden realisation of just how much of you he was holding together.

The salesman doesn't give you time to think, he climbs above you, sealing your limbs one by one – both of your wrists get pinned down before you can lift on your elbows, your midsection is left under his weight and he is above you, shielding the light, eyes wild, mouth closed, no smile.

"You think you're special?" His voice coils around your ear as he gathers your wrists above your head and pins them to the headboard.

You shake your head, fear finally gripping you and enveloping you to your core, and you try to twist away from under him. But his weight replies with a sharp thrust to keep you in place.

"I've plucked flowers like you from the side of the road, and dozens remained in their place. Better. Fairer. More open."

He uses his free hand to slide down your ribs, your side, your waist and stop at your hip, gazing into you the more you shiver, the more you pull away and touch him in turn. He grabs at the skin of your waist and pushes you down into the bed, feeling every inch of you he can.

"You're nothing. You lost. I'll take my prize and leave you to wilt."

As he finishes the sentence, he grinds against you so harshly you feel him in his entirety. Your recoil only made his movement sharper. He lays his body against yours, full weight pinning you down. As he takes in your trembling, he thrusts everso slightly for you to feel just how well he intends to deliver on his promise. Your legs give in and leave an opening which he uses to his advantage.

You gasp and a moan escapes your lips, turning into hurried breath and ending in a small whimper. You almost wish you didn’t hear the hardly contained ecstatic inhale that reverberated through you as he grips you again. He teasingly repeats the motion, harder this time, and stays fixed against you, pinning you down with the full measure of his need for you. You shiver at the length you feel still contained.

He almost smiled the more you coiled under him, the more your body touched his with your every jitter, every recoil, every hurried breath. Every flinch, he caught and returned with force to pin you in place. Every move you made to avoid him; he used against you. The moment he felt your thigh lose grip against his, he dragged his arm up your leg and squeezed your behind, pinning you to him, squeezing you in place and letting him sink further into you.

"Mine," he whispers under his breath as he drags his teeth against your skin, biting down on your breast and suckling the more he feels you arch your back.

"Mine."

And you still. You no longer grip against him, you grow cold. The sensation of his wet suit, his length against his trousers barely contained, feels like fabric and force, not lust.

He fades into the background even as your senses are overwhelmed by the smell of him, mixed with sweat, need, and the lingering softness of the soap he lathered you with.

Just as you thought you’d lost – him, the game, your sense of self, everything, you realised something and hope he didn’t.

His hand.

His hand gave his bluff away.

His hand betrayed him, even as the words sent tears into your eyes and your heart into overdrive. But his hand. The same harsh hand that left prints on your thighs hesitated above them, just next to your tummy and the place he cared for so intently – so gently, the place he rested his head against and lulled into. The skin he smiled into and caressed.

You only watch him, wary to disturb the air. Your eyes follow his chest lifting and falling heavily. The chest that rises with yours and pushes you down. The hand that trails from gripping you and holding you down, to sliding and caressing your skin from your shoulder across your breasts down to your tummy and lower still. You see his eyes drink up your breasts, your waist, your skin, your collarbones, your neck...with each move putting the puzzle of you together and trying to keep the pieces apart all at once. He rests his hand against your most tender place and remains there, unmoving.

In stark contrast to the rest of him, it’s his hand that doesn’t let you leave entirely.

He's losing.

Without warning his hand moves down and climbs between your knees, forcing them apart. The moment he has an opening, he climbs between your legs, and his own body holds you down, pinning your thighs at each side of him and not letting you curl back into yourself.

As he rests above you, that self-satisfied smile glides across his lips, as if you’re so perfectly in place for everything he promised and more – as if you’re just a chip in a game he never intended to entertain losing.

“Those eyes…” he mutters as his head softly cranes to one side, as if studying a painting. But he’s not admiring its beauty. He’s admiring the ruin in his hands.

“Those eyes crying for help and safety…” he leans down to you and whispers into your ear, breath hot and poisonous: “…how foolish to run to safety to me. I thought you were better than that.”  

As his head straightens, he looks at you anew. Expression a falsity of tenderness.

“All the more beautiful the more you break with every thread you trusted me with. You lost. Flower. You lost each and every game. Did you think it would go unnoticed? Did you think you could ever play me? Unpunished? My dear sweet flower…”

His hand slowly glides up and touches you finger by finger, playfully, coldly across your naked skin until they arrive at your face where he simply dots your lips with each finger and bends down to kiss the side of your mouth. As you close your eyes into the kiss, fear and hope gripping you at once, you feel a sudden sensation on your neck – which turns into a grip. You gasp and try to move away, but he'd holding you tight.

You feel his waist move into you and with each breath you try to take for yourself, his body replies with less space for you to even think of moving. His waist guides into you, keeping your legs apart and grinding against you as his breathing grows more rapid. His chest is heavy as it collides with yours, and your hips inadvertently move with his every time you try to avoid him and sink into the bed. He pushes himself onto you, the full length of his need against you, the heavy breaths against your own chest turning into desperate kisses of every place his eyes drank up.

As if reading your mind, his hand moves from your throat to your mouth, this time, laying his entire palm over it so you don't make a single sound. And you sharply inhale as you hear the sound of a belt unbuckling.

You twist under him, feeling your hips grind into him and your stomach touch his fingers - you move backwards but he pulls you back down and pins you down.

His kisses turn from hungry to ravenous, leaving marks everywhere they touch – moving from your cheek to your chin to your neck and finally, your chest. He's not gentle anymore. He takes your breast into his mouth and kisses it, before biting down and feeling you whimper into his hand.

He pushes it down further and does the same to your other breast, stopping only to look back above you, looking into your eyes above his form, palm still strangling breath from your mouth.

He stops. Lips half open. Eyes wild. Face dishevelled. He stops.

"I thought I told you that you've no right to beg," he whispers in one breath, as if speaking to himself. The hint of anger at the very end of the sentence doesn't fit and you freeze. You haven't uttered a word. You can't.

The salesman guides his hand down your lips to your jaw and grips it, turning your head in his palm and driving his fingers into your skin.

Studying you. Pushing into you.

"I told you not to beg," he whispers again, losing your eyes.

You slowly try to undo your hands from his grip. His fist adds fervour until you tear up again for the pain.

He sees the tear and immediately lets go entirely, pulling away. Breathing heavy.

You lie there.

Before him. His eyes trail you so slowly, as if time had truly stopped.

❥❥❥

The bruise left my someone else, the remnant, fades next to his own handprint.

The tender, soft body still lifts – in perseverance, not defiance.

Her lips are tender, still tender, even after they've been torn apart.

Her eyes don't beg. Wide, gorgeous eyes, full of sorrow and betrayal but still. They understand. They accept.

Her body is scratched and marked where she should have been revered.

Red on skin that should have been tended to.

Petals lying scattered about her like little halos, cracked but not broken. Torn apart.

The light in her eyes is burning through everything, it hasn't faded. She didn't run. She didn't lose feeling. She didn't go numb.

She didn't fight, didn't kick, only tried. She could have. She didn't.

When she should have beat her fists into his back, she clung to him for refuge. Him.

Through everything, she's shivering under him, not begging, not using any poison. As naked as her body.

And he would defile it and ruin her.

To prove a point.

To win against himself.

To discard her as she would discard him.

Shoot first, lest he be shot.

Lest she realises his gun is full of blanks.

❥❥❥

You don't know his mental process; you only feel your tears against his hot skin on your cheek and mouth.

"So soft," he finally whispers to himself, gliding a hand just above your skin, his finger only lightly brushing certain parts as if scared to shatter you. Just as his hand hovers above your navel and your tummy, he rests it there fully. Listening to your pulse. Your breath. Lifting against him. Against his warmth. Against his harshness.

"So...delicate."

You gently, still terrified, but acting on an algorithm you don't recognise and do all at once, softly untie your hands for his fingers. Just as he did yours off the blade.

You touch your neck, your collarbone, and freeze at feeling scratches and bumps, tender places that burn on touch. Wetness and heat. But you don't say a word.

The tears fall to each side of your face. And through it all, you smile.

You smile as you lift both hands.

They seem like those of a stranger, but you fight to keep yourself in them, try to stay here one last time.

And you smile as you softly, carefully cup his face, tenderly as if he were about to flinch or break entirely.

And you whisper, meaning every word:

"It's alright."

And as if on cue, he begins to shiver in your embrace but doesn't pull away.

"It's alright," you smile through the tears, and allow yourself a deeper breath. Which he feels reverberate through his palm still laying upon your stomach. Just as he feels your pulse grow rapid, then...calmer.

His shivering turns harsher, but he never loses your eyes. Lips still semi-open, he's transfixed by you, frozen yet lost in time. Unable to blink away from you. His eyes begin to turn glassy.

You once more, with heavy effort and ignoring the pain pulsating through you, straighten just a tad under him, just enough to pull yourself up to him, clinging to his legs once more for stability.

You pull up to him and gently place a kiss on his forehead that is speckled with beads of sweat, vibrating in your hands.

"It's..."

You move down and kiss the bridge of his nose.

"All..."

You kiss the tip.

"…Right."

And you tenderly lay your lips on his, first merely resting there, then turning touch into a kiss. You feel him hesitate, grip you then...fade in his strength...and kiss you back.

Just as softly.

Just as gently.

And as if you lent him life in that moment, he moves, of his own volition, and lays you back down, cradling your back so you don't hurt yourself. His kiss deepens, but doesn't take nor hurt. You feel your head hit the pillow and envelop you in your wet hair and you swear you feel him smile into the kiss, one hand shakily placing errant strands from your face.

"My perfect little flower," he whispers as he pulls away just for a moment.

"Now I'll never let you go."