Ughโ You talk too much and barely do anything, just like my insufferable and incompetent boss.
So, you don't like me calling you "little"? Oh, of course my bossy Ichimatsu-kun would dislike it, how could I be so stupid~! You'll be my big, scary, "not-at-all-cute" white tiger from now on.
Manipulation? What would I possibly need from a criminal? Money? I'm tired of thinking where to spend those. Sex? My life fucks me daily. A business offer? Ew...
But rather, it is something pure and unconditional that I seek. I doubt you have such word in your barbarian vocabulary, but that's okay. I'll teach you how it sounds and I'll show you how it feels.
You're mistaking sincerity for danger, sir mafioso.
Are you seriously trying to impress me, a top-tier manager and the prime example of fair and hardworking success, by all that dirty illegal luxury!? Oh God, give me a break! And the Monopoly Man is just a capitalist, not some drug-addicted psychopath!
Your treasures tell a lot about you, though. You did a great job, you truly outdid most of men. So much so that this abundance of money is just a mere decoration now, because you have no idea what to do with it anymore other than sponsoring your own escapism, or perhaps you're simply too greedy to let go of what is yours. And that white filth scattered all over your desk... You'd rather send your brain on a colourful trip every single day because, in this harsh and fucked up reality you live in, you just cannot extract dopamine by normal means, can you?
And like a dragon you sit here in this darkest dungeon of yours, bathing in a pile of sickening gold, unable to make any friends other than knights' swords because you're too different; waiting for somebody worthy enough who would finally put you out of this misery of a life.
Ah, yes, this does remind me of someone.
You want to break me? Bad news, you're too late. You can't break something what is already broken.
Do you realise what kind of person you're speaking with?
I have nothing to lose. Erโ Technically, I do, but wealth and possessions are easy to leave behind. The irony is that, despite all of my effort, my damn life completely lacks meaning when you're absent.
If my death is what you crave for, then... ใใใใใชใใงใใ. I would not stop you from granting yourself this wish.
Bringing you that sweet, sweet sense of joy and accomplishment is what I live for. Whether you're wearing a police uniform or outlaw garments.
Dying in your arms... By your arms... What better finale I could possibly dream of?
I'm gambling my life here, playing this one-sided Russian roulette, because I love the way the adrenaline boils in my veins, and the way my heart stings as if you're sinking your pointy teeth into it. I'm thrilled by the possibility of you stabbing my throat at any moment, isn't it hilarious? Emotions and feelings are finally flowing through this barely functioning body, all thanks to you.
I'm not telling you to put the knife away because you're insane. I'm telling you to put that thing down because I am insanely in love being at the mercy of your hands. Cold and soulless metal is not it.
Your childish death threats would've had more weight if I wasn't musing over how tragically and elegantly I could end my own life anyway. If anything, you'll only do me a favour of freeing me from all that obnoxious paperwork and lonโ
You don't know me. You don't understand me. You don't know my sweet spots.
Your eagerness to dress me up, to mark me, calling me "mine" and locking me in your room... all this hustle for a worthless doll? Uh-huh... I suggest you go to one of those casinos you may own and take some bluffing classes.
N-now... before you actually stab my throat, I would like to have my own villain arc, too. Thus forgive me for brazenly gripping your hair and shoving you down maybe a bit too rough, and hopefully the wrap of my thighs around your neck isn't uncomfortably tight. I'm tired of tolerating this catty mouth of yours, so why don't we get you down to business, hm~? Be a man of honor and finish what you started, Big and Scary Daddy Don~
You're such a stupid harlot. Nun si capace manc' a mmurรฌ.
Sei il risultato di un aborto fallito di tua madre puttana e di un suicidio fallito tuo. So you decide to come into a lion's den, hoping it will succeed where you failed in offering yourself. Because you decided dying would make you interesting.
You keep talking about how broken you are, putting on a boring show of bravery! So desperate for an applauseโ
You think spouting about how worthless your life is to me suddenly places you on a fucking pedestal!?
A man with nothing to lose isn't dangerous. He's a pathetic, predictable piece of shit.
You have nothing worthwhile in your head, so you beg for meaning from me, convincing yourself it's 'love'.
Every sentence out of your whore mouth is another attempt to provoke me, impress me, tempt me into proving I care. Since that would be just enough to trick your little brain into believing that you matter somehow; and suddenly, you can think that just maybe you didn't die when you tried for a reason.
And if your words don't work on me? Well, well, well, well, well~
We suddenly have the "threat" added to the mix of you now "wrapping your thighs around my neck" like you actually think you could choke me out. HAH.
Like that is legitimately hilarious! Che barzelletta.
We both know it is nothing more than a horny endeavor to sit on my face so that you could fuck my mouth. Well, gattinoโฆ Do you want your dick bitten off? Because that's how you get your dick bitten off!
You are only still breathing like this because I have picked observing over violence. Which, let me be clear, is only a temporary choice until I decide to have another hit of that "white filth".
Do not distort that choice of mine into a weakness.
Do not think my attention on you right now is obsession. It is ammo.
And most of all never, ever fucking mistake yourself for the one in control here.
You think youโre gambling your life? Gambling requires equal players. This is not a game between us. This is you standing in front of a loaded gun, smiling because you think the bullet with your name on it makes you special.
It does not. Because let me tell you. The moment I fire it, is the moment I forget your name for good! And I can make sure that the rest of the world does as well.
You romanticize ruin because you are desperate to feel alive, to feel anything.
And you have sniffed me out correctly. I am ruin. Though you are so, so very wrong about romanticizing it.
That is why you tremble when I walk into the room.
And that is why, no matter how much you bark like a little bitch of a mutt, provoke, flirt, that your hands still shake while mine do not.
