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[freshthoughts2020]

[temusuitcase]

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[gardenof--eden]

where are those "what are you wearing and is it representative of your style" posts when i need em

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[birkenstockindia]

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[endorex-official]

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[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[intromortal]

✷ OUT OF OFFICE ⸻ P.JS

your coworkers can't begin to imagine what goes on between you and Jongseong when no one's watching.

this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors do not interact ⋆ workplace relations ⋆ jealousy ⋆ brat tamer jay ⋆ toxicity if you squint (it's okay this is freak central we enjoy it) ⋆ alcohol consumption ⋆ don't like don't read! ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

length ⋆ drabble ⸻ 4.1k words

✷ NIA — heyyy... how y'all doin... quick snack before i finish the actual fic i'm working on

smut warnings under the cut ⋆

mean jay ⋆ choking ⋆ degradation ⋆ punishment ⋆ male masturbation ⋆ orgasm denial ⋆ oral (m!rec) ⋆ brief shoe humping if at all. more like mention of it ⋆ body shots but make it nastier ⋆ hair pulling ⋆ reader fucked around and found out ⋆ like two singular instances of praise

There is something about men like Park Jongseong—men in power, men who seem to always have it together and every situation under control—that makes you want to slowly strip them of their restraint piece by piece, as if playing jenga, until it all comes crashing down.

You take pride in knowing how to get Jongseong to crumble in a just a few moves.

"I told you to only wear that when we're around friends," Jongseong says as he follows you through the entrance, hot on your heels. He rids himself of the jacket that is making sweat drip from his hair and down his forehead, then pulls at the collar of his shirt.

You ignore the bark in his tone, and twirl around in front of the huge mirror in your living room. You wanted a floor to ceiling one, but the ceiling in your and Jongseong's apartment is so high, you had to request it to be custom made. Expensive, but worth the money, and you can't wait for it to be delivered. You have plenty creative ideas on how to better utilize it, ones you're sure Jongseong is also eager to put in practice. "Don't I look good, boss?"

You don't need to look back to know he's probably staring daggers right through your back. He hates when you call him boss with that little mocking tone you reserve only to get under his skin. You two have equal power in the company, he is not your boss and you are not his, but within the walls of your bedroom, you enjoy messing up the dynamics a bit.

The light from the overhead lamp catches the diamond decorating your ring finger as you smoothen down the silky fabric of your dress. The ring is proof of Jongseong's devotion to you, the sight of it a reminder of your time spent all the way in Italy, just the two of you in a beach resort with the dreamiest view.

Ever since the engagement— which was kept a secret from pretty much everyone— Jongseong had softened down. You don't know if it's the prospect of a life together, of a family, that's making him go easier on you during your most intimate times, but one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place is the never ending game of cat and mouse you two got accustomed to playing. One you aren't ready to give up yet, or at all for what matters.

So, you take matters into your own hands. If he hesitates to play, that just means you have to bring out the big guns.

"That was a business dinner, not some random brunch with your girl friends. You were not dressed appropriately." Jongseong walks up to you and grabs your waist with a roughness so uncharacteristic of him. Everyone knows him as calm and collected man, never prone to anger, heart of gold. Only you get a peek into this side of him, the more jealous and possessive one he keeps hidden in the shadows. Knowing it's something reserved for you only makes you want to poke the bear all the more.

"A very uneventful dinner, my girls' brunches are way more fun." You know the reason for his anger is not because your dress doesn't conform to whatever dress code was put in place long before you or Jongseong got into the business world. It's a front he's putting up, to not admit that what he really feels is jealousy. Jealousy because he had to sit across you, pretending you don't live at the same place, pretending he's not balls deep inside you every other night, pretending he isn't the man who proposed to you months ago. Jealousy because he had to see his very rivals openly flirt with you all night long, uncaring of the ring on your finger that should have been enough to keep them the fuck away from you.

He's mad because he knows you and how you love playing games, he knows you push him on purpose, and as aware of it as he is, he can't help but fall for it every single time, even when it means giving you exactly what you want.

He bunches up the cream colored silk in his fist, his wrist glimmering with the heavy watch you got him for his birthday, and the slight movement is enough to uncover what you are wearing underneath.

"Is this your idea of fun?" He laughs, and the sound is devoid of any humor. It makes a shiver runs down your spine, but it also tells you you are on the right track.

It's the same lingerie you wore for him on the night he proposed, the one he spent hours picking out during one of his business trips instead of resting at the spa of the five star hotel he stayed at. It's white and embedded with a shower of diamonds. The best money can buy for his own jewel waiting for him back home.

He specifically bought that one for the special occasion, claimed you as his in it that same night. And you wore it around the very men trying to surpass him, crossing your legs here and there to give them a peek.

Jongseong is an enjoyer of the finer things in life. The tiniest detail of his life is hand picked by him personally to display his refined taste. From the bedding he imported from across the globe, to his very personal wine cellar stocked by Mr. Sim's private collection, to the fragrances he wears daily, formulated with the help of the most talented perfumers. All of it has to fit perfectly to his taste and parameters. He is a man of sensations, the touch, the smell, the feel. They all awaken memories in his mind, that's part of the reason why the lingerie you wore the first time he made love to you as your fiance had to be perfect. But now you have tainted it.

And for that, he has to make you pay.

"Come on, it's just the panties. I didn't even wear the bra, so it doesn't count," you say, putting on your best pout. You know it's useless when you meet his gaze and find his pupils blown out, the warmth you're accustomed to being met with seemingly gone.

Jongseong's other hand slides up, feeling the dress under his palm, taking his time in cupping one of your tits. He's careful, almost sweet in his exploration. If his eyes didn't tell you another story, you would think the anger had evaporated out of his body. It's what tells you he's not letting you off the hook easily this time, but deep down, it's what you wanted all along.

You meet his hand with yours, smaller fingers caressing the skin of his wrist then sliding up to intertwine with his longer, thicker ones. You guide him to squeeze your chest, enamored with the way he looks at you, like you're the most beautiful piece of art he has ever laid eyes on. Like you're his and in dire need of a reminder. "It's nice right? Custom made in France."

He lets out a hum. Then, moves his hand to rest on your neck.

Your breath hitches. He barely applies any pressure, but the weight alone is enough to make you want more. You crave the fuzzy feeling that courses through your veins when you let Jongseong decide how much and when you get to breathe, the delicious lightheadedness that comes with it.

It's what gets you going, the knowledge that you could say your safe word out loud and he would drop his hand immediately. Knowing he would rush to reassure you and take care of you like he usually does. There's power in granting someone else your submission, and at the end of the day you both know it's you who is calling the shots.

You follow his hand again, pushing to get him to apply more pressure on the sides of your neck. Even when you know you're gonna let him do whatever he wants, you enjoy making him work for it.

He frowns, and you smile. You can practically guess what he's thinking: if he punishes you, he's giving you exactly what you want. But if he doesn't, he's letting you off the hook with not so much as a slap on the wrist. No matter what he does, you have already won.

Jongseong makes his choice for the night. His grip on your neck strengthens, and you wheeze when he brings his face impossibly close to yours, whiskey and mint breath fanning on your lips. There's a something in his eyes you don't think you have ever seen, the look of pure unadulterated fury. It looks much like obsession does, in the way it's icy cold and not burning hot like one would expect. It stings like dry ice, like frostbite.

He has never looked better, and your thighs move on their own, squeezing in search of relief. You bite your bottom lip to silence any sound threatening to spill out, but Jongseong sees right through you. He sees the raw lust overtaking your body even when you try to deprive him of the show.

"You enjoy pissing me off, don't you?" he asks, venom dripping past his lips. You want to kiss it off of him.

"You're—" He squeezes, and you gasp. You have to gather strength to finish your sentence. "Easy to piss off."

"I think I've heard enough from you tonight." He relents his grip on you, smoothing the wrinkled mess on your dress like he wasn't just choking you mere moments ago. "Go sit on the bed. Dress on, don't make me repeat myself."

You follow his instructions, much to your surprise, like your legs are moving on their own. Half the reason is the sternness in his voice, you can't recall a time when he has ever sounded quite like that. The other half you guess is curiosity, when it comes to punishing you, he rarely makes detours.

When you walk into your room, you find it tidy just like you left it before heading to dinner. Your side of the bed is overflowing with pillows while Jongseong's only has two. One is the pillow he uses when sleeping and the other one is heart shaped with a case printed with his favorite picture of you. You got it for him as a joke, half expecting him to laugh and then never think about it again. Instead, he treasures it like it's the most precious gift you could have ever given him, despite how poorly made it is. Even when most of the pillows on your shared bed end up on the floor during the night, he makes sure that one never does. You think if it came down to it, he would rather lay on the floor himself.

If Jongseong is pleased, he doesn't show it, because soon enough he walks into the room with two brown labeled bottles of red wine and stemmed glasses, not sparing you a single glance.

He takes his sweet time reading the back of each one, unscrewing only one bottle open. It's his way of getting back at you, making you wait. Each second that passes makes you more curious about what his next move will be, about how he is gonna punish you. Your eyes never leave his figure, his buttoned shirt doing nothing to hide how the muscles of his arms work as he untwists the cork. Your hungry gaze travels down, devouring him inch by inch, finding him already hard in his dress pants. No matter what he says, you know he enjoys this little game as much as you do.

"Can you be quicker?"

"I told you I've heard enough." The cap gives up with a pop. Finally. "No more talking unless I ask questions."

He pours a glass, then dangerously walks up to the bed where you are sat and hands it to you. "Open up."

It takes you a few seconds to comply, but ultimately, you do. You keep your gaze fixated on his as he tilts the crystal glass, pouring the bitter liquid down your throat. It stings on its way down, it paints your lips in hues of red.

When Jongseong removes the glass from your lips, you poke out your tongue to clean the mess left behind, gaining a hum of satisfaction from him. Still, it's not enough for him to voice out any praise.

He pokes his thumb into your mouth, lowering your jaw open to make sure you swallowed every last bit. The action is innocent to the untrained eye, but the execution is so charged with lust, it has you squirming on the edge of the bed. "Is the wine to your liking?"

You nod, but he quirks his head, waiting to hear you say it out loud.

"It's nice," you say, voice still rough from earlier.

"Good. That's good. I'm glad." He puts the glass down on the shelf facing the bed, right next to the bottles and the corkscrew. "Because you'll have more of it later."

He leaves you no time to process his words, grabbing a fist of your hair and pushing your face right on his crotch. The surprised gasp that leaves you is muffled against the cotton of his dress pants, and it takes you a second to understand what he wants you to do. "Stick your tongue out for me—yeah just like that."

He guides your head with his iron grip on your hair, letting you mouth at his clothed cock until his pants are soaked with your spit. It's messy and obscene, it leaves you wanting to feel his skin on your tongue, to get an actual taste. You want him to take his frustration out on your mouth, to use it like his own personal toy, and you make sure to show that to him.

"You're so dirty… look at you, so eager to please. What happened to all that attitude from earlier, mhh?"

You lick a long stripe, from the belt to the underside, putting more spit in it the lower you go, looking for any reaction.

When he bites down on his lip to keep a sigh of pleasure in, you feel emboldened enough to grab the button holding his pants together with your teeth, pulling it between them to signal him to take them off. Instead, he pulls your head off of him completely, ignoring your whines.

"Awww baby," he mocks, titling your head up. "You thought you'd get what you want so soon? You know better than that."

He undoes his belt and his pants, then leans back against the desk right behind him. "You've been such a bad, bad girl all night. I think you don't deserve to have fun yet. Am I wrong?"

"Please, I'll be good from now on." You look at him, glossy eyed. But he's way past the point of being impressed by your words. All you do with that filthy mouth of yours is lie anyway.

"We'll see about that." His shoulder relax with a sigh as he palms his cock briefly, alternating between squeezing the outline and stroking it, before dipping his hand down the waistband of his boxers. He takes it out, revealing the length to you too. It looks delicious in his hand as he gives it a few experimental pumps, the red tip glistening with accumulated precum, more abundant with each stroke. "Stay put where you are. No touching yourself until I give you permission. Understood?"

You're too lost in your own thoughts, too in awe of the sight before you to really register what Jongseong says. Your mouth waters as he works his hand around his thick girth, and you wish it could be your lips wrapping around it instead. Your hand runs down your body, still covered by the dress, looking to give yourself any sort of relief from the pressure that has built inside your belly, a feeling no amount of squeezing or grinding down on the linen bed sheets is enough to satiate any longer.

Jongseong catches you instantly, and stops moving his fist. In return, this snaps you out of your daze. "I said, no touching. Try that again and you're not cumming for a week. Yeah?"

"Yes. I'm sorry," you meekly say, snapping your hand away from your core like it burnt you. You believe him when he tells you that, because it has already happened. The first time he threatened it, you ignored it, convinced he wouldn't actually leave you dry and hanging. You learned the hard way Jongseong doesn't really take promises lightly.

"Good." He resumes his movements after ridding himself of his shirt, torso glistening under the light. He starts off slow and steady, deliberately showing off just how thick he is because he knows it's your favorite thing about his cock. It sits heavy in his hand, and every few strokes he squeezes, recreating the way your cunt clenches around him when he's buried in you to the hilt.

More than anything, it's the sounds he makes that really get to you. Jongseong's little moans and gasps might just be your favorite things in the entire world and being the one to rip them out of him is something you take pride in, it's your motivation to keep going when you're tired and spent. He sounds beautiful as he keeps jerking himself off, his hair slowly getting wetter and wetter with each movement of his arm.

The veins running down his length look fuller, and so do those on his arm. A sick part of you wants to bite down on the flesh of his biceps, leave your mark on him for everyone to see. There's no worse punishment than not being able to touch him, and after so many times he's tried to put you in your place, he might have actually cracked the code on how to get you to behave for at least a little while. Jongseong continues working on himself, his brows furrowed in pleasure and eyes closed, imagining who knows what.

It's only when he looks at you to check if you're keeping your hands to yourself, and finds you with your arms glued to your sides, eyes teary from desperation, that his movements falter. He throws his head back, stuttering through a chain of fuck fuck fucks, fist squeezing on his cock to stop himself from coming on the spot. He takes a few seconds to regain control, breathing so heavily you would think he just ran a marathon.

When he's sure he won't cum from your sight alone, he opens up his eyes again to take your disheveled form in. One of the straps of your dress fell down, and the silk got all bunched up at your waist, culprit panties on full display. Your makeup is smudged on your cheeks, but he thinks you look better like this anyway. He almost caves in.

"Come here," he says, but most of the anger and bark in his tone from earlier is just a faint accent. He's a weak man for you, unfortunately for him.

You get on all fours on the floor, literally crawling to be at his feet. He grabs your face to caress it, sweet and gentle, runs his fingers along your jawline. There is the faintest twitch of a smile on his features. He wants to cave in. "Do you know your place now, baby?"

The light hits your features in a way that almost makes you look angelic, but you're a much more devilish creature. And when you nod, the hunger in your eyes betrays you. Jongseong wants to cave in, but he doesn't.

He gives you a light slap, its sole purpose is to admonish you, not hurt. He grabs your face again, this time with more strength, and squishes your cheeks together. "But I don't think you do yet."

A hiccup leaves your lips when he lets go of his hold on you and turns to the shelf behind him, the little glimmer of hope you held out on now trampled under his foot. "Please— I'll be good, I'll listen to you from now on, I'll do any—"

Jongseong interrupts you, full glass of wine in his hand and an amused curl on his lip. "Yeah? Then prove it to me. Get to work." He lets some of the wine fall down his torso in little streams of red. It drips down his abs, the hard ridges shaping the flow of the liquid. It goes lower, and lower, and lower down his v-line and thighs.

You stare at the imagine, enamored with it, mouth watering as your eyes follow the droplets' descent down your fiance's body. You're so captivated Jongseong has to remind you to take action with another light tap on your cheek.

You lick a stripe of wine off of him, from his thigh to his pelvis, reveling in the way his leg bounces under the stimulation, under the sheer power of your sultry gaze locked on his. His Adam's apple bobbles when your tongue traces its way to his cock, red and angry from the edging he subjected himself to. You go to wrap your hand around the base of his length so you can suckle on his tip, coax more of that delicious salty precum you adore out of him, but his hand swats yours away.

"No hands, keep them behind your back. Show me how you use that mouth."

The order has you gushing in your panties, now too ruined to ever be worn again. Your thighs are slick with want, from all the wetness seeping out of your poor untouched cunt, from all the times you have clenched around nothing ever since the night started. You know the only way to cum is to follow Jongseong's orders until he's happy and satisfied with your compliance.

So you do. You bring your hands together behind your back, pretending an invisible restraint is keeping them out of the way, then bend forward to take his tip inside your mouth, giving it a few experimental sucks that have his hips stuttering to push more past your lips.

You take more in, trying your best to relax your mouth as you do so because he's so thick, but the sight of your struggle makes his throb.

"That's it. Good fucking girl. Such a good girl for me."

The praise hits you right where you need him most, and you can't possibly hold in the moan you release around his girth, the vibration making him throw his head back in pleasure.

He lets more wine dribble down his body as you work your magic on him, the liquid cold against his scorching skin. Some of it gets on your dress, staining it, and you think this might have been his plan all along.

"Aw. Look at your dress, now you won't be able to wear it anymore. What a pity," he groans. "So good, your mouth is too fucking good."

You double your efforts, and Jongseong coos at you. "Poor little thing, you wanna feel good too, don't you?" He sets the wine aside again, opting instead to push the hair out of your face so you have better access to his cock without anything getting in the way. "Wanna get a pillow to hump?"

You make a muffled sound of displeasure, and he laughs. Of course, he knows that's not what you want.

"What is it then?"

You think he's about to pull you off of him so you can speak, but he doesn't. He keeps you in place, mouth on his length right where it belongs, and instead expects you to voice your needs without a chance to breathe.

You want to tell him it's his touch that you crave, and you try your best to, but it comes out incomprehensible, a muffled jumble of sounds that don't quite hold any meaning.

"I'm sorry, couldn't hear you. Try again?"

Tears prickle your eyes, squirming in your spot, at his mercy and on your knees for him. You try again, with even worse results.

Eventually, he relents. His shoe moves, pushing under you, until it comes in contact with your dripping clothed pussy. Your reaction is immediate, a long drawn out moan at the smallest, faintest contact. He teased you for so long, you think even a brush could be enough to make you come undone. Yet, he makes you work for that too.

"Hump my shoe then, make yourself come if you want to so badly." He bends down, fist still in your hair to pull your head backwards. "But hold it until you make me cum first. After you swallow all I give you, then you get to let go. Understood?"

[thatbitchery]

HOW TO ACTUALLY BE MORE FEMININE

Sensuality. Close your eyes and feel the room around you. Engage other senses outside your eyes

Therapy, mainly CBT> Come back to the room and out of your head

Creativity. No its not limited to cooking and painting and pottery building things and it doesnt have to be cute, pretty, easy to look at or even complete. Just create

Mind your business. The highest form of femininity is indifference.

Boundaries.

Experiences. Throw yourself into pretty much everything you can.

Engage with the earth. Easiest way is swimming but hiking and all the things that will bring you into contact with the earth and nature will do. Sit in the rain talk to the moon pet animals lay on the floor and listen climb trees idk get into the earth and listen. Wear roks and oils and bla bla. The earth. Reduce resistance to it. Earphones off shoes off on the beach hat off real flowers over plastic go sit by the river and listen you get it

Cruelty. Be very capable of cruelty. The other side of creation is destruction. You have to be capable of and willing to wield both. Extreme levels of both. You cant be one without the other. You don't get to choose. To be a mother you have to also be a killer. You give life you take it too. Balance. Good/ bad is a form of self abuse. When you start thinking like that you're abusing yourself. You make an enemy within you and she will destroy you. Look at you now.

Go with the flow. The feminine flows. Don't anchor yourself to anything or any one women, WOMEN are polygamous. Women don't have life goals we do not have *discipline* the way men do we don't have careers the feminine flows. Don't tether yourself. Flow.

[insomniac-arrest]

People are calling Ken a trophy husband but forget he has a LOW volume of clothes and nice shoes. Clothes he has to share with 2-7 other men (and Allen). Barbie is not buying that Guy a 20-Carat diamond ring or convertible sports car to keep him around.

Not a kept man, but a couch surfer that is able to bum rides to the beach (affectionate) bc he’s got good vibes and no job and is polite to Barbie’s 20 other female friends and Midge

[kurogxrix]

I think a Bruce and reader meet cute/love at first sight would be cool! Welcome back! I missed your writing ❤️

Away, Away, Away

Bruce Wayne x reader

IN WHICH you accidentally stumble into the one and only Bruce Wayne on your way out of the club for your birthday. To you, it’s a fuzzy conversation with a blurry stranger you can’t even seem to recognize, to Bruce, it’s love at first sight.

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: Reader is shorter than bruce, Bruce lowkey being a perv, mentions of alcohol, reader being drunk, mentions of puke.

Bruce was tired. Exhausted even, if he allowed himself to be the least dramatic. Between being Batman, his hectic relationship with the borderline mentally deranged kids he’d somewhat decided to bring home all these years ago, and his messy on-and-off relationship he had going on with Selina, he was done. 

He wasn’t often seen like this, work attire still clad on his broad figure, muscles so tense and rigid under the restraint of the tight fabric. Walking through the dark streets of Gotham where he could be recognized and nagged at any moment. Though he needed a moment alone, and maybe breathing the damned polluted air of Gotham could do him some good.

Albeit complaining, he didn’t want to be here. He craved the falling residues of black eyeshadow, the tight and suffocating kevlar suit. He craved the violence and vengeance, the freedom and enslavement of being the Bat. Though tonight Alfred had forced him into the sidelines because he had been far too distracted, and he’d be damned if he’d even think of crossing the butler. 

So instead, here he was, Valentino dress shoes clicking against the concrete sidewalk as he envied those children of his that were currently occupying his favourite nightly pastime in his place. Bruce huffed, rolling his blue eyes like a child. All the most billionaire-like behaviour. 

The distant sound of music began resounding in his ears, and as he lifted his head to glance at the direction in which the music came from, the yellowish glow of the overhead sign casted him like an angel caught in the midst of golden hour. Bruce stalled, hands in his pockets as he took in the sight before his very own eyes.

Apparently he had managed to walk his frustrated self all the way to the club, mid city, a whole hour walk away from the mansion. Ever the detective that he was, his sharp eyes fell upon the sight before him. He felt his shoulders stiffen upon the realisation. The sidewalk was bustling with people, and people could only mean nuisance, especially if you were the billionaire playboy that he was. 

There was a crowd by the door. Some people drunk, some people high, and some busted off whatever they could get their grimy hands on. Women in tiny sequin dresses, dainty heels that made them swagger with each drunken movement that they took. Men clad in beach shorts and most likely the first shirt they’d found laying in the back of their unorganised closets. 

Bruce watched as one of the women doubled over, emptying the entire contents of her stomach, lunch, dinner and probably the many drinks that she’s had before even stepping foot inside the club. He scrunched his nose at the unwanted sight, but his stomach didn’t turn, he’d seen far worse as Batman. These little things couldn’t phase him anymore. He averted his eyes as she doubled over for a second round, her short dress rose up her hips even further as her equally drunk friend attempted to sooth her.

Bruce rolled his eyes for what seemed like the 10th time tonight, rolling his eyes at the infuriating human antics asif he was any better himself. He could remember the last time he’d gotten so drunk to drown his never ending sorrows, but he didn’t want to remember, and maybe a sip of some hennessy could help drown those memories, and make new ones that he would regret once more instead. 

Nevertheless, he was ready to leave the site before anyone could catch a glimpse of him and ruin his night furthermore. He turned around, sharp on his heels as he attempted to retrace his route back home, where he could only hope that the butler he considered family would finally agree to release him into the crime-filled alleys that he considered home. 

Although his march was quickly interrupted as he felt a sudden weight crash into his chest, a quick yelp, then the feeling of a small palm connecting with his chest in an attempt to chase stability. He barely flinched at the impact, ever so the man that he was, but the suddenness caused him to halt for a second. Frozen in his steps, eyes wide and that frown of his etched impossibly further onto his face. 

Bruce always wanted to believe he was a humble man, really, but being ranked so far up above the rest of society could only do so much to a person. He scoffed in offence, disbelief written all over his face at the fact that someone had dared to even stumble into the one and only Bruce Wayne. Sure, he felt like a bratty kid soon enough and his eyebrows unfurrowed from their tense position, but he couldn’t help it.

He gave himself a minute to calm down, before taking a few steps back to glance at his assaulter. 

Though the second he glanced down, good lord… 

You were looking at him with those eyes that made his breath hitch, palms sweaty in the blazer pockets that they were currently residing in. He just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, from the way your lashes were long and dark, layers of mascara coating them as you blinked up at him. Black eyeliner, eyeshadow and whatever else that adorned your face, Bruce wasn’t sure he cared at the moment.

You were beautiful, breathtaking, and soon he had to manually remind himself to take in a huff of fresh air. He remained silent for what felt like hours, taking in the way your hands were still very much planted upon his broad torso. Thick silver hoops were dangling off your ears, reflecting the yellow light coming from the club in a way Bruce believed was comically stunning. Everything about you made his heart rate excell the scale, and soon a frown settled itself back upon his lips, unaware that it had ever left in the first place, as he felt your hands retracting back to you. 

“God these heels are killing me…” you muttered to yourself, and Bruce watched you with amusement. You bent down to fix the strap of the shoe that seemed like it was apparently ‘killing you’, stumbling a few steps back as you allowed yourself the space from whatever you’d just collided with. The thought crossed the billionaire’s mind that you had not even discerned that you had in fact collided into another human's chest, and not whatever inanimate object you believed you had walked into.

“I don’t even know where my friends are…” his interest peaks as you speak again, but when he glances down, you’re still bent in half trying to fix your shoe strap. ‘You’re talking to yourself, unable to even acknowledge that there’s another person standing before you’ he thinks, that’s how drunk you were. 

He was going to huff, really, but before he could disrupt your peace, or at least whatever peace was left, he couldn’t help himself from the way his eyes strayed upon your figure. The way the seam of your long, black backless dress seemed to dip so low felt sinful, and Bruce felt disgusted with the way he allowed himself to glance at you in such a way. The drunk past her mind woman who had just fucking crashed into him. 

He heard murmured curses coming frown below, forcing his eyes to snap back towards your still facing-the-floor face and he cleared his throat, making his presence known. In a split second, you were back up straight, as straight as the alcohol coursing through your veins currently allowed you to, but straight nevertheless. Bruce couldn’t help the tiny grin that lifted upon his lips as he watched you, wild hair from the bend, eyes wide as you stared at him like some mad woman.

Your dress was scrunched in the middle from the position you were previously in, and despite everything, you were still the most beautiful woman that Bruce had ever seen in his entire life. All thoughts of Selina, Talia, Vicki or whichever one of the hundreds of women he’d involved himself with in his years of living, vanished from his head completely. Stuffed at the back of his mind to never be found again, he felt his cold heart beating for you, and it scared him. 

If only you knew that you had managed to spread fear into the one and only Batman’s heart, you’d never believe yourself. Because he didn’t even know you, and yet he burned stronger for you than he’d ever gone with anyone else. 

Suddenly, the sound of a warm giggle enveloped all of his senses, and Bruce felt like he was dying. He’d never felt like this, never even for Selina, the woman he once thought he could leave the Batman life behind for, the woman who’d left him at the altar and broke his heart like she’d done just about every few months. 

“What’re you made of? you feel like a brick wall.” slurring up on your words, you sent him an apologetic smile as you stuttered on your sentences. 

“I just work out a lot.” he responded lamely. Watching as you rolled your eyes playfully at him, clutching onto your purse that looked like it had seen more fights than he had. And that said a lot coming from The Batman. The fake leather material was beginning to peel off, and he had a single thought at the back of his mind.

He wanted to give you a better life, he craved it in fact. A life where you’d get the highest quality purses, endless choices of Birkins, and probably shoes comfortable enough that you wouldn’t feel the need to stumble into every neighbouring stranger in search of stability. 

Talking about stumbling, you seemed like you could barely stand straight for the life of you. He didn’t think twice as he saw you slightly lose balance, reaching a hand out with the help of his Bat reflexes, before you could hit the ground. But that was heavily exaggerated, the worst that could happen would be your purse slipping off your shoulder, but maybe all that Bruce needed was an excuse to have his hands on you.

He felt somewhat disgusting all over again, yet he couldn’t help himself. The skin of your arm felt so smooth under his rough, calloused palm. He could feel the heavenly feeling of your lotion under his palm, and now he definitely felt creep-ish. 

“You can barely even stand straight.” he blurts out and watches as your lips contort into a smile, before that laugh of yours escapes your lips and Bruce feels like flying. Like a real bat. 

“I know, it’s my birthday today and my girls took me out. It didn’t help that we drank just about the amount at the bar at home before coming here..” 

Bruce hums, muttering a small ‘happy birthday’ that he’s pretty sure you haven’t heard. 

He’s blurry to your eyes, just like the rest of the world currently was, but it didn’t escape you that he was covered in an attire that didn’t seem to quite fit the aesthetic of everybody else, especially not clubbing or walking around the city at this time. 

“What are you doing here? You don’t seem just as drunk as any of us, and trust me, in no offence do i say but you look like you’ve just ran away from a business meeting.” you laugh again, and he can’t find it in himself to be offended. He almost chuckles, but he saves it and gives you a tiny grin instead.

“Just needed to get away for a minute.” 

“Trouble in paradise?” you ask, and he shrugs, uninterested in talking about his issues with Selina. She was in the past now, and Bruce knew that he needed to move on, to think about the future. 

For a split second, Bruce believes he’s messed up as he watches your face contort slightly under his words. He mentally cursed himself as he tried to rack his brain to find where he’d messed up. But honestly, he can’t quite understand why he’s putting so much effort into a stranger. 

“I wish I could help you with your wife but I'm not quite sure I'm qualified for this, especially not in this state.” you mumble, shrugging your shoulders like he’d done so just a moment ago.  

Bruce is more than aware of everything at the moment. From the way you try to hide your disappointment, to the way you try to avoid his eyes as you glance down at the floor before you. Hell, he’s not even sure that you’re thinking straight, but he’s hurt at you being hurt, and everything overwhelms him. He’s not used to caring like this, not this fast at least. 

He’d cared this deeply for one woman in his life, and it’d taken them years to get where they were, yet she’d left him standing there all alone like a fool, and Bruce wasn’t sure he could forgive anymore. 

“I’m not married.” He doesn't know why he’s blurred it out so quickly, but something inside of him felt the need to defend himself all of a sudden. He shrugs before continuing. “Things got messy, but I ended it after all.” 

“Sorry for bringing it up,” you can't help but trail off, feeling guilty for making something that seemed to hurt him resurface in the span of your drunken stupidity. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, I actually feel lighter now that it’s over.” 

There’s a moment of awkward silence that fell upon the both of you as you stared into the void, and Bruce could see that you obviously didn’t consider his words as true, and the guilt still gnawed at you like a vulture. 

Tho before he could even get a work out, a sudden swoosh of breeze rushes over the both of you, and Bruce observes as goosebumps come rising up your delicate skin. The hairs of your arms raising as you shivered upon impact. He was quick to make a work of it, shrugging his blazer and offering it to you in a quick, silent and almost nonchalant movement. 

“Please, I'm really not that cold.’ You smiled sheepishly as you tried to fight the way you’re all up and shivering all of a sudden. You’re drunk and not the least worried about the fact that you’re wearing nothing but a pair of black, lace panties under the long skin tight dress, but a certain playboy took notice of it.

It’s sinful, he is aware. He’s aware that you aren’t aware, and it makes him swallow in self loathing. Still, it was a miracle that you’d managed to have this effect on the billionaire playboy. Same guy who’d had a different woman hanging at his arm just about every gala he attended. Still, he averted his eyes back to the floor as he shrugged once more, silently ushering you to take on his jacket so he doesn’t have to glance at you again. He wasn’t sure for how much longer he could remain civilised, at least not when you were standing before himself 

Soon, he feels the expensive fabric of his suit jacket slip off his fingers, and onto yours. When he allowed himself to glance back at you, he’s marvelled by the way you swam in his clothing. His eyes were quickly back on the floor, feigning interest in the cracks along the sidewalk. So much for being civilised. 

The conversation lasted for what felt like a minute, but in reality you had strayed from your ground and had ended up talking to Bruce for about 45 minutes, and soon you became aware of it. From the distance, the sound of your name resounded from a female voice, one that you recognized very well. 

You peeped behind Bruce’s broad shoulders, and he too turned his head around at the sound of the name being called. He turned around to glimpse at you at the revelation, such a pretty name for such a pretty woman, he thought. 

It didn’t take long for the taller woman to reach you, and it was obvious that even with her heels off, she was still about a head taller than you were. She must’ve been your best friend, from the way she hurried by your side, and the glare that she threw towards Bruce’s way was lethal. 

The Wayne distanced himself a few steps back, if anything to show to the intruding woman that he meant no threat. She didn’t seem as drunk as you did, but he could still smell the vodka that clung to her pretty orange floral dress. Bruce watched as she clung two hand to each sides of your arms, rubbing them comfortably in and up and down motion over the fabric of his jacket. He couldn’t hear what she was hushing to you, but he made out a few ‘are you okay’s and a stray ‘do you even know who you’re talking to?’ 

You shrugged, not finding anything serious in the situation. When you’d wake up tomorrow morning with that imminent pounding headache, then you’d truly realise how stupid you really had been in that situation, and if Bruce hadn’t ever been the gentleman that he was, at least you thought so, then it could have ended bad for you. 

A couple more minutes of conversation with your friend later and an awkwardly standing-there Bruce later and she was gone, walking back to the group of women that Bruce had deducted as your friends. He didn’t miss the way your friend had thrown him a last deadly glare on her way out, and he found it somewhat amusing. 

“Sorry about that, she’s kinda the mom of the group you know…?” you shrugged, sounding confused about it yourself. The more the night gave in, the more you were starting to feel like you couldn’t understand what was going on. Nevertheless you continued. “She came to tell me that the uber would be here soon enough, soooo…” you trailed off again, staring off into the distance where your friend had walked back to.

“I don’t want this night to end, I don’t want to go back,” you whisper the last part like a hushed secret between the two of you, and if you could hear yourself talking clearly, you would’ve thought that you were really in love with this stranger you had just spent nearly a whole hour speaking to. You could’ve dreamt it but you swore that you heard a grumbled ‘me neither’ coming from the brick wall of a man standing in front of you. 

“I could always drop you back home if you want to.” he’s not really sure why he’s offering, because it’s sketchy coming from a random guy you’d just met off the streets, drunk off your mind, and a part of him prayed that you declined for the sake of yourself and a near future where you’d meet another stranger, drunk off your mind again. Plus it wasn’t like he had anything to drop you off with, he had walked his frustrated self here while stomping on the concrete sidewalk like a bratty toddler. But Bruce was always one to keep his words, and if he had to find a way then he would. He was Bruce Wayne after all. 

“Hey I really appreciate you and all but my mom would really smack me up the head if I accepted a ride from a stranger so..” your giggles trailed off the end of your sentence, not necessarily apologetic as you rejected his last minute offer. Maybe for the best, you could never know in Gotham. 

For the first time in the entire night, Bruce allowed himself to laugh for real. Allowed himself to show the side of Bruce Wayne that he showed to the public, except that it wasn’t a public act this time, it was all real. Real for you.

The vulnerability that he displayed for you would’ve made your heart swag in all sorts of directions if you even knew who was standing before you. Though you were quite sure that in the moment, you wouldn’t have been able to spout out even a single word if you were well aware that Bruce Wayne was talking to you, of all people.

There was another call for your name, and this time as Bruce and yourself turned to glance at the caller, you were met with the sight of your girlfriends trying to usher you into the car now waiting beside them. At this moment, Bruce understood that this could be the last time he’d ever see you, and with the way you were glancing up at him, he could tell that you were thinking just about the same. 

Bruce could still hear your girlfriends calling for you endlessly inside the uber, and he could see the reflection of one of them half-in and half-out the car trying to lure your drunken self inside. Though he didn’t care, he wanted to keep you here as long as he could for the night. He was selfish, he knew, but he dedicated his whole life to this city, to hell if he decided to be selfish for once in his damned life. 

His eyes observed carefully as you fished your cellphone from your purse, the device crammed between what seemed to be like a keychain which was absolutely suffocated by an unnecessary amount of keys, and a few tubes of what he believed was lipgloss or lipstick. Probably the ones you were wearing right now. He made a mental note to give you an endless array of those someday, just the best he could find, not any of that cheap shit you had stuffed in your bag. 

Next thing he knew, the frontal camera of your phone was stuffed in his face, and you stood so close to him that he could smell the perfume you were wearing just fine. He gave you a confused glance, and a curious raise of his eyebrow.

“Just need to know tomorrow when i wake up if you were really this handsome, or if I was just really this drunk.” you shrugged your shoulders like it was the most normal thing to spill, and Bruce felt his heart speed up the pace. Though it didn’t show on his face, ever.

You smiled at the phone, and Bruce managed to pull a slither of a grin just at the thought of the situation. He adjusted himself to meet your height so he could at least fit in the frame of your camera. 

Your phone is too much of an old model for it to have the frontal flash, so instead you’d  have to do with an extremely low quality, dark picture of yourself and this stranger.

You couldn’t deal with the proximity anymore, and you’re sure that this exotic smell that was enveloping your senses was that sweet cologne of his. It was hard to resist the way he was glancing down at you once you retracted the phone back at your side, waiting for you to say something as you tighten the jacket around your shoulders. 

He doesn’t really expect it when you regain your position in front of him, and even less when you scurry into your top toes to press a kiss against his slightly pink cheek, the effect of the cold making itself evident on his features. He’s tall, and aware, yet he doesn’t understand why he meets you halfway when you raise yourself high off your toes and bends down to help you offer him your little token of appreciation. 

The kiss is quick, and it leaves a warm and tingling feeling along his skin. He’s almost sure that there’s a large, red kiss mark on his cheek, but he’d be more than pleased to acknowledge it especially if it came from you. 

Once you’re back on your feet, you lose all the confidence you’ve had before. And by now your hands are hidden behind your back as you stare up at him with that look that makes Bruce want to offer you the whole world. 

“Thanks again Mr…” you hesitate, and it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t even know his name, and yet you’ve just called him handsome, bumped into him, talked his ear off for a good hour now and even kissed him. Even if it was the most innocent kiss on the cheek. 

“Wayne.” Bruce replies simply. Your moment is cut short once he feels the presence of your girlfriends besides him, and soon she’s grabbing onto your wrist and pulling her towards the car as you struggle to balance off of your heels. 

He watches, a smile on his face as you’re pulled off. You manage a little smile and an off-balanced wave as you’re pushed into the car. Soon all he’s left with is himself, the music in the background shifting from one song to another as everyone outside rushes back in. A summer hit, he thinks. Nothing for him. 

Bruce falters for a second, before turning on his heels and dragging himself back home. Though this time, he leaves with the distant memory of the strange woman that was talking to herself, and the lipstick mark burning into his skin in a way he thought he could die for. 

All he could think about at this instant was that he wanted to take you away, far away from Gotham, from the life you were both living, because he could see that it wasn't enough. He wanted to give you the best, and even if it’s miles away, then that’s where he’d take you. 

-

A/N: Thank you so much anon for your request, this was originally supposed to be a short 1.5k words drabble but oh well… Enjoy🫶🏽

[greedyhoneyz]

Judgement Day

.ೃ࿔* pairing: armando aretas x reader .ೃ࿔* synopsis: the aretas name carried weight in miami. it was a name which symbolised power and carried a notion of fear. to mess with an aretas, was a call to an early death. .ೃ࿔* wc: 3k words. .ೃ࿔* cw: angst. assault. violence. blood. harrassment. threats. .ೃ࿔* authors note: another fanfic for a piece of media i have yet to watch. this is long but i hope it doesn't come off juvenile.

The hot Miami heat bared the warmth of a deep-emotion smile at dawn but as night fell, it raged into an inferno, chaotic and wild. It charred and blistered the abode floor, once chilled by seasonal rains and engulfed the city with a tragic blaze.

Even in the heatwave, Miami bustled with life, men and women toiled across the dancefloor, their bodies weary and scorched beneath yards of thin fabric. They jived and boogied to the setlist with as much passion as their drunken states could emote and drank to their hearts' content. At the end of the night, they busted through the doors into the artificial glow of street lamps, staggering, failing to hail an Uber or move on to the next attraction. In the charcoal night, Miami Beach weaved together crowds of partygoers and workers alike, as the early morning sunshine threatened to peek through the sky.

(name) hissed and hollered her way out of the nightclub as her heels clicked onto the pavement.

She had worn them for the sake of fashion. The open-toed stilettos were to die for; they matched perfectly with her mini dress and petite shoulder bag. But now as she waddled, her feet were paying the price. The four-inch stilettos were not meant for walking, the leather straps dug into her skin and the arch pinned tiny knives into her feet. Each step she took sent a shockwave of pain through her feet.

Adjusting her stride, (name) attempted to distribute her weight more evenly into the shoe. It made little difference but she would make it work– the night was young and she had a couple more hours in her.

Straightening her shoulders, (name) fixed her bag and quickened her pace, walking in conjunction with her friend.

“Where are we going?” She had spoken out between anxious breaths, inwardly wincing at the pressure dented into her toes.

“Um…..” Kayla stared into her phone. “Nightingale, Candace said she’ll meet us there.”

“How far is it?”

“Just a couple blocks down. We’ve been there before, remember?”

“I do,” (name) huffed. “It's just– my feet are killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can take this Kayla. I’m tired.”

Kayla stopped, causing (name) to falter in haste as she slowly turned. She faced her friend, boring her eyes into hers, her lips forming into a hard line. She gripped her friend’s arm, holstering her close and darted her pointer finger to her.

“You,” She began slowly, her voice was low at first but grew louder and more boisterous as she glared into (name). “Are not going anyway, do you understand? Today is our night, our night to go out, get drunk and do something stupid, okay? No shoe and no bitch is ruining our night, comprende?”

“Sí. Sí. I understand.” (name) replied shortly, hiding a smile between her teeth.

“Good.” Kayla nodded, tucking her arm around (name’s).

The pair beelined across the strip, accustoming themselves amongst the crowds of partygoers pulling and pushing their way across South Beach. They found Candace waiting by the entrance, looking radiant in a yellow, mini-dress, her wind-tousled hair fell over her shoulders.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, giving them each a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

The bouncer let them in without hesitation, ushering the trio past the long, ascending line trickling across the street, and they made their way towards the bar. The music blared and pulsated from wall to wall and the stage lights flared and spun above them.

“So….where’s this boyfriend of yours at?” Candace asked inquisitively, sipping on her margarita. She wriggled her eyebrows playfully and passed a simple glance at (name’s) phone as she placed it on the bar, a picture of her boyfriend printed on her lock screen.

“Somewhere,” (name) shrugged. “He wasn’t home when I left for Kayla’s place.”

“So you snuck out?” Kayla jeered, propping her chin atop her hand. “You never told me that.”

(name) shook her head. “Nah, it's nothing like that–”

“Wait— this means you can stay out!” Candace bellowed happily.

“Of course I can–”

“No more talking, let’s dance!”

Candace shot up from her seat, slamming her drink on the bar counter, and reigned her hands around Kayla and (name). She wrung them out from their seats with the strength of a colossal giant and tugged the two towards the dancefloor, declaring the two move to the rhythm of the song.

It took a while – a couple of short seconds before Kayla and (name) joined Candace in dance. The three danced in conjunction with each other, keeping close to their circle with a light bounce from side to side and trigger fingers.

As the night wore on, the air grew thicker and (name) and her friends were tipsier. The club music had grown louder and more intense as the DJ turned to play Sexyy Red and the crowd had begun to surge forward in retort to the sharp change in tempo and pitch. The crowd was like a tide, rolling in and out, its rhythm intermittent to the beat.

No more did the throbbing of her feet cloud (name’s) mind; the blend of a rhubarb fizz and vitality was a deterrent. With her closest friends surrounding her, (name) felt at ease, her smile so wide and bright, that she feared it would become permanent.

She rocked her hips, her hands travelling across her thighs and slowly craned forward. She held onto her legs, shaking her thighs as motion rippled across her calves and ascended towards her ass. (name) shook her bottom with a smize, moving her cheeks with such fluid, curvaceous motions it left nothing to disguise that the skirt of her dress began to hike. Undaunted, she continued to move, placing a careful hand between her cheeks as the other tugged her dress down.

So young and so free, (name) craned herself upwards and placed her hands against her chest. She bopped from side to side, twirling her hips gingerly and scored her hands across her breasts and middle. She looked heavenward at the ceiling, the club roof clouded by bright, neon lights and flashes, she squeezed her eyes shut in retort. She dropped her head and opened her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet before letting out a raring shrill.

The night flew by in a blur of music, laughter and good company. And by 2 am, the club slowed and the crowd began to disperse. Exhausted but exhilarated, they left the club and amidst themselves between the sea of bodies flooding out from the club.

Letting out a refreshed sigh, (name) turned to her friends. Her hair was dampened, her hot-rod curls once full of life and shine, had dropped, now frizzy and weightless. The fabric of her dress had clung to her sticky skin and her bag was hung at the edge of her shoulder.

“I’m so lit right now,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She wobbled on her two feet, swaying from side to side, pressing her weight onto one shoe and when she threatened to stumble to the side, hauling her weight onto the other.

“Me too,” Kayla replied, stumbling over Candace. She clung onto the woman, grasping onto her dress and pressed herself against the wall.

“I….I think–” Candace couldn't help but giggle to herself, dropping her head.

(name) smacked her lips, her eyes slowly peeling open and peered at the two women. She swallowed deeply, curling her lips in practice before she spoke. “You girls….wanna head off to Oasis?”

“Yeah.”

Both Kayla and Candace hummed in agreement and staggered to height. They adjusted themselves, sheepishly picking at each other, one fixing the other’s hair and the other fixing her dress as (name) collected her belongings into her bag.

“Aye!” A voice began. It was deep and hoarse, breathy as his mouth approached a few more words. “Aye miss!”

Though inebriated, (name) couldn’t mask her quickening discomfort as his heavy footsteps rattled behind her.

She tensed, hiking her shoulders and carefully turned. She wore a tight smile on her face, a mask of politeness.

“Yes?”

The man was tall, handsome, and smelt good. And yet, he failed to strike (name). As she stood before him, swaying from left to right, he grinned, bewitched by her charming features and supple figure.

He smiled at her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I just wanted to tell you that you looked good.”

(name) shook her head and waved her hand, feigning appreciation. “Thank you.”

“You know, I was watching you, inside, dancin’ and shit,” He laughed, tossing his head back. “You can shake that ass pretty good.”

“Thank you–”

“And I– lemme get your number.” His words were quick and sharp; his intent was clear.

“Oh,” she tittered, throwing a glance at her friends. “Well…I’m sorry but I’ve got a boyfriend–”

“You’ve got a boyfriend….” He repeated sullenly. He laughed heartily as if (name) had said the funniest thing ever and shook his head.

“Listen,” He began, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I promise you I ain’t no weirdo. No bear here.”

Kayla was prompt in grabbing (name’s) hand, making no effort to hide her disgust. She moved from behind her, Candace following in tow, and attempted to pull the girl along. “C’mon (name) let's go.”

Like a colossal giant, both the man and his voice grew towers tall. He gripped (name’s) arm and jerked her back. “Aye, I wasn’t done talkin’!”

(name) yelped, stumbling over her feet and sharply jeered her head at the man. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Just give me your number.” He demanded, digging his nails into her skin.

(name) profusely shook her head, quickly sobering up and attempted to pull away. “Let go!”

No more did the nice guy act continue, the man once cheerful and hopeful, sneered at (name), puffing out her chest and flaring his nostrils. He was quick to insult her, hurling a hail of curses aimed at her figure as he fiercely yanked her backwards, swinging her frame towards him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cursed at the top of his lungs, splatters of spit flailing out from his mouth. “You bitches are always too full of yourselves! Wanna act all uppity when a man wants to talk to you!”

“Then fucking let me go! The fuck!” By then, amidst the chaos, a crowd had gathered. Like a mob of meerkats, they gawked, gasped and videoed in disbelief at the rage pelting from the colossal of a man. They watched, uttering words of discomfort and dismay as (name) attempted to rear herself away from the man, thrusting herself against Kayla as she pulled her forward.

“I didn't even want to holler at your ugly ass anyways!” He roared, his voice loud and menacing.

“Oh my fucking god! Let me go! I don’t want to fucking talk to your stupid ass!” (name) shrieked back. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her lips pulled into an irritated scowl.

“Nah you fucking listen to me, bitch!” His voice erupted out from the vessels of his throat like a disgorging volcano, propelling a warcry in the wake of a lava-filled avalanche, in the form of a fist.

In a few short seconds, the colossal revolved free his arm, balling his into a fist and drew it back. He reigned his fists forward, fuelled with fury and humiliation, and swung at (name), striking her in the jaw.

She staggered to her floor with a loud yelp, the contents of her purse pooling across the floor. Both Kayla and Candace circled (name) in protest, pulling into their embrace as the colossal hovered above, jeering.

Candace gasped, her eyes were wide, her mouth agape as she held (name’s) face between her palms. “(name)!” She cried, fretting her fingers across her face. “Are you okay?”

Sore but unharmed, (name) could manage a nod, nursing a hand to her swelling jaw. “I’m…I’m okay.”

Candace shot her head up and leered up at the colossal begrudgingly, shrieking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Rapidly, she climbed onto her feet, jumping between the colossal and her friend’s dazed figure, and glowering, waving her pointer finger and screeching like a banshee. “Do you like putting your hands on fucking defenceless women?! Huh! Do you think that’s okay?!”

“Aye, shut the fuck up! That bitch got what she fucking deserved—”

The neigh of engines and the screeching of hot tyres hailed across the strip, and the sound had bequeathed a play of silence across the beach.

The once vivacious party strip, nestled with drunk partygoers and deafening music, had quickly shimmered into silence. And all that sounded was the row of heavy footsteps mounting from the street onto the sidewalk. The footsteps marched into the crowd, dispersing the tide and began to section off each corner one by one as the clatter of a single pair of boots trotted forward.

Armando stared at (name), his face firm, and carefully crouched to his knees. It was a while before he spoke, his voice deep and guttural, his eyes boring into hers. “Are you okay?” Slowly, he brought his hands to her face and brushed his thumb against her jaw, the surface of her wound spreading purple with yellow blotches, and when she cowered back his expression darkened.

(name) could only utter a wary whisper, her eyes darting between him and the colossal behind him. “…yes.”

Inhaling deeply, Armando rose to height, hauling his girlfriend up to her feet. He held her hand in his, offering a forgiving glance and turned.

He clambered away from (name), his shoulders taunt and chin heavenward. Armando was angry– enraged. He did a good job of hiding it, but (name) knew the signs.

He wired his neck, rearing it from side to side and heaved slowly, his chest rising and falling. Every muscle on his face tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his chin jutted outward.

He approached the colossal, his arms pinned behind his back and gave him a once-over, sizing him up.

He blinked, parting his lips slowly, and then blinked again. “Do we have a problem?”

The colossal shook his head and feigned a hearty laugh, his pupils flared and mouth twisted. “Nah man, we’re cool–”

“Let me ask you again,” Armando snarled slowly, gritting his teeth together. “Do we have a problem?”

“Listen, man, I can assure you there’s no problem here–”

Armando sucked at the air like it had suddenly become thick and shut his eyes. He’d become deaf to his galling words, his rapid chatter professing a tale of ignorance and regard, a rapid back-tracking to his previously tough stance. And by then, his anger was irreversible.

He lunged at him; pummelling, hitting. Each hit landed with a sickening thud, the blow between skin and fist astounding. The man had swung back, wailing his fists in the air, but succumbed to the force of Armando’s blows. His movements were swift and silent, spectral. The pivot of his feet from place to place was incorporeal. He was impenetrable evading each wild blow before he swung again.

Armando flitted around the man, his movements a blur of speed and precision and winded his knee upwards. It prodded into his middle, driving into his chest, and sent him stumbling backwards, off-balance. His tumble left an opening, a gap between his face and Armando’s revolving leg.

He took the opening, rearing his leg upwards and swung it forward, striking. A rapid combination of punches and kicks followed, each came and landed with more precision and power till the colossal succumbed to near-coming death. He crumbled to the ground, in a grotesque mess of blood. His eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws. He was now as revolting as he should be, finally, the outside reflected the spoiled man within.

Armando stood victorious over the bloody mess that was his adversary and sneered at him with such venom and disdain. He crouched down, his knuckles wounded with welts and stained with blood, not of his own, and grabbed his shirt, his grip like a vice.

He pulled him towards him, his face taut with rage and displeasure, and glowered over him. Under his grip, the man hung like cattle, his limbs astray as blood sputtered from out his mouth.

Armando rubbed his lips, swivelling on the balls of his feet, and gnashed his teeth together, chiding grimly. “You see..” he shook his head, his nostrils flared. “If it wasn’t for her…”

He turned to (name), lugging the man along and pointed. He leaned into his ear, his voice began small as a whisper and bubbled into a rue of senile and ghastly distaste. “…I’d kill you….”

“Consider this a warning–” Armando released his grip, the man flailing back onto the ground, and stood back on his feet. “You fuck with her, you fuck with me.”

He scowled, whipping his hands and leered at the crowd before him. In a stop-start fashion, one by one, the crowd fizzled out in groups of threes, fours, and fives. Song and chatter fizzled back across the strip in small bites and vivid hues flashed across the beach.

Armando turned to (name), his face closed up and extended his arm. He reached for her, placing her hand in his palm and grasped it tenderly. He held her hand to her face and wrapped her wound beneath her hand. He looked at her as her gaze trembled, her shoulders shivering and tugged her towards him. He held her in his arms, his tight embrace swelled around her middle and carefully coaxed (name) away.

Despite the return of vibrance and euphoria flooding across the party strip, an unsettling mist hung over. A monochrome of silver glanced over the black night. There was an uncharacteristically grim line etched across the faces of those among the dispersing crowd, a sense of sadness, remorse, dismay and dread.

Armando Aretas was not to be toyed with— and neither was she.

[organic-bloodbath]

heyy could u maybe do a chishiya fic (maybe a some smut) but maybe reader was with him when they got separated from arisu and the others

Knife Princess - Part 2

Chishiya x Reader

Summary: You and Chishiya are left together separated from the rest of the group. You receive news which you're not fond of.

Warnings: Talk about sex, but no actual smut. A little angsty and Y/N just being stubborn.

A/N: Using this request for the second part, though there's not really smut as i had originally planned.

Chapters

♤♡♧◇

The King of Spades had taken over Tokyo and was now terrorizing people everywhere in his sight. If he saw even a glimpse of you and you weren't fast enough to react - you were already dead. For some God's blessed miracle, you and your friends had managed to escape from the King's sight, for now.

You and Chishiya were separated from the rest of your friends and now only wandered around Tokyo together, avoiding the King at all cost. You tried to find a safe place to spend atleast one day only resting and searching for food.

You had found an abandoned tent which you could use together for sleep and rest - especially since your leg was still healing. It was located far away from the central of Tokyo, and you settled there for now.

During the time together, you had slowly started to get to know each other better. Chishiya had started to get the real you out of your shell - you weren't just the tough girl who could stab two men at the same time and get every man on their knees below you. You still were that girl, but you were so much more.

Chishiya couldn't help but wonder if the tough personality you showed at the Beach was up only when your brother was around. Maybe you had created a protective shield on your skin so Niragi couldn't completely take control of you - any worse than he tried to do now, but clearly had started to fail in that attempt. Chishiya was proud of you, if he had to admit, that you didn't let him squeeze you under his shoe like a bug. Of course Chishiya couldn't know the sibling relationship between the two of you, he only analyzed what he had seen by far.

He liked the real you, although he wouldn't admit it outloud.

You were standing by the tent and pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it on the ground. You needed to change your shirt to another one, since you had gotten it too dirty to wear.

"So, i found us two-" Chishiya started while coming back towards you, but stopped mid walking when he saw you.

You looked over your shoulder, your bare back facing him. Words stuck in his throat when he looked at your figure from head to toe until he cleared his throat and looked away.

"Sorry, i didn't know you were changing."

"You've already seen all of me more than once, shouldn't be anything new," you teased him with a playful smirk.

Chishiya didn't want to admit it to you, but every time he saw you without clothes on, he got flustered for some reason. You were extremely gorgeous, there was no denying in that, everyone could see that. Looking at you was like looking at a sculpture of a Goddess.

"I can still try to act like a gentleman and give you privacy, mind you," Chishiya mentioned.

"Mhm," you hummed and lifted your left brow, turning around towards him still wearing only your bra. "What do you got there?"

"Found some food which is not expired for once," Chishiya said, clearly proud of himself.

"Oh my, you're almost spoiling me today huh," you exclaimed, hand on your chest, and looked at the food he got.

"Also, I'll need to check up on your stitches," he said and told you to sit down.

You were wearing shorts, so you didn't need to take them off to access the wound. Chishiya held your leg in his hands and carefully cut the bandage off with your knife - it was the only sharp thing he managed to find at the moment.

"Does it hurt anymore?" He gently pressed on the wound, not putting too much pressure on it.

"A little," you answered with a short wince.

"I think we can take the stitches off in a few more days," he concluded.

You let him do his thing, not interrupting him with flirty remarks, no matter how hard you wanted to. You liked watching him work. Chishiya's fingers were brushing your inner thigh, his touch sending goosebumps through your leg.

He got up and sat next to you, moving his gaze to examine your wounded shoulder. He pressed his fingertips on your skin, right around the stitches.

"Good, you've managed to keep them uninfected," Chishiya praised you with a smile.

"Have a little faith in me," you said and bit your lip. "Is the check-up done, doctor?"

"For now, it is," he confirmed, looking into your eyes. Right after you lifted your left leg over his and sat on his lap, laying your hands on his shoulders. He put his hands on your hips, keeping you steady.

"You know, i don't really sleep with my doctors right after the examination," you stated playfully with raised eyebrows.

"Well, i don't really sleep with my patients either," Chishiya started slowly and slid his hand up and down your bare back, so gently it gave you goosebumps. "But we can have new rules here, hm?"

Sleeping with Chishiya wasn't left to a few times at the Beach. When you were separated from the rest of your friends, Chishiya had his hands on you every day and you loved every second of it.

For you and Chishiya, it was only sex and nothing more. You had started to care for him and he for you, sure, but by now it had all been just a physical thing for you. Two people who tried to survive and found comfort in each others' arms. You couldn't read what was going on in his head, though, so you automatically assumed his thoughts matched yours.

"I'd love to see you in a doctor's coat though," you grinned, playing with his blonde hair.

"I hope you won't," Chishiya said, a serious look in his eyes, and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I don't want to see you in a hospital, unless you're giving birth."

You couldn't help but blush on his words. He was just about to lean in to kiss you, until you suddenly gagged and had to cover your mouth. You felt yourself becoming sick, something rising up in your throat.

You stood up when you gagged for the second time and ran behind the tent to where Chishiya couldn't directly see from his spot.

After a few seconds, you started throwing up on the grass, stomach cramping.

"Y/N?" Chishiya said and slowly came behind you.

You didn't answer, just leaned your hands on your knees and felt cold sweat rising on your forehead.

"Did you eat something bad?" he asked with concern.

"Nothing from usual," you mumbled after you felt like that was all.

You had eaten all kinds of things during your stay in this world. You were surprised none of them had made you ill before, since you'd eaten many expired products and once you ate chicken which you were sure wasn't completely cooked, but you didn't really have a choice at the time. Besides, during the past days after the Beach, Chishiya had eaten the exact same foods as you, and he seemed to be completely fine.

"Come on, you should lay down and rest a bit."

"I'm fine," you mumbled and tried to brush his hand off as you straightened your back, taking a deep breath in.

You did need to lay down, to be honest, so you went back inside the tent after Chishiya had brought water for you to drink.

♤♡♧◇

You had started to feel sick again the next morning and stayed resting in the tent while Chishiya went out for a moment. You had wanted to join him but you needed to feel good by tomorrow because you'd go and join another game.

You did worry for Chishiya if he wouldn't come back to you after all. What if the King found him and he was lying dead in a ditch or something? How long would you wait for Chishiya here if something happened?

But luckily Chishiya did come back about an hour later.

"I got you couple of things from a convenience store i found," Chishiya said. You lifted your head and slowly sat up as he entered the tent, kneeling down by your legs. He offered you a packet of crackers and cereals. "I couldn't really find good foods which would help with sickness."

You opened the package and started to chew one cracker. You hadn't told him, but these happened to be exactly your favorite crackers. He gave you only a small smile which didn't last very long, keeping his left hand behind his back.

"What is it?" you asked, and hesitantly he gave you one more packet.

A pregnancy test.

You looked up at Chishiya with wide eyes who sat next to you.

"You think-"

"Just, hear me out, okay," he interrupted and took your hand in his. "When was your last period?"

You didn't know. All the games and overall stress had made you forget all about your menstrual cycle. That was the least of your worries. Even before the games, you had never kept track on your periods.

"Take the test, so i can cross out one thing what made you ill," Chishiya pleaded softly. He noticed how stressed you looked and tried to avoid his eye contact. "Hey," he put his hand on your cheek, "i'm here for you whatever the result is."

"I'm not pregnant," you insisted. "I'm not doing that."

"Y/N," he said seriously.

"It's just a food poisoning."

"Take the test," he repeated. "Please."

You looked into his eyes for a moment, then twirling the test in your hands. You hadn't taken one before, there had been no need to. Surely he was kidding, there was no way you would actually be pregnant.

You eventually got up and went to pee on the stick behind a bush far enough from Chishiya's sight. He wouldn't give up before you would go through with it, you could see it from his eyes how he was looking at you. Your legs were shaking, as were your hands.

You couldn't be pregnant, you just couldn't. One of your biggest fears was giving birth. You didn't want to push an entire baby out of you, ripping your body apart. You certainly wouldn't be able to handle the pain. Not many things terrified you, but that did.

You pulled your shorts back on and slowly returned to Chishiya. You instantly gave the stick to Chishiya, not wanting to hold it yourself.

Neither of you said anything until the result was ready, you just sat next to each other, shoulders against each other. Million thoughts ran through your mind, your heart starting to race faster the longer you had to wait.

Then...

Two lines.

It couldn't be. No, it couldn't be, you can't be pregnant, there's no way.

You felt your eyes starting to water. Oh my god, this can't be happening, you thought. You couldn't become a mother. You started to feel like you were about to hyperventilate soon, breathing so rapidly you could barely get any breath in your lungs.

"Hey, hey," Chishiya said softly and put his hand on your cheek. "Look at me. Take a deep breath in a count of three, okay?"

You hesitantly nodded, trying to breathe in the rythm of him counting from 1 to 3, slowly over and over again until you were starting to calm down.

"That's good," Chishiya said and gently brushed your cheek with his thumb, wiping a tear away. You hadn't realised you had let yourself to start crying. "I'm here with you, alright? You're not alone in this."

He held you in his arms until you had calmed down completely, resting his chin on the top of your head. You didn't say a word in atleast 5 minutes.

"Y/N?" Chishiya whispered. "Was there someone else? Or was i... was i your only one here?"

You didn't turn your head to look at him, you weren't able to, you only nodded awkwardly. Both of you stayed silent for a while longer, not knowing what to say or how exactly to react.

"So, what do we do?" you asked quietly.

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," you mumbled and twirled your fingers, gaze on your lap. "I don't know if i can be a mother yet."

"It's still very early, we'll figure it out when we get back home," Chishiya reassured you.

God, if he wasn't there with you you wouldn't know what to do at all.

"What if i decide to keep it?"

"I'll be there with you through every step."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Chishiya planted a kiss on the top of your head, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"What if i want an abortion?"

"Y/N, it's your choice what to do," Chishiya said, his hand on your cheek. "But for now, let's concentrate on the remaining games, alright?"

♤♡♧◇

Chishiya couldn't sleep because of all the different thoughts going on in his mind. The tent was just large enough for the two of you to sleep next to each other, but there was no space left between your bodies.

The thought of you bearing Chishiya's child raised mixed emotions in Chishiya. He had started to grow attached to you during your time together here, only the two of you. It was very unexpected for him, he didn't want to be afraid of someone dying in these games. He wasn't that scared of death himself, and if he didn't care too much others either, he would have felt much more at ease during the games. And by now, it had been like that.

The idea of becoming the father of your child felt so surreal. Of course he knew there was a chance for you getting pregnant, since you weren't always able to use protection - condoms were quite hard to come by here at the moment. Even at the Beach, Chishiya knew that there had been atleast one time when you had had unprotected sex, but he always made sure to pull out early enough. Apparently he had failed with that.

But now the instinct of needing to protect you at all cost grew stronger, and that thought alone started to scare him.

Chishiya looked at your sleeping figure against his body when you turned yourself towards him and put your arm around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. At first Chishiya thought that you were awake and about to open your eyes any second, until a slight snore came out of your mouth which was slightly open.

You looked so peaceful.

And beautiful.

♤♡♧◇

The next day you went to look for another game and ended up into an old prison.

Jack of Hearts - Solitary Confinement.

The hearts games were the worst, but since you were with one person who you trusted, you had no worries of passing the game. That was, unless Chishiya was going to give you the wrong symbol.

But he wouldn't do that - right?

You spent your time for the first few rounds only following the other people – all complete strangers to each other – ending up betraying others one by one, but it soon got boring to watch.

"What are you doing?" Chishiya asked as he sat next to you. You were holding one of your knives and carving something on the wooden table where you sat by yourself. Other players had gathered at the table next to yours.

"Drawing," you stated.

"With a knife?"

"I didn't find a pen and paper," you shrugged. "And i'm bored."

Chishiya looked at what you were drawing. It was a skull and roses around it. He was impressed how detailed and good the picture actually was.

"You want to draw too or why else are you here?" you asked, turning your head towards him. "I have a second knife you know."

You felt cranky and annoyed, not at Chishiya specifically but everything here. All you wanted to do was to get back home and get rid of this baby immediately. You didn't want it. You felt your mind changing about it every other hour – first you wanted to keep it, then have an abortion, then raise the kid and then again get rid of it.

You were going absolutely insane.

"I'm just bringing you food." Chishiya put a can of soup, bottle of water and a few crackers next to the carvings you had made.

"I'm not hungry," you said and brushed them away from you back to Chishiya, turning back to carving the table.

"I haven't seen you eat in hours," Chishiya said. "You'll have to eat before you start feeling too dizzy and pass out."

You kept your gaze on the table, trying to ignore him.

"Talk to me," Chishiya insisted, but all he got was silence. "Y/N..."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Chishiya was about to say something, but you became ill again and felt something rise up your throat.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled as you bolted up and ran towards the bathroom, hand pressed hard against your mouth. Your knife flew on the floor, but Chishiya picked it up and put it into his pocket.

Right when you kneeled down in front of a toilet, you threw up. Your stomach hurt because there was barely any food in to vomit.

"Miss," a female voice asked behind you. "Are you alright?"

"Mhm, perfect," you mumbled.

"Do you need help, dear?"

"I'm fine."

You stood up and flushed the toilet when you felt like that was all. The woman stood in front of you, blocking your way. She laid her hand on your shoulder.

"Is it a baby?" the woman gasped, eyes widening in joy.

"What? No, i-"

"I can sense an aura around you," she whispered as she cupped your face into her hands. "Another life inside of you."

You only stared at her like she was crazy and on drugs or something.

"I see-"

You pushed her off and walked away from her, out of the restroom.

"Y/N?" Chishiya furrowed his brows as he reached you barely a minute later. "Everything alright?"

"Yea, fantastic," you mumbled and walked past him. You couldn't get very far because Chishiya grabbed your elbow and made you turn around.

You tried to leave but he only tightened his grip on your arm.

"Y/N," Chishiya repeated seriously.

"I don't want to talk, Chishiya," you groaned and tried to yank yourself off from his grip.

He didn't let you go, only pulled you towards him so hard you almost tripped. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you in his warm embrace, stroking your hair with his fingers.

Then, you gave up and relaxed in his arms, letting the tears flow down your cheeks.

"I'm just so, so tired of this," you mumbled. "All of this. Everything. I just want to go home."

"I know," Chishiya whispered. "And i'll make sure you'll get there."

Chishiya sat on the floor with you, rubbing your shoulder and trying to figure out what to say to make you feel better, but there was only a few minutes left until you had to be back in your cells.

"Your symbol was clubs, alright?" he reminded you, just in case.

"I know."

♤♡♧◇

As the game ended, you were by the food shelves, collecting a few crackers into your hands. You were not going to leave this place empty-handed when there was still loads of food left to offer.

You didn't have pockets, so you stashed the crackers into your bra.

"What are you doing?" Chishiya asked, arms crossed as he was leaning against the wall a few metres behind you.

"What does it look like?" you asked without looking towards him. "Taking food with me."

"Into your bra?"

"I couldn't find a bag, unfortunately."

When you had collected enough crackers into your bra, you took one more handful of them and offered them to Chishiya, who lifted his right brow in question.

"Stuff these in your pockets," you told him.

"Why?"

"Because you got me pregnant so you're supposed to do everything i tell you," you stated seriously, holding the crackers in your hand.

Chishiya tried to pull the amused smile on his face away, but seemed to fail.

"I'll try to learn the rules soon," he said and took the crackers, moving his gaze down to your breasts. "How many did you put in there?"

"Six."

"You can fit six crackers there?" Chishiya asked, eyebrows lifted up. The crackers had been packed in single packages and weren't small ones either. "Impressive, i think?"

"Yep," you said proudly. "Couple of them are gonna be a little crushed but i don't care."

"Do you always stash stuff in your bra?"

"Of course," you said, like it should be obvious. "Sometimes i wear a size too big bra just because of that."

"Hm," Chishiya smirked.

"So, where do we go now?" you asked as you exited the prison together.

♤♡♧◇

Tags: @audiiix

A/N: I'll have more parts to this, i hope this is okay 🫶🏻❤️ i swear pregnancy won't be a reoccuring theme in my fics in the future.

[searchingforserendipity25]

post-conclave i think aldo bellini should get to do something drastic. like understated but drastic.

hit the club. go axe-throwing. drive an old man vespa down curlicue lanes and steep hills. black cassock billowing. gravel grinding against a sharp drop. teeth gritted. jump naked into the burano and fling around handful of mud while yelling at god.

take a tiny plane to malta and go cruising for like three days and have extraordinary sex and middling sex and hilariously bad sex on the beach and connect with kind strangers and sail a tiny boat and refuse invitations to escape his life with a self-deprecating self-destructive self-hating little smile. get into a screaming row with an asshole in one of those village cafés that are uniquely peopled by the most reactionary old men you ever did meet.

someone tries to rob him and he turns around, ends up grasping the knife himself white-knuckled and watching the would-be thief flee at whatever he saw in the whites of his eyes. hunch cold and exhausted against an alley wall and consider the knife. its sharp end like teeth like the worst sort of possible miracle. throw it down a canal and watch it sink noiselessly and then go back into the main thoroughfares. shoulders strengthening the way they always do when there's people around. eyes watching.

he should get to throw his inherited chess set against a wall and cry real tears. i feel like throwing the inherited chess set against a wall is the given for whatever happened in his room after thomas walked out, tremblay papers in hand, but like. he should get to do it many times. and than maybe that would fix him.

comes back to the vatican after five days. a bit of sand inside one shoe, a bit of gravel. no bruises where anyone can see. back to work. hurried steps beneath an archway, a call of his name almost like a call of relief.

a kiss of peace from cardinal lawrence, maybe. the way old priests get, chaste and dry. hand on cheek, and no excuses, really: he did not know if he was coming back either. or: he could never have gone away for very long. either way not a lie. either way he came back.

and then. back to work. still. three days four five days. the chess set waiting in his room. some rooks chipped. some knights missing halberds; the queen cracking in half. ready and waiting still. he had put it back together before leaving so it was ready to be packed or ready to be used. knelt on the cold stone and picked them up one by one. that's the kind of man aldo bellini is you see.

[somethinginthewayiam]

The girl behind the bar (Part 4.1)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: self-doubt, bad self-body image

words: 3.3k

Summary: The bar is closed for some spring cleaning outside on the deck. At the same time, the navy pilots played some football on the beach in an attempt for some team-building exercise. After a while, Penny asked you to take her dog Theo for a walk on the beach...

Link to my masterlist

It was the day the bar was closed and therefore your day off, but you were at the Hard Deck anyway because Penny asked you to help with some sort of a spring cleaning of the bar, including the deck outside and washing all the big windows at the beachfront. Penny was taking care of the windows as you and Jimmy set up all the deck chairs, cleaning them off with a high-pressure cleaner. Penny’s dog Theo was running around you guys, having the time of his life running off with the sponge or chasing the water Penny was spritzing into the air.

It was the middle of the afternoon, the sun starting to fall after its noon peak, when you were done and Jimmy had taken off. Penny was sitting outside on the deck, going over the books. She had told you that you could also leave when Jimmy left but what else were you going to do?

All the people you knew in town were either at this bar or on the beach as the naval aviators were playing football with Maverick. Apparently, some sort of a team-building exercise for their mission training.

They had placed their belongings at the bar before wandering off onto the beach in their swimming trunks and sport outfits. You were in the middle of drying off the last deck chair as your eyes kept wandering over to the group. All men including Maverick were playing without a shirt on, except for Bob. The two women in the squad were wearing shorts and sports bras.

Your eyes were wandering to Hangman who was totally ripped and his upper body was glistening with sweat. Fuck, he looked good. Actually, everybody did. From Rooster to Coyote to Maverick, everybody was sporting a muscley, toned physique that apparently was mandatory by the Navy.

When you looked over at Penny, you caught her admiring the group in the same way you did, although her eyes were clearly set on Maverick. Her stare was interrupted when Theo jumped up and tried to grab the pen from her hands with his mouth. “Hey, no!”, she called out and motioned him to sit but he wiggled around like he had bees in his butt.

“Y/N, would you mind taking Theo for a little walk on the beach? Maybe throw the ball? I need to finish this here”, Penny asked you, pointing at the books in front of her. “Sure, I’m done here anyway”, you told her and threw the towel into the bucket. You wiped your hands on your shorts and kicked off your shoes.

You re-did your ponytail and grabbed the ball from the table where Penny had placed it earlier. “Thank you”, she said before you walked off the deck and called Theo, who followed you with a wiggling tail.

You had actually planned to go to the beach after work since you’ve never been since you moved here and it was a hot day. But after seeing the guys and gals playing football, everybody super fit and tanned and gorgeous, the urge to take your own clothes off had fallen to a negative one hundred. It made you feel even weirder that you were already wearing your bathing suit underneath your shorts and tank top.

You walked down the little pathway onto the sandy beach, walking towards the water and the group. “Hey Mav”, you said as you arrived at a beach chair that Mav has sat down in while you were walking down here.

“Hey Y/N! Up for a round of dogfight football?”, Mav asked you, looking up from his chair. You shielded your eyes from the low sun and watched the two groups charge at each other. “No thanks, I let you Navy guys do that. But I could go for a round of volleyball”, you suggested. “I got no ball with me, but that sounds like a good idea. Imma hold you to it”, he offered. “You got it”, you agreed with a smile and he gave you a fist bump.

“Are you done for the day?”, you asked, still watching the guys running around on the beach, celebrating when they scored a touchdown. They actually looked more like a team than they did all the times before when you saw them at the bar. You could only imagine what it was like at base camp as you had actually no idea what they did all day.

“Ah, yeah. I’ll leave the kids to play”, he said and started patting Theo, playing with him as Theo tried to catch Maverick’s finger he was wiggling in front of the dog’s face. “Are you done working, too?”, he asked you. “Yes, Penny asked me to distract this little guy so she can take care of the books”, you told him and he nodded. “But I’m sure she can use a break as well”, you added with a smirk on your lips. Mav looked over his shoulder towards the Hard Deck. “You think?”, he asked as he turned around again. “Oh, I’m sure”, you nodded encouragingly.

“Come on, Theo. Let’s throw that ball”, you said to your furry friend and wiggled the ball in front of his face to get his attention. You walked a few feet away from the group as to not get in their space before you started throwing the ball for Theo. Every time you threw it, Theo took a detour through the incoming waves. No matter how far away you managed to throw it from the ocean, he always splashed in the water before he came back to you. And whenever he came back with the ball, he shook his fur free from the water right in front of you, splashing you from top to bottom.

“Dude, I’m so wet because of you”, you said to him as he did another shake in front of you after dropping the ball by your feet. “A sentence Bob will never hear”, you heard Hangman’s voice next to you as he got the football that had landed close to you.

“Are you being a good boy and retrieving the ball for Maverick?”, you asked as you bent down to grab Theo’s ball and stood up again. “You got the good boy part right”, he said with a wink. Despite your better judgement, you giggled at his comment instead of your usual eyeroll and it surprised the both of you, which you saw at the expression on his face.

“Y/N!”, you suddenly heard behind you and the next moment, two strong arms wrapped around you from behind, beginning to lift you upwards. “Ahhh”, you let out a loud squeal and your body got all stiff. “No! Let me down!”, you demanded but tried to keep the sound of your voice light and friendly, even though you hated nothing more than to be lifted in the air.

Not because you actually hated to be up there but because you believed to be too heavy to be lifted by anybody and that when the person actually struggles to lift you or actually straight up can’t, it’s only gonna be embarrassing for the both of you.

Only when you turned around as you felt the sandy beach beneath your feet again, you found Rooster to be the person that tried to lift you. He was only wearing his jeans shorts (bold choice) and his upper body was glistening with sweat, just like all the others that started gathering around you. Fanboy took the ball from your hand and started throwing it for Theo.

“Are you guys done playing?”, you asked and shielded your eyes from the low sun. “Yeah, we’re absolutely roasted”, Fanboy told you, sounding out of breath. “Let’s all take a dip in the ocean”, Payback suggested. “Yeah, let’s do that”, Rooster agreed. “You coming, too?”, he asked you. “Oh, no, you guys go ahead. I got the little guy here”, you told him and pointed at Theo who was just bringing the ball back to Fanboy.

“Just send him back up to Penny, he knows the way”, Rooster suggested. “If you want to change, we can wait for you”, Phoenix offered. “Or go in your underwear, we don’t mind”, Fanboy mentioned. “Thank you, Fanboy, but I’m actually already wearing my bathing suit”, you told them and lifted the hem of your shirt to show off the black fabric.

“Okay, then it’s settled. Let’s go”, Rooster said and patted your back. You contemplated for a moment. You were hot and sweaty from your work and you had planned on going into the ocean for a swim anyways. A sudden inner defiance against your own insecurities about your body and its size had you finally giving in.

“Alright, but let me put my clothes by the chair”, you told them and started walking over to said chair, taking Theo with you. When you came closer, you noticed that Maverick was gone. When you looked towards the Hard Deck, you found him talking to Penny, sitting across from her.

You put the ball gently into Theo’s mouth and told him to go to his owner, which he actually understood and you watched him run up the path towards Penny, dropping the ball by her feet. That made her advert her eyes from Maverick and look at her little companion. She grabbed the ball and looked down onto the beach where she found you waving. She waved back and gave you a thumbs up.

The others had followed you and started to take off their clothes, revealing some swim shorts beneath their regular pants.

At first, you didn’t want to undress in front of them, but then you thought that there was no comparison between them and you anyway, you were playing in different leagues, well, technically you’re not competing as you didn’t even play the same sport. Figuratively AND literally.

You unzipped your shorts and pushed them down your legs before you pulled your shirt over your head, revealing a one-piece bathing suit with cut-outs on the side, just low enough to hide the rolls on your back, but also high enough to show your smaller waist which you were actually quite proud of.

You laid out your clothes so they could dry while you were taking a dip. As the others were quicker than you, they already headed for the waves.

As you got up, you reached inside the bra portion of your bathing suit and rearranged your boobs to fit better. You had the bathing suit for a little while and it got a bit snug around certain parts but it was still the best bathing suit you had ever owned, so you would never throw it out.

When you turned around, you locked eyes with Bob, who was sitting there in his shirt and shorts, applying sunscreen on his arms, while your hand was still in your bra. “Just sorting out the girls”, you said and let out a little embarrassed chuckle. You quickly pulled your hand out and put your hands on your hips as you suddenly didn’t know what to do with them.

“Are you not going swimming?”, you asked. “No, I rather sit this one out, thanks”, he said and you immediately recognized the shyness that came with the unwillingness to take off your own shirt in front of other people. “I bet after such an intense game, a dip in the ocean must be quite nice”, you said and tried to make it sound super random.

“Yeah, probably”, he just shrugged his shoulders. He was a hard one to crack but you knew from personal experience how that felt. “You can just go in with your shirt on, you know?”, you suggested. “Yeah, like that wouldn’t look super awkward”, he scoffed and looked out at the ocean where the guys and girls already swam, dipping each other under the water and splashing around.

“I can put my shirt back on as well, then we’re already two”, you offered. “But you just sorted out the girls”, he said. His comment was so dry that it took you a good moment to recognize the joke within.

“Look who got some jokes now”, you chuckled and nudged his shoulder. A shy smile appeared on his lips and he looked down at the bottle of sunscreen in his hands.

“Listen, if I was able to take off my shirt, then definitely you can, too”, you told him. “Easy for you to say”, he responded and was hinting at something obvious, but it just wasn’t obvious to you. Didn’t he know that for girls it was always harder to undress in public, especially for girls with a body like yours?

“Hey, would it help if I go without my top on as well?”, you suggested as a joke, your thumb under the strap of your bathing suit. “Yeah, immensely”, he immediately answered. “And for that you have to go swimming with me now”, you told him off with your index finger pointed at him. Then you extended your hand and pulled him up when he finally took it. Together, you walked towards the ocean.

“Y/N!”, Rooster called out as soon as he saw you. He was halfway out of the water and came straight towards you. “NO!”, you immediately said and held out your hand in front of you. “Not again!”, you added as he sped up. You started walking to the side, speeding up as best as you could. When you saw him starting to run, you tried to play along and also run away from him, but you knew that you and cardio weren’t the best of friends and also this would end in the water anyway. And before you would alarm everybody with a bright, red face and a whistling tone while you tried to breathe, you started to run towards the water.

Rooster was behind you in no time, wrapped his arms around you again and managed to cover exactly the cut-outs of your bathing suit. Even though you knew what was coming, the sudden skin-on-skin contact threw you off a little bit and Rooster used the irritation to pick you up and carry you the few steps into deeper water before he threw you in.

You were actually glad about the cool-down the water provided you with. Normally, you were not surrounded by so many good-looking people in so little clothing and it got to you a little bit. Your last time has been way too long ago. Way, way too long.

“Why do you guys always have to be so rough?”, you said after coming back up to the surface, spitting out the water and rubbing your eyes, a salty taste in your mouth. “Some girls like it rough”, Coyote commented with a sleezy laugh, bobbing in the water behind you. “Yeah, well there’s a place and a time. Like the bedroom or the backseat of a Bronco”, you said out loud before you could think. “She’s not wrong”, Rooster agreed and got a dreamy expression on his face. Only now you realized that he was actually driving a Bronco and probably had some good times in there other than a few fun road trips.

When you looked back to the beach, you found Bob standing there. “Hey!”, you exclaimed and waved at him to come into the water. “You don’t think I’ll actually do it, huh?”, you shouted towards him. “Do what?”, Fanboy asked. “I told him I’ll take my top off if he does as well and comes into the water”, you told him. “BOB, GET THAT SHIRT OFF AND YOU DAMN ASS OVER HERE!”, Fanboy screamed towards the beach and some of the other guys screamed Bob’s name as well and motioned him to get into the water. “Come on, Bob!”, Phoenix called out towards her teammate and back-seater.

When he finally took off his shirt and came into the water, everybody cheered. “Alright, your turn”, he said to you when he arrived at the group that were all bobbing in the water together. “Stop being such horny teenagers. I already took my top off, it’s drying over there in the sun”, you told them and nodded towards your clothes on the beach.

“If you’ll excuse me now, I’m gonna actually swim for a little bit”, you said and as you turned around in the water to start swimming away from the group, you almost crashed into Hangman. You hadn’t noticed him there before. Out of surprise, you put your hands on his chest under the water just to brace yourself. Your fingertips sank into his skin for a split second and you felt his body heat on your palms under the water.

“Sorry”, you just mumbled and noticed that you sounded a bit breathless. “All good”, he simply said.

You swam around him, his eyes following you, and made sure to swim out for a few strokes to get some space between you and Hangman. It embarrassed you how that little moment just threw you off, feeling your cheeks burning up. You dismissed it as the exertion from swimming against the incoming waves.

You swam back and forth for a little bit, trying not to go out too far and when your arms felt tired, you lay on your back, floating on the water and feeling the last rays of sunshine of the day on your face.

You let your mind wander a bit and you started to think about the new friends you had made over the past weeks. It all felt a bit weird. It seemed like the guys were flirting with you, but you also made fun of each other. You never really had guy friends and didn’t know how to categorize all the interactions. You just filed everything under “friendly hazing”. Because there was no other side to it…right?

“Y/N!”, you suddenly heard Phoenix call out your name. You swam upright again and looked towards the shore. She waved you to swim back to the beach as everybody was ready to get out.

Phoenix and Halo, the other woman in the squad, were waiting for you, handing you your clothes. The guys were already back at the Hard Deck, putting their shirts back on.

“Hey, Y/N, Penny said we could stay at the bar for a few hours if you promise to take our money and clean up afterwards”, Coyote told you as you arrived on the deck of the bar. You walked over to your bag and grabbed the big beach towel you had brought with you and wrapped it around your body. You suddenly felt very under-dressed with so many people around you.

You looked at Penny, who seemed to be ready to drive off with Maverick, who was wearing his leather jacket, and had Theo on his leash. She gave you a little nod, letting you know that she was actually okay with Coyote’s suggestion.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Okay, I’ll do that”, you agreed and then turned to Coyote. “If you don’t make such a mess in the first place”, you admonished him and pointed a finger of warning at him. “Scouts honors”, he promised and held up his right hand.

Penny, Mav and Theo left and you got inside with everybody. “I’ll go change”, you told Phoenix and took your bag into the women’s restroom. You changed from your wet bathing suit into the underwear you had brought with you and rubbed your hair somewhat dry before you changed back into your shorts and a fresh black tank top. You looked at your face in the mirror. You regretted that you didn’t have any make-up on you, simple mascara or something, but you really hadn’t expected to be spending your evening with the group.

You came back out and stored your bag under the bar counter.

“Who’s ready for the first round?”.

Next chapter: Part 4.2

[glytrp]

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Dabi’s Love Languages

headcanons (18+)

❥ gift giving: out of all the love languages, gift giving is the one he cares the least about. don’t get him wrong, he’ll take the gift, but he might bitch and moan about it. not really the sentimental type, and also not materialistic so it’s impossible to shop for him. the only ‘gift’ he won’t complain about is food but it might not even get eaten either because his appetite is nonexistent from all the coffee and cigarettes.

❥ words of affirmation: does not give out compliments generously. he doesn’t praise anyone except his partner, and even then he’s stingy with a nice word or two. doesn’t like to receive compliments either because he doesn’t feel like they’re sincere. when the occasion does arise and he feels like it’s appropriate, he might tell you that you look like a ‘doll’ or make some comment about your lips looking pretty and ‘looking prettier wrapped around something else.’ 

❥ quality time: home body. after work, likes to grab a beer, sit on the couch and go on his phone. but with his partner, he wants them on his lap, telling him about their day, listening to them talk. will put on a movie. only likes chill, low stakes dates. maybe a quiet bar, walking through downtown or along the pier, a little bonfire at the beach. wants to be left to his peace and doesn’t want anyone to interrupt his time with his partner. 

❥ physical touch: sex is his love language. he has a very high libido and his ego is hooked to his performance in the bedroom. needs to have sex three times a day or else he’ll start moping. wants his partner’s legs over his lap while his lips are on their neck. always has his hand on their thigh, rubbing a hand up their back. Dabi doesn’t do gentle, okay, it’s always firm touches. marathon sex is how you know he’s in a good mood. if he’s in a bad mood, he still wants marathon sex except he’s gonna make you do all the work, record it, and have you vocalize how good he feels while doing it. 



❥ acts of service: by far his most important love language. likes when his partner is #wifeymaterial. literally wants his partner to do his laundry, cook for him, clean, all that domestic shit. if you make him lunch for work, he’ll internalize the hell out of it and think about it all day. help him dye his hair, take off his jewelry before bed. likes to play fetch with you aka hand him random junk he’s too lazy to get up himself. example: his shoes before work, or a lighter, or cup of coffee in the morning. when he’s sick, he wants you doting on him. a bowl of soup, little wet towel on his forehead, checking his fever. mhm, he’s a big baby when he’s a sick (as all men tend to be).