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ch4mpagnedrought · 8 months ago

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friendly game

[full series]

mdni ! art, tashi, patrick

summary: pinning two of the greatest tennis players of our future will not work with you and tashi, in fact, you’ve learnt to share your prizes.

deep breaths. you take deep breaths when taking your racket out of its bag, all five fingers wrapping around the grip tightly, that is so intensely watched by two pairs of curious eyes from above in the stands, inaudibly gawking at the way your black tennis dress, sporting a small nike logo above your left breast, flourishes from around your thighs to expose the surfaces of your skin that don’t see the sun very often.

maybe the single most important game at the 2006 US open, between two upcoming tennis prodigies that also happen to be best friends. an oxymoron on the court really, tashi’s in white, you in black, her in adidas, you in nike, her hair in a tight braid, yours slicked into a low bun. eyes are torn completely apart as the both of you travel across the court, rebutting every single one of each others moves like a choreographed dance, the jaws of your audience slacked open. everybody remains paralysed, leaving the squeaks of your shoes and the heavy grunts of your labour to echo across the stands—until hands grip onto neighbouring knees and the final shot is swung.

“yes!” you shriek, throwing your racket to the ground in ecstasy, letting it bounce back behind you and the strings to shrivel from the force. from across the court, tashi heaves with squinted eyes, watching your celebration with parted lips and stepping closer to the net where you meet her—your arms wrapping around each others glistening shoulders and chests pressing firmly against one another, “good game” she tilts her head to whisper her appraisals and you hum a sweet note, flashing her a smile while the two men blink down at you. their minds completely empty apart from a state of euphoria, seeing two of the most beautiful women they had ever laid their eyes on embrace after a game that was essentially life or death. already replaying the erotic extensions of your legs at every side step, hips swivelling and slender arms extending to shape an image from within the deepest depths of their minds.

the same way that they stood completely still and fixated onto the images of you at the celebratory party hosted for you and tashi. the blonde haired boy taking sips of his drink between all the thoughts that expel from the image of you, mid underhand serve, and run through his mind. while the other faces an image of tashi, mid overhead, and tries not to make it obvious that his gaze slips into imagining anything other than what is underneath those clothes she endorses.

even when you notice their toying eyes, approaching you sat knee-to-knee with tashi at a table having just spent the last twenty minutes dancing with one another that hadn’t gone unnoticed by them either, “art donaldson and patrick zweig, right?” their eyes are momentary frozen wide before art exhales an exasperated breath, choking up on nothing. “in the flesh” patrick mumbles, fidgeting with the rim of his coke bottle. your eyes dart from one boy to another, left to right, both of their shoulders tensing as they watch tashi’s lips uncurl from the pink straw of her orange drink, guiding the bottle towards your own lips, pressing the straw into your mouth nonchalantly to share a sip of the beverage, and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“that, that game…it was seriously breathtaking” art chokes out to the both of you, looking down admirably at you and noticing the small freckles the sun has peppered on your nose that hadn’t been visible from the top of the stands. tashi thanks him, putting the straw back into her own mouth and projecting a mental image of you and her swapping more than saliva into patrick’s mind.

his feet shuffle on the spot, shaking away the thought, “you dealt with the loss much better than i would’ve.” lightheartedly he jokes, gesturing towards tashi and sending her a small smile, “how do you two stay friends?”

“we’ve been friends since childhood,” tashi takes a glance at you, but you’re already looking back, “there’s no bad blood, we learn from eachother.” the palm of her hand flattens on your thigh momentarily, leaning back further into the couch. patrick and art huff, elbowing one another, “just like us.”

they flatter the two of you, showering you with compliments, all while trying to make it seem as if they hadn’t been discussing what exactly they would say to you for the past couple hours, until you and tashi were standing in front of their hotel room door, silently leaning closer to hear whatever was going on inside. “they don’t have time to come here” a muffled voice speaks from behind the door, and another groans loudly.

you and tashi share a small smirk, holding back laughter when she knocks on the door to hear a sudden ruckus.

“hi” “hey” they sing simultaneously, mouths agape like two little dogs, panting at the sight of a treat, or drooling at the ring of a bell. neither you nor tashi even have the time to greet them, patrick opening the door a little wider and beckoning you inside, coming together on the floor of the questionably coloured carpet with a single can of beer in the middle.

patrick leans back onto his hands. “so, when did you two become friends?” tashi points a finger between the two, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head in curiosity. “we’ve been bunkmates since we were twelve” he answers, and art glances down at his crossed legs with a nervous smile. you nod your head, whispering a small “cute” under your breath and brushing patrick’s wrist with your fingers when taking the beer he offers, making the hairs on his arms stand upright. the beer is warm and bitter, and you pass the can to tashi after leaving a wet imprint of your lips that art would try to discreetly swipe his tongue over only moments later.

“you share girls often?” you ask and patrick’s brows quirk up, corner of his mouth tilting upwards. “this is our first time.” art says, pinkish blush spreading across his nose and the apples of his cheeks that implies his mind is drifting somewhere else. “why? are we not your type?” tashi laughs, leaning over towards art and tucking her hair behind her ears, his eyes following her closely, “aren’t you two everybody’s type?”

the boys shift in their positions, patrick lifting his hips up into the air briefly to get a little more comfortable and art pressing his hands into his knees, sharing a glance between them. all of the breath you exhale meshes into a palpable energy, and your gaze switches between art and patrick in a way they’ve already grown to love, their faces twitching with an eager awkwardness, “are you each other’s type?”

art chuckles out, “no…no.” he denies with a head shake, patrick peering over his shoulder at him silently, “no, we’ve never done anything like that.”

your’s and tashi’s eyes meet briefly, lips turning up into a smile.

“well…” patrick begins and art immediately jerks his head towards him, hoping that he wasn’t about to say the one thing he didn’t want to share, “i mean…”

“patrick, no.”

“don’t be shy, you have to tell us now” you tempt, a playful glint in the glance you give art.

patrick clears his throat, “you know, i just, taught art how to jerk off” he explains casually art’s right of passage while he holds his head in shame, painting an image of him being covered in his own ejaculation, over his stomach and legs like he had just “spilled milk” all over himself.

“that was a really adorable story” tashi hums, placing a hand on your shoulder to hoist herself up from the floor, and reaching out to help you up too. two pairs of eyes follow you around intently, admiring the tips of your fingers that swipe over various objects in their hotel room and feeling a little embarrassed about how obvious it is that they cleaned it only around 10 minutes ago. random pairs of boxers making an appearance from underneath the two single beds that they had pushed together, and an alarming amount of cigarette ash on the surface of the drawers.

tashi’s hand finds your wrist and guides you onto their bed where you take a seat patiently, criss-crossed, waiting for one of the boys to catch on and join you, while they are utterly immersed in the idea that the two of you are real and really in their bed.

silently, you usher them towards you with a tilt of the head, both of them jumping to their feet, basically leaping onto the bed so all four of you make a square, knees very slightly brushing against one another. theres a silent anticipation, tension weaving around all of you and luring your bodies closer. you take a quick look at each of their faces, their dilated pupils and irregular breaths, and move your lips closer to art’s, watching him inhale deeply like he wants to take all the air from your lungs for himself. then patrick, that selfishly attempts to lean his face closer before you can pull away.

you look towards tashi, who inches her face closer to yours, lips parted slightly and meeting in the middle for a kiss. in your peripheral vision, it’s hard not the notice the way that art and patrick are restraining themselves from punching a fist into the air out of joy, loud and shallow breaths caressing your cheeks. your mouth opens wider, leaning in deeper to consume every part of tashi’s lips in a hungry craze while her hand reaches into your hair to pull you closer. the two other men that keenly wait had slipped out of mind, still staring with a captivated stillness when you pull away from one another.

all you have to do is lean back onto your hands for art to pounce onto the side of your neck that becomes exposed, while patrick leans in to plant a kiss onto tashi’s jaw. on the surface their lips travel across the curve of your necks, heads fallen back, suctioning until they can taste the flavour of your perfume that lingers on your skin, while your hands exchange messily beneath; art’s touch feathering on your arm and reaching for tashi’s shoulder, and patricks arms intertwining with art’s to extend and touch your’s and tashi’s thighs.

patrick nuzzles his lips into divot the beneath tashi’s ear, journeying across her shoulder and onto your own in one smooth line, nearly head-butting with art when he shuffles to grace tashi with the same tender attention.

your hands scrunch into patrick’s dark hair, body involuntarily aching until you draw him closer to your face by the chin to connect with his lips. he balances himself in front of you, planting his hands at your sides to allow him to move even closer to you all while tashi hums into art’s gently mingling lips.

pulling back from patrick, you move onto art’s swollen mouth that glistens with lip gloss, tasting the remnants of tashi and yourself on them. all four of your faces coming together in the middle, so close that there is a dangerous lack of oxygen.

tongues pressing flat on top of another, swiping over bottom lips to feel every ridge and an accumulation of hot air. you become lightheaded at the different hands that grope over your figure, being pulled in by the back of your neck. there’s a contrast in the way each one of them kisses; tashi’s lips are familiar and firm, patrick’s are similar in their starved manner, and art’s yearn to take every molecule you are made of and ingest it.

tashi catches on immediately to the way that your left hand squeezes hers and pulls back to leave only art and patrick breathlessly grasping onto the others torso, noses pressing against each other at every tilt of the head and tongues slipping astray. the moment is only short, you and tashi glancing at one another, unbothered at whether they have noticed that you’re gone or secretly fulfilling a guilty hankering.

“okay.” tashi says, slapping her palms across her legs and sending a smile at the two boys. bottom lips slicked with one another’s saliva they remain frozen, only inches apart.

“goodnight, we have an early morning tomorrow.” you buzz, patrick and art separating only to let you slide past them on the bed, tashi following close behind and you wrapping your arms around her bicep absentmindedly.

neither one of them are able to make a sound, mouthing a “goodnight” that isn’t audible, admiring the way both of your curly brown hair sways behind you, walking out in the matching shorts they wonder if you ever swap.

they look at one another, then at the imprints in the floral blanket that your bodies left, scrunches where exactly you sat that they are both ready to smush their faces into. all while you and tashi stand outside of their hotel room once again, tuning in to the muffled dialogue about art’s grandmother before scurrying down the hotel hallway—hand in hand.

#challengers #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig imagine #patrick zweig fic #tashi duncan #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x you #tashi duncan fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 13 days ago

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Mistle-hoe

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: You take on a job at the holidays to get some extra money, but you get way more than that.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Day Thirty-One of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - how is the mistletoe following you around?

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

‘Hey, where u at?’

You sigh at the text message and type a flurried response before you tuck your phone in your back pocket. ‘Work’. Of course, Alicia is so self-involved, she can’t remember the one thing you told her a dozen times.

Sorry, can’t make the New Year’s Eve shindig, I need the money.

“These shirts are... scratchy,” Paulina distracts you from your irritation, sparking a new agitation just beneath your skin. You look down at the attire and shrug. “But fancy.”

You look down at the sparkly monstrosity. Silver isn’t really your colour. For a price, it can be. That night, you’ll be making double overtime and a tip. It’s more than worth skipping one of Alicia’s ridiculous drunken spectacles.

“A little,” you adjust the trap. The rest of your outfit is standard; black pants, black shoes, heeled just as the job description specified. You prefer your flats with the inserts but you can bear a bit of arch pain for the check at the end of the night. Rather, year.

“Must be quite the event,” you comment as you take a loaded tray; lobster, shrimp, mussels. The typical fair would be macaroni and cheese bites or pigs in a blanket. Tonight, is a fine affair.

“CEOs,” Krista comes up on your other side. “So I hear. Bunch of rich old men. Just make sure you’re generous with the wine. You’ll get a bigger tip.”

“Huh, right,” you lift the heavy tray and balance it expertly. “It might even cut short the night.”

“Looking at some of these guys, you’re probably right,” Paulina snickers. “I’m seeing a lot of silver, not just these things.” She pinches a sequin on her shirt. “Ugh, the liner on this is awful.”

You agree. You could throw the tray of appetizers and scratch your own skin off. You’ve dealt with worse. It’s part of the job. Banquets, work lunches, even weddings. Serving isn’t as glamourous as those melodramatic reality shows might suggest.

You carry the tray through the curtain and start your rounds. It is a rather stuffy gathering. Black tie and all. As you silently offer your fare, acting as the perfect conveyor of gluttony, you notice a peculiar detail. Among all the tailored jackets, silk ties, and quaffed haircuts, there are no women. Not aside from you and the other servers.

It might just be that it’s a boys’ club. That good old glass ceiling is thicker than you expect. Still, these things are rarely very lively without a female element. That’s not really your concern. You’re not the event planner, you’re just a walking table.

“That shrimp?” A voice calls over. You turn as a man beckons you closer with his glass.

You approach him as he turns with interest to the tray. He keeps one hand in his jacket pocket as you present the tray with indifference. He sports a rather bristly mustache and tidy haircut. It’s a choice. With money like his, style is expendable.

“Oh, would you look at this,” he brings his hand out of his pocket and raises it high above the tray, “what do ya know?”

You lock down a stoic expression and peer up at the cluster in his hand. Seriously? Your uncle used to pull that trick on your aunts. It was always kind of gross.

“So uh... looks like we got caught, huh,” the man snickers.

You look at him, horrified. He can’t be serious. Yet, if he’s a rich as they say, you expect that boundaries are nothing but a paywall to him.

“You know it’s bad luck to break tradition,” he wiggles the mistletoe over you. “Don’t wanna start the new year off on a sour note, toots.”

You tilt your head. You’re actually speechless. Not just your usual deferential silence, you really don’t know how to response.

He presses his knuckles against the tray with his other hand, still gripping his glass, and steps closer. Your lashes flick in shock and your turn your head at the last moment as he puckers so he gets your cheek. His lips are wet with alcohol. Smells like gin.

��Mm, downer,” he pulls back, “I'll get the lips next time.”

He winks and retracts his arm, tucking away the mistletoe. He scoops up one of the skewers of shrimp and struts off without another word. God, that was slimy. You bend your head and wipe your cheek on your shoulder.

You should warn the others. Avoid the one with the pornstache. Ugh. Why do men do this? Just think off the money.

As you turn, Paulina’s tinkling giggle draws your attention. A man offers her a drink from his glass. You’re disappointed to see her accept. That’s a firing offence in most jobs. Not only that, it sets a bad precedence. These men don’t seem to have much restraint as it is.

You crawl through, putting the tray out to reach hands. The air is cool as it speckles over your bare arms. You sidle around as you carry only scraps and return to curtained off space by the kitchen window. You trade your tray for a smaller one set with pre-mixed martinis.

Another lap. The time sifts by slowly. You’re definitely earning the double overtime. Two white-haired men ogle you as they accept a martini. One sucks the olives off the toothpick as he leers. You keep a tight-lipped smile and move on.

“Ah, don’t mind if I do,” that same timbre draws you around to face the mustachioed man. He sets his empty glass on the tray and takes one of the stemmed martinis, “you like gin, baby face?”

“Sir,” you neither confirm or deny. He slurps noisily and rocks on his feet.

You don’t have the space to angle around him. He seems to know it as he widens his stance and corners you further. You nearly groan as you sense his arm rising once more. No!

The mistletoe jingles over your head, a small bell among the leaves. You stare at him with open concern. You’re helpless with your armful of drinks.

“Ah, come on, don’t be shy,” he shifts closer, leaning in as he turns his cheek to you, “just a little one, right here.”

You stare at his cheek. You just want this to be over with. Then you’ll be more vigilant and avoid him like the plague. You go to peck his cheekbone and he quickly snaps his head around and presses his lips to yours. You gasp and recoil, struggling not to spill the martinis as they slosh dangerously.

He cackles and drains the martini. “Cute, I like it,” he wiggles the mistletoe again. “Hard to get, huh?”

You back up and turn. Humiliated. What the hell?

You glance around. Paulina’s sitting across to men’s laps as they feed her strawberries, one stroking her hip as the other keeps a hand on your thigh. Holy shit. This is getting strange.

Krista is against the wall with another man, gray and balding. He whispers in her ear as she giggles and rubs his chest. Are you the only one working around here?

You hurry behind the curtain and put the tray down. Where is Doris? This is her event. She should be keeping an eye on this. These men are animals.

You peek through the curtain, scouring the room for her. You turn and go into the kitchen. It’s a frantic nest of chaos but she’s not there. Shit. You really don’t want to walk out, you need the money badly, but this is too much. You’re a server, not... what these men want you to do.

“Oops,” the drawl makes you shudder as you walk directly into another body. The snicker that follows makes your skin crawl. It’s him. Again. “Think I’m lost, honey bee.”

You look up at him and purse your lips. This is too much. This man is gross.

“You can’t be back here--”

“Baby, just a kiss,” he smirks.

You stare at him, waiting for him to lift that stupid mistletoe. He doesn’t. You frown.

“It’s caught,” he looks down and tilts his pelvis. The leaves are clips to his belt buckle, “would you look at that?”

You take a step back as your nose flares. “Alright, sir, that’s inappropriate--”

“Shhh,” he hushes you as he gets closer. “Go on, earn it, baby.”

“Huh?” You grimace.

“You think we’re paying top dollar for gin and fish. Go on and give it a kiss,” he grabs his belt and jingles the bell. “I’ll put an extra grand on your tip if you put one on mine.”

You cringe and step back. He grabs your arm and you cry out. You bring your other hand up to shove his chest.

“Hey, I’m not—I'm not prostitute, you weirdo,” you snarl as you wrestle with him.

“Oh, that’s fine. I’ll go for an under the table favour,” he growls.

“Get off--” You struggle with him, fighting his strength as he keeps one hand on your wrist and the other snakes around your waist. You raise your voice as you snarl. “Dude, fuck off of me.”

The door to the kitchen swings open and you look over desperately. Thank god. You push against the man as you send Doris a pleading look.

“Hey, this guy won’t-- leave me--”

“Keep it down, sweetheart,” she tuts. “You’re going to ruin the party.” She looks at the man, “Mr. Hansen, have you found everything to your liking?”

“Oh, sure,” the man replies brightly, “I don’t mind working for it.”

You hit his chest with your fist and try to stomp his foot, “Doris! You can’t--”

She struts away, disappearing beyond the curtain. You whine as the man squeezes you to him and you writhe. What the fuck?

“Don’t worry, baby,” he nuzzles your temple as your squirm, his mustache tickling your hairline, “I’ll give you a special kiss too.” His hand slips down to your ass and he gropes until you squeal. “Feel like you need that kitty eaten good.”

“You’re.... disgusting,” you sneer as you wriggle in his grasp.

“Oh, you’re about to find out how right you are,” he snickers and pushes his crotch against you. “One fucking lick at a time.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #the gray man

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owlwithanapple · 1 day ago

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Eternal Engagement

Cowardice and stubbornness

During breakfast, phone rings in a corner of Wayne manor. There's a call. But Alfred has gone out to buy some food. The phone keeps ringing, thinking that if it's an emergency or something unexpected happens, there's really no other way but for you to answer it.

You follow the direction of the sound, approach it and answer it. Before you can say hello, Damian's voice comes from the phone, "Pennyworth, bring me the suit in my closet, the dark one, remember."

"Huh?! Wait a minute, Damian—" Before you tell him a word, the phone beeps, indicating that it has been hung up.

Alfred hasn't come back yet, Damian's tone seems urgent. You feel nervous outside his bedroom door, feel a desolate breath coming from the door. You wonder if he will be angry that you broke into his room without permission. You shake head and take a deep breath. You are Superman's daughter, what are you afraid of?

Turning the doorknob and opening the door with a click, you can see the neat and orderly bedroom at a glance. The desk is full of business folders related to Wayne Enterprises, each with a lot of information, he has put a lot of effort into it. As expected of the heir of the Wayne family, you don't go near the desk to avoid messing it up.

Opening the closet, you are confused. What the hell are these things? All the neat suits are hung inside, but most of them are dark. What exactly is the dark color he is talking about? Does it mean that the inner wear is dark, the outer wear is dark, or both are dark? What is the style of Damian Wayne's clothes? It's hard to tell the difference. You should reflect on yourself and read more fashion magazines.

You touch each piece with hand and feel the texture is very comfortable, each piece has a light fragrance. You take a suit jacket to smell, a light woody fragrance that is not pungent permeates. It smells so good... Wait! Why did you do something perverted?! You quickly put the suit jacket back to its place, almost forgetting the main purpose.

When you woke up, he had followed Bruce to work. Don't know what his style today, white or dark inner wear, have no idea. If Alfred is here, maybe he will choose the right one with his eyes closed. Ignore it, you choose a dark gray suit jacket, a white shirt and a black tie.

You carefully put them neatly into the clothing bag, zip it up and seal it to prevent damage. Next, you have to change your clothes. Bruce and Damian's dressing style is the image role model of Wayne Enterprises. You took out phone and searched for women's wear, the results showed that you were surprised.

You usually wear casual clothes such as tights, sports jackets, tight jeans and sneakers. You have no experience in this kind of dressing, elegant dresses and exquisite and fashionable shoes. You take a deep breath, you can't lose face of Wayne's family, this time you go all out.

Go back to your bedroom and open the closet immediately. Great, there are a few dresses and high heels that Bruce gave you before. It's the first time to try this kind of style, very nervous for no reason. Jon will be shocked to faint on the spot when he sees it, always saying that his sister doesn't like to dress up.

You dress up simply, wearing a white knee-length dress and black low-heeled retro shoes. Open the drawer to find jewelry to wear, and the first thing you see is the ring box with the engagement ring. Damian always wears it on his finger, but you don't. You think about it and decide to wear it this time.

Arriving at Wayne Enterprises —

You stepped into Wayne Enterprises with clothing bag. The exaggerated outdoor and indoor styles are surrounded by busy office workers. It is a place full of vitality and busyness. You saw the receptionist at the front desk just handling business. She put down her phone and typed on the keyboard.

You gathered courage walked forward with clothing bag. You tapped fingers on her desk. She heard it and cast eyes on you. She stood up with a smiles and said tactfully, "Excuse me, is there anything I can help you with? Or do you have any appointments?"

"I'm here to deliver clothes for Mr. Damian." You pointed at the clothing bag.

She raised eyebrows and cast a suspicious look. "I'm sorry that I can't accommodate strangers. It's usually delivered by Mr. Pennyworth. Please go back."

You understand her position, but know from the phone call just now that Damian is in a hurry. "How about you help me deliver it to him? He is in a hurry."

She bowed politely and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, I can't make an exception."

She sat back and continued to work. You sighed but saw the engagement ring. You were Superman's daughter and Damian Wayne's fiancée. You should be confident instead of shrinking like a puppy.

You tapped to attract her attention again. When she wanted to repeat what she just said, you said without hesitation, "Please tell Damian Wayne that his fiancée is here. The name is Y/N Kent."

She was surprised before could start to say anything, you found a seat by the window and sat down. She was stunned for a moment when saw you were not leaving. She had no choice but to call Damian's office. Unintentionally, your super hearing was awakened again, could hear the voices and conversations in the entire building, including the receptionist who was making a call.

"Sorry to bother you, there is a woman who says she is your fiancée who wants to see you. Her name is Y/N Kent." Damian hung up the phone without replying just after she finished speaking. You trembled and clenched your hands, thinking, is he angry?

A few minutes later, your super hearing disappeared again. You pinched earlobe and sighed, why did your superpowers always exist intermittently. The receptionist kept staring at you with a suspicious. The elevator door opened, and Damian walked out. People around him greeted and bowed politely.

The receptionist pointed at you, immediately stood up from your seat and held the bag tightly, nervousness emerging. Damian looked at you was stunned for a second. Your style of dress was completely different from before. If it weren't for the long dark black hair and sea blue eyes, he almost failed to recognize you.

You walked slowly noticed there were traces of coffee on his suit jacket. No wonder he was so anxious to ask Alfred to deliver it. You nervously handed him the bag in your hand, "This is for you. Alfred is not at home. I delivered it as soon as I received the call, but I don't know if this is the one you want..."

He fixed his eyes on the engagement ring, a sense of satisfaction filled his heart. Then there was your dress. He had never seen you dressed so exquisitely. For a moment, the word he thought of was charming. You tilted head curiously because he kept staring at you without saying anything.

You looked down, wondering if your outfit was weird or didn't meet the requirements. He reached out and gently lifted your chin with his fingers to let you look at him. He smiled proudly, "Be more confident, don't look down."

"Oh...." You murmured, he took the bag from you.

Under everyone's attention, he took your hand and led you to the elevator, which quickly went up to his office floor. He took out the access card scanned the door, which opened automatically. It was the first time you stepped into this place, you couldn't help but look around, feeling very cool. He immediately took off his suit jacket and put it on the chair. There was a little trace of coffee on his white inner wear.

He opened the bag took out the dark grey suit jacket, white shirt and black tie you chose. He looked at you with his emerald eyes and raised his eyebrows said, "Did you choose it?"

You nodded slightly and said awkwardly, "Yes, does it not meet your requirements?"

"I didn't say it, don't always overthink about it. I'll go to the back to change, you wait there." He quickly left the office and walked to the bathroom.

You sat in a comfortable chair and waited, suddenly someone opened the door and it was Bruce who walked in. He said with a very serious expression, "Damian, I handed you the documents - eh? Y/N, why are you here? Why are you dressed like this?"

You immediately stood up, "Uncle Alfred is not at home, I brought Damian a change of clothes."

"Wow, that's thoughtful. If I remember correctly, this dress of yours is-" Bruce stared at the dress on you with a smug smile.

"Shut up, father. Don't say unnecessary words." Damian appeared from behind. He had already changed into the clothes you chose. He was adjusting his tie and sleeves.

All the dresses and shoes in your bedroom closet in Wayne manor were not given by Bruce. They were bought by Damian in various countries during his business trips. He is a tsundere, as Dick said, who is stubborn and takes care of his dignity. You didn't know that Damian picked them for you. You mistakenly thought they were given by Bruce.

"Not bad, quite handsome. You have good taste in matching clothes for your future husband." Bruce leaned over looked Damian up and down chuckled.

Damian put the coffee-stained suit jacket and shirt into the bag zipped it up and sealed it. When you reached out to take it, he unexpectedly held your hand and intertwined your fingers. "Father, she and I are going out to have lunch."

He took the garment bag and pulled you out of his office, leaving Bruce alone in a daze. He couldn't help cover his mouth and laugh. He really couldn't get tired of Damian's stubborn personality. Bruce took out his phone secretly took a picture of the back of the two of you holding hands, then found Clark Kent's chat room to send the photo.

CK: Wow, they are making progress.

LL: Hmph! Damn Damian.

BW: Hahaha, give them some time.

CK: Has the little princess changed at all?

BW: Not yet, I will observe for a few more days.

BW: But... she is starting to gain confidence.

LL: Really?! Great! I was really worried that she would feel inferior because she doesn't have super powers.

CK: I believe in her, it just takes some time.

Cafe near Wayne Enterprises -

He parked the car and got out. When you unbuckled seat belt and were about to get out, he opened the passenger door leaned over extend his hand to you. The sun's rays shone on the earth. His emerald eyes looked so clear when you looked at them closely. His height and broad shoulders were enough to block the sun for you. You felt the hand extended to you. If you hadn't held his hand, you really wouldn't have noticed that his hand was so big and warm.

You two have known each other for so long, playing together. At the beginning, he was shorter than you and Jon, but now he has caught up with Jon in height, you still haven't grown taller. When you stand next to him, you are only as tall as his shoulders. The little Robin at the beginning has transformed from a boy into a man. And you are becoming more inferior because you are entangled in the fact that don't have superpowers. You are trapped in the abyss and not as cheerful optimistic as before.

Wonder Damian willing to see your optimistic side now...

You pouted to show dissatisfaction with his height. He raised eyebrows and put his hands on the car door. "What's that expression on your face? Are you dissatisfied with me?"

"You are too tall. Why are you and Jon so tall? What do you eat?" You tilted head and stared at his face, then moved your eyes to his tie.

He raised eyebrows and smiled, not mocking but happy. It has been a long time since he has seen you with this personality. Finally, he has waited for this moment. The naughty and noisy little girl back then. He stretched out hand and ran his finger across the tip of your nose. "Drink more milk, do more exercise, and reduce inferiority complex."

"You are so annoying." You rolled your eyes and moved your eyes to his chest instead of looking directly at him.

"Always." He smiled arrogantly.

You lowered eyes. "Just now, the super hearing appeared again..."

"Really...? Is there anything else abnormal?" He asked, leaning against the car door.

You shook head to indicate no, he sighed silently. He closed the car door walked into the cafe, leaving you alone in the car. A few minutes later, the driver's door opened, he got in the car handed you a bag with cakes in it. He closed the car door and leaned back in his seat with a cup of coffee in his hand, which he put into his mouth and tasted carefully.

"I just contacted Pennyworth, when you return to the manor, go to the batcave immediately. I arranged for him to set up the Meta-Analyzer to test your body." He pinched his nose and fell into deep thought, with a very serious attitude.

"Meta-Analyzer... I didn't have any conclusion at the time." You murmured.

"Maybe there will be changes, or do you not believe in yourself?" He focused his eyes on your face, his tone seemed to hit you but not with bad words.

You opened mouth and closed it again, you were very nervous. Afraid that the conclusion would be the same, but you can't go on like this. As he said, don't be inferior anymore, you are very tired. You showed a firm look and told him, "I believe in myself."

He curled his lips smiled and nodded slightly, "Very well, future Mrs. Wayne."

Late evening -

Damian had just got home from get off work, as soon as he parked his car, Bruce was surprised his son immediately opened the car door and rushed into the manor. He quickly went to the batcave, when arrived, he took off suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves to expose his arms and untied his tie to show his collarbone, and threw it all aside.

"Pennyworth, where is she?" He approached the batcomputer.

"Master Damian, I have handled it as you ordered, she is currently resting in the bedroom." Alfred stood aside and said silently, pouring tea into his cup.

He nodded to show that he understood, cast his eyes on the batcomputer and sat down in the chair immediately, his fingers began to tap the keyboard non-stop, the large screen displayed your test data, and complex chart analysis was displayed at once. Bruce arrived at the batcave and saw Alfred picking up Damian's suit jacket and tie, Damian's eyes were focused on the content displayed on the screen.

After about an hour, he finally sorted out all the analysis and memorized it in his mind. Bruce stood behind him, leaning aside and looking at the big screen. "What's changed?"

"Beyond imagination, it's no longer a mortal's physique. It's the same as Jon's conclusion, the only difference is that her superpowers haven't erupted." Damian leaned back in his chair and sighed silently, tapping the keyboard with his fingers.

Bruce fell into deep thought. "Damian, I've always been curious, are you saying bad things to her to increase her negative emotions in order to force her to use her superpowers?"

Damian, who was drinking tea, trembled in his hands, he didn't answer but chose to remain silent.

"Damian, you can show that you care about her, you don't need to hide it. You are no longer in the League of Assassins now, you can be more-." Bruce gently pressed on his shoulder to try to comfort him.

There was an echo of Damian putting down the cup in the Batcave. He was calm but very nervous inside. He looked at Bruce lowered his eyes with a bitter expression. "Father, I understand your concerns. But what I want to do now is to stimulate her superpowers and rebuild her previous confidence. That's all."

Damian got up from the chair and walked past Bruce. Bruce grabbed his arm to stop him. "Damian, let her step into your life. You want her."

He touched Bruce's hand gently pushed it away. He remained calm and slowly looked at Bruce sighed helplessly. "Father, I'll go to training first."

His footsteps echoed clearly in the batcave, Alfred put his hand on Bruce's shoulder remained silent. Bruce no choice to guide him silently. Maybe one day when Damian is willing to open his heart, things will get better, especially the confusion of both of you.

"Alfred, prepare coffee for me. I need to tell Clark about Y/N's physical changes." He sat down leaned back in the chair. To distract himself from his worries about Damian, his fingers kept tapping the keyboard.

Alfred prepared the coffee put it aside and handed the phone to Bruce. After calling Clark, he told him everything he knew. Clark was of course happy for you when he heard the news, but at the same time, a worry emerged. Although you have superhuman genes, your superpowers are still a mystery.

The Batcave was filled with the sounds of panting and punching. As Bruce was talking to Clark, he noticed through the screen that another surveillance camera was watching Damian in training. His breathing was rapid, movements were a bit messy, and his batarang holding position was not standard. The conversation just now made him uneasy.

"Master Damian is not in good condition today." Alfred stood aside and said frankly.

"Let him be, he is no longer the boy who rushed around." Alfred's frankness was true. Bruce replied calmly continued to discuss your superpowers with Clark, but his eyes would still stay on the big screen.

"Perhaps it was the influence brought by Ms. Talia and the League of Assassins." Alfred's emotionless words made Bruce ponder the past.

Clark was still talking to Bruce on the phone, but distracted and ignored Clark's words. Looking at the big screen with a sharp gaze, a trace of worry surged into his mind. Even if the two were a father and son, he didn't understand Damian thoroughly enough.

"Clark...Did Jon and Y/N have any moments that made you feel helpless?" Bruce revealed the confusion he wanted to express in bitterness.

Clark on the phone fell into silence, thinking for a few seconds to find the right words to guide Bruce "Every moment is helpless. From the time held a little baby in hand until now..."

"Is that so..." Bruce muttered with a sigh of relief.

"But since they choose to be our children, we should accept their growth. Maybe we are helpless, but this is the way to grow up." Clark was confused about this matter, but still maintained an optimistic attitude and expressed his inner thoughts.

"Thanks, Clark. I will learn more about the situation of your little princess, will inform you if there are any problems." Bruce hung up the phone after speaking.

The echo of the fists became clearer, the panting sound was still messy. Pound by pound, the fists hit the dummy with fierce momentum, like a beast gnawing at its prey. Damian kept venting his emotions and releasing confusion, the past in his mind seemed to reappear in his memories.

There was a memory that Damian returned to League Of Assassins, one of his hometowns and birthplaces. He once told his mother Talia about this marriage with you, but he did not get a blessing but Talia's harsh and unpleasant response, "Superman's daughter is your fiancée, well done, son. This is one of the new forces of the future League Of Assassins.

"Mother, what do you mean by this?" He clenched his fists and frowned at her.

"When did you become so stupid, don't you understand? Superman's genes are very strong, an invincible and powerful existence. You marry his daughter, and the new life you two will give birth to in the future will definitely be an indestructible miracle." Talia drew her sword and her delicate fingers touched the line and the tip of the string.

"Giving birth to new life..." He gritted his teeth a trace of anger surged up.

Talia pointed sword at Damian's chest and smiled, but deep in heart she was plotting like a snake. "Your father arranged the only right thing, a wise choice, Superman's daughter and Batman's son. The future League Of Assassins will be stronger, and your grandfather will be glorious."

Damian had a blank expression but was very annoyed. In a rage, he snatched Talia's sword pointed it at her neck. Talia took a step back remained alert. His emotions fluctuated, he swore words to his mother without hesitation, "I don't need her to give birth to any life for me, and this marriage is not for the future of League Of Assassins."

"You are so stupid. You are an assassin. Don't forget you have our blood in body. With such a powerful gene that will merge with you, you don't want to use this opportunity to change the fate of your offspring." Talia said to Damian sarcastically and arrogantly.

"I am also Robin, Batman's sidekick. Even my fiancée has strong genes, it doesn't mean that she needs to become a reproductive tool for the benefit of future generations." After playing with the sword, he threw it on the ground kicked it at Talia's feet, as if he was fearless.

Talia felt that she had said too much and didn't take his feelings into consideration, but in order to make the League of Assassins stronger, she couldn't bear to compromise because of her emotions and Damian was her son. "If I had known this, I shouldn't have let you follow your father. You become weak. If you and your father stood by me, our family would not be broken, we would be strong and indestructible."

"I am the grandson of Ra's al Ghul, the son of you and Bruce Wayne. It is my decision who to follow. And my engagement with her is a matter between the two of us. It is not for anyone else, no one can tell us what to do." Damian retorted her mercilessly.

"Damian al Ghul, you will regret it. She will become our property in the future, and so will you. You two can't escape the fate of the League of Assassins, no matter how invincible you are." Talia glared at him, her words were full of a strong sense of mission and meaningful meaning.

"I will take it as your blessing. Goodbye, mother. I will come again. I hope you don't have anything to do with my life and hers. Damian curled his lips, turned around and walked towards the exit to leave the world full of blood.

Talia stood there watched her son leave, her long dark brown hair fluttering in the wind. She clenched fists and looked at him fiercely, cursing, "Oh my son, Bruce my beloved. You two are as stupid as a little bat hiding in a cave, too weak to be saved."

A stinging feeling brought Damian back to reality from the nightmare memory. You were bandaging the wound on his fist. He did not refuse your touch, but waited quietly for you to treat his bloody fist. You applied a thick layer of cream on his fist and then fixed it with a bandage.

"Thanks. Pennyworth will take care of it, you don't have to do this." The first thing he did was to take back his hand, put the engagement ring on the chain and put it on. Then he stroked his fist with his hand and drew circles on the bandaged part.

You were puzzled by his habit of never taking off his engagement ring, but didn't ask him the reason. You felt a little happy , as if he valued this engagement very much. "Uncle Bruce and Uncle Alfred are busy, I came to the batcave saw you sitting here in a daze..."

"Is that so? Thinking about something, bad memories..." He scratched his head.

You took a towel gently wiped the sweat from his forehead. He shuddered thought you wanted to attack him, because the memory just now made him more alert. But you didn't attack, just wiped his sweat, you murmured "Do you want to tell me? Maybe you will feel better?"

He glanced at you with a thorn in his words "It has nothing to do with you, don't worry about it."

You felt that his attitude indicated that he didn't want to continue the discussion, you nodded slightly to show that you understood. When you were about to leave, he pulled you into his arms, you sat on his lap. He held your waist tightly with both hands, your back leaned against his chest, his face buried on your shoulders. A wave of tension came over you , and his breath on your skin made you feel itchy.

"Damian?? What's wrong with you?" You said with a tremor in your voice.

Recalling what Talia said, he didn't dare to tell you what his mother said. He didn't dare to imagine that he and you had fallen to that state, creating nightmares for him to give birth to life. He didn't need you to give birth to life for him and League Of Assassins, he just wanted you to be happy, but he couldn't say these words "I'm fine, stay like this for a while, okay?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder and nodded silently, holding his arm around your waist with both hands to give him a little comfort "Okay."

— Chapter 3 The End —

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parikhje-blog · 2 years ago

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#sugaals #sports shoes #black boots #shoesformen #shoes for women

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empresskylo · 1 year ago

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beneath the mask ✩ chapter 8 ⬅ch.7

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. alcohol. nsfw. wc 4.8k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | had the pleasure of writing this chapter... also the fic is at 27k words already! whoo, this is officially my longest fic.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“we’re all meetin’ down at the local pub, if you’d care t’join,” soap said, leaning against the doorway of the infirmary with his arms crossed over his chest.

you looked up from your clipboard and raised a brow. “oh, yeah?”

“yeah. the men could use a load off.”

he was right. it had been a tense week at base as the men worked on tracking down hassan and going out on missions but turning up with no luck. it was frustrating and tiring. you could see it in their drained faces.

the infirmary was empty for the night, no one having any substantial injuries that required overnight care, so you figured it’d be alright to go with them.

“yeah, okay,” you said, nodding your head in agreement.

“sweet!” soap’s reply made you smile. he always made you feel wanted.

something in you yearned to ask if ghost was going to be there, but that would just raise alarms. and as daft as johnny could be, you didn’t want to risk him finding out about your little… crush . ghost’s words rang in your head and you quickly abandoned that thought process, a flush rising on your face and chest.

you stood in your room feeling like an imposter. you glanced at yourself in the mirror and debated multiple times on removing your dress, but you really had nothing else nice to wear.

all you had in your wardrobe was workout wear and your uniform. you just never found yourself needing much more than that. you mentioned your lack of a wardrobe to your friend in the infirmary and she immediately offered her assistance. “i have the cutest little dress you can wear! i think you’re my size…” she said as she looked between the two of you.

you felt your face warm. “a dress? oh, i don’t know,” you said with a nervous laugh. “don’t you think that will be a bit much for a bar?”

“no! we’re always in these drab clothes,” – she gestured between the two of you – “it will feel good to put on something feminine for once. trust me.”

“oh, are you saying i don’t look feminine?” you teased, gesturing to your outfit which was a dark shirt, cargo pants, and boots.

she rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag, ready to head back to her room. “shut up and follow me.”

now you were standing alone in your room and rethinking everything. the dress was simple: black, just short enough, and flattered your figure. but you still felt odd in it. after seeing yourself in your uniform for so long, this felt completely out of the ordinary.

you played with the hem and debated changing. but what would you change into? sweatpants?

you made a note to get some casual wear – jeans, a simple top, a sweater maybe – just things to wear on your off days.

before you could talk yourself out of it more, you slid on the flats your friend has also let you borrow and you fumbled out of your room.

it was nice enough out, and the bar was pretty close, so you decided to walk, your friend beside you. “you look hot,” she said. a smile was dragged out of you, not used to such compliments. she sported a similar outfit: a shorter dress, simple shoes, her hair down in waves.

she hooked her arm around yours and you both giggled. maybe it would be nice to feel normal for a bit. to go out like most women your age do on the weekends.

you wondered if johnny and the others were already there. maybe you should have told him to wait for you so you could go together.

you pushed your hair out of your face as the wind blew and looked up at the stars. it was such a beautiful night. you deserved this . you deserved to have a little fun.

and you knew the men did this rather often. but that was before you had become friends with johnny and slowly with the others as well. now you were officially invited to things like this and it made your chest flutter with acceptance.

the bar was a bit grungier than you expected, its windows blacked out, the sign light flickering, a group of motorcyclists outside smoking. your friend looked the men outside up and down, intrigued, and you heard them whistle back at her. “let's go,” you said, pulling her along with you.

you both pushed your way inside and were greeted with the smell of sweat, alcohol, too much cologne, and burning wood. the bar was dimly lit and there was already a crowd of people inside.

you felt nervous as you scanned the room for someone you knew. you spotted soap and gaz in the corner and you smiled. your friend slipped away from you, seeing her friends at the bar, but not before making sure you were okay. you nodded to her then made your way towards soap.

“soap!” you said cheerfully, making the man spin to face you.

his face lit up, looking you up and down. “you clean up nice.”

“wish I could say the same,” you laughed. he gave you a cheeky grin in return.

your growing smile faltered when you saw a looming figure behind soap at the table. ghost .

shit. shit. shit .

you could feel his eyes on you and you shifted uncomfortably on the heels of your feet.

soap noticed your empty hand. “let me get you a drink,” he said over the noise and slipped off to the bar.

you awkwardly turned to the table and greeted gaz who was talking with a few other men you recognized but couldn’t remember their names.

you couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering over to where ghost was sitting he wore a black hoodie that he had pulled over his head, his balaclava mask, and dark jeans and boots. his hands rested on the table and he was still staring at you.

letting him win, you turned away. why did things have to be so weird between you two? were you the one making things uncomfortable?

before you could wallow in your thoughts, soap appeared beside you again and handed you a beer.

“i’m not supposed to take drinks from strange men,” you teased.

“ha. ha. very funny, lass.”

you nudged him in the shoulder.

“hey,” a voice said beside you. you looked up and saw commander graves approaching your table. “fuck,” he said, taking you in. “i didn’t recognize you. you look great,” he complimented.

you thanked him a bit awkwardly. soap reached over you and wrapped an arm over your shoulders protectively. “i don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at her,” johnny said towards graves.

graves laughed, raising his hands in surrender. you rolled your eyes at the nonsense of these two men. “i can do my own bidding,” you said up to soap.

“you heard her, she can turn me down herself,” graves teased.

you smiled, all three of you laughing, however, your smile broke when ghost got up and left the table.

“what’s his problem?” you asked soap, trying to sound casual, taking a sip of the cold beer.

“honestly, m’not sure. he’s been like this all week.”

you nodded, wanting to pry more, but that would be a bit conspicuous, so you just drank your beer and fell into conversation with the men around you.

three beers and three shots later, you were slurring your words slightly as you argued with the table about how you had the ability to multiply any set of numbers in your head.

“you’ve got a calculator under there,” gaz said, referring to your hands conveniently placed under the table.

you held your hands up, “go ahead. ask me another.”

soap laughed and spewed off a random combination of numbers, “four hundred eighty-six, times three thousand five hundred and seven.” gaz quickly punched the numbers into his phone's calculator.

you took a moment, the gears in your head turning, before answering. “one million, seven hundred four thousand, four hundred and two.”

the other two men beside gaz leaned over to look at his phone screen to read the correct answer.

“well, i’ll be fucked,” gaz said astonished, all the men gaping up at you.

you smiled and did a little twirl in victory. “i believe you owe me a drink, kyle.”

gaz nodded before standing. “honestly, i’m not even mad,” he said before passing you and going to the bar.

you turned to soap, “i’m going to the restroom. i’ll be right back. make sure gaz doesn’t spit in my drink.”

he smirked and nodded then focused back on the guys who were now spewing out nonsense about who could down a beer the quickest. personally, your bet was on soap.

you laughed to yourself and made your way through the moving bodies. once you made it through the crowd, there was a small, dark hallway in the corner of the bar with two bathrooms at the end. it was a lot less busy over here and the music rang far quieter in your ears, you were thankful for the reprieve.

as you edged around the corner you tripped and stumbled, laughing to yourself as you did. two arms caught you and you giggled at how drunk you were. “t-thank you,” you muttered. you finally focused on the person’s arms and spotted tattoos peeking out of their rolled-up sleeves. your eyes went wide and you quickly snapped your head up. simon .

“s-sorry,” you said, trying to get untangled from his grip and lock yourself away in the bathroom out of embarrassment.

“wait,” he clutched your arm and pulled you back to him. it was easy for him to move you, like you weighed nothing to him. that sent both a thrill of fear and excitement through your body.

you clashed into his chest and immediately tried to gain a bit of space between you two. you hesitated but looked up at him as he loomed over you. to anyone else, they would be terrified to be faced with a man in a dark hallway, his hood pulled, his face covered, and his stance over six feet. but you knew ghost. knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

“what?” you asked, a bit more snippy than you intended.

his hands lingered on your arm, tightening briefly before letting go. “are you with johnny?” the seriousness in his tone surprised you.

you scoffed. “what?” you were certainly taken aback. then you got a bit annoyed. “is there something wrong if i was?” you rolled your eyes and bit the inside of your lip. “I’ll have you know, there’s nothing forbidden about soap and i. there’d be no conflict of interest. so really, you have no right t-to ask.” you hiccuped on your last sentence and crossed your arms over your chest, trying to look assertive.

“how much have you had to drink?” he demanded.

“ god, ghost,” you threw your hands up in defeat. “what does it matter? why do you care? me being drunk or s-sleeping with soap has nothing t’do with you. and my intoxication level has nothing to d-do with what i’m feeling.”

“so, you are with him, then?” his eyes darkened as he glared at you from beneath his mask. a smudge of his black face paint was still circled around his eyes, making him appear cynical and slightly terrifying.

you laughed, he was missing the point. “no. jesus . i’m not with soap. we’re friends ,” you dragged out the ‘s’.

you stared at him, waiting for him to say something. you decided if he didn’t answer in the next few seconds, you were going to turn around and walk away. this outing was supposed to be fun.

just as you were about to sidestep him, he took a step towards you. you actually had to crane your head back now to look at him. “you know why i care? why i’m askin’ you all this?” you could smell the whiskey on him and it sent a shiver through you.

you shook your head. “no. that’s what i’ve been asking you ,” you whined in mental exhaustion, your voice was far quieter than mere moments ago. the anger behind your words seemed to have left you. “enlighten me. tell me why you’ve been so hot n’ cold lately,” you whispered, losing all your momentum as his eyes flickered between yours. “do you hate me, or n-not?!”

one of ghost’s hands came up and tucked a tendril of your hair behind your ear. your lips parted in a silent gasp. his fingers tickled as they barely brushed over your skin. you swallowed and his hand cupped the side of your face, his fingers slipping into your hair. he leaned forward and you felt your breath get caught in your throat, your eyes widening in surprise. all sane thoughts left your body. all that filled your senses was him. simon.

he used his free hand to snake up between your bodies and push his mask up to his nose, exposing his stubble and scars. “ i’m going to kiss you now ,” he mumbled. he lingered a moment, giving you enough time to escape his hold, but you stayed rooted in place.

in a painfully slow motion, simon leaned forward, hunching over and pulling your face up to meet him, and placed his lips on yours.

your eyes fluttered shut and you felt a race of adrenaline pump through you. his hand was gentle as he caressed your face, pulling you further and further into him. you couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

your lips moved out of sync for a moment but you quickly learned how to flow together. your hands instinctively reached out and fisted his shirt, allowing you to extend higher up into him and also keep your balance.

he turned you so your back hit the wall, making a squealing noise sound in the back of your throat, his free hand going to your hip, pushing you backward. he pressed his body into yours, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip and then slipping into your mouth.

you groaned into the kiss as he consumed you, his body shielding you completely. if someone saw ghost from behind, they’d have no idea you were pinned underneath him.

you gasped as he pulled away, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“simon… i—“ you began, panting as you spoke, trying to catch your breath.

your hands were still lost in his shirt, his hand still on your hip, but his other one was now on the wall beside your head. “don’t talk.” he kissed you again before you could protest. his lips felt so soft against yours, his stubble tickling you. his hand on the wall couldn’t stop itself from coming back to the side of your cheek, wanting to kiss you as deep as he possibly could. he was truly stealing the breath away from you.

your body rolled into his and you heard him grunt in the back of his throat. it was one of the hottest sounds you’ve ever heard. you felt like you were getting high off him, as he attacked your mouth with such fervor and heady need.

when he pulled away again, you gaped up at him. his eyes danced between yours, appraising you. trying to cypher through your thoughts. you looked at him through your eyelashes, waiting for him to speak or to move. you felt frozen in time. like if you moved, the illusion of him would fade away into a puff of smoke.

then he moved you in a haze, your eyes focused solely on his silhouette. he grabbed your hand, engulfing it with his own, and pulled you into one of the single-person bathrooms.

“what’re you—?”

he shut the door behind the two of you, locked it, and pushed you up against it, your feet rising so you were standing on the tips of your toes. he was panting again, completely succumbing to what he explicitly told himself not to do. the alcohol gave him just strength to suppress the voice yelling at him in his head.

then he kissed you again. this time rough and hungry. your body fell limp as you let him hold you up, his mouth moving against yours in sync. your arms reached up and draped across his shoulders, both of you fighting for dominance, but you gave up rather quickly and let him win.

simon’s hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough of you. any rational thought about pushing him away vanished. you knew you needed to talk about things — to figure out what he wanted from you. but right now, all you wanted was whatever this was.

“this goddamn dress ,” he murmured in between kisses, his voice husky and low. your chest rushed with flames at his words, knowing that you were affecting him by simply wearing a short dress, and it made you clench your thighs together.

simon’s hands went to the hem of your dress and he pushed it up, your body hot and clammy as his hand gilded along your skin. he nipped at your lip, his hand slowly descending between your legs. when he got to the apex of your thighs, he softly dragged his fingers across you, forcing you to moan into his mouth.

“i fuckin’ hate seeing you with other guys,” he said hoarsely.

you looked at him, a bit dazed, and still intoxicated — but now by more than just alcohol. “what?” you said breathlessly.

“soap. gaz,” he said flatly. “graves,” he said the commander's name with more anger, his fingers beginning to slide up and down you above your underwear.

you gripped his shoulders. “okay,” you hastily spoke, still not understanding him, but also not wanting him to stop.

he pushed your underwear to the side and you were thankful you wore one of your skimpier pairs tonight. as his fingers glidded across you, his fingers getting coated with your arousal, he spoke again. “jus’ with me,” he said.

just with him? what the fuck was he talking about? you nodded anyway. “just with you,” you repeated.

“ good girl .” your heart fluttered in your chest at his praise. you never knew those two words could sound so heavenly. but when ghost’s thick accent growled them out breathlessly, you found your core warming more than you thought possible.

simon pressed two fingers against your entrance, his lips now attacking your neck. you were trying to catch your breath, your mind fogged, your body limp, your heart racing.

when he pushed them both in, you gasped rather loudly. “ ohmygod ,” you slurred. you were beginning to pant wildly.

you could feel him smile ever so slightly against you. “ mmm ,” he hummed.

he slowly began to move his fingers, your body ready for him and letting him move with ease. “ so fuckin’ wet for me ,” he mumbled.

you clutched onto his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut as you focused on the feeling of him inside you. he curled his fingers slightly as he went, pumping them in and out at a decent speed, your body squelching with each thrust.

normally, you might be a bit self-conscious about being vocal the first time you were intimate with a new person, but you literally could not contain your sounds. you moaned and mewled, crying out when he sped up, his palm bumping your clit each time his fingers went in as far as they could.

he felt you clenching around him and he marveled at how fast you were approaching your orgasm. it’s not that he had any doubts in his ability, but he’s never made a woman come quite this fast. and you had never had a man make you come this fast either. it was new for both of you.

one of your legs hooked around simon’s thigh, wanting to take him as deep as you could. “fuck,” he grunted, his free hand palming your breast over your dress. “you gonna come for me already, pet?”

you nodded your head repeatedly, raspy breaths the only response you could vocalize.

“go on then,” he commanded, keeping his speed.

your walls spasmed around his fingers and your head buried against his chest. your legs began to shake as you felt yourself reach your high. “fuck, fuck, oh fuck !” ghost engulfed you, holding you up and into him while you clutched him in desperation.

you moaned into his chest and you could hear him panting above you — as if he had just climaxed too.

he kept moving his fingers, making sure to bump your clit, letting you ride out your orgasm to completion.

when you stopped shaking and were trying to catch your breath, he slowed and eased his fingers out of you.

neither of you moved. you were still clinging to him and he still had his hands around you, your leg propped on his waist.

after several beats of silence while you both gasped for air, your hands snaked down his body and fiddled with his belt. you felt simon straighten slightly at your touch, his hand slipping into your hair and making you look at him.

you succeeded in undoing his belt and you let him tilt your head up toward him. “you don’t have t—“ your hand slid into his pants and grabbed him, cutting him off. he was painfully hard and he groaned the second he felt your fingers on him.

simon cleared his throat, trying to concentrate as you slowly began to stroke his length. “i’m serious. you d-don’t have to,” he stuttered.

a lazy smile filled your lips knowing how intensely you were affecting him. “i wanna,” you whispered.

simon’s eyes opened and searched yours, looking for any sign of… displeasure?

you let your leg fall to your side and you both untangled your bodies. you pushed his chest, baking him up against the sink so he was half sitting on the counter. you pried his pants down enough to free him completely. he watched you intently as you fell to your knees. he was thankful he had the counter for support because seeing you drop to your knees before him made him want to do the same.

god, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to last. he was already impossibly hard from hearing you moan at his touch. and now you were on your knees, begging to suck him off. he was absolutely fucked.

you gulped, realizing how big he was. simon murmured your name and you immediately took him in your mouth.

“ugh— fuck —!” he cried. one of your hands grabbed his base where your mouth couldn’t reach and you started a steady rhythm, bobbing your head up and down. your hand made twisting motions and your tongue pressed against his cock as you sucked.

“jus’ like that,” he groaned, his hand coming out to tangle in your hair. his other hand gripped the countertop, holding it so harshly he thought he might crack the porcelain.

you came up for a breath and a bit of spit dribbled out of your mouth and onto his cock. simon groaned, his hips begging to buck forward.

you took him in again and simon’s grip in your hair tightened. “not gonna last much— f-fuck —longer,” he said through bated breaths.

you hummed against him and the vibrations made his cock twitch. he gently bucked his hips forward and you gagged. the noises you were making were so obscene, and simon wanted them ingrained in his brain forever.

“god, pet. you feel so fuckin’ good .”

you sucked at the tip of his cock and began to stroke him at a more erratic pace. then you slipped him back in and his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag again.

“if you d-don’t want me to come in your mouth, you better stop n-now,” he moaned, his head tilting back slightly in pure ecstasy.

you continued to work him, wanting to taste him. and with a few more bobs of your head and jerk of your hands, simon came in your mouth.

the hoarse moan he made sent a wave of pleasure between your legs, making you ache to fully have him. you held your mouth in place but continued to suck, making simon’s legs shake slightly. his hand in your hair was now painfully grasping at you but you didn’t mind.

simon moaned your name as he slowly came back to earth. you popped him out of your mouth and caught your breath, looking up at him. his cheeks were flushed where his mask was pushed up and he was looking at you in astonishment.

you were kneeling before him, swallowing his come, blinking at him through your eyelashes, your dress still hiked up a bit too high and you’d hair disheveled. you were a fucking work of art and simon was so fucking screwed.

reality came crashing down on him and he let go of your hair and stood up from the counter, pulling his pants up and redoing his belt.

he pulled his mask down and you rose in apprehension at his sudden shift.

“i’m sorry,” he said.

you furrowed your bows. “for what?”

simon cleared his throat, trying to gain some distance from you. “i shouldnt have taken advantage of you.”

you gave a mirthless smile. “i told you i wanted to. you didn’t take advantage—“

he breathed your name. “you want something i can’t give.”

“you don’t know what i want,” you said with more merit, but you hugged your arms over your body which said the opposite.

“you’re not the kinda girl for a quick fuck. and i can’t do all the–” he gestured around him with his hands, “– strings.”

you looked at him with hurt in your eyes. simon wished he could take back what he said. but he kept going anyway, sabotaging himself.

“you looked good in your dress. that’s all. m’sorry.”

you gulped, nodding your head but averting your eyes. you swallowed back tears and stood there dumbfounded for a moment.

you turned to leave the bathroom. you wanted to get as far away as possible from him.

he called out your name and reached for your arm.

“don’t!” you shouted, shrugging him off and storming out of the bathroom and back into the bar.

ghost cursed under his breath as the door slowly shut. he turned and put both hands on the sink’s counter and hung his head. why was he this fucking stupid? why did he hurt you like that?

why did he lie to you ?

it was true — he didn’t think he could do a proper relationship — but what wasn’t true was that you were simply a warm body to him. no. he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. he had been thinking about you against his will for weeks now. and seeing you in that dress, looking up at him with such soft eyes, he was done for.

he had never had butterflies when he kissed someone. but with you, his stomach did flips and his heart raced in his chest. he should have stopped then. he couldn’t give you what you wanted. and he couldn’t give himself what he wanted.

it was like he thrived on punishing himself. he didn’t deserve good things. and good things never last. the way you pulled at him led him to believe that he wouldn’t fully recover if he let you get close just to leave him. so he couldn’t let himself get to that point with you.

and you were innocent and full of hope. you’d hate him once you got to know him. he’d been hurt too many times to count and he thought he had forgotten what it was like to love — to have someone you care about. he wasn’t sure he even knew how to love anymore. he’d hurt you. and he was your superior. it was a disaster waiting to unravel.

but bloody fuckin’ hell, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to feel what he just felt in that shitty bar bathroom with anyone else. and that scared him.

he could chase after you. you probably hadn’t gotten very far. he could explain everything. tell you upfront about his concerns. you could discuss this like adults. he could let himself have something good for once in his life. but he didn’t feel like he deserved it… deserved you.

he stayed in the bathroom, sick of his face, and punished his reflection, slamming his fist against the mirror, and shattering it. his knuckles coated with blood and he growled. he threw the bathroom door open and startled the two people waiting outside it.

“what the fuck—you okay, man?” the stranger asked noticing ghost’s hand.

ghost pushed past them and left the bar, but not before spotting you with soap. you were drunk and he needed to be sure you’d get back safely.

he saw tears staining your cheeks and a pang of guilt filled him as he stormed out of the bar.

chapter 9 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

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tenthmuseondine · 9 months ago

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The Back Pearl of Braavos and 16th century Venetian Fashion:

There is a common consensus among fans that Braavos - a city sited on a group of small islands that are linked by bridges and walkways, divided by canals, channels and waterways of varying size - is heavily inspired by Italian mercantile/maritime republics, of which Venice is the most famous.

Furthermore, the canal-based, inter-connecting island architecture is not the only similarity between Braavos and Venice; both cities are famed for their courtesans.

Indeed in 16th century, Venice was famed for its many elaborately dressed and coiffed courtesans; Veronica Franco (1546–1591) is a famous example! She developed her position in Renaissance Venetian society as a cortigiana onesta (Honest Courtesan), known for her notable clientele, feminist advocacy, literary contributions, and philanthropy.

Her fictional parallel in ASOIAF could be Bellegere Otherys II - one of the famed courtesans in Braavos (the other being Daughter of the Dusk). We know Bellegere comes from a family of courtesans, bearing the title of Black Pearl of Braavos - a moniker borne by a descendant of Bellegere Otherys I, the first Black Pearl, a pirate queen who became a mistress of Aegon IV Targaryen.

The eldest bastard daughter of King Aegon IV and Bellegere, Bellenora Otherys, became a courtesan under the same name. Bellenora's descendants became courtesans as well, each eventually bearing the name "Black Pearl".

We can also assume that Bellegere is rather wealthy, owning her own barge and servants to pole her to trysts and when purchasing three cockles from Arya, who is disguised as Cat of the Canals, paying ten times what the cockles are worth. This wealth is directly reflected in her clothing!

"She was so lovely that the lamps seemed to burn brighter when she passed. She had dressed in a low-cut gown of pale yellow silk, startling against the light brown of her skin. Her black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts." (TWOW, Mercy)

The aforementioned "low-cut gown" immediately brings to mind the 16th century gowns worn by Venetian courtesans!

Look at this art print of a Venetian Courtesan (Cortigiana Veneta) published by Pietro Bertelli in 1591.

Notice the incredibly low and exposed neckline of the gown!

It is important to mention, however, that not only courtesans dressed this way. Venetian noblewomen of the 16th century also bared their breasts in keeping with the fashion of the day.

For example, look at this art print of a Venetian Bride (Sposa Veneta), also by Pietro Bertelli. There is virtually no difference; perhaps that is why the civic authorities decried the courtesans' deliberately misleading resemblance to 'honest women.'

In some portrayals, the Venetian woman's neckline opens almost immediately below the breast!

In Dress of Venetian Women (Habiti delle Donne Venetiane) ca. 1591–1610, the engravings done by Giacomo Franco show ornately dressed courtesans and respectable women, all of whom sport very low cut bodices.

In the second plate we see a depiction of parentado, or the ritual presentation of a bride to her relations. Here, a bride in a richly embroidered dress wearing pearls and a bejeweled crown is presented by her ballerino, a dance instructor who prevented the woman from toppling over in her chopines, or platform shoes.

In conclusion, in depicting Bellegere Otherys - the Black Pearl of Braavos - I would most definitely illustrate her wearing a gown inspired by 16th century Venetian dress (worn by both courtesans and noblewomen). She'd look rather striking I think.

#asoiaf #Black Pearl of Braavos #Venetian fashion #16th century #bellegere otherys #fashion thoughts

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pillow-anime-talk · 1 year ago

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big tiddy goth girlfriend.

request: hi, i was just wondering, what do you think the characters from knb would think of the “big tiddy goth gf” look? like which characters would gravitate towards her and which ones wouldn’t be as into it?

# tags: headcanon; current relationships or friendships or sympathy stages; romance; a bit of comedy; also fluff; goth!reader; simps!boys; sfw & suggestive

includes: female reader ft. makoto hanamiya, shinji koganei, yukio kasamatsu, shintarou midorima, junpei hyuuga, kouji kobori, tetsuya kuroko, nash gold jr. & aomine daiki {knb}

author’s note: hahaha i love this request!

— MAKOTO

↘ INTO IT; I think Makoto loves girls like that, and that’s definitely his favorite type of woman. His dark hair and manner indicate that he could dress like this himself, but he definitely feels best in sports clothes. Personally, I think that you have similar taste in music and you get along great when it comes to your characters. You are the perfect woman for him, and he feels really good knowing that he has a girlfriend just like you. He loves to brag about you and loves when you wear thigh highs, black skirts, lace tops and little spider hair clips. He also appreciates your make-up and if you have the opportunity, you often go to shopping malls together in search of interesting, perfect clothes for you (he often spoils you and buys you various gifts).

— SHINJI

↘ INTO IT; He doesn’t look like it, but he loves dominant women with a strong character and distinctive looks. Although you dress in dark colors, you have heavy make-up and you can argue with the other person, he thinks you’re a really beautiful and neat girl. He won’t hide the fact that he loves to look at you and in his eyes you are an extremely attractive girl. He pays you a lot of compliments and likes when you hold his hand or kiss him on the cheek in public. You are definitely opposites of each other, but that doesn’t stop you from doing anything!

— YUKIO

↘ 50/50; He doesn’t mind your style, but he doesn’t find it amazing either. He often compliments you, but sometimes he smiles jokingly saying that you look like a “corpse bride”. He’s not doing it to offend you and you know it, so don’t be sad! You’ve been friends for many years and you often tease each other – he calls you a “witch” and you call him a “little foosball player”. Your different tastes don’t bother the two of you and you respect each other’s choices very much. Although Yukio has wanted to see you in plain jeans and a white T-shirt more than once, he absolutely does not force you to change your style or behavior. He still considers you a beautiful person with an wonderful character and great intelligence.

— SHINTAROU

↘ NOT INTO IT; Definitely not his type. I think Shintarou likes modest girls in floral dresses, so you’ll probably never be in a relationship. However, your distinctive clothing style doesn’t stop him from calling you “friend”. After all, despite your specific appearance, Shintarou really thinks you are an interesting and really nice girl. He often teases you for looking like you’ve come to a funeral or celebrated Halloween every day, but he still appreciates your efforts in choosing waterproof eyeliners or shoes that always go well with your ripped pants or high-neck blouses.

— JUNPEI

↘ NOT INTO IT; He is not a fan of this style. He finds you a really attractive woman, but your style is completely at odds with his person. He prefers straight jeans to those short chain skirts you love to wear, but despite that (and unlike Shintarou or Yukio) he takes your person quite seriously. He doesn’t tease you, but rather asks quite interesting questions about why you’re wearing >this< and where you bought >that<. He’s just curious, you know. You intimidate him a bit, but it’s still not a style he would personally want to wear.

— RYOUTA

↘ INTO IT; Kise is a simple man and loves women regardless of their height, weight, skin color, hair color, clothing style, music they listen to or food they like. He loves all women, so you are definitely no exception! Your relation (i.e. friendship, relationship or sibling relation) is amazing and he loves you madly and truly cherish every inch of you. He always compliments your all clothes and hairstyle with a smile, as well as all the accessories you’re wearing – from black hair clips to a bracelet on your left hand. You talk a lot about your appearance and sometimes he asks you to dress him the way you dress. He’s a really positive and understanding guy!

— KOUJI

↘ NOT INTO IT; He’s rather afraid of you, even though he seems like a really brave guy! He doesn’t like such styles and is definitely on big “no”! Nevertheless, he likes you as a person and the two of you get along really well (sometimes you work on projects together at school/work). From time to time, just for fun, you suggest to do his make-up, but each time he refuses and runs away to another room. He is a good friend to whom you can complain when it comes to the lack of your favorite mascara or the sold-out shoes you wanted to buy for a long time. In conclusions: Kouji is the type of guy who is attracted to petite girls with long hair, light make-up, and a decidedly different appearance than yours.

— TETSUYA

↘ 50/50; I have a vision in my mind that Tetsuya generally likes your style a lot, but only when you wear colors other than black. He likes you very much in the version of snow white, pastel pink or delicate blue. He finds you attractive and that won’t change, but I think he has his favorite versions of your clothes and make-up. He really likes when your face is lit up and your eyes are covered with pretty color. He often advises you on the choice of clothes for your meetings or/and dates. He’s happy when you wear what he asks you to wear, but when you choose your own clothes, he doesn’t mind. Although he is an introvert, he also likes to go to concerts with you and you always have a good time together.

— NASH

↘ INTO IT; Yeah, Nash is also a simple guy. He loves your style, especially when you show a little more skin than usual. He always compliments your clothes and body positively, often bragging about you among friends/family or on his social media. He likes to touch your thighs in torn tights, to look at your naked back and neck covered with many necklaces, and also appreciates the sight of your huge breasts compressed by a corset. With him you always feel attractive and feminine, and at the same time indescribably appreciated and desirable.

— AOMINE

↘ INTO IT; I think Daiki has two very different types of women – the first one is a cute and ice tea-loving petite girl who spends a lot of time reading books and feeding wild birds, while the second type of woman he is attracted to is a “big tiddy goth one” who loves cars and motorcycles, loud music, who loves to dress boldly, and her make-up is always powerful and matched to the outfit. Aomine adores you and is really happy that you two are couple. He likes to flaunt the fact that you two are dating and is always teasing his teammates that they will never find a girl as sexy and graceful as his partner.

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