#how many diamonds does it have for it to cost that

[ishikawayukis]

they need to stop telling us how much celebrities jewelry and clothes cost because that only makes me want to fucking burn it all

[trivia-yandere]

dilemma 2

"car sex looks so much easier in the movies." part one @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @investedreader @

warning: semi-public sex, car sex, dirty talk, drugdealer yoongi yas, smoking/"drug" use, mentions of drugs, guns, sexual enhancement pill, kissing, oral sex (f/m), fingering, nipple sucking, riding, creampie, unprotected sex, ass-slapping,

word count: 7.139

kinktober masterlist

“Each time I see you, you get something more bold.” the nail tech speaks as she carefully adds the clear coat onto your nails. “You always keep me on my toes. I never know what to expect.”

You giggle a bit with a curt nod to your head. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t me choosing these designs?”

Yoongi had been the one to tell you all he wished for you to get - and you never went against it. He was the one paying for it. You recall one of the many times you and he were hanging out. He would always insist that you didn’t have to buy whenever you wanted weed, a perk that you didn’t wish to take advantage of. 

Yoongi understood that you were stubborn at times and instead decided that you two can smoke together and it wouldn’t be considered “free” if he was smoking it with you - as if you didn’t know he “accidently” left some behind for you whenever he left.

That, and it always ended with you and Yoongi fucking. You blamed it on you being high but you and him both understood that even sober would you be willing to fuck him. 

After a smoke session that soon lead to a fuck session, Yoongi had mentioned how your nails would look nice a light blue color and had offered to pay for it, no matter the cost. Him handing you $200 wasn’t what you expected - his excuse was he didn’t know how much nails cost.

Typical Yoongi response.

“Boyfriend?” she asks, eyes glancing up at you. “You always get designs and add bling.”

You lick your lip, unsure of how to respond.

Yoongi wasn’t your boyfriend - he never asked you. 

Sure you and he would often spend time together when you weren’t working and he wasn’t…doing whatever it was that he did. He never truly did tell you what he sells besides weed, but did you truly wish to know? Just like he said before - ignorance is bliss.

Yoongi and you would go places that could be considered dates - says your friends - and apparently acted like a couple. He would buy you things randomly, items he thought you’d enjoy and of course he does pay for your nails simply because he likes the way they look on you.

“Something like that.” was your response, unsure of what you were truly expected to respond with. 

There’s a ringing noise indicating that there’s a door opening. You raise your brow in confusion as it was already dark outside and the salon is closed and has been for over an hour now. You typically choose the later appointments at times and Yoongi would pick you up.  

“Ah, is this the boyfriend?”

Your head whips around to see Yoongi in the flesh. He steps closer, sauntering towards you with such a cool and nonchalant swag about him. Your heart jolts at just the sight of him, dressed casually; dark grassy colored shirt with light-washed gray jeans and his infamous Nikes that he wore that he had in nearly every color. 

Yoongi always wore jewelry, his wrist holding expensive gold bracelets and watches. His ears typically held little silver or gold hoops or the occasional diamond earrings. Witnessing him wearing a diamond studded chain around his neck, matched with another looser one that slightly sways as he walks. 

“Yoongi.” you say as he reaches you, your body warms at his sudden appearance. “I…I should be done soon. Were you waiting long?”

“Just stopping by. Have to make a quick stop before we go out to eat.” Yoongi shakes his head, dark eyes glancing down to your nails. “I like your nails. They’re nice.”

You couldn’t help but smile, looking at your nails with the design Yoongi picked out - full of different shining gems that he insisted you get, again, no matter the cost.

Yoongi goes through his pocket and grabs his wallet. He turns his eye to the nail tech who’s already watching in curiosity. Sometimes, not all, does Yoongi wear rings. They could be subtle, simple silver rings. Today, however, was not a subtle day. His index, middle, ring and pink display diamond-studded rings that say “SUGA”, and all you can do was snicker.

“Hopefully this is enough.” Yoongi says, handing her a wad of cash. You want to scoff at the insane amount of money he was handing her. “This is too much-” the nail tech widens her eyes a bit, looking between you and Yoongi. “It’s-”

“Fine.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders. “It’s fine. You can pocket the rest.” he assures, turning feline-like eyes to you. “You always do an amazing job.”

You have the urge to roll your eyes at him, but you cannot contain the soft smile that creeps onto your lips.

“You always show off like this?” the nail tech asks, placing your hand beneath the uv light. She wasn’t going to complain as you became her top client - always returning biweekly for a new set and leaving a hefty tip. Now she understands why - the man with diamond, sparkling jewelry.

“It’s pocket change..” Yoongi snorted. His hands, calloused and warm, grabs your dried ones and he leans down a bit to press a kiss onto your hand. He winks, the flirtatious Yoongi returning for just a moment before he nods his head at you. “I’ll pick you up no later than an hour.”

Yoongi’s car is parked directly in front of the salon, you and the nail tech watching as he gets into it and speeds off down the road. You haven’t realized you were holding your breath until you let it out.

“That’s…him.” you murmur, shaking your head. 

“That’s your man.” The tech nods her head in confirmation. “No doubt about it. You need to fuck him tonight.”

Your body heats up at her words and you begin to laugh nervously. Your nails are done now and you sit as she begins to clean her station, along with speaking with you.

“How long have you and him been together?”

“Not long��” you respond. “...I’ve known him forever. He would always sell me weed in college and I just never stopped going to him.”

“I knew it.” the tech gasps, her eyes widening as if you’ve told her the juiciest gossip ever. “At first, I was thinking… scammer! With all those rings on his hands and jewelry. Overall swag.” She stands up. “But a dealer sounds more accurate.”

You stand along with her. You were her last client of the day and she was preparing to close for the night. The evening sky displays such rich colors of purple, orange and pink all blending together perfectly. 

“Ugh, the sex has to be good.” she says with a shake of her head. “I have something that could make the experience better.”

You follow behind her as she grasps her purse and begins to stroll towards the salon doors. She turns off the lights behind you and begins to lock the doors.

“Better?” you furrow your brows. Sex with Yoongi was already amazing - he was the perfect type of pleaser that loved having his head between your legs.

However, you were curious about what she was trying to sell you.

“Girl,” she turns to you with a wicked smirk on her lips. The way she speaks to you is comfortable; like two close friends. “I have these pills. A little…enhancement. Not saying you need it. The way he looks at you…” she whistles, as if knowing that Yoongi can have you wet in seconds. “But…he’s a dealer, right? Meaning you and he always get high together?”

You nod your head hesitantly. 

“It'll be amazing. Trust me.” she proceeds to go through her purse and take out a small, square package. “Two of these and you’ll be ready for him in no time.”

She doesn’t even allow you much time to react before she’s shoving them in your hands. “In two weeks when I see you…tell me all about it.”

You aren’t sure what you expect to happen with the tiny, pink pills you took. It takes you a few minutes to walk down the street to the pharmacy to pick up your prescription and wait for another few minutes for them to be done with it. You decided that - why not. You decided to take it while you wait, chugging down a cup of water from the fountain.

You sit in the waiting area. It’s quiet, no one around in the pharmacy besides you and the pharmacist who appears to be taking his time filing your order; but you weren’t in much of a rush.

Your mind wanders to the pill and if it would truly work like she said it would, and if it did how would you react? It couldn’t be anything too strong that would have you wanting to tear Yoongi’s clothes off surely.

The door rings and you’re too occupied with your thoughts to care about who’s entering or the amount of footsteps. Of course, not until you hear a loud bang in the air, followed by several glass breaking. Your body instantly flinches, your heart pounding erratically. Your eyes are wide as you witness several men, all dressed in black clothing and masks covering their faces, point their guns right at the Pharmacist. The poor old man appears just as you knew you did - a deer caught in headlights and scared shitless.

“Stay there.” one man says to the Pharmacist, gun pointed right at him. “You don’t get paid enough to give a fuck about what we steal.”

There’s a total of five of them that you can see, three going behind the counter to shove different amounts of product in their bags while up front, there’s 1 guarding the door. You swallow thickly, your heart pounding outside your chest, your body trembling even more as the guy's head slowly turns towards you.

“Why are you here?”

As if on queue, several heads turn towards you as if just now realizing you were there. 

“I…I…”

“She wasn’t supposed to be here.” says one man behind the counter.

“I needed birth control.” you responded meekly, feeling your eyes begin to grow glossy.

“Don’t cry.” the man lowers his gun - that was aimed at the pharmacist - and shakes his head. “You can still get your birth control. Hand the girl her birth control.” he then raises it again, waving it towards the Pharmacist. “You weren’t supposed to see this…”

You’re unsure how to respond and decided that it was best not to. Your body is feeling different and your mind swears it’s playing tricks on you.

The door sounds once more and more footsteps make their way closer to you. You take a deep breath, eyes glancing at the men still shoving product into bags while the Pharmacist struggles to package your birth control.

“Y/N…”

That voice. 

Your head snaps towards Yoongi, whose eyes are watching you closely.

“I thought you were going home.” Yoongi murmurs, coming even closer to you. He doesn’t  acknowledge any of the men as he stands directly in front of you. 

“Y-Yoongi…?”

Your eyes blink several times, eyebrows knitting. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here…” Yoongi murmurs. “...when this happened.”

You’re silent for a moment to allow yourself to process his words. 

You glance around to the men who don’t appear to be bothered by you  -  a potential witness. You then turn your attention back to Yoongi.

“This is what you do?” you whisper, voice low and calm.

Yoongi inhales, his dark hues watching you closely. He’s not positive how you’re reacting to this. It’s as if your reaction changed from frightened to relaxed. 

“I’m not saying I do this.” Yoongi shrugs. “I am saying you weren’t supposed to be here. I’m sorry if you’re scared.” he’s truthful, you note, as this could be scary for anyone. “And I understand if this is the last time you want to see me.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, hyung.”

Yoongi closes his eyes a bit before turning to the man. He has a bag in his hands and he offers it to you. 

You look between the two before grasping it hesitantly. “Thank you.” you say, voice low and mind still attempting to process it all.

Yoongi knew these men, that was obvious. He wouldn’t be here without a mask if he hadn’t - nor would they all be so calm around him. Him being called hyung was just another confirmation. 

You sniffle a bit, the bag crinkling in your hands as you begin to stand. Yoongi is silent as he awaits your reaction - for you to run out of here and not look back. For you to demand him to leave you alone and never speak with you again. 

“Can you take me home?”

Yoongi feels his heart jolt a moment - there’s hope, isn't it? You felt comfortable enough to allow him to take you home. 

“Yes, baby.” Yoongi nods his head, murmuring his words so low. His voice is raspy and deep and his eyes are as dark as they always are and..

And you feel a thump between your legs, like a heartbeat.

You gulp.

The pill was working. In such a terrible time.

Slowly, you begin to stand, glancing away at the masked men for a moment.

“I’ll walk us out.” Yoongi offers, placing a hand around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You can smell his cologne - a mixture of citrus, wood and wood. It’s purely Yoongi and, once more, causes you to feel that familiar heartbeat between your legs.

“You were supposed to check to make sure no one was here.” you hear Yoongi’s voice behind you as you walk. His soft tone with you changes completely when he speaks to the men. 

“How are we supposed to know your girl would be here?” another voice sounds, just as annoyed as Yoongi was. “You said you’ll be out with her the whole night.”

Your body is heated at those words - Yoongi talks about you to his…friends? Associates? Fellow criminal dealers?

“Next time fucking check then!” Yoongi snaps, his hand on your waist as you walk past another mask man who opens the door for you.

The air is cool outside and it hits your warm body tenderly. You moan low at how good it feels, yet and still the thumping between your legs remains. 

Yoongi’s car is parked in an alley a few blocks away. It’s dark and the car is running. He presses a button on his car door and pulls it open. “Get in.” he mumbles, lightly patting your lower back. 

You proceed to do that and once inside, Yoongi closes the door. The rap music is low in his speakers and in a few moments he rounds the car entirely and gets inside the driver.

“Y/N,” Yoongi begins, releasing a sigh. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

You gently drop the paper bag onto the ground between your feet. You take a deep breath. “I’m not scared.” you respond.

Yoongi scoffs. You didn’t see the look on your face when he arrived. It infuriated him to see the glossy look in your eyes and if he could strangle each of them he would; Jungkook especially for attempting to reason with you with a gun in his hand and a mask covering his head. 

“I…” Yoongi places his hand onto your cheek. It causes you to hitch your breath. “...sell more than weed. You know that.” he murmurs, that voice again causes your body to react sinfully in a moment that you shouldn’t be. 

“I know.” you nod your head, gently leaning into Yoongi’s hand.

“Do you?” 

Yoongi’s thumb traces the outline of your lips.

“I would never hurt you.” Yoongi continues. “Do you know that? I’ll never put you in harm's way.”

You meet Yoongi’s eyes as they stare right through you. The car is dark and only a single street light in the alley illuminates slightly in the car. His chains sparkle on her neck along with the rings on his hands. 

“I can take you home, baby.” Yoongi hums, tilting his head a bit. He had to know the way you were looking at him right now. There wasn’t a way he thought that you just wanted to go home without you. “And if you don’t want to see me anymore…”

Yoongi doesn’t finish his sentence and instead awaits your response. 

“Who are they?”

Yoongi furrows one brow. “...My brothers.” he answers truthfully. “They can…be a bit dumb at times.”

“They know me.” you state, it wasn’t a question. 

Yoongi nods as his lips twitch upwards. “They know you.” he confirms. 

“I’m your girl?”

Your tone is teasing and there's a twinkle in your eyes; especially when your tongue pokes out to swipe at his thumb. 

“You are my girl.” Yoongi rasps, inhaling. “You know that.”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

You wrap his thumb in your tongue, your eyes never moving from his; unblinking. You suck gently on it, wishing it was something else entirely.

“My girl…” Yoongi hisses. “I like your nails.”

Giggling, you release his thumb and shake your head. You reach your hand out and place it onto his thigh and dangerously close to his groin. You ponder if it was some type of kink Yoongi has

“Yeah?” you hum, nails tapping against him. “How much do you like it?”

Yoongi’s eyes lowers dangerously slow to your hand teasingly tapping the bulge in his jeans. Maybe it was a kink he had - he loved the way your nails appeared against him; when you’d wrap them around his cock. When you’d hold his face between your hands or rub it along his chest as the two of you would cuddle together. He enjoyed when you’d run your hands through his hair at times, though he had to pretend he didn’t because he, after all, was a man and not a soft one like you claimed once.

“So much…” Yoongi murmurs, tongue coating his lips. “...do you want to smoke?”

You tilt your head a bit, glancing up at Yoongi. It’s obvious you wanted to do something more than just smoke, but you decided to nod your head instead. Your mind wanders back to what your nail tech said, pondering if this pill mixed with a high would be any different.

You nod your head. 

In a way, this was a way for Yoongi to prepare himself to be able to deal with you and calm his own nerves. No one wasn’t expecting for you to be at the Pharmacy and eventually, he would explain what more he did outside of dealing weed. He didn’t want to literally show you and he still finds it surreal you’re handling it this smooth.

As always, Yoongi has everything pre-rolled for the two of you. He leans his seat back a bit and goes through his pockets for a lighter. He lights the joint before passing it to you.

“Do you do…this often?” you ask before placing it between your lips and taking a pull.

“I usually don't.” Yoongi shakes his head. “They do. I sell it.”

Smoke releases from your lips, your eyes zoning out for a moment to process his words. You supposed it made sense that Yoongi sold other stuff - and you’re sure this is still the tip of the iceberg. The fancy cars, expensive clothes and jewelry mixed with the amount of money he always gave you.

“We typically try to steer away from armed robbery but,” Yoongi shrugs. “business must go on, baby. We only steal from corporations, not small businesses.”

You take another pull and roll your eyes before passing it to Yoongi. “How “people over profit” you are.” you tease.   

Long fingers grasp the joint from you. Yoongi smoking has always looked hot to you and even now it just intensifies; maybe the pill was just having you crave Yoongi more. 

“Some people need medication for a cheaper price, others need it for other uses. I only supply them.” Yoongi releases the smoke from his nose, tilting his head as his eyes connect with yours. “Ya’ sure you okay?”

“I am.” you nod, offering a short smile.

“You look…” Yoongi can’t put his hands on it. High, sure, but you couldn’t be that high. You didn’t appear frightened anymore. Yet, that look in your eyes wasn't fear. “...hmm.”

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

You squeeze your legs a bit tighter as your eyes blink at Yoongi, never leaving his gaze. It clicks in his mind right then and there. You were horny - more than he’s ever seen before. The constant squeezing of your thighs, the slightly flushed look on your skin. 

“You want me to fuck you so bad.” Yoongi scoffs, a smirk forming onto his lips. 

You swallow, yet another jolt between your legs signaling that you indeed did want Yoongi to do just that. Your mouth begins to salivate at just the thought of having him deep in you, fucking you in such a disrespectful way that it’s nearly demeaning.

You let out a soft breath. 

“I do.” you admit, not wishing to hide it anymore. There was never any judgment with Yoongi and you find that you could always be truthful and open with him. He was a tease at times, but you never took it bad. “I took this pill.”

“Pill?” Yoongi raises a brow, taking another hit of the joint before passing it back to you. “What type of pill?”

You do the same as Yoongi, closing your eyes for a bit as the smoke hits your lungs. “Sexual enhancement, I suppose.” you shrug your shoulders. “Nail tech gave it to me. Told me to try it.”

Yoongi is intrigued now. Maybe this was what is causing your eyes to give him such longing, seductive stares. 

Yoongi licks his lips. “Hm.” he blinks. “How do you feel?”

You take a long hit of the blunt, your eyes staring right at him for a second too long, showing him just how you feel without truly saying another. 

“I want to suck your dick.” you say, releasing the smoke from your lips, hitting Yoongi directly in the face. “Now.”

Yoongi is nothing but a man. Of course he got hard by that - especially with how demanding you were. He wasn’t a highly dominant person and didn’t mind whenever you wanted to take control; same as of right now.

The blunt, now too small for your nails to grasp, is discarded and quickly, you push yourself towards Yoongi. Your lips connect with his hastily, hands going to touch the bulge in his jeans, gripping and rubbing it.

Yoongi swallows back his moans as he kisses your back, your tongue dancing with his own. Your hand manages to get inside his jeans and grasp his length tightly in your palm, causing Yoongi to gasp.

“That pill must be really fucking you up.” Yoongi grunts when you release his lips, saliva snapping the connection as you do. He offers you assistance in lowering his jeans so his cock can spring free.

“It is.” you say, your eyes not leaving his as you open your mouth and allow a trail of saliva to fall out slowly and onto the tip of his cock.

Yoongi groans, his eyes darkening at how slutty you looked. 

You lower yourself to wrap the tip in your tongue, allowing it to swirl. Your eyes close and instinctively, your back arches. You never enjoyed doing this before Yoongi, as you found that  no man was truly worth sticking their cock in your mouth. However, Yoongi was different and you acknowledge that. You enjoyed sucking his cock and hearing the sweet moans and words of encouragement. 

“Ah, shit.” Yoongi slams his head against the seat.  His eyes begin to flutter, finding it extremely difficult to leave his eyes open.

Yoongi’s cock is warm in your mouth, radiating the same heat as your tongue does. His tip hits the back of your throat almost playfully.

Yoongi tries his hardest to compose himself, but he cannot. Especially not when it comes to you. There’s only so much of his moans he can keep to himself before he releases them pathetically. One large hand places itself on top of your head while his pale cheeks flushes a dusty pink. Your hand tightens around the shaft of his cock so you could focus solely (for now) on sucking on the tip.

“You always look so beautiful.”

Yoongi’s eyes lazily flutter back open to watch the way you suckle onto his cock with such need. His hand slightly grips your hair, unable to take his low eyes away from the obscene sight of you. 

Your tongue runs past Yoongi’s slit, turning your head a bit just to look up at him. Dark, cloudy eyes meet his and he shivers visibly. The salty pre-cum hits your tongue and you giggle softly at the taste of it - but how couldn’t he? Everything about you was perfect to him - even outside of sex. 

You wanted Yoongi just as much as he wanted you. You wanted to see him crumble and shiver in your embrace. Yoongi was the type of man that gave you everything and didn’t expect anything in return - you wanted this moment to be about him; for however long he’d last.

You take Yoongi further into your mouth, opening wide and willingly. Your tongue lays flat as you bob your head up and down rapidly.

Yoongi, on the other hand, groans, his eyes rolling. His thighs shake just as the sound of your suckling groans louder. Car sex wasn’t usually his forte as it was a small space for two people - but he does find that it’s convenient. That and you were determined to not wait any longer than you needed to.

Your mouth is good for Yoongi. So warm and wet, pleasuring him greatly with qualified skills that he doesn’t realize himself that he’s thrusting into your mouth until he hears you groan on top of him. There’s saliva pooling out from the corner of your mouth and dripping down your chin. 

“That pill must be kicking your ass.” Yoongi grunts, roughly removing your lips from his wet cock. It springs out of your lips with a ‘pop’ and slaps you directly between your eyes, an act you weren’t bothered by in the slightest. “You want to do this now?” 

Yoongi licks his lips just as you nod your head erratically, an eager look in your eyes. He releases a short chuckle. “If that’s what you want…get in the back.” he nods his head to the empty back seat before fixing himself. His eyes survey his surroundings, the alley way as dark and quiet as it always was. His brothers had to be done by now.

Just as you scurry to the backseat, Yoongi opens the driver door to go back there as well. The car remains on, headlights off to not gain any unwanted attention. He sits in the back and locks the door before turning to you. 

“Car sex looks so much easier in the movies.” Yoongi murmurs, but he’s fond of this memory he would share with you. You and he would look back to how terrified (and horny) you were on this very day. “Take your clothes off.”

Your body flushes at the change in Yoongi’s voice, but your pussy continues to throb. You do as you’re told, kicking off your leggings and throwing your panties along with this. Yoongi continues to watch as each second passes and your naked flesh makes its appearance.

“Come.” Yoongi murmurs, reaching out for you. He clasps your chin to press a gentle kiss onto your wet lips, an act he always did. You always adored the contrast that was Min Yoongi, such a gentle man that could fuck you so disrespectfully if he wanted to. “Now lay back.”

Yoongi doesn’t wait for you to get situated before he’s already parting your legs.  After doing this with him many times, you cannot bring yourself to be embarrassed; especially not now. 

“You’re so wet.” Yoongi murmurs to himself, his eyes zoning between your legs as his mouth begins to salivate. 

Yoongi lowers himself, both hands digging into your thighs to keep them apart. He presses a simple kiss against your clit that causes your back to arch at how sensitive you truly were.

“S-Shit…!”

Yoongi wasn’t one to waste time. His tongue lays flat against your clit, his head bobbing back and forth in rhythm. There’s only a short tune of music in the background that completely dies down with the sound of your high-pitched moans. 

Yoongi loves being between your legs - it didn’t matter if it was his cock or his face. Your thighs are warm as they cage his head between them and he finds that he genuinely enjoys eating you out. Most men didn’t understand the act as much as he did. The sweet sounds of your moans are fixed with little words of encouragement. The way you’d squirm and beg for him to slow down - and he never did. It all drove him insane and wanting to give you more.

Yoongi’s eyes stare upwards at you. Your hands squeeze your breast while your eyes are snapped shut. You don’t hold in your moans; he doesn’t want you to. 

Yoongi’s tongue is always rough against your sensitive clit. It’s as though he’s forcing you to cum all over him, determined to taste your arousal that he causes. Maybe it’s an ego boost as a man to be able to cause a woman to cum so harshly. So much so that he doesn’t come up for air and continues to suckle on your swollen clit until you’re nearly begging for him to slow down.

It doesn’t help that Yoongi was an attractive man between your legs who enjoys watching you crumble for him. You learned the first few times to keep your eyes off of Yoongi while he was doing this for once you made eye contact, it was a wrap. He wouldn't break it, all the while his tongue would be buried deep between your legs.

“-fuck…”

Your thighs are quivering as Yoongi lifts himself from between your legs just as your high was about to come crashing over you. 

Of course, Yoongi wasn’t done with you. Your hole is clenching and unclenching with each passing second and Yoongi couldn’t help but want to bury his fingers deep inside of you.

Yoongi’s rings are cold as he inches his fingers inside of you. Again, your back arches once your walls feel his fingers inside of you.

“Let’s see how hard you can squirt in under three minutes.” 

Such mischief in his dark eyes, a smirk forming on his lips. He licks them, savoring the taste of your sweet arousal that’s now coating his long fingers. He releases a short sigh - how perfect you truly were for him. 

“Yoongi…” you squeal, warmth shooting throughout your entire body. His fingers are deep inside of you, wiggling teasingly as its own is determined to play with you.

“Yes, baby?” 

Yoongi knows what his voice does to you - he has to. It can be normal when you and he spoke, and like a flick of a switch, it’s deep. Husky and full of lust - much like now. 

You take a deep breath just as Yoongi takes his fingers out just to shove them back in  - you contemplate that it’s at least three of them inside of you, just enough to drive you crazier. His fingers scrape the inside of your clamping walls feverishly, your squelching pussy growing louder than your moans.

Your thighs tremble with the impact, having the need to shut because it was all too much and you’re beginning to blame the pill for just how aroused you were. It felt as if your body was a furnace with how hot you felt. Goosebumps clutter your skin entirely and just by the soppy sounds coming from between your legs, you’re positive that you’re soaked.

Yoongi, however, doesn’t mind how wet you are - or the fact that it’s smudging all over his seats entirely. His fingers continue to thrusting inside of you, pace never faltering. Your arousal paints his hand and wrist entirely. The man is astonished by just how more and more arousal continues to pool out of you.

“S-Stop…” you manage to grunt, your eyelids closing rather tightly. A weak hand goes to wrap around Yoongi’s wrist, but that doesn’t cause him to do as you tell him to.

“No.” was Yoongi’s response, hovering directly above you now, his face a few inches from yours. You looked completely out of it and he wasn’t making it any easier. “Squeezing around my fingers so tightly, baby, it’s okay. Just let go…”

Yoongi’s breath is warm against your cheek and his own warmth scatters right onto you. His cologne is even more present with how close he was; woody and musky and the familiarity of it all causes you to cry out - also because of how well he’s hitting a certain spot with such ease.

How you managed to lift your arm to wrap around Yoongi’s neck, you’re unsure. You felt rather weak beneath him, but you did so. Your lips find his instinct and you press a firm kiss against it just as you felt your high come before you.

Yoongi groans into the kiss as your thighs tremble as you were coming and just on time does he remove his fingers from your wet core to allow your arousal to fall freely, splashing against your seats on his car and coating your thighs.

Yoongi releases your lips to allow you to breathe. You gasp out, your hand holding onto Yoongi closely as you attempt to gather yourself pathetically. Your head is swirling, your mind flashing with different scenes and never truly focusing on one - was this the weed or the pill? You aren’t sure.

“You’re just so fucked out. It’s cute.” Yoongi chuckles with a shake of his head. He ponders on the pill you were given that could have you like this.

“Shut up.” you sigh, swallowing. Your throat is dry and you’re unsure the reason why. “I want you to cum in me.”

Yoongi snickers as he leans away from you to look at you just as you open your eyes. 

“You can’t possibly have the energy for that right now?” Yoongi teases, but his eyes are watching you closely, as if questioning if you truly did or not. 

“Take your dick out.” you say cooly, pushing yourself from your laying posting to now seat against his backseats.

Yoongi doesn’t fight with you and instead does as you tell him to. His jeans are pushed down to his knees and before he could react, you swing yourself on top of him.

You weren’t going to allow the cramped space to stop you from your goal. You’re determined to feel him fully, planting both feet on either side of it before positioning yourself directly above his cock. 

Yoongi lets out a short breath when you center his cock at your hole, his hands instantly meeting your hips. He then swallows as you begin to enter his cock inside of you.

So wet.

So warm.

So tight.

Yoongi squeezes your hips with shaky fingers when he feels like you sit directly on top of him. He shakes his head gently, his own thighs beginning to shake. 

“You looked just as fucked out.” you tease, licking your lips. You had no time to tease him, however, and instantly begin to lift your hips and crash it back down against him.

Your hands place themselves onto his shoulders as you begin to ride him, snapping your hips in rhythm. The care begins to shake slightly and anyone that may walk past would obviously know that a couple were fucking in here.

It doesn’t stop either of you, of course. 

Manicured nails dig into Yoongi’s shirt and you push your head back. His cock is deep inside of you, crashing against your sweet spot with each buckle of your hips. Your breast pounces directly into his face, so much so that he finds that he enjoys this position the most.

“You’re insatiable.” Yoongi groans, large hands sliding up to grip your breast into them. He open his mouth to send a kitten-like lick on both nipples, his tongue twirling around the hardened bud. 

You continue to bounce on Yoongi, using his cock to fuck yourself as you desire. Your stamina was running out - as you rarely rode him, only when he asked. However, the feeling of his cock deep inside of you causes you to ignore your shaking thighs and continue on.

Yoongi on the other hand is astonished by how long you’ve managed to do this, but he wasn’t complaining. You’re riding his cock as if it belongs to you; like a sex toy you put back inside the drawer when you’re done with. His hands are squeezing your body entirely, your walls clasping around his cock to milk him of everything he has.

“Slow,” Yoongi stops you mid thrust, panting. Both hands place themselves onto your ass as he halts you. “down.” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against your chest. 

Yoongi grunts when he feels you clench around him, his head lifting to look you in your eyes. You’re tired, he notes, but still so full of lust that you’re not going to stop until you’re satisfied. 

“‘wanna feel you cum in me.” you breath, grinding against his cock.

“Yeah?” 

Yoongi begins to thrust, taking control from you. He could never truly deny you what you wanted - even if it was going to kill him (metaphorically). Large hands squeeze your ass as he begins to thrust while keeping you in place. He pounds deep inside of you, tip of his cock reaching just where he needs to be to have you moaning loudly.

The car is humid now and the both of you are sweating. Wet skin slapping mixed with grunts and moans echoes throughout the car. It’s foggy and only partly due to your earlier activities.

“So beautiful for me.” Yoongi growls, tearing his eyes away from your pussy - that’s gripping him tightly and leaves a milky ring around his cock - to your fucked out face. “All for me, right?”

“All f-for you.” you say in agreement, hands squeezing his poor shirt that you’re sure it wouldn’t fit correctly anymore. “You always fuck me so good.”

Yoongi snickers . “You always take me so good.” he responds, right hand harshly slapping your ass, an act he knows you love. “Pussy was made for me. I waited too long to have it.” he admits.

You want to ask Yoongi what he means, but you’re unable to form words now that he flips you entirely, your back slapping right back into the (wet) seats. He presses your knees to your shoulders and begins to drill you even deeper and harder.

“Wanted to fuck you ever since I seen you at the bar.” Yoongi continues, eyes bow out as he reminisces about a time in your college days that you possibly forgot. “Wearing that short skirt and the low tight-fitted top…”

Your mind tries to rack back to the time but you’re truly unsure. You and your friends frequented the bar often and you always found Yoongi out and about, as well, as he was a dealer. 

Yoongi grunts, cock pounding deep inside of you that it would be alarming if he didn’t know how you adored being fucked.

“You don’t remember the way you put your hands on my chest? You were so drunk, giggling and calling me cute. I could’ve bent you over and fucked you right in front of everyone and you’d let me.” Yoongi spats, his dirty words only turning you on more.

Yoongi thinks back to those days years ago, how young and naive you were. How lucky you were that he wasn’t one to take advantage like others would’ve in your drunken state. How he began to pin after you silently, unsure how to truly speak to you outside of you contacting him first - either for weed or just to talk while you were drunk.

“I wanted you to fuck me for so long, too ” you can feel your insides squirm as you speak, his cock sloppily thrusting inside of you. You were going to cum so hard now. “Mission accomplished.”

Yoongi snickers and offers a few more sloppy thrusts. You and he could remember the old times and he’d embarrassingly admit more details about his feelings. As of right now, he was determined to cum in you.

Nails digging into your legs as he holds them in place, Yoongi releases deeply inside of you, cum shooting and painting your walls. Your eyes are closed tightly, chest heaving as you feel his warm seed pool in you. 

Yoongi doesn’t move from inside of you until he’s softening. His cum drips out of you when he does and it causes him to snicker.

“I’m so tired.” you murmur, eyes still closed and attempting to catch your breath. “And hungry.”

Lightly tapping your naked thigh, Yoongi speaks. “Side effects, baby. Where do you wanna eat?” You begin to open your eyes, looking towards Yoongi. He’s fixing himself up, pulling up his jeans and tightening his belt.

Yoongi turns his eyes to you and tilts his head. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say anything years ago?”

Yoongi leans back and shrugs his shoulders. You’re asking questions sooner than he expected. “What the fuck was I suppose to say? I didn’t want to come off as some creep.” he scoffs. “I knew your number, where you lived, where you went to school. I didn’t want to turn you off.”

“You wouldn’t have.” you cross your arms.

“You’re saying that because you find me attractive.” Yoongi waves you off. “If I was hideous you would’ve screamed bloody murder.”

You blink, but then begin to smirk. “True.” you murmur, finally having the strength to pull yourself up. “So…your brothers.” you begin. “They all do the same thing you do?”

“More or less.” answers Yoongi rather vaguely. “I’m sorry again. You weren’t supposed to be caught up in that.”

You blink a few times as Yoongi lifts a hand to touch your cheek. His eyes are sincere as he speaks to you and it causes a jolt in your heart this time .

“It’s cool.” you say, leaning into his hand. “If you were hideous, I would’ve screamed bloody murder.” you joke, causing Yoongi to laugh and you right along with him.

[starkeyisthelastname]

hello lily…. i just had a thought…… about dealer!rafe and me on my birthday his girl celebrating her bday 💖💖……. i cannot stop thinking about him

hi baby! 💖 you better get ready because this man is ready to spoil you even more than already he does and take you to pound town 😜.. hope you like it sweet angel and have the best birthday!!! @oceandriveab

The morning of your birthday, you get awoken by his head between your thighs. His tongue deep in your wet hole and nose hitting your clit just right. He would look up at you just as your sleepy eyes met his, a smirk on his handsome face as he pulled back. “Happy birthday mama.” His voice raspy, watching you bite your lower lip as he then dived back down into your ocean of a pussy.

It was when you walked outside, as he was going to take you shopping that you saw your dream car wrapped perfectly in a pink bow. Rafe did most of the driving, but when he was taking care of “business”, you occasionally needed to go somewhere and what better way now with the brand new luxury vehicle that cost him a pretty penny. Not that he worried how much it cost, he paid for it in cash. (Dirty money at that. 😅). You would open the door, the passenger seat holding a giant bouquet of flowers, along with neatly wrapped boxes that read Dior, Chanel, Cartier, Louis Vuitton and stacks of cash wrapped in silky ribbon. You always wondered how much money this man really made, but never questioned it as you enjoyed the princess treatment too much.

He would then take you shopping, letting you have a pamper day before a beautiful private dinner on the waters of the Outer Banks. He needed you blissfully happy and tummy full before we gave you a brutal birthday fuck.

You may have been drunk off expensive liquor, but you felt every thick and long inch of your man’s cock as he slid it in your soaked little hole. He made sure your knees were bent back, giving you that deep shit all while talking dirty to his birthday girl.

“Shit… that’s it my pretty fuckin birthday princess. Got that pussy soaked for daddy, huh?” Rafe drawled out, tone low and cocky as he watched his massive pipe stretch your fluttering hole out.

“Daddy…” You whined, your pretty eyes rolling back as he hit your sweet spot over and over. He was already about to give you your first orgasm of the night and you knew there were many more to come. “I.. slow down..” You gasped, the feeling almost too much as you reached out how to tap his toned stomach. It wasn’t that you wanted him to stop, but you were about to explode and embarrassed how quickly it was coming on.

“Move your hand and take this fuckin big dick. You know I’m not done with you yet, we are just getting started.” Rafe said between breaths, your plea following on deaf ears as he continued the hard thrusts to your sloppy cunt. “Giving my girl the birthday dick she deserves, yeah?”

He was about to give you round after round, making your birthday end with your pussy sore and the sheets soaked. A new car in the driveway, diamonds, designer bags, fed expensive food, and getting a dick one dreamed of having.

[perlelune]

Dollhouse | Rafe Cameron | i.

The moment your mother marries Ward Cameron should have been the moment your life changes for the better. A fresh start out of the Cut for the both of you. And for the first seven years of living with the Camerons, everything truly is perfect.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Pogue!Reader, Stepcest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Jealousy, Drugs, Drinking

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You peek from your hiding spot, beneath the lavishly decorated long table. Mom looks pretty. She’s wearing a fancy white dress that likely costs ten times the rent you used to pay. Perhaps more. The diamond earrings she dons, a wedding gift from your new dad, (Your new dad, your mind still cannot grapple with that reality-altering piece of information. You have a dad now, a stepfather), glimmer as they catch the glow of the fairy lights overhead. 

She’s laughing. So loudly you can see all her teeth and her eyes are crinkly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mom laugh like that. No. You have never seen Mom laugh like that. Not ever. In the eleven years she’s raised you on her own. There have been sad times. Very sad times. Happy times too. 

Still, she’s never looked as happy as she does today. 

Like she’s on Cloud Ten. Not on Cloud Nine. Cloud Ten. Because there has to be a level above that fully captures how overjoyed Mom looks right now.

All because of this man. Your gaze swings to him. He’s wearing a suit, a white wedding suit, because Mom insisted they match and she always despised - despised not hated - bland wedding tuxedos. Bland anything really. So she picked his suit herself. Just like she did everything for the wedding. Her dream wedding. Something she’s constantly reminded you for the past month. 

That this is her moment. Her big moment. One you shouldn’t ruin. 

Which is why you’re hiding here. You can’t ruin anything from underneath a table. A silent observer. Quiet as a mouse. 

That way Mom can have her moment while you bask in the shock that she’s a Cameron now. And so are you. 

“Hey. Why are you hiding at your own mom’s wedding?”

You gasp, startled by the voice beside you. Your head turns. A blond-haired boy is crouched next to you, his neck crooked from having to fit his tall frame in the small space. His blue eyes are wide and curious as they rest on you.

“I-I’m not hiding,” you stammer, shocked that someone found your secret spot. Everyone’s focus is glued to the new Mr. And Mrs. Cameron. Even your new stepsisters are cheering from the circle around them. Sarah’s the loudest. Her thunderous clap and megawatt smile is a cheering squad all on its own. 

This is their day.

So you figured your existence must have been forgotten by now. You tossed flower petals across the aisle, just like Mom asked. You smiled for the family pictures. You hugged him, that man, your new dad.

You awkwardly greeted your new siblings. Well, mostly waved from a safe distance.

You assumed your disappearance would go unnoticed amidst the bubble of joy keeping everyone trapped in its spell. But someone slipped away from it for a little while, it seems, broke the spell. Long enough to notice your absence. 

He nods and says, “Really? Come out then, since you’re not hiding.” When you dig your pink ballet flats into the grassy dirt, refusing to move, the teenager chuckles.

He plops onto the floor. 

“Or we can stay here.”

Your brows knit. We. It sounds strange. Alien to your ears. It’s always been you and Mom. The two of you against the world, jumping over every hurdle life stuck in your path together. There’s just so many kids now. And based on Mom’s recent announcement…there’ll be another one soon. The final knot binding your two families.

Thinking about it makes your mind spin. Overnight you went from being an only child to having three siblings. Well, four in some months. 

Saying your world has been turned upside down is an understatement. Everything that used to be up is now down. And the house! Tannyhill is nothing like the tiny apartment you and Mom used to share. The one where the lights used to go out sometimes. It has all these big rooms. A gigantic yard. A pool. 

JJ even made fun of you at school because he said you’re a Kook now. 

A Kook. You wanted to punch him…and you did.

You will never be a Kook. It doesn’t matter if Mom makes you change schools, forcing you to attend the one on Figure 8, if she buys you new clothes, moves you to a new house.

You’ll always be a Pogue. A fact the kids at your new school make sure you never forget. 

You tuck your knees against your chest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do what I want,” he replies with a shrug.

He brings out a piece of cake from behind him. 

“Do you want some?”

You make a face. 

“Not hungry.”

He laughs and takes a spoonful of the three layered chocolate cake himself. 

“What kind of kid refuses cake?” 

“Why are you here?” you retaliate, growing more annoyed. 

“Because you’re my new sister,” he states with a shrug. Your eyes round. “That’s what my dad says anyways.” He sighs. “Gotta look out for you and all that.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, little sisters are a pain in the ass. Didn’t ask for another one.” His brows furrow. “Didn’t ask for a new stepmom either but…here we are, princess.”

“Princess?”

“It’s what you look like, with your pink ribbons and all the bows,” he says, waving his hand in front of you. 

You open your mouth then close it. Mom did go overboard with the pink and the bows. But she wanted you to look cute in the photos. She wanted all the girls to look cute. Adorable, as she said. So you and your stepsisters ended up with those big, embarrassing, fluffy pink dresses. 

“Anyways. I’m your brother now. Deal with it, okay?” He scratches the back of his neck, placing the cake on the ground. “Pretty sure if I let anything bad happen to you my dad will kill me.”

You look ahead. Mom’s dancing with the girls now. She pauses momentarily, glancing around, but quickly returns to the dance. She, Wheezie and Sarah bounce in a circle, giggling as they tap their feet to the music. 

Your eyes swell with tears. 

This is how long it took Mom to replace you. A few seconds.

Rafe’s voice laces with irritation. 

“Are you crying?” His harsh tone only drags more sobs out of you. You grip the hem of your fluffy dress to wipe the snot pouring from your nose. 

The boy rolls his eyes. 

“Girls are so annoying, always crying for no reason.” He plucks a tissue from the back pocket of his dress pants and dabs it against your eyes. He does it rather aggressively which startles you out of your meltdown. “Here, stop.” You blink at him. “I’m sorry, okay?” His blue eyes soften. “I promise, we’re not so bad.” He scrunches his nose. “Well, except for Sarah who’s a spoiled brat…but you get used to it too.”

You sniffle and duck your head. Almost as if reading your mind, he assures softly, “Your mom will always be your mom, so stop crying, okay?”

You raise your head, gaping at him. 

“T-Thank you, Rafe,” you mumble between your abating sobs.

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

As he continues wiping your face, your tears slowly drying, you start pondering. Perhaps having a big brother won’t be so bad.

Cheers and applause explode around you as you blow the last of the sparkler candles. It took several tries before all the flames flickered out, plunging the room in total blackness. Your sisters giggle beside you and a contagious smile creeps onto your lips.

“Make a wish, make a wish!” your family chants around you.

You shush everyone which draws more laughs, especially from Mom and Dad. “Guys, quiet. I need to focus.”

You suck in a deep breath. 

You close your eyes and make a silent wish. Your smile broadens. It’s easy. You wish for everyday moving forward to be as perfect as this one, as wonderful. A happiness untouched and crystallized like a butterfly in amber. Its paper-thin, delicate wings never shriveling. Its vibrant colors never dimming. Its beauty never waning, never yielding to the fickle whims of time. Every year onwards, you wish to be surrounded by the same love and support you’ve gotten to experience for the last eighteen years. 

You wish to always be with family. 

When your eyes open, you beam brightly. The fact that familiar faces stare back at you fills you with warmth and comfort. Sarah, your sister, offered to throw the flashiest, biggest party of the year for your birthday. She even made a vision board for it. It was quite impressive actually. She planned on making sure her little sister celebrated eighteen years on this earth with a bang. But you staunchly refused. Not only did you hope to avoid more organizing drama between Sarah and Kie, you wanted something discreet and casual this year. You had no desire to be surrounded by vague acquaintances from the Island Club or the snobbish classmates who only stopped calling you names once they realized Mom was more than Dad’s mid-life crisis. 

Despite the twenty-year age gap between them, you’ve never witnessed two people more in sync than your mom and dad. You know every woman on that side of the island has wished for their marriage to fail. You wouldn’t flinch if you learnt there was a voodoo doll of your mom in one of those women’s closets. People figured they wouldn’t last. After all, they are so different. Mom used to be a cocktail waitress at the country club Dad is still a faithful member of to this day. His wife Rose had recently died and they bonded over fishing and sports. In many Kooks’ eyes, Mom will always be beneath them. You can see it in their eyes. Their pinched smiles. Their forced pleasantries. A veil of unbelonging will always cling to you and your mother. Deep down, despite living in this big beautiful house for seven years, you’ll always be Pogues. Not that you’ll ever tell Mom. She lives in a pink-colored bubble of her own making. One you wouldn’t dare pop lest she land in a cold puddle of harsh reality.

Still, you’re happy for your parents. 

Even after all these years, they love each other deeply. They still find ways to surprise each other, to make the other feel special.

Alice and Ward Cameron are what true love looks like in your eyes. What it should look like. Unless you have what your parents have one day, you don’t see yourself tying the knot with anyone. Your dad set that standard by being the best man you’ve ever met. 

Willa bounces in front of you, displaying her gummy grin. She recently turned seven and her front teeth have yet to come out. It never stops her from smiling all day however. 

“What did you wish for?” 

You don a cryptic expression.

“It’s a secret.”

Willa pouts, folding her arms dejectedly. Dad chuckles and picks her up. He rubs her back to comfort her, explaining, “She can’t tell you her wish, sweetheart. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

Your little sister gives a reluctant nod. Willa abhors the word ‘no’. Setting limits for her is a problem as she’s so accustomed to Dad surrendering to her every whim. Ward Cameron is what some would call a ‘girl dad’ through and through. It never takes much effort from you and your sisters to convince him and whoever would dare hurt any of you should probably count their days…as your dad would likely have already picked a date and funeral plot for them.

The time for the gifts comes. You sit in a chair at the head of the dinner table as everyone gathers around you to give you their gift. 

Sarah got you a coupon for a tattoo. While Dad is livid, she winks at you. The two of you mentioned getting matching tattoos before you leave for college. You’re glad to learn that she hasn’t forgotten.

Wheezie hands you a Sephora gift card. She’s very solemn, adjusting her glasses while giving it to you, which tears a chuckle from you.

“You just always say you don’t want anything, then everyone gets you a super cool gift,” she laments. Mom squeezes her shoulder. 

“It’s an amazing gift. I love it, Wheezie.”

Her face lights up at your response.

Willa’s gift draws the biggest smile from you. It’s a handcrafted wooden box covered in seashells, glitter and sand. It has a silver lock with a little key. It’s just so cute and you already picture yourself placing it above your bed or somewhere on your desk in your college dorm. It’ll be a much-welcome reminder of home. 

Mom and Dad’s combined gift sits in a square velvet jewelry box. The breath hovers in your lungs, your fingers shaking with anticipation as you open the box.

Your jaw drops.

A gold necklace with a single diamond charm shaped like a teardrop lies on beige satin. 

Your hand flies to your mouth. This must have cost a pretty penny.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“Do you like it, sweetheart?” Dad asks.

“I love it.”

A bright grin unfurls on his face at your swift response. He moves forward, collecting the necklace from the box. 

“Can I…”

“Of course,” you reply, shoving your hair aside so he can place the necklace on you. 

When he’s done, he takes a moment to look at you, his hands clasping your shoulders. “It suits you. Your mom and I picked it out…” His voice falters, unspilled tears filling his blue eyes. 

You wrap your arms around him. He hugs you tightly. 

“Dad, it’s okay,” you say.

He unleashes a watery laugh. “It’s just…you girls are growing up so fast.” He steps back and hastily wipes the tears in his eyes. Dad loathes crying in front of you. Well, showing any sort of emotion really. You don’t remember seeing him shed a tear since the day you called him ‘dad’. It just slipped out of your mouth one time. It just felt natural after a while. 

Ward is the only father you’ve ever known, your mother having divorced your biological father when you were just a few months old. You’ve never met this man, though you’ve heard he has another family on the mainland. You can’t deny you’ve been curious about him at times. But your mother’s lips are sealed when it comes to that man. She rarely talks about that time but you always gathered that his absence in your lives is somewhat of a blessing.

You hug Dad again.

“It’s okay. I promise to visit a lot. For every holiday. And you guys can come see me too.” You try to lighten the mood as you note the sour faces. “It’ll just be four years. Then I can come home and work on getting my real estate license while working with Dad at Cameron development.”

“That’s my girl. Eyes on the prize,” he praises. 

“Always.”

He sweeps an icy glance over Rafe.

“If only a certain someone followed your example.”

Your brother flinches. He’s been a bit more withdrawn than everyone else during the party. Besides singing ‘Happy Birthday’, he hasn’t said a word to you. You surmise he’s not too eager to see you leave either. Out of all your siblings, you are the closest to Rafe. 

While he was standoffish when you first met, he’s warmed up to you considerably over the years. He’s not just your brother. He’s also your confidant. You can count on one hand the things you don’t share with Rafe.

“Come on, dad. That’s not fair,” you say, trying your best to dissipate the tension in the air. “He’s just on his own path.” 

Rafe bolts from his seat, stomping out of the room and heading to the balcony. 

Your shoulders slump.

“Not everyone has to go to college to succeed. You know that. And so does Mom.”

“You’re right.” He heaves out a weary breath. “But I’m not mad that your brother dropped out of college. I’m mad he doesn’t care about anything he can’t shove up his nose or get high with.”

Concern scrunches your mother’s features. 

“Honey,” she says.

“Alice, he’s twenty-two years old. It’s time for him to grow up.”

Bereft of arguments to defend Rafe, and with your dad being stubborn as ever, you elect to join him on the balcony. The cool night breeze seeps through your clothes. Goosebumps break out on your skin as you shiver by Rafe’s side. 

You decide to crack his shell with a lighthearted joke. 

“So I don’t get a gift from my big brother this year?”

A smile breaks out on Rafe’s face. He turns to you.

“But you always say you don’t want anything because you already have everything.”

You give him a harmless punch in the rib. He pretends to be deeply hurt by it and bursts out in laughter.

“I’m kidding,” he admits. “I'll give it to you later this week. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time, promise. There was just a…temporary shortage.”

You acquiesce. You let a comfortable silence hang between you and him for a while before speaking again.

You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry about Mom and Dad,” you blurt out.

Shrugging, he scoffs, “It’s fine. It’s not like Dad will stop riding my ass all the time. At least Alice doesn’t have her foot on my neck 24/7.”

You grip his arm.

“They’re just worried about you. About your future.” Rafe’s jaw clenches, his blue eyes set forward. “You know Dad loves you. He’s just not very good at showing it.” Hope laces your tone. “Maybe try to stop by the office more? I’m sure he’ll appreciate you showing interest in the family business.” You shift closer to him, whispering. “Even Sarah can’t be bothered, just so you know.” This makes his hard gaze fall on you. Talking about Sarah never fails to make Rafe’s blood pressure rise. Even after all that time, the two of them can’t seem to get along. “You’re always talking about being proactive and all that. Then be proactive, Rafe.”

He studies you for a while before a slow smirk unfans on his lips. 

“You know…that is actually not a bad idea, princess.”

“Of course it’s a great idea. I had it,” you jest, drawing a hearty chuckle from him.

The buzzing of your phone shatters the moment. You startle. You hastily grab it from the pocket of your cardigan. 

“Just give me a minute,” you utter apologetically. You step away for a bit. Rafe’s eyes on you are sharp as you check your phone. The message you receive has you fighting a smile. You feel giddy that he remembered your birthday. You don’t even remember telling him it was today. Suppressing the goofy grin threatening to take over the bottom of your face, you return to your spot next to Rafe. 

“Who was that?” he asks.

You lie with ease. While you love Rafe, he can be so overprotective. To a suffocating degree at times. No guy will approach you because the mere knowledge that Rafe Cameron is your brother and will surely dole out a severe beating if any guy so much as stares at his sister too long makes most of them steer clear. Some of your suitors have tried, the brave, reckless ones, but Rafe would scare each of them away. 

There’s been a boy lately. One who eluded your brother’s relentless scrutiny. Familiar, but also kind of new. Rafe would blow a fuse if he knew who it was. He can’t find out. Not yet anyways. 

You slap on a mask of nonchalance. 

“No one.”

He gives a nod, licking his lips. He seems to mull over something before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. 

“Are you hiding something?”

Your stomach knots. You try to keep an even, casual tone. You fail. 

“I-I’m not. Why would you say that, Rafe?”

“I don’t know. You were acting shifty just then.”

“I’m allowed to have some privacy, Rafe. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His jaw ticks. He takes a small step back, as if your words hit him square in the face. 

“But we never had any secrets for each other, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.”

His blue eyes trap yours. 

“So who was it, princess?”

You shudder. Keeping things from him is near impossible. He knows you like a book he’s read every single page from. Again and again. 

This is how you know your subterfuge can't be a complete success. Still, you stick to your story.

“Like I said, Rafe. No one,” you maintain.

He bends over you, seizing your hand and tucking it against his chest. Your heart skips a beat. 

“You know I’m just trying to protect my little sister, right? That’s all I’ve ever tried to do, protect you.”

“I know,” you say, a small smile tugging your lips. 

He rubs his thumb across your palm, squeezing your fingers more tightly than before. You wince at the pressure. It’s on the thin edge of pain.

“So…you’d tell me if there was anything new in your life, anyone?”

Your pulse quickens. The lie aches as it rises from your throat this time. Needles of deceit. You aren’t used to lying to your brother. 

“Of course, Rafe. You’d be the first to know,” you chime, forcing a false, wobbly smile on your face.

He stares at you for so long that it grows unnerving. After an eternity, his grip on your hand slackens. You rub your pulsing fingers, a frown wrinkling your brow. 

He crosses his arms over the railing, eyes fixated on the night as he mumbles under his breath, “Good.”

You don’t know how to answer that, a wave of unease, cooler than the night chill, passing through you somehow. 

[luvjunie]

— less is more

pairing: e-42!miles morales x fem!reader

contains: some tears, a little misunderstanding but a fluffy ending

summary: miles makes quite a bit of cash from his jobs, and with his love language being gift giving he often likes to spend a lot of it on you. however, you didn’t grow up with much, and this makes it especially hard for you to accept such expensive things from him without feeling overwhelmed. wc: 1,224

a/n: based off this request! some people might find this reader easier to relate to so i definitely wanted to write it

Gifts were something that came with the territory of dating Miles Morales. Big bouquets, flashy accessories, shopping sprees at the mall, and probably every single stuffed animal he’d ever caught you eyeing whenever the two of you went out. If you so much as looked at it, it was on your fire escape the next morning. At this point, you had so many on your bed that you were starting to run out of room to sleep.

And you knew he meant well, and you tried your best to enjoy it the way you imagined you should but it was all so foreign to you. Your life was much different before you met him, and it was more along the lines of nervously checking your bank account to see if you had enough cash to buy a five dollar starbucks drink to ‘treat yourself’, or if you’d have to wait till next week’s paycheck for blended coffee with some whipped cream on top.

Most of your clothes were hand-me-downs from your older siblings, or duds you’d secured from the Salvation Army a few blocks down on the colored-tag sale days, and that was the way you liked it. Humble beginnings is where you came from and humble was the way you intended to keep it.

So now as you stared down at the small jewelry box in your hands, Tiffany & Co embellishing the top in silvered letters, trepidation began coursing through you at the size of the box alone. Anything that came in a tiny package such as the one you were holding was bound to cost more than anything you’d ever managed to buy yourself. You realized you must have been lost in thought as you sat gawking at the untouched gift, because your boyfriend’s voice sounded like it was underwater the first few times he called out to you.

“Baby?”

“Hm?” You blinked, looking up at Miles from where you were seated on his bed to see him leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Go ‘head and open it, don’t leave me hanging.” Miles joked, brows bunched slightly in confusion.

“Oh— right,” you laughed half-heartedly. Swallowing hard, you gently pried the small box open with hesitant fingers to reveal the prettiest diamond necklace you think you’ve ever seen. Light glinting off the encrusted jewel, Miles waited with bated breath as he watched your hand tremble towards it, a choked inhale catching in your throat as you felt the weight of the pendant alone.

“Well?” he asked quietly.

“How much was this?” Your throat felt tight; uncomfortably so, like the air in the room suddenly wasn’t the kind you were meant to breathe.

Miles glanced to the side for a moment, then stood up straighter. “I mean, I paid for it if that’s what you’re asking...”

“How much was this, Miles?” Voice trembling when you spoke, you asked again but louder, and this time he knew you actually wanted an answer.

Confused because he didn’t take you for the materialistic type, he racked his brain for the memory of the total the clerk had read out to him and scratched his forehead.

“Like… three hundred and some change…maybe? Probably four? I don’t remember. Why does this matter?” He let out a peeved sigh, eyes widening as he watched your shoulders start to shake.

“Ay, mi amor, ¿que pasa? (what’s wrong, my love?)” Miles asked gently as he rushed to sit next to you, taking the jewelry box from your loose hold. He looked down at it disappointedly, lips pursing at the necklace he’d spent so long picking out. He thought you would’ve loved it. “You don’t like it? I can get you somethin’ better—“

“No, Miles. I… It’s perfect.” Warm tears rolled past your waterline and you wiped them away in a rush, aggravated that you were even crying in front of him about something like this. How could you explain yourself without sounding ungrateful or confusing him even more?

Miles licked at his dry lips as he tried to think of what to say. He was usually so good at reading your body language, but this time he was completely lost. You could see it on his expression when you looked at him that he was having a hard time understanding what was going on, and it only made you cry harder.

“No entiendo… (I don’t understand…)” He set the box down next to him and took your hands into his, head lowered to try and meet your averted gaze. “I’m lost.. If it’s perfect, then what’s wrong?”

You inhaled a wavered breath, the feeling of his thumbs rubbing the backs of your hands serving as encouragement for you to go on.

“I just…” taking a breath, your shoulders shrugged weakly. “You spending money on me like this, I— It feels like I’m using you. You should be spending your hard earned money on things for yourself, or… saving it for better things, not spending it on me.”

“Money is nothing to me when it comes to you.” he denied immediately.

“I know, and that’s the problem.” Your lips trembled, but thankfully you were able to prevent more tears from coming.

“Y/n, I—“

“Just, please. Let me finish.” You pleaded quietly, looking up to see him slowly nod at you. “I love you, Miles, and that means I love everything you do for me as well. But I’m not used to things like this.” you looked in the direction of the overturned jewelry box. “It’s a lot.”

Silence filled the space around the two of you. You felt incredibly guilty for even bringing it up, it was never your intention to make him feel this way. There was an energy shift and you could sense him regressing back to the version of him that once didn’t know how to express his love for you.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured simply. He didn’t know what else to say, he didn’t even understand, but he offered it to you anyway.

“No no no, Miles,” You guided his doleful eyes back to you with a hand on his cheek, your tone sincere. “I love the way you love me, really, I do. You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s not your fault— I’m just not that kind of girl and I don’t know if I ever will be. But the way I grew up and the things I’m used to have nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me, okay?”

He frowned slightly. “So… No more gifts, then?”

You shook your head. “Giving me nice things is how you show your love towards me, I know that, and it would be unfair for me to take that from you. I’d be crazy to not appreciate how you’re always thinking of me wherever you go.”

Chewing on your thoughts, you contemplated the best way to give your answer.

“Okay, so it’s like this,” you sat up a bit. “You could give me a rock, and I’d cherish it like it was the best thing in the entire world, simply because you gave it to me. What I’m trying to say is how expensive the gift is doesn’t matter, all that matters is that my wonderful—“ your head dipped to meet his avoidant eyes. “caring, and thoughtful boyfriend got it for me. I don’t care about the money, I only care that it came from you.”

Miles brightened a little at that, and started to put things together after your explanation. “So, I can still get you nice things, but… less is more?”

A melancholic smile touched your lips before you pecked his cheek. “Less is more.”

He picked the small jewelry box up from the bed. He understood you completely now, but was still a bit bummed. “Does that mean I have to return this?”

You immediately shook your head. “Of course not, baby. I love it, and I think it’s beautiful. Just keep what I said in mind for next time, okay?” He nodded and you turned your back towards him so he could put it on for you.

“Good, cause I kinda lost the receipt.” Miles smiled coyly at the slightly shaky laugh that sounded from you as he unclasped the necklace, draping it over your chest and fastening it.

You peered down at the gorgeous piece around your neck, gently gracing over it with your fingertips. Your heart warmed at the thought of him picking it out for you, how he spotted something this beautiful and needed you to have it. You had to admit, it was absolutely stunning and you didn’t think you’d be taking it off any time soon. Even if the price of it had almost sent you into shock, you were more than grateful to have a boyfriend like him.

“Thank you, Miles. I love it, really.” You faced him once again with your confession, the sincerity laced in your tone accentuating the adoration in your eyes. Your hand caressed the apple of his cheek, it raising when he smiled contently and leaned into your palm. “But I love you, more.”

[hotpinkstars]

-> happy valentines day!

synopsis -> how some of my favorite genshin women and men celebrate valentines day.

characters -> ningguang, shenhe, yelan, ei, miko, wriothesley, lyney, albedo, kazuha

warnings -> none! all fluff.

w/c -> 1.0k

ningguang is a woman with many riches. the moment her mind processed it was valentines day when she woke up for work was also the moment she hurried over to her wardrobe, digging up a beautiful bracelet made only with diamonds before setting it down on your night table. as she was putting on her clothes, you groaned, waking up. she leaned down to kiss you before telling you to look over on your side of the nightstand, greeted to an outstanding piece of jewelry you could only dream of having. you groggily smiled, putting the bracelet around your wrist before throwing the covers off of your body and hugging your wonderful wife.

shenhe doesn’t really understand the concept of ‘valentines day.’ she knew of it as liyue citizens being cheesy on the streets, and the finest cuisine’s businesses flooding with romance. usually, she’d watch from afar. but ever since you entered her picture, she started to care just a bit more. she’d spend the day with you in the harbor, observing other couples actions before deciding herself what to do. she had decided to buy you a nice box of chocolates and a few clothing items you’ve been eyeing. she bought them with you there, without a word, waiting until you both exited the store to give them to you. when you tightly hugged her, she let out a tiny laugh, hugging you back lightly.

oh? wriothesley, the great duke of the fortress of meropide, celebrating such a holiday? yes! as the morning approached, the first fun little gift you received was his presence in bed, still asleep. ah, he must have taken the day off of work, you thought. he awoke a few moments later, saying his good morning before getting up to start the day with you. he took you out for a very nice breakfast before walking around the inner city. oh, no matter if this were to go into the steambird. charlotte is probably lingering somewhere, eager to catch a rare sight of the duke on the surface. he brought you to an isolated part of fontaine, a gorgeous view, and making sure nobody was in sight, got down on one knee and pulled out an extraordinary ring from his pocket, holding it out to you.

lyney is most certainly going to celebrate valentines day, with a valentine or not. whether it’s performing card tricks that turn into roses for men with a romantic partner, or actually celebrating it with his significant other. he’ll perform a very special magic performance, just for your eyes, not even lynette or freminet have seen it! gorgeous, glittering roses in your favorites of colors come drifting from nowhere, landing in your hair. only the finest for you! he’ll absolutely spoil you with a dinner that certainly cost one hefty sum of mora… you really, truly hope today won’t make him bankrupt.

yelan will spoil you, without a doubt. she doesn’t care much about the holiday itself, what she does care for though is that you get what you desire on such a day. she’ll take you anywhere you would like! she also likes to save the fanciest restaurants for days like these in specific. you saw a restaurant in mondstadt during your last visit? she’ll take you, and you’ll spend the night in the city of wind. she’ll do anything for you no matter, and she’ll top it off with a cute box of chocolates and a bouquet. she’s not quite the person for overwhelming affection, so she’ll give these things to you in subtle ways, behind the safety of your walls.

oh, ei. from being in such a state of meditation for so long, this woman barely grasps the concept of christmas! do not fret, she’s a quick learner. (but don’t ask her to cook. that is something she will not be able to learn.) once you explain to her what valentine's day is, and also take her to get a small rundown of the holiday from yae miko, she nods before immediately dashing off to find an exquisite treasure at a nice shop downtown. of course, considering she’s in a very high position in inazuma, she gets cheaper prices on all of the trinkets, she absolutely spoils you! she’s also willing to walk around other islands with you, to admire the scenery before pulling out the things she got you and proceeding to make it a day worth remembering.

yae miko has lived long enough to understand what valentines day is. she see’s romance on the streets during those days, and she’s even published a light novel on two lovebirds on a holiday such as this. so do not underestimate how long she has planned your gift, as soon as you wake up you are greeted to a small book laying on your pillow. you go to open it, reading such a beautiful story about how you two fell in love. it was two completely different characters re-enacting your story. she comes into your shared bedroom, sitting down with you before rubbing your thigh, a look that cannot be told between a smirk and a light smile dancing across her gorgeous face.

albedo didn’t see the significance at first. of any holiday, people choose to celebrate this one? isn’t that what anniversaries are for? though, once he sees how important it is to you, he crafts a beautiful necklace with his bare hands and some potions he had mixed up to create the gemstones that were very neatly embedded into the shell of the jewelry. it was beautiful- likely the prettiest thing you’ve set your eyes upon, considering not only was it made from love, it went perfectly with your eyes and hair. valentines day this year was such a success with albedo as your partner.

kazuha knew valentines day. he’d make today extra special for you, taking you to the finest cuisines in whatever area you were at during your travels. he’d occasionally stop, creating a bouquet that he’d plan on giving to you later on at night. when you had received it, there was everything in there- he had collected some qingxin flowers, sweet flowers, a few mint leaves for color, some silk flowers, glaze lillies, and violetgrass. you truly believed it was the most gorgeous bouquet you’ve seen, and it landed a place in a very nice glass vase when you two arrived home that evening.

[deepdisireslonging]

Reassurance

Bruce and the Reader are kidnapped by Two-Face. Their kidnapper wants to make the Batman choose, unknowing that the Batman who shows up isn’t the one he expected. After being rescued, Bruce reassures you and himself that you two are safe. Which is something he needs after being completely helpless to do anything to protect you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reporter!Reader

Warnings/Promises: canon-level danger and violence, near-death experience, angst, SMUT, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, fluff

Word Count: 3500

Note: This heavily reliant on the events of the Dark Knight trilogy. As well as being inspired by the 1995 “Batman Forever” situation with that version of Harvey Dent. It’s a bunch of plot for the express purpose of getting Bruce Wayne into ravenous, desperate smut with his lady-love. With that in mind, happy reading!

It had all happened so fast.

One minute, Bruce had been giving a toast. It had been another successful fundraiser downtown. The next, guns were stuttering and the guests were pressed against the floor as their valuables were removed. You were separated from the diamond bracelet Bruce had given you last Christmas. And Bruce hesitantly gave away his father’s signet ring. (But at ease knowing it was a replica. As was your bracelet.)

Two Face strode through the room. He paused between you and Bruce. With his charred face, he glared at you. You with your constant stream of news releases and exposés that kept uncovering his plans. And you, always able to evade him, until tonight. With his unblemished face, contorted with hate, he glared down at Bruce.

“Harvey –” he tried.

“Shut up!” Harvey Dent aimed his gun at Bruce’s chest. In his other hand, his fingers twiddled his fateful coin. He didn’t toss it. With a growl, he shot the ceiling instead. “Come on, before the Bat gets here. Bring both of ‘em with us.”

Bruce had pleaded with him to leave you there, playing up his more cowardly public image. He begged for them to come up with a different solution. And with a wave of his hand, Two Face ordered them to gag him.

There would be no resolution. No peace. Not until Two Face had what he wanted. 

***

One of these days you were really going to have to talk with Bruce and the city council members about how many abandoned warehouses there were in Gotham.

You couldn’t budge. The ropes around your arms and legs, tying you to the chair, were too tight. At least you could breathe. A few feet from you, Bruce was tied up in a similar way, but still gagged. Unmoving and observant as he was, you could still see that he was uneasy. He kept glancing between you and Harvey.

The walls of the warehouse were practically gone. The one remaining concrete walkway you were on was at least four stories up, with only rubble on the ground-floor below. Two Face stared off into the distance as if he could watch Batman’s approach in the darkness. The make-shift Bat-signal he’d rigged together sat at his feet.

Only Bruce wasn’t startled when Batman showed up from the opposite direction.

“What is this about, Dent?”

Harvey turned slow, his unburnt side making eye-contact first, before he glared at Batman fully with both halves of his face. “Does this situation look familiar to you?”

You wondered if it was Jason or Dick under the mask. Neither of them had been in the life yet when Harvey Dent had fallen into working as Two Face. But Bruce’s thorough report of that night wasn’t too hard to find on the Bat-computer after a few hours of digging. When “Batman” nodded, you knew it was Dick. Part of you already knew your fate was sealed.

“The two of them had nothing to do with that night.”

“No, that’s true.” Dent took to flipping the coin. Up and down. Catching and flipping. The coin landed flat in his palm, unread and unacted upon. He grinned at you with his burned face as each flip made you shudder. “But each has… cost me greatly here of late. Instead of flipping a coin for each of them and being done with it, I thought this time I could give the choice to you.” Dent caught his coin and gripped it tight. “With half a chance, would you change the choice you made that night?”

Dick/Batman hesitated before answering. “Nothing about this is like that night. We both know now that the Joker lied to me, switching where each of you were. He’s bragged about it to you himself. As for Rachel—”

“Don’t.” Both sides of Dent’s face twitched with rage. He hissed, “you don’t get to say her name.” Sucked through gritted teeth, the breaths he took made his chest heave. A final sigh leveled out his control. “We were on opposite sides of town that night. The two of them are right here. Maybe you can save both. Maybe not. Which will it be? Heads: Bruce Wayne. Billionare playboy with more brains than he shows to the media. How many hospitals, grants, scholarships has he funded over the years?” Dent flipped the coin a couple of times. “How many suits has he replaced for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying—”

“I know Wayne tech when I see it. Don’t try to deny it.” Dent shifted his focus to you, making you flinch back in your seat.

As a young reporter you’d attended the funeral of Rachel Dawe. She’d been a role model for you. But this was the last second on earth that you’d mention that in front of him. You breathed a sigh of relief as he faced Dick.

“Or heads: the reporter. A lifetime ago, she would have been a huge help to my cause. What the courts couldn’t decide fast enough, she could write and share with the world the research we all needed to hear. As she’s doing now. She’s your source of information, isn’t she? Isn’t she!” He grimaced. “Time to choose.”

At his feet, Dent kicked at a device bolted to the floor. On second glance, you noticed the wires traveling through holes bored into the concrete. They led under your chair, and another set ran under Bruce’s. Your eyes widened as you noticed the collection of explosives poking out from under the edge of the walkway… right behind his chair. You assumed you had a set too. Both of them ready to crumble your square of concrete towards the rubble below. Or to blow you to kingdom come the second Dent stepped on the device to set off the charges.

Dick slowly moved his hand toward his tactical belt. “Your men are on the bottom floor. Right under us. If you set that off, this floor will crush them. You yourself will have nothing left to stand on. It looks like the choice is yours: eliminating two thorns in your side, or being able to continue your business ventures.”

A slick smile slid across Dent’s face. “I made my choice years ago. As for my men… they made their choice when they accepted pay from me.”

“Dent—” In a very Nightwing motion, he held his palms out before returning them to his side to hold the stoic Batman pose.

“It’s Two Face. And would you point out the same double-sided leadership to your protégé turned ‘businessman,’ Red Hood? How is his war in weapon sales going against Black Mask these days? I’m tired of this.” Dent stepped forward, placing the toe of his patent-leather shoe on top of the device. “Ready to make your choice?”

Dick’s glance flicked towards Bruce first, who furiously shook his head. When he looked at you, you slowly shook your head. “It’s okay. Bruce Wayne can do more in one night,” your voice cracked, “one night of fundraising than I can do with ten stories. It’s okay.” As Bruce struggled in his bonds, tears began to course down your cheeks. You knew when those charges blew, he’d only be able to race gravity for one of you. And Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and the real soul of the Batman; he was more important to the future of Gotham than you.

As the charges fired, Bruce screamed behind his gag.

The ground fell out from under you. It was no surprise when the dark black blur darted away from you to fall over the opposite edge. Even so, you screamed out your fear, your pain, your goodbye. Only for it to cut off mere feet from the bottom as a blue blur snagged you out of the air. Your scream turned to frantic laughter. It took some effort, flying through the air as you were, but “Nightwing” (who had to be Jason) was able to cut the ropes so the chair dropped to the earth. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I thought you were supposed to be in Blüdhaven.”

Your rescuer alighted next to the Batmobile, where Dick was just landing with Bruce. The brothers shared that Two-Face’s goons had been collected long before Dick had shown up and were on their way with Damian to Commissioner Gordon. Two Face had been harnessed into the ceiling. It had lifted him out of danger and ensured his get-away. Dick smiled under the cowl.

Jason glared at his brother-in-arms. “Say nothing.”

“Blue looks good on you.”

They would have bickered longer, but Bruce darted between them. He held you fast in his arms. He kept patting you down, searching for anywhere you could be hurt.

“Darling, I’m alright.”

“Couldn’t do anything.” He glared at Dick. “You scared the hell out of me, not going after her.”

Dick’s jaw clenched. But he managed not to break eye-contact. “Red Hood was already on her side of the building. We were in constant communication throughout. Neither of you were in any danger of the fall.”

With the way Bruce’s shoulders were still tense, he didn’t seem to fully believe that. You knew he trusted his sons totally. But tonight had cut close. You smoothed your thumbs across his cheeks. “Let’s go home.”

Apologetically, Dick tried to say, “there’s not a back seat. Red was going to—”

“We’ll manage.”

Bruce sat in the passenger seat first, and you sat on his lap. All the way home, he ran his hands over your limbs, still checking you over. And his eyes kept flicking to the road. To the  dials and buttons on the dash as they flashed. To Dick as he drove, still in his cowl and cape. And all the way home, you did your best to put him at ease. Your blood was still pumping and your nerves were alight, but you ran your fingers through his hair. Ran your forefinger down his nose and cheeks. You pressed your forehead to his. As much skin contact as you could give him, you gave. As much calm as you could give him, you borrowed back.

Wayne Manor eventually loomed. Dick let you two out at the door. If anyone asked for it, the front cameras would provide visual evidence that you had been returned by the Batman. He drove off in a scuttle of gravel after watching Alfred let you into the house.

“We’re alright, Alfred.” You managed to wave him back to bed before Bruce lifted you in his arms and carried you up the stairs.

Thankfully, he waited until Alfred was long out of sight before sitting you down on a random hall table and latching his lips onto your pulse point.

“Can’t you get us to the bedroom?” You smiled through his kisses. “The boys could walk through and…”

“It’s my house.” Bruce shed his jacket and dress shirt, and he began fumbling with the hem of your dress. “I can ravage you where I want… where and when I need to.”

Still, he froze as your hand spread across his bare chest. “I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t tell Dick to save you instead of me.” He panted. Sweat was beaded across his brow. “I can’t do this without you. Not anymore.”

“You have me.” You kissed him. “You’ll always have me.” Hugging him close, you cried into the crook of his neck.

Batman hadn’t been able to save both Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawe that night. In the end, he still lost both. The choice, distorted as it was by the Joker, still weighed on him. The guilt had woken him up many a night. Like with every nightmare, you soothed him back to sleep. He was constantly afraid that he’d lose you like his childhood friend. Always afraid that he’d be out on patrol and some underworld power would grab you. No ransom would be too high for Bruce Wayne. No number of obstacles would be too much for Batman. What if he was a second too slow? What if the money wasn’t the point, and they harmed you anyway? What if… The what-ifs swirled in his mind constantly. They were swirling now, blinding him to anything but feeling you safe in his arms.

As for you? You still stood by what you told Dick to do. Nothing could change it. And you stood by your promise to always be with Bruce, even if only in memory should the worst occur. In your mind, he had been Batman long before he met you. He could be Batman long after you’d gone. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring that fateful possibility. He had you. Here. Now. Home and safe. In his arms.

“You’ve got me,” you whispered. “We’re alright. I’m okay.”

Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours and his hands were smoothing up your thighs. You rolled your hips forward, and wrapped your legs around his thick torso. You knew every muscle. Every scar. And every bruise long after they’d faded. Bruce ran his hands over your body, feeling your form still trapped under your dress. He knew the same points about you. Every muscle honed from self-defense training with Damian. Every papercut and bruise from archive drawers. And every inch of skin that he’d kissed a thousand times before. He couldn’t get enough.

You laughed as your dress ripped, pulled apart at the seams by a desperate man. His hunger paused as he finally saw the surprise you’d had in store. The entirely black set was your gift to him last Valentine’s Day. He trailed his fingers over the lace on your breasts before diving his face between them. You arched, digging your fingers into his hair. While he left open-mouthed kisses across your chest, you whispered as much comfort as you could. But your ability to speak was quickly degrading into soft moans and whines.

You wanted to be held. You wanted to be held so tight you could barely breathe. You wanted the space to wrap yourself around him like a snake looking for heat. Only his body would be able to warm the shiver out of your spine.

When you sighed as much, he only grunted.

He was lost in you. Lost to the word and the weight of it’s brokenness.

You were home. You were safe. You were in his arms. Skin to skin wasn’t enough anymore. Now he needed to be in you.

Bruce’s wandering touch finally drifted down across your tummy to the apex of your thighs. His fingers curled through the gap in the crotch of your panties. The wetness there made his knees give out. Face level with his target, he dove in, more hungry and hazy-eyed than when he kissed the valley of your breasts. While he ate you out, you gripped the back of his head, steadied yourself on the wall behind you, gripped the edge of the hall table, and you held onto anything you could while your vision blurred. One finger, two fingers curled while his tongue did the rest. He sucked hard on your clit, nearly toppling off your seat. Bruce took advantage of your folded position and hefted you over his shoulder.

Trapped there, you could do nothing but writhe as he continued to play with your wetness as he carried you down the hall. The fancy dress was left in shreds on the floor. You clenched on his fingers. With a growl, he dropped you to your feet. He pinned you to the wall, pressing close. Where your nails clawed into his shoulders, rough and desperate, his kisses to the underside of your jaw were soft and languorous. On the other hand, he never stopped wringing pleasure out of you by quickening the curling of his fingers. His thumb circled on your clit, weakening your knees. But he wouldn’t let you fall. The press of his body over yours was what he needed.

“You’re mine. You’re safe.” He hovered his lips over yours. “Tell me: how are you?”

Now? Your mind reeled. But every time you were about to answer, he’d change the pace of his fingers, or scissor you open, or change the direction of his thumb on your clit. Then your mind would blur. And speech left you. Finally, you managed, “you bastard.”

He smiled against your mouth. “Good.” If you could sass him, then you were completely at ease. His tongue curled into your mouth.

You accepted it, sucking on it like your walls were clamping down on his fingers. But as he quickened both, your breath stuttered. Your nails carved deep half moons into his skin as your body convulsed. Pinned to the wall, your body had nowhere to go as you shivered head to toe. Pinned back, you had nowhere to go when Bruce kept moving through your release. Your mouth fell open, panting with the onslaught of pleasure.

Bruce grinned against your cheek. Once again, he picked you up. This time, he wrapped your legs around his waist. He finished the journey to the master bedroom. When he laid you down, you were still hazy with release. It gave him time to rake his gaze across you again. He took in the heaving of your breasts in the lingerie you picked out. And the way your thighs tried to cover up the mess he’d made of you already. The only remnant of the fancy evening were your heels. Nearly passed out on his bed, there was nothing left of what Dent tried to do to you. He frowned. On second glance, your wrists were beginning to bruise.

From under your fluttering lashes, you took time to look him over too. How his torso shimmered with that fine layer of sweat. How his hair was mussed and his gaze was wild for you. But from the waist down, he was still presentation ready. Give or take the muddy patches on his suit pants.

“You’re wearing too much,” you said.

The frown shifted into a smirk. Slowly, he began to undo his belt. He leaned one way, then the other, as he removed his shoes. With a bit of shimmying, he bared every inch of skin for your view. He slid his hand into the one you reached towards him. His grip between your fingers was just short of painful. Carefully, he loomed over you, pupils blown wide, and his breathing heavy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Please, Bruce.” You closed your eyes as he slowly sheathed into you. A tiny whimper slipped out as he gripped your wrists, pinning them to the sheets on either side of your head.

When he moved, it was like he was trying to relearn you. Each twist and spear of his hips searching out your sweet spots reassured him that you were the same woman who had woken up by his side that morning. You were the same woman who took days or weeks to research an article topic, only to type it up an hour before the due date. Your cries were the same. How you moaned his name was the same. You were the same woman who walked into his life and immediately made it better.

He was the same man as that morning too. Even after a night of keeping Gotham safe, he could aways make you forget your own name. But you remembered his. Every drag and spear that made you quake brought it up like a talisman. Here was the man who knew your every worry. He listened to your every ramble and collection of convoluted theories for hours. And he came back to you. Triumphant or bloody and bruised, he always came back. Right now, he was replacing the bruises on your wrists with his own. And he was replacing the worries in your mind with nerve-blinding pleasure.

“Darling,” you keened, “please. So close.” You didn’t say you needed him. Or that you needed him to do anything, even to cum. He was taking what he needed from you.

Bruce pressed his forehead to yours. “Look at me.” He pleaded, “look at me, please.”

Taking a deep breath, you forced your eyes open. And you almost collapsed under the desire in his gaze.

He turned his hips in that certain way, and you did collapse. Crying out his name and clawing the air, your body seized. Bruce stuttered and moaned, held in place by your walls and by the sight of you falling apart beneath him. He filled you. Thrusting to chase those last sparks of release, he hummed your name.

Finally, he pulled out and fell next to you on the bed. You curled into his warmth with his chest against your back. When his arm draped across your hip, you smiled.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Bruce pressed his nose into the spot right behind your ear. He inhaled deeply. “We’re okay.” “Yes. We’re okay.”

***

General Masterlist

DC Masterlist

More smutty goodness with Bruce Wayne: A Night at the Theater

[corazondebeskar-reads]

something worse

din djarin x f!reader | my masterlist

for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge almost a month later 😅

note: my trope was "enemies to lovers," but I have to confess up front that there is no smut here. there's not even really a definitive conclusion. this turned into a character study because I was like, "okay let's do an imperial reader, but what about their motivation?" and then unforch I remembered this post and got struck with The Muse so here we are.

words: 3.2k

summary: you're an imperial officer loyal to moff gideon — until a run in with the mandalorian and his weird magic baby.

warnings: daddy issues, imperial reader, i don't know my mindset was v weird writing this, kind of enemies to lovers, really more enemies to allies with implied future lovin', people coming to a mutual understanding of one another, themes of parenthood and childhood and failing to live up to expectations, I'm sorry y'all I really do not know what this is but here it is anyway.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You are your father’s daughter. 

How could you ever be anything else? 

You are your father’s daughter, and, ergo, you are his legacy, his prophecy, his shadow. 

You are your father’s daughter and nothing more. 

What you do, what he does, what you stand for — it’s wrong. You know that. You do. 

But what are you to do? You are your father’s daughter. Nothing more. 

You were your mother’s daughter, once. Young and sweet and bright. Hair plaited by her hands, gowns cinched by her hands, heart cradled by her hands. 

She never liked the ISB. Before everyone knew the truth, before the Death Star, before the genocide. She bristled when your father signed up. 

“There is to be a draft,” he said, cupping her cheeks in hands that would grow less and less careful with each kill. “It’ll be better for us if I go voluntarily. More money, more choices.”

She still struggled to stay cross in those days, when you barely came up to her waist and stayed buried in her skirts every time the harshly dressed men visited your apartment, which became your home, which became your palace, for lack of a better term. 

You weren’t royalty, of course. But you felt like it, long before you knew the cost. Blood money, blood diamonds, blood-soaked hands. 

Of course, by then, your father rarely spilled blood. He had men to do that for him, he had command centers and lasers and booted troops to carry out his will. 

When your mother died, you learned what it was like to be a child of the Empire. What it was to be your father’s daughter. 

His blood held the door open for you, lit a path paved with sycophants and servants, led you by the light of the darkness that had consumed him, of greed and power and pride. 

Oh, and proud he was. Proud as you took rank after rank. Proud as you took life after life — from a distance, always. Calm, controlled, cold. 

When he died on the Death Star, you didn’t waver. You were your father’s daughter, dead or alive. your boss said as much when they presented you a medal in his stead, a postmortem prize for dying for the cause. 

“Your father’s daughter, through and through,” Gideon said, the hint of a smirk curling his lips. Three years in his service and you still couldn’t tell when his words were meant to be cruel. He was always that way, a step ahead, smooth with silk and sneers. 

This time, you knew he meant it, one way or another. After all, he had seen you grow. Seen you change and solidify, right from his first visit to your home when your mother’s hands shook as she poured the bourbon, which likely cost more than your salary even now. 

You are your father’s daughter in the daylight, keeping the cracks full of confidence. There was no room in this world for your mother’s daughter. There was no room in this world for doubt. 

Din Djarin is not his father’s son. Nor is he his mother’s, his buir’s, or anyone’s. 

Not anymore. 

Din Djarin is, as all Mandalorians are, one of many. He is but one ad’ika of his tribe and all of them wrapped together. He is Din, but he is also Mando, who is all and none. 

Together, as one. One part of a whole churning, swirling essence of what it is to be Mandalorian, to be a brother, to be a father, to be a soul. 

He is not his father’s son but he has his eyes. They aren’t for anyone to see, and there’s none left alive that would recognize them, anyway. 

He is not his mother’s son but he has her nose. It’s not for anyone to see, and there’s none left alive that would recognize it, anyway. 

But Grogu is his father’s son. His buir’s ad’ika. He shares none of his features but all of his heart. 

And Din isn’t about to let Gideon tear his heart from his chest.

Not when he’s going to have to give it away to the Jetii. Not when he’s going to have to learn to live with his heart outside his body, across the stars, lifetimes apart. 

Not with Gideon. Never with Gideon. 

You meet the Dark Troopers at the hangar to receive Gideon’s prize, though you neither know nor care about his little petty feud with some Mandalorian. In the wake of the Empire, he’s become obsessed. Obsessed with the Mandalorians, with their steel, with their nerve. He says this thing, whatever it is, will restore the glory of the Empire. 

You find it hard to care these days. What good is the Empire? It’s dead and gone, and it took your father with it. 

You are not your father’s daughter. Nor are you your mother’s. Their ghosts have left you vacant, a blank slate, and the only thing keeping you from disappearing into the vast and empty galaxy is Gideon. 

He’s not a particularly pleasant man, but he gives you purpose, even if you’re not entirely sure it’s worth the effort. But every day, you rise from bed, bathe, dress, and follow the whim of this vainglorious monster-made-man, and you do not think about life. You do not think about the trees or the seas or a reason to breathe. 

You think about duty, not desire. 

And so it goes. 

Which is all to say that when the “trooper,” a glorified droid, hands you a baby, you freeze.

On the outside, you’re impassive. Unmoving, unfeeling, unruffled. Inside, there’s a buzzing taking up residence in your brain. Something fuzzy and uncomfortable. 

You hold the child by the waist at a healthy distance. It looks afraid. You don’t blame it. The hangar of Gideon’s cruiser is a cold, desolate place. You are a cold, unwelcoming face. 

Gideon’s grin is no less unsettling than your blankness, but the child reacts viscerally, the tips of its tiny nails digging into your fingers it tries to escape your grasp. You hold him out with a grimace, nose wrinkled. 

As Gideon reaches to take it from you, it turns its fuzzy little head and looks at you with big, brown eyes. You have the strangest feeling that it's upset with you. 

What a silly thought. It’s a small creature, probably not even capable of such emotional complexity. 

The buzzing doesn’t stop. If anything, it’s a slow crescendo. You find yourself drawn to the sound, drawn to the way your whole body feels the prick of a thousand invisible pins until you wind up in its cell. 

It happens over and over and over. You lose focus. Your tasks neglected; your will stolen. Time and time again the numb, vacant feeling finds you in the cell holding the child. 

You come to your senses and set it back on the bench, it’s tiny cuffs clinking. 

You blink. It blinks. You blink. It blinks. 

You leave. 

Until you don’t. 

“I was wrong,” Gideon drawls lazily when he enters the cell to find you standing, face blank, the child in your arms. “You’re not your father. You’re weak, like your mother. Feeble-brained.”

You’re not your father. 

Of course you’re not. 

You never were. 

“It’s been clear, of course, since he died. What a waste of a man. You’ve never had half the potential, but at least you were useful. A shame.”

The hum of the darksaber igniting drowns the buzzing for the first time since the child arrived, and you snap out of the trance, suddenly aware of the little heartbeat racing under your fingertips. It makes a soft noise, with an inflection like a question, and stupidly, you answer. 

“No,” you assure the critter, by the Maker, what were you doing? But it responds just as the klaxons ring and Gideon abandons you in the cell. 

Your head spins, as does the room. What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you—

Nothing, the darkness answers as it takes you. 

The Mandalorian’s visor is as unreadable as the big brown eyes that peer into your cell alongside him, though much lower. 

You blink. It blinks. He doesn’t. 

He doesn’t move or speak, a tower in the night. Not a warning but a turret. Deadly and still, waiting for you to move and give him a reason. 

You look between them. The most unlikely duo. And when you look up at the Mandalorian, your mouth opens, but he beats you to it. 

“Don’t ask. I don’t know,” he grunts, and stands to his full height. “He made me bring you.”

It comes rushing like the tide, taking you out at the knees. You’re on the Mandalorian’s ship. There are a million questions in your veins, but you won’t bleed for him. You stay silent, sprawled there on the cold durasteel where you had awakened. 

He pushes a canteen of presumably water and a ration pack through the grate and closes it. Without another word, he lifts the baby and leaves you in the dark. 

He mostly leaves you alone—but he does consistently feed you. The little one, however, is a frequent visitor to your cell, much to the frustration of his guardian.

It takes you longer than it should to piece it together. 

The buzzing in your head.

Why Gideon wanted the child.

In the end, it’s your propensity for eavesdropping, the same skill that built your career, that solves multiple mysteries at once.

The Mandalorian’s voice is gentler, almost comforting, as it wafts through the open cockpit door.

“You can’t just keep refusing to go with them, kid. I can’t teach you how to be a Jedi.”

A Jedi. 

Your gasp is loud and sharp, a slip-up you’ll later blame on exhaustion and the baby’s brain manipulation or whatever mumbo-jumbo “Force” magic it’s apparently doing to you.

The muzzle of the Mandalorian’s pistol is long enough to meet your temple through the bars. 

You freeze. He sighs.

“Well, I was taking you to the New Republic,” he says. “But I’m afraid that’s no longer an option.”

Your stomach swoops, but your brain doesn’t falter. You snort, daring to lift your eyes to take him in your peripherals. “Wasn’t a very good option to begin with,” you say with carefully constructed casualness. “I’m not much good to you with the New Republic, or with my brain splattered on your ship’s wall.”

“You’re not much good to me at all,” he says, but he waits. 

Your heart picks up its pace. You don’t give him a chance to lose patience. “I know Gideon. I know everything.” 

“Most Imps would rather die than betray their masters,” he scoffs. “But you haven’t even tried.”

You know. The lullaby pill sits safely in your fake molar. If you were your father’s daughter, you’d be an empty husk by now. “Maybe I’m a coward,” you say.

He holsters the pistol. “Maybe,” he agrees. He turns, getting halfway across the hall, when he pauses, not even looking over his shoulder at you. “You’re still not getting out of there.”

It’s one of the days when nobody comes to see you, where the ship sits stationary on some skughole while the hunter hunts and the baby… well, you don’t really know what it does. Just that it’s not there, he’s not there, there’s nobody there but you.

By yourself.

Alone.

Have you ever been alone?

Have you ever been alone?

Of course you have. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. And she was always alone. Until the end. But, of course, she designed it that way.

Wait, though.

You haven’t ever been alone. You are your father’s daughter, raised in the barracks, living life on a ship that was never quiet. 

But he doesn’t know that. Doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know you’re anyone’s daughter, let alone something worse. 

It leaves you reeling. For weeks. Your days become a mockery. No longer do you rise before the suns and accomplish your goals, fulfilling your minute purpose. No longer do you tick off the boxes of each cycle, each shift, each breath. 

Instead, you’re left to do the one thing you’ve spent your whole life trying not to do. You ruminate. Alone with your thoughts, you have to face them. The steady beat of duty is replaced with dread as you wake each morning — though, truthfully, you’re not even sure it’s morning — and grapple with that you don’t have a purpose. You never did. 

Not your father’s daughter. Not your mother’s daughter. Not anything at all, really. 

This he seems to know, since he can’t figure out a purpose for you either. Grogu throws him side eye when he so much as thinks about the most obvious solution. Your body in a gutter would clean up his problems without much effort.

But no. His son seems to think you’re worth keeping alive. Din is a little concerned that Grogu thinks you’re a pet of some kind, the way he slips between the bars to share a snack or pat you on the knee. It’s harmless, really, and you’ve proven too listless and lost to be a threat.

So in the cell and his mind, you stay.

You are no one’s daughter, and he is no one’s son. 

What this means is that no one comes to look for any of you when the ship falls from the sky. No one, of course, but the TIE pilots who shot you down. 

When you come to in the wreckage, you’re alone. There are no signs of the Mandalorian or his little green baby. The bars of your cage, which you braced yourself against during the fall, are mangled enough that you’re incredibly lucky twice over. Not only do you have room to escape, but you managed to somehow avoid being impaled by 2” thick durasteel rods. Not that you’re in mint condition, but you’re alive.

And free.

The two TIEs are sitting parked nearby. Just parked. No defenses, no lurking troopers. You could fly a TIE in your sleep. 

Your fingers twitch toward the panel, but you can’t seem to focus enough to punch in the override code. You can’t even think over the damn buzzing—

The buzzing.

The baby.

You’re following the sound, the sensation, before you realize you’ve turned away from the ship. It guides you, some invisible… force, through the outskirts of town into the bowels of a thrumming city. 

Until it doesn’t. 

When the buzzing stops, you don’t notice right away, haunted by its reverberations. When the silence sets over your shoulders like a shroud, it scares you. You can’t make it make sense, but nothing does anymore, anyway. 

You are nobody’s daughter, but he is someone’s son, and for some reason, this matters more than you could ever explain. 

When you find them, they look dead. Technically, you find the pilots first, and they are dead. You liberate them of their credits and blasters and weave your way into the alleys, following a trail of blood.

The trail turns to a river, at the mouth of which you find the Mandalorian. The streaky neon bounces off the beskar, and you can’t tell what’s a reflection and what’s actually blood on the armor. 

Worse is the baby’s little body, face down in the soil beside his father. His soft little coat is soaked in blood, and you can only hope it is the Mandalorian’s. 

Not that you care, or anything. 

Familiar cold detachment sets in, allowing you to quickly assess the situation. The baby is breathing steadily, unconscious but alive. He has no visible wounds, and the blood is only on the outside of his jacket. One down, one to go.

The Mandalorian is not so fortunate. His pulse is slow and stuttering. The wound on his abdomen seeps sluggishly, not because he’s healing, but because he’s running out of blood to bleed. 

In the end, you dig through the pouches around his belt until you emerge victorious with a single bacta patch, slapped sloppily on the split skin. 

It does occur to you, then. To walk away. 

This time, you can’t blame the baby when you tuck his sleeping body into the blood-soaked bag and heft him over your shoulder. You can’t blame his magic mumbo-jumbo when you heave the Mandalorian’s heavy boots up and under your arms, dragging the beskar-burdened behemoth behind you. 

The credits stolen from your former coworkers buy you a week in a hostel. It’s little more than a bunk, but at least it has a door. The small compartment’s ceiling is too low to sit up fully — meant only for sleeping, but here you are, performing a small surgery in the cramped space. There’s just enough room for your three bodies, and you have to rob the Mandalorian to get enough supplies to keep him alive.

When he wakes, though, he doesn’t return the favor. His blaster is at your temple before you even realize he’s conscious. 

“What did you do?” he growls, the pistol knocking at your already-aching head. 

“What did i do? I saved your scudbucket ass,” you snap. 

But he’s not even paying attention. The blaster is still debossing a little circle into your temple and he’s not even looking at you. He’s checking on the baby. 

“Explain,” he says, once he’s affirmed that the little green bogwing is just having a nap. You think. It seems a little more than a nap, but he had a pulse, so you had focused on the giant sack of bleeding beskar instead.

You recount your day from waking up among the wreckage until now. He pulls the blaster away and holsters it. 

“And,” you say, glaring, “you’re heavy as all hells. I think I threw my back out.”

He snorts. “Probably. Kriffing stupid to try to carry someone three times your size.” 

You’re not sure that’s accurate, but given the weight of the karking armor, it might be close. 

Silence fills the little bunk. He tries to shift to give you more room, but lets out a grunt as it aggravates his wounds. 

“I didn’t take it off,” you say quietly, unsure why you need to assure him. But he speaks in time with you.

“Why didn’t you leave?” 

You both pause. 

“I know,” he says after a moment. “There’s blood in here.”

You groan. “I better not have wasted all that time and money just for you to die from a head injury. I am not fit to be a parent to your baby sorcerer.”

“It’s superficial,” he says with a shrug. “Wait, what money?”

“Your money,” you say callously. 

He watches you, helmet tilting just enough to make you uncomfortably aware of your ragged appearance and every movement.

“Why didn’t you leave?” he repeats.

You close your mouth, teeth grinding as you chew on your answer. Finally, you just say it. The wretched thought that’s been seeping into the vestiges of your resolve.

“A father is a hell of a thing to lose,” you mumble, gesturing vaguely at the kid. 

The Mandalorian stays still and silent for too long, setting your nerves on edge. Finally, he looks away.

“That it is,” he says quietly.

[astrogre]

The Planet that is Pluto

Words: power, control, obsession, the underworld, intensity, intense emotions, intense everything, domination, taboo, depth, sex, repressed emotions, shadow self, the survivor, detective, alchemy, dark arts, superiority, fear, bravery

Astrological placements associated with Pluto: Scorpio, 8th house, Aries

Character I associate with Pluto: Femto-Berserk

The way Griffith sacrifices the souls of his people to transform into Femto and have dominance over others. What he does to Casca as well. He is the epitome of an extreme Plutonic character.

Honourable mentions: Homelander- The Boys, Laurie- Euphoria, Makima- Chainsaw man, Erik- Phantom of the Opera, Gaara-Naruto

Places: hades underworld realm, chess tournament’s, hell, anywhere with hierarchy aka corporate workplace, government institutions (because of power play/dynamics), caves, underground tunnel, escape rooms, secret society hidden meetings, nightmares,

Random somewhat astrologically influenced things that personally remind me of Pluto: Rigger, black grapes, death by strangulation, wine, babushka dolls, long nails, snakes, a public executor in the medieval ages, chess, cults, BDSM, the colour black, power play

Song I associate with Pluto:

Listen to this while you read it to immerse yourself in Pluto energy and surroundings, also read the lyrics too it’s very much Pluto energy

For you Pluto dominants:

(Pluto 1st house, Pluto 8th house, Pluto conjunct asc, Pluto conjunct Sun, many strong aspects to Pluto & Honourable mentions: 8th house stellium, Scorpio Stellium.)

This is entire post is dedicated to you

Plutos Traits:

Regenerative and transformative

Think of a snake shedding skin to become anew or when you’ve overcome and left abusive relationships and you’re back in your self confidence. Pluto is a phoenix bird it has a DEEP urge for regeneration and can transform itself from its own ashes into a diamond, Pluto itself is the pressurising machine. Say ashes represent the shittiest moments of our life e.g abuse, relationships, trauma, Pluto has the ability as an alchemist to use this horrible event to make something of more value, it transmutes basic base metal to gold. Transmutes pain and death to renewal. Pluto sees trauma as fuel. Without ashes (intense emotions or experiences) Pluto cannot show up and do it’s thing. Check where you have Pluto in the houses, this may be where you can get hurt most but it’s purposefully for a reason you’re supposed to use those intense emotions and make something beautiful of them

Eg. Pluto in 11th houser may have intense traumatic social circles or communities that ostracise, diminish, use or control them. As a Pluto 11th houser YOU have dominion here, you guys are social climbers the real life underdogs to Royalty stories. Use their exploitation of you as fuel, motivation and a resources to your success.

(Kylie and Kris Jenner have this placement and we all know how they absorb the drama, publicity and negativity from others like a champ, embody it, all to gain constant relevancy, power, influence and fame in their careers. Scandals make their profits go up like the whole Jordan woods drama and using it as marketing to do a sale on Kylie Jenner lip kit, Kris having their children’s private lives scrutinised and publicly available all so her family can gain relevance and wider opportunities)

Dominance and control

The reason why Pluto is known for obsession is because it urges to have the upper hand, Pluto won’t argue when defied he simply acts unbothered but exacts revenge in a cold manner, it wants to dominate and will go to extreme lengths to do that, it will go at all costs, the obsession manifests in an illogical, ego based way think of Gabriel Agreste from miraculous ladybug- how he prioritises triumphing ladybug over saving his wife, that kind of obsession. In my personal opinion I see Pluto as the second ego after Sun. It’s better if I explain by comparison… Think of powerful and dominating planets like Saturn and Mars, imagine if you owed each of these planets money and were in deep debt with them this is how they would respond:

Saturn: would employ you to do gruelling long hard work for many years, no retirement so that you’d die working on their behalf. If you refuse or die before debts are paid they would simply pass your debt onto your children make them do it to repay the money you owe. (If you’ve seen Chainsaw man, Saturn would work/treat the debtors children kind of like the way Denji was treated he had to pay off his fathers debts; in burdensome conditions where his health was being compromised for repayment.)

Mars: if you owed money to mars and were not able to pay it back, mars would most probably threaten you, beat you up, do a drive by shooting, physically destroy your assets like keying cars, graffiti and bulldozing your house, may be very aggressive think of loan sharks and mafia

Pluto: Now if you owe Pluto money.. Pluto is the kind to go further than mars, he would make you pay for it personally, in a way that can be grotesque/dark think of maybe rue from euphoria. When she owed money she just randomly woke up in a strangers bed and the house being filled with men implying she had been sex trafficked. Pluto is very wicked, obsessive and can be unsympathetic. It would not care if you feel pain and regret for inconveniencing them, it does this to put you in your place and prefers you repay the money with your suffering. Pluto may not even want the money anymore but rather the control and prioritises the debtors torture or will get the losses at your expense. eg. Sex trafficking you, have you wake up on the road after being unconscious and notice your kidneys are missing, hold you hostage, torture you, sell your body parts at an elite auction house, make detestable arrangements behind your back like forced marriage etc. This is how Pluto exacts its power and control.

Power obsessed

Pluto gets what it wants and exerts control over others while it does. That’s why it’s described as “scary” and associated with fear, a combination of ego and revenge. This is why wherever Pluto is in your houses it can show where you are intimidating, relentless and powerful and what you have constantly been resiliently obsessing over for years.

E.g Pluto 1st housers feel the desperate need to be in control and that they are seen to be dominant. They’re kind to get insulted if you call them “cute” or make jokes about their authority. (Leonardo DiCaprio, Beyoncé, Britney Spears and Justin Beiber all have this placement and came out of being typecasted or known as the “sweet good girl/boy” stereotype to powerful and to be taken with caution.

Taboo

Pluto is labelled taboo because it inserts itself into light AND darkness. It doesn’t mind and in fact rather enjoys exploring sex, defiance, repressed emotions, any subject that the general public refuse to speak of, Pluto relishes in that. I remember as a child there was a myth that I was told. It was that if you say “Bloody Mary” three times in the mirror you’ll get haunted and a ghost will appear to attack you, while other children may scream and dread in fear to even think of doing such an act, Pluto ruled natives may be the kind when alone to quickly run into the bathroom turn off the lights and try it out alone. That’s why they’re known to participate in dark arts, have interest in disturbing topics, they are fearless, like the challenge and find the minuscule information available on it a challenge. It’s not that Pluto ONLY has interest in taboo topics it’s just that it doesn’t hold as much fear of it as everyone else, talking about sex or death to Pluto is like talking about the weather, it’s no different, after all it’s just another subject.

The reason why they’re so fascinated by such topics and affiliated with them is because they see wasted energy and potential in these dark topics, abandoned resources that nobody wants meaning there’s more for them, and that’s why Pluto wants to explore it. Pluto isn’t wasteful. If Pluto were to kill a cow it would use its meat for food, bones for medicine, skin for rugs and teeth for necklaces, not a part of it would go unused. It gets excited when someone hits them because it means they can hit back.

Hidden self

Pluto is the hidden shadow part of yourself self you may want to hide and refuse to acknowledge. This is because as mentioned before Pluto loves the darkness and inside the subconscious there’s the good stuff and the bad stuff, our subconscious holds our fears, our beliefs, our desires and Pluto brings out all that stuff as conversation starters and wants to explore it and use it as fuel. This is why Pluto is known to be triggering because to be honest who wants to remember the fact they are afraid of touch and their abuser that caused that? But Pluto does. Pluto wants to remember them, Pluto wants to bring it up, Pluto wants to know who they are, Pluto wants to get revenge on them and put them in their place. Wherever Pluto is in your houses can also show how you can exact revenge so that it hits hard on others.

E.g. Pluto 4th house can suggest native can use powerful resources in their family, or their family has status, control, authority over others and can utilise it against others to contribute to their downfall.

(Megan Markle has this placement and she certainly lives up to it. She’s able to use the traumatic experiences she endured as a royal as fuel against them and is slowly contributing to the downfall of the monarchy by using her name and her affiliation to the royal family).

How to activate Pluto

Pluto can only transform and use its powers of Alchemy, transformation, control and power if you tap into its energy otherwise Plutos potential will be ignored. The same with any placement really. If you have a Venus 1st house, you want to be a beauty influencer but don’t put yourself out there, it’s energy will never manifest and remain as wasted potential.

The way you’re supposed to use Pluto is by confronting your fears. When you are most afraid, do it anyway.

E.g. Pluto 7th housers when you’re laying in bed and you’re thinking of that traumatic experience in your relationships instead of suppressing it, allow Pluto to remember it and allow that level of disrespect you feel to take action in the way of your Pluto sign.

(Shakira, Cardi B and Megan Thee stallion all have this placement and exacted revenge on their partners in different ways, Shakira and Cardi did it by artistically exposing them in music and making money form it, Megan did it the same way and also by lawsuits, doing public interviews on torey Lanes and pressing charges)

Anything Pluto touches is where you hold the most power in your birth chart. Usually people say how come i’m not good in that area?? It’s because you’ve not utilised Pluto. It’s because you won’t let Pluto explore it and turn your tribulations into gold.

What can Pluto tell us:

The best way of how you can exact revenge for it to successfully hit hard on others.

Where your wasted potential is. Basically where you allow your fears, desires, trauma to lay dormant instead of using that intense energy for Pluto transformation

Where we get excited when someone hits us because it means we can hit back. (Applies only if native is used to Plutos energy, otherwise you won’t be able to hit back. You’ll know if it’s active if when you have challenges under the themes of the house Plutos in you trust you can fight back like you have in the past)

Where you hold the most power

What you obsess over

How you deal with fears, death, change and trauma

Which part of your life you experience extreme transformation and changes

What you like to fight for

I will most likely be making a series that incorporates all of this for each house. However due to the fact that I am unfortunately very detail oriented this may take a while for me to commit to.

Pluto Series:

Pluto in 1st House

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Similarities and Difference I feel between Zayne and Sylus.

Note: Just my opinion. It's okay if you do not agree. We all have different take on Sylus appearance in the game and the whole update. MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS... YOU ARE WARNED.

The Game

The game fixes so many bugs. I'm so glad that I don't have to buy a new phone. Imagine downloading 2.3 GB for the new version then another 7+ GB for data and then it offloads all data of all of your memories. So the update is both has its good side and bad side.

When Infold says Sylus is coming, he is indeed coming!!! I mean the whole update is about him and the N109 zone. But setting aside the Sylus thing, the whole N109 zone is both scary and wonderful. The details and depth they put in the update are very gone. It's like watching a movie. If ever you watch Final Fantasy VII Advent Children or Spirits Within. It's giving me that vibe.

The transition from a light theme to a dark theme in the fighting scenes is good. We get to see the game evolve to a more serious side.

All in all, the update is so good and I really enjoyed it.

Sylus and Zayne

I can't help but think they are both ends of a ruler, it's like they are Morning and Nighttime. While they are both sharp tongues, Zayne will tone down and spoil M/C while Sylus leaves things as it is.

They may seem cold but they protect M/C at all costs. Just like what Grandma Josephine says, "By helping her(M/C) you are helping yourself"

That being said, Zayne and Sylus are always there to teach M/C what she needs to know and survive. While Sylus is more brute in handling things, Zayne is more of sarcastic but kind.

Sylus

I don't think he is in love with M/C.... Yet! He needs her, yes. But that does not necessarily mean being in love.

In Abyssal Chaos, M/C finds him a nuisance then when M/C asks if he is worried about her, he answers maybe leaving us on the edge.

To say I'm shocked on Sylus Relax Time: Palm, is an understatement. The first part is cute, but my head explodes when he bites our hand!!!! I'm so not ready for that. I waited so long to upgrade Zayne's affinity to get the Relax Time: Hands, just to be slapped by Sylus' first relax time. But then again, as a consumer, Infold purposely intends Sylus to be that way to get more girlies to the game. I can't complain about that.

I don't like his voice. You read that right. I don't like his voice (English Version). My sister doesn't know I'm playing while he is speaking. She says it's like a grandpa's voice. Infold should have chosen a younger-sounding sexy voice. A little bit like Zayne's but deeper. Again this is just my opinion. If you like it, you like it.

Now I know why Zayne never gets casual clothing like a t-shirt or sweats because they are reserving them for Sylus so Zayne and him will have a striking contrast with style and personality.

He is also a mixture of everyone (Xavier, Rafayel, and Zayne) Xavier on being oblivious. Oblivious because this guy doesn't seem to know how dangerously sexy he is. Rafayel on being witty. Yes, No, Maybe so? And Zayne for having the air of authority and control.

Final Thoughts

Sylus is sexy! Yes I said it... He is sexy. And women like dangerous and sexy. It adds to the excitement. It doesn't help that he bites our hands. Who wouldn't fall for that... Infold's Sylus team did a great job in shading the other guys in one swoop..

Thank you Infold for giving us more ways to earn Diamonds. I hope you also increase the weekly limit in earning chocolates.

The love interest page still flags 'Coming Soon'. I am still hoping Infold brings Caleb back. Yes, I love Caleb as much as Zayne! He is the only guy I'm interested in aside from Zayne. Don't you think it's a good and fair love triangle? Sylus has always been on a different level. Something Zayne and the other boys can never be and never compete with.

What's next? Since Glint studio is so addicting, I am hoping the next version comes with video shooting. I mean we are making a video shoot with the boys not just still photos.

Good job Infold!!!! You really hook me and my wallet!!!!

[trivia-yandere]

fuck it, a look into part 2 to drugdealer! yoongi's "dilemma"

coming oct.14

“Each time I see you, you get something more bold.” the nail tech speaks as she carefully adds the clear coat onto your nails. “You always keep me on my toes. I never know what to expect.”

You giggle a bit with a curt nod to your head. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t me choosing these designs?”

Yoongi had been the one to tell you all he wished for you to get - and you never went against it. He was the one paying for it. You recall one of the many times you and he were hanging out. He would always insist that you didn’t have to buy whenever you wanted weed, a perk that you didn’t wish to take advantage of. 

Yoongi understood that you were stubborn at times and instead decided that you two can smoke together and it wouldn’t be considered “free” if he was smoking it with you - as if you didn’t know he “accidentally” left some behind for you whenever he left.

That, and it always ended with you and Yoongi fucking. You blamed it on you being high but you and him both understood that even sober would you be willing to fuck him. 

After a smoke session that soon lead to a fuck session, Yoongi had mentioned how your nails would look nice a light blue color and had offered to pay for it, no matter the cost. Him handing you $200 wasn’t what you expected - his excuse was he didn’t know how much nails cost.

Typical Yoongi response.

“Boyfriend?” she asks, eyes glancing up at you. “You always get designs and add bling.”

You lick your lip, unsure of how to respond.

Yoongi wasn’t your boyfriend - he never asked you. 

Sure you and he would often spend time together when you weren’t working and he wasn’t…doing whatever it was that he did. He never truly did tell you what he sells besides weed, but did you truly wish to know? Just like he said before - ignorance is bliss.

Yoongi and you would go places that could be considered dates - says your friends - and apparently acted like a couple. He would buy you things randomly, items he thought you’d enjoy and of course he does pay for your nails simply because he likes the way they look on you.

“Something like that.” was your response, unsure of what you were truly expected to respond with. 

There’s a ringing noise indicating that there’s a door opening. You raise your brow in confusion as it was already dark outside and the salon is closed and has been for over an hour now. You typically choose the later appointments at times and Yoongi would pick you up.  

“Ah, is this the boyfriend?”

Your head whips around to see Yoongi in the flesh. He steps closer, sauntering towards you with such a cool and nonchalant swag about him. Your heart jolts at just the sight of him, dressed casually; dark grassy colored shirt with light-washed gray jeans and his infamous Nikes that he wore that he had in nearly every color. 

Yoongi always wore jewelry, his wrist holding expensive gold bracelets and watches. His ears typically held little silver or gold hoops or the occasional diamond earrings. Witnessing him wearing a diamond studded chain around his neck, matched with another looser one that slightly sways as he walks. 

“Yoongi.” you say as he reaches you, your body warms at his sudden appearance. “I…I should be done soon. Were you waiting long?”

“Just stopping by. Have to make a quick stop before we go out to eat.” Yoongi shakes his head, dark eyes glancing down to your nails. “I like your nails. They’re nice.”

You couldn’t help but smile, looking at your nails with the design Yoongi picked out - full of different shining gems that he insisted you get, again, no matter the cost.

Yoongi goes through his pocket and grabs his wallet. He turns his eye to the nail tech who’s already watching in curiosity. Sometimes, not all, does Yoongi wear rings. They could be subtle, simple silver rings. Today, however, was not a subtle day. His index, middle, ring and pink display diamond-studded rings that say “SUGA”, and all you can do was snicker.

“Hopefully this is enough.” Yoongi says, handing her a wad of cash. You want to scoff at the insane amount of money he was handing her. “This is too much-” the nail tech widens her eyes a bit, looking between you and Yoongi. “It’s-”

“Fine.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders. “It’s fine. You can pocket the rest.” he assures, turning feline-like eyes to you. “You always do an amazing job.”

[gr1an]

A FIFTY PERCENT DISCOUNT??

CUB. CUBFAN.

HOW MANY DIAMONDS IS HE LOSING IN THIS SALE?

convex shippers how does it feel to be canon. there’s no way this man isn’t literally giving him a boyfriend discount.

i’m stunned. shocked. jaw on the floor. THEY COST DIAMONDS TO MAKE!

it’s such like. an insane declaration of love. it doesn’t even have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. he just.

sorry i’m still just. appalled. /pos

[b-imbou]

honey baby (SPOILED!)

Ran Haitani x f!reader | Rin Haitani x f!reader

Genre: smut & angst Notes: christening my new blog with a new series! I got inspired while listening to Kali Uchis’ TO FEEL ALIVE EP. The series is set in the 80s but the era isn’t really a huge part of the story. And it’s also set in Italy! There will be some dark content but all warnings will be added accordingly. Happy reading! Warnings: cheating, oral sex, possessiveness, masturbation. Words: 11.7k

Another gift from your daddy.

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. You’ve been working under Mitsuya since you moved to The Amalfi Coast three years ago. But who paid for your travel costs and air fare? Papà. Who continues to subsidise your living expenses? Papà does. Suya often teases you, calls you spoiled. You are. Always have been, and you think you always will be.

Papà shouldn’t mind.

What use is being rich if he can’t give his baby girl anything she wants?

Papà wouldn’t mind.

What else would drive him to work so hard but providing for his favourite daughter?

Papà doesn’t mind.                    

His favourite daughter is his only daughter, after all.

He was willing, albeit a little hesitant, to allow his pride and joy to fly across the globe and set up a new life for herself overseas. You have daily phone calls with him. More often than not, the conversation is nothing of importance. Simply asking and telling how your days are. He visits, sometimes. One of the reasons he was prepared to allow you to move to Italy was that he had a valid reason to visit. He’s able to spend some time with his treasure and tend to one of his many businesses while he’s in the country. It makes him feel powerful. To be in the presence of men under his employ and offer a more hands on approach.

Your papà writes letters, though those are more cryptic. He relies on you from time to time to keep him informed on his businesses while he doesn’t have a physical presence in Italy.

“Diamond earrings, tch. You are spoilt.” Mitsuya smirks. “Spin for me, baby. Don’t be shy.” he instructs his client standing on a pedestal before him. He isn’t sure why he hired you considering you don’t do much actual work. But at least you’re good company and a good model for his clothes.

Your papà loves Mitsuya. He checks in with him whenever comes to Italy. He’d quite like it if you married a man like Mitsuya. No, not like him. Him. Just him. But whenever your father brings it up you can both barely conceal your amusement. You’re friends. Just friends.

“Aren’t they to die for?” you muse, sighing dreamily as you admire yourself and the twinkling jewels in the mirror in front of you.

You’re sitting crossed legged on a stool by the cash register, a pen in one hand and your chin resting in the other. The sound of your pen scribbling on the alabaster sheet of paper before you is positively deafening. Mitsuya is trying to keep his composure in front of his client; but she’s smiling as she notes the growing annoyance on your boss’ face. There is a clothes pin between his teeth that he’s clenching for more reasons than one. Resting on the balls of his feet as he works on the pure white wedding dress in front of him.

“Is that your papà you’re writing to?” he asks begrudgingly. You shake your head, not looking at him as you smile down at your whimsical writing, remembering to dot the I’s in your letter with hearts instead. He loves that.

“Careful, bella. People will talk if you keep secrets about men. They’ll think you’re sleeping with un mafioso.” the woman getting her wedding dress adjusted tells you in whispers. It piques your interest as well as the attention of Mitsuya, who scoffs a little before resuming his work.

“No way, signorina, her papà would have her taken back to the states if that were true. And… just, look at her. She’s a pain in my ass but she’s a good girl. Too good to get mixed up with a mafia man.” he explains with purpose, a small laugh punctuating the final few words of his sentence.

You look up from your letter, plump lips pulling into a rosy, red smile as an expression of truth. It’s enough for Mitsuya and the bride-to-be to leave you to your own devices. Finishing off the final words of your letter before kissing a crimson mark into the paper. You spray it with your favourite perfume before sealing it away like a it’s government secrets into a secure envelope. And you’re just such a romantic. You tie it all together with some string and secure a loose, dainty flower from the floral display sitting atop the checkout counter to it all. You write amore mio in the bottom right corner in small and gentle letters that you hope he’ll be able to read.

“Scusi, mi scusi, Mitsuya—”

“Si?”

“Can I go for a break, per favore?” you question. He shakes his head before instantly grinning as his eyes find yours.

“Whenever you come into work, your whole shift is a break!” he reminds you. It makes your cheeks warm and an evident bashfulness arises from within and paints your whole exterior. “Go, go away. Only if you buy oranges for me. I’m craving citrus.”

“Si! Thank you, Suya.” you beam at him, picking up two wicker baskets from beneath the counter and walking by him and the client before exiting into the sweltering sun.

You take your time, as you often do, walking slowly as to let the sunshine melt into your supple skin. It always makes you feel like you’re going to live forever, living this life. Taking it easy on the Italian Coast and doing as you please.

It suits you just fine.

There are familiar faces on your journey to the market; faces that can’t help but light up as they notice yours. Exchanges of ‘Ciao’ and ‘Ciao bella’ are swapped between you and each person you can’t help but greet upon seeing them. There’s no mistaking it, not from anyone.

You’re in love.

Like your father, everyone expects you and Mitsuya to be a perfect match. Though it couldn’t be further from the truth. Admittedly, when you had met Mitsuya on arrival to Italy, there was no denying an attraction between the two of you. You slept together, once… twice… five times, deciding you get along better as friends and more than happy to keep it that way. Your father would be broken to discover you aren’t as innocent as he believes you to be, but he doesn’t need to know. He’s halfway across the world, so whatever you get up to is more or less going to be taken to the grave with you.

“Ciao!” you greet the fruit grocer as you look carefully around the market. He smiles when he notices you. It isn’t lost on you that he has a crush on you, he has from the minute he set his sights on you, but your heart belongs to another.

“C-Ciao, bella. Can- um, can I help you with—?”

“Suya wants his citrus fix, Hakkai. Would you be able to fill this basket with oranges for me, please?” you politely ask, a soothing sounding tone emanating from your lips. He nods, gratefully. You’re so kind to him. Not because you want to lead him on, you’re just a kind, sweet soul. And Hakkai, bless him, he’s so shy. No matter how lovely you are to him, he doesn’t seem able to acquire any newfound confidence to talk to you. If anything, you think it might have made him worse.

“Yeah, o-of course. And, the, uh— o-other basket?” he manages to stumble out his sentence as he looks down at the wicker currently housing your love letter. You pick it up, holding the beautifully scented correspondence betwixt dainty little fingers. It’s brought closer to your chest, your heart. You smile shyly as you hope he doesn’t interrogate you over it.

“It’s a gift. So, I’ll let you fill it and make it look nice for me.” you tell him. He nods, stepping out from behind the counter with Mitsuya’s basket first.

He doesn’t normally do this. Fill the baskets of customers for them. But you didn’t know that when you first visited him for a basket of peaches all of those years ago. And, really, how could he say no to a pretty little thing like you?

Neither of you speak as he works, so you merely observe. You wish he had even a modicum of social skill. Mitsuya claims he’s real talkative when they spend time together, but how can that be true? Trying to converse with Hakkai is like trying to pull teeth from the gaping maw of a great white. Watching him do something so regular, so normal and mundane, is making you feel somewhat like a perverse voyeur.

You’re saved, thankfully, when an elderly woman who you’re familiar with greets you. She takes a seat on a nearby bench, and you feel inclined to join her. You talk for a little while as you keep allowing your vision to alternate between her and Hakkai.

“Are those diamonds in your ears, bella?” she queries, reaching her hand up to feel and caress your earlobes. You don’t mind, though. The apples in your cheeks swelling tenfold with pride as you consider all of the compliments you’ve received on them today.

“Si,” you grin, tucking your hair behind your ears for her to study them both properly. They’re glittering even more in the sunlight. Enough to blind anyone who looked directly at them if they weren’t careful.

“A gift from that wonderful papà of yours?” she wonders. Your lips pout but quickly form a smile, eyes twinkling with mischief as you hold her gaze and consider your answer.

“From my daddy,” you tell her. She clutches her heart and exhales yearningly at your response. Her eyebrows become a slight more angular as she uses her free hand to take yours.

“He is a good man, that papà of yours. If only I were thirty years younger.” she tells you, it makes you giggle. Your papà is a handsome man, and happily married to your mother. You don’t blame the elderly woman for having a crush. He’s ridiculously charming and well-to-do. He dresses smart and oozes confidence, earning the respect of any and all he comes into contact with. “Your grocery boy is waiting,” she points. Your head swivels to face him and he awkwardly waves when you notice him standing beside two baskets filled to the brim with fruit.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I need to pay for those. It was nice catching up with you.” you smile, waving goodbye as you walk over to Hakkai. “How much do I owe you?” you ask him.

“I-It’s fine. I’ll let Mitsuya know next time I see him…” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck stiffly, unable to keep eye contact with you more than a few seconds. You ask him if he’s sure, and he insists. “Yeah, uh, he can take it out of your pay cheque or something, right? It’s okay, really. What’s a few Lira, anyway?”

You walk around the stall to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. It’s walking a fine line between platonic and romantic, easily leaving room for the affection to be misconstrued by the poor boy. To you, it was nothing but an act of gratitude. You smile at him, waving a delicate goodbye as you continue your expedition, with no idea you were being watched the whole time.

It’s impossible to keep a low profile in such a tight-knit community. Though in this area of town it would be difficult to explain to anyone why you’re on this particular doorstep. Your heart beats quicker and quicker as you stand and wait. A young couple noticing you and gasping. They call to you, ‘Bella! It isn’t safe, here, come away from there and come with us!” with a prominent begging tone behind the panicked words.

You smile, easily, shaking away their offer with an almost flapping hand gesture. It’s all you can do to assure them that you’re fine, as well as speaking the words. And, of course, they’re too terrified to argue your naivety and risk sticking around a second longer.

The door swings open aggressively, with such a ferocious violence to make your dress billow around you as it follows the bracing breeze created from the wooden entrance.

“Amore mio, I’ve told you time and time again not to come here. Haven’t I?” and there he is. The objection or your affection. The recipient of your fruit basket and the romantically written letter you wrote all for him.

“I know, ‘m sorry. I wanted to see you, Ran! Wanted to say thank—”

“Come in before anyone sees you, come.” he demands, ushering you inside. Just as he’s about to close the door behind you both, a large palm flattens against it and pushes it open wider. “Rindou.” your lover responds to the brazen sound of his brother’s heavy hand connecting with the splintering wood. He comes inside as well, a usual intense glare on the younger sibling’s face as he walks by you.

Ran looks at you from the corner of his eyes, intending to focus more on his less than savoury roommates whilst in your presence. He looks at you properly, however, when you subtly clear your throat. He watches you raise the wicker basket you got for him with the love letter on top. He points to a console table for you to set it down on, and you look between him and the tabletop before sighing gently.

“Actually, Ran, they’re um—”

“Don’t tell us you brought two baskets of fruit and you’re hoarding them both for Haitani?” Sanzu questions you. Your gaze drops to the ground, he isn’t the leader, but somehow Sanzu has managed to solidify himself as the scariest member of the group.

“Leave her alone, Bastardo. My sweet bambina didn’t do anything wrong.” Ran interjects, pulling your body into his side, towering above you as his hand rubs roughly up and down your arm.

“Tch,” Rindou scoffs, leaning against a wall and garnering the attention of yourself and the other three men in the room. “Your little signorina put her lips on the grocer.” he announces, making you realise he had been hot on your trail likely since you left Mitsuya’s boutique.

“Scusi? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ran’s voice booms throughout the room, prompting Rindou and Sanzu to smirk at each other while Takeomi opts to retreat to the balcony for a cigarette instead. “You’re fucking the market grocery boy, is that a joke?”

“N-No! Not at all. Rindou, you’re making it sound awful. I was saying thank you, s’all. He picked all of the fruit for me and told me I could pay later!” you defend yourself to each man in the room despite having no reason to. You didn’t do anything wrong. You carry yourself with confidence over to the coffee table in front of Sanzu, placing the fruit basket and removing your letter to Ran from the top. “Help yourselves. This basket is for my boss.” you inform them as you walk back to Ran. He’s visibly irritated and his compassionate embrace has become rigid and uninterested.

Rindou swaggers from the hallway to the couch and rifles through the fruit basket. He picks up a juicy looking red apple, throwing it in the air once and catching it quickly as he brings it to his lips. Teeth emerge and a satisfying crunch pierces the skin, apple juice drooling ever so slightly down his chin.

“That basket was for you… and so is this,” you speak gently to Ran as you hold your letter out to him. You want so badly for him to take it, but he does nought but stare. “Can we go to your room?” you wonder, meekly, hoping he’ll soften as he normally does when you make yourself sound a might smaller.

“I told you not to come here. I’ve told you, so many times.” he replies. You gulp, carefully, nodding at your wrongdoing and outright defiance. His brother and Sanzu are looking over as they continue to eat the fruit you brought. Rindou has even put his glasses on. They smirk each time you look over, their presence is making every word you want to say evaporate from your tongue.

“Please?” you request, looking at him with pleading eyes. He nods, casually, lacing his fingers with yours after taking your love letter in his free hand.

You’re guided up the stairs and into his bedroom. The creamy curtains waving loosely from the outdoor breeze coming into the elder Haitani’s sanctuary. The sun is pouring through the open balcony door and kissing each and every object in his room with a grazing warmth. The Amalfi Coast air often consists of a lemon and jasmine flowers laced with the smell of the salty sea. Ran’s room was no different with only the addition of his natural scent intertwined with the hickory and sandalwood cologne he’s so fond of and his signature cigars.

He loosens his tie and kicks off his shoes, not even bothering to deign you worthy of his gaze just yet. Your heart tears in two when you watch him toss your carefully crafted letter onto the bed like it’s nothing. He lights a cigar with a silver lighter kept in the inner breast pocket of his blazer, walking out onto the balcony to smoke. You can only hope the fresh air and tepid breeze will offer him some perspective and clarity on what has transpired.

“Look,” you smile, slowly approaching and yet again tucking your hair behind your ears to flaunt your diamonds. “They’re beautiful. That’s why I came, daddy. Wanted to say thank you for my new earrings.” you tell him, truthfully. He smiles lazily, flicking some ash over the railing before taking another drag.

“You’re beautiful, baby. My pretty girl, they suit you.” he replies. You’re holding his hand again now, he recognises you’ll want his full attention and quickly stubs out his cigar, hoping to salvage it later. You pull him anxiously back into his room and to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. Your body rotates so that you can better face him. His legs spread a little as he rests on his elbows on the plush mattress beneath you both. “Well?”

“Well? Well… what, daddy?” you question. He obnoxiously sucks his teeth and shakes his head so quickly and minimally you would have missed it had you blinked. “I don’t understand—”

“Course you don’t. Pretty little head’s just filled with daddy, si? How good to you I am and how much you love me.” he declares. You nod, agreeing, despite it not being the whole truth. He likes to dumb you down, but you know it isn’t true. You’re more agreeable and mean more to him when he sees you as a little clueless and with no purpose in life outside of him. You don’t mind, though. You love him, after all. “I buy diamonds for my love, and all I get is a thank you? I think you can do better for me, baby,” he insists, his fingers reach up to tuck a fallen loose strand back behind your ear and lets his fingers trail and trace your jawline. His hand settles as his finger and thumb pinch the soft flesh of your chin and force you gently to better face him.

“Of course not, daddy. The fruit was s’posed to be all yours. And I wrote you… this,” you explain as your fingertips pad around on the bed searching for the letter you worked so hard on. You smile when you feel it, picking it up and practically shoving it in his face. “Please read it, daddy. You’ll like it, I’m sure!” you encourage him. He takes it from your hand again and inspects it like an art critic. His features soften and he can’t help but simper at the sight of your precious penmanship writing amore mio for him so microscopic he almost missed it.

“I’m sure I’ll love it, bella.” he nods concurring with you and recognising the lengths you’ve gone to with your little craft project. “But these are diamonds, bambina.” he reminds you. You nod, giving him your full attention as he talks. His fingers sensually caress your right earlobe as he inspects the jewels worth more than your life dangling from them.

“I love you, daddy. I wrote such nice things for you; I love you and I’m so grateful for the diamonds.” you express. His fingers begin to wander again, now playing softly with your hair, allowing his digits to smooth over the top of your locks as if you were his pet. His good girl. You suppose that’s exactly what you are. “Is it, my body? Do you want to make love to me, daddy?”

“In a sense, si.” he smiles. “Your body is of greater value than any diamond. I’m not in the mood to make love, baby. You’re meant to be thanking me, not the other way around.” he reminds you.

“My… would you like my mouth?” you suggest. He nods, finally, you got it right.

“Yes, my love. Your head is what is wearing the earrings, so you’ll thank me by sucking my cock. Let daddy fuck your face, mm?” he suggests.

Instantly, you’re nodding; you slip down from the bed and onto the uncomfortable tile beneath. He leans towards his plump pillows, picking one up and helping you place it beneath your knees. You watch him with a wanton dazzle in your eye as he takes his time undoing his belt. It makes him smirk, watching you wait so patiently and adoringly for him to pull his cock out.

It springs free, and your jaw lowers hastily; the expression not going unnoticed by Ran. His breath is heavy when he allows his cock to spring free. You’re hesitant to make a move without his say so, ever the obedient good girl. You wiggle on your knees, looking pensively between his dreamy lilac irises and his pink blushing cock. Only when you hold your stare with his, and flutter your long lashes at him, he nods his head at you. Go ahead, the gesture implies.

Oral sex with Ran Haitani is as much of a pleasure for you as it is for him. It’s a romantic, teasing dance in which you vow to make him feel good and that he trusts you to do as you’re promising. You take your time slowly rubbing his shaft and caressing his sack with the pads of your fingers, and even this simple beginning is enough to rob him of an almost imperceptible moan. They take hold, spread fingers guiding his tip into your mouth before slowly wrapping your plush lips around him.

And you’re cheeky, it’s something he loves about you.

You’re unable to refrain from teasing him to start, only encasing your lips around the tip before pulling off of him and pouting. Looking up at him like a sultry little harlot; the pout displayed on your face is to tell him that you miss it. You miss his cock as if you aren’t the one who pulled away. And you do it over… and over… and over… making out with his swollen cockhead each time.

With every painful neglectful pull from him, you return, taking more of his length into your mouth. He’s big. The biggest cock you’ve ever had, not that the number of those is particularly substantial. You’ve never been able to take the entirety of Ran inside of your mouth. And he’s never made you feel bad for it. You suck his cock like you were the person who invented it, so full of love and fervorous desire.

Your eyes flutter shut as you take him, getting lost in your own little perfect world that no one but you and he occupy. The sound of you sucking his veiny manhood fills the room with an obscene suctioning. With each suck you enact, tiny lustrous moans escape you. Ran makes a noise not too dissimilar from a gasp when he sees a lewd spit string attach his leaky tip to your puffy lips. He allows himself to groan in appreciation when you drool around him, your saliva drooping and connecting with the floor beneath you.

He looks down at you with a heavenly stare when you eventually open your eyes again, only doing so because you wanted to see how he’d react to you willingly taking his throbbing erection deeper into your welcoming mouth, tumescent lips protruding around him.

“Baby, heh, your diamonds are swinging while you suck my daddy cock.” he laughs lightly. You pull away completely while looking up at him, a wide smile overtaking your face. You had felt their movement but didn’t think Ran would have commented on it. It’s only fair they give him as much of a show as you are, given the small fortune he spent on them. The two of you share a laugh before you return to him.

You house him perfectly in your mouth, sucking him in completely. And he’s got such a messy cock, now. What, with you licking and laving all over him the way you are. The sticky sound of blowjob lips making a sodden state of his drippy, aching length is deafening. You begin to kitten lick at his weeping slit, looking up at him with lust-filled lidded eyes.

The corner of your mouth leaks, garnering his attention. A sinful mixture of your spit and his pre glinting in the sunlight flooding the room. It’s enough to earn another moan from him, making you want to work harder. You suck his cock at an ever so slightly increased pace while moaning around him, the noise gratifying him into throwing his head back.

Your mouth opens wide for him enough to look down and see your tongue, using it to lick the underside of his tip. Drool spills from your lips and onto the ground again in the process, holding your mouth open a bout too long. Lazy, loving eyes close once again as you continue, truly beginning to lose yourself in the moment.

Your head turns so that you can run your cute, desperate tongue along the left side of his cock to the base. Slowly… slowly… slowly… and then it returns back to the tip at the same painstaking pace.

“Such a little tease, bambina… Good girl,” he praises, smirking at the way your thighs squeeze at the compliment. You receive him past your lips once again, moaning around him. “Good girl, good fucking girl. You look so pretty like this, baby.”

You begin to suck, mewling with each and every bob of your head. Your diamond earrings move in tandem, an item so respectable and grandiose now laced with such salacious connotations for him. Whenever you move your head and they follow suit, he’ll remember that you’re his good little cocksucker.

And you are good.

He wouldn’t have hung onto you otherwise. He wouldn’t be buying you diamonds and defending you to his roommates if you weren’t a perfect cock whore. Despite only being able to take a little more than half of him, you’re still so damn good. You never fail to make him cum, never fail to make him feel good.

Your cheeks hollow around his tip, keeping there for a moment more than necessary as you bat your eyelashes at him. Like your mouth isn’t stuffed open wide with his heavy, cherry tip. And then you pull away with a dramatic pop. Ran can’t help but moan at the sound. You come back to him with your jaw hanging low and tongue pressed into the underside of his tip yet again. A copious amount of drool pours from you, enough to make a dripping sound when it connects with the floor tiling. He grunts at each sound you make. Every drop of salvia and string of spit that you create because you’re losing yourself to worship him. His cock, his pleasure, just him. You lick the tip tenderly, puckering your lips around the head to physically kiss it.

You love it.

You love his cock and everything it can do for you.

He still doesn’t pressure you to take anymore of him that you can handle into your mouth, somehow moaning more. Enjoying it more and more with each guzzle and sucking sound you produce and every romantic gaze you offer him.

Ran’s hand reaches down to cradle your head. His fingers run through your hair as you consume him, you’re almost too distracted to notice his hand is on you. The angle of your head alternates a few times to better satisfy him. Your spit slicken cavern is perfect for him. Every suck is composing a boisterous amount of noise. And Ran can’t help but moan loudly, loud enough to make pride bloom in your beating heart. And he’s moaning because he has done this to you. His cock has turned you into a slobbering, slippery mess. He almost can’t stop himself from moaning, carrying on when he sees you quicken the tempo once again. You angle your head just enough that he can see your cheek bulge with his delicate desire.

His free hand reaches down to hold himself from the base. Your mouth immediately opens to form a large ‘O’ shape. He guides his cock around your lips as if he’s applying a lipstick the shade of precum to them. More drool waterfalls out from your swelled lips while his large veiny hand guides himself from tracing around your top lip to smearing across your tongue again and again.

You murmur a mewl in anticipation. Entirely desperate to be stuffed with his cock and thank him in the way he desires for his oh so generous gift. He pushes his cock straight into your mouth and pulls it out just as suddenly, leaving you almost begging desperately for more. He repeats it, leering as you begin to lean forward to chase his cock for another taste rather than be teased a second more. You sink halfway onto him, but he slips his cock out again and urges you to follow.

“Daddy…” you moan, so whiny and needy for him as you follow after all. His broad palm holds your head in a very guiding manner, helping you find your way back to him. He wants his cock to return to its rightful place in your mouth. Your cheeks hollow again, sucking rapidly and pulling away to make the loudest squelching suctioning sounds you can, the pair of you can’t help but moan at the eroticism of it all.

You don’t pull away anymore, sucking and sucking as best you can. He sees how hard you’re working, how badly you want him to cum. But you’re being removed from him carefully.

Ran knew before you did that you weren’t breathing properly; you gasp as if you’re lungs are physically clawing to drag oxygen back to them. The loss of Ran’s cock is a crushing loss, you know he doesn’t care for whining, but you can’t help yourself. But you cease when you’re returned to him, thanking him by taking a little more of his length than you had previously.

Ran moans in sympathetic appreciation, hand lingering to brush your face, hold your chin, feel your throat.

His cock slides out of your mouth and rests on your cheek. He holds you assertively by your chin and leads you back to where he needs you; and you’re looking up at him as though Ran Haitani is everything. He holds you carefully, helping you along in what you’re more than capable of doing yourself. But you don’t mind. Why would you mind extra attention from daddy when he’s being so sweet? More slickness is formed inside of your drenched cavity, making his light thrusts sound even more scandalous.

“So wet, baby. Sounds like I’m fucking your little pussy.”

You moan for him and his naughty love language, head lolling from the feeling of contentment. Neither of you can help the raucous desperation you’re emitting into the afternoon air. His hips thrust a slight more urgently, fucking himself gently into your mouth. He moans passionately as he cums inside of your mouth. His cock visibly pulsing and twitching as he deposits his cum onto your tongue.

Your own volume lowers and slows, as does your performance. And for a moment, you still. Looking up at your daddy with a shimmering stare. His cock still pulsating in your mouth, his sack emptying all it has to offer to you. He holds your chin in his hand as though it were made of glass.

“Keep going, bella.” he commands.

Your head bobs and your earrings shake, allowing your lovers cum to dribble out of your mouth as you follow orders. A low, breathy ‘Ohhhh’ falls from him when he bears witness to it. His fingers travel from your chin to the side of your face, and then lets go completely.

Your mouth widens, allowing him to see all of his cum settled on your tongue. He’s sucked into you again, moving your head along him fast enough for him to force his cum to pour out of you. He watches on in amazement as you kiss the sides of his sensitive tip, coating it in cum. Two thick strings of cum ooze and connect to him, too heavy to remain and falling to the ground.

Spit and sperm bubble at the corner of your mouth as you lick and slobber all over him. You kiss down the left side of his cock, taking your time to show love to his cock with gentle affection. You smother the base in soft pecks, tickling him only enough to warrant a heavier breath and his abdomen to clench. He watches as you opt to carefully move to his cullions, lapping and gargling them into your mouth, all while holding eye contact with Ran.

“Doing so good, bambina.”

A strained moan exists you as you lick, cum dripping from your chin and attaching to his sack and keeps the two of you linked as you alternate between giving your attention to his cock and balls.

A long, heavy string of cum dangles from his cock. You gather it on your tongue from the bottom and bring it back to his length, massaging it over his cock. He holds the base again as well as your chin, wanting to be sucked a little more.

But if you’re a tease, daddy is worse.

He removes his length from you at a slight angle, echoing a bawdy pop as it leaves you.  Ran smears his messy cock around your open mouth again, cum permeating your tongue and spilling from your mouth yet again. You keep your eyes closed as you feel him move his cock around your face. Your tongue begins to swirl, your only hope of searching for him with your eyes shut.

Ran pushes past your lips again, giving you the opportunity to suck. But, for once, you’re the one to remove yourself. It comes with a shocked, almost amused, gasp. You’re realising how much cum is cascading from you both. He holds his hand out to cradle your cheek, your head tilting to the left to meet his hold.

More cum gushes out of your mouth once you suckle on his tip. A thick, white creamy string of cum dangles from your chin. You resume making out with his heavy tip and hear your daddy chuckle above you.

You’ve dribbled some cum onto one of his fingers.

You move your attention from his cockhead to his fingers, wanting to get your daddy’s fingers nice and clean. He leers as you take them into your mouth, only his middle and ring fingers. Every inch of your daddy is so perfect, even his fingers between your lips is enough to make you moan.

“Messy girl,” he states. He had noticed another dollop of cum drooping from your chin. He takes his fingers from your mouth and scoops it up, fingering it back into you. “Such a good little sucker. Thaaaaat’s it. Nearly done baby, back to my cock now.”

He steers your face with the pads of his fingers back to his aching tip. You hum around him, making an even bigger mess of the two of you. You suck him as loud as you can knowing how it makes him leak and flutter when you do. You’re winding down, now. Hollowing your cheeks one final time to offer him one last lascivious pop, bobbing your head a handful of times before you calm.

You kiss his tip like it’s so heavenly delicate. A few feeble pecks before coming off entirely. The two of you an unseemly mess, completely covered in spit and cum.

“Thank you, bambina, you did so well for me.” he informs you, reaching into his pockets, eager to attempt to reignite the flame of his cigar.

You help yourself up, dusting off the pillow you’d been using to protect your knees before returning it where it belongs. It upset you to see he was more enraptured by his Cubans than your letter. He, once again, had cast it aside in favour of pursuing his own enjoyment. There’s a difficulty in understanding why he wouldn’t want to read a love letter you poured your soul into. You pick it up, carefully, holding it sweetly between your fingers without making eye contact.

He side eyes you, watching you without seeming to care about what you’re doing. And that is when you decide to leave his side; walking to the balcony to stare out at the view instead. There is a temptation brewing fiercely inside of you.

You want to throw the letter.

You do, but not really. There are tears in your eyes being fought back with a vengeance as you hope to God they won’t spill over. What’s the point of hanging onto it? He doesn’t care about it, not enough to read it. He’s happy enough with an afternoon delight of mind-blowing head. He doesn’t care about love.

Blood frosts in your veins as you feel his presence behind you, looming over you as you know he does with so many of his other victims. He’s paralysing you. You’re unsure how your daddy, who you know to be sweet and gentle, is able to instil you with so much fear without doing anything.

He walks closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he stands by your side. You observe him take a few final drags of his cigar before tossing it over the balcony. There’s a snicker from him when you yelp as he snatches the letter from your hand.

“Did I upset you, sweetheart?” he asks. You gulp shallowly, unable to respond as you watch him take a better look at your letter. “Ah… ‘amore mio’, hm? Did daddy make you sad for not reading your letter?”

You nod, a little dumbstruck. He holds your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head down to kiss your forehead. His left leg raises to rest on his right thigh while standing, pulling a knife from his garter belt attached to his sock. He slices the rope you tied around the envelope, making sure the flowers didn’t fall to the ground. Instead of discarding them, he tucked the flower stalks behind your ear and admired how your face seemed to blush in the evening sun.

He takes the letter from the envelope and brings it to his face, smelling your floral perfume infused into the paper. Ran unfolds it, but before he reads, his head sags. It’s as if he is disappointed in you.

“I don’t want you to see that fruit grocer again.” his statement coming across more as a subtle command. You mange to prevent yourself from scoffing, knowing it will only pour gasoline onto the flames.

“He’s my friend. He’s best friends with my boss, Ran.” you remind him. And at that, he does scoff. “I’m sorry I overstepped, today. It was just a friendly kiss! But there’s no way I can avoid him.”

“Your papa is a very rich man. As am I. You don’t need some little job when we can give you anything you want.”

“My papa would skin you if he knew we were screwing, remember. I like my job… I’m sorry, Ran. But I promise I’ll… I’ll make sure to keep things more respectable between Hakkai and I.”

Ran’s eyes roll gradually up into his head before returning to normal. He doesn’t offer a response, instead unfolding the letter to read what you have written for him. It’s a slow read, taking his time to read each and every word you’ve written. He smiles a lot as he does, making you fill to the brim with pride.

“Hm… ‘I’d do anything for you’, interesting.” he quotes. You keep quiet, not wanting to be reprimanded because what you had written was a lie. He finishes the letter and folds it back up, tucking it away nicely into the envelope. His hand holds the crown of your head before he bends down to kiss your forehead once more. He keeps eye level with you, not letting your head go as he decides to speak. “I don’t want you to see him, my love. Don’t good girls do anything their daddies ask?”

“I’m… sorry. It’s just, this isn’t something that’s possible.”

He nods, accepting your words. The letter is tucked into the inner breast pocket of his blazer for safe keeping. And then, before you can register, his hand is holding yours.

He’s guiding you out of the room.

“W—”

“You have to go. Clean yourself in the bathroom and then go home.” he instructs. You can’t say a word before he’s shutting you out. Literally. He doesn’t slam the door in your face, but he may as well have.

And now you are crying, running across the hall to lock yourself in the bathroom and shield the sound of your tears by running the taps on full blast. You look at yourself, eyes red raw and stinging from tears. And you can’t help but feel used. You’ve been used like a whore and tossed aside. It doesn’t take long for you to wash your face and tidy up your appearance.

The flower he’d placed behind your ear has fallen into the sink. You wish you never came here. You wish you never gave him that God damn letter or any of your time. In that moment, a temporary flash of red blinds your vision. You douse the flowers with water from the taps on the highest setting until they’re being swallowed by the plug hole, never to be seen again.

It doesn’t make you feel the least bit better.

You lightly dab your face with a towel and then decide to take your leave. When you leave the bathroom, you spy Mitsuya’s basket of oranges outside of Ran’s bedroom door. You huff, picking it up and trudging down the stairs.

“Ahhh, is the mob princess going home?” Rindou laughs at your expense, earning approval in sniggers from Haruchiyo and Takeomi.

“Yes, I’m leaving. Try not to follow me this time.” you bite back. Instantly you duck as Sanzu picks up a plum from your gift basket and throws it like a baseball at your head. A mirror shatters behind you, the reflective glass smashing by your feet.

“Watch your fucking mouth, princess. Just because your papa is in charge don’t go thinking you’re untouchable. We know how to clip people without leaving a trace.” he eerily reminds you.

“I’ve told my papa should anything to happen to me that you be the first person he suspects. He doesn’t like you, y’know?” you inform him. His teeth grit at you as he growls like a beast.

The commotion summoned Ran from his bedroom, who rushes to your side when he sees the broken mirror at your feet.

“Bastardo. Fucking dick. How many times have I told you to leave her alone?” Ran snipes at him. He only has himself to blame, of course the rest of his roommates were going to be crueller to you without him there. “Rindou, walk my baby home.” Ran insists. His request is denied in the form of his sibling flipping him off.

“I can walk home by myself, I walked here by myself.”

“See,” Rin speaks without looking at either of you.

“No, you walked here with Rin keeping an eye on you. So, my bratty bambina and little shit brother, do as you’re fucking told for once in your lives.” the two of you find yourselves ducking again as Rindou decides to hurl a peach at you both. More of the mirror breaks and rains around you. “AH! Dickhead!” Ran yells when he stands back up. He rushes over to his little brother and punches him in the face.

“Fuck sake.” Takeomi grunts.

Rindou punches him right back, both of their chests heaving with rage. Lavender eyes engage in a staring contest that has more at stake than just competitive loss. Ran grabs his brother by the shirt, pulling him up and throwing him to the ground. You shake your head, turning on your heel to leave so that you don’t have to witness anymore of this sheer nonsense.

“Ah, fuck!” you shout, realising you’ve been pelted with fruit on your bicep. Sanzu. You make eye contact with him, menacingly shaking his head at you. Warning you. Forbidding you from leaving the building without permission.

You watch for a few minutes as the Haitani brother’s continue to fight each other. They’ve broken the coffee table due to Rin pushing his big brother so violently he fell into it. Ran took a cheap shot, kicking Rin in the balls, forcing him to collapse to the ground. The two continuing to punch and kick the shit out of each other in the debris.

“Just fucking take her home!” Ran yells, punching his brother’s cheek.

“She’s your bitch, why don’t you?!” Rin responds, returning the same punch to Ran’s opposite cheek.

“Because I asked you, fucking little shit. And she’s not a bitch! Don’t fucking call her that!” he angrily replies. He wraps his hands around Rin’s neck and applies enough pressure to have him kicking and gasping, his whole face becoming as red as a cherry.

“Fine—! S-Stop, I’ll do it—!” Rin manages to choke out.

He lays in the broken remenants of the coffee table for a while as Ran falls backwards to sit against the couch. Both of them fighting for air, chests expanding dramatically with every inhale. After some time, Ran stands to his feet and offers his brother a hand up. They smirk at each other before Takeomi and Sanzu stand beside them. The other brother’s slapping them upside the head to put an end to the dramatics.

Rindou pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and then he looks at you. Both brother’s approach, Ran kisses you on the lips one last time before bidding you farewell. He retreats to his room and leaves you to the devices of his roommates.

“Be a good girl!” he calls to you, shutting his door with a soft click.

Rin smacks your ass and guides you out of the door.

Looking at Rindou Haitani from behind makes you feel unusual. The inverted black and blonde hairstyle that he and his brother share is enough to make you believe you might be looking at the elder sibling, like you’re intoxicated and out of your own head. There’s two of him. An ever so slightly shorter Ran is walking ahead of you. Hands in his pockets and effortless swagger in his steps. Cigarette smoke lightly twists and spirals into the evening air, spinning until it ultimately dies in the breeze. You hear a noise spill from him. A grunt or a ‘hm?’ quiet enough to be a trick of the mind. But you know you heard it when he turns around. Round glasses helping you remember he isn’t your lover, not even close.

He's the younger brother that loathes you.

He grabs the fat of your upper arm flesh, pulling you closer to him. Rindou bends over so that he’s eye level with you. It’s another disparity from the Haitani that you fell for. The Haitani that you love with everything that you have. When Ran bends down to talk to you, to look intently into your eyes, it’s loving. He’s a good daddy, he cares about you, he worships you. He wants to protect and adore you, making you feel small and oh so cute makes you love him even more.

Rin, however, is intimidating. He isn’t scary in the way that Sanzu is, but he still manages to send a chill down your spine. There’s lingering undertone of mania hiding behind his dull, heavy eyes. He always looks so tired, but the smile is what gives him away. Lumbering eyelids can’t hide what a garish smile presents.

Anger. Insanity. Impatience.

“Walk ahead of me or beside me. Not behind.” he instructs. You scoff, picking up the pace as you decide you’d rather drop dead than walk by his side. It prevents you from seeing the way his face sours as his eyes roll at your petulance. “Am I so bad?” he wonders, knowing the answer that is already bulging from each and every braincell you possess.

You ignore him, instead. You’re a smart girl – smarter than anyone gives you any credit for. Why would you say something that could antagonise him when you can keep schtum and get back home without being bothered?

“Rindou, go home.” you tell him.

“Hah?” it isn’t enough to stop him in his tracks, but he certainly slows. He looks down and notices the way your hand is holding the basket full of oranges for your boss. Trembling fists as you take a tighter grip of the handle. “Are ya that scared of me?”

“’m not scared.” you protest.

“Oh?” he snickers. “Then why are you shaking like a fuckin’ leaf, piccola?” the volume of his amusement raises as you stop walking. Your shoulders drop and you can barely stifle the sigh that you want to exhale.

“I’m not scared of you, Rindou. It’s chilly tonight, s’all.” you fib.

Of course you’re scared of him. You know how much he hates you and would prefer you to be tossed over the edge of the docks with cinderblocks bound to your feet. Wouldn’t anyone be scared if they were you? To be loathed by every single member of the most prolific gang in The Amalfi Coast save for one, you wouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy.

“Bullshit. It’s boiling, one of the hottest nights we’ve had so far.” he laughs, as though your lie was so outrageously stupid. You suppose it was. “’m not gonna hurt ya. Your fuckin’ daddy scares the shit out of me. Think he’d rip my insides out of me while I’m still breathin’ and feed them to his dogs.” he smiles, it’s not quite a joke as the possibility is very real. But he knows he won’t hurt you, so that particular fate is not one he’ll ever meet.

He catches up to you, his hand settling in the small of your back as he attempts to push you further along on your journey. Your steps follow his, walking in tandem with him as he escorts you home. The smoke from his cigarette wafts in your face; a scent that has given you a pavlovian response to think of Ran whenever it invades your senses. An inhale that you had intended to be discreet becomes obnoxious as you allow the gorgeous, cancerous scent fill your airways. He hears a familiar sound. The sound he coaxes from many a woman when he has the time and the funds for one of life’s simple pleasures. Though he doesn’t think he’s ever heard it so softly. A meek, wanton moan as you imagine your lover. The things you have done and will do with Ran Haitani. All while he smells of burning tobacco and covers your body in nicotine kisses.

Rin smiles.

You’re quite cute, aren’t you?

He stays at the bottom of the stairs, observing each step you take up to your own house. You don’t want him here anymore. You don’t want him to watch you or to wait around while you let your guard down in the safety of your own home. But he isn’t leaving. He’s staring as you put the front door key inside the keyhole. He doesn’t stop when you lower the handle and open the door.

What is he waiting for?

“Did you need something, Rin?”

“Go inside and lock the door.”

You can’t help but smile. It’s a soft smile, though. Your features filled with warmth from the pink and orange sky and the fading yellow sun. The apples of your cheeks are swelling as you try to stave off your little smile turning into a fully-fledged grin. It’s sweet, really, that Rin is being so protective. You know it isn’t for your benefit, it’s for his brother.

He knows his brother is sweet on you. He knows how crushed he’d be should anything happen to you. So, by default, your safety is a high priority of Rin’s, too. Although… it probably helps that your father would have them all killed if they let anything happen to you.

“Get home safe. Goodnight, Rin.” you speak. His brows furrow, like you spoke a foreign language he’d never have any hope of understanding.

“Huh?” he sounds, the perplexity that he’s experiencing bleeding into his voice. “What did you say?”

“I— goodnight, Rin?”

“Before that.”

“Um… oh! Get home safe?” you wonder, what could be so perplexing about such a simple sentence?

“Ah, no one’s ever said that to me before.” he chuckles. “You really give a shit about me and my safety? Or are ya just sayin’ it?”

“Rin…” you exhale. “I love your brother, a horrendous amount, actually. He loves you… of course I give a shit about you. Contrary to what you might think, I actually like you. All of you Bonten boys, even though you don’t much care for me.”

He drops his cigarette to the ground and extinguishes it with the bottom of his shoe. When he looks up from the squished cigarette, there is a look in his lilac irises that you’ve never seen before. Empathy, maybe. A little bit of sorrow might be in there too, his gaze boring into your own and seemingly unable to break away. It’s intense, neither of you finding any words to say. His eyes fixated onto yours as the uncomfortable silence floods the atmosphere around you.

Rindou is the one to turn away first. His eyes squinting and teeth gritting for a split second before his lazily cool and calm exterior returns to him once more. He tilts his head in the direction of your front door, a silent instruction for you to head on inside.

“Go on.” he speaks, so mildly, the sentence could almost be drowned in a sea of the crickets singing their night-time chorus. “I’ll get home safe… goodnight.” he smirks.

“I’ll be seeing you… g’night, Rin.”

Your heart pounded a million beats per second when you closed the door behind you. You hadn’t expected Mitsuya to be awake. He’s lying on the couch, his back against the armrest with a glass of merlot on the tiled floor beneath. One of his knees is almost at his chest, his sketchbook resting against it as he sketches away calmly. His glasses seated at the end of his nose make him look so wise. You’ve never known anyone so relaxed and at peace when truly in their element.

“Sorry I—” you stop yourself, unable to continue when he looks up at you with such a positive warmth diffusing from him. He isn’t mad, he’s never mad at you. But still, you know you owe your boss an apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back to work, and I’m home so late. But… I have your oranges.” you inform him, bringing the basket to him and leaving it beside his glass of wine.

“It’s fine, bella. Grazie.” he thanks you, peeling one of the many oranges you’ve gifted him with. As he places an orange segment into his mouth, he turns his sketchbook and shows it to you.

“Oh, Suya… This is beautiful.” you smile, astounded by the stunning and complex design. He nods, the gesture filled with gratitude and appreciation. “Now I see why you’re in such a good mood! Is this going to be a new dress you fill the boutique with?”

“Nope,” he shakes his head, swallowing the orange piece in his mouth. “The most glamorous woman I’ve ever seen came by the boutique not long after you left. She told me she wants a one-of-a-kind dress for her wedding day, and that money is no object.” he beams, utterly ecstatic over the prospect of what this one client could do for his boutique.

He sits properly on the sofa and allows you to come and sit beside him as the breaks down his vision for the extravagant wedding gown. It’s so nice to see him like this, so truly fulfilled by what makes him happiest in life. You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries on talking, though your focus begins to waver.

Flurries of blonde and black hair invade your memories. It wouldn’t worry you, normally. What could be so bad about thinking heart-fluttering thoughts about Ran Haitani? But that’s just it. You can’t bring black on blonde on black to the forefront of your mind. Instead, the opposite. Blonde on black on blonde. Why? Why? Why can’t you get his lethargic lids out of your mind? His violet vision studying you like a he had seen a mythical creature in the very flesh. His hands gripping into your arm, violent skin so much softer than you would ever have thought. No one ever telling him to get home safe, so filled with anger and pain the very statement bewildered him.

Oh, he wants to be adored.

You’re fucking his brother, though. Aren’t you meant to be in love with his brother? So, then, pray tell, why are you thinking of Rindou as opposed to the one you’re actually screwing?

“She’s coming tomorrow.”

How did you manage to fabricate such a tall tale about a monster like Rin Haitani? He is a monster. But, you suppose, every member of Bonten falls under that illustrious title. Each and every member has blood on their hands. They are all cruel, cold, calculating. But for whatever reason, Ran softened for you. He let you in and allowed himself to love you and to love you in turn.

So stop fucking thinking about his brother.

“She said her fiancé is some hot-shot businessman.”

Overthinking such a simple thought will lead to your undoing, the death of your rationale. For once, just this once, you have seen a man you loathe in a different light. A man who puts the fear of God into you, in a way you never thought you would. He isn’t anything. He isn’t anyone, to you. He is only, and will be nothing more than the brother of Ran Haitani. He is not a man you should be fantasising about. Imagining what your children would look like and how you’d feel in his arms. Whether he’d kiss your body as softly as Ran or comfort you just as sweetly. Would he appreciate your love letters and thoughtful gestures more than Ran had, today?

“I think she’s marrying a mafioso, but that’s just me.” Mitsuya continues, unaware that you haven’t listened to a word he’s said since you sat down. “You hear me?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you go to bed? You look like you’ve had a hard day. I want you working extra hard tomorrow since you ran off today.” he informs you light heartedly. You stand up, and then bend down so that you can give each other a kiss on the cheek before you retreat to your bedroom. You knew he’d be spending another few hours lying on the sofa and sketching his design to absolute perfection.

You suppose you should be sick of the sight of Mitsuya. Considering you live with him and work with him, you’re barely out of each other’s way. But, alas, it doesn’t bother you at all. He’s the kindest person you’ve ever known and you’re happy to be sharing so much of your life with him and have him do the same. Of course, your papa would have happily funded a place for you to live alone if that had been what you wanted. But living with Mitsuya makes you feel safe. You can’t imagine coming home to a dark house and no one to keep you company. His mere presence makes you feel that much more secure.

And knowing that there is no chemistry between you makes you feel that much safer. It means that everything he does for your benefit isn’t disguising any ulterior motives. Why would he try and seduce you when you’ve already slept with one another? He just cares about you. It’s really that simple.

And that is why you have no qualms about sleeping in your room naked. Rindou was right, after all. The heat is sweltering. Fuck. Rindou. You’re cursing yourself for letting him penetrate your thoughts again.

It isn’t this deep. It shouldn’t be this deep. It’s not as if you have a crush on him. It’s not like you even like him, really. A slither of a somewhat vulnerable hidden layer in the younger Haitani has you positively reeling.

You can’t deny what’s beginning to occur at the apex of your thighs. The slippery slickness that Ran can summon from nought but a look in your direction. He can make you wriggle and squirm in no time at all. But Ran isn’t here. He’s barely even on your mind.

You can’t touch yourself and think about Rin.

You can’t.

But you are. Thinking about how he’d manhandle you and make your naked body his plaything. His fingers deep in your pussy while his lips latch around one of your breasts, causing you to cream more juicy goodness for him to use to his advantage. All while whispering obscenities to you, specific language that your papa would put a bullet between his eyes for using in reference to his baby girl.

It's intoxicating.

Picturing your fingers weaving between lustrous locks as you attempt to stable yourself and just be with him. Experience him. Have him douse his cock in your slippery offering before pushing deep inside until you feel positively full.

The sex would be so dirty.

So filthy.

And you cum. You cum and you keep on cumming as you cover your mouth with your free hand, knowing you’ll scream out in overflowing ecstasy and chanting a mantra you absolutely shouldn’t be. And that, you know for a fact, because it’s the only thing repeating in your mind like a broken record.

Rin.

Rin.

Oh… Rindou!

“Rin…” you huff, desperate to fondle your own breast as you ride out the last remnants of your high. The fat of your thighs are so silky, completely sodden with your arousal. Your chest swells as your breath does all it can to recover to its natural rhythm. Your bliss surges through your body, aftershocks plaguing you as you continue to lightly tickle your clit.

When you finish playing with yourself, you assume a comfier sleeping position. Eyes feeling as heavy as Rin’s often appear now that you’ve made yourself orgasm, a sure-fire way to propel you into a paradisical slumber. You’re exhausted. Your mind is drained. And yet, your internal monologue can’t help but bully you.

How can you live with yourself? How will you sleep at night? Your poor boyfriend… You basically cheated! And you’re such a bitch. Of all of the people in the world, you touched yourself over his fucking brother.

You just came thinking about Rindou Haitani.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

You wake up late, unsurprisingly. Mitsuya has already left for work, the area he’d been working in last night now completely spotless. He’s so neat and tidy, just a generally wonderful housemate. There’s no trace of him, you wouldn’t have even known he was there if you hadn’t seen him for yourself.

The day is warm, as most are, prompting you to wear another little dress. It’s light and airy. White is your usual colour to wear, knowing it’s the best colour to wear in the searing sun. You leave your hair down and only apply a little bit of mascara. You’re late enough without doing a full face of makeup. Mitsuya is kind and understanding, but you’re sure even he will have his limits. You doubt he’d be pleased to see your face painted to perfection when you were meant to start work two hours ago.

He greets you warmly when you venture inside. The basket of oranges you got for him is placed on the corner of your desk, he and the woman he is chatting with each enjoying one each. Both of them are laughing and smiling, you can only imagine what is so funny.

“Bella, this is Signorina Gianna. The client I’m creating a unique design for.” he smiles, taking her hand in his as a sign of gratitude. She holds her free hand to her chest and returns his smile almost bashfully. She’s beautiful. One of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. You wonder if she might be a famous model, perhaps that is how she can afford to treat money like it’s nothing at all.

“I’ve heard wonderful things about your dresses, Mitsuya. I trust you to create something beautiful for me.” she tells him. She’s making a good decision, you think. No one knows how to capture the beauty of a woman through the artistry of clothes better than Mitsuya does. You can feel the love, preparation and adoration he pours into each and every inch of the clothing he makes. “My fiancé wants me to be the happiest I can be so he assured me that money wouldn’t be a problem on any scale.”

“That’s so exciting,” you tell her, taking an orange and sitting at the cash register to continue conversing with the pair in front of you. “tell me about him!” you insist, earning a chuckle from her.

“Tsk. Behave yourself, don’t be so rude.”

“Haha! It’s fine,” she assures him. “He’s so beautiful. Very work oriented, he owns his own business. We’ve been together for five years. I started thinking he’d never propose, but, here I am! He said he’s ready to commit to me properly and… he wants to start a family with me.” she grins from ear to ear. It’s obvious how in love with him she is. The happiness of others rubs off on you so easily. Especially when it comes to romance, you’re such a romantic.

“Ah! So respectable, wanting to make you his wife before having children. I like that.” you tell her. She nods, agreeing.

“It’s very important to both of us that we don’t have children out of wedlock. And I know the babies we have will be gorgeous, like their papa! Would you like to see him?” she asks you, earnestly. You can’t say that you aren’t intrigued, hopping off your stool and standing by her side. She begins raking through her bag as she searches for a photo of him. “This is us a year ago in Venice!” she explains.

“He looks familiar… is he from here?” Mitsuya questions.

Their conversation turns to white noise. He looks familiar. He looks really fucking familiar. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You can’t decipher whether you’re boiling or freezing. Your body suddenly perspiring at an alarming rate while an inexplainable chill in the air has you breaking out in goosebumps and shivering as if you’re in the North Pole.

“So beautiful…” you mumble. The look on their faces tells you that you’ve fallen a few conversations behind. The bride-to-be doesn’t know what to say, and Mitsuya isn’t sure how to recover the discussion they were having. Your eyes are dripping wet, sorrowful crystals inhabiting your lash line. “I need to… go.”

“You just got here!” Mitsuya almost yells at you.

“J-Just for a minute… I don’t— I feel sick.” you caution him. An eyeroll that is so quintessentially him is offered to you. But of course, it is always followed by some sincere kindness. A quick nod and tilt of his head in the direction of the door.

You don’t walk, but it’s not quite a run either. Not until you’re outside and out of their line of sight. A hand flies to your stomach as you try and keep your sickness inside. You’re fighting a losing battle, though. Knowing there’s nothing you can do to prevent the rising wave intensely rolling through you. You create a makeshift ponytail with your hair, realising you’re powerless to stop it. It’s humiliating. Vomiting right outside of your place of work. Where so many people recognise you. Know you. A man offering you a napkin and a woman handing you a bottle of water.

“’m fine, really. Grazie.”

You’re far from fine.

What a familiar fucking head of hair her future husband possesses. What an interesting style that you just so happen to recognise. It’s such a coincidence that her fiancé has dyed blonde and black hair. There are only two people you know in Italy with hair that colour. That style. And, fuck. Why has this happened to you? Of all the people in the world. Of all of the boutiques in the world, why did she have to come to this one?

But, more importantly…

Why is Ran Haitani fucking you if he’s marrying someone else?

© b-imbou 2022

please reblog and maybe leave a comment if u enjoyed this!!

[shunin-gumis]

As Master Joe Wishes - Track 03

Seasonal Team Event - L4mps

Thank you Jelly for handling this chapter!

~~~(flashback)

Nagi: *looks around* Who said that?

Toi: It sounded like it came from over there…?

??: Please turn your attention downwards! I am right here~!

Ryui: The fuck?

Yodaka: A teddy bear? Or an autonomous—

Netaro: Eggactly!

Joe: It is I, “Baldovino Joe Senba!” Brunhild, the late madam’s, one and only remaining family!

Joe: As a sign of our friendship, please, call me “Joe”~!

Toi: S-S-SHE’S ADORABLE~~~~♪ Here girl, here girl♪ I want to hug the fluffy Ms. Bear~~~♪

Joe: I suppose I shall allow it?

Nagi: A-Amazing, it moves and speaks just like a noble lady— Toi, I wanna hug her too.

Ryui: Unlike a certain florist, it can speak properly. It even knows how to introduce itself.

Yodaka: …I see, so this is what it’s about.

Daniel: Hm? Did you figure something out?

Yodaka: Yes. Take a good look at the gemstones on her eyes, nose, earrings, and that heart on her chest.

Netaro: Wonderful observation skills, Yoda~! Very perceptive!

Netaro: Her right eye is a top-tier cabochon red diamond cut by a craftsman employed by the royal family, of which there exists only a few dozen in the whole entire world.

Samejima: And what’s more, it has a market price of 2 billion yen!

Joe: Indeed~!

Toi: Ehhhhh~!?

Netaro: And her nose is an alexandrite, the third rarest gem in the world! This precious gemstone was passed around through many of the world’s powerful and influential figures before eventually making its way into Brunhild’s hands~!

Joe: Every single gem costs an arm and a leg~!

Netaro: In other words, Joe is a teddy bear with a net worth of a billion yen, jam packed with the latest AI technology♪

Nagi: …No matter how many of me there are, I still wouldn’t be able to afford it…

Ryui: (He put the bear down with a super pale face…)

Toi: Joe-sama is amazing. But if you’re so valuable, won’t bad people always be after you…?

Samejima: There’s no problem in that regard. Very soon, Joe-san will be sent over to Germany under the supervision of the police. From that point onwards, she’ll become a national treasure and will be much harder to steal.

Samejima: However, while she’s still in JPN, the JPN police will be the ones in charge of her safety and escorting her… When this was first decided, the German police force started treating us as incompetent idiots.

Samejima: For things to proceed smoothly while she’s still under our jurisdiction, they were very nitpicky and obsessed over even the slightest details. All of this was an incredible pain and has started to get on our nerves, but we have no choice but to put aside our personal feelings.

Samejima: However, if we manage to round up all of “Anonymous” in one go, all while guarding Joe-san, we might be able to stand our ground against the German police.

Netaro: That’s right, that’s right! Kick their asses~!

Joe: Send them crying back to their mothers, desuwa~!*

Ryui: …Just putting this out there, but ain’t this a personal grudge?

Samejima: Yeah, you’re right on the mark.

Ryui: The hell you agreeing so casually for?

Nagi: Um, but uh well we’re… “ward mayors”...?

Samejima: Astute observation. We appreciate your cooperation.

Nagi: I guess we’re helping out now…

Daniel: I have a lot I wanna say, but wouldn’t this all be solved if you just shoved it in some bank’s safety box until D-day? Then you wouldn’t need us.

Joe: What on Earth are you saying! Even AI deserves basic rights~! I’ll have you know, our way of life is very similar to that of humans~!

Toi: Locking them up is too much!

Daniel: Sorry. It was just a thought.

Yodaka: More importantly, does the enemy know that the “secret treasure” they’re after is actually a teddy bear? From our conversation earlier, it sounded like they know very few details regarding the actual treasure itself.

Netaro: They probably don’t know?

Yodaka: In that case, wouldn’t it be fine to go along pretending that Joe-san isn’t the treasure they’re seeking?

Samejima: You’re exactly right. However, that’s exactly why we can't just provisionally leave Joe-san. It’d be bad if we were found out because of that.

Samejima: To be honest, I could just be with her at all times. However, this is a lot easier said than done.

Samejima: For a fatigued, middle-aged man like myself to be alert 24/7 while holding such a cute teddy bear would be, on the contrary, quite suspicious.

Netaro: Aesthetically not pleasing. Report for indecent behavior.

Ryui: Yeah, only a dumbass would fall for that. You’d need an angel like Toi to safekeep it…

Samejima: Exactly. In order to blend-in, we’d need a child like Toi-san, or Ryui-san, someone who could “𝓔mbrace it without” looking out of place—

Ryui: Haa!? Wanna try saying that again, you fucker!?

Toi: Ani-sama would definitely look good holding a teddy bear……! I see it…… I totally see it…… Ani-sama is totally the cool type, but he could totally pull off cuteness!

Samejima: Where “𝓔xposure to danger would be OK” and—

Nagi: Danger is okay…?

Netaro: I gave the okay on behalf of everyone. ‘Cause it’s more fun that way!

Samejima: A person we could “𝓔asily count on”... We needed an individual that met the 3E’s. That’s why I had Yowa-kun introduce you all to me.

Ryui: Listen here you fucker, all you've been doing is spouting random fucking bullshit since we got here! Don’t get cocky just ‘cause you’re the fucking police!?

Ryui: (Except for Toi) No one here looks normal carrying a fucking bear around, I don't remember agreeing to dangerous shit like fucking with a god damn criminal organization, and we sure as hell aren’t close enough for you to ask for shitty favors like—

Toi: Samejima-san! I… I’ll do my best!

Ryui: Wha- Toi…!

Toi: Ani-sama, please… Joe-sama and Samejima-san are both in a pinch, we can’t just turn a blind eye to this.

Toi: I don’t want to hand over Brunhild-san's precious Joe-sama over to the bad guys… I want to help!

Toi: The world’s coolest Ani-sama would definitely protect both me and Joe-sama… right?

Ryui: Got it. I’ll give my all to ensure your safety.

Toi: Yay! Ani-sama, I love you!!

Nagi: Can you protect me as well…

Yodaka: My, my… I guess it can’t be helped. If the terms have already been agreed upon, then perhaps, this is what fate has in store for us.

Daniel: What good samaritans. In that case, see ya.

Joe: Thank you all for your cooperation~! After the burly gentleman over there departs, shall we open a bottle of wine and have a toast?

Daniel: …Wine?

Joe: The late madam had a liking for vintage wine. We have many globally rare wines held downstairs in the cellar.

Daniel: I’ll do it. Ensuring her safety, or escorting, or whatever. Regardless of who they are, it’s only right to help out those in need.

Samejima: Great. With this, we can finally breathe a sigh of relief. Once again, I appreciate your cooperation. Thanks.

Joe: I shall be in everyone’s care!

Note:

Joe generally speaks very elegant and formally. However, she suddenly says something very crude for her character and tries to wrap it up with an elegant ending. Unfortunately, it is hard to find an English equivalent so a decision was made to use "desuwa~."

[rottingpirate]

driving headcanons for 141? like can they even drive or what car do they drive or do they even have a license?? ;D

Ghost

If he would have a car then he would have a nice car like a Chevrolet Silverado 1500

No one ever dares to stay in his way because he will drive them over

He hardly ever wears a seatbelt

Has had his licence suspended more than once

He hates driving and avoids it at all cost

Remember how he just drow over that one shadow?

Magically has been pulled over only ONCE

Weirdly enough he hasn't caused any accidents

If you two are going somewhere then you have to drive

He's chill as a passenger though

The type of passenger to yell "HORSE" or "COW" whenever he sees one

2/10

Soap

Pulls up with a 1974 Blue Rodger Dodger

The type of person who texts while driving

Almost crashed one time when you sent him a selfie

He likes holding hands while driving

Keep one hand on his thigh and it's perfect

Always brags that he has the best music taste and then he plays marina and the diamonds

He let's you have the aux most of the time

Overall he's a good driver but he tries making it fun by "driving creatively"

He once drove over a mailbox and you never let him forget it

He gets scared by oncoming traffic

4/10

Gaz

I don't know why but he gives me blue Alpine A110 vibes

Surprisingly careful

Obeys the law and fights the urge to road rage

Very calm, very attentive

Even though he's a good driver I feel like he'd be late everywhere

Plays Doja Cat and Rihanna on repeat

Has music on full volume and loves singing and jamming out with you

You always have to feed him snacks while driving

You have to lean over him to order food because he's terrified of ordering

Has a thing for retro cars

9/10

Roach

A clean White Dodge Challenger

Was nervous at first because it's a white car

But keeps his car clean

Will scrub and clean all the bird shit and dirt off until the car shines

Got his licence in one go

Opposite of Gaz in a sense that he's always on time

Goes 90 in a 45

Which doesn't usually keep the car clean

Nights are dedicated to cute little drives so you better not have any plans

Tries keeping his cool when driving with you

He does get distracted by you a lot

Has never been in an accident

6/10

Price

A good ol' 1989 LS 400 sedan 

Or a Dacia jogger

Calls his car "baby"

Drives the squad around wherever they need

I feel like he has never taken the test

Like he can drive but never bothered to get the licence

He likes to smoke while driving

Does that hot one hand driving thing

Has way too many tickets that aren't paid

Will randomly take you to get coffee when you literally have coffee at home

Follows the rules even if he doesn’t always agree with them

7/10

[terrence-silver]

How would terry silver react if he was just passing by somewhere and overheard his beloved one on the phone talking to someone and saying something like "I don't care about that old man anyway i'm only with him for his money"

Is this Cheyenne Hamidi speaking?

Because, I mean, Terry would be devastated and he immediately thinks back to every business arrangement type of situationship he's ever had that was purely monetary in nature and how it didn't matter then, because there was no pretense of love there, perhaps, only the vague illusion purely for formality's sake, to keep the charade going. But, now? Now, for once, there's actually love involved and he cares so very deeply, only to be hit with this whole 'It's all for the money' bullcrap all over again, effectively being betrayed, with his vulnerabilities and trust dangerously trampled on and what's worse?

Behind his back? He's being talked of, made fun of, behind his back?

It would be pretty hard to describe the sheer level of mental breakdown Terry would have and how much rage, despair, grief and complete and utter helplessness seeps in through his lack of control, rendering him mortally dangerous.

Beloved wants to be a whore for hire? They want this to be transactional? They want him to pull out the 'Nothing's for free' philosophy? Fair enough. Anything for beloved. After an outpouring of violence, it is highly unlikely beloved ever leaves his mansion or his midst again. They'll be kept in a golden cage, on an enviable postal code, in a rich neighborhood, surrounded by all the lavish, material things money can buy, but they will never be rid of him. This is his spite. His punishment. His vendetta. How he copes with the pain and the rage. His heart being absolutely shattered. This will become their prison and they'll become his hole. A hole in a pretty, branded dress he gets to rip off, a hole on a luxurious bed they get to be fucked on, a hole fed the most expensive foods and a hole served the most exuberant drinks and they should be grateful for that too and that he didn't just end them for what they said. They wanted to be treated like a whore. They said so themselves, out of their own mouth, when they thought nobody's likely to hear. So? He'll treat them like a whore in his vindictiveness and toss them a piece of jewelry or diamonds when he's done because it's all for the money anyway, correct? Irony is, none of this would matter to him all that much if he simply didn't care tremendously about the person; but when he does? He could rip them to bloody shreds and put them through unimaginable suffering simply because he hoped --- he invested emotions into his beloved and now they took a big crap all over it, and that deserves revenge. That one phone call overheard costs beloved more than they've ever bargained for and if at all possible, they're never seen again, because Terry effectively keeps them hostage to his whims, his anger, his lust and his pain, and as I always say, it is simply better if they were just some passing sugar baby in a line up of many. They would be spared a lifetime of tears and agony.

But, considering he loves them?

He sees this as a declaration of total war and beloved as his prisoner.