#finance mafia

[hershelwidget]

sorry i just went on an deep dive. it would cost like. 5 or so billion dollar for the octonauts to function. either inkling has pockets as deep as the ocean or there’s some highly illegal behind the scenes nonsense goin on here

[awesomecooperlove]

‼️👹‼️👹‼️👹‼️👹‼️

⚠️👿⚠️

[mv1simp]

requested : dark mafia max!!

Devilish ♥️

Mafia!Max Verstappen x Reader

Girl who you tryna call, it’s a quarter past four, can’t nobody hear you scream right now

The Leeuw of Holland - or Mad Max, as he was referred to in his teen years - is well known for establishing his father's control over most of Eastern Europe. No one would dare to stand up to him for fear of losing their head - until you, the sweet daughter and lawyer of Monaco's mayor - who's determined to protect her small city from the Verstappen familia by putting the Leeuw behind bars.

Leeuw = Lion in Dutch

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, mafia boss! Max falls for mayor’s daughter! Reader, reader is also a boss ass bitch, kidnapping, violence, explicit mention of murder/dead bodies/mutilation, nothing towards reader cuz maxie is a simp 🥰 9.5k WC omg my longest yet

You feel a shiver run up the back of your spine from where you stand in the high court. Knowing exactly who’s dark gaze is raking down your body, taking in your small figure that's stylishly dressed in a tight Chanel dress and matching heels, you deliberately keep your gaze fixed forward. The judge looks like he's about to have a heart attack, sweat dripping down his forehead as he glances back and forth between you - the fiercely passionate lawyer who'd presented the numerous charges on behalf of her father, the Mayor of Monaco - and to the tall, Dutch man who sat watching you with a cocky smirk. The blonde’s large thighs spread wide and the Leeuw of Holland, as he was famously named, looked far too calm for a man who'd just had 76 counts of murder brought forward against him.

You'd had no idea who the Dutch Lion was when you two had first met. You'd just returned with your law degree from college in America, only to find things in a state of disarray in the idyllic city of Monaco. Your father had always struggled to maintain his citizen's safety as the Mayor as the neighbouring Leclerc and Sainz familias battled for territory - but in your absence the now established, much bloodthirstier Verstappen familia had seized control of the profitable area. Monaco's location served as prime real estate to ship all the drugs and black money a criminal could wish for to the rest of Eastern Europe, and Jos Verstappen had personally sent his own son and underboss - Mad Max - to secure your father’s territory.

You'd head rumours, of course, even all the way abroad in the States, of this Verstappen heir. He was known for his rage and callous violence that earned his nickname, the perfect hitman for his cold, calculating father. You’d thanked your lucky stars you had never come face to face with him, because you were sure he would kill you - or worse, you think with a shudder - if he came across the Mayor of Monaco’s daughter. But after coming back home for the last two months and finding things in such upheaval, you became more determined to do right by your family’s citizens. Your mother - who had passed away when you were young, at the hands of a Sainz thug - had been very passionate about helping those who couldn’t protect themselves, so you always lived your life in a way you knew she would be proud of.

So that’s why you spent endless days poring over the city’s legislature and laws, overturning laws that had made civilian’s finances and livelihoods hard and submitting proposal after proposal of new laws that were severely harsh on crime. The locals quickly noticed the change from the Mayor’s office, and you became idolised as Monaco’s princessa.

Your father, bless him, although his heart was always in the right place, he had gotten too old to go head to head with the gangs, choosing to bargain with the gangs instead and buy his citizen’s safety that way. You argued that it was only a matter of time before Jos Verstappen showed up at your family’s doorstep to demand more and more from the city of Monaco - until he owned it himself. You were determined to catch him, or even better - catch his son, the one who’d inherit the Verstappen empire, and put a stop to this rapidly expanding mafia before it grew out of control. Your dedication to do right by your people inspired your father to once again champion for the safety of his city.

And for a while, everything seemed to be flowing smoothly. You’d set up many a new school, local trade centres and businesses, and even medical clinics by using money redirected from paying off the gangs to keep your citizens safe. Life was thriving for the first time in a decade in Monaco. You’d even found your own small peaceful spot of solace in the chaotic city, behind one of your new clinics where a collection of streetcats would assemble. You fed them dutifully, coming daily in your lunch breaks and laughing delightedly when you saw one of them had kittens. But one day when you’d been late due to a court hearing, you’d been surprised to see that the cats had already been happily munching on some freshly ground tuna meat. It was good quality too, very expensive to come by these days, your keen eye noted from being born into the luxury of a Mayor’s daughter. You smiled sweetly and fondly patted the purring cats’ ears. Someone else found you too adorable to resist too, hmm?

From then on, whenever you’d come feed the cats, you’d always look around curiously, wanting to see if you could find that person - but you never did. And then, one day, you stumbled across an impossibly cute scene of a tall blond man, clearly broad shouldered and muscular even though he was casually dressed in a hoodie and jeans. He was warmly laughing as he held one of the cats in his arms while another yowled at his legs, wanting to also be picked up. Oh! You clapped your red manicured hands excitedly as you ran over, all sense of stranger danger forgotten as canoodling with streetcats wasn’t really a common mafia thug activity. The man’s head had slightly tilted towards you as soon as you had appeared on the other end of the street, but he turned to greet you fully as the sound of your dainty Chanel heels clicks against the pavement. You’d energetically started talking about how nice it was to finally meet whoever had been spoiling the cats, wasn’t it so cute how there were even kittens now? But when you finally drew your eyes away from the purring feline in his thick arms, you couldn’t help but blush at the curious blue-eyed gaze on his handsome face.

You introduced yourself, apologising for being rude, and after setting down the cat, he took your small hand in his own much large, warm palm. You flushed again as he raised it to his lips, leaving a gently kiss in a very traditional Monaco fashion, introducing himself as Emilian. You formed a quick friendship with him, eager to talk to someone your age after spending so much time with stuffy politicians all day. You find yourself excited to run into the gorgeous blonde on your lunch breaks, to laugh about some of the playfights you’d witnessed between the cats, or other times talk passionately about the current state of government affairs. Emilian, like many of the jaded younger generation, held a strong disdain for your father’s office and its weak position towards protecting citizens. In a somber moment you’d both realised you’d lost your mothers to the hands of the Sainz familia. But you passionately argued for your cause, remaining fiercely loyal to the goverment office of Monaco, spending your lunch hour easily talking about the many legal and restructuring plans you’d been working with the council to establish that had already improved so many household’s livelihoods. Emilian couldn’t help but quirk his attractive lips as he leaned a head on his palm, content to watch you animatedly talk for hours. The two of you sat across the waterfront, enjoying a late afternoon danish pasty in the lazy Monaco sun. When you’d turned the conversation to him, curiously asking what exactly he did, he dismissed it as per usual, vaguely mentioning something about working in the security business.

You eyed him suspiciously, imagining that like many young men in the area he’d turned to dabbling in underground business to support his family. It always started as selling the occasional party drug for profit or working as hired muscle for a night, sure, but you’d seen innocents with good hearts get sucked into the murderous world of gang violence too often. You definitely weren't just going to sit by and let someone as gentle and sweet as Emilian fall prey to it - the man had 3 separate albums on his phone dedicated to the stray cats, for God's sake! You told him this earnestly, even gently brushing your hand across his as you offered him a job as a bodyguard instead. Your father had been making more public appearances lately as the public perception grew positive of the Mayor’s office.

Emilian had hummed, contemplating, his gorgeous blue eyes glancing at where your small palm had grasped onto his much larger one. Then he’d reached across the cafe table to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, making a pretty blush spread across your caramel sun-kissed skin. So cute, he’d said, his lips quirking into a gentle smile. You promptly forgot all about what you’d been trying to convince him on as your eyes drifted down to his lips instead, the rising fluttering of romantic feelings swirling in your stomach. He’d gotten a phone call then and sighed, telling you he’d see you later, leaving after another kiss to your fingers. You’d pouted, feeling like you were crushing a lot harder on the handsome blonde than he was on you.

Next time when you met him, though, the only feeling you had was panic and fear as you saw him slumped against your stray cat’s alleyway, blood quickly oozing from a stab wound to his abdomen. You’d forced yourself to hold back a scream and avoid attracting attention in the quickly darkening evening, grabbing a hold of Emilian’s soft jumper and tugging him with you to your clinic. He’d held firm, far stronger than you even with a goddamn knife wound that was bleeding so much, oh my god-

He told you to leave, because whoever had done this was likely still in the vicinity, would see you two walking into the clinic and then would target you too. You hissed at him that he was crazy if he thought you would ever abandon him like that and if that’s what he was worried about you’d take the back alley route to your downtown apartment then! He’d finally given in, now looking paler from the blood loss and making you internally freak out. As you guided him into your cute 2nd floor apartment, all warm lighting and trailing pot plants, he smirked and murmured that if this was all it took to get you to invite him back to your place, he’d have gotten stabbed a lot sooner.

Shut up, you’d blushed, setting him down on your bathroom floor and grabbing your extensive first aid kit. Secretly though, you were glad that he still felt well enough to make jokes like that. You miss how his ice blue eyes intently watch you compress his wound, relieved that it hadn’t gone too deep into his body to injure his organs, and biting your lip with concentration as you slowly stitched the wound. Later, when you’d been nursing a glass of whiskey to settle your nerves, your many lamps casting a glow across your face, you’d answered his questions about how you learnt to fix an injury. You told him about how powerless you’d felt when you’d seen your mother be stabbed to death in front of you, how your child sized hands couldn’t stop the bleeding and you had never wanted to feel so useless ever again.

You hadn’t realized your mind had wandered back to that memory, triggered by Emilian’s own blood that you’d scrubbed thrice over from your own hands tonight. When you felt his warm hand run across your clenched ones, soothing the tension, your for eyes focused back to look at his contemplative gaze. You’d never thought you’d see the handsome man sitting in your apartment like this, now shirtless as you’d thrown his bloodied one away. You averted your gaze, suddenly feeling shy despite the desire coursing through you, secretly glad he had declined your offer of your pink pastel knit to cover up with so you could enjoy the view of his broad, muscled shoulders.

Tilting your head back up to look at him, Emilian murmured that he was indebted to you, that you would always be under his protection. His words send a flutter through your heart, although frankly you're not sure how he was meant to protect you when you were the one with access to security resources as the Mayor's daughter. But still, his words have an undertone of assured confidence to them and you find your eyes drifted down to his lips again. You're ecstatic when he breaks the tension and finally leans in, giving you what you'd been wanting for a few weeks now as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He definitely knows what he’s doing, and soon you're sweetly moaning into his mouth and grinding onto his skilled, thick fingers that have slipped into your jeans and pulled your panties to the side. He brings you to bliss within minutes, and you can't resist pressing yourself closer to him as you come down from your high. You want to make him feel good, too, but your hands accidentally brush against his stab wound and you don't miss his low, painful hiss. Pulling back immediately, you apologise profusely, worriedly looking over his bandages again to make sure there was no bleeding. He chuckles, telling you he was fine, you were very welcome to continue?

Flushing, you told him that you'd had a slip in judgement and were not going to put his already hurt body through any more accidental pain tonight. He pouted rather cutely as you stood up, grabbing some spare blankets and pillows for him to stay on the couch. Not having your hands on him was far more painful than the stab wound, he says teasingly, making you blush. You felt a little embarrassed at how quickly things had progressed tonight, unable to keep your head on straight around the handsome tall Blonde in front of you. You give him a firm goodnight, but just before you enter your bedroom, you turn to shyly tell him that you’d like to return the favour and make him feel good when he had healed. Grinning at your cute, blushing face, Emilian’s ocean look eyes look at you fondly as he lowly murmurs that he’ll look forward to it, shcatje.

That night you dream about handsome men in mysterious alleyways, who pin you to the wall and pepper your neck with soft kisses that turn hungrier and hungrier. You’re gasping and asking for more, please, please as his strong hands roughly palm your ass, your tits-

You wake with a start in your now empty apartment, Emilian’s name on your lips. Late morning light floods through your windows as you curiously notice the empty sofa, where a blanket is neatly folded up. Your face brightens when you see a note, that reads sorry I left without a goodbye kiss, schatje, the cats were getting possessive.

Rolling your eyes at his usual mysterious antics, you toss his note into the bin. But you’re humming as you went about your morning routine, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing the attractive blonde later on. But oddly, Emilian hasn’t been in your usual spot that afternoon, and you look around with concern as the cats meow at your feet, wanting to be fed. When he isn’t there the next day either, or the day after, you’ve started to get very worried now, wondering if something had gone wrong with his wound or worse - the man who had stabbed him had decided to retaliate with more gang members this time. You’d been thinking about it so much that you decide to the police station that day and asking the chief to look for the Dutchman who's found his way into your heart.

It turns out that Emilian’s safety was not something you needed to be concerned with. Because the one who has been in danger was not the mysterious blonde, but instead you, who had unknowingly caught the attention of many mafioso in the area by protecting him. You realised this when you came home from your visit to the police station, only to find your front door unlocked. You'd barely taken a step inside when you’re pushed against the wall by a heavily pierced man you’d never see before. The mocking silver pendant that he wore around his neck, of a horse rearing, signified his alliance with the LeClerc familia. You’d been unable to control the tears running down your face when he'd painfully begun choking you, demanding to know where the hell Max was. When you’d tried to tell them you had no clue what he was referring to, he just tightened his harsh grip on you to slam you against the wall again. You cry out in pain, bruises already forming along your delicate hands from the intruder's grip, as you keep trying to plead and explain you didn't know who they were talking about. A part of you knew there must be some link between this Max they were looking for, and your Emilian - but you sure as hell were not going to tell these criminals a single thing.

You swallow your fear and try to bargain with them, offering money, access to shipping resources, security - all things you could provide in your role as the mayor's daughter, you insisted. But they laughed it off, confusing you when they said currently, you were the most sought after bargaining chip for the gangs in Southern Europe. And everything had faded to black then, after one of them pressed an acidic smelling cloth over your nose.

When you woke up, hours later and with a pounding head, you're in an unfamiliar room. You groggily sit up, and find yourself instantly alarmed by the thick ropes tied tightly around your wrists. At least they hadn't tied your legs, too, you think with relief, sitting up in the dark room - only to come eye to eye with the barrel of a gun. Ah, that explained it - apparently they thought you were such a precious commodity they'd assigned someone to literally guard you with a gun. You're still confused, unsure why suddenly these street criminals seem interested in kidnapping the Mayor's daughter. Everyone knew who really held the power in Monaco - the Verstappen familia.

You get your answer then, when the sound of gunshots start filling the air from outside your room. You look up in alarm, and your guard eyes the door warily. He growls at you to not to move an inch as he leaves to go investigate, closing the door behind him. You flinch as more and more gunshots fill the air, accompanied by screams and yells. And then, when it becomes eerily silent for minutes on end, you wonder if this is your chance to escape amidst whatever chaos was going on. You're nervously peering around the hallways, finding yourself in a creepy, abandoned looking mansion - somewhere probably on the outskirts of the Monaco township, if you had to guess. Moonlight is the only thing lighting the way as you try to quietly navigate your way out of the winding hallways. It's strange, there had been so any gunshots but you had yet to see a single person anywhere-

And that's where you saw it, around the next corner. Scattered haphazardly throughout the hallway, illuminated by moonlight shining through the large window, lay body after body, all freshly dead with expressions of terror still on their faces. And then, soft murmurs from the opposite end of the hallways, as three men rounded it - and you finally find your missing Dutchman. Emilian? You whisper breathlessly, half reassured to find him alive and half confused at what he was doing inside a property that clearly belonged to the LeClercs. He stops abruptly, halting the two men behind him as he stares at you with a look of pure relief. He was dressed so differently to his usual casual attire, too, with his blond locks slicked back, wearing a fitted white shirt and dress pants, and an expensive looking black overcoat that highlighted his tall, broad frame. You'd looked puzzled at the large watch on his wrist - a renowned luxury brand you recognised from the many elite charity galas you'd attended. Well out of the yearly income someone like Emilian would make in...what had he said? Security?

You're so perplexed at the sudden appearance of the half a million Euro worth watch that you don't even notice the sleek gun in his hand, until he's raising it up and pointing it straight at you. Don't move, schatje, he murmurs, his deep voice carrying across the hallway. And those ocean blue eyes of his that you'd fallen in love with were now ice cold, without a trace of any human emotion behind them. Your own doe eyes widen in fear, tears gathering, because you have no idea who the man standing in front of you is, just who you’d fallen in love with - and now he's going to kill you. You don't even get time to flinch when he's pulling the trigger. But to your surprise the bullet never hits you. Instead, you hear a thump behind you - and turn to see a body fall to the ground, his own gun that had been raised towards you clattering across the floor.

You'd stood frozen in fear, silently shaking and willing yourself not to pass out from the sheer amount of blood that pooled onto the floor, staining your pretty white Chanel heels. And then a tall figure is at your side, guiding you away from the horrifying sight with a large palm in the small of your back. His warm hands making quick work of the ropes that still bind your hands. His familiar voice is murmuring to you gently that you he was here, you’re safe now, schat and no one was going to hurt you again. You’re finally pulled out of your frozen shock when you feel his touch. You look down at large palms softly rubbing the red marks on your skin from where the rope had dug into your skin.

You're outside now, standing in the moonlit gravel in front of the eerie mansion, with an equally haunted looking garden around you. The chill of the night time air helps you start clarifying your racing thoughts. I don’t think Emilian is your real name, you begin. And for a casual security hire to wear a Patek Philippe watch...who are you, really? You finally ask, your voice surprisingly firm despite fear coursing through your veins. He sighs, draping his thick black overcoat over your shaking figure, the clothing completely dwarfing you.

You’re a very smart woman, liefje, he murmurs lowly, his intense gaze studying your face. He tells you that he's sure you've probably already figured it out by now. Releasing a deep breath, you recount his Dutch origins, clear as day in his deep accented voice and blonde locks, and the fact that he obviously had an established presence in one of the mafioso gangs. Most likely the Verstappen familia, then. He was high up enough to have command of his own group of men, the ones you now spotted through various windows, no doubt cleaning up the piles of dead bodies in the house. He watches you with a small grin on his face, enjoying how even if this frightening situation you were able to gather evidence and form a logical conclusion. And when you told him your theory - that he was not Emilian but Nicolas Hulkenberg, left hand man to Jos Verstappen, he chuckled, telling you almost fondly that you were so close. He was in the Verstappen family, and he was high up in the chain of command - but Nico's my cousin. He'd probably have a hissy fit at being confused with me, the handsome blonde in front of you mused. The new information sends a jolt through you, because even though your knowledge of the gangs is not extensive, if this man was Nicolas Hulkenberg's cousin, then...

Max Verstappen. Your breathless voice gives away the fear rising within you as your doe eyes widen in shock. You instinctively take a step back as the infamous underboss of the Verstappen familia takes a step closer to you, tilting his head like a lion eyeing up his prey, looking very much like the Dutch Leeuw he’s famously named for. Max Emilian Verstappen, he corrects, saying that most people didn't know the middle name - making it a useful nickname in public.

It's certainly more discreet than Mad Max, you reply hotly, rage and betrayal now replacing your earlier fear as you realise just how deceived you'd been. The man standing in front of you was no innocent citizen, or anyone to be protected. No - he was set to inherit the richest and most powerful gang family in the continent. Max's ice blue eyes narrow at your hurt expression, at the tears that are now running down your cheeks as you tell him what as absolute psychopath he was, to use and manipulate you into helping him, just because - you gasp, sobbing uncontrollably now - just because I'm the mayor's daughter? And you wanted to know about my redevelopment plans!? Max's heart aches at seeing you so upset, and he softly tells you it wasn't meant to be like this, you weren't meant to find out so unexpectedly. All of the heated looks and sweet words he’d spoken to you were real, because he’d fallen in love with you, too. But those Leclerc bastards had gotten their hands on you, wanting a bargaining chip and thinking you were something disposable to be used and tied up - A dark expression has taken over Max’s face now, storm clouds in his steely eyes. He'd let your captors off far too easily, he says menacingly. A shiver runs through you as you remember that the man standing in front of you had earned his title not just through family blood, but with his status of a deadly hitman with the highest kill rate this side of the globe.

Well, never mind, he drawls nonchalantly, his observant gaze not missing the fear in your sweet doe eyes that you tried desperately to supress. He was sure the Leclercs had gotten the message that you were not someone they could touch so casually. You were under Max’s personal protection, after all - he was indebted to you. Like he predicted, your Monegasque pride didn't take the offer from your political enemy kindly. You tell him to fuck off, Verstappen, you didn’t need his protections and he could just stay the hell away. He laughs at the fire in your brown eyes that’s returned in full force, glad you no longer had the lost, glassy stare he’d found you with earlier. Refusing to let him drive you home, you demand he hand over the keys to that S Class Mercedes parked in the driveway that you assumed was his, given the outrageous price tags and the bulletproof glass. He presents them to you with a smirk, watching you take off after shooting him a furious expression over your shoulder.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight ever again, not after you’d been hurt. You didn’t know about the guards he had assigned to you at all times, but you did receive a package a few days later. Unboxing the black and white designer wrapping, you tried to remember if you’d ordered something and forgotten about it. But when you see the identical Chanel heels you’d been wearing the night everything had happened, a new pair to replace your old, blood stained ones, you knew exactly who had sent them to you. You shove the box to the back of your closet and scowl as you continue about your research of collating the list of charges to bring against Max Verstappen.

So now, a month later, you see him for the first time since your kidnapping. It’s in the courtroom where you confidently list our your extensive evidence condemning the Leuw of Holland - who’s intense gaze you can feel raking over your well dressed form. You’re stunned when the judge, who’s sweated through his wig and gone through 3 jugs of water from all his nervous gulping, anxiously says that he finds the accused, Max Emilian Verstappen, not guilty. You knew that the Verstappens were powerful, had connections in every place and access to unlimited money - but to buy off the judge of the Monaco Supreme Court, really, Max? Have you no integrity? You hiss at him, much to the shock of onlookers as they see the Monaco Princess go toe to toe with the son of the Verstappen Familia. Good to see you too, schatje, the Dutch Lion croons at you, enjoying the frustrated blush on your face from his sweet nickname. Can’t say I’m a fan of going to jail for offing a few bastards, no. Besides, those Leclerc goons definitely deserved it for putting their hands on my woman. You gasp, stammering out your response as he catches you off guard. You were not his woman, and he had no right to call you that-

Sure, whatever you say, schat. He’d given you enough space - over a month, and he missed having you by his side every day. You’d gotten your revenge with this whole dramatic court case - one that he would never have allowed anyone to go so far with, slitting their carotids well before any court date was set. Now, it was time for Max to have his fun with you again, and this time he doesn’t have to hide behind the mystery facade. Wear that pretty little pink nightdress you wore for me that time I stayed over, hmm?

You flush prettily again, giving him a venomous glare before storming off. Cute, he thinks as your heels click on the marble floor. He admires the view of your lush ass in the tight pencil skirt you wore. He’s thinking about what colour lingerie he should have sent to you to match the heels you’d worn today, all dressed up for him - when the Mayor of Monaco approaches him. Your father looks very suspicious as he shuffled from side to side, asking Max if he would like to join him for a drink that evening.

Max watches him stoically, agreeing to a meeting only out of respect for him as your father. Otherwise, he wouldn’t care less about the puppet leader of Monaco. Everyone knew who the real power lay with, after all. So he isn't surprised when the pathetic excuse of the man who calls himself your father offers you up as a trade in exchange for the return of some of the power the Verstappens have stolen. Your father had heard the rumours of how infatuated the Verstappen heir had become with the Princess of Monaco - and was happy to just hand you over. A political marriage, of course, so that your father was guaranteed to have a familial link into the powerful new family. And if Max was no longer interested in you, then your father was sure there would be no shortage of buyers in the Leclerc and Sainz families who had become aware of the new princessa thrown into their game.

Max narrowed his ice blue eyes at the pitiful father figure in front of him, his attention finally caught with this new threat to your safety. And from your only living family member, no less - the one who you'd painstakingly resurrected from political ruin. God, the Mayor of Monaco was almost as bad as Jos. But then again, Jos had never pretended to be something he was not. Your father, on the other hand, was someone who you loved and cherished dearly. It would break your heart to see him hurt - even though he was now trying to sell you off to become a mafia bosses's wife without your knowledge.

Good thing your daughter got her fire from her mother, the Verstappen heir says coldly, his voice commanding enough that it makes the Mayor gulp nervously. Since her father clearly has no balls. Max doesn't respond well to threats - he much prefers making them, instead. And although he wanted to do nothing more than leave a bullet inside the Mayor's chest, he wouldn't touch your father out of respect for you.

So instead, when he gets word that evening of another secret hit out for you, he takes this as the oppurtunity to take you under his protection - permanently. He wouldn't allow your father to marry you off to one of the many ruthless mafiosos in the region. This time, the abduction attempt comes from the once powerful Hamilton-Rosberg family who were trying to restablish their hold after Max Verstappen himself had tobbled them from the inside. You'd impressed Max by fending off the first few attackers with the handgun you now kept at your bedside, injuring them but avoiding any critical areas as you ran out your fire escape. Good girl, Max thought with pride as his men relayed the situation to him over the phone. But you'd not expected the attackers waiting for you at the end of back alleyway. You were out of bullets, and closed your eyes in resignation as you prepared for what you were sure would be a nasty end...

When that infuriatingly attractive, confident Dutch voice appears at your side. Missed me, schatje? Max Verstappen makes quick work of the men who dared to attempt laying a hand on you. This time he rips one of their heart out, rather gruesomely, before shoving it inside the dead man's mouth. A very clear warning to all others who went after you again - since apparently the massacre at the Leclerc mansion had not been enough.

You're snifling and shaking when Max returns to your side, your back firmly to him to avoid seeing the horrific sight. And when he sighs softly again, draping his familiar, warm coat over our shoulders, you ask him if he was here to kill you, too. You'd realised that many of Max's enemy gangs had started to come after you, hoping to use your connection to the Verstappen heir against him. Of course, for a man as coldly efficient and powerful as Max - it made sense to eliminate any source of weakness to his status. But the enemy Dutch Lion you'd somehow fallen for suprises you once again. Brushing a stray curl behind your ear, and wiping away the tears now gathering in the corner of your wide eyes, Max gently murmurs No, schatje. He was going to marry you.

Shock courses through you, as you gasp at his unexpected confession. But then everything is going blurry, and the last thing you remember is his ocean blue eyes, looking into yours with their familiar warmth and intensity. The next time you wake up, you're in Max's private jet, somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea. You’re panicked, trying to angrily demand that he take you back, but whatever drugs he’d had given to you make your efforts futile. You’re slumping tiredly against his broad shoulders after a few minutes, his strong arms around you, falling into a deep sleep as he murmurs reassurances that he was doing this for your own protection.

And when you wake up again, he’s made sure that it’s goddamn near impossible for you to run away. Because he has you on a godforsaken large private island of the Sicilian Coast, a beautiful place surrounded by turquoise beaches and dotted with ancient temple ruins mixed in amongst trendy Italian boutiques. It’s the sort of place you would normally be enraptured by - but in the week you’ve been here you’ve been plotting escape attempt after attempt.

Of course, you’d argued with Max every night when he returned from whatever shady business he’d conducted during the day, taking his private plane. You put your law degree to good use with the heated debates over the dinner table as he watched you with an adoring grin, finding your ever present energy and passion captivating. It had made you flush and look away from his gorgeous eyes. You stabbed into the deliciously flavoured lobster pasta in front of you, hating how your stomach did backflips when Max looked at you in this way. Your heart and brain felt like they were at odds with one other constantly, torn between the gentle, cat loving Emilian you’d fallen in love with and this protective, commanding Max who you couldn’t deny your growing desire for. Confidence greatly suited the Dutch Leuw, who now came back to the mansion he kept you in dressed in a black suits and wristwatches that was no doubt worth the combined income of a middle class family. But at dinner, with just the two of you over the flickering candlelight each night, enjoying the Italian summer air, he’d be in those cozy soft tees and loose linen shirts you’d always liked because of how they showed off his broad arms. Meanwhile, you pointedly only wear the plainest and drab outfits you could find in the luxurious walk in closet you’d been given. You’d gotten shocked as you opened each drawer in the room, finding it filled to the brim with designer clothes and luxury bags and heels, all in your favourite brand and colours and with matching jewellery in gold - as if it had been curated specifically for your tastes. At least he had the decency to give you private living quarters, you supposed. One night over fresh seafood paella he teasingly asked if you didn’t like all the clothes he’d had ordered for you, schat, because he can have more delivered? You scathingly tell him to stop being such a stalker, did he even know how creepy it was to find all your favourite items in that closet when you’d never even told him about them?

Blue eyes darken at your bratty note, but you aren’t nervous of Max anymore - even through the Leuw of Holland had been notorious for terrorizing your hometown streets. You’d realised that for some reason or the other, you were more precious to him than you’d ever imagined. It made you hesitate and wonder if maybe there was some truth to the romantic feelings he’d confessed to having for you, the night of the Leclerc mansion bloodbath. Forgive me for wanting you to feel comfortable here, schatje Max responded coolly, drinking from his whiskey glass. You argue back that a girl couldn’t possibly feel comfortable if she was kidnapped and help captive by a man who had technically led to her family’s ruin. And if you expect me to get dressed up for you, so that you can have your way with me…you can forget it! You retort angrily, face flushing.

Now smirking into his palm, Max assures you that despite his reputation, he promises to be the perfect gentleman. He’d never lay a hand on you…not unless you begged him too, first. His cocky tone made it clear he thought you found him impossible to resist. The playful look in his gorgeous blue eyes makes you bite your plush lips as you remember the last time Max had placed his large palm on your very willing body in an intimate way. After all, you'd sounded so sweet when you kept moaning for more when you came on my fingers within minutes, remember schat? The blonde teases you, clearly also thinking back to the same night you were. Standing up abruptly, you hotly retort with a Last time, I'd also been asking for Emilian, not Max Verstappen, before dramatically flipping your thick curls and storming off. The Dutch Lion watches you go with an amused chuckle, once again enjoying the view of your curvy ass even despite the horrid pants you were wearing. Same man, schat! he calls out to your retreating back, to which you respond with a well mannered middle finger in the air.

Your game continues like this over the month. As the days pass, you start to become more relaxed with Max. You still get flashes of the cold eyed Mafioso heir when you catch him on the phone angrily discussing a business deal, or when you spot a fleck of red on his pristine white designer shirts when he returns from being out. But your heart gets confused when you also see the gentle and caring Emilian when he's with you, who chooses to make your favourite breakfast every morning despite the full staffing in his mansion, who feeds and walks the dogs he has running around his gardens and plays with the snarky housecats. And when you'd woken up in the middle of the night crying in terror from the memory of seeing all those bloodied dead men in the Leclerc mansion, Max had been the one to hear your cries and storm into your bedroom. He'd taken you into his broad, warm arms, and you'd buried your sobs in his neck as he murmured reassurances of how you were safe now, you had nothing to ever worry about with him at your side. When you'd woken up the next morning, finding Max's toned chest underneath your cheek from where you'd both fallen asleep in your bed, a bit of your drool on his shirt, your heart swirled with conflicting emotions. You hated how safe and protected you feel in his embrace, knowing that this domestic bliss lifestyle with one of the most handsome and richest men you've ever met was something he'd kidnapped you for.

Still though, as you get more comfortable, you negotiate for more freedom with Max. You're an excellent lawyer, and now that you were temporarily out of your political position, you were going crazy sitting inside the mansion or walking it's beautiful gardens everyday. Max hadn't allowed you to go anywhere else without him at your side, his intense gaze eyeing any potential threat that approached the pair of you. Not that anyone did - the aura the Dutch Lion radiates was so powerful you kept wondering just how you'd thought he was some soft-spoken young citizen needing your help and guidance. So when Max reluctantly agrees to let you go outside without him - it's with the rule of 5 trained bodyguards at all times, of course. You roll your eyes but let them trail behind you as you terrorise the multiple designer stores dotted on the large island with Max's black Amex. It was the least he could do considering he had basically abducted you, you think with a smirk, as you watch the total at just the jewellery store alone add up to over half a million Euro. The Verstappen security guards nervously sweat behind you.

However, their boss has no such qualms. Max lets you spend his money however you wanted, thinking you were finally starting to accept his offer of marriage and coming under his permanent protection. So you surprised him a few weeks later when you finally made an escape attempt. The island was actually much bigger than you'd initially thought, and you found there was a small population of a few thousand elite, rich Italians living on the other side. That's where you headed too that afternoon, having picked a day where Max was away on business. You escaped the watchful eye of your bodyguards and ran towards the first policeman you saw. Confessing that you'd been kidnapped, and you needed help urgently to get back to Monaco where your father was Mayor, you'd been relieved when they guided you into their policecar with concerned looks. You thought they were going to help get you on a plane back to your hometown - but to your shock they drive you back the Verstappen mansion. With a sinking feeling you realised that the influence your captor had went beyond anything you could have thought possible.

You had barely managed to get away for an hour - in fact, Max hadn't even landed back in the island yet. When he did arrive that evening, having been told by his men of what you'd attempted that day, he strides into his private living room to find you. He dismissed everyone standing guard, and for the first time since you'd come here you note that he actually looked annoyed with you. You shuffle your hips nervously, from where you're seated on the low chaise. To your embarrassment, the policemen had even put a pair of handcuffs on you that Max's guards hadn't bothered removing, and they clink noisily in your lap. The handsome blonde towers above your seated figure, tilting your face up with his firm hand as he glowers at you. He's angry, and he lets you know it, telling you how stupid it was of you to compromise your safety like this, did you even know how hard it had been for him to find out when he'd been 3 hours away by plane and couldn't protect you!? Logically, you know that you should feel terrified of having pissed off a cold hearted man like Max Verstappen. But you're tuning his words out, instead biting your bottom lip at seeing him get so passionate over you. You couldn't deny that despite everything, the man in front of you was so attractive with his muscular, tall build and gorgeous light features - just your type, and the object of many a dirty fantasy in the last few months. Even after you'd found out his true identity as a Verstappen - not that you'd ever admit it to him.

But of course, Max's keenly observant gaze doesn't miss a thing. He sees it all - the way you press your thighs together, the delicious thickness easy for him to enjoy with the ridiculously overpriced Prada miniskirt you're wearing. So tiny that at this angle, with his much taller height, he catches a glimpse of your white lace panties - which are soaked straight through to reveal your dripping pussy. He smirks, knowing there was a far more effective way to punish you now. He gets his confirmation when he leans down to huskily murmur in your ear how much of a bad girl you'd been, how he clearly needs to teach you a lesson, thoroughly, so you don't disobey him again. You blush prettily, tits heaving with the gasp you let out as your eyes become dazed thinking about finally letting Max have his way with you, giving up all control and letting him take over, would feel like - after months of agonising tension.

He has you right where he wants, and he doesn't let you forget his promise. Not until you're begging me to touch you, remember liefje? he whispers darkly, his lips barely brushing your forehead as he leaves you pouting in frustration to go take a shower. He'd figured you'd angrily brood over his teasing for a few days, but when he emerges from the bathroom, he finds you sitting on his bed. Max looks especially mouth watering in grey sweats and dripping wet, tousled blonde locks and his broad, muscular chest. Rubbing your plush thighs together again, you hold up your handcuffs, innocently telling him you were only here to get free, nothing else, of course! The raw strength he uses to break the cuffs open with just his large hands has you holding back a breathless whine. God, this man was so insanely attractive, and you weren't going to be able to resist him much longer.

That's why you play back at this teasing game, making sure he's watching you with narrowed blue eyes and crossed arms, biceps swollen, as you strut through the shared door to your own bedroom. You leave the door wide open as you rustle through one of the many overflowing drawers - picking out a sheer La Perla pink nightie with matching lace panties. And when you nonchalantly hum as you make your way back to his rooms, shutting the lights off and leaving the warm bedside lamps on, you slip into his inviting comforter. He watches your whole show with a clenched jaw and unamused expression, telling you that you were playing with fire, schat.

You bat your thick eyelashes at him innocently, tossing your dark curls over your shoulder as you deny any mischief. Just in case I get any nightmares, of course! He doesn't buy it for a second, but still reluctantly slides in next to you. You remain on your best behaviour, reading a novel you'd picked out and ignoring Max, who was trying his best to ignore the skimpy outfit he knew you had underneath the covers and focus on the budgeting spreadsheet open on his laptop. After all, mafia gangs still had to keep track of their finances.

And then, just when he lets his guard down for a second and is typing away, you begin your revenge. Your book is tossed to the side and your manicured hands are running over your sensitive body, squeezing your juicy tits and rubbing your aching cunt through the sheer lace. The Leuw of Holland is left powerless for the first time in his adult life as the covers fall away, exposing your tempting caramel skin, contrasting with the pretty pink lingerie he’d bought for you. Your brown doe eyes are half lidded with desire as you watch him swallow at the tempting display in front of him, his hungry eyes honing in on the way you played with yourself. When he asks you what the fuck you were doing, his voice low and deep, you tease him more by saying he'd never said anything about you not being able to touch yourself, right? Maybe you’d let him touch you, too, if he was the one begging-

He growls like a literal lion, then, making you giggle as he watches you with a desperate look in his eyes that’s making you even more turned on. He gives up when you slip the sheer fabric down over your tits, showcasing your pretty tanned nipples that pebbled in the night air. Liefje, he groans, pressing his lips to your thick curls and his large hand to a rapidly hardening erection, please let me touch you, let me take care of you…

His husky voice sends shivers down your already warm skin, and you can’t deny your need for him any longer either. Wrapping a delicate hand around his much bigger wrist, you slowly guide him over your body, making his intense gaze go dark with desire. You brush his thick fingers over your pink lips, where you teasingly flick your tongue out and make him groan, then down across your neck so he can admire how pretty you look with his hand as a choker, then over your bouncing tits as you breathe deeply. He can’t resist pinching a cute nipple, this time making you moan, but it’s still not where you need him most. And then you’re guiding him over your soft tummy, over your plush hips, and then-

Oh, fuck schatje. Max's intoxicating, accented voice moans into your ear, making you drip even more for him. You’re so wet for me, this sweet pussy needs me to take care of it so badly, hmmm? You whine breathlessly, nodding impatiently as his long fingers brush against your swollen cunny. You’re dripping through your skimpy panties, which are practically stuck to you now. The attractive blonde next to you has no inhibitions about manhandling you easily, ripping the scraps of lace off and tossing the ruined hundreds of Euros to the side. Bringing your slick cunt to his lips, he licks them attractively as he stares up at your blushing face with hungry eyes. You stammer nervously, never having been eaten out before, but he couldn’t care less. He dips his skilled tongue into your soaked pussy, inhaling in your addictive sweet scent as you gasp and moan. His strong hands lock your rocking hips in position as he fucks you with his broad tongue, lapping up the sweet juices your cunny gushes out for him. You’re in tears from how amazing it feels, especially when he buries his large nose or a thick finger knuckle deep, and soon you’re intertwining your pink nails in his blonde locks as he once again makes you scream in name in pure pleasure. This time though, he’s much more satisfied because you’re desperately moaning his real name. Oh, Max! Please!

Days later, when you and him have formed a legal agreement of sorts, where you accept his protection against the ongoing threat of rival gangs and he agrees to let you resume your legal career, you fly back to Monaco with him at your side. He slid a hefty diamond engagement ring onto your finger, and you’re still shocked by how pretty it looks, glimmering in the light. Still, it was only temporary, you had no plans to actually marry the man. A union between the Princess of Monaco and the all consuming Verstappen Mafia heir who’d been responsible for stripping her city of its livelihood was a cursed match!

So when you excitedly run straight to your father’s home when you land, the Verstappen bodyguards in tow as per their boss’s instructions. You fling the doors open, shouting for your papa. The mayor of Monaco looks up in shock, thrown back a bit when you jump into his arms and tell him you missed him dearly, had he been keeping safe? He’d delighted you are safe of course, and tells you so numerous times over dinner, and then later when you two are poring over the city redevelopment plans. You’d been away for over two months now, and a lot had to be caught up with in your absence.

But when he continues that really, when he’d made the offer to Max he’d half expected to never see you again - after all, the Dutch Leuw of Holland was known to be ruthless. When you freeze, papers falling from your hand as you look at him in shock, he realises that your fiancée had never actually disclosed to you the circumstances under which he’d decided to make you his wife.

This whole time I thought he’d kidnapped me, like a madman…but really he was protecting me from you, wasn’t he? Because you were ready to sell your daughter off to whatever man would be the highest bidder? None of the pathetic excuses that come out of your father's mouth are enough to fix the trust that had been broken. Your heart had broken that night, and you’d left your family home and vowed to never look back, tears running down your face. Max had taken one look at you and taken you into his comforting arms, shushing your cries and murmuring that you were not alone, he was your family now, his home was now yours as well. Or rather, multiple properties, it might be more appropriate to say.

This time, you willingly return to the darkness, and you accept his offer of marriage, of protection, and of partnership, and he takes yours delicate hand in his when you walk down the aisle in a beautiful cream gown that same month. Like your now husband had noted when he'd first met you, you were a smart woman, the perfect wife to the likes of the heir to the Verstappen mafia. You understood that if the reigning government council couldn't resist the criminal takeover, it would be better to join them instead. But not with the pathetic bribing the Mayor had done, comprising his citizen's safety and then his own daughter's.

No, your style was far more ambitious than his. You'd gotten your fire from your mother, after all. So when the Princessa of Monaco married the powerful Verstappen heir, your citizens hadn't known what to expect, rumours flying of the whole thing being a forced arrangement. But when you and Max have eliminated both your fathers out of the way and claimed the city of Monaco for yourselves, you're quick to resume it's political redevelopment and advances in healthcare and education whilst running the largest drug smuggling ring in Europe in the underground canals. You had to get the funding from somewhere, and driving neighbouring gang's businesses into the ground to support your own local one seems a good a cause as any. This time, under your partnership, it's done in a much safer way for your citizens, and you firmly believe the means justify the ends.

And time passes in the now flourishing city. The handsome Dutch Leeuw is often seen out for lunch by the beach, laughing with his beautiful new wife in his arms. The power couple of Monaco, your citizens say, admiring your union of the darkness and the light.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEWWWW this was a long one my dearest readers I am so sorry for the wait life has been crazy!! was a bit overwhelmed with work but max winning the sprint was enough to revive me thank you for waiting! lmk what you think! dark max simps do not worry I have many garbage pieces coming your way hehe

[fics-lovebot]

jungkook fic recs

main masterlist

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

i´ll be constantly updating this list so make sure to check it out often for new recs ;)))

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

disclaimer: if you came back to read that one fire fic you liked but can´t find it, its bc the link wasn´t working anymore so I deleted it :/

last updated: 08/08/2024

yandere / mafia / bad boy

romantic dreams - ( @kooktrash ) yandere!jungkook, tattoo artist jk, boxer!jk, UGHH ITS GOODDD, he´s so toxic frfr, namjoon is sick of his ass lmao, totally obsessed with reader, jealous and possesive af, he´s crazy sdlfjs but i´m into it

toxic noona - ( @aajjks ) yandere!noona, toxic controling relationship, jk is a victim, he´d rather die than leave, reader likes to make him cry, manipulation

crafting new memories - ( @peachypinkygloss ) yandere!jk FR, stockholm syndrome, jk kiddnaped reader and fucks her while making her watch herself on the news,,,her own missing sign

yours insanely - ( @smileyoongle ) yandere!jk, serial killer jk, detective!reader, he kills women who look like you, so interesting to read

darknet - ( @darkestcorners ) yandere!jk, the internet is scary, human trafficking, jk is scary dangerous, it´s a LOT, just wow

who is in control? - ( @ctrlsht ) yandere-ish, lawyer!jk, posessive jk, obsessive jk, toxic relationship, stalking, manipulation, secret relationship, he´s cray-cray

hybrid au / soulmate au / super hero au / alien au

bunnytalk - ( @woncon ) bunny hybrid jk, owner reader, jk is a sad bunny bc reader won´t return his feelings but it´s all just a misunderstanding

night vision - ( @bonny-kookoo  ) e.r, alien!jk, suggestive, lowkey smut, bunny hybrid reader, jk has tentacles ,,,,,nothing else to say, flirty fluffy jk, this is dIFFERENTTTT i love it

closer - ( @blublublujk ) smut, step siblings au, noona reader, yandere!jk, jk is obsessed with him older step sister, WHEWWW this is intense, very detailed, loved it

slice of life / university au / idol

you make him go crazy - ( @onlyswan ) fluff, idol!jk, slight angst, multiple scenarios, reader is constantly making him go nuts, he is STRESSED lmao, it´s cute anyways, reader is kind of a careless brat but jk wouldn´t have it any other way

you wear his clothes - ( @nochukoo97 ) fluff, thing is...HE gives you his clothes, he´s so boyfriendd

call me soon - ( @peachypinkygloss ) summer break up, strangers to fwb to lovers, obsessed jk

screw up; over wine - ( @koocycle ) finance major jk x model!reader, first date drabble, he is really into reader so he takes her to a fancy pricey wine and dine but guess wHAT.. he is broke lmao so he straight up PANICS, lowkey highkey secondhand embarrasment but it´s jk so it ends in a cute way

kiss me better - ( @jaykaysthicthighs ) angst, jerk jk, mean jk, misunderstanding, manhandling, he is crying bc he assumed she was cheating but he was sooo wrong, now he is begging, crying, throwing up,,, they make up anyways, its angsty in a satisfying way

you´re sleepy but you promised you´d go grocery shopping with him - ( @thvhoe ) e.r, its cuteeeee

couple questions with vogue - ( @kjdkive ) fluff, e.r, idol!jk, supermodel!reader, I LOVE THISSSS, he is the best boyfriend/fiancé soon to be hubby EVER UGHHHH its so cute

devoted to trouble - ( @jeonsweetpea ) fluff, lil angst, smut, comedy, spiderman!jk au inspired by seven??? a masterpiecE. the world finds out he is spiderman but he dgaf bc he only cares about you, #pininggg, reader playing hard to get, man i love tHIS

show you what devotion is - ( @thvhoe ) boxer!jk, ballerina!reader, fluff, angst. you´re like his safe place, it´s giving exes to wannabe lovers, they deff like each other and jk wants to eat her uP but he´s wants it to be romantic and stuff, idk idk I liked itttt

you surprise him for his birthday - ( @nochukoo97 ) he´s so boyfriendddddd, this is so wholesome and cute

he can´t sleep bc he loves you so much - ( @onlyswan ) now THIS makes me want to drink bleach and die bc of how cute it is, THEY ARE SO IN LOVEEEE, there´s a lot of giggling, a lot of praising, a lot of disgustingly sweet loving talk after sex :´)))))) its such a good read i promise

fighting heart - ( @kooktrash ) boxer!jk, fluff, angst, he´s so stressed sldfkj, reader gets in a small accident and jk went crazy when a nurse answered your phone

make a wish - ( @euaphoric ) fluff, little smut, best friends to lovers, reader is so sweet, birthday surprise, jk shoots his shot, he only wants to spend his birthday with you

daft pretty boy - ( @jeonqkooks ) basketball cap!jk, classmates to lovers ig, see he´s smart but when he´s with you he gets nervous and forgets how to exist, he lowkey confesses and he´s sraightforward with itt, he´s got a hUGE crush on you lmao

ride - ( @ohjeon ) strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, jk is a fucc boy on campus, reader has tattoos and rides the coolest bike, jk has an instant crush, love at firts sight i would say, got him blushing and sweating lmao, this is an on going series but I KNOW it´ll be gREAT, I love it already

in your arms - ( @kookslastbutton ) e.r, fluff, smut, morning secs, waking up by his side for the first time after moving in

encore - ( @jjungxkook ) game designer!jk, he is cool af, has a fat crush on reader, this is just the teaser of the fic but I really like it

crave you - ( @7deadlysinsfics ) idol!jk, crack, smut, fluff, hispanic choreographer reader, texting, taejikook, jk is HORNY but he´s a softie too, he´s got a big big fat crush, strenght kink bc we all know he can throw her around like a ragdoll

pretty girl - ( @bts-trash-blog ) smut, tattoo artist!jk, chubby reader, THIS IS ITTTTT, he´s tall, dark and handsome, flirty af too, "pretty girl" stFUUUU, they both want to fuck so he shoots his shot at the tattoo appointment

easy - ( @itsamejin ) angsty, fuckboy jk, bet!trope, jk plays you so he can get his rent paid, i read this one a lawwngg time ago and decided i was an angst loving hoe

Inevitable - ( @ahundredtimesover ) angst, fluff, smut, lovers to exes to lovers, baseball player!jk, dad!jk, parents au, you break up with jk years ago after you got pregnant bc you wanted him to follow his dreams and now he´s back home just to find out there´s a boy who looks just like him.. this is a masterpiece, honestly one of THEE best jk series out there, it has it all fr, the angst is angsty and the fluff is FLUFFY, i love it sm i´ve read it 3 times and never get tired of it

finish line - ( @bonny-kookoo ) fluff, nerdy!jk, racer!jki loooooveee itttttt, so cute, so fluffy, this blurb uGHHHHH, just read the whole thing pls

ungodly hour - ( @explicit-tae ) crack, smut, fluff, college au, broke college student!reader, lowkey slutty!reader, jk is thirsstttyyyyy, simping atp, "who´s dick do i have to suck for a hulu account?" this series is honestly so funny ksjakskjs

disney + and bust - ( @1kook ) angst, fluff, smut. yall already know i love to see man crying and begging for forgiveness :p, so kook is ur succesfull "app developer" bf and he says some very hurtfull things to you out of anger

rattled - ( @gukslut ) complete series, single dad au, angst, smut. honestly? one of the best fics out there. I read this a long time ago and i´m still in awe. The way this is written makes you feel every word. also, the plot is so so unique. i love it.

ceo au / sugardaddy au / rich bf au / coworker au

Over The Odds | The Confession - ( @jungk0oksthighs ) ceo jk, sugardaddy jk, jealous bf jk, sugar baby reader, he gets mad and yells bc he is lowkey insecure of her ex but reader is equaly in love. this is a series

wrong time - ( @spideyjimin ) smut, angst, dilf!jk, ceo!jk, exes to lovers, workaholic as a scape mechanism, the one that got away type of stuff but she broke things up first for valid reasons, big big heartache but she´s still the love of his life

don´t blame me - ( @ctrlsht ) sugar daddy!jk, ceo!jk, soft yan!jk, obsessive!jk, student!reader, unhealthy behavior on his part, manipulative behavior on her part, jealousy on both parts, he goes a lil too far but reader is bitchy and annoying, he lit gives her everythinggg she asks for, the man is..creazy about her in a very unhealthy way and she takes advantage of that, toxicc

failed quickie - ( @vminizzle ) cowerker jk, suggestive, they´re about to fucc on an elevator but it didn´t work, he likes his hair pulled!!1!

someone older - ( @bonny-kookoo ) smut, ceo jk, divorced jk, 30 something yo jk, taehyung has a kid, younger oc, its a nice read, would do it again

break up au / cheating au / fuckboy au

night after night - ( @brown-bi-beautiful ) smut, angst, crack, fluff, semi-retired fuckboy jk, red flag jk, stalker jk, break up au, lovers to exes to lovers, he fucked around and found out so he is FREAKING ouT, also he is beggING okk.. we love that, he also has a Harley bc he is bad boy™, they make up anyways bc he is pussy whipped.. or in love, whatevs you wanna call it

seven plus one - ( @jvngkoos ) smut, angst, they break up for like a week and that shit got him SIMPING fr, standing under the rain begging and stuff, the man is obsessed, we love it

pwp / fwb

you good?? - ( @mono-moonchilds ) drabble, smut, "what if you gave jungkook head?" is righT bc i´ve been thinking about it for a min!!! he is mean ok yall know he is a brat buT, the head is too good to do all that, the man was shaKINg for godssakeee, so good he had to answer with a thumbs up bc reader drained him fr, left him so brain dead he couldn´t even speak

afterglow - ( @elitekook ) smut, fwb!jk, slight possessive!jungkook, dirty talking, degrading nicknames, but he cares ok, he´s trying to get out of the friend zone

come sit on my lap - ( @euphoricfilter ) pwp, lots of praisingg, they way this is written is good yall, "use me" , “so polite” shUT UPPPP im literally blushing, AND he is also cute at the end?? i hate it heREEE :´)

he has a lot of cum - ( @euphoricfilter ) boyfriend!jk, the title I- , he DOES have a lot of cum, lots of stamina, lots of everYTHING, and on toP of those small details, wdym he wants to see how many times he can cum in you before it´s too full and it starts to spill????? somebody stop this man

riding jungkook´s nose - ( @euphoricfilter ) we´ve ALLL thought about this, and if you haven´t you´re lying, periodt. pRAISINGGG, he´s in a pussy-drunk frenezy, he likes feeling used, he likes getting his hair pulled, he likes getting his face wET, it´s sickenINGGGG goreaditplease

fucking in the gym - ( @euphoricfilter ) this was inspired by that one pic of him and jimin with their back out, I SEE THE VISION, fucking with ceiling mirrors

wicked - ( @noteguk ) smut, incubus!jk, big big corruption kink, lots of dirty ploting and dirty talk, yupppp this is a good one, so detailed, love me a fic that lit makes me see what i´m reading

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bluesky and enshittification

NEXT WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I would like to use Bluesky. They've done a bunch of seriously interesting technical work on moderation and ranking that I truly admire, and I've got lots of friends there who really enjoy it.

But I'm not on Bluesky and I don't have any plans to join it anytime soon. I wrote about this in 2023: I will never again devote my energies to building up an audience on a platform whose management can sever my relationship to that audience at will:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/06/fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again/

When a platform can hold the people you care about or rely upon hostage – when it can credibly threaten you with disconnection and exile – that platform can abuse you in lots of ways without losing your business. In other words, they can enshittify their service:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

I appreciate that the CEO of Bluesky, Jay Graber, has evinced her sincere intention never to enshittify Bluesky and I believe she is totally sincere:

https://www.wired.com/story/bluesky-ceo-jay-graber-wont-enshittify-ads/

But here's the thing: all those other platforms, the ones where I unwisely allowed myself to get locked in, where today I find myself trapped by the professional, personal and political costs of leaving them, they were all started by people who swore they'd never sell out. I know those people, the old blogger mafia who started the CMSes, social media services, and publishing platforms where I find myself trapped. I considered they friends (I still consider most of them friends), and I knew them well enough to believe that they really cared about their users.

They did care about their users. They just cared about other stuff, too, and, when push came to shove, they chose the worsening of their services as the lesser of two evils.

Like: when your service is on the brink of being shut down by its investors, who demand that you compromise on privacy, or integrity, or quality, in some relatively small way, are you really going to stand on principle? What about all the users who won't be harmed by the compromise, but will have their communities and online lives shattered if you shut down the company? What about all the workers who trusted you, whose family finances will be critically imperilled if you don't compromise, just a little. What about the "ecosystem" partners who've bet on your service, building plug-ins, add-ons and services that make your product better? What about their employees and their employees' families?

Maybe you tell yourself, "If I do this, I'll live to fight another day. I can only make the service better for its users if the service still exists." Of course you tell yourself that.

I have watched virtually every service I relied on, gave my time and attention to, and trusted, go through this process. It happened with services run by people I knew well and thought highly of.

Enshittification can be thought of as the result of a lack of consequences. Whether you are tempted by greed or pressured by people who have lower ethics than you, the more it costs to compromise, the fewer compromises you'll make.

In other words, to resist enshittification, you have to impose switching costs on yourself.

That's where federation comes in. On Mastodon (and other services based on Activitypub), you can easily leave one server and go to another, and everyone you follow and everyone who follows you will move over to the new server. If the person who runs your server turns out to be imperfect in a way that you can't endure, you can find another server, spend five minutes moving your account over, and you're back up and running on the new server:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/04/pick-all-three/#agonism

Any system where users can leave without pain is a system whose owners have high switching costs and whose users have none. An owner who makes a bad call – like removing the block function say, or opting every user into AI training – will lose a lot of users. Not just those users who price these downgrades highly enough that they outweigh the costs of leaving the service. If leaving the service is free, then tormenting your users in this way will visit in swift and devastating pain upon you.

That not only helps you steer clear of rationalizing your way into a bad compromise: it also stops your investors and other people with leverage over you from pressuring you into taking actions that harm your users. These devils only sit on your shoulder, whispering temptations and threats, because they think that you can make things worse without spoiling their investment. They're not cruel, they're greedy. They will only insist on enshittification that they believe they can profit from. If they understand that forcing you to enshittify the service will send all your users packing and leave them with nothing, they will very likely not force you to wreck your service.

And of course, if they are so greedy that they force your hand anyway, then your users will be able to escape. Your service will be wrecked and you'll be broke, which sucks for you, but you're just one person and your pain is vastly outweighed by the relief for the millions of people who escape your service when it goes sour.

There's a name for this dynamic, from the world of behavioral economics. It's called a "Ulysses Pact." It's named for the ancient hacker Ulysses, who ignored the normal protocol for sailing through the sirens' sea. While normie sailors resisted the sirens' song by filling their ears with wax, Ulysses instead had himself lashed to the mast, so that he could hear the sirens' song, but could not be tempted into leaping into the sea, to be drowned by the sirens.

Whenever you take a measure during a moment of strength that guards against your own future self's weakness, you enter into a Ulysses Pact – think throwing away the Oreos when you start your diet.

There is no such thing as a person who is immune to rationalization or pressure. I'm certainly not. Anyone who believes that they will never be tempted is a danger to themselves and the people who rely on them. A belief you can never be tempted or coerced is like a belief that you can never be conned – it makes you more of a mark, not less.

Bluesky has many federated features that I find technically admirable. I only know the CEO there slightly, but I have nothing but good opinions of her. At least one of the board members there, Mike Masnick, is one of my oldest friends and comrades in the fights for user rights. We don't agree on everything, but I trust him implicitly and would happily give him the keys to my house if he needed a place to stay or even the password for my computer before I had major surgery.

But even the best boards can make bad calls. It was just a couple years ago that we had to picket to stop the board of ISOC – where I had several dear old friends and comrades – from selling control of every .ORG domain to a shadowy hedge-fund run by mustache-twirling evil billionaires:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/how-we-saved-org-2020-review

Bluesky lacks the one federated feature that is absolutely necessary for me to trust it: the ability to leave Bluesky and go to another host and continue to talk to the people I've entered into community with there. While there are many independently maintained servers that provide services to Bluesky and its users, there is only one Bluesky server. A federation of multiple servers, each a peer to the other, has been on Bluesky's roadmap for as long as I've been following it, but they haven't (yet) delivered it.

That was worrying when Bluesky was a scrappy, bootstrapped startup with a few million users. Now it has grown to over 13 million users, and it has taken on a large tranche of outside capital:

https://fediversereport.com/on-bluesky-and-enshittification/

Plenty of people have commented that now that a VC is holding Bluesky's purse-strings, enshittification will surely follow (doubly so because the VC is called "Blockchain Capital," which, at this point, might as well be "Grifty Scam Caveat Emptor Capital"). But I don't agree with this at all. It's not outside capital that leads to enshittification, it's leverage that enshittifies a service.

A VC that understands that they can force you to wreck your users' lives is always in danger of doing so. A VC who understands that doing this will make your service into an empty – and thus worthless – server is far less likely to do so (and if they do, at least your users can escape).

My publishing process is a lot of work and adding another service to it represents a huge amount of future labor:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

But I would leap into Bluesky and gladly taken on all that extra work, every day – if I knew that I couldn't get trapped there.

I don't know why Bluesky hasn't added the federation systems that would enable freedom of exit to its service. Perhaps there are excellent technical reasons to prioritize rolling out the other systems they've created so far. Frankly, it doesn't matter. So long as Bluesky can be a trap, I won't let myself be tempted. My rule – I don't join a service that I can't leave without switching costs – is my Ulysses Pact, and it's keeping me safe from danger I've sailed into too many times before.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pacts/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

[bunnys-kisses]

unconventional payment

charles leclerc

cw: no smut, mafia au, au-typical violence, mafia boss!charles, gambling, smoking, blood, scary!charles, forced marriage

basically charles beats the shit out of your fiance for selling you away to get rid of a gambling debt! enjoy!

this bunny runs on tags, comments & reblogs! feed the bunny! (also tell me if you want more of this, i wrote this on a weird whim)

it was very clear that your current fiance had a gambling problem, it start off quite innocent, a few dollars here and there. then it grew to jewellery and eventually the necklace your grandmother gave you went missing. any paycheck he got went down the drain within a few days and you had to stretch your budget to cover for it.

it was at that point you should've packed up your things and left. but you moved with him to monaco to live a nice life. without him, you really had nowhere else to go. so you stayed and watched the money drip away like a leaky tap.

you were furious when you lost your apartment, you snapped your jaws at him like a dog. but what else were you supposed to do. you shoved him and yelled with tears in your eyes. how dare him. how dare this selfish man play you like a fool!

until he told you he could win it all back, but the stakes were higher. not only was your engagement ring on the line, but your hand in marriage too. the highest stake of them all, you.

you dressed nicely for the event at the casino, your hands shook as you got ready. he had pawned most of your nice clothes for cash, and the thought made your blood run cold.

you ended up having to take the bus to the casino because your fiance had sold off his car to pay for his habit. it was at this moment you should've turn away and got the first flight back home. your parents would be happy to see you.

eventually you were seated at the table with your hopes held high. you kept your head high as you sat across the table with the mafia boss that your fiance was tangled up in.

he was handsome, when he spoke, it seemed like he was speaking to you. his voice laid over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. it scared you a little.

you reached for your fiance and said, your voice a little tight, "please. win this." you earned a reassuring nod and a kiss on the roundness of your cheek.

and then he went and lost it, all of it. you held your head high as you looked at this pathetic man you once called a fiance. you said with all the strength in your voice, "congratulations, dear. you have truly fucked me over." and did not break into tears as you felt the strong hand of the boss' bodyguard against your back.

it was only when you were shuffled into the car that you broke down. sobs raked your body as you hunched over in the leather seat of a car that was probably financed by all the money you fiance lost.

the boss got in soon after, his hand in yours. it was far more gentle than you expected from a man who probably killed for fun. his other hand wiped your tears. he sighed, "don't cry, mon petit oiseau."

you sniffled and pulled away from him, with venom in your voice, "how could i not be, i just got sold off like a prize winning hog! so you can what, sell me on the black market!"

the boss looked at you and reached for you, but you pulled away. you made yourself smaller. you pleaded for him to not touch you, so he didn't. he however got closer to you in the backseat on the car and took off his suit jacket and gloves.

he placed the jacket over your shoulders and placed the gloves in your lap. he said in a soft voice, "you hold onto these for a moment." then got out of the car. he softly closed the door behind him.

you heard a noise outside and moved towards the car door that the boss exited out of. you opened the door and near the casino, partially concealed by the wall of the building. it was the boss, holding your fiance to the ground while he punched the living daylights out of him. the sound of his fist hitting your lover's face was disgusting and honestly scared you.

but deep down, a sick part of you liked seeing your bastard of an ex-fiance get beaten down for everything he had done. everything he had done to you.

the boss let go of your fiance when he caught the sight of you. and got back up. he looked down at the other man and gave him a sharp kick in the side before he rolled up his shirt sleeves further. he said, "a man who is willing to sell his woman deserves worse than death. you should be lucky to be alive, but if i see you in my casino ever again."he shook his finger at the other man, "they'll never find you."

both men looked to you and your ex fiance tried to say something, but the boss' voice cut through, "oiseau, close the door. i will be with you in a moment."

you swallowed, you really didn't have options now did you? you closed the door and sat in the back quietly. you shook a little, but exhaled deeply to compose yourself.

you looked to the boss' bodyguard in the front seat. you asked, "does he do this a lot? like, take women as payment."

the bodyguard rolled down the window to exhale his cigarette smoke, "no. usually he just kills them after a while." the man's accent was dutch and he appeared like he had seen this a million times, "if you're worry about him selling you, he won't. you're a little too old for the market."

"seriously!!" you exclaimed.

the bodyguard laughed, "i'm joking. i'm joking! he doesn't work in that field. you're fine. the agreement was your hand in marriage. he can't very well marry you if you're sold off somewhere."

you rested back in the seat, you curled the jacket closer around your shoulders and sighed, "this is insane. this has to be a dream. how did he even know what i looked like? i could've been... hideous!"

the bodyguard flicked the cigarette out the window and shifted in his seat, "oh... you don't know."

you tensed, "what don't i know, mister bodyguard?" as if tonight hadn't rattled you enough.

he looked over his shoulder, those blue eyes of his looked haunting in the low light of the parking lot. he reeked of cigarettes and cologne as he replied, "your fiance a few nights ago showed my boss, me and another gentleman nude photos of you. i could see why my boss and the other man were so willing to jump at the chance to have you all to themselves. honestly, you got the better option. charles is a good man. you were a gamble worth taking in his eyes.

your heart sank, the man you had been with for close to five years had paraded around your nudes to a bunch of mafia strangers? you thought your eyes were going to bug out of your head.

"how many photos?" as if that would make a difference.

the bodyguard shrugged, "i'd say about five, six? it was hard to look away in all honesty. he was also very drunk when he said that you were a fool for letting this go on for so long."

"oh... okay."

you had enough. you opened the door and found the boss still beating the shit out of your fiance. you stepped out with the jacket on your shoulders and his gloves in your hand. you walked towards them.

after everything you gave up to be with him, everything you let be stolen from under your nose. he had the audacity to parade your naked images around like you were some kind of whore. tears stung your eyes once more.

the boss was breathing heavily and your ex-fiance's face was almost unrecognizable. you placed a hand on the boss' shoulder and your words pierced through the cloudiness of his mind.

"honey." you said, you leaned forward to the man and said, "i don't think you should mess up your hands too much. these gloves look expensive and i'd hate for you to get blood all over them." you showed the gloves to the boss.

he looked over to you and the corner of his mouth turned upwards. he pulled away from your fiance, and carefully curled your hand around the gloves, "well then, why don't you take care of them until my hands are healed."

you trembled, he was quite scary up close. you held your voice as you said, "well, then maybe you should stop punching garbage. i'm assuming you have a home to show me, now?"

the boss fully smiled as he gravitated closer to you. away from the other man. he draped an arm over your shoulders and guided you back to the car, "of course, of course." as you walked back, he looked over his shoulder as your ex-fiance and then spat on the ground away from you. your ex fiance better get out of the country fast, or else charles would stick to his word.

back in the car, he draped an arm around you and looked into your eyes. his smile for you held as he said, "you really are something. may i kiss you?"

you felt heat crawl into your face, "you punched the shit out of my fiance and now you want to kiss me?"

he replied, "he wasn't much of a fiance now was he? sold you away like he did all of your valuables. like that necklace."

"he told you about it?"

charles nodded, "all about it. how much it meant to you. how much value was in it. every little detail about the thing. it was honestly so touching that i couldn't bring myself to sell it. now, why don't we go home? i'll give it back to its rightful owner." he moved closer to you, "think of it as a wedding gift. to the future mrs. leclerc."

you licked your lips and said, "you won't take it away?"

he shook his head, "no, no. even if we get a divorce, you have my word that you'll walk away with the necklace. i believe family is important and heirlooms should be kept and not sold away."

you swallowed, "alright then, mister leclec. you may kiss me."

he chuckled and broke out into a boyish grin, "your little fiance wasted such potential." he moved hair out of your eyes, "but don't worry, oiseau, you'll spread your wings and go to new heights with me." then kissed you gently on the lips.

and then into the night, you left your old life behind. thoughts of your ex fiance were pushed into the back of your mind as charles buckled you into the seat and kissed you on the forehead with such a tenderness that it was hard to believe both of his knuckles were covered in blood and bruised. <3

tbc?

[charliemwrites]

Mafia!Price warm up because I am… so tired. I’ve had back-to-back events the last few days and ya bitch canNOT hang. So, while I rehydrate and wait for caffeine to work it’s magic, here’s this:

Part 1 here

No Content Warnings

Mr. Price is the best boss you’ve ever had. He’s straightforward and blunt, but unfalteringly courteous. Likes things a certain way — his own way — but that’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with from rich men responsible for billions. At very least, he seems to respect when you challenge him.

“We’ve always done records this way,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” you answer serenely, “but that was before you had me.”

He stares you down and you beam right back, tablet balanced on your forearm. One beat, two. In the corner of your eye, you see Gaz shift. You tilt your head at your boss.

He sits back in his big office chair, thumb swiping over his index and middle fingers. A gesture you’ve been mentally cataloguing as “contemplative” — perhaps deciding if he’s annoyed or amused. You don’t let yourself get nervous seeing it; you’re good at your job and you know it. He’s going to know it too, by god.

“And what do you have to do with it, luv?”

Your smile stretches wider as you take that as an invitation to round his desk. He turns and shifts a bit to make room for you, eyebrows ticking up as you set a neatly paper-clipped report in front of him, highlighted for convenience.

“See here?” You point at one section, a list of finance records. “Inconsistencies that the accountants took two months to notice. Two!”

He grunts as you set it aside, face up, for further perusal and then show him the next set. Different highlighter (and a smiley face in the corner).

“And look here, doing it this way, we noticed the discrepancies within a week,” you explain.

He picks up the page, eyes scanning over it thoroughly before setting it down. Taps his index finger over the discrepancy (circled in bright red) twice.

“Would you happen to have the account — ah, thank you.”

You hum, smoothing the sticky note (hot pink, shaped like a heart) onto the page. “So what do you think, sir?”

He runs a hand down his face, palm rasping over his beard. But there is a grateful note to his gaze as he glances at you.

“We’ll be doing it this way from now on, then.”

“Thrilling, sir. I’ll send out a memo.”

He waves you off, frown already forming on his face. You politely leave his office, stop by the break room to make a fresh cup of tea (a dollop of cream only, no sugar) and knock on the closed door. It’s Gaz that opens it.

“For the boss,” you say. “Before heads start rolling.”

“You’re a doll,” he breathes, accepting the cup and slipping back inside.

You happily toddle back to your desk and begin calling appointment confirmations. You’ve got about a million emails and a hundred calls to make.

—

Working for Price also comes with some… eccentricities. For one, you have a driver now.

Usually Farah, sometimes her partner Alex. On the rare occasion it’s Gaz. They always usher you into the backseat. On rainy days (so, most days in the UK) they hold an umbrella over your head while you scurry into the luxury leather interior of whatever stupidly expensive ride you’re taking.

That was a non-negotiable when you and Mr. Price discussed the details of your employment contract with him. Something about safety…? You feel silly being driven to work as an assistant, but it was your first encounter with the Steel Gaze of Decision and it was unfortunately effective.

Not that you mind the rides! All three of your usual drivers are wonderful. So friendly and chatty. You love hearing about Alex’s niece and Farah’s hobbies, Gaz’s little “spats” with Soap. You spoil them with extra treats from whatever bakery you make them stop at for morning breakfast. (Always local, you love supporting small businesses and strong arm Price into doing so as well).

There’s the gun as well. You’ve only seen it once or twice, always discreetly hidden under his suit jacket. A shoulder holster, all black. Pretend that you don’t see it because… well, you’re not entirely sure it’s legal and you’d rather live in the blissful cloud of plausible deniability.

And speaking of — there’s his bodyguard. To be fair, bodyguards aren’t a new or weird presence with your bosses. Expensive men, they need protection. Ghost is a different kind though.

He always covers the lower half of his face — actually, he’s covered head to toe. Usually in black, sometimes with little skeleton or skull motifs. And he’s fucking big, which is saying something because Mr. Price isn’t a small man either.

Ghost hardly interacts with you, but he’s unfailingly polite when he does. Not talkative, but he holds doors for you, has walked you down to the car. Even once attitude-checked a guest that decided to be rude to you. Didn’t even say anything, just walked into the guy’s personal bubble and stared him down until he subsided. Then he turned, gave you a nod, and you squeezed his arm before toddling off to let Price know his appointment had arrived.

All around the vibes in the office are pleasant, if sometimes stuffy. A little odd. All of his employees are polite if not kind to you, and Price himself is a fair and reasonable man — at least with you.

(The first time you heard him raise his voice through the closed office door nearly scared the daylights out of you. He always uses a low, even tone when speaking to you, so to hear his voice booming like that was something of a shock. Even more shocking was when he opened the door — damn near throwing his “guest” out — before turning to you.

“Call Farah when you have a mo’, would you?” He asked, calm as you please.

You blinked, still having war flashbacks of your last boss. “Yes, sir.”

“Cheers, luv.”)

There’s also the “field trips” as you call them.

Mr. Price is something of a very “hands on” businessman (“micromanager” you tease when he’s in a good mood) who has a hand in several industries. One of them is shipping. Which means that sometimes you find yourself standing beside him in warehouses or at loading docks. And of course you have to go, you’re his assistant! You take meeting notes, provide information or report details. Basically act as his second brain while he reams out idiots or organizes plans.

You suck it up, but you rather hate the smell of low tide. And the occasional gusts of blood on the sea breeze from fishermen gutting their catches. Price catches you looking ill once or twice and at least makes an effort to keep things short after that.

“Poor thing,” Soap teases when you’re in the back of the car, fussing at your wind-swept hair. “Get a bit blown, did you?”

“MacTavish,” Price snaps.

That’s the other thing. Even the slightest hint of suggestive or inappropriate words at your expense are met with firm, almost harsh, reprimand from your boss. It does wonders for you nerves and your respect for him.

“Wish I’d known we were going to the docks,” you sigh, carefully picking at pins to fix your hair. “I would have used more hairspray.”

“Thought I told you?” Price says.

“No, sir, you did not,” you answer, long-suffering. “You know you can put it into the scheduling app, right?”

He blinks. “Scheduling app.”

You blink back at him. “Oh, dear. Here, look at this.”

You spend the entire ride back to the office showing him how your scheduling software works so that you don’t have to deal with any more surprise dock visits.

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Masterlist

[lazycats-stuff]

Hi, I wanted to ask if you could make a batbro who is a clone of batman and supermam and the batfamily and the superfamily fight over who will get him (you can also make him a few months younger than damian and jon and also a cute moment with families please)

Sure, of course I can. They would totally fight. Absolutely everyone. I'm running out of gif ideas... I don't know what to do anymore... Also, this is under Clark kent masterlist, just to let everyone know... I the batfam list is getting too long... I don't know what to do anymore.

Summary: (Y/N) is a clone of Superman and Batman. Fighting ensues.

Warnings: none really, just a (Y/N) clone, nothing graphic or anything in that matter.

Superman and Batman has found that that Lex Luthor has been making clones, yet again. However, Lex has decided to spice the situation up. How, I might hear you asking? With Conner, Lex only used Bruce's DNA. Aka Batman's. Turns out that the boy was growing up like a normal child, in terms of development. However...

That doesn't mean that his childhood was anything but normal. Bring prodded, examined... Being taught how to use his powers to be a weapon. He wasn't being treated like a normal person, a human, should be treated. The fact that (Y/N) grew up physically like a child, meant that they had more time to manipulate (Y/N).

Bruce was appalled at the news of having a clone made from his own DNA and Clark, however, he was livid when he saw that (Y/N) was growing like a normal child, physically, so that would mean he is young.

Younger then Damian and Jon... Bruce nearly exploded with anger once he saw (Y/N), so young, so afraid... Damian was older by a couple of months. Superman was disgusted by Lex Luthor and has vowed to bring him down somehow. No matter what it took. And it tugged at his heart too. Jon was also a few months older than (Y/N).

Both fathers saw red. Pure and utter red. Clones are still human beings... Seeing (Y/N) so afraid, utterly terrified of them... Bruce, despite his code, wanted to rip Lex's throat out. He really wanted to. Clark was no better either.

Thankfully, karma has hit Lex. Bruce and Clark woke up in their respective cities on morning, when the breaking news hit. Bruce was confused. Crime in Gotham happen during the night. Rarely during the day. Only if it's something that involves the Justice League.

So, Bruce was curious and decided to watch the news.

Tax invasion. Damn tax evasion. And a whole lot more of financial crimes. Bruce had to sit down in the living room, on his arm chair.

" Who would have thought... The bastard is also greedy. " Jason mutter from the kitchen, sipping some coffee to fully wake up.

" Deja vu of Al Capone. Couldn't get Lex on meta human trafficking and what not, but on finances. " Tim said and Dick chuckled at the comparison. Al Capone, a big mafia boss, brought down by the all mighty IRS. And now Lex too.

" It seems so. These are nice news, " Damian said as he sipped his tea.

" I agree Damian. This is a nice way to actually start your morning... Did Titus eat? " Bruce asked, bringing his mug up to sip his coffee.

" Yup. He is now out and about playing with Pennyworth, " Damian said, referencing the cat, not the person.

" Okay. " Bruce then stood up, cracking his neck. " I'm going to the League, I need to check on (Y/N) and how he is doing. And don't worry, we are having our movie night. " Bruce reassured everyone as he finished his coffee and put it in the sink for Alfred.

" How is he doing anyway? " Jason asked and Bruce shrugged his shoulders.

" We are trying our best, but he is still scared. " Bruce explained and everyone nodded.

" That's no surprise. " Damian said as he finished up his tea. Bruce nodded, getting ready to leave the room.

" Please don't fight. Any of you. " Bruce said before he left the room, making everyone chuckle.

" (Y/N) is staying with us Bruce! End of the discussion! " Clark raised his voice, making Bruce scoff. It's been a few weeks since Lex Luthor was arrested and (Y/N) has been doing much better, so much so that there was a big difference. And it was noticeable. (Y/N) talked more, tried to smile more...

Everyone stepped up for him and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. Once (Y/N) got better in every aspect of that word, talks about where he would live after he was stable enough to be released. At first it started objectively, but as time passed, both families have gotten attached.

And that's why this argument was going on.

On one side, you have Clark and his 'Superfamily' on one side and you have Batman and his 'Batfamily.' Both patriarchs of the families argued with everything in them, trying to keep (Y/N) with them. Conner and Jon were ready toe to toe with the bat boys and vice versa.

" What can you do to help him? And if you bring up Conner as experience in clones, I'm going to use Kryptonite on you and make sure you can't get out of bed for the next 10 years! I know all of your weak spots! " Bruce threatened making Clark scoff.

" Oh please, I know all of your weak spots too! (Y/N) would benefit more in Metropolis than Gotham! More so on in our household! Your boys fight every chance they get! "

Bruce and Clark continued to bicker, both of them standing their grounds. The 'bat boys' glared at Clark and Damian was ready to fight with Jon. The other 3 were ready to take Conner on.

" What's going on? " (Y/N) asked as he came in, hearing all the commotion, even from the hall. Everyone froze and started acted friendlier, not as if they were just arguing like cats and dogs.

" Nothing, we are just talking about where you should live. " Bruce explained and (Y/N) nodded.

" Do you have a preference? About where you want to live? With me or Bruce? " Clark asked and (Y/N) tilted his head, clearly thinking about it.

(Y/N) loved them both equally. He was not really sure with whom he wanted to live with.

" What about I spend some time with one and some time with another? " (Y/N) proposed and everyone stopped for a second to think.

That isn't a bad idea.

" Paired with his online schooling once he starts... I like it. " Clark said and Bruce nodded, also agreeing with this idea.

" Good thinking (Y/N). " Bruce said. Clark and Bruce could work around this. The best option would be 6 months with Clark and 6 months with Bruce.

" How about a group hug? " (Y/N) suggested, making everyone jump in, ready to hug it out. Bruce and Clark joined last, hugging their boys too.

" Why didn't we think of this idea? " Clark asked and Bruce chuckled.

" Because we are idiots apparently. " Bruce answered and both chuckled.

" I guess we are. " Clark confirmed.

" Yeah, you are. " (Y/N) chimed in, making everyone laugh. " You could have just asked me what I preferred. " (Y/N) said and everyone nodded.

" I guess we should have. " Bruce said, reaching to pat (Y/N)'s head.

[awesomecooperlove]

👹🇮🇱👹

[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a good girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Chuuya Nakahara Edition ♡

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ MDNI. really needed a fun lil drabble to break up my writer's block and this was perfect. silly but super fun to write. lemme know whatcha think. luv u ♡ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chuuya definitely gives you aftercare, it's just not always the most well thought out when he’s gotten back from a long night at work. He doesn't remember to have dinner ready or pajamas laid out, but he still holds you as you collapse onto his chest. Laughs with you while the two of you place the 4th doordash order of the week to his apartment since you're both too spent to even think about cooking. He runs light fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead, teasing you for how hard you came while also reminding you of how fuckin' gorgeous you looked bent over for him. The thought of it alone promptly brings his lips back to yours, nearly earning you a round 2 before the food arrives.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It takes Chuuya a long time to admit it, even if it's fairly obvious, but he's self-conscious about his body. About the way he thinks it should look versus the way it actually does. He’s always praising you. Always so good about making you love parts of yourself that you didn't know you could, though he rarely gives himself the same respect. Your thighs get a lot of his attention. He touches them constantly without meaning to. His hand resting on them while he drives. His fingers mindlessly gliding across them while you watch TV before bed. His face buried between them any chance he gets. He loves 'em. You decide to challenge him one day after a shower, using his own words against him: "Chuuya, tell me one thing you love about yourself -" you shoot him a pointed look, not giving him the chance to deflect with his usual sarcasm, "and be serious. You have to mean it." He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, apprehensively looking over his reflection before he lets out a sharp exhale. "Fine. My eyes." "What about them?" You press. "They're... nice."

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

One of Chuuya's favorite highs in life is being pussy-drunk. Being so completely enamored by your taste and scent that he can't physically think of anything else besides you. He loves the feeling of your cum dripping down his chin. The insanely beautiful fucked-out noises you make for him when you sit on his face and nearly drown him in your release. He gets a sick satisfaction in showing up to work, knowing that there are still remnants of the morning head he gave you clinging to the collar of his shirt. You're his girl and he takes making you cum very seriously.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chuuya is a dominant people pleaser, which is a dangerous combination to begin with, but especially when it starts blending into his finances. Being a Port Mafia executive, he has more money than he knows what to do with and he fucking loves buying you stuff. Taking you on shopping trips and watching you fill bag after bag with frivolous, designer outfits that you’d never buy for yourself otherwise. Swiping his debit card for purses and necklaces and shoes that total out to nearly $10,000. There's something almost addicting about it, he revels in your reactions. The way you look so awestruck every time he drops a fat stack of cash on you, but also how good it makes him feel being able to spoil you as much as he does. Alexa, what does “findom” mean?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Chuuya’s experienced, but a lot of his past hookups were one nightstands or meaningless flings. Drunken mishaps that held little to no weight in his mind. You've both learned a lot from each other by being comfortable enough to explore things you wouldn't have with previous partners. Communication is so strong with him. He always wants to know what you like and if there’s anything you want to try but haven’t yet. He wants to know everything about your body - wants it to only respond to him. He'd had sex in the past, but he realized that he'd never really properly fucked someone until he met you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As much as Chuuya loves bending you over, he’s such a slut for you being on top. Holding your hips to help guide you and thrusting up into you when you’re not expecting it, going as deep as he can while you sink back onto him with a pretty glazed over expression. The way your eyes widen every time he does it. The duality of being in control while also letting you use him. The view of your tits bouncing so perfectly for him while the sound of your ass smacking against his thighs echoes across the room. He loves watching you struggle to take the whole thing. You're usually holding onto him for support, hands clasped around his neck, your stare locked intently with his while your cunt throbs around him. The pouty fucking look that takes over your face when he plunges into you. You become a whimpering mess, trying to tell him how close you are with broken words as if he can’t feel your walls clenching around him. "Chuuya - 'm, I'm gonna -" "I know baby, keep going. Keep fuckin’ going. Doin’ so good f’me.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chuuya's form of flirting is witty banter. Sarcastic comments that the two of you volley back and forth between each other. He's generally more serious in the moment, but he will literally never pass up the chance to whisper a snarky little nothing in your ear to get you flustered, especially in public. He loves making you blush. Loves knowing that he's capable of getting you so worked up without even touching you. Loves seeing you squirm and swat him away with a feeble, "Chuuya! Not here!"

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chuuya never really understood the question, "does the carpet match the drapes?" and why it was such a hot topic when it came to redheads. It was wildly irritating growing up and getting asked that so often by his asshole friends. Of course they matched. Why wouldn't they? As an adult, Chuuya fully embraces this though. He takes pride in making sure he's well-groomed. If it were up to him, your lips would always be wrapped around his cock, so he makes sure to keep things as trimmed and polished as he can for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Chuuya is the consent king, always making sure that you're just as into what's going on as he is. He finds subtle ways to check in on you while staying in the moment. "Tell me, baby. Tell me how it feels." He likes to make sure you're present, that you're not thinking about anything else besides the way he feels inside you. He would do anything to make you feel good. Anything. What he can't aways say with his words, he shows through his actions. He lets you know he loves you by stretching and filling you until you can’t see straight. He may act like he’s the one calling the shots, but you'll always cum before he does. He makes damn sure of it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His work schedule is demanding and doesn't always grant him the amount of time he'd like to have with you, so when he's stuck in his office after hours, Chuuya can't fucking help himself. The urge has been there all. day. and he's certain he'll die if he doesn't take care of it right now. He reaches into his coat pocket, dialing your number while he unzips pants and removes his glove with his teeth. His cellphone is wedged between his shoulder and his cheek when your voice finally spills out of the receiver. Before you can even ask how his night's going, you hear it. That desperate, heady tone that he only gets when he hasn't seen you in a few days. "Baby..." he groans, stroking himself upppp and dowwnn. He closes his eyes, imagining what you must look like lying in his bed. "I need you so fuckin' bad right now." "Yeah?" You tease, quietly slipping two fingers under the hem of your panties. "How bad?" It was only a matter of minutes before he was cleaning off his desk from the mess you'd helped him make.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Chuuya is the softest dom. As much as he likes to be in control, he folds so easily when it comes to you. Even when he’s “punishing” you, he’s doing it with things he knows you like. He loves putting collars on you or wrapping his belt around your neck and pulling at both ends until your pretty little pupils blossom into hearts while you struggle to moan out his name. Hearing you beg does something deranged to him that he can't quite put into words. He stays in control for as long as he can, but you always have the upperhand with how bad he wants to taste you. With how bad he wants to be buried inside of you. He'll tease and nip at you and try to drag it out for as long as he can, but at the end of the day, he's just as addicted to you as you are to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chuuya will fuck you anywhere and when he says anywhere, he means it. His favorite guilty pleasure though is definitely bringing you into Port Mafia. Making everyone well-aware of your presence as he walks around with you on his arm like you're the shiniest, most expensive accessory he owns. Shoving all of his paperwork off of his desk and bending you over, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing your face against the handcrafted Mahogany. Hiking up your skirt and ramming himself into you, knowing damn well everyone can hear you crying out his name as you cum. His two favorite pastimes: pissing off Mori and fucking you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Chuuya secretly loves the attention you get when the two of you go out, even if it drives him a bit crazy at times. He can't deny the way his cock twitches when he notices the bartender size you up and then immediately avert his eyes when he feels Chuuya's stare on him. Chuuya knows you're gorgeous, it's an absolute fact for him, but to see the other people reel in how pretty you are too fills him with a feral sense of pride. He would fuck you in front of the entire world if he could just to show them what they'll never have.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are very few things that Chuuya wouldn't do for you, but the one request he would struggle with if asked would be sharing. Even if it was a casual threesome with no strings attached, he’s a Taurus Sun, Scorpio moon - the man does not share and the thought of having to watch someone else touch you would most definitely send him into a murderous tailspin.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chuuya loves both giving and receiving, for sure. But there's something about the way you taste that almost makes his brain short-circuit. He thinks about it while he's at work. Thinks about it while he's on missions. Thinks about it while he fucks himself when you're not around. He often finds himself daydreaming about his tongue swirling around your clit and the adorable, pitiful, fucked-out noises you make so easily for him. The way you whine and writhe against him. How he can always tell when you're close by the way your words start to break up. That cute little incoherent babble you let out as he plunges an extra finger into you and your eyes roll into the back of your head. He’s pretty sure that if he had to choose his own death, it would be drowning between your thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pacing all depends on the mood and setting for Chuuya. It's 1 am and you guys just stumbled back home from the bar? You're wearing the shortest black slip dress he's ever seen in his life, and he's had to restrain himself all night from not dragging you into the club bathroom and having his way with you? He's fucking you into oblivion the second you step inside his apartment. Hands tangling into your hair as he pins you against the wall of the entry way, pulling you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist. It's going to be fast, rough, deep. You'll both wake up with bruises and love bites and well-deserved hangovers. But - it's 1 pm on a rainy Tuesday and you guys just got back home from the bookstore? You're wearing an oversized cardigan with a comfy pair of shorts, and he's been quietly admiring you all day, watching you dig through countless bookshelves until you finally found the one you wanted? He's fucking you so thoroughly. Taking his time as he helps you out of your sweater, smiling at your body with each layer of clothing that get tossed to the floor. He's kissing the crook of your neck, telling you how beautiful you are. He's fucking you with slow, sensual, affection. You'll end up drifting off to the sound of the thunderstorm afterward, the two of you wrapped up under a blanket on the couch while the rain taps against the window next to you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Chuuya's a giver who loves a challenge so quickies are right up his alley, really. You'll stop by the apartment on your lunch break, warning him that you only have 15 minutes, but he’ll only roll his eyes in response before telling you to hop up on the counter. He locks in immediately, his concentration fully on you as he spreads you apart. Two fingers holding you open so that his tongue has complete access to your clit, the warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his strokes making your legs shake around his head already and he's just gotten started. He's precise. Calculated. Unrelenting. Even if he's only competing against the clock, he's still never lost.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as you're into it, so is Chuuya. He's very open when it comes to sex, especially when it comes to talking about it with you. You had a wet dream about him fucking you against the window in the sunroom so that the neighbors could see it? Lift that skirt up, angel, let's go give them a show. You read a book where the male lead lightly ran a blade across the main character’s throat while teasing her and you think you want to try it? His knife is already out of his pocket, his hand cradling your jawline. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby.” as he slices through the thin straps of your tank top, smirking at how hard your nipples are while it slips down to your waist. There a very few things he wouldn't be willing to at least try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Chuuya can generally go a solid 2 rounds before he's completely spent, but if he's drunk, this number could be multiplied depending on his drink of choice that night. Chuuya's stamina is solid. He lasts awhile, but his entire objective while fucking is to make sure you're getting off. He's very in tune and aware of your body and tries to go with the flow of where you're at. If you can handle an hour or two, he'll gladly give it to you. He has no problem playing the long game, but if you're sleepy and only need twenty minutes to get there, he'll make sure he cums with you in that time. A truly adaptable king ˚₊‧ʚ♡ɞ‎‧₊˚

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

There's an armoire in Chuuya's bedroom that houses all of the obscenely expensive vibrators you'd asked him to buy you, not realizing he actually would at the time. He likes to keep them hidden for the most part - out of sight, out of mind. He'll be in the middle of fucking you. Stretching you out while your nails dig into his back. He'll feel your walls start to spasm around him. He'll watch your eyes flutter back. He'll feel how tight and snug your cunt is squeezing him. He'll know you're right there and that's when he'll pull out your favorite wand. Always when you're least expecting it. When you're already so cock-drunk and lost that you don't think you could possibly take anything more, he'll run it along your clit. Your body practically convulsing at the overstimulation. "Chuuya - ohmygod... I... I - can't. I can’t, I can’t -" "Look at me. You can take it, baby. I know you can. Gimme one more, okay? Just like that. There you go. Fuuuck, baby. Just - like... that."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The amount of sheer pleasure Chuuya derives from making you beg for him should be illegal. He’s constantly teasing you. Constantly trying to coax out desperate little cries from you. You're splayed out beneath him, legs spread beautifully, your cunt nearly dripping onto his sheets and he's still ghosting your lips with his. Wearing the most infuriating grin as he continues to rattle off depraved things like, "Baby, I wish I could, y'know? I really wanna give it to you, but I just don't believe that you want it." all while he's stroking himself just inches above you, making you watch the whole thing in agony but still not letting you touch him yet. "C'mon princess, show me how bad you want it. Let me see how you play with that pussy when I'm not here. Make me fuckin’ believe it.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Chuuya will groan and talk during sex, but he's not necessarily loud. He's way more concerned with the noises you're making anyway. As mentioned, his bedroom love language is taunting. "No? You can't take it anymore? Ohh, your pussy's just so sensitive, huh? That's so sad. My poor sweet girl." before slapping your clit and smirking at you as you whine beneath him. "Oh, look at that. Seems like you can take it after all.” He'll groan against you whenever he goes down on you, reveling in how fucking wet you are for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chuuya is secretly sentimental. He might not always admit it, but he doesn't just remember your anniversary - he remembers the outfit you were wearing the first time he met you and what the weather was like that day. He saves ticket stubs from your dates. Takes pictures of you when you're not looking just so he can keep the moment forever. He plans gifts for your birthday weeks in advance. Any time you list off a restaurant that you want to try or a vacation spot you want to visit one day, he secretly jots it down in his notes app. He listens to you, really listens to you when you talk and keeps every gift you give him, no matter how small or insignificant.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chuuya is 5'3, (though he'll most definitely try to convince you that the measurements are off no matter how many times your scale reaches the the same conclusion). Slender. Nice arms and a slutty fucking waist. Hands, hands, hands. Usually covered by gloves but so fucking pretty and veiny when they're not. Speaking of veiny? Chuuya Nakahara is packing. Giiiiirth, babydoll, and a lot of it. Short men are ALWAYS stacked, you can't argue with science.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Chuuya's anger and sex drive mirror each other in the sense that they're both always on no matter what. Even when they're calmed down, even when they're not as noticeable - all it takes is one wrong (or right) move and he's right there, fully up and ready to go. You touch his leg under the table during dinner one night and he immediately finds an excuse to dismiss the two of you for a few minutes, dragging you to a secluded corner of the bar where he pins you against the wall. His leg wedged between yours, leaving urgent kisses along your collarbone as he creates friction against your clit. “This what you want? For me to fuck you right here?” You try to keep your resolve but it’s hard for him to take you seriously when your objections are all coming out in the form of moans. “My needy fuckin’ girl.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll lay with you and talk about your day, but Chuuya is struggling to keep his eyes open after he cums. The minute you nestle into his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of your skin against his, he's fighting for his life to stay awake. Poor baby is just so tired, especially after dealing with Port Mafia all week. He feels safe in your arms. The thought of coming home to you is what gets him through most days anyway so once he's finally actually tangled up in you, he can't help but drift off into the comfort of your scent and the sound of your heartbeat.

⠀𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

‎♡‧₊˚ here’s dazai’s version ‎♡‧₊˚

[moongreenlight]

Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit. 

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. 

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye. 

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled. 

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages.  Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own. 

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her. 

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier. 

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels. 

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.” 

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

[percervall]

fight so dirty but your love's so sweet

pairing: Fernando Alonso x fem!reader warnings: mafia!Nando, sexual harassment, smut, knife play, p in v, unprotected sex words: 1802

In which Fernando knows you like the back of his hand

---

You’re not even sure exactly why it is your husband and you need to show your faces at this event. Probably to keep up appearances to those in politics that your husband is an upstanding citizen and not in fact their worst nightmare running the Madrid underworld. As if the farce of this charity ball absolves him of any illegal activities. You can’t help but scoff into your glass of wine. You’re married to him and only know a fraction of what your husband gets up to, half of which would have the people in this room clutching their pearls. 

Finishing your wine, you look for a waiter so you can get a refill. Unfortunately for you, instead of another glass of wine, you find the displeasure of the company of Mr. Sergio Pérez, an undersecretary to the Minister of Finance. Hiding your disdain behind a saccharine smile, you listen to his poor attempt at flirting.

“So what do you say? Wanna ditch this boring event and skip to where you and I get to know each other.. Biblically?” 

“No thank you, my husband doesn’t like sharing what’s his,” you reply, hoping he gets the implied not interested. 

“Who says he needs to know?” 

God, this guy really doesn’t know when to stop, you think, your jaw hurting from where you’re clenching it.

“Trust me, Mr Alonso would know.” 

“I don’t see that chihuahua of a guard dog anywhere,” he says with all the bravado of a man two whiskeys too deep to know what’s good for him. You fight the urge to smile when you see his eyes widen and feel the press of lips against your temple and the fabric of his suit against your bare back.

“Oh, you wish he were just a chihuahua when he’s done with you,” you respond with a wicked smile, resting a hand on top of the one Fernando has now wrapped around your waist. Without a moment’s hesitation, two men dressed in black appear and grab the undersecretary by the arm. Something tells you it’s hard enough to at the very least bruise by the way the man’s face contorts as they walk him out. Fernando spins you in his arms so you’re facing him, eyes scanning yours to make sure the only harm done was having to listen to the absolute garbage coming out of Mr. Pérez’ mouth. He pushes a strap of your dress back up your shoulder before taking your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. 

“He didn’t touch me, Nando,” you say quietly, watching your husband intently. The Spaniard’s eyes flash at the mention of him. 

“Let’s go home, princessa,” he replies and you wordlessly nod, letting him pull you outside. 

Fernando keeps a hand on your thigh through the entire drive home, the heat of his skin making your breath hitch. Judging by the way the corner of his lips twitches up in a smile, he’s well aware of the effect he has on you. Once you get home, he helps you out of the car –ever the gentleman, even though you know this will be the last courteous act for the night. Thanking the young guard at the door, you step inside and place your clutch bag on the console table before moving into the living room. Fernando is hot on your heels and something tells you he instructed the guards to make sure no one disturbs you for the rest of the night. You turn to face him, letting your eyes roam freely. Fernando always looks good, but something about him in a well-fitting suit without a tie just hits different, especially with that back tattoo hidden underneath it all; he plays the part of upper class and respectable brilliantly yet the samurai on his back serves as a reminder that he will do whatever’s necessary to protect his honour.

As your eyes move up to his face, you see the way his eyes have darkened. Biting your lip to stop yourself from smiling, you move back as Fernando moves to close the distance between you. Back hitting the wall, you press your palms against it as you arch up to look at him.  

“I thought you were going to stop killing politicians,” you chide, squeezing your thighs shut at the wicked glint in his eyes. He brushes a knuckle over your cheekbone, making your eyes flutter closed.

“I think I’m doing María a favour by getting rid of him, let alone his wife. The asshole should know better than to ignore a woman’s no,” he says as he slides a hand up the slit of your dress. You can feel his fingers brush against the lace garter and you can’t help but gasp.

“Oh princessa, so naughty hm? Chastising me for getting rid of a problem when we both know you would’ve had him on the floor begging for mercy just as much,” Fernando murmurs and slowly pulls the dainty little dagger free from its holster on the inside of your thigh. Having his fingers so close to where you need him most leaves you breathless.

“A girl’s gotta be able to defend herself,” you offer as an explanation.

“Oh, I agree darling but I also know just how much you love it when I do this,” Fernando says and runs the blade across your collarbone before sliding it under the strap of your dress. The fabric easily yields to the blade and Fernando’s smile widens when you whimper as he slides it under the other strap to cut you out of your dress. The burgundy fabric rustles as it falls to the floor where it pools around your heels, leaving you in nothing but a thong. It wasn’t even one of the sexy pairs, needing to opt for the black seamless ones to have no lines visible underneath your dress. Which is also why you’re not wearing a bra. 

“Very naughty I see,” Fernando murmurs. You gasp when you feel the cool steel of the blade against your hip where it slides under the thin material. The edge of the blade digs into your skin a little as it cuts through the fabric and you can’t help but whimper at the feeling. What’s left of it slides down your legs to join the ruined fabric already on the floor. Fernando moves the dagger again, the tip now tilting your face up. Eyes struggling to remain open, you’re taken aback by just how open Fernando’s affection for you is on his face. Here’s the thing about your marriage with him: he might be the most ruthless, the most cunning man you know, but he would never hurt you –not even when you literally hand him a weapon as delicate as your heart. 

“Love seeing you like this,” Fernando all but whispers, “so beautiful when you let me do this to you.” He presses a kiss against your lips and you all but melt into him.

“Mi vida, mi alma, mi sol, all I do is for you,” Fernando whispers in the space between your faces.

“I love you,” you say on an exhale as his fingers dance over your skin. Fernando hums in response, cradling your face in his hands as he dips down to kiss you once more. Still holding onto you, he walks the two of you backwards while making sure you don’t trip and fall over the discarded clothing. Breaking the kiss, he spins you around. His hand glides up your back to your neck before he tightens his hold on you, and pushes you forward so you’re leaning over the back of the couch. You can hear the clink of metal as he unbuckles his belt, the sound of leather getting pulled free from fabric sending a jolt to your already throbbing clit. Fingers digging into the cushions, you slide your feet further apart as you try to prepare yourself for what’s to come. Fernando chuckles darkly. “So needy, princessa. Want to be filled, hm?” 

“Y-yes, please..” you sigh, arching your back. It’s no longer a want, it’s a need. Your body aches to have him inside of you. 

“So wet for me, my devious girl. Look at you,” he coos as he so very slowly sinks himself into you. The stretch has you panting, fingers scrambling to keep yourself upright. Fernando groans as you clench around him. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing gently back and forth.

“Think you can cum like this?” he asks and all you can do is whine an uh-hu in response. Fernando begins to rub in circles, knowing just how you like it, and that in combination with the weight of him inside of you is enough to hurtle you towards your climax. It washes over you, legs trembling while you try to remain standing. Fernando groans and curses as you clench around him in waves, bucking his hips into you. Pushing back against him, you wordlessly tell him that you need him to move. Fernando lets go of your neck, dropping the dagger onto the tile floor, and moves both hands to your hips. His fingers dig into your skin as he fucks into you, slow at first but quickly picking up the pace as he uses your for his own pleasure. You’re incapable of forming any coherent thoughts as he hits that spot inside of you, your entire body wired to chase the high that’s threatening to consume you whole. Resting your forehead on your arm, you move your right hand down to messily circle your clit.

“Need you to cum for me, princessa,” Fernando pants, his restraint wearing precariously thin with each thrust. You whimper and whine in response, before crying out as your second orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. Fernando curses and tightens his grip on you as he fucks you through it, prolonging your orgasm. For a brief moment you wonder just how much more you can take before it does indeed pull you under. Fernando sinks into you once more, moaning as he spills deep inside of you. The two of you remain like that for a moment to allow you both time to come down from that high. Fernando slowly pulls out and you can feel his cum begin to drip down your inner thigh. Reaching a hand down, you swipe it away and bring your fingers up to your lips to lick them clean. Fernando curses behind you and before you know what’s happening, he picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Wrapping an arm around his neck, you rest your cheek against his shoulder. You know he will take care of you, always, and that thought fills you with more love than you have words to express. 

Inspired by this gif

This fic wouldn't exist without @feralnando and @ruledbyproblematique, biggest thank you to you both 🥰

Please feel free to let me know what you think! Your comments, tags, and likes mean the world to me 💜

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Leveraged buyouts are not like mortgages

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Here's an open secret: the confusing jargon of finance is not the product of some inherent complexity that requires a whole new vocabulary. Rather, finance-talk is all obfuscation, because if we called finance tactics by their plain-language names, it would be obvious that the sector exists to defraud the public and loot the real economy.

Take "leveraged buyout," a polite name for stealing a whole goddamned company:

Identify a company that owns valuable assets that are required for its continued operation, such as the real-estate occupied by its outlets, or even its lines of credit with suppliers;

Approach lenders (usually banks) and ask for money to buy the company, offering the company itself (which you don't own!) as collateral on the loan;

Offer some of those loaned funds to shareholders of the company and convince a key block of those shareholders (for example, executives with large stock grants, or speculators who've acquired large positions in the company, or people who've inherited shares from early investors but are disengaged from the operation of the firm) to demand that the company be sold to the looters;

Call a vote on selling the company at the promised price, counting on the fact that many investors will not participate in that vote (for example, the big index funds like Vanguard almost never vote on motions like this), which means that a minority of shareholders can force the sale;

Once you own the company, start to strip-mine its assets: sell its real-estate, start stiffing suppliers, fire masses of workers, all in the name of "repaying the debts" that you took on to buy the company.

This process has its own euphemistic jargon, for example, "rightsizing" for layoffs, or "introducing efficiencies" for stiffing suppliers or selling key assets and leasing them back. The looters – usually organized as private equity funds or hedge funds – will extract all the liquid capital – and give it to themselves as a "special dividend." Increasingly, there's also a "divi recap," which is a euphemism for borrowing even more money backed by the company's assets and then handing it to the private equity fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

If you're a Sopranos fan, this will all sound familiar, because when the (comparatively honest) mafia does this to a business, it's called a "bust-out":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

The mafia destroys businesses on a onesy-twosey, retail scale; but private equity and hedge funds do their plunder wholesale.

It's how they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And it's what they did to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It's what happened to nursing homes, Armark, private prisons, funeral homes, pet groomers, nursing homes, Toys R Us, The Olive Garden and Pet Smart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

It's what happened to the housing co-ops of Cooper Village, Texas energy giant TXU, Old Country Buffet, Harrah's and Caesar's:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

And it's what's slated to happen to 2.9m Boomer-owned US businesses employing 32m people, whose owners are nearing retirement:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Now, you can't demolish that much of the US productive economy without attracting some negative attention, so the looter spin-machine has perfected some talking points to hand-wave away the criticism that borrowing money using something you don't own as collateral in order to buy it and wreck it is obviously a dishonest (and potentially criminal) destructive practice.

The most common one is that borrowing money against an asset you don't own is just like getting a mortgage. This is such a badly flawed analogy that it is really a testament to the efficacy of the baffle-em-with-bullshit gambit to convince us all that we're too stupid to understand how finance works.

Sure: if I put an offer on your house, I will go to my credit union and ask the for a mortgage that uses your house as collateral. But the difference here is that you own your house, and the only way I can buy it – the only way I can actually get that mortgage – is if you agree to sell it to me.

Owner-occupied homes typically have uncomplicated ownership structures. Typically, they're owned by an individual or a couple. Sometimes they're the property of an estate that's divided up among multiple heirs, whose relationship is mediated by a will and a probate court. Title can be contested through a divorce, where disputes are settled by a divorce court. At the outer edge of complexity, you get things like polycules or lifelong roommates who've formed an LLC s they can own a house among several parties, but the LLC will have bylaws, and typically all those co-owners will be fully engaged in any sale process.

Leveraged buyouts don't target companies with simple ownership structures. They depend on firms whose equity is split among many parties, some of whom will be utterly disengaged from the firm's daily operations – say, the kids of an early employee who got a big stock grant but left before the company grew up. The looter needs to convince a few of these "owners" to force a vote on the acquisition, and then rely on the idea that many of the other shareholders will simply abstain from a vote. Asset managers are ubiquitous absentee owners who own large stakes in literally every major firm in the economy. The big funds – Vanguard, Blackrock, State Street – "buy the whole market" (a big share in every top-capitalized firm on a given stock exchange) and then seek to deliver returns equal to the overall performance of the market. If the market goes up by 5%, the index funds need to grow by 5%. If the market goes down by 5%, then so do those funds. The managers of those funds are trying to match the performance of the market, not improve on it (by voting on corporate governance decisions, say), or to beat it (by only buying stocks of companies they judge to be good bets):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/17/shareholder-socialism/#asset-manager-capitalism

Your family home is nothing like one of these companies. It doesn't have a bunch of minority shareholders who can force a vote, or a large block of disengaged "owners" who won't show up when that vote is called. There isn't a class of senior managers – Chief Kitchen Officer! – who have been granted large blocks of options that let them have a say in whether you will become homeless.

Now, there are homes that fit this description, and they're a fucking disaster. These are the "heirs property" homes, generally owned by the Black descendants of enslaved people who were given the proverbial 40 acres and a mule. Many prosperous majority Black settlements in the American South are composed of these kinds of lots.

Given the historical context – illiterate ex-slaves getting property as reparations or as reward for fighting with the Union Army – the titles for these lands are often muddy, with informal transfers from parents to kids sorted out with handshakes and not memorialized by hiring lawyers to update the deeds. This has created an irresistible opportunity for a certain kind of scammer, who will pull the deeds, hire genealogists to map the family trees of the original owners, and locate distant descendants with homeopathically small claims on the property. These descendants don't even know they own these claims, don't even know about these ancestors, and when they're offered a few thousand bucks for their claim, they naturally take it.

Now, armed with a claim on the property, the heirs property scammers force an auction of it, keeping the process under wraps until the last instant. If they're really lucky, they're the only bidder and they can buy the entire property for pennies on the dollar and then evict the family that has lived on it since Reconstruction. Sometimes, the family will get wind of the scam and show up to bid against the scammer, but the scammer has deep capital reserves and can easily win the auction, with the same result:

https://www.propublica.org/series/dispossessed

A similar outrage has been playing out for years in Hawai'i, where indigenous familial claims on ancestral lands have been diffused through descendants who don't even know they're co-owner of a place where their distant cousins have lived since pre-colonial times. These descendants are offered small sums to part with their stakes, which allows the speculator to force a sale and kick the indigenous Hawai'ians off their family lands so they can be turned into condos or hotels. Mark Zuckerberg used this "quiet title and partition" scam to dispossess hundreds of Hawai'ian families:

https://archive.is/g1YZ4

Heirs property and quiet title and partition are a much better analogy to a leveraged buyout than a mortgage is, because they're ways of stealing something valuable from people who depend on it and maintain it, and smashing it and selling it off.

Strip away all the jargon, and private equity is just another scam, albeit one with pretensions to respectability. Its practitioners are ripoff artists. You know the notorious "carried interest loophole" that politicians periodically discover and decry? "Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest on a loan. The "carried interest" rule dates back to 16th century sea-captains, and it refers to the "interest" they had in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Private equity managers are like sea captains in exactly the same way that leveraged buyouts are like mortgages: not at all.

And it's not like private equity is good to its investors: scams like "continuation funds" allow PE looters to steal all the money they made from strip mining valuable companies, so they show no profits on paper when it comes time to pay their investors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

Those investors are just as bamboozled as we are, which is why they keep giving more money to PE funds. Today, the "dry powder" (uninvested money) that PE holds has reached an all-time record high of $2.62 trillion – money from pension funds and rich people and sovereign wealth funds, stockpiled in anticipation of buying and destroying even more profitable, productive, useful businesses:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

The practices of PE are crooked as hell, and it's only the fact that they use euphemisms and deceptive analogies to home mortgages that keeps them from being shut down. The more we strip away the bullshit, the faster we'll be able to kill this cancer, and the more of the real economy we'll be able to preserve.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

[del-thetiredwriter]

Mafia Au / Good luck while running away from mafia part 3

Intro , part 0.5 , part 1 , part 2 , part 4 , part 5

Tags: @morokumi , @hrhqueenfox , @hasty-desert , @oceanside-pixie , @lianreine , @h3apm3ch4n151m , @cecilebutcher , @ayachansan , @reveihehe , @sfxtiebee , @roseapov , @twst-eeps , @loivre , @randomlyappearingartist , @serenity-loves-red, @wonderlandcrown

Note: Haha it’s been a long time… ((￣∇￣) how are you guys? I didn’t liked this post maybe edit it later

Warnings: bad English and writing , gn reader, kidnapping, yandere, curse, blood, character injury…

2 years ago

“Agh! At this rate, I will die from overwork!”

You whined.

You were indebted to Azul because you forgot the day you were supposed to meet Azul last week and wasted his precious time.

He wanted you to check all the financial records of the mafia to pay off his debt, but according to you, he just wanted to torture you.

You had been examining all the financial records of the mafia in Monstro Lounge for the last three days, even checking till the time when Crewel Sensei was the executive.

“I want to cry, why am I looking at financial records from 10 years ago?”

You whined, hit your head on the table and sighed deeply.

You glanced at the records out of the corner of your eye… Saw the same word: “Ramshackle” . That name again. This name kept coming up since you started reviewing the records 7 years ago. The money transfer to “Ramshackle” was quite large. Almost as much as a division.

You've been in the mafia for about 4 years, but you've never heard of this name. Strange.

“I see you are working hard.”

You were startled by the voice you heard. You saw the silver haired executive leaning against to the side of the door staring at you with a satisfied smirk.

“Azul-san, you are back sir.”

You straightened up. You didn’t wanted to look like you’re slacking. Last time because you slacked he made you work till death for a week that felt like years in Monstro Lounge.

He looked at the paperworks that you were dealing with.

“I see you have worked hard, you deserve a short break right?”

-

“I swear I will never forget you again.”

You sweared while drinking the tea prepared by Jade. The ice tea made you forget the war you had with paperworks.

“Looks like Y/N-san had a hard time, hmm?”

Jade said as he placed the snacks in front of you.

“Shrimpy, you looked so funny among those piles of papers. Maybe you should forget Azul more~”

said Floyd while eating one of the biscuits on the plate.

You gulped. This was definitely something you would never do again. You didn’t wanted to return to that room.

While chatting with them your mind went to that name again: Ramshackle.

“Azul-san, I want to ask you something.”

You hoped that he knew something about it.

Azul nodded in agreement. “Go on.”

“I wonder what Ramshackle is? So is it someone or an organization? This name was mentioned frequently in financial records. “

Man with glasses took a sip from the tea before answering.

“I don't know. That name was on the records before I became a executive. And from the moment I was in charge of finance I never heard that name . So I don’t know .”

-

Current time

A full week. This chase had been going on for exactly a week. You were officially a fugitive.

You opened the glove compartment. Your food could last you another day at most, but your water was already finished. You sighed, you had to go to the grocery store. You took some cash and your gun. Wore your mask and got of from the car. Praying to not get caught.

…

You were in line at the register with two bottles of water and two sandwiches. The line was very slow for some reason, barely moving at all.

Then you felt someone's eyes on you. No, they couldn't have found you. Then a hand touched your shoulder. You suddenly turned around and turned away the hand that touched you. However, you looked at the owner of the hand in surprise.

“Alex?”

You looked at your former co-worker from the cafe in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

You said as you released his hand. Meanwhile you got some peoples attention because of your action.

“Nice to see you too, Yuu. Where have you been? I haven't heard from you since that commotion at the cafe. You made me very worried.” said the young man while rubbing his hand that you caught a moment ago.

"Nevermind." You didn't want to waste time on unnecessary conversations. You just wanted to get out of here.

“You really are annoying as always. Even though I was so worried about you. You owe me "

Alex said.

You didn't reply. You thought about not getting carried away just because you were talking to Alex. You were lost in thoughts but you came to your senses with Alex’s shout.

“Hey! Let's go to the cafe.”

Alex said while fiddling with his phone.

"I'm busy."

You didn’t had time to waste and didn’t wanted to be in public. But Alex insisted.

“Come on, look just 15 minutes okay or I'll throw a Tantrum in this crowd.”

You stared at him with disappointment . If You knew Alex, he would do this. He was the type of person who would do anything to get what he wanted. Because of this behavior of his he would always argue with other co-workers only you could deal with him. Because he was just not dangerous version of your ex bosses

You agreed with a sigh.

-

“Hey, do you have a lover or something? You're constantly on the phone." You said while stared at Alex with those judgmental eyes.

He brought you to a local cafe which is quite crowded for you. Now you two were waiting for your orders.

“You insisted me to came here yet always on the phone.”

“Uh, no… I'm just waiting for an important call.”

replied the young man.

You looked at Alex suspiciously. He was uneasy. Something didn't feel right. You shaked your head. He was just a civilian. You were just nervous because of recent events.

You started watch outside of the window. A cat purring on it’s owner lap and the owner reading a book while stroking the cat. The owner of the cat was talking to another man. Quite muscular man was sitting in front of the cats owner talking about something excitedly.

Then you saw a black car parking. With Seeing the person in the backseat you panicked. You were found out.

“No way,” you whispered. You straightened up.

"Uh, what's the problem?" Alex said. Caught your hand.

"I have to go. We'll meet another time." You said, trying to pull your hand away but Alex tightened his grip.

"No. Remain. You should remain.” He said with a guilty yet insistent voice.

Your eyes grew with realization.

“It was you…You were the one who exposed me. You knowingly changed your working days on the night of the attack. You purposely came to work with me that day…"

Alex looked at you with a guilty expression. You pulled your hand away and quickly ran for the exit, but you were blocked by a familiar person. Those here heterochromic eyes… Those eyes that you were scared of eyes. Eyes of a hunters.

“It's been a long time Shrimpy~”

He grabbed your wrists before you could respond. It was impossible to escape Floyd's grip. You struggled but it didn’t help.

“Don’t use your energy on it. No use.”

You heard that mocking familiar voice.Then you saw the second brother. The carbon copy of Floyd. Jade just grinned when he saw your situation. Then he turned to someone else .

“Thank you for your service Mr. Alex. As we talked about, the fee will be delivered to you within the day tomorrow.” said Jade in a gentlemanly manner.

Then he turned to you.

“Now, Azul is waiting for us in the car. Let's not keep him waiting too long, hmm. But first-“

He took the gun you hid behind your back.

“Toys are prohibited”

-

You were put into the backseat of the black vehicle you just saw. Seated between Jade and Azul. You felt so numb so drowning. Is this how you were ending up…

Azul looked at you, pleased with the situation.

"You were going to get caught eventually, was it worth the effort?" he mocked you.

You didn't reply. You just watched out the window with lost in thoughts.

…

They brought you to a place that looked like Monstro Lounge in the city. It was probably newly opened. You were brought to one of the back rooms, the kind where Azul would hold his private conversations. They made you sit on a chair.Your hands and feet were tied to a comfortable chair. You didn’t strike back.

“Hey , it’s not like I can do something .”

You said calmly while getting tied.

“I'm sorry Y/N but you know ,safety precautions.”

Jade said in a not at all sad tone as he tied you up.

“You're hungry, aren't you? You probably didn't eat properly while you were running away. Jade, can you please bring our angelfish something to eat and Floyd, can you please bring some clean clothes? I can’t believe you wear this stuff as clothes." Azul nagged.

“Why, I want to spend time with shirmpy too.” Floyd whined, but eventually he left with Jade.

After Floyd and Jade left, only you and Azul were left in the room.

There was silence in the room. A tense silence.The silver haired man happily walked towards you.

“You acted really stupid, my angelfish. I don't even understand why you ran away in the first place. After all, everything was perfect wasn’t it. We were at peace. Why did you do?"

He leaned towards you. There were only inches between you.

You stared at him with empty eyes for a minute with silence.

“You all know the answer, but you all act like you don’t .”

You spoke.

Azul grinned.

“İdia said you ran away because you learned everything, but even if you did, we are not guilty. It's you." He said, leaning towards your face.

You gritted your teeth. Turned your head around. He was too close. You looked away. Luckily, Jade walked in just in time with a tray of food.

“Oh right on time Jade.”

Jade came to the room with a silver tray of dinner.

“Today’s menu is Cold poached salmon. As for beverage water. Sorry couldn’t get anything else you see… Then Bon Appetite.”

Then he bent over.

Azul cut a piece and turned to you. He held the fork to your mouth. You looked at him sternly.

"You eat first. Who knows what you put in it.”

Azul grinned at your answer.

"Okey." He put the morsel into his mouth.

You watched as he slowly chewed the morsel and then swallowed it. And he cut another piece.

“Say aaaah”

And you ate the second piece he cut off.

-

Azul and Jade left for an emergency meeting, and you were left in Floyd's custody, but he had just gone to the bathroom.

You sighed deeply. They would probably take you to main place tomorrow.

Suddenly strange sounds started coming from outside.

Then the voices stopped and the door opened.

“Sam-san?!”

You said in surprise.

“Your prince charming has come to take you out of here.” grinned Sam.

"But how?"

"You talk too much. We don't have much time. “ Sam said as he untied you.

“Here, take this gun. By the way, there are only three bullets inside, just so you know. And some cash.”

He put the gun in your hand.

"Why?” you asked again. Why was Sam helping you?

He just smiled. “Hurry up or you won't be able to escape. Now our paths part again. Don't get caught again. I don't think I can save you again."

You looked at him for a second. Then you ran, you ran with all your might.

“Stay where you are!”

You turned around when you heard the familiar voice. Floyd was looking at you with his gun drawn. It was obvious that he was angry.

“Why are you running away, Shrimpy? I just found you...I don't want to play chase with you anymore!”

He pointed his gun at you threateningly.

You didn't reply.

You saw Sam behind Floyd. It's okay... You had nothing to lose anymore. You turned around and ran towards the exit.

The sound of the trigger rang in your ears. A strange pain in your shoulder. Ah Floyd shot you in the shoulder. But that wasn't enough to stop you, you continued running.

This is the first time you've acted foolishly. But you were saved.

-

"What do you think you're doing?" asked the former Pormefiore manager to the masked man.

“I don't know what you mean, I just wanted to drink wine.” The masked man said playfully, pouring his blood red wine into the glass.

“You sent Sam!” Crewel slammed his hand on the table.

“Hmm maybe,” Dire Crowley grinned.

“What are you planning?”

“Oh Crewel, my old friend, let's just say I want to win the bet we made. You know, I don't like to lose."

[natailiatulls07]

Mafia boss!Carlos Sainz x wife!reader

Summary - All this time she thought he worked in finance but turns out she had been sharing the bed with a dangerous man for just under a decade

Warnings - One gun, swearing, one death, kind of kidnapping??

A/n - This is a dark one for me honestly, don't know where it came from but I hope you like it lol

-

He had spent just under a decade masking his career to his partner, saying that he worked in finance. He was doing it to protect her; she needed to be protected. She hadn’t meant to see it honestly.

-

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, who do you work for?” The Spanish accent echoed through the basement, completely concealed from the lushest mansion above. Carlos was sat in his chair with cigarette femmes surrounding him. In front of him sat a scruffy and trembling man, someone who was found to be dealing information to a rival mafia.

A few moments passed, and the man was becoming an irritation for Carlos. And with a sigh, he held out a hand for his gun before Charles placed it in his hand. “You have one more chance..”

It all happened so fast, one second he was so engraved in serving the man his final seconds and then next his eyes snapped up to the sound of a gasp. At the bottom of the stairs stood Y/n, a hand hovering over her mouth in shock.

And then he saw the terrified eyes not even glancing away from the lifeless body on the ground, that’s when he knew he had messed up. “Y/n…”

His voice broke through the silence, grounding the women back to reality. A beat passed before her feet quickly carried her back upstairs, subconsciously running away from him.

Back in the basement, the sound of metal echoed the walls as Carlos dropped the gun and took off after her. He knew what she’d be doing and that’d put him straight to jail, ending his career in the mafia imminently.

Luckily for the mafia boss, he was a lot quicker and it was easier for him to catch up with her. Wrapping his arms around her waist just before she could get to the front door.

Of course she struggled against his strong arms. Screaming and crying from a mix of fear and betrayal. And it absolutely broke Carlos’ heart.

He lowered his head to whisper in her ear vehemently. “Darling, calm down shh it’s okay..” Normally his words would fill Y/n with comfort and warmth but it was the complete opposite now.

“No!” Weakly she punched and hit the toned arm wrapped around her stomach, hoping he’d yield and let her go. But nothing ever stopped his strong arms.

It wasn’t long before Carlos slowly lowered the pair to the marble floor, he could feel and see her strength deteriorating. He watched as her eyes slowly fluttered shut, the exhausted from aimlessly fighting and screaming finally taking over.

Once the man knew it she was fully asleep, he picked her up bridal style much like he did their wedding night. Carrying her sleeping body through the white halls of the mansion to their bedroom.

Settling her down in the king sized bed was easy and gentle, covering her body with their high end sheets and resting her head on her silk pillow.

Stepping back towards the door to the bedroom, Carlos let out a deep sigh. This wasn’t how he wanted her to find out, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted her to find out. And to keep her as his own, he’d have to go to great lengths which is why he had no regrets with locking her in.

In his head, she’d be getting the best treatment so locking her in their room would be justifiable. He’d deal with her little outbreaks, each time breaking her down to be his perfect brain washed trophy.

-