#i don't even care i love him and his glasses

[rose24207]

Mafia lando smut where reader was mad at him from an argument the other day, so she spends heaps of money on his bank account. He doesn’t find out till the bank calls to make sure it wasn’t fraud. And he punishes her

Stress Shopping

Summary: After a heated argument, you storm off on a stress-shopping spree with Lando's card, prompting a call from his bank, but the fight ends in heartfelt apologies and a reminder of his love for you.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: arguing, spending way too much money

A/N: loved the idea but I changed it a little! Hope you don’t mind! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the mansion, shaking the antique fixtures on the walls. You stomp into the grand foyer, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your anger palpable in the air. Lando's sharp voice follows you, his British accent more clipped than usual.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, love!" he barks, his footsteps quick behind yours.

You spin on your heel to face him, eyes blazing with fury. "What do you want me to do, Lando? Stand there and listen while you talk to me like I’m one of your employees? Like I’m beneath you?"

His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he clenches his teeth. He’s wearing that infuriatingly expensive suit you helped him pick out, and right now, you’d love nothing more than to rip it off him—not in the fun way. "I don’t treat you like my employees," he growls. "But I am in charge, and you seem to forget that sometimes."

You laugh bitterly, crossing your arms. "Oh, how could I forget? You love reminding me every chance you get."

Lando rakes a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up slightly. Normally, the sight would make your heart soften, but right now, it only fuels your fire. "You’re being unreasonable," he snaps. "We had an agreement—"

"No, you had an agreement!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "I never agreed to this ridiculous, controlling nonsense, Lando."

His amber eyes flash dangerously. "Watch it," he warns, his voice low now, like a storm about to break. "You’re pushing me, and you know I don’t like being pushed."

But you’re too far gone to care. "And I don’t like being treated like some trophy wife who needs to follow orders. I’m done with this conversation."

Without waiting for his response, you grab your purse from the console table and march toward the front door. His voice chases after you. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you snap. "Don’t wait up."

Before he can stop you, you’re out the door, the evening air cool against your flushed skin.

The mall is your sanctuary. Under the glow of bright lights and the hum of happy chatter, you lose yourself in racks of designer clothing, rows of shoes, and glass cases of sparkling jewelry. Lando's black card burns a comforting weight in your purse, and tonight, you intend to make full use of it.

You start at Chanel, swiping the card for a pair of heels and a matching bag without so much as glancing at the price tag. Next is Cartier, where a sleek watch catches your eye. After that, you make your way to Dior, where a silk gown feels like the perfect antidote to your frustration.

Each purchase soothes the ache in your chest, replacing anger with satisfaction. By the time you leave the mall, your arms are laden with bags, and the backseat of your car is filled to the brim with boxes and tissue paper.

But your phone buzzes just as you’re pulling out of the parking lot. You glance at the screen and see Lando’s name flashing. You don’t answer.

Back at the mansion, Lando is pacing his study, his phone pressed to his ear. The man on the other end clears his throat nervously before speaking. "Mr. Norris, this is Daniel from Barclays. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to confirm if your card has been compromised."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "What kind of activity?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"A series of high-value transactions," Daniel replies. "Chanel, Cartier, Dior... altogether totaling a little over seventy thousand pounds. Should we freeze the card?"

Lando smirks despite himself, shaking his head. "No, Daniel," he says, his tone resigned. "It’s just my wife... throwing a tantrum."

There’s a brief silence on the other end. "Ah," Daniel says finally, clearly unsure how to respond. "Very well, sir. Shall we flag the transactions as authorized?"

"Yes," Lando says. "And don’t call again unless it’s life or death."

You return home hours later, your anger dulled by exhaustion and the satisfying sight of your new purchases. You push open the door to the mansion, your arms laden with bags, only to find Lando waiting for you in the foyer. He leans against the staircase, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp features unreadable.

"Have fun?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

You ignore him, stepping past him with your head held high. But before you can make it far, he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm but not painful, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Don’t ignore me," he says softly, dangerously.

You whirl around to face him, the fire in your eyes reigniting. "What do you want, Lando? To scold me for spending your money? Go ahead—I’m sure you’ve got plenty of lectures lined up."

He doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady on yours. "It’s not about the money," he says. "You know that."

"Then what is it about?" you demand. "Because I’m tired of fighting with you over every little thing."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he speaks. "It’s about us," he says. "About you running off every time we argue instead of dealing with it. You think throwing my money around is going to make things better?"

"It made me feel better," you snap, yanking your wrist out of his grip.

"Fine," he says, his voice cold now. "If that’s what you want—things, clothes, jewelry—then take it all. But don’t pretend it’s going to fix what’s wrong between us."

His words hit harder than you’d like to admit. You stare at him, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back tears. "Maybe if you treated me like your wife instead of your possession, we wouldn’t have these problems," you say quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes—guilt, maybe. But he doesn’t respond, and you don’t wait for him to. You turn on your heel and head upstairs, leaving him standing alone in the foyer.

Hours later, you’re sitting in the walk-in closet, surrounded by your purchases. The excitement you felt earlier has faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sigh, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the Dior gown, wondering if you went too far.

A knock at the door startles you, and before you can respond, Lando steps inside. He looks tired, his tie loosened and his hair disheveled. In his hands, he’s holding a small box tied with a black ribbon.

"I brought you something," he says, his voice soft.

You raise an eyebrow. "More things? Haven’t I spent enough of your money today?"

He ignores your sarcasm, setting the box down on the bench beside you. "Open it," he says.

Curious despite yourself, you untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a delicate necklace, a simple gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s nothing like the flashy pieces you bought earlier, but somehow, it feels more special.

"It’s not to bribe you," he says quickly, as if reading your mind. "I just... I wanted to remind you that I don’t care about the money or the fights. I care about you.“

You look up at him, your heart softening. "You have a funny way of showing it," you say, though your tone lacks its earlier bite.

He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees. "I know," he admits. "I’m not perfect, and I don’t always know how to handle you when you’re upset. But I’m trying, love. I promise I’m trying."

For a long moment, you say nothing, letting his words sink in. Then, finally, you reach out and cup his cheek, your thumb brushing against his stubble. "I’m sorry too," you say. "I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. It wasn’t fair to either of us."

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly. "So... we’re okay?" he asks, his voice tentative.

You smile softly. "We’re okay."

The next morning, you wake up to find Lando already dressed, his tie perfectly knotted and his usual confidence back in place. He leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin.

"Breakfast is ready downstairs," he says. "And I told the bank not to call me again if you go on another shopping spree."

You laugh, pulling the covers over your head. "Good. Because I might need a few more things."

He chuckles, his hand brushing against your hair. "Just try not to spend the GDP of a small country next time, yeah?"

You peek out from under the covers, grinning. "No promises."

And for the first time in days, everything feels right again.

Thank you for reading!

[springtyme]

Hey there. I love your Spencer Reid stories and was hoping I could request something.

Just something fluffy about day to day life with Spencer and a Diabetic female reader. I imagine he does lots of research, keeps snacks and juices in his desk at work ,for her lows. How does he react when her low sugar alarms go off at night? When she's so sorry for waking him, when he already gets to bed early in the mornings and only gets a few hours to sleep. Does he first mistake her insulin for "something else", and freaks out thinking she's a user?( I Had a boyfriend think that once).

I know this is a lot of an ask and it's okay if you don't write it. But I can't find any Diabetic reader fics anywhere and it'd be super cool if you could do one.

You can message me if you need info on life with diabetes.

𝐋𝐨𝐰 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ♡

Thank you for the request, hun. I tried to do my best to do as much research as I could, so I hope this is okay. But if I have gotten something wrong, please feel free to let me know <3

Spencer Reid x f!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: Spencer takes care of you when you wake in the middle of the night to the sound of your glucose monitor.

word count: 2.0k

tags: Fluff. Comfort. Diabetic reader. Eating. Brief mentioning of reader being scared of feeling like a burden.

You toss and turn in bed, the familiar feeling of dizziness creeping in as you start to come to. The soft beeping of your glucose monitor cuts through the quiet of the night, its persistent alarm pulling you from the depths of your dreams. You blink rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, but your heart sinks as you realize what the sound means.

Low blood sugar.

Sitting up slowly, you take a moment to gather your senses and find your bearings. You glance over to see Spencer’s silhouette beside you. He always looks so peaceful when he sleeps, wavy locks of brown hair softly tousled against the pillow, his lips slightly parted in a way that makes your heart ache with affection, but he begins to stir next to you. Guilt floods your chest for waking him, knowing he sacrifices so much of his sleep already for his work with the BAU, often staying up late thinking about cases or preparing for the next day’s challenges or having to pull all-nighters when cases demand it.

You fumble for the monitor, desperate to silence the alarm before it disturbs the tranquility of the night any further, but it’s too late. Spencer stirs more, his brow furrowing as he blinks awake, his eyes adjusting to the low light with a hint of confusion.

He murmurs your name, his voice thick with sleep, his voice laced with a groggy confusion and concern.

“I’m so sorry,” you rush out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts gently, propping himself up on one elbow. His concern is palpable as he studies your face, and you can see the worry etched in the lines of his features. “How low is it?”

You glance at the screen of the monitor and wince, your heart sinking further at the number displayed. “I’m at 60. I just need a snack.”

His eyes widen slightly, and without another word, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. You can’t help but admire the way he moves, even in his sleepy state. “Stay here,” he says, his voice firm yet soft, a request that you can’t help but obey, though you do feel a slight sense of guilt for waking him up and now getting him out of bed. “I’ll get you something.”

You watch as he leaves the bedroom and pads down the hallway, the sound of his bare feet against the hardwood floor grounding you in the moment. As he disappears from view, you pull your knees to your chest, feeling an overwhelming mix of embarrassment and gratitude. You know he needs his sleep—he’s been working so hard lately—but the way he cares for you, despite the toll it takes on him, makes your heart swell with a warmth you can’t quite describe.

A moment later, he returns with a glass of juice and a granola bar, a sleepy smile lighting up his face that makes your already fast beating heart flutter. “Here you go, ” he says, holding out the glass of juice for you, his eyes sparkling with affection.

“Spencer, you didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did. Please stop saying that,” he interrupts again, his voice a soft  plea which instantly makes you feel lighter. “And I want to, so don’t worry about it.”

You take the glass from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do, sending a small thrill through you. “Still… I’m really sorry for waking you up,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “You work so hard, and you need your rest.”

He shakes his head, his expression turning serious as he leans in closer. “You’re my priority. I’d rather be awake helping you than asleep worrying about you.”

You sip the juice, feeling the sweetness flood your system like a warm embrace, and you can’t help but smile at him, the corners of your mouth lifting despite the earlier panic. “You really are the best.”

“Just doing my job,” he replies, but the warmth in his eyes tells you how much he means it, how deeply he cares.

As you finish your juice he takes the glass from you to set it on his bedside side table before he sits himself down beside you on the bed, propping his pillow against the headboard and leaning back, his eyes still fixed on you with an unwavering concern. He reaches out, prompting you to come closer, his hand open and inviting.

You move closer, shifting to sit beside him, leaning against his side as he drapes his arm around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. His presence is a comforting weight against your side, his fingers lingering against your skin, sending a soft shiver down your spine. “How are you feeling now?” he asks, his voice low and soothing.

“Better,” you admit, the dizziness fading as the fruit sugar kicks in, your body slowly returning to normal. “Thank you for being so amazing.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with affection that makes your heart flutter. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He pulls you closer against his side, and you nestle against him, feeling the comforting warmth of his body seep into your bones. You can’t help but close your eyes, letting the safety of his presence wash over you like a soothing balm, the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling you further into relaxation as you wait for your blood sugar to go back to normal. 

“You can go back to sleep, if you want. You must be exhausted,” you say, though you don’t move away from his side. The warmth of his body feels too good, too safe, to leave even for a moment.

“I’m alright,” he replies, his voice a soft murmur, brushing against your ear like a gentle caress as he adjusts his hold on you, pulling you even closer. “I’d rather be here with you than trying to fall back asleep and worrying about you,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment that feels infinite. 

You smile to yourself, feeling cherished and safe in his embrace. “You really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he insists, his voice steady and calm, unwavering in its sincerity. “I’ll always want to.”

The sincerity in his words wraps around you, warming you up from the inside. You breathe in the soothing scent of his skin, a mix of his shampoo and something uniquely him, and it brings you a sense of all encompassing peace you didn’t realize you needed. You let his words linger in the air around you for a moment before you break the silence, letting his sentiment absorb within you. 

“Spencer,” you finally whisper, the weight of the night’s events still lingering in your mind, “promise me that if I ever wake you up like this in the future, and it does bother you, you’ll tell me,” you say, a hint of vulnerability in your tone. “I don’t want to feel guilty for needing you.”

He shifts slightly, tilting your chin up with his finger so you can meet his gaze. The warmth and sincerity in his eyes make your heart flutter again, pushing the remnants of guilt away.

“I can’t promise that I won’t be a little groggy,” he says, his voice low and steady. “But I can promise you will never bother me  for needing help. That’s what I’m here for.”

You nod slowly, feeling the tension in your chest ease just a bit. “I appreciate that,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I would hate to be a burden. ”

“But you’re not,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes you feel seen. “You’re not a burden. You’re my partner, and that means I’ll always be here for you, no matter the hour. It’s just part of loving someone.”

You let out a soft sigh, both relieved and grateful. “You make it sound so easy.”

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “But it is easy. I love you.” He says it so matter of factly that it sends a rush of warmth through your chest. The simplicity of his declaration feels monumental than than any grand gesture could ever be. 

You feel your cheeks warm at his words, the moment between you and Spencer vibrates through you, it feels all consuming in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice a little shaky as you nuzzle your face into his shoulder, closing your eyes as you let yourself fully sink into the moment and let the weight of the world outside fade away for a bit.

Minutes pass in peaceful silence, the only sound being the soft hum of the night and the quiet rhythm of your breathing. You can feel Spencer’s heart beating steadily beside you, a calm and reassuring presence. You drift into a peaceful state of half slumber, your mind finding a place of ease. Every now and then, you feel Spencer’s fingers gently tracing small patterns on your arm, grounding you in the moment until his voice finally breaks through the silence. 

“I think it’s time to check your blood sugar again,” he says softly, his tone gentle but filled with care. “Make sure you’re back to normal.”

You nod slightly, still nestled against him, reluctant to break the comfort of the moment. “Yeah” you murmur, your voice thick with sleepiness.

Spencer shifts away just enough to reach for your monitor. As he checks the reading, you watch him, noting the way his brow furrows in concentration, an expression you’ve come to recognize as his deep-seated need to ensure your well-being.

He glances back at you, a slight smile breaking through the concern. “You’re at 85. Just a little lower than your target, but still good.” He takes the granola bar from the bedside table and hands it to you, his eyes still filled with warmth and encouragement. “Finish this, and I’ll feel a lot better.”

You take the granola bar, feeling a swell of appreciation for his attentiveness. “Thank you,” you say, your voice soft as you unwrap it and take a small bite. The chewy texture and nutty flavor is comforting on your tongue. As you chew, you watch him, unable to suppress the smile that spreads across your face. He’s still watching you, his gaze a mix of concern and affection, and it makes your heart race. “What?” you ask playfully, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Just admiring you,” he replies, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re really beautiful.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “Spencer, it’s 3 AM, and I just woke you up because of a blood sugar emergency. I don’t think ‘beautiful’ is the first word that comes to mind.”

He just shrugs his shoulders, a sweet, almost shy smile playing on his lips. “For me it is,” he insists, his voice steady, and the earnestness in his eyes makes you melt a little inside.

You finish the granola bar, feeling a little more energized. “You really are the sweetest.”

Spencer just shrugs again, holding out his hand so you can hand over the now empty granola bar wrapper to discharge it next to the empty juice glass. As the two of you lay back down on the mattress, Spencer instinctively wraps his arm around you once more, pulling you close. The warmth of his body envelops you, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his voice still a soft murmur, the concern never quite leaving his tone.

“Yeah,” you reply, a smile spreading across your face. 

“Good,” he says, his eyes sparkling with relief. 

You nod, feeling the weight of the night sink in, wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of comfort.

As your eyes flutter closed once more, Spencer kisses the top of your head gently, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Get some sleep,” he whispers, his voice a soothing balm that sends you drifting back toward dreamland. With a final squeeze of his hand, you nestle deeper into his embrace, feeling cherished and safe as you slip back into slumber.

[wtfaniii]

Hear me out- VIP reader and Frontman In-ho

Reader goes up to In-ho and is all like “I’m bored, can you entertain me?” And bro goes “You shouldn’t be bored, and I’m not really on the table for entertainment, but I’ll see what I can do” then ensues actions n shit. Really most of this is dealers choice in everything that happens, I just want more VIP reader content <3333

Uhhh I love it!!! I hope I understood what you expected from this!

A better show

Fem reader VIP x Front man

Summary: You are looking for better entertainment than just shows where low-class people die.

Warning: Nothing explicit but some innuendo, flirting, some submission.

N/A: I've only written smut once in my life HAHAHA, I hope you like this.

Money buys happiness.

Or at least that's what everyone around you had told you for as long as could remember.

You were disgustingly rich and beautiful but few dared to approach you for fear of rejection or your bodyguards.

You wanted action so when they talked to you about financing some deadly games for entertainment you accepted, however, this was only your third year attending as a spectator and fell asleep during the second half hour, if it weren't for the wonderful liquor they served you would surely be snoring.

Once again, you were a spectator as the players played lut, you were bored but the only thing that made you come back every year to that place and wear a heavy gold-plated honey badger mask was to enjoy the presence of a certain masked man dressed in black.

There was something about him posture and voice that captivated you, you could even swear that from time to time he saw you too.

And you were right, In-ho looked at you sometimes, she was the only woman who was part of the VIPs and your bored expression throughout the show seemed intriguing to him.

All these men were disgusting and to him you were a beautiful flower growing in a pond of dirty water.

Even though he had never seen your face even once.

Although of course, you also had a certain selfish and classist character, you had only learned what you were taught since you were a little kid.

They both looked at each other and you, with a smile that showed your white teeth, snapped your fingers and gestured for him to come closer.

However, he sent one of his employees to which you quickly denied —No, you —You pointed the finger at him specifically and he had no choice but to obey you.

Maybe the alcohol was taking its toll on your system but this time you were feeling bolder than usual, just to be sure, you took one last big sip from your glass as he stopped next to you.

—¿Do you need anything? —he asked cautiously.

That deep voice and the scent of him perfume made you sigh and squeeze your legs together.

Yeah... you'd definitely had enough alcohol for tonight.

—I'm bored, ¿can you make this night more entertaining for me?

From the way you looked at him and the pout on your lips, In-ho immediately knew what you meant, but he decided to play with fire a little, nothing in this life is easy.

—¡Uh!... It seems our dear badger wants some honey —said the man with the lion mask using a playful and funny tone.

You ignored him, you were now too focused on getting what you wanted to get angry over a few rude words.

—I apologize if this bores you, but I'm in no position to entertain, I just maintain order and make sure the guests are happy.

From your posture he could tell that you didn't like that answer but he also knew that you wouldn't give up.

—I'm a guest and I'm not happy —You faked a smile—I'd be happy if you sat down with me, believe me, I'll make sure you don't get into trouble.

The silence in the room lasted a few seconds, In-ho felt the gaze of the other guests on you but that didn't stop him from continuing to challenge you.

—I repeat, the entertainment is not my responsibility, but if you agree, I will look for way to... satisfy you.

Front man walked to his podium and made some motions for someone to take charge while he took care of you.

After a few minutes he turned to you and extended his hand with chivalry and elegance.

—¿Would you like to accompany me to a more private place?

You smiled under the mask and took him gloved hand as you stood up.

—Gentlemen, I say goodbye for tonight, you guys keep enjoying the trivial spectacle.

You said calmly, despite the exotic environment you were in you still maintained your education and manners.

—¡Have fun! —the man in the buffalo mask exclaimed, followed by a loud laugh.

"They are idiots" you thought, letting yourself be guided by the handsome masked man.

You two took a few more steps until you reached a somewhat colorful room with a huge sofa in the center.

—After you —he said softly, giving a small bow and leaving a chaste kiss on the back of your hand.

You could only feel the cold material his mask was made of but you kept quiet, the simple act made your heart warm, it was ironic how you called him just for some fun but this man could make you shiver with a couple of non-sexual actions, it was just him.

Once you walked in and looked around at the bright colors you heard him close and lock the door, then you felt his presence behind you.

He very delicately placed his hands on your shoulders and pulled down your golden robe a little, revealing the bare skin of your neck, collarbone and shoulders.

In-ho paid attention to your breathing, that way he would know if he was doing it right or not, he took off one of his gloves to allow you to feel his skin touch you.

—¿Can you take off your mask? —You murmured curiously.

—I'm afraid that would be impossible, our identities are protected for security reasons.

You sighed and turned on your heels to stand in front of him, not allowing him to say or do anything you placed your own hands on golden mask and removed it revealing your face.

Once you dropped the mask to the ground In-ho remained silent, observing your features.

You were younger than he had thought, your eyes looked at him with desire but at the same time confidence and longed for affection, ¿how bad did your life have to be to look for affection in a stranger with a mask?

When you put your hands on his covered face and tried to remove the mask, he stopped you and walked away from you to the couch and grab a black cloth bandage.

—If you want me to take off the mask, you'll have to cover your eyes.

It wasn't a fair deal but you accepted it just because you were starting to get wet just from him attitude.

[...]

The soft sound of your breathing as he kissed the skin of your neck was the only thing that could be heard in the room, In-ho was sitting on the couch without his top clothes on, his lips leaving a trail of wet marks on your neck and his hands resting on your hip.

You felt so vulnerable and surrendered to him as you straddled him lap, naked and blindfolded.

You were used to having control over everything, giving orders and other things but this feeling of knowing that someone else could have control over you, could move you or manipulate you was new, it was exciting.

You let out a gasp as you felt the leader's fingers move closer to your core, teasing you a little.

—You're very anxious, ¿how long have you been waiting for this?

The mockery in his words made you shudder, you moved your hips against him searching for friction but he held you firmly with his other hand.

—Don't move —He whispered in your ear —You asked me to entertain you and that's what I'm going to do.

Seeing your red cheeks and your half-open mouth made In-ho feel his pants tighter than usual, yet he remained calm and continued playing with your center, enjoying the lewd sounds you gave him.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss and you finally had the chance to move your hands a little, which went from being on him chest to descending towards the belt of him pants.

With a few deft movements you got rid of him belt and pulled down his pants with a little effort.

He moaned lowly as he felt your hand caress him, if you could see him you would have seen the lust in his dark eyes and dilated pupils.

—I need you, now —You almost begged, it was pathetic how you begged for more from this man whose face you hadn't even seen.

—Ask me to give you what you want.

He still wanted to continue playing with you a little but he was also as eager as you so as soon as you said "Please" he lifted you up a little and positioned you so he could enter you without any effort because of how wet you were.

In-ho closed his eyes and a soft growl escaped his lips as he guided your movements on him, he would have loved to look into your eyes as you rode him like this but his identity was above that, or at least for now.

Besides, a certain part of him was also excited to be a secret from you.

With his free hand he grabbed your hair, made a small knot and tilted your head back to have access to your neck once again, while you increased the pace of your jumps he was in charge of leaving red marks on your skin.

When he felt you tense up he made you stop and without letting you go he turned you both around so that you ended up on the couch, this time he on top of you.

He began to thrust into you, at first it was slow, letting you feel every inch of him and then he was a little rougher, slowly increasing the speed and strength, your screams of pleasure were music to his ears, your nails scratching his back was another of his favorite sensations.

He placed your legs on his shoulders forcing you to take him completely which made you arch back and moan even louder.

—You are such a beautiful mess... —Lust and desire dripped from his words, he wasn't lying, having you like this under him and causing your screams was almost enough to make him finish inside you but he refrained from doing so, he wanted to keep taking you —You will be completely mine for this night.

He put one of his hands on your neck and squeezed lightly, cutting off your air flow and causing you to moan muffledly. The speed of his thrusts slowed down a little only to pick it up again and after a few seconds you reached your climax.

—¡Oh fuck! —You screamed as soon as you finished and your legs shook, however a soft squeal left your lips when you felt him hot sperm fill you.

It felt so good, this was definitely better than those crappy, boring games.

In-ho was breathing heavily and his face was completely red but he still didn't want to let you go, he had already tasted you and now he wanted more.

They both wanted to continue.

So you didn't refuse when he pulled out of you and made you get off the couch just to kneel in front of him.

—I have never knelt before any man —You said confidently and with an arrogant smile on the side.

—There's always a first time —He wrapped his hand in your hair and settled back with his legs spread on the couch —Now open that pretty little mouth.

You obeyed him without objection and when he could feel your warm mouth around his member it made him throw his head back with a moan.

It would be a long and entertaining night.

Now you can make sure you don't miss any year of these games and he'll be more than happy to give you that pleasure you longed for.

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner

@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.

Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose

Rating: explicit -

kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)

thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.

w/c : 9k (whoops)

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.

authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.

The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.

The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.

It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.

He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.

Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.

You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.

It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!

He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.

Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…

Yes, he would. He's a man.

"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.

The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.

As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.

It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.

It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.

Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.

He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.

"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.

It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—

Goner!

Splat!

"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.

People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.

It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.

Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.

You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.

Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.

Remember that time he took a nap?

"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"

It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.

"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.

His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..

Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.

Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!

"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."

Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!

That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.

Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.

Just to sit in his chair.

The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.

The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.

Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.

Good-fucking-riddance.

"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"

Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.

Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.

Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.

It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.

It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.

Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.

He continues to sneak very quietly.

Can't hide from us.

"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.

Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.

It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.

Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.

Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.

"He sure can't."

Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.

When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.

Not again.

"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.

There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.

Probably get gutted like a pig.

Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.

You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.

Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.

"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.

Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?

He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?

Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?

"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.

"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.

You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.

Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.

"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.

He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—

"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.

He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.

"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"

Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"

You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"

Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"

The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.

"—let me go!"

"—stay forever!"

The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"

"Yep!" You exclaim happily.

Did he say that aloud?

"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.

It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.

"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.

"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.

"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.

"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.

"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.

"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.

He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.

Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.

If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.

Now look at him, upside down!

"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.

"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.

"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.

"Wait! Wait—"

Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!

It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.

Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.

"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—

He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.

Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.

He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!

Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.

You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.

Yeah, ya' did good, kid.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."

You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.

Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.

"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—

Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.

The sweet voice is right!

Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.

"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles. 

He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again. 

When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him. 

He's also awake. 

"Hi, Mist—"

"Let me go." 

"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"

Mister-man stares at you.

"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger. 

"Let. Me. Go." 

You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna." 

"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls. 

You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him. 

"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"

"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister." 

His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?" 

"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.

"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.

"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"

"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.

Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.

"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.

Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.

Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"

"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."

"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.

"Maybe a little embarrassed--"

"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.

"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."

"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"

"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"

"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.

"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.

"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.

Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.

"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."

With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound. 

It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody. 

It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.

Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut. 

He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.

The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.

He's taking your breath away... how romantic.

The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.

Guilt. You should just kill him right now--

"Hurt him?"

Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.

Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.

Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.

He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...

Because she tied him up--

As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.

How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?

"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!

"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.

"Do I need to get the brick again?"

Joel stops shouting.

He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.

You're being so, so gentle!

He's acting like a giant baby.

"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.

He'll forgive you, Sugar.

Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.

"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.

"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.

"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.

Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.

"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."

"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.

There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.

Sug, he's so pretty.

Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.

"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.

"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.

"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."

Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.

"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.

"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.

Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"

The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.

"Where would I find meat?"

Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"

You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"

Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.

"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.

"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.

Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.

He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.

"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.

Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.

An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.

"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."

"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.

"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"

"What kinda movies ya' got?"

He wishes he never asked.

You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.

Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.

What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.

Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.

"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.

Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.

Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.

No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?

Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.

You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.

"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.

"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."

"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.

His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.

You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.

"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"

Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.

Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.

Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?

Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.

He could have really hurt her, are you serious?

He's just nervous! Give the man a break--

Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-

"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.

He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"

His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.

"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."

"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.

"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"

Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!

The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.

He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.

"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.

"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.

"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."

Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.

When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.

"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"

"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"

"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."

Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.

Hit him.

It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.

"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.

The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.

Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!

"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.

Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.

"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.

Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.

"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."

The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.

"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"

Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.

How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.

"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."

"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."

Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.

He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.

"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."

God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.

The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.

"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."

"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.

"Still hurts."

Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.

"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.

"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.

"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.

You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.

"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.

"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"

"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.

"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.

"Not lyin'-"

You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--

"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."

"Fine."

You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.

As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.

You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.

Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.

Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.

The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.

"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!

That was your least favorite eye!

Kill. Him.

When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.

You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.

When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.

Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.

You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.

"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"

While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.

Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.

He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.

The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.

The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!

You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.

He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!

You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"

His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.

He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.

It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.

"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."

You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.

But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.

Oh Sug, he's down bad.

Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.

He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?

"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.

Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.

The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?

There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.

Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!

Why is he so upset!?

Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.

Soon.

Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.

He's just gotta wear something else first.

You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.

He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.

"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.

He's going to try-- he always does.

Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.

"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."

Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.

It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.

"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"

omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x stripper fem!reader

Mini-series summary: When Tangerine opened an underground strip-club to cover for his murder-for-hire business operation, he wasn't expecting to become so easily distracted by one girl in particular.

Chapter summary: Accidentally walking into something you shouldn't have causes you to learn about Tangerine's real business, effectively creating a rift between you and him (4.8k) + epilogue (1.6k)

Warnings: blood, violence, slut shaming, murder, drugs, alcohol, guns, illusions to sexual assault and mentions of death but nothing happens, still a happy ending!

credit : @little-miss-dilf-lover 🤍🤍 thank you endlessly!

BAD FOR BUSINESS MASTERLIST

You're sitting on Tangerine's desk during your break. He's working on his laptop, listening to you blabber with intention, only half focused on his work. Instead, his focus is drawn to the way you cross your legs, the baby-blue babydoll dress you're wearing tonight hugs your curves and that bow in your hair is making him lose focus. 

You've barely touched your yogurt and Tangerine flips a page, interrupting you: "You should eat, love." He reminds you and you nod, taking another spoonful. 

"And then Nicola told him to fuck off," you continue, through your mouthful, "which was hilarious. You should have seen his face! Scummy bastard! Annette and I were laughing so hard," you laugh at your own story. Tangerine seems a little less amused. 

"Is Nicola okay? Customers should not be making comments like that."

You smile a little, placing your yogurt on his desk and leaning closer to him. One of your heels rests on his chair now, your hand playing with his hair. "She's fine, babe, you know we can take care of ourselves."

Tangerine looks up now, his gaze stern. "Yeah, I know," he says and then sighs, "I just worry."

"I know," you laugh and kiss his cheek. You sit up and jab your spoon into your yogurt again. "Honestly, I don't even know why you do this job. You hate anything to do with this business."

Tangerine is quiet. He turns to his laptop again, your words sinking in. If only you knew, he thinks.

"I don't hate you," he says softly, almost embarrassed. He feels shitty. He wishes he could tell you the truth about what this is, and he wishes he could officially ask you to be his girl. He wishes for a lot of things he can't fulfill. 

Not now. 

You smile, opening your mouth to say something else, when the door suddenly swings open. Startled, you stand up and adjust your little dress, suddenly self-conscious at being caught in your boss's office during your break. No one usually comes in, especially unannounced. 

Tangerine stands as well, discreetly putting himself in front of you as a tall, lanky man dressed in a grey suit walks in. His hair is jet black and he has rectangular glasses perched on his nose that hide a dark pair of eyes. He looks a little older than Tangerine, maybe mid-thirties, and he pauses when he sees you. 

"Fucking our employees now, Tangerine," the man smirks. You recognize him as the other boss. He's barely around anymore, but you remember meeting him on your first week.

Unlike Tangerine, this man has always make your stomach feel queasy. 

You tense a little and grab your yogurt from the desk you now realize Tangerine most likely shares with this man. Tangerine looks even tenser than you are and he turns to you, sending you a look that you read as "Go. Please." 

You nod, quickly walking to the door and down the stairs. Tangerine relaxes a little once you're out the door but he continues to glare at Leo.

"No one is fucking anyone," he says as calmly as he can. 

"In that suit, I'm not surprised you can't get a girl like her," Leo whistles, dropping his briefcase as he hangs his coat. "Which one was that already? Candy? Diamond? She's smoking hot."

Tangerine holds his tongue. He doesn't want Leo to know of his feelings for you so he just corrects him. "Angel. You should really know our employees' stage names by now."

Leo rolls his eyes as he walks over, picking up a folder. "They're strippers. Who cares?" He reads over the documents and then looks up at Tangerine. "Thanks for taking over when I was away, mate, why don't you go take a break, hm?"

Tangerine's jaw clenches. He hates how Leo thinks he can boss him around when he's always the one doing the work. He hesitates for a moment. Usually, he isn't afraid to call Leo out on his bullshit but he has more important things to worry about than his ego. He wants to check on you. 

He didn't even get to kiss you goodbye. 

"Oi, T," Leo calls just as Tangerine walks out the door. Tangerine groans and peeks his head back into the room, an annoyed look on his face. "Meeting tonight, remember?" Leo's words ring in Tangerine's ears and his expression falters for a moment. 

He'd completely forgotten. 

"Ya, I remember," he says roughly, his voice strained as he ignores the impending doom he feels in his stomach as he turns to rush down the stairs to find you.

* * * 

You slip on your mary-janes, grab your woolen coat, and hurry out the door. It's late and you're the last girl here. You've been having this awful habit of daydreaming lately, your stomach filled with butterflies as you remember Tangerine's lips on yours, his hands caressing your skin. You shake the thoughts, turning to lock the backroom with the spare keys you have. 

You hum, thinking back to the words Tangerine had whispered in your ear when he'd found you after you'd hurried from his office. You make me happy. You feel your cheeks warm as you remember the quick kiss he'd given you in the dark corner near the bathroom and how stupid it is that he manages to make that sketchy corner into something so romantic. 

You'd usually leave from the backdoor, but tonight you decide to walk through the lounge in case Tangerine hasn't gone home yet. Sometimes, he waits for you without even needing to be asked. However, this time, the lounge is empty.

You look up, seeing that the blinds to Tangerine's office are shut but that the light is on. You can see faint movement behind the blinds and the movements pique your interest. 

Is Tangerine working late?

It hadn't even crossed your mind to remember Leo's arrival just a few hours earlier. 

You walk up the stairs, holding your bag over your shoulder. You can hear hushed voices; multiple male voices you don't recognize and your stomach flips with nerves. You know you should turn around, you really should, but you don't.

You're too curious. 

The office door isn't fully closed and without thinking, you gently push on it with your open palm, freezing when you peer inside. There are four men in the room; all of them are large and scary with various guns displayed on their bodies. They're laughing obnoxiously, discussing something about a latest kill.

You bite the inside of your cheek, scanning the room as you listen in. You see Tangerine and Leo in the center, leaning over the desk as they look at what appears to be plans of some sort. More guns lay on the desk and the entire room smells like smaok and drugs. 

"40 million quid for three men dead, easy," one man laughs, flicking his cigar into the ashtray. 

Leo chuckles, clapping Tangerine on the back. "What do you say, mate? Sounds like a good one, hm?"

Tangerine nods, still looking over the plan, his eyebrows pinched. "I suppose three kills is simple."

You're frozen in shock. Kills? 40 million? Your mind can't seem to wrap your head around what's happening. You look at Tangerine and for the first time in weeks, you don't recognize the man you're looking at. You back up, holding your breath. 

You need to get out of here. 

"Bloody hell, who do we have here?" A man's hoarse voice echoes around the room and suddenly, his hand is wrapping around your arm and dragging you inside.

Your bag falls to the ground. You let out a gasp, squirming in the man's grip but he holds you still. He's much taller than you and much stronger. He smells like alcohol and you can see the gun on his hip and you hold your breath in fear. 

The men whistle at your entrance, laughing amongst themselves. The only man who isn't finding this amusing is Tangerine; he's tense, his dark blue eyes locked with yours as he wears an expression you can't read, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly. 

"Oh, look who it is, it's Angel again," Leo barks a cruel laugh, sauntering around the desk as he approaches you slowly. His hand raises and he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. You wince, pulling away from his touch as if he's burning you and Leo pouts, faking pity. 

"This one of yer strippers?" a man asks. He's much older than the others, his hair whitening, and he's grinning at you like one of your customers would. 

Leo nods, wrapping his hand in your hair to keep you from squirming again. "Yup," he pops the "p" and grins, "Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em."

Tears brim in your eyes at the implication. What had he told them? You look at him, watching him just stand there. He hasn't moved or said a word.

You're shaking now, terrified at being trapped in this situation. You aren't usually helpless but they're outnumbering you, and they have guns. 

Leo pulls on your hair a little, making you gasp in pain again. The other man wraps his arm around your waist, grinning. 

"You shouldn't have wandered in here, little mouse," Leo whispers. He smiles when he sees the tears on your cheeks. "Because you know what this means, hm? Can't have you scurrying off and snitching on us—"

Your eyes widen and you squirm harder. "No-no-no please, I won't tell anyone! Please. Tangerine!" You sob, angling yourself towards Tangerine as you try and yank yourself out of the man's grip.

The other men look towards him. "Ya close with the stripper?" One snarls, his smirk evident.

Leo keeps his hand in your hair, pulling on it to shut you up. You muffle your sobbing in fear of angering them anymore. Tangerine doesn't speak, his gaze intense, and the men take that as a no. Leo turns to you again and laughs. "Such a shame. She's so pretty. She must bring us a lot of money."

"Can I have a turn with her before we kill her?" The man holding your waist asks, earning some raucous laughter and agreement from the others and you feel defeated. You keep looking at Tangerine, pleading with your eyes as you cry softly.

Leo untangles his hand from your hair and nods. "Sure, have your fun, boys. I don't fuck used goods," he laughs cruelly and embarrassment washes over you. "Now, where were we?" He looks at the plans again, clearly disinterested in what's happening to you.

The man holding you slides his hand up your stomach but before he can touch you more intimately, Tangerine's voice interrupts; "No," he says plainly. You sniff, struggling weakly now as it hurts to move in the men's arms. You watch him take his gun and slide it into the waistband of his trousers behind him. Leo looks up, confused. 

"My turn," Tangerine says, walking over and snapping his fingers. The men release you, making it clear Tangerine has authority. Your stomach sinks. Why hadn't he helped you then? You glance between him and Leo, not completelyunderstanding the dynamic, but as soon as you're not being held, you make a run for it. 

You don't get very far because Tangerine grabs you and holds you close to him. You cry, hitting him as you scream and thrash against his body.

"Let me go! Please! Please!" Your head is spinning and everything begins to hurt. You can smell his cologne, a smell that was so familiar and reassuring now feels tainted and wrong. When he wraps his hand around your mouth, you gasp for air and dig your nails into his wrist, drawing blood. He hisses in pain but only tightens his hold on you. 

"Shut up," he growls in your ear. You can hear his heart thumping in his chest and you begin to calm down so that you can breathe properly. 

The other men watch in amusement. "Feisty little mouse," one exclaims. They all laugh.

"I'll take care of her," Tangerine says hoarsely, breathing heavily, still holding you so you don't move and the more he speaks, the harder you want to cry, "This little slut has been teasing me for weeks. She owes me," he pauses, and his voice is a little shaky, "and then I'll get rid of her."

The other men seem disappointed but Leo smirks, "No funny business, hm?"

Tangerine nods, his voice steady. "No. I'll be back in an hour." 

The men all laugh and whistle and Tangerine presses his lips to your ear. "Don't scream when I move my hand, okay? Please." He whispers the last part for only you to hear and your chest tightens. Your vision is blurred with tears but when he removes his hand, you find yourself obeying him.

Some desperate part of is still hoping he'll save you. 

He's rough as he yanks you with him down the stairs. Dread fills you and you start crying again, trying desperately to run in the opposite direction. Tangerine doesn't reprimand you for the noise as he pulls out outside and into a small alley near the bulging, the door slamming shut behind you. You're not screaming anymore, only crying. 

"Please don't hurt me," you sob, trembling as he pushes you against the brick wall. "Please," you plead with him. Tangerine doesn't answer but his gaze is dark. He reaches behind him and grabs his gun, unlocking it. You break down in tears, your hands shaking.

You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting him to press the barrel to your head, but instead, you feel his familiar warmth as he rests both hands against the wall near your head, and his forehead hovers over yours as he inhales shakily. You hiccup, still very obviously terrified. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his hands curling into fists on the wall. "I'm so sorry." 

You choke on a sob.

Tangerine pulls away, his hand hovering over your cheek as if he wants to wipe your tears away but instead, he drops it to his side and looks into your eyes. "Run. Go home," he pauses and you can see that his own eyes look glossy with tears. "Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel," he says.

Your voice is caught in your throat.

"I love you," he continues and you just stare at him. You're unable to move. You don't know how to process any of this information. 

Tangerine panics and slams his hand on the wall. "Go! Now!" he screams and you gasp, tears falling down your cheeks as you push past him and run down the dark street, not even knowing where you're running to and you don't look back. You feel queasy and you can't wrap your head around what just happened as the scene replays in your head. 

Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em.

I don't fuck used goods.

Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel.

I love you.

Back in the alley, Tangerine punches into the brick wall with a quiet shout. 

* * *

Tangerine slams the door to his apartment, cursing loudly as he throws off his blazer. His eyes are bloodshot and he sniffles, sinking into his favorite armchair and holding his head in his hands. Tangerine doesn't cry. He hasn't cried in years, but for the first time, he can't help himself. 

"What happened?" Lemon yawns, clearly having been woken up by the door slamming. When he sees the state his brother is in he pauses, his expression twisting. He stands in front of the armchair, unsure how to deal with this. 

"T," he begins. 

"She walked in on us," Tangerine states, his voice trembling. He fists his hair in his hands, clearly frustrated. "Y/n. She heard everything and they– they– scared 'er. They hurt 'er and I- just stood there and did absolutely fuckin' nothing!" 

Lemon is quiet as Tangerine stands and begins to pace the living room. He doesn't know how to help. "Tangerine," he tries again, walking closer, "It's okay. You couldn't have done anything– not with Leo and the others in the room—she'll understand—"

"Understand?" Tangerine spits, his anger only directed at himself, "She can't come back to work, because of this. I had to make the think I- I- killed her. God, Lemon, I can never see her again. I ruined everything. But, I couldn't hurt her. I could never hurt her. I- she– she might call the cops on us—"

Lemon grips his nape, holding him still. "Y/n wouldn't tell anyone." 

Tangerine stares into his brother's eyes. "She would have every right to, Lemon. And that's not the point, I— They– fuck–"

He breaks down, remembering your scared expression and how he had done nothing, and leans his head on Lemon's shoulder. "I ruined the only good fuckin' thing I had going for me. I really fucked up."

Lemon just holds him, not sure what to do or say to make this better. 

* * *

You've been spending the last four days in bed, crying your heart out. You've shut your phone off. You've been ignoring all the worried texts and calls from your friends, missing all your uni classes and of course, missing your job. 

Don't come back.

Tangerine's words ring in your ears and you press a pillow against them, curling up in a ball. You've been feeling sick since the encounter, remembering the men and their words and the implications of their words. The way they looked, the way they talked, how they tried to touch you.

Tangerine was a criminal, they'd been preparing a kill. He kills people. You can't seem to wrap your head around it. Sure, he was always a little cold and he seemed extra gentle with you as if he was making up for something, but you would have never imagined this. 

You sob harder into your pillow, your heart breaking. 

A few hours later, you're in your kitchen when you hear the knock on your door and you pause. Your heart leaps. You're in an old, paint-stained shirt, and some worn-out sleep shorts. You hear the knock again and pause again. This time, you hurry across the floorboards and peek through the peephole. Your breath hitches in your throat and you frown. 

You unlock the old latch from your old apartment door and open it. "Hello?"

Lemon tilts his head, catching your eye, "Hey," he says sheepishly, holding up a box that you assume contains a pastry. "Can I come in?"

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Lemon wasn't in the room that night. He might not be involved. You know that's probably bullshit but curiosity gets the better of you again.

Plus, he has food and you're starving.

You open the door and let him in, holding out your hand for the pastry. Lemon smiles and hands it to you. He motions to the dining room and you nod. He follows you and you grab a fork silently, sitting down at your small table and opening the box.

You read the label; it's from your favorite bakery. The one you'd taken Tangerine to one weekend, on one of the outings you'd never outwardly said was a date. Inside is a chocolate croissant, your favorite, and your stomach twists. 

You look up at Lemon who sat down in the chair opposite yours and he sends you a small smile. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Lemon nods. "He didn't think you'd want to see him."

You fiddle nervously with the box. "I don't want to see him," you say, your voice shaking a little. 

Lemon nods again, clicking his tongue and looking down. "Listen, I know you're scared but my brother isn't a bad guy. He isn't. And he cares for you. A lot." 

Tangerine's three-word confession rings in your ears and you can't deny the truth in Lemon's words. Still, you don't succumb that easily as your eyebrows crinkle. 

"If he cares for me, as you say, he would have spoken up for me in that room."

Lemon sighs, "It isn't that simple. Tangerine and Leo–they have a complicated history and it would have been even more dangerous to speak out in a room full of—"

"Criminals," you finish for him, nodding. You close the pastry box, staring at Lemon with a hard expression. "You weren't there, Lemon. You can't understand how scary it was to be surrounded by a bunch of dangerous men, realizing you can't even trust the one man you thought you could."

Lemon listens, his gaze stuck on yours.

"Frankly, I don't think even think he meant it when he told me he loves me—"

Lemon's face twists and he shakes his head, clearly confused. "He told you he loves you?"

You pause, fiddling with the box again. "Yeah he did but—"

"No—no, my– my brother, he doesn't just say that to anyone. He doesn't say it if he doesn't mean it," Lemon says and you become quiet, hearing the solemn and serious tone in his voice, "And I know he fucked up, but now i really fuckin' think you should hear him out. He's outside, by his car. You should talk to him. And if you never want to see either of us again after, I promise we'll leave you alone. I promise, Y/n." 

You ponder his words, looking up at him. Some part of you wants to ignore the knowledge that Tangerine is downstairs, waiting for you. You want to push him away, tell Lemon to fuck off and to never think about them again, but that's impossible. 

I love you.

Tangerine's words are engraved in your memory. You can still feel his lips on your skin, the way he touches you with care, the way he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters. Your heart warms, just remembering how sweet he was.

And then you remember his hand covering your mouth, his harsh words, and your stomach drops.

You take a breath, grounding yourself. You don't know what to do, but some twisted fucked up part of you knows that if you don't go down and at least talk to him, you'll regret it forever. 

"Okay," you say seriously and stand, walking into the living room and grabbing a hoodie. "One chance," you add, grabbing your keys. You lock your door behind you and then walk down the stairs behind Lemon.

Once the outside air hits your skin, you pause. Tangerine is standing by the car, just like Lemon said, and when he hears the door open he turns expectantly. 

"What did she—" his voice falters when he sees you behind his brother. "Oh."

You're silent as you keep a distance from him. Lemon senses the tension and clears his throat. He excuses himself and turns to take a walk. Tangerine watches him leave, half hoping he'd stay. He turns to you again and shame contorts his expression. He walks forward only to have you back up against the building. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Tangerine whispers, his voice quivering. 

You glare at him, tightening your arms around you. The noise of the city fades into the background as you process his words. You shake your head, your voice is strained and you hope he can't tell you might burst into tears at any moment. 

"How can I believe you? You lied." 

Tangerine shakes his head. "I never lied to you."

"Well, you kept something from me! Something big!" you argue, your sadness turning into anger and when he walks forward again, you meet him and stab your hand in his chest, "Don't pretend you didn't have any opportunities to tell me! And don't pretend you didn't think I would have liked to know this is who my boyfriend really is!" 

Tangerine blinks, his tongue skimming over his lips at the word boyfriend.  

You stutter, "Potential boyfriend. Someone I was seeing—"

"I know," he interrupts you, running a hand in his hair. "I know I should have told you. I should have warned you before I started to become involved with you, okay? But can you blame me?"

"Well no," you interrupt and roll your eyes, "if I was a killer I wouldn't want anyone to know—"

Tangerine shakes his head, his gaze hard. "Y/n. It was never about me. I couldn't care less what happened to me. I mean, sure, it would hav' sucked and it will if you do tell anyone, but I truly don't care what happens to me—" his voice sounds stern again and your eyes are locked on his as you listen.

He walks closer and this time, you don't move. "I only cared for you. I care for you. I stayed awake at night dreading the very scenario that fuckin' happened. Imagining you looking at me the way you are now; with fear. Imagining worse— and it tore me up, darlin'." 

You soak in his words, swallowing a lump in your throat. "Then why didn't you stop them? Why pretend to want to hurt me if you love me so much—" The word love falls from your lips and Tangerine's expression visibly tenses. Still, he tries to explain. 

"Love, I had no choice," he says softly, "I was frozen in shock and I couldn't go against everyone in that room. You don't realize how worse that would have made the situation. I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more."

You shake your head, your voice low because of the morning crowd in the street, and add, "No. You had a choice. You always have a choice. You chose to just stand there and then pretend to want to hurt me? Do you realize how fucked up that is?"

Tangerine's jaw tenses and he holds out his hand as if he wants to caress your cheek but he pauses, frowning. He drops his arm.

"You're right. I did make a choice," he admits after a moment, reflecting on your words, "and I did what I thought was my best option in the worst possible situation. I'm really sorry I wasn't what you needed at that moment, and darlin', if I could go back, I'd do anything to prevent you from walking into that room—anything to keep you safe—but I was trying to protect you, even if you can't see it—"

He pauses and you glance at his lips, your gaze flickering to his eyes once more. "And you don't have to forgive me. You can even keep being angry with me. I can live with anger, but I'm here because I don't want there to be a single part of you that thinks I didn't care for you. That I don't care for you, because I do. I just- I want you to know how much I care. How I would never hurt you like they wanted to. Never. I- I adore you, everything about you; how you drive me absolutely mad when you're away and how you involuntarily draw me in with your laughter whenever you're around—

And I'm a smitten fool to think I ever deserved you," Tangerine continues and his voice becomes softer, "I just, please know that my feelings for you are very real. Please know that hurting you like this was the last thing I ever wanted and it will haunt me forever because I love you. I love you so damn much it hurts." 

There is that word again and you pause, heart beating as you listen to him. You find yourself leaning into him and you can clearly see tears in his eyes, threatening to spill at every word. They mirror your own and yet you can't find the words to answer him. 

At least not until he sighs and turns to leave, and your chest tightens;

"No wait," you gasp instinctively, grabbing his wrist so he turns around. When he does, you wrap your arms around his neck, practically throwing yourself into his arms.  

Tangerine's arms tighten across your middle, burying his face in your shoulder as he lets out a shaky breath. "Angel," he whispers as you tighten your hold on him too. 

"I don't forgive you, not completely, not yet," you admit breathlessly, but hold onto him anyways. "But you promise you love me?" You ask in his ear, sounding insecure. "You promise you'll keep me safe? Promise it. Please."

"I fuckin' promise," he says instantly with no hesitation, as he strokes a hand down your hair to soothe you. "I love you. I promise I mean this."

You nod, taking a moment to pause and inhale his cologne. Your mind fills with words from his apology, words that don't feel like empty promises, and instead of the memories from that night, all you feel is safe again.

You pull away and look at him seriously. "And no more pretending you don't want me to be yours, okay? No holding back this time, not now that I know—"

Tangerine nods, his warm hand cupping your cheek, "No more pretending. You're mine. My girl. If you'd still like to be? If you'll have me?" 

You crack a small smile, nodding, "I would like that," you say wearily, still holding back those three little words.

Tangerine understands and doesn't press you. His heart beams, threatening to leap at you as if offering himself. He drops his arms, tightens his hands on your hips, he pulls you in and he presses his lips to yours.

It's delicate and loving and he's taking his time, savoring you. You relax in his arms, cupping his cheek. You can't help but smile against his lips, which causes the same smile from Tangerine and you laugh as he rests his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he whispers again and deep down, you know he truly means it.

FIN ♡

Epilogue - 6 months later

It took a while for your relationship with Tangerine to return to normal. In fact, it took a while for anything to feel normal again. You'd lost your job, having to lay low for three months or so because Tangerine needed Leo to keep thinking you were dead. But he had promised it was going to be easy and over with. He was the one who had records—your real name—Leo didn't, he never did. Tangerine promised there was no way that bastard could reach you. That he wouldn't let him. 

"He's not very bright," Lemon had promised you, not hiding his disdain for the man. 

And you chose to believe them.

It had taken a few months to fully digest Tangerine's career. He's tried to explain the best he could that it wasn't fun for him. That is was his work and he was good at his job. He was good at taking down bastards who deserved it, for one reason or another.

"Think of it like a more illegal version of your future job—executing bastards who deserve it," Tangerine had said nonchalantly.

"A fucked up illegal version," you retorted, sending him a dirty look and Tangerine shrugs, holding your hand and squeezing.

It definitely took a while but eventually, you came to terms with his profession.

Because you'd lost your income, Tangerine had also promised to take care of you until you finished your studies. You ended up staying with him and Lemon after the first two months, and luckily the commute to the university from his apartment was far less distance than from yours.

And anyways, living with Lemon and Tangerine was proving more entertaining than you'd expected.  

"Who hid my toothbrush?!" Lemon grumbles one evening, storming into the kitchen where Tangerine is making his famous pasta sauce. You're reading him your essay and pause, looking up from your laptop. 

"You need it now? We haven't had dinner," you say, glancing at Tangerine with a small smirk as he cuts up some tomatoes. 

Tangerine just rolls his eyes, ignoring his brother as he focuses on not chopping up his fingers. "No one hid your toothbrush, Lemon. We're fuckin' adults, not children," he says and glances at you, reaching over and tapping his finger on the counter near your laptop, "Wanna continue, my love? I'm really liking this one."

You laugh, looking at him with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, I bet you do, babe. It's on organized crime," you turn to look at Lemon, who seems a little less distressed over his toothbrush and now more invested in the conversation as he leans on the counter.

You turn back to Tangerine as he pours the tomatoes into a pan. "Y'know, if I end up working as a lawyer and you got caught for being some criminal mastermind, I could prosecute you."

Lemon barks a laugh, "Oi, don't jinx him!" 

You frown, shaking your head. "I'm not! I'm just saying!"

Tangerine comes up and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Or you could represent me. Y'know, be my lawyer," he says and winks.

"How romantic," Lemon teases and walks over to read your essay over your shoulder. "This shit seems complicated as fuck."

"It is," you say and chew on your pencil as you read the notes you have next to your laptop.

"My smart girl," Tangerine hums, stirring the sauce now as he wipes his hand on his apron. Lemon smirks at him and walks behind him, ruffling his hair a little just to tease him for being such a softie for you. Tangerine pushes him off. 

You're lost in thought, re-reading your essay in your head as the brothers argue playfully in the background. 

Later that night, you're brushing your hair in the mirror while Tangerine trims his mustache. You're unusually quiet and he knows instantly that something is up. Still, he doesn't mention it until the lights are off and you're snuggled against his chest, his arm under your head as he plays with his hair and listens to the ceiling fan.  

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, love?"

You hum, circling hearts on his chest as you snuggle against him. You hold your tongue until he taps your head, prompting you to answer him. "It's nothing," you whisper. 

"Try me," Tangerine says into the darkness, his voice soft. 

"I was joking back then but—what if it happens? What if one day, I have to represent you," you say after a moment of silence, your voice strained. "Or I have to actually prosecute you—"

Tangerine chuckles slowly, still stroking your hair. "I doubt you'll have to do any of those things, darlin', considering we're together—isn't that against your rules?"

You pause, holding him closer. "I mean yes and no but—" you pause, "what if, y-you don't come home because something went wrong or—you actually end up in prison," your voice fades and you go quiet again and Tangerine understands what this is about. He's never actually stopped to think about how you worry for him. How it must weigh on you, learning what you do, and to know all the things that could happen to him. 

"Hey," he says and sits up to turn on the bedside lamp. He pulls you up with him and turns to look at you. "Sweetheart, nothing is gonna happen to me. I'm careful, ya know that." He strokes your cheek, wiping under your worried eyes as he taps your nose. "You have nothing to worry about."

You look at him, still worried. "But, how can you be so sure?"

Tangerine smiles and nuzzles his nose against yours, kissing your lips sweetly. As much as he doesn't want you to worry about him like this, it's kind of endearing. He pulls away and pulls on your bottom lip, smiling. "Because there is nothing in this world that could keep me away from you. I won't let it happen."

His words warm your chest and you smile, leaning into his touch as you kiss him. His hands cup your face as you climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. Your hands find his hair as you kiss him, tasting him as if you're starved of him.

"Promise?"

Tangerine nods between kisses. "I promise, angel." 

You continue to kiss him, occasionally rocking your hips into his as he groans softly into your lips. It's sensual and soft and you're both exhausted. Tangerine runs his hands up your back, holding you. "I love you," he says, sucking love bites onto your neck. 

You hum and say, "I love you," back as you kiss him again and dip down to give him your own set of marks. He groans, happiness filling him as he reaches back for the lamp and manages to turn it off again, plunging you both in darkness again. 

"Mine," he whispers against your hair and you nod. 

"Yours."

* ~ *

my dear reader, this was such a fun mini-series and i am incredibly proud of the writing in this. i really hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it and sharing it with you all! xo

[willowsnook]

Hi,I wanted to request a fluff lando norris x sainz reader.you can make it however you would like.if you can make it amazing and if not, that's ok, also I love your writing <3

lando norris x sainz!reader

A/n: short little blurb

---------------------

"Are you sure it's okay if I stay here?" You asked your brother as he carried your suitcases into his Monaco apartment.

"Of course," he said, scoffing. "It's insulting that you even ask that; you're my sister."

"I know...but I don't want to impose," you said. Carlos set your bag down and brought his hands down to your shoulders.

"You can stay here as long as you want; I'm gone a lot of the time anyways," he said, reassuring you.

Moving in with your brother had not been in the cards for this year, but after you were laid off last month, you couldn't afford to renew your lease for your London apartment, so here you were. There were some good leads for jobs in Monaco, so moving in with Carlos temporarily seemed like a good move. Plus, the country was beautiful.

A few weeks in, you settled into a good routine. You went on a run every morning, followed by yoga, and then you applied for jobs or went in for interviews. You were in the final rounds at several places and felt optimistic. On nights Carlos was there, you hung out with him, but you tried to carve out a new life for yourself in Monaco. You joined a book club at your new favorite bookstore, hung out at the beach, and went to bars alone in hopes of meeting new people.

Carlos was out of town this weekend on a quick trip to see Rebecca, so you had the place to yourself. Declaring it a "self-care" night, you cooked your favorite pasta dish, poured a big glass of wine, and set yourself up to watch your favorite kind of thing on Netflix: a crime documentary.

Not even two minutes in, someone was knocking at the door. Annoyed, you paused the show and tossed the blanket off of you, heading to the door. Swinging it open, you were surprised to see Lando Norris standing there, giving you an equally confused look.

"Is Carlos here?" He asked once he collected himself.

"No, he's in Spain with Rebecca," you told him. "Do you need something?"

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "I just wanted to see if he wanted to grab dinner or something."

You nodded and started to close the door, but Lando stuck his foot out, stopping it.

"Is that pasta?" He said, a hopeful look in his eyes as he looked past your shoulder to the leftovers you hadn't put away yet.

You gently rested your head against the door, closing your eyes before you sighed and fully pulled it open, allowing him to step in.

"I don't even know you," you grumbled as he started towards the kitchen.

"We've met plenty of times y/n," he chirped as he made himself a plate. "What are you watching?"

"A crime documentary," you replied. "Don't you have better things to do on a Friday night? Going to the club? Getting on the sim? Streaming?"

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Watching a crime documentary sounds good. Can I have a glass of wine?”

“Help yourself,” you muttered, moving back to the couch. He downed the pasta and brought a glass with him to the couch, sitting down to join you. Silently you started the documentary and the two of you spent the next hour and a half completely hooked.

“So do you think he did it?” Lando asked as the credits rolled.

“I honestly have no idea, “ you replied thoughtfully.

“I think he did,” Lando said confidently and you laughed at the triumphant look on his face. The two of you had shifted closer to each other during the show, now only a short distance apart. “Every excuse he has is just ‘too perfect.’”

You started to reply but were interrupted by your phone ringing on the coffee table. You threw Lando an apologetic look before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hola y/n, just calling to check in on you,” you heard your brother say over the line.

“Hi Carlos, everything is great. I had to take over your babysitting duties for tonight,” you joked and Lando pouted at you.

“Lando is there?” Carlos asked and you snorted while Lando groaned.

“Yeah, I’ve fed him and entertained him for the night,” you said and Carlos laughed.

“No funny business okay?” Carlos asked and your face flamed red. You mumbled a goodbye to him, ignoring the look of glee on Lando’s face.

“No funny business huh,” Lando said and you flipped him off.

“Are you leaving now? It’s late,” you said and he shook his head.

“Let’s watch another one,” he said and you sighed, but agreed. Handing him the remote, you got up to get a blanket, bringing it back and throwing it over you and Lando. He picked another documentary from the options and you two settled in. You could feel yourself growing sleepier as the show went on and you constantly squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

“Lean on me,” Lando whispered, not taking off his eyes off the screen.

“What?” You whisper yelled back at him. He held his arm up and beckoned you closer . “No funny business Norris.”

“No funny business Sainz,” he said back with an amused grin. Sighing, you moved into him and it was annoying how comfy he was. Snuggling into his chest you tried to stay awake but ended up drifting off. Lando looked down at you with a small smile on his face; little did you know that he already knew Carlos was out of town, he just wanted an excuse to see you.

[miifu666]

Asks you say?

What if Lmk Sun Wukong didnt meet Suklha for the first time until after LMK started? And let's just say he got a little bit obsessed with her. So yandere Sun Wukong (because yanderes are awesome!)

What are your thoughts on that?

PHOENIXXX HIII 🥹🥹🩷🩷

YESSS I LOVE YANDEREEES but i do tend to make them too dead dove- I've thought about it for a while! and made some Yan! Wukong with it! just below the Read more!

(I am having trouble drawing LMK Wukong tbh)

I imagine they met through MK. Particularly meeting through MK causing wreckage and falling through the roof of Suklha meeting her Client. In this case, Suklha isn't Wukong's lawyer and he has no idea who she is.

In a very cartoonish way, Wukong got attracted at first sight. Curious and threatened. The thought of another immortal chasing after MK, his prodigy just to talk about property damage? Thats hilarious! MK was just trying to save the city! This is injustice-!

Okay, maybe he can give her the benefit of the doubt. He hasn't been teaching MK properly. He'll admit, he's not the best teacher to have. He's probably lucky to have MK as his student who's so naive and patient. Naive enough for Wukong to ask who the lady that caught him during their sparring, get his ear talked out about an immortal Lawyer amongst celebrities known as the best of the best. I mean, what kind of monkey king doesn't have her as a lawyer? She's supposed to be the best! He should fire his current one. Yeah that makes sense, its definitely not because so he can get closer to Suklha. Nah, thats too egotistical! Hes a renowned sage! He should know better!

Yet even as he FINALLY joined those "VIP party" hosted by someone he doesn't care enough about, just so multiple well known artists and celebrities can gather and talk nonsense while drinking alcohol. His eyes kept looking around for a blue toned lady, usually his own Lawyer attend these events, something about finding relations and connections.

Eh, he lives in the mountains. His novel is worldwide, he doesn't need those stupid stuff.

He's lucky enough to see his namecard being put beside the person of interest, holding a glass of fine wine. Wearing a new and expensive black outfit, yet similar enough to her usual look.

"Oh? I was expecting your lawyer... is he not coming?"

Hearing her talk about him so fondly made his eyes twitch, blood red sclera affecting his vision. The room is closing in, he can sense everything in it. The chitter chatter, clinking of expensive glass, the pouring of alcohol, and the way Suklha's heavy earrings seemed to shine. Maybe firing the prick wasn't enough, maybe he should've done something more... adequate

All he can do is bite his bottom lip till blood draws out, all this time, such treasure was hiding under his nose. Spending time with his uptight and annoying Lawyer, who does nothing but berates him on not checking his emails and being "unprofessional". His ugly, old-schooled lawyer, got a chance to introduce himself to her?? How...foul

Don't worry, The Monkey King is good at handling business

_________

To those of you who wants to send me asks! I may not answer some of them, but i still appreciate and read all of them!! 🥹🫶 and yes its okay to send ur oc to introduce me to/yap to me abt! Please be mindful of my pinned post!

[tarnishedsilverjewelry]

Hola! Me alegro de ver otro blog de M ^^

Can I request Bi-Han as a parent of a boy or girl around 4 or 5 years old who is very clingy? they don't leave his side and follow him wherever he goes. I love clingy kids, they're so adorable, and I definitely love reading domestic Bi-han.

What fatherhood does to a man

A/n: It’s getting harder and harder to NOT name these ‘The father That stepped up’ guys😭 Also, ah yes the grumpy old man and adopted sunshine child trope my BELOVED!!!! Also I see everyone saying Bi Han is mean and I’ve seen some ppl make him abusive WHICH IS WRONG!!!!! He is raised on tradition!!! Tomas says a line that says “his father’s honor” insisted on taking him in!! HES GRUFF AND A GENTLEMAN!!! HES ONLY MEAN TO HIS BROTHERS🗣️🗣️🗣️….sorry I got a little heated there💔 also also this is based on something saw here (I can’t remember who posted it, sorry) which was like what if Bi Han was pretending and didn’t actually betray his brothers so…yeah

Warnings: Mentioned death, blood and gore. Also angst. Bi Han actually has a heart guys‼️‼️‼️ so maybe ooc and also also no use of Y/n. The child has a name:3

Bi Han stared at the small girl in front of him

She and her family had unfortunately been caught in Lin Kuei battles, which led to the death of her parents by the hands of the enemy clan.

Bi Han stared at her, clutching her fathers cold hand with both of hers begging him to wake up saying that mommy wasn’t waking up either with a blood covered blanket and two stuffed animals crammed under her arms. One bright pink winged-cat plushy and a pastel pink and pastel purple unicorn with holographic tinsel in its mane

Bi Han sighed, and walked towards her, going in his knees to seem less scary. “Child, your parents will not wake..I…I’m sorry.” She turned to him, tears pouring out of her eyes and in a shakey voice asked “Why not?” Bi Han sucked in a breath.

He was a man most acquainted with seeing gore and death. Seeing bodies and blood with nothing new to him, but she couldn’t be older than 4. She’d lived in a secluded house with her parents and farm animals, and he doubted they would slaughter the animals in front of her.

“They…were caught in the cross fire. And unfortunately they have ascended to the heavens, and cannot bring you with them.” How he wished his brothers were here. He was raised to see emotions has weak as the future Grandmaster. “But they will watch over you and guide you as best they can from where they are.” He added quickly, remembering the line from the day Tomas was brought home

The girl nodded, and looked back at her parents corpses. “Oh. So I’m all alone?” Bi Han shook his head. “No, if you allow me to..I will take care of you. I know I will never replace your parents, but I will try to raise you fairly.” The blue ninja awkward opened his arms for her, and she collapsed in them sobbing.

Bi Han would normally be annoyed with the child, but now seeing a girl so young lose her whole life in one night by the enemy…he couldn’t even imagine being upset with her. Not when she got snot and tears on his uniform (not the shoulder he didn’t want to accidentally hurt her with the pointed shoulders), or when she asked him to gather what little remained of her old life.

When Tomas bright with him a small box of memories from his old family—he’d scoffed at it. Tomas would be a Lin Kuei now, he had a new family now. What did he need with memories from before?

But now? Now he understood. Bi Han helped her find what remained from her old room—A few pink floral pillow, 3 hand made quilts, a set of slightly burnt ice skating gear, and more stuffed animals—before finding a box large enough to fit what little was salvageable. When something caught his eye. On the floor was a fallen bookcase, and strewn across the floor were pictures of her parents.

Bi Han asked her if she’d like them, and she nodded trying to wiggle out of his grip. “No, there is glass on the floor. You don’t have shoes on, you could be hurt.” She nodded, sulking only slightly. Bi Han set the box down and helped her pick out 5 pictures of her parents, and 3 of all three of them. He even managed to find two fairly large photo albums that were fairly good condition to take too.

“Bi Han?!” Finally, his brothers were here. The girl whimpered slightly and leaned back against him. “It’s alright. It is only my brothers.” He assured her quietly, repacking her things before walking out. “Brother wh—“ Kuai Liang stopped short seeing the girl tear streaked face and covered in soot and blood. “Oh dear..” he muttered, walking forward.

Tomas followed him, reaching out for the box Bi Han held. “Hello there,” He smiled slightly at her “my name is Kuai Liang. What is yours?” She peered up at Bi Han who nodded slightly at her “Chao-Xing.” She muttered, cuddling further into his elder brother. “How old are you, Chao-Xing?” Tomas asked softly. “I turned 4 yesterday.”

Bi Han silenced their bubbling questions, looking down at the uncomfortable girl who was growing more and more tired. “Enough questions, let’s head back. She is tired.” He said firmly, taking the lead of the group who nodded.

They arrived at camp in two hours, and would be back at the compound the next afternoon if they left before first light. “Grandmaster!” Sektor called loudly, drawing attention. Chao-Xing stirred slightly, and Bi Han silenced her with a glare. “Quiet, Sektor. We will talk soon.” He growled, breezing past her heading for the tent that had been set up for him.

Bi Han tucked her into his bed, leaving the box of her things at the foot of the bed and left guards with stern orders to find him if she startled awake. Then he left to find Sektor and his brothers.

That night, he slept in the chair in his large tent, and when he woke Chao-Xing was curled up in his lap. Bi Han picked her up and wrapped her up in the small throw blanket that was on his bed to keep her warm on the journey.

He oversaw the clan packing up tents as the sun rose, and when Chao-Xing woke up he plated her some breakfast and ate with her on his right knee. The journey to the compound was quick, Chao-Xing fell back asleep some time before arriving and awoke to him ordering someone to clean her things and take them to her new room.

“Chao-Xing, would you like a tour of the compound? I can show you the gardens?” Kuai Liang offered, and she nodded somewhat hesitantly. “Not yet, she needs lunch first. And then she’s getting her measurements taken for new clothes, and then a trip to the medics.” Bi Han told his brother. Hua frowned. “No shots?” She asked quietly. “If they aren’t needed, then no.” She seemed satisfied with that, and let Bi Han take her to wherever her lunch was

After her trip to the doctors, where she thankfully got not shots, Kuai Liang and Tomas took her around the compound and ended the tour in the flower gardens. Chao-Xing enjoyed the gardens, mainly for the koi pond in it.

“Careful Chao-Xing! Don’t fall in!” Tomas laughed, gently pulling her away from the edge of the pond “I like fishes. Pretty.” She replied, looking at the fish in awe. “Yes they’re quite pretty, aren’t they? Maybe in the morning you can come out here and help feed them.” Kuai Liang said, enjoying the way her smile widened

At dinner time, Bi Han found them laying in front of the koi pond with Chao-Xing between his brothers. “Chao-Xing, dinner.” He said, voice surprisingly gentle. She stood up and ran over to him, talking about how pretty the fish were. “Yes the fish are very pretty.” He agreed, eyes drifting to his brothers in silent thanks.

Kuai Liang talked about her possibly feeding the fish, which made her perk up. So of course he agreed, and said he’d do it with her. But only if she ate her veggies at dinner. She poured up at him, but he managed to keep strong against her puppy dog eyes

Tomas struggled to not point out how easily he took to fatherhood.

Weeks passed, and soon Chao-Xing had been here a full month. It became routine for Bi Han to wake up to her curled up in his bed, and before breakfast they would feed the koi fish together. Then he’d help her chose an outfit and get dressed, go eat breakfast and train while Chao-Xing did her lessons

Chao-Xing proved to be a very smart girl, and finished her lessons an hour early every day (unless it was cursive then she finished her lessons on time) and always watched him train with his brothers

Then it was time for lunch, after which Bi Han would take her to the sides of the training grounds and meditate with her before teaching her basic stances for kombat. After that, she really had free rein to do anything within reason. But she chose to follow him around quietly.

Her wide eyes never strayed far from him, she even would sit outside his office during meetings. He would exit to see her staring up at him, pink winged cat plush in hand. She was always hot on his heels, and he didn’t mind too much. She was 4, and lost her family in a very traumatic situation. He couldn’t understand fully, but he could be sympathetic.

One night when he was tucking her in, and checking for monster per her request he asked her. “Why do you not sleep in your bed? I don’t mind waking up to you in my bed, I’m only wondering.” Chao-Xing sniffled and admitted “I keep getting afraid you’ll go where mommy and daddy went. And I’ll be alone.” Bi Han swallowed thickly. “Even if I did go there, which I’m not, you would still have the Lin Kuei to look after you, and Kuai Laing and Tomas to care for you.” She smiled a little at him. Bi Han smiled back.

He didn’t mind when he’d wake up in the middle of the night to her gentle knocks, when her night terrors got bad, when she followed him around, watched him train even though she seemed to hold little interest in becoming a ninja like him.

He didn’t mind, but others did apparently

His brothers made no comment about it, mainly because they had seen Tomas in the same way for many years. But Sektor had made a small comment about it. “I never understood why parents allowed their child to cling to them in such a way.” Chao-Xing tilted her head at the words, eyes dampening with sadness. “Well I’m sure that the parents don’t mind. They are their children, after all.” He growled, eyes narrowing at her.

Chao-Xing may not have understood the message, but Sektor did.

‘Never talk like that about my daughter again’

BONUS! DIALOGUE BETWEEN KOMBATANTS

Bi Han: You were so easy to trick

Shang Tsung: You are weak to think of a child over greatness

Shang Tsung: My offer still stands, with your power our victory will be assured!

Bi Han: I would never betray my family for your petty lies

Liu Kang: I did not take you for the kind for fatherhood

Bi Han: neither did I

Bi Han: was there a chance I would betray my family in this timeline?

Liu Kang: Your daughter changed the timeline in more ways than one

Kuai Liang: I never thought I would be an uncle

Bi Han: I never though I would be a father

Bi Han: I apologize for making you think I would betray you, brother

Kuai Liang: Just tell me your plan next time, and I’ll be happy.

Tomas: What does Chao-Xing want for her birthday?

Bi Han: She keeps asking for a puppy, which she won’t be getting

Bi Han: I apologize for making you think I would betray you, brother

Tomas: I forgive you brother, just warn us next time.

[halfmoonshines]

marc spector/steven grant/jake lockley x reader

summary: you loved all of your boys equally. most days.

or; they're all amazing in their own ways, but definitely have their strong suits.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You were going to strangle Marc Spector, you were sure of it. You were also sure that Steven would forgive you, and Jake probably wouldn't bat an eye.

How many times had you told this man that you had a laundry basket for a reason? Fist of Vengeance or not, his socks still stunk and you were getting tired of padding around the apartment twice a week collecting them all.

You slammed the washer door shut a little too hard just as you heard the front door open and click shut.

"I'm home, love! They had a great deal on your favorite cream cheese at the shops." Steven's honey accent pierces the quiet of your anger and you immediately simmer; his sunny disposition a cold water on your raging fire. You had nearly forgotten that he was the one who went to the store.

"That's great." You said as you rounded the corner, a smile on your face.

Steven paused in his unloading the groceries, a furrow creasing his brow. "Are you alright, sweets? You look tense." He crossed the small kitchen over to you, hands settling lightly on your shoulders. Leave it to Steven to see the slightest bit of tension in you.

You have a loving eye roll, moving closer to wrap your own arms around him. "I'm okay, Steven. Just slightly peeved at Marc for being so messy."

His hold dropped to your waist and he rested his chin on top of your head, a mirthful chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "That he is, love. Right disgusting bugger. Shall we do something about him?"

"I thought you wouldn't take kindly to me choking him with the next dirty sock I find."

"I'm sure I can look the other way."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

"You're being ungrateful, you need to actually listen to me-"

Conversations with your mother never went over well, but this time you were well tired of listening to it.

"I am not being ungrateful, Sharon. I'm being realistic. Don't call me again." You slammed the phone down with a force, shaking the glass of water you had perched on the dining table. You winced, knowing that smart phones weren't made to take that kind of beating but you were far past the point of caring.

She always knew how to rile you up; to upset you and make you feel guilty. You didn't even know why you bothered to pick up her calls anymore. Some sick sense of ownership.

The hands that turned you were warm and familiar, the chest that greeted you smelling of musk and pine.

"You want to talk about it?" Marc's voice made you wince. Steven was the one that left the house this morning, you hadn't been aware that they planned to switch. You hated talking about this stuff with Marc, knowing full well it never compared to the relationship he suffered with his own mother.

You gave a shake of your head and met his dark brown gaze. "It's fine, babe. Same old attitude."

Marc's smirk lacked the usual humor. He raised one of his hands to twirl a loose piece of your hair, tracing the movement with his eyes. "You know you don't have to bottle it up, right? How you feel is important. Don't ignore that just because I have my own issues."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's quite the self aware statement, Mr. Spector. I'm impressed."

Marc's smile morphed into that familiar one and he returned your earlier eye roll. "Don't deflect. I'm here if you want to talk."

You dropped your hand to his and started to pull him towards the kitchen. "We can talk while we cook. I'm starving."

"I can agree with that."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You were being followed, you were sure of it. You tried not to hasten your steps too much, knowing full well that the person who had been following you for the last six blocks would give chase.

You wouldn't escape them.

You and the boys had obviously gone through this kind of situation before. Being the fist of Khonshu didn't come with a fan club, but it certainly did build a repertoire of enemies. If they lived, that is.

Your breath was puffing out of you in clouds as you power walked down a road parallel to your own, debating the merits on showing this man where you lived on the off chance that Marc was home.

You could hear the footsteps behind you speed up and you returned it in kind, kicking into a slow jog - all pretense of being unaware going out the window.

You glanced over your shoulder to see the man approaching quickly, and that was the first mistake you made.

The second one was hesitating when another men stepped out of the shadows of a store front. You knocked into him firmly, breath escaping out of your chest while his harsh grip dug into your shoulders.

Oh, you were fucked.

The man who had been following you caught up to you then, hand clasping over your mouth to muffle the strangled scream you had attempted.

Those training sessions in the living room with Jake felt like a distant memory with the blood pumping through your veins. You kicked wildly at the man in front of you, managing to graze that sensitive bit between his legs.

"I'm going to enjoy this so much more now." The accent was Irish, but you were quickly distracted by the large knife he brought up to your throat.

You stopped thrashing, all too aware of the sharp tip of steel biting into the sensitive skin on your neck. A stray tear rolled out of your eye, fate becoming more concrete.

"Hurry it up, Joey. We don't have time to dally."

"Shut yer pipe-" The man holding the knives voice gurgled briefly before he collapsed on the ground in front of you, the tips of crescent moon shaped knives poking out of the front of his chest.

You found him instantly, half masked by the shadows on the street.

"Bloody fuck." The man holding you simply tightened his hold, one hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back. The squeal you gave wasn't by choice but you could see the start that the suited man watching you gave. "Stay over there, white devil, or she will die with me. Do you hear-"

You almost didn't see it, the knife being thrown but it was embedded in the goon's throat before your next breath. He released you all at once and you fell forward from the force, gloved hands catching you before you could hit the pavement.

You were heaving breaths, vaguely aware that you were going into something akin to shock but unable to pull yourself out.

"Breathe, mi corazon. You need to take slow breaths." Jake's own hands were shaking almost imperceptibly, you could tell that he was struggling to keep a lid on his fury.

You dragged in a deep breath through your nose, forcing yourself to sit on it before exhaling. You folded into his embrace, fresh tears springing into your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Jake's scoff was almost offensive. "What the fuck are you sorry about?"

You gestured to yourself haphazardly. "Completely losing my shit the first time that something happens to me."

The suit disappeared then, his bare hand gripping your chin lightly, bringing your gaze to his. There was fire churning there, and you realized you mistook some of his anger. There was fear there too. For you, though. Never himself.

"Don't you ever apologize to me when there's," His hand lowered a bit, ghosting over the line of red that the knife had left on your throat. "Blood dripping down you. Blood that's my fault." You understood then, the hard clench of his jaw. "Mierda, babe. This could've ended so differently."

Your hand wraps around the his wrist, bringing it into your lap, willing him to look at you instead of the wound he was fixated on. "But it wasn't. Because you were here. I'm okay, Jake."

Something flashed in his eyes, and a cloud passed over his face. He was bottling it up, you could tell, but there wasn't much you could do about that right now. "Let's get you home."

You let him help you off the pavement, keeping a grounding hand on his arm. Jake hesitated a moment, question poised on his tongue.

"What is it?"

"Are you sure you're okay? If you want to talk it out, I can step back. It would probably be good to have someone to talk to-"

Your kiss was chaste, but served its purpose of shutting him up. "If I wanted to talk about it, I could do that with you, Jake. You don't need to go anywhere."

"You know I'm not very good at that-"

"You're perfect." You insisted. No room for arguments.

He smiled wryly, arm wrapping around your waist. "How about I run you a bath when we get home and we order some takeout. What are you hungry for?"

"Surprise me."

[reclusive-manwhore]

it's been such an amazing day with your daddy. you and him have been exploring the city, seeing all the sights, and most importantly, flaunting your beautiful body to every attractive man you walk past in the streets as you hold his hand and smile. you can't hide it can you? you just love the attention almost as much as you love his. you'd let any man you desire take you in any way that you'd like... if only your daddy let you.

you walk back to his car with him, your hand still in his, laughing at each other's jokes like you have been all day; you're just such a happy little girl. to have his company, his personality, his voice, his touch, is everything to you. and it doesn't help that he's been teasing you all day with those very things. how you caught him eyeing you up and down as he made those suggestive remarks to you, smiled at every reaction as you blushed and clenched those legs together, when he groped you as he scanned around for any wandering eyes, how it made your skin crawl in the best of ways as you clutched him tighter. you can't help but love everything about him. you'd do anything for him, and you're always dying for more.

you can't even finish putting your things in the trunk before you're all over him, staring into those eyes like, like sapphires, like diamonds piercing into your soul in a way that warms you like no other. the smell of cigarettes and cologne on his body and breath as he leans in for a kiss you so happily accept. and how quickly it escalates with him, how fast you just wrap your arms around him and allow him to take control of you as your tongues interlock, the two of you being one.

next thing you know you're getting shoved in the backseat and spanked. he gets in, grabs you by the hair and without any hesitation, thrusts your mouth right onto his hard, throbbing cock. your eyes roll back and you immediately take it as far down your throat as you can. you don't care how much oxygen you lose, how much you struggle to breath, how bad your eyes water as they tear up with every gag, every time he chokes and slaps your pretty little cheek as a sign you're doing good. your only goal is to please your daddy, because that's all you've ever wanted; a real man, who's proud of his pretty fucktoy.

he pulls you up by your neck to praise you and give you time to get some air. and that's when you both see it; this entire time, there's been some pervert in the car right next to you, watching through tinted glass in the driver's seat like a fucking pervert. you can barely make out his face, but the shape of his mouth in the shadows is telling you he's stroking his dick right now, looking at every single disgusting act you've put yourself through just to please a man... but maybe you wanna please more than just a man now. maybe you were meant for more...

you feel your spine shiver as your daddy rolls the window down, shoving your head out and ordering you to stick out your tongue like a good little whore. the man in the car opens the door, and your suspicions are confirmed as your eyes look him up and down, and you see him clutching himself through his jeans. his eyes are like your daddy's; feral, burning, he wants to take you and gave exactly what daddy has. he'll never have you in that way. but you still want a man to have his way with you, whenever you want. so long as your daddy says you can, right?

"daddy... can i suck his cock please? i love your cock so much, but i'm just such a fucking slut... i was made for men to use me, to hurt me. i want it, i want it so fucking bad. i wanna be a happy girl daddy... can i please?"

he pulls you back inside and wraps you up in his arms from behind, has hand clasped over your mouth as her starts slowly running your clit. you hear the man in the car unbuckle his belt as he steps out and walks over to the window. you lean back to look your daddy dead in the eyes, your cunt a quivering mess, your body writhing in ecstasy. and with his lips against your ears, he tells you:

"you're gonna take his fucking cock. you're gonna let him do whatever i tell him to. and i'm telling him he can stuff your throat and smack that pretty face around all he wants. but these holes are fucking mine. you're mine. i own you, and you obey me. now stick your head out the window and choke on it, you pathetic rapeslut. you're gonna get what you deserve tonight."

[grey-and-lavender]

Baby's first car accident!

I'm fine, I'm shaken up, I need to deal with insurance and I do not want to (More description under the cut).

So one of my new year's resolutions was to take better care of my car. This wasn't part of my plan.

I was driving back home from my parents and I hit a bit of a snow squall. I was taking the highway because the amount of traffic usually leaves better tracks in the snow. I was in the centre lane and debated going to the right lane, but I was behind a transport that was doing a great job of leaving tracks in front of me, so I stayed in the centre lane. We were on a part of the highway that jogs to the right.

The van ahead of me, in the left lane, did not see the jog to the right. He (he walked away, I don't think he even went to hospital so we're good) hit the barrier between east and westbound. His van bounced off the barrier and spun out in between me and the transport.

I braked so hard but there's only so much you can do. I didn't want to turn because it was so snowy and slippery. So uhhh braked. Hit his van, jarred the shit out of my arms and my glasses fell off my face. I called 911 because we were stuck on a high way. The most panic inducing part was I couldn't see until the cops showed up and one managed to find my glasses behind my drivers seat. Evidently I wasn't going that fast when I hit him (I wasn't driving that fast because of the weather and I braked so hard) because my airbags didn't go off.

Long night. Talked to the EMT, who was lovely, talked to the cop, who was actually ok, had my car towed somewhere, got dropped off at a Wendy's and my parents came and picked me up.

I stayed on the phone with the lover all night (convenient he's still on holiday) and called my insurance provider this morning but I guess they aren't open yet. I am very nervous to talk to insurance. I am sore and nervous and shaky and I have some fantastic bruising from the seatbelt.

Between that and my lost keys I am going to argue that this year has been eventful enough already.

[emjayewrites]

royalty • ibou konaté oneshot

SYNOPSIS: Ibou loves his wife — period, point blank. Part 2 to A King & His Queen

WARNINGS: cursing, mentons of religion, rude/judgmental parents - 18+

TAGLIST: @kj77, @ibouchouchou, @saturnville, @lev-1-1, @irishmanwhore, @certifiedlesbianbaddie, @f1-football-fiend @peyiswriting @tsukishimawhore @themaster-2007blog @sucredreamer @muglermami @rougereds

The notifications wouldn't stop buzzing. Ibou turned his phone face-down on the kitchen counter, but he could still see the ghost of those tweets behind his eyelids.

"Konate disasterclass today" "Man's head's not in the game" "25M down the drain"

He pressed his palms against the cool marble, letting out a slow breath. The match replayed in his mind – that missed clearance, the penalty, the whispers in the tunnel after. Everyone had off days, but this felt different. Heavier.

Upstairs, he could hear Saniya throwing up again. Fifth time today. She'd insisted it was just a stomach bug, but watching her get progressively worse over the past week had him worried sick. Add that to her mother's daily calls…

"Have you taken her to a proper doctor?" Mrs. Okafor had demanded yesterday, her voice sharp through the speaker. "Not those English ones. She needs traditional medicine. This wouldn't happen if she kept a cleaner house. I told her, working so much with those athletes isn't good for a wife—"

Ibou had bit his tongue. Hard. For Saniya's sake, always for Saniya's sake. But seeing his wife cry after every call, watching her try to balance her thriving sports psychology practice with her mother's endless expectations of what a "proper wife" should be – it was eating at him.

The sound of retching had stopped. He filled a glass with water and headed upstairs, finding Saniya curled up on their bathroom floor. Her curls were a mess, skin clammy, but she still tried to smile when she saw him.

"Don't even start," she warned weakly. "I know that face. I'm fine."

"You're not fine." He sat beside her, pulling her into his lap. "And I'm not fine watching you suffer."

"Rough day?"

Classic Saniya, deflecting to worry about him instead. "Don't change the subject."

She leaned her head against his chest, and he could feel the slight tremor in her body. "Mum called again."

"I bet."

"Says I'm making myself sick working too much. That if I was a proper wife, I'd…"

"Stop." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You're burning up, mon cœur."

"It's nothing."

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. More notifications probably, more criticism, more noise. But right now, none of that mattered.

"We're seeing a doctor tomorrow," he said firmly. "No arguments."

"The team needs you for training—"

"You need me more."

She was quiet for a moment, playing with the hem of his shirt. "I saw what they're saying. On Twitter."

"Twitter's not real life."

"But it affects you. I see it in your eyes, in how you carry yourself lately." She looked up at him. "You're trying to shoulder everything alone. The match, my health, my mother…"

"Stop," Ibou's voice was gentle but firm as he held Saniya's hair back. "Whatever you're thinking about not taking care of me, stop it right now."

She slumped against him, exhausted from another round of sickness. The cool bathroom tiles beneath them were a stark contrast to the warmth of his chest against her back. "But the match—"

"The match was one match." He reached for the glass of water he'd prepared earlier, already knowing her routine. "Here, small sips."

"Your performance—"

"—is not your responsibility." He pressed a kiss to her temple, ignoring her weak protests. "And your mother," Ibou interrupted, choosing his words carefully, "is not in this marriage. This is about us. Right now, us means you resting."

"But—"

"No buts." He shifted them slightly so he could see her face. "You want to know what I need from my wife? I need her healthy. I need her safe. I need her to stop listening to voices that make her doubt herself."

A weak smile touched her lips. "Even when those voices are in my head?"

"Especially then." He brushed a curl from her forehead, checking her forehead once more. Still a bit warm. "Now, here's what's going to happen. We're going to get you back to bed. I'm going to call the doctor to schedule an appointment—"

"Ibou—"

"The gaffer already knows. Family first, always."

"The press will talk."

"Let them." He helped her up slowly, keeping one arm secure around her waist. "They don't know that every match I play well is because of you. Because you give me peace here," he touched his heart, "so I can focus out there."

They made it back to their bedroom, where he'd already propped up extra pillows and laid out her favorite blanket – the soft one she claimed helped with nausea.

"I love you," she murmured as he tucked her in. "Even when I'm rubbish at showing it."

"You show it every day." He knelt beside the bed, taking her hand. "Every time you watch my matches even though football bores you. Every time you listen to me overthink a play. Every time you just... see me. Not the footballer. Just me."

______________________________________________

"Lūk," her mother's voice crackled through the phone the next morning, the Thai term for daughter carrying waves of disapproval. "This is what happens when you don't listen to your mother. Working all day instead of taking care of your home..."

Saniya caught Ibou's eye across their bedroom as she sat propped against the headboard. He was laying out her clothes for the doctor's appointment, pretending not to listen but she could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Mae, please," Saniya sighed. "My house is clean. My work is important. And Ibou—"

"Ah, your footballer. He played badly the other day, no? I saw on the news. Maybe if you were home more—"

"Phɔ̄ mai?" Saniya interrupted, asking about her father, desperate to change the subject.

But her mother wasn't finished. "You know in Thailand, young wives know their place. Not running around and neglecting their duties. Now you're sick because—"

He gently took the phone from Saniya's trembling hand. "Mama," he said respectfully, though it cost him. "Saniya needs to rest now. We're seeing the doctor soon. We'll call you after."

Ibou ended the call before his mother-in-law could protest. Saniya's eyes were wet.

"Hey," he murmured, sitting beside her. "None of that."

"She's right about one thing," Saniya whispered. "I haven't been taking care of you properly. Your match—"

"Stop." His voice was firm but gentle. "None of this is on you."

She leaned into him, and he could feel her slight fever through his shirt. "I just wish... I wish I could be what she wants without losing who I am."

"Who you are," Ibou said carefully, "is exactly who you're meant to be. My wife. Dr. Konaté. The woman who helps athletes find their strength again." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Your mae just needs to understand that."

Another wave of nausea hit her then, and Ibou held her hair back as she heaved into the bathroom basin. His phone lit up with another notification – the gaffer wanting to discuss his performance – but it could wait.

Liverpool's spring was more like winter's stubborn little sister, refusing to let go. Rain peppered their Range Rover's windshield as Ibou navigated through morning traffic, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Saniya's. She'd barely managed breakfast – just a few sips of tea and a nibble of toast.

"Bismillah," he whispered, stealing glances at his wife's pale face. The weather had been brutal lately, nothing like the gentle warmth they'd left behind in Dubai months ago. Maybe that's what she needed – another escape to the sun, away from Liverpool's relentless grey and her mother's equally relentless calls.

Saniya dozed against the window, wrapped in one of his hoodies despite the car's heating being on full blast. Ibou's mind wandered as he drove, prayers falling from his lips without thought. "Ya Allah, keep her safe. Keep her healthy." The morning light caught her wedding ring, and his heart squeezed. She was everything – his heart, his home, his peace.

At the private clinic, Ibou didn't let Saniya lift a finger. He helped her from the car, one arm secure around her waist, shielding her from the drizzle with his body. Inside, he handled all the paperwork, rattling off her symptoms to the receptionist while Saniya leaned against him.

"Started about a few weeks ago," he explained, rubbing slow circles on her back. "The vomiting's getting worse, especially in the morning. Fever, fatigue…"

In the exam room, he helped her change into the paper gown, his large hands unusually gentle with the ties. "Your hands are freezing, bébé," he murmured, catching them in his. "We need to get you somewhere warm. Dubai was good for you—"

A knock interrupted his planning, and a nurse entered with a friendly smile and a small plastic cup.

"What's this for?" Ibou asked, even as Saniya took it with knowing eyes.

"Just routine," the nurse explained. "We always do pregnancy checks with these symptoms, especially in young married couples."

Ibou's eyes widened. The cup nearly slipped from Saniya's fingers, but he caught it automatically, his mind racing. Morning sickness. Fatigue. The weird crying jag over a puppy commercial last week. They'd been letting nature take its course, trusting in Allah's timing, but somehow he hadn't connected the dots…

"Oh," he said softly, looking at his wife. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, a mix of fear and something else – hope, maybe?

"I'll give you a moment," the nurse said kindly, closing the door behind her.

Saniya's hands were trembling. "Ibou…"

"Hey." He knelt in front of her, taking her face in his hands. "Whatever this test says, we're in it together. Allah's timing is perfect, remember?"

She nodded, tears spilling over. "Help me up? I'm still a bit wobbly."

"Always."

The minutes crawled by like hours. Ibou paced the small exam room, stealing glances at Saniya who sat perched on the exam table, fingers twisted in the paper gown. When the doctor finally returned, her smile told them everything before she even spoke.

"Congratulations," she said warmly. "The test is positive."

Ibou's legs went weak. He gripped the edge of the exam table, his other hand finding Saniya's automatically.

"How... how far along?" Saniya's voice was barely a whisper.

"Based on your symptoms and timeline, I'd estimate about six weeks. We'll do some blood work to confirm everything, and then schedule an ultrasound for next week."

Ibou couldn't stop staring at Saniya's still-flat stomach. Subhanallah. Their baby was in there. Their miracle.

"I should mention," Saniya spoke up, "I've had some spotting..."

The doctor nodded reassuringly. "That can be completely normal in early pregnancy. However," she turned to include Ibou in her explanation, clearly recognizing the worried crease between his brows, "we'll want to monitor it. Any heavy bleeding or severe cramps, you come straight to hospital."

"What about nausea medication?" Ibou asked, already mentally cataloging everything Saniya had eaten in the past week. "She can barely keep water down sometimes."

"We'll prescribe something safe for pregnancy. And I'm giving you a list of recommended supplements." The doctor smiled at Ibou's intense focus. "I can see she's in good hands."

"The best hands," Saniya agreed, squeezing Ibou's fingers. She knew that look in his eyes – he was already planning, protecting, providing.

After the doctor left them to get dressed, Ibou helped Saniya down from the table, pulling her into his arms. For a long moment, they just stood there, holding each other.

"We're having a baby," he whispered against her hair, voice thick with emotion.

"You're going to be impossible now, aren't you?" But her eyes were sparkling when she looked up at him. "Even more protective than usual?"

"You have no idea." He pressed his forehead to hers. "Allah has blessed us with the most precious gift. You're carrying our little miracle."

"Speaking of carrying..." She raised an eyebrow. "I can still walk, you know."

"Debatable." His hands spanned her waist reverently. "Doctor said rest. And fluids. And—"

"Ibou."

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me first. Then you can start your master plan of wrapping me in cotton wool."

He laughed softly, bending to comply. When their lips met, he could taste both their tears of joy.

"Your mother's going to flip," he murmured against her mouth.

Saniya groaned. "Can we not? Just for today? Let's keep this just for us right now."

"Whatever you want, ma belle." His hand drifted to her stomach. "Both of you."

The rain had stopped when they left the clinic, weak sunshine breaking through Liverpool's clouds like a blessing. Ibou helped Saniya into the car with exaggerated care, ignoring her amused eye-roll.

"We need to stock up on ginger tea," he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. "And crackers. And maybe we should get one of those pregnancy pillows? I saw them online—"

"Habibi," Saniya interrupted fondly. "We have time."

"I know, I know." But his mind was already racing ahead – baby-proofing the house, converting the spare room into a nursery, making sure Saniya had everything she needed to be comfortable.

At a red light, he caught her watching him with that soft look she got sometimes, like she could see right through to his soul.

"What?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "Just thinking about how lucky this baby is, having you for their baba."

His heart did a funny flip at the word. Baba. He was going to be a father.

"Ya Allah," he breathed, overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

"We're going to be okay," Saniya assured him, reading his mind as usual. "All three of us."

_______________________________________________

Three weeks had passed in a blur of morning sickness and secret smiles. The match against Arsenal was electric – Ibou playing like a man possessed, each tackle precise, every clearance perfect. The roar of Anfield was deafening. Ninety-third minute, and Ibou had just made a goal-saving tackle that had the Kop singing his name. When the final whistle blew – Liverpool 2, Arsenal 0 – he dropped to his knees, pointing skyward. "Alhamdulillah," he whispered.

Saniya watched from the family section, her aunt's hand tight in hers. "Your husband," Aunt Malai said proudly, "plays like a tiger."

After showering, Ibou found Mo in the tunnel. "Mashallah, brother," Mo grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "Whatever's got you flying today, keep it up."

Ibou just smiled, ducking his head. "Allah is good."

"Alhamdulillah, all the time."

Once the aftermatch rituals were over — handshakes, quick interviews in which he credited the team and Allah's blessing — Ibou found them waiting by the family entrance. Saniya's eyes were bright with pride and something else, that secret joy they'd been carrying these past weeks.

"Good performance today," Aunt Malai beamed. She reached up to pat his cheek, and Ibou bent down obligingly, earning a laugh from Saniya.

The drive home was full of Aunt Malai's chatter – about the match, about how handsome Ibou looked in his kit ("But too thin! We must feed him more!"), about how lovely Saniya's new coat was. It was so different from her sister's critical commentary, like night and day.

Their kitchen soon filled with the aromas of Thailand – lemongrass, galangal, coconut milk. Aunt Malai had insisted on cooking, shooing them both to the breakfast bar while she worked her magic.

"Noo chai," she called Saniya by her Thai pet name, meaning little mouse. "Taste this tom yum goong. I made it mild for your stomach."

The fragrant soup steamed in a bowl, alongside green curry chicken made with halal meat and a mountain of jasmine rice.

"Ibou, sit, sit!" Aunt Malai urged, pushing a bowl toward him. "You played like a warrior today. You need to eat!"

Under the table, Saniya squeezed his hand. Their eyes met, and she raised an eyebrow in question. He nodded, heart swelling.

"Khun Pa," Saniya addressed her aunt softly. "We have something to tell you."

Aunt Malai set down her spoon, eyes sharp. "Yes, lūk wăan?"

"I'm pregnant."

The spoon clattered. "Jing jing? Really?" Tears sprang to Aunt Malai's eyes instantly. "Oh, my sweet ones!" She was up and around the table in a flash, pulling them both into a fierce hug.

"The baby will be so beautiful," she sniffled, patting Saniya's still-flat stomach. "Those curls with these cheekbones!" She pinched Ibou's cheek lovingly. "Have you told your mae?"

Saniya shook her head.

"Good." Aunt Malai's face turned serious. "Don't tell her until you're ready. That sister of mine…" She clicked her tongue. "Don't worry, I will speak to her about how she treats you both. She forgets what it means to have a kind heart."

"Khun Pa, you don't have to—"

"Nonsense. Someone must remind her that love is not about control." She cupped Saniya's face in her hands. "You are perfect exactly as you are, noo chai. Both of you."

Ibou pulled Saniya closer, dropping a kiss on her temple. She'd been so much more relaxed with her aunt here, laughing more freely, the shadow of her mother's disapproval temporarily lifted. Allah forgive him, but sometimes he couldn't help thinking Aunt Malai should have been Saniya's mother. The woman had never married, choosing instead to pour her love into her nieces and nephews. But Saniya – creative, stubborn, beautiful Saniya – held a special place in her heart.

"You know," Aunt Malai continued, laying out steaming dishes on their kitchen island, "when you were little, noo chai, you used to say you'd marry a prince."

Saniya groaned. "Khun Pa..."

"Well," her aunt gestured to Ibou with her serving spoon, "you did better. You married a king."

"Now you're just trying to make him blush," Saniya laughed.

The revelation about the baby turned dinner into a celebration. Aunt Malai insisted on calling her favorite Thai restaurant in Liverpool to order mango sticky rice – "for dessert, for the baby!" She peppered them with questions about symptoms, about doctor's visits, about their plans.

Later, after Aunt Malai had retired to the guest room, Ibou held Saniya close on their sofa. "Your aunt," he murmured into her hair, "is a gift from Allah."

"She's what mothers should be," Saniya agreed quietly. Her hand drifted to her stomach, where their miracle was growing. "Our baby is going to have the best Khun Ya."

The Thai word for grandmother sounded like a promise. A reminder that family wasn't always about blood – sometimes it was about who chose to love you, wholly and without conditions.

Gender reveals weren't traditionally Muslim, but like many things in their interfaith marriage, they found their own way to celebrate while respecting both cultures. The gathering at their home was a beautiful blend – Islamic prayers for the baby's health mixed with Thai customs and modern celebrations.

Their spacious living room buzzed with voices in French, English, Thai, and Arabic. Trent was trying to convince Mo that his gift was the best ("It's a custom Liverpool kit!"), while Virgil's wife helped arrange platters of mixed halal and Thai dishes that Aunt Malai had supervised.

Saniya couldn't keep still, moving from group to group, her hands constantly in motion as she talked – a stim that helped her ADHD brain process all the excitement. Her baby bump, now prominent at six months, was draped in a flowing sage green dress that made her skin glow.

"Lūk!" Her mother's sharp voice cut through the chatter. "Sit down! This is too much walking."

Ibou watched his wife's shoulders tense. Just last week, Mrs. Okafor had been berating Saniya for being "lazy" during her sabbatical from her practice. The time in hospital from stress had scared them all, but her mother's reaction – showing up unannounced in Liverpool, armed with criticism – had only made things worse.

"Mae," Saniya started, but her father stepped in.

"Enough," Mr. Okafor said quietly. His voice carried the weight of last week's stern conversation with his wife. "Let her be happy."

The tension broke as Ibou's little sister squealed, "Time for the reveal!"

They'd kept it simple – a large black balloon filled with either pink or blue confetti. Ibou's parents stood close by, his mother already wiping tears. His teammates had their phones ready, though they'd promised not to post until after. Even Didier had flown in, standing proud like an uncle.

"Together?" Ibou asked softly, pulling Saniya close.

She nodded, her free hand still moving in excited patterns against her bump. "Together."

The pop seemed to echo. Pink confetti rained down.

A girl.

The room erupted. Ibou's mother burst into proper tears, his father immediately starting prayers of gratitude. Aunt Malai called out Thai blessings, her voice carrying over the cheers of his teammates.

"Une petite princesse," Ibou's sister squealed, already planning shopping trips.

But Ibou watched Saniya's face – pure joy, pure peace. This was how she should always look, not stressed in a hospital bed, not tense from her mother's words.

"A girl," Saniya whispered against his chest.

"Our girl," he corrected, kissing her there in front of everyone.

Later, after Cama and Trent had argued over who'd be the better "uncle", after Mo had blessed them three times, after Mrs. Okafor had been quietly but firmly led away by her husband (following critiques of everything from the "wasteful" pink decorations to how Saniya "shouldn't mix religions like this"), they curled up on their bed.

Virgil's wife had organized the cleanup, understanding new parent exhaustion. Pink confetti still sparkled in odd corners, Thai garlands draped over prayer beads, different worlds meeting just like them.

"She's going to be perfect," Saniya murmured, both hands cradling their bump. "Strong like her baba."

"Kind like her mama," Ibou added. "Free like her mama too."

Because that was their silent promise to their daughter – she would be free to be herself, to move how she needed, to love what she loved. No criticism would dim her light.

Their princess kicked, strong and sure, as if agreeing.

Amira Malai Konaté arrived on Christmas morning, just as the first snow of winter dusted Liverpool's streets. She came into the world strong and loud, just like her mother, with a head full of dark curls and her father's eyes. The delivery room had been peaceful – Ibou reciting quiet prayers while Saniya brought their miracle into the world, Aunt Malai waiting just outside with excitement and love.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Liverpool had just secured the Carabao Cup in a thrilling final against Manchester City, Ibou playing the full ninety minutes with a newfound calm. That calm, he'd later tell his teammates, came from knowing Saniya was safe at home with Aunt Malai, their little one choosing to stay put until after baba had brought home some silverware.

"Mini Konaté knows how to make an entrance," Mo had joked.

Now, three weeks into parenthood, Ibou found himself discovering a whole new kind of joy in the quiet hours between midnight and dawn. Like tonight, pacing their bedroom at 3 AM, Amira snuggled against his chest in her tiny Liverpool sleeper – a gift from "Uncle Trent" who'd had it specially made.

"She has your temper," he whispered to Saniya, who watched them from their bed with tired eyes and a soft smile. Amira had been crying for an hour, but each tear was precious to him. Every midnight feeding, every tiny grip of her finger around his, every perfect yawn – it was all miracle.

"She has your lungs," Saniya countered, reaching for the water bottle Ibou had started keeping on her nightstand. "And your determination. When she wants something, she wants it now."

"Allah's perfect timing," he murmured, swaying gently as Amira finally settled. "Just like her mama – knows exactly what she wants."

The ban on Mrs. Okafor had come two days after the birth. She'd arrived unannounced at the hospital, somehow slipping past the security measures Ibou had arranged. Within minutes, she'd started: the "Muslim name" they'd chosen was too foreign, Saniya wasn't holding the baby correctly, their house wasn't properly prepared according to Thai traditions.

It was Mr. Okafor, usually so diplomatic, who finally snapped. "Juling," he'd said, his quiet voice carrying years of built-up frustration. "You will not poison this joy like you've tried to poison everything else. Until you can speak with love, you will not speak to them at all."

The silence that followed was deafening. Mrs. Okafor had left in tears, but for once, they weren't the manipulative kind. Something in her husband's words had finally reached her.

Now, Aunt Malai ran their household with gentle efficiency, showing them how love should flow. She cooked Thai soups for Saniya's recovery, teaching Ibou the exact temperature for testing bath water, singing Thai lullabies about brave warriors and kind hearts to Amira.

"In Thailand," she'd explain, preparing another batch of khao tom mat for Saniya's midnight cravings, "we believe babies choose their parents. Amira chose well."

The team's response to their Christmas miracle had been overwhelming in the best way. The WhatsApp group was now basically Amira's fan club. Virgil, usually so stoic, turned to absolute mush around her. Mo brought prayers and blessings, along with his wife's homemade Egyptian dishes. Even Cama had FaceTimed from Madrid, demanding to see his "petite nièce."

"Your teammates are something else," Saniya laughed one evening, showing Ibou the latest delivery – a custom-made baby bouncer with "Future Captain" embroidered on it, courtesy of Henderson.

"They're family," Ibou said simply, watching Amira sleep in her bassinet. "Just like she's already got the whole squad wrapped around her finger."

Amira's name held all their hopes – Amira, Arabic for "princess," chosen by Ibou during one of their late-night talks about dreams and futures. Malai, after the aunt who showed them what motherly love should look like, who stepped in when they needed her most. And finally Konaté, binding all their cultures together in this tiny, perfect package.

Winter stretched ahead of them; Liverpool sat top of the table, but for once, football wasn't Ibou's primary focus. These precious weeks were for learning every perfect detail of their daughter – the way she scrunched her nose just like Saniya when she was about to cry, how she already reached for her father's voice, the peaceful sighs she made when finally drifting off to sleep.

"Remember our first night in Dubai?" Ibou asked one morning. "When you said something about feeling complete?"

"Mhm," Saniya hummed, watching them from their bed. "Little did we know…"

"Allah's plan is always perfect." He settled into the rocking chair Aunt Malai had insisted they needed, Amira quiet and content in his arms. Outside, Liverpool's endless snow was cold, but inside their home, it was nothing but warmth.

Their little miracle had her mother's strength, her father's gentle heart, and the love of two cultures flowing through her veins. In her perfect face, they saw everything they'd built together – every prayer answered, every struggle overcome, every moment of faith rewarded.

"Je t'aime, ma princesse," Ibou whispered, watching the sun rise over another perfect morning with his girls. Saniya had drifted back to sleep, one hand still reaching for them even in dreams. Amira blinked up at him with those eyes that mirrored his own, and his heart expanded impossibly further.

This was what they'd been waiting for, he realized. Not just a baby, but this complete circle of love. Their daughter would grow up knowing only acceptance, only joy, only the kind of love that bridges continents and cultures. She would have her mother's fire, her father's faith, and the unshakeable knowledge that she was wanted, cherished, chosen.

Football would continue, life would get busy again. But these moments – these quiet, perfect moments with his miracle and her mother – these would sustain him through everything. Because now they were complete. Now they were home.

[bunbun-mochi]

Solitary in Space

Xavier x MC (angst)

Warning: Just Xavier being lonely. I'm going to read his fluff stories after I finish this one.

Word Count: ~500, no proofreading

Preview: Xavier spent time on the spaceship alone trying to save MC by going into the past; he put down documents of his travels while missing MC.

Note: Only Xavier did not hold MC's hand in his trailer, and people speculated that he never confessed his feelings to MC and I'm crying right now.

Tagging: @madam8

I love you.

He wanted to say before he departs, but those words just stuck in his throat. He wanted to hug her one more time, to feel her heat under his fingertips, to feel her love for him.

He watched through the spaceship window as the ship did a countdown to set into space.

Ten.

She smiled at him while she waved good-bye. Her beautiful smile has a hint of sadness. He didn't know if he returned the smile or if he had been frowning the entire time.

Nine.

"I'll wait for you." He saw the way she mouthed those words.

"I'll come back for you." He mouthed back, knowing that he was gambling on this promise.

Eight.

Make sure you take care of yourself. Make sure you sleep well, eat well, and are healthy. He wanted to say. Part of him wanted to slap himself for not saying those words to her.

Seven.

I should've said "I love you" to her. He thought. I should've given her the love she deserved.

Six.

If his father is here, he will lecture him so badly of the length he went for an unnecessary feeling of love. But he didn't care. He'd sacrifice anything for her. Anything to cure her illness, anything to make her happy.

Five.

Even if it's his own life.

Four.

A single teardrop rolled down her cheek. Xavier felt his heart slowly break into pieces, shattering like glass. Please don't cry. I'll come back for you.

Three.

He doesn't know whether he said those words to comfort himself or her, because he knows that promise carried a lot of weight.

Two.

Because he knows there is a chance he'll never come back. That he'll be lost in time or space. Or perhaps both if the universe is so unforgiving.

One.

The spaceship accended into the space. He watched as his love slowly turned into a speck, the distant stars in the sky.

Every night, Xavier would take a deep breath before turning on the device, recounting his time in the spaceship and his findings before shutting down the device. He had repeated the same thing over and over again.

He thought that perhaps when he wasn't able to return home, maybe this device could reach his beloved? He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. As each day passed, it became harder and harder for him. Every night he would dream of her. Dreamt that she holds him in his arms; dreamt that she appeared in the spaceship; dreamt that they eloped to another planet without the care of the world. And every day he would wake up to reality. The reality where she isn't here with him.

He pulled a small device from his front pocket; turning it on showed images of her. He smiled briefly before tucking the device back into his pocket.

He walked down the dark corridors, looking at the stars twinkle in the dark abyss of the universe. "I miss you." He whispered toward the darkness. Only the silence of the vacuum and the endless abyss of the cosmos can hear his silent longing for his beloved.

Lavender butterfly template from @uzma-qureshi

[writingpoorly]

This could go so many fun ways!

Ramble under the cut <3

Dick with Harley? (You could also play off of Joker jr for the angst) peak chaos circus vibes (the joker has disappeared under mysterious circumstances and not even Batman can prove that Dick did anything). Maybe he could be called Jester and do a lot of exposing the upper-class in Gotham. Since Jesters are traditionally the ones that would call out the king etc.

Barbara with Ivy? Killer combo. (I've also written her as a grey hat hacker in one of my fics before, but that feels a little uninspired. Plus in my proposed scenario Joker gets killed early on so even as smart as Babs is, she wouldn't be forced into an admin position, so likely wouldn't be as likely to take one.) One of the Batman cartoons has the two of them be friends before Ivy gets mutated and I love the idea of Babs putting her mega brain toward saving the earth. Pollution would have ended. (I'm also a sucker for DickBabs and HarlIvy and the comedic potential my scenario presents? hilarious.)

Jason with Selina? (Honestly any of the kids could go to her but I like mama's boy Jay I've also seen him go to Ivy, but I don't really see that for him?) he'd be such a good thief pupil. Just scrappy street kid Jason turned international thief Stray that still goes back to the Alley to help the kids as much as he can. He'd be more cynical in this version when e finds out about his birth mom and wouldn't be as trusting so likely no Jay death.

If Tim was a rogue he'd be his own i think. Very unsocialized genius vibes (stalking as a form of affection, gets angry w bruce for any perceived unheroic behavior) Shutter or Timothy Jackson Drake totally honest business man (Chess master?)(naturally he takes over a lot of Penguin's enterprises, or perhaps others in an absolute brutal and sudden takeover). Though I do also like Riddler taking him in and them trying to outsmart each other (it's not really a contest, but Eddie gives Tim more positive attention from a parental figure than he's ever gotten in the rest of his life.) I think Myst, the creator and solver of mysteries could be a cool name for this version.

Stephanie would NOT be Cluemaster's pupil. She became Spoiler for good reason! (maybe goes to Riddler just to be petty) If she's nit a straight up vigilante, ruining the plans of the rogues, I'm not sure she'd be involved in the hero/villain dynamic at all. Maybe she shoes up on one of their doorstops and demands they train/take her in, but she just so independent I think she'd be Spoiler again. Maybe someone else can figure out how to flavor that as not a vigilante. I mean, if she's still stopping the rogues who's to say who's a vigilante and who's an anti-hero?

Cass and Damian (make me very sad) were both raised to be assassins/weapons (albeit differently) so in a universe where the kids don't become vigilantes I think they'd continue on those paths. Maybe Cass gets taken in by Lady Shiva, maybe she never escapes David Cain, maybe Cass kills her birth father (trainer, abuser) and lives the rest of her life as a shadow. In the same vein Damian has a lot of maybes surrounding him. I do think in a world where Bruce doesn't have to temper himself by caring for a kid that he wouldn't necessarily be as kind, which is crazy to think about. Maybe Talia wouldn't feel Damian would be better with his father. Maybe when she feels it's unsafe for Dami in the shadow of his Grandfather she kills her father instead of sending her son away for a (hopefully) safer life. Maybe Damian Grows up as his mother's right hand and eventual enforcer of her will before he takes over or his heir(s) take over their empire.

Duke is interesting in my proposed universe, I've killed off the Joker so Duke's parents would be fine. Maybe his powers wouldn't awaken because he's under less stress? He'd still be charismatic and a magnetic leader, though I think that gets glassed over. Capitalizing simply off of that, maybe he takes over for Sionas one day. In such a way that no one even protests the change. His organization gains a better reputation, though the shadows of it's past are just barely hidden behind Duke's magnetic light.

Jarro never breaks off of Starro :(

I don't know enough about the others to speculate, but feel free to add to this or respectfully tell me why I'm wrong. ^v^

I’m definitely an au where some of the bat kids are villains or anti heroes and raised by various rogues instead of Bruce but I need some ideas

[heretherebedork]

I love him on every level. New favorite, most beloved, look at him and his glasses

[omgserafinablog]

Goodbye forever, my friend.

Lucian & Valentine

When he stands over his former dead friend, once a former brother-in-arms, he thinks he should be happy. Only sadness pierced his heart. He knew, he had long since come to terms with the fact that his friend had died a long time ago, and now there was a monster lying in front of him that was supposed to die. That monster would have killed him and certainly wouldn't have mourned him. But looking at Valentine now, he hardly hates him or rejoices at his death.

Luke kneels down next to Valentin and cannot take his eyes off his pale face, which has lost its rigidity, eternal tension. Now he sees before him again the boy he fell in love with at school and whom he kept in his heart. Even before the creation of the Circle, before the deaths of Oscar Morgenstern and Seraphina. Valentin was the best in the academy, a popular boy from a wealthy family, but he never bragged about it and was not arrogant, which set him apart from other elite students who joked and offended losers like Lucian. Valentin became friends with him. He helped him with his studies. If it wasn't for Valentine…

Lucian hated to remember the times of the Circle, tried to forget about it, but never forgot about the time spent with his friend. Their joint training, numerous adventures, gatherings around the campfire, their jokes and dreams. He remembered their ceremony and how their bond warmed him when he was sick; he remembered how they hunted together as if they were a single organism, and how the parabatai rune burned. Sometimes he missed those feelings, that power, that sacred connection. Lucian remembered how comfortable and peaceful he felt next to Valentine, whom he loved.

Luke sighed, extending his hand to Valentine.

«Is it my fault?» - He whispered.

His friend, whom he fell in love with, was always so cheerful, good-natured, ready to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it. He was always so confident and strong. He took special care of those he loved. And most of all, he was afraid of losing those he loved.

When his parents died, Lucian had no idea that this loss would break Valentine so much. He was sure that his friend would cope, withstand this blow. In fact, he had no idea that Valentine was so dependent on his father. Valentin himself did not say a word against Oscar. But there were various rumors about his father's cruelty, how harshly he treated him and controlled him. Sometimes Lucian noticed uneven scars on his friend's back, strange wounds and bruises, but Valentine only waved away all questions. Valentin rarely talked about his family at all. Only once, at Oscar's grave, did he mention that he dreamed of becoming the perfect soldier-the way Oscar Morgenstern wanted him to be. How much he wanted his father to be proud of him. He longed for that praise, for his father's pride, but he never got it. His father had turned to dust. And Valentine-his Valentine, a kind and bright boy, died with Oscar. Instead, something hateful and evil appeared, something alien.

Lucian was his parabatai, he was closest to Valentine, but what did he do to help him cope with this change, with this pain? He did not try to lead him away from the edge of the abyss. It took Lucian a moment to realize that he had lost him forever, and when he did, it was too late. Valentine is gone forever. And he hated him for it. He hated him for becoming the one he wanted to rid the world of. A monstrous monster. Completely different. Unrecognizable.

«Yes, my friend, it's my fault. I had too much faith in your powers. I thought people like you didn't break down. I was sure you could handle it. But I was wrong and didn't help.»

Lucian looks into the frozen black eyes, in which there has been no life for a long time, but it seems to him that they are glowing now. He sees his reflection in those eyes.

«I couldn't save you. Did you know that Jocelyn asked me to do this? To protect you from hate. I didn't understand her right away. I thought your hatred was just, and I didn't understand when you overstepped all bounds in your retaliation. I was your parabatai, and I failed. Forgive me and goodbye».

He put a warm palm on the cold, frozen face, which, with its extraordinary softness, reminded him so much of the kind boy from his distant past, and closed his dead eyes.

«Ave atque vale, Shadowhunter»