#so i have to cover what she doesn't do and then i have to sit in a chair and listen to her mother (our boss) rant about how she has way

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend III

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: You make a game

When Lucy cracks open your door, you're as you always are.

You're hunched over your computer, clicking around some game level aimlessly with your tongue sticking out in concentration.

Your mice, like they always are when you're in the room, are running riot in their pen.

Outside of their cage and on the floor, you've set up a little pen for them to roam around and play in.

Lara and Zelda are wrestling like always as Clementine tries to work through the enrichment puzzle full of food. Ezio is asleep, flopped over on your shoulder as you study whatever new game you've found.

"You ready for dinner?"

Now that it's gotten colder, you've managed to get even moodier than before and even more of a shut in.

"One sec," You say. You click around the game level a bit more before pulling up a separate tab to type a long string of something Lucy can't even hope to understand. "Alright, I'm done. What's up?"

Lucy rolls her eyes fondly. "Dinner. Now. Ona cooked."

You push your chair out from your desk and stretch, your back cracking from the long hours you've spent hunched over.

You put the mice back into the cage, each of them getting a quick snuggle and kiss before you bolt it shut.

"Is it good food?" You ask as you go down the stairs.

"It's better than your mum makes!" Ona calls out and you grin.

"Yeah, but anything's better than Mum's cooking!"

Lucy grumbles, shaking her head. "One nice meal is all I ask. One meal where I don't get horrifically bullied!"

"We don't bully you," You say," It's character building!"

You and Ona laugh and Lucy just rolls her eyes. Sometimes, you think she would prefer if it went back to what it was like when you were first adapting to Ona.

"Oh," She says," I sent you those audio files you wanted."

"Thanks."

Lucy frowns. "She's been making you do those too?"

"Yeah, it's for a school project, right?"

You nod. "Uh-huh. It's for programming."

"I know I shouldn't have let you sign up for that," She says," It's all you ever do. I think you're losing sleep over it."

"You'll like it," You declare," What I'm working on. I promise."

"I'm sure that I will but it doesn't mean I think you're sleeping well. Put it down for once, that's all I'm saying."

You roll your eyes.

Lucy's always like that about your programming. Sometimes she lays asleep at gone three in the morning and can still hear you typing away on your computer for hours on end.

You return to your room after dinner ends and briefly come out to show Ona what you're working on while also denying Lucy the same opportunity.

"You've love it," Ona assures her at training the next day.

"Love what?" Keira asks," Oh, y/n's game? Yeah, you'll love it, Luce."

"Am I the only one that hasn't seen it?!" She demands, glancing around the room at people who are trying to not make eye contact with her. "Seriously? Raise your hand if you've seen it?"

Slowly, everyone raises their hand.

"This is so unfair!"

When you first got given the project, Lucy had been the first person to be clued into your plans. You showed her all your design sketches and all your ideas as you jumped between them.

At one point, one of your bedroom walls had been covered in concept designs and you would stand in front of it and point out certain aspects you liked and things you didn't think were quite perfect yet.

Lucu had been integral to your thought process and then all of a sudden she was shut out. You'd ask her to record voice lines or demonstrate doing something but you'd never explain why or what it was for.

You all but unplugged your computer when she came in unexpectedly and tried to get a sneak peak.

"Alright," Lucy says when she gets home to see you and Ona giggling on the sofa together," I've had enough. Show me your project."

You sit upright immediately, eyes wide.

"No-"

"I'm not taking no for an answer. I've had enough of the secrets."

She's serious. You can tell by the clench in her jaw and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

Lucy's stubborn but you inherited from her so you're stubborn too.

Your cross your arms in the same way as you stand. "No! It's not finished! You can see it when you're finished!"

"Hey," Ona intervenes before the argument can truly get heated. Her hand rests on your shoulder. "It's okay. Just show her."

"I can't! It's not ready!"

"Come on," Ona says," Show her."

You glance at your Mum, who is staring at you with that same stern look and crossed arms as the one that she came in with.

"Fine. Give me a sec."

Lucy sits on the sofa as Ona hooks up a laptop to the tv.

You come back in with a disc and nervously put it into the dvd slot.

Lucy doesn't know what to say when the opening credits appear.

'Lucy Bronze: The Game' with a little pixel version of her holding the Champion's League trophy up on her head.

"We were meant to make a game about a hero," You say," And you're my hero."

[prettygirl-gabi]

Suprise bubs

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !non-athletic fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: who doesn't love suprise visits on important days.

The hum of a hairdryer echoed through the suite as I stepped quietly down the hall, my heart racing in anticipation. Paige had no idea I was here. She thought I was still back home, dealing with work and classes, completely oblivious to the fact that I had coordinated this entire surprise with her best friends. Today was one of the most important days of her life—the WNBA Draft—and there was no way I’d miss it.

I tugged my dress down a little, smoothing out the fabric. It was pink, flowy, and entirely different from the oversized hoodie I’d been wearing when I left the airport hours earlier. My heels clicked softly against the tile as I stopped outside the door to her suite.

“Is she almost ready?” I whispered to Nika, who peeked out of the door.

Her eyes lit up as she nodded. “Perfect timing, ma. She’s almost done. You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Born ready,” I whispered, grinning.

Nika chuckled, letting me slip inside. The scene was chaotic but organized—Paige sat on a stool near the window, her hair being curled as Azzi and KK lounged on the couch nearby, chatting about the draft. The room smelled like strawberries and Nutella, her favorite snack, which she held in her lap, too preoccupied to notice me sneaking in.

I took a deep breath, letting my nerves settle, and leaned casually against the doorframe. “Wow, P. I didn’t know they made statues that moved.”

Paige’s head snapped up, her wide blue eyes locking on mine. The spoonful of Nutella she’d been holding froze mid-air, and her jaw dropped. “Baby?”

“Surprise,” I said, smirking as I walked toward her.

She stood up so fast she nearly knocked over the plate of strawberries. “Ma, what—how—what are you doing here?” Her voice was filled with disbelief, and she blinked rapidly as if making sure I was real.

“It’s our anniversary, isn’t it?” I said, stopping in front of her and tipping my head back to meet her gaze.

Paige wrapped her arms around me, lifting me slightly off the ground. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Crazy about you,” I teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

She set me down gently, her hands lingering on my waist. “You didn’t have to fly out. You’ve got so much going on.”

I cupped her face, brushing my thumb along her jawline. “I’m not missing this, P. This is your dream, and I’ll always be here to support you.”

“Ugh, you two are disgusting,” Nika said, throwing a pillow at us.

“Jealous?” I shot back, laughing as Paige pulled me closer.

“Maybe,” Nika muttered, but she was grinning.

Paige tugged me toward her stool, sitting back down and keeping one hand in mine. “You really didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I said, leaning against the counter. “How’s the glam going? You look good, bubs.”

“Thanks, mamas,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “They’re almost done, I think.”

I grinned. “Well, good. Gotta make sure my girl looks perfect when she goes number one.”

“Stop,” she groaned, covering her face with her free hand. “You’re gonna jinx it.”

“Never,” I teased, winking at her stylist. “But maybe add a little extra blush. She looks so cute when she’s all flushed.”

“Baby,” Paige whined, her face now fully red.

“What?” I said innocently, laughing as she shook her head.

When her glam session was done, Paige stood and turned to me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You look beautiful, ma.”

“Thanks, P,” I said, doing a little spin for her. “Gotta make sure I’m worthy of being your plus-one.”

“You’re always worthy,” she said softly, pulling me in for a kiss.

The draft was a whirlwind of emotions. I held Paige’s hand tightly as her name was called first, the room erupting in cheers. She turned to me immediately, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We did it, baby,” she whispered, squeezing my hand.

“No, you did it,” I said, kissing her quickly before she headed to the stage.

Watching her stand there, holding up her new team’s jersey with that million-watt smile, filled me with so much pride I thought my heart might burst.

After the draft, Paige had arranged for a private dinner to celebrate both her achievement and our anniversary. She led me into a quiet, candlelit restaurant, her hand never leaving mine. When we reached our table, my eyes widened. A massive bouquet of flowers sat waiting for me, a mix of roses, lilies, and peonies.

“Paige,” I breathed, looking up at her.

“Happy anniversary, ma,” she said, leaning down to kiss me. “Thank you for being my rock. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

I smiled, blinking back tears. “You’re gonna make me cry, P.”

“Good,” she teased, pulling out my chair for me.

Later that night, as we lay curled up on the couch back in her hotel suite, Paige pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?” I asked, snuggling closer.

“Posting this,” she said, showing me an Instagram story. It was a picture of me from dinner, holding the bouquet of flowers. The caption read: Draft day, anniversary, all with my forever girl. 💜

“Paige,” I whispered, my heart swelling.

“It’s time, baby,” she said, pressing her forehead to mine. “The world deserves to know who I’m doing all of this for.”

I kissed her softly, letting the love I felt for her speak for itself.

That night, as her post flooded with likes and comments, I realized just how lucky I was to have her—not as a superstar, but as my P.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Save Me From Your Brother, Tommy!

Summary: you call Tommy to save you from your husband's wrath...

- - - -

Maria just finished making popcorn, tossing one towards the couch where Tommy expertly managed to catch it in his mouth. She sits down next to him as he wraps his arm over her shoulder. They settle in together for a lovely, quiet, romantic evening watching TV when--

Her phone starts buzzing.

Tommy grasps it next to him and checks the ID. It's you.

Maria shrugs and let's him answer.

"Yello?"

Your frantic, desperate, hushed voice carries over the speaker: "Tommy? TOMMY! You have to help me..."

Tommy sits upright. Maria pauses the TV, wondering why her boyfriend has stiffened. "What is it. What's wrong? Are you ok?" Chills run down his spine. He's never heard you like this.

You sniffle, holding the receiver closer to your lips. Your fast, panicked breaths are shaken. "He's... he won't let me go. Please Tommy you have to get me out of here..."

Tommy puts it on speaker, looking at Maria, fear creeping into both of their souls. "Who? Where are you? Where's Joel?"

"Its... its Joel!" You squeak. They can hear more shuffling, like you're crouched somewhere small and enclosed. "I'm home. I'm hiding from him... I'm in the bathroom..."

Tommy's heart is escalating. He knows Joel. There's never been a single fiber inside that guy that could give way he could cause someone such fear. Let alone his own wife. Who he loves to death. Who he's obsessed with. Something must be horribly wrong for you to call so scared...

"What is he doing? Where's Sarah?"

"She's sleeping...she's ok...she's spared from him... from his..."

Suddenly, they can hear Joels voice calling your name distantly from another room. You audibly gulp. "Tommy, he's gonna make me--!"

"Make you what!?"

"Hes calling for me... i have to... he's gonna come looking," you whisper desperately. You turn on the face time screen, and Tommy can see you clearly. You're hiding in the bathroom, the lights off. Your bedroom door connecting to the bathroom is closed, but there's a bright light shining underneath, and Joel's voice calling for you again.

You open the door, and Tommy and Mariah hold their breaths....

Only to see Joel is lying in bed casually, his waist tucked into the covers and back resting against the headset. When he sees you, he smiles and waves. "Baby! I paused it for you, so you don't miss anything." He pats the bed next to him, opening the sheets for your invitation. His toes swish under the sheets, unable to contain his giddiness and joy. Even Spoon, who is lying on the bed, has her paws over her ears, face tucked into the sheets as if she is being subjected to the torture you're referring to.

Joel doesn't seem threatening or menacing or... really anything out of the ordinary that should make you as upset as you are, so what the...?

"Joel...please...." you plea, near tears.

"What? It's the Hallmark Christmas in July marathon!" He cheers excitedly.

Tommy and Maria look at one another and then burst into laughter.

You cry out, stammering your feet like a kid having to finish homework before play time. "Tommy, he's making me watch these fucking Hallmark movies!!! THERE ARE SO MANY. IT NEVER ENDS. Get me out of here!!

Maria is laying fully back on the sofa, nearly capsizing on the edge from her giggles. Tommy is trying to hold her up with his leg, but his hand is clutched over his heart, purple in the face from not being able to breathe from how hard he's equally laughing.

"Tommy, its not funny!"

"You on the phone with Tommy?" Joel asks curiously.

Finally Tommy responds, albeit wheezing through his words. "I didnt know Joel liked Halmark movies..!"

Joel looks at you with a frown. "You said you wouldn't tell anybody..." He says softly, a mixture of embarrassment and betrayal.

"Oh Tommy counts as someone?" Tommy stops laughinh for a moment, now deciding against helping you.

You slouch your shoulder and whimper poutily, trudging your body towards him. "Do we HAVE to?"

Joel rolls his jaw. "If only i did things for YOU, like a loyal, devoted husband, willing to do ANYTHING for his wifes happiness," he growls sternly.

You KNOW hes the best, and even now pregnant with his second baby, and going through the torture of being... well, you in this state. He really doesn't ask for much. But this specifically is payback for earlier today when you made him drive you 2 hours for your favorite bubble tea, only to find it closed because you didn't Google their week schedule beforehand. And then made him drive 2 hours back to your second favorite place, only to find they ran out of boba for the day. To which Joel started lecturing to the poor girl about how a boba tea place can be open and not have any boba. He was already exhausted, angry, and frustrated, and definitely deserved a reward for having to chauffer you around.

But THIS?

"Okay so this isn't an emergency. This is just the consequences of your actions," Maria explains. She always knew you were a dramatic bitch but this really took the cake.

"I dont deserve this torture! Tommy, he's your DNA!"

Tommy shrugs. "And you married him. Have fun!" Tommy and Maria wave through the screen before ending the call.

Your lower lip trembles as you stare at the black screen. You only chance to get out of here, gone.

You look up to Joel, who slaps your empty spot on the bed twice, very firmly, very threateningly. His jawbone flexes. You dragged him around all day, and now ratted out his guilty pleasure, something you SWORE you wouldn't tell anyone. You earned this punishment.

"Still got Christmas House, Christmas on Cherry Lane, and 12 Dates of Christmas! Now.... Come. Here."

You cry but hang you head low, dragging your feet to put up with the fifth day in a row of cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies in July.

- - - -

@jeewrites @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

[ineedpaigebuckets]

Do one where paige takes azzi to a haunted house attraction for Halloween, and azzi is holding on to her the whole way since she's scared

personal shield

an: i don't wanna hear it. it's bad. i don't care. if i get some good requests i might do more🤷‍♀️

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

azzi pov

"azzi come on you big baby, you'll literally have paige the whole time she's like your own personal shield." kk whines shaking my shoulders as she tries her best to convince me to come to the haunted house. i absolutely hated them because i got scared at everything and it was honestly just embarrassing, nobody really understood that i genuinely got scared. like i couldn't breathe, it hurt my chest, i genuinely got so scared. but i feel paige's arms snake around me from behind and i honestly think maybe it would be fine.

"come on you'll be just fine i gotchu, imma be here the whole time mama." her soft voice against my neck works wonders, i was beyond whipped for this white girl.

"fine." i mumble and i see ice throw her hands up in annoyance.

"i woulda called you mommy earlier if that got you to come." i cover my face as everyone bursts into laughs. the second all the girls pile into multiple cars my heart starts beating out of my chest. my leg is fidgeting up and down as i look out the window preparing myself for what's about to happen. paige was in the front seat singing along with jana so i was on my own. before we're even halfway in the park someone comes up behind me and screams causing me to run and scream letting out a sort of cry sound. i crouch down to the ground and the guy leaves to go scare someone else. paige tries to hide her laugh as she ribs a hand across my back as i stand up.

"paige shut the fuck up." i mumble and try to walk away but paige pulls me back into her side and i gladly accept the contact. i'm clinging onto paige's arm as another person jumps at me and i scream into paige's chest tears pooling in my eyes. paige presses a soft kiss to my forehead before we're walking in the door of the actual house.

"i gotchu baby, if you wanna leave just tell me okay?" her soft voice soothes me until i hear kk scream at a jump scare ahead and i flinch again. my breathing becoming faster and faster before someone crawls at me and paige grabbing my leg and pulling me away from her.

"stop." paige yells, she doesn't sound panicked or scared she sounds stern like she's parenting a child. the actor quickly lets go and moves on and paige pulls me out a side door into the cold fall air.

"sit down az." she points to the small wooden planks outside the building and sits right next to me pulling me into her side rubbing her hand up and down my bare back under my hoodie.

"m'sorry i made you come here, i know you hate these things." i shake my head and lean on her shoulder holding her hand in my lap.

"what happened to my personal shield?" i pout as i kinda calm myself down just by her touch. she laughs and we spend the rest of the night sitting out watching the stars waiting for everyone else.

[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: Tension only intensifies after Tangerine's proposal and you and him grow much closer... (5k)

Warnings: SMUT (mdni), mentions of sex w*rk and slut shaming, pinv, insecure!reader, passionate sex, dom!tangerine and sub!reader undertones, praise, oral sex (f receiving), reader is kinda traumatized but tan is very sweet to her.

credit : my love @little-miss-dilf-lover 🤍

BAD FOR BUSINESS MASTERLIST

"She did what?" Lemon asks, his arms crossed, as he watches his brother finish counting the cash he always hands out on Sunday.

Tangerine doesn't look up, rounding up the envelopes quickly as he puts the cash inside. "She kissed my cheek," he says and sits up, running a hand in his hair. He looks exhausted. 

Lemon smirks, sounding scandalized. "And you're only telling me this now? Is this why she's been hovering around you since Monday?" 

"I don't know, Lem," Tangerine sighs.

"Well, aren't ya gonna elaborate on why she kissed you?"

"Kissed my cheek," Tangerine groans, shutting his eyes as he drops his head into his hands, "And I don't know why, I guess just because I drove her home. As a thank you, I suppose. Not a big deal, really—I don't know why I even mentioned it—" 

"Bullshit," Lemon sing-songs. "You're dancing around your feelings, as ya always do. You mentioned it because you want me to validate them, as per-fuckin-usual! To spell it out for you, as one says, as I have always fuckin' done. " 

"My feelings—or yours— aren't what's important here. It's hers and I don't know what she's feeling or thinking," Tangerine says and stands, taking the envelopes in his hand. "And anyway, I'm her boss. It's an abuse of power, innit?"

Lemon pauses for a moment and then shrugs, "Who cares if she has feelings for you too?" 

Tangerine narrows his eyes, very unsure, "I care. It still sounds scummy," he says and then hands Lemon the envelopes. "Drop these in the mailbox would ya?" He pauses and then he takes back the one with your name scribbled on the front. "Could you tell Y/n to come up here? I need to tell her something."

Lemon sends him a knowing look and a smile curls his lips. 

"Not like that," Tangerine deadpans, clearly unamused as he fiddles with the envelop anxiously, "She needs more money and she wants more shifts. I don't want that for her, you know she doesn't deserve that, not after what happened, so I'm just gonna give her a little extra cash—" 

Lemon's smile fades instantly. He looks at his brother with concern, "Mate, Leo won't like that—you really should be careful with—" 

Tangerine cuts him off, his expression serious. "I can handle Leo, Lemon, will you please just ask 'er to come up here?"

Lemon doesn't seem convinced but he nods. Tangerine looks down, gripping his desk and he collapses onto his chair again, holding his head in his hands. Why does Lemon have to question him all the fuckin' time? His jaw tenses, trying to shake the thought that his brother could have a point. 

He's lost in his thoughts when he hears your sneakers squeak up the stairs and then a knock on his office door. Instantly, he stands, trying to hide his smile as he calls out, "Come in, darlin'." When you do and he sees you, you're dressed in a blue dress that ends mid-thigh, a jacket, and laced-knee-high white socks. You really do look like anyone's wet dream, even when you aren't trying. Tangerine's cheeks burn and he represses the feeling. 

"Hi," you say, walking up to him.

Since the night he'd driven you home, you'd been less on edge with him. You've both had longer conversations and more stolen glances than you've ever had. Hell, he's even been spending some of your breaks with you. And he knows using the smoking excuse won't last forever.

He knows it and so do you, but neither of you mention it. 

"Hi," Tangerine says. He leans against his desk, his eyes roaming over you. His thumb swipes over the envelope and he clears his head, handing it to you, "Here's your pay." 

You look confused when you take it. Usually, he just puts those in the common mailbox. He has never handed one out personally. "Oh, thanks," you say and smile up at him. You open the bag that's hanging from your shoulder and tuck the envelope inside. 

Tangerine's eyebrows crease and he walks behind his desk again, looking for something in the drawer. 

You watch him curiously. "Tan, are you okay?" 

The nickname rolls off your tongue easily and an involuntary shiver runs up his spine. He almost regrets telling you you can call him that, if only because it makes him lose his mind just a little more than he usually does when he's around you.

Tangerine pauses as he thinks for a moment. He looks up, his expression still neutral as he walks back over and hands you a wad of bills. Your heart thumps as you take the money, even more confused. You flick your thumb over the paper, approximately counting how much it is. 

"What is this?" you ask, realizing there is almost four times the amount you make in a night in your hands. 

"A bonus," Tangerine says calmly as if this is nothing. "You said you're tryin' to save up for school and I don' want you workin' here any more than ya have to." He looks away, straightening himself. If he looks at you any longer, he'll break. "It's really nothin'," he adds.

"Nothing? This is a lot of money," you whisper, pushing the bills out to him again, "I can't accept this for no reason." 

Tangerine looks down at you, his eyes darkening a little as he shakes his head. His hands clasp around your wrists, his skin cold against yours, as he pushes your hands into your chest again. "You can."

"No, I- I really can't," you squeak, a little panicked. You don't know what this means. If this is really unconditional or if it will somehow bite you back in the ass. You trust him, sure, but he is still a man. You look down at the cash and then up into his eyes, your cheeks feeling unbearably warm. "D-do you want something in return?"

You're unsure about the question, but it wouldn't be the first time someone who is your boss has asked you for some extra services. 

Tangerine's cheeks immediately turn crimson and he drops your hands as if you'd burned him. "No!" he says hoarsely like he can't believe you'd even ask him that. "Bloody hell, no. That is not what I want!" He sounds almost scandalized and you panic. 

"Sorry! I assumed—"

"Well, don't! God, angel, you deserve so much better than that," Tangerine says breathlessly as if the words escape him in a rush. You pause, staring up at him as he says this, and those familiar butterflies you only feel when he's around burst in your stomach.

He always speaks so softly when you're around, always calling you darling or angel—it's seriously beginning to mess with your brain. 

"Just, take the money, please," Tangerine insists, "no strings attached."

You nod, adding the cash to your bag without another word. You pause and look up at him. You want to ask why he's doing this? What makes you so special? But instead, you ask something else; 

"What do I deserve?" 

Tangerine is a little taken aback by the question, his body going taut as he stares at you. "Pardon?"

Your chest tightens as you walk closer to him. You have no clue what you're doing. Men are usually so easy to read, so easy to seduce, and so very easy to fool.

With one look, you can have them wrapped around your little finger. But with Tangerine, it's completely new. You have no clue what works with him or what you even want from him. All you know is, you've never felt like this with anyone. Tangerine backs up. He inhales, clutching the edge of the desk as his breath hitches and his gaze stays on yours. 

"You said I deserve better," you whisper, dropping your bag to the ground. As if on cue, the lights from the lounge suddenly dim and you realize everyone else has gone home for the night. What are you even doing? You pause in front of him, your chest rising and falling as you lift your hand to press your palm on his chest. 

"What is better?"

Tangerine looks at you. His eyes are dark. He's not a stupid man. He knows what you're doing. He knows what you want. He just doesn't know if you even understand exactly what it is you're asking of him.

He's not used to feeling powerless so he stands up straighter and cups your jaw with his hand. He's still gentle with you; his fingers touching your skin reverently and loosening when you gasp in surprise.

"Why do ya do this?" He counters, his voice raspy. He pushes his body even closer to yours until he's so close he can smell you and fuck, you smell divine. 

"Do what?" you ask. 

Tangerine tilts his head, smirking, "You know what," he whispers and leans down so his lips hover near the shell of your ear, "Entertain men for money—bring them into that filthy little room," he pulls his head away a moment and glances towards the glass where he has an easy view of the door to one of the club's sex rooms, "and drain their fuckin' pockets. Hm?" 

Your stomach flips and your skin feels burning hot. Is he making fun of you? You try to shift your face from his hold but Tangerine doesn't let you. He looks at you and reads you like a book. "'M not making fun of you or calling you a slut, angel. I don't think you are one, you know that. Which is why I'm confused. I'm real fuckin' confused about why the sweetest and the smartest girl I've ever met hides behind some string of lingerie and flirty touches. Ya need validation that badly?"

You frown, his words hurting a little. But, you've started this so you have to take it from him. You can. You've taken much worse from men. You look into his eyes and keep your voice level. "You have no damn clue about my life, Tangerine, so you should stop assuming you know me."  

He frowns. "Yeah, you're right. I don't know a damn thing about your life," he pauses, searching your face. His mind is spinning and his gaze drifts to your lips. "But I want to." He isn't lying. He does want to know and some primal part of him wants to help. He wants to provide for you, and take you far far away from this life. 

It's not safe and you deserve so much more. 

"Let me guess, you want to 'take care' of me?" You say behind a mocking voice, your face still in his hand. "You're not the first man who's said that to me."

Tangerine's frown deepens and he strokes his thumb over your cheek. "Well, I know damn well I'm the first one who fuckin' means it," he growls, and the pull he's been feeling finally works because he's leaning in and kissing you.

You're a little surprised but you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing yourself up against him as you return the kiss.

He's kissing you passionately, his hands sliding down your cheeks and sides until he's gripping your hips. You've kissed many men but none have felt like this. It feels both overwhelming and wonderful. You run your hands in his hair, pulling on his curls. 

Tangerine spins you around, sitting you on his desk as he continues to kiss you. He's well aware this is very much fucked, but he can't help himself. The sounds you make against his lips are making him lose his mind. He cups your cheeks again, kissing along your jaw gently. The kisses last until he feels your hand slide down his torso to the zipper of his trousers and he hisses, disconnecting his lips from your skin. 

He stops your hand, fingers curling around your wrist, and you gasp, eyes shooting open. "I'm so sorry," you whisper, your voice small. Tangerine pauses as he calms his breathing. He looks into your eyes, his gaze softening as he shakes his head.

"You don't need to do that," is all he says as you drop your hand back to your lap. 

"But I do want to," you interject. Tangerine just shakes his head, caressing your cheek. 

"No, angel, I can't," he tries to explain. 

"Is it because you think I'm dirty?" 

Tangerine frowns, looking at you seriously now. "What?"

"Because I've been with other men—because you must think I'm easy—" you say, your voice shaky, "I- I'm not. I haven't had sex for money in a while, I promise I don't do it anymore and—and I was always safe. Please– I'm not dirty—" 

Tangerine can hear your panic and he tightens his hold on your face, gently shushing you. "Angel, I don't think you're dirty. I know ya take precautions. I know how this industry works, remember? I fuckin' own the place," he says with some disdain and then sighs, "which is exactly the problem. Kissing you was already a boundary I shouldn't have crossed. I'm your boss. I'm supposed to be better than this."

You look at him, relaxing a little as you begin to understand. "Tangerine, I don't care. No one has to know." 

He frowns, sending you a warning look. 

"I'm serious," you say and play with his tie a little, squeezing your thighs. His kisses have turned you on and now he wants to pretend it never happened? 

No fucking way. 

"I won't tell anyone. Please, I want you. Show me what I deserve," you whisper, pulling him closer so he's leaning over you as you kiss along his jaw.

Tangerine groans, his eyes closing as he enjoys the sensation of your lips. He's slowly losing control. This feels so right and he desperately wants to show you how a man is supposed to touch you. How he's supposed to love and care for you. His hands grip your hips, pressing his nose in your hair as he inhales.

"Fuck, angel, you're gonna be the death of me," he whispers, his resolve finally breaking. Still, he pulls away and lifts you onto your feet. "But, not here. I'm taking you home, if you'd like," Tangerine questions and you nod, your heart pounding. He smiles and takes your hand, squeezing it to reassure you as he picks up your bag and guides you towards the door. 

During the drive to his apartment, the tension is palpable. You shift in your seat, your cheeks warm, hooking your fingers under your panties as you pull them down your legs. You bite your lip, hearing the small inhale from Tangerine as his hands clench around the steering wheel. He's desperately trying to stay focused on the road.

You look at him, smiling, as you wrap your panties around the gear shift of his car. The faint, delicate, smell of your arousal fills the air and Tangerine curses underneath his breath.

"You naughty fuckin' girl," he mutters in your ear as soon you arrive in his apartment, his large hands palming your waist. He kisses you up against the wall of his living room for a moment until he swiftly hoists you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his torso and he walks you to his bedroom. "'M gonna have to teach ya a lesson, hmm."

You expect something rough and dirty. You're used to rough and dirty. But, with Tangerine it's different. It's always different. When he lays you on the mattress and slowly kisses every inch of your kiss as he undresses you, your head spins. No one you've ever been with has been this slow and gentle. He's touching you like he's worshiping you and can't help but feel a little self-conscious when he finally has you naked. You lift your arms to cover your chest. 

"Tsk, none of that," Tangerine scolds as he lifts his head from where he was kissing your stomach and takes your wrists in his hands, pushing them away so he can admire you. "Fuck, you're the prettiest girl I have ever seen." 

You turn your head, hiding a moan in his pillow. He'll deal with that later, he thinks, as he looks down at your bare pussy. "Can ya open your legs for me, my angel? Can I make you feel good? Is that okay?" 

Your head is spinning and you nod, parting your legs. Tangerine pushes your thighs up and apart, kissing your inner thigh. He sucks some hickies for good measure as you moan, your hands fisting in his silk sheets.

"Oh, T-Tan," you whisper when you feel his breath hit your clit, your legs trembling. 

"I'm gonna take such good care of you," he whispers hoarsely and kisses your pussy, attaching his mouth to your clit. He takes his time with you, kissing and sucking. He listens to your cues, adjusting his position as much as you need him to. His mustache tickles your skin and you're a moaning mess.

You keep hiding the sounds you make out of embarrassment, either turning your head or biting your lip, and he's not having it. After tasting you, he climbs up over you and captures your lips in his. 

He wants you to taste yourself on his lips. You arch your back, unclenching your hands from the sheets as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Tangerine's hand slides up your inner thigh as he slides his fingers up and down over your slit, occasionally teasing your entrance. "Can I?" He asks for permission and when you nod, he pushes one finger into you. 

You gasp, your mind going hazy. "I- I want to make you feel g-good," you whimper, your eyes teary as you try to keep them open and keep being good for him.

You're usually so good at this. At sex. You're so good at being exactly what the man wants you to be but Tangerine doesn't seem to want anything for himself and it's confusing and all you can do is let him lead you. He smiles, kissing your cheeks.

"You already are," he whispers, adding another finger as he opens you up for him. There is no way in hell you're giving him head, not when he guesses that's how you've had to pleasure the men that come into his lounge. He shivers with disgust.

This is for you and he can enjoy himself without forcing his dick down your poor throat. 

He continues whispering sweet nothings in your ear as your nails drag along his back. Once you're wet enough and he's lost most of his clothing and slid on a condom he keeps in his dresser drawer, he presses his cock against your pussy.

Your small wanton moans are music to his ears and he's definitely enjoying himself as he slowly pushes into you, keeping his gaze on yours for any sign of reluctance or discomfort. He's taking his time with you, wanting to memorize every position he has you in as he tells you he wants to hear you.

"D-do you want me on top?" you suddenly ask out of habit, still determined to please him. Tangerine shakes his head, keeping his arm behind your head as he caresses your hair. He's balls deep inside you now, the sound of flesh against flesh ringing in your ears, and your voice is breathless. Your head hits the pillows with every thrust he makes as you struggle to keep your eyes on him.

"No," he says sternly, "Just keep your eyes on me. There, good girl. Enjoy yourself," his voice is thick and raspy. He keeps a steady rhythm, teasing you and watching you fall apart. The sound of the city from outside becomes white noise and Tangerine isn't sure how long he's been fucking you but the sky is slowly becoming lighter. 

"Tan," you whimper as you pull him closer, shutting your eyes as his forehead rests on yours. "'M close," you tell him, wrapping one leg around his hip as you bury your face in his neck, you keep suppressing your moans even when he's told you he wants to hear you. 

"You can come but I want to hear you, angel," Tangerine groans, feeling close himself. "Can you do that for me?" 

You whimper, catching his gaze as you nod. You arch up into him, breasts pressed to his chest as you moan. You barely even recognize yourself. You're so used to the fake moans that the real ones sound so foreign. 

"Fuck me," Tangerine curses, holding you close as one of his hands grips the headboard tightly. The sound of his bed creaking and hitting the wall fills his ears. He can feel you clench around him, moaning as you finish, which triggers his own release and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Your hands relax on his back, your moans subsiding as your chest heaves. Suddenly, everything is silent and he's not sure what to do. He doesn't want to scare you and he himself has never really had sex with anyone he cared about as much as he does you. This is all new and he feels like if he makes a mistake, he could lose you forever. 

"You okay?" he whispers, his voice shaky. 

You nod and he pulls out, pulling off the condom and quickly leaning over his bed to discard it in the trash not far from his bed. When he pulls himself back up, he adjusts the blanket so it covers himself. You do the same, sitting up and pulling as much of the blanket over you as you can. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment. You're both simply staring at each other. You can't believe you just had sex with your boss and what might be worse is that you don't regret it. You know you should, but you don't. You can't bring yourself to.

"Can I get you anything? Water?"

You shake your head, swinging your legs over the side of the bed as you stand. Tangerine hands you his shirt he'd thrown beside the bed and you wrap it around yourself. "'M just gonna pee," you whisper.

You don't wait for an answer as you walk past him. You wander to the bathroom you'd seen in the hall. As you button up the shirt, you have a strange feeling someone is watching you so you look up.

You let out a sharp scream when you see Lemon standing in the hallway, clearly half-asleep. Hearing your scream he jumps and screams too and rubs his eyes.

You hear stumbling and then Tangerine, only wearing his boxers now, practically throws himself past the doorway. He slides next to you, pushing you behind him on instinct. He's on edge until he sees it's just his brother and his shoulders relax. You finish up the buttons of the shirt, your cheeks burning hot as you are unable to speak or ask the questions you so desperately want to ask. 

"Well, this is a lovely surprise," Lemon sighs, rubbing his eyes as he yawns. "Ya both know it's almost 5 am, yeah?"

"Yes, thank you," Tangerine retorts, his voice strained as he glares at Lemon, "You can go back to sleep now." 

Lemon smirks, his eyes locking with yours. "Hi, Angel," he waves with a smirk.

Embarrassment washes over you.

You like Lemon, you've always liked Lemon. He was one of your favorite bodyguards. He always made you and the other girls laugh when situations became tense. You had no clue he lived with Tangerine. 

"Piss off," Tangerine hisses in a whisper you can clearly hear and Lemon raises his hand in surrender, using the bathroom first. Once the door shuts, Tangerine turns to you and you look completely mortified. "Hey, it's okay, he's my brother," he explains. 

"Your brother?" you whisper back, a little frazzled now. 

Tangerine nods, his hand tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear on instinct as he caresses your cheek. Thankfully, you don't flinch away from him as you're comforted by his touch. "Yeah, he's harmless."

You shake your head, moving past the brother's information to something more important. "Tan, he probably thinks you paid me! Oh god, this is horrible!" you whisper-shout, lowering your head in your hands. "He's gonna think I'm a whore and then he's gonna tell everyone at the club a-and–"

"Woah, darlin', shhh," Tangerine grips your shoulders, his voice still low so Lemon doesn't hear the conversation through the bathroom. "He definitely won't think that, okay? Trust me. And anyway, Lem isn't a gossip. He won't tell a soul."

"Ya, he's right, I ain't a snitch. My lips are sealed," Lemon interrupts, leaning against the bathroom door, zipping his mouth shut with an invisible zipper and Tangerine straightens up, turning back around to look at his brother.

Tangerine sends Lemon a don't scare her look and Lemon smirks. He looks at you and his gaze softens. "You better invite yer bird for breakfast, T." That is all Lemon says before he disappears back into his room down the hall.  

And so, an hour later, after neither you nor Tangerine could fall asleep, you're sitting at the small dining room table. Lemon is nursing a cup of warm tea while Tangerine butters up his toast. The air feels thick as you pick at the crumbs of your own, slightly burnt, toast, staring at the pink and yellow-checkered tablecloth on their living room table.

"It was our mums'," Lemon pipes up, watching you. "It's quite cheesy. Tangerine hates it." 

"I don't hate it. It was mums'," Tangerine interrupts, glaring at Lemon for a second but then his gaze returns to you and he clears his throat. You look up, smiling. Something in your chest flutters and you want to know more about them.

Lemon reads your mind. "Our foster mum was a gem," he says and looks at Tangerine and the latter nods, still quiet. He doesn't add on to the conversation and you don't want to pry. There is a sadness about Tangerine when Lemon speaks of their mum.

"My mum was a real piece of shit," you interrupt, unsure how to add to the conversation. You pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a moment. It probably wasn't the best segment considering both of them are looking at you with confusion. You take a mouthful of your toast, feeling a little embarrassed. 

"So, why'd you become a stripper?"

Tangerine frowns, jabbing his elbow into Lemon's side as he hisses; "What is wrong with you?!"

You laugh, shaking your head, "It's okay, it's just a question." You drop your toast, avoiding their gazes. "It was to save up money for uni, and now well, to keep up with the cost—" your laugh becomes dry, "and it's harder to leave this business than it is to start."

Tangerine is quiet and his stomach twists. He feels an immense guilt as you talk.

"What are you studying?" Lemon asks, beating his brother to the question. 

"Criminology," you say, sipping your drink, "I want to go into law."

Both Lemon and Tangerine sneak a glance you don't see and the conversation continues to flow. Lemon clears his throat and makes a joke while Tangerine remains quiet as he watches you finish your food. He likes watching you laugh with Lemon, he'll take any opportunity to see your smile.

He glances at the clock, secretly praying the hand stops so he can spend more time with you but once you see the time, you're excusing yourself. 

"At least let the bastard drive you home," Lemon eventually calls from the sink as he finishes the few dishes, and Tangerine hands you your jacket as you stand in the entrance. "Tis the least he can do after shagging you." 

"Lemon!" Tangerine hisses angrily.

"My mouth is shut, I remember!"

You laugh again, smiling at their banter. "I won't say no to that," you quip with a smile and Tangerine's shoulders relax.

Once you're both in his car again, he glances down and sees your panties on his gear shift. A deep blush settles on his cheeks. "You can keep them," you say nonchalantly, not seeming bothered by your missing undergarment "as a souvenir." You wink. You're clearly joking. 

Tangerine pauses, hesitating, and then takes the panties stuffs them in his pocket and clears his throat. 

"I didn't know you and Lemon were brothers," you say, looking out the window for a second before he starts the car, "You never talk at work."

Tangerine nods, keeping his eyes on the road. "We do, sometimes, but we mostly keep it hushed. It usually isn't good to mix family and business, but we make it work."

You nod, smiling. "I understand. I think it's wonderful how close you are."

"Thank you," Tangerine says and looks at you from the corner of his eye, smiling too. Without another word, you lean over and kiss him. It's quick, your lips gliding over his as your hand touches his cheek. Tangerine hums against the kiss as you pull away and his eyes open to look into yours. 

"Is this okay?" you ask softly. 

Tangerine's head screams at him that no, this is indeed not okay, that this is dangerous and you should be as far away from him as possible, but his heart yearns for you and for once in his life, he doesn't want to ignore his heart.

He nods, kissing you again as he leans his forehead on yours. "Yeah, this is okay. More than okay." 

You smile, squeezing his hand. You feel like nothing could ruin this moment.

Suddenly, Tangerine's phone rings in the center console and he picks it up. The caller ID reads Leo and his jaw tenses. You settle in your seat, looking at him curiously. "Who is it?" you ask innocently, catching on to Tangerine's sour expression. 

Tangerine turns off his phone and stuffs it in his pocket. 

"No one. No one you need to worry about," he says, focusing on the road as he starts the car.

You hum, not wanting to pry but you can't shake the weird feeling bubbles in your stomach.

[ainnur]

"Pink and Yellow Cover The Pain" -Fanfic

Sumary : After being possesed by Lady Bone Demon, Bai He have white stroke on her hair. She hated how it look because it make her look like old lady and so much like the Bone Demon herself. Then she ask Wukong for help and Wukong help her cover the white hair...

A/N : Soooo Im not really a writer I just wrote this for fun so there will be some mistake. And my english kinda shitty. This base of my au "What Still Frozen au". Character can be Ooc

"Pink and Yellow Cover The Pain " -by Ainnur

"Have you done this before?"

"Nope, I never even touch a hair dye before, can you belive that?"

Hearing that Bai He isn't actually sure how to feel about it. On one hand, she actually scare to let this happend but on other hand, she just doesn't care anymore. What else could Bai He lost? Her hair already demaged real bad because of the Bone Demon and Bai He is forever piss about it.

To put it simple, Bai He loved her hair so much. She loves brushing and styling it however she want and it will look cute. Thanks to her cousin Ayu who always press on how important the hair care is, Bai He able to keep her hair healthy for a long time. Her hair is long like her mother and have a colour of her dad's. What used to be soft and silky beautiful hair now letf dry and kinda dead. No matter what she do, it just seem that she can't bring her old back. She hates that.

Another thing is, being Lady Bone Demon host body left her with ugly white stroke of hair. Not only it make Bai He look like old lady, it make Bai He look like more the Bone Demon herself. Bai He know it just make sense that Bone Demon make Bai He look like be when using her body like a puppet. That old demon bitch... That just make her hated her hair even more and want to get rip of it.. She decide to tell Wukong about it and ask his opinion. He'll understand right? Afterall, he got same white stroke of hair like her. Even he dont understand, he will help her and she just know it. She didnt expect this...

💕

Bai He take a big gulp of water and huff in satisfaction. Right now she at Pigsy's Noddle with Wukong sitting next to her. It's somehow become their little thing to just eating noddle and talk about random things. Bai He enjoy this simple times with Wukong and she always get to eat delicious noddle that Wukong always pay for her. Wukong doesn't seem to mind and Bai He won't complain about it. Why would she? We talk about free food!

Bai He take a look at Wukong who seem lost in thought while waiting for his noddle to cold down. That one thing Bai He notice about Wukong. He always waits for any of his food to cold down. It's not just cold down enough that you can eat the food when is still warm , no, Wukong waited until all the heats is completely gone. Where the enjoyment of that?? But again not like Bai He would say anything about it. If Wukong like his food like that, who is she to judges loudly?

"Umm...you good kid? You kinda looking at me for solid 3 minutes now. Did I have something on my face?" Wukong's voice able to pull Bai He back from her thought.

"No. You're fine Monkey King " Bai He actually double check Wukong's face to make sure of it.

"It's just...." Bai He take few breath try to form a right sentence to tell Wukong. Few seconds pass as Wukong wait for her to tell him whatever she in her mind right now.

"I hate my hair...." Saying that, she get Wukong full attention as he push his bowl of noddle aside wanting to actually hear her.

"I hate what she done to my hair and how it make me look like....Her.. And I just want the damage to be gone." She grab her hair a bit on her palm not actually looking at Wukong as she focus on her hair right now. It's silence for seconds as Wukong try to process what Bai He just tell him.

"Well you can cut it-"

"No" she cut Wukong words fast

"I don't want to cut it.I just...cant..part of with didnt allowed that." Bai He cant actually explain why she didnt want to cut it, she just know she attach to it.

"I just want to 'cover' it like you..." Bai He words stiff while she looking at Wukong this time. Other thing Bai He know about Wukong is that Wukong uses magic thing call glamours or something to hide his real appearance to other. Even from MK. He cover the white stroke of hair using that and make his hair look normal. Bai He is silently jealous of that ability of Wukong because how is that fair? Why he can just look how ever he want with snap of finger and she just cant? Oh how she wish she have the ablity too.

"I get an idea!" Wukong said with smile planning something in his head. Oh boy....

💕.

That bring us to now. Both Bai He and Wukong is walking to her bathroom after Wukong show up next day with big bag full with hair dye. Hair dye .....Why Bai He didn't about that sooner?! Maybe she so stress and that just didnt cross her mind. Bai He was suprise when she saw the bag full with different colours of hair dye boxs for first time when Wukong show up.

"I don't know what colour you prefer so I just bring everything and let you choose " Wukong simply said that and leave Bai He watching him with unbeliveable face. This monkeyyyyyy.

"Well..you like pink, right?" Wukong asks with a smile, holding a box pink hair day in his hand. He right about that, Bai He loves the colour pinks. It's remind her of her cousin who like wearing pink. In other words, pink is pretty colour. Some people would say that pink is not a real colour as it is just shade of red. They were right about that but Bai He doesn't care, It's pretty and that only thing matter. Pink could be lovely colour that bright up the mood but it also can be sickening when it's to much

"Yeah, I want pink" She decide on that with smile. If anything happend it happend and Bai He could not careless. Wukong only respon saying she make a great choice and preparing the dye. While Wukong busy, Bai He want to go through the bag again and that when she notice something is moving inside. "Little monkey!?" Yeah one of Wukong's subject follow Wukong hear in the bag. The little monkey then went to his king and climb on his shoulder. Wukong gigle for a bit and let the little monkey mix the hair dye. "Careful now little one" Wukong remind the monkey. Bai He watching everything with awe and get her attention back to the bag.

Inside of the back she find another colour, yellow. But with specific shade.... It's yellow but not just any yellow, it's have a bit of orange hue in it making it look more golden. It's Wukong type of yellow. Bai He dont know much about colour theory but the colour do remind her of Wukong. This yellow colour bring warm feeling to Bai He. It's provide comfort for Bai He with the bright and fun nature of the colour.

"I want this colour too" Bai He said without thinking. Wukong simply agree with her and Bai He cant help but smile at Wukong. Everything he did right now is for her and she really appreciate it. Colouring her hair with both colour would be fun. But again she didnt want to colour whole head, just the ugly white stroke. Will it look good? They'll find out about that later.

💕

"You sure, you never done this before?" Bai He ask suspicious with Wukong's skill right now. That monkey really tell her that he never dying people hair before but the way Wukong doing staff right now say the opposite.

"Yeahhhhh.....look Im gonna come clean. I watched few video online last night of how to dye hair and tried to do it on my own clone for a bit. " Last night...... Wukong learned to do everything by only a night. Not to mention he just learned it from some video online! Bai He she shouldn't question Wukong ability but to learn something THAT quick is just insane for her.

"Of course and now you're a hairdresser" Bai said sacasticly. Yeah, she bit jealous of that ability, who wouldnt? Wukong just laugh awkwardly at her comment. He so focus on working on Bai He hair with little help from the small monkey to actually say anything as Bai He sit in bathtub.

Bai He herself dont know what Wukong is doing but she trust Wukong completely. Even if everything didnt turn out well she know Wukong would think about something to fix it. Yup, no worry at all. She let Wukong and little monkey pull her hair and wrap it with aluminium foil that Wukong summon using his hair. The smell of hair dye kinda bad and strong.

💕

They have to wait for an hours as the box said. During that time all 3 of them do is watching some random drama from Bai He's phone to kill time. The drama actually good as all of them focus on the phone and not talking at all.

"No offend Monkey King but that women kinda remind me of you" She look at Wukong and back to her phone. The little monkey nod hearing that

"What do you mean?" Wukong raise a eyebrow because that women look nothing like him and many way.

"Both have shitty taste of man" Bai He answers him fast and she can hear Wukong gasping and little monkey cover it mouth.

" ExCuUsE you, I have FINE taste of man"

"Bullshit. You dated Macaque that say everything about you!!"

"Come on! That not fair!" Wukong pout at that. They bicker a bit with Wukong try to defend his pout taste in man and little monkey siding Bai He in this bickering.

After an hour it's finally time to wash off the dye. Wukong let Bai He do it herself as he take a towel for her. Bai He watch the leftover dye going down to the tub's hole. The pink and yellow colour get mix together creating redish-orange colour. Later she take the towel that Wukong give her and dry her hair off.

Bai He take deep breath as she preparing herself to look at mirror again. These past few she isnt doing well looking at mirror because she keep seeing HER. There is still cracks from where she punch the mirror. She still remember how worry Wukong is that time and everything was a mess.. Blood dripping from her fist and some stick to broken mirror. It was Wukong who help her treat the wound. But that is another story. Finally after have courage to look at mirror, Bai He eyes go wide seeing her own reflection.

"Sooooo...do you like it,kid?" Wukong ask softly while having little monkey on his shoulder. Bai He take a look at herself again at her broken mirror that she punched. The white hair stroke is now cover with pink and yellow colour. Both colour stand out from her original black hair.

"I..LOVE it!" Bai He is being honest. In her opinion, the colour was great combo and she love how it look so much. Her eyes sparkels as she see no more of white hair. Lady Bone Demon look nothing like her right now. Did Lady Bone Demon have have a sick and cool pink and yell hair stroke? No, she doesn't .

"Thank you so much, Monkey King!!" Bai He said happily as she hugs her mentor hard

"Anytime, kid" Wukong smile and hug her back. She then let go of Wukong and take out her phone fast as want she talking picture with her new hair colour and Wukong. Everything turn out fine and Bai He couldnt be more happy.

END :3

Thanks for reading! Everything about the au is under "What Still Frozen au" tag. You also can ask me anything about the au or idea for them or other things

[motthe]

I'm back with more Viktor luman au angst, but this time with mage Viktor:

On the day before the final battle, Reader is in the lab helping make some of the wepons for the final battle. Jayce leaves to deliver the last of them to the enforcers, but not before giving Reader reassurance that everything was going to be okay. Then he leaves, closing the door behind him. Reader whose overwhelmed knowing that Viktor nearly killed their friends and is going to do something awful. No one knows what he's planning, but he did send a robot to attack Mel and Jayce. As she sits there with her hand covering her face, she hears a creek. She thinks it's just Jayce back from delivering the wepons. She calls out to him, but no one answers back. Looking up, one of the robots is standing right in front of her. It's a blank white metallic face reflecting her shocked expression. This is bad she's all alone in the academy. Everyone evacuated to the other buildings in anticipation of a fight. So that means no one is around to hear her scream for help.

Before she can fully react, it lunges at her. She quickly grabs a nearby wrench and smacks the robot away. She goes to hit it again, but from behind her, another robot takes her wepon from behind. Now defenseless, she goes to run, but the robots are faster they grab her by her arms and hold her down on a table. Reader struggles and fights, but she's no fighter she's a doctor. All she can do is struggle and hope to somehow get away. It's all in vein though, as they bring her arms over her head, all she can do is kick her legs uselessly.

"Don't be scared, my love." Rings out a voice reader knows very well. It's followed by something small bumping into her face and nuzzling it. She looks over to see Viktors lumen nuzzling her. She hadn't seen the little guy in a while. Viktor took him when he left for Zaun. The little guy was different, no longer a dim yellow he now glowed blue much like the hexcore with black veins inside of him. It would be comforting if she wasn't currently being restrained. "I won't hurt you, I'd never hurt you."

"Why should I beli-" Turning towards where the voice came from, she loses her voice when she finally gets a look at what he's become. A tall, imposing figure steps from the darkness in all his glory. He has a beauty to him but also gives her a sense of dread she can't quite place. Maybe it has to do with the robots holding her down or the glowing eyes that seem to analyze her. Viktor walks closer, his cane turned staff clicking as it hits the floor. Once he's close enough, he holds out a hand about to touch her face.

Snaping out of her trance, she kicks out her leg, attempting to kick him away. Only for him to grab it with the hand that hovered over her face moments ago. He holds it down while the follower, still holding down her arm, uses its free hand to hold down her other leg. Now completely immobile, she feels tears well up in her eyes as she starts to beg. "Viktor, please, this isn't you don't do this." She doesn't quite know what she's begging him not to do, but she has a feeling these white robots weren't built in a lab. Considering Viktors new look, she has a hunch these robots were once - she just can't think of it. "You dont need to be afraid, my love. You will understand everything if you just join me."

She watches as Viktor releases his staff, and it floats beside him as he goes to rub her lumen. It's curled up under his neck, shivering in fear but still trying to find comfort in him. She shivers from the touch before shaking her head. "No, I don't know what's happened to you, but you need to stop this madness. You can end this and we can go home together please." She pleads but it falls on deaf ears as Viktor's hand leaves her lumen. He reaches out to her face again. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to force you, but no matter, you will join me either way." With that, he touches her forehead. She gasps as she feels suddenly so light and warm. At the same time, everything begins to erase. All her thoughts and memories are scrubbed from her mind, but with her last bit of clarity, she calls out to Viktor, "I love you Viktor, I will always lo-" She doesn't finish as her lumen falls off Viktors shoulder and absorbs into her new body.

Jayce gasps after seeing the vision given to him by the mage. Who he now knows is Viktor he questions why he gave him the rune and that vision. The mage is quiet as he walks from the still white body of the doomed timeline Jayce. He goes over to the standing statue of a woman. Despite being turned like the others, she still looks human. Her face isn't blank but has all her facial features. Her body is still that eerie marble with gold flecks, but unlike the others, she has no traces of corruption. She's draped in the blue blanket with a very small blue lumen huddled under her head. The mage caresses her face before kissing her lips that will never kiss back. As he does, Jayce hears a whisper he almost thought was the wind. A faint I love you is heard before mage Viktor pulls away looking to Jayce he smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes "Cause in all timelines all possibilities only you can show me this."

Okay, so I hope no one was confused, but in the og/doomed timeline, mel still becomes a mage, but the difference is no mage Viktor, so doomed Jayce has no idea what Viktor is planning. Also that's why instead of evacuating out of the city, they relocated civilians to safe houses. This is to explain why there's so many robots in the doomed timeline. As for how he evolved in the doom timeline, honestly, it was probably singed who helped him evolve to his final form. Then mage Viktor shows Jayce how he turned the reader further, giving his alternate self a reason not to go through with his plan. Also, mage Viktor knows that out of everyone, Jayce is the only one who can get close enough to Viktor to stop him. So Jayce goes back and convinces the reader to leave with the other civilians. The final battle goes as planned, but now Viktor sees what mage Viktor did in doomed timeline to his soulmate, and the ending happens. But after Jayce and Viktor get sucked into the arcane, all that's left behind is readers' lumen who travels back to the reader once the civilians return.

sad hours at work 😭 but for real this was beautifully written. love how much thought went into this!!!

[i-prefer-west-side]

https://www.tumblr.com/rosauniverseblog/697656197355028480?source=share fic prompt

A REASON TO SURVIVE

A Still post-ep

She's so exhausted, physically and emotionally, that if it wasn't for Castle and the solid support of his arm around her waist, she may have just laid down in the elevator and fallen asleep right there.

Instead, she leans on him, lets him guide her into her apartment, vaguely registers him dropping her keys into the bowl by the door. She hadn't protested even a little bit when he'd taken the keys and opened the passenger door for her.

Fuck, she's tired.

He walks her to the couch, lowers her to it, and kneels in front of her. "What do you need?" he asks quietly, his hands rubbing the tops of her thighs.

Heat begins to simmer though her at his touch, but all the adrenaline that got her through the day is gone. She can't even think right now. "I don't know," she whispers, covering his hands with hers, stopping their slow journey over her jeans.

He slides his hands out from under hers, but doesn't go far, lifts her legs so he can undo her boots. "What did Gates say?"

She can only watch as he slides her boots from her feet, then peels off her socks, one-by-one. He stands and holds out his hands, and really, she shouldn't be surprised when he lifts her into his arms.

"To take tomorrow off," she murmurs, dropping her cheek to his shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. she feels his steps stutter when her lips brush across his skin, but neither of them escalates.

He sets her onto her bed and ducks into the bathroom, and she hears the bathwater start running moments before he reappears. He pulls her into a standing position again, this time tugging at her shirt, slowly undressing her.

"You'll join me, right?"

He chuckles, the low rumble sending trembles through her body as he wraps his arms around her from behind. "Of course."

She doesn't know if it's the hot water or the man sitting at her back, but the bath works wonders, slowly relaxing her rigid muscles, her boyfriend's arms around her offering a place to call home.

Her eyes begin to flutter shut, but before sleep can pull her under she moves forward, Castle's protest dying when she turns and kneels in front of him. "Thank you," she whispers, lifting her hands from the water, pressing her wet palms to his cheeks.

He turns his head and smudges a kiss to her palm. "For what?"

"For staying. I wish you hadn't - stop." She covers his mouth with her hand when he starts to protest. "I'm still mad that you did, that you were willing to die, just like that. But you being there, staying, it..." She trails off, collecting her thoughts. "I resigned myself to my fate. You gave me a reason to keep fighting. To survive."

His eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and her name falls from his lips, a quiet rasp that she interrupts with the soft press of her mouth to his.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

I ran here after your response to that musical!reader headcanon and the mention of Jekyll and Hyde has me SWOONING.

I saw a local production where the woman playing Lucy went out into the audience during "Bring On The Men" and flirted with people, she even sat down on her friend's lap!

What if musical!reader did that to Viktor 🤭

OH MY G O D THATS SO COOL???

Viktor would DIE. Like actually just pass way. Stop breathing and ascend to the next plane of existence. Glorious Evolution TM.

Viktor is usually very appreciative of music. It's similar to mathematics, in many ways, equations of numbers and notes put together for a new and unique sounding result. He does enjoy theater as well from time to time: it requires a lot of practice, experience, trial and error... by that logic, musical theater should be an art form just as objectively interesting in his eyes.

If what you're doing on stage right now is musical theater, though, he's having a VERY hard time staying objective about it.

It's nothing short of dirty. From the corset that hugs your waist and reveals way too much of your generous chest, to the way you're spreading your legs invitingly for the entire audience to see, everything about you screams sex. He's absolutely transfixed, incapable of looking away from the way your hands touch your own body to the beat of the invisible orchestra.

He's only pulled away from the moment when some students a few seats away start loudly whistling and whooping for your attention, like this is a strip club and not a college play.

THAT'S when he starts to get mad.

He's suddenly very aware of the fact that there's about a hundred other people in the room, students and faculty members, watching the same performance he is. How many of them will imagine you in their bed tonight? How many of them are imagining you in their lap right now?

The smile on your lips speak louder than a thousand words: you're enjoying this, the thrill of the stage, the eyes undressing you while you sing your pretty little song about getting fucked by nameless strangers. Even worse, he's certain you're taking pleasure in knowing he's got front row seats for it, that you've effectively got him powerless and chained down while you're giving a show he should be the only one witnessing.

You've flipped over your roles as student and teacher, and now, he's the one who has to sit silently and drink every word from your lips. It's devilishly clever.

He would be genuinely impressed if he wasn't burying his nails into his cane with one hand and trying to cover the tent in his dress pants with the other.

The projector suddenly moves; it follows you as you're going down the few stairs from the stage to the floor, heels sharp against the concrete floor.

So lets bring on the men

And let the fun begin

Your eyes finally meet his. They're filled with bright sparkles from the stage lights, teasing and provoking. Tauntingly asking if he's ready for what's next, when you both know he doesn't have a say in the matter. The show must go on.

'Ah, shit' is the only thing that comes across his mind before you sit on his lap, the spotlight blinding him.

A little touch of sin

Why wait another minute?

Your movements are calculated and precise, applying just enough pressure on his clothed cock for you to feel how hard he is, without granting him any relief. The audience cheers; he thinks he's having an aneurism.

You bat your mascara heavy eyelashes at him, abandoning the play for a triumphant instant. 'See?' he can almost hear you say. 'I knew I'd get your attention eventually. What's your next move, professor?'

Oh, he is going to make you regret this.

[pupkou]

i’m literally going to **** ******

[yunogf]

there's nothing like having ur boss chew u who is overworked and underpaid out for not doing enough :)

[death-rebirth-senshi]

I think Malenia's grab throw and impale you attack is cool but waterfowl still feels goofy to me idk

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[homunculus-argument]

Sometimes in therapy I feel like I don't have trauma in some correct sort of way. Like I'll be explaining that my childhood wasn't even really traumatic, just kind of bleak and boring. The worst my parents ever made me feel was disappointed, but not surprised. it was all so very mundane. And whenever some therapist asks me what I mean, I'll tell some random story that I happen to remember off the top of my head of what my childhood was like, or one that I think illustrated what kind of people my parents were and what their relationship was like.

Like this one time I remember when I was like 10 or so, I can't remember where we were going but the whole family was getting into the car, and dad started bitching at mom about how come when their first car was in his name, it was their car, and then when they had their own cars they had his car and her car, but now that they only have one car again, it's still just her car.

And then mom bitterly pointed out that the reason why he doesn't have a company benefit car anymore is because he lost his lisence for driving drunk with the kids on board while she was on a business trip. (And while mom didn't bring it up at the time, he had also tried to cover this up and act like nothing had happened. And she wouldn't have found out if my (11/12-year-old at the time?) sister hadn't thought of calling one of mom's friends like "hey cops showed up and took dad so we're home alone now idk what we're supposed to do now" and she came to watch us and told mom.)

...And I was like 10 and sitting quietly on the back seat listening to them bickering about this because they still both bothered to be mad about it. Not mad enough to get divorced or anything, but still bitter enough to bitch at each other about each other. And a therapist will be like wow how did that make you feel, and ???

Bored of it? Disappointed, but not surprised? That was just what life was like. Quietly waiting for bitter adults to be done bickering with each other because you can't do anything to fix this and while they could, they won't do anything to improve their lives. Life was just like that.

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ FINDERS KEEPERS, LOSERS WEEPERS! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: the user "gojoslittleslut" tries to make a move on your boyfriend, but she doesn't stand a chance

contents: fem!reader. it's not too serious, nobody gets angry/jealous (except the comments lol). if u haven't already read the other streamer!gojo works u probably should so u understand the dynamic between satoru and his commenters !

author's note: reader is actually a mature person who doesn't pick fights with random ppl on the internet and i think we should all be more like her ꨄ︎

satoru leans back in his chair, idly chatting with people who pop up in his comments after he finishes his last round of the co-op game. his viewers are eager to chat, and some even shoot money satoru's way to draw his attention. whenever someone donates money, he gives them a quick shoutout and has a small back-and-forth with them, and he does that for everyone.

that is, until a user with a questionable username donates to his stream.

gojoslittleslut has donated $100.00!

gojoslittleslut: notice me pls

"shit, a hundred dollars?" satoru says, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. "thanks, gojoslittl— oh, fuck, what is that?"

you look up from your laptop and see the way your boyfriend's cheeks have gone bright red. satoru laughs a bit nervously, so you get up and walk over, making sure to stay out of sight of the camera. you sit on satoru's desk beside his computer and peer at his screen curiously.

gojoslittleslut: im ur number one fan~

satoru's eyes flicker to yours for a second before he looks back at his monitor. "ah, well, thanks for the donation!" he replies, completely ignoring the user's advances.

suguru-geto: he has a gf ...

gojoslittleslut: yeah

gojoslittleslut: me

you cover your mouth to suppress a giggle, scrunching up your nose at satoru to let him know that you really weren't taking it too seriously. after all, it's just some random person on the internet—they don't stand a chance with your boyfriend. 

satoru reaches over and takes your hand, twining his fingers with yours off-camera. he ignores the sudden burst of comments that litter the corner of his screen, instead watching you intently. in response, you roll your eyes playfully and blow him a kiss, snickering when satoru pretends to faint.

eventually, he turns back to his screen, cerulean eyes doing a quick once-over of his new comments.

toji-fushiguro: ill take his gf any day

inumaki: we know gtfo

gojoslittleslut: toji i get gojo and u take his girl. deal?

toji-fushiguro: bet

"alright guys, settle down," satoru huffs, rolling his eyes. "for the record, i still have a girlfriend and i don't plan on changing that anytime soon," he clarifies, addressing the current feud going on in his comments. 

satoru's a good streamer—he does his best to keep things cordial and lighthearted with his audience, but he also knows his limits. one of his limits involves people trying to separate you and him, his one true pairing (of course satoru's otp is his own relationship).

your boyfriend leans closer to the screen and scowls good-naturedly, holding up the hand still wrapped around yours. "this isn't gonna change, so don't even think about it!"

satoru says his goodbyes and then ends the stream, turning to you with a sigh. "how down bad do you have to be to name yourself 'gojo's little slut?'" he grumbles, clicking through his stream analytics and finding the user. he opens gojoslittleslut's profile and studies it for a moment before hovering his mouse over the block button.

he leans back in his chair and tilting his chin up at you. "she just gave me a hundred dollars, so i kinda feel bad about blocking her," satoru muses, tapping his foot on the floor. he looks up at where you still sit on his desk, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. "c'mere," he mumbles, slipping his hands around your waist and hoisting you into his lap with a soft grunt.

satoru rests his chin on your shoulder and nudges his face into your neck, breath tickling your skin. "you know that i'm all yours, right?"

"of course i do," you murmur, settling into his arms. he's warm and comfortable, like always. satoru smiles warmly and kisses the side of your face, letting his lips linger.

"good. 'cause no fan account's ever gonna change that."