#no thanks!! i don’t need to be reminded of that today!!

[moviestarmartini]

yellow flowers. — jude bellingham x gf!reader

él sabía, ella sabía y se olvidaron de sus flores amarillas.

summary: how can your relationship recover from such a serious argument the night before?

wc: 975

warnings: angst, not that much dialogue, like three words in spanish, established long-term relationship.

A/N: WHAAAAT?? GIGI POSTING TWICE IN A DAY??? its more likely than you think! thank las flores amarillas hehe.

now playing... flores amarillas from floricienta

The fight was stupid, really. 

You both had to admit it was. Even then, that doesn’t take away the fact it snowballed into issues each of you held back for what seemed ages, and only ended up with Jude slamming the door on the way out of your apartment. 

After hours of crying, your own exhaustion from the ordeal lulled you to sleep. When you rose up in the morning, neither your mind nor your body prepared for the fact it was a Saturday. 

Nor the fact everyone and their mothers were receiving yellow flowers, something you’d always craved but were always just another bystander. 

If you listened to that song again you might just rip your hair off. 

You had a whole day planned with Jude after the game, he wanted to do something special, but the fact you couldn’t hold back your jealousy the night before was more than enough to dampen the idea, whatever it was. 

For a second, you tried to put things on the positive side. A self-care day. In theory it was wonderful, but the second you sat alone in the bubbly bathtub, you broke down in tears. 

You’d been together for years. You changed your whole life around him, learning German to go to school in the same country and planning your masters in Spanish. Maybe that was part of the reason he called you spineless; you adapted to other’s needs and perspectives easier. His words bounced around your head, each reminder taunting you more. 

To top it all off, Spotify seemed to have a vendetta against you, your daylist was insanely depressing. 

“Is this because he plays for Real Madrid?!” You spoke out into the world, growing frustrated with your situation. 

That did spark an idea in your brain; or more of a reminder. 

Jude had a game today. And you weren’t going to be there to watch him. That just made you jump out of the bath, get changed into decent clothes and leave the house for once to watch him at your best friend’s house upon her request, miserably so even when the team got their footing back up— knowing you should be in the stands cheering him on. But alas, you weren’t.

And you wondered if you would ever be again. 

The moment he fell clutching his shoulder, your heart stopped. Tears welled in your eyes but you avoided letting them escape, remembering the long hours of work and recovery, the utter joy you felt when he informed both you and the team he was comfortable playing without the big chunky brace again. All that, and it crumbled down right before your eyes, like your relationship. 

Still, you didn’t hesitate on reaching for your phone, not finding any elation on the team’s victory. 

[ I know you don’t want to see or hear from me ] 

[ But how’s your shoulder? I’m seriously concerned ] 

You knew he wasn’t going to reply right away, and when your companion found out who you’d texted, she ripped the phone out of your hands and put it away for the reminder of your evening laced with white wine and take out sushi. 

“Thank you for releasing me, master.” You joked by the time she gave you the mobile back, swallowing hard upon seeing Jude hadn’t replied. 

He hadn’t even read it. 

Now you were actually panicking, swallowing down the tears in the Uber and wishing the small elevator could go fast enough that you didn’t break down somewhere that wasn’t in the comfort of your home. 

You were overwhelmed enough that you didn’t even take into account your door was unlocked when you clearly left it locked, nor the warm light coming from the tiny space under the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Were the first words you registered before your eyes caught the indoor prairie your boyfriend had installed in your living room in the shape of yellow daisies. 

Your eyes trailed the hundreds of petals before your eyes finally fell on him, scanning from his toes up to the apologetic expression he was carrying. Now it all made sense; your friend insisted on getting you out of the house for this. He didn’t reply because of this. 

Though your heart was running at a whopping speed of thirty miles per second, your feet took you painfully slow— cautiously— towards him. You were still marveled, carefully watching where your sneakers landed to avoid stepping on the beautiful work he’d planned for you. 

“Perdón,” Jude repeated, as if the words in Spanish meant so much more than the English language. He opened his mouth for what seemed to be a rant, but the way you squeezed the life out of him with a desperate hug left him speechless, followed by your hugs. 

“I thought you— you were going to dump me and I would have to move back home and— and I can’t imagine that because I love you so much and that’s why I was scared!” You babbled between hiccups, trying to calm yourself down before his gentle hands cupping your face did the job spectacularly. 

“I would be such a fuckin’ idiot to do that.” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, not at you nor your claims, but at how ridiculous he had been. 

“Te perdono,” You sniffled, your bottom lip still puckered up ever so slightly. 

“But what’s all this?” You turned to look at the scene, something straight out of a Van Gogh painting. 

“You thought I forgot with the thousand TikToks you sent me on this day?” He leaned in to kiss your forehead before pulling you into another warm hug. 

“I also watch Gilmore Girls whenever you do. Whoops.” 

Your laugh echoed as you snuggled closer to him in your upright position, being extremely thankful the last sentence of the song wasn’t your reality.

A/N: if y'all seriously thought it wasn't going to have a happy ending you clearly don't know me well enough rip

[rafey-baby]

hidden 3

cw: outlaw!rafe being his usual self, hostage situation, mentions of murder, pogue!reader having some sexual awakenings & some backstory on rafe

wc: 2.3k

hope u enjoy xx

part 1 part 2

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

The following morning, her eyes groggily open in her own bed; covers tucked over her shoulders and head comfortably propped up by her pillow. She finds herself perplexed, doesn’t know how she ended up here since her last coherent memory from last night is sitting on the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck and letting her heavy lids close for what was originally supposed to be a few minutes.  

Her sock-clad feet pad over to the living room where Rafe is rummaging through some of his papers and whatnot; appearing as busy as ever.  

”Why don’t I remember coming home last night?” She stops to stand next to him. 

”Cause you sleep like a fucking rock. Had to carry you to your room,” he sounds disinterested, not even bothering to lift his head from the piece of paper he’s pinching between his fingers. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be some sort of a contract; letters unfortunately too tiny for her to be able to read from where she’s standing. 

“Oh. Thanks?”

Instead of leaving her passed out in his car like she would’ve assumed, he tucked her into bed? Maybe he owns a heart, after all.  

“It’s whatever,” he dismisses her while reading something over; seemingly deep in thought.  

“Do you— do you need help with that?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” his hand lifts up to scratch at the back of his head before he scribbles something down.

”Right…” she trails off, apparently rooted in her spot and unable to move.  

”Did you want something or what?” His tone is suddenly exasperated, eyes finally flickering up to peer into hers along with his brows raising expectantly.  

”No, I just…are we going somewhere today?” She can’t help but feel a little out of place in her own home with him there; almost as if she’s waiting for his next command to know what to do next. It makes something peculiar swim in the pits of her stomach.  

”Nah, just have to go over these. Can you, I don’t know, go to your room or something? You’re bothering me with your staring,” he grumbles and shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch; not sparing her another ounce of attention.  

”Okay,” she mumbles, a frown taking over her visage.  

Honestly, she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do now. Normally, she’d go to work at the surf shop near the beach but since Rafe so kindly took her phone and texted everyone in her contacts about a family emergency that would take some days to sort through, she can’t exactly do that. And besides work…well, she doesn’t really have much else going on in her life. It’s sad, really, how a literal criminal forcing his way into her house is the most exciting thing to happen to her in the past few years.  

All things considered though, she doesn’t mind living a quiet life in the Cut, just sometimes wishes she didn’t feel so…lonely. And don’t get her wrong, she has friends, she just sometimes yearns for something deeper than fun boat adventures or getting high with her feet dangling over the dock while a tangerine-colored sunset paints over the horizon.  

She’s always had this dream of traveling around the world or simply just somewhere that wasn’t the Outer Banks but her parents never had the money for it. Therefore, she settled and learned to earn a living by herself in order to keep a roof over her head.  

And she’s been content with her simple life, even considers herself to be happy but then she sat on Rafe’s lap and at the realization of him getting hard from her unconscious rubbing against him felt butterflies in her belly, maybe for the first time in her life. It was something she thought only happened in movies yet there they were; their fluttering wings poking at her core like some vicious reminder that she hadn’t let someone make her feel good in ages.  

Truth be told, she grew tired of guys not being able to make her come because they didn’t understand her needs; didn’t even bother to find them out which is why she sort of lost hope for the whole thing altogether. But then Rafe steps inside her home uninvited and is nothing but mean to her and suddenly she...

It's wrong.

It doesn't make any sense yet she still can't help but feel a certain pull towards him whenever he's close. And she doesn't like it one bit; wants to forget about it as quickly as the thought breaches her mind.

It's far too complex for her perplexed mind to grasp onto, which is why she confuses it for insanity; simply decides that she’s going crazy. And maybe she is, because why else would she suddenly care for Rafe? Why is a hidden part of her heart beginning to harbor gooey, fond feelings for a killer who’s technically holding her hostage? 

She’s sure her muddled brain is going to explode if she thinks about the matter any longer; instead opting to take a long, scalding shower due to the clothes she’s been wearing since yesterday starting to stick to her sweaty skin and making her feel even filthier than she already does. 

Unfortunately, the steaming water doesn't quite wash away the ache between her thighs.

She’s in the middle of pulling a shirt over the damp strands of her hair when harsh knuckles rap against her bedroom door and Rafe enters a second later; not even bothering to wait for a response.  

”Change of plans—” his words die down on his tongue when he notices her current state.  

”Rafe, what the fuck?” She quickly adjusts the hem over her waist, painfully aware of the fact that she’s not wearing any pants and his eyes are now fixed on the lace of her panties practically on show for him. 

”Why are you just barging into my room like that? I could’ve been naked!” She complains before snatching a pair of shorts off her floor; tugging them over her hips.  

”Shit, wouldn’t have minded if you were. Got a nice ass for a Pogue,” he shrugs while sporting an irritating smirk that makes her glare at him.  

”And you’ve got no manners for a Kook. Except, I’m not surprised,” she rolls her eyes when he feigns shock; exaggeratedly dropping his jaw.

”Puppy’s getting angry, huh? Where’s this attitude coming from? Thought you were still scared of me?” He belittles her with a condescending tinge in his laugh. 

And she’s about to respond when out of the blue the ring of her doorbell reverberates around the house.  

They both tense.  

“You’re expecting someone?” His tone turns bleak, frigid; inducing shivers to litter across her arms as her head turns towards the source of the sound.  

”N— no. I’m not,” she stutters because truthfully, she doesn’t have a clue as to who could be at her door in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.  

”Did you fucking call someone?” He takes a threatening step towards her and she panics.   

”No! I promise, I didn’t. I don’t even— you literally have my phone, remember?” She tries to fruitlessly defend herself.  

”I swear, if you’re lying right now—”  

”I’m not, okay? I didn’t call anyone!” She reassures once more, although it seems like he’s not even listening anymore. Therefore, she tries to be logical. ”I should— I should go and see who it is, right?” 

The icebound water in his eyes bores into her as he weighs out his options. 

”Right, right. Yeah, you should do that," he finally settles on. "But if you even consider telling them anything, I swear I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” He grits out into her face and she flinches when she can feel his harsh breaths hit her mouth with each syllable.  

She quickly nods before teetering towards the entrance of her home and twisting the lock with precarious fingers.

Soon, she’s standing in front of two men wearing police uniforms. 

”Oh, sorry for the wait. Was um…in the bathroom. How can I— uh, help you?” She tries to appear unfazed; inhaling slowly and doing everything she can in order to not look as guilty as she feels. 

”We apologize for the inconvenience but we’ve been assigned to ask around the island in order to locate a criminal who’s potentially a threat to our entire community,” one of them says and she thinks his jaded eyes are peering into her soul and seeing right through her rickety facade. 

”Have you seen this man recently?” The other guy dangles a picture of Rafe in the air. She takes a moment to properly look at the photo as to not answer too quickly.  

“N— no, sorry. Can’t say I have. Why? Who is that?” She bats her lashes in confusion as her poor heart thuds in her ribcage. She wonders if they can hear it. 

”This is Rafe Cameron. You might’ve heard about Cameron Development? He became the owner after his father’s death a few years back. And now we have reason to believe that he’s the main suspect for the murder of a fellow officer,” he states with a serious expression. 

”Oh, that’s…that’s terrible,” her eyes widen in shock because she had no idea Rafe was a Cameron. Of course, she’d heard everyone talking about what had happened with Ward Cameron and the rumors surrounding the gold but she’d never cared enough to dig through for more information about the rest of his family.  

”Seems like the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree considering what Ward did to Sheriff Peterkin,” the one with the piercing stare snickers and her brows furrow because she doesn’t think the topic is all that hilarious.  

”I remember watching that in the news when it was all happening. Didn’t you guys also arrest an innocent Pogue with no actual proof?” Her question is sharp because the whole case still itches her in the wrong way. 

”That was— listen, I wasn’t even here back then, it was all very tragic. But the investigation on this case is still ongoing and we have a reliable witness claiming they saw Rafe dragging something heavy near the ocean the night before we found the body washed up on the shore. And according to multiple sources Rafe was the last person seen with our coworker at the island club a few hours prior to his death,” the guy explains and she momentarily wonders if they’re even allowed to share this much classified information with her.  

”Right. Well, I really wish I could help you but I unfortunately haven’t seen him,” her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek and she wonders if they can tell that she’s lying. 

“At this point, it seems like no one has. We’re suspecting that he might’ve fled the country. Anyway, we’ve got orders to search every house but honestly, we don’t think he’d be on this side of the island. So, we’re not gonna waste our time on that. Call this number if you notice anything out of the ordinary, though?”  

”Yes, of course. I really wish there was more I could do to help. Hope you guys find him soon,” she offers them a tight smile.  

”We’ll do our best,” they assure her before the door finally closes.  

Her back slides down against the wood as her labored breathing begins to slow down. She closes her eyes in a moment of relief until she feels Rafe’s presence interfering with her peace.  

”Who knew you were such a good liar? Shouldn’t believe everything you say too easily then, should I?” His gaze travels down her form and he genuinely seems impressed.  

”You killed a cop?” She decides to ignore his teasing. 

”Relax. He was a sleazy bastard who was helping me with some side business and became too greedy. What can I say? Don’t like being used. But believe me, he was not a good person,” he answers her question, maybe for the first time ever. 

”Right, right,” she tries her very best to understand where he’s coming from but she doesn’t think she’s ever going to be able to justify ending someone’s life with such indifference. In her opinion, he doesn’t have the right to decide whether someone gets to live or not; no matter how good or bad of a person they are. 

”Listen, I didn’t mean to do it, it just…happened, okay?” He tries to explain himself and he almost sounds vulnerable. She nearly feels bad for him.  

”You know, I could go to jail for helping you!” She snaps when frustration bubbles to the surface instead.  

”Calm down, Pup. You’re not going to jail, alright? And watch that fucking tone, yeah?” His hands rest on his head as he begins to pace around the hallway.  

”I just— cops don’t care about Pogues. If they find out I lied to them they’re gonna put me behind bars cause unlike you, I don’t have the money to bail myself out,” she tries to pointlessly reason with him.  

”Already told you, nothing’s gonna happen to you, okay? Now can you shut the fuck up so I can think?” He demands, halting his movements.  

”Did they, uh, tell you anything?” He speaks up again and she tells him everything she remembers from the brief conversation while he mulls over his situation. 

”Right, right. So, they don’t actually have any real proof about me killing the guy? Just speculation,” he confirms.  

”I guess, yeah? But I don’t know if they even know all the details about the case,” she offers in response and can practically hear the wheels turning in his head.  

”They didn’t happen to mention who the witness was?”  

”N— no, why?” Her voice wavers as she swallows around the question. 

He lifts his head to inspect her reaction when he seems to have finally conjured up some sort of a plan to clear his name.  

”Think I’m gonna have to pay him a little visit. And you’re gonna help, aren’t ya?”

She would very much like to find out whatever sin she committed in a past life that weighed so heavily that it made her end up in a position as wretched as this one.

[patrywoso]

17. Ingrid Engen

+18 smut

Warnings: Spanking. Choking. Mommy Kink. Lexan paddle.

A/N: Thanks to @ljs-woso-vibez for proofreading this fic and being awesome.

You knelt on the floor with your eyes downcast and your hands on your knees as Ingrid undressed. God, you really wanted to watch, but you had been told to stay in position and your earlier spanking in the morning had taught you enough for the day.

“You can look up, darling.” Ingrid directed. You smiled softly because you love looking at Ingrid. From your position on the floor you have a perfect view,, all her soft curves and long, thick legs.

“Stand.” Ingrid tells you.

You scrambled to stand, catching yourself as you stumbled., Ingrid gently pushed you back, laying you on the bed and pinning your arms above your head.

“You were so good for me today, baby,” Ingrid cooed, pressing kisses to your neck. “But I don’t think this bottom is red enough for me yet.”

You let out a whine as you muttered the word “green.”

“Good girl,” Ingrid whispered, pulling you up and flipping you onto your elbows and knees. “Stay in position, dear.” You stayed still as Ingrid went to get what you were assuming was the Lexan paddle.

Your ass was still stinging from the events of this morning, but it was about to get much worse. A shiver went down your spine and you could feel yourself becoming wetter by the second.

Ingrid came into view and you saw she was holding the Lexan paddle, her favourite because she loved the marks it left.

“Good girl.” Ingrid cooed as she rubbed the cool material over your upturned bottom before bringing it down in a firm swat. You jerked forward but immediately repositioned yourself, arching your back as much as possible. “You’re so wet for me, darling.”

“Mhmmm,” you hummed, and Ingrid brought the paddle down again, this time on your other cheek. You moaned softly at the sting it left behind and wiggled your bottom in Ingrid’s direction in a wordless ask for more.You wanted to reach your hand down and touch yourself, but you knew from experience that would lead to an actual punishment and not the funishment you were receiving.

“Not yet, darling. I’m not done with this bottom of yours.” Ingrid said, and you let out a moan wrapped with pleasure. Ingrid rewarded you with two quick spanks to your right cheek, followed by two on the left. “You’re doing so good for me, beautiful,” Ingrid whispered.

“Then fuck me!” you whined, turning your head to look back at Ingrid.

Ingrid clicked her tongue at you. “Patience.” She reminded you, landing a harder swat to the middle of your backside, catching your pussy in its wake. You clenched around nothing as Ingrid continued spanking you, whining and pining for more.

As Ingrid continued to redden your backside, you found it harder to stay in position., Yyou did your best to keep your back arched, bottom in the air, but it was more difficult as she continued. Finally, you fell forward at a harsher swat to the middle of your ass and Ingrid clicked her tongue at you.

“Naughty girl.” Ingrid chided, grabbing your hips and pulling you back up. “You just couldn’t stay in position for me, could you, my little kitten?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just so hard, Mommy!” you cried, barely noticing the word that slipped out, you heard her chuckle dirtily as she picked up the paddle again.

“I think Mommy needs to spank her little kitten until she is sore and sorry. Is that what you need?” She asked.

“Yes, Mommy,” you whined.

“Yes, what?” Ingrid said, expecting more.

“I need you to spank me, Mommy.” You blushed harder than you’d ever blushed before.

“Good girl. We’re almost done.” Ingrid cooed, bringing down the paddle again and again until tears pricked your eyelids. You let them fall onto the bed and Ingrid set down the paddle. “You did so well, darling.”

“Please, fuck me,” you whined, turning back to her and pleading with wet eyelashes.

“Yes, naughty girl.” Ingrid chuckled. “So impatient for me.”

“Yes,” you panted. “Please” you begged, and you felt her warm breath on your entrance. Ingrid slowly lapped at your pussy, and you shuddered.

“You taste so good.” she murmured, continuing her work. “You look perfect like this, with your ass red and at my mercy.”

You moaned out another string of “fuck me” and Ingrid finally continued, tonguing slowly at your clit. She stuck her tongue in your entrance, and you nearly screamed, it felt so good. She flipped you over on your back and used one hand to lift the hood of your clityour clit hood, and her tongue found its way to your sweetest spot.

“God, mommy,” you moaned, bucking your hips up for more. You felt firm fingers press into your hips, holding you down to the bed and you squirmed in her hold. “It feels so good.”

Ingrid moved her tongue away and stuck a finger in your hole, curving much too slowly for your liking. Ingrid hovered over you and pressed her free hand to your neck, slightly choking you, enough that you could still breathe and feel the pressure. She added another finger, slowly working them in and out.

“Fuck,” you whined, as Ingrid pressed a thumb to your clit and began to rub. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” Ingrid smirked, quickening her pace, you shook under her as you felt the warmth fill your body from head to toe.

You wriggled under her hold as you came, and she let go of you, kissing your forehead gently she said, “I’ll be right back with a towel to clean you up, and a glass of water, my love.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and closed your eyes, still coming down from your orgasm. As soon as she’d gone, Ingrid came back with a towel and slowly cleaned you off. You sat up and grabbed the glass of water, obediently chugging all of it. You knew what Ingrid expected, especially after a scene like we’d just had and you weren't in the mood to be spanked again, that Lexan paddle had really worked you up.

Ingrid laid down beside you and beckoned for you to come cuddle, and you obeyed immediately. You rested your head on her chest, relishing in the skin-to-skin contact and the warmth that came with it as Ingrid ran one hand through your hair and caressed the other over your burning bottom.

“Ingrid?” you asked, peeking up at her.

“Yes, sweet girl?” She responded.

“I love you.”

“And I love you beautiful.” Ingrid kissed the top of your head, and you slowly dozed off in her arms.

[salemlunaa]

STOP TRYING TO GET YOUR DESIRES,THEY’RE NOT COMING ᥫ᭡

stop trying to manifest things, they are never coming.

You guys need to stop manifesting things in order to get stuff, and you guys say that you don’t but ultimately, you do. you burn through methods like no tomorrow and then go to asks and dms to say that nothing works for you

But in order to manifest you need to understand that your desires aren’t coming, they’re already here, stop trying to do mental gymnastics to affirm the right way or visualise the right way with a 100 step manifestation routine trying to get your desires because they aren’t coming, they’re already here. And that’s what manifestation is:

reminding yourself of what is true

what manifestation isn’t:

using methods to get anything you dream of

instead it’s:

creating a reality where you have said desire, in imagination

it’s done

remind yourself of it whether it be with affirmations, visualisation etc

So stop trying to get results because they aren’t coming and never will, something that is already true isn’t waiting to happen, it just has already. So if your desire, which isn’t a desire anymore isn’t waiting around to become true, why are YOU waiting🤨?

If a loved one brings you a plate of cookies, you’re not going to beg: “please can i have some cookies” (affirmation that you lack cookies) you aren’t begging because the cookies are already infront of you. Instead you would thank them “thank you so much for the cookies” (affirmation that you do, in fact, have some cookies infront of you)

Those two phrases are affirmations, whether the cookies are materialised in the 3d or not, confirming whether you have them or not are affirmations. Treat your desires as those cookies, they’re here already therefore you can’t beg, why would you beg for something that’s here, why would you be desperate for something that has come.

Now, imagine if a friend comes over to your house to hang out, you aren’t gonna ignore them and say you’re waiting for them to come, while completely disregarding the fact that they’re already here because that’s rude and you also look insane anticipating the arrival of a friend that is literally sitting infront of you. Think of your desires as that friend, why are you ignoring them, while also looking and waiting for them at the same time, when they are RIGHT INFRONT OF YOU??

You can rack your brain to the point of insanity to get your results, you can be in this community for years and they just won’t come, sorry babe. You have to wake up and realise it’s already done or nothing will get done. Wether you do this by subliminals, robotic affirming, visualising, you need to remember that when it comes to your prize, these methods aren’t helping you cash out your prize, they’re simply reminding you that you have that prize.

Again, if you can’t understand it’s already done, nothing will ever get done. ever. You can apply for two hours before you go back to complaining (which is affirming that you lack that desire), you can affirm for a day before looking for your desire, but it’s never gonna happen, because it has already.

This is your life, you can spend years on and off applying this mindset while other actually get what they want, but this is your life and another day has gone by where you’re still looking for results you’ll never get. Don’t waste your life away doing the same thing you did yesterday, today’s the day to finally have enough with your mindset and fix up!!

STOP ANTICIPATING THE ARRIVAL OF SOMETHING THAT IS ALREADY HERE!! 🐊💋

[kitsunecrows]

study break! 🍵 (read tags)

[pqnnier]

I love feeling like a burden for needing medication 🥰

[walkinthew00ds]

regarding my previous art post, I kind of joked around with the deviantart description…

[rosicheeks]

what’s something good that happened today?

-🌸

You’re in my ask box 🫣🥰

[voulezloux]

.

[meiieiri]

when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

…

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”

[luveline]

i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's just miserable that no one remembered his birthday at work but when he gets home his roommate just welcomes him with the most thoughtful gift and a warm hug PLEASE

thank you for requesting! <3 fem!reader

The lights are off. The air conditioning blows a shade too cold. Spencer shrugs off his jacket and acknowledges that, despite his awful, aching day, it’s nice to be home. 

The living room is clean where it hadn’t been this morning when he left. If he had to clean it by himself, he’d die. It must’ve taken a good hour or longer, even the floor shines sparkling clean. 

“Hey?” he asks into the open air, wondering where you are. 

“Spencer!” you yelp from the kitchen, “Hey, what took you so long? It’s almost seven!” 

He sighs to himself with a great dash of self-pity. “I know. Had to stay and finish something. You cleaned?” 

“I had to! Quick, come in here, I need your help with something.” 

He doesn’t want to help, he wants to lay down in bed. Spencer wonders how a normal person, a normal boy, would feel after a day like today. He wonders if Morgan would go home and lay in bed and cry. He wonders if it could ever be possible for everyone to forget Morgan’s birthday. 

Spencer hangs his jacket on the rack and puts his bag by the shoes. He’s tempted to go to bed and pretend he hasn’t heard you, but he supposes he shouldn’t. He’d sort of been hoping you’d text him happy birthday, and but that never happened. He doesn’t think anybody in the world besides his mom knows what day it is today, and Spencer had to remind her, so. 

“Spence,” you say, your smile of a calibre he’s never witnessed, standing in front of the kitchen island with your hands behind your back, “I hope you know I’ve been waiting two whole hours for you to get back. Actually, I’ve been waiting all day, but you can’t be blamed for working. Okay. Are you ready?” 

“Am I ready? What did you want help with?” 

You step to the side, grinning, the sleeves of your nice blouse like big, soft petals around your wrists and against your thighs. “Tada!” you say, guiding his attention to the silver platter on the countertop, a chocolate cake at centre stage and stuck with candles, flames aglow. “I rushed to light them when I heard the door,” you tell him, and he can hear your breathlessness now, your excitement for him evident. “A lot of candles, you’re getting old! Too old for chocolate sprinkle. I should’ve got you something sophisticated.” 

“You got me a cake?” 

“It’s your birthday,” you say happily. “Happy birthday, Spencer. I got you some presents, too, but the cake is the best, it’s from the Leaven. How fancy is that?” 

“Will you sing?” he asks. 

He doesn’t know why he asks. He’s mostly kidding, but you smile shyly and beckon him toward you. “I’ll sing. Come stand over here.” 

You sing him happy birthday, and he blows out his candles, only ten candles altogether but enough to feel like a kid as the heat kisses his chin. 

“Okay, and I got you this,” you say, finally pulling both hands from behind your back, seemingly eager to move the focus from your performance.

It’s a bundle about as thick as an average novel. He knows it’ll be books before he opens it, because you know him, and it’s in your nature to give him your everything. 

He doesn’t look at them. He takes the package blindly and shoves it onto the counter, wrapping you in a hug so hard it makes your back click. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You don’t make him. “Sorry, I just– I–” You’re the only one who remembered. “Thank you for the cake.” 

You hug him not quite as hard, but tight. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, you’re my best friend ever, you can pop me like a roll of dough any day of the week.” You might be exaggerating. Spencer doesn’t know. “But especially today, you know. You can have anything you want.” 

Spencer should let go. Anything you want, you’d said. He hugs you until he’s sure you’re sick of him, your thumb pressing little circles into his shoulder, his arms tucked up under your armpits and around your back. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“What?” he asks. “For what?” 

“For such a good hug. And being a great roommate. And for not complaining about the candles.” 

“The candles are perfect.” 

You lean back in his arms. “Thank you. Now what do you want first, cake or dinner?” 

Spencer really wants another hug. “Um. Cake?” 

“Good choice, handsome.”

His cheeks are pink by the time he gets a slice, but it’s the best birthday cake he’s ever had.

[strang3lov3]

Seeing Red

“Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

Joel’s sorry that your period sucks, but he's reached the end of his rope with your attitude. (6k)

Tags - 18+ smut, brat taming, blow jobs, face fucking, rough period sex, fingering, mating press, overstimulation and multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare in the form of a shared bubble bath, all things periods and period symptoms so headaches, breast pain, cramps, irritability that reader takes out on Joel. You will feel so bad for being such a cunt to this man but he gets to fill two of your holes with his cum so it all kind of evens out. takes place in jackson Fic help - @beefrobeefcal and @joelsdagger for all of their love and support and eyeballs, @noxturnalpascal and @endlessthxxghts thank you both for being my compass and giving me direction and helping to make this fic perfect. I love you <3 A/N - if you're on your period, i'm sending you a hug <3 if you're not i'm hugging you too

I was reminded of my friend @covetyou's fic "Sleepless" which is a lovely piece of classic literature, just like the rest of her works, and I'd like to credit her for inspo. Thank you Lo 🤎🩷💚

You should have guessed there’d be a bloodstain in your underwear, but despite the headaches, your sore breasts, and your cramping abdomen, you’re surprised when you’re met with rusty red in your panties. Fucking great, you whisper, dripping with sarcasm, this is not what you needed today. You had so many things you wanted to get done and now you were going to be spending the whole day miserable and in pain.

“Joel,” you loudly call out. You wait a beat, nothing. “JOEL,” you yell louder. 

You hear the faint sound of his recliner, the popping of his knees and the creaking of the stairs as he walks up them. His two feet are visible through the space between the floor and the bathroom door and then he knocks, “Whatcha need, darlin’?”

“New underwear,” you answer. “And a pad. Also in the underwear drawer.” 

Joel walks away and returns with what you’ve asked for and slides both items under the door. You change your panties and secure the pad made of old rags and t-shirts with the clothespin attached to it. “You got it?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Guessin’ you just started your cycle, then.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nope,” you answer. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Alright. I’ll join you, then.” 

 You wash your hands and rinse the bloodstain out of your panties with annoyance in the sink, wringing them out before tossing them in the dirty laundry hamper in the bathroom. When you unlock the door and leave the bathroom, Joel’s already asleep in your shared bed. He sleeps curled on his side and yet he still fucking snores - between that and the pain you’re in, you know it won’t be a restful night of sleep. You look at Joel, sleeping peacefully like a baby, and yet you wanna beat the living fucking crap out of him. You curl your body around his, stealing his body heat to soothe your cramps. 

Joel wakes up early the next morning and greets you with a kiss pressed to the side of your head. “Fuck off,” you mumble, your voice is still thick with sleep but he knows you mean it so he lets you sleep in a bit while he cleans the bathroom for you. He works as quietly as he can, scrubbing it and mopping it from top to bottom. He empties the trash can and the laundry hamper, he makes sure there’s a fresh bar of soap and a new washrag for you. Joel’s just finishing up and wiping dust from the mirror when you find him in the bathroom. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he says as he kisses the top of your head. “How do you feel?” 

“Shitty.” You grab at the mirror and Joel’s skin crawls as you touch the glass with your thumb, the smudges left behind from your fingertips clear as day on the freshly cleaned glass. He’ll just touch it up later. You pull out your toothbrush and frown, your nose scrunched in disgust. “It smells like bleach in here,” you complain.

“Well, yeah,” Joel chuckles. “I just cleaned it for ya. ‘Course it smells like bleach.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you mumble. “The bleach you used makes my head hurt worse.”

“Oh,” Joel scratches the back of his head and frowns. “M’sorry, then. Well, we can let it air out for a while, we’ll leave the fan on. Shouldn’t smell for more than a day or so.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

If looks could fuckin’ kill, Joel thinks. You’re glaring at him. He takes that as his cue to leave. You shrink away from him as he gently brushes your arm when he walks past, then shut the door loudly behind him. Ouch. Joel knows not to take it personally, though. You’re crampy, but you’re also probably hungry. He’ll make you breakfast, something with protein because he knows you need it. 

He cleans the kitchen first. He washes the dirty dishes you must’ve forgotten about last night and wipes crumbs from the table. As you come downstairs dressed in sweats and a shirt you stole from Joel, he’s finishing up making your breakfast. “Sit down, I made your favorite.” 

You sit down at the table with your head in your hands. Joel puts a plate with two slices of perfectly golden brown toast and two over-easy eggs in front of you, then a fork and a knife on either side. He fills a glass with water for you as well. He walks away to clean up the stove, then turns around to check on you. Your face is contorted in disgust and you’re not eating. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want this,” you grouse.

“But s’your favorite. You love your eggs over easy,” Joel says. “And the toast, that’s fresh bread and butter. Eat up.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted scrambled.” 

Joel stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded. You usually hate scrambled eggs, and he knows this. But you’re not smirking or holding back laughter like you’re fucking with him. So maybe your tastes have changed, who knows. “Okay. Would you like me to make you scrambled eggs instead, then?”

“Yes,” you mumble in a small voice. 

“I didn’t hear ya, sweetheart. Speak up, please.” 

“I said yes,” you snap. 

Your clipped tone cuts like a knife. Joel bites his inner cheek as he takes your plate from you. He quickly scarfs down the perfectly cooked eggs and toast as he makes you a new plate of breakfast, this time with scrambled eggs. He places it in front of you with a little less care than before and waits for you to take a bite. “Better?”

“Just okay.” 

‘Just okay’. Of course you think it’s ‘just okay’, they’re scrambled fucking eggs - which you don’t like. You’re just being - 

Joel needs to cool off. Hopefully once you’ve eaten you’re a little less irritable. “I’m gonna head out an’ do some errands. Be back shortly,” He’s met with no answer from you, which he expected. 

-

He comes back an hour or so later with a few things from the market he’s been needing along with a couple of VHS tapes that he rented from the library. “So,” Joel says, “I picked out some movies for ya.” He lays four tapes down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you lay. “When Harry Met Sally, that’s a good one,” he begins, “Next is How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days, then Blade Runner, and I picked out My Cousin Vinny,” Joel says. He thinks you’re gonna pick out Blade Runner because it stars Harrison Ford, who he knows you have a thing for. “My Cousin Vinny is pretty good, I don’t think we’ve seen that one yet f’ya wanna give that a try.”

“Mmm, no.” 

Shot down. “Okay. How ‘bout Blade Runner, then. S’got Indiana Jones in -”

“No. I don’t care,” you interrupt, which hurts Joel’s feelings a little. A lot, actually. “I wanna watch this one,” you point to How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days. “He’s cute.” 

Of course you picked the Matthew McConaughey movie. God, Joel fucking hated him. He always seemed so skeezy, if there’s anyone who should’ve bit it on Outbreak Day, it should’ve been Matthew McConaughey. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. Do you think he’s dreamy too?”

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

So teasing’s off the table too, he’ll add that to the list of things that have pissed you off today. Joel turns on the TV and puts the tape in the VHS player before he sits back down next to you. At first you rest on his shoulder, then you spread out and lay your head on his lap. It’s not long before you fall asleep on Joel, leaving him to watch this dumb fucking movie all by himself because god forbid he move you and disrupt your nap. He knows better than to do that. 

-

“So fuckin’ stupid,” Joel whispers to himself as the movie plays, though he did find himself enjoying the part where the Kate Hudson sings “You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon. He always did like that song. 

“Mmmm,” you groan, shifting onto your back. Joel’s hand is stroking your hair as you look up at him, but you push it away. “You’re too close to me,” you grumble. 

“What’re you talkin’ about?” 

“You’re crowding me. I feel smothered.” 

Joel scoffs. “Oh, you feel smothered? You’re the one who laid on me.” Once again, your glare is all that you need to say. “Alright then, I’ll move.” Joel concedes. He lifts your head gently and scoots down to the opposite end of the couch. And then he hears you huff. “What?”

“Well, now I don’t have a pillow.” 

Joel sighs as he gets up to grab a throw pillow from the opposite couch. 

“The other one.” 

You’re referring to the other throw pillow that’s absolutely indistinguishable from the one currently in Joel’s hand, but he gets it for you anyway. “Lift your head,” he says softly, putting the pillow under you. He sits back down in the spot you made him move to as you both watch the movie play, but your soft groans interrupt. You’re no doubt in pain from all the cramps right now. “I’ve got somethin’ like a heating pad,” Joel says, looking at you. “S’a big sock filled with rice, I heat it up and use it for neck and back pain. Would that help with them cramps?” You nod without making any effort to meet Joel’s eyes, which he finds a little rude. But still, you’re hurting. He’ll give you grace. 

So, once again, Joel gets up for you. He goes upstairs to get his rice sock from his nightstand, then comes back downstairs and heats it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. He pokes the sock to make sure it’s plenty warm for you and then gives it to you to take. “Here,” he says, “Hold it on your tummy.”

“JESUS,” you yell at him. 

“What?”

“It’s too fucking hot, Joel, why would you make it so hot?” 

 “Just give it a second, sweetheart, you’ll get used to it.” 

“No. It was burning me.” 

“Okay, then let me have it and we’ll let it cool off a minute. Christ almighty.” Joel takes the sock back from you, and he knows his hands are pretty calloused but…it doesn’t feel that hot. When a few minutes have passed, he gives it back to you. “This should be better.” 

You lay the big, warm stuffed sock across your stomach and frown. “It’s not warm enough.” 

“You have gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, giving Joel back his sock like you just assume he’ll heat it up again for you. 

“Just a couple minutes ago you screamed bloody murder about it burnin’ you. And now it’s not hot enough?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” When Joel doesn’t jump immediately to reheat the sock for you, you look at him impatiently. “Joel.” 

“You can ask, you know.” 

But Joel gets the hint and gets up for you a third time to reheat the sock he’s letting you borrow. You don’t say please, and when he returns with the sock reheated, there’s no thank you either. What does he get from you? “It’s too hot.”

“Then tell me how I should rectify that for you, because last time I let it cool off and it wasn’t warm enough for ya after.” 

“I don’t know,” you snap. “You’re just really upsetting me right now. Everything hurts and your voice is grating.”

“I’m upsetting you?” Joel repeats your words back to you. “And my voice is grating.” 

“Yes.” 

He’s about at his wits end. “You know, you–” Joel decides not to finish that sentence. Instead, he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out on the count of five. “Two, three, four…You need to drink some water. S’your first issue, you’re probably dehydrated. Did you drink any water?” 

“It’s not your business.”

 Jesus fucking Christ. “Okay, well I’m makin’ it my business.” Joel gets up for the fourth goddamn time and slams the cup cabinet before filling a glass with water from the sink. He marches back to the couch, “Sit up,” he says. “Drink.” 

“I don’t want to,” you whine. 

“It’ll fix your headache. Drink.” 

“It won’t actually, that’s a myth.” 

“Right, what do I know when you’ve got an answer for fuckin’ everything. Drink.” 

You sit up, scowling at Joel as you take a sip. 

“All of it.” 

You drink the rest of it, glaring at him the whole time. He’s so full of shit, as if any of what you’re going through could be fixed by drinking a glass of water. Water won’t fix your cramps, won’t fix your aching and sore back. When you’re done, you slam the glass on the end table next to you and in doing so, break Joel’s reading glasses. Oops. Didn’t see those. The lenses aren’t shattered, but one of the arms is all bent now. When you look at Joel, he’s biting his bottom lip and breathing deeply. “Your glasses broke.” 

“Yeah. I see that.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you tell him defensively.

“Right.” 

“But you really shouldn’t leave your glasses there, Joel.”

“Yeah, right. Shouldn’t leave my glasses on the end table,” Joel says. “I should leave them where, exactly? Maybe the floor?” 

“Somewhere else.” 

“Right. Somewhere else.” 

He’s hoping that by repeating your words back to you, you start to hear how absolutely ridiculous you sound. But you don’t seem to. Joel turns and walks away before he fucking throttles you. 

“Can you put on the next movie? I wanna watch My Cousin Vinny.”

Now, now you want to watch that movie. And Joel’s gonna miss out, because he can’t stand to be around you for one minute longer. “Are your legs broken?” 

“Yes.” 

Walked into that one. “You’re fuckin’ impossible. Fine. I’ll put it on, then I’m goin’ away for a bit.” 

“Good.”

Oh, he could fucking kill you. This whole day he’s heard nothing but complaints from your mouth, no pleases or thank you’s at all. Everything he’s done today has been for you, and you couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

Joel puts on the movie, grabs his bent glasses from the end table and heads out to the garage without saying a single word to you. You wonder what bug crawled up his ass. 

-

My Cousin Vinny plays just fine until Vinny shows up in his ridiculous suit to the courthouse. The tape begins to skip a whole bunch, the movie barely making sense, and you have no idea how to fix it - not that it’s your job to know, anyway. So you call out the name of the man whose job it is. 

“Joel.” 

No answer. 

“JOELLLL,” you yell. 

Same deal. You sigh as you sit up and get off of the couch, walking to the garage door. There’s finally a break in your cramps and you’re feeling halfway-human for the first time since yesterday. Entering the garage, you find Joel sitting at his workbench, he’s working on bending the frame of his glasses back into shape. “Joel.” 

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and in fact, he heard you calling for him. He had just ignored you. “Looks like your legs are workin’ now,” Joel replies, without looking at you. “S’a miracle. Means you can follow me around now, terrific.”

You choose to ignore his sarcasm. “Whatever. You need to do something for me. The VCR is messing up and you have to fix it.”

“Hm,” he hums.

“What’s hm?” 

“I’ve fixed lotsa things for you today,” he says quietly. “I need some time to fix my glasses that you broke. S’a difficult task on account of the fact I need my glasses to see.”

“You can do me one favor, Joel. It won’t kill you.” 

Joel stops and gently places his broken glasses on his work bench. He turns to his right and glares daggers at you. “One favor,” he scoffs. “Oh, you’re a fuckin’ peach. You wanna try that again?”

“Try what again?” 

You’re fucking with him. You have to be fucking with him. Why are you fucking with him? You’re not antagonistic like this, not usually, so he concludes that you must be looking for a fight. At this point, Joel is too. 

“I’ve done you countless favors today, sweetheart,” Joel gripes.

“Yeah, but-” you begin.

Joel’s large, warm hand suddenly covers the lower half of your face, silencing your argument. “If the next words outta this mouth aren’t thank you, then I don’t wanna hear ‘em. In fact…”

He bites his inner cheek, nodding his head as he thinks. The way he stares at you, his dark eyes piercing through you - you feel the chill deep in your bones. A wave of clarity hits you as you recall some of the details of the day, the way Joel was there at every turn and while you were busy being cranky and achey, he was trying to wait on you hand and foot. Shit. You’ve been a Grade-A bitch to him all day, a total fucking cunt.

Breaking the silence, Joel finally clears his throat and continues his thought, “I’m gonna give you two options,” Joel says. “You can walk the fuck away from me, or you can get on your knees. Whichever you choose, you do so silently. Nod if you understand.” 

It’s like you’re watching a scene from a movie. You hear Joel’s words, but you almost don’t believe they’re real and so they don’t quite register. He pulls his hand away from your face slowly. Your mouth falls open a bit but you don’t say or do anything.

“Nod. If. You. Understand.” You nod quickly. Joel awaits your decision as you look at the garage door and contemplate your clean way out from this situation, “So what’ll it be?” he asks. Despite it all, that uneasy feeling in your gut, you drop to your knees anyway, eyes still lingering on the door before you look up at Joel. You trust him to take care of you and you think you might owe him this obedience after your behavior today. “You’ve earned yourself brownie points choosin’ the latter of the two options, but this still ain’t gonna be fun for you,” he says. It should scare you - and it does - but you’re still thrilled by it, by the way he sighs and his knees crack as he gets off of his barstool, by the cold look in his eyes as he reaches under his thick belly to unbuckle his belt. Standing above you, he pulls out his half-hard cock and pumps it, feeling it grow to full length in his hand. He’s thick, veiny, and generously sized, a pearly white bead of precum sits atop his slit. His cock is just an inch or two away from your mouth as he holds it between his fingers, his thumb on top and middle and forefingers on the underside. With his other hand, he cards his fingers through your hair and pulls you close, the tip of his cock pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips open and with that, Joel pushes himself into your mouth inch by inch. You smell him first, that musky and heady sort of scent. Next, you taste the saltiness of his skin and his precome on your tongue and for a moment it’s pleasurable, with his cock halfway in your mouth. You wrap your hand around the end of his shaft like you know what he wants but you don’t know, not really - Joel holds your hand in his own and squeezes it so that your knuckles grind against each other a little bit. He pushes himself further and you can’t lick him or savor this like you wanted to, you just feel his cock intruding, sliding into your mouth. Joel’s testing you, making sure that you can handle all of him and if you can’t, you know he’ll make you. 

He draws out of your mouth entirely only to force his way back in, making you gag and sputter. You attempt to pull away but Joel keeps his hand firm on your head and holds you right where he wants you. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know where you think you’re goin’, hon.” 

There’s no gentleness to it, he fucks your mouth heatedly so that you’re drooling and choking on him, your eyes springing with tears as that pressure builds behind them. “Breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “In and out. You ain’t done jus’ ‘cause you’re cryin’.” Your lips are sore with the repeated action, your jaw is aching. He rolls his hips, his cock is deep down your throat as he relishes in your warm, wet mouth and the way it makes him feel. 

“Mmm,” you moan, you’re not sure if the noise is indicative of your pleasure or discomfort.

“Quiet,” he growls. “Heard fuckin’ enough outta you today. You keep quiet.”

Your nose is buried in that thatch of coarse curls as he rocks his hips over and over, his soft and pillowy tummy bouncing against your forehead. You squirm and whine as his tip teases the back of your throat and your mouth feels so full, uncomfortably so. Joel picks up on that. “Let it be a lesson to ya, then, if it hurts. That mouth ‘a yours has done nothin’ but bitch and moan at me today. S’a punishment, ain’t ‘sposed to feel good.” 

He’s grunting and groaning, eyes screwed shut as he uses you, pumping in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches with the brutality of the way he fucks your mouth, and just as you think you can’t take anymore, you feel Joel’s cock begin to twitch and pulse. He comes in your mouth without a warning, painting your tongue with his hot spend. It’s salty and bitter and warm on your tongue. Once you’ve swallowed, Joel reaches down and yanks you up by your bicep. He thought fucking your mouth and coming down your throat would make him feel better but honestly, it doesn’t. As he looks at your face, all puffy with tears and swollen lips, he can’t quite find it in himself to let go of his anger. Not yet, at least. “Let’s go,” he grunts as he drags you with him towards the garage door. He marches you though the house and up the stairs. 

“Where are we going?”

“Bedroom,” Joel growls, answering your question like it’s obvious. You suppose it should be, but you figured he was done with you. But he’s not. The regret begins to set in when you realize the retribution you’re about to be met with for the way you’ve treated Joel today. You’d be lying if you said that while wallowing in your pain you didn’t notice how your curt tone got under his skin, hurt his feelings and frustrated him immensely. The dread you feel can’t save you, it’s all too late now. 

 “Because if I don’t fuck you,” he says, “Then I’m gonna strangle you. So which would you like?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper. 

“Exactly.” 

Joel pushes you into the bedroom and locks the door behind himself. “Lie down on your back,” he says. 

You protest, “But the sheets, Joel. The blood–”

“I will wash the fucking sheets. We can add it to the list of all the things I’ve done for ya today, hm?”

When you don’t jump at his request, Joel takes initiative. He pulls off your - his - shirt from your body and then bends you over the end of the neatly made bed, the old and worn comforter feels rough on the skin of your cheek. Joel pulls down your sweatpants and panties in one motion and then flips you over onto your back, your legs hanging off the end of the bed. You feel embarrassed when you catch a glimpse of your bloodied pad and underwear, moreso when you feel yourself making a mess on his bedding and between your legs. 

“You didn’t make yourself come today, did you?”

“Uhh–” you stutter. “I - I…”

“No point in gettin’ bashful now, darlin’. Just gimme an answer.”

“No,” you tell him. It’s been a while. 

“Figures.”

Joel had assumed sexual frustration had been playing a role in your attitude today. Cramps, headaches, all sorts of things going on with you and a needy, aching pussy to boot. He does feel sorry for you, but he feels sorry for himself too. It’s why he got his first, but now it’s time for you to get yours. An orgasm should set you straight, or two or three. Whatever he feels is necessary. 

Joel undresses himself before pushing your thighs apart and hitching your legs around his waist. Slowly, he slides his thumb through your folds and then circles your clit. He knows you’re vulnerable like this - bleeding pussy on display for him as you make a mess of his sheets. But he’s patient, and he massages your clit calmly until you finally let a moan, a little mmm slip. He smirks at that. 

He pushes his middle two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. He then curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot on a woman he loves so much. “Fuck,” you cry out, legs instinctually closing shut around him, and he knows he’s found it. 

“Don’t fight it,” he says, opening you back up. He curls his fingers and circles your clit in tandem, making all sorts of lewd noises with your cunt. He admires your body all laid out for him like this, your breasts and your pebbled nipples, soft tummy rising and falling with your breathy oh’s and ahh’s, thick curls framing your pretty pussy like a picture just for him. Joel takes his free hand and uses it to press down on your lower stomach, intensifying the feeling of it all. You come hard, gushing on his fingers as you whimper his name. 

Joel pulls his fingers from your core and wipes them haphazardly on his own torso. “Joel,” you gasp when you feel the thick head of his cock at your entrance.

“I am sorry,” he begins, notching his tip inside you and popping it out. He slides the blunt head through your folds and over your clit, then taps the sensitive part of you with himself. “That you’re in pain. It isn’t fair and I know that. But you’ve done nothing but take your hurt out on me.” He presses himself inside you again, “I’ve got a half a mind to take my own hurt out on you, y’know.” His voice is dark and angered, but he speaks calmly in a way that contrasts the darkness but maintains his authority all the same. “And I think I’m gonna.”

“Joel, I– ”

“Quiet,” he commands. He begins teasing your slit with his cock once more before he speaks, “So this is what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna take what I give you, however much or little it is. You’re not gonna cry or complain ‘cause you’ve done enough of that today. Right?” Joel pauses, “Nod your head.” 

 You obey his rule and nod, yes.

He drags his cock up and down your cunt again, the soft skin of your labia rubbing so nicely against his thickness. He notches himself inside you over and over again, pushing in a little bit deeper each time and pulling back out. You whine, rolling your hips in search of more. “I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos at you to quiet you down. “You’re all out of sorts today. M’gonna fix it. I always fix it, don’t I?”

Yes. You nod again. Quiet.

“S’right,” he says. “Good girl.”

With that, Joel pushes his leaking cock into you entirely, one gradual slide that has you sucking in a breath that comes out in a strained sort of whimper. His hard, warm shaft parting your insides, filling you whole. Joel hears it in the way that you sigh, that this, this is what you needed. He rocks his hips once, twice. Experiments with shallow thrusts, inching his way in and out of you before he draws out of your pussy entirely only to thrust himself right back in, deeper and harder than before. 

With the fullness of Joel inside of you, everything seems to melt away - all that anger, misplaced or not. Joel’s rhythmic thrusting soothes you, sort of. The soreness of your body, the aching cramps in your abdomen are all gone as you focus on the in and out, the in and out. He builds a comfortable pace, but one that borders on too much too soon. His hands on your waist, pulling you towards him as he pushes into you in equal measure. 

He fucks you without discipline, no tenderness at all to the action with those sloppy thrusts, but you’re more lost in him than he is in you - he’s focused on your face, watching you make an ‘O’ with your mouth, and he’s focused on your bouncing body, your twitching thighs spread wide. Your moans, your whimpers and your whines, babbling nothing but nonsense. Joel’s brow is furrowed as he breathes heavily through his teeth, his soft body jerking above you as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over and over…

“It’s all ya needed, isn’t it? The whole goddamn time,” he pants. “Didn’t need to go an’ bitch me out all day if you needed lovin’ like this. Woulda been nice f’ya just said so.” Joel reaches for your breasts, harshly squeezing the tender, sore flesh. You wince in pain and he loosens his grip, focusing on your nipples instead. He twists and flicks the sensitive buds and your moans become louder, more high pitched. Joel fucking loves it when that happens, you never realized. 

“Oh, Joel,” you moan, “Yeah, fuck.” 

With one hand still teasing your nipples, he brings the other to your pussy. A few strokes of his thumb on your clit is all it takes to send you over the edge a second time, wanton moans and choked sobs spilling from your lips as he fucks you through it. 

And fucks you, and fucks you. 

And keeps fucking you. 

It doesn’t end, he doesn’t slow himself and you never feel that come down, that descent from pleasure. It keeps going, like pressure with nowhere to go and you feel like you might break. “I can’t, I need you to stop, stop, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, thrusting still. “You can take it, be a good girl. Gonna fuck you good and deep like you need. You brought this on yourself, anyway. Two more.” 

This whole time, he doesn’t stop. It’s so much at once and when you thought it was going to end, it doesn’t. Tears of overstimulation spring in your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks. Joel lets you cry because he knows you need it, he knows the release is good for you. You poor thing, how much you must be feeling right now, both physically and mentally. “It’s too much, Joel, I can’t,” you plead.

 “Always the tears with you, huh?” he taunts. “Always somethin’. Oh, I know. I know.” 

It’s the way you look at Joel that causes him to cave, eyes all wide and tear-stained. You’re spent and he knows it, what with all that your body’s put you through. You’ve had a rough day and though he did too, he can’t help but feel sympathy for you at this moment. “Oh, my sweet girl. What am I gonna do with you, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle. 

“Know you don’t, ‘n you don’t have to. S’my job,” he soothes. With his clean hand, he traces the side of your face and rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “How about this, then - what are we gonna do next time you’re not feeling so good?” 

“I’m - I’m–”

“You’re gonna tell me what you need,” he instructs, “And you’re gonna ask for it. Nicely. So that means usin’ your manners. Please, Joel. Thank you, Joel. Remember those words?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yeah, I remember.”

 “But you forgot ‘em the whole day today,” Joel says softly. “I think you gotta learn to compromise, too,” he adds. The guilt had begun to set in before, but you really start to feel the burn now. You were unkind to Joel, and he’s been nothing but sweet, doting on every one of your needs. “I think an apology’s in order for the way you treated me today.” 

He’s right, and you know it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Joel.”

“Oh, I know you are. You just needed the reminder, s’okay,” You hadn’t even noticed how his thrusting had slowed to a still until it picks up again slowly, as he presses kisses to you. Your cheeks first, then your lips. “I’ll compromise too - I’m only gonna make you come one more time, not two. Sound good? Sound fair?”

“I don’t think I can, Joel…”

“Yeah, you can, s’the last one. Take it good for me,” he encourages. “Take it good.” 

That’s what he repeats as his thrusts build again, fucking you deeply. Take it good, take it good for me. He hikes you up further on the bed and joins you so that he’s no longer standing at the floor, he’s got you pressed in half instead, your knees on either side of your chest and your feet above his shoulders. This angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh he knows how much it is for you. You’re tired, sore, overstimulated. But you’ll be done soon, he’ll be done with you soon. He takes your hand and wedges it between your bodies, pressing your own fingers to your clit, “Let go for me, I wanna feel you let go for me,” he says. “Focus right here. You’re gonna come with me, keep your eyes on me…”

You don’t even have to massage your clit, the way Joel angles himself has his body doing all the work, his pubic bone adding pressure to your fingers adding pressure to your clit. It’s intense, all of it - deeply energetic, overwhelming. You can’t quite discern your orgasm as it builds, there’s no definitive start but it’s powerful, devastating almost. Washing over you in waves, you feel it in the base of your spine first. You feel it in your gut, the backs of your thighs all the way to your toes. You hardly register that he’s coming with you, filling you deep with his come. His jaw is clenched tight and he’s groaning, grunting as he milks himself in you.

He leaves you there, whimpering, twitching on the bed. You hear the faint sound of running water, you figure he’s washing himself off. You’re surprised when he returns to you, pelvis covered in your blood, and scoops you right up in his arms. He helps you to your feet and on shaky legs, guides you to the bathroom. It no longer smells like bleach but instead, lavender. He’s got a candle lit on the sink and the bathtub is filled with warm, bubbly water. “Picked out a bubble bath for you earlier when I went out. Wanna test it out with me?” 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Yes. Please.” 

Joel sits in the tub first, spreads his legs and welcomes you to sit between them. He washes the blood from your poor, sensitive core and your thighs, washes it from his own body as well. When he’s done, he pulls you back into his chest and his hands find your breasts. “They’re tender, huh,” he murmurs into the side of your head. 

“Super, yeah. Sore.” 

“I’ll bet,” he says. He gently massages the tissue for you, his strong hands working you out in a way you can’t quite do. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel chuckles. “Bout fuckin’ time you thanked me,” he says. “You’re welcome.” 

If you enjoyed, please reblog with thoughts, leave me a comment, or send me an ask! Your words motivate me to keep writing for you all 🩷

Least helpful cats award goes to these two 👇 if you’ve ever wondered what takes me so long to put fics out, it’s this. I try to write and I’m cockblocked by these fuzzballs.

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Happy Anniversary!

Summary: When Lando forgets the date of your anniversary, you can get over it. However, the pressure of his job isn’t a good enough reason to excuse all of his forgetful tendencies and lack of attention for you.

Lando Norris x fem!Reader, established relationship

WC: 4.8K

Warnings: cursing, angsty, sad fic with happy ending

Masterlist

The soft morning sunlight peeks through the curtains of your bedroom, casting a soft rosy glow over the room. You take a deep breath, a gentle smile settling on your face at the realisation that it’s already been a year – a year of being loved, of sharing every thought and story, of new experiences and memories... One year of being married to the love of your life. It’s hard to believe.

You turn on your side to face your husband, propping your head on your palm as you watch him sleep peacefully. Your hand is softly stroking his chest while you smile with adoration. “Good morning, baby,” you say when you notice the change in his breathing.

Lando merely grumbles, not quite awake yet. Nevertheless, he pulls you closer to his side, letting you cuddle up against his warm body. Pressing your face against his chest, you leave a few kisses along the bare skin.

Lando sighs, stretching out his body. “Good morning, darling,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You smile excitedly, sitting up to look at the handsome man you get to call your husband.

“Do you know what day it is?” You whisper.

Lando frowns as he wipes his tired eyes, “What day?” 

The confusion is evident in his voice. Regardless, you nod excitedly. Your smile falters as you watch the wheels turning in his head, gathering that he doesn’t remember. You move to the bedside table, rumbling through the drawer until you find what you’re searching for.

The expression on Lando’s face changes from confusion to guilt when you proudly show the present you’ve wrapped up so neatly, the realisation settling in. “Fuck. It’s our anniversary today, isn’t it?”

You nod, “I got you a little something, to celebrate,” you clarify. The smile on your face is gentle, comforting, and it nearly makes Lando believe you don’t care that he forgot.

“Oh, baby, I’m really sorry. I can’t believe I forgot our anniversary. God, that’s bad, isn’t it? The first year, and I’ve already screwed it up. I’m so sorry, love. Fuck.” Lando rubs a hand over his face, his expression pained.

“It’s okay, Lan. I know you’ve been busy,” you reassure him, “besides, it’s only the first year, we’ll have many more anniversaries.” You offer your gift again. “Just open the present, please? I want to know what you think of it!” You say enthusiastically.

Lando’s not fully convinced yet, “But I haven’t got anything for you,” he protests.

“Doesn’t matter, I already got this for you. Open, please!”

Lando sighs, but doesn’t resist further. However, the guilt of his forgetfulness settles deeper when he opens the carefully wrapped gift. You had taken the time and effort to make something, rather than buy a present, and he couldn’t even bother to remember your first wedding anniversary. He felt like an asshole.

At his silence, you felt the need to explain, “It’s a jar of notes,” you take the jar from his hands and open it. “It’s got different things: my favourite memories of us, things I love about you, what reminds me of you, just whatever I could think of. Then, when you’re gone for work, you can pull one out whenever you miss me,” you demonstrate, grabbing a note from the full jar, “or you could just call me, or whatever.” You put the piece of paper back, close the jar, and look up to your husband.

“Do you like it?”

Lando smiles lovingly, “I love it! Thank you, baby. I love you,” he says before kissing you softly.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t get you anything. I swear I’ll make it up to you. In fact, I’ll make a reservation for tonight right now, we can go out to dinner together to celebrate, and if you want we can go shopping today too, I’ll buy you anything you want—” 

You cut him off with a laugh. “That’s not necessary, Lan. I know you love me. Besides, I’d much prefer to spend today at home with you, while you’re still here,” you say, stroking his face fondly before you pull him in for a kiss.

Regardless of your objections, Lando still manages to make a reservation for tonight at your favourite restaurant. He doesn’t make a single comment when you order the salmon despite his dislike for fish, and for weeks after he anticipates every single need you might have before you can utter even a syllable. He brings you the snacks he knows you love most on his way home, makes homecooked meals for you (however bad at cooking he is – he switched to take away after the first two times), and watches your favourite shows with you even though he hates them. He does anything and everything he can think of to make you feel loved and appreciated.

Unfortunately, his efforts only lasted a few weeks. Now, you knew what you were getting into when you married Lando last year. You had been in a relationship with him for several years before the wedding, so you are well aware of the time he needs to put into his work, even outside of office hours, not to mention the amount of stress and anxiety that come with racing at such a high level. That’s why it doesn’t bother you that much that your husband forgot about your anniversary; you know the pressure he’s under.

However, lately, his work has become even more time-consuming, more stressful and he’s become less attentive. It’s no surprise with how well the last races have been going – Lando’s finishing on the podium every weekend – that pressures have increased. He’s no longer fighting for only the constructor’s championship, but he has an actual chance at the driver’s championship too. The team is excited, and working hard, and the same is expected of Lando. Additionally, the fans have been putting more pressure. You know how much Lando’s affected by the stress of it all; he doesn’t want to disappoint, and now that the car’s performing, the only factor that could cause a loss, is him. The pressure, stress, and anxiety are taking over his body. He’s becoming more forgetful and instead of spending his free time with you, his wife, he’s thinking about the next race’s strategy, working out to improve his performance, or practising the tracks. Formula 1 had taken over the number one spot in his life.

You get where he’s coming from, you really do, but one of the most important things, if not the most important thing, in a relationship is communication and recently, Lando wasn’t communicating with you. He doesn’t tell you about the pressure or anxiety, all you know is from reading the man. After the number of years you’d spent together, you know him well enough to be aware of his struggles without him having to tell you.

You’d address the issue, ask him to talk to you, but you don’t when. Lando’s gone so much that you barely see him. His early mornings and early nights don’t align with your schedule; Lando’s gone before you���re properly up and has already eaten when you get home from work. The both of you have always been busy before, but at least you’d always eat together, and talk about your day. Now that those moments are missing, you feel lonely.

Lando has no clue of the things running through your mind. After all, you never told him. Even during the summer break, you keep quiet about your feelings, not wanting it to affect Lando’s performance during the races when you know how hard he's working to do well. Besides, it does get better during the break; Lando’s home more often and his mind's not as occupied with thoughts about his work. Nevertheless, he’s gone most of the time. You had expected for Lando to spend his time off with you, but instead, he hangs out with his friends.

Although the break has positively affected his behaviour, Lando's forgetfulness remains the same. You had told him about your friend’s birthday party several times during the past weeks, asking him to come along. When he promised you would, you thought things were finally going back to normal. But now, as you are waiting for your husband to come home so you can leave for the party together, you realise nothing has changed.

It’s already quarter past eight. Fifteen minutes later than you had said you would leave. You are ready to go – makeup glowing, favourite dress on, present wrapped and purse checked – when you decide you won’t wait any longer. You had given Lando plenty of chances to show his care for you and to consider you in his plans. You always visited his friends with him when he wanted you to, and he couldn’t show up for one party you asked him to come to? You leave the house, no messages sent and your phone on do-not-disturb: let him worry.

You plaster a fake smile on your face when you arrive to your friend’s house, pulling her into a hug when she opens the door. 

“Hey, girl! Happy birthday!” You say in a high-pitched voice. “I can’t believe you’re finally 25!” You continue, squeezing her tight.

“Thanks, babe,” she responds when you let each other go, looking over your shoulder. “Where’s Lando? Parking the car?”

“Uh, no, actually. He couldn’t come.” The awkward smile on your face says enough, she knows not to ask any further.

“Oh, okay. That’s too bad. I would have loved to see him. You know, congratulate him on his podiums, it’s been going well lately, no?” She walks you into the house as she speaks, turning her head to watch your reaction.

“Yeah, the team’s really improved.” Once again, the tight smile on your face is clear.

A frown forms on her face at your reaction and she’s about to ask further, whether everything is okay, when she’s interrupted.

“Hey, Y/N! I haven’t seen you in a while! How are you? You never come to the races anymore,” Carlos tells you with a fake pout.

You look at him in surprise. You always forget that everyone in Monaco knows each other. Carlos and your friend met at the golf club and had somehow become good friends. Usually, you liked seeing him, but tonight you would’ve preferred not to see him. Not because you don’t enjoy his company, but simply because you’d rather not talk about Lando, whom he’ll undoubtedly ask about.

And so, your mask shoots up when he pulls you into a hug. “Hey, Carlos. I’m good. How’ve you been doing?”

“I’ve been doing well. You heard the news? That I’m going to Williams next year?” You nod, saying a quick “Of course, congrats!” Naturally, you heard the news; everyone had. But this conversation was already heading in the wrong direction. “Yes, glad to have found a place that will appreciate me, even if the team’s not doing the best right now. Talking about the best, Lando’s been doing so well. You must be proud of him, hm?” 

“Ah, yes, of course,” you say indifferently.

Carlos frowns at your reaction. “Everything good between you two?”

Your smile drops, apparently, you aren’t as good at hiding your feelings as you thought you were. “Yeah, everything is fine. Why do you ask?”

Carlos shrugs, “Just the way you react, is all. You seem kind of tense…”

You sigh, letting a silence fall for a few seconds. You might as well tell him, he’ll figure it out eventually. “You’re right. Things… haven’t been so great lately.”

Carlos frowns at your comment. “Between you and Lando, you mean? He didn’t say anything was up, he seemed fine the last time I spoke to him,” he says confusedly.

You roll your eyes at the suggestion, “I’m not surprised. He seems to be clueless to what’s been going on.”

Carlos takes a sip of his drink, “Have you talked to him about it?”

“That’s the issue. Lando’s never home, we barely speak anymore. He’s been so stressed with work that nearly all his free time is dedicated to racing. He gets up early and goes to bed before I’ve even had dinner. I’ve had no chance to talk to him.”

The frown deepens, and he breathes out a puff of air. “That’s tough.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be putting this on you.”

“No, it’s fine don’t worry about it. Sometimes you need to get it off your chest.”

You look up at Carlos, hesitating to continue your story.

“Has the break not changed anything?” He pokes further.

Another sigh. “No, not really. Lando’s using his time off to catch up with his friends. And his forgetfulness has clearly not improved either.” 

“His forgetfulness?”

“Yeah, he forgot about the party, clearly.” You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes again.

“What else did he forget about?” Carlos asks with a frown.

“I don’t know if I should tell you,” you hesitate, “but he forgot our anniversary. I told him it’s not a big deal, which it isn’t, but it’s just that everything is adding up. I feel kind of alone in the relationship at the moment, like he doesn’t really care about me anymore. How can I think otherwise, when we barely see each other, let alone speak?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. That really sucks.” 

You smile sadly, as if to say ‘it is what it is’.

“It’ll work out in the end,” you tell him. You hope. “Maybe tonight he’ll realise he forgot something important, again. Maybe that’ll make a difference.” You offer an awkward smile.

Carlos breathes in deeply, putting an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get your mind off it, huh?” he says while directing you towards the fridge.

You nod, follow him, and accept the drink he offers you. Tonight is not about Lando, it’s about your best friend and the fact she turned 25. You are not thinking about your husband until you get home.

– – – – – 

You slam the front door of your shared apartment louder than necessary when you enter. Nevertheless, there’s no reaction when you enter the dark apartment. You switch the lights on, noticing Lando isn’t in the living room or kitchen. Did he really go to sleep not knowing where you were or who you were with? Whether you were safe or not? Lando obviously didn’t remember the birthday party or he would’ve come, yet he didn’t text you to ask you where you were? Does he truly care so little about you? Does he even love you anymore? It feels like a punch to the gut – like someone had ripped your heart out. 

The man had been basically avoiding you for weeks, barely saying a word at the moments you did see him, but at least he was still awake to see if you arrived okay. Now he doesn't even stay up to check if you get home safely anymore? Or text you to ask where you are? To say you are upset is an understatement, you feel angry and neglected at his disregard. You feel lonely instead of beloved. The lump in your throat is a painful reminder of how close you are to crying. But you don’t. 

You swallow the lump, blink a few times to get rid of the lingering tears in your eyes and go into the bedroom to take off your makeup. You lean on the counter, sniffling silently, and close your eyes. You breathe in through your nose deeply, before breathing out through your mouth. It’ll be okay. Right? 

When you enter the bedroom you stare for a minute at the man sleeping peacefully before you. It feels wrong when you climb into bed next to him, nevertheless, you do it. It’ll probably take you a while to fall asleep tonight. 

– – – – –

The situation hasn’t changed a bit when the racing season starts back up again. No matter how strained your relationship has become, you do want to say goodbye to Lando before he leaves for the next race. So, the morning he’s supposed to fly, you make sure to get up extra early. You don’t know how, but he still somehow manages to finish his breakfast before you’re even out of bed, the container already in the trash.

“Good morning,” you mumble, wiping your eyes as they adjust to the bright light in the kitchen.

Lando looks up from his phone in surprise, clearly not expecting to see you awake this early. “Hey, what are you doing up?” He asks in a soft voice.

“Wanted to say goodbye,” you say as you walk closer to the kitchen island at which he’s sitting.

“There’s no need for that, Y/N. I’ll see you again soon enough.” The smile on his face is sickeningly sweet, a clear contrast to the words coming out of his mouth.

You frown, “You’re leaving for a week… What do you mean, there’s no need?”

Lando sighs at your question, “Never mind, it’s kind of you to get up extra early just for me,” he smiles dismissively before getting up from his seat. “It’s time for me to go,” he says looking at his watch before grabbing his backpack and suitcase which are sitting by the door, “I’ll see you in a week.”

You’re left staring in surprise as the door slams closed. He didn’t kiss you goodbye. He always did that, even during the worst of fights. That’s your rule. Formula 1 is a dangerous sport, he could be hurt in a split second, never mind being killed. From the start of your relationship, he always kissed you before he left, just in case. You hated the thought at the start, but learned to think it was sweet; that, in case something happened, at least he kissed his girl goodbye.

You’re watching your marriage crumble before your eyes, and Lando doesn’t seem to have a clue, or pretends not to notice. This is it, you decide. This cannot go any further. As soon as he gets home, you will talk to Lando, no matter how badly it will affect his race. You can’t do this any longer.

However, somebody else is already one step ahead of you. Carlos had noticed the toll your strained marriage with Lando was taking on you, and couldn’t help confronting Lando the first second he saw him. It didn’t help either that Charles was way too curious about the relationship drama. He had been pushing Carlos to find out more to save his gossip-desperate soul after the radio silence during the break.

“Hey, Lando!” Carlos yells, jogging up to Lando and matching his pace.

“Hey, man! How are you doing? Had a nice break?” Lando asks, giving Carlos a quick hug.

“Yeah, yeah, I had fun. What about you?”

“Ah, yes. Of course. It was good to get some time off. I really needed it; finally got to see my friends again,” Lando grins while Carlos raises an eyebrow at the answer.

“What about your wife? Finally got to spend some time with her now that you didn’t have to travel so much?” Carlos asks.

Lando laughs awkwardly at his suggestive question, “You know it!”

Carlos ignores the casual response. “I actually saw Y/N last week, at a friend’s birthday party. Was surprised to see you didn’t come with her…”

A frown etches onto Lando’s face. “What birthday party?”

“I think she’s one of Y/N’s best friends, she turned 25?”

Lando’s eyes widen in realisation. “Fuck, yes, I remember now.”

“She told you about it?” Carlos asks, watching as Lando’s expression shifts from realisation to discomfort.

“Yeah… She mentioned it a couple of times,” he admits. “She didn’t tell me that she went...” 

Carlos lets him ponder it for a moment before adding, “Well, she was there. We talked for a bit, actually.”

Lando feels his stomach tighten. He tilts his head slightly. “What did she say?”

Carlos hesitates, glancing around the paddock while he weighs his options. “Uhm, she said you’ve been distant lately. That you haven’t been paying much attention to her, that you missed your anniversary…”

Lando stops walking. “She told you about that?”

“Yeah, man.” Carlos sighs. “Look, she didn’t go into too much detail, but… she sounded upset. Maybe you should make some time for her, take her out on a date or something. It seems like she feels pretty lonely.” 

Lando shifts uncomfortably, his heart sinks in his chest. “Lonely?” The word echoes in his mind, unsettling him. He knows the feeling all too well. He’s the reason his wife has been feeling lonely? The guilt settles deep within his soul as he mulls it over. He tries to laugh it off, but it feels hollow. “She knows how demanding the season has been. I’ve been swamped.”

“I’m sure she does, but… it’s more than that. She told me she feels like you don’t really care about her anymore.” The look on his face is serious as he says it.

Lando blinks, the weight of Carlos’ words sinking in. How could he have missed something so crucial? Why hadn’t Y/N said anything? More importantly, why hadn’t he noticed?”

“She thinks I don’t care about her?” He mutters to himself. His gaze is unfocused as he chews his lip, running a hand over his face out of frustration. “Why didn’t she tell me?” He says quietly.

“There was no opportunity to tell you, she said. You're never home.”

Carlos lets out another sigh. “I’m sorry. I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t want your marriage to be ruined. I know you love Y/N to pieces. I would be upset with myself if you guys don’t make it out together knowing I could have done something about it. That being said, I think you should talk to her.”

Lando nods absentmindedly. He didn't even consider that they might not make it out okay. “You’re right. Thanks for telling me, man.” 

As Carlos walks away, Lando is left standing there, his mind working overtime. He had been busy, yes, but surely you understood that, right? He’d been working so hard for the both of you, to secure a future for you. But… had he been neglecting you without even realising it?

The conversation with Carlos continues to replay in his head throughout the day. Maybe he hadn’t been as attentive as he thought. Maybe all those nights out with friends, all those early mornings spent focused on racing had a bigger effect than he assumed. He tries to push the thoughts away, to justify it with the pressure of the season, but it doesn’t sit right anymore.

The rest of the weekend Carlos’ words echo through his head, ‘She feels like you don’t really care about her anymore.’ Lando can barely concentrate with the guilt that’s gnawing at his conscious. 

– – – – – 

By the time Lando leaves his hotel, he has formed a plan. He has rehearsed a dozen different apologies in his head. He’ll explain what happened, that he’s been so busy with work that he didn’t notice, and he’ll say sorry and change his behaviour. And after that, all will be well.

His plan is thrown out the window as soon as he gets home and sees his wife sitting on the couch, your face pale and tired as you watch TV. The state of you makes the practised words dry on his tongue. How could he not have noticed what was happening? 

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt lonely?” 

You look up in surprise at the abrupt question cutting through the silence. No ‘hello’, no ‘how are you’, no ‘I missed you, baby’, just the sharp edge of confrontation.

“What?”

“Carlos told me you’ve been feeling lonely. Why didn’t you tell me?”

You frown at his directness, “When was I supposed to do that, Lando? You’re always gone.”

“That’s not true—” he tries to protest, but you cut him off.

“There was not one moment I could have told you, Lando! You’re always busy with work and when you’re not, your friends take up all your free time! You haven’t made any time for me in weeks, months even!” You yell.

Tears well up in your eyes at the confrontation. You had kept your frustrations to yourself for weeks and now that he finds out about your feelings he decides to yell at you for it. How else are you expected to react?

Your words hit Lando hard, each one landing like a punch. His eyes flicker with guilt. “I’ve been under so much pressure. The team needs me—this season could be my best chance at a championship, and I—”

You cut him off, your voice soft. “I know, Lando. I know how important your career is and that this is your chance, but that doesn’t mean all your time should be spent on racing. You’ve no time left for me anymore; all your energy is drained when I finally see you at the end of the day.”

“I can’t help that my job is demanding! You know that, Y/N. You’ve always known that. It takes a lot of time to improve, and the team is finally performing. It’s my chance at a championship! I can’t pass that up!”

“I get that Lando, I really do. But I’ve felt alone in this relationship for months now. I never see you, we never talk… The night of the party you didn’t even text me to ask where I was, or who I was with. You were already sleeping before I got home! Weren’t you worried at all? Or even curious to know where I was, whether I was safe? Sometimes… Sometimes, I doubt whether you still care about me – whether you still love me, because it feels like you don’t.” The tears slowly fall down your face while you say it.

That’s when it hits him – truly hits him. Lando swears he could hear his heart break. He looks at you in shock, and you can’t deny you feel a little better because of it. Had he really fucked up that bad? Do you really believe he no longer loves you, or cares about you? You are the most important person in his life. How could this have gone so far without him noticing? How could he have made the love of his life feel like she wasn’t loved? He runs a hand through his hair in distress, trying to wrap his head around your admission.

“I’ve been patient, Lando. I’ve been understanding, but you’re just never present. Not just physically, but mentally, too. I miss you.”

Lando looks at you sadly from across the room, disappointed in himself. He quickly closes the distance, reaching for your hand. His voice is soft when he speaks to you. “I do. I do love you, Y/N,” he says, caressing your face softly, pulling your chin up so your eyes meet, his teary eyes staring into your red ones. “You’re the love of my life. I care about you so much. You’re the most important to me, above anything else, and you always will be. Don’t forget that, okay? Promise me you’ll never forget that, baby.”

You sniffle, wiping away the tears that are slowly making their way down to your chin, while you nod. The sound physically pains him, his heart twisting torturously in his chest. He vows to never make you cry again.

“I’m so sorry I let it come this far, darling. I’ve been so wrapped up in everything, trying to win, trying to be perfect for the team that I didn’t see what I was losing in the process.” 

You interrupt him, “I don’t need perfect, Lando. I just need you to be here. With me. Because if it keeps going like this… I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Her words hang between them, and for the first time in weeks, Lando realises the gravity of what he stands to lose if he doesn’t make a change soon. He nods frantically. “Of course, baby. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. You say the word, and I’ll do it. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t love you, because I do. So much. I can’t lose you, I don’t ever want to come this close to losing you ever again.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go; like you’ll walk away from him as soon as he does. You press your face into his chest, missing the feeling of him against you and his comforting scent. The last time he touched you, let alone hugged you feels like ages ago. 

“I’ll be better, I’ll make time for you, I promise,” he mumbles, his mouth grazing over your hair, as he tugs you impossibly closer into his tight embrace.

You smile faintly through your tears. “I believe you.”

[avocado-writing]

if you are taking short fic requests for wade n logan, how about one where typically sunshine!reader comes home sad and while the both of them have that frenemy thing going, they agree on fucking up whoever made reader unhappy :o btw i love your work ❣️

You fill the apartment with laughter and light and life. You: all parts sunshine and joy, making things a bit brighter even when the world feels so dark. You’re a bit of levity at the end of a day which is usually bathed in blood. A reminder of what’s worth fighting for. 

So when you walk in that night with your jaw grit tight and eyes watery, it’s pretty damn noticeable. 

“Hey. You okay?” asks Logan, voice gruff but full of concern. He’s on the couch, patching himself up from no doubt getting the shit beaten out of him, hopefully not staining the new throw blanket you bought. You head to the fridge wordlessly, grabbing a beer and getting annoyed when you can’t immediately find a bottle opener. He holds his hand out silently, and you give in, allowing him to use one of his claws to help. 

“Long day,” you manage, trying to bite back tears. You hear the bathroom door open and Wade sticks his head out, the sound of conversation irresistible to him. 

“Hey sunshine! How’s my favourite—?” he starts, but trails off when he sees the state you’re in. He goes to jump over the back of the sofa to get to you but immediately falls on his face because he’s missing half a leg. Despite everything a laugh bubbles up from you, inescapable. 

“I’m glad my dismemberment is just a slapstick routine to you, cupcake,” he pouts up at you from the floor. You wipe your eyes furiously with your sleeve and go to help him up, settling him into an armchair - and giving him the opportunity to sweep you into his lap. 

“What’s the matter, honey? Seriously. Who do we need to kill?” he asks. “Is it Deborah? Tell me it’s her. She’s been asking for a knife in the kidney ever since she swiped your lunch two months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t done it yourself, you know we’d help you hide the body.”

“You’re sweet,” you sigh, “but it’s not her, actually. I just had a lot to do today and nobody was cutting me any slack, you know? It got too much.”

“If you need us to talk to anyone,” says Logan, fixing Wade with a look which suggests murdering your colleagues will probably create more problems than solve them, “we’ll do it.”

“Yes! Good-boyfriend, bad-boyfriend routine. Oh, or charismatic-boyfriend, grumpy-but-sexy boyfriend. Or even, slut-boyfriend, slut-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet boyfriend. Maybe that one’s better suited for tonight though…”

Logan growls a warning but Wade just grins, blasé. You giggle. 

“Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be a lot more bored and horny,” Wade muses, as Logan mutters “hmph. Apartment would be quieter…”

You drink your beer and smile.  

taglist: : @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse

[rafecameronssl4t]

Gold, Coffee, and Mabel || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: based on s3 ep 7 with that scene above except it includes reader and Mabel 🥰🥰

Warnings: swearing, other than that fluff!!!

Word count: 1,036

A/n: yeah I procrastinated and wrote this in like 5 mins

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"And you're sure this guy’s good?" Barry asks, his voice tinged with doubt as he glances sideways at Rafe, who walks beside him, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. They round the corner, and Rafe hums in response, clearly unconcerned.

"I mean, we’ve got a lot of people to see today," Rafe adds, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t even look at Barry, his gaze sweeping over the street with anticipation. It’s clear to Barry that Rafe is in his element, the prospect of a profitable day of gold-selling putting a spring in his step.

Rafe was confident, and that confidence was infectious. Today was going to be a good day. Hell, it was going to be a great day. He could feel it in his bones. Barry opens his mouth to ask about the next move, but the words die on his lips as Rafe suddenly comes to a halt.

Barry nearly collides with him, caught off guard by the abrupt stop. "What the fuck?" Barry blurts out, confusion etched on his face. Rafe doesn’t answer, his focus now entirely on a woman sitting at an outdoor table at a nearby café.

Without a word, he strides over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss her, leaving Barry standing there like an idiot. It’s only when he sees the way Rafe's lips curve into a familiar smile that Barry realises who the woman is. It’s you.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asks, his voice softening, a warm smile spreading across his face as he takes in the sight of you and Mabel. The hard edge that usually defines Rafe’s tone melts away, replaced by something warmer, gentler. You glance up at him, a bright smile lighting up your features.

"Having brunch with Mom," you reply adjusting Mabel so that Rafe can scoop her up into his arms. He does so effortlessly, his movements tender as he cradles his daughter against his chest.

Barry, still trying to piece together what's happening, blurts out, “Shit, almost didn't recognise ya-” , but Rafe cuts him off with a sharp look. "Language, Barry," Rafe says, his voice low and warning, a stark contrast to the affectionate tone he just used with you.

Barry throws his hands up in mock surrender. "My bad, my bad," he mutters, glancing at you with an apologetic smile. You chuckle at his usual antics. "Maybe because of my hair," you say, running a hand through your freshly coloured locks, your eyes bright as you wait for Barry's reaction.

"Looks good," Barry says, genuine in his compliment. You thank him with a nod, your eyes crinkling in the corners. As Rafe settles into a chair, Mabel perched contentedly on his lap, Barry shifts his weight, reminding himself of the job they’re supposed to be doing.

“Country club, don’t we need to get goin'?” he prods, noticing how comfortable Rafe seems, his focus entirely on entertaining Mabel, who giggles at his playful antics. You smile at the sight, feeling a warmth in your chest before you turn to Barry. “Busy day ahead?” you ask, a knowing glint in your eye.

Barry shoots a glance at Rafe, who seems completely absorbed in his role as a father, oblivious to the conversation and Barry’s questioning gaze. “Uh, yeah. Apparently so,” Barry replies with a chuckle, still not entirely sure how this unexpected stop fits into their tight schedule.

“I’m just going to order some coffee for my mom, I'll be two seconds,” you say, standing up from the table. "I’ll come with you. Might as well grab a coffee while we’re here," Rafe says, rising to his feet. He looks down at Mabel, then back at Barry with a grin. “Mind holdin' her for a minute?”

Before Barry can protest, Rafe is already handing Mabel over to him. Barry’s eyes widen in panic as Mabel, with her big blue eyes, stares up at him with a curious expression. He stands there stiff as a board, awkwardly patting her back and trying to figure out how to hold a baby without looking like a complete idiot.

As Rafe and you disappear into the café, Barry glances nervously at the door, silently begging one of you to come back quickly. At first, Mabel seems fine, but then her bottom lip starts to tremble. Before Barry can react, she lets out a wail, her cries escalating quickly. “Fuck—shit! No, no, no, please don’t cry,” Barry mutters under his breath, his heart racing as he tries to bounce her gently, but her cries only grow louder.

Just as Mabel’s wails reach a peak, you emerge from the café with Rafe right behind you. Relief floods Barry’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by anxiety as you approach, your eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement.

“Did you make my daughter cry?” you ask, taking Mabel in your arms, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice that Barry is too flustered to pick up on. Barry looks like a deer caught in headlights, especially under Rafe’s intense gaze. “What? No! I swear, I didn’t do anything—” Barry stammers, his face flushed, but you laugh, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“I’m just messing with you. She’s probably just hungry,” you say, glancing at your watch before pulling out Mabel’s bottle. Barry lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as the tension slowly eases from his shoulders.

Rafe watches the interaction with a smirk, clearly amused by Barry’s discomfort. “Well, we should get going,” Rafe finally says, leaning in to give you a kiss before gently pressing his lips to Mabel’s forehead. She’s already drinking her bottle, her little hands reaching up to grab at Rafe’s chin, making you chuckle softly at the adorable sight.

"I’ll see you at home later," Rafe says warmly, his eyes locking with yours as he leans in for one last kiss. He gives Mabel a gentle smile before glancing back at you, a lingering look full of affection. With a final nod, he turns to Barry, the smile still playing on his lips, as they head off to make a shit ton of money.

[ozzgin]

Request/Idea-

Male Yandere Lawyer x Female Embroider Reader (a lady who works as a tailor is fine too)

Imagine a man falling head over heels for that newly employed lady who hand embroiders beautiful handkerchiefs in a luxury shop he visits to get his custom suits! And he just trying to coax her into dating him, marrying him, and becoming his stay at home wife (and mother of his children eventually) 🥰🤭

Age difference? I need some DILF Daddy energy more in my life (but don’t make him an actual father…yet)

P.S. I adore your OCs and writing. And your artwork is way too fucking good! You’re art is just *chef’s kiss* infuckingcredible

-👘

Ooh, you know what this reminds me of? I have a yaoi volume from Scarlet Beriko, “Queen and the tailor”, about an interior designer that visits a legendary tailor whose suits will supposedly help you achieve success. The tailor turns out to be a scary looking, blunt man but nonetheless extremely talented. I liked the premise a lot, so it’s definitely interesting to try out a different perspective.

In this case I have the image of a patient, soft-spoken reader and a hurried, short tempered lawyer. Comically different but in a way that eventually works out, you know? Also thank you for the kind words!

Yandere!Lawyer x Embroiderer!Reader Headcanons

Featuring a Reader that is blissfully unaware the lawyer she just stared dating has their entire life together already sorted out.

Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, obsessive behavior

Your eyes begin to hurt mildly, so you look out the window and blink repeatedly, trying to refresh your poor sight. Such detailed works always strain you terribly, but you love seeing the finished result. Others must, too, given your handkerchiefs are often sold out the very same day. Right before your needle pierces the silk canvas anew, the door opens with a burst and you jolt. An older man in a suit, arguing loudly over the phone. He’s drumming his fingers over the counter, eyes darting around in search for an attendant. You know the type quite well, so you hurry over with the hoop still in your hand. “Might I help you with anything?” You mouth discreetly. He turns to you, stares for a couple of seconds, and promptly ends his call.

Out of all the places, he certainly didn’t expect regretting his rusty, unpolished flirting skills in a luxury tailor shop. Yet here he is now, clumsily mumbling something about his new suit he’s come to pick up and wondering how to connect that with your number. The name’s the easy part, as it’s neatly and conveniently printed out on the little badge pinned to your collar. Everything else, not so much. You excuse yourself and return moments later with his order. Shit. You tilt your head, confused by the delayed response, worrying whether you forgot something. Next time. He’ll figure it out for sure next time he comes here.

If there’s one good thing about his career, it’s that his eyes have been trained to spot every detail. For example the embroidery hoop you gently held while speaking to him, so he knows exactly what his next custom order will be. Truth be told, he didn’t anticipate your popularity and long waiting times, but a calculated raised tone with a sprinkle of intimidation has convinced the employee to assign him to you as earliest priority. Whether he can flirt remains to be seen, but arguing with others? Child’s play.

“Thank you for coming again today.” You bow slightly and extend the gift bag. “Although, I must say…I’ve never seen you using these before. What has caused your sudden interest in handkerchiefs?” Rather bold of you to begin such conversations, but your curiosity is too great. No matter how hard you try, you can’t imagine why a blunt, nonchalant man like him would abruptly become passionate about embroidery. A lover? You smile faintly at the idea. Whoever it is, they’ve taken quite the challenge upon themselves. The lawyer frowns at the inquiry. It seems you’re just as observant as him. Maybe this shall be the pretext he can finally cling onto. So he presents it in the factual truth you’d hear in a courthouse: it’s his excuse to see you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Well now, isn’t it just silly? He could’ve simply asked. Buying countless expensive handmade items instead of plainly confessing his intentions…He stumbles, flustered. The same man whose ruthless reputation has even reached your humble ears is anxiously awaiting your response with a deep blush on his face.

The childlike innocence doesn’t last long. You’ve agreed to date him and that’s great, but he’s a man with little time that has known exactly what he wants for many years. When he laid his eyes on you he didn’t imagine cheesy coffee dates as you discuss your favorite color and cautiously breach the topic of intimacy. What’s the point? He’s already certain he’ll spend the rest of his life with you. Skip the unnecessary steps. On the other hand, you’re not as cooperative as he’d wish. Truly, the tangible proof that opposites attract. You’re always calm and take your time with everything. It’s almost frustrating how easygoing you are. When asked when you’re moving in with him, you just smiled and wondered out loud what could be wrong with your small studio above the shop. Marriage? Good question, you never thought about it.

Oh, the irony. Last time a client was being particularly difficult, your lawyer boyfriend pulled him out by the collar under the mortified stares of the other attendants and shoppers. The exact attitude he himself would’ve shown before, yet this time it’s different. Of course it is, it involves you. His thin patience runs out if it’s you. That’s all there is to it. Can you blame a man for following his heart? They say you should always chase your dreams; he prefers hunting them down efficiently, and the shotgun is pointed in your direction. His sweet, exquisite prey he can never get enough of.

Finally you agree to move in with him. Your hesitation was maddening and he’d started coming up with downright psychotic alternatives to convince you, such as your studio burning down after a vicious attack of some unknown hooligans. So it was rather wise of you not to push someone that knows the law like the back of his hand, even if you aren’t aware of it yet. He enthusiastically guides you around your new forever home, omitting unimportant details. The spare office he emptied for a future nursery? You’ll get to that later.

He can’t wait to spoil you. See, that’s the advantage of dating an older man. He’s gotten his life sorted out a long time ago. All that was left was finding you. You just need to be a darling and behave. He knows you will. After all, you’re his talented little embroideress that won’t have to worry about anything else ever again.