#even though it's just as fucking likely they'll be doing the same in what's meant to be my fucking room

[ihopesocomic]

It's such a shame how many good brother-brother duos or sister-brother duos there are compared to sister-sister duos

I know it stems from writers always feeling the need to add a man in every woman's life

A lot of writers can only make a character who's a sister if she's a sister to a brother and it's a real shame

Honestly I think Nothing from MP is a pretty good example of that

Look at her relationship with her female siblings/cousin vs her male siblings/cousin

Fire ended up being horrible and Feather is a toxic positive "lemme make you feel bad for wanting to change your ableist name even though it literally doesnt effect me" dirtbag

But Nothing had a better relationship with vs her younger sisters/cousins

Farleap and Silentstalk bullied her and Feather's sisters thought she was weirdo though they like literally never interacted

It's just always suspicious when a writer seems to prioritize a female character's relationship with guys over her relationship with girls

Like their gender shouldn't matter but they'll always pick their male characters first

The sexism in writing still to this day is wild. Especially where so-called independent creators are concerned. Because I thought the whole point of being indie was creating stuff you wanted to see in mainstream media but didn't get, but a lot of it is just more of the same crap you get from bigger productions. So either people want more sexism, or its just baked into their brain and they don't even realize it.

A lot of better stories out there are about brothers (well, I could argue that a lot of it is lazy and that there is no point to the characters being brothers, especially when strong emotional friendships between men are practically nonexistent in media.) and anything having to do with sisters is as I said, either petty nonsense or there's no point to being sisters at all.

And then there's as you said, an inherent need by creators for women to have men be relevant in their lives when that same standard is not applied to men. You can throw a rock and hit a movie or show with a female pov where her only motivation has to do with a man. Father, son, brother, husband, boyfriend, abuser. Whatever.

That's not to say any of these are bad stories. But when its the majority of supposed woman-focused media, it loses its edge as woman-focused when the women in question are focused on men. The writers either consciously or subsconsciously don't get that women have motivations beyond men. This even happens with lesbian characters, where men should have even less relevancy? LOL And it doesn't even matter who the writers are, whether they're men/women, cis/trans, straight/gay, everyone does this. You'd expect better from queer creators but even then there's a clear preference. And they're wont to bring up that "gender shouldn't matter" but only when it pertains to asking why they're so opposed to women being the focus. Its quite interesting.

MP is in an interesting position of hating both men and women at the same time while not commenting on how the patriarchy has negative effects on both men and women. Not an easy feat but Tribble sure made it look easy. She made Feather Nothing's prime motivator for leaving the pride, and while I have my own criticisms of Nothing's "subtle" motherlyness towards Feather, that wasn't extended to the female cubs. Fire is Nothing's other motivation for leaving the pride, and then he turned out to be a wannabe dictator. Quickmane was shown to be a sympathetic and caring mate who definitely wasn't homophobic, but had no qualms about killing children. And then there's alllllll the women who are meant to be oppressed to the same extent as Nothing, but they all somehow manage to be even worse because the narrative wants us to side with them.

And even Nothing's abusive relationship with Quickmane as we've stated in our review is arguably less fucked up than the relationship she has with her own mother. Because we know what they think about each other, and Powerstrike still insists that Nothing's existence is a burden on her soul or whatever. Like what the fuck is up with that?? I'm sure they could've made Powerstrike less-bad than Quickmane, was this some sort of weird equalizer of the sexes? And you can count Nothing's relationship with Sharptongue if you're so inclined to, but even if you ignore everything else she did, Sharptongue would still be the only positive female influence in Nothing's life. But not a key motivator in Nothing's story. Like not even a little bit.

[mochinomnoms]

Please share the lewd interspecies romance.

Okay so mostly I have thoughts over the Octavinelle trio, especially the twins 🫣 but i wrote a lil something for most of them! also this was not meant to be so long idk what happened

[tags] - nsfw, AFAB-implied reader, but written gender-neutral, mentions of ruts/heats, breeding, etc

nsfw under read-more, minors DNI!

If you really compare humans to the nonhuman population of Twisted Wonderland, there's are some small physiological differences between species. Fae, surprisingly, don't differ from humans all too much. Land dwellers in general don't have anything too significant, though all of nonhuman species retain aspects of their animal counterparts.

Most of Savanaclaw goes through some sort of rut/heat during various times in the year, primarily early spring and summer. There's no logical reason for them to retain that aspect of their mating cycle anymore, not for a sentient species that have skills of logic and reasoning. Unfortunately, they didn't get to choose how their evolution worked, and so they have to deal with it in anyway they can.

They get a lot more irritable, they have throbbing headaches, their abdomen hurts, and the scent of their mate is a lot more enticing than normal. Jack probably has it the worst of them, as a wolf beastmen. Not only does he have to deal with a fever-inducing rut that will put him out of commission for a week, afterwards he has to deal with the a/b/o jokes from his classmates too, oh the horror. It is really a horror though when he's able to bend you over his bed, bite marks aligned your neck and back as his dick pounds into you till his knot swells and locks you in for at least an hour. Jack's incredibly embarrassed afterwards, though he manages to be incredibly sweet even after rearranging your guts. Wolf beastmen are one of the most affectionate partners to have with a reputation providing some of the best aftercare for their species. It's most likely to make up for their week-long copulation, stretching and tiring out their sweet little mates. Ooooh, but they'll so very sweet: cleaning up the sticky mess of fluids between your legs with their tongue, careful to not overstimulate you (unless you ask), tending to the mating mark they placed on the back of your neck with soft kisses and licks, and making sure to prop your lower half up to that your chances of taking their seed increases.

Lacking the annual rut/heat that other variants of beastmen have, lion and hyena beastmen are more similar is this regard, as they don't have the same issue of long copulations as wolf beastmen. Neither will initiate sex, rather they'll rely on their mates to do so. Ruggie, in particular, is rather reluctant initiating sex, as male hyenas are typically more submissive, so if you're shy you'll have to get over it. But once you do, Ruggie is ever so happy to service you if you're happy to give him praise. Run your hands through his hair and ears as he eats you out, he'll let out the cutest whimpers and groans as you do. Just, expect to be jellyboned by the time he's done with you, as a hyena he needs to make sure his mate won't snip back at him and you can't exactly do that if your fucked out. While he may not have the same stamina as Jack for week-long fuck session, he has a particularly short refractory period and can have several short sessions in a single night.

Leona also won't typically initiate sex on his own, it happens very sporadically, and he his the image of the lazy lion. While he never wants to do anything particularly extraneous, who is he to deny you needs? You'll have to do some preparing though, as while the barbs on his dick aren't as bad as they are in his animal variant, they will hurt if you're not wet and pliable enough. Be sure to sit on his face, don't worry you won't suffocate him and it's better you cum a few times first before taking him. Unless you want it to hurt? Once you've cum enough times, you can ride him to your heart's content. He only asks that you don't mention how he rubs his head into the crook of your neck, marking you so that if everyone couldn't tell by the sounds coming from his room, they'd know you're his from his scent. Lions are quite protective with their territory and pride after all.

Merfolk have the most extreme physiological differences between them and...any land dweller really. It comes with the territory of being suited for a completely different environment. They also behave a lot more similarly to their animal counterparts, which can be both delicious and exhausting for their humans.

Moray eels don't have a set time of the year they mate, but rather the water must be warm and plenty of food must be ready to provide to their mate. When the spring time weather above the sea starts transitioning from crisp to blazing, don't be too surprised when the twins start handfeeding you meals and snacks throughout the week, they want to make sure you're happy and full for them, getting you in the mood with a sweet, dizzying underwater dance to initiate until they get the okay from you. What's that 'okay' though? You know that yawning I mentioned before? You'll get your answer from them now, as they take your open mouth yawn as an invitation rather than a sign of tiredness. Floyd, in particular, is ready to drag you into the deep part of the pool before remembering that you need to breathe somehow. Not a problem. He'll keep your pretty head above water. You'll still have trouble breathing as his long tapered tongue worms his way in your mouth. No matter, you'll be gasping for breath as he bullies this cock into your hole, large enough that you can physically feel the bump on your stomach. Morays are awfully fond of wrapping themselves around their mates, seeing as Floyd will do his best to tangle his tail around your body and squeezing you as you squeeze down his dick. He loves the physical contact between you two, and is amused how your nails try to dig into his shoulders seeing as the mucus on his skin makes it near impossible to have a steady grasp. You're completely dependent on Floyd as you drool and cry out for relief from the overstimulation, which is oh so ever exciting.

Jade is equally as cruel when it comes to mating. Unlike the others, merfolk tend to mate with the intention to, well, mate. He prefers you to be soft and pliant for him, as well as wholly depending as you two fuck. So, he'll happily brew you a water-breathing potion so he can actually drag you into the deep, where he found a secluded, warm grotto that will allow him to keep you to himself for hours, but close enough to the surface that he can continuously grab you food to eat between sessions. Not that those sessions will be short either. Like his brother, Jade is content to wrap himself around your body as he cooed honeyed words into your ears about how you'll make a wet, warm, soft hole for breeding. It's not like he'll have to do much either, his dick is prehensile and he can wrap himself around you, swiping kisses and nuzzling into the crook of your very sensitive neck while his thick cock continuously pounds into you with a bruising pace. He's so mean!! He likes seeing you cry from overstimulation too, and Jade will continuously scoot down to clean you up with his tongue, only to claim that too much of his seed was gone and he needed to fill you up again for another few hours. He's truly quite incorrigible, especially when he bites into your neck and shoulders to make his claim on you. Don't worry, most morays' bites aren't venomous, and even if they are, you have him to care for you. You're going to be depending on him in the water anyway, so there's no need to worry about it too much.

Something that neither probably won't mention, probably because they won't realize it's something you should know, is that they can change their sex under the right conditions. If you're ever so inclined in the future to test the waters out, the twins might be so generous to let you eat them out instead.

Of the trio, Azul's the only one with an established mating season, two actually: one in the late spring and the other in the early fall. Respectively, one during finals and the other during orientation. He's already so incredibly stressed, and he has the need to breed too? Downright atrocious. It's wonderful that you're so kind that he can take refuge in you and use you like a new octopot, so tell him how pretty he is and how much you love him and only him, so that you have the privilege fucking his merform. The moment you're entering the water, he'll unconsciously display mating signals by flashing soft lilacs and blues, a beautiful display of his need for you. He's rather large, even bigger than the twins, in his merform, so you'll need preparation as well; have no fear, his tentacles are wrapping and kneading the squishiest parts of you. I mentioned before that he can taste the salt on your skin and pulse through your wrist via his suckers. He can taste the slick from your walls, too, without even having to use his mouth as the suckers massage you from the inside. If you'd like, he technically could give you a full flavor profile afterward, though he'll probably be a bit mortified to do so. The biggest difference is his dick, or lack thereof. Instead of a dick, Azul has a hectocotylus, which is a modified, slightly shorter arm of his with a thicker spade-shaped tip that he can practically rearrange your guts with, with little effort on his part really. Most octo-mer variants will keep their mate at a distance, eons of instinct hard to forget. Azul's variant, though, will keep you close, almost dancing with you in a sweet, sensual twirl as he places sweet kissing and bites on your neck, arms, and chest. Octopi are, in fact, venomous, however, so you will be feeling a bit of a lustful high, paralyzed, and a bit helpless to the whims of a needy octopus. He's quite good at aftercare though, making sure you get an antidote and handfeeding you calorie-rich snacks to energize you back up (again, he's aware that you won't eat him, but instinct dictates that he keeps you full with both food and cum to make you a happy mate).

*collapses into heap on floor* thoughts....full.....ahahaha breeding kink go burrrrr. i was not meant to write this much and then it escaped me. also i hate tagging

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara. 

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things. 

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax. 

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration. 

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers. 

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler. 

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words. 

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers!  How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?" 

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!" 

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling. 

"I could do this all day, princesa. " 

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure. 

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit. 

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive. 

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time. 

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far. 

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him. 

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar. 

"You okay?" 

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you.  "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all." 

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two. 

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand. 

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over. 

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you. 

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass. 

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder. 

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?" 

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink. 

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar. 

He stretches out his hand, and you take it. 

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words. 

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck. 

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do. 

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him. 

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you. 

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer. 

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in. 

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness. 

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him. 

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension. 

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip. 

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck. 

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders. 

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out. 

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper. 

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile. 

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face. 

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more. 

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words. 

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is. 

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate  all your needs. 

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order. 

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk. 

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach. 

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -" 

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains. 

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary. 

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?" 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-" 

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious . 

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body. 

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something. 

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up. 

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?" 

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression  is steady, just as unreadable. 

"Do you want to?" 

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over. 

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me." 

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust. 

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod. 

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man. 

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper. 

"Fuck, Miguel." 

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot. 

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares. 

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans. 

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters. 

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm. 

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?" 

You nod frantically with a stifled sob. 

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please." 

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?" 

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks. 

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers. 

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath. 

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought. 

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy. 

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum. 

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago. 

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process. 

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?" 

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles. 

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa." 

_

_

_

[curiositykilledtheradiostar]

Hey TMA fans, do you too think about Georgie Barker an unreasonable amount, or are all your friends normal and okay?

[igotanidea]

Family rules: Damian Wayne x reader

Christmas bingo day 23 : midnight kiss

The first time she truly understood the meaning of the proverb heart over mind was on a school trip in September.

He was just standing by the wall, doing nothing except staring into space with those piercing green eyes.

Such pretty eyes

Such devilish, snake eyes.

Acting like he was who knows who.

Arrogant, cold, keeping his distant, rough, self-absorbed, not caring about anything or anyone.

Just like his father.

Damian Wayne.

***

Y/N had the misfortune of being born into a technological company family. Obviously she didn’t know it when she was a kid, but the word Wayne was inflected in her home on all occasions.

Wayne this, Wayne that...

 sort of spell or- more likely - a curse.

Damn it!

She was 12 when she gathered enough courage to ask her father what this was about. A mistake she only made once, cause even the mention of the Bruce Wayne and his famous, profitable company made her father see red.

That's how she found about the on-going competition between her father and Damian's one.

Obviously it was not like she was excluded from family rules and allowed to live in a bubble. Y/N was supposed to hate the entire Wayne family, the progenitor, his adopted kids and everyone who even came close to them. The only blood son included.

The only problem?

Said blood son was attending the same school, the same class as Y/N was. Which meant a lot of time spend together.

And you just command a teenager to do something and hope they'll listen. It's pretty much impossible, if not foolish belief.

***

In her defence - she tried.

She really tried to hate Damian.

But for five years, his name has been coming to her from every way on every occasion.

Wayne this, Wayne that.

Damn it!!

She could tear her hair out in utter desperation. How was she supposed to not think about him when all the world seemed to be dead set to remind her of his existence.

Of his stupid, unnecessary existence.

With his stupid, idiotic smile and his ridiculous handsome face and infuriating behaviour and the tendency to just be mean all the fucking time.

The internal fight between what she felt and how she acted made her clench her fist and grit her teeth every time Damian came into her view. The little bastard has been doing it on purpose just to see her flustered and enraged. It was like he was trying this best to show his superiority and just rub it into her face.

„L/N.”

„The hell you want Wayne?”

„Will you be attending this year’s New Year's Eve?”

„Will I what now?” she raised her gaze, unable to hide the confusion.

„want me to spell it out for you or something”?”

„Hm.” she muttered „I had no idea you knew how to do that Wayne.”

„I;m only telling you because I know you have problems with reading.”

„Clearly you have a problem with understanding simple things.”

„What I understand is that your father was left out when the invitations were being send. Are you finally going bankrupt”

„You little piece of-!” before she could stop herself her palm met with his cheek with a loud slap.

Shit.

He got exactly what he wanted. Provoked her and got the awaited reaction. She exposed herself, cause acting so dramatically only proved her contradictory, violent emotions he evoked in her.

„Nice one. Didn’t think you had it in you.” he wiped the little drop of blood she drew with her nails.

„Trust me I had it in me ever since you invaded the class.”

„I’ll let you make it even when you invade Wayne Manor for the party.”

„Though you said my family wasn’t invited?”

„It’s a charitable thing to open the door for the poor. I’ll see to it personally.”

„Such a generosity on your part, Mr. Wayne.” she rolled her eyes. „You can take your fake bounty and shove it up-”

„I can’t wait till you meet Todd. You two have so much in common.”

„Your older brother? Yeah, from what I heard you two have quite a rocky relationship. Maybe we’ll gang up on you.”

„Can’t wait.” Damian laughed dryly and with a mischievious glint in his eyes walked away not bothering to say another word.

***

„I;m not going.”

„You;re going.”

„I am so not going!”

„You don’t have a say in the matter!”

„Last year you said that new year’s party is not a place for kids!”

„You’re not a kid!”

„I’m 17! I;m a kid!”

„You ran away from home few months ago. You’re not a kid. You’re going. End of discussion.”

„If I’m not a kid then how come I can’t make a decision on this?” she smiled at her father with absolutely innocent eyes, pointing out all the holes in his logic.

Well-

He didn’t take her defiance in a good way.

Almost dragging her to the wayne manor, but dragging nevertheless.

***

Vomiting.

That’s how she felt entering the place,

Running away.

That’s how she felt walking up the steps and being thrown to the sharks when all the gazes landed on her and her father.

Hiding.

That’s how she felt when the gravity of being judged only based on her clothes and outlook sunk in.

Instead Y/N was forced to fake a smile, dance and do the rounds pretending to have fun.

All for the glory and good publicity of her father’s company.

Worst part?

He has been watching.

Like a predator in the darkness, waiting to strike when she was least suspecting it.

„Mr L/N.” Damian crept behind the girl and her father and she was sure he only did it on purpose to startle her. „Would you mind if I steal your daughter for a dance.

The tragicomic of the situation was truly poetic.

Her father went pale. Then red. His jaw got tense. Then loose. And then he smiled forcefully nodding his head, unable to say the dreaded yes. Apparently being torn between the devil (his daughter dancing with the son of his archenemy) and the deep blue sea (offending the host) was too much to handle.,

Too bad, Y/N had no chance to object or get away before Damian led her to the dancefloor.

„It’s not XVIth century Wayne, women can make their own decisions.” she hissed not really happy about his hands circling around her waist.

„Then run away if that’s what you want. I dare you.”

„I’m not going to make a scene here!”

„thought so.” he chuckled, capably leading her in the dance.

„what the hell is that supposed to mean!?”

„absolutely nothing.”

„I’ve known you for five years. There’s never nothing with you Damian.”

‘You used my name, Y/N.”

‘And you repeated my mistake.”

„Maybe it’s not a mistake?” he pulled her slightly closer, causing her to let out an involuntarily gasp. „I’m just saying-”

„I’m supposed to hate you.” she whispered making a turn and then a swirl

„So you don’t.” this was not a question but a statement, his hands trembling slightly. It was hard for him to keep the attitude while dealing with a whirlwind inside. He was 17 and liked a girl, having no idea how to behave to not make a fool out of himself, get embarrassed and lose in her eyes.

„don’t let it get into your head.” she whispered pressing herself closer to his body. They were dancing and it was only because of that.

„Me?” Damian smiled but it came unnoticed due to her head leaning on his shoulder „I think you’re the one who’s fantasising.”

„You sure you’re not hoping for a midnight kiss?” she mocked

„Are you?”

„no.”

„me neither.”

Bruce and f/n were carefully watching their kids.

Damian and Y/n couldn’t care less.

Family drama and conflicts seemed light years away at that moment.

 Future could be figured out later.

Part 2: moment of weakness

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

returning home

(cw: age gap 26/41; nsfw, mdni, smut, a bit of angst and drama, fluffiness and a lot of tears)

the part before: it's the parts of König that she didn't see

a/n: i'm sorry, this got a bit out of hand :') over 9k words, buckle in, we're in for a ride

I have been a mess those past four months. This has been the worst breakup of my life. I mean, not that I had that many partners before. And the only one I still sometimes cry after is my highschool sweetheart.

But this… we weren’t even an official thing. König and I spent a lot of time together in those few weeks, yes. But we never even clarified if we were in a relationship or not. Dating. Being exclusive. And sure, I was basically living at his place after only a week of knowing each other. But that didn’t mean anything in retrospect. Apparently.

You can’t really call in sick for a broken heart and I wasn’t able to leave my bed for a few days. Sleeping a lot, listening to all the sad love songs, barely eating. Until my mom came by, basically kicking me off my mattress. Forcing me – in a loving way – to get a grip and not mope around like a heartbroken mess.

The worst part was when I found one of his hoodies in between my stuff, I must have accidentally packed it with my clothes when I got everthing together, and it still smelled like him. It doesn't anymore because I have been wearing it nonstop when I'm at home. Not outside though, because the piece of clothing looks ridiculous on me with how big it is compared to my size. I could fit myself in there three times and the hem falls over my knees. If I press my face into the fabric, I still pick up hints of his scent. At least that’s what I tell myself.

The marks on my body faded too. The hickeys he left on my skin becoming fainter by each day, until they were gone.

I looked at all the pictures we took together. Well, more like, I took them and König is also in them. And the selfies we sent each other. The only ones I didn't keep were the filthy ones, because it felt wrong, so I deleted them. But I didn't have the heart to do that to the pictures of us, the ones that carried the memories. And it stopped hurting as much over time. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Lying in bed. The one he bought and we built together, because he broke mine. It's unfair, really, because he is gone and I can't escape him still. Repeating his words to me in my mind.

You should be with someone your age.

It never had been a topic for me, not something I would've spent a second thought on, at least not like this. But apparently, it had been on his mind.

Someone who can promise you that they'll come back every time.

And in the back of my mind there is still the little voice that wishes that he would just have had the guts to be with me. Despite the possibility of him not coming back in one piece, leaving me to mourn him. Because like this, he isn't in my life either. And I still worry about him, because there is no way for me to know that he still is in this life.

He didn't even want to hear my side of things. Or maybe he wanted to, but I was just too blindsided by it all, frozen in place as he “broke up” with me.

Afterwards, when I thought about what he said, I wanted to scream. To shout at him. Even if I could never really do that. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and ask him, what the fuck he was thinking. Why the fuck he was thinking that.

Fuck. I’m so sorry, Liebes.

His apologies didn’t help either. Because I wanted to be mad at him. I was mad at him, and I still am. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Because even though I get it - I get what he was telling me - I still don’t fully understand.

And I remember the look on his face as he was crouched before me. When it became painfully clear that I couldn’t read him.

I never meant for this to go this far or… this deep.

Well, I didn’t either. But it did. And he left, even though he felt the same way. Or at least so I thought.

After a few weeks I finally feel better. I’m okay with how it is. That’s what I tell myself.

Not at all ready to go out on dates again. Not that there is any rush. Not that there had been that many occasions, but still. The thought alone of being with somebody that's not him…

I get back to work, meet my friends, hang out with my family, and when they ask me how I’m doing, I can convincingly tell them I’m okay.

Almost every night the thing on my mind before I fall asleep is him. Nothing, but him, and how I wish he was lying right next to me. I still just want him to come back.

And I know I’m not making any sense. It’s just gonna take some more time to get over this.

When I wake up one morning and see the messages on my phone, I don't even realize what they mean at first.

I'm coming back tomorrow I don't deserve you, but if there's any chance that you'd want to see me again... I’m landing at the airfield in [REDACTED], at 1130 I'm sorry, and I understand if you've moved on or maybe we can talk sometime this week if you're busy whatever works for you or maybe you don’t want to talk to me at all which is fine as well, of course just let me know in Liebe, König

I blink, reading the messages over and over again. The little incoherent ramble until it finally clicks. He's coming back.

I groan, putting the phone away, hiding my face in my hands. Contemplating what I should do as the possibility of seeing him again churns in my stomach. And all the emotions come flooding back, tears pricking in the corner of my eye. God damn it.

Men and women are disembarking from the aircraft and I crane my neck, looking for him.

I’ve been waiting here for some time cause they were running late. And I’m not the only one, there are quite a bunch of people waiting. Probably families and partners? They all seemed relaxed, at least more relaxed than me.

I’m hopping from one leg to the other, my hands feel a little clammy as I knead them. And honestly, I’m a little nauseous.

More people in gear than I would have thought come off the plane, meeting up with their relatives, mingling with each other or just leaving.

I already fear that I completely misunderstood his messages, but that couldn’t have been possible, right? Maybe I shouldn't have come here, and just told him I’ll see him some time this week, maybe I shou-

Two more figures emerge from the cargo hold, coming down the ramp. I don’t recognize the man on the right, but the one on the left…

Beige cargo-pants, protectors on the knees and shins. A simple longsleeved shirt, black of course, and a bulletproof vest. Gloves and more protectors on his arms. The band of bright red beads around his wrist.

The mask, the hood fashioned out of simple fabric, red streaks down underneath the eyeholes, held in place by the helmet atop his head. Hiding his face away.

Fuck.

I only saw a picture of him in gear once, when he showed me, but I still would have recognized him instantly. His tall build, the attitude with which he carries himself, gives him away. This get-up can’t hide it.

He stills. Frozen in place, and from the distance I can’t make out anything.

I just stand there, unsure if he already saw me. And I lift my hand, just a little wave, before I drop it again.

Shit, maybe I should have told him that I was coming.

But then he starts running towards me. A slight jog at first, his strides getting longer with every step. I can’t just stand here either, my legs almost moving on their own.

Dropping the bag that hung over his shoulder. His gloved hands are fumbling with his helmet, until he gets it off, just throwing it away, and pulling of the mask too, and when I see his face for the first time in month, I feel tears prick in the corner of my eyes. Running a little faster, only a few meters between us now. The skin around his eyes is smeared with eyeblack, his long hair is clinging to his head, as he also gets rid of the balaclava, just pushing it down, so it sits around his neck, and then…

He stops, just a step before me, not to run me over, but I don’t, jumping up, jumping into his arms, the full impact of my body against his not moving the big guy a little bit. I’m clinging onto his shoulders as he catches me in his embrace. I’m burying my face in his neck, and when his scent hits my nostrils, a little sharper than usual, gunpowder and sweat mixing with his warm soothing scent, the tears flow free, staining his balaclava, wetting his cheeks. Sobs are shaking me as he presses me against him, my legs hugging around his waist.

“I missed you so fucking much.”, he says, his deep voice shaky, and I can’t even answer because it just makes me cry more. “Ssssh, Liebes. Don’t cry.”, he tries to comfort me, but hearing his favourite term of endearment only lets the tears flow freely. “I didn’t wanna make you cry.”

“To-oo late for - that.”, I press out between two sobs.

“I’m so sorry, fuck.”, he sighs, his arms closing even tighter around me. “I don't know how I will ever make it up to you.” His gloved hand is softly caressing down my back.

“I missed you too.”, I finally manage to say, my voice thick with tears, pressing myself against him, and I never wanna let go.

But I need to pull back, only a little, just to look at him again. Touch him. Convince myself that this is real.

My vision is blurred, but that’s still him, his face so close to mine. His gaze intently on me, while one of my hands grabs him, my fingers caressing over his jaw, the stubble a little longer than I’m used to, the smudged black colour around the eye area making him look a little different. He leans into my palm, the eyebrows pulling up and the tension melting away.

His hand cups mine, his thumb softly caressing over it, such soft touches and another small sob is shaking me.

“I don’t want to overstep anything.”, he whispers. “But I would really like to kiss you.”

And I nod, not able to speak the words yet. And before he can lean in, I already press my lips to his. When my mouth meets his, and I taste the saltiness of my tears intermingling with his scent, the wave of relief that floods me is indescribable.

It's as soft as I remember, something that always surprised me. How soft his kisses are.

The way his lips press against mine, like he's searching for something, tasting me. Nipping at my lower lip, his nose rubbing against mine. His stubble scratching over my skin as he tilts his head.

He presses kisses to the corner of my mouth, my cheeks, my nose. All over my face, slowly drying up my tears, and I take a deep breath, calming myself down. He really is back.

When I finally take a look around, I realise that we’re off to the side a bit, but not that far away from the others on the tarmac, so… this must be quite the spectacle for his colleagues and the people who waited for them. Some of them are in tight hugs or talking with the civilians, but some are also looking in our direction, every once in a while. I don't have any time to feel self-conscious though, about being a teary mess.

And the guy who disembarked the aircraft with König comes our way, a little hesitantly, but smiling at us both.

“Köni.”, he says in a deep, but friendly voice, omitting the g in his name.

“Horangi.”, König says, setting me down, but keeping me close by his side, and I wouldn’t have moved an inch away.

The man in front of us is dressed in green and beige camo, quite different from what the big guy is wearing except for the pants. A similarly coloured balaclava around his neck and sporty sunglasses on his head, sitting on top of it in his hair, complete the look.

“I heard so much about you.”, he says lightly, addressing me.

“You did?” My eyebrows shoot up, almost colliding with my hairline.

He nods, grinning, not fazed at all by the threatening stare from König. “Yes. Every time he drank just a little too much, he wouldn't shut up about you.”, Horangi says. “You did a number on the guy.”

I don't know what to say to that at first, honestly a little gobsmacked. “I did?”

“Yeah, yeah, now fuck off.”, König says to Horangi, patting the other man’s back, the frown on his face turning into a grumpy smile.

“See ya, Colonel.”, he says with a grin. “Enjoy your leave.”, adding a little joking salute, before stomping off.

I wave after him, confused for a moment. Colonel?

“Don't mind him.”, König grumbles as I turn to him again, but he doesn't look mad in the slightest bit. “He doesn't know how to behave sometimes.”

My arms closing around his waist, and he repositions me a bit, so the straps on his bullet proof vest don’t press into my cheek.

“So, you really did miss me.”, I say pulling him tighter. Not a question, a statement.

“I did.”, he answers almost solemn as he brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face.

Some of the soldiers are still standing around, talking to each other and the people around them, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

“They’re still looking.”, I whisper to him, unsure what that means.

“Yeah, cause they’re all seeing my face.”, he whispers back, smiling down at me.

Right, the hood!

“Oh shit, I forgot about the mask thing.”, I say, my hand clasping over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.”, he says softly. “They'll survive seeing my face. And I will too.”

“Right, still.”

“Don’t worry about it. I asked you to come here.” He pauses for a moment. “More on a whim, cause I didn’t really think you actually would.”

I take a deep breath. “To be honest, until this morning I didn’t know either.” My eyes pan up to meet his. When I woke up, I knew that I wanted to see him. But only when I got into my car, I called into work to take a personal day off and instead drove here.

“I’m glad you did.”, he says, holding my gaze.

“Me too.”, I whisper back.

“Cause Horangi was right. I was miserable.”

Just like I was. “Really?”, I ask him again, almost soundlessly.

“I was fucking miserable without you.”, he repeats, picking me up again and pressing another kiss to my lips.

I think I don't wanna leave his embrace ever again. But we still have stuff to talk about. Stuff to sort out. And we really can't do that here.

Plus his kisses have their usual effect. As the emotional turmoil and tears dissipate, a familiar feeling spreads through my body, my lower belly tensing up.

“You’re here in your car?”, he asks quietly in between two more kisses. Getting more desperate.

“Yeah.”, I say. “I parked it around the corner.”

“Okay, you wanna get out of here then?”

I just nod, kissing him again, and his little hum against my lips lets tingles erupt all over me. Then we're out of here.

Not before picking up his helmet and hood that he shed on the way, me still in his arms, getting his duffle bag, and I can’t help the little giggle escaping me, because he refuses to set me down when he bends down. Carrying me like I weigh nothing, also not willing to leave my side even for a moment.

On the way to the car, it gets even a little more heated and I’m glad when we turn the corner, hiding away from other eyes.

He’s taking huge strides, heading right for my car, that he spotted in an instant, the small silver one.

My fingers are tangled in his hair, his hands grabbing my ass and thighs, and I pull the car key out my pocket and unlock it. He opens the car door, lying me down on the cushioned seat and I scoot back to make room for him.

Reminders flood my brain how we did it in the back of his car, much bigger than the Toyota I drive. It’s way too small for him, but that doesn’t stop us.

I push off my shoes and get my pants off quickly as he climbs in over me, his shoulders pressing up against the roof of the car, while he sheds his protectors and gloves and shuts the door behind him.

A moment later, I’m folded in half, my knees against my chest, the feet up in the air brushing against the frame of the car. His hands gripping my thighs, spreading me for him.

König is eating me out like a starved man, soft mewls and grunts dropping from his lips, the vibrations of them against my sensitive skin.

“Oh fuck.”, I groan.

His hair is falling over his face, but I just want to see him, brushing the strands back. His gaze burning into me as he looks up at me, the eyeblack giving him a rugged look.

Desperately licking me, my juices glistening all over the lower part of his face. The stubble that is longer than usual is scratching against the insides of my thighs, but I don’t care about that right now, in the contrary, the soft scratch right there makes me even hotter.

It’s him. in this get-up, a little different than I was used to, but it’s him.

When he slips his fingers into me, his lips closing around my clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, something that always made me lose my mind fast, and this is no exception.

The way he fills me up, his thick digits stretching me. His tongue working my pussy, knowing exactly what makes me cry out. His mouth wandering, littering my inner thigh with kisses and hickeys.

The bites and nibbles send shivers down my body, my hips rutting forward, pushing my pussy into him. His arm comes over tummy, holding me in place, so I can't escape his touches.

“Yes, please, just-”, I sigh, and I can feels how he curls his fingers inside me, hitting just the right spot.

I come around them, my cries a bit too loud in my own ears in the small space, and I almost bump my head into the car door behind me as he doesn’t let up, but dives in again. His tongue is toying with my clit, dragging over it, slow, broad licks, and my body shakes and convulses.

“König…”, I plead, my hand tangled in his hair.

He finally pulls back a bit, still lapping everything up, even putting his own fingers in his mouth. His lips closing around them, his lids fluttering for just a moment.

“You taste so fucking good, Kleine.”, he whispers, not breaking eye contact as he meticulously licks my arousal off them, and I can’t help the blush on my face, especially when his tongues darts through between them. Fuck.

Instead of an answer, I pull him into me, to kiss him again, tasting myself on his lips, my hands dropping to his belt, fumbling with the clasp. I want more. I want him.

“Wait.”, he says, his hand coming over mine, I can feel the lingering wetness on them, and I still for a moment. “Shouldn’t we like…”

“You…. don’t want to?”

"No, of course I do, Liebes… I just want to do it right, you know? Make it right. In a proper bed."

I pull one of my eyebrows up. He thinks about that now after eating me out. "We can still do that later, no worries."

"But- I-"

"Yeah, that's all really noble, but right now I just need you." I kiss him again. "So shut up and fuck me. Please.", I say, still fumbling with his belt.

“I don’t have any condoms with me.”, he says, still not helping me to get his gear off.

I pull up an eyebrow. “And?” We did it raw many times, why would it be…

"Did you not... You didn't...?", he stammers, his eyes searching mine.

And then it dawns on me. "If you're gonna ask, if I slept with somebody else in the meantime, I suggest you don't. Because I fucking didn't." Adding after a moment’s pause: “Did you?”

"Fuck, no.”, he answers without hesitation, but his whole body is still shaken with agitation. “Fuck, I'm sorry, I just-" His hand strokes through his hair, exasperated, straightening up a bit and almost hitting his head on the roof of the car.

"König."

He stills, his eyes on me again and I can see the turmoil in them.

"I didn't want anybody else, I just wanted you back.", I say, my voice a little shaky. "And now that I've got you back, I just need to feel you. We can talk and do all the other stuff after getting home, okay?"

Home. The word slipped over my lips before I could think about it. It's out there before I can take it back.

He doesn't move a bit, just looks at me incredulously, and my hand shoots out to grab him which pulls him from his thoughts.

“I do not fucking deserve you.”, he whispers, and then it all happens very quickly. Pulling the zipper down and getting his dick out, the tip slipping between my folds.

He doesn't wait a moment longer and we both groan in unison when he slides into me, and the familiar feeling floods me, the stretch deliciously making me squirm.

Yet my eyes don't leave his for even a moment, not daring to close them, in case this is still a dream and he did not really come back.

But when he grasps my chin, tilting it up and leaning down to press his lips to mine, the tears that have been welling up again roll down my cheeks, the wetness blurring my vision.

I wipe them away, aggressively, a little mad at myself that I just can't stop crying. “Fuck, just… I-” I sigh. “Those fucking tears.”

He’s not saying anything, his thumb brushing over my cheek, a soothing gesture. His lips are peppering kisses all over my face as he starts to fuck me, slowly and sweetly.

I look down to where we are connected, seeing him push into me, seeing and feeling his dick slip into me. As deep as he can go.

With the position I’m in, folded in half, my belly is bulging with every thrust, just a bit, but still. And when he bottoms me out, time after time after time, I inadvertently squeeze around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”, he groans.

He’s not fucking me fast, more hard and deep. The sound of skin against skin when his lap collides with the plush of my thighs, loud and quite heavy. And I’m underneath him, framed by his strong arms, holding onto them.

Every single one of his thrusts lets a moan slip out of me, especially with how his pubic bone is pressing up against my sensitive clit, over and over again.

My breath hits his face, the look on it still a little incredulous, the almost enamored smile.

His breath is getting heavier too, rattling grunts shaking his chest. I wanna feel them, I wanna feel his rapid heartbeat against my fingertips. My hand slips under his vest, the other one holding onto it. The soft fabric of his compression shirt is warm, feeling his heartbeat strum against the palm of my hand, as I look up at him. Back in one piece. Alive.

The telltale signs how close he is are written on his face. The breath that halts in his throat every so often. The way his jaw drops. His brows draw together, not his usual frown, the ever-present scowl. Ecstasy visible on his features. And his eyes pressing together, for just a moment.

Looking down at me again, he’s still fucking me, my knees pressed up against my chest, his propped-up arms carrying most, but not all of his weight. My fingers are grabbing his bulletproof vest, needing him closer. The buttons of his waistband and the belt pressing into my ass with every thrust.

But all those sensations get overtaken when my second orgasm washes over me abruptly, just holding onto him, and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, when he doesn’t stop. The pushes of his hips, how he rolls them into me, getting a little more desperate, almost losing the rhythm, as I clench around him.

He’s buried deep inside me, filling me up when he comes, and groans drop from his lips. His face contorting in pleasure. I missed his stupid face, and apparently I also missed his O-face.

He takes a big breath, backing off a bit, giving me a moment to reposition my legs. When his dick slips out of me, I sigh, feeling a bit empty and the wetness against my stomach as it rests over it.

His big heavy body slumps over me, and we just stay like that for a while. Cheek to cheek. My arms around his neck, his hands softly caressing down my body.

Maybe I could even stay like this forever.

Again I remember the time we did it on the backseat of his car, that was much more spacious. Half an eternity ago. Only the second time we ever did it.

Softly kissing now and then. The little sounds and our breath the only thing in the calm silence around us, until he breaks it.

“Can I take you home?”

“Yes.”, I answer without hesitation. We still have some stuff to sort out, and we should get going.

He’s zipping himself up, I put on my pants again, his cum seeping into my panties now, but I don’t even care and get into the driver’s seat, the doors close behind us.

And for once he is in the passenger’s seat, my car still way too small for the big man. It’s almost ridiculous how his stature fills the car. He almost has to duck his head like this, even without the helmet, dwarfing the whole space.

I chuckle a little, put on some music and start driving.

“So Colonel, huh?”, I ask him, pulling an eyebrow up.

“Yeah.”, he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know why I never told you.”

“It’s okay.”, I say. “I guess, that doesn’t really matter in the civilian life.”

“It doesn’t.”, he agrees. “But it also feels like I wasn’t fully honest with you. Which is shitty.”

I clasp my hand over his for a moment, squeezing his fingers. A little reassurance. I don't care about his rank cause it doesn't change anything anyway, and I also never bothered to ask.

“So, I wouldn't get in trouble for insubordination if I called you Sir and not Colonel?”, I ask him, teasingly.

His brows furrow, that certain look in his eyes like always when I was being bratty - and I missed that too.

“You won't.”, he grumbles.

I can't help the little laugh. “Good to know.”

I look to the side, and there he is. It’s him, even in this get-up, it’s him. In my car.

And he’s grinning back at me, not as bright as I was used to, but still. I shake my head as I look back onto the street. He really is back.

I pull into the driveway, the sight of his house alone pulling at my heartstrings. The heavy feeling hits me, the lightheartedness I felt before taking a little hit, even before turning the motor off, getting out the car and heading inside.

He unlocks the door and goes inside, putting down the duffle bag, as I follow him. I stand around a little unsure, taking my shoes off, before heading to the living room.

When I see the couch, I have to swallow my emotions down, not ready to cry again. The memories come rushing back and I just need a moment to take it all in.

Heavy steps behind me, warmth emanating from his body. His presence so tangible, even when he’s not touching me. I’m still so tuned into him.

And I turn.

God damn, I almost forgot how big he is. He fills the doorframe that has been fit to his height. His shoulders seeming even broader in his gear. His head almost grazing the top of the frame.

And I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. We just stand here for a moment.

“I need to shower.. you, uh-”, he starts.

“I’m just gonna wait here, okay?”

He nods. “Yes, of course.” He hands me his phone. “You wanna order something to eat in the meantime? For us.”

“I can do that.”

“Pick whatever you like.”, he tells me before rushing up the stairs with huge strides, taking his bag with him.

I sigh and take a seat at the dinner table we barely ever used. Not daring to sit on the couch like I usually would have.

Unlocking his phone, only clicking on the delivery app, of course. Searching for his favourite take-out place, the grill with the nice little garden out back.

Does he deserve it? I don't know, maybe not. But I'm not gonna be petty over food. I’m adding another dessert for myself, though.

After I placed the order, I put his phone away, picking up mine instead. Scrolling on the usual apps, waiting because I don't know what else to do. He’s taking longer than I’m used to for the shower. And I can feel myself getting a bit restless. My mind coming back to the things he said. When he broke up with me and then today when he came back.

Heavy steps are coming down the stairs, him emerging in a get up I’m more used to, a simple black shirt and shorts.

His hair is still a bit wet, clinging to him in strands. He’s freshly shaved too, the stubble he had before gone. And I can smell the clean and sharp tone of his after-shave when he walks up to me.

“Food will be here soon.”, I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Okay, thank you.”

“Your favorite.”

“You didn't need to do that.”

“I know.” I hand him back his phone. “And I didn't snoop through it or anything.”

He nods, acknowledging my comment. “I trust you.” He steps a bit closer, taking it. “But you wouldn't have found anything noteworthy either. My phone is embarrassingly empty.” He looks up from the device, to me, a lopsided wry smile adorning his face. “Mostly work emails and photos of you I couldn't bring myself to delete.”

“Yeah?”

He nods.

“What’s the other stuff?”

“Photos of Mimi.” His smile is turning into a grin.

“That little minx. I should have known.”, I say exasperated, but jokingly.

He’s still standing there, swaying from one foot to the other ever so slightly, and almost wanna tell him to just sit down.

“I thought about calling you. I just didn't know what to say.”, he says, his voice quiet. “I wasn't even sure you'd pick up.”

“I don't know if I could have handled talking to you over the phone.”, I say carefully, but honestly. I probably wouldn’t have picked up.

He just nods. “I understand.”

“I actually didn’t know what to think when you texted me.”, I continue. “It was a lot. After a few months of no bleep, no nothing.”

“I wanted to text you. I just chickened out every time.”, he says. “But Horangi kicked some sense into me.”

“Does he do that often?”, I ask, biting back a grin, when remembering the conversation with him earlier. How he basically snitched on him, painting the a bit pathetic picture of drunk König who missed me so much that he wouldn't shut up about me. After he broke up with me of his own volition.

He tilts his head to the side, grudgingly admitting: “Sometimes.”

“And we all need friends like that sometimes.”, I say.

He laughs a little and confesses. “Yeah, he actually helped me phrase the messages because I just didn’t know how I-” He breaks off. “I meant everything I said though.” His eyes find mine again. “I would've understood if you didn't have time or if you just didn't wanna see me. But I still had to try. And I meant it earlier, when I said that I’m glad you came.”

The look on his face, almost pleading. And I feel the same way, but being here with him still feels a little… overwhelming.

“I-”

The doorbell ringing disrupts our conversation. He turns and hurries to the door. I can hear him talk to the delivery person as I get up and hurry to the kitchen to get plates and cutlery.

We’re both coming back a few moments later, setting everything down on the dinner table, taking a seat next to each other. Opening up the containers of food, laying everything out. Loading our plates up, my stomach grumbling. I hadn’t eaten all day, too anxious and nervous. I dig in, taking spoonsfuls of the veggies with rice, and I feel how his eyes are on me, how he’s watching me.

I meet his eyes when he breaks the silence again.

“I missed your birthday, didn't I?”, he asks, but judging from the look on his face he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, a few weeks ago.”, I say, nodding.

“Now there's ‘only’ 15 years between us.”, he says, matter-of-factly.

“There are.”, I agree. “But it doesn’t matter. 15, 16, what’s the difference.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

I put my fork down for a moment and just tell him outright what I have been thinking: “When I teased you, it was never about that. Our age difference never was an issue for me, you know. But I will never call you an old man again, if there is a chance that you will throw it in my face like that.” I pause. “Again.”

“I’m not gonna do that - again.”, he reassures me.

“Good.” I take a deep breath. “If I had known that this was plaguing you, I could have put your mind at ease. Or at least tried.”

“It’s not on you.”, he says with a sigh, his hand dragging over his face for just a moment, rubbing over his eyes. I can feel the frustration emanating off him. “I just- I tried to hide it.” Like he also tried to hide it when he had shit days. I wanna grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“I figured. Because the whole… conversation came out of nowhere for me.”

“Yeah, I felt like such an asshole afterwards. I went about it the most blunt way. The whole thing anyway… it was a mistake.”, he continues, point-blank. “And I’m sorry for that.”

If we had this talk only weeks after he left, I would have been so mad still. The distance helped. It's also helping right now. Acknowledging that it had been a mistake, it doesn't make the "break up"-thing go away. But I feel like I still needed to hear that.

“It’s okay.”, I whisper.

He shakes his head. “It’s not.”, he says. “It wasn’t okay.”

“I know.” I reach for him, our fingers intertwining, my thumb softly caressing over the back of his hand. Our eyes meet and I can see his emotions in them, clearer than ever before. Not trying to hide them anymore. And I understand. A little smile stalks onto my face.

“Let’s just eat, okay?”

And I never have to tell him that twice.

After we finished up, he carries the plates and leftovers to the kitchen, refusing my help, and I finally take a seat on the big couch, slumping into the cushions.

König emerges in the doorframe, just standing there. Frozen in place. I put my phone down and for a moment we just look at each other. The same familiarity hits me, but the guilty look on his face tells me why he’s not moving an inch closer.

It's a bit ridiculous. We fucked, we ate together, we talked about some of the shit that went down. He apologized - again.

I softly pat the cushion beside me. “Come here.”

He’s taking a few steps, hesitatingly approaching and sitting down. But he stops there. I look up at him from the side, and I have never seen him so unsure. It's almost a little sweet.

Grabbing him, I pull him down to me and he just lets me. Positioning his head in my lap, cradling his face, and he lies down the feet dangling over the side of the couch. When my hand caresses over his chest, he sighs. Relaxing into the cushions. I can almost hear the weight drop from his shoulders as he melts into my touch. His hand clinging onto my arm. His brows turning up as he looks up at me.

For a moment we just sit in silence and I let the calmness flood me that his proximity brings. Playing with the long strands of his hair. Softly straightening out the waves that always form when they are freshly washed. Looking down at him.

“I don’t fucking deserve you.”, he whispers.

And there it is again. That sentence. It bothered me when I read it in the messages he sent. And then when he uttered them today.

I grab his face and make him look at me. Squishing his cheeks. “Don’t say that.”, I tell him, my voice trembling. “Don’t fucking say that.”

He stills, his eyes flitting between mine, his mouth dropping open a little.

“I didn’t- I…” I’ve almost never seen him speechless, but today every time I’ve said something that he seemingly didn’t expect he just looked at me like that.

“You think it's flattering or whatever. It’s not.”, I say, exasperated. “It’s like I’m on a fucking pedastal. It doesn’t make me fucking feel good, okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. I don’t need anymore “sorry”s from him. “You already thought that before you broke up with me, didn’t you?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding. Silence between us as I only look at him, reading what’s in his eyes.

“Beating yourself up over this isn’t gonna make either of us feel better. I don’t want you to grovel like a beaten dog. I just want you to be honest with me what’s going on in this thick head of yours.” Tapping on said thick head.

“Yeah, you fucking hurt me by just dropping me off in my flat and fucking off because you thought it was the right thing for both of us. I don’t need you to think for me. I just need you to talk to me.” Damn, I’m laying into him right now, but I fear otherwise I’m not gonna get through the thickheaded stubborness.

“I didn’t mean to go over your head like I did. I was too in my own head already, so it was the only thing that made sense to me.”, he says as calmly as he manages. “I thought it was the right thing for you.”

“Because you didn’t deserve me anyways and I would be better off with someone else, right?”, I summarize. I can’t help but sound a little bitter. And I realise now that that was the thing that hurt me the most.

He nods again.

I feel the jab in my heart. Not knowing what to say to that. It's not nice to have the person you're with express the sentiment that you should be with someone else. Well, it’s pretty fucking far from nice.

He casts his eyes down, fidgeting with his wristband, not daring to look at me. And I can practically feel his self-deprecation prickling at my fingertips, the hand still lying on his chest, clearer than ever before.

“I thought I would be selfish to have you wait for me. And I realised that the opposite is true. I was a coward, I just fucking ran away.”, he sighs, and I can hear the shame in his voice.

His hand clasps over mine, squeezing my fingers.

“You did.”, I simply say.

“And it didn’t fucking solve anything.” He laughs, a barking joyless laugh. “For the first time in a long time it was worse without someone else, you know.” He pauses for a moment, finally looking up at me again. You don't need to be Sherlock to know who he's talking about.

I nod, swallowing back my emotions again, squeezing his hand back. “And it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Fuck. I know, I just- wanna kick myself every time I think about it.” An exhausted and frustrated sigh rising up from deep in his chest. “I don't know what I can say to make it all okay again. I don't know what to tell you to-”

“Just show me.”, I interrupt him before he can go down that spiral. He stills

“I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear.” His hand grabs mine a bit tighter. Pulling it up to his face and pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

I nod, a little smile stalking onto my face. “Okay, good.”, I say, adding a “And don't ever say you're undeserving again.”

“I won't.”

“Thank you.” I lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips, and he answers it like it holds the promise he just made.

When I pull back, I don’t get far cause he is cradling my cheek, not letting me go anywhere.

“Did anybody ever tell you that it’s hot when you get all bossy like that?”, he whispers, a small grin forming on his face.

“Yeah?”, I say, tongue in cheek. “You like getting ripped to shreds?”

“Only by you, Hexe.” which makes me laugh. “But I deserved it too.”, he says.

“You did a little bit.”, I say graciously, and we both laugh.

We just stay like this for a while, holding hands, and I can take a deep breath feeling most of the weight drop away from me that I felt walking into the living room.

He turns to the side, his cheek pressing against my belly as his arms close around me, around my waist. As close as he can get.

I’m brushing his hair out of his face, playing with it. Massaging his neck and shoulders, softly caressing.

He almost falls asleep like that, and I don't think I’ve ever seen him so peaceful. Deep calm breaths. Not a wrinkle on his forehead as I brush over it with my thumb. His eyebrows are turned up. Not even a hint of a frown on his face.

He grabs my hand, pressing sweet kisses to my fingers. “Stay with me.”, he whispers. “Please.”

“You sure?”, I ask.

He nods, not letting go of me. “I just want my bed and you in it, like I dreamed about those last few weeks. So… please?”

And it finally sinks in that the break was just as painful for him as it had been for me. Because I dreamed of the same thing. “Okay.”

He doesn't need anything else, just gets up off the couch, picking me up as well.

I can't help the giggle rising up my throat when my legs close around his hips and my lips find his neck, kissing the sensitive spots, the ones that always make him shiver. My fingertips are digging into his shoulders. The soft lingering touches I know will get him riled up.

He hums. “Glad to see that your ass is still as bratty as before.”, he grumbles, but he can't hide the grin as he playfully places the tiniest spank on said butt.

“Never.”, I tell him before he kicks open the bed room and lies me down on the bed.

We both scramble to get rid of our clothes, pulling them off quickly. He crawls over me, his dick nudging against my pussy while he settles between my thighs and his lips land on mine. His long hair falls over me like a veil, the tips tickling my naked skin.

His hand drops down, his fingers rubbing over my clit as he pushes into me. Carefully enough. And I sigh taking him in.

His mouth is coasting over my neck, making me shiver as he kisses, nibbles and bites. Leaving marks where anyone can see. Licking the sensitive skin, his tongue drawing wet tracks over it. His heavy breath hitting the shell of my ear as he pulls my head back and sucks on the sensitive spot right beneath it.

My fingers are digging into his shoulders and back, his muscles, leaving my own marks with my nails. Dropping down further until I grab his asscheeks, pulling him into me.

He chuckles, pushing deeper, his thrusts picking up pace. I arch my back to meet his movements, my chest against his, the sensations making me throw my head back.

His hand catches my chin, and he’s telling me: “Look at me, Liebes, please just look at me.”

My eyes meet his, a satisfied deep hum rising up his throat. And I never felt more at the center of anybody's attention than in that moment.

He turns, and suddenly I’m on top, riding him, my hands placed on his hairy chest. Slowly sliding up and down his length. One of his arms around my waist, the other on my ass guides me. I almost can't handle it, the way he fills me up in this position, his tip nudging against my cervix. But fuck. I have missed this.

Not just the sex. The closeness. The familiarity. Him.

König looks up at me, the same look on his face that I have seen a few times today, the one that I still can’t quite place what it means. But I love when he looks at me like that. If the warm fuzzy feeling in my chest is any indication.

We spend the rest of the day in bed, talking, fucking, listening to music, sometimes almost dozing off. Until it’s late, almost a bit too late.

My head is resting against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady, his legs entangled with mine. His burly tattooed arms embracing me, pulling me against him. His cheek resting atop my forehead with the way I’m nuzzled into the crook of his neck, so his hair is tickling me when he moves a bit.

His body all around me, with nowhere else to go.

I didn’t like sleeping like this ever before I got to know him. But I really don’t mind anymore. I really don’t.

When I open my eyes the next morning, I need a moment to catch up where I am. König’s bedroom. In his bed, the soft sheets against my naked skin. I stretch a little and turn to the side, expecting to find him still fast asleep. But I’m greeted with a smile on his face, his eyes on me. Wide awake already.

“Good morning, Liebes.”, he says softly, catching my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, and I have to swallow to not instantly burst into tears.

“Hi.”, I answer, trying a little wobbly smile.

His hand shoots out and he caresses over my cheek. A simple gesture, one he did so many times before, but right now it has me crying again.

“Oh Liebes.”, he coos as he sees the tear rolling down my face.

“I swear, I don't wanna cry! I must be getting my period or something.”, I grumble while he presses kisses to my cheeks, softly kissing away the tears.

“I’m gonna make you laugh and come twice as much for every time you cried.”, he says, and the twinkle in his eyes tells me that he is joking, yet at the same time seeming earnest.

I break out in laughter. “That would be a lot of jokes and a lot of orgasms.”, I gasp out, wiping the wetness from my cheeks.

He leans down and gives me a kiss. “That’s okay. Cause I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls back a bit.

“Don't make any promises you can't keep.”, I say.

“I wouldn’t.”, he says, his voice serious and his gaze soft. “I promise.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Now let me start with it. I already got a laugh out of you.”

“You insatiable man. Let me go get my teeth brushed first or-”

“No time!”, he exclaims, pulling away the blanket, to position himself between my legs.

I burst into laughter again, the sounds turning into moans when he pulls away my panties and puts his mouth on me.

“Another laugh… that means I need to keep up with the orgasms.”, he quips, mischief lighting up his eyes as his tongue dips into me.

I sigh, snuggling myself back into the comfy sheets, grinding my hips against his face. Meticulously he eats me out, getting all sloppy with it.

His hands are grabbing the swells of my ass, my legs over his shoulders, until he is buried between my thighs. They are littered with all the marks he left there. Faint bites and hickeys. And he’s leaving even more. Oh god, I missed them.

He spits once before his fingers push into me, soft squelching when he fills me up. I’m still a little sleepy, yawning once while I stretch. Meeting his movements and touches.

“Feels so good.”, I tell him, and a little smile forming on his lips as I look down at him.

“Yeah?”, he quips, his thumb rubbing over my clit while he fingerfucks me, slow and deliberately.

I barely can hold the eye contact, almost a little shy, although we did this what feels like a million times. “Yeah.”

He slips his fingers out of me, taking over with his mouth again. I feel the wetness on his fingers as he grabs my thigh again, his fingertips pressing into the plush.

In the time apart nothing had changed about this. It still feels like he has memorized every little part of me, which buttons to push to make me cry out.

His own moans and grunts give away just how much he enjoys this, and I don’t think I will ever get enough of him. Seeing how his hips restlessly move, almost fucking into the mattress, while his tongue dips into me, fucking into me, over and over again, it does something to me as well.

When he nips at my clit, I jolt, my hips lifting off the mattress, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere. Repeating the same move and I come on his face. My back arching, my fingers grabbing at the sheets, curses dropping from my lips.

With a deep breath I look at him again, the big man still very comfortable between my legs, his chin and lips glistening with moisture before he wipes it away.

“And that’s the first one.”, he says with a little grin, and I can’t help the little laugh.

I sit up and grab him. “Yeah, but it’s your turn now.”, I tell him as I pull him up to me, needing him closer.

A wry smile adorns his face. “I’m sorry, Liebes, I already...”

“You… what?”, I ask a little dumbfounded. Looking down while he sits back on his knees, his tummy all sticky, coated in his come. The sheets beneath him soiled, like he humped himself to completion spilling all over them, while eating me out. My jaw drops. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

This man. The lop-sided smirk, making him look younger than he is. The long hair all messy. Not ashamed in the slightest that he came like that, just eating me out.

“Just give me a few minutes, okay?” He grins down at me as he crawls over me. “And maybe a shower.”

“But I need to get to work!”, I tell him.

“Who said, you'll ever leave this house again?”

“König!”

“I’m keeping you.”, he says, like a definite statement, while he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder.

“Brute.”, I say poutily while I can't hold back my giggles.

He just laughs, grabbing my ass as he carries me to the bathroom. “Gonna fuck you in the shower, two birds with one stone. Still need to make you come one more time.”, he lays out his plan.

And I could never say no to that, could I?

We manage to be on time though, even drinking a coffee in the kitchen together, and then he drives me to work.

He also picks me up again, not ready to spend any possible moment apart.

The stupidest biggest grin stalks onto my face when I head out of the office and see his car already parked, faint drum and bass sounds penetrating through. I run up to it and open the door, recognizing the song as Shadow of Intent’s ‘Oudenophobia’, one of the songs I showed him some time ago.

I get into the passenger seat, his hands already grabbing me before I’m properly sitting. Pressing his lips to mine in a kiss. The simple greeting turning into something else with the way he kisses me. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

“Hi.”, I finally manage to say, a little out of breath.

“Sorry, missed you all day.”, he whispers apologetically, backing off a bit, just looking at me.

“No, come back here.”, I say, my hand grabbing his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and I pull him down to me again for another kiss.

When he pulls back now, he’s grinning down at me. And I don’t need to tell him that I missed him too. He knows.

König straightens up in his seat, shifts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. (The only thing he ever pulls out of, really)

“What’s the plan for today, Prinzesserl?”, he asks me then.

“Oh oh, there is this new Asian fusion place that opened up a few weeks ago.”, I say. “I haven’t been yet.”

He pulls up his eyebrows. “Asian fusion?”

“Yes.”, I say. “They have all kinds of stuff from all over.”

“Spring rolls too?”

“I bet.” I grin up at him.

“Then let’s go.”, he says, the expression on his face mirroring mine.

I sit back, crossing my legs and snuggling into my seat. His hand lands on my thigh and mine clasps over it.

It’s like he never left. Well almost, at least.

And I know that not everything’s forgotten. It doesn’t work like that. My heart is content, but my mind is still catching up. Sometimes thinking about what he said when he left. The promises he made when he came back. Working out how this relationship between us will be from now on. Working with him on that, for both our sakes.

Because despite what happened and my efforts while he was gone... I still do love him.

And we both deserve it.

the whole story in the Masterlist

i'm sorry, i'm so in love with this man that isn't real :') (well, he is, in my mind)

[mrsnancywheeler]

the river (4) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: the Capitol has taken you away from Finnick, the life you've been trying to build together and now he has to fight to get every part of you back

previous chapter/next chapter

masterlist

4.8k words

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, talks of trafficking and abuse related to it, aftermath of breakups, mentions of torture, self destructive behavior, mental illness, unedited, no use of y/n, underage drinking, paranoia

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“I'm hurting you, real or not real." It's been days of this, of Finnick trying to bring you back to him. Half the time you were fine, you'd try to go over the past with him, joke, and open up, so he'd do the same. He had to be so careful though, it wasn't clear what exact things would set it off, but you'd get so paranoid about him and the doctors. Occasionally they'd be able to calmly bring you back, ground you back into the firmness of reality. The other times you'd devolve completely, screaming, crying, hysterical, and Finnick would have to step away as you'd get worse when he was close by. It was an exhausting, never-ending cycle, but it was worth trying to get you back.

Today you'd let his chair be by your bed, but now he was scared he'd be forced to retreat. He had to be careful, if he lied you might be able to see it in his face and be convinced he was lying about other things, or he could tell the truth and risk the spiral of guilt. “Real." He knotted his rope, staring down at it for a second.

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to or want to. I'm really sorry." You're crying and he's thinking, oh shit, so early in the morning and now a whole day of what could've been progress will be lost.

He stared at you, trying to portray as much genuine feeling as possible, “I know that, angel, I don't blame you. I could never blame you and have never blamed you." It hurt to be so close yet so far away, he could reach out and touch you, but he knew better. Not like you always told him when you did want him to hold you though, some days you communicated well, but others it was like you forgot that he needed explicit permission to come close. You'd get grumpy when he couldn't just tell you wanted him closer and do as much. Truthfully it was adorable, and it reminded him of the past, but that also made his heart ache. He couldn't just make an inference anymore on the off chance it sent you into a frenzy, so he'd have to sit by and wait.

“You should, I'm so fucked in the head, and you deserve better."

“Well I'm pretty fucked in the head too, sweet girl, and there is no one better." You were hiccuping on your sobs, this could go badly so quickly. “Hey, it's okay, we're okay, why don't you take some deep breaths with me, angel? Look at me, just follow what I do, deep breath in, deep breath out." He urged you to look at him and you did, trying to follow along through the tears until finally you were somewhat calmed down.

“I'm sorry." You sniffled, wiping away stray tears.

“It's okay, sweet girl, we're gonna have a good day today, right?" The last couple had been rough, so strenuous for the both of you. You nodded slowly, “Maybe they'll let us take a walk or eat lunch with everyone else. Would you like that?”

"I don't know.” Your knees curled up into your chest.

"That's okay, we don't have to take that step yet if you don't want to. We can just talk or sleep or I can teach you some knots, and whatever else we can think of.” You shrugged and he had to realize that it could be a good day, but it probably wasn't going to be an easy one. With you in one of your difficult moods that he'd be left to handle. You'd say no even if you wanted something, silently expect him to come to the conclusion himself, and if it had been before the Capitol dug their talons in it would've been fine. He would've teased you about it before giving into your quiet plea for attention and he would've relished it because it meant you wanted comfort instead of only comforting him. Now though he didn't know what you were thinking, he had assumptions but the risk of being wrong was too great. “We have to use our words, angel, and if that's too hard you can write it down."

You said nothing and laid your head down on your knees, shaking it. Finnick shifted in his seat, rubbing his head, he didn't want to be annoyed with you, but it had been bad day after bad just to lead to this. He was exhausted and hated Snow for making him work so hard just to have you back again. “Please, don't be mad at me.” Your voice was so broken and so soft that he regretted even showing any form of annoyance.

"Angel, I'm not mad at you. I just can't help you unless you tell me what you want or need.” You ever so quietly let out a small huff as you laid down instead, staring at the ceiling. At least you weren't screaming until you needed to be sedated, you were just having a hard time communicating your needs. Finnick was sure all you wanted was to be held, in the past that's what it usually had been. “Is this making you feel embarrassed, honey?" Sometimes the switch between trying to push down your own needs for solace had left you like this, difficult to feel like you deserved to be consoled. Now though, he reasoned, it was because you felt like such a burden.

"I don't know what's going on in my head and everything is so conflicting. I just want to be me again so I know what I want, and you know, and I don't know it's too much. And I want to say things, but I can't because I just want people to see me as I was and know." His poor, sweet girl having to fight all the inner turmoil. You felt different, but you weren't. You were just struggling and wanted things to be the same as they had before, he knew that, but he also knew that they couldn't be until there were less breakdowns, less paranoia.

He had to suck it up and just give what he was so sure it was at the risk of another breakdown if he got closer, but the alternative was a different type of breakdown. “Do you want me to lay with you again?” You played with your fingers and nodded, so he slipped in beside you. He knew there was more from the way you looked at him and hoped he wasn't pushing boundaries, that he was right. "Angel, do you want to be held?” You finally smiled just a little bit when you nodded, grateful, and he smiled back,"Come here, sweet girl.” The moment his arms were around you your head snuggled into his chest, it felt perfect, the way you two were meant to be.

"Don't let me go."

“Wouldn't dream of it." He hadn't touched you in so long it was like heaven in his arms again. “You ready to talk now, sweet girl? Wanna tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"I'm sorry I'm so difficult for everyone, I don't know what going on in my head half the time anymore.” Your voice vibrated through his chest and it was so comforting to him.

“You're just trying to get better, it's okay. And you can ask me, angel, you don't have to sit with it in your head and let it eat you up. You can just ask me if it's real.” His fingers traced circles on your shoulder, you were so cold all the time, it made him feel less hot and stuffy

“I'm safe, real or not real?"

“Real." Safe from the arena, the Capitol, the only thing you weren't safe from was yourself.

“Okay." You snuggled yourself further into him, like you trying to let yourself believe it. “When I was in the Capitol…” Finnick's ears perked up,"I'd try so hard to keep myself in reality, and I'd think about that time we took that tiny, crickety rowboat out and you said it would be romantic. So you packed up your fishing rod and we'd been out for a couple of hours when it was probably time to row back. So I said I'd take one of the oars-”

"Because you insisted I deserved to rest since it was so hot and I'd rowed us out, which I wasn't, but you gave me that cute little pout so I let you have one.” Of course he remembered this, even if three years ago felt like an eternity.

"You were tired!”

"That's subjective.” You scoffed, but he could hear you smiling.

“Anyways, right after you give me the oar you started kissing me-"

“You just look so cute when you pout like that and you were shining in the sun, like an angel, I had to."

"But you distracted me and I got so caught up in it because you were being an ass, started leaning me down.” He does remember his diabolical plan when you were sitting down sweetly on that little row boat, trying to help him, he just wanted to lay you right down and show you how appreciative he was.

"And you dropped the oar, sweet girl, wasn't my fault.”

"Yes, it was, you distracted me and then you tilted your body when you heard the splash to see what happened and so I did the same. Which made the boat tip over and left us both in the water.”

“And you just started laughing, I couldn't even be worried about you because your sweet little laugh was the first thing I heard. I just swam right over and had you in my arms, started laughing with you, and the only way I could get you to stop was by kissing you.”

"And then you wouldn't let me help you get the oars and row boat back up.”

"You're so pretty, sweet girl, would rather watch you while I'm on task, we saw what happened when that doesn't happen.”

"That was your fault!” You exclaimed, he could feel your smile on his chest.

“Maybe, but it was worth it.”

You hummed in response, one of your hands playing with the fabric of his own medical gown. "And then you insisted I had to get on first and I didn't know how you did it but somehow you got me in the row boat again before climbing back in, without it tipping over, it almost did, but not completely. And it was so hot that it was drying us off completely when you rowed us back with that beautiful, goofy smile on your face the whole time.”

“Couldn't help myself, you're so beautiful, love to look at you, angel."

“And only after we got to shore and you were insisting on carrying the whole boat by yourself did I notice I'd lost one of my sandals." You let out a small laugh into his chest that made his own smile brighten. “So you told me it was another reason I couldn't carry the boat even though it didn't bother me. We'd lost all the fish so we just ate grapes and giggled as you tried to figure something else out."

“I sat you on the counter and you just smiled like you were the sun, so I'd sneak kisses in while I worked. We decorated that rowboat together, do you remember?"

You nodded into his chest, eyebrows scrunched together. “With flowers and seashells?"

“Yeah, good job! Flowers, seashells, fish, the ocean waves, our handprints, and I carved our initials into it too."

Your voice become somehow even softer, “So when I was in the Capitol I'd think about how refreshing the water felt when the sun was beating down on us, how it felt and tasted when you kissed me, how you held me, the sound of you laugh, how special you made me feel by taking care of me. I'd think about that day to try and stop me from slipping away, for a while it worked."

You never ceased breaking his heart and making him fall deeper in love with you. "Well you're still here with me, haven't really slipped away from me.”

"I feel like I have, that I've slipped away from even knowing myself.” You admitted, voice croaky.

“You've just fallen and we're helping you back up, angel, I'm putting you back in the boat. Maybe it'll rock, but I promise you, it won't tip again."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

His life was hell with you gone because now there was nothing but the ever present loneliness to return too. There wasn't a day that seemed to pass where he didn't think of you in some way. Sometimes it was how much he missed you, others it was fantasies of still being together, and the worst ones were when he'd imagine your life without him. It was terrible when the breakup had begun and he had his first party because everybody had been drawn to you.

“Where is she, is she not feeling well because I can stop by."

"You can't have let that one go, Odair, she was perfect for you.”

"Finnick, she was my drinking buddy!" People admonished him left and right when it was finally revealed that he'd dumped you. Although he was pretty sure people were more upset about the lack of your magnetic presence.

Initially he tried to play it off like his Capitol persona would have, you were just one of many girls lined up for him, and the committal part had scared him off, and you were so clingy. The rumor mill caught it and so many girls were ready to be next. He felt like he was betraying you every time he sent a flirty smirk back to whatever they said to draw him in. So he gave up the persona, he'd rather be mournful and drink away the problems each night.

Then he'd heard that Tallulah still saw you, she'd grab a bottle or two and sneak out to tap on your window. That way she still had someone to take care of her afterwards and she trusted you with the role. “Lulah please tell me what she says, I don't care what about, just anything. I'm begging you." Finnick was tipsy and felt like he was going to cry, but Tallulah pursed her lips.

“Finnick, I don't think that's a good idea.” She took another sip of her drink.

"I'll do whatever you want, please. I'm not asking you to pass messages or anything.” She must have taken pity on him and his tears when she agreed. So he soaked up anything you'd said the next time he saw Tallulah.

“I don't think you want to know."

“I do, I don't care what it is."

“Finnick, if you're already this beat up about it, I'm not sure telling you what she said will help.”

“That's okay, I deserve to feel bad about it."

Tallulah sighed, " People talk Finnick, so the things you'd said about her kind of, you know, got back to her.”

Finnick looked up as if it would stop the tears from falling,"No, no, no, no I didn't mean that. She has to know I didn't mean that.”

"But you said it.” Tallulah shrugged. "She kept asking if I thought she was too clingy or overbearing, sometimes she'd ask if you had someone else and then decided she didn't want to know.”

"No, never.” He said quickly and hated himself for leaving his sweet girl only to cause her even more pain from afar.

“If you're gonna leave a girl, you have to leave her, Finnick. Or you're both gonna spend your whole lives wishing for things when you could just move on. I'm not gonna do this again, just let her have Conway. It's always been them.”

"I know, that's okay.” But it wasn't because Finnick Odair was like a moth to a flame. Any time he could see or hear about you he would. He remembered when nearly a year later you'd started dating Beckett, the same goddamn Beckett that had drawn Finnick to you in the first place. He'd been jealous for a myriad of reasons he had no right to. At least it wasn't Conway, at least if you stuck with Beckett it was a different ending then the expected, the obvious route.

But god, did Finnick hate him. Because he represented you trying to move on, that Finnick didn't have a future with you, and worst of all that other people found you just as intriguing as he did. So when he'd walk the market in circles just to see Beckett shamelessly flirting with you and in your way, you'd flirt back. Maybe he was vain, but Finnick liked to imagine that you did it so he'd be jealous and take you back, even if that could never happen. Beckett had to know it affected Finnick too, who only maintained terse conversation or made jabbing comments towards the other boy.

Until finally whatever excitement you got from it burnt out and you told Beckett it wouldn't work. Leaving Finnick to wonder if it was wrong that he hoped it was because you realized you could never love someone as much as you loved him. It was probably fucked to want, but he needed to know so desperately that you were as longing for him as he was for you. His life condemned him to longing glances and whispers of your name over the ocean waves, but at least you would be safe. Maybe he'd find you in another lifetime, right person, wrong time. Then you could be safe and happy.

Instead he realized the universe didn't expect either of your lives to be ones of just the parted lovers, whatever he'd done in a past life, was coming back for blood. He should've known Snow would realize Finnick thought of you with every breath he took, that he still thought of your lips instead every time he was in the company of a customer, and that it would lead to more tragedy. Because when the fated reaping for the 69th Hunger Games began, it was your name sent into the labyrinth of death.

Any light left in his life had been aggressively ripped from him, it was as if everytime he thought he'd hit rock bottom the ground would crumble beneath him and the falling would resume. At least he knew you were smart, he was privy enough to the clockwork of you to know that you were terrified, but to anyone else you would've looked so calm and collected. Then you looked at him and he felt like the ground was breaking again, another thousand feet to fall. It was like you were sending him a love letter before you went off to certain death.

Tides were always changing, they could sweep you away or reveal the gorgeous curiosities of the waters, Finnick wasn't sure what it was when the second tribute's name was called. Conway. Why was he inescapable? If the stars destined you and Finnick to be tragic lovers, then Conway was always there to rock the boat. But through your eyes, glistening with tears, he sees the plan almost formed. Never has he been so grateful that his sweet girl could easily put on a brave face to handle anything, that you're used to using charisma as a way to fend for yourself, because that means success in the Capitol and you need that.

So although he wished your eyes had stayed on him, blessed him, instead they could do what he needed. Make you interesting enough for sponsors. He knew Conway deserved better, but how could he focus on him when you were right there? His sun, his moon, the stars in the sky, you were absolutely everything, so there was no time to think about what Conway deserved or didn't.

Finnick could easily craft your image to others. He was certain of it, he could sing your praises night and day, so it would be far from difficult to convince the Capitol that you were the model victor. If he had to grovel at the feet of every elite, let them damage his long gone sense of dignity, then it might be worth it for once. Your death would be the last piece of pressure on the dam before it burst open, he needed you to survive. If you won he could be with you. There wouldn't be any hiding because as a victor, Snow would already be finding ways to dig his talons into you. It was all worth it to be able to hold you again.

Finnick could watch every mechanical gear shift in your brain and fall into place. The way Conway loved you, which made Finnick seethe even if he'd always laughed it off like it didn't bother him in the slightest, was going to have to save your life. You'd hate yourself for it, but you'd hate yourself more if you didn't do everything you could do to be there for your family. The same family that you were convinced despised you, but you would spend every cent of victory money on doctors for your mother, or to make it so none of them had to worry about crabs ever again. Not as if that would be necessary, the influx of riches was so exorbitant no one really knew what to do with it once they'd helped those they loved and spoiled themselves sick. Regardless, if you had to step on Conway's head for them you would. Even if it meant the end of the friendship that had kept you afloat for years. Maybe you avoided home like the plague, but only after you'd worked to convince everyone you could sell out your booth. Finnick had always been in awe about how sweet little you could effortlessly piggyback on any information you had to make a sale, which was a largely successful method. If you won you'd have to focus your efforts on performing for all of Panem instead, but that wouldn't be an issue for you when your family would be safe.

Surely it didn't hurt that he was also on the other side of survival, maybe that was selfish for him to think about, but he hoped you knew he would take you back in a heartbeat. That every dream he'd ever shared with you, fantasy about your future, could be possible once you had that crown on your head. It would be full of trials and turbulent waters, but at least you could be together. So he watched as you forced your eyes to portray the gaze of a lover about to be ripped apart from her happy ending, the look you'd genuinely worn when he'd broken your heart. Conway seemed to know you well enough to understand that, but it gave Finnick pride to know he couldn't read you like a book, unlike him. At the end of the day that would be a good thing, at least Conway could die without his dreams of being loved by you being dismantled.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Finnick should've known better than to fall asleep once you had. But it felt so normal to have you asleep on his chest. He was no stranger to nightmares, his or your own, it had become a constant present in your lives. Usually he knew how to handle them, but now it was a completely different ballgame. When you woke up screaming you didn't want his comfort, you wanted him as far away as humanly possible. Hitting his chest as he unwrapped his arms as quickly as he could to dart out of the room as fast as he could while the doctors flooded in.

“Just let him kill me." You were sobbing, curled back into the ball where your knees were pulled to your chest as you cried into them. A doctor tried to touch you and you instantly pulled away, like you were a wounded dog. Your hand covered your ears as you rocked back forth, and back and forth. “I need to see Conway." You muttered and then so lightly under your breath, “Conway, Conway, Conway."

“Angel, he's not here right now." He'd never be here, but further upset could be avoided.

You nodded slowly, “I need to see Peeta." At least that was doable.

“Tomorrow, he's been doing better, we can take you to see Peeta tomorrow." A doctor assured, no one wanted to sedate you again unless they absolutely had to, so this was much better.

“Promise?"

“We'll do what we can." She smiled at you sympathetically.

You slowly uncurled yourself from your ball, “Okay."

“Are you feeling better?"

“Yeah, I'm sorry." Thank god, no king crisis. Just a moment that had now passed.

“You're okay, just had a bad dream. Perfectly understandable, do you need anything?" You shook your head and the medical staff slowly began filing out.

“Can I stay?" Finnick's fingers found the rope to focus on. You looked at him for a second, like you were deep in thought, before nodding. So he took his place in the chair, “Do you wanna talk about it?"

“You should just kill me now." The words ran out of your mouth and made his heart drop, “I know you want to and I wanted you too. I probably deserve the uncertainty of when it will happen, but I'm selfish and just need it to be over with."

He wasn't sure if his heart had ever hurt more, but it was always reaching new levels of pain. “I don't want to kill you and I'm not going to ever.”

"You should. Even I know I should die, it's not wrong to admit.” You blankly stared at the glass in front of you.

“You don't deserve to die, you've done nothing with that. You've suffered enough to make up for whatever it is you think you did.”

"No I haven't, this is the universe’s lead up to it. I hurt him, the only person who really cared about me since we were children, and I tore him into shreds. It has to come for me.”

“Look at me.” You kept staring at the glass. Finnick's words came out harsher than he expected them too, but maybe it would mean they finally got through your head. “Look at me!” Finally you did, looking so startled and confused. "This karmic retribution fantasy needs to stop. It's been six years. I'm not telling you to stop hurting or that the guilt will go away, but it doesn't mean you need to continue to suffer or deserve death.” He leaned forward in his chair, "You used Conway, so you deserve death? You spent six years being used by any Capitol elite willing to pay. Being horrifically abused in any way imaginable. You got sent back into the arena! There was only one year you had a victor and she came out of the arena known for being ‘crazy.’ They sent you back into the arena to die and you didn't expect to come out of it. The Capitol held you hostage and tortured you. Have you not given enough to make up for what you did as a teenager? Conway, after six years, would have said it was more than enough to make up for a few weeks of deception. Even if this led to his death, because no matter what, he cared about you. He was angry then, but I doubt that in whatever happens after we die he's holding that grudge after watching you suffer for so long because he loved you. You don't want someone you love to go through something like that.”

You were sobbing again and Finnick felt his own eyes brimming with tears. “I miss him."

“I know, angel. I know." He would never be able to fill the role that Conway had and he'd long accepted that. All he could do was assure you that when I came down to the bare bones of it all, Conway as he was, wouldn't have wanted you to suffer as much as you had for it. Whatever punishment it caused had been more than paid and he would've known that. He would've told you that if he could. He'd been so angry in the moment, but Finnick knew Conway still would have loved you despite the transgressions in his heart and life because that had been his way. All Finnick could do was hope you didn't find a way to see what Conway would really say, in the near future, because then he'd follow quickly behind.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading, sorry this took so long, I've been very busy!! feedback, comment, likes, reblogs are all very appreciated. my ask box is always open and I loved answering them, requests are open and I've got some fics from them coming up after this. thank y'all so much for reading 💋

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[privategurlsblog]

They’re ‘Casual’ - A.T

Not intended for minors. 18+

Warnings: piv (unprotected), oral (f receiving), very smutty, he’s dominant, jealousy, possessiveness, public

PLOT: You and Alex have a complicated dynamic. When he sees you talking to another man, he sets you straight in the best way possible.

🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩

You hovered near the bar, craning your neck to catch sight of Alex. He wasn't your boyfriend, you didn't really have a right to watch his every move but you always ended up doing so nonetheless.

It had been 2015 when you'd met him, at a shoot for a music video where you were topless and you'd slept together that very same night. He didn't keep you around per se, but you made sure to be around whenever you could. And there had started the complicated situation that you two were in, some kind of friends with benefits but it was incredibly obvious you wanted more. And this had been going on for a year now.

Sometimes he texted you to come to events he was at, just so he could see you, ruin you and then leave you again. Tonight though, it had been his best friend Miles who had extended the invite, after the two of you had hit it off when you starred in a music video for their band.

So far, Alex hadn't even spared you a fucking glance and to say you were livid was an understatement. Maybe if he pulled his gaze from the tall blonde with the flat chest and puffy lips for one minute, he'd see you hovering nearby him with your snarled lips.

Your friend sighed as she saw you, eyes driven to him as always and she moved in front to block your vision, a sympathetic look clouding her eyes as her hand laid upon your hot arm.

"Y/N, he's an arse, we know this. Why are you putting yourself through it?" She said to you, there was sternness laced in her tone and you felt guilt bloom in your chest as you imagined how sick she was of seeing you lovestruck over someone who clearly couldn't care less in return.

But you weren't delusional. Alex didn't just fuck you. He'd wined and dined you, bought you gifts, messaged you on your birthday, cuddled you in bed in the mornings with pastries and coffee staining your lips. He invited you to practises, birthday parties, events. You were so sure what all of that meant and yet he still never wanted it to advance, and your friend was right. You were being ridiculous watching his every move, he wasn't yours.

"You're right. I need a distraction," you hummed and she grinned, nodding her head towards a guy who was with a group of people and yet his gaze was searing into you. You smiled shyly when you caught him, and the cute, boyish dimples that popped out in return made you flush.

"Go on, talk to him," your friend winked at you and you took your lip between your teeth as you approached upon his beckon, glancing back at her only to let out a little dignified silent scream.

She grinned, shaking her head laughing before she ordered another drink and tried not to watch you. Luckily, a distraction came along in the form of Miles, who sidled up next to her and glanced to where her eyes were aimed - at you.

"Oooo Alex won't like that," Miles sparks the conversation up, to which your friend looks round disgruntled and a little confused by his statement.

"Alex isn't going to care," she spits, eyes averting to the man who is still in deep conversation with the blonde, "he's occupied."

"Still," Miles shrugs, smirking a little as he waves down the bartender. Your friend hasn't been around much to know the dynamic, having only heard it all through you before you'd pleaded she come to the event for this very reason, "he won't like it."

"They're casual, she's not committing a crime," your friend rolls her eyes to which Miles chuckles.

"There's nowt casual about those two, believe me," Miles muses, "they'll be all over each other by the end of the night. Wait and see."

Meanwhile, Alex was getting bored of the conversation with the blonde. Stacey? Sasha? Sarah? Something like that, but he certainly couldn't remember. And upon the bore, he let his eyes wander the bar in hope of you. When they laid on you though, they blazed with fury. There you were, head thrown back, sparkling white teeth glistening under the light and your eyes eventually matched once your head fell. They were fixed on a bloke, Alex couldn't see his face from here but he already knew he wanted to punch it in.

"Excuse me," Alex seethed, practically shoving the blonde out of the way. He was stalking before he knew it, eyes laid on the prize, jaw clenched, eyes wide with annoyance. Who did this fucker think he was? You were his. He was yours too, but you didn't recognise that. You thought the worst and he lets you, knowing that if you think that he could never let you down. But he certainly won't be sharing you with anyone.

"There he goes. Knew it," Miles grins triumphantly as both him and your friend watch Alex stalk towards you, people parting for him like he's Moses and they're the Red Sea. Your friend is in disbelief at his audacity but watches on helplessly as he reaches you.

"There you are darling," Alex's smile is stiff as he reaches you and the boy you've come to know as Scott, quite the cute charmer with decidedly good intentions. You had momentarily pulled your gaze from Alex while talking to him but that didn't mean the fact he'd stalked over here pissed off didn't enthral you. For if you were being honest, it was him you really wanted.

"Alex," you nodded curtly, and his eyes blazed with annoyance which made you bite back a girlish giggle in response, the smirk growing strong on your lips.

"I need to steal her mate," Alex shoved past Scott before he could even process the ordeal, pulling you by your hand and you were off in a flash. You weren't exactly going to protest, it was his attention you craved after all and here he was asking for you. You knew some girls would aim to give him a hard time but that's not your game plan.

Alex's grip is tight as he drags you behind him to the corridor that leads to the toilets, the people passing a mere blur against his chaste pace.

Unknowingly to you both, your friends watched on, Miles bubbling with laughter and your friend seething internally.

"I'm not having this!" She insists, slamming her glass down hard enough for it to shatter, luckily it doesn't, "he can't just ignore her all night and then claim her when she finds someone better!"

"Hey," Miles put a hand on her shoulder and held her back from the rampage she was sure to go on, she looked round in distaste, "Alex cares about Y/N. Trust me. He's all hers."

"Yeah well I find that hard to believe. If he doesn't stop hurting her...."

"Stop worrying," Miles chuckles, "he adores her. You'll see."

Meanwhile, Alex had dragged you into the toilet. It was an accessible one, private to the two of you and you could only pray that no one would need to use it while you were in here.

As you met his gaze, you knew you were in trouble and probably due a good punishment. Your cheeks heated at even the thought. Alex locked the door behind you both and then spun to meet your eyes, his filled with annoyance.

Suddenly he'd grabbed you, spun you around and had your back against the door before you even had time to process it. Your mouth fell open in a gasp, his eyes bored into you as you gazed up at him in surprise.

"What are you playing at?" Alex hissed, trapping you between his body and the wall and his fist landed in a thump against the rustic wooden door behind you.

You stared up at him, a mixed expression of brattiness and excitement that he was acting like this. If you were being completely honest, talking to that lad has aided you more so in your mission to get his attention. But you won't say that, you'll act innocent as ever.

"What? I was just talking to someone Alex," you roll your eyes, playing the part perfectly. You push his body slightly so he stumbles back, standing straighter against the door as you glare into his fuming figure, "'s not like I'm your girlfriend."

Alex tuts, practically steaming at the ears as he slams both of his palms down on the door again. You could flinch, perhaps you would if it were anyone else. With Alex though, you know it's all an act. He might be genuinely annoyed but he'd never hurt you, you know that. If anything, this will feed into his air of dominance and you'll get a really good shag out of it.

"You think you can stand there flirting with some dickhead right in front of me?" Alex scoffs, his dark eyes grow black with annoyance. Your defiance raises his heart rate, the blood souring around his body. You watch as colour pours into his cheeks, turning them ruby red with anger.

"You were flirting with that girl-"

"I was talking to her," he cuts you off, rolling his eyes like you're an idiot for your assumptions. The double standard makes you shake your head, you push past him to look at yourself in the mirror, afraid that if you watch his lips curve to create one more syllable, you'll kiss him.

"Don't walk away from me," he grabbed your arm, spinning you back around and your resolve crumbled. You met his eyes, they pierced through you with an intensity you'd never seen. His jawbone stretched tight over his skin, his teeth barred. The sight was oddly attractive, combined with the roughness of his grip and the overwhelming scent of his spicy aftershave - your knees started to quiver.

He looked satisfied at your response to him, gazing up at him with widened eyes, excitement and fear mingling in them. You knew he'd look after you, so why were you looking elsewhere?

"You're being a fucking brat," he hissed, his voice low and deep, reverberating through your sensitive body as you shook in his hands.

He pushed you back until your arse cheeks crashed against the countertops. Trapped inside his arms, the most you could do was hold your palms to his chest. The tension between the two of you was electric, intimacy lingering in the air but the anger palpable. In your line of vision (though you never dared look away from his eyes), you could see your chest heaving, bumping his equally stressed chest as it does.

"Look at how badly you want me," he chuckled, smoothing a thumb over your jaw, pressing the pad of it under your chin, grinning madly when you swallow and your skin shakes under his touch, "do you want me?"

You nod, but he looks dissatisfied. He grips you tighter, his hips pressing against yours. You can feel the unmistakable poke of his cock against your thigh, before even doing anything. A small spark of satisfaction echoes through you, but you don't dare tease.

"Use your tongue, used it enough for that other bloke and you can't even be arsed to form a sentence for me?" He tuts, his palm moving to the curve of your arse, lifting your dress up until it settles around your waist so he has the freedom to grip the supple flesh in his palms.

"I want you," you confirm, watching that sadistic smirk grow, "more than you give me of you."

"I'm yours," Alex groans, frustrated by your insecurities. He presses his hips into you once again, then he kisses you. Alex's kisses are never sensual. They're hot, heavy, desperate off the bat and that's how they've been since the first time he'd kissed you.

You love the taste of him, his whiskey laced breath, the taste of cigarettes lingering on his tongue but you always, always taste mint too - like he preps himself before kissing you every time.

His palm comes up around your neck, squeezing at the sides until he coaxes a moan from you. He smiles against your lips, his tongue invading your mouth, rendering you senseless as your eyes roll back and you collapse into his arms.

Alex holds you tight, growing harder by the second. His touch grows desperate, his free hand on your arse trailing down between your legs, finding your damp panties, your cunt swollen beneath the thin fabric. His mouth falls open in a groan, teeth clashing with yours as his fingertips dance across the lace.

"You're a fucking dirty girl, aren't you darling?" He growls against your lips. You yelp when you feel his hand collide with your arse, the sharp sting heightening your arousal, flooding the panties that his other fingers are still pressed against. His eyes glint with satisfaction as you gush for him, a teasing chuckle escaping his lips.

"Only for me though," he growls, "you're only supposed to be a slut for me. But here you are, performing to the whole fucking bar."

He slaps your arse again, harder this time. You whimper, barely overcoming the sensation before he dips his head in the curve of your sweat slick neck, his tongue licking a stripe up the flesh until it reaches the spot that makes you shiver. His assault doesn't come subtly, he's sucking and biting the flesh, making you mewl against his shoulder, your feet barely holding you up. Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping them tight as you attempt to compose yourself. But when he bites down on your flesh, his fingers swiftly moving your panties to the side and rubbing through your wet cunt, you stumble.

"Look at you," he says against your neck, his voice seeping through your skin, making you tremble, "legs spreading so fucking easily."

His fingers teased your clit, pinching the swollen nub before suddenly they've moved down to your hole, plunging deep without any preparation. You're so wet that it doesn't even hurt, your tight walls drink him in, his fingers getting lost in the slick heat.

"Fuck, Alex...." You whine, a desperate plea for more, more, more. You're pathetic, but you can't help it. No one does it for you like he does.

"That's right darling, you say my name," he curves his fingers upwards, hitting your sweet spot and your eyes roll back as a long moan falls from your lips, "it's the only four letters I want falling from that dirty tongue."

His fingers move quickly inside of you, giving you no time to process the pleasure. Your stomach coils with your impending release, far too quick for you to even realise it's coming. His thumb moves up to your clit, matching the fast pace of his fingers inside. Even you're taken by surprise when your resolve snaps and your cunt tightens, cumming all over his fingers as you groan, mumbling his name over and over again.

Alex chuckles as you tremble from your high, steadying yourself by plastering your palms on the sink behind you. He leans back to let his eyes travel the length of your body, his desire becoming more evident.

You glance down to his trousers, the tight jeans barely holding his cock. You can see the full outline of it pressing against the fabric, your mouth salivating at the thought of having him inside of you.

"You want my cock?" He teases, starting his rhythm back up with his fingers. You mewl, overwhelmed by the sensitivity but you don't stop him. His pace is slower now, drawn out and torturous. You revel in the dirtiness of it all even if it pains you to the core, quite literally.

"I want you to cum again first."

He suddenly drops to his knees, pulling your panties down on the way. They land on the floor, a dark spot on the devil red fabric from your arousal. Alex grins at the sight, slowly moving his palms up your sides, scraping his primed nails along you. Goosebumps raise in his wake, the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes from how clearly affected you are. All he wants is to be craved by you. All you want is him.

Your hands find his hair, softly stroking through the strands. He hums, eyes fluttering closed as he momentarily loses himself in the sensation. The moment of weakness warms your heart, you have the urge to pull him up and hug him but you know he'd just push you away. So you'll take what you can.

When he reopens his eyes, all the softness has dissipated. His pupils nearly swallow his irises, the usual chocolate brown consumed by darkness. They move to your core, he licks his lips in preparation to taste you as the sight of your wet pussy faces him.

He moves one of his hands to your hole, his fingers delicately rubbing around, spreading the wetness, before he slowly eases them inside of you and your head falls back. He squeezes your arse tight with his other hand.

"Look at me."

You comply immediately, trying to ignore the urge to get lost in the pleasure as your eyes meet his.

"Good girl."

With that, he delves into your cunt. His tongue darts out to lick a stripe before he goes all in, his mouth engulfing your centre as his fingers work magic inside of you. He finds your spot immediately, fingertips nudging at the spongey flesh over and over again. Meanwhile, his hungry tongue swirls repeatedly over your clit, the pace fast and intended to make your legs shake. You grip his hair tight, painfully tight and yet he never seems to care to stop you. It even drives him further, until his entire face is buried into you, mouth opening to eat and lick and suck you, nose nudging your clit as his tongue swerves down.

His fingers spread to make a V shape, allowing enough room for his tongue to squeeze into you and you crumble. Your legs shake, your heart stops and you groan his name pornographically as your second orgasm washes over you. Alex laps at your pussy, your juices dropping into his mouth as his four fingers spin your clit to make it perfect for you.

Once you're over it, you pull him away by his hair. He looks drunk, completely intoxicated by your taste like it's the finest, oldest glass of whiskey on planet earth.

"Fucking hell baby," he's breathless, the lights casting him yellow showing your wetness glistening on his chin, nose, swollen lips. You blush at the sight of him, he looks a mess, a gorgeous mess and you love him. Fuck, you love him so much.

"Please," your voice is husky, your groans making your throat sore as you gaze down at him, "please Alex I need you."

"Thought you needed that bloke out there hm? Thought he could make you feel better than I do?" He stands up, pinning you against the counter again. Despite his words, his attempt to tease and undermine you, he can't help but kiss you. Your wet tongues move together, the sweet tang of you lingering on his makes you whine into the kiss, gyrating yourself against him.

"Don't you dare," he holds your hips steady, stepping back from you, "don't fucking tease me."

"I'm not, I just-"

"Shut up," he hisses, his eyes squeezing shut, his body trembling. You can see he's trying to hold back, clearly he's closer than he wants to admit. You don't let the smugness you feel inside portray on the outside - he'd surely slap your arse red raw if he thought you were making fun of him.

He released a few shaky breaths before opening his eyes again, his gaze wavering from his arousal.

"Bend over," he looked as serious as he sounded, and while you searched his gaze for any softness, he quickly moved his hand to the back of your head, strands of your hair caught between his fingers and he pushed you slightly over the sink, your eyes doeing at him as you looked upwards in the reflection of the mirror.

He looked feral. Widened eyes, messy hair from your restless hands, not to mention the pink tinge of his cheeks from both his anger and arousal.

"If you know what's good for you, fucking bend over Y/N. Seems like you need a reminder of what we are," he hissed and with that he pressed you harder and of course you complied. In fact, you were throbbing, rather embarrassed by the sudden rush of wetness between your thighs even though you've already orgasmed twice.

"Eyes on me," he practically barked at you, making you jump slightly, your back arching as his rough palm settled against it, curving into you. He dug his fingertips into your back, stroking down slowly all while keeping those chocolate brown eyes on your own thrilled ones.

The pressure of his fingers made you squirm, the shivers crawling down your spine enough to make your eyes nearly flutter closed but you knew he'd be annoyed so you pried them open with the promise of him being there, looking right back at you.

"So beautiful," he hummed generously, flattening his palm again, he let it trail the length of your back, his other one holding you steady by your hips. Eventually his palm reached your arse, covered from the thin dress you had on but Alex merely lifted it up, exposing your pink cunt and goosebump decorated skin, "this body hm? Fucking beautiful."

You whimpered, feeling his palm begin to caress and massage the soft cheek of your arse, his hand incredibly warm against your cooled skin. But then, just as quick as his softness came, it went. Suddenly he slapped your arse again, smoothing his palm over the red mark before he did it again, and again, and again. Until you were completely bent over, legs spread wide and moaning incessantly against the sink, hands pressed to the mirror.

"You're so fucking sexy," he curses, looking pretty pissed off about it if you might add. You could feel him fumbling with his belt, the cool metal of the buckle briefly brushed your arse, cooling the burning skin.

"You ready for me hm?" He leant down, his voice like honey trickling down your ear. You hummed in response and he left a kiss to your cheek, his breath heavy in your ear.

You felt the poke of him against your core, nudging right at your entrance and your fingers curved into your knuckles against the mirror as you prepared yourself.

He entered you swiftly, his cock dragging against your wet walls and yet the stretch was prominent, making you both gasp. He left it a beat before he started to thrust into you, dragging himself back and forth like a mantra he was conditioned into repeating.

"Fuck you're tight," he breathes out, grasping your hair in his hand, he pushes your head against the counter, you face nuzzled against it, all squished up. It didn't matter, Alex's eyes were on your colliding hips, watching your arse jiggle every time he thrust back into you.

His pace increased, the warmth and wet of you making him hiss and groan repeatedly, always so loud even as a bloke, he always makes sure you can hear he's enjoying it.

His cock stretches you and your walls flutter around him repeatedly, the sensation so blissful that you couldn't help but nudge back into him, trying to meet his hips again and again, the tip of him hitting a spot in you catered for him.

"Fuck this pussy...." He groaned out, "so fucking amazing."

"Alex...." You whined, clasping a hand behind you, trying to grab his leg as your body started to jolt forward from the sharpness of his actions. His pace increased each time, the collision of his hips against your arse enough to bruise you now. You know your fingertips would trace those marks tomorrow with a satisfied smile, thinking of him. Always him.

It got so hard that it was starting to hurt but the pain felt so good, your eyes rolled back, vision turning blurry as you felt yourself building up, your weak stomach coiling.

"No, one, else," Alex was grunting between each word, emphasising them by the sharp thrust he would make at the end of every syllable, "can, have, you."

"N-no-no-n-n," you were babbling, your mouth filled with drool, cheek pressed against the ceramic sink, cool against your boiling hot face streaked with black tears. Alex chuckled at the state of you, even though your core was squeezing him tight like a vice as you naturally got closer to your release.

"You are not to cum until I have, you understand?" Alex growls, his voice coming out whinier than he'd like but you're just so tight and wet around his incredibly stiff cock, squeezing him so tightly and he has to slow down himself, driving into you slowly now, the head of his cock torturing you with the tiniest of thrusts into your g spot.

When you whine in response, unable to form words with your agape, swollen mouth, Alex's palm lands harshly against your red raw arse cheek, a hand print forming before the sting has even eased and you cry out.

"Answer me!"

"Y-yes, yes I understand," you stutter, so overwhelmed with pleasure that the tears just fall. Alex grabs your hair, pulling your head up carefully so your eyes meet his in the mirror again and upon seeing his gorgeous face you clench around him, coaxing a deep groan from his chest.

"Gorgeous girl," he breathes close to your ear, his feral eyes wide and desperate. His thrusts never slow and he keeps his eyes driven on yours, the moment so intense that you just keep crying through it.

You're not upset, you're not unhappy or in pain - you're just overwhelmed and you just love him and you just need him.

"Please," you whimper, "fill me up Alex. Please."

He groans, his face barely moving, the sound just dropping out. The tension in the room clouds the both of you, the mirror fogging up, the scent of sex lingering around you both. It's dirty, so so dirty. But you'd expect nothing less from him.

"You want me to fill you?" His voice was a mixture of shock and desire, coming out half as a moan. You whined and nodded, your cheeks stained crimson, your eyes glazed with lust. Looking at yourself like this, ruined, bent over and taking him like a whore - it made your skin crawl with shame and yet, you loved it. Revelled in it.

Alex usually pulls out, even though you're on the pill, he never risks you getting pregnant considering the state of your situationship. But in this moment, all he wants is to feel your insides warm with his release, and so he doesn't.

Groaning as you milk his cock, his cum shoots into you as his widened eyes flutter closed and he moans rather girlishly, unable to contain himself. You feel it shooting into you, warm and thick, coating his cock and your walls and the warmth is enough to make you spasm and tighten around him again, squirting around the sides of him as you collapse against the sink hard and he falls on top of you, breathless and blissed out against your back. Your pussy convulses, the liquid squirting all over his jeans (luckily black jeans), your backside and the floor. Alex feels you gushing and moans against your skin, consumed by his desire for you, even after he's released. Just feeling you is enough. You eventually calm, your moans subsided as your pussy clenches one more time before your muscles relax.

"Fuck," he breathes out, "fucking hell baby, God you're just," his speech stops as he thrusts into you one last time, making you whimper, sore and full of his cum, "made for me."

"So good. So so good," you mumble, your voice hoarse. Now that you're coming down from your high, the concern about whoever's outside this door starts to rise. The music was loud out there anyway, you doubt anyone would hear you but if they happened to be waiting....God, even the thought made you grimace.

Alex was tenderly touching your body, he pulled out of you slowly, plugging your hole with his thumb so that none of his cum could seep out of you. He leant down to pull your panties up and you looked up in confusion as he kissed your shoulder, his lips warm and juicy from how much they had swelled.

"Listen to me," Alex raises your head by your hair again, spent and hazy eyed as you gaze at him, "you aren't to clean yourself up. I want you to pull those panties up full of my cum, understand?"

You nodded feebly, you didn't have the energy to argue, not in this state. Quite frankly you were more concerned with how you might fix your face. A sinister smile lifted on the corners of his lips, subtle and matching his dark eyes as he tenderly kissed your cheek, eyes never straying from yours. His mouth moved to your ear, breath hot against your sensitive skin.

"That way, no one can ever touch you. Only me. You're mine. Aren't you darling?"

"Does the same go for you?" You couldn't help but let it slip. Even though you were hazy, near enough passed out. The act was over and with it his dominance diminished. He looked at you with a thoughtful expression, standing straight to smooth down your hair.

"Of course."

He pulled away, clearly afraid of the feelings you were on the verge of discussing. Though something told you they were there. Alex had shown signs of jealousy before and sure, he was always dominant. But you'd never seen him lose it over you like he did tonight.

You stood and smoothed down your dress, fumbling in your bag for your makeup so you could fix the state of it on your face. Alex busied himself zipping up his trousers, fumbling with the buttons. The silence was comfortable, you felt content with his answer.

"I'll go first," he said, "you fix yourself up and meet me out there. I'll be with Miles."

You nodded, he leaned in to kiss you, getting a little lost in it. Your lips danced together in a melody of wetness and warmth, sliding over each other messily. Alex's hand got lost in the strands of your hair, tugging your head back by the roots, he gazed over you with adoration.

"Don't get lost on the way back. I see you talking to another man again, you'll be getting round two. Hear me?"

You nodded, biting your lip to contain a pathetic whine at his words. Before him, you'd never realised how enthralled you'd be by dominance. But you adored him, everything he gave you. And no matter how wrong it was, you adored his jealousy, his possessiveness.

With one more squeeze of your waist, Alex left the bathroom, leaving you with the buzz of the yellow light and the scary reflection of yourself and your raccoon like eyes. A big purple bruise taints the skin of your neck, you groan as you try to cover it but the makeup just spreads around your sweaty skin, giving you no leeway. You decide to just leave it, what's the point in hiding that you're with him?

You tried your best to clean up but when you leave the bathroom, you bow your head nonetheless, knowing full well your activity will be written all over your ruined face. Alex is stood with Miles, who is stood with your friend and they all look up upon your arrival.

"You okay Y/N?" Your friends expression is a mixture of concern and annoyance. Of course, she wouldn't take it out on you personally - she knew how it was with boys and girls, and falling head over heels. She just wished for your own sake that you could be stronger.

"All good," you smile, your lips trembling at the sides. Truthfully you're exhausted. If it wasn't for Alex's arm curving around your back, you'd probably crumble to the floor. He holds you tight, leaving a chaste kiss on your temple.

As the chatter continued, you grew more and more tired. Your head eventually leant on Alex's shoulder, your eyelids fluttering with their insistent desire to close so you can drift off into sleep. Alex hasn't left your side all night long, his grip constantly on you, eyes following your every move.

You felt his gaze on you now as your eyes fluttered again, his filled with a warmth that was rare from him. It was short lived when the bloke you'd been talking to earlier passed, noticing your position with Alex, weariness filled his gaze.

Alex glared at him, sitting up straighter like he was ready for a fight if it came to it. But Scott continued walking, and Alex turned his head towards yours.

"Come on, let's go to mine," Alex wrapped an arm around your waist, glaring at Scott who cocked his head in confusion. Guilt bloomed in your chest for him but equally you were relieved to finally have Alex's attention on you. You nuzzled into his side and he let you, not caring about possible sightings for once.

You climbed into the taxi behind him, his palm splayed on your thigh, his gaze thoughtful for a while. He remained silent for most of the journey, looking out of the window, the only indication that he noticed your presence being the soft stroke of his thumb against your skin.

"You know I care about you right?" He turns around, a frown on his brow like you'd shatter his heart if you told him no.

"Yeah, I know," you barely suppressed your smile and Alex soon relaxed, returning it and then leaning out to cup your face with his palm.

"You're my girl," he hummed. This time it wasn't a threat. It was a fact.

🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩🖤🪩

A/N: to the anon who asked for a jealous alex….here he is. Not sure if it’s what you wanted but unspoken feelings are another trope I’m in love with. Anyways, enjoy 😗🙂‍↕️

(under edited. as always).

[icallhimjoey]

Define Close

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: What good are flatmates even, if they don't comfort you when you need it most? Or when you need it a normal amount? Or, you know, when you don't really need it, but just really want it?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, afab!reader, hurt/comfort i guess? idk we're sad a lot and joe cheers us up a lot, mentions of reader having hair long enough to be played with

Author’s note: oooohh trouble in paradise? or maybe not... well, at least there's some realisations. a few of them. we'll see how much they'll actually mean and if it'll change anything.

Wordcount: 4.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe had been thrown for a loop.

What the fuck was that?

He didn’t understand what was suddenly different. Why things had suddenly changed. It was only subtle, they were just two words. But at the same time, proven by the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about them, they carried colossal meaning.

“Thank you.”

It took him a second to process the words. He didn’t even really hear them at first. Didn’t let them land properly. Not initially.

He watched you walk into the kitchen and have a sip of water before you went to bed. Told him good night, which he returned, and then after you’d left him by himself, he suddenly frowned. Tucked in his chin in confusion.

Thank you?

Thank you for what?

You had never told him thank you before after an evening of a shared pizza and soft comfort on the sofa. Throughout the whole film, Joe’d rested his arm on the back of it, bent at the elbow, fingers slowly raking through your hair at your hairline. You’d curled into him like a cat, feet pressed into the cushions right next to his thighs, knees over his lap and your head on his shoulder.

Close and comfy, like it always was. Like you always were.

Joe had expected you to fall asleep, because you usually did, but you hadn’t this time. The film ended, and as the credits rolled, you sat up, stretched your arms up over your head and yawned.

“Thank you.” you’d casually said before getting up and leaving him there.

You made an offhand comment about needing to clean the kitchen. Said you’d get to it tomorrow and disappeared into the hallway before Joe could say anything about it.

Thank you.

Joe knew he was likely being silly. Saying thank you was a good thing. A polite thing to do, the opposite of rude, or careless. He should actually be glad for it.

Yet, he wasn’t.

It took him a whole day of thinking about it to figure out why it bothered him so much.

For one, he didn’t like that you’d introduced something new that felt less intimate, somehow. You’d never said it before, and he couldn’t think of anything else being different, so why suddenly this? Then, secondly, and Joe knew there was a fair chance he was wrong, but it somehow turned the quality time you spent together feel grossly transactional.

Like he’d done a stranger a favour.

He still didn’t fully get it, because essentially he was accusing you of doing something appreciative, but it just... it absolutely didn’t sit right with him.

Problem was, who was he going to talk to about this?

He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not even you. Because that’s not what you did. You never talked. Not about these things, at least.

And so, because there wasn’t really any other choice, Joe decided to push the whole thing to the back of his mind, where he’d forget about all of it eventually.

He was likely being stupid.

You had been nice.

He could just force himself to say you were welcome if you did it again.

Though he really hoped you wouldn’t do it again.

Didn’t want that to become a new flatmate thing, saying thank you and you’re welcome like you were vague acquaintances.

Things weren’t meant to move backwards like that. Not that Joe dared think of next steps. Forward ones. Of moving whatever was happening between the two of you along. But he didn’t want to go backwards.

He feared things were already slightly moving backwards though, because you’d not snuck into his bed in a while.

And you’d not gone out of your way to find him for a quick hug in a bit.

Joe thought it was likely that you were seeing someone. Or at least talking to someone. Not that this stopped you from draping yourself over Joe’s lap when you’d find him watching TV sat on the sofa, but it felt like you were pulling away just ever so slightly.

He only allowed himself to dwell on it for a second.

Was probably for the best, wasn’t it?

Joe understood that having you as a flatmate only worked out in the way that it did on his end because he wasn’t looking to enter a serious relationship with anyone.

If he was, he’d have to move out.

He’d have to.

There was no way he was going to be able to convince someone, anyone, that you and Joe were just normal flatmates. Especially if it was someone he’d have serious intentions about maybe marrying one day.

Or, if he could, there’d still be the issue that she would then likely not trust it. Not trust you. Not trust him.

So maybe this was smart.

Not as fun, though.

Good, for you. Obviously. You seemed happier. In better moods. This was a good thing, Joe reminded himself, and made a real point to think it every time he felt a little sad when he watched a film by himself in an empty flat. When he went to bed by himself in an empty flat.

A few weeks passed like that, until one afternoon, he’d walked in with bags full of shopping, and saw you’d crawled into bed for a midday nap. You’d left your bedroom door open and Joe took a moment to look at you as he leant against the doorframe.

Why did you look so much better to him when you were asleep?

So much softer. Almost fragile. Like you needed protecting.

He knew he took too long staring at you. Had to snap himself out of it and he squeezed his eyes shut as he closed the door. The self-restraint it took to not just walk right over and get into bed with you deserved a fucking medal, Joe thought.

When dinner time was nearing and he still hadn’t seen or heard you, he took it upon himself to go and wake you up.

Soft knocks on your bedroom door got no answer.

He went inside anyway, whispered your name and walked over to your bed.

You’d curled up into a little ball, face squished between your pillow and your pulled up shoulder and you looked achingly adorable, Joe could hardly stand it.

He used a finger to remove a strand of hair that had fallen over your face and softly said your name once more.

You woke up slow.

Joe got to witness it from up close.

After groaning, stretching and a deep inhale, you blinked your eyes into focus and found Joe sat on the edge of your bed.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he smiled. You frowned at his little joke, knowing full well it was nearing in on the evening. “We’re making pizza from scratch for dinner.”

You hummed and, in all honesty, wanted to roll over and get a few more minutes in. You’d not had a single good night’s sleep all week, so you’d reserved the weekend to catch up.

Just, sleep. No other plans.

“You want some home made pizza?” Joe cooed, eyes all rounded, all gentle.

You nodded, rubbing your face further into your pillow as you did.

“Yea? What toppings do you want?”

Joe forced you to wake up a little more. To think a little straighter.

It took you a second to get it together, and then you softly said, “I don’t know, what did you get?”

“Lots.”

“Hmm,” you tried your best suppressing a yawn. “I’ll have everything then.”

“All right, one everything-pizza, coming up.”

You huffed a laugh and rolled onto your back, managing to open your eyes fully now. You stared up at the ceiling a second, and then looked at Joe.

“I skipped lunch, so this is perfect, actually.”

And Joe just... smiled. Grinned widely as he looked at you. It took a few seconds before he seemed to realise that you could see him, because suddenly he looked down a little bashfully before clearing his throat and getting up.

“No need to rush, it’ll take a while. Dough’s still rising.” Joe talked as he walked out, slapping the doorframe as he passed it before disappearing from view.

And... shit.

You felt it then and you just... you knew you’d been right.

This just confirmed it, and you didn’t like how it all just settled into your bones more. Because, it meant trouble.

You’d first noticed it a few weeks ago.

How you’d somehow, over the span of some months, had fucking managed to fully pavlov yourself. Conditioned your mood into doing a complete one-eighty the moment your flat came into view.

You could’ve had the best day. Be in the best mood. Absolutely no reason to feel sad, to be tired, to be all down. Could be so happy, feel really upbeat, all chipper and energized. But you would quite literally turn the corner, would see your building, and you would feel your whole mood sink with every step you’d get closer.

And for what?

Just so you could be babied by your flatmate?

Because you knew he always would?

Sick. That wasn’t okay.

You had a stern check-in with yourself when, a few weeks ago, you came home after work and used the whole lift ride to think of reasons to be sad, quite literally depressing yourself.

And then, when you walked in on the verge of tears, Joe wasn’t there.

You fucking idiot.

Did all that for fucking nothing.

And now what?

Pick up the pieces yourself?

Where was the fun in that?

You thought about Joe’s bed, then. You knew he didn’t mind you sleeping in there. But, what were you doing, realistically? If you really gave it a good think?

Something needed changing.

Enough of this bullshit.

And when Joe had walked in around eight that evening, you sat down and watched a film together and you’d tried so very hard not to fall asleep. To not wobble in your mood. To not rely on Joe so much to fix what wasn’t even broken. God, you really had to stop convincing yourself that you were broken all of the time.

Once the film finished, you’d told Joe thanks and went to sleep and felt fucking awful for it, but it was probably for the best.

It would be good trying to be a bit more normal.

Use your words.

Be polite and say thanks when you should.

And maybe you should stop going for dates with guys, laugh at their jokes all night, but secretly be so excited to go home where you could sink into Joe’s side and hide yourself away underneath his arm for a good while.

Maybe you should stop having adult sleep-overs at random guys’ places, and constantly think of how your body fit together with theirs compared to Joe’s.

Wasn’t exactly healthy, what you’d been doing, was it?

Best to pull back. If only a little.

But then, waking up to Joe sat on the edge of your bed? Calling you sunshine as he smiled? Talking about making home made pizza together? Whispering all soft so you could wake up gently?

God.

There really was just something about it.

About him.

And even though you lived together, you realised you had missed him when you watched him walk out of your bedroom, talking about pizza dough rising and telling you not to rush getting out of bed.

Overcome by a weird surge of blind affection that would’ve been directionless had Joe not been there, you decided to just let it lead you where it wanted you to go. Let it pull you out of bed. Let it lumber you over to your kitchen.

You had itchy hands that needed to touch.

Arms that need to curl around and squeeze.

Feel him.

Feel him all up against you. Around you. Everywhere.

But, you were stopped in your tracks.

Thrown for a loop.

You hadn’t expected another person there.

Joe was stood by the counter, his back facing you, as he was cutting up some chicken to cook.

At the island stood his father.

“Hello,” Joe’s dad could smile just as warmly as Joe could. All kind and friendly. He said hello the way polite people always did, intonation going from up, then down, and then slightly up again at the end.

You knew Joe’s dad.

Had met him many times before.

You just hadn’t expected him.

He startled the tears right into your eyes.

Which sucked.

Because you were already on your way to attach yourself to Joe for a minute, and now you couldn’t because that’s not what you did in front of other people, and now you were crying, and guess how you always dealt with tears inside these four walls? Who always dealt with your tears inside these four walls?

Panic.

“Ooh, sorry! Did I frighten you?”

“N-no,” you tried smiling to disguise that actually, yes, he had done. But that wasn’t his fault. You had just wrongly assumed that when Joe said we’re making pizza from scratch, that he meant you and him would be making pizza from scratch.

Not his father and him.

Stupid.

Joe looked over his shoulder and saw you stood in the doorway still, body all rigid as your eyes darted from his dad to him and back again, and he saw.

Saw how your index fingers curled to scratch at your thumbs by your sides.

Saw how your held your breath, scared to release it, because what if it came out as a sob?

Saw how you bit your bottom lip into your mouth to make sure they wouldn’t see it tremble.

Saw the telltale crease of your forehead that always came before tears.

Shit.

Joe put his knife down and then, just... stood there. Didn’t know what to do. Because there was company, and Joe didn’t do what Joe usually did when there was company.

So now what?

You opened your mouth, and something stuttered out, but none of you could make sense of what words they were meant to be.

And then you just... stepped back.

Left.

Needed to go hide in your bathroom or something. Splash some cold water into your face and slap yourself across a wet cheek. It was so fucking silly, but it was wildly overwhelming to really want a hug from your comfort-person and then not be able to get one.

Just before you were about to dart into your room, you heard following footsteps.

No voice.

No words.

Just footsteps.

You were about three steps into your bedroom, bee-lining it to your ensuite, when a hand got you by the elbow and stopped you.

“Hey, come here.”

You easily let yourself be pulled back and crashed into Joe’s chest. It was confusing to try and wrap your head around why you suddenly were all up in your feelings, why the sudden dramatics, why your eyes were wet and your throat felt tight.

But then, there was Joe.

Ready to take care of it.

Joe used both arms to hold you against him firmly, one large palm around the back of your head to hold it in place. He let his head rest on top of yours, his cheek pressing into your hair, and you clung to him. Burrowed your face into him and tightly twisted handfuls of fabric of his shirt into your fists as your breathing grew more erratic.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Joe shushed and squeezed you and you mentally kicked yourself for even attempting to deprive yourself from this for weeks.

This was nice. This certainty of safety. Of zero judgement. Zero questions.

Why were you so upset?

It left you shaking.

Joe fucking loved it.

“It’s just my dad,” Joe said, and you couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of you. He said it like he was reassuring you that his dad didn’t bite, but you understood he meant his dad wasn’t going to be weird about what he’d just witnessed. Wasn’t going to mention how you’d just made a fool of yourself.

You turned your head to press your forehead into the hollow of Joe’s neck, rubbed your skin across his and took a second to just breathe. To stick your nose into the dip between his collarbones and to inhale him. To really feel Joe.

And Joe was never the first to pull away.

But his dad was making pizza in the kitchen still.

The longer you’d be gone, the higher the chance of an explanation needed.

“Tell you what,” Joe said after a bit. “You take a minute, clean this pigsty,–” Joe felt you were about to pull back, likely to argue him, so he didn’t leave any room as he quickly continued, “It’s so messy in here, I can’t even see the floor, and then, once you’re finished, in like, half an hour,–” you fully tried pulling out of Joe’s grasp now as you laughed, but he’d really locked his arm in, keeping you in place, still squished against his front. It turned into a playful wrestle to get free as you tried to pry your hands in between the two of you. “When you’ll have managed maybe tidy half of it, we’ll have dinner ready.”

Joe finally let go, and you pinched him in the side for his jokes.

Made him flinch and yelp, and it only made you smile wider.

Your room was hardly a mess.

“I’ll make an extra large pizza with the– with everything on that we can share.”

Fuck off, that made you pout.

“Stop, don’t cry. It’s just because my dad wants bean curd on his, so he has to do his own.”

“Oh, ew,” you grimaced, and Joe made big eyes in agreement as he nodded.

“Bean curd doesn’t count as everything,”

“Bean curd doesn’t even count as food.”

And just like that; you were normal flatmates again.

One just desperately needed a cuddle and the other desperately wanted to give one.

You didn’t need to talk about why.

Didn’t need to explain yourselves.

It just was what it was.

Joe gave your shoulders a last squeeze and left you alone in your bedroom. Pretended to trip on mess on his way out, and you checked, but there was nothing there.

Just before Joe found himself back in his kitchen where his dad was cutting up tofu, he silently celebrated how you hadn’t said thank you this time.

The universe felt restored.

Joe casually told his father that you were half asleep still when you’d walked in a minute ago. And his dad didn’t ask questions. Just asked if he could pass him the shredded cheese.

Having dinner together was fine. You mostly listened to the conversations between the two of them. Chimed in with an opinion when asked. Gave Joe a look when he silently ate all the smaller slices he’d cut, leaving you the larger ones, ensuring you got more than plenty seeing as you’d not eaten since breakfast. He even left you his bits of crust, because Joe knew how you always saved your own until the end so you could eat them with some sauce you dipped them into.

Joe fed you and cared for you and you tried you best ignoring how that made you feel inside of your chest, because you were just normal friendly flatmates and his father was literally right there.

About an hour later, when his dad was on his way out, you heard him ask Joe if he had any plans for the evening. It was Saturday night. You forgot people often had exciting plans on Saturday night.

For a single second, you prayed Joe didn’t have any plans as you selfishly felt you were due some falling asleep in his arms on the sofa.

Then you heard him say, “Horror film, I think,” before the two of them fell into too long a conversation about which films they’d seen over the past couple of weeks. And had Joe seen this film already? Because he’d heard good things. Um, no, he hadn’t. Not Yet. Ah, but he was going to a screening on Wednesday, Joe should join him. And, yea, he’d check his schedule, would let him know, because that sounded like fun.

You were cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the counters, when Joe finally said goodbye to his father and shut the door behind him. You heard how he locked it properly before he joined you again.

Joe didn’t ask if you wanted to watch a scary film with him. Just turned on the TV and found the one he wanted to watch.

Didn’t ask if you wanted a fat glass of red wine. Just poured two and placed them on the coffee table.

He didn’t have to call you over, didn’t have to motion at where to sit, and didn’t have to ask to share the blanket. You were already there, sat down right beside him and covered the two of you with the cosiest throw blanket you owned.

All unsaid.

All perfectly executed.

You weren’t the best at enjoying horror flicks. You were too easily scared, the suspense too difficult for you to handle, but it was fine. Joe was there. And you’d probably hardly get to see any of it, you knew.

Joe knew too.

If not the lack of sleep, the carbs of the pizza and the smooth glass of red would probably get you to drift off in no time.

With your glass in your hand, arm curled in to let it rest against your cheek, Joe invited you to let all your weight slump into his shoulder. He nursed his own glass in his lap as the film started, and you glued your gazes to the TV.

Your eyes were already kind of heavy, but you loved the shared warmth and gentle embrace too much to let yourself fall asleep so easily. You wanted to consciously exist in it for as long as you could, tonight. So you put some real effort into getting into the film, knowing that if it managed to get you hooked, staying awake wouldn’t become a huge chore. Especially with its genre.

But it kind of became a huge chore, anyway.

And you swore there were moments where you could feel Joe’s eyes on you, but when you chanced a quick peek, he was watching the TV, his head inclined to yours ever so slightly.

Maybe that was just the uneasy feeling that the scary film gave you then. Not Joe watching you.

You ignored how that disappointed you slightly.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to grow too heavy to keep open, and after really giving it your best try to fight it, you gave yourself over to what your body wanted. Closed your eyes and turned your nose into Joe’s arm.

Joe smelled like he always smelled.

You couldn’t really describe it, but it was distinctly him.

After a few minutes of teetering on the edge, you felt Joe take the glass of red from your grasp. You wanted to open your eyes, to apologise for nearly falling asleep whilst snuggled up under a cream-coloured throw blanket, but your eyes were heavier than anticipated.

You only managed a small murmur of sound. A little hum to let Joe know.

Your body moved as Joe leant forward to place both glasses onto the coffee table before he sat back, and in your hazy state, you let Joe help you get comfortable again. You felt how his hand slid under your elbow to curl around your arm, rubbing down the curve of it, until it reached your wrist. There, his fingers wrapped around and held on.

Not quite holding hands, but something close.

You dug your face further into his bicep, feeling the contour of it under your cheek and Joe slowly dropped his head on top of yours.

The last thing you remembered hearing were some gory slashing sounds accompanied with loud female screaming coming from the TV.

The last thing you remembered feeling was Joe’s breath that tickled a strand of your hair against your temple.

Yea.

You could just stay there forever.

Fuck rational thought and sensible life choices. They were quickly abandoned and could stay abandoned for all you cared.

Especially when you, what felt like hours later, roused awake a little when two arms lifted you from the sofa. When a voice softly shushed you, even though you made no sound. When an elbow switched off the lights, and when carefully measure footsteps carried you over into bed.

Into Joe’s bed.

You weren’t alert enough to pay attention to Joe’s turns. Hadn’t sensed where Joe was taking you from just his movements.

But the overwhelming scent as you were placed down onto a mattress told you all you needed to know.

With your eyes still closed, your arms searched for Joe across the bed, and you let out a soft whine when you couldn’t find him.

Joe was as quick as he could be.

Rushed around the bed and slid under the covers right into your awaiting arms.

You shifted until you fit together just right.

Comfortably wrapped up, legs wedged in between other legs, arms nudged into crooks of necks and circled around waists. Nose to nose, this time. Close. Sharing breath.

When Joe accidentally bumped his nose against yours, it startled him slightly.

Maybe that was too close.

But then you did something you’d never done before and you nuzzled. Let your noses slide together until those too fit together just right.

Joe knew he shouldn’t think of next steps. Of forward ones. Steps that moved whatever was happening between the two of you along.

But, fuck it.

Tell him how he couldn’t.

Look at how fucking close you were.

And sure, you were just flatmates who did this sometimes. It didn’t have to mean anything, because it hadn’t really meant anything so far.

And yet...

Joe opened a careful eye to steal one last look before he’d let himself drift off, and even though he looked at you with eyes all out of focus, the sight of you made things grow behind his ribs.

He was going to stop pretending this was normal, he promised himself.

Because all of it did mean something.

This carried meaning.

Carried colossal meaning.

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @bylermaxmayfield, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma77645, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @miserybeans, @munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[cookinguptales]

So… last week I made a vent post about an accessibility issue I’d had with some podcasters. I really only meant for the post to be read by my followers (who to my knowledge aren’t familiar with the podcast in question) which is why I put minimal tags on it and didn’t name the show.

But… the post got legs that I wasn’t expecting, and eventually a lot of people asked for the name of the show. I hadn’t intended on creating a whole big thing, so I was kind of reluctant, but I did see the logic in what they were saying — as a disabled woman myself, I would also want to know if I were supporting podcasters whose values did not align with mine. So I told people quietly in the notes that the show had been Old Gods of Appalachia.

Things… did not stay quiet.

Frankly speaking, one of the reasons why I don’t write as many posts about disability and ableism these days is because I got tired of people writing to me and telling me that people like me should be dead. So you can imagine what kind of fucking week I’ve been having since all that blew up. It’s been a very high symptom week, too, so I’m just. Very tired and stressed rn.

Personally, I’d be happy to never talk about it again and try to get back to my everyday life, but I did think it was important to note that the creators of OGOA must have gotten wind of the post, and they did contact me.

I won’t post the whole email here, but it was a good response. Since seeing my post, they’d tried getting in contact with the venue and realized very quickly why I’d been so frustrated. They ended up needing to go through their booking agent to get any kind of answers — so like, to the people who sent me a thousand messages telling me I was an entitled idiot who just needed to contact the venue, please know that none of you were remotely helpful.

Again, I’m not going to post the entire email, but I did think it was important to be fair and use the same platform that I used to vent to tell people that they seem committed to doing better in the future. They told me that they would be making sure that they have all this information going forward and that they would no longer allow it to be such a barrier to entry for disabled fans.

They invited me back to the show and… god, I’ll admit it. I really had to think about my answer. Not to sound ungrateful, but after the week I’ve had, even thinking about the podcast, the podcasters, and that damn live show has me stressed af. I had to really consider whether I even wanted to go.

But in the months since I first contacted them, they added a show that’s a lot closer to where I live, so rather than a weekend trip, I could just take a single bus. And it’s near one of my favorite Japanese restaurants in the city, so if all else fails, I can at least have some good katsudon. So I will be going to the Philadelphia show.

(Though for fellow disabled fans, Terakawa Ramen is not wheelchair accessible. 🙃 Most days I can do the two steps into the restaurant, but not always. Philly, I love and loathe you.)

Anyway, I wanted to reply to them before I made a post here, but… yeah. We’ve worked things out, I think. Only the future can tell what they'll do going forward but they do seem committed to doing better.

To me, there are always two goals when I write about disability and ableism. The first is that disabled people will feel seen. That is always, always my primary goal. It’s so easy for us to feel invisible and unimportant, and I always want to make you all feel seen, just like I want to feel seen. The second is that able-bodied folks will listen and learn and do their best to support their disabled peers in the future.

So… I think that my post managed to fulfill both of those goals. A lot of disabled people have reblogged that post and have talked about their own experiences, and a lot of them have explicitly said how much that post makes them feel seen. And the podcasters in question seem to have really reflected on their actions and seem to want to do better going forward.

So as incredibly fucking stressed out as I’ve been, I guess I can’t regret making the post. It’s always good to know that your words can have impact. The post has long since moved out of my friends circle so I assume it’ll just keep circulating and I’ll keep getting shitty anons and chat messages, but I’m just gonna focus on what good has come from it. I’m hopeful that my post will make life tangibly better for at least a few disabled people, and I’m encouraged by the fact that podcasters who I’d formerly liked do actually seem to want to do the work needed to improve.

And uh I’m not answering any more messages from people who just wanna swear at me. I’m tired. Leave me alone.

[cheesecakeingfriends]

Charlie isn't used to aftercare. I mean, all he's ever had is the most vanilla, pants-around-your-ankles, socks-still-on, Mr-Frog-playing-in-the-background sex. It doesn't feel necessary and, to be honest, the only thing he wants after it's over is to fall asleep or go pee.

Then he starts dating Pim and, after a while (longer than he's willing to admit; the switch was harder to make than expected), they become intimate. And then Charlie is hit with a tenderness that he has never experienced. Because yes, it's the same vanilla, pants-around-your-ankles, socks-still-on, Mr-Frog-playing-in-the-background sex as always, but Pim still insists on treating him like his blushing bride. Pim acts like he just took Charlie's virginity every time they "make love" (and he calls it that, ugh)

The first time, while they're still trying to find their breaths and Charlie is convinced they'll turn their backs to each other to get some sleep at any second, Pim presses himself against his side and wraps his arms around him and looks at him like he hung the moon.

"Sorry, dude, can't go again," he tells him when Pim gives him a peck on the shoulder, because why else would he do that? When his previous partners got like that, it meant they were ready for round two.

But Pim just nods an exhausted "no, no, neither can I" and sighs blissfully and holy shit. He just wanted to know how he was feeling. And even though he seems to be super tired as well, he still gets out of bed and comes back with a glass of water and snacks. Charlie wonders for a second if he said something that implied he wanted any of that. No, of course he didn't.

Then Pim watches as he chugs down his water and gently puts the glass on the nightstand, as if Charlie shouldn't lift one finger in his frankly normal state. And leaves again and returns with some wipes and cleans him up and kisses his nose before going to get rid of them.

He also spoons him to sleep, watching over his shoulder as he doom scrolls on his phone and nuzzling his shoulder and temple till he has no option but to stop and relax into unconsciousness.

Charlie doesn't really process any of this till the next morning, like "what the fuck was that?" Pim brings him breakfast to bed and asks how he felt and if he did something that made him uncomfortable or there's something they should discuss to make it better next time??? All while making it clear that it was amazing for him, btw, he just wants to confirm it was also amazing for Charlie.

It's probably a first time thing. Pim isn't used to sex, he doesn't get laid that often and sees it as the ultimate act of love, so he made a huge deal out of it. Except it isn't a first time thing. It's an every time thing. Not only that, but Pim also seems to take mental notes of what Charlie favors more or less. He was particularly eager to eat a certain type of snack? Ok, that must be his favorite, and he should give it to him on special occasions or when he's had an stressful day. He flinched a little when he gave him that peck beneath his chin? Ok, probably too sensitive of a spot to kiss when he just had an orgasm. And he's right every. single. time.

Charlie is a bit aprehensive at the beginning. Like, idk, this feels a little too gay for him. But Pim is so set on this little ritual he has no choice but to play along, letting him shower him in affection and nodding absently when he asks if he liked it again. And soon enough, he finds himself secretly enjoying it, to the point he doubts he could ever fall asleep right after sex without someone holding him and wiping the sweat off his forehead again.

One night, though, he gets curious and, while Pim is bringing him in on top of him so they're chest to chest and he can kiss the side of his face and nose, asks him why does he do all this, what's the point, why does he feel he has to.

Pim is a little taken a back for a moment and then just... chuckles it off. As if he had been told a funny joke.

"What do you mean, Charlie? I do it because you're my best friend in the world and I want to make you feel as special as you make me feel. Why wouldn't I want that for someone I love?"

Charlie snorts and hides his face on the pillow next to Pim's head, laughing it off with a variation of "you're so corny, man." But deep inside, he could never let anyone know how grateful he is. How he wouldn't trade this for anything.

[l33bang24]

OMG It’s You…(Part 11)

YouTube!Fem reader x Stray Kids

Summary: Y/N’s YouTube channel is taking off after her reactions to Stray Kids MV God’s Menu. Now she’s making videos nonstop along with working a full time job. What would happen if she got offered a job of a lifetime and met the boys of her succession?

⚠️Warnings⚠️: cursing, pet names, Chan and Minho being not smart, Chan and Minho having past history?? (lmk if I missed anything)

🏷️ : @laylasbunbunny @weirdowithaphone @silverstarburst @jusanontstuff @anxiousskylar @drewsandsebastianswife @amararosesblog @niaalove @blackbluerose666 (Taglist open)

Series Masterlist

(Authors note at the bottom)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felix’s POV

I've never been angrier than I am right now. “Fucking pussies” I mumbled to myself. Why am I always the go-to person for fixing problems and uncovering information? I'm the golden child they can't be mad at. Maybe it's because I know how to avoid getting on their wrong side.

I stood outside Chan’s hotel door, nervously wringing my hands. Somehow, I felt like he was the safer choice between the two. Ever since his mysterious phone call, he seemed in a much better mood than Minho, who was just plain cranky. I knocked on the door and waited eagerly for Chan to open it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third Person POV

Y/N had realized she had an uncanny ability to read Minho's moods. Lately, she could tell he was feeling grumpy, likely due to her lack of communication. After a nearly disastrous call with Chan, she hesitated to reach out to Minho, even though she knew he deserved to be in the know. She finally called him as she edited a new video in her recording room.

“Hey! I was waiting for your call, Jagiya. I thought you would leave me hanging!" he answered excitedly. She chuckled and glanced to the side. "No way, Min! I'd never do that to you. I've been swamped with the channel lately. I've meant to share something with you, but there have been so many changes in my life. I'm actually about to post a video that will explain everything. I hope you know I wouldn't keep you in the dark intentionally. You mean a lot to me. I've been keeping things under wraps to surprise you and the boys. That's why I've been distant, trying not to spill the beans before the video is out.”

Minho tells her he understands; he'd just wished she had told him sooner. She tells him she'll make it up to him, which puts a big smile on his face. He feels his mood grow increasingly better than before. They continue to discuss various things in his life and what she can share about hers. Minho finally finds himself able to relax with the soothing sound of her voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chan’s POV

As I turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, I was surprised to see Felix standing on the other side. I greeted him and inquired if he required any assistance. He expressed a desire to have a conversation with me. As I ushered him inside, we settled onto my bed, and I placed my phone nearby. Felix glanced at it before sharing his thoughts with me.

“You must be talking to a girl. Judging by your reaction when you came back into the room.” I felt the tips of my ears burning. I didn't exactly notice until I sat down and felt uncomfortable. I had to get back up and take care of myself before returning. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

“I guess it's something like that. We’re just talking, nothing serious. She just said something that made me feel a different way. I knew she wasn't doing it on purpose, but I wasn't expecting it, you know?” Felix nodded his head, understanding.

“The guys have been worried about you and Minho. It is almost as if you're both talking to the same girl. Your expressions are the same when you get a text. Minho almost massacred Han over taking his phone. Nobody wants to ask because they're afraid they'll get their heads chewed off.”

Felix huffs out a breath. “Chan Hyung, we don't want to be noisy, but we just don't want anything else to come between us again. When you and Minho fight, it's like we’re at war, and the rest of us are hiding because we don't want to get pulled into it.” He comes closer and gives me an unexpected hug. As the most affectionate member of the group, I accept it and hold it tight. We bid our goodbyes, and I crashed back on my bed.

Felix’s words brought me back to my conversation with Minho earlier today.

Flashback

As I emerged from the bathroom, I bumped into Minho, who was heading in. "Did you fix yourself in there, or do you need some assistance?" he teased as I rolled my eyes. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"That's not what you said last time." I was taken aback. What was wrong with him? Without a second thought, I pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door. “Okay, you have my attention. What do you want?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to respond. He snickers. “What? Don't tell me you didn't like it when I helped you last time.”

“YAH! Just get to the point already!” I yell at him, clearly upset. He raises his hands, knowing he went too far on that one. “Sorry, Chan Hyung. I have to tease you occasionally, but I didn't mean to go that far.” Minho takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “I just wanted to tell you that however you've been talking to, I hope they treat you right. You deserve to be loved and cherished. I don’t normally tell you something like that, but I thought you should know that.” I smile back at him and bring him into a short hug. “Thank you, and you deserve the same. I know that none of us is making you that happy. Plus, the whole chasing after Han making death threats was a big giveaway.” Minho smiles softly, “Yeah, she's great. I hope I get to meet her someday.”

End of Flashback

We ended up chatting some more after we left the bathroom. We talked about how much we liked talking about our girls but never mentioning their names. Everything was forgotten after I received a notification that Y/N had posted a new video.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third Person POV

‘The room she's in is NOT her bedroom.’ Chan thought to himself. It was decorated with neon colors that painted her face. He didn't have long to look around as she started talking.

“Hello Lovelies! I'm sure you've been wondering why I've been absent for some time and why you haven't seen many videos. Well, I'm going to address all of that. First things first, y'all look at this room setup. I love it, plus the neon sign behind me. It's my channel name, and I can change the color of it, too.” She shows the different colors and then turns, clapping her hands excitedly. “Let me try to break this down for you. I got offered a dream job to work as a full-time creator, and with some encouragement from some extraordinary people, I leaped. I no longer work for my former job nor reside in the United States.”

At that comment alone, all eight boys shouted, “WHAT?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

My latest video has caused my phone to explode with notifications. I intentionally kept quiet about my location and employer, leaving the fans to figure it out independently. Meanwhile, the guys are losing it. I'm grateful that I negotiated the contract to allow me to work on my terms.

If I didn't want to come in until after 1 pm, I could do that. I also got to make my days as long as I wanted or as short as I wanted or even do the work from the apartment instead of going in. The possibilities were endless.

Every time I step into the recording room, I am captivated by its ambiance. Although it resembles a gamer's room, it is so much more. After sharing some pictures of my vision for the room, MNet brought those ideas to life. The room is painted in a serene off-white color, and the overall atmosphere is genuinely breathtaking.

As you enter the room, you are immediately drawn to the vibrant glow of the neon lights. The room's centerpiece is a sleek white table with ample storage options. A sophisticated four-monitor display with space for a laptop and peripherals is positioned on the table. The chair, crafted from luxurious leather and suede, beckons you to sit. Triangular lights adorn the wall behind the monitors, casting a soft, ambient glow. Adjacent to the chair, a stylish loveseat couch is decorated with a neon sign that reads Y/C/N.

I could already picture myself taking some great naps on that comfy couch. I wasn't confident they'd include everything, but they went above and beyond, to my surprise. They even added a fridge, microwave, coffee maker, and a small cabinet for snacks and other goodies. With all these amenities, I could almost turn this room into a cozy, tiny home.

A couple of hours later, I received a call to attend a meeting. I made my way to the designated floor and headed toward the conference room where the meeting was scheduled. As I entered, I noticed everyone was already seated, and on the table were flyers adorned with a cupid and heart-shaped arrows. I took the only available seat and prepared for the meeting to begin.

“Sorry to call you on such short notice, but we have an idea for your channel.” I tilt my head to the side. “What would that be?” A lady in the middle replies next.

“A live reaction video.”

(A/N: We’re getting closer to the good part! I'm so happy that others are enjoying this series. I didn't think it would work well, but everyone proved me wrong. If you don't know where I'm going with this idea, you're in for a treat 😉 Love y'all, and have a great day!)

[scenetocause]

hello! here to ask for max f & lando -💜 impulsive kiss, please (if that takes your fancy) :)

sorry this took me ages! i was laid low with perversions.

It's not like it used to be, when they did bits all the time. It was easy, when they were karting and then a bit more complicated when they were in completely fucking different series, a bit easier again when Max got to F3. Much easier when he dropped out and moved in.

But now they both have other people they're supposed to be copping off with and when they get time together there's so much hanging out they have to get done, on a tight schedule now, that it doesn't really come up. When you've only got 36 hours to fit in three months of best friend time then dick touching can get shoved down the agenda a bit in favour of worrying about their proper relationships and gossiping about what Tom's been up to now and did you know Ria's got a boyfriend now, mate? Bloke's fucking massive, thought a mountain had walked into the office.

He knows how Max crumples his face up in concentration when he's about to come, like he has to focus on the goal. That he really likes having his arse played with but he's touchy about it sometimes, still, gets all tense and bent up about it if Lando tries anything stupid, won't let him at all if he makes any jokes. Doesn't mind putting Lando's cock in his mouth, usually but Max'd rather lie back a lot of the time, make Lando do all the work. Likes to be held, after, fall asleep together for a bit even if it's 11am and Jon's due in half an hour.

So, yeah, it's not like they're not doing it. They could do it. It's just that they mostly haven't been, for a bit. Which makes it weird, when he wins and Max isn't there because there's fucking nothing more Lando wants to do, suddenly, than wank each other off in his hotel room so they're both all glazed before they even get to the club.

Snogging Oscar, later, is interesting - he's a bit of a perv, that Piastri. Sticks his hand down the back of Lando's suit trousers and presses a sweaty fingertip to his arsehole, like Oscar's just checking it's there or something. Reminding himself Lando's fuckable, who knows. It's not the same, though, so Lando ends up trying to jack it in bed with one foot on the floor to stop the room spinning and passing out before he makes himself come.

Then it's ages, isn't it because Max doesn't come to Monaco, either. Because he's making a home with his girlfriend and that's fine, good even, they'll probably be having kids sooner or later won't they and doesn't that make Lando feel something like vertigo. F1 race winner, dad - they're not supposed to be doing them as separate routes. They could've been both, together.

But then there's the football, yeah. And Max texts him some shit like looking pretty decent there Bob almost had me convinced you know ball and Lando's trying not to blush at his phone like an idiot or anything because sometimes, you know. It's nice, still. That Max likes him.

Obviously they have to run into fucking Oleksandr Usyk and it's a bit weird, innit, that he recognises Lando first and then Max is all in awe and trying to tell Lando who the bloke is which, right, he doesn't really care all that much.

"You'd think his face'd get more fucked up, doing all that stuff. You're looking like you've gone more rounds than him, mate-"

"Shut up." It's alright, Max taking the piss out of him. Makes him feel less self-conscious about it, really.

"Make me, then." And Max throws his fists up into some poor imitation of a boxing stance, so Lando's pretty sure he meant something else but also he's laughing and knocking his shoulder into Lando's and his mouth is pink and warm and the most familiar of any Lando's ever touched his own to.

It's not a long kiss, they're standing on a London street, in broad daylight, it'd be stupid to get all hot and heavy with it. Jesus, what if P catches them? Just their fucking luck she'd be popping out for milk or something.

But it's enough. Lando's hands closing around Max's fists to draw him close, quickly. Just a taste of each other's tongues, musky with coffee and matcha. A reminder of how they are when they're like this.

(Perfect. Lando's confident they'll sort it all out one day, just need to get the other stuff out of their systems first but they'll never stop coming back to this.)

"Didn't know boxing got you all hot and bothered, Bob." Max shoves him away a bit, only to pull them back together. It's the same way they always are.

"Nah," he feels honest, free with it, like the relief across the finish line. "Only you."

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Fucking Machine

Loceit (Logan x Janus) Kinktober 2023 Day Ten: Fucking Machine Warnings: robot porn, wire play, electrocution, overstimulation, premature ejaculation, grinding

"Forgive me if I don't exactly trust you to check my hardware," Logan states, as Janus leads him through the house and up a flight of stairs. "Typically, I run an analysis on myself, and - if I need human assistance - I ask Virgil. You, on the other hand, have never been that... mindful of technology." 

Janus shrugs off Logan's concerns. "I'm more trustworthy when it comes to technology than Patton." 

"That's not hard to accomplish," Logan refutes, as Janus guides them into Logan's own bedroom. It's decorated to look human, but the metal table donned with a singular pillow clashes with the dresser, closet, and framed photos quite a bit. 

Still, it was what Logan had requested. He had no need for a bed; he didn't much like laying on his front, and his charging port was on his lower back. If he needed to sit at all, he'd rather do it on a table akin to the one he was created atop of. It also meant he could sit straighter while charging. 

Janus guides him to the table and encourages him to sit, before sitting criss-cross behind him. Janus finds the cold metal to be rather harsh and uncomfortable, but he keeps quiet about that for now. 

"I don't understand why you're doing this anyway. According to my recent self-scans, I've been running perfectly fine." 

"Isn't it nice to double check, though?" Janus asks, as his fingers slide beneath Logan's polo. 

Logan's skin is synthetic - it's made to feel human, but lacks warmth. Janus can even press his fingers into Logan's sides or arms and they'll sink a bit into the fake flesh, but it's just an outer layer designed to protect his wires and circuitry, the same way the skin is just an outer layer made to protect muscle and bone. 

Logan frowns. "It won't be nice when your unskilled prodding causes a server shutdown," he argues, as Janus slowly pulls his shirt up and over his body. 

He's able to process each touch to his body due to an array of microfibers built into the synthetic skin. He's been told it should feel identical to the way a human would feel when being touched the same way, but Logan had no way to compare the two. So Janus's fingertips brushing against his soft back makes his internal nerves spark, with Logan stiffening and straightening his posture. 

"If you're going to pull out the panel, I'd suggest you get on with it. I'm not here to entertain you." 

Janus chuckles softly. "Aren't you made to be patient?" 

"I can tell you that I'm definitely not made to be tampered with." Logan turns his head to the side, and gives Janus a cold glare. "Especially by someone already acting so unprofessional." 

"Such a snarky tongue. Is that programmed, or just preferred?" 

"Preferred." 

Janus grins. "Hm. I like it." 

"I'd like for you not to damage my hardware." 

"Relax," Janus soothes, as his hands push into Logan's back in two specific spots parallel to each other on his left and right side. The pressure causes Logan's skin in a rectangular shape to sink a bit, before it springs out with a soft hiss. Janus dips his hand underneath the left-hand opening, just barely able to wedge two of his fingers under it, and undoes a latch. This allows him to fully swing the panel open like a door, and reveals Logan's innerworkings beneath. 

There's a metal spine down the center of his back that allows Logan to turn and bend like a typical person, but Janus is able to reach his arms into Logan around it, which immediately has Logan clicking in disapproval. 

"Anything you'd need to look at would be on the screen on the inside of my back panel," Logan states,  though Janus is fully aware of this. "There's no reason for you to be sticking your hands into my body." 

"Physical checkup," Janus reasons, before sitting up on his knees. He places his chin on Logan's shoulder, with his hands sliding up Logan's spine. "You can't exactly see inside your back; how sure are you that everything's still in order? It seems to me that every time Virgil's worked on your system, he's only paid attention to your digital data or reports. When was the last time he made sure there were no exposed wires, twisted circuits, or dented metal?" 

Logan hesitates, before claiming "I think I'd be able to feel if things were damaged." 

Janus's fingers reach back into his innards, and his fingertips lightly caress the thick, black wires braded around thin metal rods, which all formed together into a makeshift ribcage. The action makes Logan bite his lip, an artificial - but incredibly noticeable - flush spreading over his cheeks in an almost cartoonish manner. 

"Careful," Janus murmurs. "We don't want you to overheat, now do we?" 

Logan's fingers tap against his thigh. "No. No, I suppose not." 

"Good. May I check?" 

Logan glances at Janus, knowing full well what Janus means by "check." And yet, he nods. "Only if you're careful." 

"I'll make sure you're still functional afterwards," Janus assures him, before adding "but I can't promise much more than that." 

He kisses Logan's bare shoulder, before leaning back down to poke at Logan's autonomy. Logan's mostly still as Janus's hands explore his insides yet again, but he knows it's only a matter of time before Janus is determining what looks the most fun to play with and decides to pull and push at it. 

And seemingly, the first thing that seems to interest him are the coloured wires, which he runs his fingers over. 

He decides to tease the yellow one first, and pinches the cord lightly, before sliding upwards, and then dragging his fingers downwards, tugging briefly on the wire and making Logan jolt suddenly. 

"Careful!" Logan insists, but his voice glitches as he rubs his hands over his thighs. 

"Trust me," Janus responds, pressing a kiss to the back of Logan's neck. He hears a click, followed by a soft whirring sound as Logan's fans begin, with his outer layer heating up ever so slightly. Janus smiles against Logan's skin.

"Do you secretly like it when I pull on that wire?" Janus asks, as he tugs on that very cord again. This time, Logan hisses, but it's not the reaction Janus wants. So he hums, and runs his fingers over a few others, before stroking the red cord. That has Logan moaning and jolting, his hands gripping the edge of the table they're seated on. 

"Ahh," Janus muses, "I see. You were just waiting for me to find the right wire. This one is fun, but I wonder what the blue one does..." 

Janus again switches wires, and tugs a lot more harshly on the blue one, with something becoming unplugged and Logan's innards sparking. Logan lets out a glitchy cry as Janus rushes to pull his hand out of Logan's back, not wanting to injure himself. 

"Fuck," Janus curses quietly, before setting a hand gently on Logan's upper shoulder. "Are you alright?" 

Logan pants. "You just... unplugged my ethernet port." 

Janus chews his inner cheek. "Do you... do you need that?" 

Logan huffs, turning to glare at Janus over his shoulder, who smiles prettily at Logan's narrow eyes. "You're going to dismantle me someday." 

"I'm going to take that as a 'no.'" Janus grabs the loose cable and ducks a bit to try and figure out the plug the small, cylindrical plug into. He sees the silver ring clear on a small black box up inside Logan's body. Janus reaches up to rub over the port with his finger, making Logan moan softly. "However, I'll be nice. I'll plug it back in for you, so you can... connect to the ethernet." 

"It allows me to tap into the local network in order to access speedy data transmissions," Logan murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut as Janus circles the hole with his plug, teasing the very tip of it at the plugs entrance. Janus pushes it in just enough for it to be noticeable, and then pulls it out again, making Logan shudder and stutter as he attempts to continue. "It doesn't... it doesn't do much for me at home, but it's useful for when we're out." 

"Oh yeah? So should I just..." Janus slips the cord in just enough for it to be noticeable, but not fully, edging Logan out of that satisfying click, "not plug this back in, then? It doesn't do anything anyway, right?" 

Logan whines, taking in a shuddering breath that lets Janus watch as small pistons nestled in his faux ribcage pump the air back out. "Please. Plug it in, please." 

Janus smirks, and does just that, and while normally plugging something in wouldn't feel this intense, something about the way Janus speaks or the way he teases his outlet makes it such, and so when Janus fully plugs the ethernet cord in, Logan jolts and sparks, eyes briefly flashing fully white, and moaning outright. Again, Janus has to rush to pull his hand out, before huffing. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to electrocute me." 

Logan pants, arching his back and reaching behind him, as if trying to dig his fingers into his open panel and play with his cords himself. "I'd just be electrocuting us both, in that scenario. I spark because this is unnatural; it's not my fault I wasn't built to be played with."

Humming, Janus's hands circle around Logan's body and run his hands down between Logan's thighs, feeling the straining bulge in his jeans. "What's this for, then?" he asks, while grinding his palm over the area, making Logan squeeze his legs together, unintentionally pushing Janus's hand further against his crotch. 

"Anatomical accuracy," Logan weakly explains, but he knows Janus doesn't care. 

Janus blindly undoes Logan's jeans, struggling briefly with the zipper before he can get it down, and pulls out Logan's cock. 

He was built to be average in terms of size, but sensitive in terms of touch. The purpose of that feature was so that he could touch distinct surfaces and identify what they're made of, but it meant he was also incredibly sensitive to touch from others, especially in areas which weren't normally stimulated. 

Janus strokes his fingers over Logan's cock with little hesitation, before pulling his hands away and peering into Logan's back. 

"Your... fluid compartment... does that connect to your shaft?" 

"Of course it does." 

As Janus's eyes find the small, round-shaped, bag-like compartment, he's delighted to see it's full of a milky white liquid. "Is that for anatomical accuracy as well?"

Logan swallows the nonexistent spit in his mouth. "It is." 

Janus reaches out to touch the compartment, and cringes with fascination and disgust at how it feels. It's like a ball made of nano-tape; just thick enough to hold firm, but malleable when squished. And so, out of morbid curiosity, Janus squishes it.

Perhaps he wasn't thinking about where that fluid would go when squeezed out of its compartment, or maybe he wasn't aware that such an easily overlooked piece of hardware was essentially created to be similar to a human prostate, but either way Janus is incredibly startled when Logan's body jolts as pleasure rushes through him, and he lets out a warped cry as an orgasm is quickly forced out of him before he's ready. 

The sudden excitement has Logan sparking with delight and surprise of his own, and despite having previously been careful to avoid the loose electricity, Janus couldn't possibly have seen this coming. 

A loose wire comes into contact with the back of Janus's hand, and before he can even gasp electricity is coursing through his body, and sending an overload of electricity through Logan's as well as he conducts it through his flesh and back into Logan's hardware. 

The shocking, the pain, and the pleasure last for mere seconds before Janus is pulling away, but it's just long enough for them to both fall of the table in opposite directions. 

Janus falls onto his backside near Logan's wall. Logan falls forward onto his chest across from him. 

Struggling to catch his breath, Janus holds his hand and turns to look at Logan, who's laying limp. Immediately, he freaks out. Sure, he's human, and that much electricity could be dangerous, but Logan was a fucking machine. He's not supposed to be electrocuted; Janus could have seriously damaged him!

As Janus moves to stand up, he realizes he's hard in his pants, and curses at the poor timing as he circles the table and drops to his knees beside Logan. His pants land in a sticky mess of Logan's artificial come, and he cringes, but attempts to ignore his disgust in favor of flipping Logan over, closing his back panel in the process. 

Logan's eyes are shut, but when Janus slides his eyelids up, he sees that his eyes are completely black. 

Filled with a rush of anxiety, Janus reaches his hand around to the back of Logan's neck, and feels a button at the base of his hairline, which he presses and holds down, praying that it starts to glow. 

And thankfully, it does.

There's a small power-up tune that plays as the button on the back of Logan's neck flashes, before Logan's eyes are slowly blinking open. They shift from solid black to bright wide, and then with a few more blinks blue irises are forming, swirling around like a loading screen before solidifying with a black pupil. 

Logan stares blankly for a minute, before his face heats up into an embarrassed flush. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, as Janus helps him sit up. 

"Sorry?" Janus repeats, in disbelief. "I'm the one who should be apologizing! Are you... hurt in any way?" 

"No."

"Are you sure?" 

Janus's hands reach for Logan's face, but Logan grabs his wrists and causes him to stop short. Logan's eyes flicker away from Janus, before settling back on him as he admits "I shut myself down." 

"What?!" Janus frowns and smacks Logan's shoulder. "You're not funny. The others would have never let me hear the end of it if I'd damaged you!" 

Logan clears his throat. "I could feel a server overload coming due to the electricity and so shut myself down in order to reprogram myself and install better hardware. It's still processing, but it should finish in a couple minutes." 

"Better hardware?" 

Logan stretches his arm out, wiggles his fingers, and then circles his arm around, testing his mobility. "Yes. Better hardware. Obviously a surplus amount of electricity can cause physical damage, but I'm fairly resilient. My main concern would be my hard drives or servers becoming overwhelmed and either corrupting or frying them altogether. So... I installed a few failsafes." 

"Such as...?" 

"I lowered my electricity output temporarily," Logan begins, listing items off the top of his head, "both for my benefit, and yours-" 

Janus looks away at the implication he'd be reaching back into Logan's insides. 

"I downloaded some protection agencies that increase my server's abilities to withstand extreme stress, I copied and uploaded some of my most important assets to the cloud, I ran a diagnostic and made sure no permanent damage was done, and reprogrammed myself to shut down in the event of extreme electric damage so that neither of us would be killed if that intense of a shock were to happen again." 

Staring blankly at Logan, Janus clasps his hands together. "So... we're good to resume?" 

Logan sighs, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Yes; if you so desire." 

And Janus does so desire, and so flips Logan back over without warning, where Logan obediently stays on his hands and knees. He lets Janus push his chest against the ground and flip his back panel open once more, and tries to keep his body from overheating when he feels Janus's bulge push against his clothed ass. 

"Your fans flicked on again," Janus comments, as his hands plunge back into Logan's innards. He feels wind blow over his scales and shivers, but is more than amused at how quickly they were activated. 

"It's a precaution," Logan murmurs, visibly embarrassed. 

Janus leans over Logan, grinding his hard cocks over Logan's backside and groaning into his ear, before Janus searches for a new item inside of Logan to play with. He pokes the small compartment, though now it's lacking fluid. While that means no more mess, Janus suspects that Logan won't mind having a dry orgasm or two. 

Logan lets out a shaky breath as Janus's fingers rub over his ribcage, his spine, and then back down to his wires, some hanging looser than others. Briefly, Janus's fingers rub over an unused outlet - fit for a hard drive, if Logan ever needed to transfer outside information to his servers - and it makes Logan moan outright. 

"I've heard of plugs being used during sex, but you take it to a whole new level," Janus teases, as his other hand tugs firmly on an intertwined group of wires, which makes Logan suddenly cry out, arching his chest against the floor. Janus grinds his thumb more purposefully over the empty socket. "Maybe I'll download some of Remus's porn onto a hard drive and plug it into you without warning. Would you like that? If I overwhelmed your intellectual technology with graphic, defiling content?" 

Despite Logan's typical stoic behavior, he actually pushes his forehead against the floor as he moans out "yes." His voice is glitchy and quiet, and it causes Janus to let out a shuddering breath of his own as he ruts his hips against Logan's ass. 

As Janus's hand continues to slide against the open plug in the lower right hand side of Logan's back, his other caresses the wires up to where they disappear into a black box. And so, he slides it back down to a circuit board, which he is gentle when touching despite Logan beeping in surprise as Janus's fingers tap against it.

"Careful!" Logan again exclaims, though he sounds more excited than anything. "That's fragile!" 

Janus grinds harder against Logan's ass at just how cute he sounds. "I am careful," he assures Logan, while pushing his longer thumb nails into both the plug and the circuit board. 

Little flickers of electricity bounce off the circuit board, shocking Janus once or twice, but it's significantly tamer compared to what he's already experienced. And with Logan's little jolts and whimpers, Janus can assume he's feeling the shocks too.

But what Logan's really amazed by is how foreign and obviously wrong the protrusion of Janus's nail is into his outlet, and the scratching of his circuit board, and yet... he's getting off on this technological malpractice. 

Everything that Janus is doing to him is unique. New. And so Logan desperately tries to record and memorize the strange way it feels. However, the light touches also allows Logan to breathe - both metaphorically, and artificially. In this brief respite, Logan's reminded that he's pathetically hard due to the weight of his cock hanging between his legs. He knows his fluid compartment is empty, but that doesn't negate his ability to have an orgasm, and he knows Janus will going to push him to his limit again and again and again if he so desires. 

Embarrassed, Logan hides his face in the floor, picturing how lewd and unprofessional he's being. He must look like some sort of sexbot! But before he can complain, Janus is dipping his face into Logan's panel, and lightly blowing air over his circuit board, causing Logan to gasp as his head shoots up in surprise. 

He tries to crane his head back to look at Janus, who just grins at him in response and grinds a little harder, reminding Logan that Janus is also getting off on toying with him like he's some sort of do-it-yourself robot kit. 

Logan opens his mouth to complain, but nothing comes out. Still though, Janus playfully explains "I thought I saw a speck of dust," lying right through his teeth. His words however have Logan whining anyway, and Janus draws a particularly loud noise from him when he begins to snake his fingers around a couple wires. 

Even the faintest of touches make him moan and shut his eyes, submissively pushing his face back into the ground as Janus messes with him. 

"What-" Logan starts, but his voice abruptly glitches and cuts out, making him flush and focus for a moment on steadying himself. After clearing his throat, he tries again, and asks "what are you doing?" 

Janus just smiles. "I think I see a few tangled wires..." he says, as both of his hands move to a cluster of them. Feeling Janus's fingers caress the cords makes Logan gasp, only for him to moan when Janus begins to carefully pluck and untwist a set that were indeed wrapped around each other. They're guided out of sockets in order to be looped through the meshed cables, and then re-plugged in such smooth tandem that Logan's never given a break to catch his breath. 

He's touching multiple wires for a prolonged amount of time, gently maneuvered back to where Janus believes they should be, even if it doesn't affect their ability to function at all. 

And Logan repeatedly moans and groans as Janus continues to slide the wires past each other, rubbing them against other cords and in-between his own warm, fleshy fingers. Logan's noises increase in pitch the longer Janus touches, and raise in volume the firmer his caresses get. 

And while Janus takes his time initially in playing with Logan, he can't help but become impatient at the lack of pleasure he's feeling himself, and so grabs Logan's wires more tightly - almost as leverage - while he grinds harder against him, moaning into Logan's back panel and breathing over his sensitive hardware. 

A click is heard followed by Logan's internal fans whirring slightly louder, as though they've increased in intensity and kicked into high-gear, and Janus can't help but laugh softly as he rests his forehead against the side of Logan's back - teetering on the edge of his synthetic flesh and Logan's exposed innards.

"Feeling hot?" Janus teases, before his forked tongue licks across the rim of the panel's opening. That has Logan crying out; the power button on the back of his neck flashing excitedly. Janus raises his eyebrow as he looks at it. 

"Is this draining your battery?" he asks, and watches Logan slump in humiliation, as pleasure rushes through his body as Janus continues to twirl his wires around like they're fidget toys for his amusement. "My, we might just have to leave you plugged in all night to recuperate after this!" Janus's fingers pull out of Logan's panel, sliding over his inner walls before leaving entirely, and instead move to circle around his charging port on his lower back. 

Lightly, Janus rubs his pointer finger over it, and that's all it takes. 

Logan's gasping, crying and glitching - his moans a stuttering cacophony of different sound bites and start-up noises, all mixed in with his artificial breathing and the differing noises spilling from his back. His charging port sparks and the electricity catches Janus again, shocking him more intensely this time, but he moans against Logan and just presses his finger harder against it, rubbing it feverishly against the outlet as Logan's worked through a dry orgasm before he lays limply on the ground, wonderfully overstimulated and burnt out (literally). 

Janus smiles as he moves his hand away from Logan's port, and spends the next minute or so humping against Logan's ass before he comes in his own pants with a soft moan, and then closes Logan's back panel before falling against him. However, the constant light from Logan's flashing power button bothers him, and so he pulls away. 

"You really should plug yourself in," Janus comments, as he helps Logan to his feet. 

Logan struggles to stand for a moment, mumbling "hold on... recalibrating balance settings..." while trying to get his loose cock back into his jeans, before he falls over onto his metal table chest-first.

He lays against it limply, and thanks Janus after the latter struggles to lift Logan's heavy form fully onto the surface. 

Janus circles around Logan to his wall outlet, where he takes Logan's charger into his hand and promptly plugs it in. Logan whines, as though he's still sensitive, but his power light glows happily at being plugged in. Janus leans against the table and sighs. 

"How are you feeling?" 

Logan turns his head to the side, so he can speak without sounding muffled. "Fine. I don't think anything's permanently damaged." 

Janus huffs out a laugh. "That's a relief." 

"Knowing you? I agree." 

Janus smacks Logan's lower thigh playfully, before focusing on his breathing for a moment. Logan's rhythmic, synthetic breathes contrast greatly to Janus's more irregular exhales, but there's both visibly pleased, albeit a tad messy. He'll get himself cleaned up after catching his breath, and he supposes that when he's done with a bath he'll come wipe Logan down. He'll even be extra careful! He's sure Logan will appreciate it. 

[agi-ppangx]

Duh, girl.... I just thought of a story that's really sad, if one of the straykids members whose relationship with his girlfriend feels distant. Because of what? Because he's lost interest and they rarely communicate because they're really busy, but... He doesn't want to let you go, with the words "I still love you". But you're really tired of this kind of relationship, and you're also stressed because you have a lot of work, same as him.

Do you think they'll continue with the vague relationship or finally break up even though there must be a little regret and sadness for sure?

💭tell me you love me

pairing: skz member x fem!reader

warning: swearing

an: anonnie why are you doing this to me💔 no but i actually love this idea so much and i may have made this drabble a bit too angsty, choosing an abrupt ending, but i hope you'll like it nonetheless<33 i also didn't mention any names so you can imagine any of the members :]

“i’m tired of this,” you whispered, tears making their way down your face. he only sighed in response, plopping heavily on the couch. you felt defeated, stressed and so extremely tired. you were standing in the very middle of your living room, staring at your so-called boyfriend. “i told you so many times i’m a busy man. i can’t help it. and you were aware of all of this when you decided to be my girlfriend!” he shouted, but you didn’t even flinch. you didn’t care anymore. “well, i thought that maybe you would try a little bit more to make things work. but here we are instead,” you spat, your voice trembling. “i’m trying! stop with this whole narrative, you know i still love you.”

you always thought your relationship was stable, that your fights were just meant to make it stronger. you wanted to believe in forever with him - since day one you promised to make effort and find time for one another. but it seemed as if he broke the promise at the first opportunity. and when you confronted him about it he always had the same response - “you know i still love you.”

“have you ever thought about how i feel? how i feel when you ignore me for your friends, how you literally avoid me when we’re both home and how you don’t even speak to me anymore? do you ever think about anything else but yourself?!” “shut up! it’s not my fault you are insecure about everything. i’m tired and when i get home from work all i think about is getting some sleep, not making sure you are taken care of. you’re a grown-up, you don’t need me around all the time.” he got up abruptly, screaming at you. you scoffed at his words. you couldn’t believe your ears - it had to be a nightmare, right? you took a step in his direction, then another one until you were standing right in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. your vision was blurry but it didn’t stop you from trying to burn holes in his face. “do you even love me anymore?” you asked, your voice barely above the whisper. he kept eye contact with you for a while before speaking again through gritted teeth. “you know i do.” “then say it properly. tell me you love me and say you’re sorry.” he hesitated. he fucking hesitated and that was your last straw. you left him in the living room and went to your bedroom to pack essential things. “oh my god, of course i still love you. stop acting like a fucking child!” he went after you, screaming something after these words, but your mind couldn't comprehend his lies anymore. your face was covered in tears, eyes stung and it felt harder to breathe with every passing second. when you had all your stuff packed you faced him for the final time. “if you at least apologised, i would've stayed. i would stay here with you and try to work this out, because i do love you, truly. but you’re a fucking liar playing on my emotions and i’m not going to waste even a minute more on you,” you shouted into his face, almost choking on your tears, and simply left the apartment. and the worst part is that he didn’t even try to stop you, letting you go.

taglist: @lynlyndoll @iyenbread @flooo71 @skz-streamer @inniescandy-01

let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist💚

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

[tiffany-loves-broadway]

The Nameless

It's pride month, so I'm finally getting into X-Men. (Okay, I didn't actually plan it out that way, but it lined up.) Anyway, I'm surprised that everyone hasn't already gone nuts about the X2 villain's extremely miserable trans daughter.

Now, the thing is, this isn't explicitly confirmed in the text. But the subtext is in-your-face enough that it feels dismissive to call it a "headcanon". Like, this is the same movie with the line "have you tried... not being a mutant?" in it, and this character being trans isn't particularly subtler writing than that. I don't think it was intended to be so obvious, though. 2003 was a different time.

So, like, quick rundown on the plot of X2. Colonel William Stryker (in the comics he was a minister instead) is a bigot who wants to exterminate all mutants. His most vital asset in doing this is his "son", known only as "Mutant 143", or more often by her birth name, "Jason Stryker". Mutant 143 is a powerful psychic who can control people through dreamlike visions. William never accepted his child's mutation, and pulled her from Charles Xavier's school when he realized that Professor X had no intention of "curing" her. William blames his daughter for his wife's suicide; he had Mutant 143 lobotomized and began a plan to use her as a weapon against all other mutants.

And the thing is, Mutant 143 physically looks like this:

But like. Why wouldn't she, with that kind of dad? He has full power over her and has deliberately rendered her a dependent he can micromanage. I mean, Jesus Christ, the line I just randomly stumbled upon while opening and closing my media player to get that screencap was William Stryker saying

No, Charles, my son is dead! My son is dead, just like the rest of you.

Meanwhile, she consistently depicts herself in her psychic visions as this little girl:

And, like, okay, the extremely surface-level I-never-think-about-trans-people reading of that is that she's picking a "harmless" form to better insinuate herself into her targets' minds. But first off, the film never says that; it doesn't even really imply it. She doesn't pick different forms for different people; we only ever see her psychic ego as that little girl. Second off, her power doesn't really require her to put effort into seeming harmless to control people; the dream visions are more of an aesthetic flare on her power than they are a necessary mechanism. When she gets her psychic talons into someone, she can just directly command them to do whatever the fuck out-of-character thing and they'll do it regardless of plausibility. She's the classic cheesy horror trope of the scary possessed little girl, and frankly I don't think it would be any easier to get Professor X to kill all mutants on the orders of a little girl than a little boy.

She's been reduced to a shell of a person, but some element of personal identity still remains there. In her power. The thing she's being oppressed for.

This character doesn't receive a real name in canon. She gets two names from her shitty father: the dehumanization inherent in "Mutant 143" is fairly obvious and uncontroversial, but given everything I'm saying here, I don't think "Jason" is really better. She likely identifies with that name exactly insofar as she's been brainwashed into wanting her own kind dead.

It complicates things a bit that Professor X, another powerful psychic who would likely know her well, also calls her "Jason" a few times. But given the unfortunate circumstances of the film's plot... even if he knew, what else would he call her? She hasn't been fortunate enough in life to get a real name. It's not like, within the plot of the movie, stopping and pointing out what was going on would have been likely to help anything.

This is thematically important to the movie. Magneto certainly isn't meant to be right about everything, but there is a sympathetic throughline to him and his attitudes about the oppression of mutants. Earlier in the movie, he indicates that he sees mutants' cape names (like "Magneto") as their real names, and he encourages his allies to see themselves that way. The trans applicability here is fairly obvious; superheroes and supervillains make up their own names that make their marginalized status obvious. They can publicly identify with them to advertise their mutant status to the world instead of hiding behind ordinary names they were given by majority society.

This character, this properly unnamed character, never got anything like that. She never got to choose her own name. She was compelled by force to betray herself and commit to an external name that was entirely hostile to her.

Anyway, after the X-Men escape from her devious psychic maze they leave her behind in a collapsing building where she presumably dies because she's unable to move herself without assistance. Life sucks and shit happens. It was 2003.

Looking through relevant tags, I was able to find a few short posts discussing this idea, but I'm surprised that they're so sparse and I'm surprised that they treat the idea as so speculative. It really leapt out at me, watching the movie.