#(there was another word I wanted to use but 'crazy' it is I guess :T )

[mewkwota]

Castlevania: Crazy Overdramatic Dudes “This is the story of an angry man in hooker boots seeking revenge against another angry man in hooker boots all the while being annoyed by yet another angry man in hooker boots.”

Curse of Darkness is a game, I remember when I first saw it through a DDR music video and I was like "wow that guy with the red hair has a very sexy walk". Now that I've gotten familiarized, I'm still amazed by the cutscenes and all, and hope this title is released again someday.

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

Boyfriend is to Husband

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!Reader

summary: How would Miguel react if you did the “calling my bf my husband” trend? 🤔

content warning: It gets a little suggestive, but other than that, it’s fluff fluff fluff. There are short mentions of food, but nothing too crazy. The Miguel in here is also not Spiderman. Just a little guy.

credit for art and dividers: Me! and @kimjiho1 (plus another person for the gif divider, if this is yours, lmk!)

a/n: This will be apart of a series called The Trendy Couple! This is the first installment ☝🏾😌. I’m not sure how long the series will be, but right now it’s just based off of cute couple's trends. My fyp has suffered trying to do research for this…

word count: 2.2k

I use the word "buggy" in here. Buggy = shopping cart or trolley. I'm southern so buggy just rolls off the tongue. ❤︎ Plus, it sounds cute!

You and Miguel have been out since 8 am running errands and grabbing supplies to fill up the new apartment. 

After a year of your dresser being full of his sweatpants and hoodies and his furniture hosting several of your blankets, his fridge being stocked of your favorite fruits and your shower caddy holding his body care, you both decided it was best to live together. 

Towel sets, bed sheets, comforters, silverware, curtains. This was only the tip of what you and Miguel had managed to stuff inside the car.

After hitting five shops just that morning, you opted to stay in the car while Miguel went and handled a pickup order from the hardware store. It was getting closer to lunchtime and you didn’t want to become irritable because of the long lines. 

To pass the time, you decided to scroll on TikTok, watching video after video, reacting to each accordingly. 

First, it was chatty kitties begging for food. Then, it was edits of hot wrestlers. Next, it was ramen recipes to cook at 2am. There were even a couple of NPC lives even though the trend was nearly dying at this point. 

Finally, you scrolled to a video hosting a girl and her boyfriend huddled together in a car over the console.

She’s leaned up against him, her smile beaming, “Today I’m going to be guessing my husband’s favorite things!”

“I’m not your husband,” are the words that shoot from her boyfriend’s mouth, fast as lightning. Cold. Unkind. Callous. 

You watch as the girl’s smile drops and the video cuts, her laughing out of shock beforehand, evidence of her trying to stamp out her embarrassment. 

You watch more as his grin widens and she gives him this awkward glance. 

“Not yet,” he adds, seeing how quiet she was. 

The video ends with her jumping at him playfully, trying to play the situation of. 

“Jesus,” you sigh, mouth turned sideways as you pause the video and open up the comments. Thousands of people were telling her to dump him, others questioning why he would say what he said in the way that he did. 

Your heart went out to the girl who clearly wanted to do a harmless joke that completely backfired. 

You liked a comment about this being a possible red flag. Although he could have responded that way because he wasn’t ready for marriage, his response was so quick and distant that it was like he was disgusted at the possibility of being with her that long. 

After working yourself up by scrolling through the comments, you decide to go even further by pressing the “calling my boyfriend ‘husband’” search at the top. 

There were so many stitches to the original video with people giving their own thoughts about the situation. Some people were proclaimed dating coaches, others psychologists, and a few influencers. 

You even see a follow up video from the original couple with the guy giving a shitty excuse as to why he was so quick in his response. 

“Yeah right,” you mumble, watching the girl snicker at her boyfriend’s pouts. You agree with the comments that his response makes the original video even worse. 

Still scrolling down, you find another video featuring a new couple. 

They’re at a table eating donut holes out of a hat, and when the girl calls her boyfriend “husband”, the guy’s entire body lights up. He’s grinning, cheeks rosy, and can’t stop staring back at his girlfriend. 

From there, you were able to see countless other couples with cute videos, all of the guys radiating at the word “husband.”

Biting your lip, you wondered how Miguel would react if you called him your husband. 

You loved him with all of your heart and you were sure that he loved you. You guys are literally moving into an apartment together. But the thought of him being unsettled by you calling him your husband weighed on you. 

Just as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock near the trunk of the car startling you. Looking up in the rearview mirror, you see Miguel standing with a few bags and wood planks in his hands. You reach over and press a button to pop open the trunk. 

“Got everything?” you ask, turning to watch as he drops items in the back. 

“Yeah, I think so. Although there was almost a brawl over some potted plants,” he said. “Some older lady just came up to this guy and snatched his monsteras.” 

“What?” you respond, watching as he closed the trunk and walked around to the driver's seat. “Out of his hands or the buggy?”

Miguel laughed, both recalling the scene and finding your terms adorable. “She just came up and snatched it out of the cart while he was waiting at the end of the line. She swore that she saw it first.”

You listened to him retell the story, hand under your chin as you leaned closer. He was cute, lilt in his voice to make an impression of the plant thief. Thinking to yourself that you liked this little moment of playfulness, you take your phone out to record. 

Placing your phone in a case attached to the dashboard, you smile at the camera while Miguel’s still going. 

“‘You youngins think the world owes you everything, and that’s just not the case!’ And the poor guy is standing there going ‘ma’am, I just want my plant back.’ He looked so distressed.”

“I would be too! A random lady just shopped from my buggy. It’s like, why are you this close to me to see what I’m trying to buy?”

Miguel turns the car on and buckles up. “It started to escalate when the lady’s friend came over. Then there were two shrill voices fussing at this guy.”

He started to back the car out of the parking spot, hand behind your seat and head turned towards the back window. 

You slowly glanced at his arm, eyes tracing a vein up his shirt. 

Too bad you were in a car right now or else you’d let his arm wrap around you elsewhere. 

You tune back into his words, silently scolding yourself for letting something so simple get you to fold. 

“Luckily, I was able to calm them both down. All it took was me showing them some dasheen leaves,” he said, driving the car closer to the exit of the parking lot. 

You came to a conclusion. There was no better time than the present. 

“Aw, look at my husband. Saving the day with his genius,” you say, hand reaching out to pat his chest. 

Then you feel your body jerk to the right. The seat belt tightens as the car jerkingly swerves in between two parking spaces. 

You stare in a panic at Miguel who puts the car in park and turns his entire body towards you. 

“What did you just call me?” he asks, eyes searching yours, a little startled but mostly hopeful. 

You decide to keep the charades going, “I was just praising my husband for stopping the creation of another Karen video. Why did you turn the car like that?” You’re still looking at him as if he has two heads. 

“You just-!” Miguel takes your hands into his and places his forehead on his fists. “Baby, you know what you just said.” 

You laugh, a little giddy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Miguel leans back against his seat and closes his eyes, reaching down to take his seatbelt off. His eyebrows scrunch up as he brings your hand to his chest, “Feel my heartbeat.”

Your mouth drops as you feel his heart rattling against his chest. He really wasn’t being dramatic. 

“Baby look at me,” you grab his hands and hold them tight. “You did a good job today.”

His breath stopped, as he looked at you. His face was tinted from the whole fiasco. 

“Husband.”

Miguel’s entire body slumped as he grinned wide. He nearly jumped over the console to sag his body onto yours. 

His shoulders were shaking and you heard his laugh muffled by your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and make a face at the camera. 

“What’s up, Mig?” you say, trying to get him to talk. 

He mumbled into your clothes, shoulders still shaking. 

“I can’t hear you, you gotta sit up.”

He sits up and sniffles, turning his head toward the backseat. 

Looking at his profile you can see a few streaks down his face. 

“Are you crying?” you ask, turning his face towards yours. 

Miguel swipes his wrist across his cheeks, “Stop, this is extremely embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not! I promise it’s not,” you say, rubbing your thumb across his ear. “Talk to me.”

He chuckled, eyes looking down, “It just feels really good to know that you think of me that way. We don’t have to ever cross that line, but one day, if you would like, we can make that title true.”

“Is this a pre-proposal?” you ask, heartbeat in your ears. You went out on a limb to follow a trend, not knowing how it would end. Now you’re staring at Miguel’s flushed face with his heart pouring out into your lap. 

“Maybe,” he whispered, grabbing your hands. “Possibly a promise for what could be.”

You bite your lip to hold back a grin, “Can I know what could be right now?”

“And expose my plans? Not a chance,” Miguel smirked. “Besides, a husband knows what’s best for his partner, right?”

“He does,” you quip, rubbing your hand in a circle on his chest. “He also apparently forgets that SUVs can flip very easily.”

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he says, looking sheepishly at the placement of the car. “Did I startle you?”

You just giggle at his concern and give him a quick peck on the mouth. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that big of a reaction.”

“How would you react if I casually called you forever mine? While driving!”

“Go 90 in a 70,” you joke. “Maybe pull over and do a little more than make out.” You rub your hand down his chest, and squeeze playfully at his pec. 

Miguel stared back at you, body instantly reacting to the shift in conversation. “We can actually do that right now.”

He leaned forward and brought your lips to his. You could taste the mint from the gum he had earlier, humming when he pushed further into your mouth. 

He started to reach for your hips, ready to pull you over onto his lap. 

Your stomach let out a loud grumble, making you jump. 

“Ok, let’s try this again after we get you some food,” Miguel says, plastering kisses on your face. 

The day moves on smoothly with Miguel not letting you out of his sight, hands itching to hold you in some way. 

He also never lets the husband thing go. 

As you’re ordering lunch, “One lemonade for my baby. And a water with lemon for me, the husband.”

As you stop in a clothing store at the mall for a small break, “These say boyfriend jeans. Do they have any husband jeans?”

As you’re trying to reach the top shelf to grab the last of your favorite detergent, “No, cariño. Let your husband get it for you.”

As you’re looking for throw pillows and towel sets for the apartment, “You think they have a couple’s set? I want something that says ‘Mr.’ on it.”

As you stop at a gift store, looking for something extra to give to the movers, “Look, this shirt says it’s made of ‘hubby material.’ Should I get it?”

This feeling is only amplified when you post his initial reaction online. The comments were full of people yearning to be in your predicament. 

“If my boyfriend doesn’t crash the car when I call him husband, THROW HIM AWAY. 😒”

“Does he have a brother….asking for a friend”

“I needed this after the “I’m not your husband” he in LOVE”

“If your bf doesn’t cry at the thought of you, what are you doing”

“He was blushing HARRRRD 😭😭😭”

“So when’s the wedding? 🤨”

“He was literally cheesing and crying omg”

“Get you a man that stops the car to declare his love”

“What if I did a five mile marathon on i-55”

“He’s so in love with you that it’s palpable”

“He was ready do a lot more than make out 😭”

Miguel saw most things, a little embarrassed but mostly happy that so many people found him to be genuine. 

You laid on his shoulder as he checked the comments, liking the funny ones as they passed by.

“Do you want to make a response video?” you say, liking a comment going ‘he’s a good man, Savannah.’

“No, I think this is enough,” he replies, handing the phone back to you. “Let me keep a little mystery. At least until I actually propose, of course.”

You looked at him with stars in your eyes.

“A mysterious husband. I kind of like the sound of that,” you say, wrapping your body around his side. “Maybe I can be nosy, find out his secrets.”

“I bet you would, cariño,” he voiced, nuzzling his chin on top of your head. “After, everything is planned and done.”

You laughed and snuggled closer, happy to be with him.

Once again, I hope you enjoyed reading! ❣️

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

I'm excited for the future of this series and I hope you guys are too. When I finish the series masterlist, I'll link it here. If you guys have any trends that you want me to include, then just let me know and I'll see what I can do!

- Blue ♡

[chlorinecake]

Can you wright a Ni-ki fanfic where him and reader have a (just a regular) (or or maybe even slightly heated) make out sesh ???

“kissing, I hope they caught us” �� ❊ ﹒ 🌪️

⟢ pairing 西村力 x fem!reader ⟢ contains shy and flirty kissing, wandering hands, mentions of body image ⟢ 𝟔𝟗𝟖 words 📍 now playing … 🕸️

One day, you decided to go clothes shopping with your boyfriend Riki, trying on a few pieces for him in the mall dressing room to make sure you were on the right track. It’s not like you needed any new clothes… you simply just wanted your wardrobe to match more of what Riki wore.

“Turn around,” you told your boyfriend in a demanding yet sing-singy voice, cautiously taking off your shirt as you observed the way he buried his face in his delicate palms, “and no peeking!”

When you finally gave him the cue to uncover his eyes, he looked you up and down with a smile ghosting over his plush lips.

“What do you think?” You asked, striking a few basic poses.

He couldn’t help but blush a little at how cute you looked while checking yourself out in the mirror. You and Riki had came a long way with each other when it came to self confidence, and it delighted him to see how comfortable you’d grown with yourself in front of him.

“Can you come a little closer,” he said, motioning with his fingers as you followed like a trained kitten.

“Okay, now give me a spin…” he directed, and you did, nearly falling over as you did so, “like this?” you asked shyly.

“No, the other way, silly,” he giggled, hooking his finger into the belt hook of your jeans and pulling you into his lap, bracing you with a protective hand as you plopped onto him.

“Like this,” he smirked, gripping your waist as he looked into your eyes through feathery lashes, thoroughly enthralled by you.

Your hands almost naturally found themselves at his shoulders, your socked-feet dangling off the dressing room couch as you clung to each other like puzzle pieces.

“So the outfits a win, yes?” You asked as he caressed your waist, hips, and thighs, sending tingles up and down your spine. In moments like this, you were almost certain that Riki could make you physically melt from his touch alone.

“Hmm, let me think about it,” he whispered deeply against the skin under your ear, kissing you softly and leaving another trail of tender pecks down your neck.

“Riki~,” you hummed gently, hands running through your boyfriends hair before he shushed you with a kiss to the lips, guiding you closer towards him by your waist.

You could feel your stomach start to flutter at how passionately he kissed you, wanting the moment to continue before he abruptly pulled away from you, his plump lips and half-lidded eyes clearly telling of how intense the contact was.

“My pretty girl,” he said, hands now leaving your body to cup your face, “you know that I think you look beautiful in anything, right?”

“Anything?,” you teased, toying with the neckline of his cotton T-shirt.

“Anything,” your boyfriend continued, reaching his hand towards your ankles, “Even in these dirty pink socks,” he giggled, tickling the base of your feet.

“Riki, you crazy child, stop that!” You yelped in a similar fit of giggles, swatting his hands away before guiding them back around you, initiating a hug. You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, almost forgetting that you two were still in the changing rooms and not at home.

He guided you off of his lap, walking you towards the tall wall mirror with his hands wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on your left shoulder as you both faced your reflections.

“Where’d this sudden sense of confidence come from anyway,” you pressed, a small smile staining both your faces as you looked at the mirror, lost in each other’s beauty.

“I guess it kinda just radiated off of you,” he said, once again tugging at the belt hooks on your jeans, thinking of all the places he’d wanna take you to show off your new clothes.

You bowed your head, hiding your face at Riki’s words that nearly lit your heart ablaze, “Okay, let me change out of this so we can go to the register,” you chirped, watching as your sweet boyfriend, like a trained kitten, walked back to the corner of the dressing room and covered his eyes.

—❊ Special thanks to the anon who requesting this quick piece !! I hope you guys found it just as cute as I did =^..^=

—❊ tagging: @microwvdstrawb3rri3s , because I know how much she loves likes Ri-ki 🤭 And to me fellow OG supporters, @squoxle, @nikisdubblchococake, @ashgonedash, and @yourmomscuntis2tighy + @watamotee33

—❊ I haven’t come up with a permanent tag list yet, so leave an ask or comment letting me know if you’d like to be tagged in all my works moving forward !!

[cobaltperun]

Blind Love

Bottom Tara Carpenter x Top female Reader (smut, minors DO NOT interact)

So... edging, blindfold, fingering, vibrator, squirting, light spanking, strap-on.

Right, the third in Lost smut chapters, Lost 29.5.

Story masterlist

Word count: 4.5k

It’s been too long since you and Tara had a night just to yourselves, free of any responsibility, whether it was work or your family. And all you could feel, as the credits of the movie rolled, was Tara. Her weight on your lap, her back pressed against you, her skin hot underneath the brown sheer shirt she changed into and that damn perfume she put on that always drove you crazy. All these years and she still drove you mad

“Damn, Tara,” you sighed, leaning your head back a bit.

“Did I get you worked up?” she teased prompting you to just nod. “Good,” she reached behind and placed her right palm on the nape of your neck and pulled you closer, her nails ever so slightly scratching against your skin. She twisted around just enough to kiss your neck and you took a deep breath and exhaled as her soft lips moved from the side of your neck, up to your jaw and finally met your lips.

You could taste the pancakes she just ate on her tongue as she deepened the kiss, her tongue moving against your own. She moaned into the kiss as you slipped your hand underneath her shirt and just moved your fingers along her back. She separated from you, breathing a bit heavier than she normally did as her eyes met yours and she turned around, straddling your lap and the warmth of her body making your mind hazy.

“Fuck,” she whispered as you pulled her closer and pressed her body against your own, rocking her hips against you and biting her lower lip. “I missed this so much,” she said as she pulled back, and you clearly saw the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Say, do we really need that much sleep to function tomorrow?” she whispered in your ear, biting gently and sliding her hands underneath the sleeves of your T-shirt. “Hmm?” she squeezed, sighing contently as you lifted her up forcing your muscles to bulge a bit. 

“We’ll manage somehow,” you said as you climbed up the stairs to your bedroom. Tara definitely had something in mind and, well, you weren’t about to turn her down. You opened the doors, lowered her down on the bed and kissed her, though softly this time. Tara kissed you back, slowing the kiss down even more, as the two of you just softly moved your lips in a well-practiced, sensual manner. You teased her, brushing your lips against her own, pulling back just enough to keep the same distance as she moved closer, until she slipped her fingers into your hair and stopped you from moving. But the kiss remained soft, just gently moving lips against one another, occasionally licking or nibbling on your lower lip. Her hands moved down as you separated for air briefly, and she pressed against your back, pulling you closer as you rested your weight on your forearm next to Tara’s head, while your right arm went from her hip and slid up her side until you lightly teased a thumb over her breast, just narrowly avoiding her nipple.

“Blindfold me,” she purred in your ear once the two of you reluctantly separated for air and your brain nearly short-circuited. You tried to use the blindfold once before, but being deprived of sight made Tara even more responsive and you couldn’t risk her getting too loud. But now you had the house to yourselves, so there weren’t any reasons not to let Tara be as loud as she desired.

So, you grinned, got up and unlocked the drawer next to your bed with everything you might want to use inside it. For now, and to keep Tara guessing, you just pulled out the blindfold and looked at Tara’s lust-filled eyes one more time before tying the blindfold around her eyes. “There we go,” you whispered in her ear and smirked when she shuddered. You loved looking into her eyes as she fell apart for you, but damn, judging by how well she was already reacting you were in for a fun night. “Think you can handle this, Love?” you whispered in her other ear and leaned down to kiss her neck. “Never knowing where I’ll touch you next?” and to prove your point you slipped your hand underneath her knee and slid it back up to her ass. Tara inhaled sharply as you nuzzled against her stomach, kissing her over the shirt she still had on and then went back up to lick her neck.

Everything was even more intense than usual, the anticipation, your touch, every part of her body felt even more sensitive now that she was robbed of her sight. “Yes, Daddy,” she moaned, gripping the hem of your shirt and pulling it up along with your bra. Fuck, she felt your muscles underneath her palms, still hard as rock even years after you retired from MMA.

“So damn impatient,” you still gave in to her whim, raising your arms and letting her pull it off you and then you took her hands and gently guided them to your belt. “There you go, Love, take your time,” you were going to make it as difficult as you could, without being too mean. Her fingers trembled as you licked from the side of her neck all the way to her ear, as your own hands explored her body. You still weren’t taking her clothes off, but you slowly moved your hands all over her body, from her sides, to her thighs, and maybe, just maybe, for a brief moment between her legs.

Finally, Tara managed to get your belt off, but instead of continuing to take your clothes off she just pulled her own shirt and bra off, and with the belt still in her hands raised them above her hands. “Tie me up, Daddy,” she purred softly.

“Kinky,” you loved the way she shivered as you moved your hands up her arms and took the belt to tie it around her wrist. It was more just for the looks, and she could easily slip her wrists out of the ‘bind’ if she so pleased. You groaned when you realized how hard her nipples already were and leaned down to flick one with your tongue.

“Oh,” Tara moaned, caught by surprise. She arched her back, lips parting as your warm, wet tongue swirled around her nipple before you released it with a pop.

“What do you want? Hmm, Love?” you moved up, leaving butterfly kisses along her skin until you reached her lips. “You want me to worship you?” you caressed her cheek, softly kissing her over the blindfold. You tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, knowing full well how disheveled she would be by the end of the night.

“Yes!” she cried out, moving her head to try and find your lips, to try and get you to kiss her.

“Keep talking,” as much as it affected you as well, you denied her the kiss and instead took her jeans off, leaving her only in her panties. Tara whined when you stopped touching her and you just smirked, opening the drawer once again.

You stopped touching her, but she definitely heard the drawer closing and her body tingled in anticipation. “You’re,” she tried to talk as you returned to her side. “I want you to take care of me,” her pussy throbbed, empty and needy for your touch, and she could feel her panties sticking to her bare skin. “To, oh fuck,” she felt you slip a bullet vibrator into her panties, on the lowest setting. It felt much more intense now that she was blindfolded, it felt like every vibration was sending jolts of pleasure from her pussy to her lust-filled brain.

“Yes?” she felt your breath hitting her stomach as you pulled your hand out of her panties. She heard you opening a bottle and was suddenly hit by the soft scent of lavender. “You want me to take care of you?” she felt the cool liquid drop onto her stomach, then down to her thigs, a few drops sliding down to her inner thighs, and then you made it drip all over her breasts, hitting her hard nipples, and only then did she hear you closing the bottle. You rubbed massage oil into her skin, just rubbing all over her body to get the massage oil everywhere and then you began massaging her properly, starting from just beneath her neck. Fuck, she needed this, she needed you to give her a massage and fuck her at the same time, to release all the tension in her body while bringing her to the heights of pleasure she could only reach with you.

“Yes!” you gave the back of her raised thigh a soft smack. “Yes Daddy!” she corrected her mistake, breathing heavily as you kept your right hand on her thigh and massaged it slowly, but deeply. She wanted you to spank her again, to make her ass sting just for a bit, because she knew you’d just take care of her.

“What else?” you asked kissing underneath her breast, grazing her sensitive skin with your teeth. Your left hand kept moving along her upper body, massaging the oil into her arms, her shoulders, her side, anywhere you could comfortably reach while your right hand slipped underneath her knee then up the back of her thighs to her panties. “Want me to spank you again, Tara?”

She swallowed hard at your tone, the warning, the complete control over her. “Yes!” she purposely left out ‘Daddy’ hoping to entice you to do it even further.

“Mhm, soon,” you squeezed her ass, rubbing the oil in and moving your fingers along her crack, just stopping for a moment when you reached her hole. Just lightly pushing the tip against it as if you were going to put a finger in. You did that every now and then, teasing yet never actually putting it in, just the way Tara loved it, she loved how you teased her, only ever going as far as she wanted you to, despite you being the one in control. You were in control but you did it all with her pleasure in mind, she cried out, rolling her hips against you and mistakenly pushing the vibrator closer to her throbbing clit.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hide her moans and sneak an orgasm in, just to piss you off, just to make you lose control and ravage her without mercy. To make you pound her so hard the bed would start shaking, so hard she would feel it in her entire body, and it would feel magnificent. “I want to,” she remembered your question, her mind almost too focused on you switching hands and moving your left hand down to her thighs while your right hand massaged the bits of her skin you couldn’t reach with your left hand before. “To be your good girl,” she whimpered, feeling you smirk as you finally pulled her painfully hard nipple into your mouth, soothing it and ever so slightly grazing it with your teeth before circling it with your tongue.

“My good girl? You sure about that?” you tilted her chin up and bit her neck.

“Yes, yes Daddy. Your good girl!” she gasped, feeling her orgasm approaching, you didn’t let her cum, you didn’t tell her she could, and her mind was in between those two sides. One wanting to make you lose control, the other needing your permission. And the first one was winning as she pressed her thighs together, right there, just a bit more, and then you turned the vibrator off making her go stiff under your body. You noticed and only one thought crossed her mind. ‘Oh fuck,’ and it was the most excited she’s been in a long time.

“Really now? You thought you were sneaky, hmm?” she could feel your smirk as you pulled her in for a kiss and slipped a tongue inside her mouth. “When do you get to cum?” you asked, your tone so dangerously low it nearly brought her right back to the edge again, and you whispered it right in her ear, knowing full well how weak she was to your voice. And then you went and lightly bit her lower lip.

“When you let me,” she grasped the sheets desperate for something to hold on to as she calmed down from her almost orgasm. She bit her lip much harsher than you did, pulling it between her teeth and furrowing her brows as your thumb rubbed her clit over her panties. She felt you sigh softly against her neck, and she knew your eyes softened as you reached up and gave her your hand to grab on to.

“My good girl,” you whispered gently as she grabbed your hand as if her life depended on it and you slowly rubbed the back of her hand with your thumb. “How close were you?”

“A nine,” she gasped, she was just on the edge.

“Let’s keep you there, hm?” you turned the vibrator back on and slipped a hand into her panties, rubbing her pussy while keeping the vibrator pressed beneath her clit. Fuck, you were finally touching her! Finally, she felt your fingers spreading her lips and slipping between them, never penetrating her or touching her clit but constantly teasing her.

“Daddy,” she whimpered, trembling as you just kept her at the edge, pulling away every now and then to keep her from cumming, all the while kissing any part of her skin you could get your mouth on without moving your hand from her grasp. And your hand, the one she was holding, it was her anchor, keeping her grounded despite all the sensations she was feeling.

“That’s it, Tara,” you groaned as you pushed the tip of your finger into her pussy. You didn’t move it, instead just keeping it in and taking deep breaths as she clenched around it. You were affected by this as much as she was, as she felt tears soaking her blindfold. It was too much and not enough at the same time as she spread her legs as wide as she could and rocked her hips against your hand, swallowing more of your finger with her pussy.

It wasn’t the first time Tara cried when the two of you got this intense, but your heart still skipped a beat every time you saw her tears. She was just feeling everything so intensely, but you needed to make sure. “Are you okay, Love?” you pressed your forehead against her own, slowing down and letting her manage what she was feeling.

“Mhm, just feels intense, Y/N, feels so good,” she captured your lips quickly, just to let you know she was completely okay with this, that she was loving it, and that she was just feeling so much at the same time.

“I’m right here,” you whispered so softly, your voice filled with so much love for her as you, now reassured that she was fine, continued teasing her.

“Daddy,” she nearly sobbed when you slowed down again and tantalizingly slowly pulled your finger out of her then dragged the vibrator down from her swollen clit. “No, please, don’t stop,” she sobbed this time, her fingers cramping around your hand. And then she felt it, the vibrator circling around her asshole. She inhaled sharply, her entire body going still as you just teased her, even lighter than you did with your finger, and she loved it. “Fuck!” she cried out, again right on the verge or cumming and she knew it would be huge. The pressure in her guts, the pleasure you’ve been building up for what felt like eternity and your soft sighs, filled with want against the skin of her neck.

“Kiss me, please,” she parted her lips, no longer sure or how long you’ve been teasing her like this, keeping her just on the brink of an orgasm, how long she’s been clinging to your hand, or for how long she felt your firm body against her own. All she knew was that her entire body tingled with desire, that her empty pussy throbbed to be fucked. And you kissed her, just briefly because she couldn’t help but moan, her need to cum getting even stronger.

“Hold it just a bit more, okay? My good girl,” you peppered kisses along her jaw and moved the vibrator back to her pussy and switched it all the way to highest setting.

“Daddy, I can’t! I have to-“ her pussy was too sensitive, she couldn’t stop, or even slow down her orgasm. “Please, please,” she repeated, each time blurting it out a bit less coherently.

“You can cum,” you sucked harshly on her neck, and at the same time pushed the vibrator against her clit and began fingering her properly, the two of your fingers rapidly pumping into her, each time stimulating her g spot. Tara threw her head back and screamed, her entire body pressing against you as her pussy gushed, squirting all over you despite her panties still being on, soaking your hand and her panties and thighs, and more than likely sheets and your pants as well.

“Keep going!” she cried out, consumed by the feeling of a series of small orgasms hitting her and making her mind blank for a bit. She let go of your hands, slipped her arms out of the belt and hugged you close pushing your face into the crook of her neck as she continued squirting. “Y/N!” she wailed, feeling as if her entire body was convulsing. She couldn’t stop it, she twisted her body, shaking and squeezing your hand between her thighs as her pussy clamped around your fingers. She was too sensitive, but she wanted you to keep going. “More!” she demanded, feeling blood rushing to her head as the wet sound of your fingers pumping inside her and the buzzing of the vibrator drove her mad. Desperate, she twisted her body until she way lying on her side, her hands dug into your hair, scratched your back, your shoulders, arms, anything she could touch, she felt tremors all over her body, the pleasure washing over her pushing her to her limits. The aftershocks of being pushed to her limit continued, and she was sure she had drawn blood with how hard her fingers scraped against your back. And only then, just before it became too much you sensed it and slowed down, bringing her down from her high slowly. And only when all of those sensations began slowing down, was she able to settle down and release your hand stuck between her thighs.

All the while you just peppered her with kisses and pet her hair. “Easy, Love, I’ve got you,” you hummed, reaching for the blindfold. “You did so well for me,” you praised her and her pussy, despite what she just experienced throbbed again. She grabbed your wrist, her hands shaky and grip weak, but it was enough to make you stop and not take the blindfold off.

“I just need a short break,” she gasped, not yet ready to call it a night. It’s been so long since she could be loud, since she could cum without worrying about how loud she was being, and she knew you were aware of that as well.

You brushed the tears from her cheeks, your touch now softer than silk and she swallowed hard, melting at the display of tenderness. “Okay, let me bring you something,” you kissed her forehead and gently pushed the hair sticking to her face away. “Give me two minutes, okay?”

Tara just nodded, missing your warmth immediately and despite her entire body feeling as if it was on fire as you stepped away from her and left the bedroom. Still, she relaxed, focusing on her breathing, and moving until she was lying on your side of the bed. It was a small miracle that she could still figure out which side of the bed she was on, but your scent comforted her while you were downstairs. You were probably fetching water, and maybe a snack for her.

“Y/N,” she moaned, hoping you would come back already, and sure enough, half a minute later you slipped back into the room and went to the closet. The next thing Tara felt was a kiss to her cheek and your arms pulling her onto your lap with her back pressed against you, much like she was before you two came to the bedroom and you fucked her into this state. You were cradling her, gently petting her and showering her in affection.

“Drink, Love,” you guided a straw into her open mouth, since she still had the blindfold on, and she greedily slurped on the cold water. It cooled her down, and more importantly made up for the damn near insane amount of liquid she lost through various means. While she drank you used a towel to wipe some of her cum of her thighs. You even took her panties off and cleaned her pussy a bit as well, just enough to make her comfortable once more and then you just held her close, peppered her with small kisses and kept your arms protectively around her stomach.

“Was I your good girl?” she whispered, leaning her head back and burying her face in your neck. She needed you to praise her, to tell her she pleased you with how well she took everything you had given her.

“You were,” you assured her, running your fingers thought her hair and making her melt even further into your touch. “You make me so happy, Tara,” your thumb brushed against her lips, and she pulled up, kissing you softly.

Oh, to be loved like this. She yearned for it so much before you got together, and she still couldn’t believe how lucky she got. The scent of a strawberry made her sigh dreamily and she opened her mouth as you slipped a chocolate covered fruit into her mouth. You kept putting strawberries in her mouth and she turned around, straddling you and placing her palms on your shoulders. Though still blind she used her hands, touching the sides of your face, up to your hair, then to your neck and back to the shoulders. “I’m ready for you again,” she leaned her forehead against yours, experimentally grinding her pussy and still throbbing clit against your abs.

“I’ll be gentle,” you assured her and slipped two fingers into her, just working her up again and stretching her for the strap.

“What about spanking?” she couldn’t help it, she was feeling greedy, she wanted to feel that soft sting, she wanted to feel just how much control you had over your strength.

You paused, lowering your hand to her ass, and giving her a tiny smack on her left side. “We don’t have to,” you assured her so softly she almost changed her mind.

“I want you to spank me, ten times, please Daddy,” she pleaded, hearing you sigh and immediately biting your neck to ground herself.

You didn’t mind spanking her, you just wanted to make sure she could take it right now. But, she asked you to do it, and besides, she could stop you at any moment. So, without further waiting you smacked her ass lightly, enough for Tara to feel it, but not yet enough to sting.

“Harder,” she pleaded through her teeth, and you did just what she asked, spanking her just a bit harder twice in quick succession. “Yes!” she was grinding her once again empty pussy against your abs, while making sure her clit was constantly rubbing against the hard muscles. “Again!” she pleaded, and from the looks of it you found the sweet spot, just hard enough for Tara to enjoy it, yet not nearly as painful as it could be.

Tara knew you could spank her harder, it hardly hurt, instead it let more like a joking slap on her ass than anything else, and she was perfectly fine with that. You spanked her three more times and she moaned, feeling like her grinding and everything you were doing was once again bringing her sensitive body closer to the edge. Her clit, her nipples, every sensitive spot on her body was pressing against you, against your firm, muscular body. And she let out a guttural moan as you gave her the last four spanks and made her stop grinding on you. And she knew exactly what was coming as you moved her, so she was lying on the bed.

You promised you’d be gentle, and that was exactly what you were going to do, you put the strap on, got between Tara’s legs and gently pushed in, captivated by the sound of her moans and her wet pussy taking your strap. You leaned down, hugging her and lifting her body up a bit as you went with slow, deep thrusts.

“Y/N,” Tara moaned, digging her nails into your back and scratching lightly. Her entire body was tangled up with yours as she used what little strength she had left to wrap her legs around you as well, both to keep you as close as she possibly could, as well as to feel you even deeper inside. Her soft moans, directly into your ear, made you lower your hand, just to stimulate her clit for a bit longer.

You were lost in her, close to your own orgasm. Tara’s moans, her face while you were teasing her, her body glistening from the intense activity you just went through, it was enough to bring you to the edge, and this was just the final drop.

She hated to admit it, she wanted this to last longer, to make all of this last just a bit longer, to prolong feeling your muscles tensing and flexing under her touch. To prolong feeling full, but she couldn’t, her body couldn’t keep up and she came again, and to her relief she heard your own moan, a rare occasion of you moaning in desperation made her pussy gush just a bit more. And with that she was spent, satisfied and needed sleep. And she took her blindfold off, blinking to adjust to light once again, but she still smiled and reached up to caress your cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” you pulled out of her, and she just sighed, content, in need of a quick shower or a bath, and then lots of sleep.

A/N: Are you happy anon that asked for "spicy" moments? 🤣🤣

Story masterlist

Taglist: @alexkolax

[hbdttg]

“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

[unholybacon355]

Kinktober Day 20 - Giselle x M! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Apparently the meeting was going on like shit, and that had you stressed as fuck. This is the third cigarette you have smoked during this break and has been not more than ten minutes, you have to calm down if you don’t want to smoke the entire cigarette pack by the end of the break. 

“OMG I Need a cigarette so bad.” The words of your coworker Giselle coming to the rooftop terrace interrupted your thoughts.  “They aren’t doing any shit to make this better.” Apparently she was as mad as you with the current situation. “Do you have a lighter? I think I lost mine.”

You just took another big puff of the cigarette, before even trying to answer her. But Giselle wasn't here to wait, she already was so stressed and didn't need another thing to make her day worse, even if it was to wait a few seconds for your asner.

Leaning on toward you she uses the cigarette you have between your lips to light her’s. The view you have during the few seconds that take light the cigarette is wonderful.. Giselle is beautiful, that’s out of discussion, but wasn’t her face what you were looking at. She was wearing the most revealing outfit she could according to the dress code, to make her cleavage look the most juicy and delicious she could. If you didn't know her tits so well you would think her nipples were at the edge of showing.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer, so you don’t have to stare at my tits like a pervert.”

“If you weren’t showing them around I couldn’t stare at them.” You took another puff and blows the smoke through your nose. “And I already have tons of photos of your tits. You send me some of those.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining. I can´t stop fucking you if you want.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?

“Daaaah of course I have one. But he doesn't work here and I need a way to take out the stress. ”Giselle blows smoke from her mouth before continuing talking. “This meeting is driving me crazy. I wish we had more time, this break isn’t even worth it to take lunch.”

“It is what it is. I guess no one is eating till this shit ends.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. “At least I can look at your tits. That’s something.”

“Eeew pervert.” Giselle said with fake disgust on her face. “Wanna suck them while I jerk you off? I guess we have enough time. You never last longer.”

“Here? Sure, so anyone can see us.” You throw the cigarette to the trash and attempt to take another from the pack. 

“Coward, we are on floor ten. Come here.” Giselle says, already opening the first button of her blouse and taking out her tits. Her big brown nipples come out to say hello. You give up with the new cigarette and instead unzip your pants to take out just your already semi erected dick.You klean against the wall and let Giselle put her tits on your face while she grabs your shaft. Really need to fuck me after this meeting.”

You can’t answer that because your mouth is already busy sucking Giselle’s right nipple, and your hand is rolling the other to make it hard too. For their part Giselle’s hand is working with precision on your shaft, beating your meat as she were shaking a bottle of ketchup. Clearly you're the one putting the sausage on the hot dog today.

“Are you swallowing?” You say taking her nipple out of your mouth to change to suck the other.

“No way, I’m just jerking you off.” She quickens her pace as if she were warning you to not mess with her. “After work maybe. There is a new love hotel, we should visit it.” 

“Sounds good. “ Now you’re licking her nipples shifting between right and left, while your hands are squeezing her tits. 

Giselle is doing her best to not moan, because your tongue isn’t giving her an easy time. Your mouth and her tits know each other well, and apparently you know how to suck Giselle’s nipples better than her boyfriend. For your part you don’t need to worry about you making noises because you have a pair of juicy tiddies shuting your mouth. 

“Easy boy. I can’t go back with a  mark on my tiddies. “ But instead her hand is working faster on your shaft. Her fingers are gently pressing your meat and pumping you like if she were extracting oil from the ground. And like they know when the oil is about to pop out, Giselle knew you were about to cum. 

She twists her wrist and points your tip far from her, preventing you from staining her clothes with your semen. Instead your load is going to stop to the ground of the rooftop, but Giselle doesn't stop moving her hands. Instead she milks you till the last drop before stopping. 

“Mmmm Ain't swallowing any shit. You need to eat more pineapple.” She says after cleaning with her tongue some drops of your semen she has between her index and thumb. 

“We can have a hawaiian pizza before I eat you out.” You say putting your shaft back on your pants.”

“God. If isn't were because I know you love fucking me I would say your taste is shit.” She answers you rolling her eyes and putting her tits inside her bra once again.  

[dlwritings]

November 6, 2024 | Rafe Cameron

masterlist found here

pairing - Rafe x reader word count - 1,827 warnings - political talk, anti-T*ump rhetoric A/N - Who would've thought the shit show state of our world would inspire me to write again. I know for a lot of us everything feels really broken right now, and I know it may seem silly to some, but for me, writing feels like healing, even if it's just something like this. So here you all are. Rafe probably votes red, but here's a world where he doesn't. Also, if you're a T*umper, go ahead and unfollow me. I can't have any of that in my life. I'm so serious.

summary - The results of the 2024 election hit you pretty hard, and you end up taking your rage out on Rafe. Turns out, Rafe's hopes for the future looked a lot like yours.

You and Rafe didn’t talk about politics. You knew better than to broach the topic with him, because you weren’t naive. One glance at him and anyone could guess how he voted.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

The two of you had been dating for about six months, and for the most part, it was smooth sailing. It was gossip fuel for most people on the island for a few weeks -you being a pogue and Rafe being … who he was- but like most drama in Kildaire, it didn’t stay at the forefront of people’s minds for long before another thing came and stole back everyone’s attention.

And the thing on everyone’s mind right now was the election. The election that had you donned in blue on your way to the polls, a huge smile on your face as you filled in the bubble that would make history. Hope filled you in a way you were sure it never had before.

Until the next day.

Waking up and opening social media to see the results had already come in was enough to break your spirit completely. How could this have happened? How could the country have failed so many people?

Then again, how had you been so naive to believe in the possibility of any other outcome?

You shut yourself off from the world for most of the day. You went to work and gave polite smiles and nods to your coworkers as needed, but you did your best to spend the majority of your time locked in your office, alone. You didn’t dare to open social media, knowing every MAGA post from the bigots of the Figure 8 would bring tears to your eyes.

It wasn’t until you were at home on your couch that you decided to brave Instagram. Before scrolling through your feed, you added a black screen with a simple blue heart to your story and wrote the words, When we fight, we win.

You thought it was harmless. A simple story that showed your feelings without being overly dramatic. The last thing you wanted to do was act irrational by doing something crazy like storming the capitol. Because that would just be insane.

Unfortunately, the people who followed you saw it as anything but harmless. They saw it as an opening to send you the most heinous, revolting messages you had ever read. Your notifications blew up within minutes, and some of them were so borderline terrifying that you locked your phone and threw it across the room, once again leaving you in a puddle of tears.

You heard your front door open, and you cursed to yourself. In all the chaos of the news, it escaped your mind that it was Wednesday, and Rafe always brought pizza to your apartment on Wednesdays. You had once mentioned in passing that you liked a pick-me-up halfway through a week, and Rafe took it upon himself to provide you with that. Normally, it was one of your favorite parts of the week. Today, Rafe was one of the last people you wanted to see.

“Babe!” he called out upon his entrance. “I got your favorite!”

You met him in the kitchen, and by one look at your face, Rafe’s own expression dropped. “What’s going on?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “I think you should go.”

“What?” he said, dropping the pizza on the counter and walking over to you. With each step he took toward you, you took one step back. He stopped quickly, a frown painted on his face. “What’s wrong, baby?”

The words made something snap inside you, and your fists clenched at your sides. “What’s wrong?” you repeated. “What’s wrong? How about fucking everything, Rafe! Everything’s wrong, and you not seeing that is part of the problem! You are part of the problem!”

Rafe was, in a word, flabbergasted. He ran through the past 24 hours, trying to think of something he had done wrong, but he was coming up short. “Okay, I’m-” He let out an exasperated laugh. “I’m trying to understand, but you’ve got to give me something more here. What did I do?”

“You-” You let out a huff of a breath and ended up speaking through gritted teeth. “You and your stupid fucking MAGA Kook friends voted for a convicted felon to run our country! You voted for a man who wants to throw away my rights. You voted for a man who has raped a multitude of women and brags about it!”

Rafe’s eyes were wide as he held his hands up and shook his head. “Hang on-”

“No, Rafe!” you shouted, pushing him back as he tried to get closer to you again. “For the entire time we’ve dated, I’ve danced around the talk of politics, because I knew better. I knew a rich ass white guy from the south would vote for another rich ass white guy to run our country, but I guess I naively thought it wouldn’t matter. That the poor guys would get a win for fucking once this time. For once I thought the good guys would win and that a white man would have to face the consequences of his actions. But you-” You laughed bitterly. “You of all people know that privileged ass white men never ever have to face the consequences of their actions.”

You were hitting him where it hurt, and you knew it, but you were hurt. You and every woman like you had been holding in years of pain and hurt, and for you and many others, today was the day it was all going to come out.

“Baby, if you just let me-”

“Let you?” you laughed incredulously. “You and your fellow MAGA guys have clearly shown me I don’t have to let you do anything anymore.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, unlocked it, and shoved it in his face to show him all of the nasty messages you were receiving. Things like, “Your body, my choice,” “whomp whomp go make me a sandwich,” and “Guess what? Men win again” had flooded your DMs, and while you didn’t know it, Rafe was clocking every username and making a very specific list in his head.

“So maybe you can understand why I’m angry, Rafe,” you said, taking the phone back out of his hand and putting it in your pocket again. “I thought I could cancel out your vote, but I guess I forgot that meant you could cancel mine.”

“Ba-”

“I want you to leave, Rafe.”

“But I didn’t-”

“Fucking, go, Rafe!” you shouted. “Let me be angry and let me be alone!”

With a clenched jaw, Rafe gave a short nod. “Okay,” he whispered. “Fine.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but he refrained, instead turning around and heading out the door, leaving you in a mess of tears.

The next day, you called off from work. Maybe it was dramatic, but you didn’t care. You knew if one person even looked at you in a way you didn’t like, you’d lose any composure you had, and you couldn’t afford to lose your job for yelling at your boss.

You had the full intention to stay in bed all day, but the relentless knock at your door around 10AM proved that to be impossible. You felt some sense of relief, knowing it at least wouldn’t be another political petitioner.

Instead, perhaps just as unfortunately, it was Rafe.

You let out a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He held out his hand which had a coffee cup in it from your favorite shop. “I went to your work, but your boss said you were sick,” he said. “I bought you coffee.” You took it, but didn’t say anything -just looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Anything else? “Can we please talk?” he said.

“I don’t know what there is to say, Rafe,” you sighed. Still, you stepped aside and let him in, not wanting your neighbors to bear witness to whatever argument was about to ensue. “I know we’re different -I’ve always known that- but I don’t think I can handle being this kind of different anymore.” You plopped yourself onto the sofa, expecting Rafe to sit next to you. Instead, he crouched in front of you so he was just slightly looking up at you.

“Baby, I didn’t vote for him.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock, and you felt tears instantly pool in your eyes.

“What?” you whispered.

“Yeah, of course I didn’t vote for him,” he said. He reached up to turn around the hat he was wearing backwards to reveal a Harris-Walz cap, and you let out a noise that was a mix of a gasp and a little laugh. “I know I’ve fucked up before baby,” he said. “And in other elections, yeah, I usually vote red. But this-” He shook his head and squeezed your knees. “This is different. And I know that. And I’d be an absolute moron to think that tax cuts for me are more important than basic rights for you.”

You moved to kneel on the floor next to him and held his face in your hands before leaning forward to place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, you kept your forehead against his. “I was so mean to you yesterday,” you whispered. “I didn’t-”

“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve,” he said. “I know that I am living in a world that was pretty much tailor made for me. And I know I should be in fucking prison for all the shit I’ve done, and so should he. And I know that none of what I’m saying right now changes the bullshit I’ve done, but I figured I should at least use all this fucking privilege I have and try to help people who don’t have it. Because you-” He paused to press a kiss to your lips. “-have taught me so much about being a good person. And I’m not going to vote against that.”

“I wasn’t a good person yesterday,” you mumbled.

“You were reacting to an unfortunately historic event,” he said. “You had every right to lose it. And you can keep losing it, and I will be by your side for every minute of it, okay?”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Okay.”

He smiled back and nodded. “Okay.”

You and Rafe decided to spend the rest of the day together, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting in the quiet. When you suggested putting on a movie, Rafe agreed. He let you choose, no complaints, and watched as you searched for the Barbie movie. You cried at all the usual parts, sometimes a bit harder than normal, but Rafe understood.

It is literally impossible to be a woman.

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𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓!𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 ⛧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Being too afraid to spend another night alone, you decide to invite your best friend, Mitsuri, over for a sleepover. But you'll soon realize that was a mistake. Have you already forgotten how much your ghost loves to humiliate you? ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.5k words.

༺ Art ༻

��� Chapter one ⇢ Chapter three ⇢ Kinktober Masterlist

The ghost stopped showing himself after that night. You could feel his presence but he never actually appeared like he had that first time.

But even though he wouldn't show himself, that didn't stop him from treating you like a toy. Knocking things over, shutting off the electricity, and even touching you while you slept. It was all a game to him.

And you'd be lying if you said you weren't terrified. Fed up of countless sleepless nights you decided to invite your best friend over for a sleepover, Mitsuri. In hopes that some company would make you feel more at ease. Or at least she would acknowledge your home was haunted so you'd feel less crazy.

But you should have known this would be a bad idea. You seem to have forgotten that the ghost gets a kick out of embarrassing you in front of other people.

Things are calm for now, though you still can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. Despite that, you still try to have a fun night with your friend.

The two of you sit on the couch in your pajamas, eating pizza, and watching a horror movie. The ring to be specific, as it's one of Mitsuri's favorites.

Then the iconic scene comes where the girl crawls through the tv, except something looks off. It looks so much more real than you remember.

The ghost crawls through your television, crawling onto the ground like some demented monster only to look into your eyes, striking fear into you.

You can't help but scream as your body jolts from the jumpscare.

"Y/N, haha!" Mitsuri laughs, "I thought you've seen this movie before! It's not that scary!"

What she doesn't know is that a ghost really did jump out of your tv! And he's rolling on the floor laughing his ass off.

"You should have seen your face!" He laughs hysterically.

You're about to say something to him before you remember Mitsuri has no idea he's there at all, so instead you're stuck trying to play it cool and ignore him like last time. "Oh haha sorry, that part gets me every time."

Mitsuri chuckles but returns her attention back to the movie, oblivious to the fact that there's an unwanted visitor in the room.

"C'mon you gotta admit that was pretty good," he smirks as he walks over to you, "I used to love this movie..." he trails off as he briefly thinks about his life when he was alive but he quickly shrugs it off, not wanting to think about it.

You want to talk to him, ask him questions, cuss him out, anything really. But you can't when Mitsuri is right there. It pisses you off that he decided to show himself now of all times and refused to do it when you were alone. But unbeknownst to you, he's doing it for a reason. Not only does he like toying with you but he also doesn't want you asking him questions about his past.

All you can do is look at him with a mixture of anger and confusion.

"What?" he quirks his brow, "Oh right, I guess I never really introduced myself." He plops beside you on the couch, "Name's Gyutaro."

You want to ask for a last name but knowing how much he hated you asking questions about his family, you know he'd probably refuse.

At least now you can get a proper look at him. He's tall and very thin with the palest skin you've ever seen. His long black hair seems weightless as it floats around his face. But what catches your eye is the black spots on his face. You don't know what they are but they look like birthmarks. The other thing you notice is the blood splatted on his t-shirt.

At first, you're confused but then you think about the fact that if he's a ghost, surely he must have died somehow. It makes you sad as you think about all that blood being a result of him dying in some violent way. He may be annoying but no one deserves that.

"Your friend is pretty cute," he interrupts your thoughts, "But not as cute as you... y'know I can't stop thinking about the other night. I could tell you liked it." He leans closer to your face, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"I think you owe me back. It's only fair," he says as he pulls down his pants, exposing his erection.

Your eyes widen at the sight. Maybe you should have expected this knowing how immature and horny he is, but you can't help but be shocked.

He leans back onto the sofa, getting comfortable as he languidly starts stroking himself.

You look over at Mitsuri, then to Gyutaro again. Your face heats up, completely embarrassed about the situation you're in. You know your friend can't see him but that doesn't make it any better! She's sitting on your right while this annoying ghost is jerking off on your left.

"Just touch it, I promise it doesn't bite," he moves his hips closer - gently tapping your arm with his member, "C'mon, pleaaase!" He whines like an entitled child.

You just cross your arms and refuse to give him any attention, hoping that he'll get bored and stop.

Even though he's annoying, you can't help but find something about him charming. Maybe it's the fact that he's not how you imagined ghosts to be. Or maybe it's that playful attitude he seems to have.

And honestly, you can't deny that he's attractive. Having a ghost haunting your new home isn't ideal, but at least he's sexy and seems to have taken a liking to you. He acts like a needy puppy, desperate for your attention.

Probably because he's been trapped here for so long, all alone.

But even so, how would it look if you started touching him? If Mitsuri glanced over she'd see you jerking off the air! How embarrassing that would be! So even if you're willing to play along, you can't do it now. And Gyutaro knows that, it's just all a part of the fun.

"Fine, be that way," he pouts as he tilts his head back and focuses on pleasuring himself.

You peek over to see him picking up the pace. Slowly bucking his hips as his eyes squeeze shut and the tip of his cock glistens with precum. Soft moans escape his lips as he gets closer and closer.

Shifting uncomfortably, you rub your thighs together - feeling your panties begin to moisten. Hopefully, he doesn't notice because you know it'll only make his cocky attitude worse.

"Fuck," he groans, "I'm so lucky a hottie like you moved in, Y/N. You have no idea."

"You're annoying, but at least you're somewhat of a friendly ghost," you think to yourself, wishing you could openly respond to him.

"Ah," he moans softly, leaning closer to you. You feel his body tense up and his hand stroke faster.

It's not long before he's spilling all over the place, shooting his load without any care for where it lands. It splatters on the couch, your arm, and on your lap - splattering all over the plate of pizza you had sitting there. You feel stupid for not moving it sooner, but you honestly didn't expect a ghost to be able to ejaculate like that.

What makes it even more disturbing is how cold and slimy it is.

He doesn't even bother to clean anything up, he just sits there panting with a sick grin on his face. "Heh, you look good like that."

Before you can grab a napkin to wipe it off, Mitsuri speaks up, "Are you going to eat your pizza, Y/N? You said you were starving but you haven't even taken a bite yet!"

"Haha! Yeah Y/N, you gonna eat it or not? I don't see nothing wrong with it," Gyutaro taunts.

Your face goes red, she must not be able to see the ghostly semen all over your pizza. "I-I um..." you choke, not wanting to do this.

"Oh come on, don't be a wuss!" Gyutaro teases.

"Mine tasted great! But if you don't want it I'll have it," Mitsuri says, reaching over and grabbing your plate.

"No! I'll eat it!" You snatch the plate, not wanting your friend to eat the tainted food.

You look at Gyutaro, narrowing your eyes to show your displeasure for what you're about to do.

Hesitantly opening your mouth, you take a bite of the pizza. You shudder as you feel the cold slimey substance hit your tongue and slide down your throat. The texture is disgusting but at least it doesn't really taste like anything.

Gyutaro begins to giggle, watching in amusement as you force his cum down your throat.

"That's it," he snickers, "Eat up like a good girl! I think I'll stay here and watch you eat every last bite!"

[amethystarachnid]

MUTANT BODYGUARD - part I

⤷ JAMES LOGAN HOWLETT

ᯓ★ Pairing: James Logan Howlett x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff and spicy (I mean, it's Logan...)

ᯓ★ Story type: short story

ᯓ★Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ TW(s): Reader has stalkers and crazy fans, said stalker gets inside reader's apartment and Logan uses his claws on him

ᯓ★ Timeline: doesn't follow a timeline in the x-men movies, just...maybe before days of future past?

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ From: Marvel Bingo, Bodyguard romance x Age Gap

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ᯓ★ English isn't my first language and this isn’t proof read

You’ve always hated the idea of needing a bodyguard. It feels ridiculous, like some over-the-top celebrity diva move. But ever since your career skyrocketed, the tabloids won’t leave you alone. A role in a blockbuster film, a few chart-topping singles, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of you. The constant media frenzy, the “fans” who somehow know where you live, the paparazzi camping outside your apartment—it’s become too much. When the threatening letters started showing up, your manager insisted on hiring a bodyguard.

You rolled your eyes, argued, but eventually caved. You love your career, but you’re not an idiot. You know when things get dangerous.

So, here you are, pacing back and forth in your living room, waiting for the “best in the business” to show up. The guy your manager picked. No name, no details, just a reputation for getting the job done. Whatever that means.

You stop mid-step when the door opens. In walks a man who looks like he’s seen and survived more wars than any human being should. His hair is a wild mess, and the dark scruff on his face gives him a rugged, almost dangerous look. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built like someone who could easily break someone in half with his bare hands. He’s wearing a leather jacket, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal thick forearms that have clearly seen some action.

You blink, not expecting…well, this.

“You’re the bodyguard?” you ask, eyes sweeping over him. You were expecting someone in a suit, maybe with an earpiece and sunglasses. Not…a lumberjack biker.

He glances at you with piercing, slightly narrowed eyes. “Logan. And yeah, I’m your bodyguard, sweetheart.”

You cross your arms, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

He gives a half-smirk, the kind that’s both infuriating and somehow annoyingly attractive. “Noted.”

There’s an awkward pause as he looks you up and down, assessing you in a way that makes you want to shrink under his gaze. “So, what’s the deal? You a princess or somethin’? 'Cause I gotta say, this gig doesn’t exactly scream 'royalty.'”

“I’m an actress, actually,” you respond with a touch of sarcasm. “Maybe you’ve heard of me.”

Logan’s unimpressed. He shrugs, clearly not the type to follow pop culture. “Nope.”

You’re not sure whether to be offended or relieved. On one hand, it’s nice not to be recognized. On the other hand, what rock has this guy been living under? You’re practically everywhere these days.

“You can Google me later,” you say, waving a hand dismissively. “I guess I’ll just assume you’re qualified.”

“More than qualified,” he growls, his voice deep and gravelly, like it’s been dragged across the pavement. “I don’t do babysitting, but your manager was…insistent. Apparently, someone out there’s got a real interest in makin’ sure you don’t stick around long enough for the next season of whatever-you’re-in.”

You narrow your eyes at him, irritated by his attitude. “Well, lucky me, right? Having you around means I’ll definitely survive to make another movie.”

He smirks again, this time with more of an edge. “Keep that attitude up, and I’ll have you wishing they got to you first.”

You snort, because as gruff as he is, you’re not intimidated. “I bet you’re a real hit at parties.”

“I don’t do parties.”

“Shocking,” you deadpan, unable to stop yourself from throwing in a bit of sass.

Logan’s eyebrow twitches, but he seems more amused than annoyed by your attitude. “You’re gonna be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

“Only if you deserve it,” you quip, sitting down on your couch and crossing your legs. “So, how does this work? Do you stand in the corner looking all broody while I go about my life? Or are you planning on following me everywhere like a lost puppy?”

He scoffs, taking off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “You wish. I’m not here to play lapdog. I’m here to make sure no one tries to kill you. If that means following you around and making sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble than you’re worth, so be it.”

“Comforting,” you say dryly. “It’s nice to know you think I’m worth saving.”

Logan pauses, eyes locking with yours, and for a second, the air between you shifts. His gaze softens just a fraction, enough that you almost forget the gruff exterior. Almost.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were,” he says, his tone quieter but no less intense.

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Then he glances around your apartment. “You got security cameras?”

“Uh, yeah. Around the building,” you say, still trying to shake off the weird tension between you two.

“Good. I’ll check the perimeter. You stay put,” he orders, turning to leave.

“Oh, sure, yeah, I’ll just sit here quietly while my life’s in danger,” you call after him, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Don’t worry about me.”

Logan stops at the door and looks over his shoulder with that damn smirk again. “I won’t.”

As he walks out, you can’t help but shake your head. This is going to be a long job.

The first couple of days with Logan are…interesting, to say the least. He’s always there, a constant shadow, but he’s not the hovering type. He gives you space, but you can feel his presence in the room, always alert, always watching. And the banter—well, that hasn’t stopped.

“You think you could maybe try not to look like you hate being here?” you ask one morning as you head out for a meeting with your agent.

Logan’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face. “This is my happy face.”

“Really? Because it looks a lot like your ‘I want to punch someone in the throat’ face.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “That’s pretty much the same face.”

You sigh dramatically, brushing past him. “Well, you’re really selling the ‘friendly bodyguard’ vibe.”

“Good thing I’m not here to be friendly,” he shoots back, falling into step beside you.

“Right. You’re just here to make sure I don’t die.”

“Exactly.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

He shrugs, but you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan looks at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, but I’m growing on you.”

“Debatable.”

But as you both walk out into the chaos of cameras, fans, and flashing lights, you realize he might be right.

The next few days pass in a blur of meetings, interviews, and public appearances. With Logan by your side, everything is under control. He’s always there—solid, unflinching, and frustratingly good at his job. You don’t feel a single ounce of fear when he’s around, but you do feel something else, something that keeps tightening between you two like a stretched wire.

It’s impossible not to notice how Logan moves, how his muscles flex under that leather jacket when he’s surveying a crowd, the quiet, simmering power in his stance. And then there are the looks. God, the looks he gives you. It’s subtle, but whenever you catch his eye, there’s this electric charge, a tension that wraps itself around you both, even if no one else in the room can feel it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though. At least, not out loud. It’s ridiculous. He’s older—way older—and this is supposed to be professional. You’re not some starry-eyed girl who’s going to fall for her bodyguard just because he’s dangerous and good-looking.

Right?

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. But the more time you spend with him, the harder it is to ignore. He’s just so there, so…Logan.

The rumors don’t help either.

It starts with a photo—just one. The paparazzi manage to catch Logan opening your car door, his hand on the small of your back as you slip inside. It’s a simple, professional gesture, but in the world of tabloids, it’s something else entirely. Within hours, the internet is flooded with headlines: Mysterious Man Seen With Actress Y/N! New Bodyguard or New Romance?

You laugh it off at first, but the rumors snowball. Suddenly, every gossip site is buzzing with theories. Logan’s too attractive to just be a bodyguard, they say. You’re spending too much time together. There are whispers about the age gap, about the “forbidden attraction.” Some tabloids get more imaginative—Logan: The Bad Boy Who Stole Y/N’s Heart? or Secret Fling with Older Bodyguard? Inside the Dangerous Romance.

“I can’t believe people are actually buying this,” you mutter, scrolling through a particularly ridiculous article.

Logan’s lounging on your couch, reading through a security report. He doesn’t even look up when he responds. “You’re famous. People’ll believe anything.”

“Yeah, but this?” You wave your phone at him, exasperated. “Secret romance? Seriously?”

Finally, he glances up, his expression unreadable. “You worried about it?”

You snort. “No. It’s just insane. People will say anything for clicks.”

Logan’s silent for a moment, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer than necessary. “It’s not that crazy, y’know.”

You freeze, your heart doing a weird little flip. “What’s not?”

He smirks, just a touch of amusement in his eyes. “You. Me. The rumors.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I—what?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “People see what they wanna see, darlin’. You’re young, successful, in the spotlight. They think you’re gonna fall for the first guy that gives you a little danger, a little excitement.”

You narrow your eyes, heat prickling at your skin. “And you think you give me that?”

Logan’s smirk widens, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. “Don’t I?”

Your stomach twists in response. There’s no denying it—there’s something between you two, something you’ve been ignoring for days. Weeks, maybe. But hearing him say it, so casually, like it’s a fact you both already know, sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“Logan,” you start, trying to regain some control, “there’s nothing—”

“Yeah? You sure about that?” His voice is low, and suddenly the space between you feels smaller, like the room’s shrinking, the air thickening. He’s not even touching you, but it feels like he is, the weight of his presence pushing against every nerve in your body.

You swallow hard. “We—there’s an age gap.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, there is. Doesn’t seem to stop ‘em from talkin’, does it?”

“No, but—” You stop, frustrated, because what’s your argument here? That you’re not attracted to him? That you don’t spend half your nights thinking about what it would be like if he wasn’t just your bodyguard?

Logan stands, slowly, and you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact. His sheer size makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. He moves closer, and your breath catches in your throat as he stops just in front of you.

“Thing is, people are gonna talk,” he says, voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “Doesn’t matter what we do or don’t do. So, the way I see it, you got two choices. You keep fightin’ what’s happenin’, or…”

He pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips before slowly moving back up to meet your gaze.

“…you see where this goes.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. There’s no more pretending, no more banter to hide behind. The air is thick with everything you’ve been avoiding—the attraction, the tension, the unspoken desire that’s been crackling between you both since the moment you met.

You take a shaky breath, trying to think through the haze of want clouding your mind. “Logan, this is—this is complicated. We can’t just—”

“Why not?” His voice is rough, raw, like he’s barely holding himself back. “You’re not some kid. You know what you want. So do I.”

There’s a dangerous edge to his words, something primal that sends another surge of heat through you. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity that makes it hard to breathe, let alone think straight.

You try to hold on to logic, to the rational part of your brain that’s screaming at you to slow down. But when you meet his eyes, all dark and stormy, your resolve crumbles.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” Logan murmurs, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. His hand moves, just a fraction, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, to pull you close. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because you can’t tell him that. You can’t say the words when your whole body is aching for something you know you shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about.

He steps closer, and the air between you crackles with the kind of tension that makes your skin tingle. “Last chance, sweetheart.”

Your pulse races. Every rational thought, every reason you’ve been telling yourself not to cross this line, fades into the background. All you can think about is him—his scent, his presence, the way his body radiates heat like a furnace.

“Logan…” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

That’s all it takes.

In one swift movement, he closes the distance between you, his large hands finding your waist as he pulls you against him. The world tilts, and before you can think, before you can breathe, his lips are on yours—hot, demanding, and absolutely relentless.

You gasp against his mouth, but it’s lost in the kiss, in the way he takes control, his grip firm but careful, as though he’s been holding himself back for weeks and now there’s no stopping it. He tastes like whiskey and danger, and the moment his tongue brushes against yours, your knees threaten to give out.

You don’t even realize your hands are in his hair until you’re pulling him closer, pressing against him as if you can’t get enough. The kiss is rough, intense, filled with every ounce of pent-up tension you’ve both been ignoring.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Still think it’s just rumors?” he growls, voice ragged.

You can’t speak. You just shake your head, fingers still tangled in his hair, your body flush against his.

Logan smirks, his thumb brushing against your hip. “Thought so.”

Just as you start to lose yourself in the heat of Logan’s kiss, a sharp, sudden beep cuts through the haze. It takes a second to register, but when you pull back slightly, you see Logan’s face shift—his entire body going rigid. His phone is vibrating in his jacket pocket.

The change in him is immediate. The heat, the softness, all of it hardens into something sharp and dangerous. He pulls away from you, grabbing his phone with a quick, practiced movement. You don’t get a chance to ask what’s happening because his jaw clenches, eyes narrowing at the screen.

"Shit," he mutters, already moving toward the door.

“What’s going on?” You ask, heart still racing from a mix of adrenaline and confusion.

Logan’s whole demeanor has shifted into something colder, sharper—his focus laser-like. "Someone’s inside the building."

Your stomach drops. "What? How? Shouldn’t the security downstairs—"

"They got past it," he interrupts, throwing on his jacket in one fluid motion. His eyes are darker now, more alert, and it sends a chill down your spine. "Stay here."

Before you can protest, he’s out the door. But the idea of staying still, alone, in a situation like this? No chance. You grab your phone and follow him, keeping a few paces behind as he stalks through the hall, every movement precise, calculated.

He barely glances back at you, his body a wall of tension, like he’s ready to explode into action at any second. "I told you to stay back, Y/N," he growls under his breath, his voice low and urgent.

"And I don’t take orders," you snap back, even though you’re trembling inside. The hallway feels too quiet, too still.

Before Logan can argue, you both hear it—heavy footsteps, coming from the stairwell. Your heart skips a beat. You weren’t prepared for this kind of fear. Sure, the letters had freaked you out, but this? Someone actually in the building, hunting you?

Logan moves so fast you barely see it, pushing you behind him as the door to the stairwell creaks open. The figure that steps out is shadowy at first, but as the light hits him, you see a man—unshaven, wild-eyed, and holding a small knife that glints in the dim light. He’s muttering something under his breath, eyes locked on you.

"There you are," the man breathes, voice unnervingly soft. "I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Before you can react, Logan steps forward, his body a barrier between you and the man. "Back off," he warns, his voice so low it rumbles in his chest.

The stalker’s eyes flick to Logan, sizing him up, but instead of retreating, he grins. "You think you can stop me? I’ve been planning this for months."

You feel your skin crawl, bile rising in your throat. But Logan is a wall of calm fury. Without a word, he lunges at the man, moving so fast you barely register the impact. Logan’s fist connects with the guy’s jaw, sending him stumbling back into the wall with a sickening thud.

It should have ended there. Any normal man would have been down for the count. But the stalker scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with manic determination, swinging the knife wildly.

You gasp as the blade slashes through the air, missing Logan by inches. But he’s not rattled. He ducks, then pivots with a speed and grace that shouldn’t be possible for someone his size. And then, with a growl that sounds more animal than human, Logan throws the stalker against the wall, pinning him there.

The man struggles, trying to bring the knife up again. But then, something happens—something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

Logan’s hand shoots forward, and suddenly there’s a metallic SNIKT. Three long, razor-sharp claws extend from between his knuckles—gleaming silver, impossibly deadly. They punch through the man’s jacket, pinning him by the shoulder to the wall.

The stalker lets out a scream, eyes wide in terror. But your own scream is stuck in your throat. All you can do is stare, your brain struggling to comprehend what you’re seeing.

Logan has claws. Metal claws.

What the hell?

With the stalker writhing in pain, Logan leans in close, his voice a low growl. "You picked the wrong damn target."

The man whimpers, his bravado completely gone as blood trickles from the shallow wound. Logan jerks the claws free, and the man collapses to the ground, groaning in pain but still breathing. Without a second glance at his attacker, Logan turns to you.

“Y/N,” he says, stepping toward you, his voice a low, rough murmur that sounds far away. “It’s not what you think—”

But you stumble back, the knife in your hand trembling, not because of the stalker lying on the floor, but because of him. Because of what you just saw.

“Y-you…what—” You can’t even get the words out, your mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. “What are you?”

Logan’s face tightens. He’s clearly seen this reaction before. “I’m a mutant,” he says quietly, the calmness in his voice almost unnerving given what just went down. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, but—”

“I—” You take another step back, your heart still racing. “Mutant? Logan, you—what the hell did you just—” Your eyes drop to his hands, where the claws retracted just moments ago. “You have claws?”

Logan doesn’t move, his hands by his sides, still covered in a few drops of the intruder’s blood. His whole body looks tense, as though he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, his voice low and steady. “But I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never—”

“You—” You’re shaking your head, not even sure what you’re trying to say. Everything’s too much. You’ve only ever heard horror stories about mutants, about how dangerous they can be, how you should keep your distance. You’ve never known anyone who was one…until now.

And it’s Logan. The guy who’s been protecting you.

The guy who just kissed you.

“I need…I need some space,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper, your mind still reeling.

Logan’s expression shifts, a flicker of something that looks almost like regret crossing his face. But he nods, stepping back slowly. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re scared. But I’m still the same guy I was five minutes ago. I’m not the enemy, Y/N.”

You know that. Deep down, in some part of yourself, you know that Logan wouldn’t hurt you. He’s saved your life, protected you, and been nothing but loyal. But right now, your instincts are screaming at you to get away, to process what the hell just happened.

“I just…please, I need to be alone,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Logan’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something. But then he nods once, giving you space, just like you asked. “I’ll be close,” he says quietly, before turning and walking away, leaving you alone in the hallway with your racing thoughts.

As he disappears around the corner, you lean back against the wall, your knees threatening to give out. You’re not sure what scares you more, the stalker lying unconscious on the floor, or the realization that Logan isn’t just a man with a bad attitude and a dangerous past.

He’s something else entirely.

And you have no idea what that means for you both.

The next day is a whirlwind of confusion and conflicting emotions. You wake up to the soft light filtering through the curtains, but instead of feeling rested, your heart pounds in your chest, and the events of the previous day come flooding back. Logan’s claws, the way he fought off that intruder, the raw power he displayed—it all feels surreal.

You spend the morning trying to distract yourself, throwing yourself into your usual routine. You have interviews lined up and a photoshoot to get through, but every moment, you can’t shake the image of Logan standing over that intruder, the fierceness in his eyes as he retracted those deadly claws. There’s a knot in your stomach, a strange mix of fear and something else you can’t quite place.

Despite your attempts at normalcy, you’re acutely aware of the absence of Logan. He hasn’t checked in, hasn’t texted, and that silence weighs heavily on you. You told him you needed space, but now, part of you wonders if you made a mistake pushing him away.

As the afternoon stretches on, you finish your last interview and head back to your apartment, an unshakable sense of anticipation coursing through you. The place feels different without Logan’s presence, quieter, more hollow. You take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself for whatever comes next.

The door swings open, and you step inside. The scent of leather and Logan’s cologne still lingers in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. You glance around, half-hoping to see him leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, that trademark smirk on his lips. But the space is empty.

You walk into the living room, the tension from the previous day still hanging in the air. You’re about to pour yourself a glass of water when a knock on the door startles you. You freeze, heartbeat quickening as you glance at the clock. It’s late, too late for anyone else to drop by.

You approach the door cautiously and open it, your breath catching in your throat as you see Logan standing there, his presence filling the doorway. He looks as imposing as ever, dressed in a black t-shirt that hugs his torso, the leather jacket thrown over one shoulder. His hair is tousled, and there’s a shadow of stubble on his jaw that somehow makes him look even more rugged.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and a touch uncertain.

“Hey,” you manage, heart racing. The tension between you two feels palpable, and you can’t ignore the rush of warmth spreading through your body at the sight of him.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his expression serious, but there’s an underlying urgency that makes your stomach flip.

“Of course,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. He walks past you, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, sending a rush of heat through your veins.

Logan turns to face you, his expression shifting, revealing the storm brewing behind his eyes. “I wanted to talk. About yesterday.”

“Okay,” you say, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze. “I mean…you didn’t have to come over.”

“I wanted to,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “I’ve been thinking about you, and I… I didn’t like how we left things.”

The way he looks at you makes your heart race. There’s a vulnerability in his expression, a longing that mirrors the tumult inside you. But there’s something else too—something electric.

“I was scared, Logan,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything just happened so fast. I didn’t know—”

“I know.” He steps closer, closing the distance between you, the heat radiating off him wrapping around you like a thick blanket. “But I’m still me. I’d never hurt you.”

You search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception, but all you see is sincerity mixed with an undeniable hunger.

“I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this.” You gesture between the two of you, feeling the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hanging heavy in the air.

Logan takes another step closer, his voice a rough murmur. “What do you want?”

Your breath hitches. The question hangs in the air, charged and raw, and for the first time, you allow yourself to confront the truth of your feelings. “I want—”

Before you can finish, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignites the fire simmering beneath your skin. It’s not the same as before; it’s deeper, more urgent, filled with the need to reclaim what was almost lost.

You melt against him, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. Logan’s hands roam your sides, fingers skimming over your hips, drawing you nearer as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

When he pulls back, his breath mingles with yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your heart race. “You want this,” he says, voice low and rough, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “You want me.”

“I do,” you admit, your cheeks flushing as the words spill out. “But it’s complicated, Logan. We shouldn’t—”

“Who cares?” His fingers slide down your arms, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re not just some celebrity to me. You’re not just a job.”

“What do you mean?” Your voice is a whisper, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive.

“I mean you’re you. I don’t care what the tabloids say. I don’t care about the age difference or the rumors. I want you.”

His words send a thrill through you, igniting a spark of something wild and reckless. You’ve never felt this way before, not like this. It’s heady, intoxicating.

“Logan, what if—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, more demanding this time, as if he’s trying to erase every doubt from your mind. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel every muscle in his body, the heat radiating off him in waves.

And then it happens again—the sharp, undeniable rush of want overwhelms you. The world outside fades away, and all that matters is this moment, this connection, this man standing before you.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless. “This is crazy,” you say, your mind racing, but the way Logan looks at you silences your doubts.

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly. “But I’d rather be crazy with you than without you.”

Your heart flips, and suddenly the space between you feels impossibly small. You’ve never wanted someone like this before, and the thought sends a thrill of excitement through you.

“Then what do we do?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, heart racing at the thought of what lies ahead.

Logan smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think we start by not overthinking this.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your cheek, igniting a fire in your core. “And maybe just…enjoying each other.”

His lips trail down to your neck, kissing a path that makes your head spin. You lean into him, surrendering to the moment as his warm breath sends shivers down your spine. The world outside is forgotten, and it feels like you’ve stepped into a realm that’s just yours and his.

“Logan…” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, desire flooding your senses.

His lips brush against yours again, teasing, playful, igniting the tension that’s been building between you two. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “I promise I won’t bite…unless you want me to.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, and the air crackles with undeniable tension. Maybe this is crazy, but right now, with Logan’s warmth enveloping you and the world outside forgotten, it feels more than right. It feels like fate.

Days turn into weeks, and you and Logan become a fixture in each other's lives. What began as a chaotic bodyguard relationship slowly evolves into something far more intimate—something neither of you anticipated but both desperately needed.

You find yourself falling into a routine, one that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. Every morning, he’s there, often making breakfast—his way of saying he cares, even if he does burn the toast. Every night, you curl up on the couch with him, sharing popcorn and movies, laughter filling the spaces where tension once resided. But it’s the moments outside those walls that change everything.

You don’t keep your relationship a secret, not intentionally, anyway. You both know the world you live in—the public scrutiny, the flashing cameras, the endless rumors. But Logan doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it emboldens him, a rebellious spark igniting in his eyes whenever you’re out together.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, you find yourselves strolling through a park in downtown Los Angeles, the kind of place where everyone is too busy with their own lives to pay attention to two people in love. But as you walk hand in hand, you can’t help but notice a few heads turning.

“Logan, I think we’re being watched,” you murmur, glancing around at the passersby. The mix of curiosity and surprise is palpable, but you also feel the warmth of Logan’s hand gripping yours, reassuring and steady.

“They can look all they want,” he grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss against your temple, his stubble grazing your skin. The contact sends a thrill through you.

“You’re not worried about the tabloids?” you ask, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Let them say what they want. At least they’ll get my age wrong,” he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Besides, you think I care about some headlines? I’m more concerned about you.”

A warmth blooms in your chest, and you can’t help but lean into him, your heart swelling with affection.

But the cameras don’t stop. That evening, as you both enjoy dinner at a trendy rooftop restaurant, the whispers and glances become more pronounced. The waitress seems to be holding back a grin as she serves you drinks, clearly recognizing Logan and you. You glance around, feeling a little exposed but also exhilarated.

“This could be the new gossip for the tabloids,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. “‘Famous singer falls for mysterious bodyguard.’”

“Or maybe ‘Local badass finally finds a reason to smile,’” he counters, winking at you. You laugh, the sound bright and airy, and it feels good.

You both savor the evening, leaning into the playful banter and the stolen glances that carry an undeniable spark. But when the two of you leave the restaurant, a group of paparazzi suddenly swarms you, their cameras flashing like fireworks in the night.

“Y/N! Is it true you’re dating Logan Howlett?” one of them shouts, voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“Logan, how long have you two been seeing each other?” another calls, pushing closer, their cameras nearly colliding with your faces.

Logan’s grip tightens around your waist, and you can feel his tension rising. You glance at him, but he simply raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips. “Guess they’re interested, huh?”

“Yeah, interested in our personal lives,” you whisper, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“Let them watch,” Logan says, stepping closer to you, almost as if to shield you from the chaos. “Just remember—they don’t know the half of it.”

You share a glance, and there’s a spark of understanding in his eyes. With a deep breath, you face the throng of reporters. “We’re happy together,” you say, your voice steady despite the cameras flashing around you. “That’s all that matters.”

The crowd quiets for a moment, the buzz of excitement hanging in the air. Then Logan leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, and the cameras go wild. The moment feels electric, and as you pull away, you can’t help but grin.

“Wow, you’ve really got it bad, don’t you?” he teases, the playful glint in his eye returning.

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your heart soaring.

The reporters seem to be taken aback by the chemistry between you, the dynamic clearly more than just a simple bodyguard-client relationship. You can hear the murmurs among the crowd as you both walk past, the air buzzing with a mix of curiosity and approval.

“Do you think it’s serious?” one of them asks.

“I heard she’s been seen with him a lot,” another replies, voice laced with intrigue. “What a power couple!”

“Wonder how long they’ll last,” a third one scoffs, but you’re too high on adrenaline to let their words get to you.

As you reach your car, Logan turns to you, his face softening. “You okay?”

You nod, a burst of happiness washing over you. “More than okay.”

“Good,” he replies, smirking. “Because now you’re stuck with me. The tabloids might as well start preparing for a long-term feature.”

“Is that a challenge?” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Absolutely,” he says, pulling you closer as you both settle into the car. “Just remember, if they start digging into our lives, I’m the one with the claws.”

You burst out laughing, and as he revs the engine, the world feels like it’s finally aligning. The chaos of the paparazzi, the gossip, the rumors—they all fade away. Because in this moment, it’s just you and Logan, ready to take on whatever the world throws your way, together.

[blue-aconite]

the offside rule || j.h.s

Summary: Jake learns that his girl is crazy about football, but not the kind he expected.

Warnings: jake being a sweetheart, no use of y/n

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairings: Jake Seresin x f!reader

Authors Note: This is inspired by @roosterforme's Sundays Are for the Boys and @teacupsandtopgun's Jake and Flick universe. This is also very self-indulgent and somewhat based on parts of my life.

“What are you doing?” Jake emerged from the bathroom, only to find his girlfriend on the couch, watching what looked like soccer. 

“I’m watching football, what does it look like?” She didn’t take her eyes off the screen as she reached for the beer bottle on the coffee table. 

Jake didn’t know how to respond. He knew what soccer was, he wasn’t an idiot but he never knew that his girl enjoyed the sport. 

“Soccer, baby. It’s called soccer.” 

Jake knew it was the wrong thing to say as she turned around, an unimpressed look on her face. 

“I’m going to forgive you this time. But in the future, for your information, it’s called football. Not your ridiculous term soccer.” She was all business, a sharp edge to her tone that Jake hadn’t really experienced in their relationship so far. 

There was a sparkle in her eyes that told him she wasn’t as serious as her tone suggested though. Jake flopped down on the couch next to her, plucking the beer out of her hands. “Is this MLS?” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she looked him up and down. “MLS is a shit league. It only got interesting since Messi signed for Inter Miami and it’s still shit. You know, we call it the retirement league because it’s where all the greats come to wind down and just kick around.” 

“Hey!” Jake protested. “Doesn’t it have a somewhat good reputation?”

She shook her head. “Baby, I love you but you’ve been greatly deceived.” She patted his cheek, opening another beer, seeing as he had stolen hers. 

Jake grumbled, sinking lower into the couch. Granted, his soccer knowledge was limited but he thought that MLS at least was a popular league. 

“What’s this then?” He pointed to the screen where the game was playing. 

His girl clapped excitedly, tossing the cap onto the table. “This is the greatest league in the world. I give you the Premier League.” She dramatically spread her arms, as if showing him something of great importance. 

In a way, Jake guessed that she was. He had no idea she was this passionate about this but he found it endearing that she did. 

“I recognise that, it’s England, yeah?” Jake was 80% certain he was right but he could also be wrong. Like he said, his knowledge of soccer was limited. 

“Yes! PL is played in England and it’s hands down the most popular and watched league. But there’s obviously others as well.” 

He was a bit intrigued and Jake also wanted to know more about something that made his girl this excited. “Others?” 

“Oh, you’ve got La Liga for example, and Ligue 1. And then there’s Serie A and Bundesliga. My dad used to watch a lot of Eredivisie too. He was a lifelong fan of Ajax.” She quieted down a bit at the end, a sad smile on her face as she remembered her dad. 

Jake pressed a kiss to her shoulder, hand finding hers. He gave a supportive squeeze. He understood now why this was so important to her. 

“Did you guys watch a lot together?” He asked as the game seemingly was paused, the players leaving the field. 

“Yeah. He took me to my first game when I was 4. I barely remember it but I remember the feeling. And he coached my team for as long as I played.” 

That surprised Jake. “You used to play?” It wasn’t something that had come up but he guessed it was somewhat of a sore subject. 

“From the age of five til I was fifteen, maybe sixteen,” she paused. “Uh, I quit playing when he got sick. He wanted me to continue but it just wasn’t the same. It was our thing and then all of a sudden he wasn’t there and..” 

Jake pulled her into his arms, lips pressed to her forehead. “Baby, why haven’t you told me about this before? I would have loved to know more about football if I knew it meant this much to you.” 

She smiled when he called it football and Jake counted it as a small victory. “I honestly don’t know. You’re more of an American football fan and I just figured you didn’t care about this.” 

“I would have cared if you told me. Hell, I know you don’t really care about the Cowboys but you still hang out with me when they play. And wear the jersey.” 

She laughed then, leaning back from his embrace but kept their hands intertwined. “I wear the jersey because I know it gets you all hot and bothered.”

“Well, that’s definitely a perk. You do look very good in blue.” Jake kissed her then, hands sneaking under her shirt to trace her skin. 

She was blushing when they pulled apart and Jake grinned, proud to be the one to make her that way. 

“So is Ajax your team?” He asked, playing with the hem of her shirt. 

“No. As much as I respect and enjoy Dutch football, the Premier League always called to me more. And then I fell in love with Manchester United.” 

Jake’s eyebrows shot up, teasingly pinching her sides. “Fell in love, huh? That means I got competition?” 

She rolled her eyes, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you for the Red Devils.” 

“Good. Is this them then?” He gestured towards the screen, where the game had resumed. 

“No, they play Aston Villa tomorrow. This is Newcastle vs Arsenal.” 

Jake watched as the team in black and white kicked the ball back and forth. “Okay, you’re going to have to explain this to me. I know nothing.” 

She launched into the game, explaining what was happening as well as informing him about the rules and terms. Jake tried his best to keep up but figured he was going to have to do some independent studying to catch up. 

If this was important to his girl, it was important to him. He watched as she kept on talking, gesturing back and forth with her hands, eyes alight with excitement. 

“But there must be leagues outside of Europe, yeah?” He asked after learning that the ones she had rambled off earlier were all based in European countries. 

“For sure, but those are the most popular ones. And considering how much of an impact the Champions League, Europa League and Conference League have, it’s difficult for leagues outside of Europe to compete.” 

Jake’s mind was reeling, trying to piece all the information together. “Wait, Europa League and Champions League? Conference? Where’s that?” 

“All of those are played by teams in Europe. You qualify for UCL when you win your league in your country, and the second tier goes on to play in the UEL and third tier in UECL.” At Jake’s confused expression, she smiled apologetically. 

“Sorry, this is way overboard. How about we keep that for another day and we just keep to the basics for now?” 

Jake breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes please.”

She handed him another beer, smiling softly. 

“So, do I get a Manchester United jersey? It’s only fair, I got you a Cowboys one.” Jake asked. 

He was comfortably leaning back against the armrest of the couch. Initially he had tried to get her to snuggle with him but quickly found out that she wasn’t going to sit still while watching the game. 

“Babe, you’ll get a jersey when you deserve one. Maybe earlier if you can explain the offside rule to me.”  

He was screwed then. “Never mind. I’ll wait.” 

“It’s really not that difficult. A player would be seen as offside if their entire body is in front of the last defender of the opposing team, on the opposing team's half.” 

Jake tried to imagine what it would look like but his mind came up blank. “You’re just speaking gibberish, that doesn’t make sense.”

She smiled softly, a gleam in her eye. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you a football fan. Just you wait.”

“I can’t wait. I’m also very excited to see you watch your team play.” 

The game was now over and she climbed into his lap, hands finding the back of his head. “Oh, you’re in for a wild ride.” 

Making the most of their position, Jake grabbed a hold of her thighs as he stood up, ignoring her squeal as he headed towards the bedroom. “How about I give you a ride right now?” 

Two months later, when Jake officially got the offside rule right, a package was waiting for him on the kitchen table when he got home. 

His heart swelled as he pulled out a bright red Manchester United jersey, embroidered with his callsign on the back. There was a note inside the box as well and Jake laughed as he read what his girlfriend had written. 

Now you’re a real football fan. Glory glory Man United! 

Ps. Come find me ;) 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.” He called, jersey in hand as he stalked the house. 

Her laughter echoed through the house. “Come claim your prize, cowboy.”

Taglist: @wildbornsiren​ @ryebecca @imjess-themess @reels-and-wheels @antiquitea @writercole @hederasgarden @yanna-banana @bobfloydsbabe @hollandorks @anniesocsandgeneralstore @ereardon @luminousnotmatter @roosterscock @thedroneranger @fandomxpreferences @honkytonk-hangman @princessmisery666 @bradshawsbitch​ @a-reader-and-a-writer @green-socks @angstybluejay @seresinhangmanjake @ayorooster​@notroosterbradshaw​ @indynerdgirl @gigisimsonmars @girl-in-the-chairs-void @bradshawbabes @unhinged-btch @horseshoegirl @sadpetalsstuff @bradshawbaby @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @ummjustfics​ @septemberrie​ @somenamewithepineapple​ @seresinsweetie​​ @crescentwolf​ @seresinhangmanjake​ @waklman​ @roosterforme​ @rosiahills22​ @dempy​ @i0veless​ @ilovewriting06​ @kmc1989​ @demxters @amortentiadrops @teacupsandtopgun @hangmanscoming @hangmanssunnies

[simonisferal]

Valentine — wanderer x gn reader

erhmm, kaveh gets taped to the ceiling, obvious courting/pining, reader's a fucking simp, wanderer's a small bitch/affectionate

guy came up to me and became my valentine, now i gotta reject him because i dont see him like that 😭 but happy valentines day!!

1.5k words

Valentine’s Day was literally today and you were stressing about what to get your lovely partner! Well, not really. If anything, you’re freaking out on how to confess your feelings for them and *then* ask him out. Crazy, and very last minute, you know, but hear yourself out!

You’ve been pinning and courting him for a while. It’s painfully obvious that you liked him, or at least you think.

Wanderer had no revelation. Sometimes he thought that the flowers and large amounts of flowers, snacks and drinks you left on his desk or mail was part of a big prank. Not even his new friend group (“Aggravate”, as Cyno called them) could tell him differently.

They were walking down the halls, ignoring most people who gawked and eyed them. It wasn’t rare for people to look at the five beauties but it was fairly worse since it’s a holiday.

”You excited?” Tighnari, one of the only people who have a brain in this dumb school, mentions.

"For what?” He pauses his walk.

“Oh! For his little secret admirer to come up and confess!” Kaveh squeals. Alhaitham, who stood behind him only snorted but stayed quiet. Tighnari looked to the side but nevertheless agreed with him, “Something like that. I was going to say chocolates or a present but that works.”

Cyno interjects, “Maybe a letter? Something simple to not attract too much attention to you, I would guess.”

”Oh please, I doubt that prankster has the balls to come up to my face and say something, let alone a fake confession.” Wanderer says, not only denying the idea but shooting down Kaveh’s suggestion as well.

"Booo! Where’s your passion for love? I don’t understand how people like you, babes.” Alhaitham pats Kaveh’s back but we all know he thinks it too.The puppet snorts but doesn’t refute anything else. He continues to walk, leaving the four behind while they head to their classes.

Wanderer was interrupted many times by others trying to give him gifts, making him late several times. He grew tired of the holiday and just wanted to go home. Maybe Tighnari can give him something to ease his mind when it's time for study hall.

But they never show up. Wow, ‘real friends’ my ass.

When he goes to his next class, down a small hall in the Vahumana category, Wanderer only sees the empty class. There was no way he was late or early or even in the wrong classroom.

His wary behavior didn’t cease when he noticed a singular note on a desk, his desk. Wanderer didn’t hesitate to pick it up, his smooth hands running over the frail paper before unfolding it from its fold.

Dear Wanderer, it read.

You’re probably reading this with caution or at least looking behind your back right now but I can assure you, nothing bad’s gonna happen as you read this! (I don’t know if that sounded ominious ominous or not so, sorry :( )

I’m the one who keeps buying you flowers and those snacks if you didn’t know by now! I actually have something to tell you and I really hope you come to the library or else I’ll kind of look like a loser lol— Your secret admirer

ps: I’m a little offended you think this whole thing is a prank, Wanderer :(

Damn. He closed the piece of paper and ran his hands through it again. ‘Yeah, right. Like someone would actually love me enough to do this’, he thinks.

Wanderer shoves the note into his short’s pocket and sits down in his seat. There are small trinkets and sour candies in the desk with another note, “Just in case you get hungry :)”. …He sighs. He takes one of the candies in his hand and starts unwrapping the wrapper. ”You guys can come out now. I finished reading the letter.”

There was a small hint of silence before anyone spoke.

"Oh thank the gods, I thought you were gonna leave us here.” Kaveh groans. Both Tighnari and Cyno reveal themselves from hiding in a closet and Alhatiham just turns around in the professor's chair.

”Kaveh?! How’d you get up there?” Tighnari leaves the closet, passing by Wanderer to get under Kaveh, who was duct-taped to the ceiling. He looked sick and frail and like he was about to throw up.”I asked Alhaitham to help me like three hours ago but he never got me down! I missed a bunch of classes..” He whines. Tighnari gives Haitham a glare but the grey-haired male ignores it.

”I’ll help you down, okay?” Tighnari comforts Kaveh and stretches his hand out towards the closet. “Cyno, give me my bow.”

”Alright.” Cyno starts reaching into the closet while the four of them could hear Kaveh pleading, “Wait! No! I can get down myse—!”

Wanderer’s ears ring at the loud sound of Kaveh crashing onto the floor. Joking, of course. He used his anemo powers to safely get the blond down.

"You four are such a hassle.” He groans.

"Well?”

“‘Well’ what?”

”Are you gonna go?”

”Go where?”

”The library, for god's sake!”

Cyno nods along. “[Name] is waiting for you there.”Wanderer groans again while everyone else looks at Cyno like he just admitted to a murder. They whisper as the puppet crosses his arms in his seat. “I’m not going to a dumbass library to just meet [Na]—…[Name]?”

"Oh wow, Cyno spilled. Expected it to be Kaveh.” Alhaitham retorts. Wanderer could only hear a small ‘hey!’ from the thoughts running through his head.

Believe it or not but you were the second place bachelor in the Akademiya. Most girls and guys would be pursuing you right now but you were just in the library? And you liked him? Yeah, right, he’ll have to see it with his own eyes.

”Fine, come on. Let’s go.” He stood up from his seat and began to walk out the classroom, leaving the four boys again.

”Should we go after him?” Kaveh asked.

"You just fell off of a ceiling, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go…”He whines again but wipes his butt from any dirt from the floor. “Okay…”

”I’ll stay with you.”

”Alhaitham, what?”

”You heard me.”

Both Tighnari and Cyno left to chase after Wanderer, the quick fellow already somehow causing a commotion in the halls. You were sitting in the library when Wanderer ran in. You expected him to come, not because you thought of him as a hopeless romantic but because you knew he’d want to see such a wanted figure as yourself actually liking someone.

”Good afternoon, Wanderer.” He heard.

You were carrying a Sumeru rose in your hands, fiddling and admiring the petals and thorns. He just stood in front of you, not believing it wasn’t a prank.

”’Good afternoon’ my ass. What do you want?”

You frown. “Did you not read the letter I left for you?”

He crosses his arms and scoffs. He had an obvious face of disdain, still not believing you. “Why yes of course I did. And just so you know,” he took a small step closer. “I still think this is a dumb joke.”

That statement couldn’t help but make you laugh. “Really? Aren’t a lot of people pursuing you? What about me courting you for, like, 3 months?”He falls silent. You weren’t known for your jokes, most people (excluding Cyno) thought you were unfunny. You also weren’t a liar—everyone calls you honest and trustworthy that even Wanderer can only imagine how many promises you’ve completed.

”Look. I’m really not joking…” You stand up from your chair at the library, taking small steps towards the short male. You extend your hand, showing him the rose you had been admiring for so long.

“I like you.”

Ha… Haha.. He starts laughing. Wanderer found you absolutely stupid. No one, ever, would actually admit to liking him—let alone on a holiday all about love. You had to be an idiot to even think about him romantically.

The puppet stops laughing after noticing you hadn’t gone away or laughed with him. He raised an eyebrow and looked at your frown. “Seriously? You’re an idiot.” His rude remark did nothing to hide the small smile on his face. It was amusing, such a silly thing actually. Who knew you would be such a dumbass for love? Now he doesn't feel even a single drop of guilt for eating all those snacks.

That look on your face says it all. You're in love with him. Pathetic, honestly. But Wanderer'll give you (and himself) a chance at this little game called life. He finds this little situation funny now that he knows it's not some sort of sick joke.

”Fine, I’ll give you a chance.” He takes the rose in his hands, twirling it with his fingers. He looked up at your excited smile. Humans are so easy to please, he thinks but it doesn't stop the small smile crawling on his own face.

”Just don’t bore me.”

[kingofpopmj]

You Know, Love Is All We Need

Summary: The Jackson Family roll out in full force to take part in the recording of We Are The World. Michael feels helpless as his wife isn’t welcome by all his loved ones.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: FAMILY DRAMA, ARGUING AND CURSING

Requested: yes

*Michael’s POV*

“Babe, I’m serious.” She whined, throwing herself back onto the bed.

“Y/N, baby, you can’t just not go. You’re my wife. My whole family is going to be there. I’d like for you to be with me.” I grabbed her hands, pulling her up to face me. “You’re the best part of me. I can’t do it without you.”

“Michael, your family hates me.” Her voice was sad and she looked at me with pleading eyes.

“That’s not true.” She pursed her lips at me, crossing her arms and a hint of glossiness filling her eyes. “No, please don’t cry.”

“It’s always a fight. I’m exhausted.” Her head hung low and I couldn’t think of anything else to do but hold her.

“I’m sorry. My mother loves you and that’s the most important thing— she’s crazy about you. I know my dad is rough, but he doesn’t hate you. My brothers lose their minds over you, they love having you around. My sisters—”

“You know it isn’t them. They’re great. It’s Latoya. She always—”

“I know. I know.” I cut her off before she went any further. I didn’t want her to break down like the last time. “I’ve spoken to her about it. She’s not going to be an issue anymore. I promise.”

“She always attacks me.” She sounded defeated and all I could do was comfort her. “I can’t take much more of it. It feels like it’s getting worse, like when we all went to the studio together. I thought it would be a nice bonding moment, but…” She drifted off, burying her face deeper into my chest.

“Michael! You made it!” Latoya cheered, she jumped up from where she was sitting with my brothers.

“Hey!” It was then I fully walked into the room, holding Y/N’s hand as she followed right behind me.

“Oh, you brought her.” Latoya rolled her eyes in a huff, turning away from us without another word.

“My wife? Yes, I brought my wife.” I spat back, beyond irritated with my sister’s sudden attitude. “She’s a musician. She was invited.”

“Yeah, she’s even giving Michael some nice competition, ain’t that right sister?” Marlon hopped up, hugging us both. “It’s great to see you.”

“If it isn’t one of my favorite Jackson’s.” Y/N laughed, sharing her secret handshake with my brother.

“Well, the rest of us are excited.” Tito spoke up, pulling my wife into a hug, then patting me on the back. “Toya is just jealous. The only reason she’s here is because she’s related to us crazy handsome and extremely talented fellas.” He said it loud enough for her to hear, but all she did was cross her arms.

“T, that’s not nice.” My wife whispered, shaking her head like she was scolding a child.

“It’s the damn truth. If she focused on her career as much has she focused on having that stick up her butt, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Tito was blunt, the words were a bit harsh, but he’s right. “Y/N, you’re family and the way she— it don’t sit right with me. I want you to know we— you’re part of this family, you’re a special part and we…”

“We love you.” Jermaine sang, finishing the sentence his brother was becoming too emotional to finish.

“I love you guys too.”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory, kissing her forehead before speaking again. “I know and I’m sorry. We discussed it. She’s looking forward to seeing us so she can apologize in person.” My wife raised her eyebrow at me. “She’s just having trouble— I think having a new sister-in-law has been tough on her.”

“Okay. I guess if your whole family will be there it’ll be fun, but if something happens I’m leaving. I’m serious. I don’t want anymore problems.”

“We. If something happens we will leave. I’ll be your knight in shining armor. I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know you won’t.”

*Y/N’s POV*

We arrived at The Jackson home right on time, everything was business as usual— just enjoying one anothers company. There was loud music and mountains of delicious food. We made our way around the party, greeting everyone and watching the kids running around the yard. It was fun. So far, tonight felt like it wouldn’t be so bad.

“How are you doing?” Michael whispered near my ear.

“Good, thank you for talking me into coming. I’m having fun.” I dragged my thumb across his bottom lip before stretching up to my tippy toes and kissing his lovely lips.

“Ew. Do you have to do that where we can all see you?” Of course. I didn’t need to look to know Latoya had arrived. “It’s disgusting. You can’t wait until your home to maul—”

“Shut up Latoya.” Michael rolled his eyes, pulling me deeper into his chest.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Michael simply stared her down— like he was daring her to say something else. By the way her mouth snapped shut, it was clear she wasn’t expecting that. They stared at each other a little longer before finally she walked off.

“I seriously don’t understand what’s up with her.” He muttered. “She’s really pissing me off.”

“I have no idea, but I rather not hang around to find out. Don’t let her get to you babe. Maybe we should—”

“You want to go already? We can.” He gave me a sweet smile of approval, showing me he had my back and understood.

“No! You can’t leave! Come on! We’re gonna play some games.” Janet cheered, running over to the cabinet and grabbing about a dozen glass bottles. “Well, you gonna stand there like two dimwits or are you gonna help me?”

“I think we could stay longer!” I giggled, skipping over to help my sister-in-law. “Come on dork get to stepping.” I tickled his side before running outside and onto the deck. Michael didn’t waste any time chasing after me, eventually tackling me in the grass.

“You’re being bad now?” He spoke breathlessly, struggling to get a grip on my wrists as I wiggled beneath him. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“What are you going to do? Spank me?” I whispered as low as possible, but I could tell by the way he froze on spot that he heard me loud and clear.

“Oh great they’re going to fornicate right in front of us now. Just what I want to see.” Latoya again, isn’t she lovely?

“I wish.” Michael mumbled, getting to his feet and helping me to mine. “To be continued…” he laughed.

“Most definitely. I mean if you’re up for it… we can slip away to the bathroom for a quick—” there was no way I’d actually do it under his parents roof, but I still enjoyed teasing him.

“Shhh. Don’t.” His hands pressed against my mouth and he silently begged me to stop teasing him. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Finally, she needs a muzzle.” Latoya yelled, then laughed way too loud at her own joke. Michael’s hands fell to his sides and he just stared at her as the area grew quiet. The tension between the siblings growing rapidly.

“Gosh, you know, I knew your voice was irritating, but your laugh makes me want to rip my ears off.” My husband scoffed, standing his ground again.

“Woah, Mike what’s got your undies in a twist? Trouble in paradise?” She questioned, sipping from her drink. “Marriage isn’t for everyone.” She sang, that comment got everyone’s attention. I knew Michael was going to lose it on her.

“No way! I forgot you’re an expert on marriage. Tell me how’s the husband? Oh wait, you don’t have one. Last time I checked no one is lining up to make you a wife.” Michael said confidently, his hand finding mine and happily guiding me away from her.

“Oh shit! Little brother is cold today!” Jackie clapped proudly. “Stone cold!”

“You got told!” Randy shouted, pointing his finger directly in Latoya’s face as she failed to push him away.

We were in the middle of a game of darts when Jermaine and Randy started yelling at the TV.

“Michael! Your wife is on the television looking lovely.” Randy winked, making finger guns with his hands.

“She always looks lovely you goon.” Michael said slinging his arm around my shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell us! We would’ve turned it on sooner! I love this show!” Rebbie jumped up, trying to find the button to turn up the volume.

“Ah! It’s Funny or Die! It’s so funny! Y/N! I can’t believe you were on.” Janet cheered. “Beth is hilarious.”

“I completely forgot it was going to be on today.” I said truthfully. “We don’t have to watch it.”

“The hell we don’t! We’re watching it!”

“Why are we acting like this is groundbreaking? She’s not helping achieve world peace.” Latoya snapped. “It doesn’t take a damn rocket scientist to sit on a couch and answer questions.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember anyone begging to ask you any questions, you fool.” Jackie cracked, waving her off.

“I’ve done interviews!” She snapped back.

“That no one watches, which is why it probably happened once— maybe. I doubt it” Randy laughed, throwing his head back. “Most likely in your dreams. That’s the only place you’re a big deal.”

“Shhh! I can’t hear it.” Janet shouted.

Welcome to tonight’s Funny or Die on Comedy Central with special guest Mrs. Y/N Jackson!

*Beth Littleford’s voice*

“So, Mrs. Jackson, you are married to one of the most influential artists of our lifetime— you’ve married into The Royal Family of entertainment. Why did you do that to yourself?”

“I’m not sure I understand that question.” A smile on my face as I stared at her waiting for an explanation.

“Well, that’s a lot of star power, I’d imagine a lot of diva behavior goes on behind the scenes. Who do you hate the most? If presented the opportunity, which Jackson would you to send off to an abandoned island?”

“There’s actually no diva behavior. They’re all very kind and down to earth. They’ve handled all of the fame with such grace, they’re amazing people. I’m very lucky. I love being a part of the family.”

“You’re a bad liar Mrs. Jackson. Okay, back to your husband. He’s incredibly handsome, you’re stunning— very beautiful. My question is, of the two of you, who spends more time looking in the mirror?” She was so good at keeping a straight face that it became more difficult for me to do the same.

“We—” I turned my head to take a breath and bite back the laughter trying to escape. “I don’t feel we spend much time doing that—”

“Mrs. Jackson, if we’re going to do this I’m going to need you to stop bullshitting me.” She said it in a professional voice and I immediately broke. “Okay, get it together, I’ll try this again, you and your husband are very successful musicians. What I’d like to know is, who’s better? Be honest. Your answer will stay between us.” She nodded towards me, snapping her finger in the air, signaling the camera to obnoxiously zoom in on my face.

“Oh, that’s easy. My husband of course. He is so out of my league. His talent is unbelievable, unfathomable, unreachable. He’s one of a kind. I’m a huge fan of his work. He’s incredible. He’s so— he’s everything. The music he creates, his process, his stage presence, everything— he takes my breath away.”

“That’s a lie.” Beth shot out, turning her back to me and looking into the camera. “I guess we will never know the truth. Y/N appears to be devoted to dodging the questions we all want answers to. There’s no other way to say it folks, she sucks.” She concluded with a shrug and I bursted out laughing behind her.

“At the end of the day I had to ask Y/N for one final encore.” Beth spoke as the screen cut to a clip of us walking through a garden, until cutting back to the interview room.

“In 1985, you participated in We Are The World, which brought together some of the top performers of our day..… and Latoya Jackson.” Immediately, I buried my face in my hands, desperately trying to hold in my laughter. “The thing everyone wants to know, what I need to ask you.” I shook my head, dropping my hands and smiling at her. “Bear with me.” I nodded, sitting up straight, awaiting her question. “What the hell was Dan Aykroyd doing there?”

“Beth—” I couldn’t finish my answer without giggling. “Beth.” I crossed my legs, attempting to compose myself once again. “That’s my sister-in-law you’re talking about.”

“Yes.” She answered simply.

“You know, The entire Jackson family is talented. It’s in their DNA, Latoya is unique—”

“Unique as in the talent skipped her?” She interrupted me, clicking her pen and scribbling down notes.

“That’s not— all the Jackson’s are very talented and Latoya is gifted in her own right.” I crossed my legs and gave her a tight lipped smile.

“You know, when you say that, I almost believe you.” Beth said with a straight face. That time the laughter escaped my mouth before I could stop it, I leaned forward into the vacant couch cushions beside me.

“You’re so bad.” I said breathlessly as I shook my head playfully.

“So, back to Dan Aykroyd, what the hell was he contributing?”

“Dan, I’m not sure. I think he was just there to be a part of the moment.”

The room filled with laughter as we watched the skit together. Jackie gave me a thumbs up, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Tito had knocked over his drink, pounding on the table in front of him. It felt good— like home. I truly loved this crazy family. Michael slipped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing the side of my head before resting his chin on my shoulder.

“For the record, you’re the one that’s out of my league.” He started. “You’re perfect.”

I hummed leaning back into his embrace as he swayed as back and forth. Our peace was cut short quickly by a loud screech.

“It’s not funny! This isn’t funny at all! Stop! Stop laughing!” Latoya shouted. She pointed her finger in my face. “How dare you! You made a joke of me!”

“Latoya, I didn’t make a joke of you.” My hold around Michael’s forearms tightened at the sudden outburst— which quickly had everyone’s attention.

“Do not yell at my wife.” Michael’s voice boomed, low and harsh— it was made me nervous. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. “I’m not playing with you Latoya.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are!” She’s in my face now. Great.

“Latoya, back off! This is ridiculous.” Michael held his hand out, pushing her away from me as he moved me to his side.

“I don’t give a shit! I’ll rip all the hair out of your damn head!” Her threat didn’t bother me, it wasn’t until she attempted to swing at me that I felt angry.

“I give a shit!” Michael reacted swiftly blocking her arm, pushing me behind him and shielding me. “You aren’t touching my wife!” Janet and Jermaine were on their feet now, holding their sister back. As much as I wanted to lash out I trusted my husband. It wouldn’t help for me to start screaming too, so I was more than happy to let him handle it.

“She’s been your wife for like a day.”

“It’s been two years!” Michael in between us, pushing her back again by her shoulders. “What the hell is your problem? Grow up!”

“My problem is that your wife is a fucking bitch!” She said loudly, it echoed through the house and everyone sat there quietly.

“Don’t fucking call her that!” Michael yelled, the air becoming thicker by the second. “If you think I’m—”

“That’s enough. The three of you come with me.” Katherine spoke, her tone was clear, she wasn’t asking.

Michael slid his hand across my lower back, resting it on my hip and pulling me closer to him. The walk was short and silent. Katherine opened the double doors leading to the library, pointing for us to enter. She slammed the door behind her once we all settled in.

“Now, I don’t know what the issue is and I don’t care. First off, you will not call anyone anything but their given name.” She pointed at her daughter. “And what in gods name has gotten into you making a scene like that in front of your young nephews, nieces and cousins?”

“Mom—” Latoya shot up from her seat with a wild energy.

“Did I say you could speak?” Katherine stopped her immediately, Latoya shrugged, sitting back down with a huff. “This has gone on long enough. I’ve tried to give you the space to figure it out yourselves, but it’s clear that isn’t happening. We aren’t leaving this room until we are all on the same page. Now, you may speak.”

“She’s rude and disrespectful. She laughed at me on national television.”

“No, she didn’t and I suggest you adjust your tone. I’m your mother. You need to speak to me with some respect.”

“Y/N—” Latoya shouted again.

“She spoke up for you and you know it. Which is more for you than I would’ve done if I were her. Latoya you’ve had it out for Y/N since Michael first brought her home to meet us.”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Latoya.” Michael cut in. When Latoya met her baby brother’s eyes she felt something tug at her heart and any lies she had prepared vanished.

“This is stupid.” She sat there pouting and all I could do was watch, because what the hell is wrong with her?

“Well, I have all day.” Katherine grinned. “This is your problem Latoya. The longer you take to spit it out the longer we will sit here.”

“You’ve always been rude to Y/N and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of fighting with you, but if you insist on continuing to act like this, then so be it. I can match your attitude because there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you or anyone else treat my wife like this.” Michael ranted, taking a deep breath. “She’s my wife. She makes me happy. She’s been nothing but respectful to you. She doesn’t deserve this. Latoya, we can only argue for so long until eventually our relationship becomes nonexistent— you’re my sister, but you’re crossing lines that are hurting our bond— things you’ve done, it’s beyond repair. And, honestly I’m slowly making my peace with that— not having any kind of relationship with you.”

“Little brother.” Latoya choked out, glossy eyes filled with pain. I felt awful. I never thought I’d hear Michael say anything like that.

“That’s how I feel. It bothered me so much because I didn’t understand why, but I’ve reached a point where I don’t care what your excuse is. I’m fed up. Mom, I’m sorry, but this isn’t fair to Y/N and I’m not going to make her sit through it any longer. I’m taking her home.” He rose to his feet, guiding me towards the door.

“Alright, baby boy. I understand.” I could tell she was disappointed in her daughter, but she looked at her son with such pride that it didn’t feel all that bad. “Go on. I love you, both of you. Come here honey.” She kissed my cheek and hugged me tightly. I loved her hugs. “I’m sorry about all of this. You’re a good girl.”

“Love you. It’s— no apologies necessary. See you soon mama.” Michael walked us out of the house quick like it was on fire. “Shouldn’t we say bye to everyone else?” He didn’t answer, not right away at least. He stopped walking halfway down the driveway, leaning forward and kissing me repeatedly.

“I’m sorry.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I’m so sorry.” Kiss. “You’re.” Kiss. “The.” Kiss. “Most.” Kiss. “Amazing.” Kiss. “Woman.” Kiss. “Ever.” Kiss. “I don’t know how I tricked you into marrying me.”

“You didn’t trick me. And, it’s not your fault. None of this is you’re fault.”

“It’s my insane sister.”

“Exactly, it’s not your fault. It’s her— hopefully it’ll get better at some point.”

“You really think so?”

“I’m hopeful. It has to work out eventually.”

“I pray that you’re right.”

“I usually am, but until then I have you. And, you make a super sexy bodyguard.”

“You think so? Maybe I’ll switch professions so I could guard this lovely body every second of every day.” His flirtatious smile, causing my chest to tingle.

“I love you.” Kiss. “Most.” Kiss. “Perfect.” Kiss. “Man.” Kiss. “Ever.”

*Michael’s POV*

The pain of last nights events felt insignificant, waking up next to my beautiful wife, everything seemed to melt away. This, right here was all that mattered. Bliss.

“You always watch me sleep?” I watched her mumble through a sleepy smile.

“You always fake sleep?”

“I like lying next to you. Your bed head is cute.”

“You sleeping naked is cute.” I rolled onto of her, pushing her body deeper into the mattress.

“Are you trying to keep me in bed all day?”

“Yes.” My hips sunk in between her legs as I heard her sweet moan. The door bell rang before I could remove the sheet that was wrapped around her. “They’ll go away.” The bell rang again.

“It doesn’t sound like they’re leaving.”

“Well, then, they can wait. I only need two hours with you.”

“Two hours!” She laughed, the bell sounding two more times. “What are you planning to do to me?”

“Everything. I’m going to—” the bell rang again interrupting me. “Whoever is out there is about to get run over.”

“Relax. Just go check. You’re so grumpy.” She waved me off to go answer the door. I threw on a shirt and found some pants to wear.

“I’m grumpy because some jerk is ringing my doorbell while I’m trying to get handsy with my wife. Who wakes up this early to cockblock?” I heard her giggle as I left the room and ran down the stairs.

The doorbell continued vibrating the walls even when I unlocked the door and yanked it open.

“What the…” I was at a loss. I didn’t thinking my sister showing up was a possibility at all— just like I didn’t expect seeing her face to make me so angry.

“Hi brother.”

“Latoya, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you— both of you. If that’s okay? I want to apologize.”

“That’s not a good idea. Really, I don’t have the energy to deal with you today and I’m not comfortable letting you anywhere near my wife.”

“Please. I— look I wrote a letter. I figured you guys probably wouldn’t want to see me. I just needed to try, you know?” She held out an envelope and a big bouquet of flowers. “I’m so sorry. Please take it. Or I can leave it on your doormat if you don’t want to look at it just yet. These are for Y/N.”

“Alright.” I let out a deep breath and accepted what she brought. I figured the longer I fight her the longer she’d stay and I really didn’t want that.

“I’m sorry I hurt you little brother and I’m sorry for acting that way towards Y/N… I had no reason— no right.” She stepped back as I remained silent. I wasn’t ready to talk to her, so every word out her mouth felt meaningless to me. “Well, I’ll be going now.” I watched blankly as she turned away from me.

“Who was it?” My wife inquired as she descended the stairs. “My favorite flowers! Babe, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Actually, I didn’t. It was… um…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Latoya. She was just here.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. She brought all this for us and wrote you a letter.”

“Where is she?” She took the envelope from my hands, her fingers gliding across my sister’s handwriting.

“I didn’t let her in. I kind of made her leave.”

“Michael!” She pushed past me, running out the door in her robe. She didn’t even care that she was barefoot. I watched from our doorstep as Y/N knocked on my sister’s car window— I had no doubt in my mind that she was inviting her inside. They walked in and Y/N asked her to wait in the living room for us.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see her. I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know and I appreciate it, but she’s still your sister. She’s trying to make amends the least we could do is hear her out. She came all this way, I don’t think she’d do that just to argue.”

“You’re too good.” This woman is full of surprises. I held her hand as we walked off to join my sister, sitting across from her.

“I was jealous.” Latoya said, fiddling with her acrylic nails as she thought of what to say next. “Y/N, it felt like everyone welcomed you so easily. You were considered family overnight, which is beautiful because you’re with Michael, but it made me scared. It’s not an excuse. It’s not a good one. It’s just— I’m trying to explain. It all happened so fast.” I sensed my wife tense up and I hoped this was going somewhere that wouldn’t end in tears. “I didn’t know Y/N very well, then I started seeing less and less of my baby brother. Instead of getting to know you, I blamed you for taking him from me, which obviously isn’t the case and my behavior led to neither of you feeling comfortable around me. It was difficult to accept that I was to blame. And, I don’t know, Michael it feels like you’ve always needed me and suddenly you didn’t anymore. You found someone that’s a great fit and you didn’t need to lean on your big sister anymore, which is great, but I guess it happened faster than I expected. It’s no secret that the Jackson men haven’t had the best luck in their marriages, but Michael is different. I was afraid of someone using him or hurting him. I think I convinced myself I was standing up for you by being a total ass to Y/N. I don’t know. I was so focused on protecting Michael that I didn’t even allow myself to get to know the new Mrs. Jackson and I should’ve. Y/N, I wish I had the relationship with you that my siblings have, but by the time I realized that I’d done too much damage. I didn’t deserve to know you and I knew that. I just really, completely screwed everything up. Baby brother, you and I were the closest and I didn’t realize that my protectiveness over you had transformed into something so ugly. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could undo it all because you didn’t deserve it.” She sounded sincere, her hands intertwined in front of her chest as if she was begging for us to understand.

“That makes sense. It’s natural to feel protective as an older sibling. I love that Michael has so many people looking out for him.” Y/N spoke softly, leaning forward. “You’re a great sister and you thought— your actions were wrong, but I believe that it came from a good place. It just got a little lost in translation. I appreciate your apology and I’m hopeful that we can move on from this.”

“Really? Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a total bitch to you—”

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We can get through it.”

“I was so awful to you. I regret it. I regret all of it. I’d want nothing more than to make it up to you. Can I— is there a chance I could make up for this? It’d mean the world to me, but I understand if you don’t want that.”

“I’d love that.” I was in shock when my wife stood up, holding her arms out to hug my sister. It was gladly accepted. They hugged tight, crying into each other’s embrace.

“Thank you.” Latoya cried, it was a moment of healing for all of us and I was so grateful for it.

“Alright, quick hogging my wife.” I teased, when they broke apart I took Y/N’s place. “I’m happy you’re done being a pain in the ass.”

“I am. I promise.” We let go of each other with a new found sense of relief.

“Do you want to stay for a bit? I was going to make some brunch.” My wife offered. “You like crepes right?”

“Yes! I’d love to.” My sister responded and Y/N went off to the kitchen, leaving us alone.

“Thank you for hearing me out.” She seemed nervous again with my wife’s absence. “Thank you for the second chance. I won’t screw up again I promise.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s all her.” I nodded towards the direction my wife disappeared into. “She has this thing where she’s incapable of holding a grudge and family is very important to her. She’s been really patient waiting for you to come around.”

“She’s great. I mean it. I don’t know how she dealt with me being so… I can’t believe I behaved that way. She accepted my apology, but after everything I wouldn’t have blamed her if she never wanted to see me again.”

“It’s not in her nature to hold onto anger. She kept me from shaking some sense into you a few times too. I’m glad it didn’t come to that and you came around on your own. Or, as Tito would say, got the stick removed from up your butt.”

“He’s always saying the weirdest stuff.”

“I think I’m used to it because I feel like he makes great points. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s kind of a genius.” Our laughter echoed through the room and I slowly felt myself letting go of the anger. It would take time, but I knew things would get better and eventually it’d feel normal.

“I’m proud of you. I’m glad you found someone who takes such good care of you. She’s perfect for you. She’s a nice addition to our family.”

“She is.”

“So, little brother, how’d you lock her down? She’s so much cooler than you.” Her voice softened as she tried to lighten the mood.

“I have no idea.” I shrugged, talking lazy steps toward the kitchen as my sister followed from beside me. “She’s way out of my league.”

“I’m glad you said it.”

“Shut up. Your voice is still annoying.” I joked, she punched my arm softly, then joined my wife by the stove and tried to help the best she could.

[magpiepills]

Only Teasing

EXPLICIT! 18+ MDNI

SMUT (including but not limited to: PIV, light londage, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap (20s and 40s) oral- m and f receiving, slight angst, size kink, fingering, pet names) mentions of alcohol consumption

Summary: you’ve been teasing your neighbor, Joel, but he’s got other ideas.

AN: this is a repost! this is my first published fic! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, after all the esquire stuff this morning I was inspired to finish the fic that has been easiest to write so far! Many thanks to all of the many wonderful writers who I read, like, reblog for the inspiration and keeping the Pedro fantasies alive!

Word count 1.6

“Look at you, baby, getting so wet and ready for my cock. Do you want it? Tell me what you need.” You try in vain to speak, but with your panties stuffed in your mouth, all you can do is whimper and groan at Joel’s touch. “All y’gotta do is ask.”

All summer, you’ve been doing your best to torment your neighbor, Joel. He’s probably 45 or so, with salt and pepper hair, and tan skin that covers muscles he built as a contractor. What you wouldn’t give to see him man-handling bags of cement and using heavy machinery.

The closest you got was when he came over to help your dad build a gazebo in the back yard. You couldn’t stop yourself from choosing the times he was in the back yard alone to swim or sunbathe, to call your friends to talk about your dates, to suck wantonly on popsicles under the mid-day sun. None of this ever garnered a reaction from Joel and it drove you crazy. You aren’t a narcissist, but you feel like you’re fairly attractive and you’d gotten plenty of attention from boys at college. It’s summer now, though, and you’re back home. You’re bored, you’re horny, and you love the thrill of teasing a hot older guy. You were having fun until the night the gazebo was finished and your dad and Joel celebrated with shots. You had joined them, made small talk with Joel, as innocently as possible. When it was clear your dad couldn’t handle another drink you took him inside and put him to bed.

You didn’t expect to see Joel still there when you came back out, but he was sitting in a chair, drink in his hand, watching you. “Guess he got carried away.” You said, smiling and beginning to fold the towel that was draped over your own seat. Joel didn’t speak for a few moments, just stared hard at you. “Been getting kind of carried away yourself lately, sugar.” You froze at his words. Unsure of what to say, you mustered all your confidence and courage and walked over, easing into his lap, offering yourself to him with a grin. “You ready to quit playin around now?” He didn’t give you a change to answer before lifting you and carrying you next door to his house.

Now you find yourself in his bed, hands tied over your head, and his mouth pressed to your secret heat. You were shocked and turned on by his unabashedly nasty language. No one had ever said such things to you in moments of passion. Joel seemed to bloom into his full self here in the darkness of his bedroom with you beneath him. “I need you to come, and I need it soon, baby girl. Can you give me one more?” You’d already came on his thick fingers, before he stuffed your panties into your mouth to keep you quiet. “That’s it, baby. Good girl” he cooed into your neck, one hand gently at your throat while the other pushes into your slick pussy, tracing his thumb over your swollen clit. It didn’t take long before you came undone and your hips jerked in response. Joel wasted no time and buried his face between your legs, licking a broad path over your folds, backtracking to suck your clit into his hot mouth, flicking his tongue over it as he sucked, and pushing you over the edge when he slid two fingers back into you. Wet, vulgar sounds filled the air. It was too much and not enough. You cried out and bucked against his weight. Joel was mad with lust and hell bent on ruining you. He was tired of your games and he was going to put a stop to it tonight. His hands felt hot as they slid over your hips and up to your breasts, where he rubbed and squeezed them, running his fingers lightly over your nipples, pulling at them until they hardened under his touch before turning his attention back to you. His cock was thick and heavy, straining against his tight boxer briefs, leaving a dark, round spot of pre-cum before he finally released his full length and sinking down on the bed before your face, pressing his member to your lips, rubbing it over the fabric of your panties, before pulling them from your mouth and replacing them unceremoniously with his dick. You moaned and the size of the smooth, hot head and the slightly salty flavor of pre cum. “Suck.” He commanded, and you hesitated for a second before opening wide and taking all you could in your mouth from the angle you were at. You moaned around his cock, sending waves of delight through his hips. He thrust into your mouth, frustrated that he couldn’t get deeper in your throat. “Need you to give me more, sugar. M’gonna untie you, but you gotta be a good girl for me, alright? Can you be real sweet for me? Let me see how good you can suck my cock. See if you can take it all, baby. See if you can earn a fuck.” You nodded quickly, desperation in your eyes.

With one swift motion he loosened the tie that was around your wrists and you dropped down in front of him to bring his cock into your mouth once more. With deliberate breaths and careful movements, you traced swirls and stripes up his length with your tongue until the fat head was at the back of your mouth, then you opened as wide as you could and pushed down further, feeling an ache in your throat that made your eyes water. You were drooling and struggling to breathe, but Joel was ready with encouragement. “That’s it. That’s it sugar. You’re doing so good sucking my cock. I could tell you wanted this. Knew you you were just actin’ up cause you needed your pretty face fucked by a man who knows what he’s doing.” His hand was at the back of your head, not pressing, but not allowing you to retreat. Panic was starting to creep over you when he relented, pulling away all at once with a groan. “You really think you can handle a real man, girl? I’m not one of your little college boys. It’s all fun and games until nobody else ever fucks you like I can. Gonna make you sorry, baby girl.” You didn’t care.

All summer you’d been dreaming of seducing him, and now he had you in his bed, reduced to a needy mess. You’d never seen a cock so big and you couldn’t go on without feeling it stretch and fill you. A whimper fell from your lips. Joel’s eyes were on yours, watching the torment wash over your face when he denied you the only thing you wanted. Slowly and deliberately, he held his throbbing cock, pressing it against your clit, a few taps for good measure as you squirmed, desperate to feel him inside you. Joel looked down at you, amused. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s see if you can handle me.” He notched the fat head at your entrance, and pushed. He moved slowly but with steady pressure until you felt the tip just inside, you were incoherent, head back, eyes squeezed shut, panting. “Be a lot easier if you relax, darlin. Take a deep breath cause you got a lot more to go and I’m not ready to stop.” “Don’t stop Joel, I can take it.” “I know you can baby doll. You’ve been teasing me for weeks, you gotta put your money where your pussy is.” You were sure he was pleased with his little joke, but you couldn’t ask because when he pushed in further, easing out slightly before each forward movement, you saw stars. You’d never felt anything like it, burning and tearing you in half. “You’re so big Joel! So big.” Is all you could get out.

Your dreams of whispering to him until he was wrapped around your finger, intoxicated by your charms, and ready to give you the world for the chance to worship at your altar dashed. He only let you think you were in control until the lights were out. No longer taunting you, he groaned into your neck as he pounded you down into his mattress, your own heavy breaths near his ear. His rhythmic pace faltered, his weight falling heavier and heavier on you. “I’m coming. Where you want it?” “Inside.” His hips jerked again and you felt his release, warm and thick inside you. “Atta girl.”

He rolled over and lay beside you catching his breath in silence, then left the room, leaving a pit in your stomach. Even when he returned with a washcloth for you, you couldn’t think of what to say. You had orgasmed again and again and you’d fucked the man you’d set your sights on, but the way he turned the tables had you disoriented and unsure of what yo do next. “Is that what you wanted? You wanted to fuck a real man, how was it?” You blinked at him, no words forming in response. “No more playing around. I don’t have time. If you want me, you better say so.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Inkjump Linkdump

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

It's the start of a long weekend and I've found myself with a backlog of links, so it's time for another linkdump – the eighteenth in the (occasional) series. Here's the previous installments:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Kicking off this week's backlog is a piece of epic lawyer-snark, which is something I always love, but what makes this snark total catnip for me is that it's snark about copyfraud: false copyright claims made to censor online speech. Yes please and a second portion, thank you very much!

This starts with the Cola Corporation, a radical LA-based design store that makes lefty t-shirts, stickers and the like. Cola made a t-shirt that remixed the LA Lakers logo to read "Fuck the LAPD." In response, the LAPD's private foundation sent a nonsense copyright takedown letter. Cola's lawyer, Mike Dunford, sent them a chef's-kiss-perfect reply, just two words long: "LOL, no":

https://www.techdirt.com/2024/04/19/apparel-company-gives-perfect-response-to-lapds-nonsense-ip-threat-letter-over-fuck-the-lapd-shirt/

But that's not the lawyer snark I'm writing about today. Dunford also sent a letter to IMG Worldwide, whose lawyers sent the initial threat, demanding an explanation for this outrageous threat, which was – as the physicists say – "not even wrong":

https://www.loweringthebar.net/2024/05/lol-no-explained.html

Every part of the legal threat is dissected here, with lavish, caustic footnotes, mercilessly picking apart the legal defects, including legally actionable copyfraud under DMCA 512(f), which provides for penalties for wrongful copyright threats. To my delight, Dunford cited Lenz here, which is the infamous "Dancing Baby" case that EFF successfully litigated on behalf of Stephanie Lenz, whose video of her adorable (then-)toddler dancing to a few seconds of Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" was censored by Universal Music Group:

https://www.eff.org/cases/lenz-v-universal

Dunford's towering rage is leavened with incredulous demands for explanations: how on Earth could a lawyer knowingly send such a defective, illegal threat? Why shouldn't Dunford seek recovery of his costs from IMG and its client, the LA Police Foundation, for such lawless bullying? It is a sparkling – incandescent, even! – piece of lawyerly writing. If only all legal correspondence was this entertaining! Every 1L should study this.

Meanwhile, Cola has sold out of everything, thanks to that viral "LOL, no." initial response letter. They're taking orders for their next resupply, shipping on June 1. Gotta love that Streisand Effect!

https://www.thecolacorporation.com/

I'm generally skeptical of political activism that takes the form of buying things or refusing to do so. "Voting with your wallet" is a pretty difficult trick to pull off. After all, the people with the thickest wallets get the most votes, and generally, the monopoly party wins. But as the Cola Company's example shows, there's times when shopping can be a political act.

But that's because it's a collective act. Lots of us went and bought stuff from Cola, to send a message to the LAPD about legal bullying. That kind of collective action is hard to pull off, especially when it comes to purchase-decisions. Often, this kind of thing descends into a kind of parody of political action, where you substitute shopping for ideology. This is where Matt Bors's Mr Gotcha comes in: "ooh, you want to make things better, but you bought a product from a tainted company, I guess you're not really sincere, gotcha!"

https://thenib.com/mister-gotcha/

There's a great example of this in Zephyr Teachout's brilliant 2020 book Break 'Em Up: if you miss the pro-union demonstration at the Amazon warehouse because you spent two hours driving around looking for an indie stationer to buy the cardboard to make your protest sign rather than buying it from Amazon, Amazon wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/29/break-em-up/#break-em-up

So yeah, I'm pretty skeptical of consumerism as a framework for political activism. It's very hard to pull off an effective boycott, especially of a monopolist. But if you can pull it off, well…

Canada is one of the most monopoly-friendly countries in the world. Hell, the Competition Act doesn't even have an "abuse of dominance" standard! That's like a criminal code that doesn't have a section prohibiting "murder." (The Trudeau government has promised to fix this.)

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/editorials/article-an-overhauled-competition-act-will-light-a-fire-in-the-stolid-world-of/

There's stiff competition for Most Guillotineable Canadian Billionaire. There's the entire Irving family, who basically own the province of New Bruinswick:

https://www.canadaland.com/podcast/dynasties-2-the-irvings/

There's Ted Rogers, the trumpy billionaire telecoms monopolist, whose serial acquire-and-loot approach to media has devastated Canadian TV and publishing:

https://www.canadaland.com/podcast/canadaland-725-the-rogers-family-compact/

But then there's Galen Fucking Weston, the nepobaby who inherited the family grocery business (including Loblaw), bought out all his competitors (including Shopper's Drug Mart), and then engaged in a criminal price-fixing conspiracy to rig the price of bread, the most Les-Miz-ass crime imaginable:

https://www.blogto.com/eat_drink/2023/06/what-should-happened-galen-weston-price-fixing/

Weston has made himself the face of the family business, appearing in TV ads in a cardigan to deliver dead-eyed avuncular paeans to his sprawling empire, even as he colludes with competitors to rig the price of his workers' wages:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2020-06-12/a-supermarket-billionaire-steps-into-trouble-over-pandemic-wages

For Canadians, Weston is the face of greedflation, the man whose nickle-and-diming knows no shame. This is the man who decided that the discount on nearly-spoiled produce would be slashed from 50% to 30%, who racked up record profits even as his prices skyrocketed.

It's impossible to overstate how loathed Galen Weston is at this moment. There's a very good episode of the excellent new podcast Lately, hosted by Canadian competition expert Vass Bednar and Katrina Onstad that gives you a sense of the national outrage:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-boycotting-the-loblawpoly/

All of this has led to a national boycott of Loblaw, kicked off by members of the r/loblawsisoutofcontrol, and it's working. Writing for Jacobin, Jeremy Appel gives us a snapshot of a nation in revolt:

https://jacobin.com/2024/05/loblaw-grocery-price-gouge-boycott/

Appel points out the boycott's problems – there's lots of places, particularly in the north, where Loblaw's is the only game in town, or where the sole competitor is the equally odious Walmart. But he also talks about the beneficial effect the boycott is having for independent grocers and co-ops who deal more fairly with their suppliers and their customers.

He also platforms the boycott's call for a national system of price controls on certain staples. This is something that neoliberal economists despise, and it's always fun to watch them lose their minds when the subject is raised. Meanwhile, economists like Isabella M Weber continue to publish careful research explaining how and why price controls can work, and represent our best weapon against "seller's inflation":

https://scholarworks.umass.edu/econ_workingpaper/343/

Antimonopoly sentiment is having a minute, obviously, and the news comes at you fast. This week, the DoJ filed a lawsuit to break up Ticketmaster/Live Nation, one of the country's most notorious monopolists, who have aroused the ire of every kind of fan, but especially the Swifties (don't fuck with Swifties). In announcing the suit, DoJ Antitrust Division boss Jonathan Kanter coined the term "Ticketmaster tax" to describe the junk fees that Ticketmaster uses to pick all our pockets.

In response, Ticketmaster has mobilized its own Loblaw-like shill army, who insist that all the anti-monopoly activism is misguided populism, and "anti-business." In his BIG newsletter, Matt Stoller tears these claims apart, and provides one of the clearest explanations of how Ticketmaster rips us all off that I've ever seen, leaning heavily on Ticketmaster's own statements to their investors and the business-press:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/antitrust-enforcers-to-break-up-ticketmaster

Ticketmaster has a complicated "flywheel" that it uses to corner the market on live events, mixing low-margin businesses that are deliberately kept unprofitable (to prevent competitors from gaining a foothold) in order to capture the high-margin businesses that are its real prize. All this complexity can make your eyes glaze over, and that's to Ticketmaster's benefit, keeping normies from looking too closely at how this bizarre self-licking ice-cream cone really works.

But for industry insiders, those workings are all too clear. When Rebecca Giblin and I were working on our book Chokepoint Capitalism, we talked to insiders from every corner of the entertainment-industrial complex, and there was always at least one expert who'd go on record about the scams inside everything from news monopolies to streaming video to publishing and the record industry:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

The sole exception was Ticketmaster/Live Nation. When we talked to club owners, promoters and other victims of TM's scam, they universally refused to go on the record. They were palpably terrified of retaliation from Ticketmaster's enforcers. They acted like mafia informants seeking witness protection. Not without reason, mind you: back when the TM monopoly was just getting started, Pearl Jam – then one of the most powerful acts in American music – took a stand against them. Ticketmaster destroyed them. That was when TM was a mere hatchling, with a bare fraction of the terrifying power it wields today.

TM is a great example of the problem with boycotts. If a club or an act refuses to work with TM/LN, they're destroyed. If a fan refuses to buy tickets from TM or see a Live Nation show, they basically can't go to any shows. The TM monopoly isn't a problem of bad individual choices – it's a systemic problem that needs a systemic response.

That's what makes antitrust responses so timely. Federal enforcers have wide-ranging powers, and can seek remedies that consumerism can never attain – there's no way a boycott could result in a breakup of Ticketmaster/Live Nation, but a DoJ lawsuit can absolutely get there.

Every federal agency has wide-ranging antimonopoly powers at its disposal. These are laid out very well in Tim Wu's 2020 White House Executive Order on competition, which identifies 72 ways the agencies can act against monopoly without having to wait for Congress:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

But of course, the majority of antimonopoly power is vested in the FTC, the agency created to police corporate power. Section 5 of the FTC Act grants the agency the power to act to prevent "unfair and deceptive methods of competition":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

This clause has lain largely dormant since the Reagan era, but FTC chair Lina Khan has revived it, using it to create muscular privacy rights for Americans, and to ban noncompete agreements that bind American workers to dead-end jobs:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

The FTC's power to ban activity because it's "unfair and deceptive" is exciting, because it promises American internet users a way to solve their problems beyond copyright law. Copyright law is basically the only law that survived the digital transition, even as privacy, labor and consumer protection rights went into hibernation. The last time Congress gave us a federal consumer privacy law was 1988, and it's a law that bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you rented:

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

That's left internet users desperately trying to contort copyright to solve every problem they have – like someone trying to build a house using nothing but chainsaw. For example, I once found someone impersonating me on a dating site, luring strangers into private spaces. Alarmed, I contacted the dating site, who told me that their only fix for this was for me to file a copyright claim against the impersonator to make them remove the profile photo. Now, that photo was Creative Commons licensed, so any takedown notice would have been a "LOL, no." grade act of copyfraud:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/the-internets-original-sin/

The unsuitability of copyright for solving complex labor and privacy problems hasn't stopped people who experience these problems from trying to use copyright to solve them. They've got nothing else, after all.

That's why everyone who's worried about the absolutely legitimate and urgent concerns over AI and labor and privacy has latched onto copyright as the best tool for resolving these questions, despite copyright's total unsuitability for this purpose, and the strong likelihood that this will make these problems worse:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

Enter FTC Chair Lina Khan, who has just announced that her agency will be reviewing AI model training as an "unfair and deceptive method of competition":

https://thehill.com/policy/technology/4682461-ftc-chair-ai-models-could-violate-antitrust-laws/

If the agency can establish this fact, they will have sweeping powers to craft rules prohibiting the destructive and unfair uses of AI, without endangering beneficial activities like scraping, mathematical analysis, and the creation of automated systems that help with everything from adding archival metadata to exonerating wrongly convicted people rotting in prison:

https://hrdag.org/tech-notes/large-language-models-IPNO.html

I love this so much. Khan's announcement accomplishes the seemingly impossible: affirming that there are real problems and insisting that we employ tactics that can actually fix those problems, rather than just doing something because inaction is so frustrating.

That's something we could use a lot more of, especially in platform regulation. The other big tech news about Big Tech last week was the progress of a bill that would repeal Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act at the end of 2025, without any plans to replace it with something else.

Section 230 is the most maligned, least understood internet law, and that's saying something:

https://www.techdirt.com/2020/06/23/hello-youve-been-referred-here-because-youre-wrong-about-section-230-communications-decency-act/

Its critics wrongly accuse the law – which makes internet users liable for bad speech acts, not the platforms that carry that speech – of being a gift to Big Tech. That's totally wrong. Without Section 230, platforms could be named to lawsuits arising from their users' actions. We know how that would play out.

Back in 2018, Congress took a big chunk out of 230 when they passed SESTA/FOSTA, a law that makes platforms liable for any sex trafficking that is facilitated by their platforms. Now, this may sound like a narrowly targeted, beneficial law that aims at a deplorable, unconscionable crime. But here's how it played out: the platforms decided that it was too much trouble to distinguish sex trafficking from any sex-work, including consensual sex work and adjacent activities. The result? Consensual sex-work became infinitely more dangerous and precarious, while trafficking was largely unaffected:

https://www.gao.gov/assets/gao-21-385.pdf

Eliminating 230 would be incredibly reckless under any circumstances, but after the SESTA/FOSTA experience, it's unforgivable. The Big Tech platforms will greet this development by indiscriminately wiping out any kind of controversial speech from marginalized groups (think #MeToo or Black Lives Matter). Meanwhile, the rich and powerful will get a new tool – far more powerful than copyfraud – to make inconvenient speech disappear. The war-criminals, rapists, murderers and rip-off artists who currently make do with bogus copyright claims to "manage their reputations" will be able to use pretextual legal threats to make their critics just disappear:

https://www.qurium.org/forensics/dark-ops-undercovered-episode-i-eliminalia/

In a post-230 world, Cola Corporation's lawyers wouldn't get a chance to reply to the LAPD's bullying lawyers – those lawyers would send their letter to Cola's hosting provider, who would weigh the possibility of being named in a lawsuit against the small-dollar monthly payment they get from Cola, and poof, no more Cola. The legal bullies could do the same for Cola's email provider, their payment processor, their anti-DoS provider.

This week on EFF's Deeplinks blog, I published a piece making the connection between abolishing Section 230 and reinforcing Big Tech monopolies:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/05/wanna-make-big-tech-monopolies-even-worse-kill-section-230

The Big Tech platforms really do suck, and the solution to their systemic, persistent moderation failures won't come from making them liable for users' speech. The platforms have correctly assessed that they alone have the legal and moderation staff to do the kinds of mass-deletions of controversial speech that could survive a post-230 world. That's why tech billionaires like Mark Zuckerberg love the idea of getting rid of 230:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/03/facebooks-pitch-congress-section-230-me-not-thee

But for small tech providers – individuals, co-ops, nonprofits and startups that host fediverse servers, standalone group chats and BBSes – a post-230 world is a mass-extinction event. Ever had a friend demand that you take sides in an interpersonal dispute ("if you invite her to the party, I'm not coming!").

Imagine if your refusal to take sides in a dispute among your friends – and their friends, and their friends – could result in you being named to a suit that could cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to settle:

https://www.engine.is/news/primer/section230costs

It's one thing to hope for a more humane internet run by people who want to make hospitable forums for online communities to form. It's another to ask them to take on an uninsurable risk that could result in the loss of their home, their retirement account, and their life's savings.

A post-230 world is one in which Big Tech must delete first and ask questions later. Yes, Big Tech platforms have many sins to answer for, but making them jointly liable for their users' speech will flush out treasure-hunters seeking a quick settlement and a quick buck.

Again, this isn't speculative – it's inevitable. Consider FTX: yes, the disgraced cryptocurrency exchange was a festering hive of fraud – but there's no way that fraud added up to the 23.6 quintillion dollars in claims that have been laid against it:

https://cdn.arstechnica.net/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/US-v-SBF-Alameda-Research-Victim-Impact-Statement-3-20-2024.pdf

Without 230, Big Tech will shut down anything controversial – and small tech will disappear. It's the worst of all possible worlds, a gift to tech monopolists and the bullies and crooks who have turned our online communities into shooting galleries.

One of the reasons I love working for EFF is our ability to propose technologically informed, sound policy solutions to the very real problems that tech creates, such as our work on interoperability as a way to make it easier for users to escape Big Tech:

https://www.eff.org/interoperablefacebook

Every year, EFF recognizes the best, bravest and brightest contributors to a better internet and a better technological future, with our annual EFF Awards. Nominations just opened for this year's awards – if you know someone who fits the bill, here's the form:

https://www.eff.org/nominations-open-2024-eff-awards

It's nearly time for me to sign off on this weekend's linkdump. For one thing, I have to vacate my backyard hammock, because we've got contractors who need to access the side of the house to install our brand new heat-pump (one of two things I'm purchasing with my last lump-sum book advance – the other is corrective cataract surgery that will give me lifelong, perfect vision).

I've been lusting after a heat-pump for years, and they just keep getting better – though you might not know it, thanks to the fossil-fuel industry disinfo campaign that insists that these unbelievably cool gadgets don't work. This week in Wired, Matt Simon offers a comprehensive debunking of this nonsense, and on the way, explains the nearly magical technology that allows a heat pump to heat a midwestern home in the dead of winter:

https://www.wired.com/story/myth-heat-pumps-cold-weather-freezing-subzero/

As heat pumps become more common, their applications will continue to proliferate. On Bloomberg, Feargus O'Sullivan describes one such application: the Japanese yokushitsu kansouki – a sealed bathroom with its own heat-pump that can perfectly dry all your clothes while you're out at work:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2024-05-22/laundry-lessons-from-japanese-bathroom-technology

This is amazing stuff – it uses less energy than a clothes-dryer, leaves your clothes wrinkle-free, prevents the rapid deterioration caused by high heat and mechanical agitation, and prevents the microfiber pollution that lowers our air-quality.

This is the most solarpunk thing I've read all week, and it makes me insanely jealous of Japanese people. The second-most solarpunk thing I've read this week came from The New Republic, where Aaron Regunberg and Donald Braman discuss the possibility of using civil asset forfeiture laws – lately expanded to farcical levels by the Supreme Court in Culley – to force the fossil fuel industry to pay for the energy transition:

https://newrepublic.com/article/181721/fossil-fuels-civil-forefeiture-pipeline-climate

They point out that the fossil fuel industry has committed a string of undisputed crimes, including fraud, and that the Supremes' new standard for asset forfeiture could comfortably accommodate state AGs and other enforcers who seek billions from Big Oil on this basis. Of course, Big Oil has more resources to fight civil asset forfeiture than the median disputant in these cases ("a low- or moderate-income person of color [with] a suspected connection to drugs"). But it's an exciting idea!

All right, the heat-pump guys really need me to vacate the hammock, so here's one last quickie for you: Barath Raghavan and Bruce Schneier's new paper, "Seeing Like a Data Structure":

https://www.belfercenter.org/publication/seeing-data-structure

This is a masterful riff on James C Scott's classic Seeing Like a State, and it describes how digitalization forces us into computable categories, and counts the real costs of doing so. It's a gnarly and thoughtful piece, and it's been on my mind continuously since Schneier sent it to me yesterday. Something suitably chewy for you to masticate over the long weekend!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/25/anthology/#lol-no

[coloursflyaway]

fic prompt if youre interested: charles is hanging out by himself and accidentally meets 2 other ghosts and finds out they got married in the afterlife and absolutely goes crazy over it bc hes like you can get married in the afterlife?? ghost weddings exist??? should *i* propose to edwin???? and he cannot stop thinking about it and one day he's just like "edwin, do you think we should get married?" and edwin is like charles wtf?

Hi! It took some time, but here's the fic ♥

Because My Heart And His Are The Same

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.000

Read on AO3

“Let's get married”, he tells Edwin, quickly crossing the distance between the mirror and the desk, and this gets a reaction at last, Edwin’s head whipping up to stare at him. “That’s what we have to do. I talked to the witness and her husband, and I’ll tell you about the case later, but they got married when they were dead, because the whole Til Death Do Us Part thing, that should work the other way around too, right? Like, if we are already dead and we get married, then there is nothing left to part us. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Charles and Edwin get married before they even know they are in love. (They find out twenty years later.)

“...and once we had met, it was almost like destiny. It took maybe a few weeks, but after that, we both knew that we were it for each other. Soulmates, I guess you could call it. Sometimes, I wonder if being dead just makes it easier to decide these things, like life falling away allows you to focus on the important things.”

Marian, the witness Charles set out to interview and got completely sidetracked by, looks over to the man next to her, and her eyes are so warm and so soft and so grateful that it does something to Charles’ head and chest that he isn’t sure he likes. Something is growing there, caught between happiness and jealousy and, mixed in between, the feeling he occasionally gets when he looks at Edwin.

For a fleeting, almost unnoticeable moment, he wishes Edwin was here, without knowing why. Apart from the fact, of course, that he usually wants Edwin there with him.

“And we ended up thinking how to go on from that, because I would like to move on at some point in the future, but I would never be able to leave Sebastian. It wouldn’t be Heaven without him there, if that is where I will be going, and it would be Hell for him. Seb’s always been a romantic, or so he tells me, and he came up with an idea that was so strange that we figured it might work.”

Another smile, another look, a nod from Sebastian, and the feeling in Charles’ chest pulses, presses against his ribs like it is trying to break free.

“You see”, Marian continues, “Til Death Do Us Part, when you promise that alive, that means you will be parted once you’ve died. So, Seb figured, if that is true, then Death might not be able to part us if we get married when we’re already dead. Of course, here’s no guarantee that it’ll work, but then again, it can’t hurt to try either. So, eight weeks after we met, we went to find a priest that could see ghosts and we got married.”

She reaches out to take her husband’s hand, but by now, Charles’ mind is reeling to the point where he barely notices it, where the smitten expression on her face can’t fan the emotions blooming in his chest any more. They’re still there, and might stay for a long time, but at the moment, they just don’t matter.

“And that’s the story how I ended up with such an overly-long, hyphenated name. I don’t mind it, though, I wear it with pride, since it’s ours, and-”

Marian is about to launch into another bit of their story, and usually, Charles would be glad to listen – he, just like Sebastian, is a romantic at heart, always has been – but he can’t, not now. Not when he might just have received the most important bit of information since he first listened to The Special’s self-titled album in 1987. A proper revelation, this might be.

Because it makes sense. If marriage is something that can only be broken by death, then getting married after you have died should make it unbreakable. Right?

“I have to go”, he blurts out, then adds, both to be polite and because he really, truly means it, “but thank you. Like, seriously. Thank you so much.”

“Edwin! Edwin, come here!”, Charles yells out even before he has fully come through the mirror, too excited to hold onto the words for a second longer, “We have to do something!”

There’s a moment of silence, which means that Edwin is absolutely not moving, like he should be, then, “Do what, Charles? You seem quite flustered. Did something happen with the witness?”

Edwin isn’t even looking up from where he is bent over the desk, studying an artefact or reading a book, obviously not understanding the seriousness of the situation at all. It should be exasperating, but Charles only feels fond, the affection blossoming in his chest enough to cut through the excitement.

“Get married”, he tells Edwin, quickly crossing the distance between the mirror and the desk, and this gets a reaction at last, Edwin’s head whipping up to stare at him. “That’s what we have to do. I talked to the witness and her husband, and I’ll tell you about the case later, but they got married when they were dead, because the whole Til Death Do Us Part thing, that should work the other way around too, right? Like, if we are already dead and we get married, then there is nothing left to part us. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Charles feels the idea buzzing through his body like he remembers caffeine doing when he was still alive, making him rock on his heels, fingers tangling and untangling, even if Edwin is still only staring at him, eyes wide and mouth open.

“...we can’t get married”, Edwin finally answers, slow and soft, like he is still piecing the words together, like he is still navigating his thoughts even as he is speaking them. “We are… both boys.”

Sometimes, he forgets how different Edwin’s time was; sometimes, he forgets that even as they have become part of a new era, one in which neither of them has ever lived, it usually takes Edwin longer to catch up with how things have changed.

“Get with the times, Edwin!”, Charles tells him, grinning, because for once, he is the brains, and he is the one who has done his research before coming here. “It’s 2006! We can go to the Netherlands, Belgium, Canada, Spain or South Africa. I’ll even let you choose. We could do a little honeymoon-like vacation after that, too! The only thing we have to do is find some kind of official there who can see ghosts, and voila! Married.”

It’s so easy, it’s such a great idea, Edwin just has to realise it. And he will, Charles is certain of it. After all, Edwin is brilliant.

“But-”, Edwin breathes out, and there is another moment of silence, one that somehow feels breathless, feels heavy with emotion that Charles cannot place; something momentous, terrifying, life-changing. “….you would want to marry me?”

“Of course.” It’s the easiest question in the world to answer, even if Edwin asks it like it should be impossible to do so; it’s Edwin, it’s an extra bit of hope for them to stay together, like they should, have to, will. “You’re my best mate. I don’t wanna leave you ever, so it makes sense, doesn’t it? Doesn’t have to be romantic, not to us. But if Death ever does catch us, we’ll be able to go, absolutely not, death can’t part us, it’s the thing that brought us together. Brills, right?”

And there is another pause, just as breathless, just as life-changing; Edwin drops his gaze, and when he answers, his voice is soft in a different, a hopeful way.

“Yes. You’re right. That would be brills, indeed.”

They’re on the rooftop, watching the sun rise, because the agency feels crowded with Niko and Crystal sleeping on the couch, and Edwin’s hand is in his, just where it belongs.

They haven’t had much time to themselves lately, so this feels like a treat, a few peaceful hours they have carved out to just be with each other, enjoy these strange, beautifully changed circumstances of their relationship. Because they are beautiful, Charles thinks as he strokes his thumb across Edwin’s knuckles; they are beautiful because being with Edwin always is, always has been, because they were meant to be friends for three decades and they are meant to be much more for the rest of their existence, because he loves Edwin the most of all, and always will.

“We should do this more often, coming up here”, Edwin says softly into the light of the morning sun, and his voice feels like a balm on every scratch on Charles’ soul. “It really is quite pretty. And I have always loved the sunrise.”

And I have always loved you, Charles wants to say, but doesn’t; he doesn’t have to, Edwin knows.

He’s right, too: the city is just waking up underneath them, dawn is painting the sky pink and peach, the clouds scattered across it like sea foam. It reminds Charles of South Africa, of watching the sunrise on the beach there, and…

“Oh, God”, Charles blurts out before he has had a second to think, half-laughing, and knows Edwin is looking at him with one perfect eyebrow raised without turning his head. “Oh God, I just realised something. Edwin. I kind of figured you were my boyfriend now, or something, but you’re not. I can’t believe I forgot about that. You’re my husband.”

And he’s laughing, because how do you forget about being married to the love of your afterlife? And yet, how do you not, when you’ve only fallen in love with him two decades after marrying him?

It takes Edwin a second, but then he joins Charles, hand tightening around his fingers, and there is something so precious about Edwin’s laughter, especially when it sounds like this, carefree and incredulous and happy, that Charles thinks he might be falling in love with him all over again.

“If it’s any consolation, Charles, I had forgotten about it, too”, Edwin tells him once their laughter has died down, a smile still on his plush lips; Charles almost kisses it off them. “Even if it was quite a beautiful wedding.”

“It was.” It had been warm and sunny and quick, just them and a lovely older woman, a kiss to Edwin’s cheek and a lie about being too timid for public affection, a long walk on the beach afterwards and the elation of a little bit more hope that they would never have to part. “We should do it again.”

“What?”

“Get married.” He’s only had the thought for a split second, and yet Charles can almost see it in his mind: a proper ceremony this time, with Crystal and Niko there, writing vows and kissing Edwin senseless after he says I do, and meaning it differently this time, still meaning it the same way as the first time, too. “We should get married again. Marry me again?”

The question startles a surprised sound from Edwin, something in between a laugh and a gasp, and his eyes are as wide as they were the first time Charles proposed it. Proposed to him.

“But we have permission to stay here now”, Edwin counters, soft and warm and intrigued; his fingers tighten around Charles’ and Charles wants to slide a ring on one of them and never see Edwin without it again.

“I know. Doesn’t make me want to marry you any less”, he tells Edwin and can’t help but smile, can’t help but let the excitement, the love colour every word of it. “There’s so many more countries we could go to now, and there are no records of it anywhere, so we could get married in each one of them. I want to marry you on a beach and in a church and on top of the highest building we can find. And if that stupid department ever changes its mind, and Death finds us, we can tell her, she can’t split us apart, because-”

“-because death is the thing that brought us together.”

“Exactly.” Charles smiles, touched that Edwin remembered his words from back then, and is fairly certain that, if Edwin still had blood flowing through his body, he would be blushing. “A dozen times, at least.”

It takes a moment, but it is one Charles doesn’t mind waiting for, because then Edwin says, “Alright. I’ll marry you. Again.”

“And again?”

“And again”, Edwin replies, soft and sweet, and Charles loves him, then adds, “And then again, if you want to. Husband.”

And this time, Charles gives in, wouldn’t know how to stop himself, and kisses the love and the surprise and the happiness right off Edwin’s lips, and thinks about how they’ll taste after having said their vows the next time, and the one after that, and the one after that, too.

And clutches Edwin closer, and thinks, and the one after that, as well.

And kisses that thought onto Edwin’s lips, too.

[anincompletelist]

[ vol i | vol ii | vol iii | vol iv ]

happy january friends! :D

there have been a crazy number of wonderful fics that I have had time to catch up on this month, and I've saved a few for next month's rec as well!

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

this turned out to be a bit of a long one! I hope everyone has had a wonderful start to the new year so far, and happy reading y'all! <3

+

it's a kind of magic | Jaistiel | E | 82k

Henry, the man who had asked if Alex's magic hurt him before asking if he used it for evil things. Henry, the man who seemed terrified of his magic, but also held a level of awe and wonder about it. Henry, the man who was likely scared out of his mind to share a tent with someone capable of the things Alex could do, but was offering anyway. "Alex." He watched as Henry's eyes widened with shock, his jaw dropping open just enough for his full lips to form a small, perfect 'o' shape. "If you're asking me to share your tent and your blankets, I guess you should at least know my name."

+

you can see it with the lights out | weathersriley | G | 3k

"Alex thinks of the water. Of feeling like he might never reach the surface, might never reach Henry. But Henry is here; Alex remembers falling asleep in the glow of his presence, and beneath his shaking fingers, Henry’s chest is warm and his heart is beating steadily and Henry is here. Alex is afraid, but Henry is here."

+

Dream A Little Dream Of Me | @affectionatelyrs | T+ | 9k

They’re no longer in the garden. There’s no grass, no flowers, no fireflies. Only stars—hundreds upon hundreds of them in an otherwise vast sea of darkness, dazzling and twinkling and here. “How—” “They came here for you,” Alex says, his voice light. “It’s what you desired. So, I asked them to come and shine. Just for you.” “But won’t the world need them?” Alex shrugs and simply says, “You need them more.” [Or, Five times Alex visits Henry in his dreams during his dark days, and one time he does so in the real world (and stays)]

+

if I do not have (your) love, I am nothing | @read-and-write- | M | 9k

The church says that sin keeps you away from God. Your disobedience is to remain hidden and only admitted during confession. The greater the sin, the greater your penance should be, and God, as the loving God he is, will forgive you. Because God is love, and he’s the greatest expression of it. Love thy neighbor is the greatest mandate of all. Yet, when Alex loves, his love is seen as perverse, impure. The greatest sin he has committed was to fall in love with another man, who has lain by his side during countless nights. But when Alex looks at Henry, he finds nothing reprehensible, nothing unclean. Instead, he finds the truest form of worship held between his arms, trailing fingertips that climb up Henry’s spine as a litany of words spill out from his mouth. A room consecrated by each whisper of God’s name, said so reverently that no one would dare say they have taken His name in vain. [A character study of Alex, religion, divinity and love.]

+

sea of endless hope | acastle | E | 65k+

Henry watches Alex, the man he adores and loves so ardently, and the moment is palpable, delicate, and yet too large for even the sky to contain. He watches Alex, and in that moment, he wants to be his husband, the ache and urge of it almost unbearable. “Daddy!” Nena takes Henry’s hands, and he looks down at her, the angel who had saved him, and he smiles at her, quiet with emotion, letting her lead him into place. He would follow her, follow Alex, anywhere. (Henry, Alex, and their daughter, and the first years of coming home, forever.)

+

I wake up with your memory over me (and that's a real fucking legacy) | @coffeecatsme | E | 21k

The ski instructor stops in front of him, takes off his goggles, and Henry about stops breathing for another reason. “Hey,” Alexander says with a grin, his face distinctly lacking in wrinkles Henry was expecting from a renowned instructor. There’s a bright grin on his face that rivals the sun, rich brown curls spilling out of a red beanie, and Henry realizes he’s absolutely fucked for a whole other reason than his inability to figure out how to stay upright in skis.  [Or, the one in which Henry is hopeless at skiing despite his family's aspirations, and Mary hires Alex as an instructor to amend that.]

+

Praise and Supplication | @nocoastposts | E | 3k

Alex is always moving, always going, always seeking. He is defiance and brashness tinged with anxiety, but not in these moments. Henry pins him down with a gaze as heavy as his touch, and all of Alex’s motions cease. He is calm, he is obedient, he is pliable. He knows he’ll be broken apart piece by piece, sending waves of heat deep into his core. [When Alex gets stuck in his head, Henry helps him let go.]

+

Room for Rent (Sex Dungeon Not Included) | @everwitch-magiks | E | 19k

When Alex comes, he only knows two things: that he’s good, and that he’s Henry’s. And that’s all he needs to know. Alex’s housemate has a sex dungeon. It’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect; whips and bondage gear and a chair that looks like something a gynecologist would have use for. Alex, being the chill, sex-positive guy he is, is of course extremely cool with this. Totally normal about it. Enthusiastically supportive, even. But as Alex watches Henry invite a steady stream of men into his dungeon, he develops one tiny little issue with the arrangement: he desperately wants to take their place.

+

stolen glances with a string attached | @wordsofhoneydew | T+ | 6k

Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read. The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.” [An AU in which two men fall in love through their office windows]

+

two is better than one | @bigassbowlingballhead | E | 8k

“You’ve thought about being with two of me, baby?” Alex teases, “Are you sure you can handle that?” he smirks. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Henry says matter of factly. “Not that it’s even fathomable.” “What if it could be…”

+

love left a permanent mark | @hypnostheory | E | 10k

Henry clears his throat and answers again. “I’m a bit nervous. About the needles.” “Thank you for telling me,” Alex says, voice dipping low. Henry wouldn’t move from his spot on the couch if the apartment was on fire. “People aren’t afraid of the needle. They’re afraid of the pain. But you’re not scared of that, right?” [Henry decides to get a tattoo. It comes with more than one kind of aftercare.]

+

Grounded In Fact | @england-would-fall | E | 5k

When Georgetown grad student Henry's and Alex's flights home are cancelled for bad weather, they secure the last room at a nearby hotel. Henry Fox, facing the prospect of sharing a bed with his roommate/love of his life/friend he has never confessed his feelings to, enters into an epic state of Gay Panic (tm). Come on in and watch as Henry Who Is Experiencing The Greatest Tragedy Since The Burning Of Alexandria navigates this very real and not at all in-his-head crisis.

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kitchen confidential | @dumbpeachjuice | T+ | 4k

The NDA is approximately a mile long. “Jesus fuck,” Alex splutters. “What, is their favourite film The Menu or something? Am I gonna come out of this one alive?” [Or, the one where Alex is hired to cater a private dinner party for Prince Henry and his friends, and it does not go as he expects.]

+

Newton's Fourth Law | dilfpickles | E | 26k

In which Alex meets his new very attractive roommate through Reddit, downloads Grindr, and discovers some things about himself and his roommate in the process.

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Knowing me, knowing you | phlebotinxm | E | 8k

It wasn’t like the thought crept up on him by surprise. It had come in waves, like white salty water spread upon the shore and leaving little bits of foam and dust for people to see, like an idea Henry couldn’t quite shake that seemed to bleed into every era of their lives. It stayed at the back of his mind as he got up in the morning, and pulsed against his temple when he fell asleep. [In which, upon discovering something he’d never imagined about his father, Henry realizes that he is ready to take the next big step in his and Alex’s relationship.]

+

All the Lonely Starbucks Lovers | @kiwiana-writes | E | 5k

“That floor doesn’t look like it’s very comfortable on your knees, is all.” Henry leans forward, scooping out a piece of brownie that got under the counter, somehow. “I wouldn’t worry about that—my knees are quite used to it, I assure you.” A ringing silence follows this pronouncement, during which Henry focuses very hard on opening a trap door directly into hell with the power of his mind. [Or, five times Henry puts his foot in his mouth in front of his customer crush, and one time he puts his dick in his customer crush's mouth instead doesn't.]

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The Consequences (Of Our Actions) series | @anchoredarchangel | E | 78k+

"I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.” Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-” “My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah." [Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.]

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Burnt Offering | justice fortheJ14magazine | G | 9k

He just needs to get through washing his hair. Simple. Except washing his hair has never been simple. It’s the polar opposite, actually. The more he thinks about the task set out in front of him, the more daunting and impossible it feels. His limbs feel like lead and the weight of the hot water pouring over him makes his head buzz. But Alex can do this. He’s done it before. A shower after a long lacrosse game or that one time he had the flu and had to stop three times to sit under the water and collect himself. He can handle a little finals week exhaustion. He has to. [Or, Alex’s hair care routine is elaborate, he struggles to let Henry help him, and he learns some important things about receiving love through service.]

+

Ho for the Holidays | @whimsymanaged | E | 6k

“Listen, don’t worry about this,” Henry says quickly, already mentally crafting the passive-aggressive text he’s going to send Pez. “Better luck next year. I’ll just be off—“ “Hold your damn horses.” Alex stops Henry with a fast, surprisingly gentle hand to his wrist. His eyebrows furrow. “What did you put on your questionnaire?” Henry’s ears go hot. “That’s none of your business.” Alex scoffs and leans in closer. “Baby, we matched. It’s safe to say we have at least some interests in common. Be honest—was it because you confessed to having a secret desire to slap me?” [Or, Pez organizes an event called Ho for the Holidays, and these two idiots get paired up.]

--

see you all soon! :D

sarah / anincompletelist xx