#binder more like breathing issues

[candycaneface0]

wearing a binder for too long and sneezing is a really quick and easy recipe for meeting god

[toytulini]

i dont want to give in to Modern Shapewear but i really hate when im trying to have a Fun Outfit and theres fucking Distinct Lines from various under wear bands (bra, undies, maybe a pair of tights?) all at separate points? that are impossible to hide bc the outer wear is fucking form fitting spandex

[zzprompto]

☆ my man

yuuji itadori x ftm reader [he / him]

sypnosis : itadori comforts a dysphoric reader who he finds staring at themselves in the mirror. (meant to be viewed as romantic.)

the lowercase is intentional !

- warnings : non-sexual nudity, female genitalia mentions.

once again, [name] finds himself infront of the mirror. he's staring at his body, the way there was two mounts of flesh on his chest instead of a flat line. he wondered if it was better that he stayed off as a woman.

despite all his staring, [name] hated it. he hated how his body looked.

all of his curves, his tits, his feminine looking features - they made him feel like less of a man. no other man had parts like his is what he always thought. he constantly put himself down because of his body, feeding himself lies due to the things he's heard spread by mouth. those words were like a virus that had settled into his mind and never left. he hated his body, and all the things that made him more 'feminine'. it was all because of other people. people that didn't understand people like him.

a small sigh escaped [name]'s lips. he was growing more and more frustrated as he stared at his body, at his chest more specifically. it made him feel all sticky, like he was strolling about on a hot and humid day, his clothes sticking to his skin and sweat pouring own his back. it was an awful feeling, and he always felt it staring at himself.

begrudgingly, [name] slips on his binder. he picks it up from the counter and slowly puts it on. he questions what the point of it was, it didn't even look like it helped him at all. it was just a contraption that squeezed his lungs and made every breath living hell. it was painful being trans. it was painful being in a body that didn't belong to you. it was painful being in a body that made you sick the more days that passed by.

as [name] was putting his binder on, a small knock on the bathroom door was heard, followed by said door opening. it revealed the one and only yuuji itadori - [name]'s boyfriend. he saw [name] struggling to put his binder on so he immediately rushed over to help. he helped the other pull the binder down, making sure it was in the correct position, covering everything.

"i take it you were having issues with your binder? that's why you were taking so long to come out?" yuuji says, a small laugh following soon after. he grinned at his boyfriend, enjoying to see him in any state - whether he was dishevelled, as handsome as ever or just about his normal day. he loved it all, and he most importantly loved [name].

[name] just sighed in response to yuuji's question. he didn't feel like answering it, mostly because he didn't want to worry yuuji. he cared too much sometimes, and as much as [name] loved it, he felt like he didn't deserve it. he felt like a fake man such as himself didn't deserve all the care and love yuuji showed him.

"yeah.. binder issues." [name] muttered as he took his shirt from the shelf of the bathroom, slipping it over his head to hide his binder. "we can go now, i've put it on now. i'm ready." he grumbled under his breath, pushing past yuuji.

however, it was clear yuuji didn't like how [name] was acting right now. he could tell something was wrong. yuuji gripped [name]'s shoulders and held him still, not letting him move. all his his training made him quite strong too, so [name] definitely couldn't move even if he tried. "i'm not letting you go until you tell me what's wrong. you seem off." yuuji states, frowning slightly at [name].

[name] sighed once more, crossing his arms over his chest to hide himself and his chest further. "i just don't get it. i don't get why you still put up with me, and i don't get why i'm stuck in a body that provides me with.. all the parts i don't want!" [name] explained his frustrations, a small groan escaping his lips soon after. yuuji seemed even more worried after hearing [name] speak.

"hey.. i put up with you because i love you." yuuji replies, ruffling [name]'s hair and grinning. he was always so cheerful, determined to brighten anyone's day - especially [name]'s. "no matter if you're stuck in this body that you hate, or a body that's the one you like. i don't care about your body, [name]. only you." the pink haired boy continued, cupping [name]'s cheeks and kissing him softly.

the trans boy looked away, a frown on his face. he pulls away from the kiss, wanting to hide away once more from the whole world. "but.. i have tits. i have a vagina. i'm not a man. i'm just playing dress up.. people will still see me as a woman no matter how hard i try and change myself." he muttered, tears forming in his eyes. "god, i'm even acting like a stereotypical woman now, huh? letting my emotions get the best of me." [name] mumbles as tears flow down his face.

yuuji wraps his arms around [name]'s body, resting his chin on the other boy's head. "sh.. sh.. calm down. none of that matters, [name]. you can have any parts, and you'll still be a man. you've worked harder than those who have been given what you want. you're fighting for your transition, for you to be comfortable in your body. that's manly as hell." yuuji mumbles, kissing [name]'s forehead. [name] looks at his boyfriend in disbelief, unsure of what to say.

"you're my man, [name]. whether or not you have the parts of a 'man', i don't care. i see you as a man, and i always will." yuuji whispered softly into [name]'s ear, kissing it after he stopped speaking. he rocked [name] in his arms too, wanting him to feel comforted by his presence.

[name] was starting to feel slightly better. sure, what yuuji said was a little and perhaps even the bare minimum, but it made him feel even better than before. he wiped his tears away, looking at yuuji with a small smile.

"thank you.. i still don't know how you put up with me.. but i'm glad you do nontheless." [name] chuckled softly as he moved back to gaze yuuji in the eyes. his eyes were now full of love, rather than the malice that were in them when he stared at his reflection earlier. "i guess i feel a little better about my.. situation." he mumbled.

yuuji pressed a kiss to [name]'s nose, still holding him close. "i'll always put up with you because you have a nice ass. exactly my type, you know?" yuuji chuckled and he winked over at [name] who retaliated by rolling his eyes.

"oh yeah, sorry. mr. 'i like someone tall with a nice, big ass.' you absolute perv." [name] muttered, pinching yuuji's cheeks inbetween his fingers. he was feeling better than before, loving all this teasing with yuuji and the playful banter. it made him forget his dysphoria.

yuuji leaned into [name], whispering into his ear. "you're my handsome man, alright? my man. i don't want to see you upset. if something is up, tell me, okay. don't stare at yourself in the mirror hating yourself." yuuji mumbled.

the salmon haired boy then kissed [name] on the lips. he held the trans boy close too, not wanting to let him go just yet. he wanted [name] to know that there was a pair of arms always willing to go around him and support him.

"i love you, my man." yuuji mumbled into [name]'s hair before kissing it softly. the other boy hummed in response and nodded. "i love you too."

and, as time went on, yuuji continued to support [name] with his transition and any dysphoria. he made sure his man was never alone.

- author's note : hope you guys enjoy this :) for any trans guys out there - you are loved and totally valid <3 don't feel like you are alone! there are people like you around the world. you are never alone.

- navigation : masterlist : request

[lokischocolatefountain]

Holdout || Fraternize

Congressman!Javier Peña AU

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: smut, fingering, arguments, period typical misogyny, American politics, inappropriate workplace behavior, office sex, kinda fem!dom, discussions of healthcare policy, inaccuracies regarding American politics

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Sometimes it was better to talk face to face than to send his lackeys to speak for him. And who knows? Maybe he’ll get a sweet deal out of it. If nothing else, she was at least a good time.

A/N: I know Javi has nothing but disdain for politics and politicians. He would’ve pushed those DC guys out of the helicopter in season 3 if they’d asked more stupid questions. But it’s the same season 3 Javi who put in all those suits and ties and combed his hair neatly and walked around looking like a WHORE. So it’s actually his fault that I’m writing him as a politician. As usual, give your girl some comments and reblogs 🥹🥹🥹

Tagging: @art-estrange

“How many holdouts, Donna?”

“Thirteen.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, knowing instantly from the number which faction of congresspeople had refused to agree to vote for the bill. He also knew who the ringleader of this group of thirteen was. Without her approval, the other twelve wouldn’t even breathe let alone vote yes. An abstinence, maybe. But a yes? Impossible. She was also one of the few who could reach across the aisle to get them the votes he and Murphy needed to pass the bill in Congress.

“What exactly does she want?”

“Bunch of stuff,” said Donna, flipping open the binder that contained the draft of the Child Health Assistance Program bill. From his seat, Javier could see the color coded remarks that decorated the pages. Only when it went to her office did it come back with the fucking rainbow splattered in the pages. When he was a freshman to congress, the outgoing congressman from his district had warned him about her.

Difficult. Nerdy. Pretentious. A fucking bitch. An absolute cunt.

He would never say the last two things about her, of course. If he so much as thought them, his mama would fly to DC and slap him.

“The premium increase on Medicaid for one. She thinks it’s too much. Did some math on the side, too,” she said, unfolding a sticky note that contained some scribbled out numbers. “She accounted for the average household income nationally and in her district and adjusted for projected inflation and arrived at an increase by 3% on the financial burden on families. She made a calculation for our district, too. And by Stoddard’s calculations, her estimate is accurate.”

“Right, right,” he said, taking a puff of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out towards the open window. “Has anyone told her that healthcare expenses have increased and we cannot afford to keep the Part B premiums at forty four fucking dollars?”

His staffer simply shrugged before beginning to explain all the other demands the congresswoman from West Virginia had. By the time they were through with the major issues, it was time for lunch.

“Try to get Barrett and Kilpatrick on board,” he said, getting up from his seat at the head of the table. He heard her grumble, but didn’t take it too personally. It would be easier to move a boulder up a hill than to convince anyone in the congresswoman’s faction to vote for something she didn’t vote for. He pressed the stub harder into his glass ashtray, his anger towards her manifesting in the present she got him.

“Yes, sir,” she said, marking the page they’d last discussed. His staffers shuffled out of their seats and out of the office, leaving him with just Donna.

“I hear she’s back in the building. Returned from her district last night. Maybe you can convince her?” She said expectantly. Out of all the people in his office, she was the only one who knew that he had a shot. No matter how narrow the possibilities. Fair’s fair, he thought. Since he tasked her with talking to Kilpatrick and Barrett.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “No harm in trying.” He would’ve laughed had someone else said that. There definitely was harm in trying. His sanity was at stake. He had a hard enough time just seeing her at the committee meetings. But if he couldn’t get members of his own party on board, he could bid goodbye to the dream of passing the bill.

He picked up the binder and sped through the hallways to her office, anxious she might leave for lunch. She usually didn’t, but made exceptions for when she met with her campaign team. Something about it being unethical to do campaign business in facilities paid for by the taxpayer. And illegal. Like him, she was a workaholic. If she wasn’t in her office, she was in her congressional district.

He stopped outside the double doors to her office, American flags on either side and a nameplate with her name and state written in gold. Right as he rose his fist to knock for courtesy’s sake, the door opened and a lanky young boy stepped out of her office, sandwich in hand. Intern.

“Is the congresswoman in?” He asked, making the boy jump back in surprise.

“Uhh…” the boy trailed, looking back at the door with wide eyes. So she was in. And the kid didn’t know whether he was one of the people to whom he should lie about his boss’ availability.

“She’s…busy?”

Javi snorted before putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gently nudging him away from the door. “Enjoy lunch, kid,” he said before slipping into her office. The boy said something in an effort to stop him, but the door thankfully muffled the sounds. He kicked the door with the deadbolt, eager to not get caught. Nothing interesting ever happened in congress. So the first wisp of smoke would be enough for gossips to start a fire. He walked past the front office with the plush couches for guests and right into the inside where the magic happened.

Sure enough, he found her hunched over her desk, punching numbers into a calculator with her left hand as her right scribbled them out on her notebook. The black high heeled shoes she wore pushed her ass out invitingly. His eyes trailed up the shoes, following the black lines of her stockings. He took a deep breath and turned away, his eyes landing on one of her staffers’ desks.

A carton box with sandwiches from the nearby cafeteria sat open, mostly empty but for three sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil. He wasn’t planning on lunch, but he wouldn’t decline after seeing some perfectly good sandwiches laid out in front of him.

“Get your own, Peña,” came a cold, stern voice right as he touched one.

“I would, but you owe me sustenance for making me read through all your notes. I need more nutrients to keep up with your shit,” he said, unwrapping the foil. He took a bite, nodding appreciatively as the well seasoned meat and garlic mayonnaise touched his tongue.

She put her pen down and turned around to finally face him. She looked well put together as she always did. A navy blue pinstriped skirt that clung to her beautifully, matching the jacket draped over her chair. Her white blouse was tucked in, her hair up in a neat bun to show off her pearl earrings. She placed a hand on her hip, crossed one leg in front of the other and narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not my fault that your diet of whiskey and cigarettes doesn’t nourish you enough to read some notes on your poorly drafted bill.”

“It’s called a draft for a reason, Glitter,” he scoffed, his lips curving up in a smirk as he used her nickname against her. He knew she hated it. He wasn’t even in congress for the origin of the nickname, but it took only days for him to learn that the Congresswoman from West Virginia had “accidentally” used a glitter pen to write notes on the final draft of a bill. Sure she changed the pen after she realized. Only one word was in the imbecilic ink, but the name stuck.

“I forgot that your standards are low.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you want now, Peña? Is it just the sandwich? I knew you had a tight budget over in the 23rd district of Texas, but I didn’t know the situation was so dire even the congressman had to mooch off someone else.”

“I already paid for it. With my soul.” He took another bite of the sandwich, unaffected by her jabs. As he chewed on his free lunch, he slapped a hand on the binder he abandoned on a staffer’s desk.

“We need to discuss your ridiculous demands.”

“I don’t see how asking to restore coverage for disabled children counts as ridiculous.” She leaned back against her desk and placed her palms flat against the surface. “Unless you hate children. Disabled children.”

“You’ve been in D.C. too long,” he said, annoyed by her spin. “And it’s not like I slashed the funding for disabled kids. They did. Don’t fight me for shit I didn’t do. And it’s not like they would’ve changed their minds by now. None of them have grown a conscience all of a sudden. They’ll just laugh us out of their office.”

“Peña, are you proposing the child health program for the children or the fucking pricks in the House who think it’s a waste of money to invest in healthcare?”

“To invest in healthcare, we need to get the bill passed. Would you rather get some coverage for kids or none?”

“Obviously, I would like some. But some or none aren’t the only options. If you’re going to cut out necessary things preemptively, we’ll get even less than what we need by the time we’re done negotiating with them.”

He darted his tongue out, licking his lips as he considered her words. They did not differ much ideologically. He too was an idealist like her. The people of his district voted him in for his ideals, for his promises. But D.C. had a way of making cynics out of optimists. It was easier for her to remain an idealist. There was no real threat to her seat.

“We don’t have an unlimited budget. It’s going to be a pain in the fucking ass trying to get this through. I put the shit you’re asking for and we can forget getting any coverage. Just like your demand to expand benefits for low income folks. If we do what you’re suggesting, it’ll be an expenditure of 3 Billion dollars over five years instead of the 1.5 billion we have available.”

She sighed and leapt up, sitting herself down on her desk. “Listen, Peña. I know you’re holding on to your seat by a thread because your margin of victory was thinner than said thread. You need to schmooze the conservatives back in Webb County. But I refuse to pay with the health of my people so you can keep your job.”

He fist clenched at the accusation and he let out a grunt. “Easy for you to say. Your district would vote for a fucking donkey if it had our party’s name slapped on it.”

It wasn’t so easy for him. Every move he made was like walking a tightrope between doing the right thing and what his constituents thought politically correct. One wrong move and they’d be out there on CNN calling him a fucking commie. Not that it bothered him. It just wasn’t good optics.

She held her pen up like it was a sword, like a threat. “They’ve tried to primary me multiple times, asshole. Never worked. I do the work and people vote me in for it.

“Listen. You wanna talk shit or actually work on this thing so we can get it passed?”

“I did my part, Peña. Thought you read through it since you’re claiming to be so exhausted.”

“It’s not gonna work sending it back and forth. Never does. We need to sit together and sort it out.”

“Right…” she drawled, her pink painted lips curling up in a smirk and her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. He huffed, knowing immediately what she was smirking about. He licked his lips and let himself think of what they did the last time they decided they would sit together and ‘sort it out’.

“You know I didn’t mean that,” he said, the words tasting bitter on his lips. He didn’t mean that. But he would never refuse an opportunity to do it again.

“Oh?” She teased, an eyebrow raised.

A carefully manicured fingernail dazzled under the light as she used her pointer finger to beckon him forward. He stepped towards her, his feet moving automatically like his cock remembered how he would be rewarded if he complied with her. Eyes connected to hers, he imagined what she looked like under her suit. If he would be able to catch even a glimpse of her body this time. If he would have to reach under her skirt, rip her stockings and push her panties aside to fuck her.

He loved knocking the smirk off her lips the last time, just the sight of her pliant against his chest giving him all the satisfaction he needed even before he came. She wasn’t arguing then. Just sweet little whimpers as she clutched onto his shirt and begged for release.

Just as he could deal with the smirk by reaching her and capturing her lips in a kiss, she lifted her high heel clad foot and placed it on his pants. Over his fucking cock to be exact. He raised his eyebrows at her, confused by her move. She put a gentle pressure on his cock with her foot, making him swallow.

“The fuck are you playing at, Glitter?”

“Nothing,” she drawled in a low, seductive voice. “Just testing if you have a foot thing.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t fucking have a foot thing.”

“Yeah? Must be an ass thing then,” she said, lifting her leg higher and caressing his face with the top of her shoes. “Maybe it’s a shoe thing…” His breaths got quicker and his heart beat faster, his body enticed by her daring when she was usually quite conservative and no-nonsense. “You didn’t want me to take my shoes off last time. It was fucking uncomfortable. I know you like how my ass looks when I wear these.”

She trailed the pointy end of the heel down his neck, just barely touching his skin, driving him mad with want for more. The hairs on his body stood to attention and his cock twitched in his pants. She hooked the heel under his tie and pulled. When it budged only a little, he tugged on it himself, taking the thing off completely and stuffing it into his pocket.

Before she could retreat, he caught her leg. Hand wrapped around her ankle he placed a kiss above the strap of her shoes. He looked up at her, relishing in watching her confidence chip away bit by bit as he left a trail of kisses up her leg. A silent gasp left her lips as he stopped at the edge of her desk and put her leg over his shoulder.

“You up for a meeting? To discuss,” he said, tilting her head up with a finger to her chin.

A soft smile played on her lips as she said, “We’ll see…”

“Yeah? What exactly do I have to do to get you in my office, Congresswoman?”

“Convince me. Give me something I’d want.”

“Everything’s a quid pro quo to you, isn’t it?”

“Such is politics, Peña.”

“If you say so,” he said, leaning close and kissing her neck right above the collar of her blouse. He felt her swallow, making him smile against her neck. The perfume he knew she spritzed on her neck seduced his senses and he licked her skin in a quest for his other senses to experience her delicious scent.

“Javier… Someone could come in at any time.”

Javier… It was always Peña for her. Except when they fucked. Then it was Javier, Javier, oh fuck please, harder! Once she fixed herself post fuck, it was back to Peña with a tinge of disdain. Like some crude separation of church and state.

“Everyone else knocks. I’m the only one who drops by without announcing myself,” he spoke into her skin, his voice a low drawl. “And I locked the door. Because I know you can’t resist me.” She snorted, but relaxed beneath his touch. Her hand came up to his hair, touching him oh so lightly in a way that she wouldn’t mess it up too much.

“Fucking caveman,” she chided, her voice too warm for him to believe she opposed his behavior. He trailed a hand up her skirt, stopping where her thighs met. He cupped her pussy, his eyes fixed on her face to read signs of displeasure.

“Congresswoman, I just kissed up your leg like you’re a delicate fucking princess. A caveman would rip your clothes up, hold you down and fuck you hard,” he said, feeling proud of himself when he felt her pussy react to it under his hand.

“Guess you have a caveman thing,” he mocked, leaving her no time to respond before grabbing her stockings and ripping it in his hand. She shrieked and grabbed on to his shoulders to steady herself.

“That’s the second pair you’ve ruined, asshole.”

“I wouldn’t have to ruin your stockings if you just took your clothes off and bent over the desk.”

“Oh fuck you,” she laughed, letting out a little whimper when he pushed her panties aside and found her clit.

“I will, Congresswoman,” he said in a soft voice as he rolled her nub under his thumb. Her hand traversed his back, feeling the fabric of his suit and making him wish they had the time and privacy for him to take his clothes off. Feel her bare hand on his back and let her leave scratches as he took his time to get her across the finish line.

“You address everyone by their designation when you fuck them, Javier?” She rocked up against him, her chest flush against his as she searched for her pleasure under his thumb.

It felt so fucking good though she wasn’t doing anything to him, to have his mouthy, disagreeable colleague in the palm of his hand. To play her like an instrument. Have her spinning in her head for a second longer before her snarky retorts left her lips.

“No, just the infuriating, fuckable Congresswomen,” he joked, getting a shove to his chest. He didn’t budge, having prepared himself for the attack since he anticipated it.

“You tease all the men you fuck in your office with your shoe?”

“No, only the ugly ones,” she said, laughing. He smiled, happy with her giving it to him as good as she got. They were close, so close he could feel her warm breath against his skin.

“Asshole,” he whispered against her lips before closing the gap between them. She looped one arm around his neck and allowed her other hand to play with his suit lapel. Her lips were soft, contrasting the sharp words they often spoke to him. A sense of calm settled in his chest as she slipped her hand under his jacket. He felt her hand now, caressing him up and down, making him long to know what she would feel like against his skin.

Spurred by the thought, his hand rubbed her more enthusiastically. She whimpered into the kiss and he took the chance to slip his tongue between her lips. Her hand traveled up his shirt and clutched his collar, her thumb slipping under his shirt and touching his neck. He moaned and quickly felt her smirk against his lips.

Unwilling to give her the upper hand, he grabbed her panties and tugged, making the frail fabric rip in his hand.

“What the fuck, Javier!?”

“Shh…”

Unobstructed by her panties, he was free to let his hand do two things at once. He parted her pussy lips and pushed a finger inside her, her warm wetness inviting him in easily. He added another finger and coated himself in her slick.

She gasped as he returned his thumb to her clit, making him smile smugly. He pulled away so she could see him. So she could see the power he wielded over her.

“You’re much nicer like this, Congresswoman.”

“And you are more of a dickhead somehow,” she said, grabbing his cock through his pants. When she began stroking his length, he drew a sharp breath.

“Why wouldn’t I? You get wetter when I’m a dick to you. You get like this when we’re talking business too?”

“Of course not, assface.” She gritted her teeth and grabbed him harder, making him grunt.

“Maybe I should check the next time we’re yelling at each other in the middle of the hallway. Reach under your skirt and find your wet panties.”

Her grip on him got harder and her eyes narrowed at him, but her pussy clenched around his fingers. “See, you like it.”

“You’ll see what I like and don’t like when I break your little prick, Peña.”

“Thought I was Javier when I’m fucking you.”

“You thought wrong,” she said, squeezing his cock again.

He yelped, the pressure getting too much even through his pants.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah. Fuck,” she snarked, releasing him only to snake around to his behind and grab a cheek.

“Get it done quick. Unlike you, I have things to do after this.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I should go now. Can’t keep the Congresswoman from doing the best for her constituents,” he mocked, pulling away from her.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him back, trapping him in place with them. “Finish the fucking job,” she spoke, a serious expression overtaking her features.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, keeping up the pace of his thrust. He found her neck with his lips, placing sweet kisses on her skin. So close to her, he could feel the effect of every touch, every kiss. He locked the responses in his mind, ready to use the information for the next time he found himself with his hand up her skirt.

“The other side, Javier…” she breathed her command and he followed, eliciting a moan from her.

“Just like that… Keep going.” She thrusted back into his fingers, taking her pleasure from him eagerly. Every now and then, she issued a new command. When he obeyed, she rewarded him with sweet sounds of her pleasure.

As he brought her closer, she gripped his fingers tighter. Her eyes glazed over and she stopped giving instructions, only enjoying the fruits of his compliance with her earlier ones. She leaned against his shoulder, placing some of her weight on him. Being the sucker he was for beautiful women in the throes of pleasure, he placed a kiss on her head and cradled the back of her neck with his free hand.

“Come on, come for me…” he said softly when he felt her at the edge of the precipice.

“F-fucking make me, fucker,” she cursed, mewling when he changed the angle of his fingers to add a twist to his touches.

“Will you give me a meeting in exchange then? We could work it over together…” he negotiated with no shame whatsoever. It was a shameless business, politics.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to let out anything other than a breath as he assaulted her senses mercilessly. She shook her head in denial, making him smile at her defiance.

She panted as he wore her out, her chest heaving and her eyes rolled back. The hand gripping his lapel grew weak and she went limp against him. With a low moan, she came around his fingers and collapsed against him. He kept his fingers inside her, not having the heart to kiss out on how her pussy spasmed around them as she recovered from the high he brought her.

She lifted her head off his chest and dropped her legs, freeing him from her prison.

“You’re not getting a meeting in exchange for fingering me, Peña.”

“What does a man have to do then? Fuck you in the ass? Cause I’ll do it,” he said, laughing when she shoved at his chest weakly. He pulled out finally and took a step back before grabbing his handkerchief and wiping his fingers clean of her release. She hopped off her desk and pulled out her handkerchief from her purse. She unfolded the white cloth embroidered with flowers and leaves and dipped a corner in her glass of water.

He raised an eyebrow at her when she turned back around to offer it to him.

“You have lipstick on your face.”

“Ah.”

“Where?” He asked, accepting the cloth from her.

“Right there. On your neck,” she said, pointing vaguely at his neck. He swiped where he guessed the lipstick mark was and looked up at her, asking silently if he got it.

She shook her head and reached back into her purse. She offered him a black circular box- a makeup thing he knew had a mirror in it.

“Thanks,” he said and pried it open.

“Who are you expecting to vote for this from the other side?” She asked as she adjusted her clothes and reapplied her lipstick. He wiped off the traces of her from his neck and lips. He closed the box, careful not to spill the powder inside.

“Hayworth, Calvert, Cunningham, Doolittle. Rohrabacher would do it, but it’ll require a lot of negotiation. Chenoweth would find the bill agreeable, but it’s unlikely that she’ll vote for it,” he said, a little disappointed that she was talking business even though that was why he came over.

“Yeah. She has a poor record on bipartisanship. Is Evans on board? Cause he’s pretty close to Porter and he can convince him to come aboard.”

“I think he will. Stoddard is talking to Evans’ people and it seems he’s content.”

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “I don’t have time for this shit, but it needs to be done. Surely your buddy on the other side can convince a lot more people to sign on. If he isn’t confident, there’s no point in us discussing this further.”

“Murphy’s got a list. He’s still in talks with them.”

“He’s still in talks? Motherfucker, why did you waste my time then? Could’ve waited for his chipped down draft before you sent a copy to my office.”

Because as much as I fucking hate you, I respect your intelligence. I respect that DC’s cynicism hasn’t turned you away from your ideologies.

But that wasn’t what he said. That wasn’t how this partnership worked. Political alliance didn’t equal friendship. Hell, Murphy wasn’t his political ally. He was on the other side. Yet they were friends.

“Mhmm. I had it sent to you so early on ‘cause I know you’re the hardest to please.”

“Well,” she said, mischief playing at the corners of her lips. She walked behind her desk and sat back down. “You pleased me okay today. I could do without all the yapping building up to the act, though. Really sucks the fun out of it, hearing your stupid voice.”

“Asshole,” he mumbled, as he pocketed her handkerchief and retrieved his tie. She laughed, the sound eliciting a smile from him. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he busied himself tying his tie, loath to have her see him enjoy something so trivial.

“I’ll see you at the committee meeting then,” he said when he got his tie back on.

“Yeah, see you there to watch them slash programs so they can give tax cuts to their buddies.”

He snorted, agreeing with her. It drained him to sit in on the budget committee meetings. It was a high honor when he got assigned to such an important committee. Felt like a pat on the back for his hard work. Until he had to do the hard work of arguing against the fucking worst suggestions futilely. Nothing fucking mattered when they didn’t have majority. Yet, he argued. So did she.

“Pass me a sandwich on your way out, Peña.”

He picked one of the two remaining sandwiches. “Here you go,” he said, making a throwing motion without tossing it. She reacted, throwing her hands up in the air to catch a sandwich that never came.

“Asshole,” she cursed, picking up her paperweight. Before she could throw it at him, he skipped away, another free sandwich in hand. As he closed the door to her office, he could’ve sworn he heard her giggle.

.

.

.

Main Masterlist

Guys, I’m so excited about how fun this could be. Javi in his suits. Angry Javi. Javi taking his tie off like in that one Narcos episode from season 3. Javi and reader having clandestine meetings under the guise of work. Maybe a sex scandal? Who know… Let me know what you think of Congressman!Javi and Congresswoman!Reader.

[tenderheartedtheodore]

random bnha headcanons because theres worms in my brain. (more under the cut)

- Kaminari, Midoriya, Kirishima, Sero and Hagakure have ADHD

- Kirishima is a gay transman (started transitioning in middle school)

- Midnight is a wlw transwoman

- Shirakumo was pansexual and used he/they pronouns

- Kaminari has lightning scars and does his best to hide them (they're mostly in his back, chest and arms)

- Bakugou genuinely has anger issues and is in the process of getting diagnosed

- Ojiro, Yaoyorozu and Hagakure have body dysmorphia

- Jirou, Bakugou and Present Mic are all either HoH or fully deaf (i.e.: Present Mic has hearing aids and Bakugou needs them as well)

- Uraraka has an anxiety disorder (GAD, likely)

- Iida has restless leg syndrome

- Kaminari gets seizures when he overuses his quirk

- Shinsou, Uraraka, Jirou and Kaminari deal with migraines often

- Shoji and Midoriya have chronic pains

- Mineta got fucking expelled.

- he got his ass beat by like half of the class for the shit he was doing to the girls and some crap he said to Kirishima (who's openly trans)

- Asui, Iida, Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou and Yaoyorozu are autistic

- Aoyama is gay and under the nonbinary umbrella

- Bakugou and Midoriya are also transmasc

- Midoriya's first binder was a birthday gift from the Bakugous (Bakugou half-jokingly wanted to make matching All Might binders for them)

- Tokoyami, Bakugou, Jirou, Todoroki and Shinsou often hang out together (either going to Hot Topic or just listening to music)

- the band/Jirousquad play whenever they have free time

- Satou stress bakes (Aizawa has walked in on him baking cakes at 2am several times)

- "... hey Mr Aizawa. Red velvet?" *deep sigh*

- most of the class has nightmares often and it's not new when they're awoken by or run into each other in the middle of the night

- Tokoyami having a nightmare, waking up with a scared Dark Shadow and then deciding to watch TV in the common room VS Asui curled up with a couple blankets on the couch because she also had a nightmare

- Jirou being hyperaware of her classmates' shallow breaths and shakes, feeling bad for not knowing what to do

- Bakugou wakes up the entire dorm by accident because he caused an explosion while waking up from a nightmare

- Koji uses sign language most the time and is semi verbal (autism and anxiety)

- Mirko is a lesbian

- Mr Compress is mlm

- Shinsou goes to sleep at 5am while Midoriya wakes up at 5am

- Shinsou, Kaminari, Tokoyami, Uraraka and Yaoyorozu are insomniacs

- Magne was like a big sister to Dabi (and he misses her. it was nice to know what it would've felt like to be the little sibling.)

- Bakugou is (stubbornly) teaching himself sign language

- Midoriya, Present Mic, Aizawa also know sign language (the Bakusquad are getting lessons from Midoriya)

- Monoma is on the aromantic spectrum

- Midoriya uses wrist braces and needs a cane (All Might and Recovery Girl are trying to get him to)

- Bakugou also needs wrist braces but refuses to get them

- Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu and Bakugou are "Rich Kids With Family Issues" solidarity

- Natsuo used to the dye bits of red in his hair, but as he grew older, the red stopped growing

- it reminded him of Touya and he couldn't look in the mirror for the longest time

- Sero dislocates his shoulders often

- class 1a are banned from playing dodgeball (Recovery Girl had a really busy day the one time they played it)

- Todoroki and Yaoyorozu are gay-lesbian solidarity

- Kirishima, Uraraka, Tetsutetsu and Bakugou are gym buddies

- Midoriya learned English because of All Might

- Bakugou, Jirou, Kaminari and Shinsou are also fluent in English

- Midnight talked to Ashido, Yaoyorozu and Hagakure about their hero costumes and if they were truly comfortable wearing them; they ended up getting they fixed

- Shinsou sometimes uses his quirk to brainwash his classmates into doing self care

- "What're you doing, Sero?" "Oh, not much, just-" "Go drink water."

- Monoma, Midoriya, Kirishima, Denki and Bakugou have imposter syndrome

- if Yaoyorozu is caught off guard, she creates tiny figurines by accident

- Aizawa has had to catch Uraraka with his capture weapon a few times due to her sleep floating

- Shiozaki has extreme religious guilt

- Present Mic does his hair up while in his hero costume out of spite because high school kids used to make fun of Aizawa's hair when he used his quirk

- Kendo is bisexual

- she/they Fuyumi. you agree. reblog

- class 1a has sleepovers sometimes; blanket forts, movies, snacks, everything!

- (Aizawa knows and allows it every time. they deserve and need to be kids)

- sometimes they invite class 1b as well

- Monoma, Shinsou and Midoriya get along well to everyone's surprise

- Kirishima once ran into Dabi while buying hairdye but it was his day off and it looked like it was Dabi's day off too so he just pretended he never saw him grab a box of jetblack hairdye, shove it in his hoodie pocket and leave

- for the sake of his own sanity

- Hagakure can 'turn her quirk off' but only does so when she feels completely safe and comfortable, or when she's totally worn out

- when she did it for the first time around the rest od the class everyone was shocked

- "... is something wr-" "YOU'RE SO PRETTY???,?"

- Ashido, Uraraka and Kaminari hold Shoji's hands while crossing the street (mostly for fun, but he doesn't mind)

- Kaminari absent mindedly braided the hair on Ojiro's tail one day and he just let him

- Koji's bunny is an emotional support animal named Cotton

- Shigaraki decays door handles on purpose just to mess with the rest of the LOV

- he gets bored, okay?

- Aizawa teaches Eri sign language as a surprise for Mic (as well just so Eri has a way to communicate when she doesn't feel comfortable talking)

- Uraraka makes a casual comment about not having enough money to buy something for herself or her parents and Iida, Todoroki, Yaoyorozu and Bakugou hand her their credit cards like its nothing

- she is startled by that Every Time without fail

- Twice and Toga paint each other's nails

- Mr Compress lets Twice borrow his masks sometimes

- Himiko is a vegetarian, funnily enough

- Mt. Lady has chronic pains and stretch marks

- Bakugou has scars and burns from his own explosions (he wasn't born with perfect control over his quirk, and sometimes he takes his anger out on himself)

- Fuyumi and Natsuo's quirks are extremely powerful ice quirks, but Endeavor never bothered to train them and never let Rei teach them how to control their quirks

- while Fuyumi has Frost, Natsuo's quirk is called Subzero; he can lower his body temperature dangerously low and when he does so, whatever he touches freezes

- if he's emotional or focused enough, he can create icicles and wield them

- Todoroki considered dying his hair several times (black was on top of the list but after Dabi revealed he was Touya, he decided against it)

- the LOV took turns helping Dabi dye his hair

- Kurogiri helped Dabi with his staples (the only other person willing to do that was Himiko but everyone agreed it was a bad ideia)

- Spinner sticks around Dabi during winter because he's a human heater

- no one in the LOV liked Overhaul

- like, killing Magne was bad enough. but straight up child abuse? come on

- they know what it's like to be a kid and to be scared and hurt and they don't want that

- Himiko has nervous tics

- Hatsume is autistic and will infodump about her babies to anyone that will listen

- she and Midoriya infodump to each other

- sometimes, Kurogiri's gaze lingers on the morning sky. he finds clouds strangely amusing for some reason

- Aizawa and Present Mic have been together since they were 17 and have been married for nearly six years (they wear their rings on necklaces underneath their clothes)

- they officially adopted Eri first, then Shinsou

- (It's Free Real State Children)

- "I'm having another kid." "That's great, sensei-" "it's you. Mic and I have the papers already."

- Bakugou, Iida and Yaoyorozu tutor the class before tests

- Kaminari has dyscalculia and dyslexia

- Satou always has snacks on him (especially ones the made himself)

- he keeps an eye on Yaoyorozu and makes sure to give her something if he notices she's looking particularly pale

- most if not the whole class 1a has PTSD (this doesn't shock anyone. Aizawa is desperately trying to get them to talk to Hound Dog sometime)

- Aizawa needs reading glasses and refuses to wear them

- Aizawa and Present Mic & Midnight share custody of Sushi unironically (the cat Shirakumo rescued)

- Aizawa and Mic own other cats (Mochi and Tessie) (it's short for Tshirt, Mic thought it was funny)

- Iida and Yaoyorozu were at Aizawa and Mic's wedding due to their family status, everyone else was clueless to their marriage

- no one was aware they adopted Eri and Shinsou though

- like yeah Aizawa-sensei's taking care of Eri, BUT ADOPTION??

- "oh, Shinsou's in our class- HITOSHI AIZAWA-YAMADA?"

- Aizawa may have only two (2) legal children but by god does he love his other nineteen little bastards.

- Iida made a groupchat for class 1a for "school purposes" but it quickly descended into madness and he gave up

- the gc is now named something incoherent and incomprehensible and there's like seven other chats for different purposes (such as "dekusquad", "bakusquad", "the band" and "is this fucked up or are all parents like this?")

- Iida and Yaoyorozu keep note of everyone's allergies

- so does Aizawa

- Yaoyorozu has a bad relationship with food and often has trouble using her quirk due to it

- Tetsutetsu is a stealth transman (only Kirishima is vaguely aware)

- Kuroiro was extremely afraid of the dark as a child

- Ashido gets acid burns often (they're not too bad and mostly in her hands, but if it's a particularly bad day, she gets burns in her face)

- Kirishima has trouble walking/moving in general when he overuses his quirk

- Present Mic is mlm

- Aizawa is a gay transman

- Jirou and Kaminari are both bisexual

[butdaddyilovehim-hs]

The Wedding

Y/N is stressed planning for their wedding and Harry can’t seem to do anything right.

Warnings: angst, sad ending, explicit language

Word Count: 1.2k

Y/N gazed at the bling on her finger, the stone catching in the sunlight. It had been 6 months since she had said yes and wedding planning was in full swing. Of course with Harry being CEO of one of the largest Fortune 500 companies in the world, their wedding was all any of the tabloids were talking about.

Harry and Y/N. London’s power couple. There were now less than 2 months before the big day and Y/N had everything under control. Well… she thought she did. Y/N sighed and rubbed her temples as she stared at the seating chart, a massive binder beside her. A steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of her as Harry kissed the top of her head before sitting down next to her.

“Y/N. You’ve been staring at those charts for the last two hours. Why don’t you take a break?” She raised an eyebrow before taking a deep breath.

“Take a break? Are you kidding me? Our wedding is in 2 months Harry. And the seating plan still isn’t finished. I still haven’t bought my dress, you haven’t been to get a tux and we haven’t booked the flowers. We haven’t booked the flowers Harry!” He chuckled before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“It’s going to be fine Y/N. Ok let me help. We can have our parents seated together on table 2… wait. Your mom isn’t on this list?” Y/N sighed as Harry looked up at her quizzically.

“I don’t know if I want to invite her. We still haven’t worked out all of our issues and I don’t need her coming in and running the whole show.”

“Why don’t you invite her for a visit? You need to work things out and I’m sure she would love nothing more than to be there for you on our day.” Y/N took a large sip of her coffee, shaking her head violently.

“Nope. No way Harry. I can’t deal with her right now. I’m stressed enough as it is.”

“But maybe if you tried you could-”

“I said NO Harry. Stop pushing it.” She turned her attention back to the seating chart, shutting him out completely. Harry watched her for a few moments before shaking his head and walking to the study. She’s just overwhelmed, he told himself. We’re going to be fine.

~

3 weeks later Y/N felt like she was drowning. She had found her dress but it was the wrong size since she had lost so much weight for the wedding. Everyone was getting on her nerves. Even Harry. Well… especially Harry. She heard the front door open then close and tore her gaze away from her planner to see Harry come in through the front door. Noticeably, without a tux. He leant down to kiss her hello, before noticing her annoyed glare.

“Everything ok hun?”

“Harry… where’s your tux?” Y/N asked coolly. His expression turned to confusion.“Y/N, what are you talking about? You told me last week to pick it up on Wednesday. It’s- he checked the date on his phone- shit. I thought it was Tuesday. Doesn’t matter, I'll just go tomorrow.” Y/N slammed her book shut before glaring at him once more.

“You can’t just “go tomorrow.” They’re closed for the next 3 weeks Harry. You won’t have time to make any adjustments if it’s wrong. God why can’t you just listen for once?!” She bit out frustrated.

Harry laughed dryly.

“Why can’t I just listen for once? Jesus Y/N, I have been listening to you for the past 6 months complain about each tiny thing that has gone wrong. Big deal. I forgot to collect it. I’ll go and get it when I can. Calm down.” Y/N stood up from the couch seething.

“Calm down? Are you fucking serious? I am so busy Harry. I have a company to run and the wedding of the year to plan. Have you seen these tabloids? I am so sick of all of them asking whether or not I’m having a baby because I seem to have ‘gained a little weight’ lately. I’m asking you to do one thing and you can’t even do that. What have you done to help me Harry? I am so sick of you.”

“Oh my god Y/N what the hell is wrong with you? It’s our wedding, it’s not the hunger games. No one is dying if it isn’t perfect. I don’t understand why you-” The doorbell rang, silencing the both of them.

Y/N stalked over to the door and wrenched it open.

“My baby!” Y/N spat out a mouthful of blonde hair as she was brought into a bone-crushing hug.

“I’ve missed you so much! And a wedding? When Harry called me last week to invite me, I just couldn’t believe it!” Y/N tugged out of the hug shooting a death glare at her fiance.

“Harry did what?” Lauren Williams beamed at her daughter, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“He invited me to the wedding honey.” She repeated patiently. Lauren moved around to give Harry a hug.

“I can’t wait to help you with everything sweetie. Have you chosen a dress? Can I see? What about flowers? Because they can be hard to-”

“Mom,” Y/N said through gritted teeth. “I just need to have a quick chat with Harry ok?”

Y/N dragged Harry to the spare bedroom down the hall to make sure Lauren couldn’t hear them.

“Ok what the fuck Harry? I specifically told you I didn’t want her here!” Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I thought it would be better for you guys to sort out your issues before the wedding but it seems like we have some stuff to work out ourselves.” Y/N huffed before crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yeah? No kidding. This is another example of you not listening. You don’t make an effort Harry and it drives me insane since I’m here fighting for this wedding. For us.” Harry snapped.

“Well if it’s so difficult for you then maybe we should call off the wedding! This clearly isn't working for us anymore! He yelled.

Y/N’s mouth snapped shut, her anger replaced with sadness. Her eyes glistened with tears and her bottom lip trembled.

“Are you… serious?” She asked quietly. “You just want to give up on us?” Because of an argument?” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident.

“One argument? All we do is argue! I haven’t had a single conversation with you that hasn’t ended with one of us screaming in the last 2 weeks. I don’t know what you want from me Y/N! I’m trying. I swear to god I’m fucking trying.”

“So is that what we’re doing then? Calling it off?”

“No Y/N I didn’t mean that. I just-”

“No, you made it pretty clear what you meant.” She let the tears fall freely now, dodging around him to get through the door, grabbing her purse off the table ignoring the confused look from her mother.

“Y/N, come back! We can work this out.”

“I have to get out of here Harry.” She rushes out onto the street, tears clouding her vision, her one goal being to get to her car. She doesn’t hear Harry screaming her name until it’s too late. The car hits her just as she looks up, but she’s unconscious before she can even feel the pain.

A/N: 🫠

Taglist:

@lukesaprince @intimacywithceline @styleslover-1994

[seikkoi]

ᴏᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ | ᴛᴏɴʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

18+ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ

content/warnings: named reader, explicit sexual content (very end), alcohol consumption, mentions of financial issues, employer/employee relations, explicit mentions of mental health issues (reader has the anxieties™), mentions of physical injuries, set in canon universe before aou.

genre: mostly angst ngl, sm*t at the very very end

word count: 7,463 im sorry

a/n: lightly inspired by the song 'october' by rothstein

dedicated to: the lovely @alessandraavengers

"Maybe you should worry about yourself, Stark. I've been doing just fine before you decided to make my job your business."  Tony's jaw clenches, and a shaky hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.  “My business is your job."

I won't complain,

I will be decent, 

though it will be freezing,

I welcome the rain.

The hands of the clock on the wall ticked silently, a sign of the building’s expense. You clutched a leather binder filled with papers in your lap as you sat. Everything you had to show for the last seven years of your life. Countless awards, certificates, recommendations—the expensive bachelor's and the bank account-draining master’s. Your leg bounced on the dark mahogany, steadily increasing frequency as seconds turned into minutes.

Ironically, this would also be interview number seven. For the job you were least qualified for. You applied for close to twenty at this point, all well below your skill, but you were desperate. You had barely a year of experience—quitting your first job one year out of school after one-too-many sixty hour work weeks. The moment you turned in your resignation, dread and regret over your choice in profession filled you. It held you down, sleeping and rotting the days away. Eventually, reality set in, pulled you out of bed and back into the corporate world. 

Turns out, lack of experience and ‘quitting with notice’ is less than ideal.

You hoped a step down in prestige would result in less stress. All your fantasies of a top floor corner office and luxury disappeared like ash under a light rain. You always held expensive tastes that you couldn’t sustain unemployed.  But the stress wasn’t worth it. All you needed now was to pay the bills. Too quickly ‘over-qualified’ or ‘under-experienced’ became your least favorite words. You had to fight back the dread every time you checked your email. 

Just when you’d started pondering entry-level positions, a notification came through for a new vacancy ‘Fit for your skillset!’. To your dismay, the description sounded no different than the job you left. More grueling expectations and personal sacrifice. On top of that, you still were under-experienced by their requirements. Not to mention who it was for. Overworked employees typically miss most current events, but far too much has been going on with this company to make even you pay attention. Working for such a high-profile, drama-ridden company might be even worse.  But after weeks and not so much as an offer letter, you had to try anything. On the plus side, at least it paid well.

Three days later, you found yourself inside of Stark Tower, wishing the silent clock would move faster.

Square breathes, internal mantras—nothing worked. Your heels still made a gentle clack against the floor. Thankfully, the general noise of the front lobby kept it from being a nuisance. 

What you swear is eons later, your ears prick up to a similar click growing near you. You turn your head as a tall blonde approaches the small waiting area. She stops at the front desk a moment, making your heart skip a beat when the receptionist points to you. 

‘Just relax, you know what to say.’ you thought to yourself. ‘They won’t hire you if you’re a nervous wreck.’

You manage to muster what little confidence you had left after weeks of rejection to stand and straighten your dress as she greets you. Thankfully, the smile she extends is friendly enough. The hand you feel is soft and manicured too— acute tells of an easy life.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Ms. Potts, I’ll be bringing you up to meet Mr. Stark.” she says, turning and heading further into the lobby.

‘Maybe this won’t be too hard. Maybe this job won’t be like the last.’

-

During the entire elevator ride to Mr. Stark’s office, Ms. Potts spews out factoids about Stark Industries but you’re too busy rethinking your entire interview strategy. Something about a cave, Obadiah Stane and a wormhole whizzes through your ear to no reaction. It was nothing you hadn’t already read in the weekly papers, nor did it ease you one bit. 

You were even more taken aback when you realize you’re descending, and the silver doors open to a spacious garage. The faint sound of movement echoes, source unseen. You turn to Miss Potts, who only gives another pleasant smile and gestures into the concrete space.

Sure, the whole world knew Tony Stark was a bit eccentric. You knew that well enough when you applied. Hell, it probably explained the vacancy. Maybe this was some type of strategy, or just his nature. Either way, something was screaming at you to tell Miss Potts you had changed your mind, go home and apply for anything else. 

Then, you remembered how badly you wanted success. You couldn’t accept anything less.

The elevator closed quietly behind you as you exited, looking for the source of the noise. There’s cars (some ridiculously new and some pathetically old), studded workbenches, and chaotic piles of robotics and machinery strewn about. You have to round the corner to find him, behind a small bar tucked away from the metal mess everywhere else. 

He’s turned away from you, seated at the bar with eyes glued on a few papers before him. An ornate pen signs away without pause. You’re certain the sound of your heels against the floor gave you away, but you’re sure to clear your throat to not shock him. 

Mr. Stark, clad in a grease-stained white tee and dark denim, shifts in the barstool slightly to give you a cursory look. You can tell immediately his mind is lightyears away from the present situation, focused elsewhere. On a lighter note, you notice how much kinder he looks in person. All the magazines and op-eds made his face harsh, never smiling. 

“You’re the one who applied for assistant thingy right? Miss…” Stark trails off, scanning back through the papers in front of him. There’s a slight slur in his speech, one that forces you to remember the early hour.

“Cassian.” you interrupt his search and he laughs, abandoning the papers for a shiny glass on the counter.

He brings the amber liquid to his lips before he speaks again. 

“Right, Cassian, look—” The glass finds its way back to the solid surface despite his sway. He stands once it does, facing you with a wide smile. “You’re hired!” 

With that, you’re left more dumbfounded, staring at the billionaire as he sauntered over to one of the cluttered workbenches. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I really don’t understand—” You turn towards him as he walks by, not sparing you another glance.

When he reaches the middle of the garage, he lets out an exhausted sigh. The familiar regret seeps in, turning your nerves up another notch.

“The woman that probably brought you here—Pepper, she used to be my assistant, and handle all the tabloid bullsuit.” he mutters, fiddling with a wrench from the bench. 

“After the whole ‘tower nearly blowing up’ situation, she’s taken a step uh-out of my life. For better or worse. I didn’t wanna hire anyone else, she’s convinced I can’t manage my own life— we compromised.”

You start to speak, trying to formulate the right words to say. Stark pays it no mind, tossing the wrench back down gently.

He pivots towards you, and you see the stress in his eyes. You can see why she’d quit-hell you were starting to wish you never applied. The name ‘Stark’ proliferated in the papers these days.

“Offer letter is signed, on the bar, job’s there if you want it.” With that, he walks across the garage, past you into the elevator. 

The electronic ding! sounds, leaving you in the garage alone without another word. You’re convinced this is a terrible idea- even before whatever that just was.

Something sparks your curiosity to look at the signed papers, and put a dollar amount to this madness. You walk back to the bar, grabbing the stack of papers with a faint ring of water in the corner.

You’re certain you’re dreaming when you count the number of zeros. 

THREE WEEKS LATER

You were ready for retirement at the ripe age of twenty-six.

This was a new type of demand. Running nearly every aspect of Tony Stark’s life didn’t eat your soul, but it ate at your mind. You could spin embezzlement or drunk-driving into a heartwarming story- alien attacks and Hydra were a whole new ballpark. 

It was almost refreshing. Spinning stories for shitty people and tailoring public statements for the goal of maximum human exploitation never quite sat right with you. Handling Stark’s life just felt like defending someone who deserved it. It felt more honorable working for him than a greedy tech firm.  (There are some questionable times when he doesn’t, but you don’t bother with those).

The righteousness helped the uncharted territory be more than manageable. Still, making Stark’s technology enterprise mesh well with his role as Iron Man felt like a hero’s feat on its own. The media would come up with any number of wild conspiracies about Iron Man, most of them disparaging to his image. 

Stark was legitimately aiming for good things in the world. The weariness in your bones kept you craving more simplicity and ease, nonetheless.

You sunk down into the leather couch of the conference room, watching as the board members filed out in quick order. The room was filled with the golden ray of sunset— soon to turn pitch black. 

Officially done with the day’s meetings, you forgo any workplace formalities and kick off your heels, despite your boss’s presence. 

A light chuckle at your exhaustion breaks the silence, Stark slumping into the empty space beside you. You raise an eyebrow when he wriggles at the lavish tie around his neck, tossing the garment to the floor next to your heels. 

“What, you can kick back but I can’t?” he jests, undoing the top two buttons of his black dress shirt. 

You give a ‘fair enough’ shrug, leaning back to start mentally processing the last ten hours.

You found yourself staring at his exposed neck as your mind trailed off, his head leaned back, eyes shut. His jaw is tight, forehead pinch in a now-familiar focus. Stark looked nearly as drained as you, still you knew better than to try and equate things. Honestly, you considered yourself semi-lucky to only have to make things look nice for the cameras and not be present for them. In the evening glow, though, he looks close to ethereal.

You shift your eyes at the thought.

You two sit in comfortable silence as the sun moves behind the New York city skyline. 

You’re doing mental math on how soon you can retire when he fills the void with a question.

“Regret taking the job?” he asks, unmoving. 

You add ‘potential mind reader’  to his list of skills. 

“Some parts are better than others.” It’s as honest of an answer you can give without sounding ungrateful for the opportunity (or thinking about the alluring glow on his skin).

He laughs again, turning to meet your eyes. This would mark the first time you’re under a heat lamp from his gaze, irises tired and alluring. 

“Seriously,” 

Clearly your answer isn’t convincing, because he turns to his side on the couch to fully face you. 

“You aren’t regretting this? Because lately you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” he says with a lazy grin.

You thought you were doing a good job of burying your issues beneath walls of smiles. Hearing otherwise hurts your resolve a bit, especially from Stark. He had enough on his plate without worrying about you.

“It’s just…a lot,” 

Despite how you felt, you couldn’t lie about it, not to his face. 

“But it’s not your fault, it’s not you.” you swiftly add upon seeing his somber grin fade away.

“Ha, isn’t it though?” A dramatic sigh escapes his mouth like a deflated balloon, running his hands through messy brown locks. “This..rollercoaster I’ve put myself on.” 

“Rollercoasters can be fun.” 

“You hate it.” Stark faces you once more, propping his arm up on the back of the couch. 

“Wouldn’t blame you if you quit.”

The suggestion pulls a laugh of your own. “I don’t think that’s an option.”

Stark makes a genuinely puzzled face, to which you spend the next minute or two explaining why you quit your first job, the weeks you spent rotting away after. You had hoped to never recount such a sad time outloud, but you couldn’t stand him feeling at fault for your lack of enthusiasm. 

Ease passes through you when it seems to comfort him a bit.

“Maybe I hire you for something else, maybe pay you to not deal with this shit.” he says, laughing.

You brush off his joke with another short laugh. “Wouldn’t that be something? Really, it’s fine. Just need a long hot shower.”

You start to stand, but are stopped when a hand graces your thigh. 

“No jokes, I know what it’s like to get more than you signed up for. If money’s all that’s keeping you here, trust me that’s not an issue.”

You give a flustered smile, trying not to focus on how warm his hand was. 

“It’s not all that’s keeping me here.”

TWO MONTHS LATER

“You know it’s just a dinner, right? Like just food, maybe music, high probability of dessert?” Stark taunts, noticing your trembling leg from behind his phone screen.

The car seems like it’s moving way too fast, even though you can very clearly see the speedometer under 25 miles per hour. 

“Yes, I know what dinner is.” 

You let out a deep sigh, trying to regain the ground under your feet. The part Stark conveniently forgets is that it is a very large gala he’s dragged you along to, and not just a normal dinner. You can do normal dinner, not a one hundred plus person dinner with reporters and red carpet. He’s also not considering the part where he didn’t tell you about it until two hours ago.

“Oh, that’s a relief, thought you might jump out the window.” he pockets his phone, turning to you. “I can just have Happy take you home, you know.”

“No, no, this is…excitement. I’m excited. Totally ready.” you’re really trying to convince yourself, but it only makes Tony snicker.

“These things are really boring, promise. That’s why you’re here, keep me from falling asleep.” 

Out the window, the street lights start to turn back into normal orbs instead of blurry splotches. The car pulls up the curb with enough ease for you to take in the venue. It's a marble hall, one you feel suddenly underdressed for. You make a mental note to tell Stark never to give you this little notice again. Perhaps you should save yourself the trouble and head home. 

Stark could behave himself, right? 

The black window tinting your view disappears when the door is pulled open. You hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t beside you anymore, now holding the door and gesturing to the entrance. You get your first good look at the suit he’s wearing, tailored and jet-black. The flattering seams are a decent enough distraction to join him on the sidewalk. 

Stark places both hands on either of your shoulders, giving you a playful shake. 

“You look amazing, I look amazing, please stop worrying. It’s starting to spread and I can’t eat on an upset stomach.” he forces himself into your gaze, searching your face for the supposed ‘excitement’.

A deep breath, then a second passes through you, staring at Stark's eyes until you can manage a curt nod and still legs.

“See, you’re gonna be just fine.” he exclaims, dropping the hands from your shoulders and already smiling for the line of photographers waiting by the door. 

You follow unsteadily, praying this is a speedy event. You could do this for an hour, maybe two. Stark takes notice of your delay, turning back to you just before reaching the first nerdy cameraman.

“Hey, what’s the issue with this? If your not comfortable with the cameras, you know we can just go around—”

“It’s not that,” you interrupt, gripping your clutch with sweaty palms. 

“Then what?” he asks sympathetically.

“There’s like a hundred people in there, Stark.” you admit with a long sigh.

“And I’m one of them, what’s the worst that can happen if you're with me?” He turns and props his arm out towards you. “Miss Cassian?” he says, dragging out your name.

You want to roll your eyes at his constant unserious nature, but instead you take another deep breath, loop your arm through his, letting your fingers wrap around the satiny fabric on his bicep before taking slow steps forward.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Bright bulbs of light flickering in blinding succession. In every direction, microphones with human mouthpieces spew their hurried questions. Your boss answers in his typical Stark way, earning only more adoration and curiosity. You come to humor yourself with the questions they ask. Always seemingly random, from his favorite brand of whiskey to his opinion on migrant detainment in the Mediterranean. 

You stand to the right as he smiles and poses for them. You almost hate how good he looks in the cold wind, face most definitely beaming behind designer snow-white frames. Outside of that, you admire his patience, knowing this winter vacation (where he didn’t have to be Iron Man for once) was leaked and now semi-ruined.

It would’ve been a well needed break for you as well. Three months of non-stop press releases, conferences, and meetings were wearing you ragged. Late nights were occupied with drafting memos and wishing you chose a career with less work. While you hated the time work took away, you unfortunately began to admire the work you did. Working for Stark turned out to be more desirable than you thought. You imagined dealing with another frustrating, reckless CEO- not a charming, witty superhero. Regardless of the long hours and chaos, you loved helping put more good into the world. 

Finally, as snow starts to fall, he answers a final question on if he’ll change the color of his suit before turning to enter the cabin.

“Mr. Stark— Iron Man, won’t be taking any more questions, excuse me, thank you.” 

You tried to squeeze past incessant reporters and fans, barely making it through the hotel front door if it weren’t for security. The commotion outdoors gets muffled by the tall wooden doors. You sigh and lean against them, shutting your eyes for a moment.

“Feeling alright, Cassie?” 

Stark’s voice makes you open your eyes to see him standing in the foyer. This would be the fourth time you feel his eyes burning through your skin. You expected him not to be upstairs in bed, asleep already, not in front of you, eyeing you with his hands buried in his pockets. 

The place he chose spared little expense, clearly for starlets like Stark looking for a lush, woodsy escape. Wooden walls covered every inch, adorned with fancy art and a modern fireplace in the living room.  The color reminds you of the tower lobby, a deep mahogany. 

“Yeah, just remind me why I’m here and not at home in my heated apartment.” You keep your voice light as you hang your coat on the rack by the door. 

Stark gives a playful scoff, too used to your sarcasm to take offense. 

“A certain former assistant thinks I need a babysitter on my own vacation.” He turns on his heels, heading towards the kitchen with a renewed energy (surely only now remembering he’s supposed to be relaxing). 

“She’s not wrong.” you agree only because Stark re-emerges from the kitchen with a tall amber colored bottle and two glasses. 

You can’t help rolling your eyes at his stiffened jazz hands, tossing yourself onto the plush armchair by the fireplace. The cold seemed to wrap itself around you, not leaving despite your proximity to the fire. Stark chose to sit on the side table next to you, rather than the wide array of more comfortable seating options. You’d gotten used to him entering your personal space since your talk in the conference room. You took it as a sign of his narcissism more than anything.

“Not sure I’m meant to be a drunk babysitter, Mr. Stark, ” you quip as he starts pouring.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he winks, offering you one. “And come on with the ‘mister’—making me feel old over here.”

It’s bothersome how little he has to say to change your mood. Something about being with just him, away from press, deadlines or state secrets, pulled you in and kept you coming to work everyday. In this moment, however, his solitary presence made you anxious. You’d have to get through this sabbatical without the chaos of the world bringing you back to reality. The real world, littered with expectations.

Free of any reason to decline, you take the glass. You and Tony do a lazy toast, clicking the glasses together before taking a sip. The peaceful quiet envelopes the cabin, save for the crackle of the fireplace. 

“You okay?” you ask upon seeing the weariness in his face, contrasting the grin he held.

“Better than okay,” he finishes the rest of his drink, pouring another faster than you take a second sip. “Happy to be away from everything, ‘get in touch with the great outdoors!’ as they say.” 

You laugh at the dramatic mocking tone he uses, extending your arm out when he makes a gesture at your empty glass. 

“I hope your atleast being slightly genuine, Mr. Stark.” you say once the glass is full once more.

“When am I ever not, Miss Cassian.” he draws on your name with the same mocking pitch as before.

You fake a wince at the taste of your own medicine, which amuses the hell of the already tipsy Stark. 

“I see what you mean, felt fifteen years added on instantly with that,” you admit, chuckling at his demeanor. 

“Hence why I’m such a nice guy and call you Cassie like a normal person,” he states smugly, taking another sip from his glass.

“Oh really, Tony? ‘Cause you only gave me that nickname after I explicitly told you no one ever calls me that.” you laugh.

“Yes and that was a great loss to the universe that I fixed,” Tony turns his head to meet your gaze, eyes sparkling (you tell yourself it’s just the alcohol and nothing else).

The both of you stay there silent, eyes locked for what quickly becomes far too long and the awkwardness makes your attention back to your drink. You finish the contents, hoping that the liquid would cool your now burning skin. 

You internally remind yourself that this is just how he is- a playboy philanthropist turned charming hero, nothing else. 

“Sorry, I know this isn’t really much of a vacation for you. ‘Know you wanna be at home, away from Stark Industries,” he deflates a bit, pouring a third drink.

“No, it’s not like that,” you interject, speaking softly, “I really don’t mind being here, and it’s still a good break from meetings and all that other tedious shit.” 

He takes a sip, seemingly mulling over your words. “Give any more thought to my offer?”

You let out a small laugh, thrown off by his sudden mention of it. You were certain then that he wasn’t being anything near serious. 

“What, you paying me to not be here? I didn’t think that was you being serious.”

“It’s a win-win, no? You get a salary, I don’t have to drag you along for this rollercoaster, Pepper doesn’t worry, everyone’s happy.” 

Clearly you’re left silent for too long, because Tony stands before he speaks again. He seems conflicted, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Look, I don’t need to see you miserable, I guess.”

“What, who said I was miserable?”

“Anyone would be dealing with me.” 

TWO DAYS LATER

After a few days, an air of melancholy had hung over you. Two days of nothing turned into endless overthinking about your life. Every decision made seemed to rattle in your bones, looking for a place to be. You tried to tell yourself it was normal to feel lost, to feel as though everything you’ve ever done was pointless. This was the first time you’d had room to think, of course everything would be overwhelming.

That didn’t help, but whatever red wine Tony brought did. 

You found it on night two, cracking open the second bottle when Tony comes downstairs. You gave a sluggish hey that gave away your state immediately, but you were too absorbed in your thoughts to meet his eyes. 

“Didn’t take you for a wine connoisseur.” he mutters, sitting in the chair across from you. 

You don’t bother with a response. In fact, you wished that he’d go away. Seeing Tony lately just reminded you more of the life you were sure you wouldn’t have. You were certain you made all the wrong choices, took all the wrong paths.

“Cassian?” he leans forward, forcing his face into your point of view. “Kinda' freaking me out here.”

“You ever think about what your life would be like if you weren’t,” you trail off for a moment, slurring slightly. “I don’t know—you?”

He laughs and it feels infectious, closing your eyes to hopefully shut up the twist in your stomach.

“Me, specifically? Who knows? Maybe I’d be a pilot, or own a hotdog stand.” he goes silent at your lack of reaction to his joke, resting his chin against his hands.

“Why, thinking about faking your death and adopting a new identity?”

The red liquid in your glass coats your dry throat. You’d love to start over. Go back and see what the other paths held. Then, the deep pit of your stomach turns, remembering how different and worthwhile working for Stark made you feel.

“What if I did everything wrong?” you ask quietly.

If you did, a small part of the anxiety in your gut assures you that it was worth it to find your way to him.

“Define ‘wrong’.”

“Not what I imagined, I guess”

To help someone who wanted to do so much to help the world.

“Well, what do you want from life?”

You go silent again. “I don’t know.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

With nothing to prove you,

and if I should lose you

—It won't be in vain.

On the last day at the cabin, you feel a genuine sense of sadness at the thought of leaving. 

Fourteen days with no reminder of the outside world had you the most relaxed in years. Bliss was all you felt waking up each morning to no phone calls, no emergencies, and no meetings. You forgot what it was like to just exist, to not have your thoughts bogged down by deadlines. You had even forgotten the benefits of good company. The demanding nature of your job meant little social life, and you didn’t realize until nearly two days in that you had been craving it. What surprised you more was that you received that good company in the form of your boss. Tony seemed to go out of his way to fill any voids of silence with quips and self-deprecating jokes to make you laugh. Clearly to spare himself the awkwardness of your dissatisfaction. 

Nothing changed about personality, but removing the dark shadow of responsibility made him visibly less wound up. It must have done the same for you, because you spent most of these last two weeks laughing (or catching up on well-needed sleep). You tried to avoid him lately, not wanting to add fuel to the fire you could feel growing for him. Opting for weeks of solitude with him was possibly not the wisest route.

Retroactively, if you had all this sudden free time at home alone, you probably would’ve gone a little crazy. 

You must be wearing your solace on your face, because that night, during dinner, Stark asks if something is wrong.

“Is it a bad thing if I don't want to go back to New York?” you chuckle at your own absurdity, scraping the last bits of food into the trash.

“Is it worse if I agree?” he smiles, looking up from his own plate. 

“Not excited to go back to being an Avenger?” you ask honestly, sitting back down at the kitchen table, next to him.

“Ha, excited’s the wrong word.” he sits back in his chair, letting out a sigh. “You’re not jumping to get back out there either.”

You give an agreeing nod, resting your head in your hands when you start mentally going through all the tasks waiting for you tomorrow. 

“You don’t have to go back like I do. You can get away from all this.”

When you look up, Tony’s eyes are glued to the floor. 

“You know, you can just fire me if it’s that much of a bother to you.” you say sharply. 

Truthfully, it was starting to come off as a subtle hint to leave rather than concern. It muddied whatever imaginary connection you maybe thought you’d fostered over these last few weeks. All the little touches and extra concern bounced around in the back of your head like a live grenade. You didn’t know how much of it was aimed towards you, or just his charismatic nature. Maybe there was never any charisma, and he was the same as any other CEO.

“Cassie, that’s the last thing I want.” he says, like he’s offended, and you want to laugh at the audacity.

“Could’ve fooled me.” you retort, standing to exit the kitchen.

Tony intercepts you at the doorway, however, clearly scrambling for words to ease the newly-created tension. All it really does is annoy you more, seeing those brown eyes pleading silently. Either way, you can’t get past. 

“I—This is too much for anyone to handle. I can barely handle it and that’s because you do so much behind-the-scenes for me. A lot of people have reached their wits end with me and I don’t want that with you.”

It sounds painful for him to say, and despite his soft tone, it’s the most serious you’ve ever heard him be.

“I think you’re worried a bit too—”

“I’d rather not be the reason you spend weeks in bed, okay?” 

Frozen in the doorway, your anger still boils. It felt like the thing you were most ashamed about being thrown in your face. You want to go back to that conference room and never tell him a thing. It’d save you the confusion, save you from all the mixed signals. He couldn’t mean it. You remember the way he reluctantly submitted to Pepper and hired you. Tony didn’t care, he never wanted you here in the first place. You felt stupid for thinking anything else.

"Maybe you should worry about yourself, Stark. I've been doing just fine before you decided to make my job your business." 

Tony's jaw clenches, and a shaky hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. 

“My business is your job, can’t you see I’m trying to be supportive?” 

You almost start to regret your words, but you can’t stand the way he looks at you like some fragile thing. 

For the fifth time, you're hot under his gaze, but it does nothing besides flare your anger more.

“I don’t need your support, stop acting like you have any idea what’s best for me.” you snap, taking a step closer.

To your surprise, Tony closes the remaining distance, and you have to look up to maintain your glare. Tony's expression shifts from concern to frustration, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Clearly, you don’t even know what’s best for you. Forgive me for giving a damn.” he scoffs.

You roll your eyes, deciding to just put an end to this conversation. In his frustration, Tony left a wide enough gap for you to try and snake through. Your heated exit must’ve been obvious, because he steps back to keep you in front of him.

“Seriously?” your fists clench at your sides, heat spreading up your arms to your cheeks. 

“Why are you still here?” he softens a bit, but not entirely folding his arms over his chest.

It’s not enough though— your irritation is unchanging even under his tender gaze.  It was easier to stay angry and pretend like he wasn’t the only thing keeping you. To not admit that you didn’t want to abandon him.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you retort through gritted teeth, motioning at the logged walls around you.

“Damn it, I thought it’d help, Cassie!”

The severity of his words leaves you speechless. You never heard him really raise his voice, let alone come close to yelling.

“But, clearly, I shouldn’t have bothered.” Tony moves from the doorway, taking fast steps past you towards the main door before you can say anything.

In an effort to keep him from storming out, you reach out for his arm as he brushes by. Instantly, he pulls away as if you're made of open flames. You try to show the hurt on your face, but now that your anger has started to dissipate, you notice a similar transformation in Tony. To your benefit, though, it keeps his feet firmly planted. 

“I’m not some broken person you need to protect.” you admit, avoiding the potential anger still in his eyes. 

“Wow, really? Didn’t know.” 

Always with the jokes and sarcasm. You lift your head to Tony’s expectant gaze, causing you to sigh heavily.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he states dryly, leaning back against the kitchen table. “Why are you still here?”

“You keep assuming I hate my life.” 

It’s his turn to roll his eyes, rather dramatically in your opinion. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” he responds, mocking your words from earlier. “You avoid me like the plague lately, and I don’t know how you expect me to just see you unhappy and say nothing”

“That has nothing to do with work-”

“Then what is it?” 

There’s something else in his eyes, something like the sparkle you saw all those months ago. 

You look at him with pleading eyes of your own. A sense of entrapment overwhelms you, stuck with the choice between potentially ruining everything or, well, still potentially ruining everything. You wish he really could just read your mind and understand. Understand that you didn’t want to leave him, that you were avoiding him to protect your own, admittedly fragile, heart. 

"Can't you just accept that I don't want to leave?" you manage, your voice barely louder than a pin drop.

Your heart flutters as he steps closer, though it shouldn't surprise you; he's never been one to respect personal space, and an argument wouldn't change that.

"No, I need to hear you say it," his tone is low, almost taunting, and his unyielding gaze sends another wave of fluttering through you.

"I don't want to leave you."

In the next second, Tony's lips crash against yours, pinning your back to the wall with a heavy thud. You don’t notice, the world fading with the taste of vanilla on your tongue and the scratch of his beard on your chin. Your thoughts become a blur as Tony's teeth graze your lips, and his hands squeeze your waist, pulling you closer, the arc reactor pressing into your skin. 

When the kiss ends, you're both left panting, yet he still clings to you, gripping your waist like he’s scared you’re going to run away. 

“I told you- the last thing I want is for you to leave.” he says sternly, voice still low. You can’t see his face, buried in the crook of your neck, but the heavy breath on your skin makes you lightheaded.

“Tony-”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s wrong to think I know what’s best for you. I just want you to be happy.” 

“I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I care about you too much for that, Cassie.”

“I’m your assistant, Tony.”

Tony gently cups a hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his, his thumb caressing your cheek. He studies your face intently, searching for any signs that he should stop while he's ahead. You stopped counting how often he leaves you a mess with his eyes, and try your best not to stare at his swollen lips.

“Then tell me you don’t feel the same.” he whispers.

A beat of silence passes, the fire crackling in the next room uninterrupted. 

“I…can’t.” you answer hesitantly.

The confession hangs heavy in the cabin’s stagnant air. Your mind racing a thousand miles per hour, waiting for the dream to end. 

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Doing this wrong, ruining everything.” Your eyes squeeze shut from embarrassment.

Tony laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said, before kissing you again. It’s soft and slower than before, calloused hands still cupping your face.

“I think you’re the one who worries too much. When has anything bad happened to you when you’re with me?” Tony suggests, grinning, his eyes filled with warmth. 

You want to mention an office party a few months ago, where a drunk attendee threw up on your shoes, but you let him make his point. 

“Let me do the worrying for a bit, sound good?”

THREE WEEKS LATER

You felt like you traded seasons getting back to New York at the start of spring. You hadn’t gone home, instead staying in the tower at Tony’s request. You didn’t mind it at all, being surrounded with more comfort than you could ask for. 

Tony made it his personal mission to keep you away from all things work related, despite how many times you told him you enjoyed helping him. One small problem being that he left for a mission a few days ago, and you haven’t got the faintest clue where he was or when he was returning. The first day, you relished in a bit of solitude, reading books that sat on your shelf the last two years untouched or catching up with friends that you lost touch with. To your relief, most understood your reason for disconnecting, and the books were captivating. Now, however, it was day three, and you were starting to do the one thing he asked you not to— worry.

Just as the rain starts to splatter the tall windows of his penthouse, you’re considering reaching out to Fury or Hill to make sure he’s at least still breathing. The only thing that stops you is the ding! of the elevator, turning your nerves back down to zero.

When you meet him at the door, a wide smile breaks out on his face—surprised you’re still there.

“How was it?” you ask, as Tony drops his bag and moves towards you. You feel slightly awkward in this new territory with him, shifting your weight anxiously.

“We’re getting closer to the scepter. Hydra’s pulling out all the stops these days.” 

As Tony steps into the light, a deep freshly-stitched cut under his right eye comes into view. Before you can say anything about the cut, you notice the large bandage on his arm, and a matching bruise crawling up his shoulder.

“What the hell happened?” 

Tony slowly peels off his jacket, tossing it onto the couch behind you. “Oh, this? This is nothing, you should see the other guy.” he says with a flashy grin.

You’re busy scanning for more injuries, eyes raking for more bandages and stitches. Tony doesn’t let you continue for long though, taking your hands in his.

“What’d I tell you about worrying?” he teases, stroking your hair and planting a quick kiss on your lips.

You give an annoyed sigh, wishing he didn’t irritate and charm you in the same breath so much.

“I think it’s natural to worry when you’re bleeding.” you gruff, letting Tony pull you into a tight embrace. 

“Then I’m not doing my job, am I?” You don’t protest when his hands roam over your body, placing light kisses against your neck. “Let me take your mind off things.”

The light kisses on your neck turn into heavy bites, leaving marks along your collarbones. He creates his own path along your skin, sighing softly as his mouth finds every inch of skin your pajamas didn’t cover. You’re a panting mess as he trails down your body, twisting a hand into his messy locks. 

When he kneels before you, you feel unsteady on your feet. You wish you could say you two had gone this far already, but Tony considered himself a self-proclaimed gentleman and insisted you wait. It seems three days away from you was enough for the chivalry to fly out of the window. 

He stops for a moment, fingers hooked in your shorts, thumb rubbing gentle circles on the inside of your trembling thigh.

“Cassian?”

“Mhm?” You mumble, shutting your eyes. Nerves and anticipation mix terribly in your stomach, making you unable to process the desire on his face. You feel the fabric of your shorts slide down your legs with your panties. The cool air doesn’t help you any, rendering your skin sensitive and Tony’s hand feel like a furnace. 

“Relax, doll.”

You suck in a breath as his lips wrap around your clit, body stilling— the hand in his hair tightening. Weeks of Tony’s insistent waiting had you thinking your first time with him would be slower- you were ill-prepared for the way he runs through your folds with absolute filth. He moans into you, keeping a tight hold on your thighs to hold you close. 

He’s quick—grazing teeth against your clit as his tongue laps at your entrance— just to drag the tip of his tongue against your length and return your clit to start the cycle all over again. You feel the wetness coating the inside of your thighs, saturing his scratchy stubble on your skin. 

You bring your free hand to the back of the couch as he continues, sighing into your core and sending shockwaves up your spine. You try to maintain some type of balance, legs growing shaky again in pleasure rather than anxiety for a change. 

“Tony, god, that’s-” You’re cut off by your own moan when you feel Tony insert a finger into your soaking cunt, rocking slowly as his mouth finds its way back to your clit.

He pulls away a moment, letting his thumb keep the pressure against your sensitive bud. Your head tilts back, nails digging into the leather behind you. Out of your view, Tony wears a smug grin, pleased to see you taking his directive to heart. The middle of the living room might not have been his first choice, but it’s well worth it. Besides the fact you taste like heaven, it’s worth hearing every sound escape your lips.

Getting caught up in that, however, caused him to loosen the grip on your thighs. When his fingers curve inside you, your hips jerk against him. The calloused fingers tighten on your legs, to your slight dismay.

“Easy, doll, I got you.” he mumbles, returning his focus to eliciting more intoxicating moans from you.

Tony renders you a complete mess sooner than you’d like to admit, gasping above him as the warmth in your core grows overwhelming. If you told yourself a year ago that your boss would have you panting and begging, you wouldn’t believe it. Regardless of belief, his tongue pulls plea after plea from you. Your stomach feels painfully coiled- mind absorbed with the wet, filthy sound of Tony’s mouth on your cunt.

With another curve of his finger, you sent over the edge—crying out Tony’s name like a prayer and abandoning the hand tangled in his hair to hold yourself up. Tony lets you ride out your orgasm against his fingers, kissing the damp skin between your legs and muttering soft praises. 

It’s not until you sense him standing again in front of you that you open your eyes. You immediately want to take it back when you see the shit-eating grin covering his shiny face. The sight sends a new wave of desire through you, staring at his mouth with your lips parted, panting softly. Did he have to look so good constantly?

“As cute as you are when you’re worried, I think I prefer this look on you.”

[crippledwithrage]

I'm somewhere between a B and A cup, so I'm on the smaller side of chests. I've tried different methods of taping and all it did was make them not jiggle when I walked- like a tape bra.

This method, however focuses on the pec shape rather than flattening perfectly.

I came up with it after wasting half a roll of trans tape on other methods, but this one really helped me!

All bodies are different so don't be afraid to experiment with different styles!

Make sure ur musty ass is clean when you put the tape on or you'll be taping over dirt and sweat which is going to give yourself an infection.

Here's a tutorial I found on larger chests and bodies!>>> https://youtu.be/USNvHelRBoU

When making the anchor (the part that sticks to your skin before you pull the rest of it) make sure it's flat and attached well using heat and friction.

(Round the fucking corners of the tape! It gives more traction! )

The first strip is 3 segments and starts near the bottom of the breast where the skin folds over, and pulls up towards the armpit diagonally.

Be sure to pull up first. If you pull down, it may damage the tissue and make top surgery impossible.

The second piece pulls downwards diagonally from the top towards the bottom of the ribs at the back (near your floating ribs). Make sure it doesn't wrap all the way to your shoulder blades.

(That way you can reach It to take it off properly)

It's important not to do this backwards because you shouldn't pull down! It should look like pecs, but remember, cutting board flat is unrealistic and dangerous!

The skin will itch in the middle so feel free to use anti itch cream to alleviate.

Remember > the tissue may be more dense like mine which makes this using transtape frustrating.

Again, feel free to alter it if it doesn't work.

If you have sensory issues, be aware of your boundaries! You can feel the tape on you but don't be afraid to say that it doesn't feel right.

Adjust it or try a different binder. Fytist is the best for sensory friendly binding.

With tape, you'll be able to feel your shirt on your chest and back when using transtape too, so that's something to get used to.

Wear a heavy jacket or sit against something to make that odd sensation go away.

I'm disabled, and I have issues with my oxygen levels so breathing properly is a must. Binders can make it hard to breathe and cause joint pain which is a bitch of a time for me. In the summer, especially, since they get hot.

Binders work for me, luckily, but this method of tape allows for clear breathing.

No squeezing sensation and free range of movement.

It minimizes pain, and allows me to breathe freely as I would with nothing on. If you have breathing problems and can use tape, I highly suggest this.

You can sleep in this stuff and use it for 4 ish days. If it hurts or pulls, or even blisters, take it off! It's better to have a bad day than to live with a mistake forever. Bind safely!

This is for those of you who feel like they're not "flat enough ". Markipier is a cis man and I personally love that he never hides that his chest is somewhat fuller. He has pecs and wears tighter shirts, and this is literally the norm for men. This is the shape you should be going for, not cutting board flat. Most men aren't flat anyways.

When in dysphoria, remember markipier!

Lastly, if you can get cutting board flat, be sure to check if your method is safe and that you're not pulling down. If it's safe, congrats! But I will find you and I will delete your minecraft worlds if you bully others about their chest.

Stay safe out there, queers!

[draped1ncerecloth]

Hear me out, Nick Valentine x TransMasc Reader

First off, bro is hot. No reason for the robot detective to have my mind in a grip.

SECOND, the disconnect from his own body/personality makes it match with the struggles the reader would also have so erm 😞

Nick Valentine x Trans masc reader

Some good old fashioned fluff since he’s perfect for it.

Warnings: tooth decaying sweetness, mentions of body dysphoria, swearing, ooc Nick valentine.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“Have you figured anything out yet?” Nick called from his desk, sorting through the paper work as you scanned over your own newly discovered clues. “Nothing. I can’t seem to figure out we’re this bitch could be camping out at!” You sigh in frustration at the current project you had spend days of restless nights, the heat of the summer days and the soaked sweat clothes you’re currently drenched in makes the already tedious task much more daunting. It’s been about a year now since you first met Nick, him helping you with your issues and you of course saving him from people who wanted him dead. You hadn’t really known why Nick had been caught but all that had mattered was that you saved his ass and he was eternally grateful.

“Well, the sooner we are to figuring this out, the sooner we are to finding this man and putting him behind bars.” Nick called back. He never really took much bite of your tone or the way you would grow even more agitated by his words in the current moment. There was nothing he had done wrong but they way your very old and worn binder had been cutting into you after a whole days work, and the way your clothes clung made the whole action of breathing so much more difficult. Pain spreading through your body and the lack of oxygen made the oncoming headache much worse. But hey, in the end at least it was more comfortable and reassuring than anything else.

After some shuffling of the files Nick had neatly written and tucked away had been dropped and the way you let out a loud sigh, Nick finally popped out of his chair and asked if you were doing ok. Unfortunately this pissed you off to no extent. “No! I’m not alright Nick! I and tired I’m hot I can breath and worst of all, I can’t seem to figure this out!” Your hands thrown in the air as you fully turn to him, he watched in silence as he let you express what’s you felt. He knew you weren’t mad at him or whatever he might’ve said but he didn’t understand what had you this upset to begin with. “Hey, calm down kid, why don’t you take a seat and just breath.”

You threw the remaining files in your hand, down on the table and laughed. “I fucking can’t breath, I’m hot, I’m exhausted, I feel like my ribs are about to break, I need to take this off!” He watched in shock as you quickly removed your shirt and revealed your binder, quickly shoving your shirt back down and sucking as much air as you could. The pain was excruciating, and your back cracked from new found freedom of mobility. Then you sat. Only then did you start to cool down. To relax. To focus on breathing and letting the pain wash over you and out. “Forgot to take it off again?” He asked quietly, walking over to your side and rubbing your shoulders. “Mmhm.” He said, taking in his touch. “That’s unsafe, you need to be more mindful about these things, you could get hurt you know?” Nick tried to comfort you. “It’s unsafe but for me, I feel more safe. It’s….” You stopped yourself.

“It’s what dear?” He questioned. Worry washing over him. “It’s not like you really realize just how comforting it is to bind.” You winched at the way you said it, the way you doubted how much he cared made you feel guilty.

“You’re right, I don’t know the full extent of how much you need it kid, but I do know how important the comfort of needing something like that can be.” The synth let out a sigh and moved to sit on the desk in front of you. “Look, you know it doesn’t make me see you as any less. I am not bothered by you needing to take a break from binding. But it can be dangerous if done incorrectly, and you know this.”

“I know. I just don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, without it. I am just. Wrong.” You tried to puzzle your words together but only ending with half made sentences. “You feel as if, it is not who YOU are. That you’re incomplete.” You nodded. “Look kid, I love you, I hate to see you in pain. I can’t say I know how you feel but I myself have my own feelings about myself too.” He removed his coat and took his fedora off, setting them on the table. “A robot programmed to basically be part human. Used for something that I never turned out to fit. There’s no one like me, I don’t know who or what I am. But I do know that even though I can’t be at peace with what is missing, I do know I make peace with what is there.”

Nick and you talked back and forth about your own insecurities and he himself opened up slightly about his. Though things were different for each other, you still found that you felt the same about these situations. Standing up, you wrapped your arms tightly around him and Nick did the same in return. “I love you Nick, thank you.” You mumbled to him.

“I love you too darling. Now, let’s pick up these files and get you cleaned up and relaxed. It’ll all be okay.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Authors note: Sorry this is short, I haven’t gotten much time w Nick valentine yet!! I do wanna explore his companion ship now that I finally got to play with him♥️

[halevren]

FHJY Spoilers || my live thoughts as I watch episode 3

Had a rough week so far, I am looking forward to this episode ♡

HIIIIII INTREPID HEROES

NAT 20

please bring ayda back this episode (begging) (I know it won't happen. but I'm desperate)

ZELDA AND GORGUG BREAK UP CONFIRMED.....

I am experiencing so much gender envy from literally everyone at the table.

The art team really pulled out all the stops for this season. The dome backdrop is so good

THIRTY INVESTIGATION?!!!??!

"Of course you and Adaine, of course, are... Nerds."

"Not ideal for the bad kids" oh no.

Lone Wolf Bloodrush player. That's oc material fr

"I like getting friends cast on me so I willingly fail" fig becomes more and more relatable every episode

"IT'S 10 AND I GIVE YOU THE HELP ACTION"

LYDIA!!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥

LYDIA MADE THEM LUNCH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

THE EMO SONG 😭😭😭

It just says "Hey Adaine" on the inside 😭😭

Cloaca.....

how many binders do the Thistlesprings have

"Can I Run From You?"

Just Breathe

CHLOE SHORT FOR CLOACA

I love the casual conversation they have

TWO GLASSES OF MILK

"I'll walk you to Bard class" fig probably won't be staying 😭

NEW LUNCH LAD!!!!!

I hope Fig's luck issue gets resolved soon 😭

MAZEY IS SO PRETTY

Grix...??

THE PARROTS.....

omg mazey x fabian?!!?!?!????!?!?!!?!

A SECRET CLOACA WITH A GUN??

Jawbone is so filled with dad lore

Kristen class president is something I need

21 passive investigation is insane

"What are you, like 4 different dogs?"

Passive Aggressive Kristen is so good.

Ghost steaks 🔥

FABIAN FLIRTING

"You're looking at a party boy" oh fabian....

I think Kristen working to be class president will convince her to. Go to school and work on getting better at it

Gilear 😢 I miss my pathetic wet cat of a man

fig writer's block so relatable

Stressed Riz

WANDA CHILDA

HEYYYYYY GIRLIE

I miss Ayda

Porter is kinda.... ♡

Why is everyone so attractive why must I be attracted to all the adults. im supposed to have a type

"I'm going into a worry, yeah"

Fig taking Fabian to the wizard class instead of bard class is so real

TERPSICHORE SKULLCLEAVER!!!!!! she looks like she bakes incredible cookies. I can't dance but I want to be in her class

THIRTY-ONE????????? PERFORMANCE

Dance bard class is so cool

From Jock to Arsty kid, I love Fabian's character development so much

"I'm going to do a lot less partying" a full lie from Fabian

I need more Riz and Jawbone one on ones

KRISTEN CHILLIS APPLEBEES 😭😭😭😭

oh no the Applebees fam are here oh no...

Ripped Kristen approaching her parents.....

oh no. oh no. oh no.

Not good what is going on with Cassandra

MAKE HER OWN PEOPLE TO TALK TO?!!!??!???!??!?? WHAT???????? WHAT WHAT WHAT????

ALLY IS SO CASUAL WITH NAT 20S 😭

HE'S A LITTLE PALADIN....

BYE GIRLIE

RIZ HAS A BACKUP TIE

why is sorcery so expensive

SHE'S NOT GOING TO TELL JAWBONE 😭

oh god Wanda Childa....

"what smell would be enticing to emo kids" 😭😭😭

"Did you just come from a room full of cigarettes and peach schnapps" "you mean breakfast?"

I wanda'd in

NOT ALL WHO WANDA ARE LOST

SITTING OUTSIDE AND LISTENING TO BARD CLASS

watching Kristen deal with school and stuff and deal with Cassandra makes me slightly uncomfortable. not in a bad way but in a way that I relate to it a bit too much and it's a bit too real. i too had extreme trouble with school and I also have issues with pushing important people away when trying to focus on myself and it ruins a lot of my relations. I relate to Kristen too much in the worst ways and that hits closer to home than I like. I love Kristen but man. Too close

"Things can be bad, and things can be good, but they all can be true."

I worry about Kristen going to Cassandra's realm. I am going into a worry. I have bad feeling.

the sound design is so good

GENTLE SOBBING.... OH NO. OH NO.

"I can't rely on you." OUCH.

she already found somebody????

KALINA!?!?!?! !!??!?!?!!!???!??!!??!!???!!???!?? HUHHHHH?!!??!!

IT'S LEAVING IT OFF WITH THAT?????? WHAT THE FUCK???????? WHAT THE FUCK???????????????????????? WHAT?????

[pynkgothicka]

Ｏｎ Ｔｈｅ Ｒｕｎ ＭＹＧ

Synopsis - Your father hires a piano tutor to get you into the musical arts. Coming from money, your almost instantly drawn in by your tutor, and more or less he feels the same way.

Pairing - Yandere! Yoongi x AFAB! Reader

Tags and Warnings - Consensual Sex, Harm towards Reader, Cigarettes getting put out on skin, death, mention of drugs, guns, yandere tendencies, gaslighting, manipulation

Authors Note - I'm actually kind of proud of this! I might rebrand as a general like horror fanfic author.

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Piano.

Something that you never seen yourself picking up. But with your father's new pursuit to keep you as a renaissance child, you had no choice.

This what led you to sitting while your father spoke to your new teacher. He looked mean, but every once in a while you'd sneak a small glance at him. He was kind of attractive in the natural light that poured through the large windows of your kitchen.

“I trust that she'll exceed expectations. Isn't that right honey?”

“Yes sir.”

“Built off respect and patience. Exactly what's needed for such a refined practice.” Your father kept gushing. “Isn't that right Mr. Min?”

“Yes, now we'll be set up in the living room. If you need us, we'll be there.” You shivered under Mr. Min's touch. His hand on your shoulder as he ushered for you to go. You followed his lead and sat on the couch. He planted next too you, the smell of wood taking over. “Can you read sheet music?”

You snapped from your rushing imagination. You shook your head no, watching as the man's slender fingers went to his bag. He pulled out a small binder. He sat next to you and sat the binder on both of your laps. Your breath left your body, senses becoming more prevenlent than ever. For instance you saw your father sit on the loveseat in front of you, watching your every move.

“Stop being so squeamish. Carry yourself with pride.” Your father chastised. Yoongi let out a grunt head shooting up and eyeing daggers at the man. “Fine. I'll leave you two alone.”

Mr. Min cleared his throat before continuing to flip the pages within binder. “You know majorly of these are self composed. You wouldn't be learning the classics, is that alright with you?” Your tutor spoke, voice laced with silk. You nodded once again obediently. “Your so quiet, it's cute.”

Your mind began to race once again.

Does he find you attractive?

“I hope that's not a issue…” You mumbled. Mr. Min chuckled opening the rings of his binder, and pulling out a laminated sonnet. He closed both the binder and the rings placing the binder next to him on the couch. He replaced the spot with the single page, giving you a slight smile.

“Its not. Don't worry. Now are you ready for your first lesson?”

🎹

“Here's the check for this months lessons Mr. Min.” You handed the envelope filled with bills, now having the lessons being taught exclusively at his place. He'd pick you up every other day and have his lesson for 4 hours before dropping you back off. Having done this led you to form a sort of bond with your teacher.

He'd have you play on the keyboard in his room, which you were sat in right now, having finished another lesson with Mr. Min. He took the money from your hand and smiled setting it on the piano itself. “Before we go, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Hmm?”

Mr. Min's hand went to touch and rub at your thigh. The white frilly dress your father made you wear, rode up. “I know how you look at me. How your breath hitches anytime I touch you. Hell even how you squirm anytime I pick you up.”

“You do?” You say, voice now small and you look everywhere but your teacher.

“Mhm. Do you like me sweetheart? Like, romantically like me?”

“Umm. I guess… Are you going to tell my dad?” You ask quickly looking at Mr. Min. He let out a small laugh, his hand how moving in slow circular motions. It was soothing, your rushing mind now slowed.

“No, of course not. Your just about a grown woman, being 19. It's okay to have secrets. This is between us.” And with that he pecked your lips, keeping his there longer than usual. Slowly he pulled away, pink gloss now on his own. “I like you the same way.”

You couldn't be more ecstatic. This was a entire new territory, you never even interacted with a man that's interested in you romantically. Well besides the suitors your father tried to put you with. The entire situation felt so scandalous, and you loved it. “I'm… can you kiss me again Mr. Min?”

“Yoongi, and of course.”

🎹

Ever since that day you and Yoongi have been doing everything except play the piano. He'd shown you his sort of “recreational” room. Yoongi had shown u a whole new world, one filled with drugs and sex.

“Your beautiful.” Yoongi complimented thumb brushing over your cheek. You laid on top of him, looking deep into his eyes. The connection between the two of you, more connected than ever. “I'm so happy you're in my life.” He pursed his lips signaling for you to grab his cigarette from the nearby ash tray. This had become a common practice you placing the cigarette in between his lips and him pulling you down to kiss the smoke into your mouth.

“Oh Yoongi, I couldn't agree more.” You lived your life in this dreamlike state, carrying yourself within the state of the relationship. “I love you so much.”

“Prove it. Get rid of that dress, I want to see you.” You did as he asked, sitting up on top of him. You went to the skirt of your dress, pulling up and your white lacy bra and panty set exposed to the world. Yoongis hands almost immediately went to the rest of your dress, helping you slip it over your head. “Climb off me real quick, I want you to see me too.”

Once again you obediently, moved back on couch watching intently as the scene in front of you unfolded. Yoongi pulled off his shirt and pants, skin shinning in the purple florescent lights of his room. Finally he pulled off his boxers, cock already hard for you. The whole situation reminded you of the first time Yoongi had taken you.

He walked up close to you, standing over your seated form. Yoongis hand went to your cheek, doing that same slow caress that brought you so much comfort. His thumb trailed to your mouth, almost instantly you sucking on it seductively. You knew how much he loved it when you acted flirty with him. He'd told you that it turned him on so much to have you show that you want him.

Yoongis other hand went to the bas did his length, slowly stroking himself. His dyed blonde hair hung over his face, eyes watching your every move. “I want you to suck me off.”

“Just like I always do?”

“Just like you always do.”

With that he removed his thumb replacing it with his cock. Your wrapped your tongue around his head, leaving small kisses on the tip. Yoongi groaned out pushing himself deep into your throat, his finger going for your throat. He usually tapped as a warning to relax, before he took control of your movements.

And you did, taking Yoongi into your mouth, your throat becoming nothing but a you for your boyfriend. And you couldn't have it any other way. His domineering presence has so much of an effect on you , so much to a degree that you'd allow him to do anything and you'd do anything for him. “Your so pretty, so good for me.” He groaned out thrusting into your face. Anytime he spoke he'd take his cigarette out of his mouth and then immediately put it back in. You'd watch him daggle it from his lips, your panties becoming more and more soaked by the second.

You kept looking up, holding back small gags. You hummed around him knowing yet another thing he loved from you. And god that nearly sent him over the edge, his grip on your hair getting tighter. Yoongi let go of your hair, slipping his now soaked length out of your mouth. He let the tip sit on your puffy lips, dribbles of pre falling them. “Why'd you stop?” You asked innocently.

“I want to cum inside of you baby.” He said moving away, making a small nod for you to take off the rest of your clothes. In which you did, your bra unclasping so that, your breasts could be exposed to your lover. Next you slid down your panties, almost teasing Yoongi. He let out a small chuckle before grabbing your ankle, and pulling your body towards him. He looked at the inside of your thighs seeing the burn marks he leaves from putting his cigarettes out on you. And hey he added another one, putting out his lit cigarette on your thigh, only for him rub at it soothingly. “I'm about to go in baby, tell em when your ready for me to start thrusting once I'm in okay?” You nodded in compliance.

Almost immediately he sunk himself inside of you. Yoongi sat inside of you for a moment. His arms framed your body as he leaned down to place a chaste kids on your lips.

“I'm ready.” You breathily moan out. And Yoongi doesn't back down, pulling out and thrusting himself back in. His pace was rough yet slow and he usually enjoyed drawing our both of your orgasms. He laid open mouth kisses to your ankle. “You feel so good Yoon- AH!” You moaned especially loud. He knew exactly what spot to hit repeatedly.

“I want to take you away baby… will you allow me to do that?”

“Yes! Anything! You feel so good….I love you.” You mumbled out in a string of groans. The way Yoongi looked down at you, filled you with such a genuine feeling of love.

“I want to keep you all to myself- shit I'm about to cum- you want me to cum inside you?!” His pace began to flatter as he neared both his and yours shared orgasm. You nodded quickly as your vision blurred with both white and the perfect sight of your boyfriend. And then you felt it. Both his and yours shared releases.

Yoongi came to a complete stop before falling on top you. His hands cupped at your face before he made out passionately with you. He pulled away, not before spitting in your mouth, reminding you of your place beneath him.

“Just you wait baby, I have so much planned for you.”

🎹

By the time you were dropped back off, it was dark out. You knew your father would be mad at you for being out so late. The entire time you sat in the car, Yoongis hand brushed over your exposed thigh. He had yet another loose cigarette hanging from his mouth as he drove.

When the two of you pulled into the yard, your father was already standing there with a stern look on his face. “Get inside. Now. Me and Mr. Min need to have a talk.”

“Yes sir.” You said meekly stepping inside and scurrying up to your room. You immediately went to your window and opened it up a crack just to hear what your father would tell the new found love of your life.

“What we're you thinking, bringing her back so late?!” Your father immediately yelled.

“Practice ran late, you have to understand things happen.”

Your father's hand went to the cigarette hanging in Yoongis mouth. He yanked it out and held it Infront of Yoongis face. “Do you fucking smoke around my daughter?!” He yelled, then stomping it out.

“Is that a problem?”

“I should've known not to take a recommendation for her. Your bad news, I'm getting a new teacher. Don't you ever come near her am I understood?” Your father said rasing his voice yet again.

“Your going to regret that. You just don't even know where the hell have I ‘came’ when it comes to her.” You gasped, covering your mouth. You were certain that Yoongi had just hinted to your father of what the two of you have been doing.

“Get the fuck out of my yard. I'll call the cops of I even hear about you being in my neighborhood.” With that your father walked away and you heard the front door slam shut. You stayed at the window and watched as Yoongis facade faded.

He went to his car and slumped back. He looked up at you, seeing that loose smirk that always gave you butterflies. Yoongi looked directly at you before pulling off.

🎹

BANG!

You shot up in a cold sweat as you heard a loud bang downstairs. The ground was cold as you got up from your bed. Everything was still, you quietly made your way to your bedroom door. Your night gown dragged as you made your way down the dark hall.

“Baby…” A singsong voice rang out from down stairs. You knew exactly who it was. Yoongi, your saviour. You quickly made your way downstairs and ran into Yoongis chest, arms wrapping around him.

“Yoongi! I- I thought I'd never see you again. What are you doing here?! My father is going to k-” Yoongi placed a finger on your lips.

He took your hand and led you further into the house. Through the kitchen, all the way to the side door that leads into the garage. On the way there you saw broken vases and signs of struggling. He pushed the door open and you nearly screamed at the sight.

Your father was tied up beaten to a bruised pulp on the ground. He had a rag in his mouth and all you could do was gasp and shake. Your fathers eyes widened as he met your own, his yells muffled. Yoongi can't help but let out a small chuckle at the situation. All you wanted to do was run to your father's aid but Yoongi made sure to keep you in a vice grip. “No! Yoongi let go! Let go please I need to help him!

He pulled you towards your body, Yoongi placing a hand on the small of your back. “No. You don't want that. You want freedom, you told me yourself. You want for me to take you away, and there's only one way to do that.”

Yoongi pushed a gun into your empty hand. A gun you'd seen rarely, something he told you he's rarely even shown you. He only shown it to you just to prove that he can protect you.

You trembled as Yoongi pushed your hand, pushing the end of the gun to your father's head. All he did was scream and cry out. Yoongi let go of your arm as he kneeled down next to your father's body. “Shes going to kill you ya know? She's just so loyal to me. Plus why would she side with a man whose done nothing but treat her like a child?” Yoongi pushed your father, teasingly. His hand then ment to your nightgown as he pushed up exposing your cigarette bruised thighs. “And look at that? You know what that is? That's me, marking your daughter as my own.”

“Now. Shoot him.”

“I… I can't!” You cried out.

“Why not?!”

“Hes my dad, I… I can't please Yoongi.”

“Fine I'll do it myself.” Yoongi took the gun from your shaking hand and almost immediately pointed it back to your father's head and pulled the trigger.

You screamed out as your father's blood shot onto your feet and legs. You fell to his side crying into his slowly freezing body. Yoongis hand went to your hair, and he pulled you back connecting the both of your lips. He groaned into your mouth, and pulled away slowly.

“Now that's done, go pack your things. Your coming back with me.”

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

Hi! Would it be ok to ask for some lyney x reader dysphoria or gen gender comfort? Like the reader being very dysphoric about their body voice etc and lyney would comfort them and maybe help them look more male-ish for example? Sorry if this is quite specific lol... Been reading your stuff for some time now lolol!

Feeling sick of myself- Lyney x TransMasc reader

Guess i'll try be someone else T/w- Gender dysphoria, petnames, Summary- You can't find your binder anywhere, and your staring get dysphoria A/n- Hi! This is a great request, i was actually gonna do one of these some time. I'm a trans person myself so this hit kind hard. And thanks for reading my stuff! Hope you like it.

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Taglist form!

Raining dizzled down outside while you were cuddled up in bed not daring to get out. Well at least not until Lyney had come home. Usually you’d be up doing some hobbies or something, but you didn’t feel like it. You couldn’t find your binder anywhere, and every part of you just felt dysphoric. Clothes were strewn all around your room after the failed search for your binder.

A little while later Lyney came home, clutching a bouquet of your favourite flower. You hadn’t been awake when he’d left so he thought he did something special when he got home. Well until he was met with you crying in bed.

“Oh, mon amour. What's wrong?”

You sniffled and shuffled towards him. “I can’t find my binder and I just don’t feel very good… about myself.”

He pulled you closer, almost not letting you breathe. “Can you tell me all about it? I want to know what's making my boyfriend upset.”

“Well, it's stupid.”

He looked at you like you had killed his cat, how dare you say something making you upset is stupid. Whatever it was it was definitely important enough to hear about it.

“No, No, if its making you upset mon amour, its not stupid.”

You weren’t entirely sure how to describe your situation, you hated your whole body for not looking how you wanted it. You hated that you had been stuck with this body. You hated in your current situation you couldn’t do anything about it. 

Once you explained what was happening, he only pulled you tighter giving you gentle kisses, like you were a hurt puppy. He set to work finding your binder. Much like you did he practically turned the house upside down looking for, plus he found your favourite outfit. About 10 minutes later he returned holding the item you had been looking for all day.

“It was sat in the clean washing baskets.”

How could you not have thought to look there, you messed up the shared room for nothing. The next issue was your hair, it had gotten too long and every time you looked in the mirror all you could see was the old you. So Lyney offered to cut it. He’d had experience cutting both Lynette and Freminet’s hair so surely cutting your hair back to normal wouldn’t be too bad.

After he was finished you put your binder on and looked in the mirror. You could see what you saw earlier as much. Lyney came up from behind and squeezed you tightly.

“Look at my handsome boyfriend.” He placed a kiss on your lips, and pulled you in closer. 

“Thank you Lyney…”

“It's the least I can do Mon amour, You are my boyfriend, it's my job to make you smile.”

Taglist

@pandragonsoul

[shapeshiftersvt]

Hello! I just recently got my first binder (from underworks) and I’m not sure if it binds correctly. I’m looking into getting one of your binders but I want to make sure that not all binders provide the same compression as the one that I got. How much compression is the right amount for a binder?

Good question!

There's a few factors that go into the "right" amount of compression. They include size, chest tissue density, physical activity level for the day, personal comfort (dysphoria), personal comfort (breathing), personal comfort (claustrophobia vs Like To Feel Squeeze), and more.

So, here's what I advise.

If you think your binder might be too loose, or not compressing enough:

First, put your current binder on and maybe a shirt on over it and look at yourself in the mirror. How do you feel about how you look? Do you want to be flatter?

Next, breathe in deep and do some physical activity, whatever makes sense to push your body into action-mode for like five minutes. Are you breathing okay? No issues?

Next, press your hands palm-flat against your chest. Can you compress yourself manually more than the binder does already? If so, a different binder could compress you more than the one you have on. It might need to be a tighter one, or one made of different (stiffer) material, or both.

If you think your binder might be too tight, or compressing too much:

First, how does it feel when you're standing still? Any pain, shortness of breath, pinching?

Next, how does it feel after exercise? Can you still breathe deep and get lots of air? Are you getting any cramps in the little muscles between your ribs?

Finally, how does it feel after a full day (whatever that means for you)? Are you sore at the end of the day? Any lightheadedness, lingering headache or backache?

If the answer to any of the above yes/no questions was yes, then you need a bigger or less compressing binder.

The right amount of compression is the amount that feels good (dysphoria), feels good (lack of pain), and feels good (ease of breath). If any of these factors are out, it's time to try again.

We've been fitting people for almost ten years. Almost everyone who's stuck with the process has found that they can have it all. And you can too.

[offbranddrpepsi]

Hello! I'm not sure if you do this so feel free to just ignore this request if you don't :]! Could I request a Reyna X trans! Male reader that already had his surgery but some people were mean to him saying his still a female (how would Reyna react to them, comfort reader, etc) have a great day/night!

I am always open for asks like this because I know how much comfort they can give people as well as it just feels nice to have something like this sometimes. I hope you enjoy it and will be writing it as both top and bottom surgery (though the focus will be top surgery for obvious reasons). This is not proof read as im still a bit sick and finished a book recently so rereading anything makes my brain soup so i apologize for any mistakes.

Reyna is no stranger to being different though she doesn't understand why it is such a big deal for some. As such she is as well read as she can be when it comes to queer issues, especially if they involve her partner or someone close to her. She may not be perfect but she is always willing to listen and understand. Since day one when you introduced yourself she had asked for your pronouns, a habit Gekko had gotten her into, and didn't ask any questions past that. At that point you had obvious defined hips, despite trying to hide them, and a notable bump in your chest as binders weren't perfect but she never questioned it. You called yourself a man so she did and when you came out to her you could tell the dots connecting in her brain as you spoke. If someone misgendered you she would just very bluntly correct them with a "he." then stare at them with those vibrant eyes until you folded. Reyna was like having a guard dog that, even if they disregarded your identity, made it hard for anyone to disrespect you to your face in her presence. As you two grew closer and became a pair she would get a little intrusive but well meaning. She would ask you about physical things ranging from affection to more intimate ones. How you wanted her to handle you or refer to you, if you were comfortable with her seeing you in certain clothing or ways etc. Reyna is a woman who likes to establish clear boundaries and does so with you so she can be the best girlfriend she can be while also making sure you are comfortable. If permitted she can be found at times stealing your clothes like most girlfriends would, favoring anything oversized or jackets. She never stops gushing about her partner and boyfriend, even talking about how her sister would adore you and probably see you as a brother. At the end of the day who you are at the surface doesnt matter to her as she cares more about whats under it all, appearances be damned.

Post surgery shes adorable and overbearing as you heal. She helps change bandages, drains, even helps you shower if needed. Her radiance lets her monitor your heart rate and body temp so at the first sign of any infection or inflammation shes right on top of it making you take medicine and rest. Once you're healed enough she is the first to nuzzle herself into your chest and sit in silence as she hears your heart beat, you breath, just you exist as a more full version of yourself thats hopefully happier being in your own skin. Given how supportive and loving she is she absolutely takes it HORRIBLY when people are still mean and cruel to you. She makes sure to over talk them with your pronouns and correct name, throwing compliments at you in there as well to make them feel absolutely smothered by her. Of course thats when you're there, when you arent shes snarling and threatening them in the way shes best at. Teeth bared shes asking them to repeat themselves, seeing how dedicated they are to their bigotry before tearing into them. If theres one things Reyna is good at its being scary and damn does she scare them into at least being politely silent. When it comes to comforting you shes your biggest fan already but shes admittedly a tad bad at it because she doesn't really get why they have to be like that. Before it made sense because maybe they slipped up or just weren't thinking but now that you've taken steps to masculinize yourself more she sees absolutely zero excuse. Reyna holds you against her and promises to make sure you don't have to hurt again, to weed out those that would treat you this way. She makes threats of ripping tongues out but calms herself to turn her attention to you. You're the one that was hurt by people to small minded to be accepting, being vengeful won't fix that right now. For as long as you need she is there, holding you and talking to you. She talks you into setting up a date where she introduces you to her family that accept you just as she had. She arranges shopping trips to get you more masculine clothes and even helps you donate your old binders to other trans youth. Reyna even pulls Gekko in to "help his big brother out" as theres just some things about being a man that she doesn't understand but knows having someone like him around would be helpful

[foster-the-moths]

The Disappearance of Mark Heathcliff (Led Astray AU)

Mark is ten years old when he begins to wish he could disappear forever. God does not answer his prayers, but something else does.

Warnings: self-loathing, self-harm, vaguely suicidal thoughts, family issues, religious guilt, mentioned & attempted kidnapping, body horror, and gore.

(Can't believe I have to say this but don't reblog or like this if you are a 'proshipper' or break tmc creators' boundaries.)

6,464 Words. Ao3 Link.

Mark is nervous.

His parents have reassured him time and time again, but he’s still apprehensive about going to this new school at the start of fifth grade. His parents had bought a new house, and rather than delay moving until he finished elementary school, they decided it would be best to have him start fifth grade at a new school. They said this way he could make some friends in the area before going into middle school, but Mark hadn’t really liked the idea. He’d wanted to stay and graduate with the friends he already had, especially since he lived so far away from them now and would likely never see them again. He hadn’t even wanted to move in the first place, but he supposed he trusted his parents — and it’s not like he ever had a say in the matter anyways. 

He sighs, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he waits for his father to unlock the car. He just hopes he makes some new friends quickly, this summer was lonely without anyone to talk to. He’s sure it’ll be fine, though, he had made plenty of friends at his old school, he’s sure he can make new ones here, too.

—

The other kids hate him.

Well, maybe they don’t hate him — hate is a strong word, afterall — but they certainly don’t like him, either. When he tries to talk to them, the conversation dies out, replaced with darting eyes and uncomfortable whispering. When he tries to play games with them, they stop and switch to another game they know he doesn’t like. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, he’s thought over every single thing he could have possibly done for them to dislike him, but he can’t pin down a reason why. Did he talk too loud? Speak too fast? Maybe he was just too much for them, he knows he gets a bit enthusiastic sometimes, but why didn’t they like him now that he was quieter? 

He even stopped trying to talk to them for a bit, “giving them space,” as he’s heard before. He’s stopped trying to talk or play, and instead buries himself into a book during recess, but this only seems to make his classmates dislike him more. Everything he does to try and fit in just makes him stand out more, and he’s starting to lose hope he’ll ever make friends here. He’s even starting to believe they might truly hate him, because why else would they shun him every time he tries to be friends with them? He doesn’t understand, all he knows is that this is not the “fresh start” he was promised. He misses his old friends — his real friends, more and more each day.

—

He can’t find it.

He’s lost his math workbook, again, and he has an assignment in it due tomorrow, and he can’t find it anywhere. He rakes his hands through his short hair, and tries to take a deep breath, but still feels tears pricking at his eyes. His teacher had said if he kept failing to bring in his homework then it was going to become an issue, and Mark didn’t want that, couldn’t bear the thought of it. He’s always been a good kid, a good student, so why was everything falling apart now? This had never been a problem at his old school, he never got in trouble there, but there were new rules he didn’t understand — and not just with his peers. They were less patient with him, more demanding, and his parents said the pressure would only increase in later grades. He felt like he was drowning, sometimes, just barely able to make it through each day before something new was thrown at him. 

He rifles through his backpack, binder, folders, and room for the fourth time tonight, his search still fruitless. He clasps his hands together, and once more he prays, prays that God would let him find it — it wasn’t really a huge request, so why wasn’t he getting an answer? Doubt trickles into his stomach, and it makes him feel sick. He shouldn’t be feeling this, shouldn’t be doubting God like this, but he couldn’t make it go away no matter what he does. This wasn’t good, Mark Heathcliff was supposed to be good, but he feels like he’s been doing a very bad job of that lately.

He grasps his hands together even tighter, fingers pressing into the space between bones so much it begins to ache a bit. Could God not hear him? He chews the inside of his cheek. This week they had taught about sacrifice in his religion class — about how God told Abraham to kill his only son, Isaac. About how Jesus suffered, how much pain He went through. Maybe that’s what Mark was missing, maybe he needed to show God that he was serious about how much He meant to him.

He swallows a lump in his throat, and brings his hands to his mouth. He bites down on the back of his hand, around the knuckle of his pointer finger, and it hurts. He cringes, stopping immediately. He hadn’t expected it to hurt that much, the area he had bitten down on burns faintly as the pain fades. There are condemning marks left on his hand from where teeth dug in, and he rubs the skin harshly, trying to make them fade quicker. Maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. He gingerly threads his hands together once more, and sends another prayer to God, hoping that this act would prove his devotion.

He repeats his cycle of rummaging through every place his workbook could be and praying, now with the addition of biting his hands, with more and more fervor each time. He grows frustrated, no, angry — why wouldn’t God listen to him? Why wouldn’t his parents and teachers listen? Why did nobody ever just listen to him? He finally gives up, tears in his eyes and hands aching as he gets ready for bed. 

A few days later, his religion teacher reads aloud a passage from 1 Corinthians, about how the body is a temple, and must be taken care of. She reads another about the prophet Elijah defeating the false prophets of Baal, how they cut themselves with swords and spilled their own blood but their god did not answer. His teacher tells them that God didn’t listen to people that hurt themselves, and Mark feels sick. No wonder God hadn’t answered him, he was selfish. Shame roils in his gut for the rest of the day, but he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of teeth sinking into the flesh of his hands.

—

He can’t do this.

It’s been hours of staring at pieces of paper with words that swim in his head, trying to find ways to answer them but he can’t. He doesn’t know why, he’s trying so hard, and he knows the answers to these questions, but he just can’t. None of his sentences make sense, so he erases them and starts over, but he forgets what he was going to write, so he rereads his textbook, but he’s already read it, and he can’t read it again without losing focus, so the words swim off the page and he can’t make sense of it anymore, and by the time he figures out how to word what he wants to say, it’s hours later and he’s exhausted, and he knows it shouldn’t be like this; he knows something is wrong.

But when he tries to tell his parents, he never knows how to explain it, and they just tell him to keep trying because “it’s not that hard,” but it is. He knows he’ll never get them to understand, though, so he tries again anyway, hoping that maybe they’re right, and this time he’ll be able to do it right. He never manages it, no matter what he does differently. Now it’s 10:15 pm, he still has three whole assignments left, and they are all due tomorrow. He’s tired, his head keeps falling to the table and startling him awake, and he knows there’s no way he’s going to finish them all tonight. But his parents won’t let him give up. 

They’ve gone to bed now, leaving him alone in the dining room, but he knows if he goes to bed now they won’t take any of the excuses he gives them in the morning. They will call him lazy, and a liar, and all the things that hurt him because it’s not true, but they don’t seem to care. They don’t care how much it hurts him, they don’t care if what he says is true, they don’t believe him. Anger burns in his throat, hotter than the shame he wears on his shoulders, filling the hollow pit in his stomach with a raging ocean. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair, he’s trying his best, and his parents always say that as long as he’s trying his best nothing else matters. But his best isn’t good enough for them anymore, and he hates it, hates himself, hates them. Maybe he doesn’t wish he could disappear, maybe he wishes they would disappear instead. 

He wishes his parents would die.

He’s still, for a moment, so startled by the thought taking root in his mind that he loses awareness of everything else. In the blink of an eye, the shock gives way to a searing, all-encompassing guilt. How could he even ever think that towards another human being, let alone his own parents? He gasps for air, not realizing he had stopped breathing, and curls into himself tightly; drawing his feet up onto the chair and tucking his knees underneath his chin. Tears slip down his cheeks, and he can’t seem to catch his breath as he stifles his sobs so his parents won’t hear him. His fingernails leave indents on his knees from where he digs them into his skin, and he half-wishes he would bleed. 

Mark is a terrible person. A terrible son. How could he wish for his parents to die?

He rips the sinful thought from his mind like uprooting a weed from a garden, and frantically replaces it with a haphazard, almost frenzied prayer.

He’s sorry, he loves his parents, he should be so grateful for everything they give him, he doesn’t deserve it, but they love him anyways, he didn’t mean it, he’s sorry, it wouldn’t happen again, he would never let himself think like that ever again, he would do anything, he’s sorry, he loves his parents, he would be lost without them, he would be lost without God, he’s sorry, he would do better, he just needs to try harder, just like his parents said, he just has to listen to them, he’s sorry, he deserves something horrible to happen to him, he’s been so ungrateful, he’s been so selfish, but he hopes God will forgive him anyways, even though he doesn’t deserve to ever be forgiven, because God loves him, and God would understand, and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry it hurts.

He knows, now, that hurting himself will not make God listen, but he cannot help biting into his palms and wrists. He is disgusted with himself, and he wants to never think those sorts of things ever again, so he will use the pain to remind himself not to. He digs his teeth into his skin, closing them tighter, and tighter, until he cannot bear the sting of pain anymore, and releases it with a choked whimper. As soon as the pain fades, he bites down again, somewhere new, and repeats his self-flagellation. 

After what seems like an eternity, he calms down enough to breathe without his breath hitching, or new tears to shed, and he goes still. He looks down, eyes vacant, and sees his hands are littered with angry red indents left by his own teeth. He sniffles, and drags his gaze up to the clock, seeing it is now 12:08 am. Three hours past his bedtime. He feels hollow, drained of everything from the effort of feeling so many emotions at once, and he decides this simply isn’t worth it. He slides his chair back and stands up, flicking the lightswitch off and beelining it for his bedroom, barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see where he is going. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth, or change his clothes, or do any of the things he usually does before bed. He just crawls onto his mattress, hides under the covers, and tries desperately to forget the past hour and just fall asleep, to have just a moment of peace before the disappointment and anger he will face tomorrow morning. 

He does not succeed, and gets little sleep anyways.

—

His parents are fighting again, and as it usually is these days, their argument is centered around him.

He’s been lying recently. At first it was just a panicked fumble, a hasty, “Yes, I finished my homework,” or, “I forgot it at home, but I can bring it in tomorrow,” nothing more than a rushed excuse in hopes it would distract whichever adult he was talking to long enough for them to forget it. He hadn’t even realized it was a lie at first, because he was planning on finishing his homework and handing it in! He just… needed more time, and didn’t want to admit he wasn’t done with it yet. 

It wasn’t until later that the realization he had actually lied dawned on him, dread flooding his veins with ice as he sat at the dining room table, fist clenched around a pencil, pressing lead into the paper so hard the point had broken off. His head felt scrambled by the barrage of thoughts that accompanied the revelation, running rampant through his head as he tried despairingly to think up a penance for his transgression, and a solution to his newfound problem. The mere thought of admitting it to his parents had made him flinch, his own scorching fear rendering that option impossible. So he had decided to hide it — if nobody found out he had lied, then it wasn’t hurting anyone, was it? 

In the end, he had managed to finish the assignment and turn it in the next day, just as promised. No harm, no foul. It was almost vindicating it a way: he had proved he wasn’t a liar, not really. He knew he just needed more time, but the adults wouldn’t let him have it, so he took it himself. Was there really anything wrong with that? Was it lying if he delivered on his promise in the end? No, Mark decided, he was learning that adults weren’t always right about things, and when they were wrong he would take matters into his own hands. That’s what he told himself that night, shoulders hunched and wide eyes staring into the dark when he was supposed to be asleep. Liars are sinners, but he was no liar. 

But the time he had spent working on that one assignment had cut into the time he had to work on the others, and after just a few days he found himself in the same position. He knew the solution, he knew he could lie, but this time he knew he was lying, and it made his skin crawl with a prickle of shame. 

This repeated, until he had lied more times than he could count now, and he was finally caught. He had told his teacher he had, in fact, turned in his assignment, she must have just lost it. He had planned to turn it in the next day, to slip it into the assignments bin while nobody was looking. He had not expected his teacher to spend hours looking for it, only for her search to be futile. He had not expected her to hold him back after class, eyes narrowed into a glare of suspicion . 

He had broken easily, immediately confessing with eyes fixed on his shoes, voice barely audible as he admitted he had lied to her. She was furious, hours wasted for him, she had said, and he had never felt so ashamed in himself, queasiness coiling in his gut as she chewed him out. He couldn’t even remember most of it, he felt sick to his stomach even recalling a moment of it. He had never considered that this might happen, that his lie could ever affect someone other than himself, and remorse poisoned every fiber of his body with blistering anguish. He had felt like the floor had vanished from beneath his feet when she had informed him she was telling his parents. Despite his despondent pleading, endless tears, and choked apologies, she had refused to change her mind, and dismissed him to go to his next class. 

The rest of the day seemed to drag on infinitely, leaving Mark hollow besides a horrible buzz of shame and dread. He had almost considered hiding from his father when he came to pick him up, but decided that was much more trouble than it would ever be worth. From the moment he got home, he delayed the inevitable. He had half-hoped that maybe if he said nothing, and prayed hard enough, that his teacher would miraculously forget to call his parents, and they would never know. But she had not forgotten, and he was called later that night to the kitchen by his mother with a tight, almost pained expression, and his father with crossed arms and furrowed brows.

His parents had not been happy.

He curled up on his side even tighter as he heard the word liar be whisper-shouted by his father. They thought he was asleep, that he couldn’t hear them, but he could hear almost every word through the cracks in his bedroom door. His pillow was drenched with tears and snot, and he felt utterly pathetic. He prays for his parents to stop, for him to be able to fall asleep, for him to sink into his mattress and never wake up. 

Then again, why would God answer the prayers of a sinner? His parents had been right: he was a liar, and God does not love liars.

—

There is a boogeyman in Mandela County.

That’s what the newspeople call him, at least. He steals children, they say, whisking them away into the night never to be seen again — and nobody knows how he does it, who he is, or if it’s even a human being at all. There have been all sorts of rumors from the kids at school: aliens, demons, even an evil laboratory kidnapping children for their experiments. Mark isn’t really sure what he thinks of it all — he’s far too old to believe in monsters under the bed, and he’s more of a skeptic to things that stray from his faith. Whatever the case, the adults don’t seem to know what it is either, keeping a closer eye on the younger kids, and sending out broadcasts that make Mark feel sick with worry.

They say it’s taking children as young as newborns to as old as six. Sarah is five, and their parents have talked in hushed whispers about moving again, for her safety. He sits with her now, using a binder as a surface to write on so he can keep an eye on her while he does his homework, just like his parents told him to. She plays with her dolls on the carpet in front of the television, chattering to them as she weaves a story only she can comprehend. As Mark watches her, he almost feels… jealous. She’s been the favorite since she was born, and it’s not that he wants her to disappear, no, he loves her far too much for that, it’s just that… 

Mark is too old to be taken by the boogeyman. He’s ten years old, far beyond the target age-range. Yet every night he almost wishes it would take him anyways; away from school, away from his parents, and bring him somewhere he didn’t have to worry about anything. He doesn’t know what happens to the kids that are taken, nobody does, but at this point he doesn’t really care. If something terrible happens, then maybe he would deserve it. It isn’t fair, that it could take Sarah instead of Mark. Sarah doesn’t deserve to be taken, she’s never done anything wrong, but Mark deserves to disappear, he wants to disappear. He’s pretty sure his parents wouldn’t even miss a liar anyways, and they would still have Sarah, so really it would be the best for everyone, wouldn’t it? Mark would get to disappear, and nobody else would be upset by him ever again.  

He watches over her, and he feels an envy for something he knows he shouldn’t want.

—

There is someone in the house.

Mark holds his breath as he hides under the dining room table, squeezing his knees to his chest so tightly his body aches. He had been staying up late again, working on homework he would never finish, when the television turned on by itself, and a far-too-large hand pushed itself through the screen. There was no time for him to do anything else but kill the lights, throw himself under the table, and pray. 

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t dare to take a breath. He can’t risk making a single noise, not when a living shadow lumbers through his home, head nearly scraping on the ceiling as it trudges past his hiding spot, achingly slow, each step it takes feeling like it shakes the very foundations of the house. He cannot breathe, so instead he prays, pleads that whatever it is does not find him. He has no idea what the intruder even looks like, he hadn’t gotten a good look at it, but what little he did see is enough to set his pulse hammering against his ribs. His heartbeat is so violently loud that he’s already half convinced it will hear him anyways, and spindly arms will reach down to rip him out of his shelter and tear him to shreds. 

Achingly slow, it claws its way past him, and Mark squeezes his eyes shut, too terrified to look at what might be his doom. His head is filled with images of monsters, demons, and a faceless Boogeyman that haunts his town like a phantom. He hears more shuffling, more thuds, each one makes him curl into himself even more, but they slowly sound further and further away. He just barely opens his eyes, and he nearly sobs in complete and utter relief. It has gone past him, shambling out of the dining room, and into the hallway. It had not noticed him. He finally allows himself a breath when he is sure it is out of earshot, stifling the sound with his hands. Joy floods his veins, he is alive. That relief crashes like a vase to the floor when he hears the click of a doorknob turning, and the accompanying creak of a door being opened. 

It had gone to the hallway, he realizes. The hallway that leads to Sarah’s room.

He unfurls from his hiding spot stiffly, urgency thawing out the sheer panic that had kept him frozen. Whatever that thing is, he was not going to allow it to hurt her. What if it really was the Boogeyman, and it took Sarah away? He couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let that happen. 

He creeps down the hallway, pulse pounding in his chest as he slides his sock-covered feet along the wooded floors. His legs are shaking, and he feels like he might fall to the floor at any moment, but he keeps going. He briefly looks to his parents’ room, considering waking them up, but if it’s already opened Sarah’s door, then by the time he wakes them she might be gone. He has to face it alone. He steels himself, placing a hand upon the doorframe of Sarah’s room as he looks inside, and has to choke back a scream at the sight of something far too tall to be human hunched over Sarah’s bed, reaching something that must be a hand towards her. He almost backs away, frightened out of his mind just by seeing something so obviously inhuman, but instead he steps into the room, and opens his mouth to speak.

“What are you doing?” he croaks, his voice strangled by fear.

It turns to face him, and what small amount of bravery Mark had mustered up is gone in an instant, replaced by a soul-devouring terror. Although it is dark, there is enough light seeping in through the window for him to make out the features of the monster clearly. It has no lips, just a gaping mouth carved into an uncanny smile, filled with far too many teeth. Its lower jaw is split into two, weaving together and undulating in a way that almost resembles an insect’s mandibles. Its face is smooth, catching light in a way that makes it look as if it has molded clay in place of skin, sculpted around a blank eye on one side of its face. The other eye is set within a void, a glowing pupil flickering to focus in on his face.

It cocks its head to the side, considering his question, before it speaks, “I am taking her away.”

He can’t breathe, he feels as though his ribcage has collapsed in on itself, and he’s forgotten how to even inhale. Its voice digs claws into his head, static erupting in a horrid cacophony of incomprehensible noise, and he would raise his hands to clamp over his ears if he wasn’t petrified, if his arms weren’t so weak. His gaze is locked on it, but he remembers the reason he ever entered the room in the first place, and his eyes flit over to her. Sarah is asleep still, clutching a stuffed animal as she slumbers peacefully, blissfully unaware of the danger looming above her. It strengthens his resolve, and he remembers how to breathe, wheezing in a weak breath, as he looks the monster in the eye once more.

“L-le-ave,” he demands, voice cracking, “Le-ave her alone. T-take someone el-se.”

Its pupil flickers, and it blinks its vacant eye, perplexed by his request. “Who else would I take?” it inquires.

Mark can feel its gaze burning a hole through him as it awaits his response, and he scrambles for something to say. He has a feeling if he does not answer its question correctly, something terrible will happen, and it will take Sarah anyways. This vague fear sends his mind racing, half-formed thoughts clambering around the inside of his head, as though his brain is overturning each of his memories for something, anything to save his little sister. He remembers many, many things at once, but the recollections he latches onto the most are those of guilt. Of shameful lies, clenched teeth, crushing despair, and unanswered prayers. He remembers coveting a fate he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have. He remembers a wish he made as his little sister puppeteered toys in front of the very television the demon before him had emerged from. He knows his answer. He hopes it is one the monster will accept.

“Me,” Mark breathes, “T-ake me inste-ad.”

The Boogeyman, for that’s what it must be, drags itself towards him — hands that are gnarled and twisted like the roots of a tree pulling its sunken body forwards. He notices its chest is see-through, and he can see what look like ribs, but on closer inspection appear to be segmented insect legs. He gawks at them as they twitch and writhe, before snapping his attention back to its face. He forces himself to stay still as it lowers its head, arms creaking as it bends itself down until its eyes are level with his own.

“Why?” it implores, voice still buzzing with static, but no longer unbearable. 

“Be-because I-,” Mark swallows, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to-to be here anymore. I-,” his voice warbles, and his breath hitches, but he continues. “I w-want to dis-appear, I’m a-a bad person, and I d-don’t want to stay here,” he gasps, fully crying now. “I d-on’t deserve to sta-y here, I d-on’t w-ant to stay here, please,” he wails, voice muffled as he buries his face into his hands. His chest heaves as he trembles, barely holding himself together enough to stay upright. He had never admitted his wish to anyone else before, and it felt like the dam he had built around it had finally burst, forcing him to feel the full brunt of the emotions he had locked away for so long. 

He feels something drape itself across his shoulders and back, and can’t even find it in himself to recoil. He leans into the touch, letting it guide him through the doorway, and out into the hall. The weight on his back distorts, shrinking until it feels more like a real, human hand, now resting on just one shoulder. He looks to the monster, and sees it has condensed itself into the form of a man, no longer craning down to fit under the ceiling. He crashes forwards, burying his face into its side and wrapping shaking arms around it. He doesn’t care anymore, if it’s going to take him then he’s going to be selfish, and take as much comfort from it as he can get. It pauses, evidently not expecting Mark to cling to it. He feels a trickle of dread, had he made a mistake? He expects to be shoved away, for it to change its mind, but instead he feels an arm wrap itself around his shoulders, resting upon his back tentatively. He sniffles, and leans further into it.

They stay like that for a moment, before the monster starts to walk, and Mark forces his legs to move along with it, stumbling to keep in step with the other. It does not rush him, simply waiting for him to match its movements, almost like it wants him to copy it. It leads him out of the hallway, and he follows it blindly, not bothering to check where it is taking him. He doesn’t care, as long as it’s away, far away. 

After a short while it stops, and stays still — but they had not walked for nearly as long as Mark had expected, he’s pretty sure they hadn’t even left the house. Mark forces his head up, blinking tears out of his eyes to look at their surroundings. It has brought him to the living room, right in front of the television. It makes sense, that it would take him away through the same thing it had come from. He supposes this is it, then. Something crosses his mind, and he balks, suddenly, tugging on its arm.

“Where… where are you going to take me? What will… happen to me?” His voice is small, he is already resigned to his fate, but he wants to know what his doom will be before he commits to it. 

It tilts its head, gaze boring into him. “I am going to make you like me. And then we will go to the others,” it states.

The words catch Mark off guard. He isn’t sure what he had been expecting it to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that. “So… I’m not going to die?” he asks haltingly, almost apprehensive. He isn’t even sure which answer he wants to hear.

“No,” it vows, “you will not die, but you will be different.”

Mark can’t help but feel a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. He doesn’t know exactly what it means by ‘different’ but he doesn’t care enough to question it. He can guess well enough what it means anyways, with the way that it had looked before he agreed to go with it. He shivers as he imagines his jaw breaking in two, and his eyes becoming blank and lifeless. He shoves the images out of his head, and reaches out to grasp one of its hands to ground himself. He can’t let himself second guess his decision now — he has a feeling it would not react kindly to that. Besides, he was doing this for Sarah, whatever was going to happen to him didn’t matter.

The thought makes him realize that he should probably make sure the monster understands what he wants from it in return. “...What about Sarah? You… aren’t going to take her, are you? Just me?” he rasps, barely able to even make his voice audible.

“No. Just you,” it affirms, “unless you want me to take her as well?”

“No! No, I don’t- I don’t want that,” he yelps. “Just me, not her.”

“Then I won’t,” it assures, turning its face towards the television. Before it can so much as step towards it, Mark stops it once more.

“Will it hurt?” he whispers, the question itself feeling like a condemnation.

It freezes, stiffening like a statue as it considers the question. “I don’t know,” it admits.

Mark looks down, staring at the floor as he considers asking more questions, before deciding he doesn’t want to know more. Instead, he grits his teeth and squeezes its hand, trying not to show how much its answer scares him. It seems to take this as a sign that he is ready to go with it. It squeezes his hand back, then pulls away, prying its hand from Mark’s as it steps forward. Mark takes his hand back, but watches with curiosity as something occurs to him. How did it even fit in the television? Even in its more ‘human’ form, it towered over him, surely it couldn’t just cram itself through, right? He supposes he’ll just have to wait and see. 

It straightens itself out, and then its body lets out a series of cracks as it begins to jolt and shake, and it buckles forwards. Mark suppresses a shout at the sudden noise and movement, then stares, transfixed, as its body breaks apart even further. 

Mark can see its bones bend, twist, and snap under the thin cloth covering its form — its very skeleton seeming to fold in on itself as though being pulled apart by invisible hands. It hardly even has a shape that could be considered close to human as it drops to the floor and crawls towards the screen, its form distorted and broken beyond recognition. It’s the most horrific thing Mark has ever seen, and although he hastily darts his hands up to cover his eyes, the afterimages of it flash in his mind’s eye. It is as mesmerizing as it is repulsive, like watching the inner workings of some ghastly machine. Mark cringes at each sharp crack and wet tear of muscle, until finally it goes quiet. 

He peeks out from behind parted fingers, only to be met with an empty room, the television still blaring white noise. He blinks, bringing his hands back down as he slowly inspects the room for any sign of the creature, yet finds nothing.

Had it… left him? 

Just as he feels his heart sink to the floor, the television’s static changes pitch, and something emerges from it. Mark feels a sense of deja-vu as he watches a hand claw itself out of the screen, but unlike before, it is turned upwards. Its palm is open, inviting him to take hold of it once more. An offer, waiting to be fulfilled.

He hesitates — how could he not? He knows, deep in his bones, that whatever was beyond the screen would change him; that the static would devour him wholly and his life would never be the same. If he would even have a life at all, the monster could very well be lying to him. He considers, briefly, going back on his promise. He imagines running down the hall, bursting into his parents’ room and waking them up, taking solace in the inherent safety adults provided. But this is what he had wanted, wasn’t it? If he went to them, things would just go back to the way they were before, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

He reaches out, and grasps its hand tightly, his palm tingling from where it touches the skin of the monster. It reminds him of static electricity. It tugs his hand through the screen ever so gently, and his hand is swallowed by prickling white noise.

Static ripples up and down his arm, electricity coiling in his tendons and nerves as it boils in his veins. It does not hurt, but it surges under his skin, overwhelming as it floods his nerves with noise and colors and all sorts of things that should not be held within human flesh. He can hear an endless cacophony of radio channels and transmissions, the signals reverberating with his skull and skittering into nothingness. His teeth ache as they buzz in their sockets, and he feels the need to clench them tightly, lest they rattle themselves out of his jaw. 

He can no longer feel his own hand, as if his flesh and bones have unraveled into radio waves and beams of light, no longer bound to such a simple, human shape. Despite this, he can still feel the monster holding it, as if it is grasping the concept of his hand, rather than a physical object. He thinks it might be the only thing stopping him from falling apart into nothingness. It is reassuring, a beacon of stability amongst the overwhelming chaos he has plunged himself into, and he tries to hone his attention to it and it alone. 

The sensation is unbearable, just barely bordering on a painless agony, but he surges forwards anyways. He shoves his head through the screen, and falls. Down through the screen, far away from his home and humanity, he falls, but there is something there to catch him. He has no body, no mind, he is nothing more than a tangled, writhing mass of channels and currents and light, but he does not fall apart. He is cosmic dust, held together only by the gravity of a star as he is remade anew, into something whole again. He opens his eyes, that are not quite eyes, and an angel stares back at him. 

Mark Heathcliff disappears — leaving no trace other than unfinished homework on the dining room table, his little sister’s door left ajar, and a television pouring out an incessant hiss of static.

[besthimbomachine]

my love when it counted. 03

summary: When Kenny returns home after his failed apology, he tries to keep himself busy with random tasks to keep the pain at bay. However, when looking through his things one day he finds something he should have left buried, and it sparks a fire in him that he knows he shouldn't feed. pairing: kenny omega x reader word count: 3884 warning: there be smut in this one here is the reward for enduring the angst in the last chapter everyone, congrats you made it to the smut. this one is more of a break on the plot intense pace from chapter 2, we pick the pace up again in the next one. for now, enjoy the smut

03.

When Kenny finally returned home after that whole mess, it had been almost a week. Though time had worked to quell the pain in his body, the guilt still lingered somewhere in the back of his mind. But like Matt had said, he tried, that was it. Now you’d both agreed to be civil again, and things were settling down into whatever you’d have to call normal from now on. He’d promised to act like simple work colleagues, and that's what he’d do.

With little option, Kenny tried to fall back into a routine, finding whatever most boring bureaucratic issue laid ignored in his email’s inbox and deciding to go through them. He often relied on boring tasks to take his mind off of painful things, and it had been coming in handy for the past two days. The last email had been one from his lawyer, asking for some terribly old document for some confusing reason he couldn’t understand. Sitting in his bed, he had surrounded himself with graying plastic binders and worn out boxes. Choosing one that looked to be the right amount of old to look through. 

When he took the lid off of the large box, Kenny found an old shirt lying on top of the contents. Pulling the garment back, he was met with an assortment of photos and papers scattered about. The minute his eyes found the pictures he already knew what would be in them. And he knew he shouldn’t keep looking. Not with everything going on in his life right now. But it was almost like his hands had a life of their own, and before he knew it, the pictures were already laid on the bed before him.

It wasn’t a surprise, but as his eyes scanned the photos, Kenny still felt his breath getting caught in his throat. They were all pictures from back in his New Japan time. They held the smiling faces of him and his friends. Keepsakes from times and places long gone, some of which slipped his mind now as he looked through them. Many were from shows, some from trips and parties and other events. All of them had one thing in common, though. All of them had you in it. 

That was the box Kenny had dumped any photo with you in, to never be seen again. Shit, he didn’t even know he still had that. He was supposed to have thrown it away, but he never did quite get up the courage to do so. Looking at them now, he could feel the bitter sweet pang of nostalgia, the way it tasted like ashes in his mouth. Swallowing thickly, he stacked the photos together in the box again. That’s when he noticed something else, the black metal previously hidden by the scattered papers shining back at him.

Kenny hesitated for a moment before his fingertips grazed the rough exterior of the camera. Your camera. An old SLR that he had seen many times, but he didn’t even recall was with him. This thing had been your prized possession back when you bought it, around the start of your relationship. He remembered you used to love photography - and maybe you still did, but now he had no way of knowing - you’d take that camera to every show and every trip. He had no idea how it had ended up with him.

Running his thumb over the lens cover, Kenny pulled the poor old thing out of the box it had sat in for the better part of a decade. The cardboard had protected it from dust, but he could only guess what a cross continental move and the Florida humidity would have done to it. The exterior at least seemed fine, and as he opened the lens cover, he couldn’t clearly see any mold or anything.

For the most part, the camera seemed ok, and it sparked in Kenny a curiosity that he knew he shouldn’t feed. Whatever pictures it held, he knew they would do him no good right now. He knew he should just put it back in the box and leave it be. But he couldn’t resist as his finger pushed the power button, body moving on its own, ignoring all common sense. All he could do was hope the thing just would not turn on.

But of course it did.

For a few precious seconds, it seemed as if the camera wasn’t going to pop back into life. Like something was finally looking out for Kenny and saving him from his own stupid and impulsive decisions. But he had no such luck. With a faint sound, it finally woke from its years long slumber, the small screen blinking as it returned to the world of the living. He felt his mouth drying as he stared down at the cold pixels before him, scared and anxious at just  what he’d find as his fingers made quick work of the menu buttons.

When Kenny finally made his way to the old photos, the first thing he was greeted with was his own face. Those same baby blues staring back at him, although a good few wrinkles less and many years younger. He had a smile on his face, features framed by the ropes as he sat on the floor of the ring. Behind him, he could see the silhouettes of Matt and Nick facing the vast empty arena, only a few more blurred forms dotted in the background. 

Moving to the next photo, he found himself again, this time slightly out of frame as he tried to grab the camera. The image was shaky, his face partially in focus as one hand held onto the ropes, the other blurred as it reached out between them, fingers coming close to the lens. A chuckle escaped Kenny’s lips, the sound faint and half hearted as he felt a pang in his chest. 

He tried to remember this day, trying desperately to reach for any memory, but he was left with nothing. Moving onto the next one, he found himself again, tongue sticking out as he leaned close to the camera. The pure joy in his face an ironic contrast with the date of the picture. The naive happiness of someone who didn’t know that days later he’d fuck up something he truly cared about. 

Sighing deeply, Kenny moved on to the older photos. Passing through pictures of him, Matt and Nick preparing in the ring, as well as pictures of you getting ready or climbing on the ropes. There was one video from that day that had you and Kenny dancing around the ring, and for the second time now he felt his heart shatter as his memory failed him. He made through the pictures of the four of you, but nothing moved his mind, the memories truly lost to time.

Biting his lower lip, Kenny laid back against the headboard, finger pressing the button again, but the picture meeting him this time being completely different. The photo had been taken in front of a large mirror outside a building, and standing in the frame were the two of you. He had an umbrella in hand, and you had the camera covering half of your face as you looked through the viewfinder. 

Fuck, Kenny could remember that mirror, the coffee where that picture was taken. He could remember that day pretty well, you’d both taken a few days off and gone on a trip somewhere around Osaka. It was a three-day trip, and it rained lightly for all three days, not the perfect trip but far from the worst he’d had. And looking back at the photo now, he could even say the rain added to the atmosphere.

The next few photos were a mix of you and him in different locations, as well as many pictures of places and things you’d found beautiful. Few of them had you two together, and the photos you took were always clearly much better than his, but he was thankful for those anyway. He was thankful for this insight into a memory time had just almost claimed, glad to just see your glowing smile once again.

It was almost strange, seeing how the look in your eyes in those pictures resembled in almost nothing the one he was used to seeing now. It was like looking into an alternate dimension, close enough that he could brush his fingertips against its ghost, but not so close that he could grasp. Kenny flipped through the images, watching you, the way your skin glowed from the drizzle and the scattered sunlight. Basking in the warmth of your smile and all the playful expressions you made to the camera. It was a side of you that people rarely got to see. One that he himself had now been closed off from.

Sighing again, Kenny flipped through the photos rapidly before stopping when he noticed a change in environment. The picture he’d stopped in was of you, looking away from the camera with your hair tied up, water covering your bare chest all the way above the breasts. He paused, studying the environment, the stone walls and hazy fog circling you were hard to mistake. You two were at an onsen, by the size of it a private one, probably from whichever place you were staying at. 

Kenny’s eyes trailed the exposed skin on the back of your neck, eyes following the curve of your spine as it delved underwater. He felt his chest tighten again, you were so gorgeous, if he closed his eyes he could almost feel your soft skin on his fingertips. The next picture had you laughing, waving one hand at the camera as if trying to shoo him away. Your movement - and the surrounding fog - made the photo blurry, but he could still see your exposed chest. Warm water spilled down the inside of your breasts, kissing your skin in ways he could only have in his dreams now.

Moving on to the next photo, Kenny felt the air hitching in his throat as his eyes met with your own, large and entrancing in a way that he never found again after he lost you. Your beautiful irises stared back at him through the screen, keeping him locked in place for a good moment as he felt himself dragged to the bottom of a lake. And for a second there, he really didn’t want to resurface.

When he finally remembered to breathe, Kenny fully took in the image. You stared straight ahead, deep sultry eyes locked with the lens as his hand touched your face. One of your hands held his own, your lips touching his knuckles and the back of his fingers in a soft kiss. Water droplets ran down the curve of your breasts, with the way you were sitting the water just about touched your chest, not fully reaching your nipples. God, you looked like something out of this world, like a siren ready to drag him underwater, a lure he’d never deny.

Blood rushed to Kenny’s face and in a moment his breathing became hard, air evading him for a long second. It was almost like he’d forgotten just how gorgeous you could be. His fragile memory - and his most shameful dreams - not doing justice to a sight he once had so freely that he didn’t fully value. He was young and stupid, and you were too beautiful for him to understand - and fuck, from what he saw in the ring you’d only gotten better. 

Kenny’s free hand ran through his hair as he sat staring down at the old screen, feeling the rough texture of the camera against his fingers. The photo had him in a hypnotic hold, he could almost smell your perfume and taste your skin, almost. And he could feel his body react to it, but at the same time a pang of guilt coming through his chest. He shouldn’t be looking at this, he knew. It was wrong, he knew. He should stop, he knew. Swallowing thickly again, Kenny’s thumb hovered over the button for a long second before he finally created the courage and flipped to the next photo.

It did him no good.

When he skipped to the next thing a video started playing, if it had any audio the camera couldn’t play it. When it started, there was only you in frame, sitting with your chest above the water as the lens filmed from a higher angle. You said something he couldn’t make out, laughing and turning away before turning back and slowly licking your lips, half lidded eyes staring deep into his own. His hand came into view then, thumb brushing over your jaw before making its way to your mouth and caressing your lower lip. You stuck your tongue out, licking the tip of his thumb quickly before lowering your torso. That was when the camera changed angles to follow your movement.

At first, his bare thighs came into view as you slid between them, but the camera continued its swift movement until his fully hard cock appeared in the shot. Kenny’s eyes widened as he watched your hands sliding up his thighs as your lips brushed over his hips. He could feel a tightening in his pants as his blue eyes followed your movements on screen. Your lips teasing the base of his dick and the inside of his thigh, biting and licking whatever skin they touched. The sight having shudders run down Kenny’s spine.

He could feel himself getting hard as he watched his hand lazily pulling you closer to his cock before leaving the frame. You licked the underside of his erection, fingers trailing his thick thighs and coming closer to the base of his cock. When you reached his head, one of your hands wrapped around his shaft, jerking it up and down slowly. Your other hand digging into his thigh and keeping you in place.

Watching the scene in the camera had Kenny groaning, extending his legs out in the bed, free hand coming to rest on top of the bulge now formed in his pants. He watched the image of you continue to tease him on the screen, licking his swollen head as you made eye contact with the lens. Muttering curses, his eyes followed the movements of your tongue, his fingers caressing his large bulge over the fabric of his pants. Just the sight of your lips surrounding the head of his cock being enough to have him fully hard.

On the screen, Kenny watched as you went back to teasing him, kissing your way to the base of his dick before you moved up, licking the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He could almost feel it, length throbbing inside his pants as he rubbed and tugged it over the fabric. A hiss escaped his lips at the sensation, watching as you took his head fully into your mouth in the video, his cock now pressing against his pants, desperate to be set free.

Shit, he knew he shouldn’t be watching this. Let alone taking his pleasure from it.  It felt wrong, but he didn’t really wanna think about that right now. Kenny only barely remembered filming this video, let alone that it still existed somewhere. He brushed against it again by pure chance, it was not like a premeditated thing. 

Fuck, he missed you in more ways than he’d want to admit, and he didn’t want to deny his body’s desire. He didn’t want to deny the way seeing you in the ring had his mind reeling. The way hearing your voice in the backstage halls sent shivers down his spine. He knew it was wrong, but for a single moment he chose to give in to the desire burning deep inside his core.

Pulling the waistband of his pants down, Kenny released his throbbing cock. Veins popping around the thick shaft and sensitive head, his fingers sliding around it lazily. He watched as you started slowly moving your head up and down on the screen, each time taking more of his shaft inside your mouth. Groaning, he cursed the lack of audio on the camera, wanting nothing more than to hear the delicious sounds he knew you’d be making. Kenny’s large hand wrapping tight around his length, fingers barely meeting as he pumped himself slowly.

Kenny took in a sharp breath as he saw your lips getting close to the base of his cock, the camera shaking in his hands as a shiver coursed through his body, setting every nerve alight. He threw his head back, cursing under his breath before looking down again, watching you with darkened eyes. Taking his hand from his cock for a second, Kenny spat on his palm before he went back to fisting his length, fingers now picking up speed.

Palming his head and pumping down his shaft, Kenny watched the scene as you deliberately moving our mouth all the way up his cock, leaving only the head in between your lips before you dove down slowly. He watched as your lips almost touched the base of his dick on screen, a low and rough groan coming from deep in his chest. It was almost as if he could feel it, feel your mouth swallowing his large erection whole. His length twitched in his hands, pre cum spilling from his tip as he pumped faster now, his thick fingers wrapping tight.

Darkened eyes followed your movements as you bobbed your head a few more times, from tip all the way down, until your lips finally reached the base. The image shook a little before it steadied again. Kenny could almost feel the sensations, the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat, the wet warmth of your mouth stretching around his dick. He’d never forget that feeling, sinful and holy, pleasure bordering on pain.

You continued your sucking on screen, and oh, what wouldn’t Kenny give to hear the noises. He groaned, trying to conjure them in his head as he fisted himself faster now, one hand almost not enough to satisfy his full length. Pre cum dripped from his swollen head, onto his fingers and down his veiny cock, making his movements easier and faster. His erection throbbing in his hand, feeling hot and heavy against his rough palm. 

Kenny could feel the coil tightening in his gut, hips jutting forward as he imagined your mouth around his length. He closed his eyes tight, shuddering, breath faltering, his cock throbbing violently in his palm. An animalistic growl trapped in his throat as he opened his eyelids again and watched you moving fast, eyes shut in pleasure. In the screen, his hand burrowed into your hair, fingers tangling with your locks and taking control of your pace. 

When the growl escaped his lips, Kenny almost couldn’t recognize the voice as his own. It was something else, something wild and desperate. He watched on the screen as his hand pulled you all the way back before sliding back down, setting a hard and deliberate pace. Both of your hands held onto his strong legs now, fingertips digging deep into his light skin. Kenny shuddered, trying hard to keep his eyes on the video as pleasure built up within him. By this point his cock was throbbing uncontrollably in his calloused hands, hips bucking with violence and he felt so fucking close. 

You locked eyes with the camera once again, and Kenny could see his hips bucking forward in the video. The hand in your hair stuttering in its pace as your tongue slipped out of your mouth and under his cock. Shit, just seeing that had him delirious, spilling praises out of his lips that he knew you’d never hear. He imagined the feeling of your mouth, the warmth of your tongue all around him. Deft fists pumped up and down at a voracious speed, his cock heavy and slick in his hands, balls feeling full and tight.

In the screen, his hips bucked erratically now, not even caring if he was bringing your head all the way down or not. Your lips looked wet and abused as they stretched around his girth, moving up and down fast. Pulling your head all the way to his tip, Kenny’s hand moved to your lip, pulling your open mouth towards the camera before coming back to his own cock. He fisted himself a couple times, resting the head of his cock on your tongue as his thick length twitched. Rope after rope of his thick white cum spilled past your plump lips, filling your mouth with it. 

Kenny pumped his hand faster and harder, feeling the coil in his gut snap as he watched you close your pretty mouth, swallowing all of his hot cum, tongue darting out to lick some that had slipped down your lip. He felt his orgasm hit like a truck, shutting his eyes as the intensity of the feeling had him seeing stars. With a grunt, his cock spasmed in his hand, shooting his cum like a torrent. Multiple white, thick ropes spilling from his cock, feeling hot as they poured on his exposed thighs and hips, staining his shirt where they fell on the fabric.

Kenny rode his orgasm for what felt like forever, ecstasy completely clouding his mind. When he finally came to, eyes opening to see his still hard cock twitching slowly. Pearly white of cum painted his fingers, a string of it coming from the head and connecting to his hips. He swiped his thumb over his still sensitive head, spreading his thick white jizz over the tip. He was breathing hard, and it still took him a moment to fully return from his high.

Looking at the mess he’d made, Kenny felt that pang of guilt back in his chest. Shit, he shouldn’t have done that. Pushing his cock back into his pants, he cleaned his hand in his already stained shirt before sitting straight against the headboard, the full weight of his guilt crashing down. He ran his hand through his hair, lips feeling dry as he swallowed hard.

He really shouldn’t have done that. If Kenny had felt bad after your recent fight, he felt even worse now. Like a sleazy, cowardly excuse of a man. One who was too weak to let go and too harsh to fix things. Worse, he felt like he had slipped back into the self centered asshole you’d left all those years back. Shit, this wasn’t who he wanted to be, and it made him sick to the stomach. He looked back to the camera, the video had already ended, the final image being your smiling face. 

With a quick push of the buttons, Kenny deleted the video, erasing it from existence like he had done with the others after your break up. This was the right thing, and if he had known about this camera, known about this video, he’d have done it a long time ago. Now it was done, still he felt like shit. And there wasn’t really any way to erase that taste of guilt from his mouth.

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