#he wants to be gross and indecent and angry

[warlenys]

i actually do not think aziraphale is gonna kiss crowley all tenderly he is gonna rip his glasses off throw them on the floor grab his collar and kiss crowley with the same ferocity he kissed him with. aziraphale is ravenous. he’s already had his first taste. that shit is not gonna be sweet and gingerly. it’s gonna be pornographic. like the ox

[loving-strawberry]

✶Stray Kids reacting to their s/o ignoring when she's being sexualized✶ (HCS)

Summary: You are being sexualized by people because of your body, but you're so used to this, that you simply choose to ignore that.

It was a request!

A little note: To the person who requested, if you read this, I'm really sorry for what is happening to you:( Also, I couldn't really do exactly as you asked me, because my brain is refusing to cooperate with me sometimes! But I hope you like it!

Warning: Swearing. Some comments about body parts. Mention of food and drinks. Probably some writing errors.

Genre: A bit of angst. Fluff. (I don't know other ones???)

Pairing: Bf!Skz x Fem!Reader

Bang Chan☆

He was simply shocked when this happened for the first time in front of him

You two were just taking a stroll in a park, enjoying together your little time off both of you had that same day, which is a pretty rare occasion

And all of a sudden you hear some nasty and disgusting comments about your body coming from an old man

While poor Chan was feeling sick hearing that someone could say something like this in the a public space, without feeling ashamed of themselves, you simply ignored it

"My love, how could you just ignore something like that? Do you want me to go and talk to him??"

"Channie, it's ok. I'm used to it by now."

Now he's even more shocked

What do you mean used to it???

How many times did this happened???

Why didn't you told him anything yet???

He has so many questions and he feels so bad that there's not much he can do about your situation...

Lee Minho☆

This was happening as the two of you were on a date at a restaurant

And one man who was sitting at the next table, was looking intensely at your chest, even throughout your shirt

You just ignored his gross looks and focused on other things

But your boyfriend couldn't

He was pissed.

He doesn't want to accept that someone is looking at you like you're some kind of object and you to just ignore it like it's a normal thing

Even if it is normal for you, unfortunately

"You need to stand up for yourself when this happens!"

"Why? It's much more easier to just ignore them and don't show any reaction. They wouldn't understand anyway."

If you don't stand up for yourself when this happens to you, he will

And next time this happens, Minho will send deadly glares towards the people who dares sexualize you in any way

If that doesn't work, he'll go and have a little talk with them

You will need to stop him before getting his ass in trouble with JYP

Seo Changbin☆

This one takes place at the gym

You were doing some squats, and a group of men was constantly checking your butt and disgustingly smirking at each other

And of course, doing unnecessary comments

Wants to have a little talk with them part 2... Even though he's outnumbered

But stops when he sees that you don't give a flying fuck about this whole situation

"Babe, you really don't care? The way they commented about your body is unacceptable and disgusting..."

"Bin, I'm used to it. It's happening more often than you think."

Now he's all pouting, sad and disappointed with himself for not noticing sooner

And of course, disappointed with the people who can do such things

"You shouldn't be used to this, babe..."

Hwang Hyunjin☆

During one of your photoshoots for modeling, the photographer was starting to make you pose more and more sexy

Indecent actually

Like, almost Playboy style

But you just tried to brush it off

On the other hand, Hyunjin, who came along with you just to keep you company during this session, wasn't exactly happy about what just happened

He's having a pit in his stomach after all of that and you can tell he's angry

He will just tell the photographer to fuck off and takes you out of that place as fast as possible

"Hyunnie, what's wrong??"

"You're seriously asking this...? You've just been sexualized and you're asking me what's wrong?"

"It was happening so many than you could think off... I just don't care too much anymore."

Now he's furious and grossed out.

Of course Hyunjin wouldn't let you go back to the same photographer, despite your reassurances that everything is fine

And he'll search himself for someone else who to be trusted with you

Han Jisung☆

(I don't have any ideas of scenarios here🙃)

You two went out for some ice cream, and suddenly someone says something like 'I have something better for you to lick'

Han is about to go and deal with him, until you stop him

"Ji, don't waste your time with that."

"But-..."

"Just ignore him."

He's honestly confused as to how unbothered you are

Makes him question himself how many times did this happened before and never noticed

"Does... Does this happened frequently...?"

"Yeah."

"HUH?!?"

He'll start from now on to look after you and pay attention to your surroundings constantly

Lee Felix☆

You both were at a TV show when this happens and having an interview

After a while, the hosts attention is focused just on you and starts telling suggestive jokes about you

Probably to entertain who's watching the show

But you don't pay attention at all to them

Felix by now is mad.

And a little disappointed that you don't react at all about this

You know the expressions he always have when he's jealous/mad about something?

Yeah... That's how I'm imagining him right now

Moving on...

After the show is over, of course he'll start questioning you

"How could you just brush those jokes off like you being sexualized is a normal thing???"

"Because it's a normal thing, unfortunately."

"What...?"

Poor Felix, he will probably start crying after hearing this :(

Kim Seungmin☆

(Out of ideas part2)

Location for this one?

The beach.

You are wearing a one piece costume, not feeling like showing too much skin this time

But this never stopped two man to approach you

And starts make unnecessarily comments about how you should wear a bikini instead, because that's what men wants to see

Seungmin went to get you two drinks, and right when they said those gross things, he came back

He expected you to say something back to those men

But you straight up ignored them and started scrolling on your phone

Leaving Seungmin to get rid of the pests

He just fake tripped on his own feet and threw the cold drinks, with ice in them, on the men skin

Skin that probably was warm of because how much they stood in the sun

They just scattered away in the contact with the extremely cold liquids, and muttering some curses under their breaths

"I didn't know you can be so lame to not talk back in these situations."

"I talked back enough. No one listened. So I don't bother anymore."

"... I'll go grab other drinks..."

Most likely feels bad for saying that now that he knows you're struggling with this everyday

Will make sure to be the who speaks up for you next time something similar happens again

Yang Jeongin☆

I.N was doing a live, with you being somewhere in the background, laying in bed and minding your own business

You were also reading some of the comments that people had left in I.N chat, from your phone

Both of you saw a pretty nasty comment left from a "fan" about your body and how hot you looked laying like that in bed

But neither of you said anything about it

I.N didn't said anything, cuz he hopped you didn't saw it

You just ignored the comment, truth be told

Shortly after that comment was left in poor boy's chat, he ended it, feeling too sick to continue the live

"Are you ok, Innie? You look a little pale..."

"Y-Yeah... It's just... I read a comment that made me feeling unsettled."

"Oh? The one about me? I just ignored it. I've gotten even worse."

If I.N wasn't pale before, he is now

He just couldn't understand how anyone could say something like this so easily

.............................

✧ Masterlist ✧

✧ Tag List ✧

@bangchansbae @tattywood @nebulousbrainsoup @https-skzology

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (6/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 @bathwater101 @evilunicorns4minions @noah-uhhh-what @adalia-jaycee (Let me know if I missed you, or if you want to be added!) A/N: COVID was gross. Anyway, we're back, baby!

CHAPTER 6: A sudden argument with your family leads you one way: out the manor's arching, double doors. Left alone with your pocket change and barren options for housing, you strive find your own way out of it, somewhere, somehow. You soon learn that you're not the only one with these issues. (5.7k words)

CHAPTER 6: PARTNERS IN CRIME

A few seconds after the front door shut, and the tension fizzled like angry champagne bubbles being poured by some young and inexperienced bartender, you closed your eyes in relief. Your heart settled like the dust and your lungs exhaled in what felt like a million years. You thanked your stars that you’d made it through relatively unscathed. Well, the kiss was something you hoped was either ignorantly forgotten or too awkward to bring up by your family. But the fact that your lips were still tingling and you could hardly stand properly told you that you weren’t going to forget it anytime soon. 

“Thank you for having Charlie over,” you said to Lucius and Narcissa. “I imagine we should retire for the night now. It’s been rather eventful.” 

You began to ascend the stairs, foot safely landing on the first step, until you heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared behind you. 

It was Lucius. “Hold on just a minute, (Y/N).”

You turned around, hand on the railing. Sweet. Well-tempered. Docile. “Yes, father?”

“It’s rather rude to leave without providing an explanation,” he stated.

You feigned innocence. “What about?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about.” Lucius’s tone bordered on contempt, his eyes crinkling. “Was that any way to bid goodbye? Does this Weasley boy have any manners at all?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Draco nod faintly in agreement.

 That scene of indecency was burned into his and your mind both, for very different reasons.

“He can do what he likes,” you responded curtly. “It’s our relationship, after all. Does that satisfy you for an answer?”

“Satisfy me?” Lucius questioned, his words sticky and trying to latch on for a confrontation. “You tell me, does my daughter bringing over an ill-mannered imp of a partner satisfy me?”

You narrowed your eyes and clenched your mouth. You weren’t going to fall into Lucius’s trap of getting you to raise your voice. Instead, you were going to choose to be clever.

“He wouldn’t be considered ill-mannered if you didn’t choose topics to purposefully rile him up,” you spoke. “You haven’t talked about dragon domestication in ages, so why tonight?”

“How would you know that I don’t care about it?” Lucius retorted. “It’s ingrained into our family history. You, too, are a Malfoy before all else.”

You crossed your arms around your chest; you didn’t believe a single thing out of your father’s mouth and that thought made you sad. “And not because Charlie happens to be passionate about dragons and their well-being?”

“I wouldn’t ever sink so low.”

“I beg to differ. You’d do anything to see your enemies drown.”

“(Y/N), that’s quite enough from you,” Narcissa snapped from beside you. 

“Yeah, calm down, Draco advised, stepping from behind you. 

Narcissa put a hand on your shoulder. “Just head upstairs, we’ll talk about this tomorrow,”

Every inkling of patience was being drained from you. This didn’t even involve your mother or Draco. You weren’t going to be told to stay and go like some sort of untrained dog. 

You whipped around and faced Draco. “This isn’t your argument.”

“It is when you’re making a fool of yourself,” Draco responded coolly, knowing both your parents were on his side. “You best just drop the charade after tonight and save some face.”

“And who said it was a charade?”

“Well, isn’t it bloody obvious?” he shot back. 

Your voice was low with warning. “Again, this conversation is between me and father.”

“And I’m saying I agree with Draco,” Lucius butted in. You turned back to him. You were feeling defeated, standing in a circle with three people who wanted to manage every aspect of your life. This must be what zoo animals felt like. “Disengage from this Weasley boy, this act, and I’m willing to forget this night ever happened.”

He offered it like it was a favour to you, but it wasn’t. “You’re asking me to end my relationship?”

“What relationship?” Lucius repeated.

Draco felt the need to interject again, “You don’t mean anyone believes you are actually dating him?”

You turned back and got dangerously close to Draco. Beneath your breath, you warned him. “And you best believe that if you keep arguing for father, I will knock every single one of your pretty little teeth out.”

You pivoted back to Lucius. 

“Pray tell, father, do I live my life for me or you?” you asked, trying very hard not to sound affected. Emotions had no place in a Malfoy argument and you had to constantly remind yourself. “I’m partner-less, I should find someone. I have a partner, I should break up with him. I should stay in more, but should get out more. I’m too young to do this, but too old for that. Clearly, what you want for me is all very confusing.”

“You’re right. You should be free to live how you want.” Lucius’s agreement caused you to shake your head in disbelief. “But I won’t have these acts of indecency in my house.”

“Well, we all live here, don’t we?” you countered, arms crossed, on the edge for a witty answer. In that moment of silence, it hit you—clarity and a loophole. A small grin threatened to break out on your face. 

If you couldn’t do what you wanted in your father’s house, what about your own?

You re-arranged Lucius’s words and sent them right back at him. “But I’ll do whatever indecent acts in my own house, and that’ll be okay?”

There was a pause—a blowback of breath—possibly because Lucius was registering what you meant. Then, he let out a harsh laugh after piecing your words together. “I would like to see you try to find a house in the first place,” Lucius said, condescending and confident. “If that’s what you mean, then there is nothing available.”

He had to be wrong. How could there be no vacancy of anything? “That’s quite the assumption.”

“It’s not an assumption, it’s knowledge of the market.”

“Of course, I’m sorry for doubting you,” you conceded. “But I guess we’ll see what happens.”

 You walked up the stairs with some restrained ferocity. If you let your rage out, you’d stomp right through the marble floor.  On the last step, you stopped and turned around, looking your father in the eye. “Have a good night.”

You had to literally bite down on your tongue not to add: ‘Maybe Charlie and I will visit for Christmas.’

The last thing you saw was Narcissa shaking her head at her husband and walking over to talk to him, but you wanted to hear no more. 

You almost slammed the door on the way into your room but stopped yourself at the last moment. Instead, you channelled your rage into a long, silent scream until your throat prickled. You walked over to a desk by the windows and stared at the quill and candle. You were tempted to write to Charlie, but stopped yourself there too. Why would he want to be tangled in your personal problems? You’d dragged his good name through the mud enough today. 

Instead, you rang for Dobby. He appeared in a flash.

“Bring me some property listings, would you, Dobby? And a cup of tea?” You contemplated what else you might need. “And draw a bath for me, please.”

“What kind of tea would Ms. Malfoy like?” Dobby asked. 

“Something known for its calming properties,” you mumbled to yourself. “Chamomile?”

Dobby nodded and disappeared to the kitchen.

You walked into your closet and found the suitcase you’d unpacked just weeks ago. You bent down and unzipped it. The coin-size pile of sand on the inside edge, fresh from the French beaches that you hadn’t cleaned out made you smile; it reminded you of Charlie confidently saying he wanted to visit your Uncle Theo’s new estate. 

And his words gave you resolution: whatever was available, you were going to move out. 

You hated that Lucius was probably in his room, laughing off the idea of you even thinking about living on your own, without his wise guidance and the plush comforts of the manor. But the thought of spending another day, caged in and moulded by someone else’s hopes and expectations, was not the life you wanted. Instead, you imagined his grin morphing into a frown when he’d walk into a moving crew packing your life into cardboard boxes. Oh, the thought of that was delicious.

To solidify your intent, you walked over to the racks of clothing in your closet—first things first. Planning for the weather, you began with some outer layers: your softest sweaters, some work pants, wool dresses, stockings, and threw them into the open suitcase. Folding and organising was an afterthought. You sidestepped over to more intimate attire: socks, bralettes, underwear, a slip dress for sleeping, and some tank tops. You heard a rush of water from your bathroom and a knock.

Dobby walked in from the bathroom. “Everything is near the bath, Ms. Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Dobby,” you said with a smile. “You’re dismissed for the evening.”

Abandoning your suitcase, you walked into the spacious, steamy bathroom. You inhaled the scent of lavender. You undressed and walked up the steps to the bathtub. From there, you sunk in, trying to wash the day away. You splashed your face and your fingers stuck onto your lips in the process. 

You froze. 

It dawned on you again that you’d kissed Charlie Weasley. Or he’d kissed you. Or you’d kissed each other, but what did semantics matter in this context? You had to wonder what he was thinking right now, and if he was paralyzed replaying the scene in the bathtub. 

Reality rushed in like a burst damn. Oh, Gods. What were you going to say to him when you saw him next? When were you going to see him next? Was he already chatting about it to Bill? Or even worse, Fred and George? Bill’s letter was probably en route to you. But Charlie wouldn’t be able to describe to Bill about how his hands felt so big and strong around you, about how his hard body was pressed tightly against yours, and about the newfound sensation that brimmed in you when he deepened the kiss. 

You were feeling dizzy and not because of the heat.

You gulped down a healthy portion of tea and picked up the classifieds to distract yourself. Your heart fluttered with hope that there was something you could move into soon. 

But as your fingers flicked through the pages, your fantasy began to crumble like the bricks in the dilapidated units you were looking at. Sure, you could share a two-bedroom apartment with another person right by Knockturn Alley for 100 galleons a month, or even better, share a room in the same building for only 50 galleons. It didn’t look terrible, but further reading revealed that the bathroom wasn’t even in the unit itself. On the last page, there were a few penthouses and standalone houses whose cost went to upwards of 3000 galleons a month. 

Was there anything in the fucking middle? 

Unless you wanted to live in a literal shack or a literal mansion, you were royally screwed. You drained the bath, dried yourself, and slipped into a short, white silk dress. Maybe some sleep would help.

You had dreams often. As a little girl, you dreamt of gobbling everything up at Florean Fortescue's and building snow forts in the backyard. As a teenager, you dreamt of midnight kisses up on the astronomy tower. Tonight, your dream was a memory. 

You were walking into Cauco, your frilly dress hem rubbing on your bandaged knees and your hand attached to someone. It wasn’t Charlie, because even though he was taller than you, this man was much taller. As in, you had to raise your hand to keep it linked to his. As you entered the store, you detached from him to make a beeline with Draco for the pastry display. 

“Let’s get this one,” you said, pointing to the croissant filled with fresh cream and strawberries, your little fingers staining the perfect glass display. Maybe you chose it because you loved it, or it was one of the only things you could see at your height. Above you, there were other tarts, cakes, and an assortment of pretty macarons with labels you couldn’t see. 

“I don’t want that,” Draco protested. He pressed his entire forehead on the glass. “I want this.” There was a spot of drool on his mouth as he focussed on the shiny chocolate eclair. 

“Maybe father will get us both,” you said with optimism.

“What if he doesn’t?” Draco asked.

You frowned. “Then we’ll get yours, but you have to share with me.”

“Okay, fine.”

“(Y/N), Draco,” your mother called. “Your father and Mr. Circelli are waiting.”

“No!” Draco was the first to exclaim, evading her and banding with you instead. “We want dessert!”

“Who’s Mr. Seagull?” you questioned, holding onto Draco, refusing to go. “We want dessert, mother!” 

“We’ll get dessert later,” Narcissa assured. “Mr. Circelli has a child your age, Draco, (Y/N). You’ll be too busy making a new friend. Now, come on.”

Tuesday was the earliest day in the week you could make your dreams come true.

“Mr. Circelli,” you greeted, stepping into his tidy office. “Good morning. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

You extended a hand which he grasped firmly.

“It’s my pleasure.”

Mr. Circelli (or ‘Mr. Seagull’ as far as six-year-old you was concerned) was an old friend of Lucius’s. He was tall and thin, with a perfectly slicked-back bed of dark hair. Mr. Circelli boasted a web of connections and exclusive properties for his wealthier clientele, your father included. You’d first met him when you were too young to care. Now, he was going to be very important in your plan of moving out. Your dream acted more like a vision, and you were thankful for it.  

As precarious as it was to attempt to find housing through someone connected, even if faintly, through your father, there were certain advantages to it, you were sure.

“How’s your mother and father doing?”

“Excellent,” you responded joyfully. “They send their regards.”

Mr. Circelli smiled. “So, you’re looking into your own property?”

“Yes, I think it’s about time.”

Mr. Circelli shook his head with a grin. “I can’t believe how fast time has flown, last I remember, you were a shy child attached to your father’s hip.” Then, he pulled out some listings, the same ones you were browsing two days ago. “But the market is slim-pickings, I’m sure you know that,” he stated. 

You nodded. The ads you looked through were barren. There was availability, but none suitable for you. He flicked through his files until he landed on one. “But luckily, my team and I have first access to housing before other realtors.”

He slid the file over to you. As you perused the images, he described the listing for you: “A one-bedroom apartment in Primrose Gardens. The second room is an office, but can be converted to whatever you please. There is an ensuite washroom for you, and one for guests. It’s just been prepped for move-in today. I think this is most suitable for a young professional like yourself.”

Everything about the unit looked specular. The living area and kitchen were spacious and airy, the master bathroom looked marvellous and grand, and the views of the city were heavenly. The only thing that you couldn’t shake off was that the rent was concealed. 

“Not that it matters,” you said with hesitation. “But might I ask how much I’m looking at monthly?”

“Oh,” Mr. Circell vocalised. You didn’t think your father usually asked how much anything was, ever. “My apologies, Ms. Malfoy.” With a flick of the hand, the rent was revealed. 

You blanched immediately.

1800 galleons a month. You’d anticipated the number to be horrible, but not this horrible. 

“And as per our usual standards, we require a pay stub, a deposit for six months, and two references from our clients,” he explained. 

A feeling of defeat crept in. Most of your pay was locked up at Gringotts (thanks to your father and his financial advice; it seems that he could screw you over while being helpful, too) and taking it out prematurely meant heavy consequences. What was currently in your bank account could cover the deposit and you would just have to live frugally afterwards, but your measly Ministry paycheque wasn’t going to be good by any standards. You should’ve never taken a gap year and multiple vacations knowing you’d have to move out someday.

You gulped. You were almost too afraid to ask in case you were going to blow your cover, but you did: “Given that I’ve been working for a short while, are there alternatives in case what I provide isn’t sufficient?”

“You could find a guarantor, a co-signer, if you will,” he said with a nod, agreeing with himself. “Someone who can take care of the rent should you not be able to. That’s not to say that I’d think it’d come to that. I have no doubt that a lady like you, Ms. Malfoy, would be timely and expeditious. Sadly, it’s a regulation I cannot skirt.”

“And the reference?”

“It can be anyone, but in most cases, our client’s guarantor provides the reference in this option. “In your case, it might be wise to talk to your father. He’s very proficient in this area.”

“Oh, he’s a little—”

“Upset?” Mr. Circelli finished for you.

You were afraid to answer. How did he know? Had they talked?

Mr. Circelli smiled. “I felt the same when my children moved out. I can imagine his grief, but it’ll pass knowing you’ll be living in the best of what London has to offer.”

‘Except my father would never grieve for me’, you thought. 

You nodded pleasantly. “When is the deadline for my application?”

“I’m happy to provide you until Saturday morning. Again, we don’t usually hold units for so long, but given the relationship between your father and I, I’m happy to make an exception.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Circelli.” 

You got up and shook his hand. His face was flush with optimism that this unit was going to be yours. You, conversely, were dead sure he was going to be disappointed.

When work ended on Wednesday, you headed right over to Fred and George’s closed shop for dinner. You were not intent on spending any time with your family, so you opted for take-out with the boys. The three of you were gathered around a bottle of red wine on a long, rectangular table in the middle of the store. The radio buzzed lowly in the background as ambient noise.

You scraped the ravioli off your fork with your teeth and poked Fred in the cheek with the blunt end of it. “Hey, Freddie, what does your bank account look like? And how are your writing skills?”

“Perfect, and even better,” he responded, slurping up his pasta. 

“What’s this for?” George asked from in front of you. 

“I’m applying for an apartment.” You clarified, “So, I’m moving out. This is just paperwork I have to do to make it a reality.”

“Well, this is news,” Fred added, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “When did this happen?”

“You can imagine how it happened,” you lamented with a sigh. “In the same fashion that the whole dinner fiasco happened.” You grabbed the bottle of wine and poured your glass full again. “But my chances aren’t looking good for it. I mean, how do you get a reference without having rented anything from anyone? Or a guarantor that’s not your parent? And why is rent so expensive?”

“What could possibly be expensive to you?” Fred scoffed. 

“When’s the last time you put a six-month deposit on an apartment in Primrose Gardens?” you shot back.

“The goblins would definitely offer you a line of credit,” George suggested. “But Bill says they’re predatory, so I wouldn’t do it.”

You nodded. “That would be my last resort. I was thinking—”

A knock on the window interrupted your train of thought. Three heads whipped around to the source of the sound. George lifted himself off his seat to investigate. Your first immediate thought was that it was Charlie. Your heart drummed and a sudden cold sweat coated your body. You were not ready to look at him yet, not today, not ever. As George peeked through the blinds and slowly opened the door, you shut your eyes. You were tempted to clamber under the table to hide. 

“No way,” George exclaimed.

You opened your eyes again. Whoever standing in the door definitely wasn’t Charlie, because there was no sliver of red hair above George’s head.

George moved out of the way to unveil a face you hadn’t seen in ages. 

“Alicia?” you said, surprised. You abandoned your fork and ran to her. You catapulted yourself into her arms and Alicia Spinnet, always so nimble and strong from sport, caught you and spun you around. It felt like old times, years ago when she’d score a point against Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch and you’d celebrate obnoxiously together to piss off your own house. 

You were greatly relieved it was her. Though it dawned on you that Charlie was at Hogwarts and it couldn’t have been him in the first place, so there was no reason to believe he would be here.  

“Alicia! Spinster!” Fred clamoured, swinging his legs over the chair and running over to join the commotion.

Alicia rolled her eyes. “Why do you still call me that?” 

“Seriously,” you said in her defence. “You’re rude, Fred.” 

“I mean, look at yourself,” Alicia fired, gesturing up and down his body.

Fred put a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

“What are you doing back in England?” you asked excitedly. Seeing Alicia was enough to make you forget the tornado that was your life right now. “I thought you were chained up with MACUSA.”

“Lee’s birthday, primarily,” Alicia said. “And to see my family, too, of course.”

Your eyes widened. How could you have forgotten about Lee’s birthday?

George chuckled. “You’re just in time for the big fest this Friday.”

“This Friday?” you repeated. You bit your lip. That was basically when the rental application was due, because Lee’s birthday never ended with you waking up at home; it ended up with your face on the flat upstairs.

“You bet,” Fred said, patting your back. “Alicia will round up the girls and Lee before we meet up.”

“Are you joining us, (Y/N)?” Alicia asked. “Angelina is making those Fizzing Whizzbee shots again, just like old times. We’ll see if we even make it to the bar after drinking those.”

You stilled. You wanted to accept, but the pursuit of pleasure had to wait until you sorted out your housing situation. “I’ll get back to you on that. I just have this thing at work to finish up.”

“Sure, it’s work,” Fred mocked, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you tell Alicia about what—”

You clamped a hand over Fred’s mouth. “We’ll catch up on Friday!” you promised. Alicia nodded happily. 

You hoped Alicia wouldn’t ask about anything, because you couldn’t find it in you to explain your situation to another soul. 

Due to Fred’s consistent ability of forgetting to tell you about important things like Lee’s birthday, you only had two days to prepare for the damn thing. After asking the girls what they were wearing, you decided on a black chenille sweater dress. The mock turtleneck and long sleeves were chosen to keep you warm in case you ended up drunk and asleep on the streets. The dress hugged you in the right places, but wasn’t scandalous enough to attract unwarranted attention. And the reason for your choice of colour was that, well, Fred or Lee were historically prone to slosh beer on you as the hours went by. 

“I can clearly see my favourite spot in the house is occupied,” you said as you walked in. You hung your overcoat on the rack. “Is there anywhere I can do paperwork before we go?”

Fred continued reclined on the couch. He lazily pointed to the room in the middle. “In there.”

“Thanks!” you exclaimed. 

You walked into the unused room sandwiched between Fred and George’s rooms. To your surprise, it was furnished with a desk, a chair and a made bed that you could barely see from the entrance. The room was small, laid out in a ‘L’ shape. Only the desk was visible from where you stood. Otherwise, there was a small wardrobe immediately to your left. Last you saw this room, it was a dusty storage space full of cobwebs and cardboard boxes. You didn’t know what inspired Fred or George to clean it out, but you were happy they did.

You sat down at the table and flicked the candle on. From your purse, you drew out and laid out Mr. Circelli’s files, your last paystub, a painful cheque for 10800 galleons, a slightly less painful separate cheque of 500 galleons as a thank you (because Lucius always insisted on monetary favours, and he was rather good in maintaining relationships with his clients), and Fred’s reference. The office wasn’t far from the bar, so you were going to drop it off after you left. And then drink enough to forget about it.

From inside the room, you heard a door close and a conversation taking place. The voices were muffled but otherwise audible.

“We got you a housewarming present,” Fred boasted. 

“My present?” a different male vocalized, his voice seeping through the thin walls. It definitely wasn’t George’s voice. Or Lee’s. Or—

It took a few seconds, but the bass notes of the mysterious voice keyed into the right parts of your brain: it was Charlie. Your knee banged up on the table, sloshing the melted wax around and whipping the candle flame sideways. Why was he here?

“In your room,” Fred responded. “You’ll like it. Anyway, I’m going to take a shower. Long night ahead of me…”

You heard the doorknob turn and it finally registered in your slow state—which was concerning since you hadn’t had a drop of alcohol—that Charlie was coming into the room. Panicked, you put all your documents back into the dossier and shuffled away from the door. 

But there was nowhere to hide. Your only option was to scuttle towards the bed which was directly to your left and jump out of the window. The result of that was dark and bleak, so you stayed put.

When Charlie opened the door, you were the first thing his eyes caught, and you the same. He had a navy blue sweater over a dress shirt that was tucked into a familiar pair of slacks. His head nearly grazed the doorframe when he stepped in.

“Good evening,” you managed to eke out, your throat tense. 

“No way,” Charlie said incredulously with a laugh. He stalked closer until he was standing over you. “You’re the present?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes immediately flittered to his lips. You know, the same lips you kissed almost a week ago. 

“You’re in my room, (Y/N),” Charlie informed airily as he spun your chair by the backrest to the left so he could step between the small space. He was barely a few inches from you, so close that you could appreciate the subtle spice of his cologne. He set his briefcase down by the foot of the bed and landed on the mattress with an unabashed thud. “Ah!”

“I wasn’t told this was—” you tried to explain. 

“Nope, you’re in my room,” Charlie clarified, looking at you with his arms tucked behind his head and one leg crossing over the other.

Damn it! Fred had given you the misconception that this was an unused space. If you’d known this was Charlie’s room, you would’ve opted to work downstairs. 

“When did you move in?” you questioned. 

“Tuesday night.”

You crossed your legs, inching slightly closer from the chair. “Why did you move here?” 

“I had to get out of there,” Charlie gasped, his curls sticking to his face as he clutched his chest dramatically, like he was waking up in a cold panic. “All day, every day, it was baby talk. And my charms weren’t working. The house has been stretched to its limits with enchantments. I’m surprised property bylaw hasn’t come to inspect us yet.”

“So, you mean to say, you barely last a week back home.”

“You wouldn’t either if you had to sleep on a bed half your own height,” he countered. “But half of me… hm, that might suit you just fine.”

You made a face at him. He responded with a wider grin. 

“Is this place really an improvement?” you asked earnestly.

“I can extend my legs now, even if just marginally,” Charlie affirmed. He uncrossed one leg and extended it to prove a point. “I’m getting quality sleep.”

“Even if just marginally?” you repeated, your tone teasing. “Won’t this be your second night here?”

“Yes,” Charlie hummed as he sunk into the pillow.  “But I truly can’t hear”—a loud bang rang from the other room—“a single thing. It’s nirvana.”

Suddenly, there was a very sharp creak of the shower handle before the gurgling of pipes and finally, the explosion of water. You choked back a laugh. Charlie hummed and shook his head from side-to-side, pretending not to have heard anything. 

You felt at ease. The worry of having to talk about the dinner or the kiss last week slid cleanly off of you, like rain into a sewage drain. At this point, you’d preferred not to talk about it.

“Mhm,” Charlie moaned as he sunk lower into the bed. His voice was deep and velvety. His eyes fluttered closed. “This feels really good.”

Never mind. A pang of stars barraged your vision. Your crossed your legs even tighter. He didn’t intend to sound…. sexual, right? 

As Charlie continued to shut his eyes, searching for a wink of sleep, you were trying very hard not to stare at his triceps as he unknowingly flexed them. Every time you pulled away from the defined muscle, your eyes drifted to his mouth instead. You had to stop looking at his stupid, no-good lips. He tilted his head, shifting positions, and the way his eyelashes swept over his closed eyes made your heart skip a beat. Charlie painted in such a vulnerable light stoked something in you; you really wanted to brush his hair back, lean in, and kiss him, hard. 

No, no, no. Firstly, that would be weird and invasive, and secondly, why were you thinking about kissing him?

“I’m moving out, too,” you blurted out, trying to break your own line of thought by starting a new conversation.

Charlie quickly cracked an eye open. “Where to?”

“I found a unit in a condominium complex.”

“Why the change of heart?” he questioned with a chortle. “I thought you loved your parents.”

You bit your lip, thinking about the explosive argument that occurred last week after he’d left. “It’s about time I made something of myself, gain some independence, I’m sure you’d understand.”

“You must’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Charlie remarked. “It’s been proper tough to find availability for anything.”

Or to find a guarantor for anything. 

“I was lucky.”

‘Or rather, I used my father’s connections’, you thought.

Charlie looked up to the grey and speckled ceilings, eyebrows furrowed in woe. “Me? I haven’t been so lucky. Couldn’t find a single thing.”

“Will Hogwarts house you?” you offered. “That could be decent accommodations.”

“And spend the best years of my life back in school? No way.” Charlie’s eyes fell downwards to the file on your table. “Is that what you found?” You nodded. Charlie gestured with a flick of his head. “Let’s have a look-see.”

You slipped the listing out from the dossier and got up to hand it over to Charlie. He took it, holding it in one hand and languidly brushing his hair back with the other. He let out a low whistle as he read through it.

“This is what Malfoy money gets you, huh? Looks pretty decent for the price.” He gave the listing back to you. “I never had issue finding a place in Romania. Honestly, I don’t think my own country wants me back.”

“What are you two love birds doing in there?” Fred interrupted from outside the room. He didn’t stand there for long though because he strode right in, throwing his manners along with the door aside. A grin stretched across his face when he saw Charlie laying down on the bed, and you beside him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Charlie teased.

“Go shower and get dressed, Charlie,” Fred commanded. “You’ve always been so slow.”

“What? You occupied the shower before me,” Charlie protested. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s Lee’s birthday.”

Charlie cocked his head. “Lee?”

“A friend of ours. You might as well come, or I’ll think of you just as boring as Percy.”

“You’re right. I can’t be that.” Charlie swung his legs over the bed and squeezed past you as well as he could, in the narrow gap between you and the wall. Wedged between you, his arm making full contact with your bare one, he eyed you with a mischievous glint. His face, to your dismay, came into focus and so did his Cupid’s bow, making his mouth look so devilishly inviting. His eyes darkened as he asked: “Are you coming too, (Y/N)?”

Were you coming? There was nothing intelligible or witty that was going to come out of you. 

“Of course she is!” Fred—thankfully—answered for you. “Why else do you think she’s all dolled up? For you?”

Charlie unglued himself from you and walked past Fred who followed him. Charlie’s voice began to trail off as he got further from the room. “I don’t know, you said something about a present...”

When you were alone again in the room that you just discovered belonged to Charlie, you sat back down on the chair. You stared at the leather briefcase perched by the bed and the freshly-crumpled sheets, both tell-tale signs that Charlie was here.

He was here, he was there, he was everywhere. And it was sinking in that he was going out with you tonight.

>> NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

[coochiequeens]

Another abusive man who started his transition after committing sexual violence.

By Genevieve Gluck. February 6, 2024

A popular transgender TikToker in Australia who previously had gained thousands of followers as a “proud trans woman” has pleaded guilty to aggravated counts of producing and possessing child exploitation material, gross indecency and indecent assault. The South Australia District Court heard that Rachel Queen Burton repeatedly abused two children, and then stalked them and their family into homelessness, before he began claiming to be a “woman.”

Burton was first arrested in October of 2022 by the elite Joint Anti Child Exploitation Team and charged with child abuse and exploitation offenses. In December that year, Burton had denied the allegations, but he has now pleaded guilty. Though Burton is from Coolalinga in the Northern Territory, the crimes were committed in the Southern state.

During recent court proceedings, both the children and their mother strongly condemned Burton in their victim impact statements.

“You are a gross, phony, self-indulgent thing who has cheated my children out of so much, and took it away from them without care,” the victims’ mother said.

“In your online rants, you showed no remorse for your bad behavior, all while knowing what you had done … getting an audience for your false life was far more important. You can wear any mask you like, but the truth is out and everybody knows who you really are, finally.”

The victims’ mother described how, after she discovered Burton’s abuse, she fled the area with her children, only to be followed by the sexual predator. She told the court that at one point, she and her children were residing in a police-issued safe house until Burton “showed up at the window, peering in,” causing them to flee again.

“No food, scared children, too scared to go anywhere, never knowing if you could find us … when the children did sleep, nightmares haunted them,” she said. “Being homeless was extremely grueling, the worrying was relentless, but you were online having the time of your life… We were all betrayed, tricked and lied to. You are the monster, you make me feel sick to my stomach.”

The youngest victim, whose age has not been disclosed, told the court that Burton’s abused had made her feel “like a bird trapped in a cage.”

“I was happy before you broke the rules, I didn’t know what was going on at the time, I feel angry at you for doing the wrong thing to me,” she said. “I felt like a bird trapped in a cage, all I wanted was to be free … I still worry that you will find me.”

The second victim, a boy, said he was constantly “terrified” and that he had difficulty sleeping due to chronic nightmares. “I’m always worried you are going to turn up somewhere, and this makes me feel terrified,” he said.

Burton’s case was first reported by The Advertiser, which referred to Burton as a “woman” and utilized feminine pronouns for him.

Burton was best known for his popular TikTok account, which had over 36,000 followers and boasted 418,000 ‘likes.’ On his profile, he describes himself as a “proud trans woman” who is “living my best life with no regrets.”

In January 2022, Burton posted a video announcing he had been on hormone replacement therapy for 1 month and providing his viewers an update on his physical health.

“I [thought] I was supposed to get moody. But I haven’t been moody since starting the testosterone blockers … I got a little bitchy — just a little bitchy, that was when I was straight on the estrogen,” Burton explains, “I still cry. I still cry heaps. I’m still an emotional wreck. But it’s a nice emotion.”

Burton, who is currently being held in a correctional facility for men, has been remanded in custody awaiting further sentencing submissions in April.

[sohin-ace]

Joseph - Hug

That fic is a year old, I never wanted to post it. You can see my old writing style, how nostalgic.

Hugs. Everybody loves them. You didn't know what brought you to become such an affectionate little dork, but you just ended up being one.

Whether it was friends or family, or sometimes even mere acquaintances, when you hit if off really well and felt at ease with someone, you became fairly touchy-feely.

Most of the time it didn't bother people around you. If they weren't comfortable with your affection, you would just stop without taking offense. Thankfully you didn't have much trouble with it. You just loved hugs and embraces and you felt like everyone needed some warmth every once in a while.

You had known Ceasar for the longest time and you both hugged each other on a regular basis, mostly for greetings, but also for any occasions, really. There wasn't any reasons needed for it, this man was affectionate as well and was always up for a nice, sweet hold.

You have known each other for years and he practically saw you as a little sister. You really loved and respected the blond with all your heart, and your relationship was strong and pure.

When he introduced you to Joseph Joestar for the first time, he was a bit hesitant, scared even, of how that scoundrel would treat his cute, little innocent Y/N. Ceasar only told you to be especially careful around him for now without really explaining why.

But as time passed, you grew to become very attached to the Joestar too. It was nothing close to the bond you had with Ceasar, for sure, but there still was a little something going on between you two that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Joseph made you feel many types of way, but especially nervous. For some reason you felt particularly shy around him, which was unusual for you, as you were a pretty open and sociable person.

You never had any sort of trouble getting along with people, but Joseph just somehow knew how to make you stutter and choke on your own words. Not that he was unkind or intimidating to you, no, it was much more different than that.

Yes, you were painfully in love with Joseph Joestar. But honestly, who could blame you for crushing on the guy?

He was tall, handsome, charming, insanely funny and despite his dumb demeanor, he actually was quite clever. His voice was music to your ears, and his eyes... You couldn't stop dreaming about his eyes.

The tropical ocean in his eyes made you travel so far nobody could ever bring you out of your daze.

But this deep love for him was actually the reason you couldn't be as affectionate with him as you were with the others, as contradictory as it sounded. The shyness that overcame you every time he was around prevented you from being too handsy with him or even just coming too close. This was uncharacteristic of you, but you couldn't help it.

You'd have no problems kissing Suzie Q all over her face, caressing Lisa Lisa's hair or leaning on Ceasar's shoulders when you were sleepy. But Joseph? You just wouldn't dare touch him.

What if he found it weird, or rejected you, or was disgusted by it, maybe? What if you died on the spot from respiratory failure because of your heart beating way faster than it healthily should be?

You couldn't touch him like that out of nowhere, right? You didn't know the guy enough to be this affectionate yet. Or so you told yourself to reassure your own worries.

But one day, Joseph felt particularly jealous. Everyone including him had noticed how differently you seemed to treat him compared to everyone else. He didn't understand why you acted so physically distant around him when you two actually got along so well.

Even when he was the one to try and initiate anything physical with you, even something as small as wrapping an arm around your shoulder, you wouldn't reciprocate at all.

This drove him to the edge. Did you not like him at all? He even thought that maybe Ceasar had 'brainwashed' you and put some ideas in your head that made you fear him.

He could only imagine his italian friend telling you things like "Be careful Y/N, men are wolves." and, "Don't stay alone with Jojo, you can never know what happens." as well as, "If he tries to do anything to you, call me. blah blah blah."

That thought alone drove the Joestar nuts. Like he was one to talk about defending women from pervs.

However, everything changed one specific afternoon. Ceasar and Joseph had just finished a hard day of Hamon training, and you came at the door to welcome them home.

"Welcome back, boys! How was training today?" you greeted, beaming a sweet smile.

"Ah it was good, Jojo still needs to focus, he's way behind." Ceasar said a bit tiredly as he rubbed his shoulder and went to sit down on the couch.

"Hey! Watch it floosie, don't start." Joseph retorted offended and you giggled a bit at the two bickering, as they usually did.

"Jojo, go sit down with Ceasar, you must be tired. I'll make you some tea." You warmly proposed to your friend and he nodded, sitting on one of the couches opposite the blonde.

As you turned around and were about to leave, Ceasar silently gestured you to approach him, to which you obliged, wondering what he wanted.

You came in front of him, and he suddenly grabbed your hand to pull you close. He then wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned his head on your chest, sighing delighfully as he did.

You were used to it and knew when he did this, it meant he was truly exhausted. You just let him rest like this and brought your hands to caress his blonde locks softly, craddling his head.

Jojo clenched his teeth and clicked his tongue as he was beyond frustrated with the scene before him. He could throw up at what he was currently witnessing.

He knew you two were close but who does this guy think he is? He was constantly out there calling you 'little sister' or 'sorellina' every single day of the week and yet he still acted like a pervert with you? Yikes.

"What the hell is wrong with this dude? You just have to put your hands on every woman you see! Fucking gross!" Joseph snarled at the italian man.

Ceasar slowly moved his head to the side to glare at Joseph, visibly annoyed. "What's your problem, Jojo? Can't I embrace my little tesorina in peace?"

"Why you gotta be all over her like that, just let her go, man! Can you imagine if I did the same?" Joseph argued, clearly grossed out and jealous at how clingy the blonde acted towards you.

Ceasar jolted at the mere thought. He released his grip on you and put his full, angry attention to Joseph.

"Don't you dare even think about it, Joestar!" the blonde growled.

"Huuuuuh?" Joseph raised a teasing eyebrow, "What's that? You don't like the idea of another guy touching her?"

"You'll make her uncomfortable!" Ceasar defended back.

"Oh yeah? Well it's not up to you to decide that." Joseph smirked and got up abruptly. "Y/N!" He called out.

"Y-yes?" You stuttered, overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. What even was happening?

He suddenly opened his arms wide, suggesting one thing only. Ceasar was fuming and got up as well, preventing you from approaching Joseph.

"Y/N don't, he's just being immature as always."

"Shut up playboy, she's not your girl, if she wants to hug me she will, whether you like it or not!"

You started to get tired of all the bickering. All of this for just a hug? The only reason you weren't physical with Joseph was because you were too shy and love-struck with him to do so, why did it have to end up in a stupid fight?

"I mean... If Jojo really wants to... I don't see why not..." You said as you try to swallow your own cowardness.

"Y/N..." Ceasar trailed off, concerned.

This man needed to calm down, you thought to yourself. You patted his arm and smiled reassuringly at the blonde.

"Ceasar, it's fine! It's just Jojo, it's not like he's a creepy stranger or something." you sheepishly said and he clicked his tongue in response, clearly not convinced. "Here, look, it's nothing at all!"

You slowly walked towards Joseph who started giggling excitedly like a little boy. Finally, he waited for this moment for so long.

Gently, you brought yourself into his broad chest, face getting warmer and warmer by the second, as you carefully wrapped your arms around his waist and laid your head onto him.

He instantly reciprocated by caging you in his strong arms, sighing in delight. You were so small compared to him it was beyond adorable and he swore he could actually squeal right now.

Before he could fully immerse himself into your warmth he felt you flinch a little then instantly move your hands upwards on his upper back. If you weren't already flustered and blushing like crazy, now it was even worse.

As you went to hug him, you underestimated your height difference and put your hands all over his bare waist. Poor you, you had completely forgotten the man wore crop tops on the daily and how dare you touch someone's skin so indecently?

Startled by the feeling of his warm skin, you immediately brought your hands up to a more appropriate and most importantly, clothed part of his back, hoping he didn't mind or notice your little mishap.

It was really a small detail, but you cared a lot. You buried your face more into his chest, embarrassed by your own actions, your heart was pounding so hard it would put Afro beat to shame.

How wrong, you thought to yourself, you hated to touch people's skin. Them wearing revealing clothes didn't make it okay to be this intimate, that is what you swore by.

Both him and Ceasar seemed to notice it. You weren't subtle at all. Ceasar knew how much of a respectful person you were, even if you were pretty touchy, you would never invade someone's personal space or privacy.

You would always make sure they were okay with whatever ministrations you'd give them and of course, you wouldn't dare be inappropriate, especially towards the opposite sex.

Ceasar always appreciated this thoughtful and attentive side of you and thought your pure innocence had to be protected at all cost. But of course, one idiot still decided to tease you about it.

"Hmm? What's wrong Y/N-chan? You just did something very naughty right there~" he said with a smug grin and you perked up, gasping.

"I-I didn't mean to! I'm sorry Jojo!" you moved away from him just a little bit to look at his face, concern evident on your features.

He smirked widely at your flustered state. He loved to see your cute reactions and how embarrassed you would become for such trivial reasons as insignificant as accidently touching his bare skin. It was extremely funny to him.

He squeezed your body even closer against his, feeling all your curves pressed against him and bathing in your sweet scent as he leaned down slightly.

He could feel your heart beat quicken, your blushing face was a sight to behold, and he was having the time of his life.

If he knew hugging you alone was this much fun he wouldn't have waited for Ceasar's permission at all, not that the Italian was even okay with it in the first place.

Something told him to stop there before he could break you, but glancing up at Ceasar's fuming expression just made him want to push the teasing further.

"Hmmm~" He purred close to your reddening ear, "Your boobs feel nice, Y/N-chan~"

Okay. That was it for Ceasar. One American will die tonight.

In the corner of your eyes you saw a flash of orange electric energy come at full speed towards you and Joseph. You quickly released him and ducked to the right, only for Joseph to take the hit of Ceasar's Hamon-filled punch right in the face, sending him flying.

"CEASAR!!!" You cried in shock.

"DON'T EVER TOUCH MY BABY ANGEL EVER AGAIN YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD!!!"

Joseph held his bloody nose and laughed obnoxiously at the angry blonde, pointing at him accusingly.

"Hehehe, now I understand why you only keep her to yourself, Ceasar, you horn dog! 'Little sister', my ass!"

Ceasar snapped and dashed towards him as Joseph got up and sprinted down the hallway, with no regrets whatsoever.

On the other hand, you stayed back, still overwhelmed by what just transpired. Even if it wasn't how you imagined it, it felt nice to hold the man of your dreams close to you.

You rubbed your arms, trying to savor the fading feeling of his own strong ones wrapped around you protectively. Your heart jumped in your chest and you grinned to yourself like a schoolgirl.

You were eager to do it again, but maybe this time, out of Ceasar's brotherly sight.

[digitalstowaway]

Yes to the mia & miles AU sick fic pLease 🥺

This was longer than I thought it was going to be I'm Sorry. here's the og post that this fic is about. Sometimes...... Diego cares about Miles enough to not let him die. Sorry if you're emetophobic!!

--

Diego didn’t hate Miles. Hate was a strong word, his mother always told him. And once Diego realized that Miles was an awkward, tired kid who had probably been abused for over ten years, he couldn’t bring himself to actually hate him. He felt bad for him. He could understand why Mia was falling for him more and more, taking extra steps to make sure he was safe and just okay.

And when Miles was dreadfully ill, Diego supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to go so far as to show him a little kindness.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Kid, can I come in?”

“Yes.”

Diego had been the one to volunteer to follow Miles to the bathroom after the poor kid took off from the kitchen, the salad Lana made him half-eaten. He had looked over the plate and asked Lana if she had put pine nuts in it. And then asked, with a grimace, if she knew that Miles was allergic to pine nuts.

She had stood there, frozen and spluttering, and while Mia comforted her, telling her she couldn’t have known, Diego rushed after Miles to check to see if his windpipe had closed up yet.

But Miles was just over the toilet, heaving and sweating. His neck was blotchy with painful-looking hives that spread up towards his face.

“Your won’t stop breathing on us, will you?” Diego asked.

Miles shook his head.

It was a rare occasion that Diego actually wanted to help the kid. He couldn’t imagine the pain he was in nor the embarrassment he felt while being sick in Lana’s home.

He helped Miles out of his jacket and then his waistcoat and tie. For some reason, Miles allowed it. Maybe the kid was feeling so poorly that he was glad that someone was around to undress him. Maybe he knew he was in for a long battle and didn’t have the energy to put up any arguments with Diego.

“Is this all that’s going to happen?” Diego asked. “Because if we need to take you to a hospital, we should know now.”

“I’ll be fine. I can go home in a moment—”

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Lana probably won’t let you leave.” Diego undid the top buttons of Miles’ shirt, revealing that the hives were spread across his chest. “She has to finish you off. Poisoning you wasn’t enough to get the job done.”

“It’s not funny!” Lana’s voice from the other side of the door cried.

“Is she out there?” Miles asked, curling over the toilet again.

“Seems so.”

Diego had only met Lana a handful of times, but it was enough to know that she adored Miles. She coddled him, making him meals and defending him against Diego’s jabs. It was obnoxious to see Miles peek behind her back and smile as she told Diego to find someone “his own size” to pick on.

But Diego had to admit that Lana was good for him. For as many times as she scolded Diego, she reminded Miles to be mannerly and polite. And he was slowly behaving better when she wasn’t around. He didn’t have so many snarky comments or dirty glares to toss around. They were replaced with quiet “please” and “thank yous.”

He was physically changing as well. His hollow cheeks were filling out. He wasn’t so pale and distant-looking all the time, showing that Lana’s meals were letting him catch up from whatever neglect his body had been through.

There was another knock on the door. Miles wrapped an arm around his stomach, moaning.

“Miles?” Lana cracked open the door just wide enough to poke her head through. “I’ll let you get back to your privacy in a second, but take the spare bed when you’re feeling better, okay? You can stay here for the night.”

Miles responded with a whimper. Diego nodded on his behalf.

“I’ll make sure he gets there.”

Lana’s head disappeared. Her arm followed with a small stack of towels she laid on the sink.

“Miles?” she said, her face reappearing. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be,” Miles choked out.

“I should have known you were allergic to pine nuts.”

“There was no way for you to have known.” His face scrunched up. He bared his teeth. “Get out. Please.”

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m really sorry!”

Miles retched. The door closed.

Diego didn’t know what to do. Miles looked to be in pain, his body spasming and tensing up. Anything Diego could think about giving him—antihistamines, tea—would surely be brought back up in a matter of seconds.

Diego looked away from the yellow bile Miles spit up and turned to the towels Lana had laid out. There was an impressive variety. A few small clothes and various sizes of hand towels. Diego grabbed a smaller washcloth and wet it in cold water.

Miles shook on the floor. He whimpered again. It was odd to see the kid so vulnerable.

“When I said get out,” he said through labored breaths, “I meant you, too.”

“Too bad, brat. You’re stuck with me. I know you probably really want to be alone right now, and I can’t blame you, but I think someone should stay here. So it’s either me, Lana, or Mia. And Mia is a sympathy puker.”

“And Lana would probably cry.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll sit here in silence if you let me make sure you’re not going to keel over.”

Miles was retching again, and Diego felt terrible as he saw tears begin to collect with the sweat on his face. Miles sounded like he was choking, fighting against what his body wished to do.

“Just bring it up,” Diego said.

He laid the cloth on the back of Miles’ neck and then moved it to his forehead. Miles jerked. A little more yellow bile came up. And he fell against Diego’s chest, face worryingly pale where the hives hadn’t taken hold.

“Miles?”

Diego grabbed his shoulder, making sure he didn’t slide head-first into porcelain. He pressed the cloth to Miles’ cheek. And for once, Miles actually looked like the kid he was. He looked small and fragile, and Diego worried that he would break if he held him too tight.

“Why are you being kind to me?” Miles asked.

“Because if I leave you to die on this bathroom floor, Mia will be upset with me.”

“I won’t die.”

“I don’t know. You look halfway there.” Diego ran the cloth to Miles’ neck. “Has this happened before?”

“Obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know I’m allergic.”

“I mean recently.”

Miles sighed. He pushed himself up and dropped his head over the toilet again. Diego steadied him.

“Not since I was a teenager,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, because that was so long ago.”

“A young teenager.”

Diego tried imagining Miles even younger than he was. He had trouble taking a few inches off his height (and Miles was already not that tall) and a little sharpness from his jaw. And where was Miles? With his mentor/adoptive father—or whatever fucked up relationship they had.

He had imagined, judging from the pictures Diego saw when he was being nosy, that Manfred von Karma lived in a gothic mansion with stone walls and long corridors lined with candles. He couldn’t imagine anyone there with anymore fondness for Miles than Diego had for him. No Lanas or Mias.

Miles cried out, his hand grabbing a fistful of his shirt. Diego didn’t say anything but laid his hand on his back.

—

It was hours later, after alternating between dozing and retching, when Miles was ready to pull himself off the bathroom floor. Diego hovered and when Miles’ face turned a dramatic shade of white, he quickly threw Miles over his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

There were weak punches at his back. Diego ignored them as he carried Miles to the guest room.

“This is indecent!”

“Calm down. You wouldn’t have made it here by yourself.”

Diego threw him on the bed. He pulled Miles’ collar open, looking at his chest. The blotchiness had died down. It didn’t look so intense. The angry welts were gone, replaced with a splotchy rash that looked like clouds.

Miles didn’t put up any more of a fight. He crawled to the top of the bed and laid down. His brow was still furrowed in pain—or maybe only discomfort at that point. He closed his eyes, curling into himself.

“Want me to tuck you in?” Diego asked.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“I think I’ve touched you enough today to last us the rest of our lives.”

Diego’s shirt was wet from the cold towels he laid on Miles and the sweat the boy had rubbed onto him whenever he swooned. He felt a touch gross, but he could only imagine how much worse Miles felt. Diego hoped for his sake that he would be well enough to drive himself home by the morning to shower and change into fresh clothes he could relax in.

Miles fell asleep within minutes. His face finally relaxed. His body was no longer so tense. And Diego was able to collapse into the stuffed chair in the corner of the room. He liked the kid the best when he was quiet.

And resting.

Maybe Diego had earned himself immunity from biting insults. Or at least a break.

Lana poked her head inside the room. “I heard you two moving around,” she whispered. “Is he sleeping?”

Diego nodded. “I think he’s over it.”

“Good.” She stepped into the room. She carried a glass of water. “I can look after him tonight if you and Mia want to head home.”

Home sounded nice no matter if it was his or Mia’s apartment they ended up crashing at that night. But he was still worried about leaving the kid.

Lana sat at Miles’ side. She brushed his hair back from his face and stroked his brow, gently calling his name. He woke slowly, his swollen eyes not wanting to open.

“You need to drink a little water. Sit up for me.”

He did so the best as he could. Diego was shocked to see him allow Lana to support his head and help him hold the glass to his lips. He fell right back asleep with Lana pulling a quilt over him.

“How do you do that?” Diego asked.

“Hmm?”

“Get him to act like that.”

“It’s all about getting him to trust you.” Lana stroked his hair one last time. “Go home. I’ll make sure he’s alright. This is my fault, anyway.”

Diego stood and stretched. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. If he had any self-preservation skills, he would have told the person who cooks for him every week that he’s seriously allergic to pine nuts.”

Lana smiled. “Maybe.”

Diego left the room and found Mia waiting for him, ready to leave. She asked how Miles was and offered to drive them back to her apartment for drinks. She was sure that he needed it after being locked in a room with Miles. How they both came out alive was beyond her, she said.

Diego touched the wet patch on his shirt where Miles’ head repeatedly fell onto his chest and said nothing.

[unsettledink]

Just a Bite - Kinktober Day 4

Just a Bite

Prompt: Hand Feeding

Word Count: 2341

Summary: It’s not a kink that Peter actually likes it when Tony eats things from his hand! That’s not actually a thing, is it?

(hand feeding, care and feeding of tony, slight dom!Peter?, teasing, hand kink maybe)

*

It started so simply.

It started because Tony was being an ass.

"Look," Peter says. "I know you're busy, I know you have to finish this, I know it isn't something I can help with much. I get it, Tony."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I also know you haven't eaten anything in at least eight hours," Peter snaps. "And— don't even, I know you have not been getting smoothies from Dum-e! Whenever you finally decide you're done here, you're going to be cranky and complain about your headache and your stomach and it's all going to be because you wouldn't fucking eat something."

He slams the plate down in front of Tony and glares. This is so stupid. He doesn't want to be pestering Tony about this, but he doesn't want to keep putting up with these hypoglycemic fits either.

"Can't," Tony says, giving him a sidelong glance, and— is he smirking? Does he think this is funny? "My hands are full."

They are, and they're both covered in something grayish black that looks slick, but— 

Peter picks up the sandwich—the stupid sandwich he'd made because it was Tony's favorite kind, that he'd even cut in fourths in hopes he could Tony to eat part of it, like an idiot—and sticks it in front of Tony’s face. "Then aren't you lucky I'm here," he tells Tony.

Tony looks at him again, and hesitates, like he's getting the sense that Peter is not giving up this time. He doesn't even know why Tony does this.

"Eat. The. Damn. Sandwich." Peter hisses, shoving it closer to Tony's mouth.

"I'm doing this under duress," Tony says, but he takes a bite. Even if he rolls his eyes doing so and keeps working, Peter will take it.

*

They get though the whole sandwich.

*

Tony's never quite such an ass about it again, but he still doesn't seem to remember that bodies need fuel when he's deep in the middle of something. Peter tries not to make a nuisance of himself, but he keeps at it, keeps bringing Tony food when he can. Tries not to make it too pointed when he takes a break and gets takeout and brings it back with him, because that's more likely to catch Tony's attention.

But sometimes Tony really is elbow deep in something and will be for a while, and when that happens... Peter doesn't mind feeding Tony that much. It's the most reliable method of getting him to eat before he's crankier, and after— after, Peter feels better. Feels like he's accomplished something, however small.

Feels like he's done something good for Tony, even taken care of him, sort of.

*

It becomes a habit.

Tony makes a bit of a joke of it sometimes, demanding that Peter feed him whatever is there even if he really could do it himself, when he isn't that messy or that involved. "It just tastes better that way," Tony tells him smugly, batting his eyelashes outrageously.

"You just like being spoiled," Peter says, and doesn't really think about the way Tony almost startles at that until much later.

When Tony doesn't need Peter to feed him, when he has that extra time and that extra attention span, he sort of... makes a thing out of it. Peter doesn't know quite how to explain it, how to point out just what is different, but it is. It's something about the way Tony looks at him when he's taking a bite from Peter's fingers. Something about the way he ducks his head a little more as he does so, the way his lips brush against Peter's fingers more often, maybe even the way he'll sometimes lick Peter, quick and teasing, grinning when Peter makes a face at him.

It's something, and Peter isn't quite sure when this slid into a thing that creeps into his fantasies. Doesn't know quite what to do the first time he finishes feeding Tony a couple handfuls of some gross looking organic superfood trail mix stuff and realizes he's at least half hard.

Ignoring it seems like an option.

*

The problem is, it’s a habit.

Habit means Peter doesn't always think about it, about the fact that if he has food and he wants to be sure Tony will eat some, he'll at least attempt to feed Tony a bit. Habit means it isn’t restricted to the workshop anymore, not once he'd discovered it's just as effective when Tony's about to head off without anything more than several cups of coffee in him.

Habit means that when he curls up next to Tony on the sofa with his book, Peter doesn't even notice that he's offered Tony one of his cookies, despite the fact that Tony's eaten recently. Doesn't even notice that he doesn't let go when Tony goes to take it. Doesn't even notice when Tony lets him keep hold and takes delicate little bites instead, not until Tony's down to his fingers, lips soft against them, and Peter's getting hard again.

"Peter."

"Mmm?"

"Were you planning on telling me at some point?" Tony says, and he sounds amused.

 "Um," Peter says, looking up. "Tell you what?"

"That this whole 'you have to eat more' thing is a cover for your little hand feeding kink."

Peter stares at him. "What?" he says, and it comes out in almost a squeak.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Tony says, and slips his hand down to Peter's lap, pressing it against Peter's dick. Making it really obvious that yeah, he is hard, out of nowhere over nothing.

"I don't— what?" Peter says. "I'm not— there's nothing to notice? I mean..." He hesitates when Tony keeps staring at him, eyebrow raised. "Is that actually a thing?"

Tony tilts his head. "What, a hand feeding kink? Sure. I don't think it's that popular of one, but plenty of people like it." He reaches out and catches Peter's chin, turning Peter's face towards him. "Wait, you really didn't know?"

"I just thought— I don't know," Peter mumbles. "Like, I'm a teenager so I get hard at anything? Or maybe I just really like your lips, like, uh, oral fixation, right? How was I supposed to know feeding you is a kinky thing?"

"It doesn’t have to be," Tony says, watching him. “But you do like it?” and Peter can feel how he's starting blush.

"I— I guess so," Peter says and it's a little embarrassing to admit. It's pretty weird, right?

Tony rubs his thumb against Peter's bottom lip, soft. "Hmm," he says. "Something to think about."

Peter's not entirely sure he wants Tony to think about it. Or that he wants to think about it himself either.

*

Ignoring it turns out not to be an option, because Tony is really bad at ignoring things unless he wants to.

Peter knows this. He knows that if he really didn't want Tony to think about this whole food thing, he should have said so; Tony probably wouldn't have stopped thinking about it, but maybe he wouldn't have done anything. Like show up with a plate full of stuff and shove it at Peter.

"I'm hungry," he says. "And also I want to try something."

"Um, okay?" Peter says, taking it from him. It's all little stuff, or things cut up small, and he has a bad feeling about this.

Tony pauses. Leans down and tilts Peter's face up and kisses him, soft and sweet. "Something I think you'll enjoy," Tony says, "and hey, if you don't? It's no big deal."

"Alright," Peter says, a tiny bit less nervous. Tony's 'I want to try something's can be strange, but he has a pretty good track record of being right about finding things Peter will like.

He's still a little wary when Tony grabs a pillow and drops it in front of Peter and kneels on it, looking up at him. Tucks his hands behind his back and does— something, with his body that makes him look— not smaller, not scared; fuck, Peter doesn't know what it is, but it's soft. When Tony looks at him, it's that really focused intent gaze, the one where something is holding his full—his actual full—attention. And right now, Peter’s that something.

“You can spoil me a little,” Tony says, quieter, and he looks— almost nervous?

Peter picks up a cube of cheese and offers it Tony.

He doesn't know how he's ever going to be able to feed Tony anything after this without instantly getting hard, because the way Tony takes things from him this time makes it dirty. It's not, not really; it's soft and sweet and a little soothing, but it still feels completely indecent.

Every bite has Tony's lips touching his fingers, brushing against them, kissing them. He presses forward when he takes something and lets Peter's fingers slip just inside his mouth, caught between his lips. Caught gently between his teeth sometimes, Tony leaning in and catching him before he can reach for the next bite, looking up at Peter through his eyelashes and Peter can't do anything but stare at him, trapped.

Tony licks at his fingers, even when there's no reason too, nothing left behind to clean up. Just presses his tongue against them, hot and soft, this teasing touch that makes Peter shiver, makes him want to slide his fingers into Tony's mouth and have Tony's tongue all over them. He doesn't, but he does run his fingers over Tony's lips, pressing gently at them, his thumb following the line of Tony's chin; Tony lets him, his eyes dark, and then presses his face into Peter's palm, nuzzling at him, his breath hot against Peter's hand.

They fall into that pattern, Tony mouthing at Peter's hand every few bites, soft and gentle and slowly getting more obscene, starting to lick between Peter's fingers, to nip at his skin and suck the tips of Peter's fingers into his mouth. There's some part of Peter's head that's almost angry at how much this is turning him on, how it's possible for these little touches of Tony's, to nothing more than his hand, have him so painfully hard. How watching Tony take another bite from his fingers, delicately, watching Peter the whole time, has him wanting to shove Tony down and kiss him until he can't breathe, for starters; he doesn't, because however weird it is, this is really working for him. He can't look away, can't stop how he's slowly been leaning forward, how it's drawing him up, tense, like he's just waiting for Tony to do something, for something to snap, breathing heavily like Tony is actually doing something to him besides kiss his palm and set his teeth against Peter's thumb and ask, with a little tilt of his head and a tongue darting out to wet his lips, for more, without a single word.

Tony is evil, because the last thing on the plate, the thing Peter's been avoiding a little, is a bowl of apple slices, half covered in caramel sauce. Peter stares at it, thinking of the way it might drip, the way the caramel might slide down his fingers and the way Tony might lick it up, and the next breath he takes is harsh, shaking. Tony doesn't say anything, but when Peter looks back to him, his mouth is already open, wanting.

It does drip down into the palm of his hand, the caramel slowly oozing down his fingers as Tony takes tiny, tiny bites, prolonging it, and Tony does lick it, his tongue flat against Peter's skin, rasping softly as it laps every drop up. Soft, as Tony sticks it between Peter's fingers, curls it around them as he goes after every last bit.

There are half a dozen of the things.

Each one is torture, and each one Peter wants to toss the rest aside and haul Tony up, and each one he manages not to, but his heart is pounding away in his chest. Tony's risen up on his knees, out of his settled position from earlier, edging closer and closer to Peter, his torso pressed up against Peter's knees, and Peter can feel that Tony's at least as hard as he is. Is breathing faster too, his arms tensing every now and then like he wants to pulls his hands out from behind his back and touch Peter, make him do something.

Tony takes the last bite, licks up the last drip from Peter's skin and there's a moment, a moment where Peter almost gives in, almost grabs at Tony. But— but there's still just a little sauce, stuck inside the bowl.

Tony groans softly when he sees what Peter is doing, running his finger along the side of the bowl. "Peter," he whispers, the first thing he's said since he knelt.

"Shh," Peter says, and this time he doesn't wait for Tony to lick him, pressing his fingers into Tony's mouth instead and leaving caramel sauce on his lips, Tony's tongue working around Peter's fingers. Peter wiggles them, strokes over the softness of Tony's mouth and can't help himself from pressing them in further, from slipping another in and watching Tony's eyes flutter closed, watching him suck on Peter's fingers, bobbing his head like he's sucking Peter's cock instead.

His fingers slide out of Tony's mouth with a pop, Tony's lips wet, shiny, and Peter half falls forward, grabbing Tony's hair and finally putting his mouth on Tony's, kissing him hard and open, messy, tasting caramel. Tony moans into his mouth, sliding in easily between Peter's legs when he parts them, and somehow— somehow, as good as Tony's mouth is on his cock, as fast as Peter comes down his throat before he yanks Tony up and sticks his hand down Tony's pants and listens to Tony muffle his noises against Peter's neck— somehow, it all still doesn't quite compare.

If this counts as spoiling Tony a little, Peter wants to spoil him rotten.

*

AO3

[trials-by-blood]

Umm...I always see Yautja being paired up with someone strong and skilled and stuff. I was wondering if you could write something with any Yautja being with someone who is shy, meek, and a little chubby. And when they're alone or think they are they sing along to music and dance even though they can't.XD Sorry if I'm asking too much or anything...

Fegris, the dump world where the unwanted are left to rot and crumble.

  This was once a world where the yautja would crash their obsolete vessels so that they could not fall into use by the other space faring races. Ships were not the only things they left behind. Exiles, heretics, or anyone who upset the balance of their society were also left to wither, but not all did.

  In the following ages, other peoples would use Fegris as a place to forget their burdens. The Faceless Ones unloaded their collected specimens here when science deemed that their time of usefulness had ended.

  Now generations of humans, yautja, clade, mind eaters and all manner of invasive species build their cities here, clinging to half remembered mockeries of their mother cultures. Here, all Forgotten busy themselves mining ore, seeking pleasurable escape, stripping precious metals from ancient wrecks, gambling, farming, extorting, building, destroying, breeding, killing.

  One of the few honest livings to be made anywhere, the food service industry, prospers here. Organic people must eat, so this work will never die.

  Heather, an old name from an old world no one can recall, worked for her room and board at what would best resemble a mall food court. It wasn't a particularly hazardous occupation, so long as you don't taste-test the food or stay long after the coalition of retail outlets close.

(OOC: Okay this ran WAY longer than I anticipated and I had to make the choice to cap it off at 2,500ish words. I’m sorry if this TOTALLY misses the vibe you were hoping for, I kinda got carried away. Oops)

  Once, she'd made that mistake. Even her cold hearted rock-sucker of a boss told her not to bother finishing the cleaning if it meant staying after hours, but she hadn't listened. Heather hadn't wanted to leave her work half done and risk losing her job and newly acquired living space on her first day. So she'd stayed to wipe down the counters and load the trolly cart with the leftovers for the cooler. The reward for a job well finished was stepping out into the market spaces abandoned by customers and workers but repopulated by the local Yautja Bad-bloods and their rivals, The Cranium Skaggers. They were working through a territorial dispute.

  The Skaggers were human, but barely. They injected enhancement serums, most barely tested, directly into their brain tissues via an implanted port installed at the top of their shaved heads.

  Heather had stepped out of her safe enclosed little work area into a street brawl, and was pinned between the doors she'd only just locked and the carnal violence of the city. One of the yautja, who's vision was... not like hers, must have mistaken her bright heat signature and rapid heart rhythm for a Cranium Skagger.

  Oh, she tried to run when she saw him move on her with his unhuman, talon tipped hand outstretched to seize her. Heather had dropped her bag, the keys, the silly hat which matched with her uniform, and she ran but he was fast, so horridly fast for something so big, heavy, and grieved with bulky armor.

  It only took him three strides, thud thud thud, to reach her and tangle his terrible claws into the back of her long tunic. She was thrown, landing hard, disoriented and crying out as deep, raw pain shot up her left hip and into her pelvis. Something was broken.

  She saw him, her attacker, and the blades attached to his dominant arm glistening with the blood of Cranium Skagger's, but she didn't even think to cover her face. All she could do was scream for help.

  Her plea was answered. A great clawed fist smashed across the Yautja's mask with such force that his yowling face was revealed as his helm was torn from him. Next, skulls collided with a clapping of flesh so sharp, Heather thought someone had cracked a whip above her.

  One Yautja had begun to fight another. That was when she did the sensible thing, curling her arms over her head and making herself as small as she could.

  She survived that night. That battle resolved itself as she lied on the ground trembling and weeping in terror, but her savior stuck around after all the others had left. He put her things next to her, and waited until her boss came to collect her and get her help. The yautja must have gone through her communicator for her contacts.

  The fractured hip was easily and painlessly repaired but the procedure had completely drained her savings. To her shock and mild horror, someone had wired to her account credits in the exact amount to replace what she'd spent at the Urgent Intervention Facility to fix her leg.

  When she returned to work, who was there at the food court? The yautja who'd stayed that night. He stood out like a broken finger, the cleaned hand bones and torn out skull ports of Skaggers littered about what he wore like grim badges of honor. The sight of him watching her enter her workplace sent a chill up Heather's spine.

  This kept up for weeks, until The Indecent was months behind her. She'd go to work, and he'd be there, just watching. Heather's co-workers weren't fans of her admirer. Yagon, the young clade boy who took the morning shift before her was the least fond of the yautja lingering around.

  Today, as Heather stepped past her bad-blood observer who had decided to lean against the wall next to the employee entrance, Yagon was peeking out from the door to keep a watchful eye on her as she came in for her shift.

  Yagon chittered irritably, antennae vibrating as he took off his smock and hat so he could scratch his double claws at the translator hanging on a lanyard around his the joining of his head and thorax.

  The voice emanating from the little box was monotone and purposefully slow so that it could be heard clearly as he continued chirping and tweeting.

  "You know what that creep does all day waiting for you to come in? He listens to recordings of you singing on your shifts."

  Heather cringed. That was creepy. She'd had a feeling that he'd been able to hear her sing to herself from where he usually hung around, but she never thought he'd record her. It felt incredibly invasive. She briefly imagined confronting him about it, but thought better of it. He could crush her skull between his hands as if it were a brittle little Skitterling egg. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself a bit.

  Yagon then turned and dropped the claws of his primary arms on her shoulders.

  "I can file an anonymous report for you. Please? I don't want to come in to work one day and find out something happened to you."

  Heather sighed, trying not to vividly imagine how an exiled yautja might retaliate to that.

  "N- no, I think that would just make things worse, Yagon," Heather tried not to whimper.

  Yagon finished folding his smock and hat into his bag and left, but not before offering twice more to file that report.

  A few hours passed and Heather caught herself singing a handful of times as she fell into her work routine but always stopped when she remembered who was listening. It felt awful, being observed so closely and denied the personal freedom do anything without fear of having it recorded for some stranger's entertainment.

  Again, she thought about confronting the yautja watcher, but couldn't help the violent catastrophes imagined with the idea.

  She felt like she couldn't make a noise or do a thing for herself to make this crappy job the least bit bearable without putting on some bizarre show for Captain Cranium Crusher out there! Heather's frustration built and built until she couldn't take it anymore.

  The walk-in cooler. It was sound proof, right? The moment she finished the lunch-rush line of customers holding out their trays for their greasy food, Heather tore off her gloves, tossed them in the general direction of the trash chute and turned on her heel to stomp her way to that cooler door.

  Heather glanced over the counter to confirm the Skull Collecting Jerk was still out there haunting the seating area. There he was, arms crossed against his chiseled chest, ass planted on a chair that could barely hold his weight with his big ugly sandled feet propped up on one of the tables. Bastard.

  She pulled open the thick insulated door and slammed it behind her. First she simply bellowed angrily, stomped her foot, slapped a bag of single serve condiments as hard as she could manage, doing anything to break the severe edge from her frustration.

  "UGH! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" She tore off her work smock and threw her hat on the floor to stomp on it, "I'M JUST A SHORT, ROUND, NOBODY WHO SHOVELS SLOP ONTO PLATES SIX HOURS A DAY. I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN IN A REAL FIGHT! I'M NOTHING! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE SO INTERESTING ABOUT ME?! STOP WATCHING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

  Then, spitefully, she sang her favorite song, watching the misty puffs of her breath dissipate as her heart pounded.

  Now, she felt cold and her throat hurt from belting out her very favorite lyrics so harshly. It wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to be reminded of that night every afternoon on her shift. It sucked, and somehow she felt guilty for being angry even though none of this was her fault and she knew she had every right to be angry. So Heather curled up and cried in the cooler for a half-hour at the helplessness she felt. It felt gross, and she knew by now there had to be a never-ending line of pissed off customers outside. She was afraid of confrontation and couldn't ever imagine herself actually standing up to anyone. She could already tell that she'd be crying in her apartment after work too. Whob wouldn't after the verbal abuse she'd no doubt suffer at the service counter from customers tired of waiting.

  Miserably, Heather stood and steeled her resolve to go back out there. With a deep, shaky breath, put her smock back on and fixed her hat.

  "I'll get through it because I'm good at getting through it," she told herself to make it easier to reach for that door.

  Chur-clunk. Chur-clunk. It was jammed. Oh no the cooler door was stuck. Heather put her weight into her next push, then her entire being into the push after that.

  "Oh GODS I'm going to freeze to death!" she wailed, pushing at the door again with everything she had.

  Frustration, anger, helplessness, now panic. She didn't want to die alone of hypothermia at work.

  There was a bang and a great dent had appeared in the thick door. Before she could figure what was happening, the door was torn completely from the reinforced hinges. Heather shrieked and fell squarely on her bottom.

  There he was again, who else would it be coming to her rescue and staring coldly down at her through the dead lenses of that helmet.

  In one swift motion he lifted his left arm and clicked away at the keys of his gauntlet computer with those claws. The hologram display showed Heather a collection of files marked with icons she recognized. They were just cropped, slightly fuzzy pictures of her name tag for work. With a few more taps of his claw, all of the icons dissolved. He deleted them. He'd deleted all of his recordings which pertained to her.

  "Oh, shit, you heard all of that," Heather whimpered, clutching her head with both hands in mortification. He must have heard what Yagon said earlier too.

  He said nothing, made no noise. He just stood there like an imposing statue for a few tense seconds before turning to stride away.

  She wasn't fired for the broken door and spoiled food. Before she could even collect herself from the floor in the cooler, her boss was wired a credit transfer for "damages".

  Later as she heard of his generosity, it also explained the mysterious funds appearing in her account after the hip procedure. That had been Him too.

  Her "admirer" didn't come back after that, which was a relief for the first week or two. After a while she found herself over thinking the whole thing. Yautja were notorious for being socially incomprehensible. Heather wondered if he just pitied her so much after one of his own kind damn-near destroyed her that he felt responsible for her continued safety. Or, maybe he was just a stalking sleeze-ball. She tended to flounder between the two conclusions, but one thing was certain, he was respecting her boundaries now and she appreciated that.

  After nearly a month, she decided that the best closure she'd get was accepting that the entire ordeal was some bizarre misunderstanding, totally on his part, and he did a few nice things but that didn't make up for the weeks and weeks of discomfort he'd inflicted.

  More time passed, Heather became more comfortable with her new job, and she very nearly forgot about that Yautja. The only time she remembered him were on cold days when her hip would ache, but it was pleasantly warm out on the afternoon she came in for her shift and found Yagon agitated with his antennae twitching so fast one might expect them to fly off his head. Heather looked around, hoping that the cleaning she couldn't finish the night before hadn't upset him. What she found was... Unusual, and she certainly hadn't left the thing there last night.

  It was a skull, from what she wasn't sure, sitting there on the counter by the check out scanner.

  "The Creep is back. This time he left a name with that." Yagon's translator couldn't read the inflections in his speech, but Heather could tell where the translator omitted expletives.

  "W-hat was it? His name?"

  "Stone Fist was the direct translation. I can't get the translator to say the correct pronunciation in his language and he made a scene about it until I threatened to call security. You know what that thing means, don't you?"

  Heather nodded, she knew what it meant. Everyone did. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty sockets of the skull. It was as if it were staring through her being.

  "I can still file that report, Heather," Yagon offered again.

  "Don't, I mean... As long as I don't take it, then nothing happens. Right?"

  "As far as I'm aware? I think that's how it works."

  If Heather didn't touch it, he wouldn't come back. If she took it home, he'd follow her home because accepting an offering like that was an act of giving permission to pursue courtship.

  Working with that lifeless skull watching her was eerie to say the least. She covered it with her hat midway through her shift so she didn't have to look at it. At the end of her shift as she fiddled with the patterned key to lock up before she left, she considered the skull one last time. No, She wasn't taking it, but she'd leave a note. Two notes actually, one to ask Stone Fist if he would consider an actual conversation before anything else, and a second note to apologize to Yagon for asking him to speak with Stone Fist again.

To Be Continued?

[iihappydaysii]

Jamie is attracted to Lord John, which makes him very confused and angry, in this essay I will… okay, but I’m actually going to write this essay, so buckle up.

Last night, I read Jamie talking to the others at Castle Leoch in Outlander about his experiences as a teenager with the Duke of Sandringham. First of all, the duke is disgusting and needs a very swift kick to the balls—but even so, Jamie doesn’t take the duke so seriously. He finds an amount of humor in it, even if it’s in part just how he’s chosen to deal with it. Also, Jamie is surrounded by men that, though they’re far from “allies”, they’re not being particularly hateful about it. Of course, all of this discussion occurs before the rape and torture Jamie experiences from Black Jack Randall. This filled in a piece of what I’ve been trying to understand about Jamie’s relationship with Lord John.

Before Lord John, the Duke and Black Jack are Jamie’s experience with—I strongly hesitate to say gay men—but Jamie sees a connection between these three men based on their attractions to men, however disturbingly they present in the Duke and Black Jack. The Duke preys it seems to be exclusively or near exclusively on young men. Claire upon meeting him says that it’s all the boys under eighteen that seem wary of him, as they’ve been warned (I’m increasingly glad that as far as we know the Duke got nowhere near young Lord John). Of course, we have Black Jack who is an 18th century version of a serial rapist/serial killer. Jamie experiences a horrific trauma at his hands. Not only did he rape and hurt Jamie physically and very, very seriously, he also found ways to make Jamie find pleasure in it. And thinking of Jamie’s casual reaction to the Duke’s inappropriate advances, it makes me think Jamie’s particular reaction to this form of torture isn’t based on a simple baseline homophobia.

A) Jamie feels guilt for getting “pleasure” out of it because he’s married and faithful to Claire. Also, how could she ever love him if he did (his thoughts)? B) What does it say about him that he could find any kind of release/pleasure at the hands of such a horrific man and in the midst of an incredible amount of pain? C) Later, after the rape and torture, if he experiences any attraction towards a man—as it seems he might towards John, I’ll explain more later—how can he ever know if those feelings only exist because of Black Jack? And, even if he can parse that out, he can’t stomach the thought that he shares anything in common with the Duke or his rapist.

Enter Lord John Grey. Jamie likes him, despite the fact that he’s the Governor of the Ardsmuir Prison, despite the fact that he once tried to kill Jamie. At first, there’s mistrust and contempt there, but eventually, they grow to like and respect each other and enjoy time spent in each other’s company. Dining together, swapping stories and playing chess. Given Jamie’s strong reaction to John’s simple touch to his hand (a death threat, followed by basically years of contempt). If Black Jack had never happened, I think, at worst, he would’ve given an 18th century “Sorry, man. I don’t swing that way.” John would’ve apologized and that would’ve been that. Jamie knows John is no real threat to him. Jamie has little that can be leveraged against him, as Black Jack was able to leverage Claire against him. Our sweet David Berry gives us a false impression of the size difference between Jamie and Lord John. He’s near a foot taller and physically dwarfs John. Not to mention, in the show, Jamie says defiantly to John (before their friendship) that he can do his best to torture him but there’s nothing he can do that hasn’t already been done. He doesn’t seem particularly afraid.

I’ve mentioned this before, but its mentioned in the Lord John series that John is actually pretty good at figuring out who’s into dudes and who isn’t. He’d have to be to survive long, doing what he does, especially as he doesn’t go to the brothels. He ‘gets it wrong’ with Jamie and it’s likely a mix between wishful thinking/strong feelings and simple misinterpretation, but John is smart and he senses something. So he acts on it in as gentle a way as possible (not knowing anything of what happened to Jamie with Black Jack, he won’t realize Jamie has been raped at all until he guesses it in that painful scene in BOTB, which I’ll discuss in a moment. Firstly though I want to mention some things that come later that relate to suggestion that Jamie is attracted to John in some way, beyond John believing so enough that he takes such a large risk. For one, Claire will end up sensing something between John and Jamie, enough that it bothers her and she recognizes it for what it is, at least what it is for John. For two, we know there’s a connection between violence and sex for Jamie, we can see it in how he is ‘in bed’ with Claire. Anytime John’s attraction to Jamie gets brought up, he responds violently, despite John not being any actual threat to him—something he knows for certain by the time John is saying “We were both fucking you”—and yet, how does he react then? Violence. (I can’t fuck you, so I’ll hit you. Two sides of the same coin for Jamie.)

Later, he’ll even admit to Claire that when he was falling apart after William was born that it was John who was able to put him back together again, and that he’s angry about it. He’s angry that John can touch his heart in that way.

Anyway, let’s rewind a bit, so we can discuss why exactly Jamie would be so angry about any possible attraction to John based on how he sees gay men (and how he believes he’d have to see himself if he were to accept the way John is able to make him feel).

The scene where John comes to Jamie for help figuring out what to do about Percy’s impending trial is where we can see this issue most clearly laid out. First of all, Jamie has a VERY strong reaction to realizing Percy was John’s lover.

I can’t in honor see him hanged for a crime whose guilt I share—and from whose consequences I am escaped by chance alone.

This is all it takes for Jamie to realize that Percy is John’s lover. Though John doesn’t directly state that, Jamie senses it, is smart enough to figure it out—and does not react well. (Also, the word Jamie uses is ‘catamite’, which is a term from ancient Rome and Greece that means ‘a boy kept for homosexual practices—and John corrects him to lover).

They begin to argue it at this point, basically the concept of whether or not men can be lovers. Jamie, whose experience is limited to the Duke and Black Jack, knows intimately that what those men experienced was not love, but selfishness and power trip to varying degrees. He’s projected that on to all men who experience attraction to men—a burden he would have to hang around his own neck as well—if he were to feel a similar (as maybe he did when John touched his hand in Ardsmuir… in that moment, before he pulled away.)

Only men who lack the ability to possess a woman or cowards who fear them—must resort to such feeble indecencies to relieve their lusts.

It’s an attempt to goad John, to insult him. It doesn’t particularly work as Lord John doesn’t possess any great deal of shame around his being gay and knows that isn’t true. He’s not afraid of women and could most certainly possess one if he wanted to. John doesn’t take the bait as intended and deflects to talking about love. What do you think love is?

He needs to keep his love for Claire separate from anything he could or could not feel for John and Jamie goes on to speak of one of his other experiences with gay men, though John doesn’t know that this relates to an exact experience (this can also relate to Black Jack because of Fergus). But I think Jamie, at this point, is pretty certain that John is no Black Jack. His negative reaction to Jamie (in a sense) forcing John to whip him Ardsmuir was a good example to him that John doesn’t get pleasure out of that. But still, if John has this attraction to men in common with Black Jack and the Duke, he must have others, right? So, he turns to accusing John of ‘preying upon helpless boys’.

Lord John threatens to physically fight him for that comment, which is very fair. It’s a horrible and gross accusation that he absolutely does not deserve in any way.

Jamie’s reaction to this is interesting. Armed or no, ye canna master me.

Of course, this is when John says something really motherfucking dumb without realizing the implications because he doesn’t know Jamie’s history of trauma.

I tell you sir—were I to take you to my bed—I could make you scream and by God, I would do it.

This conversation goes all to hell because John thinks he’s arguing against homophobia and what he’s really arguing against are fundamental beliefs Jamie now holds to protect himself against his trauma and any feelings he may or may not have for John. (and it just must really suck to be in love with someone who thinks such terrible things of you, through not fault of your own).

(Also a quick aside about Grey wanking after this, like it doesn’t make a hell of a lot of a sense in reality. Especially as we know Grey will be very angry about this conversation for a long time after. However, in a literary sense it goes to reflect that idea of violence as sex or violence as a way to express sexual attraction. If Jamie’s release of the sexual tension of that scene was the punch, John’s was this.)

Of course, they’ll rebuild their friendship slowly, over the years at Helwater and in Scotland. Enough so that Jamie will gift John with one of his most precious things—his son William. This time will end with an offer of his body in exchange for John to care for William (though it is a test to make certain John’s not a creep and if he is Jamie plans to kill him). John, of course, turns Jamie down because as Jamie will later say to Claire, “he would not take counterfeit for true coin”. This is the moment where Jamie separates John from Black Jack and the Duke. And, at least for a moment, is able to separate himself from them too. Enough that he does something he does not have to do, that there’s no real reason for him to do, he kisses John.

Grey felt the big hands warm on the skin of his face, light and strong as the brush of an eagle’s feather, and then Jamie Fraser’s soft wide mouth touched his own. There was a fleeting impression of tenderness and strength held in check, the faint taste of ale and fresh-baked bread. Then it was gone, and Grey stood blinking in the brilliant sun.

[pkg4mumtown]

Ride (Request)

A/N: The last time I replied directly to an ask, it got all wonky and gross and took way too much effort to fix. Apologies, so I’ll be doing it like this.

A/N 2: This request was so HARD and I honestly didn’t think it was going to be that bad. I have no experience on two-wheeled motor vehicles, so I really appreciated the challenge. The beginning is kinda random because my brain always wants some semblance of a plot. So yea, it’s kinda bad but I tried.

Title: Ride

Summary: See photo.

Warning: Sexual content, public indecency?, female reader

I sat, curled on the couch and reading, like I normally spend my free time when John is gone for days at a time. I was so ingrained in the book that I didn’t register the flash of my screen and a buzz from an incoming text. Ten minutes later, I finished the chapter I had been reading and set the book down to stretch. My phone let out a constant buzzing on the coffee table, flashing John’s name and a picture I had taken of him and his pitbull. I was overjoyed at the thought of talking to him, but he had told me his job wouldn’t be over for another couple days, so I was immediately worried.

“John?” I answered.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you busy?” he asked hopefully. I could hear his car rumbling in the background, letting me know he was driving.

“I’m never too busy for you, you know that. I was just reading with the dog, he misses you,” I smiled, scratching the top of the dog’s head. I tapped the speaker button and held it up to his muzzle, “Say ‘hi’ to dad.”

He sniffed the phone, his ears perking up when John spoke, “Are you being good, dog?”

I always laughed when he spoke to the dog as if it were a person. His whole body broke out in an excited wiggle at John’s question, “You just made him extremely excited and now my phone is covered in slobber. You know, you can’t keep calling him ‘dog’ forever, John.”

“I already proposed to call him—”

“If you say ‘dee-oh-gee’ again, I will shave your head in your sleep,” I threatened. He chuckled at the threat, his throaty laugh like music to my ears.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight? I’ll be home in an hour,” he asked.

“You got done early?”

“Yea,” he answered plainly, not enjoying going into detail about his jobs.

“Where'd you have in mind?” I asked, chewing my lip in thought.

“Anywhere, just not a fancy place.”

I knitted my brows together at the odd request, “Why’s that?”

“Thought we could take the bike out for a bit. We haven’t gone for a ride in a while, and I know how much you love it and the leather,” he revealed, a smirk evident in his tone of voice.

“Sounds good, I’ll have some suggestions when you come home,” I replied, bouncing in excitement on the couch.

“See you soon, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

We hung up and I ran to the bathroom to start getting ready. I took a quick shower and stood in our closet, mulling over what to wear tonight. I decided to stay on the comfortable side, knowing John liked to unwind after a job. I chose slim, dark jeans and a decently low v-neck t-shirt. I finished getting ready, except for boots and a jacket. All of our riding gear was in the garage as it tended to get dirty. I even combed through my hair, before realizing it wouldn’t matter too much after the helmet had words with it.

I sat on the couch, not having to wait too long before John opened the front door, immediately being greeted by the dog. I met him part way, silently inspecting his face and exposed skin for injuries. He smiled lovingly at me, immediately enveloping me in his warm embrace and kissing my forehead. I raised myself on my toes, meeting his lips and kissing him like I hadn’t seen him in months.

I scrunched my nose as I felt something hard press into my hip, “That your gun, or are you just happy to see me?”

I gave him a teasing smile, but he kept his face emotionless and looked down. He opened his suit jacket slightly, “It’s my gun.” He let a smile creep onto his face as I laughed, already knowing what it was.

I weaved my arms around his shoulders, resting them on his neck. “Are you injured at all?” I asked while brushing my lips across his beard.

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he reassured me, taking my bottom lip between his lips and teasing it with his teeth. He bent his knees slightly, grasping under my ass with his hands and lifting me. I immediately wrapped my legs around him, freezing when he let out a grunt.

I pulled my face back, watching him try and hide a grimace, “Put me down, you fucking liar.”

He huffed in annoyance, dropping my legs so I could touch the floor again. I tugged his dress shirt out of his pants, lifting it and seeing an angry bruise along his side. He tugged my hand away, letting the shirt fall back into place. He brought my palm to his cheek, gently rubbing against my hand.

“I’m okay,” he reassured me, “I’m gonna go get dressed.” He pressed a chaste kiss against my lips before disappearing.

When John came back, he was wearing jeans and a Henley, his hair free of the gel he used to slick his hair back on jobs. After saying bye to the dog, we headed into the garage and quickly put our boots and jackets on. When I faced him again, his head was already covered by his helmet and he was handing me mine. I poked his nose through the open visor, knowing he was smiling by the way his eyes crinkled even though I couldn’t see his mouth. I secured my own helmet and watched him rock the motorcycle off of its center stand.

I loved watching him set up before I got on behind him, something he knew all too well. Just as the suspension had stopped bouncing from the drop caused by the center stand, he threw his leg over the motorcycle. He turned his helmeted head towards me and caught my gaze as he straddled the bike. He started the bike moments later and revved the engine, all while continuing to look my way.

I jumped out of my skin as I heard his gruff voice over the speakers in the helmet, “Are you gonna stand there all night, or…?”

“I was enjoying the view,” I replied, sitting on the back of the bike and wrapping my arms around his brown, leather jacket. I tried to hold him firmly without putting too much pressure on his bruise.

Dinner was relaxing, having chosen a small diner that we discovered near the beginning of our relationship. I studied his face as we talked but if he noticed, he didn’t call me out on it. I always forgot how much I missed him and worried about him when he was gone. We cruised around the city for a while after, enjoying the sense of freedom that came with riding. There were a few different reasons that John liked to take me out on his bike. He knew I enjoyed the thrill, the leather, and lastly, he knew I was almost always horny the second we got home after a long ride.

We approached a stoplight that had just turned red, which is when John’s hand usually found mine around his waist. I had dropped my hands to his thighs, running my fingertips along the inside of them. He grabbed one of my hands and laced our fingers together. I trailed the fingers of my free hand up, dangerously close to his groin.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” his voice gritted through his teeth.

“You know what I’m doing, John,” I murmured, sliding my fingers under his shirt and flicking open the button of his jeans. I slid my hand into his jeans, wrapping my fingers around his half-hard length.

“We’re in public,” he growled, trying not to turn his head too suddenly to see our surroundings.

“When have you ever followed the rules, John?”

Before he could respond, a honk from behind us told us that the light was green. My free arm tightened around him as he sped off, my fingers clutching his belt loops on the opposite side of my arm.

“You couldn’t wait ‘til we got home?” he moaned as my fingers paid attention to his head. He had slowed his speed slightly, compared to how fast we zipped through traffic earlier.

“I don’t even think I can make it to the living room, if I’m being honest,” I punctuated with a firm stroke.

Luckily, we weren’t too far from home, so we made it back in one piece. I could tell he wanted to race home and was growing impatient with the teasing. That wasn’t to say that John wasn’t mildly pissed that I put us in possible danger, even if I could tell he was enjoying himself.

“Off,” his voice demanded over the speakers as we parked in the garage.

I obliged, scrambling off the bike and shedding my boots and helmet. I glanced over at him as he swung his leg off the bike, not even bothering to button his jeans back up. He tilted the bike toward his body, kicking the center stand down until it hit the floor. His foot stepped forcefully on the metal stand, his hand gripping the rear handle until the bike lifted up and was perfectly balanced on the center stand. He swung his leg back over the bike, standing on his feet on either side of it. He was so tall that even with the bike raised on the stand, his ass wasn’t touching the seat.

John pushed the visor of his helmet up, his darkened eyes meeting mine. He beckoned me with an outstretched hand, grasping my own hand when I was in reach. He tugged me close to him, catching me around the waist while my hand flew to the first thing in front of me to keep balance; his helmet. My hand wrapped firmly around the bottom half of the open helmet, where the visor shuts.

“I want these off, now,” he demanded, as his hand slid over the back of my jeans.

John watched in silence as I stepped back and shed my jeans and panties in one go. He stepped back so he was hovering over the back edge of the seat, making room for me in front of him.

“Sit,” he said, motioning with his hand in front of him.

I sat on the seat, facing him, so my back was to the handlebars. My feet rested on the front foot pegs, causing my knees to bend towards John. As I sat, I realized that the bike was running this whole time, vibrating underneath me. Only then did he take the helmet off, letting it drop from his fingers over the side of the bike. He stepped closer, guiding my legs around him and cradling my back with his hands. His eyes were intense, and I had half a mind to look away, but I didn’t. I nervously played with the collar of his jacket as waited for him to speak.

“You’re lucky I know how to keep my composure while driving. We both could have been seriously hurt,” he stated.

“I’m sorry, John, I promise—”

One of his hands came up, cupping my jaw and pushing his thumb past my lips until I was silent.

“Quiet, let me finish, please,” he murmured softly. “I’m not mad at you. You know I still enjoyed it, despite the danger?”

I nodded against his palm.

“Good. I know you were trying to please me, but a little warning would have been nice.”

I nodded again in understanding.

John removed his thumb, replacing it with his lips. He pressed me further into the bike and ground his jean-clad hips against mine. I moaned against his mouth, relishing the way his entire body responded to the noise by pressing harder and incorporating his teeth.

“Turn over for me, baby,” he requested. He stood up straight to give me room to do so. I pressed one knee into the seat, pushing my body up until my face was level with his. He was happy to entertain my need for a kiss, but only for a short while until his hands were turning my hips.

I positioned myself so that I was sitting correctly on the bike. I shrugged my jacket off, tossing it on the floor next to us. His face immediately found its way into my neck, where his teeth and tongue grazed skin and left marks behind. He finally dragged the zipper of his jeans down and pushed the waistband down as far as he could. One of his hands coaxed me to lean forward until my forearms were resting on the gas tank. His hand dipped between us, feeling where I had dripped on to the leather seat.

“Was this your intention? To get me to fuck you on the bike?” he rumbled, running a hand under my shirt and skating across my back.

“Y-yes, John,” I agreed, my breath catching in my throat as his finger pushed inside of me. I whimpered as he removed his finger, hearing the pop of his finger leaving his mouth.

“Good girl, you got me.”

He rubbed the head of his cock against me, grasping my hip firmly every time I jumped at the touch. In one swift movement, he was fully seated inside me causing me to grasp at the inner portion of the handlebars. The vibration from the bike aided in heightening the pleasure of every stroke he filled me with. His hands hooked under my legs and lifted slightly. His fingers found my clit and spread the surrounding folds before lowering me back to the seat. I gasped as my nerves made direct contact with the rumbling seat. One of his hands disappeared, but I knew immediately where it went as I felt the rumbling of the engine intensify. He leaned over my back, keeping one hand on the throttle while the other wrapped under me and held the junction of my chest and neck. Any sounds we made at that point were immediately drowned out by the engine echoing in the garage.  

I clamped down around him as the engine sent me over the edge, trying my best to not go entirely limp as John continued. His hand abandoned my neck and wound itself in my hair, pulling back slightly as he chased his own release. The hand he had on the throttle slipped, causing the engine to rev more intensely than he was intending. Spasms wracked my body as the vibrations coursed through my overly sensitive skin. It ended up helping John as I tensed harder around him, his hips driving hard one more time before he came undone. His hand dropped from the throttle, allowing the bike to resume its idle state. I was finally able to hear him and the last ragged moan that dropped from his lips. My fingers ached as I released the center of the handlebars and rested my forearms on the gas tank. My head dropped slightly below my shoulders while I listened to John catch his breath above me. He pressed his chest against my back and framed my arms with his, effectively cradling me with his body. He kissed the top of my shoulder, my temple, then sighed contently against my cheek.

“Let’s go shower, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“You've gotta get off me first, John,” I replied, lazily smiling as he kissed my cheek.

He straightened back up and groaned at the effort it took to get off of the bike. He stretched his legs briefly and tucked himself back into his pants. His eyes dropped to the puddle we left on his leather seat, his teeth clenching in a grimace. He grabbed a shop towel and wiped it after I got up. I grabbed my discarded clothes and was just about to head inside when John's arms snaked around me.

“Since this was your idea, I’m gonna let you detail the seat tomorrow,” he said quickly, sinking his teeth into my shoulder and stalking away inside the house.

“Yea, yea,” I drew out sarcastically, rolling my eyes at his retreating form as I followed him inside. He was already halfway across the house by the time I got through the threshold.

“Roll your eyes at me again and see what happens!” he shouted, not even turning around as he entered the bedroom.

Taglist: @cuttlefishcatfish @anita-e-taylor @samanthagraceg @futuristic-imbecile @beyondantares

[migleefulmoments]

I feel like we should go back and find their comments on how gorgeous Darren looked when he wore that "puke green" jacket. I'm sure they're out there somewhere. Funny how it's suddenly hideous bc Mia is wearing it.

I actually thought the same thing so when you wrote this I did go check Abby’s and Mleigh69′s blogs and nothing.  No comments about his clothing at all. There were lots of the generic “he looks so sad...my heart is breaking” nonsense and this from Abby.  

So I made a promise to myself recently to keep my blog focused on happy things and reasons why I believe in CrissColfer.  

But today my heart is breaking and I needed to say something on the off chance that anybody that matters or has control might be listening.  Because I feel like I am watching one of the people I admire most in the world being stripped of his soul and I don’t know how much longer I can continue to watch this train wreck. (wash-rinse-repeat)  Before I go on, I realize I care way too much about a person I have literally spoken to twice, for maybe, if I include the conversation he had with my friend, 5 minutes in total.  But I do. And the reason I care is that Darren has provided me with so much entertainment over the past 5 years and has continued to blow we away with his talent and truly believe, if allowed, the places he will go are limitless. (Oh, well as long as you think he’s limitless than please, speak up, bitch about what you don’t like about his life.  He’s listening)  And when I feel like his talent has been sidelined and his value as a commodity has become more important, not to mention getting press and PR for his beard, a person whose name would not be known if not for him, I become enraged. So since I woke up at 3 AM  (She’s been waking up and checking tumblr since 2015) and made the mistake of checking Tumblr to see if he appeared, I have felt sad and angry.  And no this anger is not directed at Darren, I still support him 100% and cannot imagine what it must be like to live his life, it is directed at the people controlling his life and playing games with it. (It’s never directed at Darren. She hates everything he does but it’s never his fault.) 

And I want to say to the powers that be, that my voice matters and that I support him regardless of his sexuality.  I buy tickets, I saw How to Succeed, A Starkid Show (where literally I was the oldest person without a child), Listen Up (2x), Hedwig (2x), Elsie, Gross Indecency and  I have tickets to the Alan Cumming Show in February.  Not to mention I have seen every episode of Glee despite the fact that it suffered so much creatively and forced myself to watch AHS to support him.  So my voice should be heard just as loud and clear as the hand full of people who will not accept him for anything but straight. (Darren’s life is a choose-your-adventure game and fans get a say.  also Abby watched all of glee AND AHS so she gets extra credit).  

And last night was a complete and utter failure First, there was NO purpose for him being there (He attended a fundraiser...there was plenty of purpose for him being there)  He was not an announced performer or presenter (People actually attend to give their support and money-I know, shocking).  Therefore the sole purpose was to place him on a red carpet and once again, remind us that he has a girlfriend (UGH).  

And then there was the interview, which could have been worse, but it certainly wasn’t good. Trevor is about youth advocacy, agreed, but about LGBT+ youth and I know Darren knows that and to diminish that is to take something away from the cause.  And I know Darren is passionate about this cause.  But I am certain he was briefed before the event on how to answer questions and to steer any conversation away that may even hint that he is anything but straight (which I believe completely, the evidence is there based on his words and actions).(What kind of weird dystopian world exists in your head Abby? Who in the world would “brief him” on what to say at an event? He’s a grown man..he decides what he wants to say). 

But what is bothering me so much isn’t the charade.  If I truly believed that this was what Darren wanted and needed and that it was good for his career, I would keep my mouth shut. B/c he is a 28 year man, and while I may not agree, he is entitled to make the decisions that he feels are best for himself and his career. (But what could he possible do to convince you? There is nothing because you rewrite, belittle, and deconstruct everything he does say to prove you wrong).

But instead, what we are watching is an utter and complete train wreck.   We are watching a man, who has not had a project of value to focus on in over 2 months, being paraded from event to event.  His eyes are utterly and completely lifeless and void.  His smile has become so fake and sad.  I don’t see how anyone who is watching this does not see how he is being destroyed.  And yes, I know he has a private life, and I am thankful for that, but no matter how amazing that may be (and I agree with many who have said this over the past 12 hours, this is NOT about shipping) he is literally at an event 5 or 6 nights a week, pretending to be a person he is not, generally accompanied by a person I can tell he is not comfortable with.  

So to me, last night, was a loss.  The only thing that was accomplished is that once again, fans that are invested and truly care about him, have been isolated.  (always about Abby.  The event was a Trevor Live fundraiser- it wasn’t a loss).

And I do ask the question, why?  I do believe the Darren we saw during Hedwig, was the true Darren as much as he can be while maintaining a public persona (including PR and bearding).  This was a man thriving, who prouldy wore nail polish,  was not afraid to participate in Pride and wear a sticker that said “God Mad Me Perfect” and to make the Col-Fur joke on a nightly basis.  

I have to wonder if he was sent to Italy for7 weeks to distance himself from the Hedwig Darren to the Darren PR thinks they need to make money.  B/c since his return, the bearding and the PR Darren has been non-stop and it is painful to watch.  And it needs to stop.

Darren, I know you troll Tumblr and I know you read these things, I really hope you know that there are so many people who support and love and accept you. And maybe Hollywood is not the place for you right now, but I now Broadway would embrace you with open arms.  And yes, I understand there is a contract.  And I am not asking for you to reveal the truth or do anything that would be harmful or interfere with your personal life and relationships (regardless of who they are with). But there has to be a way that you can comply with the terms and conditions of that contract without causing serious damage to your mental health.

So I say, Bravo Ricky, Bravo PR, Bravo Fox, Bravo Ryan and Bravo Mia.  I hope you are all happy that you are contributing to what I see as the destruction of an incredibly talented, beautiful soul.

Off my soap box, done with my rant, I will try to go back to keeping my blog drama free, but this needed to be said.

[shattered-queen9]

Kung Fu Kick Hcs ~ IkeRev

Requested By: A very hyper anon lmao

Headcanon Prompt: “OKAY I SAW REQUESTS WERE OPEN AND I WAS LIKE SCREW IT IM GONNA ASK FOR SOMETHING WEIRD, SO CAN U DO A HC OF SOME IR SUITORS WALKING IN ON MC CHANGING AND SHE GETS LIKE SUPER ANGRY AND KUNG FU KICKS THEM THANKS BYE I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BLOG LOL”

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution

Warnings: None, unless you find extreme blushing dangerous~

A/N: Okayokayokay SINCE you said some, anon, I decided to do those who I thought would have the funniest reactions~ (Also ily2 anon, you’re great) (And I probs won’t normally do this many, but this was cute)

~~~~~~~

Black Army:

~Ray Blackwell~

Okay, Ray just came to check on Belle, but was met with your foot instead.

You manage to kick him ALL the way out into the hallway, slamming the door on him afterwards.

He just kinda stands on the other side and processes how he, the KING, got LITERALLY kicked out of his own room.

Then he remembers why he came.

You hear a soft knock at the door and open it just enough to peek out.

“Uhm, is Belle doing okay though? I came to check on him….”

You almost end up laughing out of awkwardness, but you decide to throw a blanket over yourself and let the man see his cat.

Ray gets very excited that you’re allowing him in his room (never tell the boys about this, he’ll never live it down).

Both of you just chill on the bed with Belle, before Ray points out at you still haven’t gotten fully dressed.

You threaten to kick him out of the room again.

He smirks and dares you to. You don't.

~Fenrir Godspeed~

So Fenrir is a bit different than the others~

When you kick him, he simply puts up his arm and blocks your attack…...but then he starts apologizing profusely when you fall out of shock.

Fenrir’s face is fairly red when he ushers himself out of the room. His hands are on his face, and he’s mumbling into them too.

You’re left laying on the ground, looking at the ceiling, and pondering how he blocked that, as the door peaks open again.

“Hey, babe, I know you just kicked me for being in there, but I need to grab something still.”

You throw something at the door.

He waits until you’re done.

~Luka Clemence~

Save him…..please….

Luka turned into a statue the moment he saw your body,,,,which gave him no chance in dodging your crazy kick. And his face is RED OKAY!

This same kick sends him flying back into the hallway, and he gathers himself in a crumpled pile at the bottom of the wall.

You start apologizing profusely, kneeled in front of him to make sure he can focus on something. Yet, his eyes don’t move from your face while you wave frantically around him.

Seth chooses this moment to walk into the hallway, and he dives by Luka’s side and shoots questions at you left and right.

“Seth,,,,,she’s right,,,,,I can’t believe,,,,,I saw her half,,,,,wow,,,,,”

You and Seth burst into laughter at his innocence, before covering him in hugs to apologize.

~Red Army and Neutral Under Keep Reading!~

Red Army:

~Lancelot Kingsley~

Despite being normally prepared, Lancelot was NOT ready for this.

He doesn’t block your attack, instead you manage to kick the KING out of his own room.

Lance just freezes and stares at the door, very uncertain of the next plan of action.

Jonah turns the corner and is very CONCERN at how frozen and confused his dear king is.

He rushes over to Lance and starts checking him over, asking him so many questions.

“I’m not…..quite sure….what just happened myself….”

Jonah stops and stares at him in confusion until you open the door with a crazy blush on your face.

Jonah immediately catches on and groans, before speed walking away from you two gross lovebirds.

Once he’s out of sight, Lance smirks at you, making you slightly worried about what’s to come.

He ends up just laughing his ass off and congratulating you on that amazing kick you performed.

~Jonah Clemence~

LMAO he was NOT ready.

Literally, Jonah could care less about how you look. He just wanted to get ready, and, instead, he was assaulted by your kick.

Unlike the others, you don't manage to get him quite out of the room, so you have to push him out awkwardly from embarrassment.

Jonah tilts his head, with his emotions running wild all over his face.

You shut the door out of fear.

Jonah lands on slight anger, and he quickly throws open the door again.

“You know I love you, but this is MY ROOM! I NEED to get ready!”

Before you can argue, he just turns his back so you can finish getting dressed.

You two end up just getting ready together.

(He half apologizes later, but come on, he needs to keep his beauty up.)

~Edgar Bright~

Edgar was Ready(™) for this lowkey.

The split second before your foot is supposed to meet his chest, Edgar lightly catches it with his hand.

This mf doesn’t break eye contact with you as he lowers your leg back down to the ground either.

“You know, Y/N, I love games, but you have to tell me first.”

Yes, it was followed by an eyebrow wiggle.

You proceeded to push him outside of the room.

Edgar waits in the hallway, leaning against opposite the wall and staring at the door.

Once you open it, shyly, you’re met with a devilish smile and his arm around your waist, all ready to lead you on the day~

Neutral Citizens:

~Harr Silver~

Have you ever SEEN a man’s face so RED? Or heard someone say SORRY so much?

Answer was no, until you decided to kung fu kick Harr Silver out of the room.

He stumbles out of the room, mumbling apologies, and you, after realizing what you’d done, quickly finish getting ready to follow him.

You find Harr sitting on the couch with his face in his hands, so you kneel in front of him and move them so he can see you.

“I’m so sorry, love, I should’ve knocked first, but I thought you were out! I sincerely-”

You cut him off with a kiss to the cheek, and your own apologies of getting angry.

Harr has turned another shade of red, and now he’s frozen…...Good job MC, you took a good man and made him shier than normal.

You panic slightly, because he’s not moving either. The solution is a quick hug though~

Throughout the night, he still apologizes, but you cut him off every time with a kiss (Succeeding in breaking him even MORE).

~Oliver Knight~

So, we’re going with A!Oliver here cause…...I don't know about kicking a CHILD in the FACE.

This way, you also don't actually succeed in kicking him, because he sidesteps your kick...

Literally, Oliver just swerves out of the way, with the deadest look you’ve ever seen.

“It’s just me, idiot. You don't need to attack. I came for a tool I accidentally left in here.”

You notice he doesn’t make eye contact with you when he does grab it and leave though.

Aka, Oliver is too shy to actually look at you all half indecent ‘cause he feels bad.

Once he steps into the hallway, his hands smack into his now-reddening face.

He has to take a few minutes to just stand there and process the way you attempted to kick him for barging in (Not too long because he doesn’t want you to see him).

He’ll never tell you just how embarrassed he got, though~

~~~~~~~

End A/N: I’m currently working on other requests and I’m going to TRY to get a couple done and queued, now that I’m done with my many page research paper bhkcnnk

Hope you enjoyed~

(Cause I did lmaoooo)

[loudlytransparenttrash]

"Lol trump said fuck once haha check mate nazi loser" is what that last anon sounded like. $100 says they've said something vulgar about another person to a friend... I mean if they're older than 12.

I’m still confused by that anon. All we ever hear is how Trump was caught confessing to sexually assaulting women, he called white supremacists good people, Mexicans rapists, immigrants animals, he’s caging kids etc so I asked for one piece of evidence, one quote which proves any of this hullabaloo and this anon’s ‘gotcha bitch’ zinger was that he used a naughty word in a sentence while having a conversation with a friend… It’s like they’re shocked to learn that Donald Trump, an adult, a New York businessman long famous for his crude and blunt attitude, has used indecent words in his life. That’s not saying he’s never said anything gross or off-color which deserve criticism, but I can’t hang a guy for saying something he’s never said just because an angry mob want him perished. I thought we’d moved on from this practice a loooong time ago? 

The thing is, if he had called white supremacists good people or immigrants animals then he wouldn’t have 63 million Americans backing him. But to leftists, half the country have overnight turned into dangerous, racist, white supremacist Nazis because they support a man who Don Lemon and their professor say have said and done all these terrible things. But wouldn’t you think if Trump was so villainous and so spooky, you wouldn’t have to fabricate quotes and crimes from thin air? Wouldn’t you think all these evil quotes would be easily sourced and accessible? So why when this evidence is requested, the evidence we’re given is “well Trump used the word bitch in a sentence when he was talking about going furniture shopping with a woman 15 years ago.” The fact that they’re calling females cucks, then yeah that age bracket seems about right. 

[nimwallace]

7b ♡

Thanks Anon :)  Wow, this got angsty fast lol. Happy ending tho. “Oscar Wilde, Sherlock, really?” John picked up the thin, flimsy book from the coffee table. It was“The Picture of Dorian Gray”, evidently freshly bought from thebookstore down the street. “Do you have a problem with theIrish poet, John?” Sherlock said teasingly. “I rather thoughtpoetry was your area.” “Exactly,” John said. “When’veyou ever read fiction.” “Even fiction, John,sometimes has value to it. Yes, it’s full of useless, nonsensicaldrivel, but it has it’s perks.” “Hmm.” Sherlockstood, taking the book from John’s hands. “Do you know Wilde’shistory, John?” “Erm, gay bloke, right? It was a bigcontroversy in the day.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Nothow I would word it, but yes. Tried and convicted of “grossindecency towards men.” Things have changed a lot, wouldn’t yousay?” “Well, yeah,” John muttered. “I don’t think peoplegive a shit who you sleep with now. Well, most people.” “Wrong,” Sherlock said breezily. He handed his phone toJohn, opened at a long email from someone named “Eric Wordsmith.”“Wally Wordsmith and his partner Sean O'Conner were murderedoutside a pub last Tuesday. It was a random hate crime. There are nosuspects yet.” John sickened reading the email. “Thepolice,” Sherlock sneered, “are claiming they know don’tthe motive.” “I’m sorry, what does all this have to do witha poet from over 200 years ago?” “It’s the same,John. The same story, always a tragedy. They ruin us.” John’s breath caught on the word “us.” “Sherlock, relax abit. I think this case has you a bit worked up.” Sherlock shothim a glare. “I’m not “worked up”. I’mangry, John. Angry.” Sherlock turned his back to him, tossingthe book onto the table. He breathed a shaky breath, as thoughsteadying himself. John softened. It was a rare thing to seeSherlock like this. Admitting to an emotion. Expressing it. Withpassion, even. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, that’sreasonable. Good, even.” “I’m angry at the world, John.Angry that I was raised heterosexual, Angry that people are killedfor being otherwise.” Sherlock always was passionate aboutjustice. “I’m angry atthe people at school who hurt me. I’m angry at the tabloids forclaiming it’s career-ending. I’m angry at you,John.” John started in surprise. Sherlock maintained eyecontact. “I’m angry at you, John, for not noticing my feelingsfor you, or ignoring them. I’m angry for the “no homo” jokes youmake about us. I hate it.” There were tears in his eyes now. “Sherlock, I’m sorry—“ “Just stop, John. Just tell me.” John clenched his jaw. His throat felt raw, burning. Hehas feelings for me. All this time. “Iswear, Sherlock, if this is some cruel joke—“ “DoI look like I’m joking?” God, I’ve hurt him. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I loveyou.” He choked. “Always have. Should’ve said it. Didn’t want to.Maybe because of those things you talked about, like Oscar Wilde.”He was trembling. Stay under control, soldier. You’ve gotthis. “Don’t give up on me,Sherlock, please.” Sherlock sobbed. They sat on thesofa, close, touching tentatively. They’d spent some hours of crying,hugging, crying, kissing, talking, crying. Now they’d both driedtheir tears, made their resolution clear. Rosie climbed onto theirlaps and John smiled, pulling her closer while her small handsgrasped at the book in his hands.  “Time to read this,” Johnsaid. It was time to get past every person who had died for love andread a book written by man who openly lived for it. “No moretragedy,” Sherlock said. “Just us.” They read Oscar Wildefor the remainder of the evening.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

Slashers w/ a Soft!Girly!Reader pt2

whose fav color is pink

—

CHARACTERS: JESSE, ASA, TIFFANY, JENNIFER (FEM!READER)

Reader is always black unless I say differently

slight NSFW, 18+, minors dni

My spooky season gift to you all. Enjoy! Happy Halloween!!🎃 Ignore any typos pls ;)

JESSE CROMEANS | CHROMESKULL

Will obviously get you things that suit your fancy.

The few most expensive outfits you own are in black because he can’t help himself but he definitely buys you more white and pink things too don’t worry.

Whenever you go out the two of you make one hell of a contrasting couple aesthetics wise and Jesse finds it particularly endearing.

Will straighten your clothes/accessaries because he knows how hard you worked on a look and that you hate when parts of it get ruined and people don’t tell you.

He frequently does this mid conversation.

Expects pictures even if he’s on a trip when something new comes or you’re just really excited over an outfit you put together. And you can bet your ass he saves them too.

Will send pictures back even if he’s (kind of) making fun of you. Just a lil bit.

If you’re not really feeling a piece he will give you suggestions to try and make it more appealing for you.

Also be prepared for him to rip your clothes off of you (but you know he’ll get you a replacement so it’s less worrying).

Will constantly take you places, when he’s not working, where you can dress all the way out.

Now Jesse goes to some expensive ass stores so if he’s taking you out shopping expect the best.

And if anyone gives you a hard time and won’t service you or let you in the store heads will be rolled (literally and figuratively; it depends on how disrespectful the person/people that come at you are).

I warn you right now, any dressing room is fair game and Jesse does not take it easy on you. If anyone’s going to get you kicked out of a store for indecency, it’s fucking Jesse.

Seeing you all dressed up and posing for him just does him in.

With Jesse there’s no more dyeing “nude” items/clothing either. This man will get things commissioned and custom made for you in your actual skin tone.

Tailored clothing too. If an outfit piece only comes in sizes that don’t remotely fit you best believe Jesse’s on that shit. Anything for you.

ASA EMORY | THE COLLECTOR

TW: Unhealthy power dynamics, depictions of a toxic relationship (usual Asa shit, idk).

Mostly just silently takes you in.

Never admits how attractive he finds you but suspiciously always has to adjust when he sees whatever outfit you’ve put together.

Will hold over certain items against you tbh.

Will reward you with cute things you’ve had your eye on whenever you get through a session without being a brat.

But if you misbehave, things are getting taken away.

If you get him really angry he’ll take something of yours you’re attached to and throw it in with his creatures and tell you you to go get it if you want it back so bad.

It pisses you right the fuck off but what are you gonna do, you know?

It’s also not gonna stop you from being a fucking brat if that’s your usual either. You’ll just double down and upset him more.

You both will back and forth constantly. If you were anyone else he’d have found the most creative/demeaning way to kill you by now but, no, he’s grown attached.

Absolutely loves when you’re soft for him though. The best kinds of sessions with him happen when you empty your pretty little head and do exactly as he says. It’s rare that’ll ever happen if you’re combative, but that’s half your appeal.

Brings you to museum events the second he’s comfortable enough and you agree. Adores how curious you get at his work even if you’re grossed out and unlike with anyone else will explain little things to you without getting uppity.

Similarly, he will also express genuine interest in someone other than himself and listen to you go on and on about your hobbies and style inspirations or what brand line has pissed you off that day. He enjoys it even if he’ll never tell you that.

Cannot stand it if when you get upset you burst into tears though. He is not emotionally equipped for that shit. He will just throw solutions at the wall until you feel better.

He doesn’t like you the way he “likes” the people in his collection and so actively (even when you piss him off) babies you. Anything you want this man will get you, you’ll just have to prove how badly you want it first.

He’s also incredibly accommodating (for him). His public image is carefully curated to make him appear as unsuspecting as possible, and in general he’s a stickler for routine, but for you he’ll shake his routine and add you to it.

And you inherently - with your fashion sense - draw attention so he really loves you if he’s putting up with (and even encouraging) it.

JENNIFER CHECK

Absolutely loves your style and some of your closet will turn up missing.

Y’all do facials and have spa days together.

Hair days also become a regular couples activity. You guys binge watch movies and shows the whole time. If you have a lot of hair she’ll 100% finish before you but she’ll help you out where she can.

Listen, the likelihood of you and Jennifer not being the same size is high but the girl is also grossly possessive so she’s going to find a way to get you wearing her clothes. Sharing jewelry ain’t enough, you need to smell like hers, so Jennifer buys shirts/hoodies in your size to wear and then gives them to you when you come over.

If you’re out and someone assumes you’re not together and starts to hit on her Jennifer will run with it (because free food) but if it’s you they’re hitting on she’ll get almost impulsively jealous.

Has killed more than one person without even eating them after they’ve hit on you and she jumped down their throats for it.

Is extremely supportive of your style, no matter how different from hers, even if she pokes fun every once in a while.

Is obsessed with showing off how cute you two look together and posts pictures constantly. She also brags about you all the time.

TIFFANY VALENTINE

She will get you matching chokers and corsets in pink.

Will snap at Chucky when he makes fun of your style but you just flip him off while Tiffany roasts him.

The first time you ever get blood in your hair it’s because of her.

She’ll help you wash it out though. Even if it takes nearly the whole day.

Loves coordinating your outfits. You’ve got carefully chosen clothes for every possible occasion. When y’all will ever need matching deep sea diving suits is beyond you but they’re damn sure in the closet.

Your pretty outfits do tend to get ruined whenever her and Chucky bring their “work” home though.

The two of you take Glen/da out shopping for bonding time.

NOTES: This was fun! Hope you enjoyed! Here’s part one.

[stunudo]

Don't Move

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dr. Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Setting: Season Five

A/N: It has been a hot minute since I originally posted this series, but my mind kind of wandered.Talk of periods. This one starts with some fluff, but I hope you still like it! Leave some love if you want more of Lord Spencer... Happy Smuturday! xoxo Stu

Follow up to |Your Move| Move Me| Moving Along| and |So Moved|

Your name: submit What is this?

This was ridiculous, this whole process frustrating and drawn out. Why did it have to happen every month?! All you wanted was to feel normal and not rage eat an entire tub of ice cream in order to feel better. Poor Spence. He was on his way home for a long weekend after being gone for a week and a half. And you were in no fit state to play.

You changed out of your work clothes and threw on a pair of sweat pants and your favorite zip up hoodie. If you were going to be miserable, best to be as comfortable as possible. You flipped through Netflix until you found an old movie musical to fall asleep to.

Spencer took one look at Y/N, asleep on her couch and he crumbled. She seemed so peaceful that he hated to wake her, even if their food was getting cold. Instead he made room in her fridge for the containers and picked her feet up to leave in his lap. All too soon he had drifted off to the unfamiliar, yet catchy songs.

Spencer knew Y/N felt gross, but she still looked delectable to him. Her face clean of make up with only a hint of sleep softening her features. Sitting comfortably on the couch, they had eaten and were lazily scrolling the streaming service she had set up.

"What's going on in that big brain, Spencer?" She asked, catching his glances.

"My lady is inquisitive tonight." He teased, putting on his firm voice.

"Ugh, I do not feel like a lady. Sorry, sir, I can't live up to that tonight."

"Do you want to maybe play differently? There are many characters that can come out to please me." Spencer's hand was rubbing her thigh. He didn't want to push her, despite the growing hunger his thoughts inflamed.

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, god that mouth was distracting. Her chest inhaled quickly, pulling the fabric of her thin sweatshirt tight across her breasts. Her nipples reminding him that she wasn't wearing a bra.

"I might be interested, but I don't want to have sex, sex. It will be a mess."

"Understandable, Pidge. How about we role play a bit and see if you find something you want to do?" Spencer was setting himself up for anything, but if he could get Y/N out of this funk. He would gladly do it.

"Sounds good. You've been the Lord and the Tramp, maybe I can be somebody else? Since there is nothing polite about my mood."

Spencer groaned, she had leaned forward, walking her fingers up his chest. He licked his lips, "Is there a persona you would like to try?"

You hadn’t thought about it before, so possibly the most cliche and obvious persona came to your mind. “Uh, French Maid? Wait, shit, I suck at accents. Just a servant girl then?”

Spencer closed his eyes, he wasn’t expecting that and the scenarios slipping through his mind were a bit overwhelming. “Uh, sure, Y/N. Am I to continue as the Lord, then?” His voice cracked. Fuck. She smiled smugly, nodding as her nose scrunched up before planting a sweet kiss on his mouth.

Thirty minutes later

Spencer stormed into the kitchen with his cane spinning dramatically in front of him. You were scrubbing the floor on all fours, dressed in a sundress and a tight bun in your hair. The suds were everywhere.

“What is this mess?!” Spencer demanded. You were confused at first, since he told you to go wild with the bubbles. His eyes widened and his head nodded egging you on.

“Oh! Uh, sorry, my lord,” You cast your face down in submission. He slipped the handle of his cane under your chin, drawing your gaze back to his.

“You have ten minutes, Y/N. If you can’t make it suitable in here, then you will answer to me.” Spencer’s voice was shockingly firm, all his consideration left him as he embodied the angry employer perfectly. He crossed the room and sat on the recliner, so he could watch you from the next room.

“Thank you sir. Sorry sir.” You stood quickly, but bowed as you apologized. You spun on your heels and grabbed some dish towels to wipe up all the soapy water. Because you knew you were being watched and because you had nothing to do but amuse each other, you got downright soaked. Your dress was thin and you hadn’t bothered putting on a bra since you expected Spencer to appreciate your body even if you weren’t at the moment.

He did not disappoint, after a particularly long stretch on your knees, you stood to face him as he was worrying his bottom lip. His pants straining against his approval. He was not having you waste time, “Y/N, you are not being paid to take a bath. Finish in your allotted time or face the consequences.”

“Yes sir,” You nodded solemnly. It was really difficult to walk around the kitchen without slipping, so you sort of glided around, your bare feet on rags. You were starting to laugh at yourself, because this entire thing was ridiculous.

Suddenly there was a firm poke to your shoulder, Spencer had returned. He was not happy with your frivolity. “Y/N, as this room is no way in the shape it should be. I’m afraid I have to punish you.”

“But, Lord, I tried to-”

“I am speaking.” Spencer shut you down, his tone causing you to stiffen. “Not only were you teasing your master, but you were making a game of it.” He paused, as his eyes scoured your body. It seemed like a life time before he spoke again, in a husky whisper. “Y/N, go stand in the corner and Don’t Move.”

You couldn’t exactly believe it, Spencer was giving you a time out. You opened your mouth to protest, but a fierce finger pointed at you told you better. You stomped to the corner where the kitchen counter met the doorway to the living room. You dared not look back at Spencer because it was hard enough not to laugh at the whole situation.

“Honestly, Y/N. Anyone could clean this floor, yet, I, your master, a practical invalid has to beg for you to do your job.” The disgust laced through his words, he was really getting into it this time. You didn’t know if you were meant to respond, so you stayed put, in silence.

Slowly you began to hear Spencer’s breathing speed up, and something else an uneven jingle of metal. When a short grunt escaped his lips, you spun in alarm. Spencer sat at the counter not three feet from you, his pants and briefs tugged down and his very hard cock gripped in his right hand.

“Eyes front, Y/N.” He demanded suddenly. You spun back around, the embarrassment warming your face, sending shivers straight to your core. The delicious indecency of it all.

“Hmmm, you see what you did to your master? You little tease, you can’t even, hmmm. Do your job without your tits causing me to take care of myself. That’s not right is it?” Spencer spoke as he stroked himself, your chastising drawing him further along. “Is it?!”

Oh! Ohhhhh. “Permission to speak?” You asked as his hints sunk in.

“What do you want now?” He was getting quite nasty.

“Sir, if I may, perhaps I can help you? My Lord?” You asked the door frame.

“Turn around, Y/N.” He spat. You spun on the spot, chin down demurely, as you batted your lashes.

“My Lord, I know I was doing a poor job. But I know I can do better.”

Spencer crossed his arms over his chest, his face registering mild disbelief. His erection prominent and distracting in his lap.

“Sir?” You asked furtively. “Please let me make it better. I know I can do a good job.” He practically growled as you walked towards him, sliding to your knees at his feet.

“Oh, I know you can do a good job, Y/N. Because my servants,” Spencer hissed at you, taking his dick in his hand and placing it on your chin. “Always do as they’re told.” He rubbed the head over your lips until your tongue darted out, lapping up the bead of pre-cum before taking him fully, in to your mouth. The build up had gotten him quite along, the idea of him unable to control himself over your scantily clad body making you quite pleased yourself. Your nipples burned in the chilly air of the tiled kitchen.

Spencer’s left hand held the counter top, while his right hand held the nape of your neck. You kept a rigorous pace, your tongue massaging the underside of his needy length. His grip tightened and he nearly stood, the warm feeling coating your throat abruptly. “Hmmm, that’s my girl. Whose a tease now? huh?”

“I was a tease, sir.” You admitted, biting your bottom lip coyly.

“Y/N,” Spencer cleared his throat. “There’s something in the bedroom I need you to do.” Apparently, he wasn’t done with the game, despite his well earned finish.

“Shall I fetch something, Lord?”

“No, but we should get you out of those wet clothes.”

Read on in MOVE NOT

@dontshootmespence @illegalcerebral @cherry-loves-fanfic