#still don't feel like putting myself through another one of those situations if i can help it though lol

[grey-wardens]

augh, i think i really need to go to the doctor for this anxiety...

[takami-takami]

Like a Candle at Both Ends.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— sub!keigo. reader uses a strap. double penetration with a twist. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. dacryphilia. cum as lube. slight feminization (of keigo). slight degradation. some brattiness. face-sitting mentioned.

In which you blow the birthday boy's back out like a candle. Topping Keigo with a fleshlight underneath him, that way he gets so overwhelmed he cries. ♡

You're at least ninety percent sure Keigo won't remember a damn word he says, tomorrow.

It's a pity, truly, that his gorgeous babbles of incoherency that entertain you aplenty in bed will only live on in your memories; but you suppose you can't really blame him. It would be difficult for any man to remain focused in this situation— let alone one who gets as lost in the floaty depths of subspace as Hawks.

You've always known your boyfriend to have a penchant for indulgence. If the tabloids get one thing at least half-correct, it's that Keigo is quite the glutton for satisfying his baser urges.

Tabloids call him a foodie. They snap pictures of him at different restaurants every afternoon during his usual two o'clock lunch breaks, sinking his teeth into delicacies with a moan, only to wash it down with the most caffeinated coffee he can get his mitts on.

And those same tabloids write adorable little periodicals about how their media darling just loves a little something to eat.

But you know better.

The reality is, it's more that Keigo is simply a brat who likes to indulge. He likes to be pleased.

He likes to fill and be filled, to stuff and be stuffed; but you don't blame them for not reading between the lines, there. You suppose you do have the unfair advantage of seeing him make that same, satisfied face after you've milked his cock to empty itself past the point of shooting blanks.

If anyone on this earth is privy to a crucial little piece of information the rest of the world doesn't know, it's you. The paparazzi that flock like vultures outside local diners in the hopes of catching the number two may snap pics of him smiling to himself as he digs in, but they don't have the slightest idea what else Keigo likes to sink his teeth into.

Namely: your neck, if he's lucky; cock throbbing in your vice grip, on days you grant him permission to teethe at your skin until the splotches of color from his marks settle like satisfaction in his chest. 

But mostly— and especially, on nights like tonight— the revered, dignified hero Keigo Takami just sinks his teeth into the pillow like a goddamn whore.

Right now, as Keigo lays on his front and bites back some rather pathetic sounds, the plush pillow beneath him is looking unbearably chewable to his eyes. Your delicate hand is reaching around his body like a serpent, snaking underneath his pelvis to grip his sensitive length so carefully in your palm; and the man below you is beginning to suspect he might need another outlet for his sexual frustrations, soon.

"I c-can do that myself," Keigo releases the pillow and sputters, though his body doesn't protest in the slightest. In fact, his hips arch away from the toy positioned below, in order to allow you rightful access to his cock.

"Yeah, obviously," you answer with a squint, sliding your fingers along his length. "But I want to do it for you, so I will. Are you complaining, Kei'?"

"Mm. No," he hums the right answer, shifting comfortably to rest his cheek against the pillow and settle his weight on his knees. "But I might start complaining if you don't hurry it up. I don't take this long when I put it in you," he whines, smushing his cheek further into the fluff to resist the temptation to look down. He doesn't flinch a bit when you thread your fingers through his hair in response, practically petting him.

Still, Keigo sighs in pleasure rather than dissatisfaction when he shuts his eyes. He can't deny that your soft skin feels incredible on his cock, crackling with electric charge; but the fleshlight trapped beneath his hips is enticingly lubed and ready for him, and that simple fact is causing him to grow impatient. The way you're rubbing his tip against its entrance doesn't help in the slightest. It feels more agonizing than pleasurable, at this point.

"Stop playing with it and put it inside already," he groans. 

"Aww," you coo. "Are you feeling pent up today, Keigo?"

It's meant to be a tease, but the response you get is heartbreakingly genuine.

"A little bit, yeah," Keigo answers truthfully, cocking his head to the side for a second. His neck pops with the motion, achingly, and he cracks his neck the other way to make it look intentional. Still on his belly, he crosses his elbows and tucks his chin atop his arms. 

Keigo looks genuinely fatigued when he blinks. Black lashes rest on his cheekbones a little longer than usual today, and you're aware that the only thing hiding his prominent eye bags is a few layers of expensive, caked-on concealer. 

You swallow a pang of resentment at the sight. 

Next year, you'll be sure to make a few phone calls with some choice words and demands you refuse to budge on.

Somehow, the urge to spit an uncharacteristically shrill "let me speak to your manager" over the phone to some HPSC bigshot isn't quite as strong as the urge to spoil Keigo tonight, instead; to make your baby forget the press interviews his handlers drag him to, around this time every year. The meetups, the galas— even those photoshoots you're silently a bit thankful for because he looks so irritatingly handsome in them.

You take out your irritation on his wings, gripping the sensitive primaries in one fist. To his delight, you begin to stroke the sensitive, silky bristles along the sides of his feathers, teasing them with your fingertips.

"Woah, woah, woah," Keigo smirks. The plumage of his wingspan preens with the attention, arching into your touch like a purring, spoiled housecat. "Easy there, doll. What's gotten into you today— oh, fuck me."

The moan dies down into a pleased rumble in his chest; and before he knows it, his hips arch just like his glorious wings, grinding his backside against the pretty, pink appendage strapped to your hips by a few medieval-looking buckles.

"Nothing," you lie. "Just wanted to shut you up, but it's not working all that well." 

"Liar," he snides. "You know that makes me loud, baby."

"Wasn't exactly trying to hide that, but nice try."

Your palm finally guides his tip into the toy, slipping it deep inside while he sighs in momentary relief.

But the relief is just that. Momentary.

Keigo's hardly bottomed out for a dozen seconds before he's whining and trying to press himself back against the tip of your strap, too.

"Oh my god," you laugh genuinely, dumbfounded by how quickly he begs for the next little indulgence on the list. You're too busy popping the lid of a plastic tube and drizzling your strap with lube to babysit him; so for now, you ignore his whorish little display for attention. 

"You want it that bad, already," you ask, slicking the length and plopping the tip against his fluttering rim, giving him a few lovetaps.

"Yeah," Keigo smiles, deliriously. "Wanna feel you fucking against my prostate. Give it to me."

Cheeky. On another day, you'd deny him strap altogether for acting like he doesn't need to do anything to earn it.

"Tell me if anything feels weird," you say instead, kissing his shoulder once while you grip the tip in one hand, pressing it against his hole. "Does it feel okay?"

"Mm, yeah," he rolls his shoulders. "But can you, uh, let me just lay here a little, at first? You know, while you do your thing?"

Keigo shakes his hips in an attempt to look enticing with the shameless request. "I'll be really good. Promise."

"You're such a fucking pillow princess," you accuse as you slide inside his already prepped hole and begin to move; and just as quickly as you utter it, the pseudo-insult backfires in the form of a high pitched, utterly pleased moan below you.

"I-I can be your princess," Keigo immediately agrees, with some nods alongside each of your thrusts. When you sink into him, he sinks his teeth further into the pillow than his mind sinks to delirium— deeper than his pride sinks down to a new low. 

"I'm yours, I'm your princess," Keigo repeats. "I'm your fucking princess," he moans, reaching one hand back to claw those delicately manicured fingernails into the meat of your thigh. Each nail is meticulously cut, shaved down like the hair on his lithe body and painted an iridescent gold to match his eyes under your bedroom light.

It's whiny when he pleads, "fuck me"— and it sounds even more pathetic when he squeals it. 

With every infuriatingly slow thrust of your hips, Keigo makes a show of displaying his greed. He drags you into him, vice-grip in one hand locked in your flesh to pull it flush into his. His other hand busies itself clutching the drool-soaked pillow against his bare chest for stability.

You treat him delicately, fucking him too slow for him to even think of blowing his load? Oh, that makes him growl through his teeth.

"Just blow my back out, already!" He practically mopes, cock still throbbing in his toy. You can hear the purse of Keigo's lips, his adorable, jutted bottom lip that you're certain is wobbling at this point. 

"C'mon," he grits. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should, like… Keep your promises? They're no good if you don't, y'know."

There are only a few days in the year Keigo is allowed to act out like this, and he'll be damned if he doesn't capitalize on them to the fullest.

The brat's gonna put you in an early grave at this rate, you think. You may not be able to punish him today, but you certainly can give him exactly what he wants. 

And when you do give him what he wants, the reality becomes abundantly clear: he can't actually handle it.

When you speed up, he pants like a dog— or, more aptly given this pretty little position, dripping submission and precum while he gets his ass stuffed, face down— Keigo pants like a bitch.

With his tongue far too heavy for his mouth, he resorts to whimpering into the pillow— his poor little crutch. The fleshlight is still squished between his pelvis and the bed, so every thrust you grind against his ass milks his cock, too. It's impossible to keep his head clear and focused when he's stimulated on all fronts; but bless him, Keigo does try.

He tries so hard, pathetically, to focus through the sounds of his lubed cock rubbing against the wet silicone, through the full feeling stuffing his insides at the same time.

Yet even still, it's not enough for him. He snarls in frustration as he shoves his hand between his thighs to adjust the cocksleeve, angled so he can stuff more of his cock in it, enveloped down to his base and pressing near-painfully against his balls. 

Fuckin' perfect, he sighs, finally able to direct his attention to his lovely partner digging out his guts from behind.

"Make me your b-b—" He starts and trails off, brows pinched with effort. "Make me yours," he corrects.

Oh? You tuck that little tidbit away.

You suppose it's been countless minutes since you began railing the poor, whimpering pup beneath you. That is, if you were to judge by the rasp in his voice that builds each time he cries his heart out.

Keigo is, despite it all, a very, very good boy. He gives you his visual cues when he feels that telltale tingling in the swollen, blushing tip of his cock; the one that lets him know how close he really is to bursting along the edge. He tenses his already defined muscles and looks back at you with the cutest puppydog eyes, just to make sure you know he's close. 

"I'm gonna cum," he warns verbally, too.

But you don't stop.

If his muscles weren't tense enough before, they certainly are now.

"Baby?" Keigo near-panics, turning a bit to gaze up at you pleadingly. Your floral bed sheets twist into spirals under each of his fists, wrung in a manner not unlike his cock. "Baby, I-I said I was gonna cum."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time." You peer down your nose and eye the bead of sweat that slithers down his neck. 

You watch the tremble of Keigo's hips as he does his best to keep his position poised like a prized showdog, dutifully still. He resists the urge to meet your strokes, instead offering every scrap of control to you as he lets the length of your strap carve out his insides. With every angled rock of your hips, the tip of your curved cock rubs against his poor prostate, stimulating it and making it a nightmare of an endurance test to hold himself back from spilling.

Habit is a powerful thing. Of course, Keigo's body recognizes the familiarity of this song and dance. His cock, ever well-trained, expects you to deny its release; to still your hips and cause his balls to ache, heavy with deprivation, just like you always do.

But tonight, you don't stop. 

Your hands are still gripping his hips and your strap buckles are still clinking with your desperate movements. Your pelvis keeps pressing him deeper, manually pushing him in and out of the toy below; and he begrudgingly accepts your generosity, because it's possible that you just felt a little altruistic today. 

After all, it is his—

"I'm gonna cum," Keigo whimpers. "Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum!" 

And with his nails tearing at the sheets, Keigo's world goes white; almost as white as the sticky mess he makes of his poor little toy, tip flooding it with rope after rope from his throbbing cock.

It rings in his ears when he climaxes, overloading his poor brain with endorphins and making him scream into the pillow he chomps down on.

Still, your delicate hands guide his hips back and forth, ignoring his babbling to watch him fuck his own cum into the toy. 

If it pleases you to watch Keigo continue the motion long after your hands have retreated, you keep it to yourself.

"Ah," he nearly shrieks, high pitched and pretty. "Too much! Ah, fuck, baby, please—"

"Yeah? How does it feel, sweetheart?"

"W-Wet," Keigo hiccups, hips stuttering just the same as his voice. He paws at the sheets when he continues, kneading them in his palms like a kitten. "So fucking wet."

"Mhm," you hum, sitting back on your haunches. You decide to make him use his words for your entertainment, to sate your indignance at his prior tantrums. "And why is that, babe?"

Your palms slide possessively down his hips and up the curvature of his back, meeting his arch. They trail toward his shoulder blades, fingers splayed as Keigo tries to chase them; and to your amusement, he hardly looks to be in the proper state to process the fact that he's actually being mocked, let alone protest it. 

To Keigo, all he knows is it simply feels good.

Keigo answers obediently, instead. It takes you by surprise, the way his unabashed filth spills without shame. Arousal pools between your thighs, but your body remains still— if only to watch the way he fucks himself on your cock, balls deep before he does the same using his own to the fleshlight below.

"Because it's stuffed full of my cum. It's s-so wet, full— fuck," he slurs, voice airy and utterly uncontrolled when he draws his hips back onto your thick, pink strap, down till his ass meets your pelvis; and he thrusts his cock back inside the toy, the subsequent shlick somehow louder than how he runs his mouth. 

Back and forth, in and out, Keigo irreverently milks himself from both ends. The motion of it smears his own spent along the sides of his cock, acting as the most obscene lubricant. It's messy, unbearably loud in its slick sounds.

It must sound as satisfying to hump as it feels, Keigo thinks. His lip wobbles at the thought, hoping it impresses you, and he bites the pillow below him.

"Aww, it's full?" You don't bother to muffle your laughs as you kneel behind him, simply watching as the once-powerful hero below you does all the work and fucks the snark out of himself, for you. The sound of your condescending laughter breaks him, whittling down his vocabulary as his mind sinks to that familiar, fuzzy place.

The silicone is unbearably tight around his length, even though you were careful to pick one out that he could fit into. The thickness and length of Keigo's cock does tend to make shopping for toys a chore, you muse.

You're not complaining, though. You'll take a couple extra hours of scrolling through fleshlight reviews on forums for the well-endowed before making a purchase, if it means you can keep getting split open by his massive cock when he bends you over the bathroom vanity.

Or the kitchen counter. Or the leather couch in your living room. Or the nearest single-stall restroom sink after you accidentally call him something you shouldn't have in public.

But tonight, the nicknames you call him sound nothing like "sir."

They sound like "puppy", like "sweetheart", like "good boy."

The ribbed, silicone rings inside are designed to squeeze his cock with each stroke. It normally feels simply pleasurable; though, after an orgasm that explosive, his cock feels nearly raw in its sensitivity, nerves exposed like live wiring and sparking electricity all the same.

"It hurts," Keigo squeaks through his fat, wet tears; and you begin to pull out and fuss over him. 

That is, until he wails and grips your thigh close in his claws.

"Wait, I want it to! Don't pull out, please don't, please don't pull out. I was so close," he slurs.

"Already?" Your face scrunches with disbelief.

"Uh huh," he nods furiously.

And just like that, your grandiose plans of discovering how much is too much for the glutton end up fizzling out. 

"Figures you'd be into overstimulation," you roll your eyes, palm slapping once against his behind as you watch it go from fleshy peach to red. "Whore."

"Huh?" Keigo drools. He sounds like a lost puppy, brain too fuzzy to register a single word— well, other than whore, but that's only because that word made his cock feel kind of nice.

"Not gonna remember a damn word you said tomorrow, are you," you ask, watching him rock his hips in desperation, drowning in his own pleasure. "Too lost when you get fucked, huh, puppy?"

"Mm-mm," Keigo shakes his head furiously, blonde tufts sticking up like stray feathers. At the sight of it, you're overcome with a sudden urge to claw at his scalp. 

"Mm! Love you," he adds for seemingly no reason when you yank his neck back by the roots, throat bobbing with his strained swallow.

Heart pounding like the percussion of a heavy metal drum with moans just as erotic, skin slick with sweat and cock wet with his own release; this is the man Keigo is reduced to as you take charge once more. You bully his prostate, thighs burning with effort and breath panting in his ear. Your left hand releases his scalp to grip his jaw and keep his back arched into your chest, while your right shamelessly milks his cock, fleshlight in hand.

It's too much. His moans are broken, climbing in pitch like a crescendo until the dam breaks and his mind shatters once more. 

You know how loud Keigo can be. You're well aware, well prepared; yet, like every time you make him sob and scream when he cums, it travels between your legs like lightning, regardless. 

After he collapses into the sheets, it takes Keigo ages to catch his breath. His body still shudders and twitches with the aftershocks of his orgasm, wings flapping twice before tucking against his shoulder blades, submissively. 

There's drool on the pillowcase, you note; and it's been chewed to bits.

When you pull out, he gasps. You rub the tip against his twitching rim in an attempt to soothe him, and his gasp settles into a sigh.

"Good?" You're out of breath, yourself, when you dare to ask. "You look like you lost one of your nine lives, for a second."

"Eh, it was alright," he smirks. "Could you do it again? I wasn't paying attention."

"Shut the fuck up," you slam the pillow against his side. "You're such a brat."

"You love it," Keigo teases, rolling onto his back and stretching. He exposes his belly. Blissfully comfortable, fucked-out, and entirely satiated.

His eyes nevertheless catch between your legs as you unbuckle the strap and let it fall unceremoniously. He wets his lip and swallows, pupils dilating.

"C'mere," Keigo says, making grabby hands. Expectant, he shifts in eager anticipation, settling into an acceptably comfortable position as you place your thighs on either side of his head— he won't be moving for quite some time, after all. 

"Oh," you add, pretending as if you suddenly remembered something. "And Keigo?" 

"Mhm?" He hums, craning his neck toward your core, eager to lap himself another helping to fill.

"Happy birthday, baby."

[pantherxrogers]

AHHHHH unforgettable is so cuteeee!! Is there gonna be a part 2???

pt. 2 unforgettable - choi san x fem!reader

🧡 pairing: choi san x fem!reader

🧡 warnings: angst, reader and san are married with a son, possible mispelling of korean words for "mom" and "dad" (so sorry! please leave feedback in the comments), fluff, separation, not proofread

🧡 summary: san and reader go out for his birthday dinner! maybe it’ll lead to something more? 👀

🧡 a/n: hi anon! i’m so glad you enjoyed part 1 🫶🏾 i hope part 2 lives up to your expectations! i don’t know if there will be a part 3, but this was fun to write!

this is also my first time using jump cuts to the next scene. let me know what yall think!

pt. 1

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"woo, i really don't have time for this," you groan into the phone. you're still trying decide between what heels you want to wear for the night, but his familiar voice is ringing in your ear.

"you kinda do. he left here like a minute ago."

"he's already on the way?!" you screech, prompting wooyoung to straight up laugh at you.

“yeah, and i know he’s speeding. this is the fastest he’s ever dropped jun off,” he snickers. you hear your son's loud giggle in the background, followed by the sound of wooyoung's cackle.

"put me on speaker," you coo, wanting to talk to your baby. you hear wooyoung sigh, pretending to be annoyed with your antics.

"hi june bug! are you having fun, baby?"

"yes omma! we're watching oppa perform!" he shouts, clearly on a sugar high. you clear your throat, waiting for an explanation from wooyoung.

"he's totally exaggerating! we watched one ateez performance. i was actually trying to show myself, but he's all about oppa," he groans, another loud giggle coming from jun. you can''t help but laugh along.

"i'll talk to you later, bubble! have fun! i love you!"

"love you, omma!"

"love you, unnie!"

you snort, mumbling a goodbye to wooyoung. hanging up the phone, you bring your attention to the mirror. okay, san is going to choke when he sees you.

you're wearing a satin dress, the fabric clinging to your curves like a greek statue. you just got a blowout, hair falling is soft waves down your back. deciding to keep you makeup light yet sultry, you did a smokey eye and a bold lip color. one of san's favorites. but, that's a coincidence of course.

spritzing your perfume, you admire yourself again in the mirror. all that's left now are shoes. you're stalling because you know which shoes will be perfect for this outfit, but you don't want to bring yourself to admit it.

you make your way to the back of your closet, more like another bedroom, scanning your shoe racks. the black patent leather winks at you, calling out your name. a memory flashes through your mind. it was your first birthday with san, all those years ago. he bought you the louboutin's that you'd been eyeing for the past week. you smile to yourself, picking them up and sliding into them with ease.

just as start to grab your clutch for the night, the doorbell rings. you can feel your heart beating in your ears. taking a deep breath, giving yourself a once over, you step out of the bedroom. the walk towards the front door feels like a mile, but you miss this feeling. it reminds you of the early days of your relationship, waiting on san to pick you up with bated breath.

before san can ring the doorbell again, you're swinging the door open. and damn. it's going to be a long dinner.

the first thing you notice is his cologne. it's one you bought him last Christmas. it's a strong, woody scent, and you're ashamed to recognize the arousal pooling in between your thighs. he's wearing his hair slicked back again. the style does wonder for his facial features, making him look more intimidating than usual. well, not to you, of course.

the crisp, white button down stretches across his broad shoulders, neatly tucking into his black trousers. the top buttons are undone, giving you a hint of his collarbones. you feel like a pervert, ogling him right in front of his face. but, he doesn't notice. he's too busy ogling you.

"you look stunning, honey." he sounds like he's in a daze. it's almost comical. his eyes scan your face and body in such quick succession, almost like he doesn't know where to focus on. you notice the way his eyes linger on your heels, a fond smile on his face.

"thank you, san," you hum, ducking your head in shyness. "i'll be back. i just need to set the alarm."

"leave your clutch while you're at it. you know you won't be needing it." the dominance in his voice makes your heart flutter. but you won't give in that easily.

"san, i'm not leaving it."

"well, take your wallet out then."

"who said i brought it?" your sass catches him off guard. he's missed it. his little smirk is the last thing you see before heading towards the alarm.

the ride to the restaurant is quiet but not awkward. the radio plays in the background while san hums along. you find yourself humming with him. you feel your cheeks warm when he glances over at you.

"i've missed hearing that," he confesses, toying with the smooth leather of the center console. you fight the urge to reach out and touch his hand. you're not sure why but you do.

"san, i thought we weren't going to argue tonight."

"i'm not trying to argue, i swear. just wanted you to know how much i've missed you. i'm sorry," he answers. you can't stay mad at him. after all, he was just being honest. which is more than you can say for yourself. you've missed him so much but saying it out loud makes you feel weak.

instead, you settle your hand over his. he has to bite his lip to stop the shit-eating grin. he fails anyway, bringing your hand up to press a kiss on the back of it. something about it feels so intimate. you have to look away, afraid he'll be able to read the desire on your face.

dinner was a success. you feel full and happy, but you’re still wide awake on the car. sadness creeps over you as he drives you home. truth be told, you had an amazing time tonight and don't want it to end.

"hey?" he gentle nudges your thigh, "you okay, honey?" his voice is warm and smooth, making your heart skip a beat.

"yeah, 'm fine," you answer, glancing over at him. he looks relaxed and comfortable behind the wheel. all of this feels so right. there's a part of you that wants it back. you don't even realize you're still staring at him until san clears his throat.

"just thinking about junebug." your lie is obvious to the both of you, but san doesn't call you out. instead, he reaches for your hand, gently holding it in his own. you have to bit your lip to stop the growing grin on your face.

sooner than you'd like, he pulls up to your long driveway. "i had an amazing time tonight." his eyes are so earnest that it almost makes you want to cry.

"so did i."

it's all you can say right now, finding it difficult to work through all the emotion swirling around in your chest. he places another kiss to the back of your hand, then opens his door. you chuckle under your breath, amused by his hurried footsteps coming towards the passenger door.

both of your drag your feet to the front door, clearly not wanting the night to end. when you finally reach it, you slow around, fumbling for the key inside your small clutch.

"hold on, i got it." he reaches for his keys, quickly finding his key to your home. "thank you." he hums his response, smoothly unlocking the door.

"thanks for inviting me out," you linger in the doorway, unable to tear yourself away from him.

"thanks for coming with me, angel. you made my birthday special."

you drop your head, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. he's staring at you with so much love in his eyes. you're sure that he can see the same in yours.

"i really want to kiss you right now." it's blunt and almost whiny, prompting a giggle from you. san can't help but join in on your laughter, happy to see that beautiful smile on your face.

"well," you breathe through giggles, "it is your birthday." san's heart skips a beat, almost unable to believe his ears. as soon as the shock leaves his system, his lips are on yours.

it's gentle and sweet, reminding you of when you first started dating all those years ago. you can hear your heart beating in your ears, giddiness over taking your sense. he gently places a hand on your waist, kissing back with fervor.

out of reflex, you bring your arms around his neck, leaning against his firm body. every thought in your mind is consumed by him, your bodies melting into one. you feel yourself falling under his spell, familiar arousal warming the pit of your tummy.

"s-san, wait." he's off you in an instant, pulling away to meet your eyes. "i'm sorry, i got a little carried away."

"no, it's fine. so did i," you chuckle, fixing your outfit.

there's still tension in the air, both of you waiting for the other to make the next move.

"guess i should go check on junebug," he murmurs, a soft smile on his face. the both of you smile at the mention of your son. still, you feel sadness at the thought of the night ending.

"it's kinda late. don't you think he'll be asleep?"

now san is certain his heart stopped for good. are you saying what he thinks you're saying?

"yeah, he might be," he blurts out, a sudden blush forming on his cheeks. he feels like a teenager staying the night at a girl's house for the first time.

"maybe you can call woo and tell him you'll be back in the morning?"

"y-yeah! for sure!"

you giggle at his excitement, stepping aside to let him in the front door. san thinks this might be his best birthday yet.

[russellsppttemplates]

Papa loves you so much, princess (Mick Schumacher)

Mick and Y/N find out their family is growing

Note: english is not my first language. this is another long piece that I hope you enjoy! I have been talking about this since January, so this is ver long overdue!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions reader's period and pregnancy

Getting up from the bed, you were fortunately quick enough to reach the bathroom in time to pour your guts out on the toilet, leaning on the toilet's side to support your torso. You were already up by the time Mick walked inside the bathroom, his sleepy expression with some traces of concern, "I told you I shouldn't have had that last piece of dessert", you pointed your finger at him through the mirror while you splashed your face, "you kept looking at it like you were a dog that was abandoned on the road, and then when I asked if you wanted my piece, I swear I saw happy tears in your eyes", your husband teased you, rubbing your back in a comforting manner, "do you want me to get you anything?", he asked, "just some cuddles in bed should do the trick", you muttered, allowing him to carry you back to the bed for a few more hours of hopefully uninterrupted sleep.

.

After leaving work, you stopped by the grocery store since you and Mick had noticed you were running low and running out of a few items at home, "we just had a snack break and the next part of the meeting should be the last one, I'm sorry I'm not helping you", he said over the phone while you browsed the aisles, "it's okay, handsome. You can still help me out here, though. I'm the cleaning section and I already have dish soap and the spray for the wooden cabinets, anything else?", you asked, earning a negative answer from him, "no, that's all I think. Next is the bathroom one, right? We are running low on toilet paper, and I used the last plaster yesterday. You only had one box of tampons in the cabinet so given that you are about to have your period, see if you need more of them", he pointed out, grabbing your attention to the matter. It should have started by now, you checked the date on your watch. And you were never late.

"We also need those tissues you keep on your bedside table, I used some today and I noticed they were the last ones", you could hear the smile on his voice, "alright, bub. I'll see you at home, have a good meeting!", you dialed off, grabbing the things he mentioned before looking at the pharmacy section.

You were never late, so it had to be this, right? Barring any other health situations, all of your symptoms aligned with pregnancy symptoms: you had been nauseous, feeling sick (and maybe it wasn't the stolen dessert's fault), you kept falling asleep whenever you rested on the sofa at home and Corinna had complimented the way one of your summer dresses fitted you, claiming that the neckline looked beautiful on you. And you and Mick had been trying, not with a whole calendar but rather just not using protection and seeing where it led you, and maybe this was it. Grabbing two boxes for the sake of it, you put them in your shopping trolley before heading to the till to pay for everything so you could go home.

When Mick got home, dinner was already on the table while you also fed Angie her own dinner, his kiss on your forehead coming with an apology for having arrived just in time for it, "no need to apologise, myself and miss Angie kept ourselves busy", you petted her soft fur before heading to wash your hands, joining Mick at the table and enjoying the meal.

"Does it taste okay to you?", you asked Mick, the taste of the broccoli seemingly off to you, "yes, tastes like this dish always tastes. It's very good, why do you ask?", he questioned, "I don't know, tastes funny to me", you mumbled, using your fork and knife to push the green vegetable to the edge of your plate, "maybe you got a bad one", he noted. That was another symptom, you thought, remembering when one of your friends couldn't eat her favourite meal while she was pregnant because she claimed it tasted different.

"Actually, I've been having a few symptoms, and they are all compatible with-", you were interrupted by your husband, "pregnancy", he smiled, seeing your brushed and stunned face, "I've noticed them too. You haven't told me you are craving your usual sweets when you're on your period, your boobs look even more amazing but the moment I so much as graze my finger in the skin you hiss because of the pain, you're not one to take naps during the day but the moment your head hits the pillow you're out like a light, and it's not common for you to have a bad stomach", he reasoned, making you blush even harder, "Why didn't you say something though?", you asked softly.

Mick shrugged his shoulders, "I just didn't want to burden you, or maybe I was keeping my hopes up and I didn't want to ruin yours, or point out something about your body like that, I'd never want to do so in a way that could be harmful", he answered apologetically, making your get up and go sit on his lap, "you could've said something, I wouldn't be offended, I think anyway, apparently pregnant women get mood swings so I can't speak for sure", you shrugged your shoulders, "truth is, I got some pregnancy tests at the store today because I also thought the same thing, but I wanted to do them with you", you looked at him, "but I don't know how to deal with this hope, like, I could just have some bug, but it is also true that everything checks out...", you fiddled and played with his fingers, "we take it step by step, if you'd like", your husband began softly, "and if you're not pregnant, we can keep trying", he explained, grabbing your hand once you nodded, heading to the bathroom so you could do the tests.

The plastic sticks were on the counter, Angie lying on the bathroom floor while Mick sat on the edge of the tub wirh you on his lap, "just a little bit more, liebling", he kissed the side of your head, "I'm sorry", you whispered, gaining his questioning look, "if I'm not pregnant, I got both of our hopes up for nothing", you explained, feeling his fingers lift your chin up to look into his eyes, "no need to apoligise, liebling. We just keep trying, it's not like we mind trying", he winked, looking at his watch to see the time was up, "I'm ready when you are", he said soflty.

You got up, picking up the sticks and seeing that both of them had the same information, "it won't be trying for a baby, but I've heard that sex while you're pregnant is a whole another level of sensations", you smiled at Mick, showing him the positive results.

"We're having a baby?", Mick mumbled, still not sure if he had grasped what you said in the right way, "we are, baby Schumacher is going to be here in nine months", you cried out, smiling as Mick cuddled you, his arms circling your before spinning you, "Angie! You're going to be a big sister!", Mick said once he put you down.

.

"I remember reading about these old wives' that help you guess the gender of the baby, and your grandmother did some on me for both of you and they turned out pretty accurate, I think", Corinna said as she sat in the outdoor sofa in front of you.

Since Gina was visiting, you and Mick decided to invite her and Corinna to spend the day together, Angie sitting next to her auntie while you sat next to Mick, "Oh, that would be fun!", Gina said as she straightened her back, picking up her phone so she could look them up on the Internet while Corinna started with the ones she knew, "they say that if you have a pointed belly towards the front, it means you're having a boy, and if you have a rounder bump and wider hips, it means it's a baby girl", she said, seeing Mick quickly ask for you consent before he helped you stand as he lifted your t-shirt, "what do we think? Pointy or not so much?", you did a turn around yourself, "I think it's rounder", Mick said earning a nod from his mother, "me too", Gina said, "but I've always had wider and rounder hips", you tried to reason as Gina wrote girl and a stick next to it to help count.

"The next one was that sweet cravings were sign of a baby girl, and salty cravings were sign of a baby boy", and Mick wiped the smug smile off his face, "I've been eating a lot of savoury stuff", you nudged your husband while his sister wrote down the tie.

Gina opened the lunar calendar on her phone while the four of you looked at all the details they asked for, "it's a girl according to this one!", Mick yelled way too close to your ear, "another point for babygirl then", you said, cuddling back to his side and giggling at everyone's exciting.

You saw and tested a couple more and, without realising it, you tried the last one without noticing it was the last, only for it to make another tie between babyboy and babygirl, "so that's it?", Mick said, not expecting it to turn out like this, "you just have to wait and see, you know, like all the people do because you can know for sure on the ultrasound", Gina teased him.

.

Once you got to the OB/GYN, Mick offered to go get you checked in at the desk while you went to find a comfortable chair to sit in while you waited, "final bet: are they a baby boy or a baby girl?", Mick said once he sat down with you, his hand holding yours to calm down your nervous thoughts. The ultrasounds always made you nervous, always wondering if everything was alright and as it should be, so having Mick there to support you and distract you was appreciated, "I think they're a baby boy, and he looks like his papa", you cradled his cheek on your palm, "I think they're a baby girl, and she has your kindness and empathy. It's just my gut feeling", he smiled, kissing the top of your head while he moved your conjointed hands to rest on your bump, feeling the baby kick, "not my chubby cheeks?", you playfully gasped, "what can I say? I think the Schumacher genes are much too strong", he teased you, looking up to the door when your name was called.

Entering the room and greeting your doctor, she asked you a couple of questions before asking you to lay on the little bed, the gel cold on your bump as she moved the wand around, "okay, everything looks good, strong heartbeat for little one and mother as well", she smiled, "I can see it. Do you still want to know?", she asked one last time, earning a nod from both you and Mick, "you're going to have a baby girl, congratulations!", she announced.

Your hand squeezed Mick's, feeling him press a kiss to the top of your head as you both looked at your baby on the screen, "we're having a little girl? Liebling, it's a little girl", he said, his eyes tearing up as he kept looking at the screen. Despite having feelings and guesses about it, neither of you didn't have any preference, feeling happy just with the idea that you were carrying a combination of you and Mick, but you couldn't help but get all goddy as you imagined Mick with a little daughter, knowing she would have him wrapped around her finger from the moment she was born. Even thinking now, she has him wrapped around her finger since you both found out you were pregnant.

"She looks good, there isn't anything that looks concerning. The measurements are all within the norm, everything looks good. Congratulations, mama and papa!", she smiled, "do you want copies to take home?".

While she went to get the slightly exaggerated number of copies of baby Schumacher (Mick wanted everyone that was important in his life to have one), your husband helped you clean the skin on your bump, "are you happy?", you looked at him, not seeing any signs of uneasiness but feeling his a little bit tense, "I am, liebling", he said, "but she's going to be here soon, you know? Little one is growing so fast, I can't believe we're past the half way point", he admitted, "I just don't want to disappoint any of you", he gulped, making you craddle his face with your hands, "My love, I know you and believe me, if how everything has gone until now is any indicator, we are going to have princess treatment", you smiled softly on an attempt to calm him, "thank you for sharing this with me, though. You can always share your worries with me, Mick", you finished, kissing his lips passionately, "I love you, liebling", he kissed you back, "and you little one, papa loves you so much, princess".

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

I agree with you about your stances on punishment, and I think it's so important to see that perspective instead of the more common one. I do not want to live in a world with the death penalty or prison.

But I'm very curious how you got to the point where you want your abuser to be happy. Capital H happy. I've never seen that before. I think it's great, and it must've taken a lot of time, and if it's not too personal, I'd like to hear about the process. If not to help myself, to help someone else. I'm personally very very jaded to the whole "forgiveness" mentality (it seems very catholic to me somehow? I forgive you so I'm better than you?) But the way you put it feels different somehow. Sorry for picking your brain, and if it's too personal I totally get it. Thanks for your time.

Thank you for this question.

Hm, it's a tough one. It may be informed by my lack of any singular capital-A Abuser. Certainly, I have had people who were abusive to me longer term (my mother especially), but for the most part it was many dozens of adults in single instances or shorter term situations during my childhood and teenage years that raped or otherwise harmed me. That lack of any singular individual to act as a locus for all the damage may have made it easier for me to come to a point where I wish them well.

I remember being 19, face in my toilet bowl, puking my guts up after downing a fifth of rum in an hour or two. I think it was a Thursday. I understood my mother for the first time. I wanted to stop drinking, and I didn't know why I couldn't.

My roommate at the time slept on a mattress on the floor in the living room. He left his family the day he turned 18 and took the Greyhound across the country to crash with me. We were good friends when he got here, but my negligence and failure to control my drug use ruined that relationship within a few months. He stayed with me for two years. He didn't have other options.

I don't remember those years well at all. Besides various temp jobs, all I did was drink, get fucked up, and make messes I never cleaned up. It was a one bedroom apartment and I had the bedroom, he couldn't really go anywhere. He didn't really know anyone. I was a fucking terror to live with, and a terror he couldn't even really get away from.

And I didn't mean to be that way. I didn't mean to hurt him with my dereliction. But it doesn't matter, y'know, impact is more important than intent. I fucked up bad.

Eventually he left. I was and still am filled with remorse for putting him through what I did. Maybe this perspective is the christian upbringing, maybe it's twelve step bullshit, but often I see my feelings as very self serving. I can justify just about anything, as long as I use enough self pity. But this feeling was different. It was just... remorse, pure and unfiltered. No rationalizations as to how it wasn't really my fault, no equivocations, no blaming outside factors, just acknowledgement that I fucked up and I hurt someone I loved. I was sorry that I had done that.

Humility does not come naturally to me. This was a humbling experience.

I--and everyone I've ever met, everyone who ever harmed me--am a human being. No more, no less. In each of us is potential both to love deeply and to do great harm to others. No one is without both these potentials.

It comes down to this: what I wish for myself, I must wish for all.

Do not mistake me here--this does not neatly translate into a pragmatic political position. For me, this is simply some sort of spirituality, that is to say, how I strive to navigate my life, day at a time, in the world as I find it. This is as small scale as it can get.

I understand that feeling about forgiveness you mention. What I have to say about it probably won't help the christian connotation; I am an atheist and a subjectivist, though obviously culturally evangelical. Maybe it is that last part that influences this next, but I don't feel I have the authority to forgive anyone. Or, in another word, 'let he who is without sin cast the first stone.'

Now, of course, I believe in neither god nor sin, but I do believe in harm. 'Let he who is not capable of such harm cast the first stone,' perhaps. Not all harm is equivalent, certainly, but no one is innately capable or incapable of greater harm than others. The ability to actually do harm is relative to relations to power, no doubt, but a given power relation is not innate.

So yeah I end up back at 'i have no moral high ground over or under anyone else, the forgiveness is neither mine to give nor withhold,' which frankly is a rather christian viewpoint.

There's this idea in Judaism that has stuck with me for the last few years: tikkun olam. To repair the world. What must I do to ensure my part in that repair happens?

There is so little I have control of. The only thing I can change is what I do. If the world around me is hardened and cruel, why must I adopt that cruelty into myself? Will it get me better outcomes in life? Perhaps, perhaps not. I have found it hasn't, but others may find it has. But that's talking about results. And I don't have power over results.

I cannot change the world, cannot repair it alone. But I think I can work to repair myself, and in the process, the smallest portion of the world may be repaired alongside me. Maybe, maybe not. It becomes a matter of faith. Or to put it in a therapeutic framing, it's an 'even if.'

I'll end with this, an old twelve step saying: "resentments are like drinking a bottle of poison and expecting the other person to die."

What is a resentment? Re- as in once more. -sent, as in sentiment. Feeling something once more. It is the reanimated corpse of a feeling, not the feeling itself. It looks like the feeling you know, maybe walks and talks like it too. But it's rotting away. It died long ago. So why should you pretend the corpse is alive? It moves, it rasps, but it's something else now; it only shares a body with the original, nothing else. So maybe it's time to let go, and begin to move forward.

[theninthdoor]

virgo season🪻♍ mini tarot reading ࿔*

decks used || the druidcraft tarot, wild uknown animal spirit & the prism oracle. songs || shuffle pick from a random 2000s playlist. when picking a group, use your sun and/or rising signs. (disclaimer: based on current energies. all is alleged and for entertainment purposes only.)

🍊 Mutables | Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces Song: The Fray - How to Save a Life

Cards: page of pentacles reversed, king of pentacles, eight of swords, Tiger (reversed), Flow

So, my dear mutable signs... it seems like this upcoming Virgo season is all about you working on getting your life back together after a period of disruption. In these past few weeks or months, you might have found yourself a little more sensitive, more reactive and easily overwhelmed. Perhaps you were pushed by people or circumnstances to let go of certain habits or routines that were already well set in your life, and that has made you feel out of balance. Going forward, I still see some struggle when it comes to making up for the empty space, plus there might be times when you go from 0 to 100 in a blink of an eye - so having no energy or motivation, and then going straight to being the most proactive and productive person on the planet - and, of course, going from one extreme to another must take a toll on your mental, emotional and physical bodies. With that, I must remind you that self-care is very important here. Don't let yourself stay stuck in situations or patterns that haven't been serving you, because they will only keep adding on to the frustration and unrest, but also please make sure to consciously keep working at a pace that is healthy and sustainable, to make sure you don't burn out. One last thing that came through: making up with friends/family/acquaintances or reuniting after a challenging period of misunderstandings or non-communication. Watch out for how you express youself, and let them speak as well! Whatever has been broken, can be mended, but you also need to take some accountability and be fair. - This might not apply to everyone, but if you were looking for this message/confirmation, here it is.

🩰 Fixed | Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius Song: Sean Kingston - Beautiful Girls

Cards: five of swords reversed, eight of cups reversed, queen of swords, Dragonfly reversed, Love

the song???! 😭

So, for all my beautiful fixed signs (no pun intendend lol): this Virgo season will be all about you stepping back into your power. You're feeling yourself, taking care of yourself, being more social and having more vibrancy in general. There's just so much stuff you can't be bothered with anymore, and letting go of that is finally allowing new, beautiful energy to come into your life. However, that might come easier to some than to others... Even if you're not bothered with those things actively, they might still be hanging out at the back of your mind, popping in every now and then throughout your day. Don't ignore them, alright? But don't dwell on them either. You should be going about these matters with logic and patience, so they can be resolved properly and as soon as possible. I also feel now you're being a little more detached or acting a little colder towards certain people (if not all). You are definitely feeling more comfortable to put yourself out there and be more social, as a said, but there is still some distance that you're keeping between yourself and others. There's an aspect of self-protection here, but also self-love? You're self-protecting out of love for yourself, it feels like. After much trial and error, you have finally decided to give yourself what others haven't been able to. "I can buy myself flowers." I keep getting pulled to that Queen of Swords + the Dragonfly reversed (indicative that the energy is out of balance, which then points towards 'lack of concentration and a busy mind'), and that reminds me of Gemini - so whether that is you or someone you're dealing with this season, that whole energy should be around you in these upcoming weeks.

🍎 Cardinal | Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn Song: Britney Spears - Circus

Cards: death reversed, the tower reversed, five of wands, Lion, Strength

When everything around you is falling apart, people aren't getting along, and it seems like you're having to walk on eggshells to avoid being pulled into conflict, you'll have to take it upon yourself to step into power and either act as a mediator between those conflicting sides, or force it all to be done with. You're tired of chaos, of noise, of people being selfish and reckless, and now you're looking for peace and order, and you know the change has to start with you. However, that doesn't mean you're going to be docile and quiet, neither aggressive or argumentative! We have both the Lion and Strength here, so this is moreso about having patience, determination and (self)control. Besides, some people might come out to poke you, provoke you, trying to get a strong reaction out of you - and sometimes they might get what they want, but here we have a reminder that you must really make an effort to keep it together and lead by example. - "There's only two types of people in the world / The ones that entertain, and the ones that observe." this part of the song in particular, feels relevant here. In general, in this Virgo season I see you taking on more responsibilities, perhaps also packing your schedule with new/more activities and events, or finally waking up after a slow, fruitless period, and deciding to clean up all the mess around you so you can get back to action. The final message that came through is about the Libra Venus transit, and it influencing you to pay more attention to your physical appearance. If you've been thinking about changing your style, haircut, starting or going back to getting your nails done, treating yourself to a spa day, getting a better skincare routine or something along those lines, this is the time to do that.

🌍 relevant transits: ⭒ mercury stations direct in leo on august 26th / shadow period ends on september 11th ⭒ venus enters libra (domicile) on august 29th ⭒ new moon in virgo on september 2nd ⭒ mars enters cancer (fall) on september 4th ⭒ mercury enters virgo (domicile) on september 9th ⭒ partial full moon lunar eclipse in pisces on september 17th

[valas-illyn]

When I come to, I'm laying on some kind of hospital bed. My hands are cuffed to the sides. I don't immediately remember where I was before this, how did I get here? Where is here?

The lights in here are low, but still bright enough. The now opening door reveals a comparatively blinding hallway, and a silhouetted figure composed of writhing vines. Something about the perspective seems off, but I can't make it make sense.

Someone, somewhere, in another room is scared, terrified even. Angry too. Bursting with emotions, they want to scream and sob and thrash and rage. It sounds like a lot.

I just feel tired.

The thing moves into the room, and the door slides blessedly shut.

Affini. That's the word. Suddenly the perspective clicks into focus and the room makes sense. Affini are 10ft tall alien plants with a penchant for keeping other sapients as pets, the room is sized for them which is why everything feels wrong. I'm tall for a human but I'm not that tall, the bed is human sized though so it must be on some kind of raised platform.

My mind drifts off again, lost in visualising the technical specifications for a 5ft high hospital bed. Extra trains of thought spinning off into imaging what other situations one would even be needed, or in the comical image of a human nurse trying to wheel one about. Yknow, they're always complaining that they don't have enough space on the wards, with a 5ft high one you could have modular bunk beds that just roll over each other, you could double the capacity of a hospital. You'd have to add teeth to each leg and an electric winder to hoist it up and down though. Maybe some kind of quick release mechanism for emergencies? You could-

"Petal?" The affini is standing over me, the voice is... Soft. Not quite feminine, but maybe feminine by their standards, what do I know? Do affini even have male and female? Well, it'll do for now. Her voice is a gentle rustling rasp that I can barely believe is capable of human speech. "Petal, it's time to wake up."

I roll my head towards her. The someone is getting loud again. "I'm awake." My voice is flat, lifeless. Too deep. It sounds wrong.

She seems to shrink, like she's slumped. Relief? Despair? Maybe she's just tired too. How do you read the body language of a bush? "Good, I am Luminara Verdis, fourth bloom. Pronouns she/her. What should I call you?"

I was right, feminine. I try to answer, but instead I just yawn. Long and deep.

"still a little sleepy? Let's give you something to clear those sedatives out of your system." *She leans over and a loop of vine extends towards my neck. A light glints off the end of a sharp, needle-like point dripping with something viscous.

Sudden and visceral. An emotion floods through me, but I couldn't put a name to it. I yell "No!" far louder than I intended as I throw myself away from her, straining against my bonds. I realise my legs are bound too.

The bed wobbles and she holds it steady with a vine, preventing me from tipping it over in my... Panic? Panic. That's what it is. Somewhere deep inside, a part of me sees the absurdly tall bed again and wants to chuckle, another part of me notes the axis of the tilt and the centre of gravity, and mentally confirms the platform hypothesis.

"ok, its ok petal. Calm down." She makes a show of taking the needle away but I keep my eyes in her. My breathing is ragged now. My ribcage feels like it's shuddering.

"No needles." My voice is as shaky as the rest of me, but I say it with some force. I would be pleased by that if only I knew why I seemed to be so upset.

I settle back into the bed and try to rub my face with my hand, only I can't because it's still cuffed to the bedframe.

"No needle." She agrees. Her voice is full of pity, sorrow. She's making an effort to be gentle with me, I can tell that much.

A voice in the back of my mind whispers "needle. Singular. No promises past now." I tell it to be quiet.

"i- I'm awake now." My voice is steadier now, my body more controlled. The panic has faded, gone off to that other room. I can ignore it now.

"I can see that, I'm so sorry for startling you petal but I promise you I'm here to help. What's your name?"

"I'm- i-" my voice falters as my mind scrabbles for answers. "I don't know. I can't remember, there- there was more than one I think?" I know I should be frightened, or concerned.by this. But I'm not. I dont have the energy for it now the adrenaline has worn off, instead I'm just... A bit perplexed.

If I could read plant faces... I'm assuming she is showing the concern that I'm not feeling. I had best stop that before it becomes something, like another needle. "I-it'll come back to me, it always does. I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

She shows me a smile and says "Luminara. Lumi, if you like."

I smile back and tug at my restraint again. I really want to rub my face and it's bothering me that I can't. "Why am I chained to the bed?" I try to hide the frustration from my voice, transmuting it into concern instead.

"it's for your own safety, flower. Do you remember what happened?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. She chuckles.

"I guess not. You were in an accident before we rescued you. You were badly hurt and terribly confused, and you kept trying to attack the vets. They didn't know if you would still be violent when you woke up."

That makes sense. I have brief flashes of pseudo-memory; fear, anger, terrible terrible pain. I dont think it was an accident though. It feels like it was going on for a long time...

I shiver, and shake the sensation from my head. I'm still tugging on the cuff gently, I'm not sure I can stop, the feel of it is keeping me calm.

"I don't think I want to remember... Could you untie me please? I just need to rub my eyes."

[rookfeatherrambles]

Hey Tumblr, its been a hell of a few days for me. For those that don't know, on Sunday (June 2nd), I was in a car accident that really traumatized me, and I don't know if its going to affect me for another week or another 10 years. Details under the cut, as well as pictures of my injuries (no blood but bruises and scrapes, will be tagged appropriately).

My friend came up from Washington state to see me and wanted me to meet her at the hotel she was staying at. No problem. I'd just take an uber, from where I was located it would be an under 10$ trip. The uber gets there, I introduce myself, I place my purse into the car, and as I'm getting in, my earbud falls out and bounces off into who knows where. So I pause, one foot in the vehicle, one foot out, as I'm sort of stooping to look for this missing earbud. (It was important to me, more on that later). The back seat door is still wide open, but then, the driver decides to start driving. My foot is dragged back and twisted, and the rest of my body follows, and I'm screaming as I hit the ground and feel the wheel going over my leg. I think my first thought was that it had been ripped from my body. I was dragged a few feet down the street while passengers screamed to the driver to stop the car, and I don't think I've ever felt that kind of pain before. My throat is raw from screaming and crying. The car stops, people come and the driver tries to control the situation. All I ask through my sobs is 'is my leg still there?' and yes, miraculously, it is still there. I'm offered hands, but I lift myself up under my own power, extremely in shock. I'm not bleeding. Just scraped to hell with a tire track on my skin like a brand and terrified. Other parts of me also were scraped up, but I didn't notice until later. People are talking to me, all I want to do is be with my friend, so I look the driver in the face and tell him to take me to my destination, where I meet up with my friend. I am in shock all night. The driver asked me if I was okay, and upon me saying yeah, fine (I was not fine) he tells me he's not going to report this to Uber because its just a few scrapes. Anyway, I visit with my friend, and under guidence of my great roommate, I go to a walk in clinic and wait for nigh on 4 hours to get my injuries documented and get checked out. The verdict? Whiplash, no broken bones. I ache like I'm 90 but that's to be expected. I'm off work for a week, I'm given a 200$ physiotherapy prescription, but unless I want to pay out of pocket, I need to contact uber and start an insurance claim. I do that. They tell me they're going to put me in touch with an insurer. I don't believe them. I get a consultation with a personal injury lawyer set up for this friday, and now we come to here and now. I need headphones to cope with sensory hell outside of my apartment, and they were not on me when I left, so they're long gone. 180$ earbuds. Truthfully, I have this gut feeling that Uber is going to do their best to discredit me and what happened, just like that driver. I can't get into a car now without remembering that agony of my leg being crushed under the wheel, and when I'm in any vehicle now, I'm plagued by panic and horrid images of gruesome demise. I genuinely think I might have PTSD, though I'll be looking into a formal diagnosis when i can get to it. When I can AFFORD it. I hate to do this so soon after asking about my back, but I'm out of work for I don't know how long now, I don't know how many physio appointments or THERAPY appointments i will need to get over this. I need to recoup my headphones, I need to get groceries delivered now (which is really pricy), I need to keep myself afloat until Uber decides to (or decides not to) make amends. I don't even know if they fired the driver. I just want to feel safe and I just want something done. Anyway, if you can donate, please do. I know I'm just the silly AU person (one of many) but I have to ask. I have no other choice. I'm just sorry I don't have anything to give in return. Paypal.me/xcannibal Proof of injuries below.

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly I think people on here really greatly under acknowledge and recognize the large impact / large trauma that comes from intergenerational trauma from colonization, systemic racism, and not-white America centered trauma. And I know that likely has to do with how massively white tumblr dot com is, but it really isn't until I was around my writing partner that has known me for more than half my life and talking with another peer with Chinese-Indonesian background did it really occur to me how intensely pervasive intergenerational trauma due to US involvement in SE Asia is and how it plays / impacts my life.

A lot of non-America centered trauma and abuse really doesn't fall into any of the real common ways people talk about abuse, neglect and trauma because a lot of that sort of trauma is way more complex and nuanced because a lot of the nature of HOW / WHY that abuse, neglect and trauma occurred is inherently tied a lot more into a history of community / collective trauma and abuse and the ways the individuals from those areas 1) had to survive and 2) the resources that they had available to work with and 3) the inability / difficulty for individuals who are transmitting that intergenerational trauma to realize that they are not in that situation anymore and thus not unintentionally recreate the environment / mindset / trauma for the kids going on

And I'm saying "inability / difficulty" in this case because while I agree that the rhetoric of "it doesn't matter if an abuser has trauma, they could have not continued it" is true in most cases, in my experience especially with my own intergenerational trauma, some people have systemically been stripped of basically any real resources or aid or opportunity or space to really "stop the cycle of abuse" and even at their obvious BEST attempts, they still end up in a position where they systemically really can't prevent it from passing on

It was a joke - a very real joke, but that is something I appreciate with my close friends because it reminds me to check my anxieties against reality - that I "act like I still am in Indonesia" (which for the record, I have never been in Indonesia, I'm the only one in my family that hasn't because I wasn't born when they were there) as a call back to when I was commentating on the complex and dynamic financial situation my family had growing up to which my friend told me "Yeah, but it doesn't matter if you had money or not if your dad constantly lived like he was still in Indonesia" which like... 100% true

And its honestly a really fucking hard thing to work through and overcome. Factually, ON MY OWN - ie not including my fiance who is ALSO in a similar situation on his own, I am financially pretty well off. Every month I make good savings and I have a pretty fat cushion in case things go bad, and so I very much CAN afford to buy myself a $6 fidget toy, but spending that $6 feels like fucking death itself a lot of the time.

I honestly don't know if I'll ever feel as if my financial situation is anything other than broke, not because of income or anything, but just because the factual amount of money I make isn't what controls if I feel financially comfortable / well off or not. I could probably have a half million in the bank and still be sweating about spending $6 on a fidget toy.

And honestly, I was watching 90 day fiance with my friends when I was traveling, and one of the dynamics (for those that know Ashley and Manuel) REALLY made it apparent how disconnected multi-generational Americans can be towards immigrant / immigrant families that have had to come to America for a chance at a better life. It's an experience - a trauma that a lot of people who are not an immigrant themselves or a first generation American to wrap their head around and fathom.

And honestly, I wish there was more talk about it. I wish there were more people with that history talking about it.

(I 'lowkey' start venting under here so Imma put it under the cut since it detracts somewhat from the point but its also worth stating)

I wish there were more people openly discussing how absolutely fucked it is that the US gets to come into countries, INTENTIONALLY fuck it up as a CONFIRMED and ADMITTED method to 'instill democracy / capitalism', and then the same people that from the same country that the US fucked over - for PURE survival - have to immigrate for a chance of living a life that is anything other than rough and a constant struggle.

Some people really wonder why it is that our system has such a foul taste in our mouth for America, I know some people think that because before fusing, >I< wondered why XIV was so deeply and intensely bitter about all things American, and I absolutely get it.

Indonesia was literally intentionally and systemically fucked over by the US Military. That fucking over resulting in immense trauma to my dad that not only immensely translated to me, but also made him EXTREMELY subservient in a "keep your head down, lick the boots of the most powerful person, and enjoy living under the boot of those in power because its the only way to have peace" which is something we - specifically XIV in the past - had internalized deeply which is why were were pretty far down the right wing path and why - when XIV looked at it closer and immediately saw past it - flipped to hard Anti-America values. Because its FUCKED that the US gets to come and ruin a country and then have the victims come and having the same victims "thankfully" licking the boots of the US for giving them a "better life".

Its honestly awful and literally no one talks about it and I know its not just Indonesia that has this. Its the fucking US's modus operandi and its fucking awful.

The US is a place you can come "to get a better life" largely because they fucking ruined most of the other places ability to have a good life.

[wyyvernn]

A/n: Something small I wrote for myself but then I got carried away and wrote it longer :)

✧･ﾟ: Masterlist :･ﾟ✧

Cw: All characters 18+, Older Man/Younger Woman, Mentor/Student Dynamic, Smut, Thigh riding, Overstimulation, Fingering - don't like, don't read

Tags: @psybrepunk @sangheilihoes @demigoddessqueens @bookworm-with-coffee @ladysaturnsdust @haytham-loves-chocolate @memoriesofafallen

Usually, there was little that filled the silence of the Grand Master's office. The soft flipping through papers and maps, and the occasional scratching of a quill occured here and there. Haytham planned out the rest of his night to be a peaceful one, occupied by unfinished letters, and paragraphs to be written in his journal about his recent involvements in the Order.

But of course, those plans were thwarted and the peace chased away by his pupil invading his privacy again.

Your cries of pleasure echoed in his office, bringing him back from his thoughts. He watched you grind yourself back and forth on his thigh, your skirts bunched up in your fists, eyes squeezed shut and those smooth lips of yours parted, occasionally licked wet by your tongue. His hand came up and tucked some of your loose hair behind your ear, the other one curled around your hip, keeping you firmly put on his lap.

“Needy little thing…” He muttered quietly, his voice low and husky. The way he seemed so nonchalant about the situation frustrated you a little. 

You were making quite a sticky mess of his pants, and he felt your slick seeping through, soiling the material with a large patch of wetness. It amused him - the disorderly and unruly sight of you was a strong contrast to the perfect image of him. Unlike you, there wasn't a single grey strand out of place from his neat ponytail, nor were his clothes unkempt, his body still donning his usual navy blue fit. You guessed that if you hadn't interrupted him when you had, he would've been packing up for the night and heading to sleep but alas here you both were.

A sigh exhaled through him, like your unfulfilled desires were a minor inconvenience to his night.

“Have you no shame? Do you take pleasure in robbing me of my late night hours? Of the only time I am free to indulge in?” He scolds, adopting a slight frown, but you can tell that he's not really angry. Something about his expression tells you that he's only playing along.

“Mhn… sorry, sir.” You murmur with guilt painting your face, repeatedly dragging your wet slit back and forth, gasping when your clit scrapes against the rough material of his trousers.

“No, you're not.” He says, hisses, his breath beginning to grow ragged and uneven when he grabs your hips, a noticeable bulge forming and rubbing against your leg. Large, calloused hands dig into your skin and force you to grind harder on his thigh, resulting in a particularly sharp cry from your throat.

“You're not sorry.” He grits out, his words harsh in your ear, and he yanks your lower body towards him again, eliciting another whine. “You wouldn't be grinding yourself on my thigh for relief like a common whore if you were now, would you?”

You continue to fill the office with your lewd sounds, too stuck in the euphoria that his leg provides you. No doubt whoever has walked past on the other side of the door has heard your moaning, either stopping to listen or rushing away with a bright face.

A slap to your rump refocuses your attention back to him when you don't offer an answer.

“Would you?”

You babble out something incoherent, another apology or something that you don't care to remember, only focused on how good it feels, how good his hands feel as they push and pull your hips yet painful when it becomes too stimulating.

“Slow down, sir… please.” You moan out, digging your heels into the floor and tightening your hands on his shoulders in an attempt to stop yourself but his grip is relentless, the pace he sets for you even more so.

A flash of determination burns in his eyes briefly when you try to stop him. “Oh no, you wanted this. And I'll see to it that you finish it to the end.” 

Suddenly he's pushing aside your skirts and seeking out your swollen nub. The moment he dips his thick fingers past your folds, you bite into your bottom lip and bury your face in his neck, muffling your groans.

He twists the pair of them deeper while you writhe in his lap and then claw your hands at his back when they curl against your walls, the rough pad of his thumb dragging along your clit and bringing you closer and closer to your release.

“Please, sir… please!” You beg, trying to catch your breath but your Grand Master is unforgiving, still watching you with that almost bored expression as he plays with you.

With one last cry into his shoulder, Haytham thrusts his fingers impossibly quick and finally stops when you spill all over them. He lifts them up to your mouth and pops both in, slathering your slick on your tongue, a silent command to taste yourself.

You don't disappoint him, taking his forearm in both of your hands and wrapping your lips around his digits, making sure to suck them clean.

He watches you with a flicker of lust, his cock still hard and straining in trousers, and he pulls his fingers away abruptly from your mouth with a wet pop before he can make you do something about his evident predicament. He'll deal with it later.

Haytham gently shoos you off his lap, much to your disappointment.

“Run along now and clean yourself up. I expect you to be ready in the morning for training. And don't interrupt me at this hour again.” He warns, although there's a light mischief to his eyes, one that almost dares you to try it again.

And of course you do, the following night.

[dinosaurwithablog]

I am broken. I will always be broken, but I will not let that be what defines me. I've lived through hell. There were days that I didn't think that I'd make it, but you know what? I made it out. I am stronger and wiser for having done so. I remember sitting there one day thinking that this couldn't continue. So, I set a goal for myself that day. I would brush my teeth by noon. Sounds easy, right? At 11:55 a.m., I was freaking out thinking it's almost noon. What am I going to do. That is when it hit me. What would I do if this was someone other than me in this situation. I'd grab them and pull them up and lead them to the bathroom, and put their toothbrush in their hand. So that's what I did, except to myself. It sounds goofy, but I did it, and I was sooooooo proud of myself. It was a very small step, but I moved forward that day for the first time in years, and it fell incredible!! And I've been setting goals for myself ever since. Things that I know I can do. I set myself up for success. I'm telling you all this because I've found a lot of posts where people are overwhelmed and feel like they can't go on. I'm telling you that you can. It's up to you. Don't let the bastards win. Ever. Do this for you because you deserve it. I lived through reprehensible atrocities that no one should ever have to live through. But I made a choice. I would not let that define me. I would change my narrative. And I did. In doing so, I found beauty in Hell. I found that I am more understanding for it. I found that I'm more compassionate for it. And the greatest gift of all was that I could help others who felt the way I did. There is beauty in everything. That is a great gift. Sometimes you have to look really hard to find it, but it's there. Take a little step forward today. And the next and the next. If you stumble, get up and take another step. Let setbacks motivate you to do better. I believe that all the people out there can achieve greatness in their own way. Take a breath and move forward. I'm still doing that, and I get better every day. I won. The bastards lost. Yippee cayay motherfucker!! Happiness is a choice. Please, choose wisely. 🙏🏼 I will always choose happiness. I'm worth it and so are you 😍🫂💜💜💜 if you notice I use three purple hearts a lot in my posts. Like a war hero, I have earned them. They represent the wounds and scars that have made me stronger and wiser. I'm proud of those scars because they made me who I am today. Be your own hero and save yourself. You're worth it. ✨️

Wow!! That was hard to post, but I hit the button. I feel like I just stood naked in front of the Tumblr community, but if this post helps even one person feel better, then it was worth it. I'm gonna put my clothes back on now. It's getting chilly 😉😊😍

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

More Omega Appreciation

It's no surprise that I love Omega, I make that pretty apparent. After all, she's my sweet bean, my little sunshine. I adore everything about her. In fact, I'd put her in my top 10 fave characters because of the impact she's had on me. But what makes her so endearing?

To me, it's her hope and compassion for others. Omega is full of life and wonder. Every situation she's thrown into, Omega takes with full stride. I remember falling in love with her in the first few episodes of season 1 when she goes to Saleucami. I think most of us want to go back and relive childhood where everything new was exciting and magical. And while she's certainly matured over the course of this series, there's still so much wonder in her. We can call it filler, but don't deny how adorable Omega is when Phee tells her stories. The way Omega lights up around others and new situations is adorable and makes her incredibly likable.

I'll go back to my point about her hope and compassion. Omega truly sees the beauty and strength in others, no matter who they are. Where Hunter is always distrustful of Cid (and rightly so), Omega still tries to help her. Yes, Omega is child and she is naive, but I still find her traits endearing. With Batcher, she believes in the hound's strengths to survive even with Hemlock trying to tell her otherwise.

But the most important character that Omega's kindness touches in my opinion is Crosshair. She never gives up on him even though she could. All throughout her imprisonment on Tantiss, Omega keeps her hope alive. Not a day goes by that she doesn't look for a way out. Crosshair, however, has given up. Everything that's happened to him has broke his spirit. But then Omega shows up and the fight is put back into him. Throughout the entire show, Omega continues to believe in the goodness that Crosshair has within him. She's always the one to reach out to him. I love that about her. I feel that we need more people like her in the world. It's so easy to not care about something or dismiss someone who might have differing opinion. But Omega teaches us that a little kindness and persistence can go a long way. I honestly do see so much of myself in her as a result.

I don't get personal on here, but I'll just say that there are times in my life where I've been put in Crosshair's position. I've felt trapped in my own Tantiss. Yet, there was always an Omega in my life trying to help. Omega, to me, represents the pure love and hope that people, especially family, can have for each other. No matter how dark things get, she keeps fighting and hoping. She never gives up on her family.

She is the emotional core of "The Bad Batch." It's through Omega that the Batch begin to see life in a different lens. They realize that they don't have to be soldiers. They begin to grow in different ways. Tech and Crosshair become more emotionally vulnerable around her. Hunter and Echo become more paternal. And Wrecker gets to let out his inner child more around her. She shows them new ways to love and care for one another.

I hope sweet bean never loses her endearing traits by the end of show. Sure, she will have gained more life experience, but that light she carries better stay alive. It's so important. It's one of her best features and it leaves an impact on those around her. The Batch are lucky to have Omega in their lives. Guys, if you have an Omega figure, someone who's filled with love and joy and always supports you, give them an extra tight hug.

I'll get off my soap box now, but she is truly one of the best Star Wars characters to come out in recent years.

[olderthannetfic]

hii! does anybody have any advice on how to feel okay with not having friends? i spent years abroad, so in the meantime my irl friends from hs found other friends to hang out with who they seem to like more than me or else are very busy with work and uni and such. which is cool, good for them for having such a vibrant social life, but it feels like they have no room for me anymore and i'm a person who can't make friends that easily. i don't drink or smoke, and i feel uncomfortable in big gatherings and feel better getting to know ppl one-on-one over a longer period of time, but that makes it hard for me to connect to ppl bc most irl people don't have much patience or already have their own established friend group and little old me doesn't hold their attention.

i'm starting a new job in a couple of weeks, so hopefully that will give me the necessary social interaction plus i have a great family, so i'm not going stir crazy, it just hurts a little that my friends don't bother to text me for days if i don't text them first or invite me out to places. and i'm trying to make new friends, it just doesn't come that easy and in the meantime i wish i could just feel at peace w being alone instead of questioning why people don't want to hang out with me or why i don't feature into their leisure plans. (not that i'm blaming them, it's just that it's hard not to feel inadequate.)

so yeah, anyone have any advice on how to feel at peace w being alone? like, maybe i'll never manage to make new friends or make new connections, maybe through lack of trying, maybe through lack of luck, idc, i just want to be enough for myself, but i don't know how.

so any wise words are appreciated and thank you, OTNF, for letting me vent in your inbox :)

--

Well... those feelings are pretty common and a natural reaction to the situation. You may not really get rid of them entirely, but you can accept them as a natural part of things and not a sign that anything has gone wrong.

HS friends rarely stick with each other even during college, let alone after, so you would likely be in this same boat regardless. Making new adult friends can be a pain, but it's something most of us face multiple times even if we luck into some good friend groups at points and even if we're more social.

The thing to do for many people is to keep busy with hobbies. A crafting meetup or book club isn't usually massive. I know you don't like groups, but nobody is going to go off one-on-one without meeting you in a group context first. Finding some more manageable groups to meet people casually and see if you click is how most people do it. The only way to get to know people over time is to show up in the same places with the same people a lot.

--

Another important thing to realize about adult friends is that many of them won't be good about texting you or inviting you because they're all out of energy for doing that with anyone. Maybe all of their energy is reserved for a job. Maybe for a child. Maybe for a romantic partner.

Even if you're their very best friend, they may still not respond much at certain times in their life. If you guys are just post college, maybe that's not the issue yet, but it will be at some point.

Every single book about the plague of loneliness and how people suck at maintaining core friendships outside of their household is fixated on this. People suck at recognizing when they aren't putting enough energy into maintaining relationships.

I would axe that hangdog attitude about little old you not holding people's attention. They probably just aren't allocating time to building friendships at all.

--

Liking being alone has a lot to do with loving yourself in general and having hobbies and things you want to have time for that are solo pursuits.

It's also about not waiting to do things like go to a restaurant you want to check out. Go alone. Go with a book. Anything can be a solo activity unless it literally mandates 2+ people. Missing out on friend time shouldn't mean missing out on everything else, but a lot of people let it become that.

[nerdygaymormon]

Hi, I'm a young queer mormon living in Utah who finished their first year of college and decided halfway through after lots of prompting that I should serve a mission. The choice brought so much joy into my life and reconnected me with the church, my family, my beliefs, and my self. I felt really lost and unfulfilled at school, and the decision to put my schooling on hold for the next two years or so and bring the joy I felt from the gospel to more of God's children has felt so right every step of the way. I've have my call since March now, and I leave in a couple weeks.

But this new church announcement (the transgender policies) has absolutely shaken me. Obviously from a young age I have struggled with the church's stance on queer identities, and many more aspects. But my heart always felt that Christ cared not about these things and wanted only for us to try and be better and accept his atonement into our life. I also felt like the community of a ward or a church was one of the best parts of the gospel, and so many people need it and could benefit from it even if they did not wish to or choose to carry out sacred ordinances or covenants.

But this handbook change has made me feel like that's not true anymore. How can I stand for and represent a church that is directly excluding and prejudiced against my transgender friends? How am I supposed to tell other families and individuals to come to church when I myself can't even seem to grapple with what it stands for right now? I'm really struggling, I don't know if I should cancel my mission or push through in the hopes that more understanding will come through acting in faith. While every step of this process has brought me closer to myself and my family and brought me a lot of clarity in a confusing time, I feel that right now God is giving me a choice. I listened to Him with full faith and put in my papers and put my school on hold, but now I feel like he's telling me to choose for myself what to do next. And I have no idea what to do.

I'm lucky enough to have parents who will support my decision either way and who are also furious at the handbook change, but that doesn't take away the issues that choosing not to serve a mission brings. All the ward members who will be informed about it, all the explaining I'll have to do. If I don't go, I wish to instead use my mission funds to pay for a humanitarian trip to a place near the mission I was called, so I can still dedicate my time to bringing help to God's children, but I'm already so far in my mission process and I know there is a reason I was prompted to do all of this. But I'm so stuck.

Any advice?

Thank you for sharing all this.

I was just telling a friend that I think God's way is to have us make our own choices, especially the bigger the decision. Sometimes there's times like where you got the prompting to serve a mission, but it's still your choice. Often those promptings are making us aware there is another path available to us, perhaps one we weren't aware might be a good choice for us. However, most of the time God doesn't prompt us what to do, we have to study it out and then pray about the choice we made and ask God to affirm.

I think this way we own the decision. If we marry someone, we have to put in the work to make it a successful relationship and not just assume it will all work out because God said to do it. And when things don't go perfectly, if God told us what to do then we would blame God when it's us who messed things up.

I can see that the prompting you received helped you take a step back from a situation you were in (college) that maybe wasn't the right time for you, and get closer to the Lord. This gave you a firmer spiritual foundation on which to stand when these Handbook changes were announced.

My advice is to not ignore your feelings. If something bothers your conscience, pay attention to that.

Another piece of advice is to think about how you want to serve. A humanitarian mission perhaps is the mission you were being prompted towards, you are in a position now to make that choice because of the decisions you made based on the prompting you received. You can make a list of pros & cons, and as you think about what these different experiences will be like, the proselyting mission or the humanitarian mission, pay attention to which one brings you a sense of peace?

The Spirit is accompanied by feelings, think about how you feel when you're getting a prompting or feel that something is the right direction to go. Keep in mind those feelings when you pray about whichever decision you make.

I admire your desire to serve and to stand for goodness, and I commiserate with you in regards to these steps our church has announced.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Better

Ch. 11: Three Months But It Feels Like Forever

Note: Hello! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it and just a warm hope you had a good day to those who don't. Another chapter written in the middle of the night, so...you know. Still I hope you enjoy it. Unfortunately our fave couple still has troubles ahead, but there's a fun, a little (a lot) crazy surprise at the end. As always, thank you for all of the love on this story, I'm really grateful for it. It really inspires me and makes this stuff even easier to share. You're all great. I love interacting so feel free to continue. Also this is short but the next one will be longer bc it's something big. Also again, this taglist situation is probably my bad so I'm gonna sort it out, try again next chapter, and then y'all can tell me if it worked, bc atp I'm embarrassing myself. Thanks and I hope you enjoy. <3

Charlotte's Work Party Look

Lip's Work Party Look

“So this is bullshit. He dumps her for one basketball game?”

“That’s not what happened, he was having an inner conflict, and he was only sixteen.”

“Sixteen year old piece of shit.”

Charlotte huffs, continuing to run her fingers through his blond curls. Lip is laid across the couch, his head in Charlotte’s lap, hand underneath her thigh. Debbie is sitting on the floor in front of the television and Troy Bolton had just told his friends he didn’t give a shit about Gabriella. 

“He’s just choosing basketball and his friends.” Debbie protests, breaking free from her basketball boy trance to argue with her brother.

“Basketball and his friends can’t get his dick wet-ow! Charlotte.” he winces, rubbing the spot on his scalp where his girlfriend had decided to bury her hand and tug. “Damn it, I was just sayin’ he’s got like one game left in the season, why does he need to break up with her to play? And that shit she just wrote on the board is wrong-why the hell are we watchin’ this shit?”

“You just don’t get it.” Debbie huffs, pausing the movie. She pushes off of the floor and grabs the popcorn from the coffee table. “Let’s watch try again when he’s not here.”

“Oh excuse me.” Lip rolls his eyes as his sister storms off, running up the steps. When he looks back up at his girlfriend, her cheek is dimpling with her deep frown. “What?”

“You ruined movie night” she fake pouts, rubbing her hand along his chest.

Lip smirks, before indulging her, sitting up and tilting her chin with his finger. “Aw, did I?” he kisses her cheek, “I don’t think I did.” her jaw, “We could go in my room and make our own movie.”

“Yeah?” Charlotte hums, meeting his lips briefly with her own before pulling back. “Can’t. I have work.”

“Stay here,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him. “You can dance for me.”

Giggling, Charlotte lets herself be pulled back in, exchanging kisses with the blond until his phone buzzes on the couch next to him, a dreaded name lighting up on the screen. She pulls back fully this time, standing to go get dressed. “Your professor is texting you. At 8:36 at night.” 

Blue eyes watch Charlotte disappear up the staircase before closing tiredly. Lip had been dodging almost all of Helene’s communications. He would read her texts to make sure they had nothing to do with his job, and only responded when they did.  He’d hoped that was enough, but everytime Charlotte saw that name pop up on his phone she would retract from him. Leave the room, pick up Liam, interact with anyone but him. One morning she asked again, if she had a thing for him, or if they’d hooked up in the past. No matter how much he wanted to, Lip just couldn’t bring himself to answer her with a yes.

“Fuck,” he breathes to himself, before running up the stairs after her. He pushes the door to his bedroom open. “Charlotte-” he pauses, staring at her, taking in her form. She stands in her work outfit, if you could call it that, the only thing offering an ounce of covering is the one leg of a juicy tracksuit she was putting on over it. “Um, what the fuck?”

She turns, meeting him with confusion, giving him a glimpse of the front which only has him letting out a laugh of disbelief. “What?”

“What? You’re gonna wear that to work?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, putting her leg through the other hole and pulling the pants up. “Yeah.” she chirps, reaching past him to grab the matching jacket, zipping it over the small bikini top she has on.

“The only thing that shit covers is your nipples.” Lip says, scratching his head.

“S’a stripclub, Phillip. They’re supposed to see stuff.” she giggles. Her laughter stops when she sees his stoic face. Charlotte makes her way over to him, cupping his cheek, “Hey, you said you were good with this. You’re not?”

Lip looks away from her for a second, shifting on his feet. He’s too embarrassed to admit to her that he thinks he agreed to this whole stripper situation too soon. He’d never been a jealous guy, so he didn’t think it was a problem, but he supposes that jealousy is a new feeling that Charlotte had brought into his life. “No, baby I am, just…shit.”

“What shit. Like shit? Or shit.”

Lip closes the distance between them, waiting for her to meet him in a peck, patting her ass when she does. “Watch your mouth.” he mumbles against her lips.

Big brown eyes just stare up into his blue ones. “M’workin’ for us, remember?” She whispers, wrapping her arms around his neck and rubbing his hair at the nape. “Besides, why would I look at the losers that hang out at the club, lookin’ at me all night when I could come work and be with my sexy boyfriend?”

“Good point.”

“Yeah?” she laughs, letting him pull her into a bunch of small pecks, between matching smiles. The couple starts to get lost in each other again, only breaking away at the sound of Lip’s phone going off again. Charlotte pulls back with a blank look on her face. “Your other girlfriend is trying to reach you.”

Lip rolls his eyes and sighs as she slips past him again, running down the stairs. “Bunny-”

“Just take me to work, Gallagher.”

“You do privates, honey?” A drunken man slurs, leering at Charlotte, waving a hundred dollar bill in front of her face. He’s with a group of older men who’d been tipping shittily and buying the cheapest drinks since they’d gotten there.

“No, sir I don’t, but the ladies that do are on the other side of the club…and they charge more than that.”

The man’s lip curls as he stands, scowling at the woman. Charlotte subtly takes a step back, glancing over at security, ready to call them if he got aggressive.

“Hold on, wait a minute, Trent. That’s my daughter in law you’re talkin’ to.” a voice rasps. 

“Frank?” 

The scraggly man emerges from the crowd of older men on the couch, positioning himself between Charlotte and the other man. “The one and only.” His gaze drops briefly. “Nice outfit.”

Charlotte wraps her arms over her chest and frowns at the man. “What’re you doing here, Frank?” She looks at the group behind him. “Are you in trouble?” 

“Trouble? I’m enjoying the ambience! You and your lovely naked friends are a sight to behold-”

“Oh, God, Frank!” Charlotte gasps, covering her mouth to hide her disgust. 

“What? You have a beautiful form!”

“I’m calling Phillip.” she huffs, turning to go to the locker room, she pauses as a thought passes through her mind. Twirling back around she makes her way back over. “Frank, what are you paying with?”

“Oh,” the older man produces a sock full of cash from his pocket. It’s familiar to Charlotte. Ever since Frank and Monica located the first squirrel fund, Fiona had started keeping the money in a new place. In the dry rotted hole on the floor between the wall and the dryer. Inside of the sock that Frank was currently dangling in Charlotte’s face. “I came into some money.”

“Hey, that’s-” Charlotte tries to grab it, only for Frank to yank it away at each attempt. “For the house! For bills, for Carl’s field trip this month-”

“That’s my house that you’re shacking up in fyi. This is Gallagher money, and therefore it’s mine to spend. Now point me in the direction of the ladies giving private dances. I’m a private man.”

“Frank, I can’t let you spend that-” Charlotte argues, grabbing one end of the sock and pulling. Frank is tugging at the other until he stumbles into a table, causing a couple glasses to fall and shatter, leaving Charlotte with the sock. Charlotte stands over the man angry, disgusted, and feeling a wave of hate she’s never really felt for anyone. Up until this point, she really didn’t consider Frank beyond the far and few in between memories Lip shared. But now she was seeing the man be shitty live and in person. And she was fed up. “It’s for your fucking kids you deadbeat!”

Two seconds later security is grabbing Frank and the manager on staff that night, Sarah, is pulling Charlotte a couple steps away. She can distantly hear Lip’s father yelling and cursing as he’s dragged from the club. “Lottie, what happened?”

“I…Frank is my boyfriend’s father, and he’s trying to spend their house money, and he was being a dick about it-”

“Okay, okay. Well, Frank knows he’s not really supposed to be in here anyway, so it won’t happen again. The new guy at the door must have let him slip through. But, because a personal altercation occurred out on the floor, I have to send you home, babe.”

“Damn, really?” Charlotte whines, looking at the crowd starting to pour into the club, no doubt big spenders. She could practically see the dollar signs fading away. Sara offers her a sympathetic look, shrugging. “Fine, okay, let me call my boyfriend to pick me up.”

Lip had been dead asleep when Charlotte let him know she needed to be picked up from work. He has work tomorrow and so in an attempt to get some real sleep, he was in their room at V and Kev’s house, taking advantage of the quiet. He’d rushed over to get her, grabbing Kev’s car keys without asking and noting to himself that a car should probably be the first thing on their list to purchase with the Bunny Bank. When he pulled up out front she was already waiting there for him, the big burly security man, John waiting beside her to walk her to the car. 

He and Lip exchange nods as Charlotte climbs into the car pouting. “What happened?” Lip immediately questions, barely letting the door closed. “Someone was fuckin’ with you?”

Charlotte huffs, buckling her seatbelt, allowing him to turn the light on and try to check her for any bruises or injuries. “No…kinda, just- your dad showed up.”

“Fuckin’ Frank.”

“Yeah, right, and he had all of your house money, and I tried to get it back, and he wouldn’t give it back, and we fought and I told him he was a piece of shit deadbeat.”

Lip frowns at that. He hates this part of having a girlfriend. It’s fucking humiliating. He doesn’t know how Fiona lets a bunch of different guys get involved with their family shit. Finding Frank drunk in the yard, Monica coming and spewing her bullshit, now Frank was showing up at Charlotte’s job. And she was fighting with him over money he’d stolen from his children. It’s fucking embarrassing. “Yeah, well, that’s Frank, don’t worry about that shit okay?”

“Well he was stealing from-”

“Fiona and I handle it, it’s not your problem, alright?” Lip says, muscle in his jaw jumping in irritation. 

From the corner of his eye he can see Charlotte stare at him with a hurt expression for a moment, before sitting back in the passenger seat, facing forward. “Okay.” she drops the sock full of money on his lap.

The rest of the ride is quiet, Lip drives her through dingy streets, in a borrowed car and wallows in shame. Charlotte is leaning as far into the door as possible, far from him. When they pull up to their neighborhood she hops out of the car before Lip can open the door, going over to Kev and V’s house. Lip follows a couple paces behind quietly, assuming the fact that she’d left the door unlocked was a sign she still wanted him to come with her. 

As he enters the room he finds Charlotte already in her pajamas, curled up on the bed facing the wall. Small movements let him know she’s crying. The blond quietly slips behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his face against hers, pressing soft quiet kisses against her cheek. “M’sorry, baby.”

She just offers a sniffle in response.

Lip sighs loudly, dropping his head to the desk. His eyes fucking burn. He got little to no sleep after he’d basically told Charlotte off and made her cry, and she was quiet as hell this morning. He was such a screw up. “Fuck” he curses, grabbing a cigarette and his lighter from his bag, leaning back in his desk chair as he sparks it. 

“Gallagher! You have a visitor!” Eric calls from the hallway. Immediately, Lip’s mind goes to Charlotte. Maybe she was feeling better and didn’t fucking hate him for telling her off for caring about him.

“Let her in!” 

The door creaks open revealing Helene with a condescending smile plastered on her face. “You’re a hard man to hunt down, Phillip Gallagher.” 

He just sighs, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. “M’busy.”

“With what? Work or your girlfriend?” Helene sits in the chair across from Lip, crossing her legs, rolling her eyes when he doesn’t bother answering, taking another drag. “I’m kidding. But you have been ignoring my calls.”

“Well, you’re here now. What’d you wanna talk about?”

A muffled voice that could only be Eric’s is heard through the door. “His office is this way. You look great by the way.” The door to Lip’s office pushes open again, and who enters this time has him shooting out of his seat.  “Gallagher, your girlfriend’s here.” Eric grins, tucking his hands into his pockets as Charlotte slowly makes her way in, eyes flicking between Lip and Helene.

“Fucking shit, okay-” Lip mumbles under his breath, holding his arm out for Charlotte to come to him. He watches as she rolls her shoulders back, standing straight and walking behind Lip’s desk, leaning into him. “Hel-Helene, this is my girlfriend Charlotte, Charlotte, this is my old Professor Helene.”

“Nice to meet you, young lady.” Helene says, holding her hand out.

Charlotte takes a deep breath before setting down the bag she was carrying in her hand, reaching over and taking Helene’s hand. “Nice to meet you too, Mrs.-”

“Miss.”

“Ms. Helene.” Charlotte finishes, a tight smile on her face. 

The blonde woman laughs, tossing her head back. “Just Helene is fine.”

“Mm well, I dunno. Doesn’t seem right.” Charlotte shrugs, leaning further into Lip. “Thank you, by the way, for helping him get this job, it’s been wonderful.”

“You’re welcome. It was no problem at all, Phillip is a special boy.”

“I know,” Charlotte grins even harder, roughly patting Lip’s cheek. “A very special man. So proud of him.” 

Lip watches the exchange trying to figure out if he should be nervous, laugh, or think it’s hot that Charlotte is staking her claim right now, running her hand along his hair, face and chest as she pretends to smile at Helene. 

Eric clears his throat stepping further into the room himself. “Charlotte, something smells great, and it came when you did so either you smell amazing or you cooked something.”

“Oh, I,” She takes a piece of blue tupperware out of the bag, placing it in front of Lip. “I made you lunch, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning and you didn’t take lunch so…I thought we could eat and talk, but, I see you’re busy.” 

Lip turns to her, voice softening as he grabs her hand. “Bunny, I’m sure I can-”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Eric sighs, tapping his own forehead. “I meant to give you some assignments from my dad, I know it’s your lunch break, but you’d have to stay late otherwise.”

“Fuck.” Lips breathes, running his hand through his hair. 

“It’s alright bro, I could take Charlotte to lunch.” Eric offers, not withering under the looks he received from the couple. “My girlfriend and I are meeting up anyway, let the girls hang out and spend my money, Becca’s always looking for a partner in crime.”

Charlotte looks at an apprehensive Lip. And she knows it’s wrong, but the way he and the cradle robber across the desk interact makes her feel petty. “Sure, if Lip’s busy.”

Lip fixes Charlotte with a look of betrayal that has her questioning her decision, but Eric is already guiding her away from him out of the door. Yeah, fuck that. Lip thinks, grinding his teeth as he goes to follow them out of the door. Helene’s hand shoots out to stop him before he can get far. “Oh, and Lip, before you get back to work, there’s a work dinner for all of the different departments that I’m hoping you’ll attend. I mean, I know your boss, Mr. Avery is excited to meet you there.”

“Look, uh, Helene, I mean, thank you for all of this. For the job, recommending me and shit, but,” He scratches his nose, “the texts, the calls, they have to stop. Like, now you’re visiting, and that’s weird, you see I have a girlfriend so…”

“Of course, I wouldn’t ever want to disrespect that, I just thought, after everything, we could be friends.” Helene stands, grabbing her purse. “Well, I can see now that’s inappropriate. But you really should come to this party. It’s good for your career to make friends and shake hands. Bring Charlotte with you.” 

Lip tucks his head, “I dunno, I don’t…don’t really think Charlotte is gonna be in the mood, we uh, need to talk.”

“No matter what was going on, my husband and I always made it to each other’s work functions. We always supported each other’s careers. If someone can’t do that for you, are they really the one?”

The young man recoils, frowning at the implication. Yes. She is. Period. Full stop. They were out of tune today, but Lip knows what he knows. And he knows he and Charlotte are there for each other. He knows they love each other. He knows that these past few months were the best of his life. Even when he and Charlotte weren’t on good terms, he knew he wouldn’t want to be struggling to communicate with anyone else. “You uh, mean ex-husband. And she’ll be there.”

Helene barely hides the hurt look on her face before she lets out a short, “Great.” 

“Do you think this is okay?”  Charlotte twirls, the skirt of her brown dress flaring around her gives Lip ideas that he knows he shouldn’t be having. Especially while they were fighting. Kinda. Something else he’s learned over these last few months is that Charlotte holds stuff in. When she’s upset she doesn’t explode like his family does, shit like he does. Breaking property, getting arrested, fighting. She doesn’t withhold affection like Helene and Karen used to. No, she still let him touch her. Quietly letting him press his lips to her cheeks, not moving when he rubs his hips, bringing him lunch. It was the stillness. The angry tears. The lack of warmth that let Lip know things were strained. And it hurts. 

“You look great, bunny. Fuckin’ beautiful.” Lip says from his bed, tapping his cigarette ashes into Ian’s ashtray.

“Okay, good. You ready?” Charlotte asks, smoothing her hands over her dress as she looks in the mirror. Her voice is so devoid of emotion, but her eyes are extremely expressive. Big brown pools full of sadness as they meet his in their reflection. 

But Lip is new to this. New to trying to maintain. New to trying to keep someone of value. “Babe, uh, should we talk or somethin’?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath before turning to Lip with a tired smile. “Later. Let’s get you to your work thing and after you wow them with your big genius brain, we’ll leave early and try to get on the same page.”

“Yeah?” he stands, looking down at her.

Charlotte just shrugs, reaching over and adjusting his tie with a small smile playing at her lips. “Yeah.”

And that’s the game plan. When they arrive at the party, which they find is being hosted at a friend of the company’s house. If one could call it that. It looks like a fucking mansion, down to the marble columns. Lip felt out of place, everyone here looked so…expensive, and not in the ‘I worked my ass off way’. He felt different than he did when he’d met Helene’s friends back when they were hooking up. The only thing preventing the bounce in his leg as he basically paraded his intelligence to the highest bidder with the future of his family on the line, was Charlotte’s soft, steady hand on him at all times. Fingers intertwined with his. Rubbing circles on his back. Rested on his thigh as she leaned into him. All Lip could think about was the fact that he was here for her, for them. He could secure their futures together if he turned this internship into a permanent job. He could…could…shit. Is that what he wants? Hell, is that what she wants?

Lip’s thoughts are interrupted by Eric and Rebecca’s entrance. The latter immediately beams as she sees Charlotte, squeezing her way between crowds of people, turning her nose up at a tray of hors d'oeuvres being passed in front of her face. “Lottie!” she cheers, tugging Charlotte up by her hands, pulling her into a hug. “You look gorgeous my love, who are you wearing?”

“Um, I’m sorry, my mother got me this dress, but if you wanna pull the tag out-”

“Oh, no, honey it’s fine. You can call me with outfit details later, I need to go find Eric’s bitch of a mother.” she murmurs under her breath. “Sorry I couldn’t make lunch earlier, but thanks so much for reminding that asshole to bring me something. It’d be just like him to go to my favorite restaurant and bring me nothing.” Rebecca scoffs, tossing her hair before fixing a fake smile on her face, leaving to find her boyfriend’s mother. 

“You,” Lip pauses, laughing in disbelief as he stands, looking between Eric and Charlotte. “You went to lunch together. Alone.” He nods to himself, still chuckling, slowly walking closer to Eric. 

“Phillip.” Charlotte tries, putting her hand on his arm. “Phillip, we were already there when Rebecca said she wasn’t coming, stop.”

“Yeah, man, it’s nothing serious, I just took your girl to lunch, she’s probably never been to the nicer restaurants in Chicago before-”

“Man, I’m about to knock your fuckin’ head off.” the blond continues, calmly putting his drink down, the force making a sound that gathers the attention of passersby. Charlotte tugs at Lip again, pleading to him his ear, telling him to go get their jackets and she’d use the bathroom. 

“Please, Phillip. Please. Just go get the jackets. Please. We don’t have to talk to him. Please.” she begs, cupping his face. Eric huffs as he watches the woman coddle her boyfriend and takes a deep swig of his drink wandering off to go find Rebecca. 

Lip runs an angry hand through his hair stalking off to the room where the jackets are being kept without saying a word, trying to maintain his temper. But of fucking course. Of course he’d meet a girl like Charlotte. Of course she’d make him fall in love with her, and like a fucking idiot, he would. And of course they’d meet a jackass like fuckin’ Eric who wanted her, who could give her the things she deserved like nice dinners, cars, houses, the pretty fucking outfits she likes to wear. He could give her that without planning for months, saving, taking money in and out of their joint savings to take care of his batshit family. Lip slams the door behind him, going to sift through the coats before pausing, hearing sniffling from the other side of the room. “Uh, hello?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a watery voice says, stepping out from the closet area Helene is clutching a tissue in her hand, going over to Lip. “I’m sorry, it’s just-” her words are cut off by sobs.

“Uh, shit, sit down.” Lip says, guiding her to sit on the bed in the room. 

“I…my son just called, let me know he made it back to school okay. And…it slipped in conversation, his father went on a date. He’s started seeing someone. I’d thought…he’d maybe surprise me by coming here. Oh, and I was so rude about Charlotte earlier, but my partner is the one not here.”

Lip watches awkwardly as the older woman sobs, placing his hand on her shoulder after a moment, glancing around. Sure he felt bad for her, but after all this time, he’d realized she really had been a bitch to him. And her ex-husband. He’d thought so highly of her before, thought she was the best thing that would ever happen to him. Now she was crumpling in front of him and he could barely bring himself to comfort her. “Sorry. But, I thought that was like…you guys’ thing. Fucking other people.”

“No, that was more me, he…tolerated it.” 

“Oh. That’s…shitty.” Lip whistles.

“It is.” Helene sighs, sniffing one last time. She wipes her face before fully looking at Lip. “I think I was filling some kind of void you know? Low self-esteem, issues with aging, I have them all. The only relationship I had outside of my marriage that meant anything is you.” 

They hadn’t even heard it. At least, Lip hadn’t. The door opening. The sound of Charlotte coming to check on him since he hadn’t returned with their jackets. But he did hear her curse before slamming the door. He couldn’t move fast enough, leaving Helene behind he slips between the bodies of movers and shakers in scattered throughout the house, swinging open the door and running down the steps, finding Charlotte stumbling in the grass as she kicks off her heels, grumbling. “Charlotte!”

He catches up to her quickly, grabbing the car keys from the valet stopping at Kev’s truck. The woman keeps walking, head held high as she limps out of the gate. “Charlotte, are you serious? Get in the car.”

“No!” 

“Fucksake.” he growls, getting into the car and backing out of the driveway, following alongside her slowly as she makes her way on foot. “It’s fucking dark, get in the car.”

“Leave me alone.” she huffs, crossing her arms, whining to herself about the dirt touching her feet.

The muscle in Lip’s jaw jumps, his scowl going deeper. He reaches over and lights a cigarette, smoking out of the window. “You know, you’re the one who went on a fuckin’ date with someone else today.” 

Charlotte laughs, speeding up. “It wasn’t a fuckin’ date. His girlfriend was supposed to go, and she canceled. We were already there, and you were too busy eye-fucking that old professor that you conveniently left out you used to literally fuck.” 

“I really don’t wanna talk about eye-fucking when you get naked for half of Chicago, alright?” Lip grits. Too far. He knows it immediately. He watches her stop, and look at him with hurt he never wants to see, her tear tracks shining in the lights from the streets. His own eyes glisten with unshed tears. He puts the car in park, cigarette still balanced between his lips as he hops out walking around the side and grabbing a kicking, protesting Charlotte by her waist, tossing her over his shoulder. Lip places her in the car and slams the passenger door before getting back into the driver’s seat, staring forward at the road.

Charlotte pettily snatches the cigarette from his mouth, opening her window and flicking it to the road. “Why didn’t you tell me you dated her?”

The blond takes a deep breath, letting his eyes slip closed. “I was embarrassed, and I thought it’d freak you out. That you’d ask me to quit cause she helped me get the job. And I would if you asked me to.”

“I would too. Quit. If you asked me to.” Charlotte sighs.

“I don’t wanna ask you to do that. You like it, it's good money, shit you just started. But I do hate it. Thought I wouldn’t, but I do.”

“So, we’ll talk about it more. Until we both know where we stand on it.” she says, facing forward too, she's quiet for another beat before speaking again. “I’m telling the truth about Eric.”

“I know.” Lip scrubs his hands down his face. “I know. And I am sorry that I yelled about that stupid shit with Frank. That bullshit just shouldn’t be your problem.” 

“I want it to be my problem. I love your family and I love you. I want to be part of it. I want…I want to be your family. So I care about the money you guys saved being stolen, I care if Liam’s diapers get bought, and I care if Carl gets to go on his field trip.”

“Fuck, bunny, I know you care. I just don’t want you to deal with that shit, it’s fuckin embarrasin’ you having to see my family like that. Having to kick in money for the house.”

“It’s stuff I wanna do. Ian doesn’t walk on eggshells with Mickey. None of you do. You treat him like an honorary Gallagher. Why can’t you do that with me?”

The couple turns to each other now, Lip reaching over the console, grabbing Charlotte’s hand. “You’re fuckin’ better than us, bunny.” He says, one tear finally falling.

Charlotte reaches up, wiping away the drop before smoothing his hair. “You’re gonna stop talkin’ about my boyfriend and our family like that. Nothing is better than you.” She smiles as Lip brings her hand to his mouth kissing her hand. “Well, except Chad in high school musical, I mean, I let the Troy slander go, but he’s different-” she laughs into the kiss that he pulls her into, the two of them smiling into the embrace as they share soft, tender kisses. 

The pair stays like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Sitting in the dimly lit car, running Kev’s gas on the side of the road without a care in the world. After a few moments of peace Lip decides to take a risk. It’s a big one, a very Fiona style decision. But those were random loser fuckers who got her off when she was vulnerable. This, this is Charlotte. His Charlotte. Who'd singlehandedly made his life better in the short time she'd been here. Who he loves an unexplainable amount that almost pisses him off. And he’s scared. Fuckin’ terrified. But he has to try.

“Sweetheart, how long have we known each other?”

Charlotte scoffs, playing with his fingers with an absent smile. “Well, three months, but it feels like forever. You know, I never know if people mean that in a good or bad way. I mean it the good way, obviously.” she beams at him, looking into his eyes and finding him with a serious face, her smile fades. “What?”

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“Hm, nope, not supposed to. You?”

His chest tightens as he answers her. He doesn’t believe in stars aligning, or cosmic whatever, but he thinks that this might just be the fate shit that Debbie is spewing all the time that makes no scientific sense. “Nah, I uh…threatened my boss, so I gotta see if I still have a job. I think he has a thing for my hot girlfriend that I’m..I’m uh really in love with.”

“If he does, he doesn't stand a chance. Because I really love my boyfriend.” she hums. If anything was gonna be his confirmation, Lip thinks this is it. Those words were enough. “So what’s with the questions? You wanna do something?” she asks cutely, leaning her cheek into his hand.

This is it.

He looks down into her brown eyes and decides this is what he wants to see forever. Looking at anything else sucks anyway. 

“Yeah, um…”

Just fuckin’ do it pussy.

“You wanna go get married?” 

[comicaurora]

(this ask is based on the, I'm not sure if unfounded, assumption that at least 1/6(?) main crew members has some sort of non-ace/aro attraction): How do you write allo characters as an aro person? I'm one of those annoying allos who's *hyper-romantic* and working on hypersexuality for my own health, so I color most of my writing with that and struggle to write ace people. I know a lot of writers can distance themselves more. I guess I'm just curious how you inspire your characters to act socially outside of the way that you interact, specifically in terms of romanti/sexual relationships. I'm pretty good at getting my characters to engage with the world outside of my way of doing it until it comes to romance.

It's… tough, and I'm working on it. I still need to remind myself that a lot of people legitimately do experience sexual attraction and thus find certain other people in certain situations extremely physically appealing, in contrast to my own platonic attraction (the people I like, I typically like the same amount no matter what they're doing or how they look) or aesthetic attraction (when I like how someone looks in a specific situation, it is still in an extremely hands-off "I'd like to draw that" way).

I can work my way through the logic of romance, I think. I've been told that it doesn't feel the same as friendship, and that it places another person in a somewhat uniquely structural role for one's life. I've heard it described as being someone's "everything-team" - the person they want by their side at any endeavor - which is the only thing I've ever heard about romance that I don't think applies to a good percentage of my IRL friendships.

Romantic attraction is definitely the more confusing one, because everyone I know in a romantic relationship insists it's different than their platonic ones, but can't really explain why or how, only that it is. The thing is, this makes me believe them more. I know how hard it is to explain a unique inner experience to someone who has a completely different one. Their partner is their best friend, or at least top three (understandable) and also in a unique position in their life (confusion??) I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything, and I think I love my friends as much as I'm capable of, and there are people I'm friends with who I could see as a theoretical partner - except that it would change absolutely nothing about our current relationship. This is why I don't identify with the label of "aromantic" where I definitely do with "asexual", because I think I experience what people are talking about, I just feel it kinda everywhere instead of nowhere.

So the hack I think I can make work to do this in my writing is:

Sexual attraction is like aesthetic attraction, but with a hands-on component. Replace "I want to draw that" with "I want to get my hands on that" and go from there.

Romantic attraction is evidently its own beast, but it contains concepts like "I trust this person implicitly," "I care about them and want them to be happy," "I would be happy coming home to this person," "I want to protect them," "I like that they care about me," and "this person helps me see the world in a different way" which are all individual sentiments I understand, even if I personally feel them about a large number of people rather than a single Special Someone. Point them at a single Someone and have the two characters involved act accordingly, and I can probably pull a romance out of it.

Like all writing-an-alien-situation stuff, it mostly pays to identify the specific details that correlate to things you DO understand and then extrapolate from there. Or you can fake it and black-box their motivations and be like "here's where I'd put their sexual attraction to each other if I had one"