German tv shows with lgbt* characters
I think it can be quite hard to find queer german tv shows, so I thought I‘d compile a list with the ones that I have watched so far.
✪ = queerness is centered in this show
A-Z
1899 (2022) (mlm) | Netflix | international
Ángel (Miguel Bernardeau)
Ramiro (José Pimentão)
Krester (Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen)
All you need (2021-) (mlm) | ZDF | ✪
Vince (Benito Bause)
Robbie (Frédéric Brossier)
Levo (Arash Marandi)
Tom (Mads Hjulmand)
Andreas (Tom Keune)
Barbaren (2020-) (mlm) | Netflix
Marbod (Murathan Muslu)
Flavus (Daniel Donsky)
Beat (2018) (mlm) | Prime Video
Beat (Jannis Niewöhner)
Becoming Charlie (2022-) (trans, mlm, wlw) | ZDF | ✪
Charlie (Lea Drinde)
Ronja (Sira-Anna Faal)
Mirko (Antonije Stankovic)
Blutige Anfänger (2020-) (mlm) | ZDF, YT
Michael Kelting (Werner Daehn)
Dr. Claas Steinebach (Martin Bretschneider)
Bruno Pérez (Martin Peñaloza Cecconi)
Phillip Schneider (Eric Cordes)
Charité (2017-) (wlw, mlm) | Netflix
Schwester Therese (Klara Deutschmann)
Otto Marquardt (Jannik Schümann)
Martin Schelling (Jacob Matschenz)
Dark (2017-2020) (wlw, mlm, trans) | Netflix
Peter Doppler (Stephan Kampwirth)
Bennie Wöller (Anton Rubtsov)
Doris Tiedemann (Tamar Pelzig/Luise Heyer)
Agnes Nielsen (Helena Pieske/Antje Trauer)
Deutschland 83/86/89 (2015-2020) (wlw, mlm) | Prime Video
Alex Edel (Ludwig Trepte)
Prof. Tobias Tischbier (Alexander Beyer)
Lenora Rauch (Maria Schrader)
Rose Seithathi (Florence Kasumba)
Dogs of Berlin (2018) (mlm) | Netflix
Erol Birkan (Fahri Yardim)
Guido Mack (Sebastian Achilles)
Dr. Klein (2014-2019) (mlm) | Netflix
Patrick Keller (Leander Lichti)
Kaan Gül (Karim Günes)
DRUCK (2018-) (wlw, mlm, trans) | YT | ✪
Fatou Jallow (Sira-Anna Faal)
Matteo Florenzi (Michelangelo Fortuzzi)
Zoe Machwitz (Madeleine Wagenitz)
Kieu My Vu (Nhung Hong)
Isi Inci (Eren M. Güvercin)
David Schreibner (Lukas von Horbatschewsky)
Yara Aimsakul (Elena Plyphalin Siepe)
Hans Brecht (Florian Appelius)
Eldorado KaDeWe – Jetzt ist unsere Zeit (2021-) (wlw) | ARD
Heidi Kron (Valerie Stoll)
Fritzi Jandorf (Lia von Blarer)
How to Sell Drugs Online (Fast) (2019-) (wlw) | Netflix
Fritzi (Leonie Wesselow)
Gerda (Luna Baptiste Schaller)
Kitz (2021) (mlm) | Netflix
Kosh Ziervogel (Zoran Pingel)
Hans Gassner (Ben Felipe)
Ku‘damm 56/59/63 (2016-2021) (mlm) | ZDF
Wolfgang von Boost (August Wittgenstein)
Hans Liebknecht (Andreas Pietschmann)
Der Kroatien Krimi/Split Homicide (2016-) (wlw) | ARD
Stascha Novak (Jasmin Gerat)
Loving Her (2021) (wlw) | ZDF | ✪
Hanna (Banafshe Hourmazdi)
Holly (Bineta Hansen)
Franzi (Lena Klenke)
Lara (Emma Drogunova)
Josephine (Karin Hanczewski)
Anouk (Larissa Sirah Herden)
Sarah (Soma Pysall)
Mord mit Aussicht (2018-2022) (wlw) | Netflix
Bärbel Schmied (Meike Droste)
Neumatt (2021-) (mlm) - Switzerland | Netflix
Michi Wyss (Julian Koechlin)
Joel Bachmann (Benito Bause)
Polizeiruf 110 (1971-) (queer/gnc) | ARD
Frankfurt/Świecko
Vincent Ross (Andre Kaczmarczyk)
SOKO Leipzig (2001-) (mlm) | ZDF
Moritz Brenner ( Johannes Hendrik Langer )
Tatort (1970-) (mlm, wlw) | ARD
Berlin
Robert Karow (Mark Waschke)
Hamburg
Julia Grosz (Franziska Weisz)
Saarbrücken
Esther Baumann (Brigitte Urhausen)
Wien
Meret Schande (Christina Scherrer)
Vorstadtweiber (2015-) (mlm) – Austria
Georg Schneider (Jürgen Maurer)
Joachim Schnitzler (Phillip Hochmair)
WIR (2021-) (wlw) | ZDF
Annika Baer (Eva Maria Jost)
Helena Kwiatkowski (Katharina Nesytowa)
Wendland (2023-) (wlw) | ZDF
Kira Engelmann (Paula Kalenberg)
Birthe (?)
Queer Eye Germany (2022) (mlm, nblm, trans) | Netflix
Avi Jakobs
Leni Bolt
Ayan Yuruk
Jan-Henrik Scheper-Stutke
Aljosha Muttardi
Notes: I may have forgotten to add some characters, because for most of the shows it has been some time since I last watched them. Please let me know if you want me to add a character or even show:)
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Namibia 2023/24 - Tag 24
Herrschaften und Oukies!
Heute Morgen hieß es wieder Koffer packen.
Wieder einmal haben wir uns bei Trudi und Karl sehr wohl gefühlt. Es wurde zum Abschied gedrückt und geherzt. Man weiß immer nie, ob es nicht das letzte Mal war.
Karl hat noch einmal die Katzen durchgezählt, ob nicht eine der Beiden "zufällig" in unserem Auto gelandet ist.
So machten wir uns kurz vor 10 auf den Weg in Richtung Osten - ins Inland. Hitradio Namibia konnten wir auch mal wieder mit unserer Karre empfangen: die besten Hits der 80er, 90er und von heute.
Nach rund 120 km biegen wir von der asphaltierten B 2, dem Trans Kalahari Highway, nach links ab auf die D 1918 und gleich wieder rechts ab, auf die D 1930. Die Spitzkoppe lag zu unserer Linken.
Nach weiteren 10 Kilometern biegen wir erneut ab, dieses Mal auf die D 1927. Diese Gravelpad führt uns direkt in das Erongo Gebirge.
Schnell werden die Umrisse des Hohenstein-Massivs, mit über 2300 Metern der höchste Berg im Erongogebirge, am Horizont größer.
Die mächtige Südwestflanke des Erongogebirges flimmert im mittäglichen Sonnenlicht. Bei diesem interessanten Berg handelt es sich um den meist fotografierten in Namibia.
Das Erongo-Gebirge ist eine Bergformation vulkanischen Ursprungs. Ein alter erodierter und schon lange völlig inaktiver Vulkankegel bildet die Basis dieses von der Grundform her runden Gebirges.
Dieser 40 Quadratkilometer große Vulkankraterstumpf bietet viele unterschiedliche Granitlandschaften. Quasi hinter jeder Biegung fällt der Blick auf eine andere atemberaubende, bizarre Felsformation oder riesige Granitkugeln, die mal glatt geschliffen oder mal wie eine Zwiebelschale abblätternd in der Landschaft liegen. Stellenweise könnte man gar meinen, als seien sie künstlich geformt worden.
Es ist etwa 150 Millionen Jahre her, dass dieser Vulkan zum letzten Mal Feuer spuckte. Doch noch heute ist aus dem Weltall die große Ringstruktur mit elf verschiedenen Kraterbecken und einzelnen großen Längstälern in seinem Inneren zu sehen.
Es handelt sich um eine bisweilen stark zerklüftete Landschaft, die durch mehr oder weniger große Trockenflüsse entwässert wird. Die Trockenflüsse aus dem Erongo vereinen sich im nördlichen Vorland mit dem großen Omaruru und im Süden mit dem Khan-Revier.
Dieses System – das Gebirge mit einem Savannenvorland durch das sich große Trockenflüsse mit einem vielschichtigen Galeriewald an den Ufern, ziehen, bildet einen an Wildtieren reichen Lebensraum.
Ebenfalls bekannt ist das Erongo-Gebirge für den Abbau von diversen Mineralien und Halbedelsteinen.
Es geht rechts ab zur Ai-Aiba Lodge. Kurz vor dem Tor, das die Grenze zwischen dem kommerziellen und privaten Farmland bildet, machten wir einen kurzen Stopp. Hier befand sich vor einigen Jahren "Cristina´s Bergcafé".
Als wir dort vorfuhren sahen wir, dass das "Cafe" repariert wurde. Vor einigen Jahren hatten männliche Familienmitglieder im Suff, alles was sich bewegen ließ, kurz und klein geschlagen. Die Siedlung, in der Christina wohnte, ist inzwischen ebenfalls angewachsen - wie das immer so ist.
Eine junge Frau (um nicht zu sagen Mädchen) kommt mit 3 kleinen Kindern im Schlepptau zu uns herunter. Ich erkenne Memory, Christinas junge Tochter. Sie hat jetzt selbst 2 Kinder, der dritte ist von ihrem Bruder, erklärt sie uns, als wir uns nach dem letzten Stand der Dinge erkundigen.
Gerne hätten wir ihr etwas abgekauft (als ob wir keine volle Kühlbox hätten). Sie könne uns nur Kaffee kochen, sonst hätte sie nichts anzubieten. Wir verzichten dankend (aus hygienischen Gründen) und schieben die Hitze als Argument vor. Statt dessen schenken wir ihr 2 Flaschen eines hiesigen Energiedrinks und eine Tüte Chips - Geld gibt es keins.
Wir verabschieden uns, richten Christina unsere Grüße aus und machen uns wieder auf den Weg.
Nun passierten wir das Omaruru Gate. Nach ein paar Kilometern bogen wir ein zur Ai-Aiba Lodge - und zu den Buschmännern geht es nochmal rechts ab auf eine Sandpiste. Dieser bis zum Ende folgen - "Parkplatz" unter einem Baum.
Das Gelände gehört jedoch nicht zur Ai-Aiba "The Rock Painting Lodge", sondern zur Nachbarfarm Omandumba.
Das erste Museum dieser Art wurde im Jahr 2004 von Werner Pfeifer und der deutsch-namibischen Organisation „Living Culture Foundation Namibia“ (LCFN) in Zusammenarbeit mit den Buschmännern von Grashoek gegründet und hat bis heute mehrere Living Museum verschiedener Volksgruppen hervor gebracht.
Die Intention war nicht nur eine neue Touristenattraktion zu erschließen, sondern vielmehr sollte es eine Geschichtsschule für Mitglieder des eigenen Stammes und anderer Namibier sein, sowie ein Ausbildungsort für Stammesmitglieder um mit diesen erlernten traditionellen Fähigkeiten später auch den Unterhalt verdienen zu können.
Die Grashütten, sämtliche Kleidung und Ausrüstungsgegenstände, alles wird von den Dorfbewohnern in Eigenregie hergestellt. Die Materialien besorgen sie sich direkt aus der Natur ringsum.
Die Anleitung dazu kommt ebenfalls aus den eigenen Reihen: die Älteren beherrschen noch die seit Jahrtausenden überlieferten Gebräuche.
Es gibt dann einen Schnellhefter im "Office" (Holzbretter unter einem Baum!), in dem ist in verschiedenen Sprachen erläutert was man da machen und sich anschauen kann. Hier empfängt auch der Guide die Besucher.
Wir entschieden uns nur die normale Village Tour zu 95 N$: Feuer machen, Bogen schnitzen, Seil herstellen, Schmuck basteln und 2 kleine Tänze demonstrieren. Und zum Schluss natürlich Souvenir kaufen, ist ja klar.
Im Museum zeigen die San den Besuchern, wie sie in alten Zeiten, lange vor dem europäischen Einfluss, gelebt haben. Sie legen besonders großen Wert auf Authentizität, wenn sie Bogenjagd, Fährten lesen, Fallen stellen, Spiele, Gesang und Tanz, Werkzeug- und Schmuckherstellung zeigen oder auf einer Buschwanderung Pflanzen für Nahrung oder Medizin erklären und nutzen.
Ein gut englisch sprechender Führer aus den eigenen Reihen begleitet die Gäste durch alle Aktivitäten.
Die Höhlen im Erongo wurden schon vor tausenden von Jahren von den Buschmännern genutzt. Davon zeugen die vielen Felsmalereien an den Felswänden. Die ältesten dieser Zeichnungen werden auf etwa 5.400 Jahre datiert.
Wahrscheinlich hängen die Zeichnungen mit rituellen Handlungen zusammen. Sie zeigen einfach zu deutende Motive: Tiere aus der Umgebung der San (Buschmänner) oder Menschen mit Pfeil und Bogen. Farbliche Verfremdungen deuten auf religiöse Zusammenhänge hin.
Ein "Museumsshop", in dem die dort hergestellten Dinge erworben werden können, darf natürlich nicht fehlen. Der "Shop" besteht aus einer Reihe von Baumstämmen, auf denen das Handwerk präsentiert wird.
Jedes Stück ist mit einem kleinen, hölzernen Schildchen versehen, auf diesem stehen Preis und der Name des Künstlers. Der Dorfvorsteher rechnet so mit seiner Gemeinde ab. Nach 3 Monaten werden die Familien ausgetauscht, damit alle reihum die Möglichkeit haben an dem Projekt teilzunehmen.
Wir verabschieden uns wieder von den Buschleuten und machen uns auf, die restlichen 30 Kilometer bis zur Otjohotozu Gästefarm, zu fahren.
Nach einer guten halben Stunde taucht die Unterkunft vor uns auf.
Lekker Slaap!
Angie, Micha, Mama und der Hasenbär
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peace
Roman Klymenko x Angelique "Angel" Smith
tw/cw: roman pov, fluff, they're in love your honour, romans unbridled findom kink, angel my love, exploration of roman's unhinged side, they're both unhinged and stupid, also very in love. fluff. tooth rotting fluff.
She breathes, softly.
In and out. In and out. In…. And out….
Soft shoulder peaking out beneath the covers, her hair tickling his nose, every time he sighs. She’s pressed into him in complete darkness, and he wonders if she’s asleep already, her heartbeat nice and slow. So excruciatingly alive that it makes him shiver.
Angel is a tranquilliser. Whenever he's near her, his body buzzes with an unexplainable kind of peace.
(A peace that's about to turn into chaos, a hurricane, the peace of getting just a bit too comfortable before you're hit with the worst news of your life.)
But peace. Nonetheless.
She smells sweet and warm, like the challah his grandmother used to make. Her skin smells of brioche and milk, especially in the nape of her neck, a spot he kisses tenderly, whenever she cuddles up to him, his tiny spoon.
But she also makes herself smell even sweeter. Tons of Christina Aguilera body spray (“I love her. She’s like, one of the last ones left in Hollywood who can sing…”) and her Calvin Klein perfume, and sometimes dry shampoo. Angel is overpowering in every way.
In a horribly peaceful way.
Angel skats over his name, when she wakes him up, her voice rough from sleep, as she watches him with her sad and incredibly serious eyes.
She reluctantly eats the sandwiches he makes her, and kisses his shoulder when he brews them two cups of black tea.
Angel never smiles, she frowns instead. She calls it a resting bitch face, when talking about herself. But when she talks about him, she calls it unmasking. Or resting bastard face, when she notes his annoyed gaze.
When they’re together, Angel is herself. No sunshine and sparkles. Only her low voice and narrowed eyes. He loves having her like this. When she’s not trying to be a dumb parody of herself.
He doesn’t care for modern music, but Angel cares a lot. She educates him in the car, when she goes on her infamous rants, telling him that there’s nobody left on the radio there left who can sing. (“Fucking nepotism. You’re telling me this whispering lack of a voice has made it on the radio?! How?! That’s only autotune and daddy’s money…”) Then she grows sad and quiet, all up in her head, because her songs have never made it anywhere. So Roman stopped turning on the radio. Playlists died in the 90s, but he made one, anyway. Only Amy Winehouse, Ella Fitzgerald, Lana Del Rey, Elvis Presley and Nina Simone songs. Only jazz standards and old school R&B, because that music makes Angel happy. And she ends up humming along, as she files her nails in the seat next to him.
More than not, he takes her out to drive throughs. Angel has the calories memorised for every single restaurant there is, but she will gladly eat a small portion of fries if he shares it with her.
He likes to spend money on her... Not in the way that he used to spend money on women before. Before, if he was to take the woman his mother picked for him, out on a date, he'd just pay for her, like he'd pay for a friend. Emotionless and exhausted.
(Angel is a friend. Remember that.)
There's just something about Angel that makes not paying for her a mission impossible.
Whenever she looks at tops she deems too expensive, or pretty little trinkets that she wants to have just to look at, at baby plushies or lace bras... He wants to buy it all.
Correction.
He does buy it all. At least the things he can convince her to let him buy for her, because Angel has a huge problem with spending money.
(Either her money is spent in a day, or she'll starve and forgo buying medicine for weeks. "Pretty, shiny paper." Money has no concept for her, but Angel grew up poor, so spending it is a terrifying concept… It's as complex and complicated as the rest of Angel is.)
He buys her every single thing her heart desires.
It's.... hot.
He remembers the first time he sat Angel down in his too big leather seat at his PC, watched her kick her feet (like a toddler, really) as he placed her tiny hand to the mouse.
"Pick anything you want." Her cheeks went bright red. She stuttered something. How she doesn't want him to spend money on her. "It's fine, лялечка. I want you to."
She bit her lip, then. Went to bite at her nails, as she frowned.
"Will.... that make you happy...?"
The fragile way her voice cracked made his knees buckle. Made him want to get a ring. Put in on her finger. Put a baby inside her, tie her up and tie her down.
God damn you, Angel...
"Так, маляпа. It'll make me very happy."
She hesitated. Reluctantly clicked around the web, as he sat back and watched.
It was very tame at first.
That first day, she didn’t even buy anything. She just clicked around some pages, and then told him, shyly and heartbreakingly sad, that she didn’t find anything she liked, and hurried to escape the leather PC seat, to go bite at her nails and play Candy Crush on the couch, both legs tucked under herself for warmth.
Gradually, he eased her into it.
First a shirt. A very, very, affordable rug. A couple of scented candles.
"We can send it back, right?" She asked, worried. And wherever Angel’s worried her eyes grow round, her lips pursed in a heartbreaking kind of way. "So we can get the money back..."
"Of course." He nodded, reassuring her that it's fine.
She then continued to go for some novels, for some books, for a couple of beautiful art prints. A vintage lampshade, a soviet-style carpet.
“Why do you like to watch me spend money?” Angel asked, turning to look at him, as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, as he watched her contemplate whether she should get a gel-x nail kit or a new tracksuit.
“I don’t know…” He shrugged. “I just do.”
Her eyes narrowed, her head tilted.
“Is that like… a kink thing…?”
Roman stopped for a moment then. Contemplated what she said. Felt everything fall into place for a second.
Then nodded. As nonchalantly as only he can.
“I guess.”
Her little grin was to die for.
And now she's no longer strung tight in that chair. She’s alway lounging in it, as he sits beside her, hand in his sweatpants, and she advises with him, whether she should buy the vintage low rise jeans for 500$ or the tiny belt of a skirt for 300$. She throws him a glance, blue eyes piercing through his lack of an expression and the taint in his jeans, before her face is turned back to the screen as she buys both.
“Honestly, Romi, you should stop me from time to time, or you’ll go broke…” She says, quietly, a huge smile upon her plush lips, as she toys with her mouse, watches him, secretly as he slowly palms himself through his trousers.
“I won’t. Not with the amount of rich bastards around us.”
He slips his hand inside, wraps his fingers around his length, feels the warmth of his piercing against his palm, as he watches his little Angel.
“Hm…. Well… I want you to have a nice time…” She sing songs, already clicking to the next page of far-too-expensive vintage clothing. “So… I guess I’ll have to buy another coat…”
He huffs a laugh out through his nose, as he thumbs at the pre, gathering at the silky head.
“What did I do to deserve such kindness���”
(Roman tries not to think too hard about what it is he’s doing. Masturbation is awkward. Watching porn is even worse. This is awkward, too, but it’s a lot hotter than it is awkward, so...)
Angel grins at him, genuinely amused and terribly mischievous. Leans over, nuzzles his nose.
“Because I like you an awful lot, Romi…”
She’s the closest thing to a little devil there is on earth, really.
But honestly, he's ought to "punish" Angel more often. Maybe be rougher with her.
Its just... He can't. Can't hurt Angel, can't watch her face contort to an expression of hurt, can't imagine making her cry.
Physical pain is a terrifying thing. He has been hurt, physically, all his life. He hates pain.
It took him a while to convince himself to spank Angel. Because that's good pain. Pain that stems from sexual fun and Angel's happy little grunts.
He doesn't hurt her because he hates her.... Like his parents did. That was corporal punishment. Cruelty.
That's not the case with Angel.
He spanks her until her ass is nice and warm. At most 10 blows. Full palm, and he makes sure to rub the pain out afterwards.
"Mh... That's nice...." She sighs, eyes closed, cheeks warm, a satisfied smile on her face as he lands another blow to her bottom.
"Not too much?"
He would immediately blow his brains out if Angel was to suffer because of him.
"No.... God no.... Your hands are magic...."
Maybe he should edge Angel more. Not let her cum for months. Watch her grow cranky and snappy, watch her whine, as she’d be forced to make him come, riding him, her pretty little tits bouncing, but not being allowed to come.
Yeah… Maybe he should do that. Maybe he should let all the bastardiness he has within him shine through, be the sadist he is.
(He is even worse than a sadist. To the bastards in the back alleys, that is.)
It’s just impossible to be cruel with Angel. When she’s so trusting, and warm and soft, and kisses him so sweetly, silently begging him to take care of her.
It’s hard not to grope her, while she’s cuddled up to him, naked. It’s hard not to squeeze her ass, or to run his calloused fingers up and down her ribcage, her legs, her back, that’s awfully sensitive. It’s hard not to bury his nose into her cotton candy hair, and nip at her throat.
It’s hard not to worship Angel. It’s very, very hard.
Even with his very limited palette of understanding human emotion, he can tell Angel likes him in a very different way.
She bites him, and then smiles up at him in this diabolically angelic way. She whispers in his ear about cannibalism ("God, how I want to eat you alive, sugar.") or about how she wants to keep him in her closet (he would never fit in there. It's tiny.)
Angel asks him if he feels the same. Unhinged thoughts, a buzzing in his bones when he thinks of her.
"Of course I do, Angel..."
"Tell me."
The clock shows an ungodly hour, most of the time.
"Shhh, little one. Go back to sleep…”
She’s far too curious for her own good. But his thoughts aren’t at all like Angel’s, he doesn’t know how she’d react if he was to tell her.
Of course he does think of her, in a less than biblical way.
Sometimes he has to hold himself back big time. Sometimes all the peace Angel brings him overflows, and he grows rough, violent even, with his paw-like hands wrapped around her waist, buried in her hair, closed around her wrists, and his hips snap so deep and so rough, that Angel starts shaking, eyes clenched close, tiny sounds escaping her soft mouth, as he laps at her throat, presses kisses to her holy pulse.
He has to hold himself back from accidentally killing her. Because he could, very easily. He is so much bigger than her, one wrong move, and his beautiful Angel is dead. Even the mere thought of that fills him with cold terror, fills his mouth with the taste of bile, and he stays awake all night, watching Angel, listening to her every breath, listening in to her ever sound, terrified she’s going to die.
But Angel is also a red cloth to a bull. Splayed out on the bed, sweaty and sweet, with her make-up a beautiful mess, and her legs shaking around his waist… that’s a flame to gasoline. That brings his blood to a boiling point, he loses any grip on sanity. Encages her in his arms, overwhelms her with his desperate trusts, with his low groans of profanity… He’s been starved of affection, of adoration, of intimacy his whole life, and now he’s greedy. Now he needs it all tenfold, now he takes it all, and no-one can stop him.
Hormones, pheromones, testosterone, and the overpowering urge to claim her, to claw his name into her skin, to etch his devotion in her bones, course through his being. He growls in her ear, and he paws at her body, leaving scratches and bite marks, and demands her full, undivided attention on him, and him only.
“Mh… my filthy animal…” That’s what Angel had moaned, during one of those episodes of his, which had earned a sharp slap to her ass. And then he made her take him like an animal, on all fours, blonde hair stealing her vision, only moans and prayers his name spilling from her lips, as he fucked her so filthily, so… adoringly, that Angel passed out to sleep right after.
Woke up to him, anxiously chain-smoking cigarettes, snapping his fingers uncontrollably, spiralling down a rabbit hole of BMW car wrecks on YouTube and rushed to reassure him, that he’s perfect. Everything was perfect. Yes, even the huge bite mark on her thigh, even the scratches on her soft shoulder. She climbed into his lap and he got to hold her, got to run his fingers up and down her spine again, as she hummed a jazz tune in his ear.
He promised himself to never act like this again… Did good on the promise for about a month, but then…
He manhandles her, folds her in half, forces her to feel him, all of him, and while he’d never, ever degrade her, or, God forbid, maim or humiliate her in any way, he wants to steal her. He wants to build her a tiny sanctuary, no windows, no door, no way for Angel to leave him. Maybe let the cement enclose her ankles, keep her, take her. Sensory deprive her.
He’s terrified to lose her.
She’s peace.
Horrible, beautiful, terrifying peace, and when he sees her, with her cheek pressed int the mattress, both arms behind her back, in his vice like grip, while she’s forced to feel his piercing drag against her inner walls in slow motion, he wants to build a church in her name.
When he sees her in the kitchen, barefoot, huge glasses on her nose, humming along to a song, wearing his too big Rammstein shirt, he wants to kneel.
When he sees her asleep in his leather seat, with another horror movie running on his PC, her head resting on her knees, like she’s just a little birdie, who blesses him with her mere presence, who blesses him with giving him the reigns to hold her, save her, adore her… he wants to pray.
He wants to protect her, possess her. Maybe in an obsessive way. But he just wants to keep her close. Keep her safe. He wants his Angel to be the happiest woman on earth…
Maybe he’s too old for kidnappings, maybe he’s too old for “loving cannibalism”, maybe if Angel would’ve met him in his twenties, he would shared some of her sentiments, would’ve went off the rails alongside her.
But he’s 40. He’s tired.
He just wants to have her by his side. Always. Forever.
As a friend. As his angel. (As his wife, the mother of his children, the woman he wants to bend over backwards for, just to provide for her, give her everything she asks for and more.)
Even if he has those… moments… from time to time… Where he wants to smother Angel in his arms, where he wants her so bad, he can’t think straight, where he wants to all the feelings he has for her, overflowing.
Besides… He’s not the one with fucked up thoughts. His are a lot tamer than Angel's, he supposes. Just… Possessiveness.
Again. It’s probably because he's older.
Angel is a so different. So independent. She proves to him, time and time again, that she doesn’t need him, really. She doesn’t need any of this…
And then she falls asleep on him. Babytalks, giggles at his most certainly unfunny jokes. She feels safe enough to let him see the grown out roots and the thick glasses and the anger.
Domestic things. Cooking. Cleaning. Doing the dishes. Fooling around at the grocery store. Cuddling on the couch.
He hated those things in a relationship, it was tiring with all the previous women, he had to force himself to trudge alongside them. He had to force himself to pretend nothing bothers him, had to pretend the smell of lavender soap is nice (even if the smell actually forces his brain to shut off or work overtime).
But it’s not at all tiring with Angel. It’s just.. life. Sometimes they don’t talk at all, comfortable silence, which he sometimes fills up by random facts about BMW’s and butterflies. And sometimes Angel starts singing out of nowhere, or sometimes she dances along to music at the grocery store and even though the fluorescent light slices through his corneas and he can physically feel the buzzing of the freezers, and the itching of his suddenly too tight converse annoys him to the point of actually considering violence, Angel is there to remind him that he actually can and should snap his fingers to calm himself down.
And that nobody will give a shit if he will wear shades (which actually help, what the fuck) and that both him and her, like shopping late at night, where there are barely any people to bother him, and she can be her weird little self to her heart’s delight.
And afterwards they walk down the dark streets and Angel points at the murals and graffiti and talks to him about buying weed, and he allows his sarcasm and irony to spill, for his jokes to become darker, making his little girl laugh like a sailor, all hiccups and piglet like grunts.
Angel isn't always up in her head about drinking his blood with a straw and carving her initials into his thigh.
96% of the time Angel is a funny, talkative, intelligent woman. She can talk for hours, tell him about paintings and art, music and about the latest celebrity gossip.
She's naturally interesting. She likes keeping him company when he works, and she always knows what restaurant they're going to.
Well.
Angel always knows (and gets) what she wants.
The other 4% are downright terrifying.
Kidnappings, drugging, watching him take a leak (worse than the kidnappings, if he's being honest...) and other batshit crazy things she does. Sometimes when they’re in the shower, she might bite his ass, right over the faded tattoo, and then laugh about his yelp…
Her deep love for dead celebrities is unnerving. And if he feels at least somewhat at peace with Amy Winehouse, (Their noses are the same, if he’s being honest.) there is no way he can compete with Elvis, which forces him to have a sort of cold shoulder towards the man and his songs.
“Maybe you could dress up-“
“No!”
He can’t help but pout at the TV as Angel shows him the white, Elvis like jumpsuit she found on eBay. Can’t help but frown, and cross his arms. And Angel’s face lights up with a huge grin.
“Oh my God, Romi, are you jealous?!”
“I’m not.”
“Gladly… If you wear the jumpsuit!”
“Oh my God, you so are!”
“Kish mir in tuchas…”
Elvis may be dead for a couple decades now, but if Roman ever sees him, it’s on sight.
And lastly… Angel is like a very, very expensive and fragile BMW. And he would never, ever tell her that, but he does think of her that way, because that’s the only poetic thing he can manage. He’s not poetic in the slightest, but his grandma told hims he’s a romantic at heart, so… Angel is a pretty, but very difficult to manage BMW.
With leaks and oil spillage, and Angel is a code he understands but cannot crack, Angel is a painting, because he really like art, but doesn’t understand it in the slightest, and Angel is music, because she’s fleeting and spills right through his fingers.
Miroslav understands, never asks, and he’s grateful. And Johnny, and Maxie and even Ricky bite back smiles when Angel comes by the shop and wraps herself around his arm and waits for him to finish, so they can go see a movie. Even the guys down at the gym understand and never question Angel’s presence.
What is Angel, really? Maybe she’s a fragment of his imagination. Maybe she reminds him of his grandmother, with little bottles of cream that she uses, and her familiar relationship with God but her dislike for religion.
Angel is peace.
The kind of peace you can’t get used to, but do, anyway. The kind of peace that is almost a war. The kind of peace that scares him, because he rarely felt it before, the kind of peace he doesn’t think he deserves, but the one he longs for.
“Romi…” She sighs, half-asleep, her back pressed into his chest, their hands intertwined.
“Yes, счастье мое…”
“I swear to God, I will kick you in the nuts if you don’t go to sleep right the fuck now…”
He smiles against her hair in the dark.
“Oh, will you…? Go on then… I’d like to see you try…”
“God, I hate you so much…” She whispers, sleepily, with a soft kiss to his hand.
“Likewise…”
He bites her earlobe, teases her for the goosebumps, and for her nipples which immediately harden in his palm….
And then he buries his nose further into the blonde hair, arms wrapped around her, allowing sleep to take him away.
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