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#and i know i need to internalise that i KNOW but damn it's hard

whumpalicious08 · 4 months

Text

More Public Humiliation Whump (READ WARNINGS ⚠️)

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Aka my magnum opus, in my humble opinion.

⚠️Cw⚠️ / Smoking, Drinking, Gun violence, graphic gore, minor character death, non consensual touching (over clothes), manipulation/manipulative language, religious (catholic) imagery & references, internalised shame, public humiliation, possessive behaviour

2nd person Whumpee has they/them pronouns. Brief, vague mention of area between legs, no explicit reference to any biological organs.

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Living Weapon Whumpee / Mafia Whumper.

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You find it difficult to breathe inside the pub. Smoke congeals with the air and stains the insides of your lungs.

The stench of blood is so strong it makes your mouth taste metallic.

Whumper is speaking and everything else feels quiet.

"...Kid comes waltzin' into your house, starts touchin' on your property. Can't hardly blame nobody for gettin' a little unkind."

There's a man on the floor in front of him. He's a couple years younger than you- twenty. He's studying geology, a topic that lit up his eyes endearingly. He's on his gap year.

You'd tried to warn him off you, gentle but insistent. Whumper likes you seen and not heard.

But the charming bastard had leaned in, eyes painfully kind, and he'd told you how pretty he thought your smile was. It'd been so long since anybody'd told you that.

The kid had brushed his knuckles over your wrist, coyly hiding his concern at your reaction. His compassion had distracted you.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

He'd dragged the kid away from the bar, away from you, and into a more open area. God, you'd forgotten to even ask his name.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

You don't see him now, either. You turn your face away and stare down at your drink. But the tourist's throat keeps flapping wet gurgling noises and you can't turn away your ears.

Another shot cracks through the air. Another terrible banshee cry. You count up from one silently to distract yourself.

It doesn't work, but you pretend that it does, and that's enough sometimes.

It was enough before, when Whumper had jovially condescended to the tourist and amicably levelled his shotgun at his knee.

(You'd missed the money shot. You always strive to when you can, innate coward that you are.)

Whumper loves that gun. He's always telling you that it's;

"a gorgeous weapon second only to one".

He'd won it from the Sheriff, during a poker game he'd hosted last month. The policemen in attendance tonight eye it with just as much desire as they do Whumper; the perfect power fantasy.

"Please."

The kid's warped voice rings too loudly in your head. You falter at 37 and can't start over.

Whumper does something to him that makes him hack up air like a cat, unable to scream any longer.

"Shut up and listen real fuckin' close. Whumpee is mine. Mine to touch, mine to use."

You feel the tips of your ears burn in violent shame. Your teeth feel wobbly with how hard you're clenching them.

Whumper's silent for a beat. You don't need to be facing him to know he's looking at you. "Sometimes, they're so damn good at bein' owned I get to thinkin' they like it." His tone turns jeeringly wistful, and indignation curls your hands into fists.

People's eyes and unspoken words become embedded in your skin like shrapnel. Pieces of you, of them, sting when you think you've found reprieve.

"All I'm doin' to you is some kindly teachin'. Got to set an example, you understand."

"Did- I didn't-"

You think he may be trying to say he didn't know, but it'd be futile anyway. Whumper wants an execution. The tourist begins to catch up and abandons his words for sobs.

Whumper hums in sympathy, the sound vulgar in its sincerity. "Whumpee. C'mere."

There's white hot needle points dancing over your body as you stand. The shrapnel sinks deeper as more attention shifts to you.

You find it harder and harder to avoid looking at Whumper's barbarity. The tourist's humanity entices your own; you grow unable to pretend either don't exist.

You reach Whumper's side and look down.

The bullet had shattered the kid's kneecap fully. There's a gorge where it should be; exposing jelly-like tissue the colour of pus and flesh and viscera. Dark shades of dried blood makes it look like somebody'd rubbed dirt into the gore - you can imagine Whumper doing that, tearing at the edges of the exit wound with gritty black fingernails.

His elbow is gone too, chips of shattered bone and viscous chunks of torn muscle the only remnants of it left.

You notice that the tourist's lips are moving once more, and gratefully take the opportunity to look away from the depravity. You can't hear what he's saying. Just the feverish, incoherent ramblings of a man from whom Death will have to beg for mercy.

Whumper's voice pounds against the inside of your skull like tinnitus, trying desperately to drown out the injustice he's caused.

"Kill him. Bastard's all used up." Whumper's cigarette wobbles as he snaps the order. His perverted sense of mercy makes you squeamish.

You've met people who mark their kills. Some do it to boast. Some do it to self-flagellate.

You've never had to carve anything into your bedpost. Every one of your victims live on, feeding, parasitic within you.

But this ... this boy, convulsing and begging in a pool of his own fluid; his death will be a tumour, destruction for destruction's sake.

You're suddenly not sure that you can handle another ghost.

"No."

Whumper's eyes cut into you. You used to believe he had the Devil in them. Now you don't believe there are any Gods or Demons here at all.

"Say that again?"

He's offering you an out he knows you won't take.

You lower your head, but peer up at him through your lashes, a veiled mockery of the submission he expects. He's pushed you just far enough tonight. The several shots of sickening, unidentifiable liquids coalescing in your stomach makes you too brave.

"No, Sir."

Whumper likes you brave. He'll fill your glass and enjoy the consequences.

His hand closes around your arm, fingernails ripping skin, and he roughly handles you into position. You try to jerk away, but the weight of his shotgun reminds you of his conviction.

The tourist is crying again. You can't remember if he'd ever stopped.

Whumper's chest is firm against your back. His leg parts yours sightly and he angles your body with intent, displaying you to the rest of the pub. He rests the long barrel of his gun on your hip, slowly guiding it lower. "I ain't askin', angel."

The pub's only sparsely populated today, and some people are only watching out the corners of their eyes.

But it may as well be packed to you.

Whumper lingers behind your knee purposefully; making you think he might actually do it, before he moves on again.

You feel your heartbeat everywhere; in your throat, under your fingertips, at your temples.

You feel terror everywhere, too. You think it's circulating the room, a plague of quiet fear. Endemic to the bar and your body.

The gun stops at your inner thigh.

Whumper brushes his lips against your ear. Radiant heat from his cigarette warms your clammy neck. "You'll do as you're fucking told."

He gyrates the barrel ever so slightly, a brutish imitation of a caress. Your breath hitches. I own you.

The muzzle's pointing down, safety on. He doesn't need a lethal weapon to remind you how to behave. I own you.

If you hesitate any further, it's only for a second.

Your defiance is brittle and impulsive. Your deference is always enduring.

The bitter pill Whumper feeds you settles on your tongue and makes you think maybe you do like being owned.

"I'm sorry."

The gun's driven sharply upwards, stabbing too hard even through clothing. Your ignoble cry seems to carry. He holds you in place and it hurts.

"Louder."

"I'm sorry-"

He slips his fingers down your back pocket and pulls out your revolver. He presses it into your hand and steps behind, painful pressure lifting off your back and from between your legs.

"Show me, then."

Eyes are boring into you. Whumper's, the patrons'. You hear somebody sniffling across the pub. You have the feeling there are more.

Under different circumstances you'd sneer at the pity, but the room's just seen Whumper what, assault you? Debauch you?

You're pretty damn pitiable right about now.

The tourist's lips are still fluttering. You lower yourself down on one knee to hear him better.

"...forgive thy... holy father ... mercy on me."

You glance at his neck in case you've missed anything. No cross.

You place your hand over his darting eyes, and your gun over his forehead. His mouth stops moving, and then he does too.

For one bleak moment you hope, much for the tourist's benefit and quite contrarily to your own, that there is a next life. You hope that Whumper will burn in infernal fire; searing with a fury rivalled only by the flames awaiting you.

There's more friction generated by the bullet than you'd like. Smoke from the barrel rises up, up.

Whumper's derisive words feel distant, but his fingertips gently carding through your hair seem to scald. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

You breathe in and choke.

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#whump #emotional whump #whump writing #whumpee #pet whump #whump community #whump prompt #whump fic #whump scenario #verbal humiliation #defiant whumpee #whum

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fewwawifwiends · 2 years

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and they were roommates!!! part 2

this is part two of what has been my favourite thing to write to date

for those that followed this from part one, thank you for your patience, i hope this doesn't let you down.

for those reading this for the first time, getting to part one first might be a good idea, this is a heavily plot based smut fic (words i thought i'd never say)

warnings: s m u t , (probably) mentions of oueed and alcohol, unprotected sex, another author's note in the end.

oh and in true theo fashion, this has not been proofread, or beta'd

word count: 16,722

“i am going to kill you with my own bare hands.” great start to a family conversation. max heard his sister sigh on the other side of the line.

“whatever did i ever do this time, dear brother?”

“you know damn well what you did, you ruined my summer break!”

“oh get off it, you still have almost three weeks-”

“whose idea was rowan? yours. and a bad one at that.”

“what did she do this time?” max could hear victoria giving up, but if he knew his sister at all, she’d defend the girl to her dying breath. this was a losing battle already.

“she just up and left!”

“wouldn’t you be happy about that? having your place all to your own, the rest of your break-”

“no vic, you don’t understand.”

“oh you had sex and then she left. okay, so what’s the problem with that? don’t you do that with like, every other girl?”

“it’s not like that, it-”

“it’s exactly like that, emilian.” the use of his middle name made him cringe. “a girl left you before you could leave her. big deal. get over it.” and she hung up on him.

the sheer nerve this woman possessed was enough to drive him wild sometimes. he’d kill for his sister, but sometimes he swore he could kill her.

it wasn’t about rowan leaving after he shared his bed with her -which was pretty sacred, but for the moment a bit beside the point. it was about how she left, like a thief in the night, leaving no trace, no way of contacting her again behind. and sure, that sounds exactly like what he might have done a couple times in the past. but he hadn’t spent a week playing house with those girls, he barely even knew their name. so yes, rowan leaving like that was quite rude. and he took it personally.

defeated, he took his morning coffee to the living room and sat on the couch. it was a comfortable couch and he’d forgotten how it felt; it had been rowan��s for a bit more than a week. yet another reminder. max cursed and took out his phone, determined to find her. at least know where she went after ditching him. that would only be fair, right?

he went through his sister’s followers on instagram, a painstaking and headache inducing process, but came up empty; there was no mention of any rowan on all the handles he checked. how could a girl like that not have instagram? unless she didn’t have her name on the handle, but who does that? still, it was somewhat of a lead, so he searched again. and again. and again, he found nothing. it was like the woman was a ghost.

perhaps it was for the best to think of this as a unique, one time experience, remember it fondly and get on with his life. max really tried to ponder on that thought, internalise it, make it happen. remember rowan as a pleasurable memory. even though pleasurable wasn’t doing justice to the feeling of her soft lips around his cock. fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about it. absentmindedly he gave his cock a couple familiar tugs before shaking his head. remembering her wouldn’t work. he needed to forget.

he took a cold shower and went for a run, realising after the fact that the order of those tasks should’ve been in reverse. still, he was home alone. he could sit in his filth for a few minutes before taking yet another shower. and despite that annoyance, his headache of where rowan was was still lingering, without any signs of subsiding.

she probably went home, but where was even that? her accent didn’t give anything away, and all their conversations were in english, so she wasn’t dutch. but she wasn’t british either, she didn’t speak in an accent he recognised. but rowan is an english name.

and how did she get enough money to afford a last minute plane ticket to literally anywhere? oh god, what if she hitchhiked her way out of the country? it was a dangerous idea, as dangerous as it was free and rowan was more than capable of thinking it would work out just fine. if she wanted out so bad, at the very least she could’ve asked for a ride. stubborn woman.

she was a mystery, a ghost and a constant migraine, from the moment she walked into his life. she’d turned everything upside down and now he couldn’t even find her to… why would he need to find her anyway? give her a piece of his mind, give her front row seats to how irresponsibly she’d acted, how worried he was? as cathartic as that sounded, it wasn’t excuse enough. part of him wanted to fuck her again, he wasn’t nearly done doing everything he wanted to do to her. but it wasn’t a good idea to focus on that for the time being.

what was a better idea would be to ask victoria for help, at least rowan’s number or if she knew where she was. maybe he’d even settle with assurance that she was okay. was he really prepared to have his sister mock him for the rest of their lives over that? was that itch in his chest, the need to know worth it? the thought didn’t ponder in his head for long, as his fingers were already finding his sister’s contact in his phone and tapped on the call button.

“can you give me her number?” pleasantries were something he just couldn’t be bothered with at the moment.

“hi yourself. and wait. rowan didn’t give you her number? not even once?”

“slim chance i’d need it twice, wouldn’t it be?”

“fine be an asshole about it. and the answer is no. and before you get ahead of yourself, it’s not because i’m holding a grudge, which i should. it’s because if she didn’t give you her number, she didn’t want you to have it.”

“maybe the thought didn’t occur to her and now she can’t reach me if she wants to.”

“can’t see why she’d want to.” he could see vic just staring at her nails, indifferent, pretending to be oblivious in an attempt to bruise his ego. it would have worked if matters weren’t so pressing, so a tired sigh was the only response he gave. “okay, fine, you know what? if she calls asking for your number, i’ll give it to her. sound good?”

“but what if she doesn’t?”

“then you’ll just have to live with that.”

“vic, come on. i need to hear she’s okay. i don’t know what you think you know, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“is it now?” she chuckled. let the mocking begin.

“just… please.”

“no. getting the two of you together was a mistake, i thought i was doing an old friend a favour and hoped you’d get a kick out of it as well. but i can’t take your whining -which apparently hasn’t stopped even now that she’s gone- and god knows i won’t be able to take rowan’s as well if i give you her number. i’m sorry max, i’m not budging on that one.”

“now who’s being an asshole? and i’ll forgive you for letting her into my house without my consent if you give me her number. consider your sins absolved.”

“are you seriously blackmailing me?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

“and i’m the asshole?!”

“pretty much, yeah.”

at this point max was running out of options and he was almost certain his pacing would leave a mark on the hardwood floor. besides, a little blackmail among siblings never hurt anyone. once again though, vic hung up on him. exasperated, he tossed his phone on the couch, relived to hear it hit against the pillows and not the floor by accident.

he hopped in the shower for the second and probably not final time that day and his mind was racing through so many things at once that not even the cold water could bring to a halt. flashing memories of the last night the spent together blended with laughs shared over meals, rowan flashing him a smile as she cooked, or when he got home and found her on the couch reading a book with sassy curled next to her.

and all that was mixed with questions answered by theories that bore even more questions, mental images of where rowan might have grown up, how she ended up stranded in monaco of all places, who her friends were, how she stayed in touch with vic without max ever hearing her name mentioned once, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. regrettably for him, his sister was the only person that could even begin to answer any of those questions.

“if you’ve called to beg again, i’m hanging up right now.”

seems that it was victoria’s turn to skip the pleasantries and max chuckled as he ran a towel through his hair, trying to get most of the moisture out.

“no dear sister. even though you do love to hear me beg.”

“true. continue.” her gracious highness granted him permission.

“if i can’t talk to rowan about it, i figured i’d ask you.” he started but was quickly cut off.

“please spare me the details.”

“it’s not about that, you idiot. i just want to know more about her.”

“suppose that can’t hurt.”

finally, a win, no matter how small.

“she mentioned we went karting together when we were kids. how did you stay friends without my knowing?”

“social media is a wonderful thing. we grew apart but then i found her on social and we started talking again.”

“how well would you say you know her?”

“well enough to let her into your home, max.” patience was running thin on victoria’s end and it was max’s cue to start with the more important questions.

“how did she end up in monaco with no place to go and no way out?”

“that’s not my story to tell, max. but i assure you there’s a very good reason behind it, and you did more good than you could possibly imagine.”

“so you know she’s fine?”

“jesus, of course i know she’s okay, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“okay, good. that’s good.”

“are we going to continue playing twenty questions?”

“one last question. how are your little devils?”

“growing and a pain in the ass. they miss their uncle.” her voice softened at max’s concern. not that it was a rare occurrence, but given the circumstances, she didn’t think that there would be much room for anything else than what seemed to be his current obsession.

“i’ll be home to see them as soon as i can. i miss them too. i miss you. how are you holding up?”

“by a thread.” she chuckled. “not but really, mom and tom have been my lifesavers, i couldn’t do it all without them.”

“ouch.”

“you know what i mean, max. you can’t watch the kids while i’m having back to back meetings or when i just need a glass of wine.”

“yeah, yeah, i get it. it’s nice to feel useful though.”

“you’re loved, smart and important. but i have to go, lukas is trying to climb my leg like a tree.”

“mildly concerning. off you go, remind your son he’s a boy, not a monkey.”

“love ya.” the words were rushed and max barely had any time to say them back before he heard the sound to indicate that the call was over.

so she was okay, so the important bit was out of the way. and she was on social media, and his sister’s social media at that. perhaps he hadn’t looked hard enough. maybe going through the likes on vic’s posts would do it? a shot in the dark, but again, better than nothing.

cross-referencing handles on the likes with the ones that stood out on victoria’s followers list turned out to be more fruitful than aimlessly scrolling and trying to determine if what he was seeing seemed like rowan. or at least the version of rowan he’d come to know, and he was so consumed by his moderate success and the feeling of getting closer and closer that once again, he didn’t stop to think anything other than his goal, repercussions be damned.

had he taken a minute or two to think this over, there was a chance he could have realised that maybe rowan didn’t want to be found, especially by him and the reasons were hers and hers alone. maybe he could have seen that at the end of the day, there was nothing to really bind them except for a… unique week. like that kid you meet while on vacation, have fun with them and then never see them again, but in a moderately more adult version. and there would be nothing wrong with that. except he didn’t take a minute, there was no way for any of those thoughts to cross his mind, when finding her took up all the space in his brain. maybe it was a bruise to his ego, being left like that before even the morning after, that he needed to correct. maybe it was that raw connection drawing him back to her, pulling him like a magnet to wherever she may be. it could be so many things, and he didn’t care about any of them. the reason why didn’t matter; only the result.

finally having found an account that might have been rowan’s, max tapped on the blue request to follow button and hoped for the best. the account was private and there was no mention of her name nor was a face visible in the small avatar. It was an educated guess at best, and it could go both ways. maybe he’d have spent all that time on the wrong person. worse yet, he’d found her and she wouldn’t grant him access to the profile, deleting his request. it wasn’t a risk he was comfortable with, but it was one he had to take anyway. from where he stood, he saw no other option.

mental exhaustion was creeping in, as was a migraine that he’d somehow been holding back all this time. max locked the phone and with a flick of his wrist threw it to the side, deciding that he’d had enough screen time for the day. he thought of calling a friend, go out for a drink -or five- but ultimately, did nothing. a quiet night in would be best, to enjoy the silence and serenity his home used to offer up until the week before. he’d crack a beer, watch the sunset, annoy his cats; all things he used to do to unwind.

max did just that, and mechanically walked over to the fridge, grabbed a can and went outside, pausing only to pick up jimmy so he could annoy him with a view. and for a while, everything was back to normal, it felt like there was a way back after all. until he started to really relax though and let his mind wander as the sun sank into the ocean, coating it a warm orange and pink. the first stars were barely just twinkling when max noticed the rails on his balcony and his mind rushed to remind him how he would have loved the opportunity to take rowan right there. the light would look amazing on her skin, and now that he knew exactly how she felt, underneath his fingertips and around his cock, it was much harder to snap out of it, so he didn’t; he allowed the fantasy to play out in a hazy daydream as his hand automatically reached under his pants. as that daydream came to a climax, so did max, and the only thing he could make up his mind about was that he probably wouldn’t bother with washing those pants but throw them away entirely.

the aftermath of his orgasm had him in a trance and found himself naked in his bed, certain that he could still smell a bit of her on the pillowcase before drifting off to a dreamless sleep. but even so, he knew that there was no escaping her.

the next morning, morning number two without rowan, max fumbled on his nightstand to find his phone, with sleep still in his eyes and no luck on the first task of the day. as the gears turned in his brain, he realised that not only he’d left his phone in the living room, but he also probably slept through his alarms and without getting up there was no way of telling the time, completely forgetting about the watch he always wore on his right wrist.

heavy movement got him to the living room and as the brightness on his phone made him squint, he made out that among his usual gazillion notifications, there was one that stood out: the account he played sherlock holmes for the day before had approved of his follow request. suddenly wide awake without a single drop of caffeine in his bloodstream, max opened the notification and the person’s profile, eager to see rowan’s face again. except he didn’t. the profile was one of a perfect stranger, so the whole endeavour had proven a complete bust.

defeated and tired he started going about his usual morning routine, topped with a giant homemade iced coffee as a treat. just as he was about to settle down, his phone rang and max’s initial excitement wore off when he saw the caller id. it was just his trainer, calling to remind him that they’d see each other again toward the end of the summer break, wishing him to enjoy the rest of his vacation and making some god awful small talk. to his own surprise, max survived the call without jumping off his balcony, and tried his best to finally relax.

and that was a plan that worked for him for roughly two minutes, until his phone rang again and he answered using the reflexes bradley had worked hard to help him achieve, not bothering to hide his annoyance at the first ‘hello’.

“is that how you greet an old friend?” he heard rowan’s voice from the other end of the call. it would suffice to say he was left speechless, not really knowing how to respond. “heard you were looking for me.” she stated after the silence got a bit too awkward.

“yeah…” he stammered a reply.

“what for?”

“i was worried, you just left like that and i-”

“i’m fine, max.” she’d never called him by his first name. not when they were just talking, anyway.

“you don’t sound fine.”

“well, i am. would that be all?”

why was she so eager to hang up on him? she was the one who called him to begin with. if she wanted nothing to do with him, all she had to do was ignore him, and victoria, who without a doubt was the one that gave her his number.

“i wanted to talk. are you still in monaco?”

“no, i left yesterday.”

“great, i’ll book you a flight. where are you?”

“i don’t see how that’s necessary.”

“or i could come to you, i am on my break after all.”

“oh so nothing better to do, let’s booty call rowan via proxy?”

“you know that that’s not what this is about.”

“do i?” she raised her voice, shocked by his audacity. she only existed for him when he wanted an easy fuck. and that was okay for the first time around, but going to such lengths for a second time was excessive if not weird.

“well, you would if you knew the first thing about me. i wanted to see if you’re okay and talk about how we left things.”

“i’m fine and there’s nothing to talk about. we said it was a one time thing and i got out of your way as soon as i could, as planned. now if i’ve answered all your questions-”

“don’t you dare hang up on me, rowan.” voice was stern, words conveyed an order, not a request nor urgency.

“or what, you’ll lock me in my room?”

“i haven’t forgotten about your breaking and entering and i have a very good lawyer.”

“oh shiver me timbers!” she tried to be sarcastic, she really did. and she might have succeeded, if it wasn’t for the smile max could hear in her words. rowan wasn’t keen on testing whether max was being serious or not; she knew he wasn’t, and now he knew she knew. this entire thing was giving her a headache, one she hadn’t missed from her days staying with him.

“look, i’m really grateful for letting me stay with you. i know it wasn’t ideal for you…” she tried to tiptoe around… everything. especially the last night she was there. “and like i said, i never wanted to be a bother. so as soon as i got the chance, i left you be. doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate all you did for me.” and by god, he’d done so much more than he could ever understand. he probably didn’t even mean to, or even want to, but he’d done so much and while it was all good, unbeknownst to him, what he did or didn’t do carried so many repercussions.

“you could’ve at least said goodbye, stayed over for coffee.”

“i know, i’m sorry.” and she genuinely was. for so many things she couldn’t even begin to talk about.

max believed her. she was sorry. but that’s not what he wanted to talk to her about, an apology barely even made the list.

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“jesus verstappen, yes, i’m fine!” she chuckled, taken aback by his persistent concern.

“and you do know that you’re welcome here whenever you want, right? of course, you know where the spare key is and everything.”

“that’s very kind of you.” that was all she had to say. that was all she could say. there was no way to talk about how her mind was flooded with memories of how she got into his house in the first place, finding the spare key and letting herself in, exploring the house, getting to know max’s cats and making herself at home. only this time, along with a tang of nostalgia, those memories were altered; she could see herself letting herself in again, but this time around max would be there to greet her with a warm hug, jimmy and sassy would instantly tangle themselves between her legs, and maybe she’d fall, but max would catch her. she’d played house for too long. but though she tried, there was no shaking those thoughts away.

“so you still won’t come?” only when he spoke did rowan realise how long the silence was.

“don’t you have better friends to spend your vacation with?”

“of course i do. but i want to spend it with you.” there was a a deliberate pause between his sentences. it was a sweet sentiment. such a shame rowan didn’t buy it. all she heard was that he wanted easy access to a good fuck for the rest of the month.

“i thought you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.” she tried to remain civil.

“oh just get your ass over here. even for just two hours. one coffee. or drink. or dinner. anything.”

“verstappen, are you asking me out?”

“you wish.” he scoffed, a little too quick to dismiss her. “can i be completely honest?”

“no. lie to me.”

“i don’t want you to come, i don’t ever want to talk to you again, i’m not even in the tiniest bit worried about how the fuck you got out of monaco. and of course i haven’t spent the past two days trying not to think about you.” those would have been the hardest lies max would have ever told, save for the smile lacing his words. “so no, i don’t want to see you. i dread the thought of having this conversation in person.”

rowan wasn’t quite sure how to respond. it was obvious he didn’t mean any of that. so why did a part of her wish he did? why would she think it would be easier if it were true? there was resentment in her heart, for fluttering even just a little when she heard him speak.

“okay, i’m hanging up now, good talking to you verstappen.”

“what did i tell you about hanging up on me?” there he was again, using his serious voice, leaving rowan just holding the phone, motionless and staring at the wall. how did he manage to have such a hold on her? wasn’t she better than that already? apparently not. or at least not as much as she’d like to think. “still there, aren’t you?” she could hear his smirk and it was infuriating.

“yes.” she replied through gritted teeth.

“good. if you’re not coming to me, let me come to you. where are you?”

“home.”

“and where would that be, princess?” god, she could kill him for that condescending tone in a heartbeat.

“you are not coming here.”

“try me. text me the address.” and he hung up on her. fuck max verstappen.

but in a twisted turn of her brain wirings, rowan did text him the address, curious to see if he’d keep his word; conflicted on whether she wanted him to keep it or not.

the next few of hours had been a blur for max, from packing a small suitcase -just in case- to making arrangements for his jet to be wheels up asap, everything had felt a little like a fever dream, not quite there but still hanging tight on reality.

rowan on the other hand was enjoying a glass of chilled white wine at the comfort of her home, devouring a random -and probably not so good- book she picked at the airport. she couldn’t care less about the plot. getting even tipsy while also actively trying not to think about max was an achievable goal for the evening. it’s not like he’d be knocking on her front door, why would he do that? it was an exchange, he have her his couch and she gave him home-cooked meals, she let him have some of her pot and he gave her three orgasms. tit for tat, end of exchange and conversation.

sure, she left in a rush, but she did apologise for that. and that’s the reason she got his number from victoria in the first place. and when vic texted her to let her know that max was looking for her, she put on a brave face and went about it as maturely as she possibly could. she did wonder for a minute or two if it was enough, but dismissed the thought entirely. she did get the apology out of the way and it was sincere. that was all that mattered, and it gave her closure. it felt good, to actually get some of that, closure. it was a new feeling, but damn it was finally right. a chapter closed. said and done. so why did the protagonist in her book look like him when she pictured him?

rowan did try to rationalise it, she really did. he’s the last man you actually saw, it’s only natural he’s the first person to pop in your head when reading about a blonde guy with blue eyes. he was practically the only person she saw for a week, that’s how she’d made any sense out of it, entirely forgetting his friends at the club and having the stranger she’d been dancing with that night completely erased from her memory.

if she had to be honest with herself, her attempt at actively not thinking about max was not going so well. but she didn’t have to be honest with herself, so only a small effort was wasted on silencing that voice in her head and trying to focus back on her book. her concentration did not break, even with the distinct sound of the intercom in her apartment buzzing.

mechanically, she walked over to the device on the wall next to her door and pushed on the small button, eyes still glued on the page she was on. it was probably the ubereats she forgot she ordered. except it wasn’t, and as she stood by the open door, leaning on the frame with the book in her hands, she looked up to greet the delivery guy. instead of a cholesterol induced heart attack in a bag however, what stood before her was max, in the flesh.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” she managed to say after staring at him for a couple of seconds at a complete loss.

“you did text me your address.”

“and here you are.”

“obviously.”

“why.” not a question, a statement.

“jesus christ, i told you! i wanted to see you, talk to you. in person.”

rowan let him in and took her seat on the stool of the kitchen island, leaving the book and taking a hold and a brave swing of her wine. max was following suit, albeit a little confused at the girl’s reaction. for him it was so straightforward and obvious that he’d be there, like they’d made plans for coffee.

“okay, talk.”

“how did you leave?”

“booked a flight.”

“thought you were broke.”

“someone in my family finally came through.”

“why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“is this a conversation or twenty questions?”

“it is whatever you want it to be. so, why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“i want this to be over.”

max’s face fell. rowan was serious; her tone had not changed from the moment he stepped through the door, emotionless. maybe she meant the conversation. maybe she meant whatever they had. either way, max was not prepared for such an answer. against all evidence, he was sure that rowan wouldn’t be that person, she wouldn’t be the one to be so harsh and borderline rude. but here they were, staring at each other without saying a word.

“if you didn’t want me here why did you tell me where you were? hell, why did you call?”

both perfectly valid questions that the girl did not have the answer to. impulsive decisions she thought herself wiser than to make. there was no plan to backfire, but that was exactly what it felt like. max put her on the spot and she couldn’t do anything but keep staring back at him.

the man could go on a rant on how fucked up this was, but it would be pointless. it was evident that he was not wanted there and he started questioning why he went through all that trouble. with a sigh, he gave up after a few moments of trying to find a reason to stay, to excuse this whole charade and convince himself that he was welcome.

“nevermind, forget i was ever here. or that any of this happened. whatever. have a good one.” he muttered while looking down and turning on his heels to leave.

in another impulsive decision she was sure to regret, it was rowan’s turn to grab him by the wrist and prevent him from leaving.

“i’m sorry. i’m going through some stuff.” she had no intention of opening up that can of worms, especially not to max verstappen. he had better things to do than waste his time on her issues and she should be better than to drag him in them. perhaps it might have been for the best to let things end like that, plain badly, two people with enough resentment for each other to help them move on faster than the speed of light. but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. she was not this person and he deserved better.

“hope it gets better for you soon.” he freed himself from her grip and continued to make his way to the door, not bothering to look at her. his patience was running thin and from nothing, this had become something and that something was no laughing matter. his temper was getting the best of him, casting a shadow over rowan’s poor attempt at an excuse.

with a loud thud the door closed behind him and max was out of the door and her life, exactly like she walked out of his.

a couple days went by with radio silence. max was almost content with the idea that his life would continue to be exactly as he expected it before it got turned upside down and inside out by a virtual stranger. in this endeavour, in the midst of his summer break when he didn’t have intense training and strategy sessions to drain all his energy, or the adrenaline of a grand prix weekend, but instead he had all the free time in the world, he took up a new hobby to fill his time. sat in his balcony, overseeing the sea as the sun painted everything in pink and orange hues, he had a thick and well recommended fantasy book in one hand and a tall glass of iced tea in the other to combat the heat.

all seemed well for him, a good 80 pages into the story that had him immersed enough to almost not notice the unexpected buzz of his phone. the screen lit up with a notification, a text from rowan and all his peace and quiet fell apart in nanoseconds.

puzzled and curious, he opened it only to find himself even more puzzled and curious. it was a selfie, and she was in an uncharacteristically seductive pose; it was a mirror selfie, in what max could only presume was her bedroom, and there would be nothing weird about that. in the background he could see some minimalistic decorations on the wall and a plant that was close to dying hanging from the ceiling.

so, nothing out of the ordinary, save of course for the black satin nightdress that hung just below her hips, with thin lace straps and lining on the bust to bring just enough attention to her neck, shoulders and chest without revealing too much. and again, that may have been okay, but it wasn’t just that. she was staring at her reflection on the phone with an intense gaze and she had a nail in between her teeth, lips parted just enough. it wasn’t her bare legs, the thought of the satin fabric in between their bodies or even the tasteful hints at her body that made his cock twitch; it was her face and her eyes. it was those lips that he now knew damn well what they felt like.

he thought of replying with words -the debate of whether he would reply or not never even took place in his head-, but it felt strangely inadequate. he needed to pay back with the same coin, it was a matter of principle. in autopilot, his body dragged him to his own bedroom, where he took a similar photo. there was a small debate however, on whether it would be a serious one, him trying to do his thing, or if he’d full on imitate rowan’s pose. he thought of the latter to be the safest option, so there he was, in front of the very same mirror he was intent of having her see their reflection of their bodies colliding, fucking hard and fast, standing with only his grey athletic shorts, one finger hanging from his mouth, eyes fixed on the image on his screen. and send.

‘you’re not not malena.’ came her reply as fast as her fingers could type.

‘how perceptive of you’

‘this was not intended for you’

‘oh yeah? and who’s it for?’ obviously it was not for him. it would be stupid of him to think that after everything, she’d reach out again. perhaps it was even more stupid of him to engage. but he couldn’t resist. and the thought that she’d be sending those kind of photos to anyone else made his blood boil. he didn’t have any right to feel that way but that changed nothing. another stupid thing of him.

‘none of your business’

and she could’ve left it there. she sent the message and there were no more dots on the screen on either end. max was still staring at his phone though, and even though he didn’t know it, so was rowan. she fucked up. so damn much, it was almost incomprehensible. she’d left max with no explanation once before, he didn’t deserve for this to happen again.

‘it was for my best friend. her contact is usually the only one staring from m on my phone’ it was the truth. but would it be enough? would he leave it be? how much of an even bigger mess could she create?

‘and you send those kind of pics to all your best friends?’ a fair question, which demanded more explanation. rowan didn’t know whether to bite on her nails even harder to ease the anxiety or feel entirely exasperated. max was not just any man who would be satisfied with breadcrumbs. she knew better than that, appreciated and respected that. but at that point, it was not working to her advantage.

‘she needed some inspiration, spice things up with her boyfriend’ she yielded and told the truth again, no evasiveness.

‘you’re a good friend’ rowan chuckled bitterly at his response.

‘i try my best’

‘am i your friend?’ he couldn’t resist. apparently his self control had gone out the window for anything that concerned rowan and this was a new and wild feeling in his chest, like a fire that he didn’t have the means to put out, and it never really went away; it just felt a little bit more at home sometimes.

‘no. we’re not friends, max.

and i think it would be better if you lost my number.’

‘we both know i’m not going to do that’

‘and what do you intend to do?’

‘come over again and remind you why that would be a bad idea.’ which was a colossally bad idea in its own accord. the only justification max could give to why it sounded like a sound solution to the problem building inside of him was how hard she made him. he was thinking with his dick and there wasn’t much he could do to help it.

‘you’re talking big, verstappen’

‘don’t make me show you big’

‘go ahead, see if i’m phased’

max was not the person to send dick pics. he’d never done it and he could never see himself do something like that. that said, just a a close up of his crotch, the outline of his hardness clearly visible with his thumb tucked underneath and pushing the hem of his pants down ever so slightly was not a dick pic. one might even consider it tasteful.

rowan’s eyes were glued to the screen, unable to look away. he had some nerve, pushing boundaries like that. she did bring this on herself, although the blame game was not something she could focus on when her mouth was hanging agape and borderline salivating. so yeah, she was phased, and that much was evident from the radio silence that lasted a minute or two, which rowan spent looking at the photo.

‘not phased, huh?’

cocky son of a bitch.

‘so what you mean to tell me is that this didn’t remind you how it felt inside you

how it felt when i was fucking you

while you were touching yourself

cumming all over me’

rowan fell back on the bed, trying to find some soothing and cooling comfort in her white sheets with little success. even if her eyes weren’t running over the screen again and again, the words were etched in her mind, along with the memories they brought up to the surface. she remembered damn well how it felt, have him keep her eyes on them as he was pounding into her and her own hand was shamelessly rubbing her wet folds.

as if in a trance, the memory started blending with the present as her hand started reaching downwards, ready to recreate at least some of the sensations. before she could get below her belly, a ding from her phone brought her back to reality and she physically shook her head to try and get rid of the urges that had overcome her, thankful for the distraction. until she opened the notification.

‘still want me to lose your number, baby?’ fuck, the hold he had on her was out of this world. did he know what that word did to her? but this was not a good time to give in. so she decided to give up.

‘you’re a big boy, verstappen

do whatever you want’

‘what i want

requires consent’ he was not letting go, making this so much harder for rowan.

‘why can’t you let go?’

‘because you won’t let me’ he thought of whether he should elaborate on that or not. maybe it would feel better, that raging feeling, if he did.

‘because you just walked into my life

gave me an amazing week

and just fucking left, rowan.

without a single explanation or a god damn goodbye

and as much as i hate this, you have me hooked.’

‘because i left and bruised your precious ego?

you’re such a man.’ this was actually doing her so much good, it was slowly letting her get out of his hold, tearing down all the pedestals her little mind was too busy putting him on.

‘because you made me feel something and then you left.’

‘yeah, made you feel how good it is to have your cock sucked.’

‘phenomenal’ he had to admit. ‘but beside the point

the point is that i thought we made a good team

label that however you want.’

it was surreal, how they were having that conversation over texts. max had never had a serious discussion over text, he’d barely had one over the phone. the timing was as bad as any other moment. he may have let rowan push him out twice, but he wouldn’t let her get away from it this time; not without telling how he saw things.

rowan on the other hand was speechless yet again. the nerve, the audacity, the way he just went out and bared himself- it almost made her jealous.

‘you don’t want me on your team, verstappen’

‘it’s fine, i can fuck anything that’s bothering you out of your system ‘

‘is this all about sex to you?’

‘with you, it’s an added bonus

so is that a yes?’

he’d made up his mind. she didn’t want him involved in her drama and that was more than fine with him; there was not a single cell in his body that wanted to be involved anyway. what he did want was to be close to her, and to his own surprise, he’d been honest: it was not all about sex, but it was a great bonus. what it was mainly about was to get that feeling back, when they could be in the same room without talking and still feeling comfortable, when their endless banter was equally infuriating and entertaining, when he was with someone he didn’t have to explain himself to because they just get him. when his house felt like home, even for just a few days.

rowan had never felt more confused about such a straightforward statement. actually, confusion wasn’t the primary emotion; first, she was conflicted. whatever max could mean exactly, it wouldn’t matter one bit if it was the worst idea in any plane of existence. she tried to imagine how having anyone new in her life at the moment would play out and it all ended in blood, sweat and tears. she was not in any place to bring someone else into her shit, it would be selfish and irresponsible of her. but what if max didn’t have to be involved? not directly, anyway. suddenly, it felt like his proposal made sense.

‘even if i were to say yes

which im not

what would i be saying yes to?’

‘you clearly need a distraction

so do i

i don’t know what’s going on with you

you have no idea what’s going on with me

we just enjoy each other’s company whenever we feel like it.’

‘and that involves sex.’

‘would you get your mind out of the fucking gutter?’

‘maybe you can fuck that out of me as well ’

‘can’t believe i’m saying this

rowan please focus.

are we a team?’

she didn’t reply straight away. she wanted to get this over with, rip the bandaid. tell him that this would never work, that it was inevitable things would get complicated, one way or the other. but she couldn’t bring herself to say, or even type the words. so she waited until it would feel easier to do.

hours passed and day gave in to night, and rowan had still not touched her phone, entirely out of fear that she’d say the wrong thing, whatever that was. she got ready for bed early for her standards, but the heat along with the emotional toll she bore was getting too much. once her head hit the pillow, her mind started drifting and scrambled thoughts came down to one: max. she decided that visualising their texts like a face to face conversation would help her make up her mind, see how that would never work and finally put things to rest with a simple no. one word, two letters.

at first, she imagined him alone in his room, in his bed, like she’d been, and as the conversation progressed, her mind inserted more details. she could see first hand every eye roll, every exasperated sigh, every grimace at her replies, every single time he held his breath as she typed. before long, her physical presence was inserted to the scene, and it was as if max couldn’t see her at first, still hooked on his phone. he was typing away furiously, and rowan wandered at which part. he was typing a lot… and then it was as if she could hear his thoughts that got transcribed without much alteration.

“how it felt when i was fucking you, while you were touching yourself, cumming all over me”

rowan heard herself audibly sigh as she heard those words fall from his lips. it was one thing to read them, and entirely different to hear him say them, even in her mind. that was what seemed to get max to realise that rowan was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, one knee bent on the mattress, body turned to face him. and that seemed to help him notice that she was there, in the actual room with him.

“still want me to lose your number, baby?” a cocky smirk laced his lips as he looked at her with eyes that were way too sure of the answer for rowan’s comfort. in her mind at least, max knew exactly how weak that word made her and she hated him for it. in fact, she hated him enough to attack him in the only way she knew how: by kissing him feverishly, quickly straddling him and breaking contact only to remove her nightgown.

what followed was an exact replica of their last night together, every touch, word, sound replayed in her mind and all she could do was ride along, try to satiate the hunger with her fingers. soon -sooner than usual- it was over and instead of a clearer head, as she expected, she was left with an empty feeling in her core and one word tumbling out of her mouth.

‘yes’ she typed out and tapped on send, turning her phone off right after, ensuring a very sleepless night ahead.

max received the text hours later from his last message to rowan. specifically, it was almost 4 am and he hadn't slept a wink. it's not like he didn't try to sleep, get his mind off things, but it was as futile an attempt as the ones that came before that.

he tried to avoid thinking about what rowan might be doing or thinking to take this long to respond, if she was going to reply at all. and even in his wildest fantasies, he would have never guessed that the girl spent the better part of those hours fantasising about him, edging herself in denial time and time again before finally giving in and texting him back. after all that had happened, rowan thinking about sex, with him especially, wouldn't cross his mind. perhaps because that was exactly what he'd done, and the chances of her doing the same seemed slim to none. either way, her text had found him sleepless and frustrated in more ways than he cared to count. finally, as his screen lit up in the middle of the night, he was able to close his eyes and rest, curious and excited about the days to come.

‘does that mean you're coming back?'

'in your dreams, verstappen'

'in my dreams you're already here'

'good, you can savour the feeling then'

'are you ever going to stop acting like a brat?'

'am not.'

'are too'

'im not playing this game'

'okay, what do you want to play?'

'youre unbelievable and im an adult with responsibilities.

surely your spoiled ass wouldn't know how that feels like'

'youre impossible'

and that was it. the bubbles vanished and suddenly his phone lost all the excitement it ever held, feeling just like another tiny and slim brick in his hand.

max decided to go for a run, and in the midst of sweat and trying to control his breathing, his mind wandered. unsurprisingly, to rowan. what was a surprise however was the fact that his thoughts were not occupied with her in a similar situation, skimpily dressed, skin glistening with sweat and shaky breathing. no, this time all he could do was wonder how he ended up in that situation, entangled so deeply and so fast that he'd defied all defence mechanisms he'd worked so hard on building up all those years.

he'd become a master of keeping everyone at bay, showing them only parts of him that made them feel okay and him safe. his friends were few and unknowingly tested over the years, and that's how he liked it. and then came she, barging into his life and having him express his... ugh.. feelings in what, two weeks? that was a level of vulnerability no one had achieved, not even his sister.

what was so special about rowan? or what had broken in him to have them end up like that? it was so fucked up he couldn’t even tell what they ended up like. like friends? lovers? were they in a relationship? that was the only thing that was surely off the table. sure, they’d spent a week together, but he didn’t know anything about her at the end of the day. and he wasn’t one to risk himself and his career with a relationship. what he did know was that he wanted her in his life and the only logic that kicked in was to ensure that it would be in the most no-strings-attached way possible.

he’d never been this impulsive, always calculated and focused. now he could barely keep his head in taking the route he did every day for his runs and that was a problem in more ways than simply ending up someplace else entirely and winding up a bit lost for half an hour. and that was all on her. even if he didn’t really know who she was or what she was to him, it was her.

he’d given up on trying to convince himself that it wasn’t about rowan, that it was just about a good fuck and having someone else in the house rather than being alone. but he liked being on his own, he’d never questioned it before. and he could throw a pebble and it would land on a girl who could give him a good fuck. well, admittedly, perhaps not as good. he was ways away from getting her out of his system. he hated to think that, but rowan was… special. he lacked a better word, he hated the word ‘special’. but any other adjective would just not be enough; anything else would only scratch the surface and he was itching to scratch and scratch and scratch until he felt satiated. if one thing made sense in his entire uncharacteristic behaviour was that bottom line, it was all for selfish reasons. it made him feel good and if rowan got something out of it -which he’d make sure she did, because funnily enough, he enjoyed that as well- even better. maybe it wasn’t about her, after all. maybe it was about him. and that bit of rationalisation made sense, enough to make his mid grow a little quieter, even for a while.

as he headed home and turned the key into the lock of his apartment, the silence was deafening once more, even more so now that his brain wasn’t blasting at full volume thoughts and images trying to make two and two equal five.

jimmy and sassy were quick to rub on his legs as soon as he took off his shoes, making sure to follow him around as we went to the bathroom to wash his hands and face before gathering up enough strength for a full shower. cats still magically not tripping over his feet, he took a short video and sent it to rowan, as if it were totally normal. ‘they miss you’ his text read.

‘i miss them too ‘

‘are you going to do something about it?’

‘are we still talking about the cats?’ she spent a minute or two thinking over the text before sending it. as much as she loved the furry little bastards and did miss them, they were not exactly what she wanted to talk about.

‘of course we are. kittens love the attention

i think they feel a bit neglected ever since you left

a few seconds passed before his next text, words that begged to be let out.

do you have anything else in mind that might need my attention?’

‘hm… i’d have to think about it’ she tried to buy a bit more time, keep herself from making mistake after mistake.

‘i’ll hop in the shower. when i come back, i expect to look at my phone and see a response’

and true to his word, he put his phone down and jumped in the shower, leaving rowan speechless. she had about ten minutes to decide her course of action. she could just give him a list of all the quirks of jimmy and sassy she’d come to know, point out that that’s what he needed to pay attention to. that would be the sensible thing to do, kill the vibe and get out. fast.

her mind however raced towards other alternatives, swinging between sending him another photo of her, this time on purpose, or just fucking with him to get a reaction. the clock was ticking and she was running out of time. quickly, she typed in: ‘a response’ and tapped on send. now all she had to do was wait -not so patiently- for a text back.

max opened the text and sighed. he should’ve seen that one coming, of course rowan would be annoying about it.

‘when you’re done playing games, i’d like to have a conversation

like adults’

in a not so weird word association game, hair brain hot wired and she went to work, standing in front of the mirror. she was on her knees, legs spread and ass touching her heels, her oversized tshirt riding up on her hips. she tried to tug the shirt downward, in what could be perceived as an attempt to keep her modesty -but in reality, it was outlining her breasts perfectly as the fabric stretched over her shirt. satisfied, she snapped the photo and then tried something even more straightforward, dragging a her index finger over her stomach and upwards, taking her shirt along, leaving her panties exposed, her stomach and just a bit of her cleavage. snapping another photo, she couldn’t decide which one she liked best, so it was only wise to send both.

the first one was followed by a text:

‘adult enough for you?’

and without wasting any more time, she sent the second one.

‘how about now?’

he was going to kill her. or she was going to kill him, whichever came first. all annoyance -and everything else- forgotten, his reply was a simple statement.

‘looks like there is something else that needs my attention’

‘i can manage perfectly fine on my own, thank you’

‘show me’ he got bold and he knew it, but damn that woman knew exactly which buttons to press.

‘looks like you can’t manage on your own’

‘don’t test me.’

‘or?’

‘or i’ll be knocking on your front door again’

‘and i won’t let you in’

‘we both know you will’

she would. as much as she hated it, one way or another she was at his beck and call, wrapped around his finger with no means of escape. rowan though didn’t want an escape. what she wanted was more of that quiet in her mind when he was with her, how everything went away but that moment, how easily it all flowed and how she could be true to herself without feeling judged, because max was just as bad.

if max were knocking on her door, she’d be letting him in without a second thought, or wasting a single precious moment before closing any and all space between them. while her mind being so completely and utterly calm in his presence, her body was on fire, one he could ignite with just one simple text. by god, she hated him for it. he had her focused, only for him. max held too much power and he could never find that out.

what she couldn’t nor wanted to hide was all this back and forth had her frustrated beyond anything she could have ever imagined. as much as she liked bragging earlier, she could not manage on her own, no matter how hard she tried. all she could do was try again and again and again, as she already had. no matter how many times her body convulsed or how sore her fingers were, it wasn’t enough.

‘and even if did, then what?’

‘then i’d be more than happy to show you that i can make you cum better than those pretty little fingers of yours’

‘go ahead then

show me, if you’re so good.’

he didn’t reply. max was very close to complying, keeping true to his word and spending the next three hours getting back to her door. deciding that he’d have enough though, he booked rowan tickets for the next flight to monaco and scheduled an uber to be at her place three hours before the departure. if his math was correct, she was a bit more than twelve hours from being back at his place. his resolve had been tested enough. it was time hers was too.

‘go to sleep baby

i’ll have a surprise waiting for you in the morning’

rowan woke up the exact same way she fell asleep: abruptly and with very little sense of the time. her phone was blowing up, someone kept calling her and interrupting her restless sleep.

“what?” she picked up the phone with sleep still in her voice, angry for the rude wakeup call.

“wake up, your uber is waiting for you downstairs.” she heard max’s voice and then the distinct sound of the call dropping, not giving her any time to ask the questions that were popping up one by one. what uber? where was she going? what time even was it? was he serious?

she got up at lightning speed and looked out her window. it sure looked like an uber was waiting, but she still wasn’t convinced it was for her. curiosity winning the battle against her soft bed, she got hastily dressed and made her way to the car.

“you rowan?” spoke the driver from his rolled down window, finger gliding his sunglasses down his nose to look at her.

“yeah…” pieces were clicking together. max did not bullshit her. which made things even weirder. “can you give me like, 10 minutes? keep the meter running, or whatever ubers have.” and with that she turned around and ran back inside her apartment.

she’d never gotten ready so fast in her life, brushing her teeth while peeing and thinking of what she needed to pack -just in case. in a record time of 7 and a half minutes, she was already on her way back down, small bag with the essentials packed.

thanking the driver for waiting, she got in the backseat of the car, debating on whether it would be too rude to ask him to stop for a coffee to go. after a while that seemed too long, her chance was gone and she was being driven around, abruptly woken up from a restless sleep without a single shot of espresso to make things easier. hell, at that point, she’d go for an instant coffee from the supermarket if that meant her eyes would stop watering and closing, and her jaw would keep its place as the relentless yawning would stop.

she must have dozed off for a part of the drive, as her eyes opened up wide when the car was decelerating, assuming they’d reached their destination, leaving rowan confused. why was she at the airport? she was broke, looking at the taxi meter on the driver’s app, she was about to be even more broke. someone needed to pay that man 45 euros as if she wasn’t strapped in for cash already. still, reluctantly she got her wallet out, hoping and praying that she’d have enough.

“oh no, it’s already paid for.” she heard the man say and a weight was lifted off her chest. it was in that exact moment she realised that she and her 50 euros would need to last more than some of her past relationships if she was going to survive.

either way, she felt an obligation to leave the man a tip for having put up with her, parting reluctantly with a 5 euro bill, a wide and fake smile plastered on her face and a thank you so much leaving through gritted teeth.

thankful to be out of the car and near anywhere she could get herself a coffee, rowan made her way inside, in search of a coffee shop more than anything else. her search was quickly derailed however, from a buzz coming from her phone. another text from max.

‘hope you enjoyed the ride’

‘maybe it would’ve been better if you were driving’

‘maybe

but now you have a plane to catch, get your ass to your gate!!!’

‘i never booked a flight??”

‘i did

sending you over the information now’

and sure enough, within a few seconds time, her phone buzzed with another notification, an email forwarded to her in screenshots with all information necessary for her to board the next flight to monaco, which left in a bit more than an hour. just enough time to go through security and maybe enjoy a coffee at the gate, if she turned her steps to strides that would match a marathon runner. god she needed a smoke. anything to fill up her lungs sounded so damn good. but she quit ‘conventional’ smoking a few months ago -curtesy of her ex- and she wasn’t about to pick it up again now.

instead, she put on her big girl shoes, strapped them up and determined to yell at max to his face for ruining her day, she started going through all the airport motions she hated with a passion. a couple kilometeres of walking through the unending hallways of the airport, rowan found herself in front of her gate which was oh so conveniently house also to a starbucks. without thinking of her bleeding wallet she got herself a venti iced salted caramel macchiato and sipped it as she waited to board.

her mind was surprisingly quiet considering the circumstances, but she could barely register what had happened, much less overthink it as the caffeine was still slowly working its magic in her system. there was not a memorable thing about the airport, but she absentmindedly made a point of noting the blue on the seats, the yellow-ish beige of the curtains, even how many outlets were around here and how strategically and practically they were placed. to her surprise and amusement, it looked like there were enough outlets for a busy day. rowan also really wanted to people watch, but her plans fell short when she realised that in her near vicinity the only people were herself and the nice lady at the gate who was waiting patiently to get the order and board rowan into the plane.

the call finally came and rowan had her ticket checked and escorted into the plane, past where she thought she’d be seated and straight into business class. max hadn’t cheaped out on the expenses, and probably unbeknownst to him, didn’t make anything too extravagant that would leave her in an awkward situation. business class was not first class and it certainly wasn’t his private jet. an uberx or whatever they were called was more than a simple uber, but it still wasn’t a rented limousine or anything like that. and now that rowan was caffeinated -still not quite ready to face the weird day ahead, but at least caffeinated- she could appreciate how he didn’t go all out. it didn’t seem like a desperate cry for help or attention. it seemed like what it probably was: getting her there and having her arrive in comfort, which was greatly appreciated. it didn’t make up for the fact that he dragged her out of the comfort of her own bed and house on a fucking whim, though.

when she finally planted her feet in monaco soil, rowan was looking around like a lost puppy, trying to see if max had rented out yet another car to drive her around, or if she could take her own cab this time around, feel a bit more like a person and herself. god forbid anything that involved max would ever feel normal.

a black aston martin vantage caught her eye -just because she got out of racing what felt like a lifetime ago didn’t mean her love for anything on wheels faltered- and its driver was none other than today’s nemesis, the man responsible for all her trouble the past two weeks and jesus christ he looked good with his hands nonchalantly on the steering wheel. she could make out his sandy blond locks and the structure of his face through the tinted glass and that was enough to purposely walk towards the supercar.

seeing her walk towards him like that was almost menacing and max’s excitement only grew. the uncertainty rowan brought was now something expected, something he’d come to cherish, knowing that she wouldn’t just vanish again. deciding to help her out as much as he could, he stepped out of the car, opened the passenger side door for her and met her halfway, taking her bags.

“i can do that myself” she protested, but max was too quick, already a few steps ahead with her luggage in hand.

“hi yourself. yes, it is a nice morning” he mocked at her lack of curtesy, not because he was bothered by it, more because he could. “can’t you let me be a gentleman for once?”

“i thought you were never gentle.”

“i do have a reputation to uphold, trouble.” he turned around and gave her a knowing wink. he felt a warmth in his chest after seeing how well she remembered their first real conversation.

the car ride was silent, but in true them fashion, it was not an awkward one and max was thriving, convinced that this mistake was the biggest right he’d ever done. the rules were simple and not constrictive, he felt free. in the midst of a season that put immense pressure on him, as the reigning world champion with criticism that regardless of his hard earned lead in the current championship, this would be the second win ‘handed’ to him, this was how he’d truly relax, get away from it all. it was hard to keep the smile forming on his lips, or it would be if he tried even a little bit.

“why am i here, verstappen?” rowan broke the silence and he couldn’t actually decipher her tone. was she being simply inquisitive? was this a question meant to put him in the spot, give her a way out? either way, he wouldn’t reply with anything else but the facts he saw.

“because you want to. you could’ve told me to fuck off about a dozen times.” it was a reminder she needed, but didn’t really appreciate. she opened her mouth to protest, but max cut her off. “and because we need a distraction. wasn’t that the deal?”

“yes…” came her begrudged reply after a few moments of trying to think of a comeback, a reason to tell him to turn the car around and let her go home.

in all honestly, her home didn’t feel like home anymore. although she wasn’t very familiar with the streets of monte carlo, it felt more like home than her own neighbourhood. max being there didn’t hurt either. in fact, he was the reason this place felt so nice instead of a need to burn to the ground. so many things had happened there and their time together, no matter how weird or short, helped her feel like it wasn’t the end, like there was a way to move forward. unorthodox, selfish, maybe even a little bit toxic -only time would tell. but a way nonetheless.

the rules were that max was not to get dragged into her shit, and she was not get dragged into his. fair, simple and important enough. so if she wasn’t to break those rules, she needed to get out of her head; she needed him to get her out of her head.

“will you make good on your promise?”

“i always do. but what promise?” he turned to look at her, confusion clear on his face.

“that you’d make me cum better than my fingers.” desperate times called for desperate measures and rowan was starting to be a master at that. she could never remember herself being so vulgar in the past, and that in itself was making her blush and look straight ahead into the open road, even though her words did not falter.

“all in good time, trouble. let’s get you settled in first.” his voice was warm, sweet and surprisingly, his words didn’t make her want to open the door and throw herself into the traffic. instead, she felt her priorities shift as she remembered how good it felt to just be in his company, forcing herself to take in the moment and things one step at a time. there was no rush and despite of what she’d like to convince herself of, this wasn’t a plainly physical transaction. max had made that clear; it wasn’t just about sex. it was about a distraction, sex being part of it. maybe she could finally let go and be. even for once in her life.

silence laced the atmosphere once again and neither of them cared to break it, not even when they were out of the car and into the elevator, on their way up to max’s apartment. what did change was that max was holding her luggage on one hand while the other travelled along her back, in an aimless back and forth motion. he didn’t even realise he did it until he needed the hand to get his keys. rowan hadn’t said anything, she just enjoyed the relaxing sensation, until it stopped, bringing her back to reality, eyes opening to see the elevator doors doing the same.

“home sweet home. i trust you know the way around the house.” max said as soon as he unlocked the door, going straight to his bedroom, with her bags still in hand…?

“what are you- my bags!”

she rushed behind him, trying to stop max from kidnapping her belongings.

“what?” he said with a chuckle, hearing her footsteps behind him on the marble floor. “oh did you really think you’d be spending your days on the couch with your clothes messed up in your little bag?” max turned to face rowan, amusement clear on his face.

he was giving way too much, but he didn’t know it yet. under any other circumstances he’d notice that this was a limit he might consider twice before crossing. rowan sleeping in his bed, taking up space in his closet, no one he’d known for that little had ever had those ‘privileges’. but this was an overthinking free zone, no second thoughts while she was there. that was his own rule in their… whatever that was.

“but the couch is sooo comfortable!”

“stop whining and settle in”

and she did, without bothering to weigh out the pros and cons, the significance behind his words and actions. rowan had to know by now that with max, what he said was what he meant. it was a strange thing to get used to, for sure. it was also liberating, having to focus less on subtext like she was analysing salinger in school all over again. it had been a while since nothing had been complicated, and while it would take a few shakes of her head to keep her from drifting away and creating her own scenarios and meanings, it was a good thing.

a couple hours later found them in the couch she used to call her bed, comfortably sitting next to each other while a scifi movie played on the tv that neither of them paid any real attention to. the coffee table was full of empty take out boxes, to which rowan protested, thinking of max’s diet. her concerns were quickly dismissed by a gesture of his hand and a scoff, followed by him opening the ubereats app on his phone and asking her what she was in the mood for, to which rowan simply said ‘surprise me’.

the buildup to the movie’s climax found them next to each other. rowan had both her feet on the soft grey cushions, both knees bent. one leg was resting against the cushion, while the other, her right one and the one right next to max, was propped up. max on the other hand was not exactly sitting, his body spilled on the couch, taking up much more space than he normally would, still leaving the girl with enough to do the same.

so when his left hand reached and touched her skin, she should’ve seen it coming. her jean shorts were not doing much to cover her up -not that she needed to; he’d seen all of her before- and still left a lot of her legs exposed. it would be a blatant lie if she said she hadn’t thought of using it to get his gears turning, even as an afterthought when she hastily got dressed that morning. rowan had never been one to dress or do anything for male approval, and she wasn’t about to start now. but the past week had her head filled with thoughts of him, and when a small voice in her head told her when she was so unexpectedly woken up by his call, that she might get to see him, the thought of holding even the slightest bit of power over him, provoking as subtly as possible, shot a thrilling sensation up her spine.

that power trip did not end with just a pair of loose jean shorts that were just tight enough around her waist and short enough to not be skimpy, and a simple, black, skin tight tank top. it continued with pretending to ignore how his hand felt on her thigh, how close he was to her core which had never really gone to sleep to be woken up all this time. she kept ignoring him even when he squeezed, and from the side of her eye she caught how his fingers tensed up and his knuckles turned white while she was taking the pain it caused in small surges of pleasure. she even managed to ignore him when his grip loosened and his fingers got busy tracing patterns on the reddened skin. but she couldn’t ignore him enough, a triumphant smile appeared on her lips that max was too quick to catch on.

“are you that happy to have the protagonist die and never see his family again?”

“oh yeah, dude’s a complete asshole.”

“nice try, rowan.” her smile was matched with a smirk from max who had been anything but oblivious to her reactions, eager to get something out of her and finally, he did.

they remained silent and max kept his gentle caress, slowly teasing the girl next to him. rowan had a plan of her own. she’d been made, yes, but he gave himself away: he was watching. and if he was watching, she was going to give him a show. bringing her right index finger against her lips, the tip of her nail found her teeth. if he wasn’t going to look her way again, it would seem like she was just biting her nail. if he paid attention though, he would see how the pad of her finger slid across her bottom lip, how her cheeks hollowed just a bit and maybe even notice her tongue darting against it. if max could tease her with a promise of what could be, so could she.

as her lips pursed against her finger, she stole a side glance to her right, and saw max’s chest puff with a breath he’d hold for a good couple seconds before reminding himself to exhale again and another triumphant smile made its way to her face.

“what are you doing?”

like hell she’d give him a straight answer.

“waiting to see if you’ll ever make good on your promise.”

now there was no mistaking which promise she was referring to, or her desire. all that was left was for max to finally make a move. she could be the one to make the move, gods knew how much she wanted to straddle him, feel him against her while their lips clashed. but she also liked the chase, the tease and seeing him break, perhaps she liked that even more.

“be patient, baby.” he saw right through her and paid her back with the same coin. “we do have a movie to finish, anyway.”

in the meantime, ever so subtly, max kept moving millimetres closer to rowan bit by painful bit, until she could feel his hot breath against her neck and her hair standing in response. slow, calculated fingers brushed her hair from her neck, as he took in her scent and continued to caress lightly all her sensitive spots; the one behind her ear and her collarbone received special attention. he would mutter any comments he had on the movie, lips brushing against her earlobe or her jaw. rowan never bothered to actually listened to a word that came out of his mouth, only how they felt when they hit her skin.

the end credits rolled and neither of them moved. max’s hand was still on rowan’s thigh, fingers tightening on the soft flesh when he felt her relax, just to remind her that this wasn’t over; it hadn’t even begun. he was still whispering nothings her way, talking about the movie or something else that the girl never paid any attention to.

soon, the look in her eyes when she turned to face him turned from playful to wanton. the way she looked at him, impatient but keeping still and true to her own game, almost ready to break her perfectly innocent composure and oh so close to falling apart. until she did.

tired of waiting, rowan let max have the win and with a swift move came on top of him, legs now on either side of his, trapping him in place. she was hesitant, careful of giving away too much too quickly. she already got carried away once, after all. as it turned out, there was no need for her inhibitions; besides, max was the only one who could tear them down so quickly. his hands found her neck and drew her close, finally kissing her again. he sighed at the feel of her lips against his into the kiss and he felt rowan do the same. some sweet, well deserved relief.

his hands quickly travelled down to the familiar road from her neck to her chest, stopping only when his palms were full with her tits, fingers ready to knead the skin, even over her shirt, find, tease and tweak on her nipples. he wasted no time doing just that, getting reacquainted with her soft spots, remembering instinctively what made her tick.

rowan was busying herself with stretching the collar of his shirt, fingers reaching underneath, scratching his skin with a dire urgency, desperate to get him moving hard and fast, like she knew he could. max would indulge her, just not yet. she was making him lose his mind, that had not changed nor faltered from the moment they met. but without any substances also messing with his head, he found he could take his time, mess with her a bit more instead.

he could have more control over himself, take his time, look past the feeling of her nails against his skin, the small sounds when he applied just the right pressure on her breast, and tease her a little more. or so he thought, until his mind raced to how her mouth felt elsewhere, besides his lips, until he remembered how soft the skin on her belly felt beneath his fingers as he travelled down lower, to her equally soft pussy. relinquishing all control of his mind over his body in favour to feeling her now he grabbed her by the waist and turned her over on the couch, getting on top of her.

he fumbled against the button and zipper of her shorts, erratically trying to get them off her. the jean fabric was too thick for his liking at the moment and in perfect sync, rowan did the same to his pants, sharing his feelings in more ways than he realised.

she needed to get him out of those clothes, positive that they were hiding all treasures she could ever want beneath them. quickly, they gave up on trying to get the other rid of their clothes; it was too difficult and time consuming for the state they were in, each focusing on their own. not soon enough, they were in their underwear, lost in each other’s form.

rowan thought that perhaps she’d gotten used to his bare torso, from all the days he spent parading around without bothering to put on a shirt, even for modesty’s sake. she still found herself admiring his collar bones, his broad shoulders and chest, his toned abdomen and when her eyes reached his legs she was gone. the soft skin on bulky thighs that was just begging for her attention, just slightly less than his boxer-covered crotch was enough to leave her frozen in place.

for max, seeing rowan like that, only in a pair of lacy panties, sprawled on his couch, was nothing short of a sight to behold. the afternoon light was not allowing for a single detail to be left to the imagination and he was taking everything in, as if it was the first time. in a way, it was, making everything even more exhilarating.

senses were heightened; taste was not altered by the foul taste of weed and that alone opened up a whole new realm of possibilities to explore that neither of them had the patience to list out but knew were there. smell was dominant, the room already filling up with the scent of sex, while most of all, there was nothing making their limbs numb, the other’s skin underneath their palms felt more real, and there was an urgency that could be finally converted into action.

within a matter of nanoseconds, rowan had gotten up while max was bending forward, meeting her halfway when their bodies collided, arms wrapping tightly around the other, lips clashing in a not so tender kiss. rowan heard herself moan into max’s mouth, a sound of pure relief that didn’t fail to grind his gears, fingers quickly finding her neck and pulling her even closer, not giving her much chance of escaping until he was done, setting the tone for the rest of their afternoon. as long as she kept moaning for him, he’d have more to take and more to give.

with eyes still closed and lips still attached, lost in her, max lead them slowly and carefully -more to not break contact than for the sake of being careful and not tripping on the way- to the bedroom. a familiar enough setting, and there was a thought that switching things up might be preferable, which was quickly dismissed in the name of comfort, spaciousness and some relevant privacy. backtracking to the bedroom, max allowed himself to fall on the mattress and finally broke the kiss.

“sit on my face, baby.” leaving rowan dumbfounded. “did i stutter, love?” he played on her surprise, to which rowan didn’t bother with a verbal response.

‘ask and you shall receive’ was the only thought through her mind as she took off her underwear and positioned herself above his head, slowly lowering her core until she felt the contact, making her legs shake just a little but managed to come to a halt in her descent.

his hands quickly and expertly wrapped around her thighs, immediately applying his strength to bring her even further down, until he could feel her thighs mushing his face. once he was content with the positioning, he got to work. only this time, it wasn’t going to be slow or an exposition of his technique.

this time around, it was about needing his face covered with her juices until it was the only thing he’d be able to smell and taste for a week. it was about devouring the sensitive flesh, taking in as much of her as he could. a selfish endeavour that included hard sucking of her folds, teeth scraping those very same, tender spots and tongue working to quench this newfound and unique thirst.

it almost wasn’t about rowan’s pleasure at all. but she didn’t care, it didn’t matter. all that mattered is that it felt too damn good. not only how it felt like eating her pussy was keeping him alive, but how his hands didn’t allow her to move, highlighting that this was not about her; it would not be over until he was satiated, whether that meant she came five times or none at all. and for some reason, that exact feeling was what was driving rowan to the brink of madness only when combined with how his tongue brushed her clit and lapped against it. he was a rabid dog and she was heading to the same direction.

no matter how good it felt, it wasn’t enough. her hands reached for her nipples, trying to bring in some extra stimulation. it worked, as her fingers found max’s rhythm and got in sync, but yet again, it just wasn’t enough. wave after wave of pleasure, something was missing; she was empty. she needed him inside her mouth, her cunt, somewhere.

“max… please…” darkened blue eyes shot open and glared at her, with no stop in his motions. “let me… let me turn around.” words came out between sharp breaths and moans, vowels mixing together. when max didn’t comply with her request, she knew she needed to try harder. “please… i need to feel… you… please.” he didn’t understand, and he wasn’t done, but those pleas made his knees weak. with the first chance he got, he raised his hands from her thighs to her hips, lifting her up and prompting her to turn around, helping as much as he could while never letting her forget that she was not the one in charge.

as soon as her knees touched the mattress again, max’s mouth was again working on her pussy, almost distracting her from her mission. the empty feeling returned soon though, reminding her that she needed to get to work if she wanted to be able to get the most out of her body and what he was doing, how he was making her feel. bending down, her mouth found his cock almost by instinct and she wrapped her lips around it as tightly as she could, as if it held her life inside, determined to get it back inside her.

she couldn’t know if she forgot to swallow or she was just salivating that much at the feeling, the taste of the sensitive skin on her tongue. regardless, rowan was soon testing the limits of her gag reflex time and time again, pushing his cock further down her throat even just a little with each bob of her head. it was all becoming too much, the sensations on her pussy, his feeling in her mouth, her need and striving for more with each passing second, it was making her dizzy. that and the fact that she was too preoccupied to remind herself to come up for air more frequently, letting her body reach its limit at choking on max’s dick.

rowan was still trying to grind herself against his face, get more friction, find a way to let him know that she needed something inside her to accompany his tongue even for just a few seconds, it would be enough to finally get her over the edge. all her efforts were in vain though, and they would continue to be, even as his load hit the back of her throat, hips bucking to get himself further inside her and rowan gagged but tried her best to keep in place and suck even harder.

with max not nearly satiated but with a bit more clear head and rowan still out of her mind, he guided her gently off him and turned her around to bring her up. he needed her to taste herself on his tongue, know exactly what it was that made her feel like that. and tasting himself on hers didn’t hurt as a small, triumphant smile shone through their kiss.

rowan was still lucid enough to assert herself, although her body worked on autopilot. max’s hands travelled to her back and sides, grabbing firmly and hungrily at anything he could find. not letting that stop her, the girl was quick to straddle him. her legs locked tightly around his hips, and with very little effort she finally felt him almost slip inside her, filling her up in an instant. the shock of the sensation, of the newfound kind of pleasure mixed with the slightest bit of pain of stretching around him made her stop in her tracks, movements frozen in time as her eyes shot wide open and turned to the ceiling.

max on the other hand was more quick to adjust, ready to feel more and his hands locked on her hipbones as his pelvis moved, creating much needed friction. this helped rowan adjust, realise what was going on and for a few minutes, she allowed herself to enjoy it. she was coming back to her senses, in a way, as if her brain was finally allowed to work again to let everything sink in. alas, that didn’t last. turns out, max was not a fan of repetition and was quick to change the rhythm and pace, almost violently moving his body against hers, as the sound of skin against skin was almost drowned out by her cries and his grunts. it felt as if with each thrust he was reaching even deeper into her and rowan could only think of one word: how. but she wasn’t going to complain. even if she wanted to, words would fail her.

when he slowed down, presumably to take a breath, rowan took matters into her own hands, still not satiated. she balanced herself on her hands which she placed on his chest, and let her body take over once more. there was no telling if there was any rhythm in the frantic movements of her hips, her only indicator being her own pleasure. her eyes had been closed, too focused on the sensation of his hard cock inside her to ruin it with any other sense. touch was the only one that mattered. how his skin felt beneath her fingertips, how his fingers were bound to leave bruises on her hips, how she could never explain the ecstasy inside her, but she knew it was still touch.

despite feeling her thighs burning, rowan was unyielding; still moving against him, riding the man beneath her as if her life depended on it, her muscles were starting to give up. in trying to find a more comfortable position, she removed her hands from his chest and replaced them with her entire torso, almost falling on him, all while trying not to miss a single beat. max caught her in the very last moment, just before her head was millimetres away from collapsing on his neck, by grabbing her by the hair, pulling her up.

rowan’s mouth hung agape, hair unruly and all over her face, eyes barely open and darker than he’d ever saw them and max had never wanted to fuck the everloving shit out of somebody else as much. the same hand that was holding her up by the hair twisted the fingers around the strands and rowan winced in pain, which max was quick to wash down with a kiss, bringing her face close enough to clash their lips together. all while rowan was practically shaking against him. he almost took pity on her. almost.

“is my baby close?” the fist coherent sounds in a long time, rowan took a while to process but was quick to respond with a shake of her head and another loud moan. if only he knew how much closer calling her that brought her.

his free hand gently touched her back, signalling that she could relax, take a break, he could take over. and he did take over, as his fistful of hair raised her body just enough so he could slide his hand from her back between them and reach her cunt. fingers teased, taking a few seconds to find her clit. and once he was sure he had it, he could keep it up, max resumed his thrusts. hard and fast, not caring about going deep this time around; he just followed his body and kept doing what felt right. and apparently what felt right for him also felt right for her. he could feel her tightening around him -as if that were possible- and her breaths became quick and shallow. now it was only a matter of a few seconds and keep doing exactly what he’d been doing.

the pieces of his plan came together as rowan came apart, writhing on his cock, as her body contorted and her mouth was busying itself with words he couldn’t comprehend in the midst of his own haze. she felt so fucking good, she looked so fucking good and all that was his. only his. all this was because of and for him. he’d made her feel like this, he’d made her look like that.

it seemed like rowan was slowly coming down from her high, regaining her composure. but max wasn’t about to have that, not when he was so close himself. he removed his hand from her pussy and reached for her tit instead, feeling how perfectly it filled up his palm while her nipple had been begging for attention even after everything. and who was he to deny her? fingers got busy fondling the soft skin of her breast, while tweaking the nipple, and rowan sucked in her breath and almost protested.

she’d had enough. all that teasing and edging only to lead to her feeling filled to the brim as his cock caressed the perfect spots with every thrust and his fingers just knew how to move against her clit had her seeing stars. and yes, it was enough. but her hips were still bucking against his, and her pussy was still dripping, a direct manifestation of how she just needed more. and more he gave her. sure, she was sensitive. but for the first time in her life, that didn’t mean stop; it meant that a second orgasm was closer than ever.

and as max reached even closer his own climax, he traded any finesse for even harder thrusts, inevitably getting deeper. and as that happened, rowan felt like she was a backseat driver in her own body, which had grown limp. hoarse sounds escaped her scratched throat and as max’s cock twitched inside her, and that was the final straw. not only feeling it along with the pain from her hair still in his grip and her sensitive nipple being borderline abused, but knowing that he was coming inside her, that she’d made that happen all on her own, brought rowan past the edge again.

max may or may not have been totally oblivious to rowan’s second orgasm, being too focused on the unique sensation that it was to come inside her when she was like that. had he the mind, perhaps he would have realised that what made this time so special was the girl’s own climax. but in the end, it made little to no difference for either of them. they both got what they wanted; everything that had been promised and more.

they shared another breathless yet soft kiss, before he helped her off him, and she did need the help. her legs were almost too sore to close, something she’d definitely feel the next morning among other things that she couldn’t even begin to list.

“so that was… something.” max broke the silence and rowan laughed.

“yeah, you can call it that.” she tried to roll over and get up, take a shower, get dressed, her usual routine, but her legs weren’t cooperating.

“stay here.” it was something between a command and a plea, as he extended his arm, making room her her to lie on his chest. rowan complied, but she was still running her mouth, the adrenaline still had not quite worn off.

“is that what we’re doing now?”

“it’s what we’ve done before.” except you went and left like a thief, max wanted to add but bit his tongue. there was no reason for this, not now.

the sun was beginning to set and when he woke up, the moon was gently shining through his window, providing little light. but he didn’t need to see to feel her weight against him, her soft breath on his skin. he wrapped one arm around her waist, bringing her even closer and closed his eyes again with a dreamy hope that when he opened them again, she’d still be there.

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if you've made it this far, thank you. i understand that this took three months to be delivered and i do have excuses, but you probably don't care for them. it still took three months less to be completed than part one, so i'll give me that much heh!

so if this has an abrupt ending, i'm sorry. but there are too many things going on at the moment to have the anxiety of another wip in my mind. maybe someday i'll get back to patching any holes. perhaps it will be "and they were rommates!!! the dlc" or some shit.

rowan has a backstory (in contrast to any other female main characters i've ever written for smut fics) that would be fun to explore someday, because i do like her. and i'm sure you'd like her too.

as always, your feedback is welcome and appreciated! i love you all for sticking with this story, taking the time to read it!

take care, have fun and BE SAFE THOSE FUCKERS HAVE NEVER HEARD OF A CONDOM JFC

taglist (sorry if i forgot someone!!):

@whathesaids @sriusun @punkladymoes @atlanticowe @shyartisanvoidwagon

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagine #formula 1 smut #f1 #theo rambles #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #original named female character

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rogerswifesblog · 3 months

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3 - The Devil I Desire

My masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hello! Sorry for being so incredibly inactive but…I don’t have an explanation. I’m a bit unmotivated. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter even though it might be a bit sad. Don’t hate me, I’ll make it up to you…I hope

Warnings: heartbreak, betrayal, cheating, not Peggy friendly, not Steve friendly, homophobia (from Steve:(), internalised homophobia (also Steve.), yeah Steve is a total dick, don’t hate me

Pairing: Silver Fox Steve Rogers x College student Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes x Brock Rumlow

“Bucky you have to come out at some point, you know?”, sighed Wanda while leaning against the bathroom door, in which Bucky had locked himself in since this morning. “No. I don’t want to”, he hiccuped back, sitting on the other side of the door.

He didn’t want to face anyone, especially the realisation that Steve didn’t care about him at all. More than that. He just used him for his needs. Bucky felt humiliated, used and dirty.

And stupid.

He just felt incredibly stupid for all that.

But Steve seemed so…trustworthy. How could Steve turn out to be so different? And how could Bucky be so naïve to believe him. All the lies he had told him. Everything just so he’d sleep with him.

“Bucky please…come out, I’m getting worried”, Wanda interrupted his train of thoughts. She was right. He should come out, talk to her but he was embarrassed to admit how stupid he was.

Sighing he turned they door key, immediately feeling how Wanda opened the door, making Bucky fall onto the living room floor.

Wandas apologising face came into his view and he swallowed hard, knowing it was time to open up.

“He…he’s married. And he used me. Just for fun”, Bucky hiccuped.

Waking up in Steve’s arms was a great feeling. He felt his warm arms around his body, Steve’s solid chest against his back and…slightly hard cock. Excitement immediately rose in him, arousal too.

A sleepy smile crept onto his lips as he slowly turned around, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Could this be his future? Lazy sex in the morning? Waking up in a tight hug? Surrounded by the smell of Steve and soft silky sheets?

But as soon as Steve opened his eyes Buckys little dream of a domestic relationship broke.

“Fuck”, was the first thing Steve said, looking at the digital clock next to his bed before moving in lighting speed. It was only 9 am? Maybe he had to go to work? Even though Steve had said he’d want to eat breakfast together, have a coffee…and it was also Sunday. He wouldn’t be working on a Sunday morning at 9 am, right?

“You have to go. Now.”

With that Bucky got even more confused, sitting up. “Do you have to leave or-?”, before he could finish his question Steve threw his clothes at him, while Bucky sat up, “no. Go. Fuck off. Go home or whatever. You can’t be here”,

“I don’t get it-“ “oh my god, I’m a speaking in a different language? Don’t you understand me? Get.the.fuck.out. You were supposed to leave after we finished. God damn it. I never fell asleep”, the last sentence was only a quite mumble to himself.

Steve wasn’t even looking at Bucky while he was putting on his jeans. He didn’t even notice Buckys teary eyes. The trembling lips. He didn’t give a damn about him.

But he had promised-

“It was all just sweet talking you into my bed, don’t you get it! I wanted to fuck a tight young ass with a pretty face. You are one, Beck”, even saying the wrong name showed how little Steve cared. He didn’t even remember Buckys name. Ouch.

“Let’s talk about it-did something happen-?” Bucky tried to say something but steve only laughed coldly. “I can’t believe it. You either dress now or I’ll throw you out naked, I don’t care. It was just for fun”, “but you said-“ “I said many things you wanted to hear, that’s all. Now get the fuck out before my wife and kids come home and see you, you little fag.“

Bucky had no idea at what point he got up, but the next thing he felt was a painful tingle in his palm when he slapped Steve in the face.

They looked at each other for a second, Bucky now openly crying while quickly putting on his cloths and leaving the bedroom, immediately looking for the way out, not fully remembering where the frondoor was.

Bucky heard Steve’s steps behind him, so he glanced one last time at the man he had hoped to wake up every morning from now on, before slamming the door closed.

He probably imagined the hurt expression on Steve’s face.

“Oh buck….”, Wanda whispered when Bucky told the whole story, wrapping his arms around him. At this point they were sitting in the living room on the couch, wrapped in a tight embrace and cozy blanket. “I’m so sorry…you did nothing wrong-“ “I shouldn’t have trusted him”, he interrupted her with a hiccup.

“No, no…it’s not your fault. He is the one who leads you on. He’s the one who did it all on purpose. He manipulated you”, the woman whispered wisely, kissing Buckys tremble gently as he quietly cried into her shoulder.

Bucky spent most of the day wrapped in the blanket, eating fast food and tons of ice cream before passing away on the couch late in the evening, tears still drying on his cheeks from all the crying over Steve.

Even though Steve had broken his heart the days passed and with every next morning the pain stopped to be so noticeable, till he completely stopped thinking about Steve. Well, not completely but it didn’t affect his daily life anymore.

So after six months he finally managed to go on a date with a nice guy from grindr, Broke. From the start on the conversation was great, they talked about random stuff and also serious topics. It just…clicked.

After leaving the restaurant Broke walked him home, gave him a kiss goodbye at his door and went into the direction of his home, looking one last time at Bucky with a sweet smile.

Maybe this was how it should’ve happened. Maybe he had to get his heart broken to meet someone who’d treat him better.

Bucky invited Broke to his place after the sixth date. Even then nothing happened besides some making out and light touches. He felt comfortable with Broke. Bucky could tell he wouldn’t be played this time. Not like Steve had played with his heart.

Even though he really tried not to think about him, he had to admit the older man still crept into his mind sometimes. Not that it surprised him. Steve was the one who took his virginity and then treated him so awfully, who wouldn’t think back to that sometimes?

He told Broke about Steve after two more dates. He understood Bucky and promised not to rush him with intimacy.

They were officially together after the tenth date.

A month later they said the first ‘I love you’s, even though Bucky didn’t feel the movie-like butterflies in his stomach, but he believed it might have been just a myth. The butterflies in the stomach probably didn’t exist.

(He tried to ignore the memories of how his whole body had tingled when Steve had kissed him.)

Even though everything went smoothly, he could tell the happiness wouldn’t last for much longer-and he was right.

Alpine disappeared.

“Maybe she just went out for a short walk? You know, to enjoy the weather-“ “Broke, don’t try to calm me down, I know she’s not just out for a walk-she hates going outside! Besides, it's raining!”, argued Bucky, looking one more time into the little cat house she was usually sitting in.

Nope, still gone.

A son escaped his lips. “What if-what if someone steals her? Or worse-a car runs-“ “then let’s go, we’ll look for her.”

But they weren’t lucky, even after two hours of looking for alpine everywhere.

“Where did she go-Brock, what if-“ “Baby, stop crying. She’ll probably come back soon”, Brock sighed, slowly getting annoyed at Buckys behavior. He understood the cat was important to him, but he just didn’t want to listen more to Buckys whining.

“But I can’t go to sleep now-she’s not home, she’s not in her bed and she can’t sleep outside-she’ll think I abandoned her-“ “oh my god, shut up. I’m tired. It’s nearly ten pm and we were walking through the city for hours. I want to go to sleep”, Brock hissed at Bucky, making the younger man's tears fall quicker.

a sighn left brocks lips as he pulled bucky into a hug, “sorry…im just tired. We’ll look for her tomorrow, promise”, with that he managed to pull Bucky with him to the bedroom, even though it was harder than he hoped.

What Bucky didn’t know is that the alpine was safely sitting in a stranger's living room, after having found an open window and climbed inside.

Comfortably sitting in a little boy's lap, being pet by him. “-I don’t wanna go to bed yet, please! Dad I don’t want to”, he whined, while looking down at the cat and then back at his father. “Harrison Joseph Rogers, I’m not gonna continue this discussion. I gave you thirty more minutes to pet the cat, but now it’s nine thirty and I want to see you in your bed in ten seconds”, Steve said, crossing his arms.

He could see his son wanted to argue more, but he only furrowed his eyebrows, put the cat down and stomped to his room. “As stubborn as his father-“ “not any less than his mother”, Steve said when Peggy entered the living room. “Touché.”

“But now the more important question…what do we do with the cat?”, asked Steve’s wife, placing a bowl of water onto the floor. They both watched as she drank. “I’ll check the address tomorrow. It’s not far from here so I can go there in between meetings. Tonight she’ll stay here…it’s raining”, Steve petted the cats head. She was very sweet. Familiar in a way…it’s like he had seen those blue eyes before.

He sat down on the couch, watching as the white creature walked over to him and jumped onto his lap. Even though he had never been a big cat person he scratched behind her ear, noticing the small old rip in it. She must have been though some stuff, but her new owner cared about her a lot. He could see it. This person must be worried sick since she ran away. “Who do you belong sweetheart….”

He looked at the little badge at her collar. Alpine Barnes. Hm. It sounded familiar….

But he was probably imagining it. It was just a cat.

Thank you for reading! I’d appreciate some feedback ❤️ please don’t forget to like, reblog and comment ❤️❤️

What do you think will happen next? Why does Steve behave like this? 👀 I’d love to see some of your ideas

Taglist: @ozeriterchick @guiltypleasureisfun @ayronren @gracescor3 (I’ve decided to tag some people that might be interested! )

All posts taglist: @rogersbarber

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes drabble #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes #silver fox steve #steve rogers fic #stucky moodboard #stucky fandom #stucky fluff #stucky fic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fanfic #stucky

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thatsocialmoth · 9 months

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There is something so violently Queer to me about Good Omens season Two, I mean, even outside of the obvious.

Like. This story of a character who wants nothing more than to be unapologetically themself, who was demeaned and cast out simply for curiosity and love and interest. The story of an entirely radical existence, a lonely existence but one that's trying so hard to be as true as is safe until one day safe is thrown out the window because it's either dangerous or defeated. This story of a person aching for freedom outside of the confines of black and white ideals, living with an inherent sense of personal righteousness and ethics, living for what brings them joy, for what and who they love damn all else.

And the story of the person they love. The person trying so hard, to fit in, to belong within the boundaries where there is safety and acceptance and numbers. The person who has spent every moment of everyday nervous that someone might not like them, might think they're bad, might out them as different from the rest. The story of a character who has so slowly begun to break away from an ideal that is unattainable and twisted. A character so scared of outside of the binaries of black and white and the hard lines those morals draw and so afraid that someone might catch their lines blurring outside of the perfect image of themself that they've been. That character ever so slowly beginning to break away from the toxic constraints of a system that were so inherent to his being and his purpose despite the way they tied him down that it was so easy for that system to pull him back in. His realising of the importance of his own morals, ethics, wants and needs, warped by the sense that there are people within the system that "understand them." As long as they come back to it, they didn't need to blur lines or break that binary, that was bad but they were good and they could be better and so could other people like them and they didn't need to be lonely anymore because the binary was a little broader than before and you can make change as long as you conform to those broader margins. It's okay to be who you are and you can make change as long as it doesn't push the boundaries of the virtues the system can attribute to you.

Anyway tl;dr, Aziraphale has "Well I'm not that kind of gay vibes", like "Well I'm gay but I'm not gay gay, y'know?" or like "We don't need pride, we can get married now, it's okay," or "It's good that we can be open about it but we don't need to like shove it in people's faces", gay sorta vibes you know. Internalised homophobia energy that he was working through but not enough to not feel the need to run away from the progress he made. And it hurts because Crowley has put so much time and effort into trying to understand and be understood and instead ended up just understanding that there is no winning within a system that's designed to hate you either way and he's seen it first hand and Aziraphale doesn't get it and he doesn't know how to show him.

#good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #Anyway im totally normal about this show and not at all screaming #What the fuck were the credits #Four minutes of these people staring silently ahead #processing and spiralling #like i could see into their souls

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mitamicah · 7 months

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Hell yeah asking time and you are damn right you took some sweet time 😂😸

Get ready for my asks:

📷💌🐸🌿🌸🧸🐶🐰🍫🎵 (👀👀👀👀👀👀👀)

Well I was too busy excitingly drawing Vogue Jere 😂(and sleeping OVO)

I can already see this will be long so here's a line for those not interested in the replies x'D

📷 My phone lockscreen

Well I should probably think about changing it but...

Leaves x'D

💌Do I talk to myself: All the dang time OVO both in first, second and third person x'D

🐸My aesthetic: As mentioned a few times I feel like I'm multitudes but I guess what is true for pretty much all of them is that I'm kind of like the mixture of a peacock and a fairy that is stuck in the body of a oversized gremlin - I have this flamboyant, flowery, feminine-but-in a masc way side I love yet at the same time I am drawn to comfy oversized clothes that may or may not fit me well x'D I hope it makes sense :'D

🌿Describtion of my favourite outfit: This is hard because I have a few :'D So I'll take two you already know :3 (Hopefully you can guess from the description). One is this burgundy shortsleeved shirt that just screams flowerqueer often paired with a dark green shirt with a subtle leaf design on it. To finish up the outfit I have some puffy, green coloured jeans in a loose fit (they are now so big I need a belt for them) paired with my sunflower band that has pronouns patches and aro flag on it ^V^ The other one is this seethrough longsleeved crop top with stylized print of suns, moons and stars (give me shagadellic rock vibes aka Joker Out but in a goth way). Since I still haven't had top surgery I will often pair it with either a black binder or a black tanktop and then for the pants I can either go fullblack shorts, these black pants with thunder design running down the legs or these tube formed pink pants (because Barbie core). To hold up the pants and to amp up the aesthetic I have a twolined stud belt with chains falling down is upsidedown waves. The look wont be complete without some necklaces so I mostly go for a black choker, this fairy-on-a-moon necklace I own (and probably now also my Thor's hammer I inherited from my grandmother). Fishnet hands and black racoon makeup is optional :3

🌸Best compliment I ever received: It is an old and probably worn out story for me to tell but I think the best compliment I received was when I was told that I had been lying to myself when I said I couldn't sing. Hadn't I been told that I am not sure I'd pursued music as an active hobby through attending summer camp and had I not been there I am not sure I would be this open and confident like I am today :'D

🧸Favourite place to nap: I wish I could nap :'3 I am so bad at sleeping in the daytime :'D

🐰What do I think says most about a person?: Hmmm... If I should go with my gut feeling on this one I'd say it is how they view others. It sounds strange but what I mean is that if they scowl at others for being different (having tattoos, fun hair, bipoc, disabled etc.) and/or am being bigotted openly to your face I think it says a lot about them more than it does about the people they are judging. I hope it makes sense :'D That said the option of not saying these things but instead show disgust through actions (internalised bigotry? I am not sure that's a phrase) can be just as revealing

🍫Cheese of chokolade: I am NOT a cheese person like at all :'D Some cheese will do but only on pizza. Other than that give me chokolade every day :'3

Thank you for the questions, Jay ^V^

#good thing I put it under the line because some of these really invited me to just go full babblemode x'D #replies

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coffeeebomb · 3 months

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Tav Introduction Time

Yoinked from @slusheeduck (seriously, go check em out, Casual Banter was one of the first things I found when really getting into BG3 fanworks and it was amazing)

Zhanarya "Tav" Tavianos, Wood Half Elf, Ranger-Rogue, 38

Favorite weapon(s): Unsurprisingly, a bow. Though she's more than adept with a pair of blades when needed.

Style of combat: Mostly long-ranged combat. Depending on the situation, she’s either covering you or opening the fight. When out of arrows, she falls back to stabby ambushing. Her melee combat has vastly improved after convincing people to spar with her on the regular (mishaps be damned). Once she got comfortable with the party, they were subjected to her harebrained experimenting with the esteemed Yeet™ school of combat.

Most prized possession: Her jewelry because of their sentimental value. The sussur dagger they forged in Moonhaven/Blighted Village is a close second.

Deepest desire: To be wanted in a close-knit family.

Guilty pleasure: 'Fancy living', she's lived vicariously through her time guarding (or hunting down) wealthier folks that she's grown curious to know what it's like.

Best-kept secret(s): What she was actually jailed for. On a less serious note, it'd be figuring out which of her eyes was the fake one.

Greatest strength: Her composure. Her experiences in travelling solo and in groups have done a lot in teaching her how to deal with whatever's thrown her way (and how to keep it concealed).

Fatal flaw: Her tendency to internalise things often devolves into concluding that she can only depend on herself to fix whatever disaster she’s gotten herself into.

Favorite smell(s): The morning forest air. Or freshly baked goods from market stalls.

Favorite spell or cantrip: Misty step during combat, 'speak to animals' in other occasions.

Pet peeve(s): Bird puns (made even worse after Halsin drew the connection between her and a shrike), slow walking, when people touch her “organised chaos”.

Bad habit: Hoarding tendencies, her lockpicks can be found just about everywhere and on everyone in camp. This isn’t helped by her sticky fingers either.

Hidden talent: Jewelry making. Picked it up when she was apprenticing with a fletcher (who was married to a silversmith).

Leisure activity: Perching/lounging in high spots.

Favorite drink: Spiced tea (if didn’t need copious amounts of caffeine).

Comfort food: Steamed buns.

Favorite person: Usually it depends on what she’s up to. Platonically, she's closest to Wyll, who was a brother-figure, source of moral guidance and indulger of “fancy bullshit” (which was universally accepted to be less destructive than her theory crafting sessions with Gale) all rolled into one. His deal with Mizora was the first time she realized she wanted to get involved with this band of lunatics and not book it the moment she was tadpole-free. Romantically, it’s Astarion, although it was a long process of getting their shit together and figuring out what they wanted that didn’t involve threats of maiming, emotional constipation and roundabout banter. Chaos and roguish mischief are guaranteed when they’re both on the same page, something everyone has learnt the hard way.

Favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Quality time (she’s more than accustomed to hanging around in one spot for hours on end) and/or acts of service (which could be either a little favour or death by a dozen arrows). Though people were quick to catch on that if there are items involved there were most often stolen goods.

Fondest childhood memory: camping/hunting trips with her adopted parents.

Tagging anybody interested to try this out, now go.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #tav #zhana tavianos #oc profiles and stuff #coffee scribbles #scribbles more like me word vomiting again lmao

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whiskeyandwolfsbane · 2 years

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7/30 - 8:23PM - Conflicting Thoughts

Content warning: if you're sensitive when it comes to the subject of weight loss/desired weight loss/poor body image, either stop reading now or continue with much caution.

~*~

I'm doing well all things considered: the most discomfort and pain I'm feeling physically are from my damn drains, but there isn't much coming through them so if that keeps up and the amount of fluid remains low, I might be able to go in early to get them taken out so that's good.

Mentally, I'm all over the place when I'm not asleep or totally distracted, lol.

For the most part: I'm happy I finally got the surgery. I really am. I've been waiting six years or more for this and to finally have it happen, it's really great.

But I also am still almost... afraid to look at my results? It's part of why I haven't taken the compression binder off yet - that and I'm just plain afraid to because the paperwork said I have to keep it on as much as humanly possible lol.

I've seen so many different result photos for the different types of chest surgery, and like... the results I like best are always the ones from different types than the one I had. Obviously there is nothing I can do about that but it's still stressing me out more than it should. It probably doesn't help that I've been trying to look up photos of what my scars might look like but since it's hard to filter for specific types of surgery style, I keep seeing pictures of guys who are much smaller than me/have the body type I want/were able to get surgeries that wouldn't have much scarring and I'll just be upfront, it makes me really jealous and then I get pissed off that I'm jealous, and then I feel bad about the whole thing, and it's a mess lol. It sucks.

Part of me is excited to be able to wander around shirtless as soon as I've recovered for the most part, but I also know that I won't actually be excited when it comes down to it, or at least I won't be able to get over my insecurity enough to do so when it comes down to it because of my weight.

And the cruelly ironic thing about my chest being flatter now is that it's made me even more hyperaware of everything else I hate about my body even now, and I haven't even taken the compression binder off yet. Granted, I know some of it is probably just bloating and general Bleh from all the medications and the healing and such but still.

So there's that, but it also makes me worry I won't be happy with my results once the bandages and everything come off. I know there's gonna be scars and I'm gonna try my hardest with scar care to make sure it all heals as invisibly as possible but I also hear so many horror stories - dog ears, nipples that are too low or too odd looking, puckered scarring, etc. - and I worry that I'll end up with some or more of that stuff.

A lot of worry I can't do anything about right now though and I need to try and let go. I'm working on it.

The insecurity stuff though... I dunno. I'm already down fifty pounds luckily from like... middle of last year I wanna say. But of course, the stomach is the last place fat leaves, so while I've managed to start fitting into smaller jeans, there's been no real change in the place I'm really hoping to see change and it's frustrating, and it's going to be even moreso now I think because now that I have a flat chest, the protrusion of my stomach is going to be even more noticeable.

I'm well aware that this isn't anything I should care about, and fully aware of the internalised fatphobia that probably contributes to this, but at the same time, it's also a bunch of emotions that I'm incapable of changing at the moment. In addition to that, I have other reasons for wanting to shed weight - having juvenile arthritis, extra weight is extremely painful for my joints and my bad knees to deal with, and I want to be able to actually do more than walk up a few flights of stairs before I get out of breath. I wanna get into shape.

My mom said I might be more likely to get into a proper workout routine once I heal up and she's probably right - my insecurities before surgery were a huge reason I didn't work out, because I was too terrified of anyone seeing me, so I didn't go out or to the gym, and I didn't want to be seen even by my family really.

I dunno. It's harder than I thought it would be. I knew that this in and of itself wouldn't solve all my problems, that's absurd, but I figured I ought to at least... I don't know. Get the feelings out.

The photo I shared out of surgery (on my social media; I didn't post it here since I had posted the video already), I never would have shared if I hadn't been hopped up on pain meds and the remnants of anaesthesia and I cracked a joke about that on Snapchat and Facebook.

Objectively there is nothing wrong with that photo. Except for my face which I have problems with lol. But also - my stomach. I never, ever, show my stomach in photos if I can help it and had a moment of outright panic where I almost deleted it - but I would have lost all the kind words folks commented if I had, so I didn't, but leaving it up still puts a bad taste in my mouth.

It sucks but here's hoping things stabilise or even out, I guess, emotion-wise. I dunno. About the actual surgery, there's no (perceived) regrets really, which is good. My biggest thing is worrying that sensation/feeling won't come back. And because I'm bigger and couldn't get one of the less invasive surgeries like smaller folks can get, the fact of the matter is, it's very unlikely I'll get the feeling back according to most people I've talked to. Ultimately, I'll take the trade off but it's still a bit of a bummer.

Other than that though, no negative thoughts about the surgery itself, just the things about me that it's made me aware of. That and the general anger and bitterness I have toward my... lot in life if that makes sense? That I've been feeling a lot lately.

I'm well aware that I am so very lucky to have gotten this surgery. I know that. But for the last few months, I've been so angry all the time about how I - and everyone else in my situation - have to fight so much harder just to grasp at things that other people just get simply by being born. So even though I know I'm lucky to have this surgery, I'm somehow also just... really pissed off I had to get it at all, if that makes sense?

I don't know, most of this is disjointed and probably doesn't make sense lol. I figured, if I'm gonna do this whole journal thing, I should be open and as vulnerable as I'm able to be in case other people come across it because I know one thing I wished I had had at my disposal while planning this surgery was full-view knowledge of it. Not just the basics, but the shit people dealt with in the days after, how they were feeling, what conflict they inevitably faced, because this is a big thing, there is almost always going to be shit like that but it's rare for people to talk about it.

But yeah. I think I pretty much got out most of what I'm stressing about in as concise a manner as I'm able. The rest would just be ranting now, I think.

I don't have a good way to end this. Um.

If you haven't watched Strvnger Th1ngs, you should. This season was insane. Yeah.

#journal entries #also to the few folks i have sent this blog link to who don't actually know what the surgery i had was... yeah that's in part because of #all the insecurities; i avoid telling anyone this shit anymore these days because of it #but i'm sure the pieces are easy to put together #it's not that i don't trust yall it's more that i just don't want to acknowledge it at all ; to myself or anyone else #it's tricky

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kruxton · 12 days

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Into more PHC headcanons,

Mr sin will spend time with the form 4s and form 5s as a way to make up for himself on not caring enough for the students.

I imagine kahar and Fakhri will have an awkward time spending together and due to the fact kahar is trying to be a good senior to Fakhri.

I also wanna hear more about your headcanons about Naim and Amir please?

mr sin feels that he is to blame (at least partially) for the situation and its weighing him down heavily. so he steps up his game and actually Does his Job and starts socialising with his students like Pn. Faniza does, because he'll be damned if he lets anything like /that/ happen again

imagining the fakhri kahar situation afterwards is so funny to me. kahar is desperately trying to make amends but he cant do that if fakhri doesnt want to talk to him like 😭😭 bro approaches fakhri but hes looking everywhere but in kahar's direction trying not to get mad is that not the funniest thing ever

OKAY so naim and amir hc under the cut. ive never put this into actual words before so i apologise in advance if they dont make sense ok (edit: it turned out WAY longer than i imagined thats mb)

yk that scene that happens sometime after amir's past and trauma is revealed where naim is really angry (i forget why) but then lashes out onto amir bc smth smth why the fuck do u care so much are u fucking gay for me? (im like 99% sure this happened but if it didnt.. uhmm we're going to pretend it did)

i think in that moment amir didn't know the answer to that genuinely. he definitely knows that /something/ in him changed after what happened to him in that store room, but being gay was NOT an option, it just couldnt be, he wont LET it be. bc its not like he was attracted to any guys, right??? he doesnt care for any guy like THAT, yk?? or at least thats what he thought

once naim accused amir of being gay for him, something definitely snapped. it hurt, it hurt, but it wasnt his dignity that shattered. it was his heart.

(did that go hard? i think that went hard. im proud of myself)

because what if naim was right? what if naim just saw right through him and actually.. believed it?

cue the panic and worry that went on in his brain because who the fuck was he going to talk to abt this. his bestfriend? not an option

i like to believe thats why he barely showed up again until that scene in the hospital. ik the show played it off as them being so so angry at each other, and yeah, they probably were? but the both of them knew something went wrong between them at that moment in the dorm when naim used amir's trauma against him (bc when u put it like that.. how couldnt smth be wrong), and they were worried for their friendship, the both of them.

now we cue the internalised homophobia. i assume u can imagine how that goes

naim getting hurt really bad and needing to go to the hospital is what triggered amir's brain to make up his mind on his feelings and guess what? yeah he's gay for naim. and he doesnt have time to worry abt this anymore cause naim is Dying. he could die at any second. whatever the feelings he harbours for him doesnt matter because after everything he is still his bestfriend.

so he stomps his newfound feelings down and doesnt let himself think abt it. and when they hug in that waiting room and naim goes 'aku sayang kau wei' at him, its bittersweet but he cant ruin the moment, not again.

ok flashforward now

he's content with being naim's bestfriend. sure, he gets jealous when naim goes out with that girl (i forgot her name) but at least now he knows there's a valid reason for it instead of an irrarional envy as his bestfriend, so he accepts it and moves on (he doesnt really. but what choice does he have?)

#i hope that wasnt too vague. i hope u can see the vision #this became more of an introspection rather than a headcanon i feel like #OOPS! teehee #project high council #replies #this is one the best posts ive ever made btw #ive never been able to write abt media like this before

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igbylicious · 2 months

Text

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt4

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, friends with benefits

ch. summary: Hongjoong checks up on how you're doing. San finally gets a proper feel of you without getting chomped by Wooyoung.

wc: 9.5k

ch. warnings: dom San, switch Wooyoung, sub reader, threesome, vaginal fingering / sex, light bondage, creampie, sloppy seconds, cumplay, copious amounts of drool, finger sucking, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, dirty talk, light dumbification, praise kink (‘cumdump’ is used 1x as praise), condomless sex with IUD, mention of stomach bulge, pet names for reader (‘baby’ and ‘sweet/good girl’), use of ‘yellow’ safe word, aftercare

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

additional warning: the opening scene touches on some of reader’s struggles with amatonormativity and (internalised) arophobia. i promise this is not a super angst-heavy story, but that part calls for a little head’s up, i think

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

“Are they nice?” a slightly distorted voice asks from the video call on your phone.

You snort at the screen, raising an eyebrow at Hongjoong’s critical face. His hair is a bright blue these days, but today he has hidden most of it underneath a fashionable white beret. “Joong, since when do you care if the people I fuck are nice?”

You’ve taken the day off to quietly lounge around the apartment, giving your body some time to rest. It’s nice and relaxing, and your memories of last night are a soothing balm for the soreness of your thighs — a soreness not only caused by Wooyoung’s bites; you have a damn muscle ache from riding his face.

(You have always felt strongly that sex should be exempt from such nonsense but alas, it is a cruel world.)

San will probably be over later; he offered to check in after work, to see if you need anything. You suspect it’s also for his own peace of mind, so you did not try too hard to dissuade him.

But that won’t be for another few hours, so for now it’s just you and Hongjoong; your long-time friend who, ever since he moved away for his dream job at a fashion house, is also your long-distance friend.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about ‘nice’ with your onetime hookups, no,” he says, “but it’s been a while since you had something more involved going on.”

“It’s been two times; I’d hardly call that ‘involved’,” you point out, but you know you’re just being contrary for the sake of being contrary. It is getting a bit involved.

Hongjoong knows it too. “Right…” he drawls lazily, resting his chin on his hand, “so you don’t already have a date set for the third round?”

“…”

“That’s what I thought. So. Are they nice, or did you end up with more assholes?”

“I resent the implication that I have bad taste.”

“Not bad taste, just bad judgement. The other asshole was pretty hot.”

“Wow,” you say flatly. “That makes me feel much better, thank you, Joong. Also no, they’re not assholes.”

Last night gave you enough proof of that, if you needed any more. San and Wooyoung had patiently heard out your awkward little ramble. You don’t exactly consider yourself closeted, yet the simple truth is that ‘coming out’ stays an ongoing experience.

But San and Wooyoung took it without fuss; thankfully ‘aromanticism’ was not a new term to them, and they accepted your need for boundaries. If the guys were disappointed by the lack of a romantic prospect, or put off by the suggestion they might want one, they hid it well.

San just listened with an intent expression, brow furrowed. He thanked you for telling them, but also confirmed that yes, they absolutely are open to this becoming a regular thing.

Wooyoung had just asked a straightforward question; “We can still be friends, right?”

And when you answered with an emphatic yes, his follow-up was equally straightforward.

“Alright, so we’ll be friends who fuck. Works for me.”

You had agreed on a few points right after that, and put a pin in a few others. No sleepovers, no kissing outside of sex — yes, yes cuddles afterwards are fine, yes, hugs are always good! — and when you hesitated at Wooyoung’s offer to make you and San dinner sometime, he just told you to think it over.

(In hindsight, you feel silly about that last one. You make plenty of food for your other friends; you like sharing a meal together! It’s not like Wooyoung suggested a romantic candlelight dinner. You’ll have to get back to him on that one.)

“Hey? You still there?” Hongjoong says, waving his hand. “Is the screen frozen or is that you?”

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink to shake it off. “Sorry, yeah, that was me,” you say. “But seriously, you don’t have to worry about it. We talked the thing through, I don’t think I’ll be accused of keeping anyone on the hook this time around.”

(You’d think that “I’m not looking for something romantic” would have covered it with the other guy; but some people don’t take a hint even when it hits them over the head with a baguette.)

“So… you’ll be okay?” Hongjoong asks, the scepticism in his voice poorly hidden.

“God, what’s with all the fussing today! I’ve lived next to San for almost a year, I know he’s a nice guy. So is Wooyoung! And you know me; there’s no strings attached. No feelings to get hurt here.”

Hongjoong makes a face of distaste. “No, don’t pull that crap, alright? Don’t blow this shit off,” he says, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know you. So I know that ‘no feelings’ is bullshit. Just because you don’t do romance, doesn’t mean you don’t do any feelings at all. Your strings just happen to look a little different. Sure, you don’t want a lovey dovey boyfriend or two out of this; doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt by them.”

His annoyance lilts over into awkward self-consciousness at the end; Hongjoong knows damn well that you took it hard when he moved to the other side of the country.

(You didn’t resent him for it — how could you, when he was literally chasing his dream? — but it did leave a sting, and you do miss him. Videocalls are nice, but it’s just not the same.)

You wonder how much Hongjoong senses of the things that are hiding between the pieces of what you told him; he is right, you are already getting attached to San and Wooyoung, to their easy companionship and the growing friendship between you. It’d do you good to remember that you don’t know how long this arrangement will last.

Still, you are warmed by how Hongjoong is scolding you; a cornerstone in your friendship. It’s how he shows he cares.

“Okay, okay, you win. I won’t blow it off. But really, it will be fine, Joong,” you say, totally blowing it off. “They’re great, they’re fun, I’m having fun. We’re friends who fuck!” you go on, echoing Wooyoung’s description.

“And you claim you’re not a romantic,” Hongjoong deadpans, but he leaves it be for now. “So. The dick is good, then?”

You snort; now that’s more like the Hongjoong you know. “No idea actually,” you admit (but you’re pretty damn sure it will be.) “The tongue is incredible though.”

“What do you mean, ‘no idea’?!” he says, with a face of incredulous disbelief. “What the hell have you been doing? No, no actually don’t tell me. Keep the specifics to yourself.”

“You’re the one who asked!” you laugh, unsurprised at the way he’s backtracking. Hongjoong always bites off more than he can chew when it comes to the details of your sex life; nosy as fuck, but also appalled whenever you indulge his curiosity a little too much.

“It’s called being a supportive friend. You’re supposed to answer ‘yes, Joong, the dick is fantastic’ and move on,” Hongjoong says, pinching the bridge of his nose; like he is painstakingly explaining advanced mathematics to a toddler, already knowing the futility of his efforts. “Except you’re not getting any, I guess.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Alright, mister. ‘Yes, Joong, the dick will be fantastic’,” you parrot back. “Thank you for asking, my dear supportive friend.”

“See? That’s all you needed to do.”

Just like that, the conversation passes on to other things. Your call doesn’t end until much later, once you and Hongjoong are fully caught up with another’s lives. You’ve even started to plan a long-overdue visit in person; it’s been a while since you had the opportunity to menace Hongjoong with hugs.

You mosey around your apartment, starting up a chore or two and giving up immediately when your body complains too loudly. So you lounge on the couch for the day, and try not to think too much about how Hongjoong had scolded you about disregarding your feelings.

You’re moderately successful at this.

In general, you are perfectly satisfied with the relationships in your life. There is no feeling of ‘missing out’, no hole in your heart that you can’t fill with platonic or familial affection. No craving for ‘more’ than friendship and sex — but you are painfully aware that without a romantic commitment, you usually fall to the wayside in your friends’ list of priorities.

No matter how much you invest on your end, it’s never a given that their long-term plans will include you.

And that? To know that the people most precious to you don’t prioritise you as highly as you do them?

That part does hurt sometimes.

But all these thoughts are completely irrelevant to the situation at hand, or so you firmly remind yourself. It’s like you told Hongjoong, right? This thing with San and Wooyoung is just about having fun together. As long as you keep your expectations in check, you won’t have lied to Hongjoong about whether he needs to worry about you.

Thankfully, your concerns are a fading memory by the time San comes over to check up on you. You really don’t need help with anything, but he stays over to chat anyway.

At the start of everything, you did have some worries about disrupting your neighbourly bond with San — but if anything, you have grown more comfortable with each other. You’ve always been friendly enough, but you never crossed the threshold into actual ‘friends’. A polite, shy distance always held you back.

But now? The shyness has been thoroughly scrubbed off of you both.

So you enthusiastically tell him about your plans to meet up with Hongjoong, and he proudly tells you about his students’ progress. There is always a glow about San when he talks about ‘his’ kids, and you listen and watch fondly as he gives an energetic demonstration of the new kicking drills he’s been teaching them.

(He is adamant to teach you too; which you try to refuse at first, considering the state of your muscles. But there is no force in the world that can withstand the strength of San’s pout — so you make a brave effort. It’s absolutely worth the spike in soreness when San laughs with crescent eyes at your disastrous attempt.)

“Hey, about next weekend,” San starts, just when he is about to leave. His hand rests on the doorframe, and his cheery demeanour fades. He raises his eyebrow just slightly — a quiet intensity taking over. “You said you’ve dabbled with bondage before, right? Just curious, how do you feel about getting tied up this time around, instead of Wooyoung?”

Your chest jolts at the mention of Wooyoung tied up, plunging you back into memories of last night.

The leather handcuffs made a return for his punishment, looped around the slats of the headboard. It exposed Wooyoung’s chest for San to give him a taste of his own toothy medicine. Wooyoung had shuddered and gasped at every hard bite, whimpering while San used his skin as a canvas to paint with red marks and bruises. Tears and sweat had streamed down Wooyoung’s face as San stretched him with deft, practised fingers, milking his prostate until Wooyoung was completely dry and trembling, his torso covered with his own cum.

You also remember the dopey smile on Wooyoung’s face after he came down from the onslaught of his ‘punishment’, grinning tiredly when San undid his cuffs.

(Because no matter how San punishes him, you doubt any lessons are ever learned. Taming Wooyoung seems to be a hopeless endeavour.)

“Did I do well?” he’d asked eagerly, still a little drunk on pain and overstimulation.

“You did so good,” San had assured him, wiping his forehead to press a kiss there.

“Hm. You too,” Wooyoung had mumbled, not letting his exhaustion stop him from lavishing San with praise.

Praising San is part of his aftercare, you know now. Like a soft cushion for San to land on after a rough session. Confirmation that every degrading word spoken, every flash of pain inflicted, had been for the pleasure of his partner.

The trust between them is truly something special — and by asking you about bondage, San has indirectly asked you a second question, hidden deeper underneath; do you trust him as well? Enough to leave yourself completely in his and Wooyoung’s hands?

You know that San would back down and drop the subject without another word if you said no, and that seals the deal for you.

“Yes. Good. I feel good about that,” you say, with warm confidence.

He grins, his lips carrying that dangerous cocky edge that you’re getting real familiar with. “Great. We’ll properly talk it through later, alright? Then maybe we can have some fun with that.”

Of that, you have no doubt.

San’s lips are pursed in concentration, drawing them into an adorable little pout. He is clearly practised with the linen rope in his hands, but still takes the utmost care as he ties your wrists together. He makes a point of checking your comfort, and tests whether the knots slip and if the doubled ropes are tensioned evenly. There is a pair of safety shears on the nightstand.

You are gathered in Wooyoung’s arms, who sits against the headboard of the bed. While you watch San intently, Wooyoung is more interested in plying your neck with impatient kisses, his hands running restlessly across your bare body.

Wooyoung is dressed casual in a simple dark grey shirt, the material soft against your skin, while his trousers do nothing to hide the first hints of a growing bulge. San also opted for the casual look, wearing a tight black t-shirt and fitted jeans. The contrast with your own nakedness makes you fidgety, itching to pull at their clothes; but your incapacitated hands leave you with no choice but to wait.

“There,” San says, finally satisfied with his knots. “Now, what did I tell you?”

“Any tingling, pain, numbness; anything feels wrong, and I say the word. ‘Red’,” you obediently repeat back to him, trying not to get distracted by Wooyoung’s hands squeezing at your thighs.

“Or?” San presses.

“Or if I just want them off. If they don’t feel good anymore.”

You find that hard to imagine; the linen rope is softer than you expected, and already a fuzzy smile plays on your lips. It’s not your first time getting tied up, but the fact that you’re with San and Wooyoung breathes fresh excitement into the situation.

“Exactly. Good girl,” San praises, cupping your chin with a soft brush of his fingers. You melt into his gentle touch with a content moan, nuzzling into his palm.

The ropework is not excessively restrictive; your hands are tied in front of you, giving you some freedom of movement and putting minimal pressure on your joints — but San wanted to ‘start off easy’.

You whine a little when San pulls away, but he raises an eyebrow at you.

Just a small, simple gesture, barely a warning; yet you instinctively quiet down at the sight, already sinking into hazy surrender. Satisfied, San takes your bound arms and hooks them behind Wooyoung’s head.

“Wooyoung?” San says, who glances up from kissing your neck. “Have fun.”

Wooyoung’s grin spreads against your skin. “Oh, we will, won’t we?” he coos at you, his voice alive with anticipation. His hand trails further inward. “I’ll be so good to you, don’t you worry.”

You shudder when his fingers delve between your folds, and Wooyoung’s breath picks up as he slowly spreads the growing arousal around your clit. His teeth graze against your shoulder, red hair tickling your cheek, and you try to angle your hands to grasp at the strands. He moans eagerly when you find a grip, and his fingers pick up speed as they get soaked with your juices.

San has his hands on your knees to keep them apart, watching you with dark eyes. You burn under his gaze, your breath hitching when his eyes keep wandering from your face down to your cunt, his jaw clenching at the sight of Wooyoung toying with your clit.

“Gonna be so nice to you today,” Wooyoung groans against your neck. “Promised San that I’d behave with you tied up for us; get you all ready to take his cock. You’ll need it, Sannie is being sweet to you now but once he sinks into that tight pussy? Fuck, he’ll want to ruin you so bad, I just know it.”

He giggles when you whimper in response, dipping a finger inside your already slick entrance. San’s hold on your knees tightens.

“Yeah, you want San to ruin you, don’t you?” Wooyoung rasps, and laps up a bead of sweat on your neck with a thick swipe of his tongue. He is getting antsy, his voice tight with barely held back excitement.

“Then I’ll get you ready for him, baby. Stretch you out nice and proper so he can bury that thick cock inside you as hard and deep as he wants. Ahh, he will fuck you so well, you’ll be good to him too, won’t you? Gush all over him when you cum, just like you did on my face. I can still taste you when I close my eyes, fuck, aren’t I taking good care of you? Listen to that sound. Getting so wet…”

Wooyoung groans at the squelch of you, sliding in a second finger alongside the first. You pant at the intrusion, thighs flexing against San’s grip, your head spinning from the endless stream of filth spilling from Wooyoung’s lips.

“Don’t even need to put my mouth on you, just my fingers is enough to turn you into a mess,” Wooyoung babbles, leaving sharp nips on the places where your skin glistens with his saliva. “But you’d be dripping right now even without my fingers, wouldn’t you? Can’t wait to have this leaking pussy stuffed with cock, greedy thing that you are. So wound up at the thought of San fucking you dumb.”

“S-shit,” you stutter, clenching around Wooyoung’s fingers. San bites back a quiet groan and his eyes catch yours, full of sharp intent.

Wooyoung grins, his free hand squeezing at your breast. “Maybe I could take a turn after, hm? Fuck his cum deeper into your hole after he fills you up. Make sure you carry it around for days. You’d like that?”

A moan breaks on your tongue, your back arching into his touch. Wooyoung sighs happily, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Fuck, yeah I knew you’d like that,” he mumbles eagerly, curving his fingers inside you. You jolt when Wooyoung finds what he’s looking for; and he hones in immediately, massaging electricity into the spongy bundle of nerves. He groans as your hips cant into his touch, sparks flashing with every press of his fingertips.

“Can I, Sannie? Can I get a turn?” He almost stumbles over the words in his enthusiasm. “I’m being good, aren’t I?”

You whimper at how hungrily Wooyoung chases after praise rather than degradation, now that you are bound and left to his whims. So eager to know that he is taking proper care of you — and he is. Skilled fingers draw gaspy moans from you as he drives up the tight pressure in your abdomen, coiling rapidly.

(You had okay-ed it beforehand for Wooyoung to fuck you, of course, but your permission is not the only one he needs.)

San’s eyebrows quirk at Wooyoung’s question, teeth flashing as his lips pull into a crooked smile. He does not answer; instead he leans in closer. His presence is solid and imposing, and you bite down a swear when his hand joins Wooyoung’s between your thighs.

“In a sharing mood today, Woo?” San asks, grabbing Wooyoung’s chin in a firm hold. Down against your cunt, his index finger rubs slow circles around your swollen clit. “Let me have a feel this time?”

Wooyoung just whines, nodding his head. He is so pliant today — perhaps San’s punishment has done more to (temporarily) mellow Wooyoung out than you had given him credit for.

“Good boy,” San purrs, and pulls him into a kiss. His finger experimentally presses against Wooyoung’s two buried in your twitching hole, then slides in to find a home alongside them.

You let out a throttled moan as you clench around the added stretch, arms pulling against the rope. San makes a point of taking it slow, giving you time to adjust while Wooyoung continues to curl his fingers inside you, but he quickly picks up his pace as the slide gets easier. Your thighs are slick with arousal, their fingers drawing obscene noises from your cunt and your lips as they work in tandem to scissor you open. Your head falls against Wooyoung’s shoulder, gasping for breath and eyes starting to roll back.

Meanwhile San licks messily into Wooyoung’s mouth, jaws shifting as their tongues entangle. Wooyoung whimpers against San, rocking his hips into you; pushing his hard cock into your lower back. You try to match his rut, but Wooyoung and San’s finger-fucking makes any controlled movement on your part a near-impossibility. They never let up during all this; if anything, their fingers pick up speed, like the desperate urgency of their sloppy kiss floods over into you.

San detaches his lips from Wooyoung when he realises how close you are. He presses his free hand against your shaking knee to hold you open, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the skin as your vision starts to blur. Wooyoung nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder with a groan, his breath scorching. His free hand finds your clit, and the circles he draws are anything but soothing.

“Ahh, Woo is being good to you, isn’t he?” San murmurs, his lips ghosting across your jawline. You can only whine your agreement, trembling as you inch closer and closer to the brink. “Maybe he does deserve a turn,” San contemplates with a quiet moan, his mouth finding yours in a faded shadow of a kiss. “If you can still handle it, after I am done with you.”

San’s words spur Wooyoung on, his thumb pressing down harder.

“F-fuck,” you moan, toes curling as the world starts to tilt. “There, right there, W-Woo—”

His name ends in a strangled sob, your hips bucking into their hands as pleasure crashes down on you. Your legs try to clamp shut but San blocks one with his body, the other with his hand still on your knee. He slides his finger out of your twitching cunt while Wooyoung’s slow to a lazy crawl, easing you through your high.

San lifts his glistening finger up to get a taste, and groans lowly as he sucks indulgently at the slick. He releases it with a wet smack, licking his lips. “Hm, no wonder Wooyoung got so worked up over this pussy.”

“Told you,” Wooyoung mumbles between open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder, the pads of his fingers still slowly rubbing into that sensitive patch of nerves. He giggles when you start to squirm against him, and playfully bites at your incapacitated arm. His fingers pull out, leaving you unsatisfyingly empty.

“I think you’re ready, don’t you?” he grins, and reaches to carefully manoeuvre your hands back in front of you. His fingers leave a sticky patch of your own juices smeared on your forearm. “All stretched and sopping wet for Sannie’s cock. I’ll watch this time, let you have an audience for a change.”

You moan at the excited buzz in Wooyoung’s voice, but San gives him an unimpressed look.

“You’re not an audience, you’re a heckler,” he says, a pout on his lips that he seems unaware of. He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion and throws it aside, muscles rippling.

Wooyoung laughs in surprise, his good mood inextinguishable. “Hey, don’t be like that!” he says, waving a hand at San. “It’s a special occasion today, I’m on my best behaviour!”

San just ignores him, continuing to take off his clothes. He shifts to sit back on his knees, legs spread — but instead of making quick work of his pants, San takes his time. Your breath hitches when he runs a slow hand up his inner thigh, the thick muscle wrapped snugly in his fitted jeans.

He oozes confidence, his face filled with complete focus. San bites his lip when he cups his bulge, squeezing it before moving on to undo the button and zipper. His hips tilt forward as he hooks his thumb under the waistband of his jeans and boxers, pulling them both down until he can wrap a hand around his leaking cock, giving it a few strokes just for good measure.

Entranced, you watch how San’s eyes flutter shut as he rocks into his palm. Your hips move on their own accord, pushing back into Wooyoung’s clothed cock.

He groans right beside your ear, gripping your waist tightly. “Careful there, baby,” Wooyoung says, breathy. “Or my best behaviour won’t last.”

San’s eyes flash open, and he grins at the needy look on your face, how you squirm in Wooyoung’s arms at the sight of him.

“You know, I was gonna take it easy on you tonight,” he says, releasing his cock to shuck off his pants and underwear. “Spoil you, take it nice and sweet…”

Your breath hitches as he grabs onto your hips, pulling you out of Wooyoung’s arms. San pushes down on your shoulder, guiding you to lay flat on your back. Heat envelops you as his body presses against yours, immediately giving a smooth roll of his hips, cock sliding through your wet folds. Your bound hands are trapped between your chest and his, and you can feel his heartbeat, pounding harder than his self-control would lead you to believe.

“But… Wooyoungie is right, isn’t he?” San takes your hands and raises them above your head. He leans in to brush his nose against yours, his breath falling hot on your lips. “You don’t want me to take it easy.”

You shake your head with a whine, trying to arch up into a kiss. Your arms strain against San’s iron hold on your wrist; there is no give at all.

San chuckles at your hungered response. “Yeah, I should have known better,” he says, his hips grinding a little firmer against yours. “That first night, I saw the way you watched me fuck Wooyoung. Three fingers inside you and it still wasn’t enough was it? Still needed more. Even then, you couldn’t wait for that greedy cunt to get split open on my cock.”

And yet he won’t push inside you, taunting with his slow thrusts. The underside of his cock drags against your clit in delicious friction, but you need more. “S-San, please—”

“See?” he says with a grin, and sucks a rough kiss into your neck. “So fucking hungry for it. Want me to fuck you just as hard as I fucked him, hm? Until you can’t do anything but lie there and take it. Stuffed so full with my cum there’s no room for even a single thought inside that pretty head of yours. Was Wooyoung right about that, too? Want to get fucked dumb?”

There is a teasing lilt to San’s voice; he asks it like you’re a little slow already — which you are. You moan shamelessly, wrapping a leg around his waist in an attempt to guide him inside. The effort is completely in vain.

“Gonna need you to tell me, baby,” San insists, nipping at your earlobe. “Do you want me to fuck you until you’re dumb on my cock?”

(You can’t tell whether he is taunting you again, or confirming that you are still on board with rougher treatment. Either way, his question drives a spike of heat in your already throbbing cunt.)

“Hngh, yes, yes—! P-please,” you hiccup, “please, San. F-fuck me dumb. Stuff me until I can’t think, can’t think of anything but your cock filling me up, f-fuck—”

San grunts a strained curse, unable to hide how much your begging riles him up. Finally, finally, he grabs his cock, flushed dark and leaking, and guides it inside you. The stretch is manageable after his and Wooyoung’s extensive prep, but your jaw still falls slack at how he opens you up, tortuously slow.

“S-San, mmmh, n-need more, please—”

He hushes you with a soft, shallow kiss, though a tense vein bulges in his neck. “Shh, be our good girl a little longer, okay? We’ll get there, I promise. Wanna make this good for you.”

“It-it’s good, feels so good,” you whimper, uselessly straining your hands against the rope and San’s hold. “I just—”

His dick twitches inside you, and San presses his mouth against yours more solidly, teasing your lips apart to soak up every shaky moan as he bottoms out. “I got you, baby,” he pants. “Gonna give it all to you. Wooyoung?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, his voice strained. You glance up, and realise that somehow he has taken off his shirt without you noticing. His trousers are undone just enough to stroke himself through his underwear; there is a damp spot in the crotch.

Wooyoung shifts closer at San’s call. He half sits, half lays down with his legs folded up beside him, and leans over you to plant one hand firmly into the mattress; right underneath your bound wrists, blocking your movement. Wooyoung’s dick strains against his underwear right at your eye-level, and his grin widens when that is exactly where your eyes go.

“One at the time, baby,” he teases, giving himself a firm squeeze. “At least for today.”

You suck in a breath at the suggestion, sparks ricocheting in your stomach. Fuck. You’re not even sure yet how you’ll handle San’s rather substantial girth, once he starts fucking you in earnest, yet the idea of taking them both at once has you clamping around him. San groans lowly, the sound ending in a hoarse chuckle. “Ohh, she likes that, Woo.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Of course she does. Now, are you going to fuck her or not?”

(Thank god, someone is asking the important questions around here.)

“San…” you moan weakly. You are primed for him to use every ounce of his strength and fuck you until you see stars; the snug fit of his cock buried in your core is intoxicating, yet maddeningly frustrating without any friction. “Please, need you…”

His endless teasing and refusal to move is driving you up the wall; you’re aching to grab onto him, to claw at his back and twist your fingers in his hair to yank him into a kiss — but Wooyoung’s arm blocks your hands from touching San, and San has your hips pinned onto the bed. There is nothing you can do but surrender to his inclinations. He’ll fuck you when he decides to fuck you.

But Wooyoung’s lips curl up with mischief, a sharp glint in his eyes.

“Ah…” he says, like some deep, secret revelation has come to him. He looks down at you, using his free hand to brush along your jawline. “Unless maybe our Sannie is worried that his cock alone won’t be enough for you anymore, now you’ve gotten a scent of more. Nothing but a double stuffing will do for our sweet, greedy girl.”

You sob in desperation, squirming against San’s hold. Already your thoughts are getting lost in a hazy fog, too addled and tongue-tied to object to Wooyoung’s taunt; so you completely miss how San’s jaw ticks at his boyfriend’s mocking jab. You only whine when San pulls out until just the tip teases at your entrance, and are entirely unprepared when he slams back in — then immediately thrusts again, hitting deep inside your gut.

The force rips a loud cry from your throat, your fingers clawing at Wooyoung’s arm as sudden pleasure floods your system. Your eyes roll back at the drag of San’s cock against your pulsing walls, a thin trail of saliva escaping the corner of your parted lips.

San grins smugly at your response, bucking into you like it costs no effort at all to fuck you to pieces. He raises an eyebrow at Wooyoung. “Worried?” he scorns, his hands digging into the soft meat of your sides to yank you up to meet his pelvis. “No, Wooyoung, not worried at all. Maybe you should be, having to follow up on me wrecking this sweet pussy.”

But Wooyoung barely seems to hear him, entranced by the sight of your sopping cunt stretching around San’s cock, squelching obscenely every time you suck in his thick length.

San quickly proves his confidence earned. You gasp for pitched breaths, moaning helplessly as the bed rattles with every sharp snap of his hips.

Because that, you soon realise, is the thing about getting fucked by Choi San; you can happily report to Hongjoong that the dick is fantastic — but it’s the hips that are life-ruining.

And San is unrelenting as he drives into you over and over again; balls slapping against your ass, his own breath becoming ragged. You try to move with him, but the attempt is futile as San jostles you around, his grip on your sides like iron. He is in complete control. Sweat drips down his temple, across his jaw to his chin, until it falls into the valley between your breasts to blend with the beads of your own sweat gathered there.

“How are you doing, baby?” he asks, almost condescending in the certainty of his answer.

But you can only answer in a pathetic mewl, writhing underneath him as he fucks a white heat of pleasure into your core.

San chuckles darkly. “What’s this? I barely got started and you’re already dumb on my cock? Fuck, but you are taking me so well. So fucking wet for me… You wanted my cock so bad? Now take it.”

His thumb slides inward, pressing against the weeping mess that is your pussy. Sweat and slick soaks into the sheets but San pays it no mind, only caring about drawing more depraved sounds from your slack mouth. He does it so easily, the combination of his thumb on your clit and those brutal slams of his hips overwhelming your inhibitions. The building pressure in your cunt sharpens, honing in on the apex of release.

Another especially hard thrust causes a fresh spill of drool past your lips, and Wooyoung catches it on his fingers. He grins as he examines the glistening shine, and for a moment you think Wooyoung is going to suck his fingers into his mouth — but instead he offers them to San, who hungrily accepts.

Without letting up on his fanatical pace, San’s eyes flutter shut as he moans around Wooyoung’s fingers. He bits his lip when Wooyoung slides out again, and then cups San’s cheek to spread saliva across his face. “Brat,” San pants with heavy-lidded eyes, though he does not look in the least upset.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says with a grin, and leans in to peck San on his glossy cheek. “Now make her cum so I can watch, alright?”

“Woo…” San sighs an exasperated warning at Wooyoung’s brazen order, his rhythm slowing — and the loss of force threatens to take you away from the edge you were rushing towards, your orgasm receding out of reach.

“N-no, San—” you whimper desperately. “So close, s-so fucking close, please, wanna cum, let me cum, please—”

Wooyoung’s expression goes wicked at your pleading, delighted to have caught San between the choice of punishing him or pleasing you… or so he thinks.

Instead of showing any conflicted feelings, San just rolls his eyes and tsks, then leans down to smother your mouth in an aggressive kiss. This way, his hand is trapped between your stomach and his; but he can still press against your clit, the nub shifting underneath his thumb as he picks up his pace again, pistoning into you with reckless abandon.

And in this position? Wooyoung’s view of your face and cunt are almost completely blocked off.

“Sa-aan,” Wooyoung complaints, trying to pull San back up — but it’s like San doesn’t even notice Wooyoung, his tongue hungry as he sloppily kisses you. His spit freely spills into your mouth, dribbling past your lips when you gurgle out a wet moan.

Their petty behaviour over you just works you up further, and the orgasm that was almost denied you comes surging back all at once, violent and overwhelming as it rips through you.

San swallows up your loud cry like he does not want Wooyoung to even hear it, pressing a firm hand down on your hips to keep you in place when you convulse and clamp around him. He stops his brutal pounding, instead circling his pelvis as he stays deep inside you through your release. Wooyoung is still blocking your arms from moving, but your legs lock around San’s waist and he groans as you clench with every ripple of electricity.

His breath comes in harsh inhales, and San releases your mouth with a whine to bite at your shoulder, all his muscles tensing to gather every ounce of willpower not to cum right with you.

Your moans grow weaker as the strength slips away from your body, the aftermath of your intense orgasm leaving you boneless and exhausted. Wooyoung stares down at you, and an agitated excitement burns behind his blown eyes.

San relaxes when your body sags underneath him, sweetly lapping at the bite he left on your shoulder. “Such a good girl,” he purrs, dragging his nose up your neck to press a kiss on your jaw. “Doing so well for me. Are you alright to keep going, hm? Want to make Wooyoung wait a little longer with me? Give me a colour.” San’s voice changes a little at those last words; not lavishing you with praise or teasing Wooyoung anymore, but giving you an honest command.

(You hear Wooyoung make a noise at San’s comment, but he quiets at the call for colour.)

You take a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself. “Green,” you answer, meeting San’s intense gaze. “W-want you to cum inside me. I’m okay, j-just… let me hold you?”

San’s eyes go soft, and he motions for Wooyoung to let you move your arms.

Despite his earlier mood, Wooyoung obediently pulls his hand away. (Because you asked for it, not San, or so you suspect. He does give your wrist a light squeeze first, like he is loath to let go.)

San takes a moment to check the ropes, and helps you sling your bound arms around his neck when he’s satisfied with what he sees. Your fingers grasp at the sweaty dark hair at the nape, and immediately you feel more secure, more anchored, sighing when San leans in for a light kiss.

“There you go,” San murmurs against your lips, giving an experimental slow roll of his hips. “Is that better?”

You whimper at the slide of his cock against your fluttering walls — but frantically nod your head, worried San might take your noise as a negative. “Y-yes, so good. Feels so good.”

He lets out a strained chuckle at your enthusiasm, biting his lip as the speed of his thrusts pick up again. His previously deep and smooth rolls soon degrade to nothing but a frantic rut, focused on his own release. To fill you up exactly like you’d asked.

And although you are too wired to get yourself back to that edge this time around, San’s increasingly desperate and pitchy moans get you high nonetheless. His rhythm crumbles down further every time he buries himself in your cunt, his head dropping down against your shoulder, rough grunts falling on your heated skin.

“Got one more for me?” he asks, whines, and reaches for your clit again.

It is tempting, so fucking tempting to let San push you in and through the needling high of overstimulation, but you hiss as he makes contact and shake your head. “No, n-no. Yellow, yellow,” you slur out, the colour system still fresh in your mind from San’s earlier check. “C-can’t, hmnh—”

As much as you usually revel in the thrill of seeking out the furthest edges of your limits; there is no way in hell that you’ll have the stamina to keep going with Wooyoung if San makes you cum again right now.

San immediately pulls his hand back, switching gears as he simply grabs onto your waist again. “Happy just to be used by me, hm?” San hums against your ear, nipping at your lobe. “Asking for nothing except to get stuffed full. How lucky am I to have such a sweet, pretty cumdump.”

(Your stomach jolts with surprised pleasure; San has been encouraging you to share whatever preferences and fantasies you feel comfortable sharing, but you did not expect him to dip into this side of your praise kink tonight, with all his initial talk of slow and sweet. But obviously he is becoming more comfortable to improvise with you, and pull from his growing knowledge of your pleasure points.

Already you’ve come a long way from the San who refused to let Wooyoung eat you out — and you are still getting to know one another. That in itself is a feverishly exciting thought.)

“Yes, yes Sannie, please,” you babble, his affectionate degradation flaring hotly inside you. “Give it to me, please, fill me up— I want it, want it, want it—”

“Fuck, fuck, hang on, baby, fuck,” San says, cracks fracturing his voice and composure when you squeeze encouragingly around him. It only takes a few more rough, frantic bucks of his hips before he cums with a broken moan, painting your fluttering walls with ropes of hot, sticky seed.

You groan in satisfaction as San stills inside you, your bound fingers running through his hair best you can. He rocks into you a little longer with small, whiny noises, milking himself with your plush cunt until his arms tremble and his breath comes in tight moans.

“That’s it,” you murmur to him, “being so good to me, giving me everything.” You play with the sweaty strands of hair as he slowly recovers; which gives you a moment to recover as well. Your walls still twitch around San, overly sensitive, but the sharpest edge is wearing down.

Wooyoung’s hand joins yours in San’s hair, but there is a quiver to his fingers as he gently strokes his boyfriend’s head.

You glance up to Wooyoung, and see he has pushed down his trousers and underwear enough to expose his veiny, rock-hard dick. There is an angry flush to the leaking tip, and Wooyoung’s entire body looks like it’s pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Wooyoung…”

He swallows thickly at the call of his name, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He squeezes your hand, sensing the concern in your voice.

“I’m good,” Wooyoung strains. “H-hurts, but it’s good. I’m fucking good, baby. I-is it my turn now?” he ends on a whine.

San pulls out with a grunt, and you moan at the sudden emptiness as he slides off of you, onto the bed on the opposite side of Wooyoung. He is still catching his breath, sweat beading in his hairline. You give San a questioning look, but he just grins back. “Your call,” he says. “Is it his turn?”

Wooyoung restlessly pats at your hair, desperation shining in his eyes from unshed tears. But his expression is feverish, borderline feral; all that holds him back from pouncing you is a razor-thin wire of restraint tied to your consent.

You give it to him.

“Yeah, your turn,” you say, breathy, and bring your bound hands down to your cunt, smearing your fingers through the mixture of arousal and the slow dribble of San’s leaking seed. “You promised me, right? Was gonna make me feel San’s cum for days. Wanna feel you too…”

Wooyoung chokes back a whimper, his hips stuttering; and for a moment you think he is going to cum without his cock ever touching your waiting cunt.

But he manages to regain himself and, with ragged breaths, he kicks off his pants and underwear. Once his clothes are discarded, Wooyoung scrambles to lay down next to you. His touch is roughened by impatience, and you squeak in surprise when Wooyoung turns you onto your side, facing San, and hooks your leg back around him.

Before you get a chance to worry about more of San’s cum spilling out, Wooyoung’s cock pushes into your wet hole. He whines as he plugs you up, holding you close against him and teething at your neck. “Fuck, but this pussy is so fucking sweet,” he groans, shaky as he grinds against your ass. “Feels just as good as it tastes. Wanna make such a mess of you.”

“D-do it,” you challenge him, turning your head in an attempt to find his lips. “Mess me up, fuck, Wooyoungie…”

Wooyoung’s cock might not be as thick as San’s, but his length hits deliciously inside you, a toe-curling slide that is just what your raw and tender cunt needs right now. “Gonna fuck Sannie’s cum so deep you can taste him, promise,” Wooyoung babbles, sucking hungrily at your skin. “Aren’t I so much nicer than him? I am letting him watch.”

San scoffs. “Like that’s not for your own benefit,” he says, though his eyes are hard while he does watch how his own seed slowly leaks from your pussy between thrusts, dislodged by Wooyoung’s sloppy thrusts. “We all know how much putting on a show gets you off.”

Wooyoung ignores him, too caught up in the thrill of finally having some relief for his painfully neglected cock.

“Look at San,” he tells you, his mouth wet against your ear. “Look how fucked out he is from pumping your cunt full. Wanted to stay buried in this warm pussy for as long as he could, didn’t he?”

You moan when San’s gaze snaps up to meet your eyes; ‘fucked out’ barely covers it. He looks as ruined as you feel, lips plump from the force of his kisses and every inch of skin glistening with sweat, his broad chest rising with every breathless pull for air, punctuated by soft moans. His eyes are slightly unfocused but still he watches with quiet intensity, like he already can’t wait to bury himself into you all over again.

San takes your bound hands and lifts them up to his puffy lips. You expect a kiss — but teeth nip your skin instead, San’s hazy eyes dangerous as he bites at your knuckles, one by one.

You squirm at the gentle stings of pain, and Wooyoung lets out another drawn-out whine as you clench tighter around him. His hand shakily inches downward, but he grunts and yanks it back when he remembers your earlier limit. Desperately, you shake your head, arching into his touch.

“No, n-no, I—” you moan, wiggling your ass into him. Heat is coiling in your abdomen again, dizzying your tongue into slurred speech. “I, hngh, I can go again, please, please, mmmhh fuck, want you to touch me, Wooyoung, ahh—”

And Wooyoung — fucking menace that he is — even when balancing on the very brink himself; Wooyoung can’t resist being a little shit about it. “Touch you where, baby?” he pants, like he isn’t about to bust his load in your aching cunt. “Tell me where you need my fingers, then I’ll give it to you. Tell me exactly.”

With San holding onto your wrists, you can hardly force Wooyoung’s hands where you want them, so you have no choice but to give voice to your feverish desperation aloud. “P-pussy. Need you to touch my pussy.”

“That it? Nothing more… specific?” he asks with a salacious grin, running a single finger through your messy folds, cruelly bypassing the swollen nub that is begging for attention.

“Clit,” you sob, twisting against him. “Put your fingers on my clit and make me cu-uuhmm—!”

Wooyoung sighs in bliss, obediently rolling your clit between thumb and forefinger. They’re soon coated in an obscene slick, a mixture of San’s seed and your own smeared arousal. Your choked up whimpers can’t quite cover the wet noises of Wooyoung’s efforts, his fingers and cock making an even bigger mess of you. San watches silently how fluids drip from your thighs onto his already soaked sheets, something primal cutting through the exhaustion in his eyes.

Predictably, Wooyoung does not last long; especially now that you are clamping around his dick, your cunt instinctively trying to keep him embedded deep inside you. He burrows his face into your shoulder, biting down on the exact same spot that San had earlier.

You hiss at how it smarts, but the sound morphs into a pleased moan when Wooyoung cums hard. His hips jerk as he empties with generous spurts of hot whiteness, leaving you feeling so floaty and full, satisfied and swollen — you wonder if you’d feel the protrusion of Wooyoung’s cock and their combined seed, if your hands were free to press against your stomach.

But Wooyoung quickly pulls out with a pained whine, too sensitive to even simply stay inside you. Immediately his cum starts to drip out; except San is right there to gather his and Wooyoung’s seed on two fingers. He shoves them back inside you without delay, keeping you beautifully stuffed while Wooyoung frantically works your clit.

Wooyoung covers your cheek, jaw and ear with hard kisses, and whispers filthy encouragements as you begin to shake and tremble uncontrollably. San curls his fingers inside you, Wooyoung pinches sharply at your clit — and he grins against your cheek when you shatter apart with a wretched sob.

“That’s it,” he coos smugly as sparks sear through you like a shockwave. “Took it all so well, milking us for all we got. Been keeping San’s cum so nice and warm for us, making room for me too. Want a taste of what we stuffed you full with?”

You’re still trembling in Wooyoung’s hold, whimpering through the persistent spikes of pleasure while he continues to rub stubborn circles on your clit. The surges slowly grow weaker but they linger, and you are unable to do anything but make a sniffling noise that you hope gets your needs across.

San seems to pick up on it, sliding his fingers out your weeping hole. But before he lets you have that taste, his fingers smear across your lips, leaving a glossy stain. Wooyoung groans at the sight and can’t resist, sucking at your bottom lip to steal the mixture of fluids away from you. You whine in protest, though you do miss his mouth when he pulls away with a playful bite.

You can’t miss him for long; San nudges his fingers past your lips, presses them down on your tongue, and your eyes roll back as you finally taste Wooyoung, San and yourself. Hungrily you suckle at his fingers, letting out a small whimper when Wooyoung dips into your cunt and takes another swipe for himself.

San’s breath shallows as your tongue swirls around him, a light flush creeping up his cheeks. You wonder if he’s thinking about how your mouth would feel on his cock. You certainly are.

…That is for another time though, when you are not exhausted to the bone, fighting the urge to curl up and fall asleep on the spot. (Right now, it’s very hard to remember why you insisted on a ‘no sleepovers’ rule.)

San slips his fingers out when you and Wooyoung both quiet down, and turns his attention to your wrists. “Let’s get these off of you,” he says gently, tapping the rope.

San and Wooyoung help you to sit upright against the headboard, and this time Wooyoung is the one to get you some water while San begins to expertly loosen the knots.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, glancing up at you. His gaze is still intense, though now also soft.

“No numbness, tingling feeling or pain,” you say in a tired sigh, reciting back the points he told you to be aware of. “Well… no pain there,” you chuckle. “Think I’ll be sore in some places tomorrow. But I don’t mind that. Not at all.”

“Hm, good,” San hums, and directs his focus back to your restraints. Silence falls between you, not even broken when Wooyoung returns by your side and carefully raises the glass of water to your lips, assisting you with taking slow sips. The ropes come undone — but San does not let you go just yet, taking his time to gently massage your wrists for circulation.

You look down on San’s thumbs rubbing into your skin, your thoughts winding back over the course of the evening. Suddenly you feel oddly vulnerable; even with San’s careful touch, and Wooyoung sidling up next to you after he set the glass away, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

Wooyoung grins and pinches at San’s cheek, praising him for taking such good care of you. San’s lips spread into that sweet shy smile, his eyes shining warmly when he quickly glances to you and Wooyoung. It’s safe and comfortable around them, a happy fuzz coating your memories; yet you can’t help a pinch of self-consciousness as you think back on one particular moment of the evening.

“Did I do okay?” you ask, feeling silly even as the question slips past your lips.

San’s eyes widen slightly, his hands stilling, while Wooyoung’s arm tightens around you and he immediately turns his praises on you. Of course you did well, he assures you. What a fucking champ, taking it all like that. Their good girl. How lucky they are with you.

You bite your lip in a small smile as Wooyoung’s words hum sweetly through your veins, but San frowns in concern.

“Did something happen?” he asks, still gentle but a firmness layered underneath. “Something worrying you?”

“Well—” you say, already feeling awkward. “I said ‘yellow’…”

“As you should have,” San says, even firmer this time. “Are you feeling guilty about that?”

“A little,” you admit; the people-pleaser inside you is a bit ruffled by bluntly asserting a boundary. “I know I shouldn’t, but— but I kinda feel like I should apologise.”

San shakes his head and squeezes your hands tightly. “Don’t you dare. If anything, I should say thank you. For helping me to keep you safe and feeling good. That makes it feel good for me too.” He breaks out another smile, his dimples joining in. “I felt good today. I hope you did too.”

“He really means all that, you know,” Wooyoung chimes in. “About thanking you. Never met anyone who cares more about this stuff than San here.” He leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “I swear, he almost nutted on the spot the first time I yellow-ed him.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” San says, rolling his eyes with a flustered flush burning across his face, and you relax with a giggle at their familiar bickering and warm reassurances. “I mean,” San mumbles sheepishly, “ideally you’d never have to use a safe word at all; but as convenient as it’d be in a situation like this, I can’t exactly read your mind—”

“Hey, hey,” Wooyoung cuts off San’s ramble with a laugh. “C’mon, you know I’m just teasing!” He grabs San’s chin to smack an exaggeratedly wet kiss on his cheek. “You’re the fucking best. Who needs a mind reader when we’re doing this together. You got our back, we got yours.”

San sighs in resignation, trapped by Wooyoung’s firm grip on his chin as Wooyoung makes a show of lavishing his face with loud, dramatic kisses — but you don’t miss the way his shoulders release tension, and his hands relax around yours.

You feel a bloom of warmth at the obvious fondness on display in front of you, and your guilt fades.

Finally Wooyoung lets San go free and cuddles up a little closer against you, while San presses up on the other side. Sandwiched between them, you blissfully surrender yourself to their attentive aftercare. And once you feel solid enough to move again, they both insist on escorting you the whole thirty paces from San’s bedroom to yours.

The gesture is excessive and unnecessary to the point of being silly. You burst with friendly affection for them.

587 notes · View notes

inkmemes · 3 years

Text

young royals ( 2021 ) sentence starters ↪ taken from netflix’s swedish ya drama. non-contextual spoilers. trigger warning for mentions of sexual activity, drugs, alcohol, death, implied internalised homophobia, bullying. alter as you see fit ♡

“at least you can stay for a cup of coffee?”

“hey, wait up. did you sleep together?”

“he's probably making out with someone. forget it.”

“i can't take it anymore.”

“what are you doing?”

“and he had to finish your sentence. what's going on? you like him.”

“every time you see your dad, you get all depressed.”

“you're still here, so obviously you must want something.”

“are you high? what the hell are you on?”

“does this make you horny?”

“i like [town name], but i don't want to live here forever.”

“you can leave now. go home. i'm staying here for the weekend.”

“do you want chocolate?”

“how do you feel?”

“it's kind of hard to tell them apart, you know.”

“you're a worthless drunk.”

“you … you need to figure out what you want. and you can take all the time you need. and i respect that. but you have to do it by yourself. i don't want to be anyone's secret.”

“you have to stop pretending that you're not afraid.”

“that's the thing, i just don't want that.”

“it's something new. something fresh.”

“can we talk privately for a minute?”

“and if anyone gives you a hard time, you know, just let me know, and i'll take care of it.”

“you do know you don't need to hide?”

“are you gonna let us in?”

“promise to let me know if there's anything i can do.”

“hey, we won't go blind from your moonshine, right?”

“i'm just getting a good vibe. that's all.”

“you're so fucking pathetic.”

“you realize that this will have consequences?”

“he's such a fucking idiot.”

“i wanted us to have a few minutes alone.”

“when you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the world.”

“i really like you.”

“felt like i had to rescue you from that situation.”

“it got so damn hot in there, i thought i'd get some fresh air.”

“you are allowed your own opinions. it's cool.”

“i've seen the way you look at each other.”

“here, this one is a little big for me, but i think it'll look great on you.”

“do you think royal dick is different than regular?”

“you're the only one here i feel i can actually talk to.”

“i haven't heard anything yet, but i'll tell you as soon as i do.”

“you can't just lie here jerking off.”

“i don't want to go to some fucking boarding school!”

“i've missed this place so much.”

“are you going to horror movie night on friday?”

“but i like you. and that is not fake.”

“you don't need to share everything.”

“we should go to a concert again sometime.”

“you're fucking crazy!”

“where have you been? i've been trying to reach you.”

“just don't use the school's wi-fi for porn surfing. could be embarrassing.”

“but no matter what, they can't dictate what you say.”

“sorry about last night.”

“i don't want to talk to you!”

“i don't wanna sound like an idiot.”

“i was thinking, would you like to have a sleepover at my place? because that's something friends do. it's going to be really cozy.”

“i think maybe we should forget about that.”

“you can't really see that it is you.”

“i mean, it could be anyone. it's so fucking stupid.”

“i don't want to say anything.”

“now you're doing it again. you're trying to take care of me.”

“i can take it, it's okay.”

“that's not true. i haven't spoken to my parents.”

“we haven't done anything wrong.”

“you're beautiful! you're so beautiful.”

“i'm gay, [name].”

“seriously? what the fuck is your problem?”

“you keep letting people piss on you!”

“i just assumed you didn't want special treatment.”

“keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“so you thought you'd start spreading false rumours without having any proof?”

“i just didn't want to lose you.”

“uh, there's pizza left if you want some.”

“everybody thinks you're perfect. you know that, right?”

“he's just been outed.”

“i'm going to fuck this up.”

“he bloody ruined my fucking life!”

“why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?”

“hi. sorry, i was feeling a bit better. so i thought it was okay that i hung out with some friends.”

"everyone should be allowed to live as gay or straight or whatever they want.”

“i woke up in my own bed. that's always something.”

“could i just have one second? just one second alone, please?”

“i’m sorry. but it was, like, the only way.”

“i thought, everyone deserves a second chance.”

“i'm sorry about the mess. i wasn't expecting such distinguished company.”

“i just don't want you to be treated badly again.”

“oh, fuck.”

“you don't even… aren't you even gonna answer me?”

“i didn't know that one was supposed to sign up.”

“in real life, you don't pay to get ahead.”

“and what the fuck does your dad do?”

“let's try to have some table manners.”

“it's, like, really serious.”

“who the hell can live like this for three fucking years?”

“that's what happens when you buy the cheap ones.”

“i need your help with something. ”

“being a prince is not a punishment, but a privilege.”

“it's awesome to just chill out.”

“or maybe he lied about that too. what do i know?”

“you have to give people a chance.”

“you have to try to see it from my perspective.”

“what the hell's this?”

“what happened to "we should forget about it"?”

“stop being so fucking stubborn and try to understand my situation.”

“sometimes it's better not to say everything.”

“i was just bored.”

“have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“sometimes it's better to keep quiet.”

“can i get you some coffee?”

“nobody else cares about these things.”

“i lost track of time.”

“everybody does the same things and everybody knows everybody.”

“thanks for rescuing me yesterday.”

“remember when he came up to us the first week and was like, "what's up?"”

“i need you to delete all our texts.”

“i can't keep doing this anymore.”

“are you gonna let them go on with their bullshit?”

“i want to be with you.”

“here's a blanket, a pillow, and bed sheets. there you go.”

“okay, yeah. you don't seem to have grasped what i'm trying to say.”

“it's usually boring as hell.”

“he's been dealing to us for months.”

“i don't want to talk to him.”

“don't you wanna date [name] anymore?”

“i don't know why he's started texting me again. he knows i don't want anything to do with him.”

“yeah, we had a shitload of drugs.”

“we could murder someone, and nobody would say a word.”

“she needs some fun.”

“he's just doing it to fuck with me.”

“it's such a weird question.”

“i just wanted to say hi. i don't believe we've met. ”

“but i still want us to be friends.”

“if i were to stay here… would you… like to keep me company? just you and me.”

“everything's, like, upside down now.”

“have you always lived here?”

“damn it. sorry. shit. i completely forgot.”

“i'm sure someone has a story to tell.”

“you've got to put yourself first. i mean, no matter what he thinks about it.”

“come on! you can't just sit there stuck in your room.”

“you can snuggle up in my safe arms if it gets scary.”

“i want to live a normal life.”

“let me have a look. you can hardly see it.”

“any other dick that's been sucked?”

“you just expect everything to be on your terms.”

“i want to know everything!”

“you don't have to go there. i'll take care of myself.”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?”

“i'll just stay in and go to bed early.”

“thanks for explaining the schedule.”

“i'd rather die.”

“i don't want you to be mad.”

“promise to tell me if something is wrong.”

“i can't be dressed like this if you're dressed like that.”

“it's really complicated.”

“it feels like you don't care what people think about you, or if you have a lot of friends and stuff.”

“nobody asked you to come. feel free to leave if you want.”

“well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this!”

“there isn't so much to do around here.”

“you've become such a snob.”

“i know you're only trying to help me.”

“do you like it here?”

“i don't wanna go in there. we're not even invited. fuck this.”

“don't you think it's weird [name] invited us to come?”

“if they hadn't been here, would you've, uh, made out with me?”

“so, you're an actual proper couple now?”

“you're thinking about someone else.”

“you're right. we're doing this together.”

“thanks… for nothing.”

“why are you even so obsessed with him?”

“i want you to hold me.”

“call me when you want to be picked up.”

“what the fuck do you care?”

“i don't think we're a couple or anything. i don't know what it is.”

“you never asked me!”

“your focus should be on comforting me so that i can comfort him.”

“it's not that hard. you have to be able to keep up appearances.”

“famous people make videos like that.”

“maybe somebody forgot to tell me, as usual.”

“just make a move on [name] and show him what you want.”

“you wanna stay a while and jam?”

“have you talked to your parents about it?”

“a diverse bunch of losers, who'll never amount to anything.”

“why can't i decide how the hell i want to live?”

“apparently, i'm the only one who doesn't know everybody.”

“i used to have straight a's on every test.”

“it will damage our reputation.”

“i'm fucking starving.”

“why is it called tax "evasion" but welfare "scam"? it's all right that rich people cheat, but when poor people do it, it's messed up. for rich people, it's not even called "welfare”, it's called "deduction."”

“what the fuck is rowing?”

“what the hell have you done, [name]?”

“good voice, man.”

“why can't i just have a relationship with him?”

“did you have fun last friday?”

“all the people are fake. they're made out of metal.”

what do you want me to say? i'm sorry!”

“is this some kind of prank?”

“i like you when you are yourself!”

“but you like him, don't you?”

“she shouldn't talk to you like that.”

“are you into him?”

“something's not right, i think we should head back to the road.”

“do you have trouble sleeping?”

“doesn't anyone care what i want?”

“just don't tell anyone that i've been here.”

“i was going to text you back, but…”

“your only mistake was that you hung out with the wrong kind of people.”

“i just wanted to help.”

“i know you'll use anything to get high or drunk.”

“it's time to stop being so selfish.”

“i just want my fucking money.”

“you should've planned ahead. didn't you bring a sandwich?”

“who the fuck wants to be normal anyway?”

“you fucking told me you were the one i could always come to!”

“i take it back.”

“i can see there's something going on.”

“i have to finish getting ready, so if you could please leave.”

“no one likes me when i'm myself.”

“i hope you have a nice christmas.”

“i'm gonna do the wrong things, say the wrong things.”

“my mom is gonna kill me.”

“do you remember what you said to me last night?”

“i cannot be dragged into this.”

“i like you too.”

“you're no longer a part of my family.”

“it's well-suited for smaller people.”

“i assume that he thought that it would make him popular.”

“i didn't ask for this!”

“it's no problem. i like doing it.”

“it feels like i'm gonna throw up.”

“don't i get any breakfast?”

“whatever i do, i can't do anything right.”

“we haven't been to any party whatsoever.”

“did you get my texts?”

“i think it sounds romantic.”

“uh, wait, you have to come to the horror movie night on friday.”

“i liked what you said in there, [name].”

“okay, maybe he used to be a player, but love can actually change you.”

“it's nice to make an effort and dress up for dinner.”

“i'm in a fucked-up situation and i'm trying to talk to you.”

“you don't understand. i was gonna pay it.”

“you're not that kind of guy.”

“i was about to go outside and, um, do you wanna come with?”

“what about me?”

“it was… okay, i guess.”

“can i sit with you?”

“you call this a scary movie?”

“i have a million things to take care of, i don't have time to talk to you.”

“have you lost it completely?”

“but i'm starving.”

“this past year has been difficult for me.”

“i don't get it. she's making it into such a big deal.”

“no, this won't work. just take it off, please.”

“i'm not like that.”

“fuck you. it's not a crush.”

“then i know that i can't count on you.”

“can't you come see me in [town] sometime?”

“it's just that we can't be seen together.”

“he was still sleeping when i walked in.”

“doesn't bother me at all. i've seen it. absolutely. 100%.”

“[name] is really getting on my nerves! seriously.”

“i want us to be friends again.”

“i thought you and [name] were friends.”

“make sure you check your dms. okay?”

“you think it's fun to fuck with people like me?”

“never spend money you don't have. okay?”

“you think i'm stupid?”

“this sucks.”

“how nice to see some smiles.”

“this isn't just about me, but my entire family.”

“i'm going to marry her.”

“are you threatening me?”

“don't you realize the shit storm that follows if i come out?”

“i don't want you to talking to her.”

“remember what we saw during movie night? when they sat next to each other?”

“i love you.”

“i just want to hang out with you.”

"there's no point in having a back-up if you never use it."

“pretend i'm saying something clever.”

“how's [name]? he must be totally devastated.”

“what do you think they think we're talking about?”

“everything is fake. everything in the world is fake.”

“[name] is dead.”

“it just wasn't what i thought it would be like.”

“since when did you start liking him for real?”

“what a fucking douchebag. god!”

“what the hell are you saying? chill out!”

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #it's long but i like my memes chunky <3 #lemme know if u'd prefer i do things in parts tho !#also everyone watch this show immediately :knife:

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andithiel · 2 years

Text

Fic author's self rec

Thank you so much to @mystickitten42 for tagging me to do this, I really enjoyed reading your list (which can be found here).

I found this extremely hard to do! I have 61 works so far, and this felt like choosing between my children! But, I shall be brave and do what must be done!

When buds break (Drarry, 21k, Mature, Hanahaki Disease, FWB, mutual pining, Brick Brain Harry as per usual, Draco in denial of his feelings as per usual.)

This was hands down the first fic that came to mind when I got this tag. I spent a lot of time crafting this fic, it was the first time I used double POV while also using non linear narrative, and I think it paid off big time, I think it makes the angst that much more powerful because the reader doesn’t have the whole story until in the end, and I’ve had several people doubting the angst with a happy ending tag. This is the kind of story I like to read myself and I’m so proud that I managed to write it the way I wanted.

I’ll never be your chosen one (Drarry, 15k, Explicit, Enemies with benefits/hatefucking, Draco in denial of his feelings, Closeted Harry with internalised homophobia.)

I can’t do a list like this without mentioning this beast of a fic (not in length but in emotions). I felt numb for weeks after finishing this, and I think it was because I gave it so damn much. This fic was sort of a turning point for me, before that I had mostly written fluffy or fluff adjacent fics, because I thought I couldn’t make the boys suffer too much. I had no idea how wrong I was about that (or how much I would enjoy tormenting them). This is by far my most popular fic in regards to comments and bookmarks, and (even though I would like to edit it juuust a smidge) I understand why. (I’m also extremely proud that it inspired my lovely friend Etalice to write the story from Harry’s POV.)

Inevitable/And the music plays bitter, plays sweet (Drarry, 218 words + 3k, Mature, Infidelity, Passion, Morally ambiguous.)

Yes, yes, I’m cheating by bringing up two fics, but these two are intimately connected so they count as one, because I said so! The first one was the first time I tried second person POV and I had so much fun with it. I’m mostly proud that I managed to write it so it’s not clear who’s POV it is, it could fit both Draco and Harry. I got so much nice response to it that I decided to explore that universe a little more, with Harry and Draco unable to resist each other despite the fact that they’re both married. This fic is only 3k but it spans over several years, which was because I didn’t know how to fill the spaces between the events shown in the fic, but I also don’t think they’re needed.

Lucky number seven (Drarry, 1,5k, Teen and up, Unreliable narrator, UST, Draco being a little shit, Harry being flustered and also a little shit.)

I debated between this and my other first person POV (that I wrote in a rush of inspiration), but I chose this one because I was challenged to do the unreliable narrator POV and it was so much fun to figure out what information to give and when. I also love to write a snarky but vulnerable Draco, and I think he came across nicely here.

Let’s go dip it low (then you bring it up slow) (Drarry, 3,7k, Teen and up, Dancer!Harry, Horny and flustered Draco, gratuitous mentions of swivelling hips.)

This was the first fic I ever posted, 3,5 years ago. I still remember how nervous I was when I clicked that little submit button, and when I checked it a few hours later I almost fainted that I’d gotten 7 kudos. Imagine! 7 people read and liked something I wrote! I could hardly believe it (still can’t believe that people read and enjoy my works). I think this still holds up, I love cheeky flirty (and tattooed!) Harry and Draco being flustered, and then breaking up the thirstiness with tentative real talk about real things. I’ve had many requests for a sequel to this and I’ve been trying for the longest time, but I’m honestly not sure it needs one (but watch me try).

Phew! This was fun (but difficult)! I’m barely around here anymore so I’ve no idea who’s done this but I’m tagging @sassy-sassy3 @eleonorapoe @crazybutgood @drarryruinedme7 @graymatters @etalice @rei382 @evaeleanor @fictional @amelior8or @isamijoo @tsundanire @curlyy-hair-dont-care if you want to (or please link me if you’ve already done this!)

#self rec #rec list (of sorts)#tag game #andithielwrites #my fics #drarry #i seem to step up my game when it comes to drarry

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milkybonezz · 2 years

Note

Can i have headcanons one how the Bowers gang would react if they were accused of something the character did (any gender/pronouns) ?

Like something bad that causes a lot of problems to the Bowers (or separately)

I am very good at neglecting asks so I am so so sorry for the wait.

TW: implied SA and just general nastiness

Bowers gang getting the blame for something:

Henry:

So fucking pissed

Like outraged isn’t even a word for it

No matter who this person is he is going to make their life hell

Completely relentless for weeks, possibly even months depending on what he was accused of

He doesn’t care what gender this person is, he just wants to make them suffer

Not at all above physical intimidation nor physical violence

His dad will have absolutely beat the shit out of him for it even if he told him he was innocent

This man would go out of his way to beat up this little shit

The accusation was the straw that broke the camel’s back and he was egg his boys on to start trouble. They can’t say no to him.

Even if any of them do say no. He’ll gladly go on his own and damn near kill this person he’s hitting them so hard

He’s not above threatening sexual violence if it was a girl that had accused him of something- in his eyes women have no right to say anything at all about him. They’re objects and nothing more.

Patrick:

Seems pretty calm about the whole thing

Patrick plays the long game with it

They caused a strain on the gang so he’s going to take his time with their punishment

Nothing seems to be out of place until months later

If they have a pet it’s definitely dead

Probably in a gruesomely artistic manner

Even if he was accused of something minor, he did not take it lightly

Very good at waiting and keeping feelings of resentment internalised until it is ample time to make this person regret everything

Unfazed by whatever punishments they throw at him. It doesn’t mean anything. Even when he is guilty punishments don’t work, if anything they just make him worse.

Much like Henry he’s fine with any form of sexual violence. Unlike his friend he might actually go through with it if he thinks it will keep them quiet

People don’t tend to blab after things like that

Not from his experience anyway

Vic:

Vic’s not very strong physically, but he makes up for what he lacks in the ability to get secrets out of anyone

Every single embarrassing thing this person has ever done is pried from their friends and even their families if what he was accused of was dire enough

Oh? You wet yourself out of embarrassment in 5th grade? Well good morning piss baby, bring a spare pair of jeans to school with you.

Dirty secrets aren’t secrets for long wherever Vic’s concerned.

Like mean girls, he puts up little fliers of this persons secrets, fears, anything he can pry out of people

His tactic is humiliation, they can’t pipe up if everyone knows their flaws.

It moves the focus off him completely

This coupled with the second phase that is badgering them about it every day, pretty incessant about it.

He’s driven people to new schools and even out of the state because of his borderline torture

Belch:

Pretty good at internalising his feelings

Got a bit of a reputation for being the gang’s muscle so this accusation comes with the promise of a beat down

He doesn’t hit girls, it’s his one rule

Intimidating them is fine by him but he would never ever lay a finger on a girl no matter what they accused him of

Guys are a whole different story

If it’s a minor ordeal he might toss up a threat that he has no intention of fulfilling

But a genuinely bad accusation comes with a terribly bad punishment

He doesn’t take kindly to being accused of bad things, he considers himself to be a fairly good kid so in his eyes serious accusations have to come with serious consequences

He’s a strong boy, his punches are enough to send someone to the ER

He detaches corneas, breaks ribs, fractures skulls

Hates being violent but also feels the need to teach this guy a lesson

Moral of the story is: think twice before you accuse a member of the gang of anything

#milkyspeaks #bowers gang #reginald huggins #belch huggins #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #it 2017 #vic criss #victor criss

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comfortmarvelimagines · 4 years

Text

You are Home, and Home is Safe

heyhey ! deciding to just get it over with and post this tonight (for those of you who don’t know what i’m talking about, a post explaining can be found here. side note, please be nice in my inbox, its been rough getting some of those comments). i am, however, going to continue to tag autistic!reader fics with #whenyoucantfindthequiet and #wycftq, so they’re easier to find. hope it’s what you’re after, nonnie, and i’m so so sorry it took so long !!

features : autistic!reader x mama!nat, lowkey asshole Tony Stark (it’s okay i didn’t make him really mean, just kinda well-meaning but misplaced/ mistimed)

warnings : uhhh i guess meltdowns, some self-injurious behaviour

Words are hard. Always have been, always will be.

You haven't always had a family. For years you were passed from foster home to foster home, with a consistent message: you were too much. Your needs were too high, your behaviour too confusing, your struggles too much to deal with. It got to a point where you began to question yourself, your diagnoses and trauma, wondering if it was all in your head or for attention like you were told over and over.

That changed when you met Nat.

It wasn’t immediate of course. There was the initial period of complete and total distrust, of another stranger whose life you were thrust into the middle of, floundering and drowning with no support. There was shutdown after shutdown. The trauma of being ignored and punished for meltdowns meant that you’d learned to internalise. You barely ate, and didn’t speak. But Nat met you where you were, unwaveringly. Was always calm, composed, voice level. Kept food out on the kitchen bench at all times, figuring out your safe foods and keeping them stocked. Realised you liked small enclosed spaces and stocked your bedroom with beanbags, pillows, stuffies and blankets, a permanent blanket fort taking up residence in the living space. Perhaps the most wonderful was her commitment to listening to you, with or without words. The superspy was quick to recognise your shutdown states from body language alone and responded quickly, with two option questions and the request to tap the hand of the answer you wanted.

You almost wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated, of the accommodations she made so immediately. But she always spoke to you conversationally and never in an infantilizing tone, like so many before her, and the trust you held for her grew. It didn’t always grow in a way that you felt was positive, though. As weeks passed you felt your shutdowns turn into meltdowns and silence into frustrated screams. You didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t want to feel ungrateful or angry or like any of this was on purpose but somehow she knew. As she held you close after each one she reminded you that your body was unlearning trauma, that you were safe, that you were loved so fully and unconditionally and nothing, including meltdowns, would change that. The way she held you felt like home.

But no one else was like Nat. Social workers were condescending, school was overwhelming, nowhere was safe. So you stuck to Nat. It wasn’t long after you were placed with her that she pulled you out of school, realising that they were doing more harm than good, and she was always there for homeschool. Not looking over your shoulder, but present. You could hear her humming through the walls, or swearing as she dropped a spoon into a pot of soup on the stove again, and it was comforting. It wasn’t the apartment that was home, per say, but having a parent made it feel like one. If she went to the grocery store or a walk in the park you came with, ear defenders on, clinging to her sleeve for safety. She told you that she loved you a million times a day, until one day you said it back.

Words came easier after that. Simple things, like asking what’s for breakfast, became routine. It wasn’t just Nat softly illuminating the cramped space with hummed melodies and occasionally vulgar language but you as well, asking for help with homework or explaining a meme. It felt normal, comfortable, okay. The outside world was too much, but inside your home, the anxiety all but melted from your throat.

You never wanted to leave safety. You wanted to feel it all the time. It was warm and sweet and heavy but in a calm way, like a weighted blanket sinking into your joints. It started as a one-time-thing, after a particularly rough meltdown, but you started sleeping in Nat’s bed. It just felt… right. The panic that set in when Nat left the room and you didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing or if she was ever going to come back was so all-consuming and nauseating that going to sleep alone, in another room, unable to hear her was torturous. What if she abandoned you, gone in the night, social worker beckoning you on to the next uncaring couple, crowded foster family or group home? This way, when you woke at 2am from a nightmare, the first thing you heard was her even breathing. Home. Safe.

***

Tony Stark was something else. Nat eventually started to transition back to work, and, as being homeschooled permitted, brought you with her. Even in classified meetings where you weren’t allowed in you sat in corridors and made sure you could see her red braid through the frosted glass, glancing up from your laptop every few seconds to make sure she didn’t disappear while you wrote your English critique. The rest of Nat’s colleagues (it felt too weird to just casually refer to them as the Avengers and co) didn’t mention your presence, at least in front of you; it was as if they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not that you’d say anything back. Outside of the safety of home it was like the anxiety disconnected your brain from your throat, anything you wanted to say cut off before it reached your tongue. It was frustrating. The first few days ended in meltdowns when you reached the apartment and it felt weird and strange and almost like you were two different people but an all-round embarrassment of a child. It was weeks before things settled into a routine and a pattern of acknowledged non-acknowledgement. A pattern Stark ignored.

You were sitting at the island bench in the communal kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and typing out an assignment, when you heard both Nat and Tony heading down the hall towards you. They’d just come out of a meeting, you sitting watch outside the whole time, and Nat had sent you to the kitchen to wait for her while she headed upstairs with Tony to drop off some paperwork to an intern. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, you didn’t like being away from Nat at all, but if she was clear in where she was going and how long she was going for (provided it was only a short period), you did okay. It was okay, until you heard the discussion from down the hall.

“Damn, Nat, is that the longest you’ve been away from the kid?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Nat. I know the kid’s been through some shit, but this isn’t healthy. For either of you. What happens if you can’t get out of the mission next time? They’re gonna have to be away from you at some point. You can’t be in this line of work with a barnacle of a kid.”

You’d heard enough. As the topic changed and they entered the kitchen, you didn’t look up from your laptop in greeting.

***

Too much. Too clingy. Too anxious, too needy, too autistic, too much. You needed separation. Give Nat space. Of course she needed to work. The world needed her, and they didn’t need you tagging along. When you got home that night, you headed straight to your room. Buried yourself in the mountain of blankets and stuffies and waited until Nat came to check on you, facing the wall, feigning sleep. You doubt you fooled the former spy but nonetheless, she left you be, a whispered “I love you” hanging in the air as she creaked the door close behind her.

It was seconds before you broke. It felt like choking. All of the fear that was slowly reduced to an ebbing tide through months of living in a caring environment crashed on you like the mother of all tsunamis, saltwater running down your cheeks and into your mouth as if smothering all the words you wished you could scream. It lasted for hours and hours and it was relentless, painful, as if your heart was being ripped out and an empty throbbing numbness was expanding in its place. You were too much. Too much. Too much.

Nat stood outside your door at the time when she’d usually be gently waking you up, watching you unfurl and stretch yourself out of the cocoon of blankets you slept in every night. She knew something was wrong from lunch yesterday, and your isolation from her was concerning. She figured you needed space, but the sleep she knew was an act sat at the back of her mind and bugged her all night long. Even with that nagging suspicion that something was up, nothing prepared her for the way her heart sank when she came in and saw your body curled up, eyes red and barely open from exhaustion, pillow and face damp from tears.

She was at your side in seconds. Your resolve to cut yourself off melted at the sight of her open arms, safe, warm, home. And immediately your body melted. Hands running through your hair, the promise that you were safe, loved, worthy of support, the request to “tell me next time, please, you don’t need to deal with this on your own.”

For some reason, those were the words that broke out the first sounding sob in the 12 hours of silent crying. It was so loud and gut-wrenching and it almost didn’t feel like it came from you at all and it was such a weird feeling, and all of a sudden you were scratching at your arms to try and re-embody yourself and Nat was breathing calmly and deeply and gently rubbing your shoulders until you found yourself easing back into your physicality.

“Did you hear what Stark said yesterday?”

And just like that she figured it out, of course she did, because she’s a trained spy and that’s her job, to put the pieces together and slot the narrative into place. And god, were you grateful, because you couldn’t see yourself stringing sentences together to accuse none other than Iron Man himself of triggering waves of hurt just by stating what you’d convinced yourself was the truth. She was quick to reassure. You are loved, you are wanted, you are always welcome and will always be her child and what you need will always come first. The warm safety settled itself in your belly and you let the tiredness wash over you, drifting on a life raft of whispered Russian lullabies and Nat’s hand rubbing circles on your back. At peace.

Of course, you’d never tell Nat, but hearing her whisper-yell at Tony over the phone for being an insensitive dick was possibly one of the best moments of your life.

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helisol · 3 years

Text

dude im not sure you will get it after reading this either, but you Can read it now

okay so first of all do not expect me to adhere to rules of grammar or Proper capitalisation, I am writing from the heart

so it’s been said before by other people but if Quark and Odo didnt look like the aliens that they are but instead like two regular prettybois the fandom would do cartwheels over their dynamic and Not call them a crack ship. because really, their dynamic fucking SLAPS and I’m here to tell you Why.

their surface-level dynamic is “Respected and Talented Security Chief and Cunning Immoral Businessman who are in Love but pretend not to be” and that's just an off-brand version of enemies to lovers! which is excellent and for some people that’s all you really need to get invested in a ship.

but some people look at it and go “Hm, no, that’s not enough. I mean, they work as friends but it doesn’t really have to be romantic.” and to that I say you are Absolutely Valid, not everything has to be romantic.

it just so happens that these two fuckers have one of the most compelling romance stories ever, and it’d be a shame not to explore it.

so before I dive into the internalised homophobia and repression, I’d like to take a moment to talk about Quark as a character.

because if you have brainworms like me you can kind of see that its an honest to god greek tragedy.

this guy comes from a race of people where being kind, ethical and fair is considered Abnormal and Horrifying. and I’m not gonna call Quark out of all people kind, ethical or fair but,,,

you ever notice how he’s A Much Better Person Than Pretty Much All Other Ferengi?

dont get me wrong, Quark is still a bastard, but every once in a while his True Character shines through. and I say True Character because guys,,, the way he behaves around other people is an Act. he’s pretending to be something he’s not.

he has to try so hard to be a good ferengi it’s honestly painful to watch at times. because he is a SHIT ferengi!

he loves his friends- because that's what the ds9 crew are. they’re his friends! and it makes him miserable because that's not! normal! for a ferengi!

let’s compare Quark and Rom for a second.

Quark reeks of self loathing because a lot of the time he just Doesn’t act like a ferengi is supposed to, and this drives a lot of conflict in the show. he knows how a ferengi should act, it’s just that he can’t!! fucking!! do it!! but he still tries and tries to fit into that mold, which straight up ruins his life on multiple occasions.

Rom is also not a Model Ferengi, but he lives without hating himself. and it’s mostly because he doesn’t care about how a ferengi Should act, he’s loved and cared for even when everybody knows that he’s a shit ferengi! because his non-ferengi-ness works to his benefit. it encourages and highlights his abilities as an engineer. the success and love he finds make it easy for him to be content with his true self. Unlike Quark, who doesn’t get unconditional love from anyone.

its so!! tragic!! because you can see what Quark is really like!! his true self!! he’s a nice guy who cares for people!

its right there all the time and it's so blatantly obvious. especially in episodes like “Body Parts”, “Bar Association”, “The Way Of The Warrior” and “Ferengi Love Songs”

his own wiki page literally calls him “a compassionate and generous man by ferengi standards” which pretty much translates to “not really a good ferengi”.

anyway so Quark is a tragic figure or whatever but we’re actually here for the REPRESSED! HOMOSEXUAL! TENDENCIES! that he and Odo both exhibit.

with characters like garak you don’t really need to have brainrot to pick up on those tendencies, because that was something andrew robinson chose to do, on purpose.

and to be fair, Quark wasn’t intended to be Any kind of representation, not even by the actor. I’m just pointing out that he Does look and act and talk like a little gayman.

I will admit that he is Painfully Straight in the text of the show, but on a meta level he’s just. a dude who has a serious case of repressing his real personality. and taking it a step further- he also represses his feelings towards another man.

and that man is Odo.

a few things on him:

Odo is literally desperate to be a person. unlike Quark, who at least has the comfort of belonging to a society of people with a set of rules and expectations, Odo has never met anyone or anything like him in all his years of life.

like, we all know Odo basically grew up in a lab, right?

with people who didn’t know anything about him. who he was so unalike that they literally called him “Nothing”

but he still learned to look and talk and act like them (because if he didn’t he’d feel *pain* which is very fucked up by the way?)

so we know for a fact that Odo wants to be recognised as a person- which is why he tries really hard to conform to the ideals of the society that raised him. instead of exploring his nature as a shape shifter he maintains a humanoid form, picks up a job and creates an entire personality around what he wants to be seen as. but not what he really is.

and that's the thing that causes all the conflict between Quark and Odo. the type of person odo wants to be seen as is the polar opposite of whatever the fuck quark wants to be seen as.

In the same way that Quark acts like a Normal Ferengi, Odo acts like a Normal Security Officer. and in a cruel twist of fate, the Ferengi happens to be the antithesis of the Security Officer.

If you only look at them as the things they act like, and not the things they are, you might say they’re way too different to like each other, right?

but,,, if you think about the fact that they’re both putting on this act,,, this performance of idealised versions of themselves,,, you can see that they are The Same. They Are Both Gay Repressed Loser Aliens Who Try To Act Like Things That They Aren’t!

Imagine you’re Odo.

Imagine that you’re Nothing, because you’re not like anything anyone has ever seen- and because you are Nothing you don’t fall in love with anyone for years and years. since who could love something that isn’t like them at all?

But then one day this Thing shows up in your path and you just hate it. Because it’s not like anything *you* have ever seen. It’s disorderly and looks grotesque and it’s criminal to boot.

It’s all the things you learned would make a “Bad Person” It’s everything you aspire not to be, because if you were any of those things you would BE PUNISHED.

But the trouble is, eventually he’s not an “it” anymore, he’s “Quark” and you see him every day of your miserable little life because you live on the same damn station in space and it’s hard to avoid each other.

He also happens to be one of the only things in your life that are constant. He will never leave because he is stubborn and greedy and you just *hate him so much* that you’re convinced he must be doing all of it to spite you. And yet you also can’t seem to leave him alone.

So Odo Must Hate Quark. everything else is a non sequitur for him. he can’t not hate Quark.

because Quark is, and i’m sincerely sorry to apply christian fucking imagery to this, The Forbidden Fruit.

If he liked quark he’d admit some kind of moral failing. it would be the end of his act. but on the other hand...it might be a good thing, because at least he could have quark.

but Odo can never go through with biting into this apple because the consequences are horrifying to him. he could never have quark because, according to his performance, he would Never like quark to begin with.

and here’s a take for you: Odo's Brand Of Internalised Homophobia Doesn't Stem From Heteronormativity. It Stems From The Fact That He Was Kind Of Assigned Asexual At Birth.

and the show sort of alludes to this, for real! not just subtext! canon! except the writers used the wrong person.

because instead of Odo having these Forbidden Feelings for Quark he has them for,,, Kira.

but since this is My Quodo Manifesto you’ll understand that i am 100% willing to just toss that part of canon out the airlock.

so Odo does canonically have that mindset of “no one could ever love me” for decades he repressed any and all feelings of love to avoid getting hurt. in the show he breaks this cycle of repression when he takes a chance and enters a relationship with Kira. yay?

but we all know that aint it chief. and part of the reason why That Ship Ain’t It is the fact that Quark is Right There. and he is simply the more interesting choice for odo.

he and Odo literally share the same problem and have weird intertwined character arcs! they are both dreadfully afraid of not conforming to the ideal versions of themselves, so they reject everything that could challenge their Performance!

on some fucked up level they hate each other *and* themselves individually. and this hatred makes them reject parts of their real identities for the sake of protecting their image. which. yknow. in gay people. is internalised homophobia!

so you can see that they’re both repressing A Lot even if you view them as Friends, but the most important thing in this kind of romantic dynamic is usually,,, when the characters *stop* repressing.

and the thing is. the thing that Kills Me with these two. They Never Get That Moment. Thats Why You Need The Brainrot To See Them As Romantic.

The Ascent gives us an example of what happens when they both take their act too far. I mean, who could forget “Fascist!” and “Fraud!” That is what odo thinks of quark’s performance and vice versa, but we don’t really hear them adress the fact that they *are* playing these roles to a ridiculous extent.

We also never get an example of what would happen if they dropped their act instead of over-performing it. or rather we don’t get to see both of them drop it.

And the reason why we never get that moment is because there’s this one key difference between Quark and Odo.

Quark knows that he’s constantly repressing his true nature and his feelings for odo. We pretty much hear him say so in the iconic root beer scene in Way Of The Warrior. he knows that he’s not a good ferengi but he keeps up his act.

So quark is aware enough to feel that sweet sweet self loathing. But Odo isnt self loathing as much as he is just self sabotaging.

and this subtle difference between them is why, at the very end of the show, we get “That man loves me, can’t you see? It was written all over his back!”

this moment is quark dropping his act and asking odo to do the same. he wants to hear a genuine Goodbye from him because they have known each other for Decades and they are Friends. but odo is so unable to express the feelings he’s been repressing all these years. that he self sabotages again and just walks away.

even though this is like. very anticlimactic. considering I just spent 2000 words talking about how Odo and Quark are Most Certainly Gay For Each Other.

The fact that their ending is so Weird is the reason why quodo is so engaging and appealing to me? especially post-canon quodo.

like, the amount of “what if’s” this ship has are Astounding.

What if either of them had dropped their act a little sooner? What if they both did, for just a moment, and it was the straw that breaks the camels back?

What if Odo comes back after a few years? What if Quark comes to get him?

What if, in that moment in the finale where Quark drops his act, Odo had returned the gesture? What if Gag-Reel Quodo Kiss.gif Real?

with the depth that I read into their relationship, those what ifs are really fun to think about.

anyway its 1 am and i’m not an english major so literary analysis is not like, my strong suit. plus most of this was written in a late night screaming session with a friend who has the exact same opinions as me. i just think aliens hot and in love. thats all.

#the SOUND of my HEAD hitting my DESK with TERMINAL VELOCITY #quodo #star trek

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gofancyninjaworld · 3 years

Text

OPM Manga Chapter 147 Review: Toxic

Story: Preview to a catastrophe

I’m going to do something a little unusual. Rather than give a summary of what happened, I’m going to save everything else that happens that for the meta and focus the story itself on just one thing. Garou’s return.

For a guy of many many words, Garou here is wordless, a creature of instinct, rage, and an unstoppable desire to put down any hero he encounters. Social niceties be damned.

no, Fubuki, you don’t belong in this battle

Bomb realises very quickly that this isn’t going to be a fight that he can afford to not engage fully with. He wastes no time unleashing his trademark long-range offensive move, although he’s no slouch in close- up fighting either. I love how the panel below superimposes several snapshots in time in a single image, as if the cameraman hasn’t enough time to separate the action into individual frames. It sells the speed and fury of the fight better than many blurry images. Also Murata is flexing on us with regards to his portrayal of fight choreography, he’s allowed. :)

For his own part, Garou flows effortlessly from conventional to unconventional in his fighting, bending improbably out of the way one moment, parrying in an orthodox manner the next. Eventually the seeming balance between the two breaks inexorably in Garou’s favour, leaving Bomb marvelling at the former’s incredible evolution.

Nothing for it, there’s no choice but to kill Garou if possible. Bomb hides a hand behind his back as he readies his iron-cutting fist one last time. It’s unfortunate that Garou has long since intuited how to do the same when he faced off against the Monster King, half a day ago ( I know, it’s been years for us), and does exactly the same, matching up timing and intensity perfectly with Bomb’s, thus cancelling it out.

Bang finally catches up to where the two are fighting to find his elder brother defeated.

Just as at the end of chapter 83, master and disciple face off. But the atmosphere between the two could not be more different, and the stakes are about as high as they could possibly get.

What new awakening will come from the next fight? Portents are dire.

Meta: Elsewhere

What doesn’t kill me has made a tactical mistake

For a story whose big schtick is that surviving what should have killed one makes one stronger, it’s surprising the amount and variety of mileage it gets out of that idea.

Making light of the idea, we have Genos literally rocketing back to his feet and casually dusting himself off after being smashed into a hole in the ground by Black Sperm. After being thrown into or through so many bits of masonry and earth, getting up with elan is nothing to him. Damn, he’s become tough! Awesome.

On the opposite side, making dark of the idea, we have Fuhrer Ugly, whose strength of hatred and rage is such that he keeps continuously reforming despite being continually digested by Gums’ digestive fluids... and has turned that into a new ability, able to melt anyone who touches him, kill with his spit, and reform after being cut. Terrifying.

And on the other other side, a perfect hypotenuse of awesome and terrifying, we have Garou. He has disinterred himself from the remains of the Monster Association base and while apparently fighting more by instinct than reason, his moves reprise everything he’s learned to date through his life-and-death fights with incredible fluency.

And of course, there’s Tank Top Master whose tank top seems to have magically preserved his life. I wonder what Fubuki has in mind for Pig God to do to help her help Tank Top Master.

Anyway, talking about serious injury...

Let’s talk about gore, baby

I’ve said before that I’m tired of all injuries accruing to either Genos or Zombieman and wanted some flesh-and-blood to be mangled. I don’t take that back: share the pain, baby!

But even for my evil heart, hoo, the brutal suddenness with which Fuhrer Ugly ended Zambai’s life was yikes! Heroes may never die, but those next to them have no such protection. I’m sorry man. You paid the highest price for supporting a hero.

Heroes may never die but that doesn’t mean they can’t suffer horribly. If Tank Top Master being turned into a human patty wasn’t grisly enough, finding out that SuperAlloy’s famously resistant shine isn’t chemically resistant is enough to give one a shudder of horror/disgust: his hands have been defleshed down to tendon and bone.

Never mind fear; it’s going to be a while before SuperAlloy *can* fight at all. And with his chest being burned as well, I think that he will be lucky not to come away with disfiguring scars. He might start wearing a shirt after this...

ONE, have some mercy for your heroes or half of them will never work again. But not too much mercy, they’ve had it too easy for too long.

There’s more to help than rescue

If you’d told me that this day would see Genos earning the trust and respect of the heroes he has called the bitch and the witch respectively, and that feeling would be mutual, I’d have told you to stop fantasising. I’ve spent enough words talking about the unexpected compassion he showed to Fubuki when the latter was beside herself with worry for her sister.

Tatsumaki has internalised the advice Blast gave her so thoroughly that she’s come to think herself as being beyond help. But there’s more to help than haplessly accepting rescue. Help can also be someone intervening only when you most need it, respecting that you can generally take care of yourself. Help can be sharing the burden, enabling you to achieve more, more easily. Help can be having your back so you can fight without fear of ambush. All of these forms of help Genos has provided to Tatsumaki from the moment the battle pitched high into the sky. And she’s had his back too. Seeing her consciously acknowledge that and lean into it was an amazing gift I didn’t know I needed.

from allies in name only to comrades-in-arms, what a fearsome pair! Gambatte!

Of course it can get worse

The heroes’ situation seems to be getting worse and worse. Their number is being whittled down to size: Tank Top Master is out for the count, Bang is tied up, Superalloy Darkshine is maimed, Atomic is out of his main weapon, Child Emperor is lost somewhere and Puri Puri is looking for him, Zombieman and Amai Mask are still pulling themselves together, and Tatsumaki and Genos are standing more by spite than strength.

On the other hand, the monsters aren’t out of monster by any means. There’s still lots of Black Sperm, Evil Natural Water is surely sloshing around somewhere, Vomited Furher Ugly is a pungent threat, and Homeless Emperor is watching proceedings with an amused eye. I called the monsters the sundew monsters for a reason -- they waste heroes by outlasting their efforts.

The standing heroes are going to need respite, or a diversion, or reinforcements pretty soon or they’re going to all die for real. Preferably all three. We’ll take two out of three.

Further notes: The Cyborg is Listening

The first thing Kuseno says to Genos when the latter comes back after a bruising encounter with a monster is ‘are you alright?’ That we know. The second thing has to be ‘did you bring me good data?’ Everything that happens to Genos, everything he touches, everything he sees, everything he hears, all that information is recorded for later recall and distillation into useable data. We’ve been admiring how capable and tough this new upgrade has proven to be. It’s all hard-won insights, built one on the other. Does that mean I’m discounting what Genos does? Hell no. It’s his extreme courage and willingness to step into the most hopeless situations that has enabled this valuable data to be gathered in the first place. And it’s his using these wonderful upgrades to push as hard as he can despite the risk that makes it worth Kuseno’s while to stay up late to craft them. Now I’m super-interested in finding out what new insights the pair will glean from today’s fighting.

...polite engineer for ‘fuck you’

Sure, like many serious things in One-Punch Man, it initially appears as a gag, but if you’ve not been paying attention to date, hear this: good data is like gold dust in this world. And people will kill for it. As we watch the dissipating contrails where Drive Knight was as he carries his precious samples home, don’t way you weren’t warned.

#OPM #manga #review #Garou #but not as we know him #the free fight between hero and monster gets ever more intense #despite their cooperation and numbers the heroes are getting the worst of it #this is a fight where everything changes panel to panel on all fronts

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