#( ☆ TIME BREACH ⋙ QUEUE ☆ )

[twister-sister]

Bloodmoon has a gift for you.

[windupaidoneus]

in like a day or two i can get back to leveling ast thank the fucking twelve for that

[tinker-lel]

I need a lifesized Lucario plushie like so badly

[thingswhatareawesome]

now 71 moogle stones to go, which would be five runs of the 14 tomestone raids/dungeons. now pondering maybe getting one last mount in addition to the rest, which would mean 9 more runs instead. i think i could do that. it'd be 964 tomestones in total lol. been waiting to buy the actual items so it's going to be this big pile of stuff once i do hit the vendor

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the world's leading breach expert got phished

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE. More tour dates here.

If you can't spot the sucker at the poker table, you're the sucker. Also, if you think you can't get phished, you're the sucker.

I've been successfully scammed six times in my life. Each time, the scam relied on the confluence of several factors that yielded a fleeting moment of vulnerability that some scammer was able to exploit by being in the right place at the right time. I had to be lucky always, they only had to be lucky once.

The first time I got scammed was in 2008, on my first trip to India. As I walked toward the Mumbai airport taxi queue at 2AM, I was approached by two uniformed airport security guards who told me that the taxi rank had been moved in the wake of a recent terrorist bombing in Islamabad, which had resulted in all the regional airports going on high alert. The bombing was real, the airport high alerts were real. The security guards – not real. They were scammers, working with a fake cab that charged me $200 for a $20 taxi ride.

I got scammed again this way in Shanghai, at the Pudong taxi-rank. I was with my wife, daughter and parents and we split into two cabs and the drivers colluded to turn off their meters and charge us extremely high cash fares, dropping us across the street from our hotel so we couldn't enlist the doorman to interpret. Again, it was very late at night, things were confusing, and we'd had to wait for more than an hour for the cab, so we were exhausted and sweaty and divided into two groups so we couldn't coordinate strategy.

Then there was the time I got successfully phished by a Twitter account takeover worm:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That was also a miracle of timing – for the scammers. I got hit on a day when I was running late, when I'd just reinstalled my phone's OS and was being prompted for my passwords all over again, when I had just done a bunch of major publishing and was getting a lot of messages about my new articles. When a friend got infected by a worm that took over his account and messaged me, "Is this you?" with a link that took me to a webpage that asked me to log back into Twitter, I re-entered my password. If I'd been five minutes later in getting to that DM, I would have seen three more identical messages from other infected friends and twigged to the scam. But I just happened to look at my phone in the two-minute window when the scam wasn't self-evident, and I just happened to be distracted and flustered about running late, and I just happened to have had some life circumstances that made the generic phishing lure seem plausible.

In 2023, I got scammed by a fake restaurant. I was on the couch with a friend from out of town who'd come by to watch a movie. We were chatting and decided to order from our local Thai restaurant. The top result on Google was a paid ad (marked out with the word "ad" in 8-point, grey-on-white type) that had a plausible domain name, which led to a replica of my local place's menu, only with the prices set 15% higher. I didn't even notice – not until the restaurant called me to say that they'd had a flood of orders from these scammers, who charged their customers' credit cards 15% over the odds, then placed an order for delivery using their own credit card numbers. I ended up contesting the charge with Amex, getting the scammers' Wix and credit card accounts canceled, and shaming Google into blocking their ads:

https://nypost.com/2023/02/25/cory-doctorow-duped-by-fake-thai-restaurant-scam/

Then there's the guy who used leaked data from my credit union to impersonate their fraud department, calling me up and social-engineering me out of the last seven digits of my card number (not the last four, as is common – most banks use the same nine-digit prefix, so the final seven digits are all you need to derive the whole card number). The scammer called right after I used two dodgy ATMs in New Orleans, during my last hour in town when I was rushing around to get my most favorite sandwich in the world before leaving. It was the day that a Boeing 737 Max lost its door-plug so the airport was a zoo and we barely made the flight, so I lost the hour I'd planned to use to call the bank's fraud department back. Again: if, if, if. If he'd called an hour earlier – or later. If there hadn't been a giant aviation disaster. If I hadn't been traveling. The scammer had to get lucky once, I had to be lucky every time:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I got scammed again last Christmas week. I was in NYC with my wife and daughter and I'd gotten great tickets to see The Outsiders on Broadway. It was my kid's first musical and to her surprise, she loved it. In the cab back to the friend's place we were staying at, we talked about what other musicals she might want to see. She loves South Park, and I'd seen banners advertising The Book of Mormon (which was created by the same people) in LA. So I looked up "book of mormon tickets los angeles" on my phone in the cab and found the production's website and ordered the tickets, working quickly in the cab because it was one of those websites that has a countdown timer so you have to finish your transaction in five minutes.

It wasn't the real Book of Mormon website. It was a scam website, reselling Book of Mormon tickets at a 200%+ markup. That fact was noted in infinitesimal writing on the main screen, which I missed in the crowded taxi backseat while I raced the countdown timer. I figured it out about 20 seconds after the transaction cleared, and immediately emailed the vendor to cancel it. All I got was a series of smug "all transactions final" emails from outsource customer service reps (in the end, I was able to get my credit card issuer to reverse the transaction, but it took months). But yeah, I got scammed by a sleazy company called "Bigstub." Fuck those guys.

Every time I got scammed, the con that got me was nearly identical to a con that I'd avoided on numerous occasions. The fact that I'm actually pretty good at spotting this kind of hustle, 99.9% of the time, didn't mean I was immune it it. It just meant that I was vulnerable under very special circumstances, and those very special circumstances do crop up from time to time.

This is the most important lesson of scams: that no matter how well-attuned you are to cons, you can still be conned. The belief that you are immune to a con actually makes you a mark. It's for that reason that I recount the tales of how I got scammed – to help other people understand that being sophisticated, alert and even paranoid is no guarantee that you will be safe.

I'm not the only person for whom a detailed knowledge of scams created immunity from being scammed. Troy Hunt is the proprietor of HaveIBeenPwned.com, the internet's most comprehensive and reliable breach notification site. Hunt pretty much invented the practice of tracking breaches, and he is steeped – saturated – in up-to-the-minute, nitty-gritty details of how internet scams work.

Guess who got phished?

https://www.troyhunt.com/a-sneaky-phish-just-grabbed-my-mailchimp-mailing-list/

Hunt had just gotten off a long-haul flight. He was jetlagged. He got a well-constructed, plausible counterfeit email from Mailchimp telling him that his mailing-list – which he absolutely relies upon – had been frozen after a spam complaint, and advising him to click on a link to contest the suspension. He was taken to a fake login screen that his password manager didn't autopopulate, so he manually pasted the password in (Mailchimp doesn't have 2FA). It was only when the login session hung that he realized he'd been scammed – and by then, it was too late. Within minutes, his mailing list had been exported by the scammers.

In his postmortem of the scam, Hunt identifies the overlapping factors that made him vulnerable. He was jetlagged. The mailing list was important. Bogus spam complaints are common. Big corporate sites like Mailchimp often redirect their logins through different domains, which causes password manager autofill to fail. Hunt had experienced near-identical phishing attempts before and spotted them, but this one just happened to land at the very moment that he was vulnerable. Plus – as with my credit union scam – it seems likely that Mailchimp itself had been breached (or has an insider threat), which allowed the scammers to pad out the scam with plausible details that made it seem legit.

Hunt's forensics on the scam are very interesting. Of especial note is the fact that Mailchimp had retained the email addresses of thousands of former subscribers who had already unsubscribed, meaning that their data was exposed as well. It's not clear why Mailchimp would do this, but I will note that the company is extraordinarily spammer-friendly and goes to great lengths to make it easy for spammers to add you to their lists, and impossible to get off of all those lists;

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/22/degoogled/#kafka-as-a-service

Getting scammed doesn't mean you were stupid, or careless. Frequently, it just means you were distracted, upset, or distraught. We're living through a moment of total, all-consuming chaos, and the scammers are sharpening their blades – not least because the people running the show are unabashed grifters who openly boast that when they get one over on you, "that makes me smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

Buyer beware – it's ugly out there, and it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/05/troy-hunt/#teach-a-man-to-phish

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecomms.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[pugh-bug]

Flashing Lights

Art Donaldson x reader

If people like this I’ll write a part 2 and possibly some sub Art fics in the future. Challengers is all I can think about at the moment and this blonde man is living rent free in my brain.

——————————————————————

‘Come on come on, they can never have too many pictures taken of them!’

Your friend dragged you and your mediocre camera, quite forcefully, to Tashi Duncan’s party. It wasn’t just that you hadn’t been invited and that you weren’t remotely a tennis player it was that Ashley’s lame excuse of ‘they need more photographers’ was patently untrue. Everywhere you looked there were photographers with cameras that cost more than your yearly rent.

‘I’ll get us a drink wait here.’

You watched her confidently insert herself into the queue for the bar, in between endless posters of Tashi Duncan hoodies and Tashi Duncan headbands. If you hadn’t been such a feminist you might have felt a little sick from all the masturbatory self promotion.

In your idleness you decided to people watch. There were no less than a hundred people there already, all dressed elegantly with hair and makeup that no doubt took longer to do than the night would even last. You pulled at your tight dress. Flattering? Definitely. Comfortable? Absolutely not. Ashley had the tennis body, the Tashi Duncan confidence and skill but without the praise or queue of fans. You had your camera.

You hadn’t touched a tennis racket since you were ten years old. These people weren’t your peers they were your betters, including the snobby photographers and perhaps even including Ashely. At least she knew what ‘down the line’ meant.

‘Can we go?’ Your voice sounded bitter as Ashley handed you a cocktail. ‘I’ve got two photoshoots to edit for tomorrow and I don’t even like tennis! Why am I even here?’ As your friend defended her plan to ‘sleep with as many rich tennis players as possible’ your eyes wandered once again, this time landing on a man who needed no introduction.

‘Is that … Art Donaldson?’

It was him, smoking a cigarette by Patrick Zweig dressed for Summer. Fire and ice in the flesh. You suddenly felt the need to readjust your dress, your hair, your earrings. To fidget. To fidget and prepare for the chance he might look in your direction and see what he wanted.

‘Fuck me it’s Zweig.’

As Ashley launched into a thesis on why Patrick was the hottest man she’d ever seen, your eyes bored into the side of Art’s head. His curls fell so perfectly on his forehead but all you could find yourself imagining was messing them up. As your staring breached the line of too far, Ashley tapped your arm. ‘Think I should go talk to him? Flirt a bit? He’s a bit of a man whore, I’m pretty sure I could get him.’ Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the recipient of your staring began to move closer.

It only took a few moments for Art to reach yours and Ashley’s corner of refuge but his eyes never strayed from you. Zweig had followed him like a puppy and whilst you couldn’t have cared less where the brunette chose to stand, you could practically feel Ashley screaming in her head.

‘Aaliyah right? You basically murdered my friend out there yesterday.’ As Ashley corrected Patrick’s memory, you forced your eyes to look at anything that wasn’t Art’s knowing smirk in your direction. It didn’t work, in fact your refusal to make eye contact with the future star had made your feelings glaringly obvious.

You’d watched him play many times, instead of doing your own work, and although you found tennis a little boring the man had you riveted. The ease at which he hit the ball with such force, the little hand movements he’d do during a tie break and his cruel habit of taking his shirt off on hot days … you were hooked.

As he eyed your dress you wondered if he’d seen you, made note of just how many matches you’d been front and centre at. Maybe he knew you were an amateur photographer and perhaps his smirk was intended as a mockery of your being there. Art knew you didn’t belong at thee Tashi Duncan’s after party. You both knew it. He looked at you, finally as you’d lifted your gaze, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

‘So, you don’t like tennis?’

Shit.

‘Oh. You heard that.’

‘Yep.’

His voice was glazed with amusement as he sipped his cold beer, daring you to defend yourself.

‘Ashley was invited,’ you lied with little ease. ‘I’m here as her friend- well I guess also photographer but you all seem to have that covered.’ Both yours and Art’s eyes glanced at the gang of professionals taking Tashi’s photo. She was holding the shimmering trophy as if it was nothing of real value, she had the humble but proud smile down. Art clocked your jealous expression and raised an eyebrow. ‘Tashi not your favourite?’

‘She’s pretty amazing and she looks fucking beautiful tonight I can’t lie. I just, I guess I wish I was that talented.’

Despite her successful flirting to Patrick, Ashley heard your little, sad admission. Mentally you scolded yourself for letting Art see your vulnerable side. Instead of judgement he smiled.

‘Are you not the best at getting front row seats?’

He left off ‘at my matches’ but the point had been made loud and clear. You chose not to react and to ignore him completely. ‘Ashley?’ But when you turned your head to your friend you saw her mouth was occupied. Oh.

Art laughed at his best friend. ‘Seriously? You couldn’t go one night?’ No, Patrick couldn’t and he couldn’t find it in his horny heart to feel guilty for stealing your one friend and escape route from you. The pair, still connected by their lips, hurried away from the party and to some poor fucker’s bedroom. You were alone with Art Donaldson and the party that engulfed the two of you had began to die down.

‘I should go too-‘

‘Wanna go down to the beach with me?’

You couldn’t help but scoff audibly at his request. ‘You don’t even know my name.’

Art’s eyes practically gleamed with cheekiness as he moved towards you. ‘Then tell me.’

‘It’s Y/N.’

With a charming smile he repeated his offer. ‘Y/N… wanna go down to the beach with me?’

If a mind reader had been in attendance you’d have been mortified as your first thought was: Oh god have I even shaved?

The decision to take your heels off had been an impulsive one and an instant regret as you felt the brittle sand rub against your toes. Avoiding the broken glass, you walked into Art’s shoulder and quickly apologised. ‘You’re like a baby deer.’

You perched on the rock overlooking the water that moonlight reached. Art’s eyes were transfixed on you as your hair blew from your shoulders. Surely he was just bored and flirting for fun. But you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone except Patrick before approaching you.

‘What is it about photography?’ Art gestured to the camera you almost forgot you were still wearing around your neck.

‘What is it about tennis?’

Art lit his second cigarette, took a drag and smirked.

‘I’ll let you answer that.’

Much to his elation, your dress had begun to ride up but you hadn’t noticed. You simply dug your toes in the sand and smiled coyly at the blonde. But how to best handle this?

‘Watching you play tennis isn’t like watching other people play tennis.’

Art grinned, only for a moment, but you caught the ego boost in real time. He moved backwards in his chair, outstretching his long legs and looking up at you with keen interest and quiet amusement. ‘Go on.’

Your mind flashed back to his most recent match. His opponent had purposefully coughed every time it was Art’s turn to serve and instead of letting it distract him or doing it back Art had fired the ball, with force, by his head. It had been a warning, not a greatly subtle one but certainly great to watch. The shock on the boys face as he narrowly missed receiving a black eye had made you laugh and you suddenly remembered Art had beamed at you when you had.

‘You’re just really good at it.’

‘Try again.’

He wasn’t making this easy for you but that didn’t mean you had to shower him in compliments, not when he hadn’t so much as asked you your name until prompted. You watched him, completely settled and comfortable in Tashi Duncan’s deck hair and wondered if someone this confident and talented (and knew as much) could possibly be single… unless?

‘Are you and Patrick just friends?’

He twitched ever so slightly at your question before covering his shock with a chuckle.

‘Umm.. yes. Sorry to disappoint.’

You smiled, suddenly feeling more confident now that you’d put him on the spot for the first time that night.

‘Not disappointed.’

Seeing you at ease, seemingly with any answer he had to offer, Art relaxed into his chair again. A moment of silence passed as the two of you listened to the very end of the party above and the seas tumbling waves. The water was just beginning to reach the rock you’d been safely perching on. A sign to leave.

‘I think I should go back to my ho-AAA!’

You’d barely taken two steps before buried broken glass assaulted your feet.

‘Jesus fuck!’

‘Y/N!’

The pain shot through you from toe to head, it settled in between your eyebrows as you frowned, trying not to scream. Art’s face was a picture of panic. He couldn’t help but notice how much pain you were in from putting weight on your foot, which had just begun to bleed as a thought entered his head.

‘I’ll carry you.’

‘I think I can walk.’

You took a hesitant step further but your foot ,in an act of betrayal, buckled under the pain. Giving Art a look of defeat you sighed. ‘Yeah, I think you’re gonna have to.’

You thought it would feel strange, the man whom you’d been watching almost obsessively for months play a sport you despised carrying you to safety. It didn’t. It felt right. His strong arms flexed under your weight as he took confident but cautious steps to Tashi’s party. There wasn’t much left of it. In fact the only people still there were two photographers packing up their lighting equipment and they didn’t give you so much as a second glance.

‘Any chance you secretly are friends with Tashi?’ Art asked, his voice hopeful, hoping he could drop you off to safety. He pursed his lips when you shook your head. Another moment of silence passed through the two of you but this one was different. You craned your neck out to gage the distance before suggesting:

‘My hotel really isn’t far. A mile at most.’

Art smirked for a moment, forgetting what the actual circumstances were. Your foot had stopped bleeding but you didn’t feel like walking. In fact you were rather enjoying Art Donaldson: the knight in shining armour. It was a good look on him.

‘Uber?’

‘Think of it as a workout.’

It wasn’t the recreational workout Art had been hoping for that night but he did it. He carried you and your shoes to your hotel room. The receptionist barely reacted to your new person but of course what did she care? She was probably only concerned with what mess you’d leave the cleaners.

‘67, this is it.’

Art put you down, keeping his arm around your waist for support. He was a little flushed from the exertion and you were flushed from the pain, or perhaps just his wandering hand.

‘Do you want me to st-‘

‘I want you to stay.’ You interrupted him hurriedly, desperate for him to stay. In that moment you didn’t mind if he stayed to read the complimentary bible next to you or if he wanted to fuck you mercilessly in front of the bathroom mirror. You just wanted him close.

At your eagerness, Art smiled following you in. Your hotel room was not too messy for visitors but it certainly hadn’t been expecting any. For a moment you wondered how Ashley was getting on in her room down the hall and if she too had embarrassed herself in front of her favourite tennis player. Somewhat likely.

‘I think seeing as you’ve carried me bleeding you can see me in pyjamas. Give me one se-‘

You gestured to the bathroom and your dress, looking forward to getting out of it but Art shook his head. You froze. His face was one of sheer determination and unwavering confidence, not unlike the look he gave cocky opponents who needed humbling. He closed the gap between you until his chest was inches from yours but blocked by your camera. You took it off, not breaking eye contact, and placed it slowly on the desk behind you.

Just as you thought the only way to break the silence would be with a kiss, Art broke eye contact. ‘Do you have any antiseptic wipes? Anything to clean it?’ You felt your stomach unclench. ‘Yeah.’ Limping slightly, you fetched a packet from the bathroom sink and placed them in Art’s open palm. He gestured to the bed.

‘Sit.’

His order was polite but you felt compelled. Sitting on your own bed as if it was alien, you looked up at him waiting for the next.

‘Foot.’

Art got down on his knees. Your stomach flipped. With careful hands, he held your injured foot and inspected it. You’d never felt so exposed before, the way his eyes engaged with your wound as if it were more fascinating than any match he’d won. There was an unspoken rule for neither of you to speak as he cleaned you. It stung like a bitch but you only let out minor hisses in pain, barely audible to Art but not unnoticeable.

As he took out a plaster, seemingly from thin air, and applied it to your foot he said: ‘Before tonight,’ Ouch. You winced from the pressure he applied. ‘I’d seen you watching me.’ He didn’t look at you, only concentrating on his handiwork and causing you as little pain as possible.

‘Yeah I gathered from all the teasing.’

His voice grew suddenly lower. ‘I’m not talking about tennis matches.’

You were suddenly reminded of a not so distant memory. Ashley had stood you up for lunch, she’d found a better hot date, and you had been in the cafeteria alone. Art had been queuing in front of you, waiting for Patrick and you’d been in awe. What you hadn’t noticed was that he’d sensed your eyes burning holes into the back of his head long before he turned around. He had given you a passing look of recognition and slight amusement before finding his seat next to Patrick.

You imagined alongside that memory were hundreds others. Hundreds of days you’d stared at Art, watched how he span his apples before eating them and the line of his jaw when he drank water in oppressive heat. All the time he had known, you just hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

‘Oh.’

Art gave you your foot back and sat on the bed beside you. For a moment you couldn’t bare to look at him, incase he disappeared and decided it was funnier to leave you hanging. Your foot was the least of your worries. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d really kissed someone, with feverish need, but you wanted to.

Noticing your inward battle, Art raised his hands almost in defeat. ‘I can leave.’ He meant it, there was no judgement. You turned to him, your eyes meeting his clouded with lust, and recognised that this was a man who needed to be wanted. He wanted to give and receive pleasure, not out of boredom but out of a clawing need for it. If you wanted him to leave then he’d leave but if you wanted him to stay then he’d make the most of it.

Your hand settled atop of his.

‘Don’t.’

Part 2

Masterlist

Resources 🇸🇩🇨🇩🇵🇸

[sorentymn]

“I too, missed you dearly.”

✤ Summary: The captain of the guard returns from his week-long border patrol, and they reunite. ✤ Content: One-shot, pre-established relationship, it's literally romantic porn ✤ Rating: 18+ sexual content ✤ A/N: I remember my obsession with Thranduil every now and then, and this manifested, I guess...enjoy!

He learned that the ever-elusive sovereign of the Silvan Elves is a creature of many delightful secrets, and he was privileged enough to be let into the furthest, most intimate reaches. When they began breaching the boundary so sacred, it was a silent agreement that they would never voice the nature of their union. Not because of its impropriety but to keep these affections as far away from the echoes of the late tári. 

The all-encumbering silence extended to their every moment. When the torches were lit, he would become a shadow, slithering and winding behind the cavernous palace all the way to his king.

Arendil’s sentiment would be hidden from the world except for him, whose glacial gaze would penetrate his armour, secrets, and soul. Thranduil alone reigns over him. Of this, he is often reminded in the suspended moments as he slips through the secret door to his chambers. 

Thranduil would often be found resting in the arched nook cradled by wild vines. He is now surrounded by manuscripts, books and even illustrations so precious only few eyes have seen. Draped in his rich crimson robe bearing delicate embroideries, he looked no different from the intricate paintings he loved. Arendil couldn’t help but delay his arrival, opting to lean against the archway, smiling at the sight of his king so at peace. Only short moments pass before the king breaks the silence. 

“One must be privy to their weaknesses”

Knowing his queue, Arendil detached himself from one of the twined columns and took idle steps closer. A grin was barely kept at bay.

“Aran Meletyalda” He bowed gracefully at his lounging king, who did not part his gaze from the large book in his arm. The mere sight of him stirred a pleasant bloom deep in his stomach. It’d been days since he’d seen Thranduil last, and to find him so at ease, unburdened by courtly duties draped in his most comfortable robes, felt so domestic. There’s a handsomeness to him that’s wholly different out of his extravagant attire. He could simply be Thranduil and not his title or legacy.

“How do you mean?” Arendil lowered himself onto the half steps that led up to the nook and sat with his forearms folded atop a large cushion where Thranduil’s legs lay crossed. His fingers glided against the ivory whites of Thranduil’s ankle, a subtle greeting. To this touch, the elven king spared him a soft look from the edge of his eyes that did not match the rest of his face, which remained lifeless. 

“I heard you before you reached the door” To anyone that might’ve been a scolding, but the faintest give in his tone is something Arendil understood well. They often started this way due to rigid elven traditions for social stratum. Regardless of the intimacy they enjoyed in private, it takes some time to completely shed their identities outside of one another.

Thranduil’s index finger glided against the side of the page like he was considering if he wanted to continue reading but he won’t, decades of observing and protecting him meant he’d catalogued Thranduil’s many traits, one being the need to create an illusion of passiveness even if the truth could not be further opposite. 

“Perhaps you should join the patrols, I’m certain your keen hearing would be useful for hunting those wretched spiders your highness” This drew a pleased rumble from the elven king who promptly closed his book, set the large thing aside him and leaned further into his back cushions arms spread wide like he’d just been told something quite wonderful. The king delighted in exchanges like this, a wit that sought to entertain, a trait unique to his captain. 

“If all my efforts are spent on spiders, who will make sure a certain disobedient captain won’t sneak into my chambers?” Thranduil ran his fingers through a weft of his hair, smiling at his busy hand rather than the actual recipient. 

“Is it disobedience if I’m welcomed?” Arendil said with a mischievous look. 

“When did you learn to be so impertinent, my dear?” 

“I think you encourage me, your highness” 

“To accuse me of such a thing” Thranduil feigned exasperation as he reached for his goblet nearby, taking a leisurely sip without parting his gaze from the captain at his feet. Arendil decided to indulge himself a little and lowered his lips to the skin at Thranduil’s ankle, placing a chaste kiss there, and the two continued to stare at one another silently tuning their disjointed familiarity. 

“How was your week, your highness?” Despite his intimate knowledge of Thranduil’s unending agenda, he asked, nevertheless having missed being involved in every aspect of his day after a week on border duties. But it seemed the king wasn’t keen on launching into a detailed conversation just yet. 

“Utterly dull; it stands to be improved by a certain captain resurfacing, however.” Thranduil pointed his gaze at the elf at his feet, and he wondered when the room suddenly got hotter. That's the mystery; how is it that those ice-capped gaze could elicit such an opposite effect?

“Can it now?” Arendil broke into another full grin as Thranduil’s legs unfolded, the right side that Arendil had been caressing inched closer. The fold of fabric that previously covered Thranduil’s right leg was caught in the rifts of silk pooled against the pillow, revealing more of his leg as he moved. The exposed stretch of skin and defined muscles captivated Arendil in an instant, and the captain, without missing a beat, leaned to brush the tip of his nose along the length of his shin, then his lips left hot trails in its wake.

Thranduil’s resolve finally crumbled; he broke into a full smile at such a doting act.

“You’re certainly compelling so far” Arendil’s eyes peered up momentarily between kisses, and what a sight, his king seemed content, more than that he dares say.

“I always endeavour to please” 

“Mm- but I think you could do better” At this, Arendil paused his efforts. Thranduil patted his lap, and that was the signal he needed. He moved to stand, removing his boots and the double swords at his hip, letting them fall to the floor inelegantly, which made Thranduil’s brow twitch. He was given a softly pointed look, something resembling a tutor’s reprimand, but he couldn’t care less about decorum now. 

The thrill of placing oneself firmly in that unspoken place only he and the highest order in the land now share is far sweeter. Like a stalking feline, he crawled on all fours up to bracket his arms between Thranduil’s head, careful to avoid his cascaded white hair that looked like moonlit rivers spread out so distinctly against velvety cushions. 

Arendil finally settled straddling Thranduil’s lap, and that familiar pressure brought a spark to the king’s frigid blues, the same sparkle that would appear when he decided he would do something unspeakable to his captain during their coupling.

Arendil pretended not to notice this as he leaned in and brushed his lips against the king’s plush ones he’d been thinking about every hour he was sent away. The king immediately reciprocated with a long expulsion of his breath like he’d been waiting for this moment since the captain came through the door, and they were locked in something deeply passionate. Their lips conveyed more to one another than their words struggled to achieve.

Arendil made a soft sound deep in his throat out of sheer happiness at that familiar scent of wood mist and exotic tonics. The lustrous feel of his hair between the gaps of his calloused fingers as he mindlessly combed through them. The warmth of his skin against his own is the sweetest reminder that he is home. 

“Is that better?” Arendil breathed against Thranduil’s temple, and after a stretch of silence, Thranduil trailed his nimble fingers against the laces at his captain’s thighs. He will need to find a discreet way to reward whoever decided they needed to be laced up this way; it's so very appetising.  But the king did not stop there, he made his way up the back of his captain’s thighs, finally planting themselves firmly around his arse.

“Not quite” You could always count on him to be more honest through his touches than his words. Arendil chuckled softly at the suggestion and ground his hips down gently, and he could feel the king’s breath hitch. “That’s unacceptable, allow me-” Arendil’s voice dripped honey as he, ever dutiful, pried himself from Thranduil. As he made his way lower down the king’s middle, his shirt was thrown off, revealing rippling muscles brutally defined from centuries of service with a leanness present in all high elves. 

Thranduil always delighted in the sight, even before their trysts. There had been times they’d had to stop along rivers to camp during long journeys, and well- Arendil was not always disciplined about keeping his garbs fastened when he thought none could see him. The king has his many dirty secrets and all-seeing eyes, literally.

The devotion in his captain’s eyes made Thranduil feel trapped in his rich silks, which was saying something as their only intended purpose was to be for lounging, hardly for modesty. His hands moved to unfasten the front panels, finally giving the younger elf a view he so missed. The king’s sheer size sprawled beneath him always felt like he’d conquered a great force. Like himself, the king was also honed by battle, evident in the sculpted perfection no less captivating than everything else about him. Sometimes, Arendil found himself breathless at the sight of him; how could it be that they were created by the same gods? 

Arendil now rests his cheek against his king’s bulge, growing harder beneath him. Not once did he turn his gaze away from Thranduil as his teeth caught the hem of his loosely wrapped pants, dragging them down to finally reveal the length of him. As it sprang free to rest heavily against the edge of his lips, the captain broke into a sickeningly sweet smile as he whispered against his tip. 

“I have been thinking about this” His warm hand took hold of Thranduil’s girth, and the king beneath him sucked the inner corner of his lips unknowingly communicating what’s on his mind. 

“About me taking your mouth, Arendil?” The way his king rolled the ‘r’ in his name, a way distinct to him made his cock twitch and only then did he notice how hard he’d been, so distracted by his lover to notice his own need. His hot tongue dragged from the base impossibly slow, which made Thranduil gasp. The warmth of his lips and his breath was nothing compared to the toe-curling intensity of that first lick. When Arendil opened his mouth again, the king traced the tip of his thumb adoringly along his reddened bottom lip, gathering the collected spit to bring it back to his mouth.

“About you taking everything”, Arendil said between rounds, and the king’s eyes flashed at that candid confession but quickly succumbed the minute the captain took his entire length into his mouth without warning. So much for pacing, having Thranduil's full cock deep in his mouth always felt too enticing to resist. Thranduil’s restraint is famed amongst his enemies and subjects alike; few have seen him fall prey to his own emotions, so when he manages to make the king himself moan, it’s a kind of pride that intoxicates him. 

He bobbed at an even pace, skillfully working his fingers as he went, mimicking the movements that’d pleased him time and time again. It was tamed at first, but then it grew increasingly debauched, the wetness smeared past the edge of his lips. His eyes fluttered every time he’d take Thranduil as far down his throat as he could, and what once were faint sighs from Thranduil began to materialise into deep moans that echoed off the vined walls. 

“That’s it- fuck” That was another delightful thing. Thranduil, ever eloquent, would turn to cruder words when he was getting sucked. He threw his head back now, determined to keep himself intact as Arendil worked his wonderful mouth all over him. His fingers were now laced between his captain’s ink black strands, gripping to keep himself from thrusting up into his throat. 

“Arendil", He gritted. 

“Mm?” He hummed to respond, seeing no reason to pause and how attractive that was it tore yet another thread of Thranduil’s attempt to keep this somewhat paced. He tugged his captain’s hair to remove the man from his cock and that was met with a small frown. The king remedied this with a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, tasting himself on the younger elf’s tongue. The intensity of it turned his captain pliable once more, and he obediently followed when Thranduil slipped from beneath him to stand, letting what remained of his robe fall to the floor.

He lifted Arendil from the bed, carrying him wrapped around his hip and off they went. The starved kisses continued as Thranduil blindly meandered along the columns to his bedroom. The captain was thrown onto the bed, and his king moved quickly to pull off his pants. Thranduil was suddenly so impatient that it made him chuckle.

“Did your high-” 

“Call me by my name” Arendil stared at him, amused at first, not immediately complying. Thranduil liked being referred to by his name, but it always felt all too much to his captain. Only in the intense throes of passion did all his sense of propriety fall away. But, since he asked so very nicely in that needy look on his usually unreadable face. Arendil sat back, slowly dragging seconds out, making sure the king could see every lithe movement. He then spreads his legs open. His free hand then slid from the base of his neck to his own leaking cock as he said- 

“Did you miss me, Thranduil?” Something snapped at the last syllable because the king immediately pounced onto the bed in between his legs. Strong hands folded his captain’s legs up to his chest, which drew a surprised yelp. Thranduil sucked and kissed the inner corners of his thighs so much he thought they might bruise, but before he could make another smart remark. Thranduil smirked, a milisecond warning of an impending attack, and then a moan erupted from his captain when he felt his wet tongue glide over his entrance.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” His king feasted upon him like someone starved, like the taste of his skin was his lifeline. His thumbs part the cleft of his arse so taught to further open him. Obscene sounds come in rapid succession the deeper he went. His tongue is now inside of him, prodding and swirling. He felt soaked digits inch closer to his entrance and was surprised how Thranduil managed to lubricate them without him noticing. Had he been anticipating this, he saw no ointment on the bed when they came bursting in through the door. But his thoughts were interrupted when a finger glided into him, pumping slowly as his tongue continued to ravish what it could reach. 

“Thranduil, slow down. I’m going-” 

“No, do not, that’s an order” He commanded in that charming authoritative tone as he inserted another finger and then another now pumping steadily as he mouth against Arendil’s cock. 

“Please your highness-” This only made his fingers move faster, curling and pushing at his prostate. This went on for what felt like an eternity of torture. He felt his eyes well up with uncontrollable pleasure and he looked at his king, face reddened through to his ears, mouth agape wordlessly begging to be fucked and only then did it work. Thranduil's fingers were removed slowly; he wanted his captain to feel the absence of it, and the way he gaped was more than telling. 

Thranduil graciously came to hover over his panting captain with a dark look. He lowered onto his forearms, and this menace of an elf, he rolled his hips positioning the tip of his cock at his entrance dragging faint touches there but still refusing to give Arendil sweet absolution. 

“Say it” 

“Aran, what-” 

“Tell me how often I linger in your mind when I’m not there” There was an unexpected vulnerability as he said this. His eyes shone so beautifully, framed by his hair like streams of the most beautiful waterfalls. Arendil felt a tug at his heart so abrupt it almost felt painful. It was achingly honest of Thranduil, and both his hands reached to caress his king’s face.  

“I miss you between every breath I take-”, Arendil started, his lips drunkenly kissing Thranduil’s sculpted jaw, reinforcing his words into skin.

“I miss you when I see beauty I could not bring back to you” Thranduil’s smile widened at this, encouraging his captain to keep speaking as he prodded again gently at his entrance. 

“I miss you when the stars come, and I lie there alone” He almost couldn’t finish the last word as Thranduil began to push into him, stretching him open as their foreheads touched. The tightness around him almost sucked the air out of his lungs.

“I miss you when I fuck myself-” At this Thranduil moaned and their lips clash. Thranduil sheathed himself in completely, his grip at Arendil's waist so tight it pinched his skin. He drank the captain's half scream at the sudden wave of pleasure that shot deep within him.

Arendil could not quite get used to the girth of him, no matter how many times they’d gone to bed together. There was always that precipice between pain and mind-numbing pleasure, and it stupefied him. 

As his lover clutched and dug into his back, Thranduil’s hands grasped at the constructed twines of his headboard and began to thrust. It was hard and rhythmic, like a dance. His sexual prowess had always left Arendil utterly speechless because, like everything about him, it was impeccable. Arendil’s back arched off the bed, combating the eruptions of pleasure, singeing his nerves to dust. 

Somewhere between his own outrageously erotic sounds, Arendil managed. “Is this you telling me you miss me?”

Thranduil, unbelievably, chuckled as he hammered himself into his captain, and suddenly, he was flipped. Thranduil’s strength is formidable, and it announces itself at the most unexpected times. While his face remained pressed against the pillow, Thranduil lowered to his ear. 

“I too, missed you dearly.” 

[nicnak20]

TSA:

*A TSA officer gives you a detailed cavity check when he suspects something.*

The bright lights of the airport hummed a sterile soundtrack to the frantic energy swirling around you. You were already running late, a cardinal sin in your meticulously planned life, and the knot in your stomach tightened with each hurried step. Kind, sweet, patient, understanding – these were words that usually described you, but right now, you felt more like a frazzled whirlwind battling the tide of travelers. You loved to travel, truly did, the idea of exploring new places always sparking a childlike joy within you, but the pre-flight chaos? Decidedly less charming.

You finally reached the TSA security line, a serpentine queue that seemed to stretch into another dimension. Taking a deep breath, you tried to center yourself, to remember that cheerful, warm, gentle person you usually were. It was no use. Your palms were sweating, your carefully styled dark hair was probably already a mess, and your brown eyes darted nervously around. Doting, devoted, caring, loving, affectionate, smart – these were also words that defined you, but in this moment, you felt exposed, vulnerable.

You placed your carry-on on the conveyor belt, your laptop, toiletries bag, and a book you were desperately hoping to finish on the flight disappearing into the machine's maw. You walked through the scanner, trying to project an air of calm you definitely didn’t feel. Beep. Loud, insistent, and directed right at you. Your heart plummeted.

A polite but firm voice directed you to step aside. “Ma’am, please come with me.”

This was it. The moment you had always dreaded, the moment you had seen countless times in movies, the moment that separated the carefree travelers from…you. Embarrassment, hot and prickly, started to crawl up your neck. You followed the officer to a slightly less public area, praying that at least some of the curious stares would dissipate.

The officer who approached you was…Nicholas. His name tag was clear, crisp letters against a dark background. You noticed his dark brown hair, neatly styled, and his kind brown eyes, assessing you with professional detachment, yet something…else? It was probably just your nerves playing tricks on you. He was objectively handsome, in a warm, approachable way. Definitely not the stern, unyielding figure you had braced yourself for.

“Ma’am,” Nicholas began, his voice gentle but firm, “my scanner indicated an anomaly. We’re going to need to do a more thorough security check. Please step behind the privacy screen.”

Your embarrassment intensified tenfold. You mumbled a barely audible, “Okay,” and followed him behind the flimsy screen. The hum of the airport, the muffled announcements, everything seemed to fade into the background as the reality of the situation hit you. This was happening. To you.

Nicholas explained the procedure in a calm, professional tone, but his words were a blur. All you registered was ‘pat-down,’ ‘more thorough,’ and a sinking feeling in your stomach. He started with a standard pat-down, efficient and impersonal, running his hands over your arms, legs, torso. Each touch, though necessary, felt like a brand. You were acutely aware of being in a vulnerable position, your personal space completely breached by a stranger, however polite he might be.

And then he said it. “Ma’am, I’m going to need to conduct a more detailed search. This will include a sensitive area search. Please understand this is standard procedure and for everyone’s safety.”

Your breath hitched. A sensitive area search. Those words echoed in your mind, conjuring images you had only ever glimpsed in news reports, things that happened to other people. Not you. Never you. But here you were, behind a flimsy screen in a busy airport, about to undergo something profoundly invasive.

Nicholas must have sensed your hesitation, your rising anxiety. His voice softened, becoming even more gentle. “I understand this can be uncomfortable, ma’am. I will be as quick and professional as possible. Please try to relax.”

Relax? Impossible. But you nodded, because what else could you do? You were trapped in this scenario, a passenger in the hands of security protocols.

He started the more detailed pat-down, his touch becoming more deliberate, more focused. He checked the waistband of your pants, the seams of your clothing. And then, he moved lower. His hand, warm and firm despite the latex glove, pressed against your lower back, then lower still. His fingers brushed against the curve of your bottom through your clothes. A jolt, unexpected and electric, shot through you. It was just a pat-down, just protocol, you told yourself frantically, but the heat blooming in your cheeks was undeniable.

“Ma’am,” Nicholas said again, his voice lower now, almost a murmur, “I’m going to need to do a cavity search. It appears there is still an anomaly in this area.”

Cavity search. The words hit you like a physical blow. This was beyond embarrassing. This was humiliating. This was…intimate. In a way that felt utterly wrong, yet…something else flickered within you, a confusing, forbidden spark.

He continued, his voice gentle, almost coaxing. “I need you to lean forward slightly, ma’am. And relax your muscles.”

Relax your muscles? When your body was coiled tight with tension, with mortification, with…something you couldn’t quite name? But you did as he instructed, leaning forward slightly, bracing your hands against the cold metal table behind you.

And then it happened. Nicholas’s hand, gloved, yes, but still undeniably his, moved between your legs, pressing firmly against your backside. You gasped, a small, involuntary sound lost in the airport’s ambient noise. His fingers pressed deeper, parting your clothing, seeking whatever it was he was looking for. The sensation was shocking, invasive, and utterly humiliating. You wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor, to rewind time and avoid this entire nightmare.

But then, something shifted. As his fingers probed, as he explored with professional thoroughness, a strange, unfamiliar sensation began to unfurl within you. It was a mix of vulnerability and…something akin to arousal? Your breath hitched again, this time for a different reason. The warmth of his touch, the pressure, even the forbidden nature of the act, ignited a tiny, rebellious flame in the pit of your stomach.

His fingers moved with surprising gentleness, guiding, probing, searching. It was clinical, yes, but there was also an undeniable intimacy in the act, in the focused attention on your most private area. You could feel your muscles clenching involuntarily, then, against your will, starting to relax, to yield to the pressure, to the…intrusion.

You could feel him tense slightly as well, a barely perceptible stiffening in his posture. His breathing seemed to deepen just a fraction. Was it just your imagination, or was there something else going on here? Was he feeling it too? This strange, illicit energy humming in the air between you?

His fingers pressed deeper, and you felt a gasp escape your lips, not of discomfort, but of…something closer to pleasure. The realization hit you like a jolt of electricity. You were actually, secretly, enjoying this. In the most twisted, embarrassing, and utterly forbidden way, you were finding a strange, unsettling pleasure in this invasive act.

The thought horrified you, and yet, it also thrilled you. Your mind was a whirlwind of shame and excitement, confusion and a burgeoning sense of liberation. It was wrong, so wrong, and yet…it felt undeniably, inexplicably…right.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Nicholas withdrew his hand. He stepped back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. His brown eyes, usually kind and gentle, held a flicker of something that mirrored the confusion and forbidden spark you felt within yourself. It was gone in an instant, replaced by professional detachment, but you had seen it. You knew you weren’t imagining things.

“I seem to have located the source of the anomaly, ma’am,” he said, his voice still gentle, but with a subtly different tone, a huskiness that hadn’t been there before. He held up a small, metallic object, a tiny decorative charm that had fallen off your bag and somehow lodged itself…well, in a very unexpected place.

You stared at the charm, then back at Nicholas, your face burning crimson. “Oh,” was all you managed to stammer. “Oh, I…I’m so sorry.”

Nicholas gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “No apologies necessary, ma’am. It’s procedure.” But his eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than necessary, a silent communication passing between you, a shared secret in the sterile confines of the security area.

He efficiently cleared you, handing back your belongings. “Have a pleasant flight, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice still shaky. You gathered your things, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on your back, a warm, lingering gaze that sent shivers down your spine.

You rushed to your gate, your mind reeling. The embarrassment was still there, a hot flush spreading across your skin. But beneath it, a different sensation was taking root, a confusing mix of shame and excitement, a secret, forbidden thrill. You replayed the encounter in your mind, the feel of his hands, the intimacy of the search, the fleeting moment of connection in his eyes.

It was wrong, completely and utterly wrong, but as you settled into your seat on the plane, a small, involuntary smile touched your lips. Amidst the humiliation and the invasion, something unexpected, something forbidden, had sparked in the sterile environment of the airport security line.

And deep down, in a place you hadn’t known existed until just moments ago, you knew you wouldn’t forget Nicholas, the kind, gentle TSA officer who had given you the most embarrassing moment of your life…and the most unexpectedly thrilling secret. And you had a feeling, a secret, delicious feeling, that he wouldn’t forget you either.

[twister-sister]

It's queue time

And once again I have messed around with Suno, this time a moon song, a positive moon song called Moondrops Watch: *Here or click the picture*

[thimbledoll]

A Doll's Defenses

Her armor was spellcraft the likes of which no mundane blade could hope to pierce. Her porcelain shell was fired in the Magicked blaze of her Witch’s kiln, imparting it with steel-like durability. Her core was pure diamond; ancient matter placed under impossible pressures for literal eons. Her Witch’s enemies would find no chink, crack, nor breach in her defenses. She was as impregnable as her begifted name implied. She was Inviolet.

Arrows clattered to the floor upon striking her. Swords shattered against her wards. Spells left the land more damaged than their target. All offense they could muster against her was rendered inert. Still, they broke upon her like waves upon a cliff.

“Your tenacity is admirable,” Inviolet declared to the gathered hunters. Under the clash and clang of their weapons striking her impervious form, her small voice barely carried to those who dared engage her in melee. “But this one must ask that you leave, otherwise she fears she will have to remove you from the premises.”

Her request was answered with a gout of spellflame direct to the face. When at last the flames subsided, the caster was met with the doll’s cold, steely, and unblemished gaze. “Very well. Then you have made your choice known.”

Belladon hummed happily to themself as they rummaged through the cupboards. The sounds of battle that had been ringing out from the courtyard had since died down, meaning their doll was likely going to be walking through the door shortly. Eschewing traditional roles (as they were wont to do), they went about preparing kettle, leaf, and china. “After what she’s had to deal with today, I’m sure she’d appreciate a pot of tea to… unwind when she gets in,” the Witch thought to themself, giggling at their unheard jest.

As if on queue, the porcelain clink of Inviolet’s hand upon the doorknob alerted the Witch to their doll’s return. If not for that, they likely wouldn’t have heard her enter at all. “I’m in the kitchen, dear. Spot of tea? I was thinking the hibiscus,” they called out in greeting.

“Hibiscus sounds lovely. Thank you, Miss,” Inviolet answered from the kitchen doorway, her movements about the house as silent as her entry. She carried such an unnatural ease for one who had just come from battle, the Witch thought. Her demeanor was as impregnable as the body they’d crafted for her. It never ceased to amaze them.

“Perfect. I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes,” Belladon declared, turning away from the cupboard, letting the momentum of the movement swing the door closed with a small bang.

Belladon froze as they realized their mistake, the sound of the slamming door echoing throughout their conscience.

Inch by inch, crack after crack after crack spidered out across Inviolet’s body. What a thousand blades couldn’t manage, Belladon had accomplished completely without intention. It took only mere moments before the doll crumbled to nothing but a pile of porcelain shards on the floor. Her weathered, beaten, and overly chipped diamond core laid atop.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Belladon cried out, as they began carefully picking their doll up, shard by individual shard. “I should know better by now. I’ll-I’ll do better… I swear. We’ll have you back together in no time.”

Though she had no voice with which to say so, Inviolet knew the truth of her Witch’s words.

(I've been hesitating to post this one for a while... It was originally supposed to be part of the second volume of Emptied Spaces, but it seems like that endeavor has sputtered out. It's unfortunate, but completely understandable. Still, I felt bad leaving this one languishing in drafts for forever, so here it is. We'll see if anything else ever manages to leave the drafts... heh)

[greatwyrmgold]

At time of writing* I have not finished Tactical Breach Wizards. However, I feel confident saying that Dall's Anxiety Dream is the best.

First, having a wiser version of Dall speak wisdom to her and representing that by having one of the Dalls on the mission not only wear an outfit you haven't unlocked but also unlocking all her perks? (chef's kiss)

It's a good way to integrate those bits of gameplay and narrative, and indicate that (unlike, say, Jen or Banks) the dream-Dall has more to offer than pointing out a problem waking-Dall is aware of but unwilling to admit.

It also gives you a taste of Dall's full potential, and allows the level designers to build a level around what a fully-upgraded Dall can do. That's significant because, while all characters have some perks that dramatically change how they play, Dall's perks (especially the Swap and Charge perks) are especially game-changing; this not only lets the Anxiety Dream show the player what she's capable of, but also lets them build levels that are decently challenging with access to that full toolkit without worrying about what perks Dall bought. (I'm not exaggerating when I say that levels designed assuming you had those perks could easily be impossible without, and ones designed assuming you didn't have them could be pathetic if you did.)

And of course, the writing is on point.

*At time of posting, I have 100%-completed Tactical Breach Wizards. That's just what happens when you have a long and regularly-shuffled queue.

[madomkasak]

Reckless thoughts verse

Listen. Things are going to be ok. The tributes that have poured make things a bit sweeter on the bittersweet scale. So reckless thoughts verse gets a new entry here on AO3. Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes - c. 7.5k. Maxiel. Lots of comfort. Lots of love. A bit of hurt. Someone breaks something - it's not a collarbone. We hear a bit about the baby cow.

The thing is. Max doesn't have anything else planned. He flies to Perth, retires, gets to Daniel. Gets Daniel. A three step plan six years in the making. Gone through iterations and small changes throughout but Max never diverted from it. He just got delayed. Waylaid and misled and now Max knows he had to fly to the farm, for it to happen. That outside of it all, they both would have been beholden to others.

So. He booked the flights before he even told Daniel about what to expect from the teams. Shook his head. Feels the squeeze of Daniel’s hand on his bicep as much as he does the kiss that follows. Doesn't tell him how the plan was jump-started into action by GP on the radio and Daniel crying in the media pen.

How Max didn't sleep until he knew Daniel was back in his room, Max scheming and planning and keeping it all to himself all the while. Refreshing the media page on his computer. The circus of it already didn't taste as good as before.

Thank you, Daniel, he thinks. So Max jumped his plans a bit.

Booked the flights, slept only two hours. Not in his own jet. Glared daggers at the snoring man as they stepped out of the plane. Glared even more when the man drove out the airport in a Ferrari. Followed the plane on the screen until the pilot told them the weather, outside. Max can't remember what he said.

Decides here and there that he will get his jet back and send an email to Seb to explain that he hates flying in first class, sorry, Max will offset the carbon emission somehow. Seb might answer this time, if it means he brings Daniel with him next. Max will swear that getting to Daniel is worth it all, to Max. Even on the cusp of environmental disaster.

He’ll buy insect hotels, fuck it.

Stands in the short queue for his passport. Hopes he doesn't have to give money to the steward when he sees Max Emilian Verstappen printed on the document. He doesn't have to. Maybe there are too many Max Verstappens going to Perth to get their Daniels. He is just one of them. He wishes them luck.

Doesn't need it. He knows Daniel. Has facedtimed him even on the loo or when Daniel is in the bath. Tells him to scrub his fingernails. Daniel snickers he’d rather still smell like sex. Max imagines he smells like nature more. Sand and dust to replace sweat and fuel. Max doesn't mind.

He will make Daniel smell like them soon 

He stands outside, clammy in his jeans and thinks. His plan didn't involve details beyond — get to Daniel. Stay.

He doesn't have a car. Breathes through the panic. Usually the FIA sorts the travelling from the airport, even that time his own flight was delayed and he ran to the press conference. Allows Max his comfort and preference but run a tight schedule the moment he lands.

He spares a thought to the ants in the Formula 1 anthill. He won't be there.

He stands, hovers, awkward and careful near the car for hire stands. Doesn't want to risk it. Not when it comes to cars. Not in Australia. Not with Daniel back home. His phone is at 20% battery just because the emails and calls keep on coming, now that he has a signal again. Christian called fifteen times in ten minutes. Greedy.

Max doesn't ask himself if it’s a breach of what his team have sent.

He scrolls through his contacts. Fights the urge to just call Daniel. Max wants it to be a surprise. The farm. Him. The retirement. Max staying, more importantly. Daniel still thinks he is in Las Vegas. 

Max hopes he blocked Christian because he knows the man will call Daniel next. Knows that of course, they keep tabs with each other. Max doesn't want them to ever contact Daniel again. Will go to Goodwood on his own if it means Daniel isn't sad. 

Max should have told the lawyers to give them a gag order.

He calls Grace. Gnaws on his lip. Turn away to face a wall, hunches over so no one glances at him as her voice rings. He mutters a hello to her joyful greeting. Something eases inside of him.

“How is Vegas? Daniel is half a text away from putting Sky Sports on.” She continues happily. Max knows Sky Sports is at the Ricciardo’s, not at the farm, because even Joe has banned Daniel from his family house for the past Grand Prix. He hasn’t quite grasped the story yet, but Daniel yelled at the TV, when Max took a penalty for something he didn't do.

He did brake too late. Jutted his chin at the media afterwards. Still won. Daniel had sent him another voicenote. A video. He stopped after Austin. Daniel doesn’t watch F1 now.

“Daniel can't watch, Grace.” He says, urgently. Sharply. Even Grace laughs a little, not at Max. But because they both know Daniel can't watch the race. Max has dozens of messages with timestamps aligning with Max being in the car - photos of their baby girl cow, voice notes of Daniel making weird sounds back to birds. One video he kept safe on his computer of Daniel stepping in manure, filmed by Michelle, twin laughs so loud. He promised Daniel he deleted it. Deleted it from his phone. Daniel should know better. So. Daniel doesn’t watch the races. Tells Max it hurts too much still. Even if the VCARB car doesn’t want to race well without her driver. Max feels good about it. Daniel doesn't watch the races but knows when Max wins. His are the first messages Max opens now. Won’t receive anymore. 

He has wondered if Grace sends Daniel some Max shaped messages during races. If the Max-shaped hole that follows Daniel seeped into all of the Ricciardos. 

Max can't win this one. Can't give Grace love notes from Nike’s wings to deliver to Daniel. But he can give her himself to deliver. Hopes Daniel remembers his mythologies. Hopes he won't be disappointed, that Max won't win on the track anymore.

Maybe he can get Daniel to do a shoey when he helps win sim races. Max will allow it even on the tiny desk camera. Will endure Redline jokes with a smile on his face.

Hopes Daniel wears shoes in the house. For the sim shoeys.

“Las Vegas treating you this bad, Max? You know he would be there if you asked.” Max swallows. Hasn't asked Daniel either. Just wants him to ask Max to stay. Max doesn’t want Daniel at the races, he wants to be with Daniel here. Home. Or something. “It isn't too different from Australia, there.”

It is. There is no Daniel. Everyone, not only Max, will feel the Daniel hole this weekend. It will suck. Max’s weekend won't. He smiles. 

“I'm not in Las Vegas, Grace.” he admits, when there’s a lull. When Grace doesn't ask what Max wants because she too knows to let Max speak first. Lets him fight phantoms around his lungs and voices and Max is better now, when it comes to Daniel. “I’m. I am in Perth. At the airport. I can't rent a car to Daniel's farm “

“I can't get to him.”

Because his team usually handles his aliases and bookings and Max hasn't told anyone he is going to Perth. Is in Perth. Grace is silent for a moment. Two. Max feels a flush on his neck. Is embarrassed and needy and wants her to approve.

“Oh, Max.” She sighs. He thinks the sound is lovely. Hopes Daniel says it like this too. Hums. Max hears the shuffle of keys, soft footsteps. “I think Daniel can wait a couple more hours to see you. He has been a bit antsy not to hear from you during your flight to Vegas.”

“I’m sure he looked at the Jet twitter account.” She says and Max looks downward, mouthes about his own Jet having a twitter account. It’s X now, or whatever. Spares a second to think about George who promised to win all the monopoly games against Lando for Max.

Max thinks George knows. As part of the union. Or just because he loves Daniel too, tangentially different from Max. Otherwise Max will punch him next. No hard feelings. Just like how Lewis’ texts are unanswered - a bit of hard feelings there, truly.

“Sit tight, honey, ok? Traffic will be bad, but I'll be there in a couple of hours.”

Max has a joke about Grace making the fastest lap too. That she does it for Max as well, always. Counts to ten. Says it in rushed words that graze his teeth, feels sharp and tender against his flesh. Thank you, Daniel. Thank you, Grace. Smiles into his shoulder when she laughs. He will tell Daniel this, that he made his mother laugh on the phone.

That he made his mother pick him up at the airport. So Max could be here with him finally. It's evening already, Max feels a little bad that Grace offered immediately. Doesn’t let it linger because he will be with Daniel finally, when he left so many hours ago. Didn’t even take a shower in the plane because it is not his plane shower.

He thinks about many things. About Daniel, mostly. Because there is nothing to do at the arrival part of the building. Max’s phone teeters at 5%. He finds a shop to buy a charger with the correct plugs. Sees Daniel’s face in the newspapers anyway.

Buys a RedBull, throat feeling tight and dry. Dares to thumb up Martin’s one of many texts, emojis and questions and pleas because Max had told Martin to grab him at the grand Prix and. Max isn't there. He is here, in Perth. To see Daniel. To kiss him. Ask him to ask Max to stay so he will. Will anyway, even if Daniel doesn't know, doesn't dare to ask. He doesn’t say this to Martin, of course. Because he has not seen Daniel yet. Cannot let him ruin the surprise. So many would tattle on Max, for Daniel.

Daniel is so loved, always. But Max will love him most.

Martin sends him a middle finger emoji. He replies with a laughing face. Swipes to decline Christian’s call. Thinks hard about whether or not he should block all of them. Or email his lawyers.

Doesn't decide either way. 

Jokes with team Redline for a moment. Doesn't tell them where he is. A quick Google search and he has a few more hours before he must be in the paddock. He won't be. 

Grace arrives in a flurry of smiles and cooing and wild curls that have gone a bit more grey now. Maybe it catches up with her now that Daniel isn't racing. That she won't watch her son crash on live TV ever again. He wonders, in a small voice, if he made her go grey too. 

He hugs her as tightly, feels himself to be shy when she pats his cheek, palm warm in blessing. He sees the same grey at Daniel’s temples, on his beard. Wants to pull at the curls on Daniel’s head a little and check if Daniel has grey hairs on his pubes too, so Max can focus on those when they fuck. When he makes love to Daniel in Perth.

Max turns from Grace so she doesn’t see the bashfulness on his face. She too is a Max mind reader. Learned from her son. Or maybe she is just that good. Max does love her too. 

“Daniel is going to be heartbroken “ she says, and Max’s heart stutters. Frowns. Feels too big. She pats his cheek again, smiles the same heart shaped thing. It soothes Max. “He ate all the food he bought for you specifically, said he would go again as it’s not the winter break. And he isn't expecting you until then. He went a bit crazy, nesting.”

“Too many barbecues.” He states and she nods. He wonders what Max foods Daniel bought and ate all on his own. He wants to know what makes Daniel think of Max. What he has substituted whilst waiting for him. Would he have waited until after Adu Dhabi?

She talks as much and as fast as her son. Max’s brain stops. Hard restarts. When she says how Daniel has moved things around. Bought mini fridges for Max’s gaming sessions. He hasn't asked Max to stay yet. Nesting. Waiting for his baby bird Max.

“Will Daniel be happy?” He half chokes, worry gnawing at his inside. Grace’s smile loses the heart shape of her lips but her face softens so much more.

“He already is, with you.” she answers. “Always has been, Max.”

They both remember when Daniel left Red Bull. Left Max. It means a lot.

--

Max stays awake for a few minutes. Shuffles into the passenger seat. Doesn't let Grace heave his bag into the boot. Declines to lay down at the back of the truck for a nap. Blushes when she pats his cheek a bit longer. Listens to Grace small talk with him, just like Daniel does, until his eyes close. There is no one snoring two seats down.

That guy in the Vcarb paddock plays on the radio. Max still hasn't opened the Spotify links.

He doesn't know how long they drive. Couldn't drive the way back to the airport. Good. Max doesn't intend to leave. Or just for a few days, Daniel can drive him. Max doesn't fancy seeing the wheel of a car. Thinks of bikes and sim racing instead.

Wakes when Grace shakes him at a turn and the road turns to dirt and dust. Hands him a bottle of water, a chocolate bar - nothing with nuts, she says with a wink that makes Max blush.

That makes Max want. Because it means he can kiss Daniel. 

She woke him up before they entered the farm. Max is awake, jittery, just like when the five red lights are on and he is waiting waiting waiting — go. Watches through the window, tries to imagine this is where Maximillian the baby cow lives. Sees trees and dirt bikes parked at the front. Daniel’s farm.

He has seen pictures, of course. Long before today. Long before the thing between them grew legs and names and burrowed into their hearts  but he feels shaky, to be there.

The calls and the videos and how they shared snippets of lives apart doesn't do it justice.

He watches Grace text Daniel. Does it via voice control. She too lies with a smile. Tells him she is bringing groceries. A gift even. Max is the gift. She elbows his side softly, shows him the reply — Daniel is busy, his mum can let herself in. It makes Max bite the inside of his cheek. Daniel would tell him too, because he feels his own face be blank from overwhelm.

Grace dumps him at the door. Kisses his cheek. Tells him to say hi to Daniel. Races out of the farm like she’s the one in Vegas. He would give her a penalty for the way she bumps the bins ever so slightly. 

He will give her DOTD. Will make Daniel text her the joke, after. Knows Grace will sends emoji kisses and the dot dot dots all mothers use.

The first thing he hears from Daniel’s real voice since September is a curse, a what the fuck mom loud and whispered because why would Grace leave the groceries on Daniel’s front step without saying hi. Max will though, has Grace’s words in his mouth.

Max is the groceries. Half a eaten chocolate bar without nuts and an empty water bottle he hasn't left in Grace’s car. He is polite.

Daniel opens the door. His t-shirt is wet from the shower or the cow trough, little shorts that make his tan lines silly. Max want to push the hem up and see for himself.

They look at each other. Max wants to do something silly like wave. Croaks a hello, dan-iel. Wants to do something less silly, like reach for the collar of his shirt, to bump him against the door and kiss him.

He does neither. Stands on the porch, devouring Daniel with his eyes. Smiles awkwardly. Lifts an eyebrow. He’s got no problem with his voice this time, or with anything else.

“Max?” Daniel says, squeaks. Reaches out between a punch and a pat and a hug and Max smiles wide.

“Hi Daniel. I am your delivery.” He says proudly, even as Daniel’s eyes sweep over him again and again. Glances at the road. Mouthes what the fuck mom again. So Max is helpful.

“Your mother drove me from the airport.” He explains. As if this is what Daniel is asking.

Doesn't explain what is happening. Daniel hasn't asked yet.

“Max. You —” yes, me, Daniel. “You can't be here?”

“Can’t I?” He asks. Max doesn't know how it sounds, what his face does but it makes Daniel pull him into a hug. Tight and shaky and Daniel’s fingers twine into Max’s short hair until his cap is lifted away. He grips too hard, Max’s neck tingles pleasantly.

“Of course you can Max — I wanted – you should have said.” He finishes. Doesn't start. Doesn't ask. But Daniel wanted, so Max is happy. Daniel doesn't have to ask, really.

Max hugs him back. Kisses the hem of the wet t shirt. Smells fresh shampoo. Not the cow trough then. Doesn't let his mind linger on Daniel in the shower.

“Maxy.” A breath. An exhale just like Grace’s but it is softer, warmer, more loving. Max kisses Daniel's skin next. Tastes sweat not shampoo or cow water. Shivers.

Two months. 

“The airport, Max?” He asks after a breath. Let Max pull his face between his two hands. Let him thumb at his lips the way Max wants to kiss him but doesn't yet. “You took the plane there? Lando sent me a selfie from the jet and I thought you were —” doesn't finish his sentence. 

Thought Max was going to race again. That maybe he would never come to the farm. Would not love Daniel back enough to do so. Daniel is always a bit silly, a bit slow for this.

“Yes Daniel.” He nods. 

It continues for a moment. Silly questions that make Max’s thumb graze Daniel’s wet tongue, burns a fire in Max’s belly. Did Max sleep? Yes, Daniel. Slept more in the car. Is he ok? Is he is sure? Does he want to come in? Yes yes yes.

Daniel kisses him the moment Max crosses the threshold. Max doesn't actually get a tour of the house until two days after. It is ok, he knows where the ensuite is, listen to Daniel’s footsteps. Get served not quite Max foods in bed. 

Tugs him back into bed. Uses his weight to keep him there. Daniel follows easily.

--

Max slides into the counter. Tells Daniel to ask him. Burrows in the ugly lawn chairs.

Vegas ends. Daniel has to show Max who wins. Max texts George it is rude of him to have removed Max from the group chat when Daniel is still there. George tells him everyone loves Daniel more. Max sends him a selfie from the farm, flipping him off.

Wearing Daniel’s enchanté on the ugly lawn chairs. George tells him he has this one already, try again Max. Send a kiss to Daniel, mate.

He kisses Daniel. Long and sloppy and maybe a bit jealous. Doesn't tell him about George, since Daniel kisses him back the same way.

--

They talk more, of course. Daniel’s nerves don't evaporate after Max slathers after sun lotion onto his skin. Max is steadfast anyway. Shows him what Daniel doesn't get with words only.

He asks about Max racing three times a day for the first week. Asked a dozen times the first day. Until Max forwarded all 43 emails to him. Probably broke whatever NDA his lawyers have in place. It isn't like Daniel will talk and have quotes leak into the Dutch press.

Max hasn't even told his people. Everyone is surprised, or so he hears. Hears about it loudly from the people who matter.

He is ready to be here. Has packed little, but has crafted a schedule for him and Daniel. Tells him what feed is available at what nearby store. Has in fact contacted the vets as well, so Maximillian doesn't happen again.

He has been planning. The retirement is new, yes, but not him being here with Daniel. If would have happened anyway. Max just couldn't wait anymore. 

He talks and talks and Daniel sits there between bemused and endeared. Max wants to fuck when he looks like this and doesn't interrupt Max. Wants to promise it is real. He may or may not have truly placed a grocery order when he was waiting for Grace. It will arrive in two days, because Max ordered big quantities. And two freezers. Daniel hasn't been taking care of himself, ate all the Max foods and not the Daniel foods.

Daniel makes a joke about Pinterest. Max doesn't tell him he has one, and shared it with his mother at the tail end of September. When Max felt Daniel’s loss keenly. And couldn't fly to Australia yet.

It has the dirt bikes he wants to order. Has things for him and Daniel. Max has seen the poor coffee machine. They will need a better one. One Daniel won't call a cunt.

Also room for the trophies. Theirs. Max is sure he can get someone in the MTC to take the Monza trophy and send it to Daniel. Everyone is on hair trigger about him still. Max could rally an army for him. Oscar joked about it already, but Max remembers.

Couldn't get him the seat. But. It got Max here. Got them to stop being stupid, high up in a hotel room in Singapore. Max is ok with it. He thinks — looking at Daniel scroll through Max's Pinterest board with eyebrows that rise rise and a smile that is wonky and secret. Daniel may be ok with it too.

Daniel makes the same cooing noise he has when speaking to the baby cow. Max loves him a little more.

--

“What about the cats?” Daniel asks suddenly. Max stops absently fidgeting with Daniel’s t shirt. It is frayed at the hem. It annoys Max and puts him to sleep too. He doesn't remember what they put on the TV.

“I have been here more than two weeks, Daniel.” Nineteen days in fact. Three since the news officially dropped. Max hasn't even looked at the tributes. Feels complicated things nest within the peace he made for himself. Doesn't care about the complicated things, when he is with Daniel.

Two days after Vegas Max sighed and called Christian back after his lawyers emailed him their agreement. Hunched in Daniel’s spare and empty room. He nearly puts Christian on speaker to measure the walls and think about his computer equipment instead. He has quotes and lead time and worked the schedule with everyone involved. He will only miss one or two streams.

Didn't because Daniel frowned at him. Made shooing motions with his hands. Max kept the door open. Glanced at Daniel hovering, thumbs up and aborted hands to Max’s hips. Unseen and unheard support. Max doesn't fight the conversation, but patiently explains his decision. 

Does not even think to say he regrets anything. Ask if Christian regrets instead. Doesn't even need to bring up what happened at the last race, the lack of points from either teams.

Christian hasn't called back since. Good.

This isn't about Christian though. Daniel pokes the edge of his pectoral. A nail scratches his nipples. Max has to focus on the conversation, rather than blurting out he wants Daniel to fuck into him like that, a titjob. They could make it happen, even if Daniel will also complain about his knees. Max only cares about Daniel's fingers digging into his flesh.

Daniel pokes him harder. Max pouts. Hums a question.

“Are the cats ok?” Daniel asks more urgently. Untangles himself for the heap they make on the sofa. Drowns the sound of the TV. Drowns Max’s sleepiness back into awakening. Stops the horny thoughts.

Max is always ready to tell Daniel about the cats. They are his Maximillian. He has sent as many photos of them as Daniel did their baby cow. He knows Daniel doesn't have a Jimmy and Sassy secret folder. But.

There’s a printed Polaroid picture of them on the fridge. Max doesn't even remember Daniel taking it in Monaco. Jimmy and Sassy kittens curled on Daniel’s fridge.

They took a long time to be here, Daniel and he. It made Jimmy and Sassy grow.

“Yes they are ok. Jimmy has eaten all the food, and Sassy has posed for pretty pictures.” He knows, because Max asks for updates from the hotel ten times a day. He pays enough for them to do it. They haven't complained yet, not even when Max told them to buy better treats when he is not there.

He doesn't talk about the Jimmy pictures because not even Max’s money make pretty pictures of Jimmy happen. 

“They are at the cat hotel Daniel. I have not let them be alone in the flat.” He explains. Pulls up his phone. Quickly scrolls past the Maximillian folder before Daniel sees. Explains the expensive set up he booked when Max purchased the flight tickets. Picked the expensive package with kitty spa.Doesn't mention their stay will end soon. Max can extend it. It is fine. Can extend it until Max asks otherwise.

A silence. A beat. Daniel’s hand spasms against Max’s thigh. He doesn't want to extend it. Doesn't want to think even this could end. He booked a one way flight to Daniel’s heart. Daniel’s hand forms little morse code messages between them. Goads the words out of Max’s throat, always.

“Can they come?” Max asks. The words are swallowed. He feels them tingle on his lips like Sassy scratches. 

“Maxy.” Daniel says, and Max doesn't know what it means. Thinks the closest thing was when Max had asked why Daniel was leaving him. Leaving RedBull. It makes his heart ache, and Max feels like he has missed something again.

“Max.” He says again because Max closes his eyes. Exhales. Feels Daniel’s breath against his cheek. His eyelashes.

“You’re staying, yeah?” Daniel asks. Max reminds him he has been here nineteen days. Will count them all. This is what makes Daniel relax into him, the weight against his thigh sodden. 

He watches as Daniel goes through a decision. Realisation that yes, Max hasn't been lying. Hasn't been booking flights back to Monaco, away from Daniel. Max waits for him. Cards fingers through longer curls, tug a little to make Daniel hum.

“Then they’re staying too. I’m only afraid of dogs, Maxy. And Jimmy at night. We can't let them roam outside.” Starts to talk about Australian wilderness like Max hasn't researched it years ago. Has spiralled when crossing Atticus spiders. Shivers.

Understandable. Max is a bit afraid too. Mostly for his furniture. Doesn't say they are expensive city cats, they won't even like the outside. They have never seen a chicken. Won't eat Daniel’s babies.

He reminds Daniel that he is scared of so many things. Sharks. And heights. And open sea water. And so many more quiet fears Max thinks Daniel got tattooed in ink. It’s fine. Max isn't afraid.

He is a bit afraid of the insects still. Yelled when a snake was in the toilet, the other day. Looked up websites to train the cats to eat spiders. Daniel had laughed so hard Max had to pat his back. A bit too strongly. Flushed deep red. Refused a kiss.

Somehow Daniel is laughing again. Making fun of Max. Max knows now that he also laughs with him. Gears up for a joke only Max will find funny.

“Will they get Air Maxed to Perth, Maxy?” He snickers. Max doesn't laugh because, yes, they will. Levels Daniel with a huff that makes Daniel honk scream, pointy elbows in Max’s soft ribs. “Do they have kitty passports?”

Of course they do. Max filled out their visa and applications the other day. Before Daniel even said yes to them being here. He squeezes Daniel’s hand in thanks. With love.

Daniel shows him the Jet account. Says it will be so funny when they see it depart Monaco for Perth. But Max won't be landing. Asks Max if he will make his mother pick up the cats from the airport too.

Max doesn't say anything. He will make Daniel drive, at this rate.

Asks if he can leak to the press that it is Jimmy and Sassy on Perth Express - just like in Zandvoort, Max, get it? Should they name it the Daniel express? 

 Max kisses him quiet. Presses him down the too small sofa. Daniel doesn't get the titjob, it’s fine. It only has been nineteen days. Max will make it happen.

--

Daniel is correct. Because Lando, Martin and three other people sent him a message about Perth the moment he gets confirmation the cats are strapped safely into the jet. Lando is supposed to be on media duties in Brazil, Max knows. It makes Max want to thank Lewis for not telling anyone beforehand and that makes him grumpy.

Daniel can talk to Lewis as much as he wants, Max still doesn't think they are friends. Hates that they both made a face when Daniel said it out loud and then Lewis laughed, the one time in the past month that Lewis called Daniel. Because Daniel told him. Lewis makes fun of Max. 

Why have you got alerts about my Jet, Lando? He asks. Lando sends three shrug emojis. Max thinks about revoking jet access.

I cannot be travelling to Perth, he sends. Wait for them to send more messages. They ask why, what is Max thinking? Why isn't he with Daniel? Daniel will have him.

If Max isn't racing, why isn't he there? What the fuck Max. Max feels insulted.

Max smiles also, pleased. Yes, everyone knows Daniel will have him. Says he is already at the farm. That Daniel is cooking breakfast. That neither of them have a dietary plan to follow. Says he has been there since before Vegas.

His phone vibrates for an entire minute. Daniel looks up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. Max sighs.

After two missed calls, Lando sends a fifteen minute long voice note. He doesn't open it. Thinks about blocking Lando’s number. Knows he has burner phones so doesn't bother. 

Hears the Lando screech from Daniel’s phone five minutes later. Daniel tells Lando that no, Max is the only one who can appear at his doorstep before a grand Prix he should totally have been at.

Yes, Lando can come to the farm during break. No, only if Max agrees. Yep, it’s like that mate.

Max beams at Daniel’s back.

Calls Max a world champion. Lando gags on speakerphone. They don't talk about the current point standing. Even the FIA doesn't know what to do. Max smiles. Gets up to wrap himself against Daniel’s back. Flips an unseeing Lando because he didn't even face time. Laughs against Daniel's neck when Lando calls them names.

Daniel telltales about Max flipping him off. Max withholds jet privileges for the both of them. Will put Daniel to sleep next to a snoring man when they travel back to the other side of the world. Max loudly says he will sleep soundly, alone.

Daniel of course is with him when they take the plane to Monaco.

There might be something on their fingers Max can't wait to tell his mother. They have the quickie Max wanted.

--

They buy the first aid kit. Max orders more anyway. Stockpiles plasters in their bathroom. Doesn't blush when lube also arrives. He ordered too much. But he takes things seriously. Especially Daniel’s comfort. Daniel’s pleasure. Tells Daniel spitroasting isn't enough.

Daniel chokes on it. Max smiles, content, eyes creased. Daniel says Max can't kiss him anymore. How silly.

He texts a play by play to Luke. They make a little joke about it on the next stream. Daniel flips him off where he sits, off camera. Watches max sim race even though it’s past his bedtime.

Max loves him.

Spends an hour or two or five looking up at first aid courses too. Drives Daniel’s car to the little town next to the farm and takes a course with new parents and two older women.

He is of course, the best there. Gets a little diploma. Shakes their hands and tells them about Daniel, who will break his collarbone one day, Max has foretold it. They don't laugh, but the instructor snickers at the back of the room. They think it is just a couple thing, a private joke between lovers. They weren't lovers then, despite the Daniel and Max shaped holes.

Max isn't joking.

Yet.

He comes back from his afternoon class to Daniel fresh from the shower, fresh from the tail end of the farm where they ride more often than not. Isn't joking when he congratulates Max. Opens a bottle of wine, not champagne, when Max shows him the stamped form that calls Max a first aider. Max jokes that he can't spray Max with wine, can’t do a shoey.

Smiles into his shoulder when Daniel says the shoey is for the next race Max wins from his gaming room setup.

It is not a DR3 wine, Max is happy. Downs one glass before Daniel kisses his cheek and cracks open a premade gin & tonic cocktail. Max burrows into the better dining chairs, even if they are outside.

And still.

It isn't Daniel who breaks anything. It’s him. It isn't even because of Maximillian the cow. She isn't a baby anymore. Max loves her now. Max raced with the dirt bikes and well. Learnt that it is different, than crashing on a track. There are no flags to wave to tell Max about debris. Looked away from the road for one second.

He would have preferred the G force and the tyre stacks. Feels the burn of dust in open grazes on his skin. Smells the antiseptic more than he does the plaster for the cast.

He is a bit out of it, as they wait.

He told Daniel it wasn't worth driving to the next private hospital. It was just a broken wrist. He won't have a cool scar like Daniel.

Daniel isn't too happy about Max’s jokes. It’s just past Christmas and the emergency services are full. A private hospital would have seen him already. Max doesn't mind waiting. Pulls a cap down his face. No one recognises them anyway, not when children are crying and Max wants to cry too.

He thinks Daniel cried a bit, driving Max and his limp wrist and bleeding knees. Kissed his face and called him baby and suddenly Max forgot about the pain.

Remembered it straight after.

“When I said you owed me a gift, Maxy.” Daniel says, tired as they still wait at the hospital, x-ray done and Max knows the bone is broken. “it didn't mean you had to hurt yourself for it.”

Even through the painkillers, Max knows Daniel isn't talking about his injury. Makes for a move but Daniel scrambles to hold him down, helps him move so Max doesn't hurt himself more. Daniel is silly. But Daniel is his now, and Max didn't have it on his list for Daniel to take care of him too.

“Daniel.” He slurs a bit. It makes Daniel pay attention. Max isn't fully in control. Doesn't care. He has never been embarrassed about Daniel. Not at seventeen. Not now.

“I looked at dirt bikes,” he says. Daniel’s face doesn't do anything different. Thinks again. Words trip in his mouth. He doesn't know where to start to make Daniel see. “In Singapore. In fact, in Baku, but I of course did not act on anything until you knew.”

Had created his little Pinterest board of emails and quotes and late night googling. Had moved the Max plan to action mode. Crossed little steps in his mind to get to the finish line more quickly. Recklessly. But Max doesn't regret. No regrets, only memories.

He says it in half bitten words.

Daniel’s mouth does something funny. Like not kissing him. Max knows it is sore, even between them, that Max is the only one who told Daniel, before. Daniel thinks still it wasn't Max’s duty. Max thinks otherwise. He needed to be the one to tell Daniel, if they wouldn't. It could not have been anyone else.

“I looked at dirt bikes and clothes to wear on a farm and got myself ready for you.” That’s what she said. Daniel would have snickered and made a dick joke too, Max thinks, if Max wasn't hooked on a IV for fluids and is waiting to get a cast. He will get the green resin, he thinks. Or the blue. If it isn't any of the blues from the teams. Would have gotten red, if they had any. Ferrari red.

Daniel would have sent it to Seb and finally Seb would have texted Max back. He is sure. He will ask for a red cast. Focuses on Daniel again. There is so much of Daniel in him.

“I always meant to come here. After —” doesn't say he thought he would retire first, in fact. That was the plan, until summer break. Thought he would watch Daniel race from the farm. “After it was done. I always wanted to be with you.”

“Maxy—”

“I want to be here.” He whines, urgent. Daniel grabs his good hand. Max thinks the pain muddles things up. Wishes he could just speak Dutch. Breng je me even naar huis? Daniel would have honked laughed. Will try it next time they go on a date not on the farm.

Will make Daniel take him home.

Max has a laundry list of thing he did, between Baku and now. Has a secret plan for after, once they cross Christmas and the new year's. Wants to show it all to Daniel so they can go back to Europe and their friends and Max’s family and Max will sit content and happy and not even think about racing.

He guesses he will say yes when Daniel asks to spend a night at Christian’s. He will rope GP into it. GP loves Daniel anyway, will say yes.

Love me. Love me. He doesn't say. But wants to scramble and urge Daniel to get it.

“Max.” Daniel soothes. Fingers tracing the furrow in Max’s brow. It is soothing. Maybe Max whined out loud again. Daniel rubs circles in his thigh, the other one, not the one with the giant gauze on it. It still burns a little. Max will look up gear for the dirt bikes next. Won't allow Daniel to ride without knee pads.

“You didn't need to do all of that for me to love you.” 

Max hums, gentle. Yes, it is good, that Daniel loves him. Would be a bit awkward, he thinks, because he has a gift burrowed between the boxes in the spare room, Max’s gaming room. Daniel had vetoed it living in their dining room. Max had only beamed throughout the process.

“I loved you already, Maxy.” love you now, love you forever, he corrects when Max makes a wounded sound and the heart monitor goes beep beep beep. Soothes him with a kiss, a whispered I love you baby against Max’s sweaty temple. “You know I would have waited for you. Even until 2026. You know they all thought you’d leave then.”

Daniel had waited a long time. Max knows, listening when Daniel talked about it, jittery hands drumming on Max’s thigh. Explains the Daniel timeline to Max. Fills in gaps.

Chokes up on words and confessions and doubts. The Daniel plan is as long as the Max plan. But Daniel didn't have a farm to go to. Max thinks now he shouldn't have bought a flat in Monaco. Could have bought land in the Netherlands. Might buy a house with a field for tulips. For sunflowers. They could have had a Maximillian cow in Belgium as well. But Daniel needs the sun, needs the distance. Max is happy to follow. Never cared to call anything a home until now. 

But Daniel always talked about home. And family.

Didn't meet Max’s eyes until he was finished. Filled Max’s heart until he thought he would throw up from happiness. Bought the burrowed gift the morning after. Daniel has many rings for Max to steal and measure. It waits, like Daniel.

But it is Max, who doesn’t want to wait. Daniel’s eyes crinkle. He kisses the top of Max’s head. Max must have said it out loud. He says things out loud too often. Doesn't care for word games. It is what it is.

Daniel signs Max’s cast. Draws a shit honey badger. A blob. Max makes sure he knows his drawing is bad. Gives the shitty honey badger that-is-not a name. It is a lovely name, unlike Daniel’s drawing skills.

Daniel swats at him every time he brings it up, smile blinding anyway. Heart shaped lips on his face.

Daniel helps him in the shower even if Max could just wrap it in plastic to protect the cast. Says it every time. Daniel washes Max’s back and his hair and — oh. Yes. He gets it now. Doesn't refuse the help anymore.

Daniel says he crosses the line at taking care of Max’s itchy skin. Calls him a big boy. Shoots finger guns at him. Max pouts. Watches the streams from the sidelines and Luke makes fun of him. No one else outside of their circles knows Max Verstappen has a cast from a dirt bike incident in Perth.

It does make it to the daniel3 dump weeks after. Max stares, unmoved. Resolves to post an embarrassing picture of Daniel on his main account, will bypass the admin control just like he did after Spa. Maybe the manure video from his computer.

He changes the flights back to Monaco because he cannot face his friends and family with the cast on. Has shown them already yes, but doesn't want to explain why yes Daniel must help him in the shower. That’s for Max to know only. For Daniel to smirk about.

Yes, he sighs to George because of course George knows. They slipped once. No, they do not buy a bench like old people. Because get it Max, Daniel is older.

They simply run baths now. He doesn't tell George that. He is the one washing Daniel’s curls. Buys the good shampoo, even.

--

Grace signs the cast too, coos all over Max for an entire day. Daniel asks her to stop but Max beams, lets Grace take over, until his cheeks hurt from smiling. From nudging Daniel with jokes and teases. Daniel goes out to check the chickens five times. Never comes back with eggs. His smile is bigger each time he sees his mother and Max sat on the couch together. Smiles biggest when Max is sandwiched between Grace and Joe.

Doesn't squeak when they pull out embarrassing pictures. Max has seen a lot of embarrassing teenage Daniel. Fell in love back then anyway.

Max whispers asks to steal a few. He will copy the entire album. Daniel knows he can't win because Max knows he was the cutest child so Max is not embarrassed by baby Max pictures. Daniel has talked to his mother about it many times.

Max’s heart flipped funny then. Avoids his mother’s eyes every time. Long silences on calls. Sophie’s Max is sighed the same way Grace’s is.

Daniel makes hand motions between his eyes and Max when Max hollers at him not to break his collarbone. Daniel swears he will ban Max and dirt bikes. He won't, because they race each other and Daniel still wins for now and Max will kiss him again at that little remote spot they can only get to on the bikes. When he can ride again. Daniel stared at him when Max swore he can probably drive one handed. He drove after Silverstone. That didn't make Daniel laugh.

She signs it with little X kisses. Signs it Grace Ricciardo, fastest lap in Perth. They laugh, burrowed in the ugly lawn chairs. Watch Daniel get the barbecue ready with his father. Max and Daniel foods ready on the side. 

It is a way to midnight, to the new year's. He’ll wait. Will kiss Daniel at midnight. Will do the grape wishes he learnt from Carlos. Twelve little chances on what they can do next year. Max and Daniel’s first year together.

Just them. Their calendar is mostly free now, especially Thursdays to Sundays.

Max has one big wish and twelve grapes under a table to make it happen. Max smiles. Waits a bit longer. Max will be the one to ask then, and Daniel will say yes.

[kpopsexstories]

hiii can i request a ten fic wherein the reader is jealous about something so ten fucks her hard to let her know that she's the only one? (if possible u can include breeding too) thank uuuu love ur fics so much

This is an older request, sorry it took me so long to get to it ❤️ If you've sent a request and still haven't gotten a response, it might still come even if it's months or even a year from now 😊

Requests are open! They're highly inspiring and motivating, so keep 'em coming.

One-shot #7 (requested): Your boyfriend WayV/NCT Ten kissed a fan, so he fucks you hard to get your forgiveness

Celebrity: WayV/NCT Ten

Content: Sitting, From behind, Missionary, Ten fucks his jealous girlfriend/you hard

Type of Sex: WILD/MEDIUM

Word Count: 3.8k

Your boyfriend Ten is promoting the latest WayV comeback, and has invited you to come along to a fan event. Well, it's not so much that he invited you. It's more that you begged him to let you come.

In fact, he didn't seem all that excited about the idea. He wasn't against it, but he appeared indifferent. You had expected him to be thrilled that you wanted to support him and see him work. It was meant to be a fun experience for both of you.

Instead, you were negatively surprised and felt quite disappointed. It was like you were just in the way.

Ten and the boys were busy and didn't have time to talk to you. The staff were focused on the idols, and didn't fully understand who you were or why you were there. You didn't want to create a bad situation so you stayed away and kept your mouth shut. But you felt awkward and out of place, lonely among so many people. It was not at all the positive experience you had imagined it would be.

The event included a stage performance. You heard it from a room back stage where Ten had placed you and asked you to wait.

It was followed by a meet & greet fan signing, which you were able to attend but not in any meaningful way. You could not be near the crowds, nor did Ten have time to pay any attention to you. You had a pretty lousy time.

You did, however, get to watch the boys from afar, when hoards of young girls flooded them for a chance to talk and interact with their idols. You knew it was an unfounded emotion, but it made you feel quite jealous.

Ten seemed happy though. He was in his element. You knew that fan signings could be tiresome, but he played his part and hid it well. He treated every girl – and boy – with the utmost respect, and was as personal as he could be with them. He had a kind of excitement in his body language that made everyone feel like they were the only fan there. You knew that he was good at his job, but it only made you feel worse.

About half way through the long queue of paying ticket holders, something happened that truly stung. You got bored of watching from afar and decided to roam around. Some of the staff knew you by now, and you were allowed in places the fans were not.

You could not get close enough to hear anything, but you had a clear view of the incident when Ten kissed a girl on the cheek.

Surely, that must have been some sort of breach of protocol. You imagined that Ten and the boys were not allowed to interact with such intimacy. The girl stayed and talked for a little longer than everyone else, before she was ushered away by a member of staff.

Ten didn't seem to want her to leave. His body language revealed that he liked and connected with her. You didn't know the poor girl, but in this moment you absolutely despised her.

When the event was over, Ten came to find you in the waiting room. He'd been searching for you all over.

“Where have you been?” he asked. He almost seemed angry, or at least a little annoyed.

“What?” you asked with sarcasm. You weren’t in the mood to joke. “You told me to wait here.”

“When I went to get ready to perform! You haven't been sitting here this whole time, have you?”

“No. But what if I had?”

There was frustration in the air, and neither of you wanted to fight. So the conversation quickly died out.

You walked through the venue in silence. You grunted some hello's to the boys when you all climbed into a van. Back home, you went straight to the bathroom and locked yourself in it.

“Babe?” Ten said when he came knocking, half an hour later. “Babe, you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

“Yeah, I’m fine” you lied.

“Come out. Let's talk.”

You abruptly opened the door and pushed past him. Ten got out of your way with a puzzled expression on his face. Your behavior genuinely confused him.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“What's wrong? You've been ignoring me all day, that’s what’s wrong.”

“I have not,” Ten said. “I was working.”

“Then why did you ask me to come?”

“I didn't. You forced me to bring you. I warned…”

“Forced you? So you didn't want me there?”

“I warned you that I wouldn't have time to be with you. Did you not have a good time?”

You were boiling. How could your boyfriend even ask such a question? Could he not see that you were upset? “I felt horrible! You could at least have included me somehow.”

Ten was definitely frustrated by now. How could he read your mind? He had assumed you knew he would be busy, and that you’d be happy just being at the venue, like you had asked to be.

“I felt like shit all evening!” you screamed, likely attracting the attention of the other young men in their rooms. “You left me alone!”

Ten was getting angry, and he shouted back: “I WAS WORKING!”

“DON'T YELL AT ME!” you yelled. “You were only interested in all those girls. You didn't care to talk to me at all.”

Ten calmed himself, and spoke softly. “I was working,” he repeated. “And what are you talking about? What girls?”

You turned around and went back into the bathroom. “The girls!”

Ten stopped you when you tried to slam the door in his face. “Babe,” he said. “Are you serious? You’re jealous of my fans?”

“Of course not!”

Ten started to smile softly. He couldn't keep his grin hidden. “You are jealous,” he said with a teaseful tone in his voice.

You pushed the door harder in an attempt to close it, but Ten put his full body in the way.

“I'm not jealous,” you repeated. “They're just your fans.”

“Exactly,” Ten said triumphantly. “Like I’ve said a million times, I was working. You’re the only girl I look at, and I'm sorry if I wasn't able to take care of you properly today.”

You stopped pushing and stared at your feet. “That’s not true. You certainly didn't seem to be working that hard when you kissed that bimbo.”

“Who?” Ten asked and pushed the door open.

“The girl you kissed. I saw you.”

“Oh,” Ten said. He let out a laugh and took a step closer to you. “She asked me to.”

“Don't touch me,” you said when he tried to hold you.

“Her grandmother had just died,” Ten said, and awaited your response as if he had just found the ultimate weapon to shut you up. “She told me how much NCT meant to her back in the day, and how my latest solo helped her through the death.”

You were suddenly afraid to raise your gaze. For the first time the thought crossed your mind that maybe you were overreacting. Still, you weren’t ready to let it go.

“So you do know who I’m talking about?” you asked, to turn the tables back on your boyfriend again.

“Yeah, I do, because we’re not supposed to do what I did and I got scolded for it afterwards. I know exactly what girl you’re talking about. But not because I liked her or anything. Because she was a fan in need and I wanted to make her feel better. That’s all, I promise.”

You weren’t ready to believe him, but you stopped arguing with him.

“Babe, come here,” Ten continued.

“No,” you said and pouted your lips.

Ten didn't listen to your words. He put an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry again that you had a shitty time today, and I promise you, you’re the only girl for me. I love you.”

You didn't respond, but Ten could tell from your face that you still weren’t happy. He suddenly started laughing.

“Babe,” he said and held you closer. “You're adorable when you're jealous.”

“Shut up.”

"Come here.”

Ten squeezed you hard and kissed your forehead. You held your arms against his chest, as if to protect yourself from his attempts to make things better between you. But his touch felt so good. His scent made you warm when your nose pressed against his body.

“Babe, let me make it up to you. I'll show you you're the only one.”

“No,” you said reluctantly.

He kissed you again, and tried to get you to face him. You resisted, but he pulled your lips toward his.

“Come,” he said softly.

You tried to pull away, but he only held your body harder.

“Come,” he repeated.

“No, Ten. Go away. Leave me alone.”

“I'll make you feel better. I'll make you forget all about today. I'm sorry, I should have taken better care of you.”

Finally, you caved in. You stopped struggling and kissed the sweet man back. It felt good. His soft lips always made you feel all warm inside.

You made out for a while in the middle of the bathroom. Ten touched your body with his large hands, and eventually you touched him too. How could you stay angry? He always knew how to make you feel better.

When Ten's hands gently wandered inside your shirt, you raised your arms which signaled your approval. That's when Ten shifted gears. He did know how to make you feel good, and his work had only just begun. Perhaps you even exaggerated your emotions, because you knew what he would do to you and you wanted him to do it.

FOREPLAY STARTS HERE...

The moment Ten realized that you were about to forgive him, he pulled you out of the bathroom and pushed you in the direction of his bed. He grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your arms and head, and threw your body on the mattress. It was time for the makeup sex you had both been working toward.

He lay down on top of you and the kissing resumed. It intensified. His lustful lips wandered from yours to your neck. For good measure you tried to get him off you, but it was just for show.

“No,” you said, but you didn't mean it and Ten knew it. You didn't actually want him to stop, so he didn’t.

He pressed his hip harder between your legs which caused you to moan. His shirt slid up his stomach as you squeezed his waist.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked and kissed your throat.

“No,” you said again and pulled his long hair.

He fought back. He stuck his tongue out and licked the full length of your neck. Another moan.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked again.

You didn't respond, but pulled his shirt higher up his body. It told him all he needed to know.

Ten suddenly sat up straight and took the shirt off. Bare-chested and horny, he fondled your breasts over your bra, then moved down to undo your pants.

You raised your ass and helped him take them off. He moved aside so you could close your legs. Once you were down to your panties, you opened them again to invite him back in.

Ten towered over you while he undid his belt. With his pants wide open, he came back down and pressed his groin against yours.

“Mm,” he moaned. “You're so fucking sexy. I'll get you to forgive me.”

You wrapped your legs around him, and pressed your heels against the cheeks of his ass. His pants slid further down his thighs, but his underwear stayed on.

Then, when your own arousal and sexual desires became too much, you briefly took charge. You rolled onto the man, who lay on his back with you sitting on top of him. He kicked his pants all the way off, while you reached back to undo your bra.

The straps slid over your shoulders, and you couldn't help but smile when you caught him admiring your figure. Ten noticed and gave you a naughty glare.

You quickly wiped the smile off your face. You weren't ready to show forgiveness just yet.

Ten took the bait. He sat up and held you tight with an arm around your back. He reached down and raised you up, to slide his underwear over his ass cheeks. Your legs around his body tightened when he lifted you up.

With his ass out you started kissing passionately again. “Mm, babe,” Ten moaned when his hard cock rubbed against your panties. “Mmm, fuck!”

You were so horny for the man. He made you feel incredible, and his boner pressing against your folds made you incredibly wet. You wanted him inside you so bad you struggled to hide it.

“Ahh, fuck,” you echoed, another sign of weakness.

Ten smirked. “Mm, you like this? You want me to fuck you?”

“Y-yeah,” you whimpered.

“I'll fuck you so good you forget all about today. When I'm done with you, you won't just forgive me. You'll be begging for more.”

“Ohh, Ten!” His words sent a shiver through your heart and spine. His boner poking around between your legs really got your juices flowing.

But you would never admit it. “I’ll never forgive,” you whispered softly. “And certainly not beg.”

But you knew that Ten was right. You were more than ready for him to take you, to give yourself over to him, and to feel his cock inside you. It was not at all about forgiveness any longer.

THE SEX STARTS HERE...

Ten grabbed your ass and pulled your body closer. You put your hand on his face and kissed him intensively. Your boobs pressed against his chest, and your knees tightened their grip around his hips.

“Ahh, fuck,” Ten moaned again, when lust and passion took a hold of both of you. He moved your lower body with his strong hands, rubbing your clothed pussy against his shaft, which had come free from his underwear.

You straightened your back and he buried his face between your breasts. His fingers slid inside the panties, and he pulled the threads down your ass.

You folded your legs and feet under your thighs, sitting up on your knees. Then you reached in between you and found the cock. You pulled your body up and away from it, only to lower yourself slowly onto the shaft.

For a brief moment, you stared into each other's eyes. You still had a hand on Ten’s cheek. You panted softly into each other's wide open mouths. His cock penetrated you gradually as you sat back down on his lap.

Ten’s organ filled you up. It pulsed inside you, and a strong, pleasurable sensation shot through your body.

“Ahh, you feel so good,” Ten said.

It did feel good. So good. And you were still just getting started, as Ten switched gear one more time.

Abruptly, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over. With full force and his dick still deep inside you, he turned you on your back and pushed the dick deeper.

His underwear were down to his thighs. He planted his hands beside you on the bed, and towered over you with an enormous grin on his face. He spread his legs and started moving his ass up and down, rolling his hips to fuck you in, slow, large, passionate motions.

“Fuck babe, you feel so good inside. You make me so fucking hard. You'll forgive me, and I'll make you beg for more.”

You closed your eyes, spread your legs wider, and held on tight around his wrist. You felt a strong hand on your boob, and his throbbing organ stretching your walls.

Lubricated by your natural juices, Ten's cock slid in and out of your wet pussy with ease. You would not admit it, but it felt amazing, and that dumb smirk on him actually made you feel good. It made you feel wanted and desired.

“Fuck,” you moaned. You didn't mean to. Ten's smirk grew bigger.

“Oh yeah, you like that? You like my cock inside you? Does that mean you forgive me?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “I'll never forgive you.”

Ten suddenly pulled out. He grabbed your hips and violently flipped you around a second time. On your stomach, your face pressed into the mattress.

You felt him crawl on top of you from behind, and his hand brush against your ass when he reached in to position his cock.

The head played around between your legs. Ten sat up on his knees and pulled you closer. Your entire body slid backwards on the mattress as your ass climbed up his thighs.

With a firm grip around your hips, Ten simultaneously thrust forward and pulled you backwards onto his shaft. He penetrated you with force.

And he fucked you hard. You heard him panting and could imagine his possessed expression behind you. He thrust and pulled repeatedly, bring you down on his manhood and hitting you so good in just the right spot.

“Please forgive me,” he said. ”I'm sorry, I should have paid more attention to you. I promise you, you're the only one I see and no other girl can compare to you. My cock is all yours, and I'll give it to you until you forgive me. Can you forgive me babe?”

Your body shook against the mattress, and you grabbed on to the sheets hard. The entire bed was slamming against the wall. By now, the other boys in the building could definitely hear what you were up to.

“N-noo,” you groaned. It felt a little painful the way Ten's hips slammed against your ass and inner thighs, and the way his fingers dug deep into your skin. But he had found your g-spot, and the pleasure of the head and shaft expanding your folds and rubbing you right overpowered any pain.

“Ahh, ahh, fuck yeah!” Ten moaned behind you. This was not at all about forgiveness anymore.

Still, it is true that Ten felt a sting of fear. He had indeed kissed a girl on the cheek. He didn't think anything of it at the time, yet he knew exactly which girl had triggered your jealousy. There had been a connection between them that stood out among all the fans he had met on this day.

He was desperate to show you that you were the only one he wanted. You rocked his world in ways no other girl ever had. You meant the world to him, and shoving his cock inside your pussy from behind, manhandling you on the bed the way he did, was his way of proving that to you.

It was pretty sweet, actually. “Ah, Ten, yes, fuck me,” you whimpered.

Ten threw himself sideways on the bed. He pulled you with him, forcing you onto your side. He lay beside you still balls deep inside your body. His chest pressed against your back and he put an arm around you to squeeze and pull you closer.

He fucked you passionately while holding on to your boob. He planted his lips on your shoulder and raised his head, to see your face and the pleasured expression he hoped – no, knew – you had on it.

He slowed his pace and steadied his breathing. “Babe, please don't be jealous. I love you. You're the one I want. Please forgive me.”

You twisted your body to get a better look at him without risking the cock falling out. Ten moved his ass slowly back and forth, gently rubbing the hard head and shaft against your insides.

“Alright,” you said softly. “I forgive you.”

Ten kissed your cheek and smiled. He knew you would. You always did. And though your jealousy and bad emotions had been very real, you were both playing a game. You always had the best sex after a fight.

When he'd been forgiven, Ten pulled out. You rolled on your back and into his arms. He leaned in for a loving kiss. His body was warm when you touched it, and his hands were soft. The way he felt you up sent shivers down your spine, in the best possible way. His fingers moved up and down your thighs, ass, waist and stomach, from your exposed pussy to your boobs and down again.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” you confirmed. “Now get back inside me. You're not off the hook yet.”

Ten produced his usual smirk. “I didn't expect that I was.”

He suddenly attacked you with his lips, and abruptly climbed back on top of you.

“Oh, Ten,” you moaned when he reached down between you and the head stretched your lips again.

You squeezed his ass and wrapped your legs around him, pushing him all the way in. He jokingly fought back by pulling out while giving you his usual smirk.

“Ten!” you said and giggled. “Don't tease.”

“Oh, I'm not teasing.”

Ten pulled his ass away from you, but kept you close with an arm around your waist. He pulled you back onto his shaft, while towering seductively over you.

“Yeah, Ten, please fuck me!” you said loudly when the dick edged you on around the folds.

“Shhh,” he said and laughed. The head lingered half way between your folds. “You'll wake the others.”

“Wake them? There's no way they didn't already hear us before. Trust me, they're awake. Besides, you want them to know I've forgiven you, don't you?”

Ten merely smirked his smirk. But alright, he might as well give you what you wanted. It always turned him on when you were jealous.

He pushed the dick back in and kissed you. He held on tight around your back, and humped you forcefully. Your hand rested above his crack.

“Mm, mm, yeah,” you moaned quietly.

“Oh, yeah, I love you babe,” he whispered.

“Yeah, yeah, Ten, fuck me harder.”

Ten abruptly sat up. He let his hands glide down your body, from your boobs to your waist and hips.

On his knees, he grabbed your thighs and pulled. He trust his cock hard inside you, and pulled you onto his length.

You tilted your head far back and arched your spine. Ten's fingers dug deep into your skin while his cock filled you up. He fucked you hard, he fucked you passionately, and you loved every moment of it.

[puhpandas]

balloon world is GGY's princess quest theory:

so theres been speculation that Balloon world in SB is like Dr Rabbits equivalent of princess quest for Vanny because of the purple glitches inside. im here to add on some evidence to that theory

so ruin confirmed that the Princess Quest ending (free vanny) is canon. it hints at it multiple times and it pretty much confirmed. epecially with THIS room in ruin.

the third princess quest (aka the cabinet that freed vanny plus killed glitchtrap) is shown on its side with a sword driven through it. implying its been conquered and shut down.

its this exact theme that made me notice it in balloon world as well.

in ruin, the room with the balloon world arcade cabinet is still accessible, even though it seemingly has no impact on the story (it was famous for being disappointing when sb first released). in that room, balloon world is also shattered. and when you put on the mask, like seeing the sword driven in princess quest with the mask on, you see this.

the eclipse from balloon world is shown outside the cabinet in the AR world like the sword in PQ.

this is what the game looks like normally:

and by normally i mean ONLY when you glitch it out. this screenshot is a product of using the games mechanics to reach multiple PURPLE glitches across the arcade game. and multiple (meaningless) messages appear as well. That same eclipse is shown outside the machine in ruin.

we know pretty much nothing about ggy outside of the book. so here is what i think happened by this evidence along with more from the games in general:

pre sb, very close to the actual games events, gregory had been glitchtrapped just like vanessa before suddenly freeing himself on accident. this could have happened from anything, but my idea right now is that ggy found the secret room and unknowlingly played the game that held his free will because of his love for arcade games (shown in his high scores)

queue gregory getting freed from glitchtrap and waking up with amnesia pre sb. hes stuck in the pizzaplex with no memory and is freaking out. vanny and glitchtrap immediately know he isnt under control anymore. vanny goes after him herself, posing as vanessa during business hours

gregory escapes and after freddy crashes on stage, he hides in his stomach hatch. queue security breach, where vanny sends the animatronics after gregory to bring him back to re-glitchtrap him/just kill him so he doesnt tattle (let me take you to your parents/your family is looking for you)

due to the content massacre in sb, we can only guess if balloon world had ggy hints or if it meant anything before they removed any mention at all. eclipse feels like a last minute filler, and that could work in canon too. maybe eclipse was the games way of filling that hole gregorys conciousness left in the game

and when everything is said and done post SB, when gregory kills glitchtrap for good in princess quest, the machine breaks. and anything related to the VANNI network/glitchtrap virus is leaking out into the AR world, but contained in the pizzaplex.

and thats what i think :) this amnesia + ggy theory for gregory can also work with cut voicelines from security breach + ruin. it seems like gregory still doesnt fully remember/understand that he was glitchtrapped, and him seemingly being best friends with cassie but not contacting her at all after going missing is explained by the fact that he literally didnt remember her until he saw that she existed.

and maybe the memories started coming back after that, setting up for him eventually remembering all that he did as ggy

not to mention how a ggy reveal would perfectly explain why gregory would cut the elevator if it really was him. it would at least add context.

[ninja-confession-go]

Wait, so I tried to do my “research” and I was trying to find proof of the existence of the anonshipper. And I got bored quickly but I’m sure there is one ask posted. If I remember correctly. There is no way it hasn’t been posted at least once because Jay anon himself even reacted to it. Unless…

Jay anon IS the anon shipper?

-call me conspiracy/detective anon (or something)

I may not know what is going on with this blog 88% of the time but I am positively sure not a single jaya anonshipper take has breached the containment, at least not by that name. this is their only official mention on december 4th

as far as i'm concerned, jay anon replied to this specific post five days later on december 9th. honestly the ask probably came at least a day earlier but because of the queue it was only posted on 9th. there's been no other mentions of jaya anonshipper between 4th and 9th. plus no one ever referred to them as such publicly. they only called themselves jaya anonshipper in their submissions which has promptly went into the trash bin and i have never shared them with anyone. plus their last submission was not so long ago. what are you hiding. am i going insane. chat am i insane.

[desceros]

@fidgetyfawn hi hi so i thought i'd go and give you a very brief tumblr beginner/early intermediate guide since i've also seen some other people around here that may find it useful!!

i'm going to assume you know little to nothing, and this post is good both for people who are just looking to find cool art/fic/whatever, or for people looking to post their own art/fic.

click on the readmore here and i'll give you a bit of a walkthrough for how to get things set up and how to start interacting with people, as well as some basic etiquette!

THIS IS A VERY LONG POST!! pro tip: if you're on desktop, you can use the J key to skip down a post and the K key to skip up. youre welcome

so first things first, when you log in, the first thing you'll see is your dashboard. this is where posts from people you follow will appear.

dashboard management

i can't remember if this is the default or not, but i highly recommend you change your dashboard (almost typed dachshund ATD counter: 1) to chronological order. you can do this by clicking settings on the left, then dashboard (ATD counter: 2) on the right.

personally, i uncheck the 'shorten longer posts' option since it cuts things too short, and further down you'll see the option that says 'best stuff first'. turn that shit off. you'll miss a lot of posts from people you follow if you have it on. actually, everything on that preferences section can get turned off. tumblr is designed to be more curated, and those are all options the staff added trying to emulate things like twitter. they suck. turn em off.

how to find blogs to follow

so now that you've got your dash set up, it's time to get some shit showing up!! you've already started off right by following me, so i can see you know how to do that much. but in case this post breaches containment, i'll put some tips here for people:

if you see people out in the wild that you like who link their tumblrs, go check em out. see if you like what they post. if so, you can follow them. this will put their posts on your dashboard, and they'll get a notification that you've followed if they have those turned on.

once you find someone you like, check out who they're reblogging from. go check out those blogs. see who they're reblogging. go check out those blogs. search for things that you're interested in, and click on the people posting into those tags (more on this later). eventually, you'll be following lots of people who post things that you like, and now you can start really curating your own posting experience.

some people will have a DNI (do not interact) linked somewhere. if they do, it's considered good etiquette to give it a look and make sure you're not gonna step on toes. some people will have a "blank blogs"/"ageless blogs dni" on theirs, or say they'll block you if you're a blank/ageless blog. this is because a lot of bots will have a blank tumblr, so it's a good idea to make some text posts or something saying IM REAL I PROMISE and you can have "i'm an adult"/"18+"/"(your actual age if you're comfortable with it)"/"(an approximation of your age, e.g. 20s, if you arent)" before you get too in the weeds on following people.

sidebar, once you're blocked, it's a bit tacky to go find that person on other platforms or go on anon and ask why they blocked you. just move on and don't take it personally.

how to post shit

these are the buttons that let you post new shit. when you make a new post, you'll get the post editor popping up. it's actually pretty cool, hot take, but here are the important things to know:

put your post in the spot. i'm using the text post one here since i post either fanfic or nattering. you can add links to stuff, change formatting, font colors, all that. i'm not gonna get too into the weeds on that since this is a beginner guide, but there are other guides on how to do it slash you should fuck around with it a bit yourself. i will, however, show you the details of the "post now" button

post now: posts now

add to queue: tumblr has a function where it will automatically post things in your queue. you can find it in your blog detail page, which you get to via account>[click on your blog name]>queue on the right. you can change how many per day go there. a lot of people will have a cutesy queue tag (eg "i love queue" or something punny like that) so your followers will know if it's a queued post or a regular one. this is cute, but not necessary

save as draft: if you want to keep a post for later but not publish it yet, you can save it as a draft. it's in the same place as your queue, but these will stay there until you post it yourself. i do this a lot for posts that i want to keep for their information, or to save art to post for when i'm trying to break up an ocean of asks. very cool feature

post privately: this will make it so that only you can see the post. just a warning though that anything that goes online will be seen by Someone, so i wouldn't put like. deep dark secrets or your ssn here or something. (<- does not use this feature at all hahaha)

schedule: you can have the post drop on a certain time on a certain day. fun for flashbanging yourself later, or reminding yourself of something, etc.

if you put something in your post, it will be "searchable" on tumblr. that means if you have a post saying "i hate tmnt rise" then people who look for "tmnt rise" may be able to see your post. just a heads up. you can make your blog not show up in search results, but if you're someone looking to be found (e.g. a writer trying to post, or someone trying to make friends, etc.) i dont recommend you turn that on. just be aware that if you post things talking shit, you might get some people trolling you. just block them and move on.

if you click into a post, this thing will pop up. this will allow you to add a picture, a gif, a link, an audio file, a video file, a poll, or a readmore break (shortens the post like i did with this one to make it less intrusive on someone's dashboard).

etiquette note: if your post is going to be on the long side, Especially if it's a text post (for me this is around the 650-700 word mark), put it under a readmore. it's really annoying on mobile to scroll through a bunch of text. also, if you're going to post nsfw (which i will remind you, WILL show up in the public tags!) either have some kind of nsfw tag, put it under a readmore, or both.

tags

on the bottom of your post, you will see the option to tag your posts. some people don't use the tag function at all. i use it religiously. tagging serves two functions: organizing your blog, and sharing your content.

on your blog, you can search posts by tag. this is the best way to search your tumblr, which has a notoriously terrible search function. if you ever want to confidently be able to find things again, tag them something you'll remember. i have a list here of tags i use as an example for some ideas.

secondly, tumblr has a function where you can see what everyone is posting under a certain phrase. you can find this by typing a phrase into the "search tumblr" bar in the upper right. this will largely be posts that are tagged by that thing, or have tags that contain that phrase. (e.g. if you search "tmnt" you will find posts that are tagged "tmnt" but also some that are tagged "donnie tmnt"). this is how you can find new people to find, and fun art to reblog, etc. search for things you're interested in, then go through the tag and find who looks cool.

you'll also find that some people (<- me) will "talk" in the tags. the op of the post Can See These!!! so don't say anything that's rude or that you wouldn't want them to see!!! but this is a holdover of tumblr etiquette from years ago when it was considered rude to reblog art, let's say, and put your thoughts about something in the reblog as its own reblog. the old school of thought is that it disrupted the "aesthetic" of the post, so you'll see a lot of people put their commentary in the tags instead. it's not as obtrusive, but everyone can still see it. there's a joke that your tags will "pass peer review" if someone screenshots them and puts them on the post while reblogging, but that's usually something you'll see on particularly funny posts or creative posts or that sort of thing.

reblogs vs reposts

you will come across people who have "no reposts" or "don't repost my art" in their description or on their blog or on their art. there's a lot of confusion for new tumblr people on what that means.

reposting means that you are downloading the art/fic/whatever, then using the upload function and creating your own original post.

reblogging is when you take the post that the person made, and clicking on the reblog button (third one here):

reposting things is BAD because it does not give the op original credit and it makes it look like you created the thing. reblogging is GOOD because it shares art/writing/etc with the people who are following you, and encourages community. the double arrows are what keep community alive!!

on that note, likes are functionally useless. that little heart there does nothing for artist engagement. while there is a tumblr algorithm, it's terrible, doesn't really work, and! we've already turned ours off in the beginning, remember? most people will have done this. liking a post doesn't put it on your blog, it doesn't make it so that you can find it later, it doesn't boost the op's engagement. likes do the two things and only the two things:

op knows you saw the post

tumblr puts it into one giant unsearchable pile of things you've liked

that's it! so if you like a post, consider reblogging it. add that fun commentary in the tags we talked about! this is a really good way to make someone's day.

etiquette note; you'll sometimes see people who say "no spam likes". this means that they don't like it when people go through their blog and just hit like on the latest posts over and over and over. it clogs up the notification feed and makes it harder to see the engagement that actually Means something, e.g. reblogs, mentions, replies, etc. i personally don't have an issue with it since you can filter those out if you're looking for something, but if someone asks you not to do it, don't do it. also, if you do it and suddenly find that you're blocked even if you've not done anything wrong, that might be why. some people just don't like it shrug.

how to make friends

tumblr is a social media site, and while it's possible to have a great time on your own just reblogging pretty art and great fics onto your page, a lot of the joy comes from participating in community.

there's a good post here i reblogged the other day for some details, but here are some basic things for a beginner to know:

you can send messages to blogs you like called "asks". you'll find the link to it on the left of the follow button on someone's blog, and a lot of people will have changed the wording. for example, mine is called "request a song." you can send people messages, anonymously if you wish, and tumblr will let you know when the person has answered your message. they may do so publicly (which i always do!), so make sure not to put anything there you wouldn't be okay with all of their followers seeing. don't be rude. but it's the best way to start talking with someone. and most people are very excited to get messages like this!! so don't be intimidated!!

there is a dm system. most people aren't going to have it available except to people they're following, and it has a bit more of an intimate feel than an ask. personally, i only use this function for my mutuals (people whom i follow who are also following me), and i'd be willing to bet that's a common mood about it.

replies: just like you did with the post you started, you can reply to text posts. the op will see it, and you can start talking about a post without having it appear on your blog. it's a nice way to communicate without clogging up your dash/blog, and you did so perfectly!

reblogs: we already went over this, but you can also just reblog posts. the person from whom you reblog will see what you say, and op will see what you say. etiquette here is not to reblog posts if someone asks you not to, and to tag longer posts as "long post" so people on mobile who have that limited don't have to scroll as long

talk to people! be friendly! ask them about their day. if it's an author, tell them your favorite part of their last fic. ask what the inspiration was for this part or that part. i get people sending me songs in that remind them of character moments, and that's fun! draw art of your favorite scene, then tag the author in it! (to tag people, use the @ symbol, then type their username, e.g. @desceros tags me).

find people that are posting the things that you like, follow them, reblog from them, send in asks off anon when they reblog little games asking for them, just. you know. be social. that post i linked has some good ideas if you need help.

if you're coming from ao3, go to the author's profile page. a lot of us have our tumblrs linked there. go to their tumblr. follow them. send in asks about their fics. you'll often find fun fanart, or wips, or that kind of thing!

anyway i think that answered all the questions you had, but you can ask if there's something specific you were looking for i didn't touch. hope this helps!! C: