#high power treadmill

[mental-space-x]

Gratitude Diary

It hasn’t been the week I expected it to be but it has been a good one, despite it’s difficulties. I find that running is having quite a positive impact on my mood, particularly if I’ve done more than I thought I could. I’m proud that my mind and body are coping well and even getting stronger everyday! I am grateful that: We had no major disasters during our recent day-and-a-half powercut I…

[yndrgrl]

yandere! kiribaku are your gym crushes, & you're their obsession

long ass fic. polyamory. quirkless! au. established! kiribaku. switch! kiribaku

warning: nsfw, voyerism, kiribaku seggsy time, stalking, spit-roasting, double penetration, cockwarming

a/n: i hope y'all like big boyz (please request scenarios) also can someone tell me how to reply to comments or something... idk how to. also writing this took forever cuz it kept deleting parts frfr

let's be mutuals :) insta: thebufferfish

---

kirishima was the first one to notice you out of the pair. you showed up at the gym an hour after him & bakugou arrived. something drew him to you, his eyes trailing you into the locker room.

you didn't wear anything "high fashion" per se, just what you felt confident in. boy, did it show. you walked back out with a certain aura around you-- sure, ready to work, & determined. whatever goal you had in mind for that training session, you were going to achieve it, kirishima could tell.

"oi! what are you looking at, shitty hair?" bakugou scowled as he arose from the bench, reracking the weight then followed his boyfriend's eyes. he saw your figure facing away from him. you were on the treadmill at walking speed. his breath hitched for a moment, but he blamed it on working out. he tried to rationalize that he hasn't even -technically- seen you, & you're probably just an extra in his movie anyways.

after your warmup, you went for a squat rack, where you would stay for a good portion of your workout. you started off with squats-- tried & true. you had big, bulky headphones on & your hair tied up out & away from your face.

bakugou & kirishima got a good look at your face through the reflection of the giant mirror that lined the walls. you loaded your weight for your warmup, & bakugou scoffed.

"what is that chick even doing?" he rolled his eyes to kirishima, turning his back on you. he swatted away any curiosity that he had for you.

he heard you rerack the weight, take off the clip, & slide off your warmup weight. he examined kirishima's usual happy expression turned into one of shock, approval, & a hint of arousal. bakugou would've been offended, jealous, cursing his boyfriend with every name under the sun due to this reaction.

"what is it now?" he groaned, turning his head back to face you. he was expecting maybe you flashed kirishima, maybe you somehow seduced him with siren power, but he wasn't expecting you, with a leather weightlifting belt strapped against your stomach, squatting way more than expected. if they were being honest, it almost looked inhuman, yet you had no indication that you were struggling.

kirishima breathed out, "you know, kats, she's actually kind of strong."

bakugou knew kirishima, of course he did. he knows all the little tendencies he does when he feels a certain way. when he's nervous, he has a smile that's stretched a little too wide; when he's angry, his normally-bright red eyes turn blood crimson-- almost black. that's why, when he saw his partner adjust his pants & bite his lip, he knew kirishima was undoubtedly attracted & turned on.

"is that all it takes to get you going?" bakugou barked at the redhead, angered, not because he was jealous, but because he was puzzled. truly puzzled. he was so content with the life that him & kirishima had, the routine they fell into. wake up together, get ready & eat breakfast together, have some morning fun, go to the gym, work, come home, have more fun, sleep. that was their life.

yet here comes you, a random stranger with the brute strength of hercules & the beauty of a goddess. you wrecked their unsaid routine.

"what are you talking about?" kirishima questioned when he tore his eyes away from you. he just watched you add more weight to your next set.

"are you that easy?"

"katsuki, you're one to talk," kirishima laughed, switching positions with his partner so he could begin his set of bench press. "i saw you look straight at her ass, & don't deny it 'cuz i watched your eyes."

"i don't know what you're talking about," katsuki growled. his boyfriend unloaded the weight, bringing the weight down to his chest then pushing it back up. even when struggling under a mass of metal, kirishima had a small smile on his face.

"yeah, you do," kirishima uttered out between his reps. "i can see your hard-on right now."

"shut up!" bakugou yelled. kirishima & bakugou's eyes darted towards you & met your semi-scared gaze in the mirror.

"katsuki," kirishima reracked his weights then sat up.

bakugou lowered his voice, saying, "listen, shitty hair, i'll admit that she got me a little bit hard, okay? but i'm not going to do anything about it, i'm loyal to you-"

"i want you to," kirishima laughed, cutting off his partner's endearing, aggressive rant.

"what?"

"i want you to do stuff to her," the redhead reiterated, "i want to do stuff to her. honestly we're both attracted to her, & i wouldn't mind sharing you if it's with someone like her."

"what if we get to know her?" kirishima suggested, sly smirk glued on his face. bakugou couldn't help but copy.

that night, after snooping through your gym bag when you went to the restroom, they found out your name was y/n l/n & your instagram username, thanks to your notifications.

over a quick dinner they made when they got home, they scrolled through your posts. they learned that you were nineteen, three years younger than them. they found what college you're studying at & what major you went into. more importantly, they found all the progress pictures, selfies, & outfit-of-the-day pictures.

whether it was posts themselves or past stories, they screenshot them all. every single one. the more they looked at you, the more they realized how good of a choice they're making by perusing you-- not that you knew that yet.

then they found the gold mine. you're a college girl trying to live it up while you're still young, that much they gathered. what they didn't expect was to see you & your friends (the important part is you though) in costume that bordered lingerie. the post's caption was, "baby rave!"

it felt sinful to see you in such a way. at the gym, you're pristine, well-mannered. in this post, however, you are a complete party girl with lights of different colors radiating, confetti in your hair, & an alcohol-induced flush on your face.

you wore a dark red bikini top that barely held your breasts. metallic chains draped around your body, all connected by a black pearl choker. your bottom matched the top, & you wore ripped-up fishnets underneath.

if bakugou & kirishima were there that night, they would've fucked all of your holes in the middle of the mosh pit.

grunts & sloppy slurps echoed off the walls of the room they shared. "ah, fuck, eijiro," bakugou groaned, his eyes shifting to the man sucking his cock to the pictures of you at a rave, letting your friends jokingly squeeze all over you. he wishes that was him & his boyfriend's hands all over you.

kirishima coughed, spit & pre-cum mixed sliding down bakugou's cock. "choke on that dick, babe," the blonde taunted. in response, kirishima shoved his head down onto his length then moaned. the vibrations sent shock waves through bakugou through the tip & into the rest of his body.

not long after, bakugou forced kirishima on his feet. he stood with him, both of their impressive sizes in his grasp, pressed against each other. he spat onto kirishima's girth, & already was kirishima jacking his hips forward for friction. "god, fuckin' do it already," demanded the redhead, biting his lip. bakugou stroked their cocks simultaneously as kirishima crashed his chapped lips against his.

soon, they were moaning into each other's mouths, eyes cracked open to see the picture of you propped now on the bedside lamp. "oh fuck, i need her so bad," bakugou admitted, & kirishima's heart leaped out of his throat. he could've won a marathon with how wide his panting smile was.

"tell me how bad you need her, kats~" kirishima said as he slipped out of his boyfriend's grasp & got behind the blonde. he reached around bakugou's waist, making him face the photo of you with your hands spreading your ass ever so slightly, only fishnets & a bikini bottom covering your most precious parts.

the bulky redhead, with his other hand, lined his tip with bakugou's hole. "i need her bouncing on my cock while she's choking on your massive fuckin' dick," bakugou responded, & he was rewarded with kirishima pushing past his entrance with his tip & him pumping faster.

"what else? that can't be the only thing," kirishima laughed. "i know how crazy you can actually be."

"'gonna ruin her so bad, she'll only need us. god, she's gonna become our cute, little house wife."

"oh yeah?" kirishima pushed his entire shaft into bakugou asshole, & they groaned together. bakugou leaned his body into the bigger man, shutting his eyes as kirishima pumped him hard, thrusting in & out of him.

"fuck yeah," said bakugou, "she's gonna -harder, bastard- she's gonna our fucktoy house wife, addicted to our cock. i'm gonna fill her up every night of the rest of her life, i swear to god."

they both looked back at your picture, your stunning body, every curve & every muscle & every stretch mark. they were obsessed, needy. "f-fuck, ei, i'm gonna cum," bakugou choked out, brows furrowed & concentrated on your photo.

"me t-too," kirishima said, thrusting harder into his boyfriend. thinking about you already felt good, so what would it feel like if you were actually here? they both wondered. great minds think alike, after all.

in kirishima's hand, bakugou's cock started to throb, jets of cum shooting out & onto your picture, all over the night stand. kirishima followed in suit; he pulled his cock out of bakugou's gaping hole & jerked himself off to you. "y-y/n," he moaned, releasing his cum all over you.

you didn't know any of this, you didn't know just how badly they wanted you, what they did to the mere thought of you. you were unaware of a lot of things, it seemed to them. you didn't know how perfect you were, always hiding your stomach by crossing your arms over it when you sat down. you didn't know how much you teased them when you swayed your hips.

& you didn't know how much you ruined their daily routine.

they found themselves less present at the well-oiled machine of a company they own; not that it mattered, they only go for a few hours every week just for check ups. they spend an ungodly amount of time at the gym, taking note what time you show up on certain days. they figured out your workout routine, what machines you like using, how often you refill your water bottle, what supplements you take.

you couldn't help but notice them as well-- not to the extent they notice you though.

they were eye-catching, everyone in the room would find themselves magnetized to their hulking selves.

bakugou was intimidating, wearing tank tops & loose fitting pump covers. he was at least six foot two, weighing in at 230 pounds of nothing but pure, raw muscle. he looked like he was born with a scowl on his face. unkept, wild ash-blonde hair, a small stubble growing in neatly.

kirishima was the opposite. he was approachable, a friendly giant. he was bigger than his counterpart, standing at a terrifying six foot six & weighing nearly 300 pounds. he was always found with a smile on his face-- happy to be there. he wore tight fitting, long sleeve shirts. small scars littered his hands & clean-kept face.

they shared one thing though, their demon red eyes, lasered in with focus & intent.

you noticed them & how ridiculously handsome they were. just from their appearances, they were just your type.

you moved into the city from a small town on a full-ride scholarship to the local university. you wanted to experience everything city life had to offer because everything was different. from the concerts to the markets to the men. no one would ever describe you as meek in most aspects of your life. in school, you were hard-working; in your career, you were ambitious! however, when it came to your love life, you were subtle.

other girls approached the two musclemen, chatting & giggling. you watched as the girls gave them their socials before leaving to finish their workout. you, on the other hand, would use a machine close to the one they were using. yup. that was it. that was your grand, big gesture of flirtation & seduction.

when you got lucky & they would look your way, you averted you eyes every time with a dark blush (that you blamed on your workout) as heat flashed through your body. you were only meant to watch from afar, you thought.

bakugou was the first to approach you. blunt as ever, too. it made kirishima want to die of embarrassment. "oi! you!" he called out, but you could barely hear his voice through your noise-canceling headphones. you pushed one side off of your ear, turning your head to see who he was talking to. it was you. "you new here?"

it's been two weeks since you started going to this particular gym, which means it's been two weeks since they've been trying to get your attention so you'd talk with them.

"oh, uh, yeah, i am," you told them as you slid off your headphones, letting them hang on your neck. the music buzzed quietly, you doubt they could hear the song. "j-just moved here." you cleared your throat. since when do i stutter, you mentally face-palmed.

"really? from where?" kirishima butted in. them standing in front of you, only a few feet away made you feel tiny.

you said the name of your town, & bakugou snorted, "i've never even heard of that place. sounds lame."

"compared to here, it is. there's nothing to do over there besides working out & hike," you said with a small smile. most people said that about your town so you never really took offense.

"how do you like it here?" kirishima asked.

you could gush about the city all day. you didn't want to bore them though. "i love it here! there's always something to do. the other day i went to my first rave, & there were more people there than people that live in my old town!"

kirishima laughed at your sudden excitement. they were both relieved that you weren't a raging bitch, that you had such a sweet, lovely personality. truly, beautiful inside & out.

in the city, it was so hard to find gems, yet, without even needing to look, they found you. that must mean that you were meant to be theirs, right?

"tch, you probably aren't that interesting, huh?" the ashen blonde spat, even though he was completely enamored by you.

it caught you by surprise. "you're one to talk, big guy. i've probably lived more life than you," you barked back, half-jokingly & half-warning.

with a staggered laugh & a glance at his amused/annoyed partner, kirishima said, "you got a bite on ya', i like that. please excuse him, he's intimidated by pretty ladies like you."

the people back in your old town always told you that city boys had no charm, that they weren't capable of actual romantic emotion, but this red-haired, toothy-grinned man is proving them all wrong. he was smooth with words, easing your mind.

"i'm eijiro, by the way," he said to you with his hand outstretched.

you secured your weights before taking his hand, to which he gently turned yours & placed a chaste kiss on your knuckles as you were introducing yourself. "i-i'm y/n."

anyone else would've been unbelievably jealous that their hunk of a boyfriend is -very clearly- flirting with another person, but bakugou honestly didn't care. in fact, he was giving eijiro a look that told him to keep going. bakugou knew that, out of the two of them, eijiro was more inviting.

you turned your attention away from eijiro. bakugou took this as a sign to introduce himself. "katsuki."

"katsuki," you repeated, holding out your hand to shake his. "got it, i'm y/n," you said in case he didn't hear you the first time.

the only ones who call him by his first name is his parents, his hunk of a boyfriend, & now, you.

eijiro & katsuki shot a look over you. "do it" eijiro could practically hear his partner demand. "so, y/n, have you been to any good restaurants?"

"there's a few i really like! i haven't seen any with my favorite food though," you said, & that made you remember that you were insanely hungry. as if on cue, your stomach grumbled in complaint. embarrassed, you tried to cough to cover up the fact you could eat a horse & then the whole barn.

eijiro shot you a smile. if he heard your stomach, he didn't say anything. instead, he offered, "what's your favorite food? i promise you that kats & i know a place."

you told them what your favorite food. they already knew though; you loved to post about it on your instagram highlights.

"no way, we were just about to head out to get some! you should come with," eijiro offered.

"i-i don't know," you said as you rubbed your arm. what if he's just being nice? what if he felt like he needed to invite you? those questions & then some circled your head.

"what don't you know, sweetheart?" eijiro questioned as he took your hand again, his thumb grazing over your knuckles. "we're not scaring you, are we?"

"n-no! that's not it!" you quickly denied. you didn't mean to give them that impression-- even though you were slightly intimidated by them. however, you were more nervous than anything. your two gym crushes are, not only, in front of you, not only talking to you, but inviting you to a restaurant with them. in your delusions, you pretended that it was a two-way date, even though it was just a friend hangout for sure.

"then what is it, baby?"

"you can just say you don't wanna go," katsuki said, rolling his eyes.

of course you wanted to go! it was a dream to have an opportunity to get closer to the two. "i do wanna go!"

"okay, then what's stopping you?" katsuki scoffed.

you admitted sheepishly, "i kinda spent a lot the other day on groceries & things from amazon."

eijiro was silent at first, then started laughing. "you're cute," he sighed as he let your hand go.

"listen, he didn't ask if you had money. he asked if you wanted to come with us, dumbass," katsuki said with a smirk. eijiro & him, before approaching you, had a long talk about how he needed to be nicer, so his lips turning upward ever so slightly was his "nicer."

"kats," eijiro warned, narrowing his eyes at his partner. katsuki gave a shrug as a response.

"i mean," you began, their attention turning towards you, "if you say it like that, i couldn't miss out on some good food." like a weight being lifted off of eijiro's chest, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

after you finish your last set, you headed to the locker room to freshen up while they waited for you. you fixed your hair, applied more deodorant just in case, & change your shirt-- also just in case.

they led you out of the gym, katsuki slightly in front of you. though his rough exterior, you saw how he was trying to be gentlemanly by making sure you were following him to the car. eijiro, once the car was unlocked, opened the passenger-side door for you. "are you sure?" you questioned while he slid off your duffel bag from off your shoulder.

he replied back, "yeah, i sit up there all the time anyways. it's tons more comfortable in the back for me."

you reluctantly sat in the front seat. the redhead threw himself into the back, placing your bag on the ground beside his.

katsuki slid into the driver's seat with his gym bag in hand. the moment eijiro sat up properly, katsuki threw his bag at his face.

laughter bubbled from you as you gasped out, "that was so mean!"

"yeah, that's why i did it," katsuki replied, getting more giggles out of you. he was in cloud 9, & so was eijiro. katsuki let himself relax to your laughter, falling for your voice. it was ten million times better than his favorite song, & if he had to choose his top band of all time or your voice, he'd never listen to the band ever again. eijiro would allow himself to get hit in the face with katsuki's duffle bag a thousand more times to see that expression on your face. smile wide, mouth agape, as you laughed for him.

"jerk," eijiro muttered, slapping the driver's shoulder.

"whatever," katsuki replied as he backed up the car, "it made the pretty girl over here laugh, so i don't really care if i was being a jerk."

you blushed at katsuki's sudden compliment. eijiro also seemed surprised. "i didn't think you had it in you, kats," eijiro praised, you thought it was because eijiro was just being a supportive friend. the other two knew that it was because of something deeper, something they've worked through in their relationship.

"hey, i got an idea," eijiro started, changing the topic, but you still couldn't get over how flirtatious the two were being. "how about we order takeout from the place? it's pretty busy around this time, so it'll be a wait until we actually get to sit down & eat. is that okay with you, y/n?"

"uh, yeah! if that's what you guys want to do, i don't mind," you said. "where would we eat though?"

"we can go back to our place?" eijiro suggested.

"yeah, i'd be okay with that as long as the two of you are okay with me coming over?"

"we are, don't worry," eijiro said, fishing his phone out of his gym bag. "i'm gonna start ordering, okay?"

while he ordered online, you began talking with katsuki. "i didn't know the two of you were roommates."

"roommates? yeah, i guess we're something like that," katsuki replied. he placed his right hand on the gear stick; he tapped his finger to the beat of the song you decided to play after they practically forced the aux cord into your hand.

"well what else would you call the two of you?"

"no, roommates describe us pretty well," katsuki lied. in his head, it wasn't technically lying. they split the chores, the bills, the rent, just like real roommates do. they grocery shop, they clean, they take turns mowing the lawn & keeping their plants green. the only difference is that they suck each other's dicks & fuck each other in the ass... roommates for sure.

katsuki glanced in the rear view mirror & made eye contact with eijiro. the shark-toothed man rolled his eyes with a knowing smile then continued to pay for your guys' food. he asked you earlier on the way out of the gym what you wanted to order to save time since he already planned in head you were going home with them.

"so how long have you guys been friends?" you asked to fill the silence.

"we've been friends since freshman year of high school," eijiro told you. he wasn't ready to reveal his relationship & how he wanted you to be a part of it yet as he didn't know your stance on polyamory.

"that's a long time! i don't have any friends from high school honestly," you recalled, your town was pretty small after all so all the people were just clones of each other, & it freaked you out.

"yeah, we're pretty good friends. i know kats here inside & out~"

by the time you arrived at the restaurant, the food was done & packaged. "i'll go get it, be right back," eijiro announced before getting out of the vehicle. katsuki had enough curtsy to park in the nearest space closest to the entrance.

"i'll come with you to get the drinks," katsuki said, unbuckling his seat belt. "just stay here & be pretty, easy enough, right?"

"oh, o-okay, i guess," you replied. the keys stayed in the ignition, air conditioner pumping cool air throughout the car. you pulled out your phone, texting your college friends about what was going on.

outside, eijiro pulled katsuki close, whispering in his ear, "be nice or i'll make you."

katsuki pried his lover's hand off of his neck with a scoff. "i am being nice. look at her, she doesn't care."

"i swear to god, katsuki, you're gonna fuckin' pay if you scare her off," eijiro threatened through gritted teeth. he brushed his fingers on katsuki's semi-hard cock through his sweatpants. eijiro took a deep breath, & katsuki stared at him with an amused expression.

by the time you looked up, they were already headed back with a plastic bag full of food & specialty drinks they wanted you to try. you smiled at the two of them, unlocking the doors when they got to the car. you didn't see the interaction between the two of them moments before. maybe if you did, you'd put two & two together.

the drive to their apartment only lasted a song & a half. you were expecting to pull into a regular, slightly warn-down apartment complex with four floors of rooms. instead, they drove into the parking lot of a glass building, a skyscraper to you-- just another tower to city folk.

"woah," you said, though you didn't mean to. "what is this?"

"it's where we live," katsuki said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"but... how? it's so fancy," you gasped.

katsuki parked the car as eijiro chirped, "you haven't even seen our apartment."

to call it an apartment was an understatement. it was a penthouse that could fit your apartment three time & still have room left. it was luxury at its finest, if you do say so yourself. you couldn't fathom how this could be someone's "regular."

the statement wall was nothing but glass, sunlight spilling into the living room. the high ceiling -along with the two men who towered over you- made you feel miniature. the decor matched the house, yet it didn't match eijiro or katsuki. it was pristine, minimalistic. when you pictured a boys' apartment, you thought it would be messy with random decor that don't match. hell, your dorm room was messier than their entire penthouse! at least, from what you could tell.

as they took off their shoes, you followed in suit. eijiro took you by the hand, saying, "allow me to give you a tour, sweetheart."

"i-if you insist," you stuttered out; you weren't used to the physical contact, even though it's happened a few times already. he showed you to the kitchen, which had a beautiful backdrop that complimented the countertop. all their kitchenware matched because why wouldn't it? even their barstools matched!

the dining space was nothing but a glass table with black chairs. the centerpiece was a black-tinted, glass pitcher with fake locks of wheat inside of it. "pretty cool, isn't it?"

"so fancy, i'm kind of nervous honestly," you half-joked, half-told-the-truth. seriously, who were these two? how could they afford this at their age? you figured they were around your age, maybe a few years older than you. you've met people who are twenty years older than you who don't have living spaces as nice as eijiro's & katsuki's.

"what? why?" asked eijiro, who sounded slightly offended. he caught that you were joking, but he was curious what made them so intimidating.

"it's just you guys are so put-together. i've never met anyone like the two of you," you told him, & it was true. you've never seen anyone so well-built in all aspects of their life.

eijiro laughed as he ran his fingertips through his spikey hair. "trust me, we had to work our asses off for this place. all the furniture & stuff came with it, so we never changed it."

he started to guide you to the living room, showing off all of their consoles that sat on the tv stand shelves. "any game you wanna play, we got," katsuki said from the kitchen, sounding proud of their collection.

"it's true. we love video games," eijiro told you with that same, charming grin that gets your face red. the way he kept flashing the smile made you think he knew how flustered it got you. "let me show you the rooms. that's probably the only place we decorated on our own."

as he led you through the hallway to the bedrooms, you took note of the framed pictures hung on the wall. it was a mixture of photos of katsuki & eijiro on their own & them two together. "you guys must be close," you stated, pointing out the obvious.

"yeah, we're really close," he said back. "believe it or not, but he's softened up over the years. katsuki used to be so much meaner back in high school."

"that's neat that you guys basically grew up together. i never really had like, a best friend," you revealed. you don't know why you were telling him this, you felt like you could though. "i'm jealous of people who can make those connections honestly."

"i lucked out. it's pretty hard to make deep connections, like you said," eijiro agreed, opening the door to guest room/office. "you make it sound like you've never had a relationship."

"i mean, technically i have," you admitted-- you didn't want to seem lame or inexperienced in front of him after all. "just not a long term one. it's hard dating in a small town where everyone already dated everyone else. you'd think that it be like, ten times easier to date in the city, but it's not!"

eijiro listened to your tangent, adoring how riled up you're getting. he didn't want you to stop, it was such an intimate moment -to him- that the two of you were sharing, just the two of you. "oh yeah? tell me more."

"my parents were right, city boys are so much more... direct. they can barely hold a conversation with me in person & over text then they flash me their... you know, thing. i mean, i get being horny & all, but i don't think i'd ever show off like that to get some. it doesn't actually work though, does it?"

"no, unsolicited nudes ever work. guys on dating sites are usually super desperate. you've already figured that out, huh?" eijiro asked, masking his anger (because you went out on dates with other guys) with fake interest. he already knows most things about you. it's not hard to get into chat logs if you know the right people.

"oh, yeah i have. i wasn't interested in this guy after one date, so i cut it off with him, but he kept texting me for two weeks straight. saying stuff like how i was a gold-digger then he'd apologize, asking for another chance."

"sounds terrible," eijiro replied as he exited the room, you following close behind. he opened the only other bedroom door, telling you briefly that it was his-- he's not a liar, he's just not telling the full truth. he sat down on the bed & offered a spot next to him so you can comfortably tell him all the things men did to you.

"maybe you're looking in the wrong places," said eijiro, his voice dropping an octave lower. his face inched closer to yours, but you didn't notice as you continued your rant.

"it is terrible! another guy took me on a date to this really nice restaurant & he brought both of his parents & his little sister! said something about how we were going to get married because it was god's plan. it was actually really scary at the time. i give up on dating."

"i don't even know where to look! i mean, i guess the gym is a good place to find guys with goals like mine; they're usually misogynists or taken though. you & katsuki are the only ones i'd actually date though, but you guys are swimming in girls-" you cut yourself off once you realized what you just said so clearly. "i mean, i know you guys aren't interested, & it's weird to have two crushes-"

"calm down, sweetheart," eijiro interrupted, & you looked up at him. you almost jumped once you saw how close he actually was. the tips of your noses nearly touched, his left hand was propped behind your back against the bed, his fingers toying with the waist of your pants. his other hand rested on your upper thigh. "i just need to know before i say anything more. do you think i can handle me?"

you nodded, shrinking away from him. could he hear how your heart pounded against your rib cage? your heartbeat rang in your ears as it muffled whatever he was saying. your voice was caught in your throat; you knew if you tried to talk, you'd just squeak.

"do you think you can handle katsuki?"

you nodded again.

"how do you feel about both of us? can you handle both of us?" his hand traveled up your body to cup your chin. all you could do was nod. you've never really thought about two men at once before until now. "use your words, y/n."

"i-i could d-date both of you," you said out of innocences. you didn't want him to know about all the dirty thoughts swimming through your head.

"ah-ah-ah~" he tsked. "i asked if you could handle us both because if you say yes, i promise you that you'll be more than just a date to us. you'll be our pretty, little girlfriend. so i'm going to ask you again; could you handle both of us?" you let your eyes wander for just a second. you saw katsuki leaning against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his face. his hand readjusted his member, but it only brought attention to how it tented against his pants. you gulped.

"y-yes i can, i-i can h-handle both of you," you said, intrigued, curious. you could barely spit out that sentence before eijiro crashed his lips against yours. you let out a muffled squeak, & he took that as an invitation to let his tongue roam into your mouth.

a string of saliva connected the two of you when he pulled away from you. he turned to katsuki with a lusted expression with half-lidded eyes & a toothy grin. "you hear that, babe? she wants to be with us."

babe? you thought. babe is what you call a girlfriend... or a boyfriend. they watched as you finally realized why the two of them lived together, why the photos on the wall were them doing more-than-friend poses, why there wasn't another room for katsuki. "th-the two of you are, um, a-a thing?"

"took ya' long enough," katsuki taunted, sauntering towards the two of you. he grabbed eijiro by the throat, pulling him into a rough, passionate kiss. he threw his red-headed partner off of him as fast as he kissed him. he placed his hand behind your head, colliding your lips together.

once the two of you disconnected from each other, you tried to defend yourself. "i-i'm sorry! i r-really didn't know y-you two were dating!"

"yeah, we know," eijiro laughed, his hand roaming back down to your leg. "it doesn't matter though. you're worth sharing, you know that, sweetheart? you're so utterly beautiful that we couldn't help but fall for you. can you blame us?"

"you're just our type. motivated, real. you're just so fuckin' sexy," katsuki confessed. he sat down on the other side of you. he dragged you into another rough kiss, & eijiro latched his lips onto your neck. both of their hands began to touch you all over. eijiro's hand found itsway in between your legs, & you grinded against his thick fingers. katsuki's was under your shirt, under your bra, squeezing your flesh.

eijiro whispered in your ear as you made out with katsuki, "you want this, don't you? you really want us."

you moaned into katsuki's mouth as a "yes." your panties were stained with your slick at this point. your pussy throbbed in need, how much you needed them inside you. eijiro nipped at your neck again, marking you in hickeys & love bites. you threw your nervousness to the side as leaned against their arms. both of your hands started rubbing against their bulges. you pulled away katsuki, gently shoving him away. "y-you guys a-actually want me as a, you know, girlfriend?"

"we do, pretty girl. we want to be the only ones to love you, to need you. we're going to be the only ones you ever crave," eijiro purred into you ear as katsuki threw off his shirt. "tell me everything you're worried about so i can ease your mind~"

"a-are you sure you want me?" you uttered with a reddened face. this was nothing like you've ever experienced before.

katsuki butted in, "we fuckin' need you, idiot. how clear do i need to be." he grasped you by the throat, making it harder for you to breath. "i need you."

"i need you, too, sweetheart," eijiro whispered against your neck, which was littered with red marks. you didn't even realize that he stripped down to nothing but his grey boxers. out of his waistband poked his leaking tip, oozing precum for you. "say what you want from us~"

"i-i need you too! i need both of you!" you squeaked out, though you were nervous for what the future might hold, you wanted to experience this, them, to the fullest.

"good answer," growled katsuki, slipping off his sweatpants. "now strip. you can't be the only one hiding yourself."

you did as you were told in an instant. you threw off your shirt, &, with the help of eijiro, you took off your pants. as you stripped, eijiro pulled katsuki in for a victory, sloppy kiss. their tongues fought for dominance. you couldn't help but get more aroused as you watched the two & their passion.

to return the favor, you start peppering kisses on eijiro's neck. his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to his mass by grabbing the meat of your ass. you butterfly kisses turned into desperate bites to mark him. you sucked on his most sensitive spot; he moaned into katsuki's mouth, his eyes fluttering open just to roll in the back of his head. katsuki invaded his mouth with his tongue, making eijiro choke on their mixed spit & his thick muscle.

katsuki, though his eyes were shut, pulled his boxers down & stroked his length. every up-stroke caused more precum to bead out of his tip. it dripped down his shaft, being used as lube while he played with himself. katsuki was an impatient man, though. his own hand can't keep him satisfied for long. the hand that was tugging at his dick shot into your hair. he grasped a fist full of your locks, & he forced your face against his cock. all while he made eijiro's mind numb with nothing but his tongue.

you opened your mouth. one moment you took a deep breath, the next you were choking on katsuki's heavy dick. your eyes watered as he forced himself down your throat. you felt your throat bulge, you felt yourself gag, & there was nothing you could do but choke & cry.

the ashen blonde finally pulled away from eijiro, his other hand on the other side of your head while he thrusted in & out of your mouth. "kats, baby, don't be too rough with her~" eijiro told him, but he knew katsuki wouldn't listen. in fact, he knew he would do the opposite, & that's just what he wanted.

in retaliation, katsuki thrusted deeper down your throat. your hands pressed against his hips to try & stop & catch your breath. instead, he let go of your hair & grasped both your wrists & yanked them behind himself as they straightened. you were forced to take all 9 inches down your throat. drool dripped down your chin.

eijiro unclipped your bra from behind, & he sat you on his lap. his cock stood squished between your thighs. he bucked his hips forward, & your panties began to shape to your pussy lips. the cloth rubbed against your clit, a moan bubbled from your throat, but it was muffled thanks to katsuki's prick thrusting in & out of you mouth. "you said you can take us, prove it," hissed katsuki, glaring down at you while he fucked your pretty, little mouth.

eijiro slipped off you panties, strands of your wetness snapping away the further he pulled them down. katsuki finally shoved your face off his spit-coated dick. eijiro say you against the headboard so you were sitting. he was on his hands & knees in front of you.

katsuki was behind eijiro, a loud spank jolted the redhead forward. with your spit & katsuki's precum as lube, he thrusted into eijiro's asspussy. you watched as eijiro's eyes widened & his mouth hung open. "a-ah, fuck, kats," he moaned out as he abused his hole. eijiro locked gazes with you, then gave you that same, charming smile. through the slapping thrusts that filled the room, he asked, "does this get you excited, hm? you like watching us?"

you were speechless, so turned on beyond belief. all you could do was nod.

"you're so c-cute, y-y/n," he whimpered, his fingers finding your pussy. you spread your legs wider, & your juices gushed out. he inserted two fingers, it was already thicker than you've ever handled. he pressed his mouth to your tit, flicking your nipple with his tongue. you squealed as you stared into katsuki's eyes. his narrowed eyes stayed trained on you while his cock was buried in his boyfriend's ass.

you cheeks were still tear stained, your eyes red from pleasure. eijiro inserted a third finger. a hand, your hand, shot up to cover your screams of pleasure. katsuki pulled out of eijiro. he went to their shared bed stand & used a clean towel to wipe his dick.

eijiro, with no effort, carried you on to his lap as he fell to his hip so he was sitting down. he brought your knees to you ears. katsuki sat in front of you on a chair that was beside their full-length mirror. you could see everything; you could see eijiro's cocky expression, how wet your pussy was, how excited katsuki stroked his cock. "ready to prove you can handle me, sweetheart?"

"y-yes, eijiro!" you shouted, mind clouded with lust. "please fuck my pussy!"

following your command, he thrusted his entire girth into your weeping hole. you screamed in pain & pleasure, more juices leaking onto his lap. "y-you're so fuckin' big," you moaned out. he hasn't even thrusted yet, & you already saw stars. after a moment, he moved his hips. your tits bounced with ever thrust.

in the mirror, you saw how your stomach bulged when eijiro was balls deep inside you & how it would disappear when he pulled out, only to reappear when he slammed himself inside you. his thrusts were slow, but not gentle-- unlike katsuki's. "eijiro," katsuki said, getting bored of his hand. "my turn."

eijiro rolled his eyes, but he released your legs & lifted you off of him. "bend over, sweetheart. he loves your ass," eijiro told you, & you listened. katsuki stood up as you bent down in front of him, using your hands to spread your ass & pussy lips apart.

"god, you're too fuckin' short," katsuki growled. all of a sudden, your feet were off the ground as you were still bent over. eijiro grabbed onto your flailing hands. as a thank you, you shoved his slick-covered dick down your throat. katsuki wasted no time & fucked your pussy while you were airborne. his hands carried you by your hips. he used you like you were toy, pounding your cervix with his angry tip. eijiro didn't even have to move with how much katsuki manhandled you.

you were trying to scream as katsuki picked up the pace, but all that came out was spit & gags. "you're gonna break her," mused eijiro, feeling your arms go limp. you accepted that they were in complete control, & that there was nothing you could do about it.

katsuki didn't respond. instead, he groaned between thrusts, "take. this. slut. you're. such. a. fuckin'. tease." his deep, long strokes turned shallow & spastic. shots of hot, white cum coated every inch of your pussy. it swelled in your womb; you felt katsuki's cock twitch as your pussy milked every drip. you came with him, your juices squirting onto the ground, rolling down your leg.

with a few more thrusts, eijiro flooded your throat with his cum. his salty, bitter jets dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. katsuki set you down & pulled out, & eijiro followed. their cum leaked out of your holes onto the floor, & you collapsed on the floor. eijiro held you up by your arms.

"we're not done with you," he snickered as he carried you onto the bed. katsuki, who was already laying on the bed, had you lay on top of him. he held your legs open while his tip ghosted over your asshole. eijiro was in between your legs, straddling katsuki's. he readied himself at your entrance. he bent down to kiss katsuki, then you.

he & katsuki simultaneously shoved themselves into your throbbing holes. you let out a scream. you convulsed, legs shaking while you came all over them. through your release, they picked up the pace. when one was out of you, the other was buried inside you. because of your orgasm, you were more sensitive than usual. "i-it's too m-mu-much!" you cried while you came again.

"aw~ is my baby getting over stimulated?" eijiro cooed, yet his pace was still as harsh as ever. having both of them inside you made you feel so full. you could feel how much more length katsuki had, but eijiro had more girth.

"that's a shame," katsuki snickered. his hand found it's way in between your legs from behind. using his middle finger, he started rub your clit.

"s-stop! i-i'm go-go-"

"let it all out," was the last thing you heard before everything went white. all you felt was pleasure, they pumped in & out of you.

"m-more, more, more," you mindlessly moaned with every thrust. they gave you more, just to see your face every time you came. you don't know how many times they came inside you, it was all just a blur.

you loved how full they made you. your throat was scratchy because of their cocks, because of how much you screamed your name. you were covered in hand prints, hickeys, love bites, & their cum.

you don't know when you switched positions, but now the three of you were on your sides. katsuki was buried deep inside your pussy once again, releasing his seed deep inside of you. eijiro coated your ass in cum before inserting himself back inside your asshole.

they finally stopped moving. they were still buried in your tight, sore holes. you were sandwiched between them, connected to them. "go to sleep, good girl," katsuki praised, kissing your forehead. eijiro kissed your shoulder, then the two of them shared a kiss. your eyelids immediately shut. that's when you learned that you loved feeling full when you slept.

[borderline-sanity]

GRWM as I ✨Wake Up with a Panic Attack✨

** None of this is medical advice, and is just a system I’ve worked on for myself. Everybody is different, everyone is in different circumstances.**

When it comes to the fight or flight instinct during panic attacks, I’m 100% a flight person.

I’ve dealt with panic attacks since high school and have been diagnosed with panic disorder. In high school I lived in constant fear of having an attack, which caused the attacks. It was all very cyclical. I have them less often now, but they still happen from time to time.

My go to method is to mix comforting and uncomfortable sensations and to overstimulate myself. I’ve tried deep breathing and relaxing music and the things that should logically help. But they always made me feel worse because I’m acknowledging the panic in such a head on fashion. I try to ground and overstimulate as many senses as I can, so I don’t have the energy or space to feel the panic anymore.

The initial terror, it’s going to happen. How fast you can pivot depends on the severity of the panic.

I tell myself I’m an expert in panic attack management. I have over 12 years of experience in the field and have worked tirelessly to perfect my methods. I have to convince myself I’m a pro at this, and have a 100% success rate of not imploding from anxiety. I narrate what I’m going to do and why it helps me specifically, basically what I’m doing here.

—-

My first stop is consistently my bathroom. I go through my bin of old lotions and pick a scent I have specially set aside for panic attacks. I use something that’s way too overpowering, but having something that smells bad to you is also an option. Sometimes I’ll use two different smells. The goal is to have a scent to ground you.

When I have a panic attack, my body fails at temperature regulation. Typically my feet are cold and clammy. So, I like to run some hot water in the tub and just stand in it for awhile. As I’m standing there, I apply whatever lotion or perfume I grabbed. Once my feet are warmed up, I get out of the tub and only sorta dry my feet. Then I put socks on my damp feet. Why? Because I hate the way it feels. And that harmless discomfort is going to distract me as I make my way to the next room.

I pick up a hoodie from the closet. Since I don’t know which way my temperature is going to flux, it’s nice to have on hand. I also have a big comfy shawl I use only during panic attacks.

I have to go down stairs to get to my kitchen. I take them really slow, especially with the damp sock situation. If I’m feeling too weak, I’ll just sit down and scoot down them. My instinct is flight, so staying in one room too long is no good. I usually feel safer being on the ground floor.

—-

Things might get messy in the kitchen, but that’s for future you to deal with. I used to keep a fresh lemon in the house at all times, but have moved away from that, opting for lemon juice. You can either bite into a lemon, or swish some lemon juice in your mouth and spit it out. A benefit of a fresh lemon is that it’s more messy. You’ll have lemon juice on your face and hands and that stickiness, at least for me, is an awful sensation.

You’re going to chase the lemon down with something else. I like to grab sour candy, like Warheads. But something like Pop Rocks also works. Picking an opposite flavor, like pudding or beef jerky is an option. You’re just trying to overload your tastebuds by making another harmless, but powerful distraction.

Alternatively, this step can be done when you’re in the bathroom. Swishing mouth wash and following it up with something sour is miserable. The face I make in the mirror is ridiculous and sometimes that’s enough to help soothe me.

—-

Like I said, I’m a flight person. So the next steps I either do pacing the house or on a treadmill. It just depends how steady my legs are feeling.

I grab my headphones, connected to my phone, and my tablet. I put the headphones on one ear and play music. The music is going to change every time. Sometimes you want something soothing, sometimes you want something loud. Sometimes you want music you love, sometimes you want music you hate. Having different playlists prepped helps you figure out what you’re in the mood for. I think one hit wonders are also a great option. There’s a familiarity and nostalgia that just hits the spot sometimes.

There are a few options for the tablet. You can put on a movie or tv show, and listen with your un-headphoned ear. I also like doing crossword puzzles or logic puzzles. It usually goes poorly, but I get so wrapped up in it. I’ve also found ‘Simon Says’ videos and follow those. Anything challenging and low stakes works here.

And this is where things usually begin to ease up. If my legs are too wobbly, I’ll just lie on the floor. Sometimes I go back to the lemon juice / sour candy. But eventually, my body is just exhausted and overstimulated. And there’s no more room for panic.

Once I feel myself winding down, I’ll get an electrolyte heavy drink. My go to is Pedialyte Zero Sugar packets but it doesn’t really matter what you use. I’ll have something light to eat if I feel up to it, usually just crackers.

When the panic has finally eases up and I feel safe again, I’m usually left exhausted. I fall asleep wherever I land, usually on the floor because it just feels nice and sturdy. When I wake up, I take care of any messes I left behind. And I drink more water.

—-

Important Notes and Additional Tactics:

Drink lots of water. Just have water dead drops everywhere.

Make it a point to keep yourself stocked up on supplies. Future you needs to restock supplies and put things back for next time.

Fidget toys are great and should also be in every room if possible. I like to use different ones depending on which room I’m in, just to keep up variety.

Ice cubes under the armpits or on the back of the neck are great. I guess anywhere works, I just find the cold distracting. As they melt, I’m left with water on my clothes. Similar to the damp socks, I hate this feeling.

My plant misting bottle stays in the kitchen and I’ll use it to spray my face or arms. Having glasses makes this more annoying, which is the goal.

I personally like to turn on as many lights as I can, but I understand this isn’t always possible.

Stepping outside can be helpful, just be mindful about it.

Reach out to people if that’s an option and you’re comfortable with it.

Walk through your routine when you aren’t in the middle of a panic attack. Developing this type of muscle memory helps you to be familiar and prepared. Remember, you’re the expert in panic attacks.

Take time to reflect on things. The day after a panic attack, I find a quiet place. I think back to everything I was feeling and who I was during the panic attack. And I talk to that past version of me and comfort her. Sometimes I find it easier to write it all out.

—-

I typed this while experiencing a panic attack. Usually I just narrate these things to myself. Recently, my older brother has started having attacks similar to mine. My hope is that sharing what I do to get myself through a panic attack will help at least one person. It is truly one of the most defeating and vulnerable experiences. I feel like I’ve lost so much time to my anxiety, I’d like to think I can help someone avoid the same struggles my younger self dealt with.

**None of this is medical advice, and is just a system I’ve worked on for myself. Everybody is different, everyone is in different circumstances.

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 4

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Ben claims his prize…

Word Count: 5.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for suggestiveness. Cheating (technically), more cat and mouse seduction, cracks in the masks, and a cat fight.

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Part 4: Better Shape Up

Who knew this man could be such a damn tease. You wouldn’t have thought him capable, for someone who wasn’t used to waiting for anything he wanted.

He demonstrated his resolve on a morning where you thought it safe to venture down to the gym. The others typically didn’t surface until around noon at least, so the morning was your time to work out and train in peace.

Today, Ben was already here. He was dressed down in a loose gray shirt and a pair of sweatpants and combat boots. He had already worked up a sweat and was now doing some impressive leg curls.

You tried not to linger your gaze on the exposed muscles of his arms and the outline of his broad back, but you slipped by him to claim a treadmill after offering him a polite good morning.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen you in here,” he remarked.

You shot him a glance. “I like the quiet in the morning.”

“Matter of fact, you don’t go out of your way to hang out with anyone else on the team,” he said, as if you hadn’t answered.

He was right, but the fact that he’d noticed that about you was interesting. It proved he had his eyes on you, in more ways than one.

“Smart,” he added. “The others are dipshits.”

You smiled in amusement. You were inclined to agree.

Well, most of them, anyway. Crimson Countess was smarter than he gave her credit for, and you were sure Mindstorm was as well, even if he was a hermit.

Once you finished your cardio, you caught your breath with a few sips from the water fountain and found a small towel to wipe at your face and arms. Afterwards, you moved to the mats to stretch out. Yoga was one of the exercises that not only cooled you down and kept you limber after a workout, but it also helped you focus your internal world.

Sometimes it wasn’t easy being able to sense so many male presences around you, along with their baser emotions. It had taken several years of honing your mind and your powers to be able to spread your awareness only when you wanted to. But some energies were just too difficult to ignore.

You raised your hands high above your head, then bent at the waist to lower them all the way to the ground. From there, you walked your hands out across the mat into a downward dog pose.

As you moved through your yoga routine, you could feel a hot stare on your ass. You almost smiled to yourself.

By now, your companion had shifted to a different machine, working on his arms. After a few minutes, you heard the heavy clink of metal on metal. You looked over and saw that he’d finished, dropping the truly massive dumbbells on either side of his legs. He sat at the machine for a moment, catching his breath. His skin was glistening with a fine layer of sweat.

He pointed over to a water bottle that lied on the floor, a few feet away.

“Mind grabbing that for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

That request was harmless enough. You went over and grabbed it for him, your warm hands brushing his on the tradeoff. You meant to turn and head for the showers, but your foot got caught on one of the dumbbells. You gasped and nearly went down when you tripped.

Ben stood and hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you into his solid form. You grabbed onto his arms on reflex. You felt sweat under your palms and between your fingers, smelled his musky, masculine scent. Your breasts were brushing his chest with every breath.

And all the while, he looked down at you like he was thinking about devouring you. You felt his desire.

Instead, he smiled and let you go.

“You okay?” he asked.

Your brain short-circuited for a minute.

“Um, y-yeah. Thanks,” you said. Your hands slipped away from his arms, and you slowly turned and walked away. You almost stopped at the showers like you intended, but at the last second, you thought better of it and kept going all the way back up to your room.

Ben watched you go with a smirk, admiring your ass in those yoga pants.

You knew your plan was working, even with all his antics. You could ultimately use his interest in you to your advantage: for your career.

The plan had started forming the second you met him in that breakroom, and was only reinforced by Countess's superiority and general bitchiness toward you...

But you also thought that man was affecting you far more than you’d like to admit.

So you tried your best to give yourself a break from him. You trained on your own, and only engaged in minor small talk with your fellow teammates whenever you crossed paths with them; even Black Noir, the only person you’d been able to share some genuine conversation with.

You’d sensed the friction between him and Ben, and as unfair and often cruel as you thought it was, you didn’t want to give the latter a reason to resent you. It would only muddle your plans. For that matter, you tried to stay out of Countess’s way as well.

Throughout it all, you began to realize that you were even more alone than you thought you would be in this Tower.

However, your excitement bubbled up again when Arthur called you up to his office. He seemed excited too, which already had you gripped with anticipation. You were hungry to prove yourself, and also to jump on a project. Any project that they might give you to advance your career and increase your exposure to the public.

“I happened to show Soldier Boy that clip you sent in with your audition. The video of your off-the-cuff duet with Whitney Houston at that live show? Now, it was a little fuzzy. Looked like it was filmed with a kid’s Kodak, but whatever. It was brilliant.”

You smiled genuinely. “Thank you.”

Arthur nodded. “Well, Soldier Boy agrees that you’re impressive. And he’s been chomping at the bit for something new. So, I talked to Madelyn and the rest of the team, and we think you two should do a duet together. A cover.”

You blinked a bit wider. “O-Oh, really? Of what?”

“You remember ‘You’re the One That I Want,’ by John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John?”

“From Grease?” you asked with furrowed brows. That movie was like, five years old already. But you did see the previews for a new movie John and Olivia just did together, Two of a Kind. It was set to come out later this year.

“Exactly,” Arthur said, pointing at you. “It could be bigger than the movie!”

You doubted that, but it was still a great opportunity for you. Exactly the kind you’d been waiting for.

There was just one problem.

“And…what about Crimson Countess? You think she’ll be okay with this?” you asked. “She hasn’t exactly warmed up to me.”

Arthur sighed, but he waved a dismissive brow.

“Let us handle that part. At the end of the day, she understands this is all business here. No one’s gettin’ married.”

You laughed politely while hiding a sliver of unease. You agreed to the idea, but if Ben had a hand in this at all, you had a feeling you knew what he was up to.

You showed up early to the studio on a Tuesday morning. Ben, of course, was an hour late. You two had already pre-recorded your vocal parts separately, so today started the filming for your version of the music video.

You were already getting ruby red lipstick painted on your lips, when Ben stumbled into the hair and makeup trailer.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he rumbled in your direction.

“Good morning,” you replied cordially, though you watched him out of the corner of your eye.

He was nursing a tremendous hangover, by the looks of it. If it wouldn’t ruin your stylist’s concentration, you would shake your head in exasperation. Could he take nothing seriously?

Angela, his stylist, began by cleaning his face with an exfoliator wipe. She spread some primer on first before she went for the foundation. He stopped her with a raise of his hand and a halting sound in his throat.

“Make me a little more tan today, eh, doll face. You washed me out last time,” he said, slapping her on the ass. Angela jolted, but she gave him a practiced smile.

“No problem, Soldier Boy.” She swapped the foundation in her hand for a warmer shade. 

You barely managed to stop yourself from frowning. Asshole.

Another half hour later, you were ushered out of the makeup trailer and into the dressing room. By the time you stepped out, you were transformed fully into Sandy Olsson, Olivia Newton-John’s character in Grease, complete with the skin-tight black jumpsuit.

You were reenacting one of the final songs of the movie—the moment where Sandy drops her prim and proper upbringing to show Danny that she could live in his “edgier” world, if he was willing to step up, or shape up, for her as a man.

Vought had the money to create a truly impressive set. You stepped out towards the stage and looked around at all the people, not to mention the expensive-looking equipment on this production. You had been on big stages before, but not as the leading lady. This was big, and you could admit, it was intimidating.

Ben soon joined you, looking very much the part with a real cigarette in hand as he blew out smoke. He was made to look like John Travolta’s character, of course. His brown hair was neatly coiffed and gelled back. He was wearing a tight black shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks, with five o’clock shadow dusting his cheeks. You were a little surprised he was agreeing to something like this…but you also had a hunch on what was motivating him.  

A grin soon spread across his face. You averted your eyes, surprising yourself by the way your face warmed. However briefly it was, he’d caught you checking him out.

He returned the favor. His gaze lingered on your every curve, and finally your face.

“Lookin’ good, baby doll,” he said mildly, but he leaned over to whisper in your ear. “I’m gonna be thinking about those red lips tonight.”

Your lips pursed as you watched him walk away with his usual smooth, arrogant stride. You refused to feel how hot your face was. Instead, you relaxed your shoulders and raised your chin before you stepped onto the stage with him.

The director came over to talk you both through the script and his vision for the music video, a scene by scene replica of the fairgrounds. (And he handed Ben an ashtray for his cigarette.)

The opening scene was already set up. The pack of actors playing Danny Zuko’s friends were hanging off to the side, while a handful of young women in 1950s style dresses hung out on the other side, waiting for you.

The director called to roll sound. A production assistant handed you a fake cigarette to hold between your fingers, just like the original movie scene. Other instructions were shouted out as you stared into the cameras blankly. Your body felt stiff, your mouth heavy.

You were nervous, no matter how much you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Hey,” came a deep voice in your ear.

You turned to Ben and tried to hide your anxiety. He smiled and once again leaned in close. You felt the warm pressure of his hand on your lower back.

“You’ve seen cameras before. Don’t even look at ‘em. They’re not there,” he said, encouraging you to use your imagination.

You took a subtle breath. “And the thirty-something crew of people?”

“They’re the audience,” he said. “This is just a stage, like the ones you’ve been on before. Even smaller.”

You nodded subtly and tried to calm the ball of nerves rising into your throat. You made your way over to your mark and got ready with a hand on your hip, and the prop cigarette poised in the other. Ben went to his mark, with the other Greasers.

Ben smirked at you. “Remember to sing pretty.”

You shot him a teasing smile back.

“Oh, don’t worry. When I sing, people listen.”

I got chills, they’re multiplying. And I’m losing control.

‘Cause the power you’re supplying…

It’s electrifying.

He might not have had Travolta’s range, but Ben was a decent singer himself. It was rich and baritone, occasionally with some edge. They’d lowered the song down a key for him, you noticed, but you didn’t mind.

It was all you could do to remember the choreography, all while feeling the push and pull of the music, the lyrics, and the man himself. He was also making some subtle changes to the character in his performance.

“I’m not dragging myself across the fucking ground after her like some love-sick pussy,” as he’d snapped at the director.

So he was applying a more suave approach to Danny’s role, trying to persuade you with a Cary Grant-like charm. Partnered with your sensuous persona, it gave the bouncy song some new depth.

You better shape up, ‘cause I need a man.

And my heart is set on you…

It took a few hours to get through the first scenes, and you found that you and Ben worked well together. But his attention on you was intense whenever he looked into your eyes. His every small touch ignited across your skin, eliciting tingles of electricity down your spine.

When you finally got to your first verse after the chorus, you were up on one of the carnival ride platforms. Painted on one of the walls was Danger Ahead.

If you’re filled with affection, you’re too shy to convey…

Per the choreography, Ben followed you up a short flight of stairs and cornered you against a wall. You pivoted on your heels and felt bold enough to improvise. You drew him in with a hand on his stubbled cheek, and you allowed your eyes to shine with a bit of your power, giving them a violet glow.

Meditate on my direction. Feel your way…

As you sang, his hands glided up the swell of your hips and gripped you tight at the waist. His gaze lowered to your lips. You could smell his musky cologne mixed with cigarette smoke as he began to lean in. Your mouth parted unconsciously.

“Cut!” the director shouted.

The music stopped and a sharp bell rang out. You paused, letting your hand fall away from Ben’s cheek. He reluctantly released you as well. You eased away from him with a smile.

“All right! That was great guys,” the director chimed in cheerfully after he came out from behind the network of cameras. “Tell you what, let’s break for lunch.”

You sensed the burning presence following you off the stage, just a few feet behind. It shadowed you all the way to your trailer.

The moment you opened the door and stepped inside, you weren’t all that surprised when Ben grabbed your hand and turned you around into his arms. You stifled a small gasp.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, despite knowing full fucking well.

He was no longer teasing as his eyes swept down to your cherry red lips.

“I’m claiming my prize,” he said, his voice sinful and deep.

He bent down to capture you in a demanding kiss. You breathed in, and allowed yourself to give into it. Your hands slid up his arms, then wound up into his hair. He devoured you deeper with each new glide of his lips against yours, his hold on your waist moving down your hips and gripping your ass.

He mostly carried you as he guided you back against the wall of the trailer. His hand slapped against it to brace your impact, making the wall tremble. You gasped into his mouth at the suddenness of it, and he took the opportunity to taste you deeper, slipping his tongue against yours. He relished every small sound you made, and every part of you he got his hands on.

Until he broke from you suddenly, allowing you to catch your breath. You couldn’t help but blink up at him in a bit of surprise while you recovered. His smile was smug looking down at you.

“That was more than a kiss,” you said. Thank God you sounded steadier than you felt.

Ben chuckled and leaned in closer again, this time letting his lips drift across your cheek, and down your neck.

“And I promise I’m good with my hands,” he said in your ear.

You fought not to shudder at the depths in his voice. Your internal alarm finally sounded, however, when one of his hands left your hip to slip along the inside of your thigh. He stroked a thumb between your legs, over the silky leather of your pants. Your core pulsed with anticipation, but this wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet.

You tensed up and grabbed his wrist.

“Ben,” you warned in a gasp, issuing a trill of power on reflex.

Stop.

The unspoken command laced through him. He paused with a tense look, but not just because of your powers. He saw the sliver of fear in your eyes. He frowned.

For your part, you honestly didn’t mean to compel him this time. Your eyes widened, your mouth pressed into a line.

Part of you was afraid, but not for the reasons he might’ve thought. It was a delicate game you were playing with this man. And like it or not, even though you had the power to stop him if he tried to take it any farther, his influence still had power over your career.

“The fuck is your problem? You’re running hot and cold on me,” he snarked. But he relaxed, taking a step away from you. You released his wrist.

“I meant what I said,” you said. “Look, you’re helping me out a lot by doing this music video, and I appreciate that. More than you know.”

Your tone was gentle as you attempted to soothe his ego, but your words had the added benefit of being true.

“I’m still the new kid here,” you added. “Countess already thinks I’m trying to take her place.”

Which, at this point, you could admit that you were in a way. You had a feeling that she’d been using Ben the same way you were—to enhance her status and cement her position in Payback. 

He rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t have to know.”

You broke into a small smile, crossing your arms at him.

“Come on, Ben.”

His face became taciturn. You tried to gouge his reaction with your abilities, and you sensed his irritation underneath. He was likely trying to curb every inclination he had to give a nasty retort and hold onto the charm, but he was also starting to lose patience.

“So what the fuck do you want from me?” he snapped.

You held your tongue for a moment. You knew that whatever you said, whatever you did next could either make or break your plans to be successful. Still, no matter how much you actually wanted to give in to the desire in his eyes, you didn’t just want to be the equivalent of his mistress, or one of his forgettable conquests. That would make sure you remained on the sidelines forever.

No. The only way this worked was if he broke up with Countess for real. 

You stepped in close to him again. With slow moments, you rested your hands on his chest and leaned up, as if to give him a sensuous kiss. You stop just shy of his lips. He grasped your hips on instinct.

“If you really want me, you can have me,” you purred. Though you pulled away when he bent down to kiss you. You lowered back down to your heels.

“Just me,” you said. “I like you, Ben, but if you really do love Crimson Countess and want to…work it out with her, I understand.”

You crossed your arms. His jaw ticked in annoyance.

“They’re gonna have to fix your face,” he remarked with a gesturing finger. “Looks like you sucked off Ronald McDonald.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You turned to look at yourself in the large mirror on the far wall, and sure enough, your pretty red lipstick was smeared all around your mouth. When you turned back to find Ben’s more amused grin, you glared at him, feeling a hot blush coming on. Pink smudges stained his lips and chin as well.

“Yeah, well, you too, Casanova,” you say pointedly. “You look like a…a fucking clown!”

It was lame, you could admit.

He just laughed and strolled out of your trailer. You huffed and crossed your arms.

He was goddamn insufferable.

Challenges of sexual tension aside, the music video turned out to be a great success. It wasn’t a perfect frame by frame rendition of the movie, but you recreated many of the scenes at the carnival, especially the one at the end. Ben actually hit the High Striker bell so hard that it flew through the roof of the studio.

Maybe getting out some pent-up frustration there.

The video would later get splashed across MTV and all the Vought channels. It piggybacked on the publicity from your first couple of saves with Payback that finally made it to the news.

It all did wonders for your popularity, especially because the reviews on the video were mostly positive—not only for the production and the quality of the vocals, but also for the chemistry between “Soldier Boy and Sirena.”

It just had the predictable side effect of making Countess even bitchier toward you, if that were possible. To a point, you couldn’t fault her. You and Ben did have chemistry on-screen, and she was smart enough to guess at your chemistry off-screen as well. She probably already thought you two were fucking.

You knew the truth, but you also knew it was useless to try and change her mind—hers, and everyone else who gave you sidelong looks when they thought you didn’t notice. Maybe you should’ve just done it with him anyway, if people were going to think it was true no matter what you did.

The only one who congratulated you on your success with any sincerity was your brother.

“I’m proud of you, sis. You’re really doing great,” Chris said.

You shed a couple of tears on the phone with him before hastily changing the subject, asking about your nephew. He’d made a new friend at preschool.

“Aww. Lisa, huh?” you teased. “Is she gonna be his new little girlfriend?”

“Well, she shared her box of crayons and he gave her half of his oatmeal cream pie at lunch, so they’re off to a great start,” Chris joked. You were happy to hear it, and you promised to send him another gift signed by Soldier Boy soon.

After you hung up with your brother, the next call you made was to your dad. Except, you never even got the chance to mention the video.

“How’s Mom doing?” you asked.

“Well, I was actually going to call you,” your dad said. “She’s uh, she’s not doing well… It’s time, honey.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. You almost didn’t hear his next words: that your mother had been transferred to hospice this morning. That she had a matter of days, and you should come home as soon as you could. You promised that you would.

And suddenly, you remembered every promise you’d given your parents over the past couple of months to go see them, have dinner with them. You remembered that you’d never made good on any of those promises.

Your ears were ringing after you hung up with him. You wiped your tears away.

In your dissociative state, you went to your desk and looked at your calendar to see what was next on the painstaking daily schedule you crafted for yourself. Instead of packing a bag or calling Arthur to try and negotiate some time off, you donned some activewear and went down to the breakroom.

You shoveled some oatmeal into your mouth that you didn’t even taste. Then you went to start your morning routine at the gym.

To your unpleasant surprise, Crimson Countess was there. She was running on the treadmill you usually took. You barely glanced her way as you passed by, aiming for an elliptical instead.

She smiled and tsked. “Oh, honey. That’s one rough looking hangover.”

You turned to her and tried to hide your annoyance. Your eyes were likely red rimmed from crying, not from a bender.

“You should drink more water,” she said, gesturing with a finger around her face. “Might help with the bags under your eyes.”

You sucked in your cheeks and pursed your lips. An irrational anger, dark and deep, roiled in your gut.

“Maybe you can give me the number of your surgeon too,” you shot back. “That’s how you got those plastic tits, right?”

Countess visibly paused, like she hadn’t expected you to hit back. You normally just took whatever snide remarks she made with a smile, as if it were a joke (or at worse, a look of nonchalance). Today was not that day.

She turned off her machine and slowed to a stop.

“No, but I do know someone who can suck the cellulite out of your ass,” she said snidely. She grabbed a water bottle up from the floor and took a sip. You hopped off your own machine and smacked the bottle out of her hand. It made water spill down the front of her red sports bra.

“Tell me, Donna. As the most senior female superhero in Payback, how does it feel to be every man’s guilty pleasure jerk off material?” you sniped.

That managed to strike a nerve. She sneered at you.

“That’s right, honey. Everyone in the world knows who I am,” she said with a haughty look. Her eyes were cold and cruel. “The only way someone’s gonna remember you is exactly how you got here. On your fucking knees.”

She shoved at your shoulders, pushing you back a couple of steps. Your temper finally snapped.

“Oh really? The only reason people know you is because you’re fucking the ‘boss,’” you said, air quotes included. Then you laughed. “The Sonny and Cher routine? Please. Soldier Boy doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even fucking respect you. And you let him walk all over you. Because it keeps you exactly where you want to be. On your knees, sucking off the oldest dick in the world.”

You could see how your words were cutting into her, making her seethe. Her hand came up swiftly with a slap across your face. She was strong. The force behind the hit made you stumble again, but this time, you weren’t holding back. You threw a punch that caught her on the side of her nose. (And for the record, that one actually was fake.)

It soon devolved into a petty, dirty, angry fight, complete with hair pulling, punching, and a kick to the stomach that sent Countess onto her back on the hardwood floor.

The gym doors opened to Ben and Gunpowder rushing in. They must’ve heard the commotion, because they were already on alert. Ben’s face was set with a frown while he watched you squared up on the mats. Your opponent was slowly getting to her feet, huffing and puffing with rage.

Your eyes widened when Countess raised her hands, and a red glow of energy materialized. She tossed a red hot fireball in your direction. You dove across the mat to avoid it, but it vaporized half the gym equipment on your side of the room. You twisted your ankle badly on the way down as well.

While Ben intervened and stopped Countess from hurling another fireball, Gunpowder went to you.

“You okay?” he asked. He reached out a hand to you, but stopped short, like he was afraid of your touch. You were dismayed, but you grimaced and tried to help yourself up. You’d fallen onto another exercise machine and one side of your ribs felt battered.

Meanwhile, Ben whirled Countess around by her arm and glared down at her.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he raised his voice.

She was still livid as she tried to yank her arm out of his grasp. She pointed at you where you lied on the floor.

“Are you fucking her?!” she yelled.

He blinked in surprise, but he quickly recovered.

“What’s the matter with you? Of course not!” he bellowed. “Jesus fuck. Forget to take your damn crazy pills today?”

At that, she looked stricken. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“They’re not…I suffer from migraines,” she said.

“Yeah, well, do us all a favor and take a handful,” Ben groused. “Better yet, the whole goddamn bottle.”

You somehow managed to pull yourself to your feet. Gunpowder was useless, since he was wary of touching you. Really? Does he think I’m going to hijack his mind right here and now?

It hurt, but you hopped from machine to ruined machine in attempt to get out of the room. Ben started toward you. You held a hand up to stop him.

“I’m okay,” you said shakily. “I don’t need help.”

At this point, you were done being reckless. You didn’t want to give Countess any more ammunition against you. 

You managed to limp your way out of the gym and down the hall to the sound of Ben’s shouting, versus Countess’s enraged crying.

“I know you’re fucking her. You want to know why? Because you fuck anything with a pulse!”

“Christ on a cross, I can’t talk to a hysterical woman.”

You shook your head, despite the tears burning in your eyes. You felt your way down the wall like a one-legged crab.

Until a strong pair of arms scooped you up under your legs and around your back. 

You gasped and met a masked Black Noir.

Without a word, he carried you up to your room. There he set you on your feet, in front of your door. You braced yourself with a hand on the doorknob, but you carefully twisted around to look back at him.

“Thank you,” you said with a sniff.

He paused. You sensed his uncertainty.

“Feel better,” he said.

Then he left you alone in the hall.

You took the longest hot bath of your life, dumping in half a bottle of lavender bath soaks. It helped your aches and pains, but it still didn’t manage to wash the day away.

I need to go home, you were reminded. You needed to see your mom, before…

You covered your face with your hands, and you finally allowed yourself to cry.

Back in the gym, Ben cut off Donna's enraged rant with a sharp grip on her arm. He shook her once, hard enough to make her teeth click. It startled a gasp out of her.

She looked up at him and couldn’t entirely hide her fear.

“Get a goddamn grip,” he growled. “Never fucking disrespect me like that again. And if you make another mess like this, so help me God, you’re gonna leave me no choice but to make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

It took her a moment, but after he tightened his grip on her arms, she winced and nodded contritely.

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ben,” she stammered. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He rolled his eyes, but he released her. “Good. Go clean yourself up. You’re a fucking mess.”

He left her in the gym where she stood, still holding herself.

Ben frowned when he didn’t find you in the hallway. At the pace you were going, you couldn’t have gotten that far, he reasoned. But he still didn’t find you, even when he traveled to the elevators and up to your apartment. He stopped in front of your door.

He raised his fist up, poised to knock, but his superior hearing perked up to a sound.

He realized he could hear you crying. The kind of muffled sobs where you were trying to hold yourself back, and were failing miserably.

Ben hesitated…but ultimately, he couldn’t handle two emotional women in one day.

He walked away from your door.

AN: *Sighs* Ben isn't shaping up, is he? Don't worry though. We've still got plenty of track left to go on this rollercoaster.

Next Time:

An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request. While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 5

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[transform4u]

I’ve been hitting up Gold’s gym down in muscle beach recently and really wish I could blend in a bit more with the meatheads there. Everyone looks so big and powerful. I wish that could be my life. I want it all, the hairy body, the simple mind. It seems like such a nice state of being.

Could you work your magic and make my dreams come true?

You enter the locker room at Gold’s Gym, the familiar scent of disinfectant and sweat filling your nostrils. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the cold metal lockers and worn benches. With a resigned sigh, you start changing into your workout gear. As you pull on your athletic shorts and tank top, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror mounted on the far wall.

Your reflection is a stark reminder of your frustrations. The body staring back at you is far from the ideal you had hoped to achieve. Months of effort have yielded little progress, leaving you feeling self-conscious and disheartened. You haven't been on a date with a guy for fear of being too embarrassed to be seen without a shirt. You let out another sigh, almost ready to give up.

Just as you're about to leave, something catches your eye. At the back of the locker, partially hidden beneath a pile of discarded gym clothes, is a glimmering, gaudy gold necklace. It’s hideous—chunky and excessively ornate, far from anything you would normally wear. Yet, inexplicably, you feel a compulsion to pick it up. The necklace feels unnaturally heavy in your hands, and a strange warmth radiates from it.

Without much thought, you fasten the necklace around your neck. It settles heavily against your chest, its weight dragging you down slightly, as if it’s anchoring you to the earth. You shrug it off, though the heaviness is oddly persistent.

You leave the locker room and make your way to the gym floor, the necklace’s weight growing more oppressive with each step. The clang of weights and the rhythmic thud of treadmills create a cacophony of motivation and effort around you. You approach the free weights area, where the sight of the barbell on the rack catches your eye. It’s loaded with a modest amount of weight, but today, it looks different—daunting.

As you prepare to lift, a deep, sluggish voice starts to echo in your mind. It’s not your own, but a guttural, almost primal presence that urges you to add more and more weight to the barbell. Its tone is mocking, a low, resonant chuckle that seems to come from somewhere deep within you.

Despite your better judgment, the voice’s persistence is overpowering. You add more weights to the barbell, each plate increasing the challenge until the barbell is stacked high with more weight than you’ve ever attempted. Anxiety grips you as you position yourself beneath the bar, your palms sweaty and heart racing. The voice is relentless, laughing at your apprehension.

With a final, terrified breath, you lift the barbell. It’s impossibly heavy, and as you struggle to keep it aloft, you can’t help but feel a crushing dread that you might be pinned beneath it. Your muscles tremble under the immense load, and the room seems to darken around you.

Unbeknownst to you, the gold necklace begins to shimmer and glow with an intense, otherworldly light. Its gaudy appearance is replaced by a radiant aura that pulses rhythmically. The light washes over you, and a deep, unnatural tan begins to spread across your pasty white skin. It’s not just a superficial change; the heat that accompanies it is searing, almost unbearable.

The warmth surges through your veins, turning your skin a deep bronze as it spreads from the neck down, leaving a vivid contrast with the remaining pale patches. Your body feels as though it’s being engulfed in a furnace, the burning sensation pushing through every fiber of your being, fueling a new, inexplicable strength.

As the necklace’s glow intensifies, your physical sensations shift. The once unbearable weight on the barbell becomes manageable, and with a sudden surge of power, you lift it effortlessly. The voice in your head, now more a triumphant roar than a mocking chuckle, subsides into a satisfied murmur as you complete the lift, the gold necklace continuing to shine brightly around your neck.

As you grip the barbell, the cold metal feels foreign against your hands, your palms slick with sweat. Your mind starts to blur, thoughts dissipating like smoke as the deep, intrusive voice in your head grows louder, more insistent. It’s a thunderous, guttural sound, dripping with a manly authority that carries a hint of an accent you can’t quite place. It’s as if the voice is not just in your head but echoing from some unseen source, commanding and relentless.

You focus on the weights, your arms trembling as you prepare to lift. The barbell seems impossibly heavy, but the voice drowns out your doubts, pushing you to act. As you begin to push, your thin, sad body responds with a shocking intensity. A searing wave of heat floods through you, and every muscle in your frame starts to pulse with raw, primal energy. It’s as if your very cells are being supercharged, expanding and contracting with a fierce, almost painful vitality.

The sensation is overwhelming—a mix of intense pain and electrifying energy that makes your skin tingle. Your body is undergoing a rapid and violent transformation. The familiar, underwhelming physique you’ve known for months begins to shift and swell with a power that seems almost otherworldly.

You glance down and see your body morphing into a vision of exaggerated muscularity. Your once-skinny arms are inflating, bulging with veins that snake across your skin like live wires. They pulse and throb in sync with the heartbeat that now feels almost audibly loud, reverberating through your entire being. Your chest begins to expand, the muscles swelling outward until they resemble an over-inflated balloon, each pec twitching and throbbing with its own rhythm.

As the transformation progresses, your triceps become a shelf of sinewy muscle, so pronounced they look almost inflated. Your quads grow into massive pillars, each thigh now a testament to relentless training and excess. The heat in your body becomes almost unbearable, but it fuels the transformation, pushing you further into this new, exaggerated form.

Your skin undergoes a drastic change as well. The pale, sad surface is replaced by a deep, unnatural tan that spreads quickly, making you look like you’ve been marinated in a vat of tanner. The color is almost unnaturally uniform, giving you the appearance of a living statue of muscular perfection.

You’re a walking, talking shrine to muscular excess, with a physique that screams both confidence and absurdity. Your hair, which you didn’t even realize was styled with so much precision, now looks like it’s been sculpted with gel and a wind tunnel. More and more hair seems to transplant itself on your body, growing wild with abandon.

Your face reflects this transformation too—a chiseled jawline and a smirk of cocky self-assuredness, as if you’re not just in the gym but the star of your own reality show. The combination of your new body and your smug expression creates a striking contrast with your previous self, embodying an arrogance so thick it could be sliced with a knife.

The voice in your head continues to roar, triumphant and obnoxious, as you complete your lift with newfound ease. You’ve become a living testament to the philosophy of excess, every movement and gesture now imbued with a larger-than-life bravado. The transformation is complete, and as you stand there, it’s clear that you’ve become the very embodiment of gym culture’s most exaggerated fantasies—muscular, arrogant, and impossibly perfect.

The heat coursing through your body reaches a fever pitch as your transformation completes. Your thoughts, once a steady stream of doubts and insecurities, begin to slip away like sand through your fingers. The voice in your head, now roaring with triumphant intensity, drowns out any remaining fragments of your former self. What was once a mind clouded with frustration and self-consciousness now narrows into a single, singular focus: dominance, muscle, and the gym-bro lifestyle.

With a sudden burst of energy, you stagger toward the mirror. Your reflection is a hulking figure of exaggerated strength and arrogance, a walking shrine to gym culture’s most over-the-top fantasies. Your mind feels like it’s collapsing into a narrow, primal focus. Intelligence and self-awareness sink into the abyss, replaced by an overwhelming need to assert your newfound dominance.

You lift your arms and flex in front of the mirror, muscles straining and veins bulging with every movement. “Check this out!” you holler, your voice booming through the gym with a raw, arrogant confidence. “Look at these guns! You wish you had this kind of muscle, bro!” The words spill out of your mouth, each shout more obnoxious and self-congratulatory than the last.

In the gym’s echoing space, you spot a group of women lifting weights nearby. You strut over, your chest puffed out, and flash them an over-the-top grin. “Hey, ladies! You know you’re looking at the real king of this gym, right? Why don’t you come over and let me show you how it’s done?” You flex your biceps and do a showy, exaggerated pose, completely oblivious to their reactions.

As you strut around, you down a protein shake with exaggerated gusto. The thick, chalky liquid doesn’t just fuel your body—it’s a statement. Each gulp is accompanied by the smell of overworked protein powder, and with every swallow comes a series of loud, protein-fueled farts that roar throughout the gym. PFFFFFFFFFFT "Man, this is the fucking life!” you exclaim, your laughter a deep, throaty bellow.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to see a text from your bro: "Yo, meet me at the Murphy's bar tonight. Gonna hit up some drinks and catch the game. Fine us some nice piece of ass tonight. bet!" You don’t think twice. Or at all.

Memories of the past few hours are overshadowed by a torrent of new ones forming in your mind. Your life is a montage of protein shakes, muscle flexing, and flirting with whatever bimbo you can find. You envision nights out at bars, where you’re the center of attention, picking up chicks with your chiseled physique and over-the-top charisma. The gym is your kingdom, and every session, every flex, is a reminder of your dominance.

As you flex your biceps in the mirror, admiring the definition and size of your muscles, you notice a hot blonde standing behind you. She's staring at your reflection with a look of lust in her eyes, fixated on your massive arms. You turn around to face her and catch a glimpse of her huge tits straining against her tight top.

Without hesitation, you shout out "Hey baby, wanna see my protein shake? It's packed with enough creatine to make your pussy grow three sizes." you say with confidence as she looks up at you with those big blue eyes. Her lips curl into a smile as she responds playfully, "Oh yeah? And what do I have to do to get some of that?"

You take hold of one hand and place it firmly on her ass cheek while leaning in close enough for our noses to touch. "Well," You whisper seductively into her ear while running your tongue along the edge of it teasingly before continuing speaking softly but firmly so only she can hear it clearly enough. "Why don't I give a real workout babe" As if by instinct-she turns around slowly allowing you access behind those tempting curves once more; this time grabbing hold fistfuls full-on ass cheeks squeezing them hard enough so they leave red marks when released later tonight after hours spent pounding away at every inch available inside those tight holes begging mercy from being stretched open wider than ever imagined possible.

[absurdthirst]

Can't Fight Cupid {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: Human Max, sexism in the the workplace, insults, bickering, drinking, sexual harassment, mentions of drugging, drunk sex, impaired decision making but everyone consents, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, cream-pie, angst, oral sex (male and female receiving), confessions

Comments: Your morning show co-host, Max Phillips drives you mad. Constantly annoying you and bickering with you. At the Cupid's Ball, the weekend before Valentine's Day, you get a little drunk and do something incredibly stupid. Sleep with him.

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Max Phillips MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

  You groan, rolling over to slam your hand down on top of your alarm clock. 

It reads 3 am. 

“Fuck.” You huff, feeling exhausted after staying up late last night to talk to your agent, and you regret it now. There’s no choice to snooze, you need to get up. 

Moaning as you force yourself out of your comfy bed, you stumble into the bathroom, turning on the light, and it’s bright enough to make you wince. “God.” You whine, palming your face. Every day, you’re closer to being replaced by some teeny bopper with perky tits and an annoyingly high-pitched voice. You pee and brush your teeth before you start your morning routine. Treadmill. Weights. Protein shake. Shower. Get dressed.

The car pulls up outside your apartment building on time, and you get in to meet your producer, and she starts to ramble about the segments for the show.

You listen to her half-heartedly but stare out of the window. The street lights reflect as they twinkle overnight without anyone but you and a tired few to admire them.

When you arrive at the studio, you’re ushered inside and to your dressing room to get started on the exhausting daily routine of getting ready for TV. 

Your makeup artist is putting on your lipstick when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Goooood morning Vietnammmmm!” He shouts with enough energy to make you want to punch his stupid face. 

“Max.” You huff, turning your head to see him swagger into your dressing room with his designer bespoke suit.

“You ready for the Coleman interview? You sure you’re up to it?” He tuts, leaning over you as he checks out his reflection in the mirror.

“I think if one of us is prepared and able to interview a woman who survived sexual assault at the hands of a powerful man, it’s me. If you did it, she’d be traumatized all over again.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Max snorts, “whatever, princess. Just don’t make us look bad.” He says, and you roll your eyes, “It’s not me who makes us look bad. You’re the one who flirts with anything that has a pulse.”

Your co-host leans in, a smirk on his face as he meets your eyes in the mirror, “I think you’re just jealous that I never flirt with you…off air.” He adds, his eyes narrow slightly, and you push him away from you. 

“In your fucking dreams, Phillips.” He chuckles, and you want to slap him, but he has already been in the makeup chair and Shelly would kill you if your handprint ruined her work.

Max chuckles again, slowly backing out of your dressing room, but he turns to look at you and says, “see you on the stage, wifey.” He teases and you growl under your breath.

You and Max are the darlings of morning news. The Daily News Show. You’re the “husband and wife” of daytime TV. You aren’t together. No, fuck no. You are both painfully single, unable to hold down a relationship when the show is your entire life. You live and breathe the news. Max has his liaisons, as detailed in every gossip mag from New York to L.A, but you’re the good girl. You could never get away with what he manages to do. You are held to a higher standard and it’s bullshit. You were called a “slut” when you went out with three men in six months. Max has ten flings - barely a weekend each - and he’s revered as “daytime’s most eligible bachelor.” 

You exhale shakily, trying to control your hatred towards Max before you go on air and put on your persona as the loving “TV wife.” You close your eyes and focus until Jimmy, the AD, comes in to tell you that it’s time to get on set. You nod, standing up to make your way through the halls to the set and Max is already sitting at the desk when you arrive. Shelly comes over to dust your face with setting powder and the producers are going over the segments one last time. 

“Right, everyone. Thirty seconds to live.” The director announces, headset on, and you swallow harshly, getting yourself in the zone.

“Don’t fuck up.” Max murmurs and you turn your head to glare at him. 

“You’re the only fuck up here, Phillips.” You hiss back and he chuckles, “at least I’m getting fucked. How long has it been again…? Last one was…that dude from Fallon?” He reminds you of your ex who was a writer over on The Jimmy Fallon Show. 

“Your last one still asleep in your bed?” You spit back, “you even get her name?” You ask and Max frowns. 

“Jessica? No, Jamie. No…shit.” He shakes his head and you roll your eyes. 

“As we are live in ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…” The director lowers his fingers to be silent and then you straighten up and plaster a smile on your face.

“Good morning and welcome to The Daily News Show.” You introduce yourself with a grin. 

“And I’m Max Phillips. It’s three days until Valentine's Day. Are you ready for the day?” Max asks you as per the teleprompter and you chuckle, “is anyone ready? Our friends over at Saks have some ideas for last-minute gifts later on in the show. Max, did you already get my present?” You question him teasingly like the TV wife you are.

“Of course.” He responds like it’s obvious, “I couldn’t not get my gorgeous co-host something special.” He winks and you internally scoff at his slimy smile. 

“I guess I’ll have to wait and see what you got me.” You giggle and turn back to look at the camera, “let’s take a look at your morning forecast.”

You go off air while the weatherman takes over and Max leans in, “did you get me a present?” He asks and you snort, “you’re lucky I put up with you.” 

Max chuckles, “well, at least we got the Cupid’s Ball tonight.” You groan softly under your breath, having forgotten that was tonight.

You have to go. You need to go. But you desperately want to curl under your duvet with a glass of wine and forget that you will be spending Valentine’s Day alone.

****

You tug on the hem of your skirt as you walk through the hall to the bustling private area of a skyscraper restaurant that overlooks the city where the party is being held. You feel ridiculous in the short red dress your stylist had picked for you, styled with a pair of heels that make you question if they belong in a torture room in the rings of hell. They are insanely uncomfortable and you’re reminded again of why you wish you were back at home curled up on your sofa with a glass of wine watching rom-com movies and shoving chocolate in your mouth. You inhale deeply before you make your way into the room.

Leaning against the bar, Max is already a few drinks in, bored out of his mind and questioning why he has to attend these things. No one wants to talk to him, they want to talk to his morning show personality. The Cupid’s Ball is an annoying reminder that despite his popularity, no one was special in his life. At least no one that he really wanted. Taking a sip of his drink, he nearly chokes when he sees you walk into the room. The blood red dress calls to him and he smirks as he puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly across the floor, catcalling you obnoxiously.

You roll your eyes and make a beeline to the bar where Max is, greeting people who are half drunk along the way. “You have one too many or you trying to make me doubt myself in this dress?” You question Max, trying to figure out his motive. You feel itchy in the dress now as his dark eyes trail along your form.

Max chuckles and waggles his brows suggestively. “You did get me a present.” He jokes. “Now put it on the floor where it belongs.” He knows that the network wouldn’t be happy with a sexual harassment lawsuit, but you wouldn’t file one of those. You enjoy cutting him down with scathing retorts too much. “Drink first, fuck later? Or fuck now, drink later?” He asks, offering you his own glass.

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head, “in your fucking dreams, Phillips.” You huff and he chuckles, “if only you knew…” 

You shake your head and push his glass away, “knowing you, you probably roofied it.” You call the bartender over and order a Cosmo, wanting to enjoy the evening even if your co-star insists on annoying you to death. “What are you doing hanging by the bar? No pretty interns to harass?”

“Why harass interns when I can harass you?” He gives you a hurt pout and takes his drink back and takes a sip of it to prove that he hasn’t done anything to it. “Besides, if I didn’t bother you, you would think that I was body snatched.” He snorts and looks out over the throng of people filing in.

You snort, “that’s true. I would think you’d been abducted by aliens if you didn’t make my life hell every day.” You thank the bartender for your drink. “To being painfully single because we made our careers our lives.” You toast as you hold your drink towards him.

Max lifts his glass in salute and snorts. “You’ve still got time, sweet cheeks.” He tells you. “You can put those birthing hips to use.” He smirks when you glare at him and shrugs. “What? You don’t want to have rugrats attached to the tit?” His eyes drop to your chest. “Pity.”

Your eyebrows raise, “and you are thinking about reproducing? Good God. The world couldn’t cope with a miniature Max Phillips.” You chuckle and shake your head, “besides…you’re lucky. You could knock up every woman from New York to L.A and you would keep your job. Me? I’d be out the door as soon as I peed on a test.” You take a sip of your drink and shift from one foot to another, unused to this kind of talk directed at you from Max. Usually he’s boasting about his conquests and how much better he looks on camera.

“In the year of our lord, 2024?” Mad huffs and shakes his head. “No. The network would exploit it. Have ‘baby and me’ segments.” In reality, the only way the network would do that is if their hand was forced, but Max isn’t willing to give up his co-host. Despite your attitude towards him off camera, the public loved you two together. “All you’d have to do is announce it on air and tell viewers the special segments to come. A taped sonogram. Let our morning show viewers fall in love with the little brat.”

“The only way they’d do that is if it was our baby and to do that, we’d have to have sex and I know that you prefer them pliable and dumb.” You glance around the room, spotting the producers laughing together and the execs making a short experience before they helicopter out to their mansions.

Max scoffs. “That would never happen.” He agrees, although there’s a frown on his face as he turns back to the bar. “Better that we focus on our careers, right? That will keep us warm when we’re in our nursing homes.” He chuckles. “When we turn forty-five.”

“You’re closer to that than me, old man.” You taunt him, “forty this year. You gonna be able to handle getting older?” You nudge him, knowing that he prides himself on his looks and Devil May care attitude.

He shoots you a dirty look before glancing at the mirror behind the bar. “Don’t look a day over thirty-four.” He huffs before looking at you with a smirk. “Must be all the endorphins from sex.”

You can’t deny that he looks good. He always looks good. Must be the pussy and Botox he gets on the sly. “You gonna come out of my cake at my party like Marilyn Monroe?” Max asks and you shake your head, “no way, Phillips.” You snort and down the rest of your drink, gesturing for the bartender to get you another one. “Didn’t even know you were planning a party.”

He pouts at you again, looking hurt. “If I don’t throw myself a party, who would?” He asks, rolling his eyes. “Not like you would throw me one. You don’t even want to go out for that drink after work like I keep asking you to.”

You huff, turning to face him after you thank the bartender for setting your drink down. “Because it’s just to - to mock me. You don’t like me. I’m not your friend. We act like we like each other on tv but that’s it. I have a face for radio, remember?” You remind him of what he said to you the first day you met five years ago.

Max stares at you for a second and then laughs. Bending over the bar and laughing so hard tears come to his eyes. “You thought I meant that?” He gasps out, looking over at you and laughing again. “Sweetcheeks- that was- I was yanking your fucking chain.” He admits, calming down enough to speak. “You’re fucking gorgeous and you know it. Charming, witty. The whole package.”

You stare at him, shocked at his outburst. He’s flirted with you, especially on screen, but to hear him say he thinks you’re gorgeous…it takes you back. You pick up your drink, taking another gulp. “You gave me a fucking complex. I- I thought I wasn’t good enough.” You hiss at him, “I always thought - well, it doesn’t matter now. I’m going to go suck up to the execs before they leave. Try to keep my job another year.” You say and pick up your drink, striding over to Mr. Parker, the head of daytime tv.

Max shakes his head, watching your hips sway as you stride away from him. He had never imagined you would have taken him seriously. You always treat him like a joke, so why would you believe that? Of course you’re gorgeous, the network thrived on beautiful people and made it their mission to hire the prettiest talent in the business. Max orders another drink for himself and for you before deciding to join you. A little corporate ass kissing was never a bad move for the career.

You smile as Mr. Parker looks down at your cleavage. It’s not the healthiest dynamic at the network but you let some things slide in the interest of keeping your job. You giggle at his lame joke, trying to act like he’s so clever, when Max comes over and replaces your now empty glass with a new drink. “Ah Phillips, I was just telling your pretty co-anchor here about some changes we will be making to the outfits. I’m thinking we could get away with a couple of inches higher, don’t you?”

Max lifts his brows and pretends to consider it. It’s an insult and everyone here knows it. “Why don’t we have the weather girl in a bikini?” He suggests. “But for our hard hitting stories, I think the length of the dress won’t matter, we’re behind a desk.”

“I was thinking maybe our lady here could be standing up. Presenting in front of the screens like they do on other shows. That way she can show off those stems.” He says and you shake your head, “the whole point of the show is for me to be beside Max. That’s what the viewers like, that’s what they want.” You explain and Mr. Parker hums, “we shall see. I’ll speak to the producers…see what they think.” You nod, offering him a forced smile. You know the producers will have your back on this ridiculous suggestion.

Max glances at you and knows that you are unhappy with the idea and he will back you up. “So what’s your golf game looking like, Paul?” He asks, hoping to steer the conversation on to friendlier topics. “Every time I’m in the weeds, I think of your epic shot.” Paul puffs up proudly and nods, starting to tell Max about his latest game.

You down the rest of your drink and smile at your boss, “excuse me.” You say and make your way back across the event room to the bar, ordering another drink. You shouldn’t drink so much but between all the men in the room that look at you like a piece of meat, you’re ready to get drunk and forget the reality that your time is limited because of your age. They’ll want some twenty year old to take your place soon. You lean against the bar and thank the bartender when he sets another cosmo down. You sigh and turn to pick it up when you feel someone behind you. “Looking gorgeous as ever.” The voice of the foreign correspondent, Jack. 

You turn to face him, a stiff smile on your face. “Jack.” You greet him, hating how he leans in even closer. His disgusting cologne wafting over you. He’s always been a little intrusive.

His eyes are dark and his smirk is supposed to be charming, but it comes off as creepy. “What are you doin’ over here by yourself?” He asks. “Rarely ever see you off Phillips’ dick.”

“I’ve never been on his dick. Ever.” You clarify, “I’m just sipping my drink. Enjoying the party.” You hum and take a step back from him. 

“Nice to hear. You could be on my dick if you want.” Jack smirks, licking his lower lip and you recoil. 

“No. I- I don’t want that.” You say, shaking your head and trying to let him down gently.

“You know, you’d probably move up from the morning show if you weren’t such a stuck up, frigid cunt.” Jack hisses, a scowl on his face, pissed off at being shot by the morning bitch. He is a foreign correspondent, respected and revered. He shoots you a nasty little grin. “Pretty soon your tits won’t be perky enough to keep your job and you’ll be doing the weather in Kalamazoo.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “and I’ll be telling everyone about your unwanted advances to me every single time you’re near me. I will tell HR and get you fired.” You hiss and Jack growls at you, “you’re a fucking bitch.” 

You smile, “thank you, Jack.” You remain tall just as Max appears, his hand on your back. “Everything okay here?” He asks and you stiffen slightly, “everything is fine, isn’t it Jack?” You ask the correspondent, who scoffs and walks off. 

“What happened?” Max asks, a frown on his face. 

“Jack was being an asshole. As per usual.” You huff and turn back towards your drink.

There’s more to it than that, but you will never confide in him. Apparently he can’t even try to pretend to care. He pulls his hand away, and slips it into his pocket. “He’s an old drunk that thinks the weather girl is still picked on a casting couch.” Max snorts. “No means yes to him.” He warns you. “You say I’ll spike your drink, but I wouldn’t put it past that prick.” He scoffs.

You sigh, leaning against the counter, “you’re right. He - I’ve heard stories about the interns and some of the make-up girls.” You confess, rubbing your neck, “you know…you’re not as bad as him. You’re a good man really. I just like seeing that vein pop in your forehead.” You confess, starting to feel giddy from the booze.

Max snorts and rolls his eyes, his own alcohol consumption starting to make his body hum. “You just say that because you have to pretend to like me.” He huffs, sending you a pout before he slides into a grin to cover his hurt feelings. “You think I’m pretty though. No matter how much you don’t want to admit it.”

You scoff, rearing back from him, until you soften and lean closer again. “You are pretty. So pretty.” You confess, reaching out to run your finger down his cheek, “unfair how handsome you are.” You whine slightly, “I don’t have to pretend.” You admit with a whisper.

​​He shivers at your touch and leans into it the drinks clouding his judgment and making him speak before thinking about it. “You think I’m unfair?” He huffs. “I have to constantly hide the fucking hard on I’ve got around you.” He pouts. “Do you know how fucking distracting your perfume is? You don’t need perfume for tv, and when you’re near me, all I can smell is you and imagine….”

The booze doesn’t let you question the validity of his confession. You decide to revel in it and you lean in towards him, “imagine…?” You question, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

“Imagine you.” Max is too wrapped up in his confession to realize he shouldn’t say this to you. Shouldn’t say this at all. “Head between your thighs, tasting you, making you moan my name so sweetly before I slide inside you.” He pants breathlessly, cock twitching in his pants. “Watching you cum because of me, because of the way I touch you.”

You can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips at the thought. “Maxwell Phillips.” You gasp, your stomach twisting with arousal as you soak the lace panties you’re wearing. You glance around and are grateful that no one notices when you grab Max’s hand and drag him through the crowd and out into the hallway. “I want you to fuck me, Max.” You beg him breathlessly, grabbing onto his tie to pull him into the nearest empty room, a function room with tables and chairs.

“Wait, really?” His eyes widen and he’s not hesitant, he’s shocked as shit. But the way you are dragging him closer makes every caution sign in his mind filter away as you eagerly press your lips to his as you continue to back into the dimly lit room. “Fuck.” He moans, pressing against you when your ass hits a table and his hands are cradling your hips, helping you up onto it as your tongue slides into his mouth.

You don’t think about the consequences of this. Deciding to just feel for once, you groan as Max slides his tongue against yours and his hands explore your body. You moan echoes in the empty room as he kisses your jaw and he settles between your thighs as you open them for him.

He turns greedy. Hands filling themselves with your flesh, groaning into your mouth at the taste of the liquor from your tongue. The pure sense of you. The heat of your skin makes him twitch and groan again when he presses two fingers to the damp core of your lace panties.

You whimper, “please Max” into his jaw as he rubs your clit through the lace. He doesn’t deny you as he slides his fingers beneath the elastic of your panties and presses his manicured fingers against the bundle of nerves. “Oh God.” You moan, sliding your hands down his chest to fumble with his belt, trying to undo the stupidly expensive buckle until you can finally reach in and pull his hard cock out of his equally expensive pants. “Fucking hell.” You curse as you wrap your fingers around the girth.

He chuckles, kissing along your jaw. 

“Try hiding that all the time.” He jokes, breaking off into a groan when you squeeze him firmly and start to stroke his cock. “Fuck, baby.” He whines, hips jerking forward into your grip and he twists his wrist to press his thumb against your clit while starting to work two fingers inside you.

You pant as he pushes two thick digits into you. You hate to admit it but you’ve imagined his hands on you, inside of you, many times during segments where the camera is off of you. You jerk his cock, swiping your thumb over the head to gather the pre-cum that has gathered there. “I need - I need you to - oh shit.” You moan when he curls his fingers just right inside of you.

“That what you needed?” He groans, biting along your neck gently while he’s trying not to get too excited. Your cunt is so tight and he doesn’t want to cum too quickly when he finally gets to fuck you. “Fuck baby, you’re so tight. My cock is gonna feel so good inside you.” He moans, kissing along your chest and nudging his nose between your breasts as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Yes. Oh shit. Max. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” You cut yourself off with a squeal as you clamp down around his fingers. Your grip on his cock loosening as your orgasm hits you and you pant his name into his hair as he licks along the top of your breast. “Fuck me.” You beg, “need you inside of me, Phillips.”

He doesn’t even consider birth control, he’s listened to the segments where you’ve talked about your own choice and knows you well enough to know you don’t have anything. His fingers are soaked and he pulls them out with a groan of your name. Batting your hands away to wrap around his cock and soak it with your juices.

You spread your legs wider and watch him as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing inside of you with a low groan. “Oh God, Max.” You whine, throwing your head back as he pushes into you and stretches you out.

He hisses as your tight walls surround him. You’re so much tighter and hotter than he ever imagined and he imagined it a lot. Slowly bottoming out and groaning your name again as he tries to keep from cumming. “Holy shit babe.”

You slide your hands under his bespoke jacket, clawing at his back as he twitches inside of you. "I need you to move." You plead. You'll think back to this moment later and cringe at how needy you sound but for right now, you need him to fuck you like you've secretly wanted him to since you started working together.

“Fuck.” Max can’t resist you. One hand planted on the table beside your head and he draws his hips back to plunge into you again. Enjoying the sharp gasp you give him and craving more as he leans down and presses his lips to yours. Starting to thrust into you with harsh, sharp slaps of his hips that rock the table while you cling to him and writhe underneath him.

You slide your tongue against his as he rocks into you. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could hear you. The music is faint from the function room where your work event is being held but you don’t care, too busy focusing on Max and the way he’s thrusting into you like his life depends on it. “Fuck, this is - it’s so good, baby.” You whine and wrap your legs around him, your heels falling to the floor.

Max grunts, agreeing completely as he bites his lip. “So- fuck- so good.” He groans your name again and bites down on your lip hungrily. “Baby, fuck, you’re so tight. How- fuck, you’re so good.”

"Ke-Kegals." You reveal breathlessly, "gotta - gotta keep fit to stay on TV." You whimper when he hits deep and you lift your hips up to meet his thrusts. "Keep going, Phillips, don't you dare stop." You demand when his pace stutters.

“So demanding.” He huffs, flashing you a grin as he nods. Taking a deep breath and rocking his hips harder. “Fuck, it’s your fault. So fucking tight.”

You shake your head, closing your eyes, "you're so fucking thick, Max. God, I don't - no wonder you have so many damn flings." You pant and he drops his hips just right to make you gasp when he hits something devastating.

He chuckles breathlessly, not even bothering to admit that he doesn’t have as many flings as he might have led you to believe. You would never think he was telling you the truth. “You’re tight.”

“Shit, Max. I- I’m gonna- just like that. Keep going like that.” You demand and groan when he keeps hitting that spot. “That’s it baby. Oh shit. Max!” You cry out, clamping down on his cock as he makes you cum hard. Harder than you have for longer than you’d ever care to admit.

“Thaaaaaaat’s it.” He groans, eyes nearly rolling back and he has to put more effort into fucking you from how hard you squeeze hum. “That’s fucking it. Cream all over me baby.” He groans. “Soak my cock with that pretty cunt.”

His words would usually make you cringe if you weren’t practically shaking beneath him as he makes you cum. “Oh God. It’s so good. So good. I want - want you to cum.” You plead, pressing your heels into his ass to push him impossibly deeper inside of you.

“Gonna - fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He pants out breathlessly, sweat rolling down his forehead but he ignores it. Too lost in the sensation of your cunt. “Fuck, fuck you’re so fucking wet, baby.” He praises. “Gonna cum, fuck, fuck-“ he lets out a strangled groan of your name when his hips stutter and he thrusts deep one last time, painting your walls with ropes of cum.

Moaning in delight as he fills you up, you caress his back under his jacket, and tilt your head up to kiss along his jaw. “Not too bad, Phillips.” You tease breathlessly as he rocks himself through his orgasm.

He huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head, rocking slowly as he pumps every spurt of cum into you. “Not too bad yourself.” He grunts, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours once more before he starts to pull out of you to watch his cum drip. “Now that’s a pretty sight.” He hums, delighted to see his cum leaking out of your cunt.

You roll your eyes and sit up, standing on shaking legs to pick up your panties. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. You’re gonna go back in there and act like this didn’t happen. We have to act like this didn’t happen, you understand?” You ask him, your eyes wide and pleading. If everyone knew you and Max had sex, you’d be branded a slut and he’d be revered for conquering you.

Max’s plan to ask you if you want to get out of here dies on his tongue and he adopts an easy grin. “No problem, sweet cheeks.” He chuckles and looks away from you as he tucks his cock back into his pants. “Can’t have anyone thinking that something happened. Might keep me from getting lucky with that new intern tonight.” He lies and starts to straighten his tie and smooth down his vest. Once he feels like he can look at you and not show you how upset he is, he tosses you a wink. “Thanks for the sex, baby.” He hums as he turns around and whistles while strolling out of the empty room.

You watch him walk out and you swallow harshly, ignoring the way your eyes sting with tears. It’s not his fault that you gave in and now you wonder what will happen to your working relationship. You let your guard slip. You can’t let that happen again. Walking out of the room on shaky legs, you make your way back into your work event, grabbing your clutch from the side and you don’t say another word as you swiftly exit the party, ignoring Max’s stare as his cum settles in your panties while you quickly leave before anyone notices what happened.

Sighing softly as you walk out of the party, Max wonders why you let him touch you. Was it a drunken mistake? A calculated ploy to get him fired for misconduct? He frowns as he turns back to the bar and motions for the bartender. He will pretend like it never happened and see if you do the same.

The weekend passes and you freak out about sleeping with Max. It’s changed everything. You don’t know if you’re going to be able to look him in the eye as your car travels to the studio. The producer calls your name, bringing you out of your thoughts and all you can do is nod. You have no idea what they were saying but soon, you’re entering the building and making your way up to the floor for the show. “Good morning.” Your intern, Natalie, greets you with your morning coffee and you thank her. Praying you don’t see Max until you get on set, you settle into your chair to review the segments and wait for the make-up and hair artists.

Max rolls his shoulders back and purposefully changes his step to one that is lighthearted and full of energy. “How are we doing this gorgeous morning?” He asks as he steps into the hair and makeup room, seeing you already in your chair and he hates how his heart pangs because he didn’t hear from you at all. Not that it’s surprising, just disappointing. “Everyone have a good weekend? Mine was amazing.” He boasts, waggling his brows playfully. “Didn’t get out of the bed, if you know what I mean.” He lies, knowing he spent the weekend depressed and wondering what the fuck happened Friday night. 

He breezes by you and settles down into his own chair, pulling out the eye mask he carries with him with the serum that costs an arm and a leg, the promise of less wrinkles meaning he will pay any price. “Need some more rest.”

You swallow harshly, keeping your eyes on the script. The ghost of his touch has haunted you all weekend and you don’t know how to feel about his nonchalant attitude to you and the artists in the room. You wonder who took up his bed after you, your stomach twisting at the idea of it being that young new intern that seems eager to please. You turn to look at him when he places the eye mask on his face and your expression is one of heartbreak and longing - at least that’s what the make-up and hair stylists will say later when they gossip over coffee. “Busy weekend?” You ask eventually, trying to sound lighthearted.

“Yep.” He pops the p and sighs with a nostalgia that is solely for you and the night he got to touch you. “You? How was your weekend? Anything fun and new?” He asks, tilting his head up and removing the mask now that his stylist is here. His eyes focus on you with a serious gaze.

You can’t tell him you sat around all weekend having a crisis about what happened between you. “Oh, I was busy. I went out. Had dinner. Some drinks.” You say vaguely, “had a late night on Saturday so spent most of Sunday in bed.” You smirk, forcing yourself to give the impression that you weren’t alone.

“Ohhhh ho! Someone got lucky!” Max plasters a cocky look on his face and waggles his brows even though he’s pissed you fled and apparently went to fuck someone else. “Was it good? Bet it was good, but I would have been better, sweet cheeks.” He teases like he normally would have, but the words taste slightly bitter.

“In your dreams, Phillips.” You spit half heartedly, not wanting to elaborate on your lie as you hate the fact that he’s ruined everyone else for you. You’ve never cum so fast and so hard. Most men finish before you can and then won’t even help you get off. You’ve never felt that kind of electricity. The artist's exchange looks behind you as you and Max are distracted by your own turbulent thoughts. “Besides, sounds like you were warm and cozy in your bed with a new floozy.”

“You know how it is.” Max shrugs carelessly. “Friday night plans fell through so I had to improvise.” He stares at you for a moment longer before turning his attention to the hair stylist. “Can you make my hair extra shiny this morning, babe?” He asks, dropping his eyes to his hair and reaching up to fix a hair out of place. “Want to look my best for the cameras.”

You huff, shaking your head, “always the same. Always wanting the spotlight and - and always being so goddamn selfish.” You growl at him, batting the brush away from your face as you stand up and mutter about needing the bathroom before you rush out of the room. You hate that Max doesn’t even seem to remember that you had sex on Friday night. You were just another notch on his belt.

Max’s eyes follow you out of the room and the frown on his face isn’t even registering to him, although it’s being noticed by the other people in the room. Their glances to each other pointed and the hairstylist finally answers him. “Sure, Max. No problem.” She hums, running her fingers through his hair and Max sighs. “Just do whatever.”

You stare into the mirror in the bathroom, preparing yourself to head back out there and act like nothing is wrong. One drunken night with Max and your world is spinning out of control. You’ve worked so hard, focused on your career, and now you feel like you’re losing it all because you can’t stop thinking about how he felt, how he smelt, how he sounded. His moan of your name seems to play on a loop in your head and it’s driving you crazy. Hands shaking, you gather yourself as you head back into the make up room, glad to see Max is gone as you get ready to go on air.

Sitting behind the desk, Max tries to shake off the feeling that you are upset at him. You are the one who had left. Fled the party after begging him to fuck you. He’s kind of pissed off about it now. Setting him up to look like an asshole. He shuffles through the notes for the upcoming show and clears his throat, trying to get the smell of you out of his mind, his cock refusing to soften.

You spritz on your perfume, just to torture Max after what he told you, and you step onto the set to sit down at the desk next to Max. The team comes over to adjust your mic and you pick up your notes.

As soon as you sit down, a cloud of your perfume settles over him and makes Max groan. His cock twitching in his pants and he drops his head into his hand. “Max. You good?” The producer calls out from beside the camera man and he has to lift his head and pretend he’s not incredibly turned on. 

“All good, just remembered I didn’t turn off the coffee maker this morning.” He lies.

You turn your head to look at him, eyebrows raised, and you think that the groan is in annoyance at having to sit next to you. “I should’ve called in sick.” You mutter and shake your head before the AD announces the countdown to live. When you are counted down to one, you plaster a smile on your face and straighten your back, eager to do a good job even if inside, you’re angry and confused at Max and his reaction like Friday night was nothing.

“Good morning and welcome to the Daily New Show.” Max tries to keep himself even more energetic than normal to make up for his turbulent feelings. “I hope everyone is having a fabulous Monday morning and we’ve got an impressive show for you today. As you know, it is Valentine’s Day so I hope you’re all prepared. I know I am.” He chuckles and turns towards you and introduces you as his lovely co-host. “Did you like those chocolates I put in your room this morning?”

You know Max didn’t put anything in your room but you play along, “of course. I’ll be enjoying some of those with my coffee later. Did you get my present?” You tease him playfully on camera, knowing you didn’t get him anything either but you want to make the viewers think you and him are the best of friends.

“No…” his eyes widen playfully and he tosses you a grin. “Whaddya get me?” He asks, knowing you didn’t get him anything. “Hopefully something good, because I’m worth it.” He winks at the camera and chuckles, knowing that you would not be thinking the same thing.

You shake your head, "you'll have to wait and find out. I'm sure you're gonna love it." You promise with a grin and turn back towards the camera. "Talking of gifts, let's go to Katie who has some last minute gift ideas for those who need something for the one they love." You smile at the camera and slump when they count you out. "Chocolates." You scoff, "you've never even gotten me a coffee."

Max rolls his eyes and snorts. “And? Not like you’ve ever given me anything either? Maybe looks of disgust, but I don’t count those, sweet cheeks.” The sad thing is, he had bought you some chocolates, the first year you were on air for your birthday, but you hand said you wanted no reminders of getting older so he hadn’t given them to you. “Only another fifty-six minutes in my company, you’ll survive.”

You sigh and sit up straight, unsure of what to say. You hate that you’ve reverted back to your old bickering, knowing that this won’t get you anywhere after what happened on Friday. You’re confused about how you feel. You wanted to ask him to come home with you after you slept together but you know you’d put your job on the line if something went wrong and Max would always be looking for the next best thing.

Max sighs softly when you don’t say anything and rolls his shoulders back as the countdown to the cameras being back on you starts. He should just forget Friday ever happened, it’s obvious that you regret it. “Thank you, Katie. Hopefully all the men out there without a plan can get it together and not disappoint their ladies, right?” He asks you, turning his head to look at you seriously. “Although I’m more of a romantic dinner at home, myself. Candlelight, soft music, bottle of wine.” He shrugs. “Nothing like a homemade carbonara.” It’s scripted, but true. He did prefer evenings in. 

You offer him a nod and a smile, “sounds like my kind of romantic night in, Max.” You wink and continue with the prompter. It’s hard to ignore the way he stares at you sometimes. The intensity in his look has you shifting in your chair and when you are countered out, you immediately stand up and remove your mic, making your way into your dressing room. It’s impossible to forget the way he felt inside of you, the way he sounded. You can’t forget him and it’s torturing you. You wipe your forehead and place your hands on your hips as the door opens and you turn to see Max standing there. “I can’t do this anymore.” You admit, “I can’t sit next to you every day and act like nothing happened between us.”

“You?” He snorts and shakes his head. “You are the one that left. Walked away without a word and you didn’t call me. So how am I supposed to know what you want? You want me to quit? Too bad.” He scoffs. “You will just have to deal.” He’s pissed off now. Pissed that it meant so little to you and now you want him gone so you don’t have to live with your mistake.

“I- I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about how you sounded. How you felt. I- it’s torturing me.” You choke, “I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I thought it was for the best and I figured you would act like it didn’t happen and go back to your one night stands but - shit, Phillips. I fucking hate you for getting under my skin like this.” You hiss at him, pissed at yourself as well.

“I don’t have a lot of one night stands.” Max admits, shaking his head when you scoff. “You were- you don’t fucking see it?” He asks, lunging forward and pressing into your dressing room so the door closes and grabs your neck to drag you closer to kiss. “You don’t see that I’m crazy about you?” He hisses before he kisses you feverishly.

Your eyes widen at first contact until your brain stops working and you relax into him. Letting him kiss you, his fingers digging into the back of your neck, and you moan into his mouth until your senses return. You push him away, "stop. We - we can't do this. If it goes wrong. It will go wrong and then our careers - we can't do this, Max."

“Goddamn you.” Max hisses, stepping back and his eyes are filled with nothing but hurt. “You only give a damn about yourself and you’re fucking toying with me.” He clenches his jaw and turns around. “Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.” He spits, storming out of the room, humiliated that he put himself on the line again and you are rejecting him.

You stare at him as he slams the door behind him, your lips tingling from the kiss and your hands shake as you touch them as if trying to erase his kiss from your skin. It doesn’t work. You feel your eyes sting as you grab your things and change into your leggings and hoodie before you head home. Your head is aching and you try to think about the reasons why it would be wrong to give Max a chance.

Max berates himself the entire way back to his apartment. Hating how he had admitted to you that he doesn’t have flings. Knowing that you would just use it against him. His phone contacts land on his agent and he wonders if he should call him. Let him know what’s going on in case you decide to go for the throat and in the end, he can’t do it. He will quietly put in for evening anchor and let you have the morning show. It’s what you want anyway.

You bite your lower lip as you stand outside of Max’s building, the doorman recognising you and sending you up. You thank him and fiddle with the bag in your hand, the present you bought for the man you’ve secretly been in love with for years. You ring the doorbell and wait for Max to answer the door.

Max had changed from the suit he had worn to comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, figuring he would spend the rest of the day wallowing in self pity and order DoorDash for dinner since he was all alone for yet another Valentine’s Day. Groaning when the doorbell peels, he wonders if it’s the lady from the third floor who loves to come give her his opinion on the show. She’s old and her husband died last year, so he tries not to shoo her away too quickly, but he’s not in the mood for company. Dragging himself off the couch he opens the door to find you standing there, no make up and in leggings, looking more beautiful than you deserve. “What do you want?” He demands.

You stare at him, unused to seeing him in relaxed clothing, he looks younger. You sigh and shift from one foot to the other. “I was wrong. To push you away. I can’t - I can’t keep denying myself the chance to be happy because I am terrified that everything I have worked for will go up in flames. I have been in love with you since we started working together and that day I saw you speak to that old lady when we did the segment on Alzheimer’s and you were so sweet and kind. I had never seen you like that before, and it made me realize that I had fallen in love with you, but I kept that hidden because I was scared. I was fucking terrified Max, that you would reject me because you have the world at your feet and can have any woman you want, what would make me special enough for you to love me? then you kept mentioning all your flings and I knew that I would never get the chance to be with you. I didn’t want to risk everything but Friday, I put everything on the line and then realized that everything could go wrong and I got scared. I got so fucking scared and I am so sorry that I acted like nothing happened when all I want is to have you again and again until you send me away.”

Max stares at you, digesting the verbal book you’ve just thrown at him and he drops his shoulders. “Do you want to come in?” He asks, unsure if you are planning on running away again or if you want to actually talk. He opens the door wider and none of the normally sarcastic comments come out of his mouth, unable to put on a front any more.

You deflate, nodding as you step into his apartment, and you admire the decor. Masculine but warm and you know he probably paid an interior designer to help him out. He shuts the door behind you and you fiddle with the bag in your hand. “I’m sorry to just show up.” You murmur, glancing around his apartment.

“Not like I had plans tonight.” Max shrugs it off and sighs. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea, tequila?” He swallows and rocks his jaw before you can even answer. “Why did you leave? Did you regret it?”

You stare at him, wondering if he heard everything you said. “Did you not- I left because I was scared you’d reject me. That I was just a conquest and you’d go back to your flings. I didn’t want to ruin our careers by getting messy emotions involved. Because - because I was a coward.”

“But you aren’t a coward.” Max argues, frowning fiercely at the idea. “You’re fucking amazing. Powerful, confident, a real ball buster when you have to be. You push boundaries and demand respect - and earn it.” He tells you. “You’re gorgeous, smart, kind of funny, brilliant at reading an audience and you have so much compassion. But one thing you are not….is a coward.”

His words make your eyes widen and you swallow harshly. “I was - I am scared. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of reaching for you, for something that could ruin me. In every way in life. I love you, Max, and that night…I broke. I couldn’t hold back from what I wanted anymore and I was an asshole to run away. I don’t want to run anymore. I know what I want. I know how I feel.”

“I thought I had you that night.” Max admits quietly, your words scaring him slightly and making him wish this had happened years ago. “I thought I finally got what I had wanted for so long.” He sends you a small grin. “Was going to ask if you wanted to leave the party. Go get dinner that night.”

You shake your head, tears stinging in your eyes a little. “I shouldn’t have - God, I was an idiot. I should’ve stayed. I’m sorry.” You confess and he stares at you again. “I- I can go. I just wanted to give you your gift.” You say, handing him the bag.

“You- you got me something?” He asks, taking the bag and then reaching for your arm as you try to turn away. “Wait.” He begs quietly. “Don’t run away again.”

You don’t move, looking down at his hand on your arm, and you nod, turning towards him again. “I want you to open it.” You say, “and read the note.” You tell him and he nods, setting the bag down on the counter.

The box is one that he recognizes and he shoots you a confused look. “I don’t-“ he starts but you shake your head. “Read the note.” You repeat and he nods, diving back into the bag to pull out a red envelope.

You watch him open the envelope. You had them write on the note “to the one I adore” and you hope he doesn’t reject you. You wanted to show him how you feel, to show him that you know him. Even down to his dream watch.

“I don’t- I can’t believe you bought this.” He admits, looking up at you and looks at you with amazement. “It’s the exact watch I’ve been wanting.” He admits. “I just could never justify buying it for myself. How did you-?”

“Saved up. I got a bonus when I resigned my contract. Got myself a purse and I only made it this far because of you…wanted to say thank you for being there for me every day.” You tell him shyly, “I wanted to show you how I felt without actually telling you.”

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head and sets the card down before he steps closer to you. “I can’t believe you.” He reaches up and caresses your cheek. “I feel bad because I didn’t get you anything.”

You shake your head against his palm, “it’s fine. I didn’t know when I would give you this. I’ve had it for a while. Trying to summon up the courage to tell you how I felt, to not be terrified.” You bite your lip as his dark eyes burn into yours.

“You shouldn’t have been terrified.” Max scoffs quietly. “I’ve not actually slept with anyone in months, nearly a  year.” He admits. “Too busy being hung up on my co-worker.”

You lean into his palm and reach out to caress his cheeks with your hands. “Gladys the cleaner?” You tease and he chuckles, “damn. How did you know?” He asks and you giggle, leaning in to nudge your nose against his. “Please don’t break my heart.” You plead, “because it’s yours.”

“I sat home all weekend and sulked because you left.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I don’t want something casual. If we do this, I want it to be a real relationship. Dates in, dates out in town, sleepovers and being disgusting together.” He smirks at you. “Everything.”

“People already think we are fucking. The unofficially married couple of daytime tv. I don’t see why we can’t make it official? I want to be disgusting with you, Phillips.” You grin, “I want everything with you.”

“Yeah?” Max grins back at you and leans in to nudge his nose against yours. “You know what we didn’t do Friday?” He asks teasingly. “I didn’t see how fucking hard you can cum on my tongue.”

You whimper, your hands sliding down to caress his neck and his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You can find out if you want? I want to see how much you cum down my throat too.” You murmur, sliding your hand lower until you’re rubbing his semi through his sweats. “I gotta say, I love you in casual wear.”

“Yeah?” He groans quietly, hardening under your touch. “I think I love you in leggings. You like it for the easier access?” He twitches when you squeeze him and pant softly. “Baby. I- fuck, can I touch you?” He begs, a gentleman despite his bragging. “Please let me touch you.”

“I think I’ll have to kill you if you don’t touch me, Phillips.” You demand playfully, reaching into his sweats to pull his hard cock out. “God, I didn’t get a good look and - no wonder you’re so damn cocky.” You groan and let go of him to spit in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his girth.

Max would chuckle, but he’s too busy diving under your shirt to cup your tits. “Want you naked this time.” He moans, rocking his hips into your hand. “Touch you everywhere. Fuck, baby, I- should I eat you out first, have you sit on my face or kneel between those pretty thighs?” The good thing about getting up so fucking early is that it’s not even noon yet, he’s got the rest of the day to spend with you if you don’t run away again.

You whimper when he squeezes your tits over your bra. "Fuck, Max. However you want me. I am yours." You promise, "just touch me." You plead, pressing your thighs together to get some friction.

Max leans in and bites your jaw. “Come on, baby.” He coos, excited to touch you properly. “Want to show you my bedroom.” He teases. “Give you the full Max Phillips tour.”

You would normally roll your eyes but right now, you desperately need him. The ghost of his touch has been on your mind since Friday and you need it, you need him. He guides you into his bedroom and it's clean, the bed is made. “I like your style, Phillips.” You smile at him as he lets go of your hand so he can pull your shirt over your head.

“Can’t sleep in a messy room.” He admits, although he tosses your shirt to the floor with a grin. “But I will happily leave your clothes on the floor allllllll night.” He promises, unhooking your bra with two fingers before dragging it down so he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples.

You gasp and arch your chest into his mouth, your hand quickly finding purchase in his hair. “Shit Max.” You whine when he bites down and you love it, you love how he seems so hungry for you.

Max growls against your skin, loving how you start to tug on his hair. His hands tug down at your leggings before he pulls away to push you down onto his bigger than needed bed. Grinning when you bounce slightly and he goes back to attacking your pants. “Fuck.”

You help him by kicking them off and his fingers are hooking into your panties, dragging them down your legs. “Fuck baby. I need you.” You beg, dripping wet for him and his hair is not gelled, falling into his face and your heart clenches at the grin on his face as he crawls up your body.

“You’ve got me.” He promises, stopping to nip, lick and kiss different places on your body. Stopping and staring at you with a serious expression on his face. “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs softly before leaning in to press his lips to yours.

You slide your hands down to caress his back as his tongue slides into your mouth. His cock is heavy against your thigh and you grab his shirt in your hands, wanting to see more of him. “Take this off.” You demand, tugging on his shirt.

He chuckles, pushing onto his knees to comply. “So pushy,” he teases, grinning as he tosses it away and starts to tug his sweats down over his ass. “I like it. Order me around baby, tell me to lick your pussy until you cream in my face.”

You giggle at the enthusiastic look on his face. “Want you to lick my pussy until I soak your face.” You demand, grabbing his face to drag him down between your thighs, maybe pulling on his hair a little too hard but his resounding groan tells you he likes it.

Max loves when a woman is demanding, taking what she wants because he also loves to do the same. A true switch when it comes to the bedroom. “Fuck, you have such a pretty pussy.” He groans when he sees your wet folds. “So tight too.” He tells you before he lunges forward to bury his tongue inside you.

Your cry echoes in his large bedroom and you moan his name, your hips immediately thrusting up into his mouth as he slides his tongue through your folds. “Holy shit, Max.” You throw your head back as he sucks on your clit.

He chuckles against your clit, sliding a hand between your thighs and he starts to rub your entrance to gather your slick before curling two fingers inside you. Loving how quickly you clench down on them as he licks at your nerves expertly.

His fingers and his tongue are magic. No wonder he has the reputation he has when it's so damn good. You whimper and lift your leg onto his shoulder so his fingers push deeper. "Holy - holy shit." You choke when he curls them just right and his breath washes over your clit.

“That’s it, baby,” Max coos, completely obsessed with the way you whimper his name. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum all over my fingers and face, pretty girl.” He keeps curling his fingers and sucks your clit back into his mouth as he watches you intently, wanting to witness the moment you cum.

"Oh shit. Shit. Just- fuck - just like that." You whine as he sucks your clit like those stupid caramels he unwraps between segments. You can't deny him as he curls his fingers just right and you cum, clamping down on his thick digits.

You’re louder than that Friday, of course you are. You are in a private bedroom where you won’t be discovered if you scream his name. Plus, this orgasm is completely centered around you, Max continues to pump his fingers and suck in your clit to work you through it. Greedy for your sounds and the way you soak his fingers.

When it becomes too much, you push him away, gasping his name, and you grab his shoulder, dragging him up your body. "I wanna-" You don't voice your desires as you shift to push him back on the bed, shifting to kneel between his legs. "God." You murmur as you wrap your fingers around his cock. 

"Baby. You don't-" His protest dies on his lips as you lean forward to wrap your lips around the head of his cock. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” Max hisses in pleasure as your mouth takes his cock. Twitching and groaning your name when he feels you swallow around him. “Never-never thought I’d see this.” He admits breathlessly. “But I love the view.”

Your eyes crinkle as you smile around his dick, taking him deeper, and you love the way his jaw drops. "You are gorgeous." He murmurs and you slide your hand along his chest, caressing his skin as you start to bob your head.

It’s quite possibly the best fucking blowjob he’s ever had. Not sure if it’s because you are so eager to blow him, or that it’s just you, but you have him breathless and gripping the duvet quickly. “Baby, baby, you are so good. You’re gonna make me cum and I can’t do that right now.” He whines after you swallow around him again.

You reluctantly pull off of his cock, moving fast to straddle his thighs and you shuffle closer, sitting up until you can grip his cock and notch him at your entrance. You look into those dark eyes and sink slowly down onto him.

“Shiiiiiiiiiit.” Max grabs your hips but he doesn’t try to control you, just hanging on while your walls surround him. “Can we do the show just like this?” He pants out, “you sitting on my cock? Fuck, baby.”

“We’d either get no viewers or a ton of viewers for daytime tv.” You giggle, caressing his chest and you lean in to kiss his neck. “You feel so good inside of me, Max.” You murmur, kissing his jaw as you lift your hips until you’re sinking back down onto him.

Max blows out a loud breath, sliding his hands up and down your back. “I’m trying not to blow my load here, sweet cheeks. Don’t mistake that. Fuck, you feel so amazing. Like a fucking glove.”

You moan, loving the way he twitches inside of you. “All yours. Yours baby.” You promise and lean in to kiss him softly before you start to rock your hips, taking him deep inside of you every time you sink down onto his cock. He’s so deep and you aren’t in a rush for this to be over.

The pace is slower than before and Max groans every time you rock your hips. “Fuck baby.” He whispers, turning his head to kiss along your neck. Loving how you are slowly unraveling him.

You rock back onto him, caressing his neck and sliding your fingers through his hair. “God, I love you.” You murmur, shifting to press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks.

His breath catches, hearing you say it like that for the first time. “I love you too, baby.” He promises, lifting up to kiss you thoroughly. His hand slides up to your neck and he drags you closer, loving how your tits press against his chest and he slides his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss.

You savor the kiss, moaning into his mouth, and you whimper his name as he kisses along your jaw. You bounce on his cock a little faster, wanting him to cum for you. “Fuck, baby. I- I want you to fill me up.” You murmur, nudging your nose against his.

“Shiiiit.” Max hisses. “That is so fucking sexy.” He admits with a breathless laugh. Watching your tits bounce and he reaches back to slap your ass.

You groan as he helps you bounce harder on his cock. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes! Just like that. Oh God. You’re hitting just right.” You ramble, lost in the sensations as he rocks you on his cock and the coarse hairs at the base of his cock rub against your clit.

Max chuckles at how desperate you sound, how greedily your cunt clenches around him. Groaning as he rocks you harder and plants his feet to thrust into you. “Want you to cum.” He grunts. “On my cock this time.”

You whimper, "gonna - oh God. Ma- Max. Oh fuck. Maxxxx." You squeal. clamping down on his cock and you cry out as he thrusts up at the right angle and sends you over the edge, making you shake against him as you orgasm.

Max chokes out your name, wrapping his arms around you and starting to thrust up into you wildly. Letting his own desires overtake the sedate pace and chase his own orgasm now that you’ve cum.

You let him thrust up into you, making you moan as he extends your climax. “Baby. I need - I want you to cum for me.” You beg, kissing his neck, and you end up biting his earlobe. “Cum for me, Max.”

“Ohhh shit.” You biting him throws him over the edge. Squeezing you tight, he rocks his hips up to bury himself inside you. Groaning as his spurts of cum paint your walls.

You caress his neck, running your finger through his hair as you kiss all over his face. His fingers dig into your flesh but you don’t care, loving how he feels surrounding you. “I love you, Phillips.” You murmur, enjoying how he feels surrounding you. “I’m sorry I ran away.” You murmur, knowing you aren’t running now.

“I love you too.” Max hums softly. “If you run this time, I’m coming after you. I don’t give a damn who knows it.” His arms loosen slightly and he looks into your eyes when you lean back. “Will you go to dinner with me? Not tonight, because we couldn’t get reservations anywhere, but I want to take you out properly.”

You nod, unable to say no to him and you lean in to kiss him again. “I’m not running away. I want the world to know about us. It’s - I’ve been thinking, this could make our career. The TV husband and wife that become husband and wife.” You tease and Max’s eyes widen. 

“Marriage? Slow your roll baby.” He says and you giggle, rolling your eyes. “I’m joking. I want to marry you. Shit, I’ve never said that to anyone. I want you baby. I’m in this for the long haul.” He promises and you nod, leaning in to kiss him. 

“Mrs Max Phillips has a ring to it.” You murmur and he chuckles, “who says I wouldn’t take your last name? I’m a modern man.” He winks at you and you snort, leaning in to nudge your nose against his. You don’t know why you’ve been running from your feelings and now that you are here with Max, you’ll never run again. He’s now your home.

****

“It’s that time of year again.” Max grins into the camera as the red light reappears. “Valentine’s Day. The day where men either panic as they figure out to impress their partners or prepare to take the next step.” He clears his throat as he looks over at you. His girlfriend of a year, even though the public was still guessing at how serious the relationship was. There had been plenty of photos of dinners out and cozily walking around town together. While you weren’t discreet, you both decided to be mum about the status of your relationship. Especially after a closed door meeting with the producers. Everyone at the station knew, and that was all that mattered. “Tell me, Valentine’s Day proposal, tacky or romantic?” He asks you. “I personally think romantic if done right, but what do you think?”

You hum, not picking up his reasoning for the question when it's on the teleprompter. "I think...if it's done right, it's romantic. If it's a 'shut up ring' then it's tacky." You explain, turning back to the prompter. "So today, we have a big surprise. Someone is going to be getting engaged on the show." You grin, still not suspicious as the producers told you about a guy who was going to surprise his girlfriend. "Look at Max." You read the teleprompter and frown, turning to see Max out of his chair. "What are you doing?"

“Baby, honey, sweet cheeks, I don’t think there’s anything tacky about the way that I feel about you.” Max tells you as he takes your hand and kneels down in front of you. “I couldn’t think of any place more romantic than the place I met you, the place I fell in love with your laugh, your heart, your brain and everything that makes up my partner at work.” He smiles at the shocked look on your face. “I wanted to propose today, since one year ago, we finally confessed how we felt and it’s been a magical year. So now I just have one little question.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring box. “Will you be my partner in life? Marry me, darling, be my wife please?”

Your eyes widen and you glance around at the crew who are grinning at you and Max. You inhale shakily, tears stinging in your eyes as the man you love kneels in front of you. "Baby. I - yes. A million times, yes!" You squeal and shift to kneel down in front of him, cupping his cheeks to kiss him without even caring about the ring, you're more excited to marry the man you love.

Grinning against your lips, Max knows that you’ve just made history, a morning show host proposing to his co-host on live tv. It will be the talk of the town. He doesn’t care about that or what the executives think. All he cares about is that Valentine’s Day is the day you became an official couple, the day you agreed to marry him, and next year - you’ll get married on Valentine’s Day. He will make sure that every Valentine’s Day you spend with him will be one to remember.

[vibratingskull]

Hello ☺️

I love your work, your stories. They are absolutely amazing. 🤍

Could I request a story with Samakro x reader (female)? Something about the way he falls in love with her.

Thank you my dear, have some Samakro the ride or die man ❤️

art by @jun-c

Samakro x F!reader

“You are a human, you are feeble, you are weak.” Samakro hisses. 

“I am... not weak.” You respond back, completely out of breath, sweaty, and hands on your knees. 

“You are weak. You cannot even last a training session.” 

You straigthen your back and crack your neck, getting back into position. 

“I am not weak!” You repeat with more force and anger in your human eyes. 

“Prove it to me.” 

You launch yourself on Samakro again, punching and kicking his gloved hands as he showed you too. 

“Harder!” He orders. 

You increase your strength, hitting away as hard as you can, as fast as possible. 

“Keep going.” He demands, “Harder!” 

You feel your lungs burning and your muscles screaming in pain. You are not used to such intensive exercises. You are a civilian, not a military member. But the rules are simple: adapt or get debarked on the first planet you come by. 

You don’t know why Captain Thrawn is imposing such rules on you, but since they found you wounded and drifting in space he dictates your life and you have no choice but to abide by his rules. Mid-Captain Samakro is now your new tutor on the Springhawk, spying on what you do at all hours of the day and night. He is merciless, imposing the strict Chiss military lifestyle no matter how tired you appear. 

“Again!” He hisses. 

You give him two powerful punches and a spin kick right into the targets he’s holding. He seems taken aback for a split second before recovering his hard expression. 

“Better. Give me more of that human.” 

You throw your last strength into it until you hear the liberating timer.  

“Time out.” Samakro announces to your relief. 

You fall to your knees, drenched in sweat and without any more breath. You cough painfully, feeling on the verge of passing out after such intense exercises.  

“Hey!” Samakro calls for you. 

You raise your head towards him only to receive a towel in the face. 

“Do not stop like that, it is recovery time. Go on the treadmill.” 

You groan, painfully raising on your feet and leaving the ring to hop on the treadmill. You feel your pounding heart pumping blood furiously and painfully. You hold the two bars on the side so as not to fall as Samakro hops on the treadmill beside you. 

“You did a good job today.” He lets you know after five full minutes of complete silence. 

“Thank you, sir.” You nod. 

“Do not forget to take out the electrodes and the monitor once you’re done.”  

You nod again. You jump off the treadmill and take off the monitor's electrodes off your chest and stomach. You turn to Samakro for further instructions. 

“You have the rest of your day.” He simply announces not even looking at you as he keeps walking on the mill. 

“Oh... Thank you sir!” You answer joyfull and heads toward the communal showers. 

Samakro keeps walking rapidly on the treadmill until he hears Thrawn’s steps pattern entering the gym of the Springhawk. 

“What are the results today?” Captain Thrawn asks evenly. 

“Let’s discover it.” Samakro responds. 

The two men approach the laying monitor and plug it into a questis, running the data on the screen. 

“This is her results on her first session and here is her progression’s curb.” He explains to his Captain. 

Thrawn remains mute, observing the data on the screen, detailing every high and low, the picks and the depressions. 

“Fascinating.” He finally lets out, “Almost the same as a Civilian Chiss curb.” 

“Indeed, the results are uncanny.” Samakro adds, scrubbing his face with a towel. 

“And what of her mental? Her dispositions?”   

“She did not understand the necessity of the exercises at first, and I think she still does but she submits to it.” 

“Do you push her to her limits?” 

“Yes. She doesn’t like to be looked down upon, it gives good results.” 

“Do not destroy her mentally. I have more tests to run on her.” Thrawn advises. 

“I am careful, she seems to hold on well.” 

Thrawn looks back at the results with interest in his inquisitive red eyes. 

“Humans... Fascinating.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Samakro silently looks at you over his questis. You are fully focused on your test on your own questis. 

Obviously, you don’t know Cheuhn, but you are proficient in several trade languages and writing systems the Chiss use outside of their realm and displayed your polyglot talents early on. He concocted a series of tests to measure your mental plasticity and  I.Q. And you’ve been going at it since 6 am. 

Some maths and logic problems with dissertations in different languages, a philosophical question, and a moral dilemma. 

It is actually an IQ test that the entire Springhawk crew had to take at some point in their career, he simply translated it into a trade language and script and took the liberty to take out the General Knowledge questions about Chiss culture and literature for obvious reasons. 

He is already checking your responses from this morning, comparing them to the average Chiss responses. 

Your I.Q. is average, nothing really special to note, but your way to the responses is truly... alien. You are coming from a completely different thought system and it shows, you are creative in your responses in a way that the Chiss test has difficulty measuring. Your responses to the philosophical and moral dilemmas are completely misaligned with Chiss values but are terribly interesting if they are standard for your human species. 

When he thinks back Chiss and Humans used to trade and exchange millennia ago and everything stopped after the supernova explosions, erasing all hyperspace lanes of the Chaos and cutting all communications.  

How did humans evolve deprived of the wisdom of the Chiss? 

“Five minutes left.” He announces. 

You grumble, taking your forehead in your hand, he can almost see the smoke of focus escaping your ears. He should compare your responses to the archives about humans they have, Captain Thrawn will also be interested. 

Samakro wonders for a second what was his results for those tests, they never communicated them to the candidates. If he reached the rank of Captain it means he must have done good. 

You would never reach the rank of Captain. You are not made for war, neither in body nor in mind. You would surely be a good historian or archivist, a scholar career where you classify data seems perfect for you. 

But on a Chiss warship, you have little to no value. The only civilian job in it is caregiver for the skywalker and they surely won’t let an alien approach their precious little girl any time soon.  

He keeps looking at you discreetly. He remembers lying to you, telling you that if you didn’t obey they would debark you on the first wild planet they found and leave you to die there. 

Which is obviously false for several reasons. They are not barbaric monsters and mostly Captain Thrawn and the UAG are terribly interested in meeting a Human after so many millennia. All your test results are sent to the UAG  for them to get a foretaste of what they will work on once they send you there. 

But you refused to obey and sit down and he had to resort to menace to force you to submit. Are all humans that rebellious? Do you all have problems with authority? A Chiss would have never posed such problems... 

If the current mission wasn’t capital for Chiss security, Thrawn would have ordered the Springhawk to go back to Csilla to offer you to the lab as his new catch. But fortunately for you, they must keep going, you escaped the rat lab existence. 

But for this time only. 

The scientists of the UAG are drooling at the idea of studying a human after so much time and they keep sending them new tests and procedures to experiment on you. Samakro doesn’t understand this fascination for aliens, for him they are all the same: 

Not worth his time and attention. 

But Thrawn thinks differently and locks himself with you in his office for long discussions every day. He is learning the maximum he can on this “new” species, evaluating the level of threat you will pose or not. He is less invasive in his questions and remains courteous with you but you shouldn’t get used to it. 

“Time is over.” Samakro says. 

You sigh and fall back in your chair with a defeated look. Visibly maths is a serious adversary for you.  

“May I go now?” You ask, visibly tired. 

“No. Remain.” He orders sternly. 

He looks at your new results while you are forced to wait in silence. It is obviously another test, how well do you do when things don’t go your way?  

He takes is sweet time comparing the results with the archive and while he isn’t a scientist something is very clear to him. 

You’re going to be a problem. All humans will. 

You are unruly and disorganized, messy and libertarian, prone to rebellion. 

He hardly sees what good would come up for the Chiss to align themself with humans.  

You’re just going to be a pain in more ways than one. 

He now knows how humans evolved without Chiss’ wisdom... 

“Senior Captain Samakro? (Y/n) (L/n)?” Thrawn enters the little conference room, “I need you.” 

Samakro jumps on his feet, ready for action while you look put out, only wanting to enter your bed for a good night’s sleep. 

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Samakro inquires. 

“We crossed paths with new aliens. I would like to have a word with them to test the water.” 

Samakro frowns turning his head to give you a look. 

“Is her presence necessary?” He asks in Cheuhn, earning a bad look from you. 

“Indeed. She is more fluent in their language than I am and I would like to observe their reaction to a near-Chiss individual.” Thrawn responds in the same language, “Who knows, maybe humans already are in contact with this species.” 

Samakro nods obediently. 

“Follow us (F/n)” He orders you. 

You sigh but obey. 

“I need your talents in a specific language.” Thrawn lets you know in a trade language. 

“Other humans?” You ask, accelerating your pace to place yourself next to Thrawn. 

Samakro fights the urge to grab your shoulder and yank you backward. Nobody walks alongside a Captain, even his bodyguards remain two steps behind. But Thrawn doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.  

So Samakro remains silent but mentally adds “Impertinent” and “unable to follow protocols” to his list of cons about humans. 

“Unfortunately no. A group of alien nomads of whom our archives are incomplete.” 

“Nomad? Are they numerous in the region?” You inquire curious. 

“Indeed there are a few clans. Most of them are bounty hunters and mercenaries, selling their services to the most generous.” 

 “Oh... I mean... Should I really be here?” You worry. 

“Everything is going to be fine. I simply need you as a translator no harm will come to you.” 

Samakro remains silent. A group of mercenaries with whom the alien they happened to have rescued and helped can speak with? The timing is a bit suspicious. He received the orders to tutor you but he also had to honor his duties as Mid-Captain, who knows how efficient the officers he gave you to were in their surveillance? 

Did they invite a snake in? 

Thrawn must also have these suspicions and take the opportunity to test you. 

You all enter the new conference room where the Aliens are waiting. Samakro remembers reading some archives about them but they are quite obscure, but he remembers them being known to undergo heavy surgical operations to make their entire bodies a weapon.  

And evidently, Thrawn lied to you. He mastered this language years ago, Samakro heard him use it so many times as he is himself quite fluent in this one. It allows them both to fact-check what you are translating to them and to the Aliens. 

Hum... 

Up until now, you have diligently reported the correct info, not trying to subtly twist Thrawn’s words or veil info from the aliens... But that is not enough to erase suspicion. 

As for the aliens’ pretense as to why they are on Chiss territory, it is clearly a lie. Those have something behind their minds. Samakro subtly caresses his charric at his hips. They took out the Aliens’ weapon but something in his mind was telling him to be cautious. 

“They ask if you could draw them a safe route for their travel. Their navigator died.” You explain. 

Bullsh... 

But Thrawn takes out his questis where a map of the Chaos appears. He hands it to Samakro to give it to the Aliens that are on the other side of the room, a long table separating them from the Chiss. Samakro takes it and heads toward the group.  

Suddenly, when he is mid-way through and away from Thrawn the aliens jump on their feet with their hands in their mouths, dislocating their jaws in an impressive fashion, to take out hidden miniguns off their throats. 

And fires. 

And in a flash, it is over. When Samakro recovers his senses he has his fuming Charric pointed at the now-dead aliens, the questis now exploded on the floor. 

A suicide commando. Surely the Grysks. 

A good chance Samakro and Thrawn’s bodyguards are fast. 

He spins towards Thrawn to see if he is all right. He discovers him kneeling with you in his arms. 

“What happened?” He asks kneeling next to his superior. 

You have been hit, the smell of burning flesh rising to Samakro’s nose. It is not pretty. They both lay you down on the ground, Thrawn taking his comm to call for the medics while Samakro applies pressure on your bleeding wound. 

Warrior, if they lose the UAG’s new toy... 

If they lose you... 

“She took the fire for me.” Thrawn explains. 

Samakro freeze. 

You what? 

He raises his eyes to his Captain, incredulous. 

“An alien did that?” 

“Apparently. Keep applying pressure Mid-Captain.” 

Quickly the medics comes to take you away in the medbay, leaving Thrawn and Samakro to investigate the scene. 

But Samakro’s mind keeps coming back to you. 

Why did you do that? 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

Why would an alien risk its life to save somebody else? He wouldn't have taken a fire for an alien. 

“Mid Captain, you are not listening.” Thrawn’s voice calls Samakro back to reality. 

Samakro shakes himself. 

“Sorry Sir, you were saying?” 

Thrawn lets go of the alien’s shoulder he was holding to get a closer look at their face. 

“Go to her.” He simply orders. 

Samakro raises an eyebrow. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you are evidently disturbed and unfocused on your task.” 

“I am mostly disturbed I wasn’t able to protect you.” 

“You shot them. You did your job.” 

“An alien had to protect you and this is a failure.” 

This time it is Thrawn who raises an eyebrow. 

“After all this time you are still calling her an ‘alien’?” 

“This is what she is.” Samakro responds, not understanding his superior puzzled expression. 

Thrawn tilts his head. 

“Is she now?” 

Samakro opens his mouth to close it back immediately. Where is Thrawn going with all of this? 

“How curious... I thought your relation deepened after all this time.” Thrawn ponders. 

“She hasn’t been here long.” Samakro argues. 

“She has been with us for 8 months.” Thrawn informs him. 

8 months?! 

No. 

Impossible. He feels like they discovered your ship three weeks ago, how has it been already 8 months? 

Samakro remains mute in shock, taking the info in. 

“Time flies in charming company, does it not?” Thrawn notes with a tight smile. 

Samakro exhales though his nose. Ridicule! 

Absolutely ri-di-cule! 

“She is a task you gave me, nothing more.” 

“I asked you to look over her not send me an extensive list of her food’s likes and dislikes.” Thrawn says almost mockingly. 

Almost. 

“I thought you would have appreciated to learn humans’ nutritional habits.” Samakro defends himself. 

“I would have simply asked her, Mid-Captain.” The Captain tries to gently guide him to the obvious conclusion. “I also heard you kept deterring colleagues from her.” 

“I was not going to let them defile themself with an alien sir!” Samakro explains like his outrage made sense. 

“Why immediately assume they had a romantic or sexual interest in her?” Thrawn asks more and more amused. 

This is a new side of his Mid-Captain he is discovering, and he is terribly curious. 

“Because she....! Because...” Samakro tries again to justify himself only to have no sound arguments. 

Indeed, why his first fear was that his Chiss colleagues would be interested in her? For what possible reason? Why did it displeased him so much he had to push everyone, male and female, away from you? 

Samakro stretches his lips in a thin line at that bomb, trying to make sense of all the moments he had with you.  

Could he...? 

“Go see her Mid-Captain. I can investigate the scene by myself.” Thrawn finally says, turning his back to Samakro signaling him that his words are final. 

Samakro bows and leaves the room. 

He entered confident and exited it in shambles. 

Obediently, he goes to you, trying to silence that little voice bugging his mind. Of course, he isn’t smitten! That’s ridiculous! What does Thrawn even know about love anyway?! 

He enters the med bay ready to chastise you for merely existing and being in his way but he looses all of his energy seeing you in this state. 

You are dressed in bandages, lying on a bed with a painful expression on your face. 

Maybe... this is not the right time for chastising. Later. Yes... later. 

Surely... 

You wave at him forcing you to smile through the pain. He comes close, sitting on a stool next to you. 

“Why?” He asks. 

“Why what?” 

“Why protect him? Why not let him die?” 

You look at him confused. 

“Isn’t it your job too to protect him? Why are you mad at me?” 

“I am not mad. I am trying to ... Understand.” 

You shrug like he isn’t making any sense. That’s the second person looking at him like that today and one was already enough... 

“Do I truly need a reason to save someone in danger?” You ask him, genuinely confused. 

“We are not the same species. You had no interest in protecting one of us.” 

“I don’t need to be part of the same species to empathize. Captain Thrawn is an honorable man, it would pain me if he died.” 

“Really? Would you have done the same for any of us?”  

“Why not?” 

“Even... me?” 

“Yes. Every life deserves to be protected, alien or not. Do you not think the same?” You look at him with a clear gaze. 

He purses his lips. No, he doesn’t think the same, he is a warrior, a cannot fodder meant to die in battle, Thrawn too.  

But you’re a civilian.  

You’re what they die for. So why put your own life on the line for them? The roles are reversed. 

Does he have to add ‘selfless’ to his list of pros for humans now? 

“We are soldiers. Dying is our job.” 

“Your job is to protect, not die.” You counter with a soft voice. 

“Easy for you to say.” He grumbles. 

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it with a contrite smile. 

“Yes, I would take a hit for you, Mid-Captain Samakor.” You repeat. 

He snarls a scoff, incredulous. 

Why would you do that? Since the first day he had the bad role, ordering you around, forcing you to obey him, imposing you a lifestyle different than yours, prevented you from forming meaningful relationships with others. He is a jailor, your torturer. 

You must hate him. And he is fine with that, Thrawn ordered him to look over you and he will do it even if you despise him. 

And then... 

Your hand releases his to cup his cheek gently, inviting him to raise his head and look at you. 

“Come on now. This is not you Mid-Captain Samkro.” This time your smile is wide and franck, “Where is your Chiss attitude?” 

He can’t help but chuckle before quickly hidding  his mouth. 

“You call that an attitude? I call this honor.” 

“Meh. I’m not big on the military things. Call it what you prefer.”  

He should push your hand away, not tolerating a single act of promiscuity or even friendliness. 

But he likes the warmth of your palm... It is incredibly soft and smooth. 

When was the last caress he received, and when was the last tender act toward him? Long ago in his childhood. 

Maybe he will not add “selfless” to the pros human list, but yours. 

And this one is longer... 

@bluechiss @Thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe 

[gigidragonbbxxx]

working with limits, a story

disclaimer: we are limitless. anything can be achieved with the power of the mind. this is to help people who overthink.

if a limit of yours shows up somewhere along the journey of manifesting a certain goal:

acknowledge it. do not repress. use it to pivot into your new story.

eg. I used think ____, but I know that's not true anymore. I am now ____.

my own story

my desired body is typically obtained in the gym with years of hard work and a dedicated focus on nutrition. I'm currently in grad school so I don't have time to workout like an IG influencer but I want to look like one.

Ordinary people would WEEP and stay in the same story of "its not obtainable!" while master manifesters smirk and say "LOL, ITS MY BODY NOWWWW"

I know that waking up with your perfect body is 100% POSSIBLE. Overnight subs/aff tapes + living in the end state + saturation to the max = fast asf results

so why wasn't I achieving it?

why was I manifesting money, attention, material things, etc. but for some reason my body was not changing?

I was meditating and doing some inner work when I realized that I had a serious weird rooted limited belief that

I had bad genetics and every woman in my family (both sides) have never achieved a flat tummy or a super toned body. So I was unconsciously always affirming that I could "never" look like that.

I thought great bodies could ONLY be achieved with hard work - which we know is soooooo untrue!

Instead of forcing myself to do a method I realized - I could work with my limit.

I was never truly "athletic" but I did run cross country/track in high school for 3 years. I fell off once I went to college and mostly did weird sporadic workouts but was never consistent.

Now that I've discovered the law and am freed from my old way of thinking, I said - okay let me play a little psychology game with myself, a little placebo.

my new placebo has been:

No matter what workout I do, the moment I step into the gym, I am losing my belly fat and getting super fast results every day.

Why do you do this Gigi instead of just sitting at home and affirming for your body?

Because I realized it would be easier for me to stay saturated/in the wish fulfilled/end state of having my perfect body just by physically forcing myself to be in a gym.

Let me clarify: I mostly walk on the treadmill, lift very very light weights, minimal sets, etc.

aka: most people would say I'm not doing enough.

But I'm a master manifester so I know that just deciding is enough.

I realized it was easier to visualize people saying "Wow she changed her body, it's because she goes to the gym now! She must've done a lot of work cause she got those results fast!" instead of "Wow she changed her body, idk how!"

Ever since I started going consistently and doing very bare minimum workouts - my body has changed way more drastically than normal limits allow.

I basically look like I've been working out for 6 months versus just the 2 I've actually been going.

My personal goal was fast results but gradual. If you want instant, please be my guest I am not limiting, I'm just sharing what worked for me.

I robotically affirm that lil placebo and it's changed my entire approach to manifesting.

I will see if I can post pictures of myself that will ensure privacy. Until then, just my words and encouragement.

Let me finish this lil post by saying: you do not need to do what I do. You can go ahead and do everything instantly. Everyone is different. I'm just sharing what worked for me, what helped me ease into being firm with what I wanted the 3D to reflect to me.

xx, gigi

[t-tomuras]

✺ ─── • 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐁-𝟏𝟕𝟒

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x F!reader

Warnings: Halo AU, Size difference (hes 8ft) / size kink(?), cornering, fingering, dubcon, creampie if I missed anything lmk

Wordcount: 3.4k

Notes: Reupload, Rampancy Universe, Spartan D-175

You get on his nerves, grating with the click of your heels that he can pick from the clanging of heavy weights anywhere. Jaw setting tightly while he maintains his dead sprint on the treadmill without even breaking a sweat before the clicking on the floor draws closer. 

He can see you from the corner of his eye, deadly crimson focused on a random point on the wall ahead of him before that fucking AI greets you warmly. Bidding you good morning and making you even more impossible to ignore, try as he might. 

Katsuki’s first mistake was not giving himself music to listen to, the second was not choosing to run laps around base and up the steep hill for his workout. His hubris urging him to hook himself to his monitors and pull up Toga’s time, distance and speed in the hopes of overtaking her as the top scorer. 

He elects not to wear the power suit for once, shirtless and in compression shorts only because Katsuki desires to claim his rightful place as number one without the aid of his extra enhancements. It was rare for them as spartans to be without the second skin, always suited up and ready for combat at a moment's notice but he was still human. He deserved to feel like one even while completing inhuman feats. 

“B-174,” your voice always sharp when you address him and it makes Bakugou grind his teeth today, not slowing in his stride in the slightest or letting his gaze stray. You wait for a moment for his response, brow quirking when you fail to receive one as well as finding clear defiance on his features; seeing how his brows knit and nostrils flare in a way you know is not from exertion. 

You step in front of him, holding your hand up high as you snap your fingers for his attention because you could never hope to block his line of sight with the staggering height difference, “B-174.” 

“What?” Comes his clipped growl. 

“Your armor, you’re not wearing it.”

“Yeah?” It’s then he looks at you with a bored expression, arms still pumping with ease and his feet thudding against the rapidly moving tread as a lazy smirk finds his lips and he widens an eye, “like what you see without it?” 

You scoff at that, folding your arms over your chest in a way that pushes your breasts up and gives Katsuki a nice view of your cleavage in the V cut scrub top you wear. His low and even heart rate elevating a tick, the ping of the machine's reading he’s hooked up to making him click his tongue in annoyance and pry his eyes from your figure. Your face pinches into a scowl, not at all finding his comment or apparent disinterest amusing; pointedly ignoring to acknowledge his statement instead. 

“When I address you I expect you to listen, like the rest of your team,” You step closer to the treadmill, reaching to turn off the equipment when his hand envelops half of your forearm. Your eyes dart between the point of contact and the fixed glare he affords you. You think it’s resentment, a disdain and disrespect he always seems to respond with but it’s surface level; it hides the lustful desires that plague him while you’re none the wiser. Why would you? Every Spartan III had the lowest sex drive but of course Katsuki was different in that respect as well. 

“Fuck do I care about what a desk jockeys gotta say?” He spits venom, tilting his head at you in the hopes you back off for now, thick veins on his throat and forehead protruding with the agitation you’ve instilled in him. A frustration he’s not supposed to experience with the chip implanted in his thyroid but of course you manage to be the reason his cock throbs and he lies awake at night thinking about bunching that stupid tight pencil skirt around your hips while he—

“Contrary to what you may believe Bakugou, I am your primary care physician. I ride your ass because you’re reckless.” 

Katsuki only rolls his eyes at your response, chuckling mockingly with his head thrown back before he leans over the machine's console to crowd your space with ease. One brow raised high with a feral grin spreading on his face to accompany his next taunt, grabbing at his crotch and the grin only grows wider when your eyes dart downward and quickly away. 

“I’ll give you somethin else to ride doc, maybe that’ll make you chill the fuck out.” 

You jerk to wrench your arm from his grasp, knowing full well Katsuki’s hold on you now isn’t enforced with any real strength but you hardly budge. Another mocking laugh sounds from him when he lurches forward before catching himself when the tread beneath him comes to a sudden halt. 

Katsuki snarls, whipping his head in the direction of the AI on his squad leader's shoulder. Likely the culprit and when her arms fold over her chest to mirror Tomura’s stance he’s certain, “I’ll scramble you, code!”

Katsuki releases his hold on you in favor of tapping fruitlessly at the blackened screen of his treadmill, curing his lip to find it’d been completely powered down. 

“Hit the showers and cool off, that’s an order,” Tomura’s even tone leaves no room for refusal but it isn’t met with silence. Katsuki hops off of his treadmill, glancing at you one final time before clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes as he stalks towards his captain. 

Smaller in stature by a foot but the size difference doesn’t intimidate him in the slightest, bored, lidded crimson fixed on flaring bromine. Bakugou's gaze flickering towards the ever present AI with a scoff before rounding the corner to the locker room. 

You watch the minimal exchange, features still pinched in annoyance while you rub at your forearm. His grip was loose, all things considered and it irks you how even while in a dead sprint and taunting, Bakugou was still able to exercise a ridiculous amount of restraint to keep from even bruising you. 

“I don’t think they like one another,” the projection of colored and flickering ones and zeros on Shigaraki’s shoulder comments before she retreats into her chip. Watching through the cameras placed around the facility as Katsuki slams his fist into the steel wall before the shower, denting the metal while you storm in the opposite direction, slamming the door of your office aggressively. 

“For once, I think you’re wrong on that one,” he responds without elaborating when she voices her confusion. Silent as he resumes his workout as well. 

Katsuki stands under the spray until the water runs cold, tensing his shoulders but it isn’t from the temperature. His forehead pressed to the cool tile while he heaved for breath, brows knit with a snarl to his lip as he spilled himself into his fist. Grunting from the fleeting euphoria of another orgasm that does little to quell his frustration. 

He leans back, letting the frigid droplets seep into his skin as if it’d be able to douse the inferno coursing in his veins and warming his body. It does little good, but Katsuki figured no less, he knows his fist could never compare to what he imagines you feel like. 

Picturing that infuriatingly cute pout of yours in a different setting completely, that when you roll your eyes at his comments it’s from overwhelming pleasure instead. He can’t help himself, pumping himself furiously as he conjures that image of your breast pushed higher and straining the fabric of your top until he’s choking on another groan when he reaches another climax. The high he reaches is shorter than the last one as he washes away his spend again, closing the faucet to finally leave the showers. 

The training area is empty, lights dimmed, when he finally exits the locker room clad only in a fresh pair of compression shorts and a small towel draped over his shoulders. Using the cloth to catch stray droplets after tousling his unruly locks wildly in a flippant attempt at drying the spikes. 

Even for his size, Katsuki pads quietly through the open space, heaving a bereft sigh when the white fluorescent lights of your office bleed through the partially closed blinds at your window. Illuminating the corridor a bit more even through the frosted glass that serves as extra privacy. He can tell you’re still inside, or that somebody is anyway but you rarely let anyone in your office, by the warping of the light because of your shadow. 

Bakugou halts in front of your door, chin down with his eyes downcast as he debates on something, of what he doesn’t really know. His shoulders creep up then fall slack with a deep breath, quick inhale and slow exhale before his knuckles rap on the heavy metal door that currently separates you. 

It opens at the third knock, making his eyes widen minutely as he steps inside. You’ve yet to look up from your work, closing certain files with a swipe of your hand as you pull up another one. 

“To what do I owe the unexpected visit, B-174?” 

He hates when you fucking do that, use his assigned number from his childhood. Sneering at the formality you present when he knows you have a more relaxed and friendly rapport with the rest of his team. 

Katsuki is silent as he stalks towards you, fists clenched as he reaches your desk before you finally look up at him. He can tell he’s taken you by surprise, his approach incredibly unusual for him, “can I help you, B-17–“ 

Your gasp cuts you off, broad palms making their way onto the reinforced glass of your table, effectively clearing all the files you had laid out before you as he corrals you. Invading your space in a different sort of way than he ever has before, devoid of any taunting aura. You lean back, trying to get a glimpse of his face as his head hangs and the lowlight of your office casts dark shadows against rugged features. 

“B—“ 

“Stop talkin,” husked low and deep as the base of your spine is pressed into your desk, Katsuki caging you against the table. 

A pregnant silence falls between the both of you, his head hanging until it comes to rest on your shoulder. Concern festers in you, touching tentatively at his bicep, “are you alright, Katsuki?” 

The sound of his given name on your tongue makes him groan, spoken softly with a gentle concern you rarely afford him. You jerk slightly when his index finger and thumb encircle your wrist paired with a soft groan. 

“No, m’fuckin not,” whispered as he pulls you against him, “sick of playin this fuckin game with you.” 

Unspoken and inherently sexually charged in one way or another, something that could be completely one sided but Katsuki doubts that significantly. He pulls your arm up to drape over his shoulder, refraining from holding you tightly. Kastuki gives you plenty of room to push him away and his eyes measure the distance between your free hand and the nearest useless paperweight on your desk. Fully aware of whatever reaction is to come and whatever response he should take but by the feel of the tension bleeding from your body he has a good guess on which action he’ll take. 

And rarely is his intuition wrong. 

“What game?” Soft, like you still want to uphold the facade, lie to yourself that the hulking man doesn’t leave you frustrated. Leave you wanting when you lay in your cot at night sweating and not fully satisfied with the use of a toy or fingers you know could never compare to the size of his own, let alone his cock. 

“You’re so fucking annoyin,” he breathes and you shudder beneath him, Katsuki’s voice alarmingly devoid of any of his usual bite. 

His head lifts just enough, moving from your shoulder to your throat where his lips graze your skin and your breath catches again. He loves the sound, delights in how you tense and your fingers press into his trapezius like you’ll press more firmly if he were to pull away. 

Like fucking hell he would. 

Katsuki’s lips press more intently to your skin, kissing up the column of your throat while you crane to give him more access. One broad palm moves to your hip to help lift you onto the edge of the desk instead of being pressed into it only for it to slide to your inner thigh once you’re settled comfortably. 

Instinctively you spread your legs to make room for him to slot between them and Katsuki pushes them a little wider to accommodate himself. Chuckling under his breath when he can hear the stitches in your tight pencil skirt groan at the strain and pop away as the rest of the fabric punches up your thighs. His palm slides up the soft flesh of your inner thigh until he can feel the heat of your clothed cunt, enjoying the sound you make in your throat when he cups you. 

There’s a dampness there already, a small wet patch as he cups your mound and thick digits press and roll over your clit above the fabric. Katsuki runs the flat of his tongue up your throat into your jawline as you reward him with soft sounds, noises he can’t wait to make crescendo. 

Your nails bite into his skin in anticipation when you feel him move the band of your underwear to the side, calloused pads applying a delicious pressure to your throbbing bud directly now. Toying with you until the slick clicking of his ministrations fills the room before he moves to the band on your hips. 

You prepare to lift your hips, make it easy for him to pull them down your legs when you hear them rip completely instead with a slight tug. Unable to protest when he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging gently but with intent, craning your neck to look up at him. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says gruffly before his lips slant over yours.

Katsuki presses his hips into your inner thigh as his fingers run through your folds, allowing you to feel the outline of his hardening cock. His hips rolls, rutting slowly to give himself some much needed friction and with the movement you can feel the substantial girth of him. It earns a gasp, giving him the opportunity to let his tongue slide over yours slowly, enjoying the taste of you as you cling to him. 

Bakugou groans into your mouth, finally allowing his index to tease at your entrance. Prodding gently before slipping in slowly, letting you adjust to the size of him after burying to the last knuckle. Cunt fluttering around a single digit and you moan something sinful when he curls it. Tentatively adding his middle and you already feel incredibly full but you both know he’ll have to scissor and curl to prepare you for his cock. 

But you already sound so much prettier than he ever fantasized, feel better than the rough pads of his palm and fingertips ever could and he hasn’t even actually sunk into you yet. Taking his time to prime you while you squirm and preen with each plunge and curl of thick fingers until your walls are clamping tightly around them. 

Chanting the syllables of his name as he lets you buck your hips into his hand to ride the waves of your first orgasm with rewarding praise of hushed ‘that’s a good girl’ and ‘look at you, already a mess over some fingers.’ 

Whining at the latter comment as you grip at his bicep and shoulder, groaning while he nips and sucks at your collarbones and tops of your breasts. He’s bent awkwardly with the height difference but Katsuki fully intends to experience at least some of the things he’s fantasized and fucked his fist to right now. 

Working you up again to another high when you grip tightly at his wrist, pushing at it as you lean away from him, “more Katsuki, no more teasing.” 

And he agrees, breathless chuckle sounding in answer along with a breezy, “I hear ya I hear ya.” 

But he’s just as eager, pushing down the band of his compression shorts to free his aching cock. Tip flushed a furious red and leaking from the minimal friction he’d provided himself. Your lips fall agape as you look between your bodies, swallowing thickly as he grasps his cock, letting his fingers spread some of your slick before he pulls your hips closer to him. 

Your hands rest on his broad chest, fingers splayed out as he runs his cock between your folds in two slow strokes, cursing appreciatively under his breath before prodding at your entrance. Even with his prep, Katsuki eases into you slowly and for that you’re thankfully. Nails biting into his chest as your head lolls back as you take his girth inch my throbbing inch. Bakugou laying soothing kisses to your throat as he pulls your hips into his as he pushes into you. 

The uncomfortable burning from the stretch quickly ebbs into an overwhelmingly pleasurable fullness you’ve never felt before. Your hips jerk into his when he’s buried to the hilt, fluttering around him when your clit runs against his pelvis, gripping him tightly while you pant through the sudden high. 

Katsuki chuckles breathlessly, signature smirk on his lips despite the bead of sweat that rolls from his temple down his cheek, “did you just cum? Just like that?” 

Another of those cute scowls contorting your features while you clutch at him instead of pushing him away, uttering a half hearted, “shut it.” 

“More into me than I thought,” his voice an annoying taunt as your cheeks burn up to your ears but he doesn’t give you time for a rebuttal. Eyes rolling back as Katsuki begins to move, dragging his hips back before pushing into you once more. 

Setting a steady pace that has you in a constant moan, Bakugou cradling your skull as he handles you with ease. Using your body for both of your pleasure as he fucks into you, grunting with each deep rut. 

The room fills with wet squelches and the rhythmic clap of skin on skin, sweet moans and guttural groans creating a lewd cacophony. Katsuki wars with selfishly swallowing every sound you reward him with and letting anyone that could possibly pass by your office now hear what he does to you, savor the praise and file it away for lonely nights on long missions. 

Ultimately choosing the latter when another orgasm washes over you, greedily clamping around his cock to milk his impending demise but not before he leans back to see you leave thick, creamy rings around the base. Watch how you slick the neatly trimmed thatch of hair to his pelvis and the way you take his girth so well. 

“Fucking A, talk about just what the doctor ordered,” Katsuki groans, clamping one of his eyes shut as he finally tips over the edge after you, filling you so full of hot ropes that it leaks around from you and around his cock. 

Rutting slowly into you until you’re twitching, pushing weakly at his shoulders before you slump against him. Slowly coming down from the euphoria before he withdraws from you and even if you’re over sensitive you can’t help but lament the loss of him. 

He shushes you quietly, handling you with care as he pulls down your skirt while his cum slowly seeps from your abused cunt. Katsuki’s nose pressed to your temple and his hands on your hips as you slowly attempt to stand on trembling legs, holding you steady. 

Waiting a long moment until you seem stable and you tap his forearm to tell him you can stand on your own. Smiling tiredly up at him until he breaks the peace with a swift smack to your ass and that same insufferinfly endearing smirk, “hit the showers. Maybe I’ll join you.” 

But you laugh anyway, turning on your heels as you give him your back, sauntering to the heavy door because you know he’s watching the sway of your hips before you turn to him again, “It’s doctors order that you must.”

[yelenasdiary]

https://www.tumblr.com/yelenasdiary/721332869815058432/mma-fighterboxer-yelena?source=share

Plssss headcanons please I can imagine her blowing a kiss for you before throwing a punch to her opponent.

-👸

Boxer/MMA Fighter! Yelena is so beautiful, I love her!! I hope you enjoy these 🥰

Please note, I don't know all that much about boxing or MMA so please forgive me if I have said anything that is incorrect.

You met her at the gym after you accidentally sprained your ankle on the treadmill and she was the only other person in the gym at the time.

She has a sleeve of tattoos and a stack of piercings in one ear.

She trains daily, except for Sundays.

She loves sending you after workout selfies!!

You're at every single one of her fights.

When she knows she's about to win a fight, she loves blowing you a quick kiss or a playful wink before delivering the final punch and/or kick to her opponent.

You're always there to help patch her up after her matches and making her relaxing baths with plenty of muscle relaxants.

She loves when you braid her hair for her before her matches.

She's beefy, let's be real! & she loves picking you up in her arms!

She loves involving you in her career somehow and will let you help her train, doing push ups with you sitting with your legs cross on her back.

She most definitely has taught you self defensive and is very protective over you!

You love cooking for her and making sure she gets all the nutrients and protein she needs. There's always a smoothie waiting for her in the morning.

She always makes sure you have the best seat in the house at her matches.

She's a BIG cuddler! She's always cuddling you, in bed or the sofa, from behind in the kitchen or while you're brushing your teeth, she always wants to have her arms wrapped around you.

You are her biggest support just as much as she is yours.

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @jeyramarie | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @valiantmugcowboyscissors | @observeowl  | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @get-the-fuck-outta-here | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @marvelfan98 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @crescent-witch | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @a-dorkier-book-keeper | @hehehehannahthings | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok |  @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @katiemay-025 | @maria-403 | @boredandneedfanfics | @wandamaximoffspuppup | @xox-little-troublemaker-xox | 

[quackle]

Hiii it’s jomaria anon again 😊😊😊😊 if you have any headcanons for them PLEASE share. We need more love for themmm ayayyaaa 😢😢

I'VE GOT YOU JOMARIA ANON!!!!!! 🫡 here are ten that i have:

on the rare occasion jo doesn't have any pockets, anne maria holds jo's stuff in her poof. jo acts like she hates it but it's kinda sorta convenient

jo carries around a whistle all the time anyway, but she carries around an extra one too, so whenever their arguments get too heated, she just. blows the whistle until anne maria stops talking (it takes a ton of lung power lol)

jo's face is essentially anne maria's canvas. anne maria practices makeup on jo's face alllll the time. it's gotten to the point where anne maria first practices on a picture she sneaks to take of jo before trying it out on jo for real

jo likes the smell of anne maria's hairspray so she keeps a bottle of it to spray around her room sometimes for comfort

anne maria has been trying to find the perfect lipstick to go with jo's skin. one might think she should simply get jo a bunch of lipsticks to try because it'd be easier. but anne maria insists on leaving kiss marks on jo's cheeks. (it's not because she likes jo (it is), it's because it's the best way to find out (it's not, she's just gay))

who needs a treadmill or some plain dirt path for a running session? all jo has to do is say something nonsensical to anne maria or steal anne maria's spray can of the day so she can have a running partner. (aka anne maria just chases jo lol) it's more fun that way, especially when the runner's high hits

when they "begrudgingly" become roommates (oh my gosh they were roommates...) they start off by trying to claim their own areas of each room, but that epically fails. their items clash next to one another, but they like it that way anyway. like yes, this cute pink salon hair dryer DOES go nicely with this dirty yellow treadmill

anne maria likes to ask jo what color she should paint her nails. jo likes to make it into a game by naming objectively ugly colors, but anne maria knows how to make them look good every time. (that's totally not the bias taking over)

jo isn't much a phone person unless anne maria texts or calls her. she sets a special ring tone for anne maria so she knows whether or not she should ignore her phone

despite their differences in just about anything, their food tastes are scarily similar. so whenever they're out on a date, they order two separate things, then split those things in half so each can have basically the best of both worlds

[rhetoricandlogic]

The Sunlit Man – Burning Bright

And just like that, we come to the end of Brandon Sanderson’s secret project slate. The Sunlit Man plunges us once again into the Cosmere, this time in a far future and with a familiar character headlining the story. 

Nomad is running. Running from the Night Brigade, a shadowy cabal chasing him for something he has…or had. A seasoned worldhopper, Nomad flees to a planet with a strikingly bright sun that sets the surface ablaze as the world orbits the star. As if the murderous world itself wasn’t enough, he soon encounters a powerful local who seems intent on Nomad’s destruction. Our intrepid protagonist must use his wits and his unique magical abilities to learn the world’s ways and escape. As he uncovers the planet’s mysteries, he becomes increasingly embroiled in the political struggles and the desperate need for the people of the planet to survive. 

My favorite thing about Sanderson’s secret projects set in the Cosmere is how they spell out the future of this vast, interconnected series. I always knew he planned for the stories to extend into the future, and I worried the advent of Cosmere technology would dilute the whimsy and fun of Sanderson’s deeply realized magic systems. The Sunlit Man and Yumi And The Nightmare Painter both handily dispelled any worries to that effect. This book in particular feels like a core Cosmere book set many years beyond the current series such as The Stormlight Archive (and this book is closely related to that series). 

Fortunately, I liked The Sunlit Man for many other reasons. First of all, it’s action-packed and streamlined. At about 450 pages, it’s relatively short for a Sanderson book. It feels lean and polished, like a fast-paced action movie. In fact, I felt pretty strongly that this book would make an incredible adaptation, should the Cosmere ever come to screens. The setting is brutal and vibrant; the fight scenes are tight and riveting; the magic would pop in a visual format. The book is a slam dunk if you like high-octane scenes and lethal stakes. 

The characters in The Sunlit Man grew on me. I loved Nomad from the start (I knew his original name from the get-go, which helped, but others may be entranced by the mystery). His journey is as much internal as it is physical. He reckons with trauma from his past and questions his reasons for running. He feels like he abandons the people he meets in his travels. Rebeke—one of the locals he befriends—and her compatriots build a society in a hellish environment. They find love and compassion despite struggling to survive every day. 

I bring up this last point strictly as a “your mileage may vary” thing. I know some Sanderson readers prefer the Cosmere connections to remain easter egg-ish instead of front and center. If that’s you, then The Sunlit Man won’t be a hit. I, however, love Cosmere connections, and I see it as a reason to keep reading where others may see it as a burden. The Sunlit Man doesn’t overdo it in my opinion, but anyone struggling with Cosmere fatigue may want to reconsider adding this book to their TBR. Again, that’s not me, and I imagine it’s not most of you, but I’m making this point for those who might feel differently. If that’s you, The Sunlit Man might not be your bag. It may become required reading in the future, but for now, it’s easy enough to shelve. 

The Sunlit Man made me smile. It had me on the edge of my metaphorical seat (I read on the treadmill, and being on the edge of such a device is strongly discouraged by the manufacturers). I enjoyed the characters, the setting, and the futuristic look at the Cosmere. I suspect many Sanderson fans will feel similarly. 

[thisisthinprivilege]

[tw: weight loss talk, hypothetical abuse]

My family has always been supportive of my weight loss efforts.  In their defense, they've always believed weight loss was the default starting point for health in someone my size, just like I did.  This was especially true when I was in junior high and high school.

I remember that in addition to all the traditional feelings of embarrassment, shame, frustration, etc. that surrounded my weight - I always felt a certain amount of guilt for not successfully losing 'it all' (such a vague goal to pursue that no one, not even I, ever questioned) with each new diet I tried.  My family was always so happy for me in those first few successful months, and genuinely proud, and so every time I hit that 20lb loss benchmark, I told myself it would be the last time I'd need to worry about seeing that number on the scale again because this time I would stick with it.  The rewards were well worth the time and energy it took to inspire even the smallest shift in my appearance.  

Inevitably, though, the weight would stop coming off.  No matter how many more hours per week I added to my workout routine, or how many personal trainers I paid, or how many more calories I cut - 'progress' slowed and eventually stopped.  I'm fortunate enough to say that in my long history of attempted weight loss, I've never had to deal with the extra pressures of an eating disorder.  It was just like my body would run out of gas, in a way.  And then, disappointed with yet another failure, I'd stop trying so hard and settle back into more comfortable patterns and everything I lost inevitably came back.  

I remember, after one particular attempt, I vented my frustrations and my sadness to my dad.  In a tone of complete loving support, he said he wished he could lock me in a room with a treadmill and force me to maintain a severely restricted diet until I managed to lose 'it all.'  (I really think about 'it all' now, and what I thought that meant at the time.  Did it mean the same thing to me as it did to my dad, or my sister, or my mom?  In retrospect I think the guilt came from feeling like a bookmark in my own family, an unsightly aberration warming the seat for my thinner, prettier self, someone we were all trying to be patient and wait for while we settled with fat-me in the meantime.)  

Anyway.  Thin privilege is not having your father fantasize about keeping you in prison conditions 'for your own good.'  It's not having him believe that the way you are is something that needs to be corrected through force, simultaneously implying your inability to achieve some nebulous goal weight under your own power is a failure or further weakness in you.  

[lyzelky]

Writer Interview Game

Tagged by @gilded-glitter!! Kissing u

When did you start writing?

I remember getting pissed off about the writing choices in the Pokemon Anime when I was about 8 or 9, and I came to the realization that I could write my own story featuring my own Pokemon Trainer and handle the story the ✨right ✨ way (lol). From there I started filling up several dozen school composition notebooks until several years later I realized I could write on my ipod touch and save myself the trouble.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I'll read just about anything as long as it interests me, but I think the genre I enjoy least is sci-fi? I don't hate it, but it just doesn't have that strong enough of an appeal to me, though I do like when people get goofy with it (Doctor Who, some episodes of DS9, etc.) I love a good mystery/period piece though, and I while I enjoy writing it, whether or not I'm any good at it is another matter entirely. If there is a procedural detective show with a will-they-wont-they pair of leads, chances are I've seen it.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Oh jeez, well, I've never published fic before so I don't think I have ever been compared to anyone else, but an english teacher I had in high school once complimented me on have a "unique voice" in my writing, and I still think about it from time to time. As for writers I admire? Off the top of my head: Toni Morrison, Norman Maclean, Cormac McCarthy, and Tolkien.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? I write primarily on my phone, so I don't really have a dedicated space. I used Pages primarily but I kept running into issues with lag, so I recently switched over to Scrivener on my phone. As for where I write I either do so at my desk or in bed, or on long train rides. The good thing about writing on my phone is that if I have a sudden burst of inspiration and have the time, I can write almost anywhere.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Music, especially with long train or car rides. Staring out the window at scenery with music often gets my imagination going. Long walks work too, especially if I'm on the treadmill at the gym and can zone out without worrying about walking into oncoming traffic lol. Other than that, ideas often come to me just as I am drifting off to sleep.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Found family, prophecies, newfound/hidden powers, finding purpose, feeling like an outsider. These don't really surprise me, I was always kind of a weird kid and am now a weird adult, with the pervasive feeling of "not belonging" a constant throughout my youth. This isn't to say I don't have friends and family that I love, and am certain love me back, but I've always been a little awkward in most social settings, regardless of the context.

What is your reason for writing?

I have a very active imagination that probably borders on maladaptive dreaming, but writing and art create a healthier outlet to channel that into.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Basically anything vaguely positive or encouraging is enough to make me blush.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Honestly I don't even know, I hope they think I'm moderately cool? I have never been perceived through the lens of my writing before, only my art.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

World building and character development!

How do you feel about your own writing?

Pretty shy, I am always mildly concerned that my stuff is too trope-y or whatever, and other times I re-read what I wrote and go "hey, that's pretty good!".

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

I would say 99% of what I write is my own OC stuff that I never plan to make public, so I'd say I write mostly for myself. That being said, I do think people would enjoy certain aspects of my OC stuff, it's just way too jumbled for anyone but myself to make any sense of it at this point in time.

Tagging whoever wants to join in on this!

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Envy

Envy is not like the other sins. You're not beautiful like Pride in his glittering glory, not strong like Wrath's magnificent fire, not even apathetic like Gluttony and sloth.

You're ugly, snatching scraps from everyone else, hissing and hating and helpless. Worthless, too, under the bright light of truth, like a worm dying beneath the sun. You look at others and you cannot feel joy, cannot love, cannot celebrate with them, only envy them for what they have.

You want and yearn and beg for what you can never have. You've tried on a dozen masks, each more intricate than the others, but it's never enough. They always have something you don’t. Standing on the stage, watching the world bow before you, all you can feel is scrabbling desperation to be better than them, hopeless in the knowledge that they'll always be better.

You talked to Greed, once. Everyone said the two of you were similar. They were wrong. He didn't feel this loathing, this disgust at his own patheticness. He loved his hoard, and the infinite power he held. You hated him, then, wanting that self-assurance. You hated him with the same passion you hated yourself.

This was Envy's fate, you knew. To be worse than everyone else. To never be happy. To take and take and never be filled. You were lower than everyone else.

Unless you pulled them down with you.

So you did what you had to, to stop the eternal ache. You burnt Greed's castle down, poured a river atop Wrath's blaze. Pride woke up one day to find his glitz ripped from his claws. Lust found her lovers all sunken in a river, Gluttony sitting in a heap of rotten food. Sloth had been a hard one. You'd thought about it for a while, then tied her to a treadmill. She ran constantly now, locked in a dark room.

It wasn't enough, still. They lost everything, and yet they still had what you hadn't. No matter how much you maimed and wrecked, they could not be brought to your despair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't!

Look at Pride, strutting about in rags. Look at Lust, flirting no matter what. Look at Wrath and Greed and Gluttony. Look at Sloth, uncaring of her friction burns while she snored onwards.

You cried and cried into your bloody hands. You stole what little the others had. It wasn't enough. You couldn't steal happiness.

When you killed Lust, it was because she had found yet another partner. You didn't even want a partner, but you couldn't stand the way they flitted about each other. 

When you killed Wrath, it was because his booming voice was deeper than yours. You didn't even care about your voice, but his sounded so much better than yours.

When you killed Pride, it was because of that eternal grin on his face. You didn't want to smile like him, but it upset you that he could.

You tore out your hair after the aching didn't lessen. It came out in filthy clumps, just another sign of how worthless you were. You seethed with the ugly impotent wrath of Envy, and cradled it with the broken pride of Envy, and partook in the hollow lust of Envy. You were the worst of every sin and the best of nothing.

When you killed Gluttony, it was because they had begun eating the trash. You had infinitely more delicacies than her, but you hated them for having that meal.

When you killed Greed, it was because he had coveted a dirty button. You had all the buttons you could want, but he had that one, and you didn't.

When you killed Sloth, it was for her snoring. You had plenty of sleep, but even rubbed raw, she got more. That was intolerable.

It was all intolerable. You screamed to the high heavens and clawed your skin to shreds and broke everything in sight. Atop the mountain of your fellow sins' corpses, you felt nothing but more envy. 

In death, they had what you could not have: Peace.