#i guess i like to frame it more as 'getting here was a journey that god watched and occasionally interjected on'

[gromlyn]

currently sitting in the living room during the early days of winter break surrounded by my cats drawing for hours while my beloved partner sleeps peacefully in our room. sure im extremely depressed right now but I used to dream about days like this when I was younger. a reminder to myself that things do get better

[sv3t1ana]

SYNOPSIS ᯓ Gojo doesn't usually fuck his clients. This was supposed to be a normal massage. But with hands like that and a cock to match... "professional" was never on the table.

PAIRING ᯓ Masseur!Gojo x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ smut MDNI, happy ending massage!, oral (f receiving), size kink?, PIV, spanking, biting/marking, dirty talk, possessiveness if you squint!

WORD COUNT ᯓ 5.3k

You’d driven past the place at least a hundred times.

It’s a stupidly sleek little building tucked perfectly between a Pilates studio and one of those overpriced juice bars. Like the kind with an obnoxiously chic and overly sensual neon sign that says TOUCH. White letters on smoked glass, all minimalist and judgy and expensive.

Every time you passed it you’d scoff.

“They probably charge three hundred fucking dollars just to rub your back and judge your pores.”

You’d even spat out an insult once like the building itself would crumble under the weight of your words, hitting the gas on your way home from work. Said it with the kind of righteous confidence that only comes from truly believing you’d never be that kind of girl. The kind who just… lets someone touch them like that. Oil-slicked and half-naked, moaning on some fake leather table while a stranger pretends it’s “therapeutic.”

Weird, isn’t it?

Definitely not for you.

And yet, here you are.

Saturday morning. Pillow hair, soul cracked like a boiled egg, lying in bed with your phone half on your face as you text your best friend in a fugue state,

you ever feel like your spine is just floating? help

You expected a “same.”

get a massage. i’m serious.

You snort. Riiight, a massage, huh?

You stare at the screen, eyes locked to the message like if you stared long enough it’d dial itself.

No amount of sarcasm or dignity can fix the way your shoulders feel like cement. Or the way you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Or the way your boss sent a “quick favor” email at precisely 11:48 PM last night, which you answered because your spine is already jelly and your will to live has already been transferred to a spreadsheet.

So… yeah.

Maybe you are that girl.

The bell attached to the door jingled as you step into the spa, and this is where you immediately felt out of place. The air smelled like eucalyptus and tears of the rich. The lighting was soft, flutey music passing through one ear and out the other, the woman at reception desk with the kind of smooth and poreless skin someone had when they bathed in rosewater.

You step up, feigning confidence like you hadn’t just Googled “what happens at a massage” just an hour ago.

“Hi, uh… I’d like to get a massage?”

She looked up from her computer with a smile too serene to be trusted. “Of course, what kind were you thinking? We offer Swedish, Thai, deep tissue, shiatsu, hot stone, aromatherapy-”

You nod slowly, brain buffering like YouTube trying to stream Paul vs. Tyson. Swedish? Do you get buttered up and rolled around like an IKEA meatball? You can’t ask that. You’d already committed the biggest crime by pretending you belonged here.

“Deep tissue,” you said, like you knew what the hell that meant.

She gave you a polite nod, tapping away on her keyboard. “Great choice. One of our more intense options. How long would you like the session? Sixty or ninety minutes?”

“Um… sixty’s good,” which is actually code for: I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m more scared of farting if you press too hard on my spine.

“Perfect,” she chirped. “The massage therapist will discuss pricing with you. You can take a seat, they’ll call you back shortly.”

You stepped aside, sitting on the impossibly soft couch in a sack of second-guessing. Of course there was a candle named something you can’t pronounce. And of course there’s a small framed sign on the coffee table reading: Relaxation is a journey, not a destination.

Just as you begin contemplating how to fake an emergency bolt, an intrusive thought crossing your mind to stand up and scream that you had a fucking bomb, a calm voice called your name.

You stood up, maybe way too quickly, meeting the eyes of a woman smiling at you with a clipboard in hand.

Thank god. A woman. The anxiety deflated from your shoulders. You didn’t really consider the possibility of a male masseuse until now, but the idea of some beefcake oiled up and kneading your thigh was not something you emotionally prepared for.

“This way,” she gestured for you to follow her down a hallway lined with softly glowing wall sconces and the sound of babbling water. You’d never felt so simultaneously underdressed and overscheduled.

She opened a door and motioned you inside. “You can undress to your comfort level and lie down under the towel, face down. I’ll let your massage therapist know you’re ready.”

“Towel?” you echo, glancing around. On the table sat a singular, small, pathetic white towel. It looked like something you’d pat a cat dry with, and you didn’t know if you expected a beach towel or a blanket.

Still, you nodded like a champ.

There you stood, alone after she exited and shut the door behind her. Unsure of how much was too much as you undressed. Were you supposed to keep your underwear on? Take it off? Would that be weird? Shit, what was the social etiquette here? It felt wrong to Google it, like the masseuse would walk in on you hunched over your phone naked like a caveman discovering the world wide web for the first time.

Eventually, you compromised by only keeping your underwear on and sliding under the towel, if you can even call it that. It barely covered your ass, and if you breathed wrong a cheek was gonna peek.

You lie face down, pressing your face into the weird little donut hole in the massage table. Every attempt at relaxation was a fail, your body as stiff as a mannequin.

The door creaked open, a voice drifted through the air all too low and smooth, way too sexy for this situation.

“Good evening,” he said.

Wait.

Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait.

You lift your head just a fraction, seeing a tall man stepping into the dimly lit room. White uniform shirt rolled to the elbows. Forearms like Greek sculpture. Messy white hair. A face so hot you swore you could hear angels filing HR complaints. His eyes were icy, meeting yours and curved with a smile.

“I’ll be your masseur tonight,” he said. “Name’s Satoru. Just let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” you say, voice cracking.

He chuckled softly, washing his hands in the corner, the sound of running water far too sensual. You press your face back into the donut, trying not to internally implode.

You asked for this, your brain whispered.

You chose deep tissue, whatever that meant.

You hear the flick of a small bottle opening. Something shifts behind you, the scent of cedarwood and vanilla blooming through the room like a secret. A soft, wet sound followed, and then-

Drip.

Oil hit the small of your back first. Warm, silky. You twitched without meaning to.

“Sorry,” his voice came playful and low, like he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, only letting out a small squeak of laughter.

Then came his hands.

Large, warm, firm. Gentle as they pressed into your shoulders, thumbs digging slow, practiced circles into the knots near your spine. You can’t help the exhale escaping your lips, something between a sigh and a sound you’d only make in bed.

“This your first massage?” he asks, and damn him. Even his voice sounded like a smirk.

You coughed. “That obvious?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, hands now kneading into the ridge between your neck and shoulder. “You’re stiff. Tense.”

You laugh nervously. “It’s just work stuff. Desk job.”

“Hm,” he hummed like he already knew. Like he could read it in your body the moment his hands touched you. “I’ll start at your shoulders and work my way down. We’ll see if we can get you loosened up.”

You made another strangled sound of agreement in response, biting your lip.

Every stroke of his palm dragged warm oil over your skin, spreading heat along your back, down your spine. The pads of his thumbs pressed into the muscles beside your shoulder blades, firm but slow. It wasn’t just good, but shamefully so. Soothing, deep. Every time his thumbs pressed in, you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Focus, you told yourself. This is a professional, he does this all the time. And you’re not special, just some towel-clad client on a table meant for meat tenderizing.

But gods, his hands.

They were confident, skilled, moving in ways like they had the heaven’s permission to touch you. Maybe they did, each stroke leaving your skin burning in its wake. Your hips shifted slightly. Not on purpose. Well, maybe it was on purpose. You hated yourself for it.

He hadn’t said anything for a while, the room quiet aside from the ambient spa music and your stupid heartbeat echoing in your ears, your heart trying to crawl its way out from your ribcage. You focused on the feeling, the press of his digits into your shoulder. On the long drag of his hands gliding down, down, oil-slick and hot against your spine.

Shit, your brain was melting.

You felt his hands move again, slower now, gliding at your middle back. You couldn’t help but wonder if the towel slipped, didn’t dare look. You just stayed still, very still, praying for dignity while also very much wishing he’d go lower. His thumbs pushed into the small of your back, just on either side of your spine, and you exhaled, loudly.

You immediately regretted it. But he didn’t say anything. Just chuckled softly, barely a sound, and pressed deeper.

Gojo had given thousands of massages before. Hell, he’d worked on celebrities, models, athletes, all kinds of bodies sculpted and polished and worshiped. But this one? You? You weren’t some glammed-up goddess or an over-confident regular. You were shy, uncertain, nervous in the sweetest way, biting your lip like it’d save your soul.

And when he asked what was hurting, where it ached, you’d mentioned work like it explained everything.

He knew exactly what you needed.

His thumbs dragged slow over the curve of your back. You shifted slightly under him, just the tiniest movement, but not from pain. From heat. From something much, much lower. Gojo felt it, the tremor running through your muscles like a secret. The towel was still clinging to your hips, just barely, and he let his hands dip lower, enough to brush the top curve of your ass to see if you’d flinch.

And you didn’t.

Fuck.

He was breaking rules. His own rules. He didn’t do this. Never had. Not once. Not even with the flirty clients or the ones that offered more.

But then again, none of them were you.

Your skin was warm beneath his palms, your breath hitched in a rhythm that wasn’t just relaxation. He could hear it, feel it. And when his fingers barely slipped under the hem of that towel, just to knead the tight muscle at the base of your spine, he felt you tense.

Not with fear, but want.

He pressed deeper, just enough to test. And he almost groaned aloud when your hips lifted. As if it was an accident. But he knew better.

He loved the way you were sensitive for him, dragging his thumbs along the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing your perceptive skin that made his cock twitch.

He was throbbing against the zipper of his pants. He needed to stop.

But he wasn’t going to stop.

“First session’s free, by the way,” he murmured, just above your ear, his salacious tone a blessing to your ears. “House special.”

You made another soft sound and Gojo had to bite his cheek just to stop a deep groan threatening its way out from his lungs.

You thought you were in the clear when his hands left your back. For a moment, you considered breathing again. But then-

“Gonna move to your legs now,” he said, voice smooth and casual. “Starting from your feet.”

You couldn’t find it in you to protest. Your feet. The one part of your body that rejected human contact like a toddler would broccoli.

You tensed as he lifted your foot gentle, resting your ankle against a bolster. You took this opportunity to look. And he looked way too comfortable, crouched near your calves, rolling his sleeves up even more, his forearms, fuck, the veins, and warming more oil in his hands.

The first touch was light, gliding his fingers over your heel, your arch-

You flinched.

“Oh?” he laughed, glancing up. “Ticklish?”

You wanted to crawl inside the nearest candle holder and die.

“Maybe a little,” you mumbled, voice muffled.

“Noted,” he chuckled. “I’ll be gentle.”

And if Gojo Satoru wasn’t a liar before, he was now.

Because his thumbs rolled firm circles into your arches, sliding up the curve of your foot, down each toe like he fucking knew. You twitched again when he hit that spot near the ball of your foot.

He didn’t even pretend not to notice.

“Aw, you’re trying not to laugh.” His voice was warm. “Cute.”

You exhaled like a balloon deflating, face hot. “You’re evil.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, slowly dragging his palm up your sole to your ankle. “That’s one way to thank me.”

He didn’t linger much longer there, probably for your dignity which was already on life support, before he moved up, kneading your calf in strong, slow strokes. His hands wrapped around the muscle with confident pressure, and oh, it felt good.

All thoughts of embarrassment evaporating the moment his thumbs began sliding up your calf, massaging deep into the tissue. His touch slowed as he moved higher, now smoothing hot oil into the back of your knee.

Then he moved to your other leg. Same path. Foot, ankle, calf. All familiar but different. Like he was trying to memorize you. And this time his hands went slower, savoring the goosebumps prickling your skin as his hands moved higher, thumbs digging deeper. And when he reached the back of your thigh, right where the towel barely covered, you felt it.

The hesitation. The pause. The line of professionalism being toed.

And then crossed.

His hands never stopped moving, but his thumbs dragged slower, brushing up the back of your thigh and letting his touch linger along the soft skin there. His touch was light, too light to be considered a deep tissue massage.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice low.

You could only nod.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re very responsive.”

Was this normal massage talk?

No, it couldn’t be. But you didn’t dare respond, didn’t want to stop him, even as your breath hitched and thighs threatened to instinctively press together.

Gojo’s hands stayed high on your thighs. One thumb circled the outside of your thigh.

“You’ve got tension here too,” he remarked, and this time, it wasn’t professional at all.

Your hips jolted.

“Sensitive?” he asked, almost a whisper.

You wanted to say something, maybe yes, maybe God, please don’t stop, but all that came out was a hum, shaky as his fingers gripped your thigh tighter.

“Don’t worry,” his voice silk-soft and soaked in pure heat. “I’ll take care of it.”

You didn’t even know he shifted until his voice came too close to your ear, just a low murmur.

“I’m gonna remove the towel now. That okay?”

You’re too far gone, just nodding.

“Need you to say it for me,” his voice is gentle.

“Yes,” you swallow, voice barely above a whisper.

He grips the towel, slow as sin, dragging it off your spine and letting it peel off you like he’s unwrapping something expensive. His fingers graze, not enough to claim but just enough to tease. You’re face-down, so you don’t see it. But he’s squinting, biting back a groan, cock already stirring and probably dripping.

He oils up again, slick and warm, spreading his palms across your ass with expert precision.

“Just breathe. This’ll help with tension in your glutes.”

Glutes, he says it like a medical term. You almost believe he’s just being good at his job, except his hands are kneading deeper, practically stroking the plushy fat of your ass.

His hips subtly press against the table, trying to relieve the throb without making a sound. His jaw is slack, eyes hooded, and he’s already sweating. He’s circling your ass with the heel of his palm, eyed glued to were your thighs part ever-so-slightly, revealing the slightest sliver of wet lace. His mouth waters.

His thumbs brush the hem of your panties, it’s innocent at first. But then he does it again, lingering.

You can almost feel the air shift.

Something about the way he touches you makes your skin buzz. He hasn’t said anything… too off yet, but the drag of his fingers along your thighs, the brush against the edge of your panties, you’re beginning to think it’s not exactly on the menu at most spas.

“Gonna take these off too. Helps me reach deeper tissue,” his finger hooks just teasingly into the hem at your hips.

You know it’s a lie. It has to be. But you nod.

And again, he waits.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you exhale, heartbeat in your ears.

Then he hooks only his thumbs into your panties, slow, like it’s a favor. You lift your hips slightly so he can pull them down, and he takes his time. His thumbs caress you as he drags them down to your knees, ankles, then off completely.

And now you’re bare. Naked. Exposed under his hands and eyes, no doubt dripping from tension and need alone.

The only sound in the room is the soft roll of incense smoke, faint music, and the slick shhhhhkkk of oil between his palms to start again, skin to skin.

He shifts, thumbs dipping lower and palms kneading the tops of your thighs. It’s almost too much, you want to move, clench your legs shut, but you don’t. You stay soft, pliant, open.

And he watches. Every flutter of your muscles. Every twitch. The faintest glisten where your thighs part.

This was no longer routine.

So wet already. You poor thing probably didn’t even mean to be.

He watches your hips shift when he gets close, the way your toes twitch as his thumbs drag sinfully along your inner thighs. It’s like you’re desperate and embarrassed all at once. And yet, you obeyed him. And he loved every second of it.

You’re so pure, so sweet, so filthy for him. Not a single complaint. No hesitation.

Glutes soft and flushed from the heat of his palms. Inner thighs slicked with oil. Breathing shallow and shaky. And his favorite part, your slit tucked between trembling legs, glistening with more than just oil.

He shifts again, subtly dragging his cock against the edge of the massage table. Hard, throbbing, and unforgiving.

“You’re responding really well,” he murmurs, the heel of his palms pushing into your inner thighs enough to part you only so he can see more.

And you’re going insane.

His hands on your thighs, voice in your ear. Every pass of his palms leaving your nerves sparking, and it’s taking everything in you not to freely moan when his knuckles drag just too close.

When your legs twitch again, of course he notices. “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. Just let me take care of you.”

But then his sinful thumbs sweep higher. Still outside, not touching where you need him most. But close. So, so close. And you can’t help the gasp escaping you.

And that’s when he finally brushes his fingers along your folds, light, feather-soft, as if he’s checking something.

Your whole body jerks. His voice lowers a few octaves.

“You’re soaked.”

A beat of silence.

“Want me to keep going?”

Again, you nod.

“Words, sweetheart.

You swallow, face burning and contorting where it’s nestled in the headrest. “Yes… please.”

“Good girl,” his chuckle is low and so smug.

You’re so responsive for him, every time his fingers tease your slick little slit, your thighs tremble like they’re fighting not to squeeze shut.

You don’t even realize the slightest rock of your hips, silently begging for more like you’re chasing his fingers.

He palms your ass again, spreading you open as he traces a single digit up and down. Folds puffy and hot, dripping onto the table, clit twitching like it knows what’s coming.

“You said this was your first massage, right?” he says, dragging a single finger deeper between your folds. “But you’re begging for attention.”

Then his thumb gently presses against your clit, unmoving but giving you the pressure you oh so desperately needed.

“Think you might’ve been made for this.”

You can’t breathe, can’t think. All you know is his hands. The way they press into you, spreading your arousal and oil around as if it’s a divine ritual. The way his thumb circles your clit painstakingly slow, so patient.

You mewl, too far gone to be ashamed.

“Want the full package?” his question come velvet-smooth.

You blink, dazed. “…The what?”

His thumb pressed in just a little harder, your body tensing. “Y’know, the extra. Let me take care of everything.”

“Y-yeah…” your voice is barely audible, but it’s all he needs.

He smiles, the thick curl of anticipation mixing with the burning incense in the air, winding your spine as he murmurs your new nickname again:

“Good girl.”

It’s like this was always going to happen. Like he’s done this a hundred times before and you were just next in line, all dripping wet and none the wiser.

Then he’s palming you again, hands oiled with a fresh squirt as both hands slide over your skin. It’d be professional if it wasn’t for the way his thumbs spread you once again.

It’d be professional didn’t brush directly over your soaked folds, a low growl he lets out, low and restrained when he sees your cunt pulse for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging two fingers through your slick.

Then he dips two fingers inside you, slow and filthy as he immediately curls them right into that soft spot between your ridges that has you gasping into the table padding.

“God, you’re tight. Gonna have to open you up first, yeah?”

It’s as if it’s still part of the massage.

He fucks you slow with his fingers, his free hand moving to move ‘round and ‘round against your clit with his thumb. And fuck, he’s too skilled. Every filthy, wet stroke of his fingers has you whimpering, any semblance of professionalism lost by the sound of your whispers.

“So responsive,” he mutters almost to himself. “You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?”

Then-

Smack.

Your body jolts, a sharp sting across your ass, the crack echoing through the room.

“Mm,” he hums, smoothing the reddened spot of his handprint like he’s checking the quality of his own work. “Pretty thing makes such pretty sounds.”

Another smack. You gasp.

“Flip over for me.”

His tone is easy, casual like he’s asking you to flip a page in a magazine. Your legs move before you, body fully glistening with oil and anticipation.

His face looks almost desperate. Sweat at his temples, white lashes fluttering over hooded eyes at burn. His lips are parted, flushed, bitten like he's been holding back from devouring you whole.

He's no longer the calm masseur from before, but a man on the edge of losing it.

Every inch of him thrumming with want, you can see it in the way his jaw flexes, the slight tremble in his fingers at his sides. His gaze drops between your legs, staying there like he's starving.

He wants this, wants you just as badly. Maybe worse.

And he sees you. Laid out like an offering, tits soft and heaving, thighs glistening, cunt spread and twitching, begging for his attention.

He lets out a low, heavy breath. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then his hands are tracing down your thighs, hooking under your knees just to bring them to your chest.

And he goes in, no teasing or warning, just his hands spreading you wide, full mouth-to-pussy action.

His tongue slides over your clit like he’s starving. Moaning into you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s filthy, loud, wet, feral.

He laps at you like he wants to crawl into your skin and live there. His lips lock around your clit, tongue flicking fast and relentless, fingers digging into you.

Your hips buck instinctively. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers clutching his silvery strands as your legs twitch, toes curl.

He loves it. The desperate little grind of your hips, the wrecked moan slipping from your throat, the way you push his face impossibly deeper.

So he doubles down, dragging his tongue lower and fucking it into your hole with lewd precision, then pulls back just to suck at your clit like it’ll grant him immortality.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, lost in a daze himself. “Sweet little thing, gonna cum all over my mouth, huh? So fucking wet. Bet you’ve been thinking about this.”

He flattens his tongue, grinding it against your clit, and you cry out, entire body jerking, thighs clenching around his head. But he doesn’t stop, if anything only groans, grinding his hips into the table like he’s getting off just on your taste.

You’re soaked. Senseless. A carnal desire to soak his face in your arousal.

And when you gasp his name, fingers tugging at his locks, body trembling-

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Cum for me, baby.”

You shatter. Completely. Fully. Back arching from the table, breath punched from your lungs, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it’s fucking cruel. He just stays there, tongue flicking, dragging out every last pulse of your orgasm until your legs go numb.

Your thighs are trembling around him, your cunt a swollen, slick mess, still twitching with aftershocks. You’re still moaning, fucked-out and blissed as he presses kisses to your inner thigh.

Fuck. He thinks you look perfect like this. Made to be ruined for him.

And he’s done being patient.

So he stands, unzipping his pants. His cock springs free, red, leaking, painfully hard. And shit, he’s big. A slight upward curve, a thick vein running along his thick, long length.

“Up,” he says, voice coaxing like he’s asking you to breathe.

Your legs wobble as you push yourself off the table, only for his hands to grip your waist and bend you right back over it. Your bare chest pressed to the cushiony surface, cheek against the towel.

“There you go,” he drags the thick head of his throbbing cock through your folds, smearing your slick across your lower lips and on his tip until it could drip off. “Gotta get all that tension out, yeah? Let me work those knots a little deeper.”

You walked in here all shy and tense, even spending twenty minutes willing yourself to open your car door. New client, first massage, all stiff shoulders and tight posture. Said your job had you aching. Said you needed relief.

And the first time he saw you, big eyes, nervous smile, a little stutter from your lips when he first touched your shoulders.

He knew exactly what you needed.

“First massage,” he breathes, lining his tip to your entrance.

Then he pushed in. Deep.

You choke on a moan. He’s so thick, splitting you open inch by inch, your walls struggling and stretching to take him. His hands dig into your waist, still warm with oil, just holding you savoring the moment he finally sinks all the way in.

“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back. “That’s it- just like that- you were made for this.”

He pulls back, only until just the tip lay past your entrance, before slamming back in. And you jerk, fingers scrambling for purchase on the table.

Each stroke rocks through your spine. Your tits drag against the table, mouth hanging open, drool smearing the table. Your mind’s a blur, just the sound of skin slapping, Gojo’s breathy moans, and the obscene, wet noise of him slamming into you over and over and over.

“Say thank you,” he almost growls, snapping his hips up so deep your toes curl. “Say it.”

“T-thank you,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

Then, smack. A sharp slap to your ass, and you whine.

“For what?”

“F-fucking me- oh my god- for fucking me-”

“No,” he pants, rutting into you harder now, cock hitting that sweet spot so perfect it could make you squeal. “Say it right. Thank you for relieving my stress.”

“Thank you-” you cry out, broken and shaking. “Thank you for- mmh- relieving my stress.”

He leans over you, his hardened chest against your back, cock still pistoning in your soaked cunt. His mouth finds your neck, tongue dragging across your bare skin before he bites. Sucks. Marks you.

Another hickey. Then another.

You’re completely gone, every thrust having your eyes fluttering, your moans shameless, drool coating your lower face. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his thick length more than you already were, clenching with every thrust, every filthy word.

His hips stutter, balls tightening as he pounds you into the table.

“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum- fuck- gonna cum all over this pretty back.”

And he does. One last brutal thrust and he pulls out, cock twitching before spilling across your lower back in hot, thick ropes, painting your skin in streaks of white.

He watches it drip down your spine, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and still twitching from how hard you just milked him for all he’s worth.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, leaning down to admire his work. “You really were stressed, huh?”

Then he drags a hand up your spine, wiping his fingers through the mess he made, rubbing it into your skin like a filthy seal.

The air is thick with heat, sex, and you. His hand rubs sensual circles into your back.

“You good, sweetheart?” he brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

You nod, dazed, wrecked, legs still trembling. He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft, slow, tender in a way that almost startles you.

“First kiss,” he whispers against your lips.

Then he straightens, grabbing a warm towel from the side table. His hands are gentle as they wipe you down, cleaning you with a reverence that borders on obscene. He helps you stand straight, pressing another kiss to your temple, his big hands careful and supportive.

“So…” he starts, tapping his lip. “Same time next week?”

You can only stare, flushed and panting.

“No charge, obviously,” he adds, giving you a wink. “I’m invested in your health now.”

Of course you’re coming back. With a dick like that? With a mouth like that? You’d be stupid not to.

You shake your head, trying not to smile.

“Take your time, I’ll be outside.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

You sigh, dragging yourself over to the side table on shaky legs, slowly redressing like your soul wasn’t just rearranged. You grab your clothes, pulling your bra back on, then your shirt, then-

Your panties.

Your panties?

You check under the table. Beside it. In the towel pile.

Your brows shoot up, a slow, disbelieving laugh escapes your lips.

That smug thieving bastard.

He took them, slipping them into his pocket. You shake your head as you pull on your pants, cheeks still flushed, heart returning to a normal rate.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely coming back.

[blacktabbygames]

Slay the Princess Concept Art

We shared a bunch of concept art on Twitter today. Sharing it here, too, where you can find it all in one post. Post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution (or just play the game already if you haven't 😉)

Going to start with the first piece of concept art Abby drew for the game.

In the earliest stages of development, we toyed around with the concept of there being multiple "end game" forms of the Princess.

The initial outline, rather than being tied together by an overarching metanarrative, structured a full playthrough as a 5-6 chapter long, self-contained journey down a single route, determined by your decisions in chapter 1. Here's an alternative late-game form:

The idea of deviating end-game forms didn't lost for very long, though. As we explored the game's themes more deeply, it made the most sense for there to be a singular "true" form.

If your reality is shaped by subjectivity and perception, then the "truth" has to be what's left when that subjectivity is swept away. the Shifting Mound's final design feels like that initial truth for the Princess, though there's also another truth if you push back against her and press on into the final cabin.

We really liked this "void" design, and I played around with the idea of it being an intermediary to the final form. The "void" Princess would be what you saw upon encountering the final Princess without understanding your own truth, but once you had that understanding, you would see her as the Shifting Mound, as depicted in the game.

That gave way to the intermediary design of the SM being a sea of disembodied limbs, and we also took parts of both designs and incorporated them into the protagonist (particularly the wings.) You can see the eyes and feathers for this void form in the ending card of the original trailer below:

You can see extremely early concept art for the spectre (top), nightmare (top-right), stranger (left), beast (bottom) and ??? (right) as well!

The eyes became a motif in the Nightmare route (Paranoid's manifestation of the fear of being watched), but I also like to think of them as a part of The Long Quiet's truth. You are space and emptiness, but you're also that which observes those things, and it's your perceptions that give the Shifting Mound shape.

Anyways, on the note of the original original concepts for the game, the Princess was initially going to remain human for several loops before taking on more monstrous forms. Some concepts of that are below. Had to get Abby to tone down some of the more horrifically cartoonish designs because they creeped me out and I didn't want to romance them in a video game.

We had to hold our cards close to our chest in the non-metanarrative early drafts, which is part of why, even in the first demo, the cabin doesn't really change much in chapter 2. More room to subtly play with the concept of transformation over time.

There were a lot of reasons we moved in a different direction for the full release. The branching was unmanageably large to write, and the game felt like a slog to write.

Using an overarching narrative as a framing mechanism in the final version gave us a lot more freedom to explore wildly divergent ideas within routes while still driving the player towards the originally planned finale.

Anyways, now we've got some concept art for individual princesses. There's a lot more than this lying around somewhere, but it's all in sketchbooks, and we'll probably wait until we make an art book to show it off.

First is the tower, who really didn't change much at all. (She got a little thicker, I guess. All of the Princesses did)

Not a lot to say about her, other than the fact that we knew we wanted a set piece where she gets so big that the trees and cabin orbit around her.

The stranger went through many many redesigns over the course of development. Here, she was a "princess skin" filled with a hive of sentient bugs. The script wasn't working for me, though, so instead she became a peak behind the curtains without the necessary context to know her.

A lot of people ask how these earlier drafts of the Stranger route would have played out, and the answer is I can't tell you, because I couldn't figure out something worth writing.

The writing process for individual routes didn't really start with outlines or plot beats. Rather, the routes started from a theme and a relationship dynamic, and I organically found their outcomes by exploring actions within those themes, and then seeing if those passed Abby's editor brain.

Neither of us found actions we wanted to explore with those versions of the Stranger, at least actions that weren't a beat-by-beat retelling of chapter 1, which contained way too much variation to put on a single chapter 2 route.

If each princess examines a relationship formed by perception and first impressions, the Stranger examines one that's fundamentally unknowable. One where you've seen too much, too quickly.

An insect hive-mind pretending to be a person seemed like a good starting point, but it was too difficult to write any interactions that didn't immediately feel knowable, if still strange. So the final version of the Stranger was designed in such a way where her unknowability makes interacting with her on a human level fundamentally impossible, and you don't get to have a real conversation with her unless you satisfy extremely specific criteria.

Anyways next up is the razor's final form. We decided she needed more swords.

Hearts became an accidental motif very quickly in the development process, too. (The fact that it is only strikes to the heart that fell her in the demo was accidental, but it felt poetic so we extended it to the rest of the game.)

So on top of adding more swords, we made her heart visible. This is something we did with the fury as well, as a way of showing their emotional (and physical) vulnerability.

Here's an early version of the Adversary and what would eventually become the Eye of the Needle, back when she was still called the Fury. Originally her hair was going to be fire (as seen on the right), but it didn't feel right in its execution.

She's hit the gym since this concept art. Good for her :)

And we're going to end with the Beast, who at this point was called the Adversary. I think this was before the Witch was added? The Beast was originally designed to be a Questing Beast who lurked in the shadows, where you'd only see glimpses of her, and where each glimpse would make her appear to be a different animal. This was too difficult to execute, though we gave her a more chimera-like appearance in the final game.

This design was from when we still has the Voice of the Obsessed, and the route was going to be a more feral mirror of what eventually became the Adversary, but it felt too thematically similar while being less interesting, so we moved in the direction of making the Beast about consumption as a form of love.

Anyways, that's all we've got for you right now. Hope this was fun!

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

���Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

[pitlanepeach]

From Eden | Chapter Five (5/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety + telling a partner about self harm. Some awkwardness (obviously. it's them.) Kissing!!!!!!!.

Notes — Ohmygod they’re literally insufferable. I love them so much. I wrote half of this in the middle of the night and the rest when I was supposed to be WFH. Don’t tell my boss.

It took twelve minutes — a stuttered conversation about his plane journey (“Boring. I chose the wrong job for a guy who hates travelling so much.”), him tripping over a random stack of books, and Francesca’s uncontrollable burst of laughter at his clumsiness that cracked through the initial awkward tension.

And then it was just… easy. Like they’d known each other forever.

Oscar fit. He fit into her space. Not seamlessly — his legs hung off the edge of the sofa, and he had to duck to get into the kitchen without smacking his head — but somehow, he still fit. Like there had always been a space carved out for him here, quiet and waiting. 

“You have a lot of books,” he grunted, rubbing his elbow where he’d caught it on the corner of a shelf after trying (and failing) to avoid another tumble. A faint red blotch bloomed across his cheek. 

Francesca pursed her lips in a valiant effort to hide her grin; her cheeks hurt. Had she stopped smiling since he’d arrived? Probably not. “That’s my entire livelihood you’re talking about.”

Oscar gave her a mock-serious nod, eyes twinkling. “My apologies. I guess I just have to get used to feeling like I’m in a library then.”

Francesca raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Correct. Insult the books and you’ll be out on the street faster than you can say ugly orange racecar.”

He grinned at that, dimples flashing. “Papaya,” he corrected, automatically.

“Osc. It’s… so orange,” she told him, gentle and sincere. “They’ve brainwashed you.” 

He rolled his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hm. Agree to disagree.”

She huffed her annoyance, but she was smiling, still.

Oscar looked around the flat again, with more intention. Most of the walls were lined with shelves — overflowing, chaotic, personal. Not just books, but little figurines, old mugs repurposed as pen holders, framed photos, postcards, pressed flowers between glass. Her entire world, encompassed inside these four walls.

“I like it here,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.

Francesca’s smile faltered, just a touch. She studied him, trying to figure out if he meant it — really meant it — or if he was just being kind.

But Oscar met her gaze with something solid. Unwavering.

“I’m glad you let me come,” he added, softer this time. “Really glad.”

Right. Because he really was here.

Not on a screen. Not in the background of a race broadcast. But here, in her flat, stepping over book piles and stealing glances at her like she was the only thing in the room he really wanted to be looking at.

Henry hopped up beside him on the sofa, gave him a cursory sniff, then promptly curled up next to his thigh like he, too, had accepted Oscar's presence as something entirely inevitable.

“You’ve been vetted,” Francesca said, settling in across from them with her knees pulled up.

Oscar tilted his head. “By the cat or by you?”

She smiled. “Both. Congratulations.”

He leaned back, arms stretched out across the cushions, one foot nudging hers gently. “Worth it.”

— 

Francesca didn’t mean to end up pressed right up against him on the sofa. It just sort of… happened.

One minute they were sitting side by side, knees brushing slightly whenever she shifted to grab her mug from the coffee table, and the next, she found herself curled against his side, her legs pulled up, tucked comfortably between them, a blanket pooled over both their laps.

Oscar’s arm had moved slowly, almost unsurely at first, but now it was settled around her shins, his big hand warm around her ankle, wrapping around it entirely. His thumb made small, absent-minded circles, like he hadn’t even realised he was doing it. Francesca hadn’t said anything, didn’t want to break this spell they’d found themselves in.

Henry was curled on the rug nearby, snoring faintly. Oscar had tried to bribe him with a treat earlier. The cat had blinked once, disinterested, then strolled off with his tail flicking like a snub.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Oscar murmured, glancing at the feline. “He’s kind of a little bastard, actually.”

Francesca smiled, eyes on the cat. “He’s discerning.”

“Is that the polite word for emotionally unavailable?”

“That,” she agreed, “and slightly spiteful. He liked you when you first got here, but now you’re stealing my attention from him, so…”

Oscar chuckled. “Can’t deny he’s cute. I can see why you love him.”

“I do,” she said simply. Then, after a pause, “He makes me feel safe.”

Oscar glanced down at her, the humour in his expression fading into something gentler. “Yeah?”

Francesca took a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. He’s quiet — unless he’s hungry and I’ve forgotten his breakfast. Doesn’t expect much. Doesn’t judge me. And he’s just… here, you know? He just exists near me. Always.”

Oscar didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fill the silence with something easy or deflecting. Instead, his thumb traced a slow, steady line along her ankle, grounding her.

“He’s taken good care of you, then,” he said, soft but certain.

She turned her head to look at him — really looked. “Yeah. Is that weird?”

“No,” he said firmly, with a tone that very much implied that he wouldn’t accept any different. 

His hand left her ankle after a moment, fingers brushing up her leg, light and patient, until they found hers, half-curled on her lap. He picked up one of her hands gently, like it might break.

And maybe it already had; in a way.

He turned it over slowly, thumb grazing the inside of her wrist, then the raw, reddened skin across her knuckles and the side of her palm, the tiny pinch bruises, the white scars. His gaze flicked to hers, suddenly cautious.

Francesca swallowed hard. God, she’d known this would come up eventually. She hadn’t expected them to be so touchy so fast, but it was far too late to pretend this was going to be anything slow-burning. They’d already burned for long enough.

“It’s not— I don’t hurt myself. Not… deliberately.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “It’s more like… when things get too much, and I don’t know how to handle it, I pick. Scratch. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing it until it’s already bad.” She drew in a breath, unsteady. “It’s been worse before. But this — this is still pretty recent.”

Oscar didn’t let go.

He didn’t flinch or shift away or frown in that way that made people feel like they’d just confessed to something shameful. Instead, he laced their fingers together, slow and certain.

“My parents hated it,” she said after a silent moment. “Whenever they caught me doing anything that made them uncomfortable — biting my nails, needing to leave places early — it was like I was ruining it for them. Like I was an inconvenience on purpose, you know?”

Oscar’s jaw went tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I wasn’t allowed to talk about how I was feeling. They didn’t… like hearing it. I had to hide everything. After a while, I started hiding it from myself, too.” She gave his hand a tiny squeeze. “And then, one day, it started manifesting itself in other ways.”

“Like this,” Oscar said gently, brushing a thumb over her hand again.

She nodded, eyes burning. “It’s getting better. I- I hardly do it anymore. I can go months without an issue. I know it’s terrible, I do, but I promise, I can try—.”

“You don’t have to try for me,” he said, voice low as he cut her off, halting her spiral. “Don’t ever have to hide how you’re feeling, or what you’re thinking. You get that?”

Francesca bit her lip, hard. Her chest was tight — not in her usual twisted panic kind of way, but something much, much warmer. 

“I’m a bit scared,” she whispered, curling closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and breathing him in. “That you’ll realise how messy I am and… I don’t know. Decide I’m not worth the hassle.”

“You are,” he said, without hesitation.

No pause. No doubt. Just truth.

She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You don’t know that.”

“Kinda do,” Oscar murmured. “I’ve got my mess too. Plenty of it.” He paused, his voice low. “You might be the one who decides I’m not worth it. I can’t promise you a peaceful life, Francesca. I’ll try — I’ll do everything I can to give you something close — but I can’t guarantee anything.”

She shook her head before he could spiral further. “Osc, stop. I know. I already know,” she said gently.

And that was enough.

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, fingers loosely tangled, hearts beating in tandem — not perfectly synced, but close enough. Close enough to mean something.

— 

The quiet felt different now.

Francesca sat on the edge of her sofa, staring at the dent Oscar had left in the cushion. Henry had moved to the other end, curled up into a croissant of cat contentment, but it wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

She'd tried brushing her teeth. Tidying. Scrolling on her phone. All of it only filled seconds.

It had been less than an hour since he’d left, and already the air in the flat felt too thin.

She got up and paced, arms crossed over her chest like they could hold her together.

This is ridiculous. He’s five minutes away. Maybe less. But also, you’ve known him for what? Three months? And then, he didn’t want to go either. You saw it on his face.

She reached for her phone, pulled it back, then finally opened FaceTime before she could change her mind. 

He picked up on the second ring. His hair was damp, he looked freshly showered, and the hoodie he was wearing sat slightly crooked on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft with surprise. “Everything alright?”

“I—um.” She pressed her lips together and huffed out a laugh. “Is it really weird if I ask you to come back?”

Oscar blinked once, then sat up straighter, the movement making the camera wobble slightly. “No. Not weird.”

“I’m not… asking for anything,” she clarified quickly, heat rising in her cheeks. “I just — I can’t really explain it. I just feel a bit off. I thought I’d be fine. I’ve lived alone for years and it’s never been a problem but now that you were here and now you’re not it just feels—”

“Wrong for me to be five minutes down the road?” he offered gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, he smiled — lopsided and warm. “I was hoping you’d say something. Didn’t want to be the one to push my luck.”

“I— Really?” She exhaled.

“I haven’t unpacked,” he admitted. “I’ve just been sitting here staring at the ceiling wondering if it was too soon to text you that I miss you.”

She laughed, the sound raw and relieved. “You’re such a dork.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said, standing up and already reaching for his shoes. “Give me ten minutes. I— should I bring my stuff?”

“Yeah.” She said, without even a second of hesitation. “I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

Oscar hung up after one last smile in her direction. 

Francesca paced again, but this time it was different — tinged with a manic kind of anticipation, her steps light. 

When the door creaked open, she was perched on the arm of the sofa, kind of just… staring at it. Waiting. 

Oscar stepped inside, shaking his hair out from the light drizzle. “London really rolled out the welcome mat for me, huh?”

“It was wet already,” she said, and then stood there, looking at him. The comfort of his presence settled over her like a favourite hoodie. “Thank you for coming back.”

“I never really left,” he said. 

With a snort of derision, she reached for his hand, pulled him toward the couch, and they collapsed into the same dented cushions as earlier — this time, with no awkwardness, no space left between them. She practically curled up on his lap, in a move that was so very Henry of her.

It was late. Early hours of the morning. They were both tired. They didn’t talk much beyond a few whispered words here and there as they watched a random movie that was playing on Channel 4. Just sat, his arm slung around her waist, her fingers toying with the edge of his hoodie. He kissed her temple once, then rested his cheek there.

Easy. Warm. 

She wanted it forever. 

— 

Francesca moved around her kitchen on careful feet, trying not to make too much noise even though Oscar was very much awake — she was wearing one of his hoodies. They’d fallen asleep on the couch, a mess of limbs and cricked necks. When they woke up, she’d shivered, and he’d immediately grabbed his duffle, opened it, and grabbed the first hoodie to hand her. It had a McLaren logo on the front and smelled like him. 

The domesticity of it all was throwing her completely off balance.

He looked up from the mug in his hands when she set down two plates — toast, fruit. Not fancy, but easy. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he, not for a few moments. 

“You make weird tea,” he said finally, peering into his mug. It had a picture of Henry on it. When he’d chosen it out of the cupboard, she’d had to hide her smile. 

She tilted her head at him. “Huh? Weird how?”

“There’s oat milk in it,” he said, nose scrunching slightly.

“I like oat milk,” she replied, matter-of-fact. “You should’ve told me you didn’t. I think I have some powdered cow’s milk in the back of the cupboard somewhere…” She trailed off, glancing toward one of the kitchen cabinets with a furrowed brow.

Oscar coughed, hastily shaking his head. “No—God, no. I’m… yeah. Oat milk is just fine.”

Francesca stared at him for a second, a slow smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s easy to forget you’re probably used to, like, fancy coffee. Flat whites with milk flown in from Australia or something.” 

She reached across the table and plucked a strawberry from his plate with deliberate mischief.

“Be nice about my milk preferences,” she added, popping it into her mouth.

“I am being nice,” he said with a small smile. “I’m drinking it, aren’t I?”

Their knees bumped under the table, lightly, accidentally-on-purpose. Francesca didn’t move hers away. Oscar didn’t either.

His phone buzzed near his elbow, but he didn’t reach for it. Francesca glanced at it, then back at him, then said, “Lando?”

He hummed. “Probably.”

She smiled around her bite of toast. “Aw. He’s your Katie.”

Oscar blinked at her. “My what?”

She laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “You know. The person you text the most. The one who you think about telling big news before anyone else.”

His expression softened, gaze dropping briefly to his plate before lifting again, meeting hers. “I think that’s you now.”

Francesca froze. Not in a bad way — just long enough to feel it settle deep in her chest, warm and a little scary. “Oh.”

Oscar’s foot nudged hers again, gentler this time. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it’s… very okay.”

They went quiet again, the air between them filled with something lighter now, but thicker, too. Oscar reached out, slowly, fingers brushing the edge of her plate to steal a slice of strawberry. She watched his hand, her gaze lingering as it retreated. And then she reached across and took it — his hand — without fully thinking.

He didn’t flinch. Just let her link their fingers and gave the tiniest squeeze in return.

“So,” he said softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You studied English Lit at uni?”

Francesca nodded. Of course he’d noticed the framed certificate stuck to the fridge like a badge of honour. The most expensive fridge magnet in the world.

“Yeah. At York,” she said. “I was going to try and get into the publishing industry, originally. Or proof-editing. But… things changed. I started posting on YouTube a month after graduation, and it just… took off.” 

“Did you like studying?” he asked after a beat.

“Sometimes,” she replied, her voice thoughtful. “I liked the content. Loved the books. The theory, the discussions. Hated the actual, like, uni lifestyle though.”

He smiled, just a little. “Too much socialising for you, huh?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Too much everything. People everywhere, all the time. Constant pressure to be on. And drunk. I hated how loud it all was.”

Oscar’s fingers stilled for a second before they moved again, slow and grounding, rubbing circles on her skin. “I didn’t do uni,” he said, eyes flicking down to where their hands sat tangled between them. “Went to boarding school here, in England. Left after GCSEs to focus on racing full time.”

Francesca’s brow creased, the image of him at fifteen — maybe younger — on the other side of the world, too sharp in her mind. “Did you miss your family?” She frowned, thumb tracing a line over his wrist. “Your mum must have trusted you a lot, to let you make that decision.”

Oscar let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “She did. Does.” His voice dropped, a little rougher now. “It wasn’t easy. I mean, I was pretty lucky — I had lots of people around me, managers, mentors, a few teammates who looked out for me. But there were days when all I felt was homesick, you know?” 

Francesca turned her body more toward him, their knees bumping.

“I can’t imagine being so independent at that age,” she said, quietly.

“I think it taught me a lot,” he said after a moment. “But I don’t know if I’d want the same for my kids.” 

Her breath caught. 

“I- yeah.” She murmured. “I can see that.”

He looked at her then, properly, his hand moving to hold both of hers now, like he wanted to keep them steady. “When did you start reading?”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Young. I used to go to the library after school. It felt safe there.” She confessed. “When I didn’t want to be at home.” 

“I- I really hate how you were treated by your family.” He admitted. “Did you— I mean, can you at least tell me that you had one person in your life who took care of you?” 

“Katie.” She said, after a heavy beat. “I met her at uni. She was studying business. She’s a great friend.” 

That wasn’t the answer he’d been wanting to hear, clearly, but he didn’t push. 

Francesca stared at him. There was a beat of quiet between them, soft and golden, and then she said, “You make me feel safe, Osc.”

He blinked at her. 

“I know it sounds like a lot,” she continued, “but there’s something about you that makes me feel like I can just… breathe.”

Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment. He just leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against hers.

Francesca let her eyes flutter shut, her breath catching in her throat. There was something cloying in the air between them now — expectant, tender, and so, so careful. His hand moved from hers, brushing up along her forearm, until it came to rest at the side of her face. His thumb traced a gentle line across her cheekbone, featherlight, like he was memorising every inch of her.

She opened her eyes just enough to meet his.

He was already looking at her.

Not the way other people looked at her — with pity, or hesitance, or confusion — but like he was enamoured by her. 

“Is this okay?” Oscar asked, voice barely a whisper.

Francesca gave the smallest nod, her fingers curling into the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Please.”

So he kissed her.

It was slow. Intentional. No rush, no need to prove anything — just the warmth of his lips against hers, the quiet exhale from his nose, the gentle tilt of his head as he leaned in closer. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world to do it properly.

Francesca melted into it. Her hand came up to his shoulder, then his neck, fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape. She felt his pulse against her palm, and hers answered in kind, a steady, stumbling rhythm. 

When they eventually pulled apart, neither of them moved far. Foreheads still resting together, breaths shared in the space between them, everything soft and golden in the morning light.

“I really like you,” she confessed, cheeks rosy red, lips swollen.

Oscar grinned, lips brushing against hers as he said, “Yeah. I really like you too.”

And then she laughed, small and slightly breathless. “Good. Because that would’ve been really awkward otherwise.”

He laughed with her, arms tightening around her like he didn’t quite want to let her go. “Yeah, that would’ve been devastating for my ego.” 

—

bookishgoldie just posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, and 47,109 others

bookishgoldie: new video-essay coming to your screens on Tuesday! hint: it’s about a certain singers influence on the contemporary romance genre 🪩🫶

view all comments

user21: holy shit my two worlds are colliding and i am NOT going to be calm about this

user17: she’s a HUGE swiftie miss girl isn’t quiet about it either 😭 ive been waiting for a vid like this from her omg

user87: me on tuesday: everybody shut up my show is on

user74: ohmygod real

user6: our girl is collecting piastri’s like pokemons ohmygod. oscar AND hattie in the likes iktr

user54: so her and oscar are definitely dating then lol

user69: maybe hattie just showed oscar one of her vids and he just… follows her? it’s probably completely innocent. she’s not exactly wag material lol

user7: @user69 wish i could be as delusional as you babe

hattiepiastri: if i send u my favourite manga will you make a video about it pls?

bookishgoldie: it would be my first manga ever! but yes. i’d 100% make a video about it if u want me to do <3

user40: OH SHES PART OF THE FAMILY HUH

user61: stop she’s giving such big sister energy ‘if that’s what u me to do’ IM DYING

landonorris: my sister asked if u would follow her pls she likes your videos @flonorris

bookishgoldie: ohmygod yes of course that’s so sweet. followed her

flonorris: this is the most humiliating day of my life but I LOVE UR VIDS SO MUCH FRANCESCA ahhhhh (lando i fcking hate u)

user76: ok this is getting crazy now

user8: im getting whiplash WHAT IS HAPPENING

—

Francesca was curled up on Oscar’s lap, laptop perched on her thighs, fingers moving with idle precision as she clipped audio and trimmed footage.

He was content to just watch her work. In her element. The furrow of her brow when something didn’t sync up quite the way she’d expected it to. The occasional muttered commentary and nudge when she wanted his opinion on something. The way she mouthed along to her voiceover without even realising.

It made something calm settle in his chest. 

“I like seeing this side of things,” he said after a while.

Francesca glanced at him with a shy smile, tapping the spacebar to pause the video. “A lot of people hate this part. The editing. My management tried to hire someone to take over, but I said no. I genuinely enjoy this. I can just… lose myself in it.” 

Oscar hummed. “Hattie’s the same with her sketching. Just zones out completely. You could set off fireworks next to her and she wouldn’t notice.”

Francesca’s smile widened a little at the mention of his sister. “I like Hattie.”

“She’s annoying. But she’s also one of my favourite people,” he said simply. Then, after a second, he asked, “Do you… talk to your siblings much?”

The shift was subtle. Her smile dimmed. 

“Not really,” she said, voice quiet but even. “I mean, I have a sibling. One. Izzy. She’s older. We’ve never been close. She was like my parents; thought I was just a dramatic attention seeking kid.”

Oscar’s fingers found hers where they sat between them, soft and easy. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She gave a little shrug, tried to smile again. “I mean, it’s not. But I’ve made peace with it.”

Oscar was quiet for a second. “My family’s already excited to meet you.”

Francesca’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Wait — what?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve told them about you. Mum asked if I’d started seeing anyone. I didn’t really know how to explain what this is, but I tried.”

“You’ve told them about me?”

“Of course I have,” he said. “You’re kind of hard not to talk about, to be honest.”

Francesca flushed, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. She didn’t speak for a long moment, then murmured, “I want to go. One day. To Australia. I want to meet them.”

Oscar looked at her properly then — really looked. Her eyes were glassy, not from tears, but from something quieter. Nerves, maybe. Definitely fear. 

“Scary thought?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “They’ll come to you. They’ve already offered. I told them a little bit—not everything, just what I could. Mum gets it. She said she’s happy to meet you wherever you feel safe.”

Francesca stared at him, wide-eyed. “You… told them that?”

“Yeah,” he said, slightly hesitant. “I—I'm not ashamed of anything about you, Francesca.”

She looked away quickly. Her thumb rubbed absently over his collarbone, shaky and soft.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’d like that. Them here. But that— I mean, I’d want to try. My job gives me so much freedom and I’ve never used it.” Her voice dipped, threaded with uncertainty. “I’ve always been too scared.”

She had a passport, technically. But she hadn’t travelled since she was a kid, since there’d always been a parent’s hand to hold in the chaos of airports, someone else to take charge. Adulthood had turned freedom into something sharp-edged and overwhelming.

Oscar leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple — slow and sure. “We can do as much trying as you want, babe.”

Babe.

The word caught her off guard in the nicest way. It fizzed in her chest, soft and electric, looping like a song she didn’t know she’d needed to hear.

She tilted her head just enough to look at him. “You said that really casually,” she murmured. “So now I feel like a psycho for wanting to scream about it.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, then looked down at her, a teasing glint sparking in his eyes. “Beautiful. Babe. Baby. Princess.” He ticked each one off like a checklist, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Francesca let out an incredulous, half-sputtered laugh as her face flamed red. “Oh my god. Stop. Now you’re just testing me.”

“Actually, I’m gauging your reactions,” he said, gaze calculating. “Seeing which one makes your brain short-circuit the most.”

“It’s definitely ‘princess’,” she muttered, hiding her face in his chest. “You cannot just say that. It’s embarrassing. I hate pet names.”

“No you don’t,” he said, entirely unapologetic, fingers drawing slow shapes on her arm. “You liked them.”

“Did not.” She said petulantly. 

They sat like that for a while. The laptop battery warning popped up and was ignored. The video paused, forgotten. Francesca leaned her head against his chest. 

“When do you have to be back?” Francesca asked, her voice soft, as if she didn’t really want the answer. “At work, I mean.”

Oscar shifted slightly beneath her. “There’s a break between races,” he said. “Just a week, and I’ve got to be in Woking on Saturday. Sim session.”

She nodded, humming in acknowledgment. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed against the hem of his sleeve. “Where do you… I mean, where do you actually live?” she asked after a beat. “I’ve never really thought about it. You’re always travelling so much — it’s hard to imagine you, like, actually settled down somewhere.”

He smiled, tilting his head like the question had caught him off guard. “Australia, mostly. I stay with my family when I’m back there. But I’ve got a few places scattered around — small apartments I use when I need them. I rent them out when I’m not going to be using them.”

“Oh.” Francesca blinked, absorbing his words.

“I want that to change, soon,” Oscar said, his voice low, honest. “It’s been fun, letting myself just… exist. Living out of suitcases, bouncing from city to city, never stopping long enough to feel anything settle. But I want somewhere to be able to call home, you know? A real home. I don’t feel like I have that at the moment.”

She nodded, quiet for a moment as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Where would that be?”

He let out a short breath through his nose, a sound laced with uncertainty. “Lando’s been pushing me to consider Monaco,” he admitted. “Says it makes sense. Warm weather, tax stuff… the usual.” He gave a small shrug, like he was a bit embarrassed by how dry and practical it sounded.

“Lando seems fun,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile.

“He’s… Lando,” Oscar replied, with a fond shake of his head. That alone made her laugh. “He’s excited to meet you.”

She softened at that. “You’ve told everyone about me, huh.”

Instead of answering right away, he tucked his fingers gently under her chin, tilted her face toward his, and pressed a series of light, lingering kisses to her lips. Slow and affectionate and sure.

“Yes,” he murmured in between kisses. “Everyone. Anyone who’ll listen. Don’t expect that to change anytime soon.”

She blinked at him, dazed and glowing. “Hm. Well, I get exclusive soft launch rights,” she said, attempting something breezy but smiling too hard to quite pull it off. “If you’re telling everyone about me, I’m telling the internet about us.”

His brow quirked, and he grinned. “You want to show me off?”

There was a low, amused heat in his voice, and she bit back the stupid little sound that nearly escaped her throat.

“Yeah,” she said, gaze flitting to his mouth and back to his eyes. “Obviously.”

He gave a small smile, soft around the edges. “So… what you’re saying is that it wouldn’t be completely ridiculous if I asked you to be my girlfriend? Officially?” A slight flush crept up his neck, but his eyes stayed steady on hers. “No pressure, if it’s too soon, or weird, or—”

“Yes.” Her answer came fast, almost cutting him off, and she let out a little breathy laugh at herself. “I mean… yes, I’d like that. A lot.”

Oscar’s smile widened slowly, and something settled behind his ribs. “Okay. Cool. That’s cool.”

She leaned up to kiss him. “Yes. Very cool. Boyfriend.” 

— 

iMessage — Francesca & Katie 

Katie: 

Update pls

Francesca: 

I AM A GIRLFRIEND NOW

Katie:

Colour me shocked. 

Girl why do u seem surprised by this. 

He is literally so gone for you. 

Francesca: 

i want to eat his face off 

Katie: 

Oh good god. 

Please tell me you haven’t been this unhinged in-front of him 

Francesca: 

yolo 

he’s my bf now anyway 

no escape for him! 

Katie: 

Poor guy has no idea what he’s signed himself up for 💀

CHAPTER SIX

[clara-a7]

Facetime || OP81

彡PAIRING ; Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡REQUESTED? ; No~ (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 934

彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; I just wanted to write something fluffy after Oscar's win. It's not my best writing, but I hope you will like it!

Your phone buzzes the second you settle into bed, still grinning from the race you just finished watching. Oscar’s car crossing the line in P1, the crowd roaring in the background, his voice crackling through team radio, joy and disbelief tangled together.

FaceTime Incoming: Oscar🧡

You swipe to answer, anticipation rushing through you as the screen lights up.

His face fills the frame immediately. He’s still in his race suit, sweaty hair sticking out under a McLaren cap that’s tilted slightly to one side. A towel is draped around his neck from the post-race interviews. He’s exhausted, but there’s an unmistakable glow about him, the one you know so well, the one that only comes after a win.

And when he sees you, his eyes light up, brighter than anything else in the world.

“Hey, Champ” you tease, raising an eyebrow playfully.

He laughs, the sound wrapping around you like a warm hug. It makes your chest ache in the best possible way. “Not Champion yet”

“P1 today. Top of the standings. Sounds like a pretty solid start to me” you grin.

Oscar leans back against a wall in the garage, his eyes flicking over the screen, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he seems to double-check that you’re actually there, that you’re not just a figment of his imagination. “It feels insane” he says, his voice tinged with wonder. “I still can’t believe it”

“I can” you reply easily, letting your smile slip into something warmer. “I’ve believed in you since your Formula 3 days”

He chuckles, his eyes lighting up again. “You’ve been saying that for ages, haven’t you?”

“I knew you were capable of it” you say, giving him a teasing wink.

“You watched the whole race?”

“Obviously” you say, feigning offense. “I screamed when you took the lead. I’m pretty sure I woke up half the street”

He laughs, that deep, boyish laugh that always makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. “That explains the noise I heard from the car”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s comfortable. The kind of silence you two share, where words aren’t necessary, and yet everything feels a little more profound because you’re both there connected, even through a screen.

He shifts the phone slightly, as if trying to get a better look at you, like you’re the calm after the storm, the one person he can lean on after everything.

“You know” he says, more quietly now, “every time I win, I think it’s gonna start to feel... normal. But it never does”

You nod slowly, your heart squeezing a little at the vulnerability in his voice. “That’s because you’re not just racing anymore. You’re fighting for the whole thing now”

Oscar exhales softly, and you can almost feel the weight of everything he’s been carrying. “Yeah. I guess I am” His gaze never leaves yours.

You can hear the pride in his voice, but there’s something softer underneath it, too. Not doubt, but the quiet realization of how far he’s come and the responsibility that comes with it.

“And I’m not gonna lie” he adds, his voice lowering slightly, “being up here, top of the board, after everything... I kinda wish you were the first person I saw when I got out of the car”

Your chest tightens, the words hitting you harder than you expected. It’s not just about a race win. It’s about everything they’ve been through together, every moment where he’s pushed forward, every time he’s crossed a finish line with her in his thoughts. It’s about his journey and the way it always circles back to you.

“I wish that too” you whisper, your voice soft but full of meaning.

“I heard the cheers, saw all the orange in the stands, the fireworks... but it still didn’t feel real until I saw you” he says, his voice full of emotion, the weight of the moment obvious.

Your heart swells, and you can’t help but smile, even though the lump in your throat threatens to choke you up. “Oscar—”

“I know,” he interrupts, smiling sheepishly. “I’m getting sappy.”

“You’ve earned it” you say, your voice light but full of affection. “Go ahead. You’ve got every right to be”

“I will” he says, a playful glint returning to his eyes, but it doesn’t quite mask the warmth that still lingers there. “But next time, I really need you trackside, okay? No more excuses”

“I’ll buy my own ticket” you joke. “Just tell me when and where.”

He laughs, that deep, genuine laugh that always makes you feel like he’s just here with you, no matter how far away he actually is. “Deal. We’ll make it official”

Another voice calls out in the background, muffled and distant, but Oscar doesn’t look away from the screen. He lets the moment stretch for just a few seconds longer, as if savoring it. Then, with a reluctant glance toward the chaos behind him, he sighs.

“I’ll call you later tonight” he promises.

“I’ll be waiting” you say, your heart light and full. There’s something about the way he says it like he’s already thinking of how he’ll make up for the distance, how he’ll carve out time just for you.

“Love you”

“Love you more”

He doesn’t say goodbye. Instead, he gives you one last look the kind that says more than any podium interview ever could, more than words could ever capture. And then the screen goes dark.

The call ends, but the warmth stays, like he never really put the phone down.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[remmickslvt]

Pleading With Fate (NSFW 18+)

Okay for starters, I LOVE the idea of touch-starved, borderline pathetic, begging Remmick.  That shit gets me going.  JUST SAYING. 

You had just moved into an old farmhouse in Mississippi.  It needed plenty of work, so you spent your days working on projects around the house, not getting out much unless it was for small errands.  Recently, you had noticed who you guessed was your neighbor milling about, shooting you nervous glances and awkward waves.  You wondered when he was going to appear on your porch and finally introduce himself... 

The picture frames were finally hung in your entry, surrounding you with the illusion that your family and friends had come with you on this journey.  They had urged you to stay, that this wasn’t going to work, that you’d hate it down south.  Despite their fleeting efforts to keep you chained to “home”, you persisted that you needed to space and time alone to figure out your path in life.  Solidarity had always been your thing, especially now in your mid-twenties.  You hadn’t had a serious relationship in over five years, and you had started to become convinced that maybe settling down wasn’t your destiny.  That was okay, you had wanted to move down here and start fresh, clear your mind, meet new people.  Which, for the record, hadn’t really happened yet.  You sighed seemingly along with the house, as the heat of the sinking day light elicited creaks and groans of the aged structure.  As you turned your back to the front door, a soft knock echoed through the entryway.  You stopped and slowly turned back around, waiting for another sound.  You crept towards the peephole, uneasiness pricking the back of your neck.  This time, the knock rang out slightly louder, more urgently.  You held your eye, and your breath, to the hole, and on your porch stood your neighbor.  He was looking nervously around, almost clinging to the door as he raised his fist to knock again.  Before he could, you cracked open a gap just large enough for your face to lean through.  

“Ah, I was just about to knock again, sorry if I startled ya.” the man chuckled awkwardly, his eyes darting around and avoiding your gaze.  

“No, I was just on the other side of the door anyway, just putting things away.  Sorry, who are you?” you then pulled the door all the way open and faced the man. 

He stopped his fidgeting and finally his eyes met yours.  They were almost black, with a tinge of what appeared to be red.  His mussed dark hair fell onto his forehead and curled around the tops of his ears, and a days' worth of stubble dotted his square-set jaw and upper lip.  His white button-down fit snugly over broad shoulders and thick arm muscle, the type earned from working long days in the field.  A thin gold chain rested on his collarbone, tucked underneath the collar of his shirt.  Blue suspenders hugged his pecs, clasping onto a weathered black belt with a square gold buckle, which held up his black trousers.  His lips curled into a sneer.  “I’m your neighbor, darlin’.  Name’s Remmick.” 

You extended your arm past the threshold of the front door to shake his hand.  His grip was firm, his calloused hands rough against your soft skin.  Your eyes locked and you felt his energy, unsure if it was pure or something sinister, sear into your mind like hot candle wax on a frozen lake.  Solidifying once it penetrated through.  Almost in a trance, not breaking eye contact, you felt yourself pulling him towards the entrance.  “Do you wanna come in?” 

His smile grew, and as it widened, long, glistening fangs emerged into view, but it was too late, he was already across the threshold.  “Absolutely.” He slammed the door behind him as he backed you against the wall, his breath hot against your neck as his lips brushed against your skin. 

“W-what are you..” your voice trailed off as he softly kissed, raising his hand to rest against your collarbone.  Long, bony, white claws slithered up your neck as he continued to gently suck on your neck.  You suddenly snapped out of whatever fog you were in and shoved his weight off of you.  Although his efforts aroused you, you weren’t going to make it that easy.  You pointed to the floor, and he followed with his eyes, then snapped his head back up with a puzzled tilt of his head. 

“On your knees.” You demanded, curling your lips up in a devilish grin and regarding him through half-lidded eyes.  He raised his eyebrows as his eyes widened, yet he shakily dropped to the floor in front of you. 

“Yes, ma’am.”  You took a step forward and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up at you as you ran your thumb over his lower lip.  His lips parted in response, and he swallowed nervously.  You took your other hand and ran your fingers through his hair, and at your touch he shakily inhaled.  “Please, whatever you’re doin’, lass, just let me touch you.” 

You sneered and grabbed a clump of hair, eliciting a sharp gasp followed by a deep growl from Remmick.  He lurched forward, and you dropped to the ground with a gasp, backing yourself up to the staircase as he fixed a pure, predatory stare into your eyes.  He was on you suddenly, practically crawling over top of your body, thick strands of drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.  He looked hungry.  Ravenous.  Despite his sudden dominance, he still hadn’t touched you.  “You must understand, darlin,” his eyes softened momentarily, “I crave you.”  The hardness of the wood steps digging into your spine caused your back to arch slightly, and with a swift movement Remmick’s arm slid under your body.  He pulled you up closer to him, his strength catching you off-guard as he brought your figure upwards to press against his chest.  Your eyelids fluttered as you stared into his now deep scarlet gaze, your own need for touch beginning to knot in your abdomen.  You then grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt and pulled him into you, your lips colliding with a soft moan of surprise from Remmick.  He gripped your side still as he deepened the kiss by rolling his hips slowly into yours, his clothed member nudging the growing wetness between your thighs.  You sharply inhaled at the contact, and he withdrew his arm from underneath you and moved his hand to underneath your dress.  Slowly, he ran his long claws from your belly to your waist, caressing each line on your hips as he made his way downward.  He pulled your panties to the side, still nipping at and sucking your bottom lip as you began to squirm underneath him.  He paused, waiting for the whisper of please to emerge into the kiss, then indulged by slipping one finger, then two into your nearly dripping core.  The ball of his hand rested against your clit as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, your soft moans revving him up even more.  Just as soon as he had started, he stopped, breaking away from the kiss only to suck his fingers of your sweet juices.   

“Let me feel ya, darlin.  Please.” Lust had clouded his vision, he only saw you.  He looked at you as if he were on the edge of life and death and you were the antidote.  Like he needed your body as much as he needed blood.  You bit your lip and nodded, your core throbbing for him.  He wasted no time unbuckling his trousers, once again attacking your mouth and swirling his tongue around for dominance.  He entered you suddenly and roughly, immediately pounding into you while pulling your hips into his with each thrust.  Your head fell back against the stair above you, your back curving over two more while you almost sat on the next ledge.  That curve allowed Remmick to hit your cervix with each drilling thrust, your climax climbing quickly.  He lowered his head to your neck once again and with a deep, primal, almost animalistic snarl, he sank his fangs into your muscle, the sudden flow of hot blood causing him to fuck you even harder.  You groaned and despite the sharp, piercing pain shooting through your body, your high bubbled over the top and sent you spiraling into pleasure, your orgasm coursing through you with deep shudders and your nails raking into Remmick’s back.  Unlatching from your neck with blood running down his chin and down the front of his chest, his orgasm overtook him, blurring his vision as he filled you with his seed.  He threw his head back and moaned as he guided your hips through the sloppy comedown, thick trails of blood and saliva dripping onto your chest.  Your walls clenched around his length, milking him of every drop of cum as he emptied deep inside you.  He pulled out shakily and collapsed on top of you, your heaving breaths falling in synch as he laid against your bloodstained chest, your wound still pouring.  Your limbs began to tingle in response to the blood loss, yet you still raised a bloody hand to cup his face.   

“When I wake up, we’re going another round.” 

[heartavenue]

Things I Wished Someone Told Me Before I Shifted

The first time I shifted was back in 2021, at the height of the misinformation era, and quite frankly, I'm surprised that I even did it. I was sitting in the starfish position not moving, not swallowing my spit or anything! But nonetheless I did it, and I wanna help other people do it too!

1. Don't Compare Journeys

I know this has been said time and time again but there is a reason for that. I don't know about y'all but when I first found out about shifting I was ecstatic! As soon as I heard about I laid down in my bed and did the raven method the same night, so needless to say there is nothing more that I wanted than to live this reality.

I remember frantically scrolling on TikTok searching for methods that caused other people to shift. The disappointment washed over me when I used the same method as @/shiftingwithkatz (this is not a real person I am using this for storytelling purposes) and didn't yield the same results.

I woke up night after night, with my head in my hands and tears running down my face. "Why can't I do it?" "What am I doing wrong?" I would repeatedly ask myself.

I said all of that to say this: Everyone's journey is unique. I like to think of shifters as snowflakes; no two are the same. We often put a time frame on our shifting journey, but you don't have to be in a rush.

Don't try and be like someone else, do what works for YOU! For instance, I hate hate hate HATE guided mediations so why on Earth would I shift that way? All because I saw someone else say that they did? Fuck that. Make this shifting journey YOURS!

2. Shifting Is NOT Physical

God, I wish someone would have told me this. Shifting is not physical! Turn that into an affirmation, write it down, make a subliminal, do whatever you have to do to drill that into your brain! Stop waiting for your surroundings to change, to smell your scripted scent, or to feel a tap from your favorite person.

It all starts up here *for reference I am pointing to my head.* Imagination is the TRUE reality, it is all you need. Disregard the physical, who cares about your senses. If you assumed that you shifted, then you have shifted. End of story.

3. Time Isn't Real So You're Not Running Out Of It

This right here. I remember when I first started my journey, I felt like I was in a basketball game and my team was down by one point and there were only fifteen seconds on the clock. I couldn't wait for the clock to strike at 9:00pm so I could lay down and do my method, just to wake up to be disappointed again.

But I'm hear to say this, relax. Time is not real so there is no clock, you don't have to shift within a couple of hours days, or weeks. None of that matters; besides shifting is INSTANT anyway! Decide that you have and boom! Time quickly becomes a nonfactor.

4. Shifting = Manifesting

As you all know by now I practice the Law of Assumption, and boy did life get easier when I bridged the gap between the two. Shifting is manifesting, period. I was always a spiritual person, so I was not a stranger to the concept of manifestation.

Let me tell you guys something, you can not NOT manifest therefore you can not NOT shift. Boom you've shifted! Know that, own that. These things are within us, not something to be learned. No, it's innate. So for all of my Law of Assumption shifters out there, think about all of the things you manifested. Guess what? You've shifted. And to all of my non-Law of Assumption shifters? You've shifted too!

5. Do What YOU Want To Do!

This sort of ties back into don't compare your journey but I shall go on! Don't do something that you want to do, if you hate awake methods don't do them. If you hate the Julia method, then don't do it. Stop doing methods because OTHER people do them. I'm sorry but I thought this was your journey? Don't plagiarize, be original! If you don't like doing anything (like me) then DON'T! Simple as that!

6. Blockages Aren't Real, Fuck Intrusive Thoughts, and FUCK Doubts!

I'm going to speed run this one because I want to make this simple. Blockages aren't real unless you assume that they are, intrusive thoughts have no power whatsoever unless you give them power, and it's the same thing with doubts.

What's the common denominator in this? You. They don't mean shit unless YOU say they do!

Okay my love bugs, that is all I can think of as of right now. I am sure that I hit the points I wanted to make, if I think of any more things I'll be sure to add! Like always my dms/asks are always open if you all need anything!

Tag: @papatacomia hope you enjoyed this my love!

[alternate-real-ities]

I’ve been on a weight loss journey and I just found out from my doctor and nutritionist that I’m no longer overweight, I would love to see what happened to me in other universes.

First of all, let me just say congratulations on your incredible achievement! Losing weight is no easy feat, and the fact that you've managed to shed those extra pounds and reach a healthy weight is truly something to be proud of. I can only imagine how hard you've worked, how many sacrifices you've made, and how much dedication you've shown to get to this point. So from the bottom of my heart, well done! Now, let's talk about what might have happened to you in other universes...

I've found this universe where you're a total beefcake. Like, seriously, you're a walking, talking, muscle-bound Adonis. I guess all those hours in the gym really paid off, huh?

Every inch of your body is chiselled and defined, sculpted to perfection by hours of hard work and dedication. And let me tell you, it shows. I can almost smell the heady mix of sweat and musk rolling off your body in waves. It's intoxicating, making my knees go weak and my mouth water. Your skin glistens, a light sheen highlighting every ridge and valley of your sculpted muscles.

Don't even get me started on those arms - each one thicker than my waist, corded with power. I can just imagine how incredible they'd feel wrapped around me, crushing me against that rock-hard chest.

But it's not just your top half that's been blessed by the gods of gym. Oh no, you've got a set of legs on you that could make a marathon runner weep with envy. Those thunder thighs and that juicy, muscular bubble butt... fuck, I'm getting dizzy just thinking about it.

And as for what's nestled in those tight shorts? Well, let's just say that the outline of your impressive manhood is enough to make a grown boy like me drool like a puppy. I bet it's thick and heavy, swinging between your legs like a pendulum, begging to be freed from its cloth prison.

In this universe, you're not just a sexy beast - you're a god among men. A beefy, muscular daddy who could make even the most seasoned twink tremble with desire. And fuck, do I want to be the lucky little slut who gets to worship at your altar, tracing every inch of your glorious body with my tongue until you roar with pleasure and claim me as yours.

Also, I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I've stumbled into a parallel universe where you're a bit more of a lad.

Here, you're a bit different from the previous muscle beast we saw. Your muscular frame, honed by years of manual labour and football at the pub, is usually clad in musky Adidas gear that clings to your curves like a second skin.

Fuck me, but you're the epitome of a fit, rugged, working-class stud. The kind of bloke who could bench press me and fuck me silly all at once. I bet that cock of yours is thick and heavy, swinging between your legs as you strut around in those tight pants, just waiting to split me open on it.

And as you take a long drag from your cigarette, I can catch a whiff of your scent carried on the breeze - sweat, smoke, and cheap cologne, a heady cocktail that makes my head spin with desire. Your eyes, cold and calculating as they rake over my body, tell me you're not used to playing nice. This version of you takes what he wants, consequences be damned. And fuck if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.

I can only imagine the filthy things you'd whisper in my ear as you pinned me against the wall, rough hands roaming my body, leaving marks on my skin. The way you'd grind your hips into mine until we were both aching and desperate for more. One can only dream...

In another universe, you've transformed into a total Japanese e-boy wet dream. Gone are the extra pounds that once slowed you down - your doctor and nutritionist just crowned you fit as fuck! And oh, how the multiverse has blessed you.

In this reality, you're sporting a lean, muscular physique that fills out your tight black hoodie in all the right places. Hell, even your glasses - stylish and sleek with black frames - can't distract from your smouldering good looks.

But it's not all about looks (even though, damn, could this guy be any more gorgeous?). Nope, your multiversal twin is packing some serious smarts too. You're a gamer god, fingers flying over your keyboard/controler as you dominate online matches in your cluttered yet cosy flat. The glow of your monitors lights up your handsome face as you grind on your opponents, and I bet that's not the only thing you grind on.

Wait until you see yourself in the reflection of your 4K screen - the way your hair falls messily over your forehead, the glint of sweat on your brow from intense gameplay, that mischievous smirk playing at your full lips. I bet people are surprised when they see a little nerd with such fit body. This alternate reality version of you is a total wet dream come true - gaming glory, cute boys falling at your feet, and a sexy e-boy body that has everyone drooling.

So there you have it, a glimpse into what might have happened to you in other universes. I hope you enjoyed the journey, and I wish you all the best as you continue on your path to health and happiness. Keep up the good work, and remember that you are strong, capable, and deserving of all the good things that life has to offer. Congratulations again on your weight loss, and may your future be filled with joy, love, and success. You deserve it.

[eclectickss]

Taste the Tango

Wanda x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SoftTop(switch if you squint)!Reader, age gap (reader is of age), reader's best friend is Wanda's son, Tommy is graduating high school? (a choice that I don't think I've seen before, so let me know if you like?), Wanda is reader's former teacher, slight alcohol use, smut (fingering, oral)... I think that's everything?

Summary: You are in your hometown the summer before your senior year of college hanging out with your best friend. Unexpectedly, you also get some quality with his mom (and your former teacher).

WC: 10,350 words?!?! (a record for me)

╔══《✧》══╗

"Hey Y/N!" Your gaze shot up from the pavement to the open door ahead, smiling as you saw your best friend standing in the frame.

"Hey Tommy!" You jogged up to hug him, seeing as he and his twin brother just returned from a week long beach trip. You normally wouldn't be this excited to see him, but with complicated summer schedules and school across the country, it had been almost 6 months since the two of you had spent time together.

"This is crazy, I missed you so much!" He backs up and you immediately spot the sparkle in his eye that is easily recognized in the rest of his family.

"I know, me too!" You shook his shoulders and hugged him one more time. "So, you said you had something planned for today?" The two of you walked into the house and towards the kitchen. Your eyes secretly darted around the space for a certain someone, but you are slightly disappointed when you don't see the person you're looking for.

You feel guilty for hoping she would be there, since you were there to spend time with her son, but you couldn't silence your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried.

"Well I know it's kind of silly, but I picked up some rocks we could paint?" He scrunched up his face. "I don't know, I just wanted something mindless we could do while we caught up."

"Are you kidding, that sounds great!" You smiled.

"Alright, awesome! I've gotta head out by six so I can meet Ruby for dinner, but we have plenty of time," he said as you followed him back to his room. Ruby was his girlfriend of six months, so it prided you to know that hanging out with you was his priority.

The two of you made it to his room and he encouraged you to sit down as he left to get art supplies. Just before you were able to sit though, a voice reached into the depths of your mind.

"I knew I heard a familiar voice!" You turned around and there she was, as breathtaking as ever. Wanda Maximoff. The way her soft eyes met yours and her red wavy hair sat just above her shoulders made you melt. You prayed the moment would last forever, but the passing seconds were inevitable.

"Hi!" You excitedly walked over to your former teacher to give her a hug, painfully ignoring all other emotions you were feeling.

"How are you, Y/N?" She moved out of the hug, cheeks grazing, making you briefly look away.

"I'm absolutely wonderful, how about you?"

"I'm alright," she spoke as she softly smiled. "Are you excited for your last year of college?" She leaned up against the doorframe.

"I guess so? I love California, but I can hardly wait until I'm done with school already so that I can come home. Are you ready to become an empty nester?"

Billy and Tommy were three years younger than you, so they were just about to begin their college journey as you were ready to bring yours to a close. Tommy was only going to university an hour away and Billy five hours, but you imagined it would still be a lot for both boys to be leaving the house at once.

"Oh hush, dear." Ms. Maximoff playfully shoved your shoulder, a gesture you struggled to not linger on. "I don't wanna hear that talk. Let me soak in my boys being home while I can. And you being here while I can." She smiled with a small glint in her eye, but you knew she was dreading the boys' absence.

"Oh well, two more semesters and you won't be able to get rid of me."

"Perhaps it's selfish to say that we can't wait to have you back either, but I know you'll accomplish wonderful things in your last year there." She placed a hand on your shoulder and instinctively you placed your own on top of hers.

You internally panicked, worried that you were being too affectionate for a teacher/student/best friend's mother relationship, but she just moved to gently caress your cheek and proceeded to walk away.

You could hardly process your thoughts as your brain replayed the previous moment over and over, but this torturous habit is nothing you weren't unfamiliar with.

Every day that went by with Ms. Maximoff in your presence was a day to strenuously remember. You mentally recorded her words, her movements and her reactions. Time slowed with her around as you soaked in every detail about her possible.

Every day that went by without her was filled with daydreaming and guilt. You always wondered how she would react to something, or how she would respond in a private conversation. You tried to picture her thoughts and envision her smile before you. You hated how much you thought about her, yet craved to dream of her.

She was your high school english teacher, your best friend's mother, and your go-to mentor in any sticky situation.

She has already given you so much, and you despised the fact that you wanted more. You knew it was wrong, but she was your addiction.

"Earth to Y/N," A hand waved in front of your face and you quickly realized that Tommy had returned with the rocks and art supplies.

"Oh, hey Tommy!" You rubbed your eyes in shock.

"Where'd you go there?" He laughed and sat down on the floor.

"I uhh... can't remember." You lied, joining him on the floor, not letting him see the guilty emotions written across your face.

---

Hours pass as the two of you work on your rocks and talk.

You tell him all about your travels while he fills you in on everything that happened at the beach and on his trips prior.

You love listening to all his little stories, especially those where his mom is involved. One of your favorite stories was when he talked about her affliction with the terrible kitchen at the beach house. She wouldn't stop complaining about the quality of the stove, which you ended up finding rather funny.

You asked him if she even actually used the stove, and he said no, which made you laugh out loud. Supposedly she apologized at the end of the trip for making such a big deal out of it.

He thought it was stupid, but you found it cute.

Of course that was something that she would do.

"What else crazy did she do on the trip?" You couldn't stop yourself from inquiring about her. Tommy never caught onto your special interest as he laughed it off and launched into the next story.

"So it was movie time, right?" He starts and you nod. "Well mom and I were advocating for She's Funny That Way since we're both madly in love with Kathryn Hahn."

You cackle and quickly agree with their side. "Of course."

"But Billy and Auntie Nat wanted to watch Knives Out!"

"I thought you liked that movie..."

"Ok yes, but Kathryn Hahn or Chris Evans?"

You thought about it for a moment. "Fair Enough." This made you wonder though about Ms. Maximoff's interest in Kathryn Hahn. There's no way she's.... attracted to her, right?

If Ms. Maximoff actually liked women, the hole you've dug for yourself would become infinitely deeper.

"Anyways, so mom, out of nowhere, says, 'You wanna watch Knives Out? Well guess what, Chris Evans is the villain and Ana de Armas gets the estate and money,' and Nat and Billy were furious."

"Oh my gosh!" You laughed with your hand over your mouth in disbelief. "So did you guys end up watching She's Funny That Way?"

"Well mom and I did. Billy and Nat went off to watch something else."

"Wow! That was vile!"

"It really was intense." He laughed and the conversation paused as both of you returned your attention to your rocks. Right before your paintbrush hit the surface though, his phone alarm went off.

"Aw, shoot. That's my timer for Ruby. We gotta clean up."

"That's alright." You gave him a soft smile. "We do have the last two weeks to hang out before I go, and I understand I'm not the only important person in your life."

He looked at you and smiled. "I love you, you know?"

"I love you too, you dork. Now let's clean these brushes and get these rocks outside to dry."

The two of you were cutting it real close to six once everything was cleaned, but before you knew it, you were saying goodbye to Tommy in the driveway just as Ruby had pulled in to pick him up.

"Alright, Y/N, we'll hang out soon!" He hugged you and stepped back.

"Oh you know it."

He followed you to your car, but you quickly realized you had left your keys inside.

"You know, I think I left my keys on your floor, but don't bother waiting for me to drive away. Go have fun with Ruby."

"Alright. My mom will let you in if it's locked." He hugged you one more time and joined his girlfriend in her car. You released a breath of air and headed back to the house, happy to see that the kitchen door was still unlocked.

Ms. Maximoff was standing in the room though when you walked in.

"Oh, hey Y/N/N! Did you forget something?" She looked up from the cutting board and veggies on the counter.

"Yeah. My keys are somewhere in Tommy's room," you said as you headed in that direction.

"Oh, so you're not back because you forgot to say 'goodbye' to me?" She teased.

"You read my mind!" You yelled from down the hall, embarrassed by how quickly you turned red.

Your keys were rather easy to find, but you took a bit longer to collect yourself before exiting Tommy's room.

"So," she said as you re-entered the kitchen. "What are you doing with your last two weeks before heading back to California?"

You were caught off guard with her conversation starter, but you were overjoyed that she wanted to talk. You leaned back onto the counter to face her.

"Well, it's all just trying to hang out with friends, even though most of them are off doing internships or traveling. I'm honestly just hanging around home a bunch," you shrugged.

"What, you didn't want to travel or anything?" She said as she continued to work on the cutting board at her fingertips.

"You know me, Ms. Maximoff, I love home just a little too much." You smiled and looked at your feet.

"Wanda, dear." She stopped her chopping and looked directly at you. "I was Ms. Maximoff to you because I was your teacher, but we've been over this, darling. Wanda, please."

You sighed. "It just... feels weird!"

"Ok, well you know what we do when things feel weird, Y/N?"

You looked at her questioningly.

"We practice, dear." She stepped around the kitchen island to lean on the counter across from you, and your thoughts started to get louder. "Say it. Say my name." She openly challenged you, so you had to accept.

"W- Wanda?" Your insides were burning.

"With confidence, dear."

You took a breath. "Wanda." You exclaimed, meeting her gaze from a few feet away.

"Good girl. Now use it in a sentence."

You blushed, knowing she saw it, but hoping she assumed it was from your discomfort. "Like... what?"

"Well, I don't know! A compliment, a question, a simple statement? I don't care, just say something. Anything." She commanded as your heart was pounding in your chest.

"I think your eyes are gorgeous, Wanda." Fuck. That wasn't supposed to come out. The woman across from you seemed to freeze briefly. "I mean- your eyes, Tommy and Billy's eyes... you all have the same eyes. I think... I think they're pretty. Wanda." FUCK.

Wanda still hadn't moved, her gaze digging into your soul. She finally took a breath, leaving a long pause in the conversation.

"What do you think of me, Y/N?"

"What?" Disbelief dripping from your reply as the intonation behind her question became lost on you.

"How do you process my image? My persona?" Wanda playfully smirked. "It must at least be slightly askew since I was your teacher, but what role do I play in your life?" She moved some cooking items away from the edge of the counter, proving to you that you had her full attention.

"Do you want me to be honest or uncomfortably honest?"

"I want to know why you chose me. Why you always turned in my homework but nobody else's. Why you wrote me thank you notes and asked me to write your college recommendation letters... why you confide in me and why you respect me so much..."

You stood in shock, feeling your body start to shake from the nerves. Your shoes all of a sudden became really interesting.

"Uncomfortably honest it is, then." You gave a long sigh and glanced back up to see her eyebrows raise in anticipation.

"It was one of the first lectures you gave me in 11th grade. I had started to realize that I was more introverted than I wanted to be, so I challenged myself to break out of that shell. I started doing that by speaking up in class. You had asked a question about our summer reading, and because I already knew you through Tommy, I felt comfortable to answer.

"To my surprise, you started a debate with me... and I didn't back down... and then you applauded me for standing up for something I believed in. That made me want to pay a lot more attention to you." You paused to take a breath, making sure the other woman was still paying attention. Wanda nodded in acknowledgement, but stayed silent to let you continue. "I started to listen to every word that came out of your mouth. I memorized every piece of information you shared, I watched what candy you picked out of the bag first, I payed attention to what music you were listening to, what books you were reading." You paused. "And so I started to notice things.

"You work to understand every single story in the room. You want to help as many people as possible, and you don't let their faults get in your way. You have a passion for what you teach and you want to share it with the world. You have good and bad days just like the rest of us, and you allowed me to see that. You are kind, empathetic, beautiful, and I have a great deal of respect for the way you carry yourself, Wanda."

Your heart raced as the two of you stared at each other for what felt like minutes. You had just poured your heart out to the one person who was never supposed to know anything. Wanda was speechless, which made you nervous. You continued to ramble.

"And- and its tricky because Tommy is genuinely my best friend and I don't know what I'd do without him... but if you're wondering what I think of you, I don't know what I'd do without you either. This family has made me who I am today. And it's all very complicated and confusing and difficult to navigate."

Wanda's eyes still stood stagnant, but you couldn't bear the silence anymore.

"Why do you ask?" You quietly gulped, praying some sound would exit her mouth.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? Billy is with friends tonight and Tommy is with Ruby, as you know, so I fear I have nobody to eat with." Wanda returned her attention to the preparations. The change of subject caught you off guard, but the opportunity to spend time with her was never something you wanted to turn down.

"Uh... sure! Let me just tell my mom I won't be home for our frozen pizza dinner." You made a goofy face that Wanda found hilarious after you commented on your other dinner option.

"Wonderful." A beautiful smile spread across her face as she pulled another plate out of the cupboard and set it on the dining table. "Would you care for a glass of wine?" The offer felt odd coming from the older woman, but it's easy to forget that you're legally allowed to accept alcoholic beverages now.

"That would be nice." You gave her a soft smile.

"I can't believe you're old enough to drink now... better for me so I won't be drinking alone," You both laughed. "Red or white, darling?"

"Whatever you're having." Wanda practically waltzed around the kitchen. "Is there anything I can do to help you prepare?" You asked as she handed you a glass of red.

Wanda paused her movements and looked at you with a silly yet impressed smile. "Well... have you ever made paprikash darling?" She asked and you shook your head. "Would you like to learn?"

"Absolutley." You grinned and Wanda took a sip of her wine.

"Wonderful." She held out her hand for you to join her at the cutting board. "We've got to dice two onions, one tomato and one pepper, as well as mince two cloves of garlic." She placed the kitchen knife in front of you. "I like to use four cloves of garlic though," she nearly whispered in your ear.

"Do you know your way around a cutting board?"

"Uhh... not really?"

"A teaching opportunity then! You can never get away from me, can you?" Wanda's words were spinning in your head even though you knew they were not intended to be. The older woman stepped behind you, moving the knife to your left hand.

"How did you know I was left handed?"

"I pay attention, dear." She casually replied. "Now curl your fingers on your right hand like this-" She placed her palm on top of the back of your hand. "And hold the knife like..." She adjusted the positioning of your thumb and pointer finger. "Good. This is the best way to avoid chopping an extremity off." Your eyes widened, thankful Wanda couldn't see the fear written on your face.

"All that's left to do is slice." She grabbed the readied onion and placed it in the center of the board. Before you knew it, she was guiding your hand through the vegetable while pressing you into the counter from behind. "Wonderful!" She exclaimed as the slice of onion fell onto the board. "Now you keep going!" She stepped out behind you and you tried your hardest to not sulk at her absence.

You missed Wanda's warmth, but nevertheless, you continued slicing and she continued watching.

"Good girl." She spoke the words again, nearly making you loose focus with a dangerous object in your hand. "Now you cut in the opposite direction. I was never good with onions so as long as the pieces look somewhat like cubes, you will have done a wonderful job." That made you laugh and you continued working.

"So tell me more about college! I love having you here but we never get one-on-one time like this. How is your degree path, your teachers, friends? Are you seeing anyone?" The last question was delivered in a goofy, sultry manner as Wanda pulled raw chicken out of the fridge.

You giggled and rolled your eyes. "To get the most pressing question out of the way, I am not seeing anyone. I was slightly interested in a graduate student but we decided it would be better to stay friends. Plus, who gets lucky enough to date a graduate student?"

"A graduate student, eh? How did the two of y'all meet anyways?"

"Well she used to live in the rental where I am now, so I received some old mail of hers. Who woulda thought that the nearly outdated postal service of America almost brought two women together?"

Your joke made Wanda cackle as she turned on the stove to heat the pot.

"Well, at least you have the opportunity to date women on campus, dear. That would have been so much more complicated in my day." She stirred the melting butter in the pan.

"Oh Wanda, don't say 'in my day', that makes you sound like a dinosaur!" You laughed.

"Well, honey, I am a dinosaur!"

"Oh shut up, no you're not. I am shocked every day that there aren't sad little high school boys making rude comments to your face or handsome men on your tail." The room oddly fell silent and you immediately started reflecting on what you had said. You put down the knife even though you were nearly done with the tomato. "When you made the comment about back in your day... - did you... do you wish you had the opportunity to date women?"

An all-telling silence came from Wanda.

"You'd rather have beautiful women on your tail? Is that it?" You smiled at her a little bit, just to make sure she knew that you understood.

"Well... I guess so. The whole 'men' thing only did me one good and that is my boys. Their dad, Vision, was just a good friend and it took me a really long time to realize that."

"That makes perfect sense Wanda." You almost hesitate with your next question, but it feels natural to ask. "Is there any woman that you've ever been particularly curious about?"

Immediately, you could tell Wanda had an answer, but her various facial expressions made it difficult to decipher if she was going to tell you or not. Finally, a glimmer of playfulness lit in her eye.

"Yes, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Not even Tommy."

"So we both know this person then! She must be from school!" You exclaimed, getting excited.

"SHHH!" She looked at you seriously. "I always wondered how I really felt about Carol but she got herself a partner back in May."

It took you a moment to figure out who Wanda was talking about. "Wait- Carol as in Ms. Danvers Carol Danvers?!?" Wanda sheepishly nodded and you smiled wide. "Wanda, I can't blame you at all. Carol was hot at hell." You returned to your tomato, smirking.

"Excuse me!" Wanda was shocked at your remark.

"Oh, c'mon, Wanda. You must know that students talk about a few teachers. Mostly the boys... but they still talk. Danvers was a popular topic in my graduating class! Even I added a comment occaisonally..." You mumbled as you watched Wanda return her eyes to the stove with a scoff.

"Unbelievable." Fake disgust dripped from Wanda's voice as you held back your laugh. She pulled the chicken out of the pot and grabbed the onions from your board, tossing them into the oil. "You said a few teachers..." She whipped back around. "Who else was on the hot commodity list?"

You playfully scoffed. "Well there was coach Wilson amongst the girls and also Ms. Hill with the guys."

"Interesting."

"Oh, and of course we can't forget you."

"EXCUSE ME?"

You let out an outrageous burst of laughter. "What?! All of the students fangirl over how nice you are if they aren't upset with their grades in your class! The boys love how mysterious and alluring you are and the girls think you're extremely personable, which is true."

Wanda let a brief silence fall on the conversation. "And you?"

You paused. "I already told you what I think of you Wanda." You smiled and handed her the rest of the chopped veggies. "Here you go." A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as Wanda continued to work, claiming there was nothing else for you to do at the moment. Eventually, she covered the pot she had been focusing on and turned the kitchen timer on.

"We've got about thirty minutes of waiting before there will be anything else to do," she spoke as she finally poured more wine into the both of your empty glasses. "I hope you liked this red, darling. I don't know how experienced you are with alcohol yet... although i'm assuming it's more so than you should be for your age."

You giggled. "I have maybe had my fair share of underage drinking, just like any decent college kid might," you replied as you accepted the glass from Wanda and followed her to the nearby couch. You both got comfortable and you watched as the older woman pulled a blanket across her thighs. The absence of conversation began to feel a little overwhelming, but you weren't expecting Wanda to break it with the next sentence she spoke.

"You're actually the first person i've told about liking women," she began. You raised your eyebrows in shock. Not that she hasn't told anyone before, just that the first person she wants to confide in is you.

"Wow." You began. "I don't know if I'm the most appropriate person to offer this, but do you have any questions? I am comfortable answering anything as long as you are comfortable asking." You stared at Wanda as you sipped your wine, watching the gears turn in her head.

"Yes I-" Her hesitations finally diminished. "Have you ever dated a man?" You were not expecting that.

"Yes, I tried. I was in a similar situation where he was my best friend. This was in 9th grade, that is, but I still knew that I was supposed to feel more."

"How is it different?"

"Than women?" You watched as Wanda nodded. "Well there is an objective answer and a personal answer. The objective one goes to say that it comes down to the person and how you connect with them. How your life experiences tie together and whatnot. Objectively, I can't say that much because every individual is unique. Personally though, women are infinitely better."

This made Wanda laugh, which you were quickly realizing you would give anything to hear more and more of.

"They better understand your life experiences and how to navigate emotional situations, especially the mature ones. The way they display affection is usually more personable and caring, too. They also are more attentive to details, both mentally and physically."

"How so?"

You could feel the alcohol beginning to stir, making it harder for some thoughts and words to stay away from your brain. "Well mentally, women tend to catch onto social cues faster, like when their partner needs a break or needs to eat or needs cuddles or space. Physically, they pay more attention to how your lips move and how you like to be kissed, not just where." You noticed Wanda's eyes following the path of your lips and jawline, making you stammer for a moment.

"What else?"

You gulped, beginning to realize you had no idea how far this conversation would go. "Well, The body parts that they work to please are also the same parts they touch in their free time. They know how moving on something feels different than something moving on it... and so on."

Wanda tried to verbally confirm that she understood but you could tell she was a little lost in her head. She took a big sip of wine. And another.

"I was reading something the other day..." Wanda drew out and took a big breath. "Her tongue was on the...- and she had two fingers in-" Wanda stared at her hands, oblivious to the glaze over your eyes as your listened to your former teacher talk about fucking another woman. "Is that even possible?"

"Uh- um- yea- yes. It is. It takes a little bit of practice to figure out how to do it comfortably but - yes."

It was now your turn to take a big sip of wine.

"Oh I see."

"Do you have any other questions?" You know you shouldn't, but you wanted her to say yes. Your heart was racing and you could feel a velvety slick form in your pants.

"How are your classes going?" Her tone changed but she was still focused on her hands.

You let out a big gust of air from the tension you were feeling, semi relieved that the conversation had changed but also slightly confused. "Uh, classes are good. I've got most of the hard ones out of the way, so it's really just the fun ones left."

"Like what?"

"Well I have a science elective left so I'm taking intro to geology which is supposed to be wonderful. I've also signed up for a Shakespeare lecture that should be phenomenal too. It's being taught by my favorite professor, so I can't wait to have her again."

Wanda's eyes glanced up at that. "Again?"

"Yeah, I had her for my ethics class in freshman year and she was excellent. One of those teachers whose work I actually enjoyed doing. She really understood the students and designed her class structure to fit our interests."

Wanda didn't want to address the confusion that she was experiencing... almost jealousy, but the next question did not hesitate to fall from her lips.

"Do you have a picture?"

This caught you off guard. "Uh, yeah, I bet I could find her Linked-In or something." You pulled out your phone for a quick internet search. "Here she is on the school website."

You moved your phone in front of Wanda, not realizing until now how similar the two of them looked. Wanda also took notice.

"Was she on the list?" Wanda asked. "The list of teachers that students would talk about?"

"Oh, ha, no she wasn't." This line of questioning was risky, but you continued producing a response. "She was only part time and besides, that's more of a hormonal high school thing."

A brief pause entered the conversation. "Well, would she have been?" Wanda was speaking softly.

"Well, you were in high school once. What do you think?"

"Me?" Wanda's eyes widened and you nodded. "I think she would have been," the older woman drew out.

"I think you're right, Ms. Maximoff." You smirked as you took your phone back.

The two of you spent the rest of the half hour dancing around dangerous conversation, the mood lightening a little bit. You gained some insight into how the high school was holding up, and even heard some gossip about the faculty which made you really excited. You told Wanda more about what you were studying and what your plans were for after university, as well as how your summer was.

When dinner was finally ready, Wanda topped off the wine and the two of you sat down together to eat. The food was phenomenal and the company even better. The two of you went back and forth sharing memories from high school, true feelings about teachers and students being poured out. Wanda also got to know you more as you shared what books you had been reading and shows you had been watching.

Eventually, the room had quieted down as the two of you were focused on finishing the rest of your food.

"The food was astounding, thank you so much Wanda." You smiled as you set down your utensils and the older woman took her last bite.

"Mhm..." She swallowed, covering her mouth. "I would say 'you're welcome' but you helped me cook, dear, so I should really be saying thank you."

Your eyes met as the two of you stared, an odd silence threatening the conversation.

"So, clean up! What can I do to help?" You asked, standing up from the table with your plate.

"Oh, no, dear, please let me take care of it!" Before you knew it, Wanda had snatched your plate out of your hands.

"Are you-"

"Yes, yes, just sit down honey." She smiled at you as she moved around the kitchen, swiftly cleaning the mess from dinner. "So what has been your favorite class so far?" She asked as she worked. "Besides- besides that class with that teacher you like." The comment unintentionally sounded bitter, and the idea of Wanda being jealous entertained you.

"Well, besides ethics, I actually really liked my required fitness class. The semester I dedicated to the credit was a popular fitness semester, so finding an open section was hard, but I was able to get a seat in ballroom dance."

"Interesting! I didn't take you for much of a dancer." Wanda looked up at you from the sink, smiling.

"Neither did I, Wanda." You heard her lovely laugh again. "And I was not the star student in the class either, but I think I liked it the most."

"Oh yeah? What was your favorite dance?"

"The tango," you replied as you smiled, some bout of confidence overcoming you. "Would you like to learn?"

Wanda paused what she was doing then looked up at you with a smile. "Bold of you to assume to I don't already know it, but you would also be right. I would be open to it." She replied and you giggled, pulling out your phone for some music.

"Oh, now?!" Wanda watched as you stood up. "Honey, I-"

"No better time like the present!" You held out your hand for her to join you, the alcohol adding to your charm and boldness.

"Ok..." Wanda mumbled, wiping her hands off on the closest rag. She joined you in the open space, placing her hand in yours and you guiding it into place.

"Now the tango is a walking dance, so it is perfect to take it slow and steady. There are 5 basic steps, but i'll keep it simple and teach you two." Wanda nodded as you pressed play on your phone. "Now, screw traditional roles, but for the sake of simplicity, I will be the man and you the woman." You locked eyes with Wanda as she smiled, but you could see the looming intimacy behind her eyes. You could feel it too, standing this close to her body as you placed your hand on her back.

Teaching the first step was easy - Wanda was more inclined to the movements than you thought she would be. All you two were doing was striding in a circle, but every step you took became lighter and relaxing into each other was easier. Her nose tilted further towards you and yours towards hers - and for a moment, nothing else existed in the world.

Wanda was staring into yours eyes and you could barely breathe. Staring back was difficult - you kept averting your gaze to the floor or elsewhere in the house, desperately trying to comprehend the situation. But it was magical. Once you discovered though, that Wanda's piercing green eyes were the most relaxing thing to focus on, you were stuck.

And then you stepped on her toe.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, tripping as Wanda struggled to keep you from falling.

"Are you alright?" She asked as you composed yourself.

"I should be asking you that! I'm sorry."

Wanda laughed. "I'm perfectly alright darling. Now what's this about a second step?"

You blushed, Wanda essentially admitting she was enjoying this and wanted to continue. This was bizarre.

"Uh, it's pretty much the same for me. You get to shake it up a little bit."

"Oh?" She smiled and held her hands back out, awaiting the comfort of your return. You stepped into her grasp. "I can't wait," She winked.

This woman was going to be the death of you.

"Uh-m... - good!" You swallowed. "This is essentially the same as the last one, except now you're pivoting into me instead of pacing." You returned your hands to their proper placements.

"Like this?" She attempted a few steps with you.

"Almost. You don't need so much power to twist. Try again?" The two of you resumed stepping together.

"How's this?"

She almost had it, her knees just weren't getting the proper guidance. You dropped your hands down to her hips.

"Oh-" You froze. "May I?" Your hands were softly touching her jeans. You found Wanda staring, eventually returning a nod. Gently, you applied more pressure onto her joints and resumed stepping. Now, you could easily move her hips, and she quickly picked up the proper motion. "There you go." You looked back up at her eyes. "You're doing so well, Wanda."

She was speechless as you moved your hands back up to their proper position, rarely letting your fingertips leave her surface. It was easy to assume that a lot was going on behind her eyes... the step became mindless to her as she continuously scanned over your facial features.

"Wanda?"

She snapped out of it and ended the dance just as the song ended. "Thank you for teaching me, darling." She smiled softly. "That was wonderful." She returned to the kitchen in silence, leaving you alone.

"You were able to pick it up rather quickly. I was surprised." You said, following her to the kitchen and leaning against a counter. You could tell though that there were still gears turning in her head, so you let her be the one to talk next.

This allowed for a moment of quiet as you watched her finish cleaning the pot from dinner. Her back was to you as she washed and rinsed, softly humming the song from the tango.

When she was done, she still hesitated to turn around.

"Y/N?" She finally spoke, still away from you.

"Yes?"

"When I asked you what you thought of me, you said...- you said you thought I was beautiful."

You quietly laughed. "Out of all that I said, that's what you took away?"

"Darling, I-" she hesitated again. "Did you mean it?"

You did not wait to conjure up a response. "I meant every word of what I said. I mean... I have practiced telling you all of that nonsense for so long even though I never thought it would happen. I just want you to know that... that I care about you. And I do think you're beautiful, Wanda Maximoff. Without a doubt."

"You think I'm beautiful?" She tried not to choke on her words.

You took a deep breath, having done all possible damage already. "Yes, yes I do." You hesitated before speaking again. "I think that you are beautiful. Inside and out."

Wanda finally turned around, and her response was something you couldn't have predicted in a million years.

"I... I think that you are beautiful too."

You stared at her in disbelief.

"You do?"

"In every single way, you are beautiful." She paused. "The way that you carry yourself... the way you smile, the way you laugh. The moments you hold onto and the memories you make. The way your eyes shine when you're proud of something... all of it is beautiful."

She pushed off the counter and walked towards you as a tear formed in your eye. Her hand reached up to brush it away as it rolled down your cheek, but instead of placing it back at her side, her hand stayed cradling the side of your face. Your eyes raced as you traced every line and mark on her skin, noticing how her green glazed stare wouldn't look away.

The two of you stayed like that, simply staring at each other, hearts racing.

"Y/N?" Her eyes didn't leave yours.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to do something really stupid."

"Ok."

For the first time in what felt like hours, her eyes left yours, and instead went to your lips. She met your gaze one more time before slowly leaning in, closing the distance between you.

You couldn't believe what was happening as everything in your body burned. She used her hand to tilt your lips in her direction, and before you knew it, her mouth was on yours.

You initially didn't return the kiss, but before long, her sensation became addicting and you needed to know what more felt like.

Your lips were now pushing back on hers with curiosity and interest, slowly working through the feelings coursing through your entire body. Her mouth only briefly left yours before you were returning to another delicate kiss, delighted to see that it was being reciprocated with the small swipe of a tongue.

You let her into your mouth, eager to know what it felt like.

And whatever she was doing... well... it rocked your world. You caught yourself about to moan, which quickly brought you to your senses as you pushed her away.

"Oh my god." You took a deep breath and stared at the floor.

"What?" 

"You kissed me." You looked up and found her gaze full of lust; dark eyes roaming your body unapologetically. You couldn't believe that look was real, but the excitement consumed you.

"You kissed me back." She said, finding your stare again. The only thing worse than her intense gaze was the fact that she was right.

You were finding it very difficult not to pull her back on top of you. "Shit."

"Did you- were you ok with that?" Wanda asked nervously. She seems as nervous as you were, almost as if she couldn't believe what was happening either. Neither of you knew that you wanted this, but everything feels right now that it's there.

"Fuck, yes." You rubbed your face in frustration, struggling to function in the current situation. The nerves, heat and alcohol were all mixing together and before you knew it, the real uncomfortable truth slipped out.

"I'm fucking obsessed with you, Ms. Maximoff." You held your breath after messing up on her name, but instead of correcting you, her jaw slightly dropped at your desperation.

Out of some bout of confidence, you stepped into her space, backed her into the counter and dismissed every reason why the two of you should not happen. Her eyes stared you down with anticipation and desire. You brought your hands up to her head and wove your fingers into her hair, craving to feel her again.

"It's my turn to do something really stupid now, ok?"

She nodded slowly, afraid to avert her gaze.

As you leaned in towards her mouth, she took a deep breath and shuttered. Her hands moved to hold your hips just before your lips met, and this time, it was her turn to freeze once your mouth touched hers. You immediately began to panic, but just as you pulled away, she pulled your hips into hers and met your mouth with haste.

Immediately melting into her touch, a soft moan quickly escaped your lips as you tugged on her fiery locks. She gasped in return, giving you the chance to slide your tongue into her mouth and elicit a sound off of her shaky breath.

After all of your longing and pining and secrecy and wishful thinking, she was yours. Right now, as her fingertips were feeling your body for the first time and her sensation was consuming, you were struggling to believe that everything was real.

But the warm skin touching your side was undeniable. The wet tongue that was gently exploring your mouth was unquestionable, and the moans that were escaping the woman in front of you were unlike anything you could conjure in a dream.

One of your hands shakily released its grasp on Wanda's hair and made its way around her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. When your action resulted in a smooth moan from the other woman, you smirked, not expecting that in a million years. You brought that hand down to her waist so you could hold her body as close as possible.

"You liked that, Ms. Maximoff?" You breathed into her mouth, knowing she could sense your heated grin.

"Shut up and do it again."

You lightly laughed at her begging, but you were desperate to please her. Leaning in to kiss her again, you pushed your hand on her waist from her belly button back up to her neck, this time squeezing harder. She threw her head back from the pleasuring pain, which you saw as an opportunity to turn your mouth's attention to her neck. As your warm lips met her skin and your hands went to roam her curves, she audibly gasped, and you were soaking up every reaction that you could drag out of her.

Wanda's hands found the back of your head as she encouraged your sucking and biting, careless of how aggressive you were being. Your own fingertips began to entertain the rim of her jeans, testing the waters as you caressed her lower back. You were itching to move lower, but every aspect of the current situation was territory that you never imagined you would be in before.

"Where can I touch you?" You whispered under her ear.

She laughed, followed by a soft moan as you bit her lobe. "Oh, detka, we've moved way past that line of consent," She replied as she grabbed one of your hands and moved it to her ass. "I want to feel you. All of you."

"Yes ma'am," You smirked and returned your kisses to her neck, placing both hands on her ass and pulling her hips into you. A groan reached your ears as your tongue met the base of her collar bone.

With your mouth now at the top of her shirt, your hands traced her sides as you bent your knees to meet her clothed belly button. Grasping and lifting the bottom of her shirt with your fingers, you began to stand back up, slowly kissing and licking a straight line up her front to where her bra connected in the center.

"Wait," She said as you were about to teethe the fabric, immediately dropping the shirt and standing all the way back up. Your heart was racing, unable to predict what she was about to say. She looked as if she was genuinely questioning the situation, and you were terrified. "Bedroom. Now."

Before you could process the sense of relief that washed over your body, Wanda was dragging you towards the hallway that led to her room. Even though you'd been in her space several times, the idea of fucking her in her own bed was driving you mad.

Before either of you could make it two steps into the room, you shut the door and placed her up against the wood. For a moment, all you could do was stare into her eyes, and all she could do was stare back. This was crazy. Her hand twitched on your back, and you lost control.

You immediately pressed your lips back onto hers, lifting her wrists up and holding them against the door. She groaned as your tongue explored her mouth, your hands eventually finding their way back to the rim of her shirt. Now wasting no time, you lifted the article of clothing off of her body as she gladly held her arms above her head.

After tossing the shirt aside, you found yourself taken aback by her body. Her simple, red bra complimented her soft skin, hugging her gently. The stretch marks that remained from her pregnancy were like highlights of the moon reflecting off of the ocean, and the way her breasts moved with her heavy breathing had you in a trance.

"Holy shit," you whispered, slowly moving your mouth towards her sternum, beginning to place soft kisses in a line.

"What?" Wanda asked.

"You're breathtaking."

"Well, I'm not what I used to be."

Your hands roamed her back as you continued your delicate kisses on her breasts.

"I don't want what you used to be, Wanda. I think you're perfect the way you are now." You said as you unclipped her bra, slipping the straps off of her shoulders. The two of you locked eyes as you slid the article down her arms. Her swollen lips and wondrous gaze were stuck on your being as your lungs seemed to be missing air.

To your surprise, Wanda's next move was to lunge at you, forcing you to walk backwards as her tongue explored your mouth and her hands worked to remove your shirt. You jumped when the backs of your knees met the bed, but Wanda didn't seem to notice as she pushed you back and climbed on top. Distracted by the feeling of being in her bed and her tongue beginning to explore your chest, you tangled your fingers into her hair and tugged.

"Fuck," She moaned, looking up at you, and you froze. A pair of of desperate green eyes and wet, swollen lips were staring up at you, and your english teacher had just moaned a curse word. You felt like you were on another planet.

"Shit, you're attractive." You mumbled and the older woman blushed. "Tugging hair, choking... this is only the beginning, Wanda." You smirked at her from under her body, and her only response was kissing you deeply.

You used this moment as an opportunity to push her on her back, quickly mounting her before she could protest, although you don't think she would have. You took the moment to drag your fingertips down her front and run each nipple over with your thumbs.

"Oh, Fuck, babygirl, you're driving me-" You eagerly latched your mouth onto a breast, receiving a heavy gasp from the woman below you. You continued on with your work, playing with the free nipple in one hand and stroking a thigh with the other. Her fingers were dancing across your back, eventually making their way to unclasp your bra.

The moment you felt the relief, you gently bit down on her delicate nipple, causing Wanda to arch upwards and rake her nails down your back. The pain caught you by surprise as you leaned into her and moaned into her ear. You could feel her smirk against your skin.

"Shut up." You groaned.

"Make me." She replied, trying to tug your bra down your arms.

You sat up to fully remove the article of clothing, entertained by the hands that were running up your side to cup your breasts. You rested for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Wanda's massaging.

"Is this what you wanted from me, detka? Is this what you picture when you think of me?"

"To be honest, I never let myself consider it. But I always wondered what it would be like..." You smirked and placed your hands on her stomach. "Why? Is this something you've fantasized about? Having me on top of you, topless and moaning?" You leaned back over her body, your hands moving to massage her breasts and your breath teasing her other nipple.

"Oh honey," She laughed and moved her touches to and down your back. "I've thought about all of this. What your mouth on my tits would be like, how your fingers would feel inside of me..." Your movements stopped as you stared at her. "How hard would you fuck me and with how many fingers and how much tongue. How much would you edge me and make me crazy. What you would look like in-between my legs with my cum dripping from your lips? I'm simply curious, darling." Her hands cupped your ass as you worked up a response.

"Well aren't you lucky, Ms. Maximoff," You began with a shakey voice, one hand holding you up and the other teasing her stomach. "Cause you get to find out." You moved your fingers to the top her jeans and you popped the button open. "Have you ever pictured me rubbing out your cunt?" Wanda simply stared. "Well, we should probably start there." You slid your hands into her jeans and started making circles over her clothed pussy, watching as she took a deep breath and opened her mouth. You could feel her slickness in the fabric.

"Fuck, Wanda, you're already drenched." You groaned as you finally placed your lips on her other breast. Her wet cunt was already coating your fingers and you realized that you were so close to tasting her. "You're so wet for me, I've hardly done anything."

"Darling, you've done more for me than anyone else ever has." She groaned.

"Do you want me to do more?"

"Baby, please."

You immediately took your hand out of her jeans and turned your attention to taking them off entirely. You could hardly contain yourself as she lifted her hips and helped you slide the denim off of her skin, her now drenched panties completely visible.

"Wow," You whispered, crawling back on top of her body, bringing your face up to hers so your noses could meet again.

"Hi," She smiled sheepishly, and you gave her a loving kiss.

"Gods, you're stunning. I can't wait to be inside you." You kissed her again.

"I want to touch you too, babygirl." Wanda whispered and you smiled.

"Touch anything you'd like, Ms. Maximoff."

Wanda's eyes scanned your body. "I also want these off." She pulled at the hem of your pants then dragged her fingernails up and down your sides.

Shivering, you dismounted Wanda and stood up, putting on a show of you taking off your pants.

"You mean these old things?" You bent over so Wanda could see the fabric sliding down your ass, taking your time even though it was painful.

"Detka, you're killing me." Wanda sat up to watch as the hem dragged down your legs, revealing your most flattering panties. The attention she was giving you was lighting you on fire. You heard her audibly gasp when you started to pull at the final piece of clothing, but you instead let go of your panties and turned back around, smirking.

"Now, Ms. Maximoff, I can't do all of the work for you." You waltzed back over to the bed, remounting the older woman. You watched as her eyes followed the dark spot on your only remaining article. Grinning, you leaned into her ear. "Ill touch yours if you touch mine."

"Please, baby." She whispered. You sat up so she could see all of you again, this time reaching a hand down to where your panties covered your pussy. Making sure she was watching, you pulled the fabric aside.

"Go on, Wanda, it's all yours."

She slowly reached a hand to your slickness, and the moment you finally felt contact, you took a deep breath. At first, she just held one finger there, but eventually, small movements began to circle your clit. You moaned. "Good job, M- Ms. Maxi- mo--" She slipped a finger into you. "FUCK. You feel so good. You're doing so good." You noticed Wanda's eyes were glued to her finger moving in and out of you, trying to fill in the picture that was still hidden by the thin fabric.

You opened your eyes just in time to see her pull out her finger and bring it up to her lips, sensually sucking you off and whining at your taste. Excitedly, you let go of your panties and leaned down to taste yourself on her tongue.

"How did that feel, Wanda?" You smirk, coming out of the deep kiss and pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

"God- babygirl... you- you're driving me crazy." Her hips softly rolled under you as she pulled your head back down for another aching kiss. You ran the hand that wasn't supporting your weight over her breasts and down her body, scratching at the skin below her belly button. "Please, honey... I..." She mumbled in-between kisses, you hardly giving her a chance to speak. When you finally pulled away a few inches, no more words were leaving her lips as her chest heaved for air. 

"What is it, Ms. Maximoff?" You smirked, playing with the elastic around her waist. 

"I need you to touch me." 

"Yes ma'am." You watched her facial expressions as your hand finally dove into her panties, the moisture immediately apparent. Her eyes widened when your pointer finger found the velvety slick and you immediately knew you would do anything in your power to make sure she knew how good another woman could make her feel. Your digit slowly started exploring the rest of the area, soft moans escaping the older woman as you glazed over her clit and entrance. 

"Have you ever been touched like this, Wanda?" You whispered into her ear, making a few nips at her lobe.

"N-no..." She sighed as you began intentionally circling her clit. 

"Nobody to notice what you like... what you want. This wet, pretty pussy wasted on cheap condoms and a quick fuck."

A sinful moan left her body as your lips once again returned to her neck, you quickly learning where her sensitive spots were. "Shit, baby." Her nails were digging into your shoulder blades. 

"Nobody to know how warm and soft you are," You said, shoving a finger into her entrance, groaning as she gasped. "And it's a damn shame, cause you feel so perfect, Ms. Maximoff." You met her eyes when you could see the surprise on her face at your last statement. Your finger started moving slowly in and out, trying to map out every dip and line you could feel. "So perfect." 

You once again reattached your lips to hers, feeling the vibrations from her moans on your tongue. You could stay like this forever, you felt. But Wanda did not. 

"Detka, I need more. Please." Her slight accent slipping through, reaching down to your core. 

You pulled your finger out of her and she whined, fearing her pleading made you step back. Little did she know, but she would be getting exactly what she asked for. 

"I would love to give you more, but these are gonna need to come off." You dragged your soaked finger down her stomach to grab at her panties and she frantically nodded.

"Yeh- yes please. I want to feel all of you." 

You smirked, moving back to finally drag the rest of the fabric down her legs. When you finally brought yourself to look at the painting between her legs though, you could hardly breathe. Her folds were swollen and soaked with her wetness, slightly moving with her body as her chest rose and fell. You felt so divided, debating consuming her immediately or taking your time to work her up. 

You realized while the first option was so tempting, the second would give her the full experience. You slowly reached your fingertips to graze over her thigh, small whimpers coming from the older woman. 

"Oh, Wanda, you are divine." You muttered, now dragging both palms up her waist and down the sides of her ass as you repositioned yourself closer to her core. Eyes dragging up and down her person when you spotted the wetness that you had left on her stomach earlier. You leaned down to clean it all up, finally getting to taste her tanginess on your tongue. You moaned into her skin.

"Detka..." She gasped as you moved your mouth down to her inner thighs and you hands to grip her waist. Her smell was driving you crazy as her taste lingered in your throat. You began to slowly suck at the warm soft terrain, finding it easy to pull the skin between your teeth. A hand was placed on your head, pulling on your hair in a desperate attempt to get you closer to her core. You simply laughed, leaving red spots everywhere in-between her thighs.

Despite your grip on her hips, she still found some movements, directing your attention to the quiet sticky sounds coming from her pussy. You watched in a daze as her small twitches pushed around the slick, begging to be touched again.

You couldn't take it anymore, fully embracing her wetness with a torturous lick up her core. The groan that escaped Wanda was heavenly as she tried to tug you back onto her. You complied, picking up a slow routine of collecting her mess into your mouth. You dug your fingers deeper into her sides, addicted to her pain response. 

"Oh, good girl, baby. That, wow." She said as you began to suckle on her clit, striving for every reaction you could get out of her. "Holy fuck."

You smirked, finally sliding a finger back into her dripping hole and continuing to work on her clit with your mouth. You knew this pace you were making would not be enough, but you wanted the older woman to beg for it. You could tell she already wanted to as your hair only got tugged harder and finger nails started scratching at your arms. 

After only a short time, you decided to amp up the teasing with another finger into her entrance, but you would not change your pace. You took breaks on her clit when you felt she was building up too many knots, paying attention to her audible sighs as if she was taking a cold plunge and making sure her lungs were still working. 

"Darling, please... oh-"

You blew on her clit as you watched how your fingers slid in and out of her, collecting up her slick.

"Baby please make me cum. You feel s-so good but you're destroying me Y/N/N."

"You want me that bad, Ms. Maximoff?" You grinned. 

"Darling, its not a want. It's a need. Now. Please."

"Ok, as long as you look at me as I fuck you clean. I want you to know what good love feels and looks like." You smirked as she pulled a pillow under your head, elated when she gasped at the image before her... your chin soaked, eyes hungry and smile cruel. You kept eye contact with her as you sunk back down to her core, living in the light of her stare. You began to continue the licks and pumps, but she let her eyes roll back, which you hadn't told her to do. 

"Eyes on me, Ms. Maximoff. I'm in charge right now." You couldn't believe those words had just rolled off of your tongue, but clearly she hadn't either as your gazes reconnected. 

"You little sl-" She went speechless as you started a more aggressive pace, ensuring her green glare was on you. Once you had decided she would stay like that, you moved all of your attention to her pussy, finally tying all the knots together in her core. Her moans and whimpers were everything to you, even when you noticed her upper body was becoming too weak. You decided to let her finish, knowing she more than deserved it. 

"Detka, I think I'm gonna cum- I" 

"The stage is yours" You mumbled into her, internally grinning. You pumped a few more times and the next thing you know, Wanda has thrown her head down and arched off the bed. You could feel her cum as you watched the sight before you, the older woman unable to control her high. 

You stared in awe as your fingers worked her off her high, chest heaving and hands rubbing her eyes. You slowly pulled your fingers out of her twitchy hole, making sure her eyes were back on you as you raised your digits to your lips. 

"Wow, babygirl, that was... amazing." She pulled you over for a kiss, adjusting to her taste on your tongue. "Thank you."

You giggled. "You know, Wanda, another nice thing about women is that they have the stamina to make you cum more than once in a night... if you're interested." You smirked.

Her jaw slightly dropped. "More than once?"

╚══《✧》══╝

Thanks for reading!

[asingleshampdition]

Some people said they're scared about the implications of Lu Guang zipping his jacket up while Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi have their jackets loose. I'm here to offer some copium cause I don't want the highly likely bittersweet ending to actually come true 😭😭

In this section of the MV, Lu Guang is laughing at the error screens, likely as a homage to how many times he might have failed the timeline.

The clip of him zipping up his jacket and walking away can be interpreted as him letting go of his friends and leaving the past as it is, but also!---the Bridon Arc to Season 2 timeline is likely the furthest he's come in his journey (and I do believe the entire show takes place in one timeline because I don't think it would make sense otherwise). Qiao Ling gaining the abilities of Li Tianxi is very likely something Lu Guang has never seen in any of his previous attempts, and as seen in her deflecting Xia Fei's spell, she's going to be a powerful and important addition to their team.

Also, even though she shows up alongside Cheng Xiaoshi in Lu Guang's view of them on the TV, she's destroying a smaller TV with her bare teeth.

I believe this symbolizes how Lu Guang currently views them as critically endangered and how he believes it's up to him to save them. This makes sense because he always keeps his concerns about the timeline to himself, fearing that telling Qiao Ling or Cheng Xiaoshi the truth would destroy everything he's worked for. But in this clip, Qiao Ling proves that wrong (Cheng Xiaoshi does it later too) by biting down on the TV, even through Lu Guang's perception of her. She bites down on fate and shows her support for the latter. And at the end of the day, the trio is a team! Qiao Ling blows through Xia Fei to reach Liu Xiao and Vein, and even with the setback of Liu Xiao casting his spell on them, they still gather themselves and get ready to fight Vein.

Then Vein challenges Cheng Xiaoshi to mahjong, which the latter accepts.

I guess this could be read as him playing his game and falling for a trap, but I think it's really important to remember that Cheng Xiaoshi is not stupid, despite being painted as the silly himbo! He has saved three people from certain death throughout Season 1-2 (the little kid, Xu Shanshan, then himself in Lu Guang's body AND THEN LU GUANG TOO) and tricked Li Tianxi into surrendering his first host through quick thinking and insane improvisation (and Lu Guang's help, because they're a team!). Sure, he doesn't get everything right and isn't a genius like Lu Guang is, but I feel like after the big twist and Bridon Arc, we all kind of forgot just how smart he is because Lu Guang isn't a very reliable narrator after everything that's happened to him. Judging by the smile on his face, I'm sure he knows what he's doing, especially with Qiao Ling and Lu Guang to back him up.

Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang are partners. They work together intensively, and their past performance demonstrates they don't work well independently. Cheng Xiaoshi has his back if anything goes wrong; as shown in the last frame of the MV, he will go after anything that threatens his partner without hesitation. He will protect Lu Guang if he's in over his head in the new season, without any exception. My conclusion about the zipper clip is not that Lu Guang will have to leave the past be. In fact, I believe the people he sacrificed himself for time and time again will be more than eager to back him up, regardless of they know the full truth. Both Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi reaching for the screen as Lu Guang walks away represents this.

The problem is Lu Guang's reluctance to open up and let them in on what he needs help with. Like I said previously, Lu Guang has never let them in on anything he's gone through or experienced because of his fear that it will destroy all he's worked for. So while Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi try to reach him, jackets open and ready to support him, he zips his jacket up and their videos are cut short.

Lu Guang will probably have trouble communicating with the two in the new season out of fear for the timeline, because he thinks he's the only one who can bear the effect of his 'sins.' Also, he's a wanted fugitive in this part of the MV.

This could be in a symbolic or literal way (or both!), being guilty of going against his own principals and manipulating time for selfish reasons, OR he actually lands in jail because of miscommunication with Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi. I would actually really like it if the latter came true because Lu Guang going to jail and the other two having to bail him out is so funny to me.

Ironically, Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi both have their own mugshots on the song cover, and Lu Guang doesn't. I guess if Lu Guang goes down, they'll all go down with him to show their support.

Anyway, my conclusion about the zipper is that Lu Guang isn't leaving the timeline behind and moving on, and instead it's going to be some internal conflict with him not being able to confide in his friends and the shenanigans that are derived from it. And then they clasp hands and with the power of friendship Lu Guang shoots Vein and Liu Xiao between the eyes and they all ride off into the sunset!! And Shiguang becomes canon!!! 💥💥💥🙏🙏

[sexcromancy]

it's so bonkers that every time angel comes back on btvs he acts as though it is buffy who doesn't want them to be together. bro YOU left HER. and she begged him not to... but every time he comes back he is like. why do you have another boyfriend. why can't we be together. I can resist temptation [immediately proceeds to get overwhelmed and back out]. and my favorite - in the s1 angel episode with buffy, when she comes to find faith, he YELLS AT HER about how he is building his own life and moving on and how dare she come back here expecting something. when she was literally not even there for himmmm oh my god he makes me sick. okay anyway. analysis. there's a very interesting meta aspect to this re: the different television shows. when angel is on btvs or vice versa, there is an artificial limit to how long they can be there. it seems to be pretty much one scene at a time; angel is in the s4 buffy episode a bit longer but not by much. that limit has to be reflected somehow in their dynamic, hence the heightened tension of every interaction. there has to be a reason they can't stay, and/or a reason to leave. there's also genre to consider. buffy has to have forward momentum in her journey bc she is on a Coming Of Age Show, so she can't be constantly hung up on angel and begging for him to come back. she does periodically make it clear that he is still in her heart, but ultimately, her current relationships are a huge part of the fabric of the show. conversely, angel's genre is noir (as I understand it?) and noir really benefits from a tragic hero mourning a doomed romance. plus, boreanaz is so good at looking miserable. so even though angel chooses to leave, it is framed in retrospect as a choice he was forced to make for Buffy's benefit. he will always, always play the tortured hero here, as though hurting her was necessary and beneficial for her. was it? I guess, because she didn't have to look at his stupid face anymore, and because she does eventually reach a place where - altho she does not outright reject him in the s7 finale - she is able to articulate that she might not need or want him ever again, and she needs to figure that out for herself. crucially the show is only willing to dissipate the long term will they won't they tension as btvs is ending. however, leaving was DEFINITELY good for angel and for boreanaz, because both character and actor were now able to lead his own show. and again it comes back to genre - with an older leading man, angel can be a more serious and lore-driven show than buffy. over and over again when I asked friends who've watched both shows lore-based questions, they said, oh well that's covered in angel. which is INFURIATING. of course the show led by a man is going to be the one where all that happens, especially once Giles leaves. of course btvs has to maintain the emotional core, the relationship focus, everything a Girl Show does. and I'm not even necessarily saying I wanted more lore - generally I get bored by it - but to see such a stark contrast is agonizing. alright I don't have like a cogent thesis for this post but basically that's a lot of stuff I've been thinking about re: bangel now that I can look at the whole thing. There Will Be More

[lusty-stallion]

Plus 3 on a travel coach - Part 2

Part 1

---

One Dad was horrified at his inability to take his eyes off the hunky lads and the debauchery between the now Leather Daddy and young dumb bodybuilder.

Sat with his family next to his wife, he was disgusted that he was getting turned on by the outrageous display.

Turning to look out of the window and holding his wife’s hand, he felt something happen to his clothes and felt a desire to flex.

Worried for the children and for any further transformations to himself, he whispered to his wife “I wish there was a way for us to get the families off this coach!”

And Genie enjoyed answering his wish.

Time rewound a moment as the Dad whispered, “I wish there was a way for us to get only the families off this coach of sex!”

And as if by magic, the coach stopped at the side of a resort, complete with water park and plenty of family entertainment.

Without the usual grief kids give parents, all the kids and their mums moved first, as the dads were still struggling to stop purveying the young lovers at the back of the coach, finally tearing their eyes away as they departed the coach. The confused coach driver in his 50s helped unload all the families belongings before stepping onto the coach with trepidation as to what was to come, a glance at the hunky lads at the back before setting off again.

As the Dad who’d made the wish stepped toward the park, he flexed again. His wife commented that while she loved him showing off, he really should put a shirt on. He opened his case and couldn’t find any shirts. He made his way to the resort's clothing store, stopping to flex for anyone who looked like they wanted a show, and purchased a particularly small t-shirt, which he guessed would fit him. Flexing as he passed the mirrors, and then the security guard who looked impressed, he walked back to his wife, pulled the shirt on only to witness it dissolve into nothing, his whole body involuntarily flexing a pose once more.

A gay hunk walking passed him with his boyfriend witnessed the moment, and decided he had to see it happen again, and whisked off his tank top and said “Here you go man, maybe this will help.” Thanking the hunk, the Dad tried on the other man’s tank top only to watch it dissolve again, this time giving his well-worked pecs a bounce to the hunk and his boyfriend's delight.

“I’m sorry love” he said turning to his wife, I don’t know what’s happened to me, but whatever happened on the coach seems to make wearing tops impossible, and I seriously can’t help showing off.

His wife had always been a long suffering women, who deeply loved her man. They would soon discover that he was incapable of wearing shirts for the rest of his life, and he would work hard to retain his very muscular frame well into his 70s, continuing to show off to anyone who would watch. All due to one of the lads wishing that he’d enjoy showing off his body all the time, and Genie adding ‘without a shirt’ to the lad’s wish.

As soon as the coach took off again, it was like a heavy, musky aphrodisiac descended on the coach, thick and cloying, and everyone was suddenly horny as hell. The air crackled with barely suppressed lust.

There were still a good number of straight couples on the coach, who started touching each other up with increasing urgency, their hands moving up and down legs, groping and heavy petting escalating quickly. Moans and gasps filled the air as they fumbled with buttons and zippers, desperate for release.

The same occurred to other groupings of friends, who until that moment had never felt any attraction toward each other. But many found themselves pondering the attractiveness of their pal, their eyes lingering on bulging biceps and tight abs, their minds filled with forbidden thoughts.

Everyone’s need for sex was palpable, a thick, suffocating blanket of lust that permeated every corner of the coach.

One gay man named Stan, a man of Afro-American heritage, had spent much of the journey so far subtly eyeing up the man across from him. Well-styled brown hair, brown sexy eyes on a square-jawed face. His skin was beautiful, and so was his body. Well worked in the gym, this guy was active all the time and looked after himself. Stan had been horny for this guy since getting on the coach, well before the wish, thinking about what this hunk would do to him in bed if only he was his lover. The sexy guy’s girlfriend was currently reaching inside his jeans, a bit concerned by his regular snatching of glances at the lads at the back. Stan’s wish burst from his mouth, a desperate plea fuelled by pent-up desire.

“I wish that sexy guy was my lover!”

And time scratched back, the universe bending to Stan's will, fuelled by Genie's mischievous touch: “I wish that sexy dumb guy was my musky alpha lover!”

The girlfriend looked at him in repulsion as he almost screamed his wish at her athletic boyfriend, who looked shocked and sickened, before his transformation began.

His already well-worked body became beefier, his muscles swelling and straining against his clothes. He retained his agility, but gained at least 60 lbs of muscle across his upper body, his pecs becoming hard, defined slabs, his arms bulging with newfound power. As his eyes locked onto Stan, his sharp eyes boring into him, before becoming blunter, the spark of curiosity and understanding dimming to that of a man who cared more about his next workout and fuck than the concerning metamorphosis rewriting his potential future permanently. His intellect seemed to recede, replaced by a primal hunger.

He felt a tickle across his body as all pubic hair thickened into manly bushes, a thick, dark forest of coarse hair that hinted at the animalistic desires lurking beneath the surface. His shaved skin was covered with a thick pelt, a layer of fine, dark hair that held his deep, musky scent, capable of even driving straight men into his arms. The air around him crackled with pheromones, a potent cocktail of lust and dominance.

And then understanding dawned on his slower mind, as he recognized his lover, the man across from him who he loved to toss onto their bed and punish his hole. A primal urge to dominate and possess washed over him.

Acknowledging that Stan’s wish had done something to him, he said, his voice now deeper and rougher, “I wish my boy was a beefy cub now!”

Zip!

“I wish my house boy was a beefy hairy gym cub now!”

And Stan welcomed his lover's desires manifesting across his body. The pressure which built in his arms pressing his biceps out, his chest pushing, and a healthy layer of fat covered what would otherwise have been a trim core, accentuating his abs, but allowing him to retain his ‘cuddlier’ buff appearance. His body softened, becoming more yielding, more submissive, a perfect canvas for his new alpha lover to claim. His own scent changed, becoming sweeter, more inviting, a siren's call to his dominant partner.

Stan, now a beefy, hairy gym cub, felt his cheeks flush as his new alpha lover, the former straight guy, locked eyes with him. The raw desire in those eyes sent a shiver down Stan's spine, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through his veins. Another topless hunk came up behind Stan and started kissing his cheek.

The girlfriend grasped her man’s face and said “Jed, what’s going on?”. Jed looked at her with a confused glaze covering his eyes. “Emmmm, sorry chick you’re not really my type.”

The former girlfriend, now completely forgotten, watched in horror as her ex-boyfriend grabbed Stan by the collar, yanking him forward with surprising force. Stan landed in his lap with a thud, his soft, muscular body pressed against the hard, bulging thighs of his alpha lover.

"You did this to me," the alpha lover growled, his voice a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated through Stan's body. "Now you're going to pay the price."

Stan whimpered, his eyes wide with fear. He knew exactly what the alpha lover meant. He had seen the way he looked at him, the way his eyes had devoured his body, the way his hands had clenched into fists, as if itching to grab him and claim him as his own.

Without warning, the alpha Jed ripped Stan's shirt open, the buttons flying off and scattering across the floor. Stan's soft, hairy chest was exposed, his nipples hard and erect. The alpha lover's eyes darkened with lust as he reached out and pinched one of Stan's nipples, causing him to gasp in pain and pleasure.

"You're mine now," the alpha lover said, his voice dripping with possessiveness. "And I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

He leaned down and began to lick and suck on Stan's nipples, his tongue swirling around them in a tantalizing dance. Stan moaned, his body arching against the alpha lover's. He couldn't help himself. He was completely under his spell, a helpless pawn in his lustful game.

The woman burst into tears, much to the distraction of some of the nearer passengers. One straight guy, grappling with his aching cock, took the opportunity to swoop in to rescue the woman from her misery. As he approached her as the coach continued along the road, he confidently walked up to her and said “Hey there baby doll, I can be everything he was to you and more.” She looked up at the handsome man reviled by yet more masculine bravado, and she said “Leave us women alone. I wish you never approach another woman again.”

Time rolled back those last seconds as she locked eyes with the horny man, “I wish you never approach another woman again, always fucking men!.”

Surprised at herself, she watched as the man stepped back from her and surveyed the dumbass muscle hound stripping his cub, and he longed for that kind of action.

He spotted his buddy Trent and for the first time realised how attractive he was. They’d worked out together for years and built strong athletic bodies. And that’s when he remembered his buddy’s smaller than average cock. A smirk crept across his face, the woman’s angry wish ringing in his ears as he formed quickly a wish to realize his desires.

“I wish Trent was the fittest powerlifter in the city, with the biggest cock.”

Genie snapped his fingers and time reset as he wished “I wish Trent was the fittest gay powerlifter in the city, with the biggest cock hungry ass.”

Trent couldn’t quite hear every word, but noticed his pal was looking strangely hungry. A primal hunger that sent shivers down his spine.

And then he felt it. His lats felt like they were on fire, as did his bis and tris. His lower back started to feel over-encumbered as his upper body exploded in incredible muscle. He knew he was the fittest powerlifter, with legs which were perfect for running long distances. And then something strange happened with his glutes. They seemed to be expanding in his seat. They seemed to puff out, still pure muscle, but big, glorious globes begging for kneading and playing with.

And then a new desire erupted inside him, a burning, insatiable need to be filled. His cock remained hard, but he was less aware of it. He didn’t even notice it shrink another couple of inches. He just needed someone to ravage him deep inside, rubbing his aching prostate with pleasure. He desired calloused, muscular hands to work his ass before filling him with a meat stick of massive proportions. He was sure he could take any length and girth of manhood, and he was ready to try all the men in the world to find the biggest out there.

As his pal returned to his seat, Trent spun around, thrusting his newly enlarged booty into the air, presenting himself like a goddamn offering. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glazed with lust.

"Spank me, stud," he moaned, his voice thick with desire. "Punish me for being such a bad boy."

He reached behind and grabbed his own ass cheeks, spreading them wide for his friend's inspection.

"Look at this hungry ass," he purred. "It's begging for your attention. It needs to be filled with your hot, hard cock."

He leaned back against his friend's legs, his ass grinding against his crotch.

"Please, baby," he begged. "I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me. I need to feel you stretching me, filling me, owning me."

He reached behind and took his friend's hand, guiding it towards his throbbing ass.

"Touch me," he whispered. "Feel how wet I am. Feel how much I want you."

He closed his eyes and moaned as his friend's fingers began to explore his ass, teasing his hole, driving him wild with anticipation.

"Fuck me, baby," he begged. "Fuck me hard and make me your bitch."

The woman who had made the wish watched in stunned silence, her tears forgotten. She had unleashed a force of nature, a torrent of repressed desires that could no longer be contained.

The other passengers watched in a mixture of shock, arousal, and envy, their own desires stirring within them.

And it continued. One man, with his girl riding the full length of his cock, couldn’t shake the image of the lusty lads, and cried out “I wish girls were as sexy as those hunky horny lads.”

And Genie snapped back time

“I wish girls on this coach were as sexy as those hunky horny lads.”

Genie was careful, he’d be in trouble with the deities if he granted world-changing wishes, not to mention the lack of continued joy he’d be able to get through the diversity of his wishes. After all, world-changing wishes tend to stamp a uniformity across the world, which is highly undesirable to Genies.

And the guy was not disappointed when his girlfriend’s bra melted away around his new full pecs. His new balls were resting on the boyfriend's belly as he continued thrusting into his partner, although his cock was now in his partner's fine ass, rather than their previous genitalia.

A guttural moan escaped his lips as his breasts hardened into pecs, his hips narrowed, and his clit elongated into a throbbing cock. The sensation was overwhelming, his mind filled with pleasure and confusion. He felt a surge of primal energy coursing through his veins, with a fresh desire to dominate and control.

There were a few moans of surprise, but happy acceptance as all the remaining women became young, sexy late teens with chiselled frat boy bodies and a taste for immature jokes. Their clothes strained against their new muscles, their bras bursting open to reveal sculpted pecs, their hips narrowing, their curves hardening into lean, athletic frames.

Grunts of surprised gasps and excited whoops filled the coach as the former women surveyed their new bodies. They flexed their biceps, admired their chiselled abs, and ran their hands over their newly formed cocks.

"Holy shit," one of them exclaimed, his voice now deeper and more resonant, "this is fucking awesome!"

"I feel like I could bench press a fucking truck!" another one shouted, flexing his massive pecs.

"Check out my dick!" a third one yelled, grabbing his throbbing cock and giving it a playful tug. "It's bigger than my ex's!"

A wave of homoerotic energy washed over the coach as the newly transformed men began to eye each other with newfound lust. They exchanged suggestive glances, flexed their muscles, and whispered dirty jokes.

One of the new men, emboldened by his transformation, grabbed his former lesbian girlfriend and pulled him close.

"Hey, babe," he purred, his voice now dripping with testosterone, "wanna try out my new equipment?"

He leaned in and kissed his former girlfriend, his tongue exploring his mouth with a brand-new intensity. The kiss quickly escalated into a passionate make-out session, both their new male bodies grinding against each other, their hands exploring every inch of their newly transformed physiques.

The other new young lads, fuelled by their newborn desires, began to pair off, their hands groping and grabbing, their mouths locked in passionate grips. Genie surveyed his masterpiece. This once ordinary coach of randomers heading to a camping destination had been transformed into viral men looking to hook up, without any other cares in the world.

--

Jed's hands roamed down Stan’s body, kneading the soft flesh of his newly acquired cub physique. He squeezed Stan's pecs, enjoying the way they jiggled in his hands. He traced the outline of Stan's abs, marvelling at the layer of fat that covered them, giving them a softer, more inviting feel. He reached down and cupped Stan's balls, feeling the heavy weight of them in his palm.

"You're so soft," Jed said, his voice thick with lust. "I want to make you harder."

He began to rub Stan's cock through his pants, his fingers teasing and tormenting him. Stan groaned, his body trembling with anticipation. He could feel his cock growing hard, straining against the fabric of his jeans.

Jed pulled back, his eyes burning with desire. He reached down and unbuckled Stan's belt, his fingers fumbling with the zipper. He pulled down Stan's pants, revealing his hard, throbbing cock.

"Oh, fuck," Jed said, his voice barely a whisper. "You're so beautiful."

He leaned down and began to suck on Stan's cock, his mouth enveloping it completely. Stan moaned, his body shaking with pleasure. He closed his eyes and let himself be consumed by the sensation, his mind blank, his body on fire.

Jed sucked on Stan's cock with increasing intensity, his tongue swirling around the head, his teeth gently nipping at the shaft. Stan's moans grew louder, his body arching and twisting in ecstasy. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body trembling with anticipation.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He let out a loud, guttural cry as he came in Jed's mouth, his body convulsing with pleasure. Jed swallowed his cum, his eyes never leaving Stan's.

"That was just the beginning," Jed said, his voice rough and demanding. "Now it's my turn."

He stood up and pulled down his own pants, revealing his massive, throbbing cock. It was thick and veiny with newfound alpha status. Stan's eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight of it.

Jed grabbed Stan by the hips and pulled him close, his cock pressing against Stan's ass. Stan gasped, his body tingling with anticipation. He knew what was coming, and he couldn't wait.

Jed thrust his cock into Stan's ass, his body shaking with pleasure. Stan moaned, his body arching and twisting in ecstasy. He wrapped his arms around Jed's neck and held on tight, his body completely consumed by the sensation.

Jed fucked Stan hard and fast, his body pounding into him with relentless force. Stan's moans grew louder, his body shaking with pleasure. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body trembling with anticipation.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He let out a loud, guttural cry as he came in Jed's ass, his body convulsing with pleasure. Jed continued to fuck him, his body pounding into him with unrelenting force.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jed finally came as well, his body shaking with pleasure. He collapsed on top of Stan, his body heavy and exhausted.

They lay there for a long time, their bodies intertwined, their breaths ragged and uneven. Finally, Jed rolled off of Stan, his body still trembling with pleasure.

"That was amazing," Jed said, his voice barely a whisper. "I've never felt anything like that before."

Stan smiled, his body still tingling with pleasure. He knew that this was just the beginning of their new life together, a life filled with lust, desire, and endless depravity.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 5)

Summary: Russell's taken care of the reader's problem but things take a turn and the happy couple may not be so happy after all...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,300ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury/past drugging/brief mention of attempted assault (not shown) mention, angst, fluff, smut, stalker, murder, self-worth issues

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me with writing this new character! I might return to this world someday but until then, please enjoy the finale!

__________

When you pulled up to the dark house, you noticed Russell’s car had been pulled into the garage and covered with a tarp. You swallowed as you pulled in beside it, biting back bile when Owen parked right behind you, preventing any escape if it came to that. You’d given Russell nearly thirty minutes notice to prepare. You really hoped whatever he had planned was going to be over with fast.

“Fuck,” said Owen, dashing from his car in the downpour to inside the garage. He shook himself off like a dog and pulled off his baseball cap. You’d seen the gash on his forehead before but from the overhead light, a skull fracture was very visible. The dried blood had matted into his thick hair and, along with the other injuries, made him look half-dead. 

“Why don’t you go relax inside, honey?” you forced out when you exited, slamming the door shut loudly, hoping Russell picked up on the fact you were here. “I’ll get the bags and then I’ll take a look at those cuts.”

“Thanks, baby. Don’t take too long.” You didn’t like how he kept saying that. He’d hung off of you at the store. Even if he wasn’t a raging psycho, personal space was still a thing.

You pretended to fuss about at the trunk as he went in the door from the garage to the house. It was quiet for a beat, your gaze locked on the open door in the corner.

Two quick shots rang out and you hit the cement floor hard. Nothing could be heard over the rain, your heart hammering away in your chest. Russell wouldn’t have shot Owen, would he? No, Russell would have snuck up on him, taken him out before he knew what hit him.

So had Owen been shooting? Was Russell hurt? You slowly sat up on your hands and knees, crawling along the side of the car until you reached the hood. You peaked your head around the corner and saw a pair of legs lying on the ground through the open door. It looked like Owen so you carefully rose, flinching when Russell came bounding in from behind you.

He held up his hands, your eyes widening at the blood staining his crisp white tee. 

“What-”

“My stitches tore,” he said, turning his bicep towards you, the blood staining underneath the bandage. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, glancing back inside to where the body lay motionless. “Did you kill him?”

“Not yet,” said Russell, inching past you towards a work bench. “Although he did shoot my fucking front door. Do you have any idea how much a custom mahogany door costs? I might kill him for that alone.”

Russell opened a drawer, taking out duct tape and zip ties. He slammed it shut, pausing with his back to you.

“He’s not going to leave you alone if I let him live.” 

“I know. He’s been following me for awhile I guess,” you said. 

“I can frame him for Elpine’s murder if you don’t want me to kill him.” You leaned back against your car, Russell setting the items on the bench and joining you. “I don’t have to…you know.”

“How are you going to kill him?” you asked after a moment.

“Bag over the head. He’s passed out. He wouldn’t even feel it. Are you sure that’s what-” You went to his workbench and ripped off a garbage bag from the roll, Russell closing his eyes. “Y/N, you should stay out here. Let me do this.”

“Owen started slipping roofies into my drinks when I was fifteen.” His head snapped up as you sighed. “He drugged me twice but nothing happened because my dad was around. I had to be more careful once dad started to lose it. Owen’s a good decade older than me I’m sure you noticed. I’ve been scared of this guy for too long. I’m not asking you to kill him. I’m asking you to show me how to do this myself.”

“I appreciate how strong you are but I’m doing it,” he said, taking the bag from you. You dropped your hand, frowning up at him. He sighed, stroking your cheek with his clean hand. “Your soul has enough scars for a lifetime. Don’t add more.”

“You don’t have to kill someone for me, Russell. You don’t need that on you either. Look what you’ve already done.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over him. You can do something for me though.” You sighed, nodding once. “Go back to the store and buy some extra large garbage bags and some duct tape, got it?”

“Um, yeah. Are you-”

“Y/N. We’re on the clock. We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing your temple. “Now go.”

Three Hours Later

“To be perfectly clear, I’m doing this for Y/N, not you,” said Colter with a coldness you didn’t love. You knew Russell’s relationship with his little brother was strained but you’d thought it had gotten better over the past few days.

“Yeah, well it don’t take a genius to see you like her better,” said Russell, Colter rolling his eyes, an uncharacteristic move. “I’ll never ask you for a thing again. You never even have to speak to me. Think what you want about me. Just please do this for Y/N’s sake.”

“I already…” huffed Colter when you side eyed him with narrowed eyes. He let out a slow exhale. “Fine. You owe me, Russell. Big.”

“Colter,” you said, nodding towards his truck. You left Russell as he went back to taping the large cooler in the garage shut. You assumed he’d put Owen inside and cleaned up while you were gone at the store. The rain had paused momentarily but there was another batch of storms coming through soon. You sighed as you stopped next to the younger Shaw, Colter crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you do this. I know Russell asked but I can’t let you move a body for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, face turning into a scowl. 

“I’m not moving…Russell!” Russ’ head popped up, Colter becoming increasingly annoyed. “Tell me what is going on right now or I swear you and me are done. Forever.”

Russell sighed, throwing his head back. “I may have lied about the Y/N wanting to tag along with you so she can tidy up her place in Virginia.”

“You what?” you asked, storming over to him. “You were trying to pawn me off on Colter again? For what! Owen’s dead, there’s no one left to bother me.”

“Sweetie,” said Russell, closing his eyes. “Owen should not have made it out alive and the fact he did isn’t good.” 

Slowly Russell met your gaze, ignoring Colter behind you. “So is this how it’s going to be? Any time everything’s not perfect you’re going to drop me on your brothers doorstep at the drop of a hat? News flash, Colter isn’t my babysitter. I’m a grown woman who has seen and handled more crap than you know. I thought you didn’t think of me as a damsel.”

“I don’t but-”

“But you don’t want me around for the hard stuff. I got the message.” 

“Y/N, someone else could still be left. They could kill you-” You held up your hand, Colter heading back to his truck to give you some space.

“I think I finally understand how you’re so perfect but alone. You live this life like you’re this happy go lucky guy but it’s a mask. All you actually see is the dark side of it. Of everything. You are more than happy to step into my dark side but you won’t let me see yours? You wouldn’t let me kill Owen. You won’t let me help clean it up. Even when it’s because of me. You have to always be the hero. Honestly, thinking about it, it’s been all my shit we’ve talked about. All you say is your got a dark past but you haven’t shared diddly squat. Is this how it’s going to be Russell? Because frankly, I want more than that. I told you I don’t need you to do things for me, I just need you to help me do them.”

Russell swallowed, face going stoic. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Your heart dropped like a rock into the pit of your stomach, Russell’s jaw clenching. “You should pack up your stuff here and go with Colter. Go back to Virginia. You’re probably right. This was just attraction, plain and simple.”

“Russell, that’s not what I was saying-” 

“Yeah, it was. Just go. Please. I’ll deal with Owen. Just go back to Virginia and start your life over away from people like us.” With that he brushed past you for Colter, ignoring his repeated calls. 

“Asshole,” you mumbled as you went inside and shoved the few belongings that weren’t in the trunk of your car into a bag. You very purposefully left every pair of underwear, bra and pajamas he’d bought you behind. The cheap sports bra and cotton underwear you’d bought earlier would get you through until you were home.

If that’s how Russell wanted to end things, fine. You were free of the mafia. Free of guys with fucked up pasts. Your options were limitless.

And thank god Colter was smart enough to not ask about your red rimmed eyes by the time you were on the road.

Five Days Later

You gave Colter a wave from your front step as he drove off down the street. It’d taken only two days to drive cross country this time. Apparently you drove faster when you were upset. Or you didn’t sleep as much. Either way, Colter didn’t ask and was happy to get to Virginia where he had a missing accountant to find.

He used your kitchen as a base of operations and you let him crash in the guest room. In exchange, Colter got you hooked up with the basics of reward work. There were some extra perils to the job being a woman but also advantages that Colter didn’t have. He went over finding jobs, finding a team, learning how to get access to tools and databases. You didn’t have a lot of confidence in going after a full fledged disappearance yet but Colter mentioned it wasn’t always people that were what was missing.

By the end of his short stay, you had information overload but were grateful for the chance to start doing something good for once in your life.

Meanwhile, Russell hadn’t reached out once. You had to assume he’d disposed of Owen. You weren’t sure why you were still waiting for a text or a call. It was pretty clear things were over. Russell was too protective and you weren’t going to let another man tell you what to do again. 

Yet, you knew you were at fault too. Russell had just killed a guy in his house for you and he knew a hell lot more about getting away with a murder than you did. Russell had points for not wanting to involve you. And you had to be an asshole and pressure him for more when there was literally a dead body at your feet.

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, leaning against the kitchen island with your head lowered. “Why did I do that?”

The doorbell rang, your head slowly rising. You sighed as you went to it, pulling it open quickly. 

“Did you forget-” You cut yourself off when you didn’t see Colter standing there. No, instead stood Russell in a trim black suit, his hair slicked back and a bouquet of orange and red flowers in his hands. “Russ? What-”

“Let me get this out and then I’ll get out of your life forever if that’s what you want,” he said. You leaned against the door jam, Russell taking a deep breath. “Y/N, I like you. A lot. Too much probably for how long we’ve known each other. Everything you said was right. I avoid my problems because it’s a hell of a lot easier to fix someone else’s in my experience.”

He swallowed, glancing at his feet. “Owen could have hurt you at that store. He could have taken you, shown up at the house and killed you. I fucked up and you don’t seem to understand that Owen’s obsession and how fucking smart you are is the only reason we’re still here and he’s not. I told you I took care of it and I didn’t. I was angry at myself and wanted you somewhere safer than with me so I pushed your buttons on purpose. I lied on purpose so you’d get mad and leave with Colter. You deserve a good man and I’m not him. I kill people. I use sex as a way to be close to women but then never let myself be in a relationship because I don’t want them to see beneath the surface and see the shit that’s in there. I want better for you than me.”

Russell looked up, a tiny smile forming on his face. “Can we try being friends again and maybe I can become that man that deserves you along the way?”

“Russell,” you sighed. You stepped forward, cupping his cheeks, green eyes full of caution. “We can be friends. I’d like it if we were more than that, though.” 

He slowly smiled, his lip ticking up when you stroked his cheek. 

“I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. You do not have to share your deepest darkest secrets with me, never mind the first day we’re actually together. That was unfair of me. I just want you to know you can share them with me if you want to.” 

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Y/N,” he said softly. “Dozens. Some of them, most of them, I never gave two shits about. No nightmares. No trauma. That’s not normal. It’s been years since I’ve felt all that bad about killing.”

“You don’t need to feel bad about killing monsters,” you said. He closed his eyes and you leaned in, kissing his forehead. “S’that why you didn’t want me to kill Owen?”

“Moral and practical reasons,” he whispered. “I don’t kill out of revenge. I don’t think I ever have. It always has another purpose. Protect someone, protect a group or the general public from a threat. Some psych told me once that’s why I don’t struggle as much with what I’ve done as some other folks. The way I grew up helped me with that. But I do struggle with it still and you’ve struggled enough. You don’t need that on you.”

“I understand. I’m so used to being controlled and told what to do…I can never go back to that.”

“You never will,” he said, opening his eyes. You tilted your head, Russell turned into your touch to match. “I’m sure I’ll fuck things up again. We can be friends if that’s all you ever want.”

“I don’t want to be just friends. So what if we fight? That’s what couples do.” You took his hand in yours and the flowers in the other, leading him inside behind you. 

“I quit my job a few days ago.” You froze, spinning around on your heels. He shrugged, still holding your hand. “I can’t change my life without making some changes.”

“You still want to do that home brew for a career?” 

“Yeah. I’d like to give it a shot.” He spotted the stacks of papers on your kitchen table and open computer. “Colter offer you a spot on his team?”

“He did at first but I want to try doing it my way, stop patching up the bad guys and doing something good. He warned me it can be dangerous work though, especially as a woman flying solo.”

“He makes very good points,” said Russell, thumbing at your lip when you smiled. “What’s that look for?”

“Maybe you could be on my team sometimes, show me a few moves from the expert.” You started to walk backwards towards your bedroom, Russell’s eyebrows raising. “If you want to.”

“I’ll show you any kind of moves you’d like, qark.” He held his ground though, stopping you in place. You waited for the but to come, for him to push back on getting back together. Instead, he took the flowers from your hand and went into your kitchen, finding a tall glass and filling it with water. He set the flowers on the island before rejoining you, resting his hands on your hips. “I like the idea of working together as partners.”

“But…” you said, Russell kissing the top of your head.

“But you are far too kind, my queen of darkness. I was expecting to get told to get lost tonight and I have plans I can’t get out of with my friends very shortly.”

“Oh,” you said, Russell’s finger tips finding the ends of your hair and playing with a few strands. “If you have plans, we can meet up another-”

“You want to know my dark side?” Your eyes flicked to meet his, your head nodding once. “You can’t unknow what kind of man I am once you do. I don’t blame you if you change your mind about me.”

“I want to know you. All of you.” He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Go change into something discreet. Dark clothes. Leave your phone home. If at any point you want to leave, say so and I bring you right back here, understand?” You nodded, Russell backing away. “Mind if I change in your bathroom?”

“You can change in the bedroom with me.” He smirked but backed away.

“Another time. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, Russell glancing away.

“Don’t be mad but we need to pay Owen a visit.”

Twenty minutes later you quietly followed Russell into what looked like a decommission warehouse that should have been torn down a decade ago. The building was pitch black apart from the single light coming from the end of a hallway. You stuck behind Russell as you entered the room, stopping when you found six different men and a woman inside, most carrying a weapon on their hip or tucked into their jeans from what you could tell.

And smack in the center of the room tied to a chair was Owen very much still alive. Although…alive was being generous. He didn’t look more injured than when you’d last seen him but his color was off and his eyes were red and puffy. He wasn’t even angry when he saw you, just…scared.

“He behave while I was gone?” asked Russell to a man and woman nearby.

“Tried bribing Doug and then all of us to let him go,” said the woman. She gave Owen a nasty look before turning gentle as she looked towards Russell. “I think you scared the poor boy, Shaw.”

“Oh, who’s afraid of little old me?” said Russell, giving Owen a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So. Owen, my friends. Friends, Owen. You’re already acquainted with Y/N.”

Owen’s gaze flickered to you when Russell grabbed a chair from the wall and sat it a few feet away from Owen, facing him. Russell sat down slowly, nodding when you moved closer so you could see both their faces.

“Why’s he still alive?” you asked quietly. Owen’s eyes widened, Russell tsking him.

“On me, big guy,” said Russell, snapping his fingers, Owen reluctantly looking at him. “You got some options. Prison. You die very quickly. Or…me and my friends can make sure you die very slowly. Your choice.”

“Why didn’t you kill him yet?” you asked again. Russell sighed, glancing down. “Russell.”

“There were some things that never sat right with me that I wanted answers to. The stuff with your family’s accident and your dad’s paranoia, him attacking you. I had a paranoid father too. I know the signs, know that they want to protect us in their own way. The coincidence of meeting someone just like me was too high so I started to dig. You mentioned Owen’s drugged you a few times in the past and tried to hurt you.”

“Yeah…I’m not following,” you said. Russell stood slowly, staring down Owen like a predator with it’s prey firmly caught in a trap.

“I figured if he drugged you, who else had he slipped something to? What good man, good doctor, could a prescription drug running family slip into his drinks? The more I researched, the more my friends helped, the more we found.” Russell clenched his fists by his side, knuckles turning white. “Should I tell her Owen? Or do you have the balls to tell her yourself?”

Russell ripped off the tape over his mouth, Owen wincing as he breathed deeply. Russell was on him like that, grabbing his throat, not squeezing but adding enough pressure that it was going to be uncomfortable. “I told you to talk, you sack of shit.”

“Y/N, this guys is lying. I never did anything to you!” Russell’s jaw clenched and you watched him squeeze, only backing off when you laid a gentle hand on Russell’s shoulder. 

“He’s psycho!” said Owen, Russell backing up a step. You looked up to him, Russell’s face unreadable. “Y/N, baby-”

“Shut the fuck up before I stab you in your spine,” you said. Owen’s jaw snapped shut, a flicker of something in Russell’s eyes. Pride? Amusement? It quickly flittered away, replaced with worry when you held out a hand. “Can I have your knife?”

Russell slowly took it out of his pocket, handing the engraved handle out to you. You flicked it open and took a seat in the chair, holding it pointed down at the concrete floor.

“Owen. Tell me the truth and I won’t kill you. I swear. But I can get the answers from you if you don’t cooperate. Don’t make me get my boyfriend’s knife bloody.”

You heard a muttered damn from someone behind you, your focus on Owen. He sagged in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Our old fixer wanted out, wanted to go to the feds so my dad had him killed. I was eighteen and he told me to start earning my place as successor. He told me to find a new fixer. Your dad was one of the best doctors in the city. Things were…arranged. Two weeks later we-” 

Russell smacked the back of his head. Hard. Owen grunted, shaking it out.

“Two weeks later I…put a hit on your family. Your mom and brother specifically. We only needed one kid to survive and I thought a girl would be easier to control. I started drugging your father that night with antipsychotics to create paranoia,” said Owen, his head hanging low. “I orchestrated the whole thing. We fed him the drugs for years, it made him stay close if not a little extreme. It kept taking more though.”

“Do. Not. Skip. Ahead,” growled Russell, grabbing a fistful of Owen’s shirt.

“O-okay. I-I…I started thinking about how to get your dad to stick around once you grew up and you were pretty and smart and I thought you’d be happy with me.”

“How old was she when you decided this?” barked Russell. Owen whimpered, trying to curl in on himself. “Fifteen you disgusting waste of space.”

“You started drugging me then,” you said. Owen shook his head.

“Not with that stuff. Just roofies. But not enough for you to be completely out of it. Your dad started keeping a closer eye on you and I tried waiting for you to come around on your own but it was so hard when you went away to college. I knew I couldn’t let you run off like that again so…” Owen’s shoulders shook, mouth snapping shut.

“So you roofied her, attacked her and she fought back. Her father protected her and you fucking killed him for it. Your dear old daddy found what you’d done and wasn’t happy, was he? He covered up your murder and blamed her father knowing Y/N wouldn’t remember a thing. Y/N was forced to go to med school and learn crap she didn’t want to all while daddy had you banished away from her. You tried to keep tabs on her but it wasn’t until dad died that you could finally take Y/N like you wanted. It’s pure fucking luck I showed up when I did to make sure that didn’t happen. Would you like to tell Y/N about the fucking padded door locks and bars on the window in her old room back at the house? About your plans for her?”

Russell grabbed Owen’s hair, forcing his head up. Owen was trembling, whispering apologies and saying how he didn’t mean it, over and over.

“So…you killed my family…and tried to assault me more than once over the years…and were planning on keeping me as a…pet in the house until I magically fell in love with you. I think that sums it up,” you said. You stood up, handing Russell his knife. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“Thank you,” sighed Owen in relief. “Thank you. I-I knew you’d be able to forgive me-”

“Oh, I don’t forgive you and I wouldn’t be thanking me,” you said, smiling up at Russell. ““Papa Elpine and a few guys made it out I heard. Bobby was his favorite son, right?”

“Y/N! I killed Bobby! They’ll-” Russell shoved some tape over his mouth and hummed.

You crossed your arms, Russell tilting his head at you. “You know they’re going to torture Owen to death.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt him and I’m keeping my word,” you said, Owen shouting under the tape. “I’d tell you to confess but Elpine’s connected. He’d just have you killed in prison. So. Elpine it is.”

“You sure?” asked Russell. You pursed your lips, Owen pleading with his eyes. Everything in you wanted to say yes, let him get what he had coming. 

So why couldn’t you say it? 

You looked to Russell, nodding. “Get rid of him, please,” you mouthed.

“Look away,” said Russell. You turned around, Owen panting hard before there was a loud crack and the room was still. Russell’s hand found your shoulder, rubbing it softly. “We took care of Elpine’s guys. You know that.”

“I just wanted him to be as scared as I’ve been. I-I just…why’d it have to be my family?” You found his face, Russell smiling sadly.

“I’ve asked myself that question a lot over the years. Best I came up with is you got to try and let it go. The world’s good and bad and that’s all there is to it.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder, walking you towards the door. You nearly looked back but he blocked you with his body. “No. He’s gone for good, you don’t need to give him anything more. I’m sorry for not killing him back in Washington. I just thought you deserved the truth. Your dad was a good man.”

“Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I wish I realized that sooner.”

“Come on,” he said, walking you out to the hallway. “Let’s get you home.”

One Month Later

You smiled from your chair when Russell let out a single tiny snore from the couch across from you. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days and honestly, it was kind of adorable the way this incredibly dangerous man made the cutest cooing noises while he slept.

“You’re staring at me,” he mumbled without opening his eyes a few minutes later. You looked around, holding up a finger. “I can feel you watching, like a creeper.”

“Well, you make these cute sounds when you sleep,” you said. He smirked, slowly flicking his lazy eyes open.

“And who’s fault is it that I haven’t been sleeping, hm?” You shrugged and slid down in your chair with your book, grinning behind the pages. “I can see that smile, you know that?”

“Don’t blame me for the amazing orgasms you give,” you said, flicking your eyes over the top of the book, Russell propping himself up on his elbows with a predatory gaze. “Down boy. Later.”

“You better,” he said, plopping back with a huff. “Remind me to never help Frank with a favor ever again.”

“Frank helped you with Owen,” you reminded him. Russell scoffed.

“All he did with Owen was stand there and look scary. I didn’t make him build a fucking deck in the pacific northwest in forty degree weather.”

“Aw, is baby boy cranky?” you teased. He growled, playfully tossing his pillow at you. “You guys should wrap up tomorrow, right?”

“That’s the plan. Then I’m going back to waking up at a humane hour,” he said, forcing himself to sit up and stretch out with a few grunts. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half. You needed it,” you said, flipping a page. Russell glanced over to the dining table, taking in the decorated spread. 

“You set a place for Colter?” he asked. 

“Yes…right next to Dory’s,” you said, closing your book and setting it aside. “You still think he won’t come?”

“He’s not the kind of guy to come to a housewarming party. Especially his brother’s housewarming party. We still haven’t talked since…” 

“I know,” you said, standing and pulling him to his feet. He was still sleepy as you ruffled his hair, Russell turning into the touch. “I’m excited to meet your friends and family properly.”

“They want to know all about you, that’s for sure,” he chuckled. “You can’t imagine the amount of shit they’ve given me after I said I’d never settle down.”

“I moved in a week ago. We’re a ways from settling down,” you said. He titled his head, smiling at you. “Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?” he teased, leaning in close, dipping his head, kissing under your jaw.

“Shaw! Do not give me a hickey! I do not want them seeing-” You sucked in a breath, brain going fuzzy when he nipped at the soft flesh. 

“Too bad, qark. If I have to have hickeys all over my neck then so do you,” he said, suckling the skin. A buzzer went off in the kitchen and he groaned when you slipped away so the rolls wouldn’t burn. “Y/N…”

“Saved by the bell,” you said, taking out the pan and leaving them to cool off. Russell was by your side quickly, hands on your hips so you couldn’t escape. “Okay. How about you can give me as many hickeys as you want later if you’re a good boy this afternoon?”

“Hm, I do like being your good boy,” he said, squeezing your hips. “Deal.”

“Good. Where do you keep-“

The doorbell trilled, your heads turning towards the front windows. A familiar pickup truck was out front, Russell raising his eyebrows. You nodded for the door, Russell cautious as he answered. Colter stood on the front porch with an awkward forced smile and a pink box.

“I uh, picked up some dessert for dinner later,” he said offering the box. Russell took it, setting it aside on the front table. “You going to invite me in?”

“I thought you…” Russell shook his head and opened the door wider, letting his younger brother inside. Colter gave you a brief smile before clearing his throat.

“I uh, can help you get ready or cook. I just…last time we talked Russell…”

You smiled to yourself when Russell closed the gap between them, giving Colter a strong embrace. “Let's leave that shit behind us. Thanks for coming, Colt.”

“Yeah,” said Colter, returning it for a moment before the boys broke apart. “How’s the girlfriend situation working out for you?”

“I’m telling you man, find the right girl, you’ll never want to go back to being a loner,” said Russell, giving you a smirk. “They do come with a lot of rules though, fair warning.”

“I asked you to put the toilet seat down, Shaw,” you chided. 

“Like I said, rules,” teased Russell. You picked up a knife by your cutting board, narrowing your eyes. “We should help before she starts using that on us.”

“Yes you should,” you said, Colter shrugging out of his jacket and boots, joining your side after washing up. “Can you cut up the veggies into strips?”

“Can do,” he said, swapping places with you. You smiled when Russell took the dessert box and started to arrange the treats on a platter over on the dinning table. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the last time we were all here.”

You frowned as you peeled a bag of potatoes into a bowl. “You mean when I lost my cool on Russell? You have nothing to apologize for Colter. We were asking you for a favor. Again. I’m honestly surprised you don’t hate me. I know you value your alone time.”

Colter was quiet, chopping neatly and pushing the scraps into a discard bowl. “Did Russell ever tell you how he got that gunshot he went to you for in the first place?”

“Someone kidnapped Doug. He went to save him.”

“Did you know I helped him with that?” You shook your head, setting the peeler down. Colter had stopped dicing, a barely there smile crossing his face. “If it weren’t for my brother asking for my help with his friends, I’m not sure we ever would have spoke again.”

“I know there’s a complicated history there.” He hummed, watching Russell across the room. “It means a lot to him that you’re trying too.”

“S’all we can do is try, right?” he said, going back to his cutting. “So. My brother is clearly head over heels. What about you? Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?”

“Uh, no,” you said, laughing to yourself. “We’re certainly not traditional but we’re nowhere near ready for that. We’ll see how living together goes for awhile before we talk about anything like long term plans.”

“Yet you moved in already.” You rolled your eyes. “Just an observation.”

“For convenience sake. Russ is looking into land for the brewery around here since he left his job and apartments in town are limited.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s it. Silly me,” he said. You held up your peeler to him, Colter raising his hands. “Russ, I think I broke one of your girlfriend’s rules.”

“It was nice knowing ya,” said Russell with a chuckle. “Give him a swift death for me, qark.”

“Qark?” asked Colter as you turned your attention to the potatoes. 

“Queen of darkness. Now hurry up with those so you and Russ can have some alone time before dinner.”

Six Hours Later

“This is going well,” said Russell to you in the kitchen as laughed and a smoky scent filtered in from the back porch. “Everyone really likes you.”

“I suppose I have met them all before, except for Dory. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know what I was expecting but-”

“She was much younger than us when our dad died. After she went to live with our aunt and uncle. She’s tough but normal in a way Colter and I won’t ever…” You rubbed his back, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close. “Did you like, drug him? Or bribe him? I seriously can’t believe he’s still here let alone came.”

“Of course he came. No matter what’s happened in the past, he loves his big brother.” Russell tucked you into his side, smiling when you rested your head on his shoulder. “I found a job in Wyoming. Missing prized show dog. I was going to head out in the morning, see if I’m any good at this.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Be safe though.”

“I will be.” You turned in his hold to face him, wrapping your arms around his back in a hug. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared if I was safe. It’s nice. This weird little family you have is…I’m jealous to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s yours too.” You raised your eyebrows, Russell raising his own, eyes going wide. “No! No, I don’t mean like, officially yours. Like metaphorically. I’m not ready for anything official. Someday but so not right now.”

“Me either,” you said, the tension running out of his face. “I want to know who we are without our old jobs, how to be a happy queen of darkness.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “Speaking of which, I got you a present for helping organize all of this and cooking for ten people after literally just moving cross country. I know it was stressful so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need a present, Russ,” you said, a sneaky smile forming on his face. “Oh. This is a present for the both of us.”

“I got you a new pair of jammies, the lilac set this time,” he said. Russell’s smile grew as yours did, his arms lifting you off the ground, bringing you to eye level. “You deserve all the good things in life, qark.”

“I think we got something pretty good starting right here,” you said, kissing him once, Russell humming.

“I couldn’t agree more, baby. Couldn’t agree more.”

__________

[completeoveranalysis]

[7]

I- 

APPARENTLY THERE IS ANOTHER THING. Now Clow Reed has traded his life as a price to pay for Syaoran’s. 

WHICH IS ALL VERY WELL AND GOOD BUT MY GOD HE IS SKATING BY ON A TECHNICALITY THERE. More Cardcaptor Sakura spoilers in this post.

Like YES ok he isn’t alive but he didn’t ‘die’ in the traditional sense, and there are two half Clow Reeds walking around alive right this very moment, BUT apparently that is still enough of a price! HE, the original, the Full Clow Reed Experience, is still "current status: not alive", so that looks like it’s enough of a price. 

I suppose his magic itself is also listed as a very significant part of the exchange here too, which neatly ties back into Cardcaptor Sakura yet again. There it was Running Out and this would add another reason why that's the situation they're dealing with (beyond him being dead, which is apparently not enough); he had traded the rest of it away, for Tsubasa Syaoran, so there was none left to keep everything going. Or like, there's something about Eriol in that as well, I can't remember. Eriol inherited the REST of Clow's power, but not as much of it by far, on purpose, so I guess all the missing magic was traded away.

But EVEN SO it feels like an entire universe shift inside my mind here, where we are rewriting the entire reasoning behind Clow Reed’s death into the very fabric of Tsubasa as if it was that way all along. Like, goodness, when was Cardcaptor Sakura? When did that air for my country - the year 2000? That’s over twenty years of a fact living inside my brain before redesigning the entire truth behind it now in 2024. 

Though let’s be real part of that is my fault for reading this so slowly. But still.

I was about to move on but I just also want to go back to Yuuko and add that Yuuko is paving the way for Sakura on two fronts - or switching herself out for two different Sakuras. Her spot in Existence, in the Revived-From-The-Verge-Of-Death-and-In-Between-Reality Zone was given to Super Sakura, which was originally framed as if that was the end of Yuuko already. But now we find out that WHILE that space went to Super Sakura, Yuuko kind of still exists in the world of dreams - but now she’s formally trading her life away for our clone Sakura’s life, so she can continue living once again. 

Oh and the romance of it all. Yuuko and Clow Reed being a tragic couple who couldn’t have the life together that they had in mind, passing their spots in life on to another doomed couple who now CAN have a life together. Yuuko and Clow being hyper powerful beings, willingly trading places with broken clones who didn’t naturally exist in the first place, so that they can be together and fix everything else in their stead. 

Yuuko and Clow (mostly just Clow) breaking the universe, and then passing the torch onto the couple who will fix it instead. 

And add in how involved they were in the process too! Knowing that they would trade their lives away to help these two, and then doing everything they could to help them actually get here in the end. Clow giving up his entire life to go and raise Sakura as long as he could, and Yuuko watching over and helping Syaoran and Sakura on their journey as much as possible, let alone - OH. WAIT. Clow Reed in the Clow Kingdom raising Sakura and Syaoran, while Yuuko helps raise Watanuki, yet another accidental clone person who only came into being because of mistakes they made.

The symmetry of that is wonderful. 

And even like, the framing of Yuuko’s position as the audience understands it. At the start of the story it seems like Yuuko is mostly neutral, if sympathetic, and over time it seems like she’s working towards a greater goal of saving the universe and so it suits her to watch over them. But SURPRISE she and Clow have been deeply involved in raising and supporting these two (or three) from the very beginning of their lives, working heavily behind the scenes to make deals and push people in directions that would eventually spiral around and help them get here - so that Clow and Yuuko could trade their lives away to give Sakura and Syaoran both another chance at life. 

Like OH the secret parents who stepped up and guided these kids when they had no-one else. These kids who weren’t technically born and weren’t originally meant to exist, and Clow and Yuuko stepping in and becoming the parental figures who give up absolutely everything to make sure it turns out ok for them in the end. I just really enjoy that.

[denial-permanente]

Wondering how you deal with making those captions and answering that many question while being locked but without becoming crazy...

To me it's like I had to kinda "forget" about that thing down there do be able to get remotely used to it.

And I am far far away from your time frames...

If I locked up being horny in the first place it was pure torture. Couldn't stop thinking about it. To the other newcomers here - having a wank and locking up afterwards is easier in this regard. The sexual drive is gone so it's easier to not think about it being caged. At least for me...

Anyways, I am wondering how this part of your journey was for you? I know about the story when Miss went on a trip and so on... But to sum it up, would you say that you eased into the cage or was it more like getting used to and than full commitment at once?

And getting back to my primary thought, have you been active in the interwebs from the beginning on? And if so, did it interfere with getting used to being locked? Or did you kinda naturally reduce your online times during first longer periods so it didn't drove you crazy?

And compared to today - I guess nowadays it's just easy because not getting hard while doing everything is just the new normal ? I mean like no difference between writing this blog (being locked) and getting a new haircut (being locked) - is it?

So asked more from a mental point of view: what would your recommend for beginners, to get into longer periods? Would it be better to ditch all remotely porn related things? Lock it, and forget about Tumblr and other platforms while being in the first few week or month long lockups?

Or am I completely wrong with it needing to become "normal" in a way that you don't think about it any longer?

Sometimes I am comparing it to girls wearing a bra... Might be new in the beginning. Might be strange. Might feel uncomfy at times. But the extra support is mostly welcome and after a few years a woman not only does not think about the bra anymore she doesn't notice it 99% of the time and if she does it's just normal and not kinky or sex related at all. And in the end she might even feel incomplete without a bra in public.

To me it's like it's you kinda need to get to this point with a cage. Don't you?

🔏 Wow, there's a lot here! Let's see if I can simplify it: You seem to be wondering how I learned to cope with the constant arousal of being locked with no relief. Is that it?

I had purchased a CB3000 pretty much right when they came out. I spent some time making adjustments and figuring out the fit, etc. I did all this *before* I sprung it on @mrs--edge. We had already tried this because I had made a few of my own cages, and she did enjoy the idea. Once I figured out a good combination of rings and spacers for the CB3000, I showed her a picture of the product. "You've got to get one of those," she said. I told her that I had already bought it, so she had me put it on for her, and we jumped right into it. I think I was locked for at least two weeks straight, then a little break, then a couple more weeks, and before long it was weeks, then months at a time.

Was I horny all the time? Of course. Hell, twenty five years later and I'm still horny all the time. But probably it was because I didn't get any breaks that I just learned to live with what I called the "constant low-level simmer of arousal."

As to looking at porn, etc, I'm not sure what to say. Except for the picture captions that I do, I'm not much for looking at porn. Frankly, very few things are nearly as exciting to me as the stuff in my own head. But if you had a habit of viewing it often, I'd suggest cutting back would help in not going crazy being caged.

Look, I can't tell you what will work for you. A lot of guys seem to need to build up to it. A week. A couple of weeks. Then maybe the entire month of LOctober. I get it; being horny all the time is distracting. How do you relieve the constant pressure?

For me, it seems like getting tossed right into the deep end just worked out. My wife took to this pretty quickly, and she liked my constant physical attention - as long as I didn't get whiney and bothersome. She had no problem early on telling me "No coming until I say so," and eventually, "No more being unlocked." In some ways, I didn't have much choice except to become used to holding it in. The advantage to that approach is that it by necessity becomes "normal" which probably makes the transition easier.